Set Theory involves the dynamics of grouping things. Data analysis is all about this. Set-In Theory involves the dynamics of things unwelcome come to stay. Gelling in an unpleasant mold.
There was an idea here that my life is just a subset of a billion lives identically pointless. Set Theory of humans living the same set-in depression.
Honestly, I think the only use of the phrase 'set in' that I've heard comes from Bruce Robinson's 1987 'Withnail & I'. Uncle Monty imparts an uncomfortable lament:
"The older order changeth, yielding place to new. God fulfils himself in many ways. And soon, I suppose, I shall be swept away by some vulgar little tumour. Oh, my boys, my boys, we're at the end of an age. We live in a land of weather forecasts and breakfasts that set in. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour. And here we are, we three, perhaps the last island of beauty in the world."
Vulgar little tumor. Monty's floridity vainly puffs its chest against the stark clarity of the inevitable.
It is a comic of cold winds, austere municipalities, lonely pedestrians, mirthless domesticity.
Set Theory involves the dynamics of grouping things. Data analysis is all about this. Set-In Theory involves the dynamics of things unwelcome come to stay. Gelling in an unpleasant mold.
ReplyDeleteThere was an idea here that my life is just a subset of a billion lives identically pointless. Set Theory of humans living the same set-in depression.
Honestly, I think the only use of the phrase 'set in' that I've heard comes from Bruce Robinson's 1987 'Withnail & I'. Uncle Monty imparts an uncomfortable lament:
"The older order changeth, yielding place to new. God fulfils himself in many ways. And soon, I suppose, I shall be swept away by some vulgar little tumour. Oh, my boys, my boys, we're at the end of an age. We live in a land of weather forecasts and breakfasts that set in. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour. And here we are, we three, perhaps the last island of beauty in the world."
Vulgar little tumor. Monty's floridity vainly puffs its chest against the stark clarity of the inevitable.
It is a comic of cold winds, austere municipalities, lonely pedestrians, mirthless domesticity.