eye_of_a_cat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eye_of_a_cat) wrote2006-04-27 12:57 am
eye_of_a_cat) wrote2006-04-27 12:57 am
Meme
1. Please respond, in as strong terms as you feel, to the oft-heard allegation that studying relatively obscure academic topics is totally useless and parasitic on the rest of society.
It's an immoral belief, and any resulting actions are immoral as well.
No, seriously. There's nothing immoral in dedicating your life and mind to things with a strictly practical use; improving the economy benefits society in many inarguable ways. But improving the economy isn't a benefit in itself. Anything we do in that respect, whether it's curing cancer or making cars go faster or importing exotic food or designing bicycles or working as a minion for huge corporations, is done to make our lives better in some sense, whether that's collectively or individually. We don't improve the economy to improve the economy, but because we like living in it when it's in a good state. These things are means to an end.
The consequence of getting the end and the means mixed up is devaluing things like education. If improving the economy is the end, and living a decent/safe/healthy/complete/fulfilled life is either a sideline to that or a means for achieving it, then anything which serves us as people, rather than as participants towards the end we're aiming for, becomes less important. Or, if it is important, it's only in strictly practical terms - education as job-training, a means to an end. The idea of education being valuable in itself is ignored.
By that logic, we live a safer, healthier, richer and more varied life, but that's a by-product of what we're doing and not the end we were aiming for. We don't improve our surroundings to improve ourselves, but to improve our surroundings.
It's immoral to treat people as anything less than people. We're the ends, not the means.
So, immoral.
2. What is the most beautiful single thing you have learned?
Probably that most of the elements making up our bodies were made in the hearts of stars.
3. Do you ever voluntarily write original fiction / poetry / etc? If so, what?
Um, not really. I used to write lots of poetry, and there's about 150 handwritten pages of a fantasy novel I started when I was 14 lying in a box somewhere (there was a missing king, and a quest to find him, and then by the time they managed it I'd changed my ideas about fantasy and he didn't want to go home anyway, and some kind of crown, and then I got so caught up in the worldbuilding political systems stuff I gave up on actually writing any of it). There's a sample of some of my earlier, uh, creative efforts here.
If I wrote anything now, it would be a short story called 'Missy 2000-2003'. It was written in very small letters on a corridor wall in one of the university buildings, and I always thought it'd make a great title for a story. No idea what the story would be, though.
4. Where is Lennier in your psyche these days? Is he rangering around the outskirts? Quietly attending normal thought? Completely gone on leave of absence?
Making me feel guilty for not keeping up with the piles of work I'm ignoring. Occasionally quietly reminding me that there's a recurring story idea featuring him that I really should get around to writing one day, even though it's narrated by an OFC and therefore probably a very bad idea.
5. Because you are so intelligent and, for lack of a less dorky word for me to use, refined, I'm curious - what's the most classically badass thing you've ever done?
Oh, I'm really not! It's, um, probably this.
My secondary school got new computers when I was 17, and told us all repeatedly and loudly how important it was that we changed our passwords from the default 'Password' (because Anyone Could Break Into Your Account If You Don't). We thought this was a bit of an overreaction (the computers had no internet connections, people didn't really keep anything on them), but also thought it was unlikely anyone would leave theirs as 'Password' after the third week of warnings. One of my friends bet me he could find ten people who had. Because of the way the account usernames worked, it was very easy to try the default password with random accounts, and indeed, at least ten people had left theirs unchanged.
We thought it would be, um, performing a public service to remind them to change their passwords. And that this reminder could take the form of a saved Word document titled 'READ ME NOW LITTLE PERSON' that was typed in 72-point font. And that it would be kind of boring to sign off as 'Another pupil'. So we invented a group of noncorporeal entities from another dimension that were caught up in the school's system by an evil spell cast by an intergalactic bandit masquerading as the music teacher, gave ourselves names, and left messages explaining who we were.
This was addictive.
A couple of days later, we'd found dozens of accounts with the default password, and some more with very easily-guessable ones (there was about a 1 in 5 chance of the 13/14-year-old girls picking 'Leonardo' back then). We'd set up a central messageboard on an abandoned account, and left messages on other accounts directing people there. We'd decided that we were actually noncorporeal entities in fierce competition with each other for, uh, something or other, and started trying to get people supporting us over the others. And people started noticing. After about two weeks, we had loads of messages on the abandoned account, with people forming small fan clubs and asking questions about how many of the teachers were really time-travelling noncorporeal demons in disguise (all of which were answered in detail), and people actually changing their passwords back to 'Password' so they could get messages of their own.
A few weeks into this, something went wrong with the school computers. It wasn't serious, and it wasn't anything to do with us, but somehow we got to the staff's attention. The first we knew about this was our Sith Lord of a headmaster calling the entire school together for an assembly to give us a long, blistering rant about 'the hackers', with affirmations that the people responsible would be suspended or expelled for what they'd done, because That Is How Seriously We Take Your Privacy And That Is How Seriously We View This Kind Of Malicious Activity, and a request for the guilty people to give themselves up voluntarily. Yeah, right.
After an emergency meeting to decide what to do, I wrote a long public explanation of our activities for the attention of staff and pupils, and left it on the abandoned account. It stayed in character, explained that we were benevolent noncorporeal entities that hadn't damaged anything, suggested that perhaps 'this educational establishment in which your people imprison their children' valued its pupils' privacy less than it claimed if it would really comb through their accounts to find evidence, and suggested that The True Explanation lay in supernatural forces working within the staff. I don't think we meant to, really - we got sort of carried away, and our audience were expecting certain things by then. Anyway, we changed the date/time setting (the admin password was 'admin') so it was last revised at a time when everyone had alibis, and waited.
They never found us out. I think they suspected us - we got grilled, good cop/bad cop style, by the IT teacher who was heading what he referred to as 'the investigation' (I mean, come on), and they made us look them in the eye and swear blind we hadn't done it. But they never caught us. We went away on exam leave a week or so after that, and although my younger brother told me the headmaster continued to mention 'the hackers' in assemblies, they must have decided to give up looking after a while. Although I did spend a few very long months waiting for the phone call.
eta: And I forgot the second part of the meme. If anyone wants me to ask them five questions, leave a comment below.
It's an immoral belief, and any resulting actions are immoral as well.
No, seriously. There's nothing immoral in dedicating your life and mind to things with a strictly practical use; improving the economy benefits society in many inarguable ways. But improving the economy isn't a benefit in itself. Anything we do in that respect, whether it's curing cancer or making cars go faster or importing exotic food or designing bicycles or working as a minion for huge corporations, is done to make our lives better in some sense, whether that's collectively or individually. We don't improve the economy to improve the economy, but because we like living in it when it's in a good state. These things are means to an end.
The consequence of getting the end and the means mixed up is devaluing things like education. If improving the economy is the end, and living a decent/safe/healthy/complete/fulfilled life is either a sideline to that or a means for achieving it, then anything which serves us as people, rather than as participants towards the end we're aiming for, becomes less important. Or, if it is important, it's only in strictly practical terms - education as job-training, a means to an end. The idea of education being valuable in itself is ignored.
By that logic, we live a safer, healthier, richer and more varied life, but that's a by-product of what we're doing and not the end we were aiming for. We don't improve our surroundings to improve ourselves, but to improve our surroundings.
It's immoral to treat people as anything less than people. We're the ends, not the means.
So, immoral.
2. What is the most beautiful single thing you have learned?
Probably that most of the elements making up our bodies were made in the hearts of stars.
3. Do you ever voluntarily write original fiction / poetry / etc? If so, what?
Um, not really. I used to write lots of poetry, and there's about 150 handwritten pages of a fantasy novel I started when I was 14 lying in a box somewhere (there was a missing king, and a quest to find him, and then by the time they managed it I'd changed my ideas about fantasy and he didn't want to go home anyway, and some kind of crown, and then I got so caught up in the worldbuilding political systems stuff I gave up on actually writing any of it). There's a sample of some of my earlier, uh, creative efforts here.
If I wrote anything now, it would be a short story called 'Missy 2000-2003'. It was written in very small letters on a corridor wall in one of the university buildings, and I always thought it'd make a great title for a story. No idea what the story would be, though.
4. Where is Lennier in your psyche these days? Is he rangering around the outskirts? Quietly attending normal thought? Completely gone on leave of absence?
Making me feel guilty for not keeping up with the piles of work I'm ignoring. Occasionally quietly reminding me that there's a recurring story idea featuring him that I really should get around to writing one day, even though it's narrated by an OFC and therefore probably a very bad idea.
5. Because you are so intelligent and, for lack of a less dorky word for me to use, refined, I'm curious - what's the most classically badass thing you've ever done?
Oh, I'm really not! It's, um, probably this.
My secondary school got new computers when I was 17, and told us all repeatedly and loudly how important it was that we changed our passwords from the default 'Password' (because Anyone Could Break Into Your Account If You Don't). We thought this was a bit of an overreaction (the computers had no internet connections, people didn't really keep anything on them), but also thought it was unlikely anyone would leave theirs as 'Password' after the third week of warnings. One of my friends bet me he could find ten people who had. Because of the way the account usernames worked, it was very easy to try the default password with random accounts, and indeed, at least ten people had left theirs unchanged.
We thought it would be, um, performing a public service to remind them to change their passwords. And that this reminder could take the form of a saved Word document titled 'READ ME NOW LITTLE PERSON' that was typed in 72-point font. And that it would be kind of boring to sign off as 'Another pupil'. So we invented a group of noncorporeal entities from another dimension that were caught up in the school's system by an evil spell cast by an intergalactic bandit masquerading as the music teacher, gave ourselves names, and left messages explaining who we were.
This was addictive.
A couple of days later, we'd found dozens of accounts with the default password, and some more with very easily-guessable ones (there was about a 1 in 5 chance of the 13/14-year-old girls picking 'Leonardo' back then). We'd set up a central messageboard on an abandoned account, and left messages on other accounts directing people there. We'd decided that we were actually noncorporeal entities in fierce competition with each other for, uh, something or other, and started trying to get people supporting us over the others. And people started noticing. After about two weeks, we had loads of messages on the abandoned account, with people forming small fan clubs and asking questions about how many of the teachers were really time-travelling noncorporeal demons in disguise (all of which were answered in detail), and people actually changing their passwords back to 'Password' so they could get messages of their own.
A few weeks into this, something went wrong with the school computers. It wasn't serious, and it wasn't anything to do with us, but somehow we got to the staff's attention. The first we knew about this was our Sith Lord of a headmaster calling the entire school together for an assembly to give us a long, blistering rant about 'the hackers', with affirmations that the people responsible would be suspended or expelled for what they'd done, because That Is How Seriously We Take Your Privacy And That Is How Seriously We View This Kind Of Malicious Activity, and a request for the guilty people to give themselves up voluntarily. Yeah, right.
After an emergency meeting to decide what to do, I wrote a long public explanation of our activities for the attention of staff and pupils, and left it on the abandoned account. It stayed in character, explained that we were benevolent noncorporeal entities that hadn't damaged anything, suggested that perhaps 'this educational establishment in which your people imprison their children' valued its pupils' privacy less than it claimed if it would really comb through their accounts to find evidence, and suggested that The True Explanation lay in supernatural forces working within the staff. I don't think we meant to, really - we got sort of carried away, and our audience were expecting certain things by then. Anyway, we changed the date/time setting (the admin password was 'admin') so it was last revised at a time when everyone had alibis, and waited.
They never found us out. I think they suspected us - we got grilled, good cop/bad cop style, by the IT teacher who was heading what he referred to as 'the investigation' (I mean, come on), and they made us look them in the eye and swear blind we hadn't done it. But they never caught us. We went away on exam leave a week or so after that, and although my younger brother told me the headmaster continued to mention 'the hackers' in assemblies, they must have decided to give up looking after a while. Although I did spend a few very long months waiting for the phone call.
eta: And I forgot the second part of the meme. If anyone wants me to ask them five questions, leave a comment below.