Genes and Memes

Christmas, whose red ribbons and green bows so concisely package that old fashioned feeling of dread. A hideous shape in the corner of the room, whose form has not yet fully appeared. An arduous orbit about a cold and isolated planet. Meekly measuring the distance gone of a journey never to be completed. Nothing comes together in the end, aside from the dust we came from and the dust we become.

Dawkins, like myself, participates in the holiday of Christmas "for family reasons, with a reluctance that owes more to aesthetics than atheistics". Thus Dawkins discerns that even the average atheist can choose to celebrate Christmas as any Judeo-Christian would, from the partridge to the pear tree.

I do not wish to dive into the details of my own Christmas affair, and indeed am having great difficulty in recalling my precise movements about Christmas day; if only to mention that I became overwhelmed by eggnog during a particularly desperate period of the afternoon, and christened my elder brother Gary's new en suite in a most unfortunate manner.

Before I had a taxi arranged for me by Gary's wife, I learned an important lesson. The next time that your nephew shows you a video on the internet of a dog eating its own faeces, and subsequent videos of other dogs eating their own faeces, and then a video of a person dressed up as a dog eating chocolate yogurt from on top of a toilet bowl to techno-music with lyrics saying “lol the dog is eating its shit”, remember to warn him that it is not appropriate. Just like I did when his father [my brother Gary] came in to see what his son was laughing at.

Though Gary is also an atheist, we have never found common ground to really foster a brotherly relationship since mother died, come to think of it, before even then. As children we were very close, but there was a point during adolescence where we simply stopped trying to amuse one another, stopped trying to provoke or impress each other. It still saddens me to this day that my relationship with my brother lost this dynamic. I do still love my brother very much, but I doubt I could impress him at all these days, even if I had Dawkins himself round for a game of rummy. I do not believe he would raise his eyebrows to a crowning achievement such as that.

But back to the dog eating its own faeces example. It is what the youth call an “internet meme”. Now did you know that Dawkins coined the term “meme”? It is a word he invented to explain the cultural equivalent of genes - a self-propagating entity of cultural information. Yet another example of the Dawkins scripture in perfect harmony with the modern social climate.

I wish to end this entry with a Dawkinian Christmas credo. May it ring true, friends: "understanding full well that the phrase retains zero religious significance, I unhesitatingly wish everyone a Merry Christmas."

In solidarity and in service during our year 2010, and indeed counting down the days until Dawkins arrives in our fair country,

The Doctor of Space and Time v The Professor for Public Understanding

Tom Baker’s behaviour with Dawkins’ wife can only be described as lurid. Stream the video below to discover some of the most disturbing flirtation during prime time advertising that modern man has borne witness to:

This gangly oddball couldn’t help it; Lalla is enchanting. Lalla is mesmerising. That I could tune out Baker in all manner and form so Lalla could simply beam directly into me and fill me with her light.

It is a shame that science fiction’s brain damaged great dane sniffed his way around her before she fell so savagely for Darwin’s pit-bull. Being disgusted by Baker from the outset is easy - he is an actor after all. But to twist the commandments of science like some actors fake plastic acting knife into the belly of fiction and force the working class to stare at you, while drinking lager from a can and beating their children, probably, as you [actor Tom Baker] act out the entire monstrosity on television is tantamount to a capital crime.

Even the thought of Tom Baker sends my stomach churning. I want to punch that pallid actor right in his asinine smirk, that stupid smirk that seems forever stranded on his face. He reminds me somewhat of my strumpet of an ex-wife. Not her per se, but the moronic males that she cohorts with during her walks along the Avon river. Well aware that I see her during my lunch breaks. Humiliating me with these grotesque public displays of affection that I never afforded her. Lillian, for Christ’s sake, as if I had not suffered enough.

Dawkins enjoys having neo-Darwinian literature read aloud to him by Lalla. No doubt a little Douglas Adams as well, but only in his memory. Dawkins would only appreciate science fiction in a purely ironic way.

Dawkins believes that humans are robot vehicles blindly programmed to preserve their genes. There is simply no space in this reality for likes of Tom Baker. So for all his touting about with Lalla, it is needless to say that the best man won. Reality may be harsh, Tom Baker, but at least in this case it is fair.

Queen of the Gene[ius]

Asteroid 8347...Lallaward. The wife of Dawkins has an asteroid named after her. This is a gesture that at the very least attempts to capture the celestial radiance of her soul. A befitting gift for the bearer of such a luminescent smile. But it is inadequate; she requires more still. Her inquisitive eyes, her effortless grace and her nubile body prevent a fading old man like myself from total collapse. An asteroid is not enough; Lalla brings worlds to life. She is a star. Her brilliance has burned itself into me. I look at pictures of her rarely, for I am overcome by her. I am terrified that seeing her in the flesh would be like staring into the sun - such an intense beauty would surely send a mere man like myself to blindness. But if I should go blind from seeing her, I pray that her image is forever seared across what once I did see. And that which has been lost from me over these passing dark years of my life would finally create a found man. However, she is a woman of such magnitude that only in the cosmos of Dawkins does she deserve to shine.

In our world, it is claimed that she is best remembered as the second actress to play the Time Lady Romana (Romanadvoratrelundar) in the British television program ‘Doctor Who.’ But for the sceptics, the realists, and indeed, in the history of our species; it shall be proclaimed that she was the wife of Dawkins.

Writer Douglas Adams introduced Lalla to Dawkins at Adams’ 40th birthday party. Lalla and Dawkins married later that year in 1992. For better or worse, Adams’ fiction will be consigned to but a footnote in comparison to what history will recognise as his greatest achievement; that of leading her to Dawkins.

Lalla has testified to the Dawkins encounter almost as though it was part of a divine plan: “It terrifies me, the sort of touch- and-go of it - what if I hadn't gone to that party? Luck of that kind so hangs in the balance; it's such a minute thing. If my father hadn't said, 'Go on, go out', I really don't know what my life would be like now. I try not to think about it too much. It's too frightening.”

Her impish and definitively feminine curiosity is overshadowed by Dawkins’ recounting of events; he describes the genesis of their relationship occurring in “a very showbizzy type of party”.

She had read Darwin's Origin of Species when she was only 15. Not only that, but the entire Dawkins catalogue of the day; from “Selfish Gene,” to “The Extended Phenotype,” the latter being a rather technical book designed less for attractive females and more for professional scientists. Lalla: actor, artist, embroiderer/knitter. Reader of Dawkins. And soon-to-be wife of Dawkins.

Dawkins loves showing Lalla off. And as far the rest of the world getting a glimpse of her formidable acting talent without having those loutish chops of Tom Baker flapping around her, Dawkins would approve, but only in certain permitted circumstances. Besides, Lalla is very involved in Dawkins' writing; she does delightful wee illustrations for them.

Below is a picture that I have framed above the dining room table. Admittedly the atmosphere is often disconsolate when dining alone. But with the picture, a bottle of sauvignon blanc and Arvo Pärt's 'Te Duem' playing gently in the background, my evenings often feel as rich and pleasant as those past years gone.

Keep The Trolls In The Fairytales.

There have been a series of comments left on this blog recently that are almost entirely disappointing. If I might quell the noise from "Fake Dawkins" below - for I know that you are not He.

Such excitement rose up in me upon opening my email page. When I saw that Richard Dawkins had left comments on my blog, I felt a sensation run through my body that I had not felt since I was a young man. That gut hit that one feels upon dropping a note of sweet nothings into a lover's letterbox, or the electricity at a live cricket match during the fast bowler's run-up as he strides in to deliver to the batsman. Obviously, when I read the content of the comments my mood deteriorated somewhat. I realised I had perforated the cork of the celebratory pinot noir prematurely. The bottle was an unopened gift from my wedding day (not to mention a spoil of the divorce) - a fine drop that I had been saving for a special occasion. Cursing my undue haste to celebrate any potential for joy in this wretched life, I drank the entire bottle myself, became extremely intoxicated, and made quite a mess in a manner that can only be euphemistically described as the creation of a flying spaghetti monster.

The next morning I explained the situation to my computer-savvy co-worker Steve, who manages the rural delivery system for library book loans. I informed him that someone who was presenting themselves as Richard Dawkins was making pejorative statements via the "comments" section of my blog. Steve's initial reaction was quite fervent laughter, which I confess I did not understand until he explained to me the foibles of the internet's "Wild West" - the blogosphere. Lo and Behold! My first post was proven accurate!

Steve said that Fake Dawkins is what is known as a "troll" on the internet. And so to you, Sir, I say this. I fully embrace your humour as a fellow traveler on the wide and open plains of the internet. But please, in the process of trying to be funny, don't be arrogant.

This blog is above all, a memorial to Dawkins. Although I appreciate your interest in the life and work of Dawkins, please do not denigrate both his teachings and my blog by insinuating that it is comical to you. Fake troll Dawkins, do you actually regard this as satire? I see no empirical evidence of this. If you think that some people might read this blog to laugh at me, then to respond in the form of the quip of Authentic Dawkins to troubled ex-pastor Ted Haggard during their exchange in The God Delusion video - wanna bet??

As for the other more civilised comment left by dear reader Galliwag: yes indeed! I have taken my annual leave for the purposes of documenting this historical occasion - I will endeavor to update the blog as often as possible around this time so as to capture the aura of Dawkins. On the aside, Darwin also met the shores of New Zealand, but I believe he contracted a virus around the time which lead him to conclude that it was not a pleasant place. Let us pray Dawkins enjoys our company more.


In Faith,

Clint and his Bint

Behind every great man is a woman. I find this a particularly facile phrase. However, it is hard to deny that if this reprehensible little maxim was logically sound, then it would operate under a sliding scale - a deity like Dawkins attracts only the truly great women.

In the human race, the men are the ones who have always fiercely competed in the run, sweating and staring ahead, taking small steps but achieving solid rhythm and sublime direction. The women are plastic cups of water that are placed at certain points of this race; they are potentially refreshing, but at crucial times they are also essential sustenance if the man wishes to complete the required distance.

This blog entry is a brief overview of two cups from which Dawkins drank. The climax will be contained in the next post of “Contact Dawkins”; his current wife Lalla Ward. She is the one who was briefly engaged in a cheap, tawdry affair with Dr Who.

I often think of the Dawkins women when I wish to take my mind off the more menial elements of my work or my bitter divorce. And so we turn to a brief overview of the Dawkins women:

Marian Stamp

Marian Ellina Stamp was Dawkins’ first wife, whom he married in 1967. They divorced 7 years later. Professor Stamp is the head of the Animal Behaviour Research Group at the University of Oxford. She is currently vice-principal of Somerville College. A seasoned author of several books, she is considered an expert in animal welfare.

Eve Barham

There has been little publication regarding Dawkins’ relationship with Eve Barham. Suffice to say, he preserved his genes with her. The couple produced a daughter in 1985, Juliet Emma Dawkins. Dawkins and Barham divorced in 1994.

When asked what he “did for fun” in an interview, Dawkins regaled that an honest answer would be “fucking”. Personally, each exchange in bodily fluids has left less of me; that strange thing in the centre of my former wife pumped me for information, and like a weak fool I was all too hasty to relinquish. I do not purport to be a great lover, but if you look closely at a picture of Dawkins, not only will you see that divine look of genuine genius in his eye, but a touch of sensuality that seems to be wryly whispering, “I’m fucking you right now.”