This will hurt me...

For various reasons (most long since forgotten), I have spent a great deal of time engaged in situations where there has been a lot of talking about thinking about thinking about reading about thinking about thinking . The thing that strikes me most is that – underneath the discourse – if all we are doing is thinking about thinking, are we actually thinking ? Or does, perhaps, thinking about thinking equate to a form of intellectual masturbation , pleasurable, entertaining (for a time), but in all probability not honing our skills in any useful manner? Moreover, if we think too much about thinking, might we not affect our ability to think ? If it does, is this effect to enhance our thinking, or might it actually degrade our ability to think? Now, I’m not suggesting that we all just at once stop reflecting critically upon the processes that underlie and inform the way that we go about our thinking (or even our thinking about our thinking). Maybe my beef is not with think...

Here we have some clouds. Not just any clouds of course, but very rare Tasmanian clouds . As any proud Tasmanian will tell you, we very rarely get clouds around these parts. We are quite lucky down here at the arse end of the word (thank you Paul Keating ), quirks of history, geography and weather have engendered character traits in Tasmanians that are quite profound in both their homogeny and uniqueness . In general, Tasmanians are very trustworthy ; we rarely (if ever) lie , exaggerate or worship false idols . We wash behind our ears every time, and brush our teeth not twice, but three times a day . We love our mothers dearly , and we respect our fathers deeply . Tasmanian men in particular are excellent lovers , kind to their wives and are exceptional fathers. Tasmanian women are a credit to their gender ; they smile at the appropriate moments, frown when required , do not talk back to their husbands and benevolent (yet firm ) with their children. Tasmanian children are see...

Here is the standard view on the bus on the way back home from work. Stimulating, no? Even better when you're so tired that you struggle to remember if you've read the same sentence in your book seven, or eleven, times. I try to avoid talking about work here (last week was about TECHNOPARK , not work), but I just get something off my chest and I am wagering that no attendees would be aware of this part of teh Internets. Oh the joys of posting under your real name! Yes, I was back at work yesterday, and despite some tight deadlines, I found myself inevitably drawn into another of an ongoing procession of catered meetings. I find that each of these events very much blends into another, with the ever-present key theme of ‘going forward’. Quite how ‘going forward’ relates to a fixation on the past and an endless narrative of ‘need more money, need more money', I am not so sure. I did enjoy one new fellow sharing with the group that his role is one of “doing a lot of co-ordinati...