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I have argued for a while that Epicureanism is a refinement of Hedonism and Stoicism is an advanced development from Epicureanism; "To live, to live well, to live better" (Whitehead, "The Function of Reason"). Each of these represents a qualitative change and, as one learns in the business of Quality Assurance, that is defined as improved precision and is differentiated as a continuum of accuracy, ultimately from "high quality" to "low quality". I find that this applies to people as well as processes; inconsistent people, who fluctuate between emotive extremes, can occasionally be enjoyable and exciting, but ultimately are hurtful and exhausting and are thus best avoided, no matter who is enticing the good times are. Such people invariably are unsuccessful in life; quality requires both a degree of consistency and reflective, tested, improvement.

Over the past few days, I have been fortunate enough in life to experience a few examples of high-quality experiences. The first was an evening of music, which I attended with Kate. This was headlined by the Paul Kidney Japanese Experience, and supported by The Black Heart Death Cult and Cat Crawl. All performed with great competence in accordance with their particular style. "Cat Crawl" (who describe themselves as "a three-piece tantrum in the form of a band") provided early 1980s-style feminist punk with humour, whilst in comparison "The Black Heart Death Cult" were a gloomy-shoegaze fusion, reminiscent of the French "blackgaze" from the 2000s. Finally, the Paul Kidney Japanese Experience gave something akin to a Japanese version an extended Hawkwind space rock concert. All in all, a great night with a great variety of styles. As a radical contrast, the following day Nitul invited the end-of-semester Baroque Ensemble Concert from the students at Unimelb's Faculty of Fine Arts and Music. It was an admirable selection from Lully, Bach, Vivaldi, Schein and more, and in total included over fifty performers of music and song. I found myself, as I often do in such music, drifting off to another world.

As more culinary experiences, Kate and I attended the Melbourne Italian Festival the following day at the Melbourne Exhibition Centre. The building is beautiful, but despite my heritage, I find a great deal of contemporary Italian culture pretty gaudy at best, especially in the field of fashion, homewares, and music. Of course, in food and film, it retains a very high level, the latter with a decidedly leftist influence. Apropos, last night I had the delight of being cooked for by the Minister for Climate Change Action and Energy Resources, etc, Lily D'Ambrosio, who provided an astounding Calabrian feast for some twenty individuals whilst showing off the capabilities of induction cookers. Lily deserves high praise for the quiet revolution she has led in Victoria, changing the production of electricity towards renewables and, more recently, with the phaseout of fossil fuels in domestic appliances, all with significant success. Quiet revolutions too, can be an example of quality.

For the past several weeks, I have delved deeply into the content produced by scientific climate change deniers. By "denier" I mean those who argue that global warming is below the range expected by mainstream studies and by "scientific" I mean that handful of actual active researchers in climatology, rather than unqualified opinions. Without exclusion, I've found that these scientific deniers engage in extraordinary selection biases, unfounded speculations, and flawed logic. But, to the untrained eye, I can certainly see how they could be convincing; they appeal to ideological confirmation biases and, of course, they appeal to certain vested interests. Their influence is profound; there are very few climatology journal articles that are in the denier category, but the content makes up the overwhelming majority of related advertorials. The result is a profound disparity between an misinformed public opinion compared to scientific research, which, in a capitalist democracy, is reflected in the politics of demagoguery.

Two days ago, the World Meteorological Organization reported the largest recorded level of atmospheric CO2 and the largest increase in a single year (a reminder that CO2 remains in the atmosphere for a very long time). It follows Trump's decision to withdraw from the 2016 Paris Agreement, which sought to preferably limit global warming this century to 1.5 degrees C above pre-industrial levels, with a long-term objective of below 2.0 degrees. As COP30 approaches it increasingly becomes clear that voluntary agreements to a global problem is biased toward unenforceable lobbying even when adaptive and mitigative technologies exist and even when our first major tipping point (coral reef losses) looms, a situation that has been warned about for years even as fossil fuel subsidies increase - your taxes at work.

I am now in my third year as a climatology postgraduate, after many years of debating the issue and engaging in autodidactic research. When I started formal studies, it quickly became apparent to me that, despite international agreements and technological change, the most accurate trajectory was the RCP8.5 scenario; high-emissions, high-growth, high-population, the highest plausible temperature increase, i.e., the worst case scenario. Maybe it's the risk engineer disposition in me, but I think we should prepare against worst-case scenarios, especially when the costs are high. The problem is that they are so incremental; people understand the accretion of warming as explained by the popular metaphor of the "boiling frog" story that describes how people do not effectively react to creeping changes. Whilst it is a strong and appropriate metaphor, it is also a myth. A frog will react when the water is too hot for comfort. But I wonder whether humans are as clever as a frog.

This week was the Moon Festival, mid-autumn in the northern hemisphere, a harvest festival celebrated in Chinese culture and among its aficionados for about 3000 years. Due to the use of the lunisolar calendar, the event can be anywhere from mid-September to early October when a full moon is present. Last year it was around the former, this year the latter. The weather permitting, it is often held outside with friends and family, which is meant to coincide with the harvest gathering. Making and sharing mooncakes is one of the hallmark traditions of this festival; last year I made some, a fairly complex process, this year I received some from the Consulate, which I took to Anthony and Robin's where, joined with Matthew, we had a little festival of our own and imbibed several glasses of Maotai; at 53% that stuff is like rocket fuel, but doesn't have bad effects the following day. The following evening, I had a second Moon Festival with Kate, where we engaged in the dice game of Bo Bing, one of the many games of celebration held at such festivities.

There are several additional parts of the tradition that I find particularly charming. One is the reflection on distant friends who, although not present, will be gazing at the same moon at the same time as you are. Another is the opportunity for especially close friends to express their fondest desires and greatest dreams to each other, although one imagines that sometimes that can result in a bitter harvest, so to speak. But perhaps my favourite is reciting one of the variations of the story of the goddess Chang'e, whom the festival is named after. The version I tell recites how she drank an elixir of immortality and flew to the moon, becoming the moon goddess. Her heroic but still mortal partner, the archer Hou Yi, made mooncakes to show how much he missed her; talk about shooting for the moon. Chang'e would later be joined by a rabbit who had been exiled by the Jade Emperor for surrendering the elixir of immortality to the Queen of the West.

I did take the opportunity this year to reflect on distant and absent friends and on the new harvest from the last celebration. Despite some significant disappointments, I am more than satisfied with how this year has progressed so far. I also have my eye on an even more involved and interesting twelve months in the future, which involves a fairly significant life change. It is not something that I am prepared to discuss publicly, but those whom I have told know of its importance. I have already observed some sadness among you with the realisation of what this change will entail, but remember that no matter where we are this time next year, we will be gazing at the same moon and in celebration.