The Modern Confessional?

One feels decidedly ill at ease in a dentist's chair. This has nothing to do with the vicious tools arrayed in the stand to your right, nor with the bright lamp held in a pose most reminiscent of some distant childhood memory of a hospital visit (perhaps the very first!). The face of the dentist, though covered by a surgical mask, is also not a cause of this distress. No, it is the act of confession that fills our hearts with discomfort and our minds with evil memories of one sipped teaffee too many, or that 10th sprite to calm a vicious hangover; that second cake you just know you shouldn't have, or that fifth mars bar you ate in the dare that right now feels so childish and inconsiderate.

Laid upon that dentist's La-Z-Boy, the dread that fills your heart is inspired by the fact there is no escape. The Roman Catholic Church, with all its power and money, could never more than cajole or terrify their subjects into the confession box. But now, with modern technology and a recliner, the dentist holds full sway of your soul/dental health. What ever lies you tell will be discovered by one quick glimpse across a handy mirror and into the very bowels of your unrepenting gums.

"No, I don't drink sugary drinks."
"I haven't had a cake in years."
"I brush my teeth, floss, and rinse my mouth out with listerine twice daily."

LIES! And your teeth, like some black book of misdeeds, carefully kept by the bacterial demons of your gums shall let it be known to your confessor that this is so. No inquisitor could achieve such fear and apprehension in their unwilling victims. The dentist need only root around in your gaping, lying mouth to find the truth; the inquisitors had no such tools to read the enameled face of the soul.

Yet still, I clean my teeth irregularly and scoff upon sugary treats, so the dentist can't be all bad.

Cigna - A Business of Caring and Killing 17 year olds.

Read this today in the Guardian (yes, I am a commie) and was quite offended by the sheer lack of human feeling expressed by a certain health insurance company, whose name may or may not be Cigna (it is). Essentially, this is the story.

Nataline Sarkisyan, 17, after undergoing treatment for leukemia, fell into a coma due to liver failure. Her doctors recommended her for an emergency liver transplant. A donor was found and she had all the right insurance, but her insurance company decided not to pay out for the liver transplant because her health plan "does not cover experimental, investigational and unproven services."


Since when has a liver transplant been "experimental, investigational and unproven." Not having a liver is a damn sure way of not living any longer, and a liver transplant is a proven way of circumventing this problem. I mean, this is basic stuff that you can pick up just by watching any medical drama or fly-on-the-wall.

Perhaps the most distressing thing about this, apart from the 17 yr old losing her life for no reason other than for a health insurance company based in philadelphia could get a net income of $1.2 billion (though thats their 2006 finances, so I imagine its more than that for this year), is that the people who decided the fate for this young woman are no different from you or I (except probably far better paid). Like in any business, their job was to maximise profits for the company so it could expand and offer more health insurance to more people and save the world (or some such nonsense). These normal people have families to go home to (probably living in large houses), and children to talk to (who probably all have really big toys). You can probably imagine a conversation between the daddy/mommy and their son/daughter.

Son/Daughter: Daddy/Mommy, what did you do today.

Daddy/Mommy: Oh, well today I signed the death warrant on a 17 year old girl so that my company could post record-breaking profits. Yes thats right, a girl died so that I could get a promotion and make more money. Her case was borderline anyway, so I just made the argument not to pay out and now the board director's are congratulating me on saving them $75,000. Aren't you pleased little one?

Son/Daughter: Daddy/Mommy, but won't her parents be sad.

Daddy/Mommy: I don't think about that. If we thought about how our customers felt we wouldn't make any money at all. By treating everyone as numbers, objectifying them into figures on a page, we can make more money, expand the business and help more people to get health insurance so we save their lives (as long as they don't need a liver transplant, of course).

Son/Daughter: What's objectifying mean?

Daddy/Mommy: In this context, its the act of depersonalising a fellow human being; removing their dignity, their individuality, their personality and character. In other words, turning them into an object, devoid of any emotion, a hollow shell that can be ripped apart.

Son/Daughter: Isn't that what rapists do to their victims?

Daddy/Mommy: Yes! That's right darling. Well done!

Or perhaps not.

Unfair Wages

It is, in my opinion, a scandal that CEOs are now paid, on average almost a hundred times the wages of their employees. In the current world climate, where the developing world is consistently trodden on by the rich western businesses, whilst governments try and fail to counter the balance with charitable donations to Africa, we can be forgiven for forgetting that the trouble lies at home and not abroad. And who do I blame? I blame the unions!

Why? you may ask. Workers unions fill many good role, and I fully support much of the work they do. Their role as regards advocating for worker's rights is much needed and much appreciated, but their policy is all wrong. They campaign on behalf of their workers, but suffer from severe short-sightedness as evidenced by the stupidly over-payed CEOs compared to the under-payed (by comparison) worker majority.

Their reaction to working conditions is acceptable, but when it comes to pay they lack thought-out agenda and overall philosophy for the workers they represent. When a group of the workforce campaign for higher pay, they miss the real issue entirely. An under-payed workforce campaigns for more pay, yet this does not solve the issue but simply plays into the employers hands.

The capitalist model pays the workers the least amount possible whilst keeping the worker satisfied. This increases profits for the company, owned by shareholders and executives, who in turn benefit from increased profits; the workforce do not. The capitalist model has room to include the unions who, at best are just highly neglectful. An increase in wages, after union action, gives the impression that the workers have won and a fairer world has become that much closer, yet the numbers don't lie; CEO pay increases every year at a much higher percentage than the workforce in the same business. Union action that focuses on pay increases for their members acts as a panacea for the true unfairness that exists in the capitalist model.

The real issue can be solved quite easily however. Instead of campaigning for higher pay for their members, Unions must campaign for a wage policy similar in approach to Rawls' "difference principle" and a policy found in co-operative movements such as Mondragón. The highest earnings (including bonuses in a year) in an organisation must be no more than 10 times the lowest earnings in an organisation. If a company pays its lowest paid worker £14,000 a year, then the highest wage paid to any other member of the organisation cannot be larger than £140,000. This policy means that any wage increase to the top echelons of a company must also be met by wage increases at the bottom. It also acts to lessen the divide between the rich and the poor, and promotes fairness within an organisation. Unions must fight for this and not for a simple wage increase. Only by looking at the bigger picture can any attempt at an evolution in global workers rights be effected.

Bedouin and Illich

Bedouin was incredible. Very simple statement, very true.

If you have never been to the Concorde 2 in Brighton, then you should. It is a very very good venue. With a lift!

The place was packed, barely room to move. The gig started with Natty, who were fantastic not only as a band in their own right, but as a crowd-rouser too. At the start people weren't really moving, but very soon everyone was moving to their most excellent tunes. A few guys in front of me were, rather moronically, overly obsessed with the drummers name - but entertainment is entertainment and I'm no John Mill.

When Bedouin got on stage the crowd pit was so packed I felt slightly self-concious with the inevitable foot-stamping and shoulder-barging that marks a packed gig, but seeing as everyone's doing it it wasn't too bad.

I was mildly shocked at the smell of some powerful cannabis stench wafting from behind, but it's reggae so hardly that surprising. But with the dual ban of no smoking and no smoking cannabis, I certainly wasn't expecting it. Given the heavy sweat in the air, where every breath took in more moisture than oxygen, it was also slightly unfair; I don't like the smell of cannabis at the best of time, when my entire body is almost ready to pass-out, it's even less welcome.

Gig ended, my t-shirt itself was more sweat than cloth, so me and Emma went on a little expedition to the sea (with Ben following in support). Clothes off, and the feeling was almost spiritual. The move from being so hot that you are ready to faint, to being freezing is something that should be felt by everyone - my heart was pounding in my chest in danger of giving out!

Unfortunately we didn't measure the height of the waves when we jumped in and I was almost swept under twice (in case of which Ben had started undressing, the madman). Realising the danger I escaped unharmed from the claws of that cold grasp, and instantly felt a lot better - it's why I love living next to the sea.

Left the seaside, went to the All-night Diner and ate a MegaBuster. Did not feel well.

Awesome night.

Oh, and if anyone is reading these posts and have no idea who I am referring to when I talk about Ivan D. Illich and Energy and Equity, I would suggest going here:

Energy and Equity

And for music:
Natty
Bedouin Soundclash

Creativity and Alcohol!

Had a thoroughly enjoyable time in the pub tonight! What is it about pubs and good times; they seem to attract each other!

Concerning the subject of travel. The more and more I read Illich's book, Energy and Equity, the more I seem to find myself berating those who travel by car. I don't want to be one of those cyclists, who attack, either physically or verbally, other motorists. Yet the more and more I see of the world I find a certain deadness, non-caring and basically drab part of human life. We drive instead of walk. We drive instead of cycle. Compare us to our ancestors! Whatever age you may imagine.

Nowadays we can travel to Greece, China, America, Portugal, Brazil, Thailand (always popular), Spain, Tanzania, Ghana. All these magical, unknowable places. But do we see anymore of the world, travelling by plane to all these places.

Cycling from Canterbury to Lewes (I don't recommend to the faint-hearted), I found much of my enjoyment from seeing so much of the route I took. In that day, 6 hours, I rode 65 miles. By car I could travel that in an hour, and all the differences and similarities would have passed me by. How best to explain it. By bike I was able to travel at my own pace, by car the pace is set by the traffic, a constant speed is expected and maintained. By bike I was able to experiance the road as I rode on it, by car the journey becomes merely that, a moment between the point A, the departure, and the point B, the arrival.

I planned to cycle through France into Italy with my father this summer, but due to complications of health (namely cancer) it was postponed. To travel by car to Italy would take a couple of days would be entirely skip much of the journey so that Rome became the most important point of the journey. Yet if we take life, we see that it is the actual journey not the arrival that defines us; defines our being, defines our manner, defines our life. Speed bypasses these moments, the trip becomes about the place rather than the journey, yet the journey is just as important as the place - both are experiences that define us. By bicycle we encourage ourselves to break our limits. By plane we wait for a couple of hours to be comfortable in a foreign place.

I don't pronounce judgement, nor do I seek to discourage people from their most comfortable moments, but I do want to encourage others to seek outside what is expected of themselves. Breaking tradition is a human trait, far more than speech and far more than culture, that in modern parlance seems to define us. Our world, our culture, our technology and our modernity is a break from nature; from what she desires and from what she seeks. Yet we gladly wallow in this self-satisfied bubble of easy living and easy travelling.

The holiday has become a competition; a competition to see how far a single person can travel. No doubt this is partly to blame upon a global culture that seeks equality in understanding - a noble goal, were it not for the difficulties that lie between.

What can I say to change a way a person thinks, acts, defines themselves? Nothing, we are all actors on the same stage, and the wish to change another is a folly. Not because we cannot, but because our best laid plans are as dust. What do I know of another's motivations? Yet that is what pushes those moral! people who seek to change the world for their God, or their humanity! Vanity has never known such wonderful subjects. Not even goodness for goodness sake, does justice to the proper motivation that causes a positive and powerful person to act. They do not seek to change the world, they act only to change themselves, to find peace in their hearts and in their minds (whatever that may mean). These people, these people that Vanity cannot buy, are the kinds of people that buy pencils for schools and sacrifice happiness (oh! so over-rated) for the well-being of others! I am far to vain for their glory, should they be welcomed as the human beings that they are. The rest of us are animals; rabbits who fuck and eat far too much, and worse ... find pleasure in it!

10 Things I learned in York

1. Constantine House is fricking wicked
2. It's a long way away.
3. South Yorkshire gets a lot more rain than North Yorkshire.
4. The Evil Eye is one of the coolest places I've ever been, and it sells alcohol as well, which makes it even cooler.
5. Deuchars IPA is really nice and tastes of elderflower champagne.
6. Double's Beer Pong can be played and is a lot of fun.
7. Teriyaki Burger (see Evil Eye) is so nice its tasty! Like a burger crossed with a stir-fry. Incredible!
8. They really like Fancy Dress in York.
9. In York, streets are called gates and gates are called bars.
10. The oddest street name is officially "Whip Ma Whop Ma Gate". Its the shortest street in York and comes from the Anglo-Saxon for "Neither here nor there".

A Mini Pamphlet on the Fustrations of a Cyclist.

It was with a certain apprehension that I cycled from Bognor Regis to Brighton (not the Cornwall one, the proper one). I've never properly cycled anywhere, especially along main roads, and the A259 is not the best road to get your cycling wings on, as it were. The only sensible way out of Bognor is along the A259 into Littlehampton, and with little experience on the road I was nervous about doing it.

My trouble with travelling on the road alongside cars would not exist were I cycling in most other places in the world. I have a bad right eye which, alongside bad vision on the whole in that eye, gives me the no peripheral vision on the right-hand side. When cycling in Britain the cars come past you on the right, but my bad eye-sight makes me naturally apprehensive about anything passing me on that side: I cannot see it, I do not know its coming, and when I was younger this made me overly sensitive to riding on the roads. In Europe and elsewhere, of course, the cars pass on the left, and my left eye is perfectly capable of dealing with that kind of information. To give you an idea of what I am talking about; if you turn your head as far as it is able without moving the rest of your body, you can reliably see directly behind yourself, with my bad right eye I can only see in focus up till 100 degrees (0 being directly in front and 180 being directly behind). As my right eye is not as strong as my left my brain compensates the lack of clarity of the right by strengthening the importance of information coming from the left eye. When my eyes are turned to the right I quite literally get most of my vision blocked by a very close-up and very blurred image of my nose. The image is of course a composite, but as my right eye is incredibly short-sighted the only information that it can give is a very blurred image of what I really want to see - imagine a used sandwich bag draped over your eye and you get the picture.

Anyway, back to the journey. I got onto the A259 with a certain disappointment, it really wasn't as scary as I had imagined, but my first confrontation with a big roundabout quickly changed my perception of that. However, by following the car in front and keeping on a good line I quickly became accustomed to the the difficulties of the roundabout. To be honest, I acted more on instinct and at certain points I had to tackle a roundabout or two by really thinking about when to leave off from a standing position. Thankfully much of the road was devoid of traffic for the most part.

The road to Littlehampton was very enjoyable, very little traffic, and long and flat for ease of cycling. One of the odd things about cycling, or at least I've found, is that your perception of speed is really wierd. There were points on the trip where I was reaching 18, 19, 20 mph on flat road, yet there was not the same feeling of speed, it felt far slower about 12 or 13 mph. And indeed, in the opposite case, where the wind was blowing against me (which it liked doing, apparently), I, at times, felt that I was going far faster than I was actually going. Thank the Lord for Speedometers!

By the time I had reached Littlehampton I was feeling far more relaxed, though still a bit edgy. There had been a few cycle paths on the road, though these generally had a habit of taking me off on wild-goose chases, and then having to make my way back onto the road (usually at roundabouts) . . . it was far easier just to stay on the road rather than take them. I crossed the bridge into Littlehampton and my original plan was to cycle into Littlehampton and try and find my way across from Littlehampton into Ferring and Worthing along the Seafront, which would have taken me a far amount of time. However, I felt comfortable with continuing on the A259 so I kept with it and followed it all the way to Worthing.

There was a lovely bit along this route, where I encountered a traffic jam (due to who knows what!), and for about 5-10 mins I cycled down the hard shoulder sniggering at the unlucky drivers in there cars (the number of people who drive on their own! - what happened to the car-pool idea?) having to wait for everything to start moving again.

To cut a long story short, I found my way into Brighton (the ride from Worthing to Brighton is a lot longer than I imagined), stopped off at Tesco's for a sandwich (they seem to have different baguettes than they do in Canterbury) and sat down on the seafront for awhile munching on some ham, cheese and pickle sandwiches (mmm! tasty!) and feeling quite proud of myself.

I was on the road for 2 hrs and 30 mins, and what struck me most was that all that time I was being overtaken by cars (a lot). When you are in a car, you never realise how many cars are on the road because your speed is the same as everyone else's (or at least not far off), so there is never really a continuous stream of cars to see. You never see how many cars are on the road. As a cyclist the number of cars on the road was quite baffling. What were all these people doing!? Considering that the stretch of road I cycled on was about 30 miles, there are a lot of cars on the road, a lot of the time. Trying to change the driving habits of all those people seems a monumental task, and I can only imagine that it is even worse in America. To get all those people to cut back on their driving, to use public transport and other modes of transportation (such as bicycles or even their own feet), requires far more than making the buses and trains arrive on time. Seems almost impossible. However, I always remember this little fact about human travel, and it makes me feel a bit better:

"The typical American male devotes more than 1,600 hours a year to his car. He sits in it while it goes and while it stands idling. He parks it and searches for it. He earns the money to put down on it and to meet the monthly instalments. He works to pay for petrol, tolls, insurance, taxes and tickets. He spends four of his sixteen waking hours on the road or gathering resources for it . . . The model American puts in 1,600 hours to get 7,500 miles: less than five miles per hour. In countries deprived of a transportation industry, people manage to do the same, walking wherever they want to go, and they allocate only three to eight per cent of their society's time budget to traffic instead of 28 per cent. What distinguishes the traffic in rich countries from the traffic in poor countries is not more mileage per hour of life-time for the majority, but more hours of compulsory consumption of high doses of energy, packaged and unequally distributed by the transportation industry."

"Man, unaided by any tool, gets around quite efficiently. He carries one gram of his weight over a kilometre in ten minutes by expending 0.75 calories. Man on his feet is thermodynamically more efficient than any motorized vehicle and most animals. For his weight, he performs more work in locomotion than rats or oxen, less than horses or sturgeon. At this rate of efficiency man settled the world and made its history."

"Man on a bicycle can go three or four times faster than the pedestrian, but uses five times less energy in the process. He carries one gram of his weight over a kilometre of flat road at an expense of only 0.15 calories. The bicycle is the perfect transducer to match man's metabolic energy to the impedance of locomotion. Equipped with this tool, man outstrips the efficiency of not only all machines, but all other animals as well."
- Ivan D. Illich, Energy and Equity.

So there is hope for us yet.