My lesson in remembering...

What if the human mind is far more similar to the modern day computer than we realise; maybe the human mind stores memories in a less organic way than originally thought? The reason why our brains are presently better than computer storage (until 2020 that is) might be the brain’s ability to evolve in memory-storage methods.

Children, with fresher minds, store memories with a relatively simple encoding, which have to be decoded using a similar method or cipher when required to be remembered or brought forth. As we age, our minds develop – being able to store greater volumes and largely more intricate memories by using evolved ciphers and encoding methods.

Maybe when we are exposed to a regressed state, such of that provided in a temporary state by certain narcotics or a more permanent state by means of tragic mental damage, our brains cannot cope with decoding the recent (or semi-recent) information stored using evolved and conditioned memory storage methods, leading to inexact or incomplete remembrance of recent events.

Conversely, in this state the mind the easily decodes memories made years earlier; and this may also lead the subject to experience 'flash backs' of very early memories. The mind may also slip into using the same touch-points of adolescent references, and will proceed to associate ideas, thoughts, objects and relationships to names and views once created and used many years before.

Maybe the dynamic encoding/decoding of memories could also play a part in old-age mind-behaviours or disease. As the brain reaches old age not only the methods of encoding memories loses it’s effectiveness but also the decoding. The inability to remember may come from the decoding ability slackening, this by incomplete decoding or the unable to regress to the previous ciphers used to encode earlier memories.

Maybe the common 'on the tip of my tongue' effect might be cause in the brain partly decoding certain information, while searching or trying out different ciphers in hope of finding the correct one to use to decode the remainder or information. This is way it often helps remembering something related to the thought or memory or one made at a close time to the creation of the memory. This will often trigger the brain to decode the memory in entirety as it has successfully used a similar cipher to decode the related thought or memory.

Although...
I'm not student of biology, or psychology; it's just a thought...

My lesson in telecommunications...

This continent is unavailable; please try again later.

Huh? Shit Blog.

My lesson in choice...

I'm sat in an airplane cabin at 14:35 on miserable Thursday afternoon. I say an airplane cabin but I really think it's a 'new-wave' Swedish Invisible-Pink-Unicorn Church cleverly disguised as an airplane cabin. Actually, it's one of these 'new', 'cheap' and 'funky' short-distance low-budget airline thingies.

But the airline and I obviously differ on the definition of their proclaimed attributes. Their interpretation of 'funky' is dressing the flight attendants in a clashing colour-combination of day-glow orange sleeveless puffer-jackets and carpet-green pinstripe-trousers. They think that this is 'cool', whereas I think they look like colour-blind Scandinavian idiots.

Anyway, we are marvellously in the air - 32k feet up. I generally am impressed. Why? Well, this plane is smaller than the average bus; I mean it has propellers. When was the last time you saw a propeller-engine airplane? I know when I did; it was in a retired plane-yard on a 1940's WWII fighter plane when I was seven.

With mid-flight approaching in this strange airplane, the beverage trolley squeaks up the aisle to pass out drinks to the thirsty church goers. Although food is an optional extra, drinks on this flight are included (figure that one out). The nice West-European gentleman methodically moves from passenger-to-passenger churning out served-beverages. "White wine for you", "Would you like ice?" "Coffee for the lady?", the usual stuff.

Now although I've travelled on close to 50 flights, I've never ordered alcohol before. Possibly because I hadn't yet properly discovered spirits but most probably because I was usually under the legal drinking age in most countries. But now I was thinking a "there's no time like the present" proverb-type thought and decided take the plunge (metaphorically).

I wait patiently as the steward professionally tends to the middle-aged German woman to my right with coffee and a generous biscuit. As he finishes, he glances my way with an "I'm-a-people-person" smile and bright pleasing eyes. "Would you like anything to drink, sir?" Being a plane-alcohol virgin, I say the only logical (naïve) thing I could think of: "Well, what do you have?" Well rehearsed and his smile unchanged, he replies "Everything, sir", smile.

Now I have been reading up on spirits for the prior 18 months, so I am quite well educated in tipple. I have also sampled quite a range wider than an average bar would stock, so I am also quite particular about my drinks. And there was only one drink I was in the mood for...

"Vermouth, please. Italian preferably; with a squeeze of fresh lime and a dash of chilled lemonade".

He looks at me for just long enough for me to know something was wrong. His smile disappears and is replaced with a deep frown between his eyes. "I'm sorry sir; you'll have to settle for vodka, whiskey or gin".

Brilliant.

My lesson in proverbs...

The keystroke is mightier than the pen and the sword...

My lesson in integrity...

It’s about 13:42. I’m sat in a quaint Chinese restaurant in an English city centre enjoying a Friday lunch. It’s well-lit, thanks to the over-sized panes flanking the entrance; the tired wooden furnishings don’t say much and they have the Chinese equivalent of Busted blaring out of the “entertainment” system. And I’ll stop there as this is starting to sound like a restaurant review.

Behind me sit two middle-aged Britons – with pints of Carling - incessantly discussing the finer nuances of premiership management. To my left are sat 3 Anglo-Chinese girls (American, specifically) and a Swedish girl. I feel sorry for the European, as she seems to have been roped into a “let’s get you into Chinese culture” excursion, whether she liked it or not.

They shallowly discussed their relationships with their grandmothers and Vivienne Westwood fashion in between the echoes of colloquial American conversational disbelief. “Ohmygod… you absolutely HAVE to holiday in Mexico” said the first girl, “Ohmygod, it’s soooo amazing” suggested the second, “You wouldn’t believe it, like, ohmygod” reiterated the third (actual conversation).

Well, three paragraphs in and instead of concepts about integrity, all we have are (mistaken) stabs at East Coast Americans. So, what about this integrity? Well, how about seven-pound-sixty of it? My week-end Chinese experience cost a total of £7.60.

So…? But before you say anything else, let me reveal:

The dishes weren’t the striking scintillating exotic portions that I expected, but in their stead lay seven or eight of the more “popular” (read: accessible) ones that do well across the lake. The crockery wasn’t the intricately decorated delicate bowls but rather extra-large Sunday roast sized platters. The chopsticks weren’t finely decorated ivory or finely carved Japanese Yew wood but rather vulgar unkempt birch implements stashed in a used curry tin so well hidden, I was amazed I found them.

After all of this I was still disappointed when, instead of a beautiful set of a tiny Chinese tea jug and cup, I was greeted with a standard British pot, cup and saucer; and my green tea without any tea leaves in it.

When I pursued the girl behind the counter about this blasphemy, she remarked that it was because the clientele didn’t like the leaves in their tea, so they use tea bags instead. Fuck me; we aren’t serving Earl Grey here. The English equivalent would be would be to walk into a carvery and a cosy Sunday afternoon and remark: “Hold the yorkshire geeza, I’ll ‘ave a large pancake instead”. Aren’t people missing the point?

It wasn’t the price that fuelled this rant; nay friend. I would’ve happily pay £10, £13 or £16 for a good meal. In fact, I enjoyed great authentic Chinese cuisine just down the way with a girlfriend, where I paid £42 for her and my meal.

I realised that what I really wanted was an authentic experience, all with a post-midlife-crisis Jackie Chan belting out Mandarin versions of Celine Dion’s extended discography in the background. I want four grey oriental guys sat in a corner digesting lemon-chicken and loudly debating the recklessness of the younger generation, while simultaneously watching China Central Television, and trying to cheat each other at Mahjong.

I want my little decorated food to be served in little decorated bowls, with little decorated spoons and chopsticks. Most of all, I want my Chinese tea with Chinese tea leaves in it.

I want restaurants that say “Chinese food” to serve Chinese food, not bastardised Anglo-Chinese derivations that have come acceptable because the public will not accept change or something that’s outside their comfort zone.

Where buzzards walk, turkeys will follow…

My lesson in beginnings...

The universe is spherical. It's definitely spherical; I don't know how to prove this to you yet, but it definitely is...