Tuesday, December 18, 2007

This Month in Irrational Hate

I’m generally a pretty easygoing person, but there are still some things that piss me off. Since the holidays are approaching, I’ve decided to purge myself of this anger. So, in the spirit of the season, here are some explanations for my irrational hatred.

Cover bands that tour

Most famous bands started out playing covers. By that logic, cover bands have decided to never progress musically. If creativity is the driving force behind art, these unoriginal fucks are stick figures of the musical world. Who even supports cover bands? It’s like responding to a craving for filet mignon by hitting up the McDonald’s drive-thru.

If their inability to produce their own music, style or appearance isn’t enough to prove their complete lack of creativity, their tragically awful band names are all the evidence you need. Most of them go the boringly descriptive route by adding Cover Band to the name of the group they’re aping. Sorry, but the Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Cover Band just doesn’t light up the marquee. Alternately, they’ll use a song title or famous lyric of the group in question, a la Who’s Bad? Of course, they then have to add the descriptor in parenthesis (Michael Jackson cover band) or people might be tricked by the premise of seeing a group that has actually written a song. As a last resort, they’ll come up with some vague reference to the band’s history or historiography, like Zoso (the Led Zeppelin cover band).

It says something when the best compliment a cover band can possibly get is that they were a lot like a much more popular group. “Man, they nailed Welcome to the Jungle.” Hey, that’s great bro. I bet your roommate will let me watch him 95% it on Guitar Hero for free, and I’d technically be a lot closer to seeing the real Slash.

From what I understand, a lot of people go see cover bands of classic groups because they will never get to see their favorite band in concert. Well, guess what – you still never will. I can hang out with a crack-addled hobo for 3 hours, but that doesn’t mean I’ve met the real Jesus. Even if I could suspend disbelief enough to pretend I was actually seeing a live Black Sabbath show, I refuse to support a group of adults whose life’s goal is achieving abject mediocrity by leeching off someone else’s success.

Photos of your dog

No I don’t hate animals. In fact, I have a dog. I love my dog. I take pictures of my dog. What I don’t do is create a Facebook photo album about my dog, or store them in my digital camera so that I can show every one of my friends seven different pictures of her. Pets mean a lot to you. They mean a lot to only you. No one wants to see 10 different angles of you holding little Albert, or Daisy blurrily chasing a tennis ball.

When I was little, my cat climbed into a watering can at a family party, and every gathered around and took pictures. I showed that picture to my friends. Why? Because it was incredibly cute. It was a kitten in a watering can. Cute animal pictures are great, and I encourage them to be shared. But 95% of the time, pet pictures aren’t cute. They are boring, and the person viewing them has no emotional attachment whatsoever. If I want to know what your new Jack Russell terrier looks like, I’ll google “Jack Russell terrier puppy.” I think that’ll give me a pretty clear idea

At least with baby pictures, people have the excuse that they spawned the tiny human through a physical act. All you did was pay a sum of money. I might as well show you pictures of my home theatre setup, it probably cost more. If your pet photo isn’t cute enough to be on a calendar, keep it on the fridge.

People that don’t own televisions

Look, if you don’t watch TV, that’s fine by me. I agree that the vast majority of TV Land is mindless drivel and Nair infomercials. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past five years of breakout discussion sections, it’s that people who don’t own a TV love letting everyone know they don’t own a TV.

This Onion article sums it up pretty well. Not owning a TV is one thing, but almost everyone that doesn’t own a TV turns it into their favorite conversation piece, whereupon they smugly imply that they are above pop culture, while you are a mindless pawn conforming to the commercial hegemony. These are the kind of people that get off on name-dropping Descartes and make sure not to like any bands you’ve ever heard of. They love to patronize you by asking you to explain any show you accidentally mention, ‘cause they’ve never seen it. They read, you uncultured schmuck.

God forbid anyone ask why they don’t have a TV. The most elite of them will shoot you some lines about how they decided it was a detriment to society and they had better things to do with their time, Congratulations, asshole. How much better is your life now? I guess those Amish must be really living the high life, they don’t even have electricity. Why don’t you move to a Renaissance Fair if you’re that turned off by the luxuries of the modern world? Everyone knows the real reason is that you couldn’t afford cable and you just got used to not having one.

Otherwise, they play the “my parents never had a TV” or “we only had like 5 channels” card whenever possible to assure you they've been cultured since their youth, conveniently failing to mention that they loved the Ninja Turtles actions figures they weren’t allowed to buy and were extremely excited to spend the night with Phillip, cause that meant they could watch the Transformers movie on VHS.

If religion is the opiate of the masses then not owning a TV is the jenkem. Sure, it’s original and unique and saves you money. But in the end you’re pretentious, alone, and getting high from inhaling your own shit.

Peanut allergies


Yeah, it’s not their fault, they were made that way, it’s like being racist or homophobic, whatever. Black peoples’ genetic makeup doesn’t intrude on everyday life. Elementary schools are altering lunch menus and not allowing people to bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to school because of a few kids who are so allergic to peanuts that airborne pathogens can set off an attack. I understand equality and everything, and not wanting to discriminate against those that are different. But I think we are nearing the breaking point of that logic. At one point in human history, Spartans judged babies on their physical attributes and discarded those that were unfit for society. Now we are coddling to the extremely specific needs of people that God Himself is trying to poison?

Have anyone ever heard of Charles Darwin? This is a prime example of natural selection at work. If these genetic mutants keep surviving and breeding we are going to reach a point where a Super Soaker full of peanut oil becomes a lethal weapon.

If I’m unlucky enough to sire a child with one of these malformed immune systems, I’m going to buy an economy pack of epinephrine shots and wean him with incremental doses of Reese’s Pieces until he can enjoy a sack lunch without slapping George Washington Carver in the face. What kind of life is it if you can’t eat Chick-Fil-A nuggets, anyway?

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Sleeeeya, Bobby


Bobby Petrino's disastrous, comically short tenure with the Atlanta Falcons came to a merciful end today when he took the head coaching job that Houston Nutt held for three years too long at Arkansas. As sad as it is that a college coach jumping to the NFL (roughly a 13% success rate) who alienated every veteran on the team, juggled quarterbacks regularly and seemed utterly overwhelmed running an NFL team or being a decent human being backed out of the remaining four years on his contract, this is a glorious day for Falcons fans. It's true that Petrino never really had a chance once the Vick scenario blew up. But honestly, he couldn't have handled the season any worse. With Petrino at the helm, the Falcons cut their best defensive lineman for no real reason (other than tanking for a draft pick, but how vital can defensive lineman be on a team that starts Chris Redman at any point), benched their starting quarterback just as the team stupifyingly re-entered the playoff race, and failed to create any form of identity whatsoever.

1. DeAngelo Hall's chances of being on the team next year increase by 345%.
Let's face it, it was Petrino or DeAngelo this offseason, and there was no way Blank was firing a brand new head coach because of a player with attitude problems. So DeAngelo, the best player on the team and the most vocal member of the majority of veterans who despised Petrino was well-entrenched on a path to martyrdom. There's no guarantee we won't still trade the hopefully less-disgruntled cornerback, but this certainly lowers the odds.

2. We may not draft Brian Brohm.
If there was a sure thing in this draft, besides the Patriots pissing everyone off by getting Run-DMC with the 49ers pick, it was Petrino reuniting himself with his star Louisville quarterback. The stars couldn't have been more aligned, we desperately needed a signal-caller, Petrino was familiar with Brohm, and Brohm was already projected as a top-5 pick. I'm sorry, but nothing about Brian Brohm excites me. He runs a gimmick offense well, but not well enough to win more games than Stefan LeFors, the last star Louisville QB who is now the backup quarterback for the Edmonton Eskimos. Now, the doors are open for the Falcons to snatch Glenn Dorsey and wait on a second-round quarterback or make the logical move and trade down to acquire more picks.

3. The SEC is absolutely disgusting.
No, Arkansas will not be great next year, since McFadden will be going pro and Houston Nutt chased Mitch Mustain out of town for reasons that could only be defined by consulting the APA's diagnostic statistics manual. But Petrino has proven that he's a great college coach, and great college coaches bring great recruits, craft great offenses, and give off a great aura that makes players overachieve. With Kentucky and Vanderbilt now good and solid respectively, Brandon Cox no longer holding Auburn down, and Alabama preparing to retaliate against the Japanese, the NCAA should count SEC losses as three-fifths of a loss for BCS purposes. Fortunately, Mark Richt won't be replacing Bowden at FSU in two years. Thank you, Jimbo Fischer.

4 The Falcons need a coach.
Obviously. No names have been bandied about yet, but I have a dream. Here is that dream's logic:
Arthur Blank has struck out twice with the "bring in a young guy" approach. He needs a veteran, a proven leader who will receive instant respect in the locker room. Moreover, he now realizes that he chose the wrong side in the Dan Reeves/Michael Vick debate. The biggest name that will be talked about this offseason is Bill Cowher, but Cowher seems unlikely to take on a rebuilding team just a year after leaving a Super Bowl contender. Bill Parcells is too recently retired, he'll need at least a year before he comes back to the league. That leaves one magical solution to all of our problems, fresh off being vindicated after a ridiculous firing and ready to prove himself to the league again.



Bring on Martyball.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Castles: An Essay


Marked by a thunderous hum and a sky suddenly littered with arrows as valiant knights on horseback scream their battle cries, the opening scene of a great castle siege is among the most fantasized events of the middle ages. The romanticized monolithic fortress planted picturesquely inside a deep moat is certainly breathtaking, but few understand the centuries-long process that was the evolution of castles. Medieval castles were invaluable methods of defence; if built well, a castle enabled a small garrison of soldiers to withstand assault from a large army, an attribute which was important in the rapid influx of castles into medieval society (Braun, 60). The history of castles predates the word castle and, as did many of mankind's remarkable achievements, arose from the necessity of war.

The dawning of the age of castles has no distinct beginning. Fortifications were commonplace since well before the middle ages; in fact, the ruins of many Roman forts became the bases for future constructions. The earliest related Anglo-Saxon castle theories date to the early tenth century, when King Alfred developed his burgh system. Under Alfred, a series of fortified towns were created in Wessex. These towns, called 'burhs,' were all less than 20 miles apart and had a similar design. The burhs, some of which were re-used Iron Age or Roman forts, served as a refuge for people and property of Alfred and other Anglo-Saxons during the 10th century (Campbell, 153-153). Though burhs were by no means castles or even their clear-cut predecessors, the burgh system evidenced early thought of territorial defence in Europe.

The innovation of the castle as it was come to be known is credited to western France of the ninth and tenth centuries. The dangerous and unorganized territories provided two preconditions for the development of a castle society. The first was a lack of prominent authority and public rule, resulting in many smaller, private wars. The second condition is the recognition of the castle as symbolic of the power and prestige of its primary resident or creator (Platt, 4). The idea of imperial palaces was certainly not new, however, and Germanic and Celtic mead-halls had long been used to entertain guests and express authority (Thompson, 3). When these conditions came together, private fortifications began springing up in western France as a means of defence and status.

The introduction of the castle system to England came in 1066, with William the Conqueror bringing Norman ideals across the channel. Born around this time was a new Norman strategy of war, one the Anglo-Saxons had yet to fully capitalize on. Men of war realized that before conquering new lands, the protection of one's own territory was paramount to a successful empire. This concept served as the basis for siege warfare (Contamine, 101). During William's invasion, the Normans began making makeshift fortifications along their route and, under William's command, further fortifying these structures when they had captured a territory. These early fortresses and castles served as military bases and defensive refuges for the Normans and began spreading around the country. Within a year of William's conquest, three castles, including the elaborate stone White Tower of London, were erected in London for ‘protection against the populace’ (Braun, 32). As Norman monk and historian Orderic Vitalis said, "The English, though brave and warlike, had very few of those fortifications which the French call 'castles' in their land. It was this that made their resistance to their conquerors so feeble (Platt, 1-5)."

The premise of the medieval castle draws upon one of the most basic concepts of war, the idea of fighting from the higher ground. As Braun writes, “the ditch is the fundamental factor in all fortifications” (6). The advantages are fairly clear: struggling uphill slows an assault and makes the attacker an easy target for projectile weapons. The earliest castles were not stone towers but simple, strategically placed earthworks and timber. Fortifications consisting of ditches and banks had been in practice since the second half of the ninth century, but had become increasingly larger. In the mid to late tenth century, these hilltop ditch and mound defences became stronger and more permanent. Two types of earthworks-based castles came into use around this time. The first was a defensive bank and ditch, known as a ‘ring-work’. The second was a raised mound, known as a 'motte.' The motte was the centre of the early castle. Generally the most important building was placed atop the motte. In addition to the motte, builders began defending the raised courtyard of the castle, known as the bailey. Usually bailey defence was a 'palisade' or 'brattice' made of tightly bound timbers. Baileys were also often raised up inside the ditch, and some early innovators surrounded the ditch with 'zareba's', or quickset thorn bushes. The motte-and-bailey castle became the prototype for medieval European castles. Their importance is implied in the Bayeux Tapestry, which contains images of fortifications on exaggerated raised mounds (Grape, 103, 109, 111-114). This emphasis on the raised characteristic of castles demonstrates the increasing value of such constructions.

As castles become more commonplace, so to did methods of attacking them. A key element in the history of castles is the idea that castle technology never stopped. Siege warfare was a constant series of innovations, reactions, predictions and anticipation. When a new method of assault was discovered, castle builders soon developed their own new methods of countering it. The process resulted in a steady stream of innovations on both sides. This applied not only to new castles, but to existing ones as well. No castle was ever complete, as they had to evolve with the technology of the day’s military to remain relevant. One of the first major drawbacks to early wooden castles was fairly obvious: they were susceptible to the weapon of fire. The response was equally simple, as many castles began building with stone instead of wood. Castles used rocks, stones and rubble, with lime mortar as the binding material (Thompson, 99). Those that already had wooden motte-and-bailey structures often fortified with stone.

A significant development occurred in 1068, when Baldwin de Meules constructed Exeter, a stone castle utilizing a ring-work defence. Exeter was unique in that it was among the first castle to build a stone gatehouse marking the entrance to the castle (Platt, 11). This gatehouse would be adopted by both stone and wooden castles as a method of preventing fires and generally slowing intruders. The practice of guarded gate-towers soon became common, and gates were used to funnel attackers into one well-defended area of the castle. Shortly after Exeter, Alan the Red constructed Richmond Castle in North Yorkshire. While many early castles were designed as displays of wealth moreso than defence, Richmond was specifically designed to protect settlers and demonstrate possession of the territory. The castle was triangular, using the lie of the land for a natural defence on one side. It included stone walls with four towers and a great gate-tower at its northern end. While gates became popular rather quickly, these castles were exceptions rather than the rule, as stone castles did come into general acceptance until around 1100.

From the first stages of motte-and-bailey castles, focus was put on the central building. This main tower, called the tower or ‘donjon’ at the time, is now commonly known as the ‘keep.’ The keep often housed the main hall, the cathedral, the kitchen, the well and residences (Braun, 28-30). The ground floor was typically windowless, to keep intruders out, and was used as storage. Keeps were originally just two-stories, but eventually became defensive stone towers. These tower-keeps were square, stone buildings, usually two to four stories tall. Keeps usually had thick walls with arrow slits throughout. As they developed, keeps began to house the lord of the castle and serve as the primary defence (Braun, 39-42). Stone keeps, no longer endangered by fire, soon faced new military opposition.

With fire losing its effectiveness as a primary siege technique, technology had to find a way to counter the stone castle. By the end of the twelfth century, castles would face several new advances in siege warfare. One of the most revolutionary of these was the trebuchet, a devastating siege weapon. The trebuchet was the result of Henry II sending 500 carpenters to Syleham in 1174. The catapult, which functioned essentially like a giant see-saw, could launch stone, rock, horses and severed heads over the walls of the castle. Combined with mangonels, which were smaller wound catapults, the prospect of damage by these missiles prompted more adaptations to the castle structure. The addition of projectile damage, combined with the constant threat of mining and possibly the result of Arab influence during the Crusades, caused the square keeps to evolve into polygonal or cylindrical shapes (Braun, 64-69). The shape decreased the surface area of the tower, making it less susceptible to collapse from mining and serving to deflect missiles. An example is the tower built by Henry II at Orford, a sophisticated cylindrical tower with three turrets (Platt, 39). Henry’s reign would see the last great square keep at Scarborough (Braun, 45).

Trebuchets created a danger not just to the structure of the keep, but to the inhabitants of the castle as well. In a stone castle, a stone thrown with such force would explode into deadly shrapnel if it made contact with a stone part of the castle. The preventative measure developed by the castle was to increase the height of the castle walls, which in turn made mining a prime offensive strategy.

Stone castles were large and heavy, with walls up to 10 feet thick and seemingly impervious. The answer to this design was the technique of mining. Castle mining involved teams of workers digging underneath the castle, supporting the mine with wood, then setting it aflame and watching a keep collapse under its own weight (de Pizan, 59; Braun, 45). In response, castles made several structural adaptations. Some keeps featured enlarged bases, called ‘batters’ increasing the area miners had to dig. These bases also caused objects dropped by defenders from the top of the keep to ricochet at attackers. Another development was that of ‘machicolations’, or galleries which projected out from the edge of the castle. Machicolations had holes in the floor, which could be used to drop missiles onto defenceless miners (Braun, 68-69; Johnson).

Mining created a great panic in 1215, when John successfully mined the keep of Rochester during a siege. Castle builders and owners panicked, and the developments of moats swept Europe. A great example of a castle built with miners in mind can be seen at Kenilworth. With a great keep complete with a batter and strategic arrow slits, Kenilworth was also surrounded by an enormous lake - too big to be classified as a moat, the massive water defence was called a ‘mere’ (Braun, 45-46).

During the transition to stone, castle designers struggled with how to fit as many people as possible into the defensive structures of the castle. They soon came up with a solution, exemplified by the massive castle Dover. Known as the ‘belt and braces solution,’ designers decided to focus on adequate outer defences which allowed for less compact living quarters inside those defences. This concept led to an innovation consisting of a stone wall, often called the ‘curtain wall’ with connecting ‘mural,’ or wall, towers. Such towers were placed 20-50 m apart – close enough so that the wall could always be defended by one of the towers (Thompson, 99). The walls at the tops of towers, known as ‘parapets,’ needed to protect defenders while still allowing them to see the battlefield and return fire. A practice which had been in use since palisades was applied to towers as the tops were ‘crenulated.’ Crenulated parapets had series of gaps or ‘crenels,’ in the wall to allow defenders to fire or look quickly, without rising above the wall, before returning to cover.

The thirteenth century was certainly the peak age for castles as military structures in Europe. An important event that spurred the further development of castles was Chateau-Gaillard, a fascinating castle built by Richard I upon his return from the Crusades in the late 1190s. This castle featured a tower keep as its strongpoint, but also included beaked towers, a splayed base and full-functioning machicolations. Richard’s enthusiasm and dedication to the castle signalled the transition of the castle from primarily a residence and display of wealth to a full-fledged military unit, a stronghold of defence and integral cog in medieval warfare. The greatest innovation of Chateau-Gaillard, however, was the three successive lines of defence it contained. The castle had an outer, middle and inner bailey protected by a cylindrical tower, as well as several curtain walls and a guarded bridge. The concept displayed by Richard’s castle is that of ‘concentric’ defence. This meant that attackers were forced to fight between two or more areas of defence, causing them to take fire from multiple angles (Platt, 99).

The late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries also saw the innovation of defences for the castle’s weakest point, the main gate. One such creation was that of the ‘barbican.’ Originally meaning any work outside the castle, the barbican came to be recognized as a structure of parallel walls in front of the main gate, which funnelled attackers and created flanking opportunities for the gate’s guard towers. Defence of the main gate was also enhanced by the portcullis, a sliding metal grill which had none of the weaknesses of a wooden door. Apertures in the vault of the gate passageway, known as murder holes, allowed defenders to rain missiles on attackers or douse fires from a safe distance. With these advances, the weak point of the castle had become the centre of defence. In addition to improvements in gate defence, coursed core walls were also developed to enforce stone walls against the danger of a metal-pointed bore, which could crack the walls with a solid blow (Thompson, 99-102).

The medieval castle period peaked with Edward I, who built six huge castles in Wales while encouraging and even subsidizing the construction of many others. Castles of the period had been refined to focus on three main features. They needed to have a square or rectangular shape, for maximum defensive range. They needed concentric defence, and they needed to utilize water as a defence whenever possible. The period of Edward’s reign, in the late thirteenth century, also saw the beginning of the decline of castles. Lords begin reverting to their earlier style of showcasing wealth rather than providing maximum defence. Gunpowder was beginning to be widely adopted, and gun turrets in towers would be one of the last major changes in castle warfare. While castles grew grander and more luxurious, technology for their defence slowed. For two centuries castles survived, but their military advancement had plateaued and the end was growing near as cannons became larger and more powerful. In 1511, the last old-style castle was constructed by the Duke of Buckingham in Gloucestershire (Johnson, 150). Castles built after this time were nothing more than glorified mansions. Once a symbol of pride and a stalwart of defence, the castle had become archaic, an obsolete fortress in an ever-developing military chess match.