In the course of writing the previous entry ('My heart will go on'), I had a quick check around on the web to make sure that I had remembered all the details of the heart transplant programme correctly (that's how dedicated I am to accuracy, dear reader). Anyway, I came across the following nuggets of information in a discussion forum, and they are so wacky and wonderful I just have to share them with you. The only thing is I can't testify to the accuracy of this information (so much for dedication) as I am just copying the text wholesale, because I don't have time to research all of this. (The only changes I've made to the following is correcting spelling mistakes, e.g. they spelled octopus "octopuss" -- that is just morally wrong, unless of course it actually refers to some kind of eight-legged cat-type creature.)

So, apparently:

1) "There is a fungus in some tropical rainforest that infects an ant, then injects a chemical into the ant's bloodstream. The chemical puts the ant into a hypnotised automation, guiding it up into the treetops where the spores of the fungus burst from the ant's body, using the corpse as fertiliser.

2) It has been suggested that an octopus has small brains in each of its tentacles, but the weirdest thing is - scientists have witnessed an octopus detaching one of its tentacles and seemingly manipulating it by remote control. It's almost as though the detached limb either has its own consciousness or is under some bizarre telepathic mindset.

3) There is a group of bacteria-like life forms in North America that travels about in a single mass. It is nicknamed 'Dog's Dinner' as it looks like a puddle of sick. The creepy thing is that it doesn't have a brain or nervous system, no organs etc. It is a malleable mass of independent organisms that moves like the T-1000 across the ground.

4) There is an insect that gatecrashes an ant's nest and sprays ant pheromones everywhere to trick the ants into smelling the impostor as one of their own. It can even make pheromones to make the ants attack each other. The main aim of the chemical warfare, though, is to encourage an ant to come close enough to be able to spear its head with a straw-like mouthpiece and suck out its juices."

A fascinating documentary on Channel 4 a few weeks ago about heart transplant patients ('Mindshock: Transplanting Memories') offered some food for thought on the age-old "mind/body connection" question, as well as providing a grain of comfort for organ donors' loved ones. The documentary makers claimed there was evidence that some people who had undergone heart transplant surgery had mysteriously developed certain personality traits belonging to the donor after the operation.

The "evidence", although largely anecdotal, was compelling, and included examples such as a middle-aged teetotaler developing a craving for beer and chicken nuggets after receiving the heart of a 19-year-old with such tastes, and a barely literate man from Northern England who suddenly began writing romantic poetry for his wife after he was given the heart of a poet. The organ recipients did not have access to any details of their donors' lives at the time of their operations.

The theory put forward to explain this phenomenon was that the heart is not "just a pump", as current medical thinking describes it, but is in fact "a thinking, sentient organ" with the capacity to "remember". So some of the organ donor's memories had been transferred to the new heart recipient, according to the programme.

Supporting this new view of the heart is a stack of physiological arguments -- some widely accepted, others more contentious. Some scientists now claim that the heart has its own "little brain" because a self-contained set of neurons have been discovered close to the heart, which in theory would enable the heart to have a memory function. The programme makers also pointed out that the heart communicates with the (big) brain via blood, hormones and through a large amount of electromagnetic activity. In fact, it is known that the heart sends more information to the brain than the brain itself sends to the heart. (In addition, the heart was found to respond faster than the brain to stimuli, in experiments involving the monitoring of responses to highly emotive images.)

But for me the most convincing theory put forward in support of "heart memories" involves the understanding of the way that memory itself functions. The scientific jury is still out on a comprehensive explanation of how memory works, but it is accepted that the memory function is distributed among neurons and that memories are stored in several areas of the brain. Some of the scientists quoted in the documentary posited that it is in fact quite possible that memories are stored throughout the nervous system in the body, and not just in the head. Why should memory stop at the neck?, one doctor asked.

If the heart, and perhaps other organs, can "think", "feel" and "remember", the implications are far-reaching, but I don't want to take up any more space on this topic, so I'll let you draw your own conclusions. Instead, I'll leave you with a Smiths lyric that sums up the argument neatly (and probably more succinctly than my waffling): "Does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body?" (from 'Am I Still Ill?'. Perhaps the title was referring to people on the heart transplant waiting list...)

I have of late been a bit quiet in my ongoing war against the customer service axis of evil (apart from my recent suggestion that all "retail assistants" be replaced by robots). But you'll be glad to know I've had a bit of a resurgence, with two skirmishes in the past week.

The first incident began with a polite attempt to glean information from staff at Maplin's electronics store as to whether they had a particular item in stock, and ended with me shouting "Thanks a lot. Thanks FOR NOTHING!" as I stormed out of the shop. I will spare you the boring in-between details. A friend has since suggested the innovative solution of stealing things from the store, as he does, thus eliminating any need to interact with staff.

The second incident is much more low-key but nonetheless quite mortifying. In fact I am only confessing it in the hope that admitting my petty-mindedness will somehow win me back some good karma. This afternoon I emailed Green Isle (yes, the makers of frozen food) to enquire as to why their products only carry instructions for cooking with electric ovens, and not with gas ovens. I know. Trust me, I know. It's incredibly sad. I have all the power of the internet at my fingertips, and that's all I can think of to do with it. (Well at least I'm not looking at porn.) My only defence is that somewhere, deep down, I'm secretly hoping that my actions will result in crates of free fish fingers and chips being delivered to my door for ever more. Only problem is, I won't know how to cook them. Unless maybe Green Isle gives me an electric oven too...

Just thought I'd let you know that, from this Friday the 16th of June, our friends at the Maximum Joy club can be found in a new venue on the Southside of the city: Kennedy's of Westland Row. (The move follows rumours that the Maxi Joy crew were deemed way too dangerous for the Northside of the city, with neighbours of Smithfield's Tap bar complaining about the bad influence exerted by noisy guitar bands, boys who dare to make music without words - sometimes without even using any real instruments - and namby-pamby DJs who play stuff what you don't hear on the radio.)

For their Southside debut, Maximum Joy claim to have secured "two of the best live acts in the country" - Hystereo and (Retards). The latter I shall now unofficially re-name The Retards, because (Retards) is just stupid. (I do hope those last five words are never quoted at me out of context.) Anyways, if they're so good, how comes I haven't heard of them, I want to know. (Maybe I've spent too long on the Northside.) For details visit the Maximum Joy mySpace page.

Here at Sy5 central, we like to think of ourselves as robot-friendly. So we were delighted to learn that the first robot shop assistant has been rolled out (literally, because it's on wheels!) in a Japanese department store. You can read all about it here, and see how cute he is. (Also, check out all the robot-related content in the left-hand margin.)

Personally I would love to see all shop assistants replaced by robots. Shopping would become a much more pleasant experience. And the people who were formerly employed as shop workers could be redeployed... as robot assistants. No, I'm not proposing that they be turned into Cybermen; they could become assistants to the robots. Robo-buddy could be their job title. Maybe they would get to keep the robot in their house and drive it to work every morning... Maybe I should stop this before I get carried away. Or taken away.

What is the story with the sudden influx of enormous pop-up ads all over mySpace, with no 'close this window' button? Has anyone else experienced this? It's actually impossible to see the page you're visiting as there is no way to make the pop-up go away. I can't see any way around it other than to press the "back" button and then try to load the page again. I even have two pop-up blockers turned on but they are ineffective.

The experience is completely anti-user-friendly. Is it even legal to display ads with no "close" button, I wonder? It's definitely bad practice anyway. I've e-mailed customer service to complain about it, and I've also tried to e-mail "Tom" about it, but he is "away". I would encourage others to e-mail customer service and Tom about this, before MySpace ends up as one huge flashing, revolving advert that bursts out of your monitor, wraps its fingers round your throat and screams into your face until you start to cry...

Klezmer music can most simply be described as 'Jewish wedding music' but of course, like most folk music, it has a long and colourful history, in this case dating back to the 15th century (according to Wikipedia). I've also seen it referred to as 'gypsy ska', but I like to call it 'music that will make you happy'. Its traditional association with weddings means that most of the music is celebratory and played very fast, with vocals largely consisting of someone shouting 'aiiee aiiee aiiee!' It's music designed for dancing, and it has the terrifying effect of making you want to jump and down like an idiot clapping your hands and shouting 'aiiee aiiee aiiee'.

Two bands played on the night: The North Strand Klezmer Band* (clarinet, accordion, guitar, alto sax, percussion, double bass) and jazz/klezmer outfit Hora (fiddle, sax, bass guitar, drums). The good news is that both of these bands are from Dublin so they should be playing in a venue near you some time soon (check out the NSKB's MySpace page for details). Indeed, from what I can gather, the NSKB have a habit of popping up on street corners unexpectedly, as evidenced on Saturday night, when, hours after the gig, an impromptu session broke out on Ormond Quay after pub closing. Passersby, including two Gardai, seemed somewhat bemused to see a small crowd of people smiling, clapping, jumping up and down and shouting 'aiiee aiiee aiiee' to the accompaniment of an accordion, saxophone and guitar. Slightly less bemused was an auld Dublin hard chaw, who stumbled into the group, demanding to know where them gypsies were from. (There's always one, isn't there?) He seemed rather miffed to learn that they hailed from no more exotic a location than our very own North Strand.  

[*Update: The NSKB have changed their name to the North Strand Kontra Band. Their page is now at: http://www.myspace.com/thenorthstrandkontraband ]

Anurag Dikshit. The co-founder of PartyGaming, the world's biggest online-gaming company, A. Dikshit is probably wealthy enough not to mind the odd monkey having a bit of a giggle at his name.

Myself and my colleagues in the urban jungle here collect unusual names (well, one can't spend all day eating bananas and rooting fleas out of each other's fur, you know). Last year we gave out an imaginary award for the "best" name of the year. The winner was Willie Chewitt. There was stiff competition, however, from Titus Suck, Puffin Moynihan and Queenie Wong. Yes, these are all real people.  

While Mr Dikshit has afforded us some amusement today, the strongest contender to date for this year's award is still Wiliardi Wizard, the South Jakarta chief of police. It's the best name ever!

There's only two programmes I watch on TV - 'Lost' and 'Doctor Who'. Two out of the last three episodes of 'Doctor Who' have had me close to tears (but that could be just because I'm ridiculously susceptible to on-screen emotional manipulation and would probably cry at a Julia Roberts movie if I didn't think I'd be eternally ashamed of myself). Last Saturday's 'Doctor Who' was particularly affecting. I think it was called 'The rise of the Cybermen'; the plot centred on an army of "men (and women) of steel" who were created by an evil genius by carving up live humans and transplanting their brains into oversized steel body suits, thus granting them "eternal life". Quite horrifying.

In the end the army was overcome through induced self-destruction. The Doctor figured out that, while their brains functioned like those of normal people, the new species' emotions had been "inhibited", thus robbing them of their humanity and rendering them cold, logical and merciless. When the Doctor and his cohorts managed to reverse the emotional inhibitor, the Cybermen suddenly realised what they had become and, unable to cope, came to a standstill, their "death" caused by psychological and emotional breakdown. It was quite tragic to watch as the "robots" mourned the loss of their humanity and realised that, rather than living forever, they had in fact already died, when that indefinable essence was taken away from them.

Then again, I probably would have been equally upset had Julia Roberts popped up, fallen in love with one of the robots and then lost him to a serious case of rust following a steamy shower scene.

One of the books I'm reading at the moment is the classic yoga philosophy text, "Patanjali's Yoga Sutras(/Aphorisms)". The explanatory text has an interesting note about pain and suffering that I'd like to share with you. (If you don't mind, go back and re-read that last sentence in the voice of Marvin the Paranoid Android from "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". See? Much better!) I'm paraphrasing the following from memory, so forgive me if I don't get it quite right.

Pain, it says, is connected to our concept of time. Time is an artificial construct that we have created (according to Patanjali); it is not a "real object" in itself. What is real are individual moments. And the entire universe changes from moment to moment. So if we are feeling sad or if we are in pain, we shouldn't think "I was sad all day yesterday" or "I'm going to be upset about this for weeks". If we can break time down into moments, we can realise that perhaps, in fact, we only experienced sadness at 9:09, 13:45, 22:22 etc. In between times we were actually okay, perhaps not even thinking about what was upsetting us. In fact, this book says, the Buddhists developed a technique for coping with torture based on this concept -- only focusing on the actual experience of the present moment.

Breaking down our conventional view of time can help because much of our suffering is based on our memories of past pain or anticipation of future hurt, both of which are strongly linked to our concept of time.

So now. That should cheer you up on a rainy Monday!