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07 Mar 21:17

How to Print Dyslexia Friendly Books – and Why

by PG

From The Alliance of Independent Authors:

As a young child, I learned to read and write in what seemed like the blink of an eye. The world of books unfolded, bringing knowledge and adventure.

Not all of my relatives have been so lucky. Parallel threads run through my family: each of the last three generations has included at least one writer, one engineer and one dyslexic. My grandfather, a dyslexic engineer, achieved great things in his profession but wouldn’t pick up a book for pleasure.

It’s a common story.

10% of the British population is estimated to have dyslexia, including celebrities like Richard Branson, Jamie Oliver and Keira Knightley.

. . . .

Alistair Sims, who owns the bricks-and-mortar bookstore Books On The Hill in the gracious Somerset seaside town of Clevedon, is himself dyslexic. He makes sure to stock an excellent range of books for dyslexic children and young adults, attracting customers from miles around.

It’s a source of frustration to him that mainstream publishers ignore dyslexic adults completely, choosing only to service younger age groups.

We both agreed that indie authors were uniquely placed to fill that gap.

To borrow from corporate-speak, indies are focused on solutions.

We’re not afraid to try something new, and we can get books published quickly. Within two months of meeting Alistair, he was stocking my dyslexia-friendly paperbacks in his shop.

. . . .

So what makes a paperback dyslexia-friendly? Alistair suggested I read the British Dyslexia Association Style Guide, which recommends:

  • a large sans serif font
  • wide line spacing
  • black text on a cream background

I also investigated specialised fonts, such as Dyslexie, road-testing them on dyslexic relatives. However, they found conventional sans serif fonts just as easy to read provided the text was made large enough. It seemed the special fonts didn’t perform any better than Verdana, which came out well in comparison tests by the BDA New Technologies Committee. I therefore chose 14 point Verdana with 1.5 line spacing, and, of course, cream paper.

Link to the rest at the Alliance of Independent Authors and thanks to Felix for the tip.

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07 Mar 16:15

How did a ‘heart for missions’ lead to contempt?

by Fred Clark
The "10/40 Window" used to be a big deal in mission conferences at white evangelical churches. Nowadays, white evangelicals seem to view these countries differently. The "10/40 Window" is the region from which white evangelicals want to ban refugees and immigrants. It's the region white evangelicals want their chosen president to carpet bomb, invade, and steal oil from.
07 Mar 16:07

Frankie Howerd at 100

by Jonathan Calder


The great man would have been 100 today. He was born in a terraced house in York which today commemorates the fact with a blue plaque.

Frankie Howerd, as a post on The Downstairs Lounge records, went in and out of fashion several times during his long career. It was good that the found an adoring audience on the university circuit in his final years.

Downstairs Lounge writes of an appearance that turned his career around:
He had been invited to present the 1962 Evening Standard Drama Awards at the end of January in London’s Savoy Hotel. Feeling that his career deserved to reach its conclusion in an atmosphere a little more dignified than a seaside production of Puss In Boots, he accepted gladly. 
It was another chance meeting with a young writer, much like that one some 16 years earlier, that would change Frankie’s mind about abandoning showbusiness and propel him on to greater fame and acclaim than he could possibly have imaged in those cold dark days in panto. 
Buoyed by a lack of concern about his career (and quite a lot of gratis booze) Frankie lit up the awards show with a vintage tour de force, polishing old material and slipping in newly scripted gags with ease. In the audience that day accepting numerous awards were the young geniuses behind the ground-breaking new revue, Beyond The Fringe. 
Impressed by the veteran performer’s compering, Peter Cook was one of the first to congratulate Frankie after the awards dinner. Cook extended an invitation to Frankie to perform in his newly opened Establishment Club in Soho, then by far the most fashionable comedy club in the land frequented by each night by an eager audience of university educated satire fans. 
As usual, it took much gentle coaxing and much more forthright nagging to persuade Frankie Howerd to attempt to launch his career anew. The masterstroke in Howerd’s renaissance was to come from the fruitful mind of Johnny Speight. 
His simple idea was not to reinvent Frankie for a hip new audience, used to the edgy satire of Lenny Bruce and the studied wit of Peter Cook, but to present Howerd as he was; a washed up, embittered vaudevillian totally at odds with his rarefied surroundings. 
Stepping on to the stage of The Establishment on the 26th September 1962, Frankie Howerd was reborn for a new generation of comedy fans and his legendary status was confirmed.
I have borrowed the audio above, which contains an extract from Howerd's appearance at The Establishment, from that post.

And I have personal reason to be grateful to Frankie Howerd. I must have been one of the few small boys allowed to stay up to watch Up Pompeii!

Sure enough, I got O level Latin some years later.
07 Mar 13:46

Oprah’s X-Men: Thoughts on Logan

by Peter Watts

Lers of Spoi. You have been warned.

Nobody said mutation was pretty.

Nobody said mutation was pretty.

There’s always been a contingent of X-Men fans who insist on seeing Mutant as Allegory, a metaphor—albeit a heavy-handed one— for prejudice and disenfranchisement. Mutants routinely get invoked as a sort of Other Of The Week: stand-ins for unwanted immigrants, untrusted ethnicities, oppressed orientations. I’ve never been a big reader of the comics, but certainly the films have played into this. One memorable example occurs early in the first movie, when a bewildered parent asks her child: “Honey, have you tried just not being a mutant?” (An even more memorable example is young Magneto’s psionic awakening in a Nazi concentration camp.)

I’ve never bought into this interpretation, for the same reason I reject the claim that Oprah Winfrey was “disenfranchised” when some racist idiot in Zurich refused to show her a handbag because it was “too expensive” for a black woman to afford. When you can buy the whole damn store and the street it sits on with pocket change; when you can buy the home of the asshole who just disrespected you and have it bulldozed; when you can use your influence to get that person fired in the blink of an eye and turn her social media life into a living hell— the fact that you don’t do any of those things does not mean that you’ve been oppressed. It means you’ve been merciful to someone you could just as easily squash like a bug.

Marvel’s mutants are something like that. We’re dealing, after all, with people who can summon storm systems with their minds and melt steel with their eyes. Xavier can not only read any mind on the planet, he can freeze time, for fucksake. These have got to be the worst case-studies in oppression you could imagine. Sure, baselines fear and revile mutants; that’s a far cry from “disenfranchising” them. How long would gay-bashing be a thing, if gays could strike down their attackers with lightning bolts?

To my mind, X-Men are the Oprahs of the Marvel Universe. Immensely powerful. Inexplicably patient with the small-minded. And the fact that they’ve been consistently portrayed as victims has significantly compromised my suspension of disbelief— and hence, my enjoyment— of pretty much every X-Men movie I’ve taken in.

Right up to the best of the lot so far, the intimate, humane, sometimes brilliant Logan.

Logan is far and away the best X-Men movie I’ve ever seen (I’m tempted to say it’s the best X-Men movie ever made, but I haven’t seen Apocalypse so who knows). The characterizations are deeper, their relationships more nuanced. The acting is better: you wouldn’t expect less from Patrick Stewart, who somehow managed to maintain his dignity and gravitas throughout even the most idiotic ST:TNG episodes (looking at you, “Skin of Evil”), but the rest of the cast keeps up with him and makes it look effortless. The fight choreography is bone-crunchingly beautiful. This is the Unforgiven of Marvel movies, a story that focuses not on some absurdly high-stakes threat to Life As We Know It but on the more intimate costs to lives as we knew them. It’s a story about entropy and unhappy endings. It earns its 94% on Rotten Tomatoes.

Until the last act, when it throws it all away.

I’m not just nitpicking about the canonical dumbness inevitable in any movie based on a sixties-era comic franchise. (If I were, I might wonder how Logan’s 25-cm claws manage to retract into his arms without immobilizing his wrists like rebar through salami; the guy must have to extend his claws every time he wants to hold a spoonful of Cheerios. It’s a good thing they don’t sell milk in bags down there.) I’m complaining about something which, I think, largely betrays all that resonant, character-based story-telling that comprises the bulk of the movie. Or rather, I’m complaining about two things:

  1. When the bad guys know that their quarry can freeze flesh unto shattering with their breath, summon the very undergrowth to strangle and entangle pursuers, spit out bullets, and hurl everything from trees to troop transports with their minds, why in Christ’s name would they try to take them down with conventional gun-toting infantry? They’ve got drones, for Chrissake: why not use robots to shoot the kids from above the treeline? Why not snipe them from a safe distance with tranquilizers, or gas the forest, or do any of a dozen other things that could take down their targets without exposing ill-equipped flesh-and-blood to mutant countermeasures?
  2. When said quarry can freeze flesh unto shattering with their breath, summon the very undergrowth to strangle and entangle pursuers, spit out bullets, and hurl everything from trees to troop transports with their minds, why in Christ’s name do they not do any of that until half of them have already been captured and Logan himself is half-dead? We’re not talking about do-goody pacifists here; these aren’t adults who’ve made a conscious decision to eschew violence for the greater good. These are ten-year-old kids— with all the emotional maturity that implies— who’ve been trained as supersoldiers almost from the moment of conception. Back in the first act Laura must have single-handedly killed twenty heavily-armed cyber-enhanced psycho killers with no weapons but what God and the bioengineers gave her. So why are these superkillers running like frightened animals in the first place? Why aren’t they laying traps, implementing countermeasures, fighting back? They know how to do it; hell, they don’t know how to do anything else.

The answer, I’m guessing, is because writer James Mangold bought into the same bullshit allegory that so many others have: no matter the canon, no matter their powers, these kids have to be victims, even though the script has already shown us that they definitively are not. They must be oppressed and disempowered by an intolerant world, because that’s what the whole X-Men allegory thing is all about.

And in buying into that narrative, Mangold renders Logan’s ultimate sacrifice pretty much meaningless.  The children he died protecting were far more powerful than he was: numerically, psionically, even at simple hand-to-hand combat. If they hadn’t been shackled by allegorical fiat they could have won that battle before Logan ever showed up.

Which means that Logan died for nothing. And that’s not some nerdy quibble along the lines of the transporter doesn’t work like that; it’s a betrayal of nuanced characters we’ve come to care about, all for the sake of a mutants-as-victims narrative that never made any sense to begin with.

If the screenwriters had to indulge their victim mindset, they could have done so without sacrificing story logic or throwing away two hours of character development. Here’s a thought: Posit that mutant powers only manifest at puberty (something established way back at the start of the franchise, with Rogue’s first adolescent kiss). A few of these kids are verging on adulthood, but not most; they’re still vulnerable to men with guns.  They’re being hunted not for what they can do now, but for what they’ll be able to do if allowed to live another year or two.  Let the stress of being cornered, of seeing their fellows mowed down, the sheer adrenaline response of fight/flight be the trigger that activates just a few of the older ones, allows their powers to manifest: not in full-on crush-all-opposition mode, but just enough to hold on until Logan arrives to turn the tide.  It would change very little in terms of pacing or screen time; it would change everything in terms of earned emotional impact.

But no. What we’re given is a third-act chase scene almost as dumb as the climax of Star Trek Beyond. Which is a shame, because Star Trek Beyond was a loud dumb movie from the start; one more dumb element was par for the course. Logan, by way of contrast, is a thoughtful, melancholy rumination on the whole superhero premise; it remains, for the most part, a thing of beauty.

Too bad about that big festering pustule on the forehead.

07 Mar 13:42

Book Review: Behavior – The Control Of Perception

by Scott Alexander

[Epistemic status: I only partly understood this book and am trying to review it anyway as best I can]

I.

People complain that psychology is paradigmless; it never got its Darwin or Newton to tie everything together. Nowadays people are pretty relaxed about that; who needs paradigms when you can do n = 50 studies on a mildly interesting effect? But historically, there were all of these larger-than-life figures who were sure they’d found the paradigm, geniuses who founded schools which flourished for a while, made big promises, then either fizzled out or toned down their claims enough to be accepted as slightly kooky parts of the mainstream. Sigmund Freud. BF Skinner. Carl Rogers. And those are just the big ones close to the mainstream. Everyone from Ayn Rand to Scientology tried their hand at the paradigm-inventing business for a while.

Will Powers (whose name turns out to be pretty appropriate) lands somewhere in the middle of this pack. He was an engineer/inventor who specialized in cybernetic systems but wandered into psychology sometime in the sixties. He argued that everything in the brain made perfect sense if you understood cybernetic principles, and came up with a very complicated but all-encompassing idea called Perceptual Control Theory which explained thought, sensation and behavior. A few people paid attention, and his work was described as paradigm-shifting by no less of an expert on paradigm shifts than Thomas Kuhn. But in the end it never really went anywhere, psychology moved on, and nowadays only a handful of people continue research in his tradition.

Somehow I kept running into this handful, and they kept telling me to read Powers’ book Behavior: The Control Of Perception, and I keep avoiding it. A few weeks ago I was driving down the road and I had a moment of introspection where I realized everything I was doing exactly fit Powers’ theory, so I decided to give it a chance.

Powers specializes in control systems. The classic control system is a thermostat, which controls temperature. It has a reference point, let’s say 70 degrees. If it gets much below 70 degrees, it turns on the heater until it’s 70 again; if it gets much above 70 degrees, it turns on the air conditioner until it’s 70 again. This is more complicated than it sounds, and there are other control systems that are even more complicated, but that’s the principle. Perceptual Control Theory says that this kind of system is the basic unit of the human brain.

While I was driving on the highway a few weeks ago, I realized how much of what I do is perceptual control. For example, I was effortlessly maintaining the right distance from the car in front of me. If the car sped up a tiny bit, I would speed up a tiny bit. If the car slowed down a little bit, I would slow down a little bit. Likewise, I was maintaining the right angle relative to the road: if I found myself veering right, I would turn slightly to the left; if I found myself veering left, I would turn slightly to the right.

The theory goes further: while I’m in the car, I’m also operating as my own thermostat. I have a desired temperature: if I go below it, I’ll turn on the heat, and if I go above it, I’ll turn on the AC. I have a desired level of satiety: if I’m hungry, I’ll stop and get something to eat; if I’m too full, there’s maybe not a huge amount I can do but I’ll at least stop eating. I have a desired level of light: if it’s too dark, I’ll turn on the lights; if it’s too bright I’ll put down the sun visor. I even have a desired angle to be sitting at: if I’m too far forward, I’ll relax and lean back a little bit; if I’m too far back, I’ll move forwards. All of this is so easy and automatic that I never think about it.

Powers’ theories go further. He agrees that my brain sets up a control system to keep my car the proper distance from the car in front of it. But how do I determine “the proper distance”? That quantity must be fed to the system by other parts of my brain. For example, suppose that the roads are icy and I know my brakes don’t work very well in the ice; I might keep a much further distance than usual. I’ll still be controlling the distance, I’ll just be controlling it differently. If the brain is control systems all the way down, we can imagine a higher-tier system controlling “accident risk” at some level (presumably low, or zero) feeding a distance level into a lower-tier system controlling car distance at whatever level it receives. We can even imagine higher systems than this. Suppose I’m depressed, I’ve become suicidal, I want to die in a car accident, but in order not to scandalize my family I have to let the accident happen sort of naturally. I have a top-level system controlling “desire to die” which tells a middle-level system controlling “accident risk” what level it should go at (high), which in turn tells a lower-tier system controlling “car distance” what level it should go at (very close).

It doesn’t even end there. My system controlling “car distance” is sending signals to a lower-tier system controlling muscle tension on my foot on the accelerator, giving it a new reference level (contracted muscles that push down on the accelerator really hard). Except this is an oversimplification, because everything that has to do with muscles is a million times more complicated than any reasonable person would think (at least until they play qwop) and so there’s actually a big hierarchy of control systems just going from “want to go faster” to “successfully tense accelerator-related muscles”.

II.

Actually, Powers is at his most convincing when he talks about these lower-level functions. At this point I think it’s pretty mainstream to say that muscle tension is set by a control system, with the Golgi tendon organs giving feedback and the spinal cord doing the calculations. Powers goes further (and I don’t know how mainstream this next part is, but I’m guessing at least somewhat), saying that this is a first-tier control system, which is itself controlled by a second-tier “direction” control system centered in the nuclei of the brainstem, which is itself controlled by a third-tier “position” control system centered in the cerebellum/thalamus/midbrain (a friendly amendment might add the basal ganglia, which Powers doesn’t seem to know much about).

If you stimulate certain parts of a cat’s midbrain, it will go into specific positions – for example, a position like it’s ready to pounce. So it seems like those areas “code for” position. But in order to have a neuron/area/whatever that codes for position, it needs to have hierarchical control over lots of lower-level things. For example, it needs to make sure the leg muscles are however tense they’re supposed to be in a pouncing position. So the third-tier position control system controls the second-tier direction control system at whatever level is necessary to make the second-tier direction control system control the first-tier muscle control system at whatever level is necessary to get the muscles in the right position.

The fourth- and fifth-tier systems, now well into the cortex (and maybe basal ganglia again) deal with sequences, eg “walking” or “playing a certain tune on the piano”. Once again, activating a fourth/fifth-tier system will activate this higher-level concept (“walking”), which alters the reference levels for a third-tier system (“getting into a certain position”), which alters a second-tier system (“moving in a certain direction”), which alterns a first-tier system (“tensing/relaxing muscles”).

Why do I like this theory so much? First, it correctly notes that (almost) the only thing the brain can actually do is change muscle tension. Yet we never think in terms of muscle tension. We don’t think “I am going to tense my thigh muscle, now untense it, now tense my ankle muscle, now…”, we just think “I’m going to walk”. Heck, half the time we don’t even think that, we think “I’m just going to go to the fridge” and the walking happens automatically. On the other hand, if we really want, we can consciously change our position, the level of tension in a certain muscle, etc. It’s just that usually we deal in higher-level abstractions that automatically carry all the lower ones along with them.

Second, it explains the structure of the brain in a way I haven’t seen other things do. I always hear neuroscientists talk about “this nucleus relays signals to that nucleus” or “this structure is a way station for this other structure”. Spend too much time reading that kind of stuff, and you start to think of the brain as a giant relay race, where the medulla passes signals onto the thalamus which passes it to the basal ganglia which passes it to the frontal lobe and then, suddenly, thought! The obvious question there is “why do you have so many structures that just relay things to other structures?” Sometimes neuroscientists will say “Well, some processing gets done here”, or even better “Well, this system modulates that system”, but they’re always very vague on what exactly that means. Powers’ hierarchy of fifth-tier systems passing their calculations on to fourth-tier systems and so on is exactly the sort of thing that would make sense of all this relaying. My guess is every theory of neuroscience has something at least this smart, but I’d never heard it explained this well before.

Third, it’s the clearest explanation of tremors I’ve ever heard. Consider the thermostat above. When the temperature gets below 65, it turns on the heat until the temperature gets above 70, then stops, then waits as the hot air leaks out through the window or whatever and it’s 65 again, then turns on the heat again. If we chart temperature in a room with a thermostat, it will look sort of like a sine wave or zigzag with regular up/down motions. This is a basic principle of anything being controlled by a less-than-perfect control system. Our body has microtremors all the time, but when we get brain damage or some other problem, a very common symptom is noticeable tremors. These come in many different varieties that give clues to the level of brain damage and which doctors are just told to memorize. Powers actually explains them:

When first-order systems become unstable, as when muscles exert too much effort), clonus oscillations are seen, at roughly ten cycles per second. Second-order instability, as in the tremors of Parkinsonism, involves groups of muscles and is of lower frequency, around three cycles per second or so. Third-order instability is slower stilll, slow enough that it can be characterized as “purpose tremor” or “over-correction”. Certain cerebellar damage due to injury or disease can result in over- and under-shooting the mark during actions such as reaching out to grasp something, either in a continuous self-sustained oscillation or a slowly decrasing series of alternating movements.

This isn’t perfect – for example, Parkinsonian tremor is usually caused by damage to the basal ganglia and the cortex, which is really hard to square with Powers’ claim that it’s caused by damage to second-tier systems in the medulla. But after reading this, it’s really hard not to think of tremors as failures in control systems, or of the different types of tremor as failures in different levels of control system. For example, athetoid tremors are weird, seemingly purposeful, constant twisting movements caused by problems in the thalamus or some related system; after reading Powers, it’s impossible for me not to think of them as failures in third-order control systems. This becomes especially clear if we compare to Powers’ constant foil/nemesis, the Behaviorists. Stick to a stimulus-response paradigm, and there’s no reason damaged brains should make weird twisting movements all the time. On a control-systems paradigm, it’s obvious that that would happen.

There are occasional claims that perceptual control theory can predict certain things about muscles and coordination better than other theories, sometimes with absurdly high accuracy of like r = 0.9 or something. Powers makes some of these claims in the book, but I can’t check them because I don’t have the original data he worked with and I don’t know how to calculate cybernetic control system outputs. But the last time I saw someone bring up one of these supposed experiments it was thoroughly shot down by people who knew more statistics. And I found a blog post where somebody who knows a lot about intricacies of muscle movement says PCT can predict some things but not much better than competing theories. In terms of predicting very specific things about human muscular movement its record seems to be kind of so-so.

III.

And I start to get very skeptical when Powers moves to higher-tier control systems. His sixth tier is “relationships”, seventh is “programs”, eighth is “principles”, and ninth is “systems”. Although these tiers receive just as many pages as the earlier ones, they start sounding very abstract and they correlate a lot less well with anatomy. I understand the urge to postulate them – if you’ve already decided that the fundamental unit of the brain is the control system, why not try to explain things with control systems all the way up? – but it becomes kind of a stretch. It’s easy to see what it means to control the distance between me and the car in front of me; it’s harder to see what it means to control for “communism” or “honesty” or things like that.

I think the way things are supposed to work is like this. A ninth-tier system controls a very abstract concept like “communism”. So suppose you are a communist; that means your internal communism-thermostat is set to maintain your communism at a high level. That propagates down to eighth-tier principles, which are slightly less abstract concepts like “greed”; maybe your ninth-tier communism-thermostat sets your eighth-tier greed thermostat to a very low temperature because communists aren’t supposed to be greedy. Your eighth-tier greed thermostat affects levels of seventh-tier logical programs like “going to work and earning money” and “giving to charity”. I’m not really sure how the sixth-tier fits into this example, but let’s suppose that your work is hammering things. Then the fifth-tier system moves your muscles in the right sequence to hammer things, and so on with all the lower tiers as above.

Sometimes these control systems come into contact with each other. For example, suppose that along with my ninth-tier system controlling “communism”, I also have a ninth-tier system controlling “family values”; I am both an avowed communist and a family man. My family values system thinks that it’s important that I earn enough to provide for my family, so while my communism-system is trying to input a low reference level for my greed-thermostat, my family-values-system is trying to input a high one. Powers gets into some really interesting examples of what happens in real industrial cybernetic systems when two opposing high-level control systems get in a fight, and thinks this is the source of all human neurosis and akrasia. I think he later wrote a self-help book based around this (hence the nominative determinism). I am not very convinced.

Am I strawmanning this picture? I’m not sure. I think one testable consequence of it is supposed to be that if we’re really controlling for communism, in the cybernetic control system sense, then we should be able to test for that. For example, hide Lenin’s pen and paper so that he can’t write communist pamphlets, and he should start doing some other communist thing more in order to make up for it and keep his level of communism constant. I think some perceptual control theory people believe this is literally true, and propose experimental tests (or at least thought experiment tests) of perceptual control theory along these lines. This seems sketchy to me, on the grounds that if Lenin didn’t start doing other stuff, we could just say that communism wasn’t truly what he was controlling.

That is, suppose I notice Lenin eating lots of chocolate every day. I theorize that he’s controlling for chocolate, and so if I disturb the control system by eg shutting down his local chocolate store, he’ll find a way to restore equilibrium, eg by walking further to a different store. But actually, when I shut down his local chocolate store, he just eats less chocolate. In reality, he was controlling his food intake (as we all do; that’s what an obesity set point is) and when he lost access to chocolate, maybe he ate cupcakes instead and did fine.

In the same way, maybe we only think Lenin is controlling for communism, but he’s actually controlling for social status, and being a communist revolutionary is a good way to gain social status. So if we make it too hard for him to be a communist revolutionary, eg by taking away his pen and paper, maybe he’ll become a rock star instead and end up with the same level of social status.

This sort of thing seems so universal that as far as I can tell it makes these ideas of higher-tier control systems unproveable and unfalsifiable.

If there’s any point to them at all, I think it’s the way they express the same interesting phenomenological truth as the muscle movement tiers: we switch effortlessly between concentrating on low-level concepts and high-level concepts that make the low-level ones automatic. For example, I think “driving” is a good example of Powers’ seventh tier, “programs” – it involves a predictable flowchart-like set of actions to achieve a simple goal. “The distance between me and the car in front of me” is a sixth-tier system, a “relationship”. When I’m driving (focusing on my seventh-tier system), I don’t consciously think at all about maintaining the right distance with the car in front of me. It just happens. This is really interesting in a philosophy of consciousness sense, and Powers actually gets into qualia a bit and says some things that seem a lot wiser and more moving-part-ful than most people on the subject.

It does seem like there’s something going on where my decision to drive activates a lot of carefully-trained subsystems that handle the rest of it automatically, and that there’s probably some neural correlate to it. But I don’t know whether control systems are the right way to think about this, and I definitely don’t know whether there’s a sense in which “communism” is a control system.

IV.

There are also some sections about things like learning and memory, which looks suspiciously like flowcharts of control systems with boxes marked “LEARNING” and “MEMORY” in them.

But I realized halfway through that I was being too harsh. Perceptual control theory wasn’t quite a proposal for a new paradigm out of nowhere. It was a reaction to Behaviorism, which was still the dominant paradigm when Powers was writing. His “everything is a control system” is an attempt to improve on “everything is stimulus-response”, and it really does.

For example, his theory of learning involves reward and punishment, where reward is reducing the error in a control system and punishment is increasing it. That is, suppose that you’re controlling temperature, and it’s too hot out. A refreshing cool glass of water would be an effective reward (since it brings you closer to your temperature reference level), and setting your hand on fire would be an effective punishment (since it brings you further from your temperature reference level). Powers notes that this explains many things Behaviorism can’t. For example, they like to talk about how sugar water is a reward. But eventually rats get tired of sugar water and stop drinking it. So it seems that sugar water isn’t a reward per se; it’s more like reducing error in your how-much-sugar-water-should-I-have-and-did-I-already-have-the-right-amount system is the reward. If your optimal level of sugar water per day is 10 ml, then anything up to 10 ml will be a reward, and after that it will stop being attractive / start being a punishment.

As a “theory of learning”, this is sort of crappy, in that I was expecting stuff about Hebb and connectionism and how memories are stored in the brain. But if you’re living in an era where everybody thinks “The response to a stimulus is predictable through patterns of reward and punishment” is an A+++ Nobel-Prize-worthy learning theory, then perceptual control-based theories of learning start sounding pretty good.

So I guess it’s important to see this as a product of its times. And I don’t understand those times – why Behaviorism ever seemed attractive is a mystery to me, maybe requiring more backwards-reading than I can manage right now.

How useful is this book? I guess that depends on how metaphorical you want to be. Is the brain a control system? I don’t know. Are police a control system trying to control crime? Are police a “response” to the “stimulus” of crime? Is a stimulus-response pairing a control system controlling for the quantity of always making sure the stimulus has the response? I think it’s interesting and helpful to think of some psychological functions with these metaphors. But I’m not sure where to go from there. I think maybe there are some obvious parallels, maybe even parallels that bear fruit in empirical results, in lower level systems like motor control. Once you get to high-level systems like communism or social desirability, I’m not sure we’re doing much better than the police-as-control-system metaphor. Still, I think that it’s potentially a useful concept to have.

06 Mar 15:42

Uber Uses Ubiquitous Surveillance to Identify and Block Regulators

by Bruce Schneier

The New York Times reports that Uber developed apps that identified and blocked government regulators using the app to find evidence of illegal behavior:

Yet using its app to identify and sidestep authorities in places where regulators said the company was breaking the law goes further in skirting ethical lines -- and potentially legal ones, too. Inside Uber, some of those who knew about the VTOS program and how the Greyball tool was being used were troubled by it.

[...]

One method involved drawing a digital perimeter, or "geofence," around authorities' offices on a digital map of the city that Uber monitored. The company watched which people frequently opened and closed the app -- a process internally called "eyeballing" -- around that location, which signified that the user might be associated with city agencies.

Other techniques included looking at the user's credit card information and whether that card was tied directly to an institution like a police credit union.

Enforcement officials involved in large-scale sting operations to catch Uber drivers also sometimes bought dozens of cellphones to create different accounts. To circumvent that tactic, Uber employees went to that city's local electronics stores to look up device numbers of the cheapest mobile phones on sale, which were often the ones bought by city officials, whose budgets were not sizable.

In all, there were at least a dozen or so signifiers in the VTOS program that Uber employees could use to assess whether users were new riders or very likely city officials.

If those clues were not enough to confirm a user's identity, Uber employees would search social media profiles and other available information online. Once a user was identified as law enforcement, Uber Greyballed him or her, tagging the user with a small piece of code that read Greyball followed by a string of numbers.

When Edward Snowden exposed the fact that the NSA does this sort of thing, I commented that the technologies will eventually become cheap enough for corporations to do it. Now, it has.

One discussion we need to have is whether or not this behavior is legal. But another, more important, discussion is whether or not it is ethical. Do we want to live in a society where corporations wield this sort of power against government? Against individuals? Because if we don't align government against this kind of behavior, it'll become the norm.

06 Mar 12:32

Support for Corbyn is weakening among Labour members. Don’t assume a Corbynite replaces him.

by TSE

Corbyn is safe for now argues Keiran Pedley but with his popularity among Labour members falling and Brexit on the horizon he is unlikely to lead Labour into a General Election.

Those of you watching Peston yesterday will know that YouGov has a new poll of Labour members out courtesy of Ian Warren of Election Data. 1,096 Labour members were interviewed last week (27 Feb – 3 Mar) and here are some of the key numbers.

The first notable data finding was the one shared by Allegra Stratton on Peston yesterday, which showed Corbyn’s approval rating among Labour members taking a significant hit. The majority of members (54%) still approve of Corbyn’s leadership but this is down 18 points from February last year and more than one in three now disapprove (23% strongly).

Unsurprisingly, there is a sharp divide in opinion between pre Corbyn members (62% disapprove) and those joining since Corbyn became leader (68% approve). However, it is notable that Corbyn draws strong support from Labour women (61% approve), younger members (56% of 18-39s approve) and perhaps controversially, Labour Leave voters (71% approve). However, I note with interest that opinion in London in split (44% approve and 45% disapprove) and his strongest regional support comes from the Midlands / Wales (61%) which is likely netted together due to low sample size.

So some interesting data showing Corbyn’s support taking a hit and also where it comes from but what does it mean for Corbyn’s future as leader?

One finding that understandably got people a bit excited yesterday was the one above that asked whether or not Jeremy Corbyn should fight the next General Election as Labour leader. For the first time, less than half of Labour members say that he should (44%).  Another question (below) asked Labour members whether they would vote Corbyn again in a hypothetical leadership contest and it showed as many members saying they definitely wouldn’t as definitely would.

These figures will lead some to speculate that Corbyn’s days are numbered but I am not that excited by them. Whilst it is significant that Corbyn’s support has taken a hit there has been no great shift in the number that think he should stand down now (up just one point). What we seem to be seeing is a wavering in support rather than a consolidation against him. I suggest that this nuance is actually quite important.

Any move against Corbyn now would probably harden support again in favour of him. I would expect, for example, that a significant number of the 11% above that say they ‘probably wouldn’t vote for him but might’ would actually do so if he were challenged again. That would take Corbyn’s support to 63% which is pretty much in line with what he got versus Owen Smith last year.

This idea is only reinforced when we look at some hypothetical polling on different candidates. As part of the poll, YouGov asked respondents who they would consider voting for and who they would likely end up voting for with or without Corbyn on the ballot. A long list was put forward but I have chosen to focus on the frontrunners for simplicity. Before we delve too deeply into the numbers, I should acknowledge that this sort of poll question is difficult to interpret. It doesn’t reflect the reality of what a Labour leadership contest would look like but it does give us some sense of the viability of different candidates among Labour members.

So what to make of these results? The first thing to say is that if Corbyn is on the ballot he probably wins again right now for the reasons I mention above. Interestingly though, there does seem to be a pattern emerging of his ‘core’ support among Labour members being around 35-40%. 36% would definitely vote for him and 38% choose him in the above poll. However, the second thing to say is that if he isn’t on the ballot then things are wide open. Corbyn supporters don’t just go to McDonnell or someone else. We see this clearly if we look at the results with Corbyn not on the ballot but cut by levels of support for Corbyn. This helps us understand what a post Corbyn world might look like.

Two things strike me from these numbers. The first is that if we add up the ‘Corbyn candidates’ and ‘non Corbyn candidates’ (crude and subjective I know) the membership is pretty evenly split although the ‘swings’ lean towards ‘Corbyn candidates’. Perhaps the Labour membership is more committed to Jeremy Corbyn the man than ‘Corbynism’ itself? The second is how Clive Lewis, often touted as a successor, doesn’t really have a base in the membership. The ‘swing’ vote likes him a bit but committed supporters and opponents of Corbyn not so much. Factor in his lack of an obvious parliamentary base and you question how viable he really is. Emily Thornberry seems better placed to inherit the Corbyn mantle assuming McDonnell doesn’t stand whilst Chuka Umunna, Yvette Cooper and Keir Starmer all look like viable candidates from the party’s right. Cooper probably wouldn’t run again but her support in the PLP means you cannot discount her.

Don’t assume a Corbynite takes over. Brexit could be ‘Corbyn’s Iraq’

Looking at these numbers overall, Corbyn’s popularity among Labour members has clearly taken a hit but it is also clear that challenging him now would only reinforce his leadership. Whether that will still be true a year from now is less clear. As Brexit gathers pace we might expect his popularity to diminish further. Elsewhere in the poll, we find that 66% think Brexit is the most important issue facing the country, 53% think he has handled it badly so far and 68% of members would back a second referendum on EU membership. If Corbyn’s popularity falls further by next year and a genuine pro-European alternative candidate emerges then he could well be in trouble.

Of course the key questions are ‘who is that alternative’ and ‘in what circumstances does Corbyn go?’ Those are the million dollar questions and we cannot ‘know’ the answers. Nevertheless, my hunch is he won’t lead Labour into 2020 (members increasingly don’t expect him to) and Brexit will open the door for alternative leaders to emerge. Personally, I am still watching Keir Starmer and Lisa Nandy but don’t be surprised if at some point in the future we see Chuka Umunna face Emily Thornberry in a leadership contest and Umunna wins. In reality though, Labour’s future will belong to whoever has the guts to seize it. With this weekend’s poll, we can begin to see how that future might not involve Jeremy Corbyn as leader or Corbynism at all.

Keiran Pedley

Keiran Pedley tweets about polling and public opinion at @keiranpedley and presents the PB/Polling Matters podcast. Listen to the latest episode on Copeland, Stoke and what makes a good Prime Minister below.

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06 Mar 12:29

Let's Talk About What We Talk About When We Talk About Teaching Let's Talk About Love

by Tegan O'Neil

Although this essay is Part Three of “Let’s Talk About . . .”,
“A Time To Be So Small” was designed to be read separately.
If you're new you may skip to the "Extra Credit.

Part Eight of an ongoing series.
Catch up with the first and second parts of the essay.
Catch up with Part One of the series.
Please consider joining my Patreon – now with subscriber exclusives!




Part Three – A Time To Be So Small

To you.


Obama has staked his candidacy on union—on bringing together two halves of America that are profoundly divided, and by associating himself with Lincoln—and he knows what both of those things mean. He calls America’s founding a “grand compromise”: compromise, for him, is not an eroding of principle for the sake of getting something done but a principle in itself—the certainty of uncertainty, the fundament of union. (MacFarquhar)

It was early. My wife left for work ten minutes earlier. I was trying to fall back asleep when the phone rang. It was her. The manager of the station had just interrupted programming and come on air to announce that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center.

We lived in a barren suburb of Tulsa named Owasso and volunteered at a college radio station over the hill in Claremore. It was a dance music show, the main attraction of which was my wife’s DJing. After she lost her job in Tulsa and had to get contract work out of town – first in Norman, and later in Memphis – I took over the show, Saturday nights from 10PM-3AM. I was left alone in Owasso for weeks and months at a time, working a part-time job at the Kohl’s next to the Wal-Mart, an early morning receiving shift that involved processing and distributing merchandise throughout the stockroom and floor. Oklahoma can be a very lonely place. I took to wandering the all-night Wal-Mart early Sunday mornings, doing grocery shopping for the following week on my way home from the station.

I didn’t think anything of it at first. Odd, sure. Probably a small private plane, some kind of air traffic mistake. I put the phone down and rolled over.

Another five minutes and the phone rang again. “You should turn on the TV.” 


The Strokes’ Is This It was released in the UK on July 30th, 2001, with an American release set for September 25th. The album was preceded by a kind of hype that ultimately proved self-defeating: they represented the apogee of urban cool for one brief and shining moment, the last possible moment for the last possible expression of pre-millennial ennui before the tone of the century irrevocably and unexpectedly darkened. The Strokes carry the burden of being the last significant rock & roll band of the twentieth century and the first of the twenty-first – allowing for the assertion that the twentieth century did not conclude its business until the morning of September 11th 2001.

Copies of Is This It had already been sent out for review and radio play before the release was postponed two weeks, from the 25thto October 9th. The reason was the album’s ninth track, “New York City Cops,” which was removed and replaced with the tepid substitute “When It Started.” The reason why is obvious, as the track culminates with the refrain of, “New York City cops / New York City cops / New York City cops / They ain't too smart.” In the original running order it’s the rousing climax of the album, and without it the album never really recovers from the one-two punch of “Last Nite” and “Hard to Explain.” For the rest of my life, every time I transfer Is This It to a new device I have to spend five minutes monkeying with iTunes in order to restore the original running order that I fell in love with on a CD-R burnt in the studio at KRSC-FM sometime in late Summer 2001.

As a historical document Is This It was instantly dated, an artifact of a disaffected youth culture whose disaffectedness lost currency the moment it blinked into being. It’s the sound of loose ends, with Julian Casablancas a young, rich, insufferable, spoiled ass, scion of moguls and models, standing in for the kind of urban sophisticate that was the ultimate product of the streamlined future lionized throughout the waning years of the 1990s. “Last Nite” is a song about someone walking out on his partner because he doesn’t care about anything she has to say (“Oh, baby, don't care no more / I know this for sure / I'm walkin' out that door”). It’s perfectly empty. Many mistook that emptiness for insouciance. It was, at least for the Strokes and those first fans who heard "Last Nite" on the radio in the waning days of Summer 2001, disassociation in advance of trauma. At the moment of its release Is This It was already a period piece. 

Rock in the first decade of twenty-first century was defined by the lowered expectations of a shrinking and splintering marketplace. There is an embarrassment of riches in terms of excellent bands who have produced lasting and significant bodies of work, but the era is underrated in totobecause of the music having gradually and suddenly been reduced to a niche. The music knew it, too: gone were sweeping pronouncements regarding the regenerative power of rock & roll, gone was the sense of youthful vigor and immortality that could elevate even Ian Curtis’ depressive (if compelling) rumblings to the status of holy writ. Rock was nervous and insecure about its diminished power on the world stage, just like everyone else. Rock was no longer the voice of a generation (or rather, could no longer pretend it was). It finally accepted its role as the voice of a demographic. A matter of taste.

Turn on the Bright Lights, recorded in November of 2001 and released in summer of the following year, is hopeful music for hopeless people. Banks' voice on the debut is more vulnerable than it will be on any subsequent release. Antics is guarded, defensive, scabbed over by scar tissue, but Turn on the Bright Lights is the sound of fresh trauma, a wound that has not healed and feels for the moment as if it may never. It feels like the aftermath of violence. The moment before life kicks back into gear, suspended in the moment of rupture, caught relieving the same awful seconds over and over again. The world has changed, and not necessarily for the better. There’s no going back.

We don’t talk a lot about the election of 2000 anymore. It’s ancient history. But it was the turning point of the last thirty years. We didn’t know at the time, of course, just how consequential it would prove to be. And we can’t even say for certain that the world would have been measurably better with a President Gore than another President Bush, but it would have been measurably different. It is difficult to imagine it would have been worse.

I cast my vote in the 2000 election in Owasso on the morning of November 7th, before driving to the airport to catch a flight to Miami, from where we flew to Jamaica and were married. We went to sleep early in the morning in a hotel in Miami on the 8thbelieving Bush had won. We woke to find out that he had not, and that it was getting very complicated. We flew to Jamaica and when we returned after a week the matter was still up in the air. The feeling of disappointment after 2000, of having taken the wrong turn at the last moment at a critical juncture, was just a taste of what was to come as the following two decades compounded that mistake with many subsequent tragedies and debacles, with a few bits of hope and change thrown in for seasoning.

John Trimble states in Writing With Style that, “clarity is the indispensible characteristic of good prose.” Please explain how this idea has impacted your writing this quarter.

No book has influenced the course of my adult life like Wilson’s 161 page manual. I became intimately familiar with its contours after reading and rereading the book every quarter for a year. Eventually the message started to sink in: there really is no such thing as capital-T Taste, or at least nothing redeemable. And if taste doesn’t matter, then the cultural capital to be accrued through advanced scholarship is suddenly worth a lot less. Just the idea of Taste seems suddenly not merely worthless but harmful. Corrosive.

What are we left with instead? Everything but an endless appeal to some amorphous concept of “tastefulness,” whose virtues in different spheres remain confined and isolated from a mass audience due to the diligent gatekeeping of experts. (As Wilson states, “Part of the reason for the recent backlash against indie rock, I suspect, is a weariness by how much of it seems to be mainly music to judge music by.”) The music isn’t dead and there’s still good rock music being made every year, but the cultural spotlight moved on. That turned out to be pretty healthy for the genre. Like jazz, it will eventually transform into a diminished but concentrated nub of its former self, popular and evolving among a small coterie but largely segregated from the advancing tide of contemporary pop culture.

It was only as I sat down to finish this essay that I realized just how much I had taken from my year-and-a-half of teaching the Celine Dion syllabus. I learned a great deal from it: how to plot an argument in nonfiction, how to build suspense simply through developing an argument, and how to use misdirection in order to mask and amplify your arguments. We understand Wilson’s argument not finally as a result of his formidable mastery of the facts in his investigations, but because we understand the motivation behind his argument, why it was important to him in the first place to investigate the mystery of why people listen to “bad music.” Turns out “bad” is relative, and reductive criteria of tastefulness obscures many more interesting ideas than merely who has the best and most sophisticated taste.

How does it make you feel? What does it make you think? Does it make you think? How does it work? These are far more interesting questions. And these are more interesting questions to answer on a practical level as a writer than on a scholarly level as an academic. In order to fulfill my employment contract with the University of California I taught four years of college composition. It did very little to further my interest in professional scholarship, but it did make me a much more compassionate writer. 

I tell my students the voice with which you write should not be artificially stiff. Syntax and diction should only be as elaborate as absolutely necessary to convey your point. You should strive for naturalness, but not casualness. Imagine yourself answering questions in a job interview on the best day of your life. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re well-balanced and completely at ease. You don’t stutter the usual “ums,” and “ahs,” or scatter in the requisite “you knows” and “likes” that are perfectly normal and unexceptional parts of verbal communication but which detract from the necessary focus and concision of effective text. Don’t bore your audience. Don’t make them regret taking the time to read your writing. Give them something worth sticking around for.

Wilson’s book was released in 2007. He wrote about the pop culture of the previous decade to make sense of personal tragedy, gradually transforming his understanding of his subject as well as himself. He knows his audience wouldn’t buy a book about his breakup so he writes a book about his breakup that his audience will read. Ten years, more or less, sounds like a good time to start thinking about the pop culture of our youth, processing the incidental music of our teens and twenties into something durable to carry with us as we age.

If there were justice in the world, Let’s Talk About Love – A Journey to the End of Taste would sell 50,000 copies every year for fifty years. People could do worse than to read a book about how to become a more thoughtful and understanding person – even if it is an odd little story about Celine Dion and heartbreak.



Extra Credit Question:

1.     Above I have included a link to a famously unusual music video, the Replacements’ “Bastards of Young” from 1985. Based solelyon the information provided in the video, who is the audience for this? Please be creative.

I recently received a poor teaching evaluation. I surprised myself by not being particularly upset. My heart was no longer in teaching. The things that I enjoyed about teaching – actually talking to students, lecturing, leading discussion – had become a smaller and smaller part of the time I spent working. It already seems like teaching was someone else’s dream, someone that I used to be but in whose ambitions I no longer see myself. The hunger I felt for the cultural capital of an advanced degree is an unpleasant memory.

Although I struggle with many parts of the job, some owing to inclination and some owing to problems with my executive functioning, I am still able to work. But this revelation comes at the conclusion of a jumbled three-month period where, despite many positive developments in my life, I struggled to gain purchase, fought hard to maintain momentum and motivation. The file for this essay was created on January 24th of 2017. It has taken me another month to make painstaking headway, the essay expanding precipitously along the way.

It didn’t start that way. It started out somewhere different. Originally this essay was supposed to be about Kid A, and to be relatively brief – no more than 1000 words. No mention of Radiohead survives. Perhaps you can see its ghostly shadow. Probably not. 

As the essay neared completion I realized that I had fallen into a deep depression. It was a depression all the more insidious because it was masked by surface cheer. My therapist told me recently that I associate negative feelings and ideas so strongly with the person I used to be that I've created negative reinforcement against negative thoughts. The reason why this is important is that from the middle of January to the end of February I was quite cheerful and yet completely falling apart. 

I only discover I have been depressed after it lifts. It happens gradually towards the end of February. I finish the first draft of this essay, totaling around fifteen thousand words. I experience a sense of confidence and relief that's been lacking for many months, in which time I have been unable to concentrate even on typing for more than brief periods. I look in the mirror one day and realize that I am a different person now than I was ten months ago. I am more comfortable than I have ever been. I have lost a great deal but can blame no one for that but myself. I must learn going forward. Publishing this essay will put the capstone on another era of my life. It has been one hundred and forty six days since "One Hundred And Sixty Four Days": as of today I have known I was transgender for three hundred and ten days. I am now almost completely unrecognizable. 

We long for the transformation, we beg for it. We need it, we so desperately need to see someone else looking back from the other side of the mirror. I did for years without knowing why. Sometimes we do see someone new, sometimes we just see old faces accusing us of everything. We suffer for the sin of being someone else. I told myself to not expect anything, to not get my hopes up. Hope is deadly. But then when the change actually arrived, I was unprepared. You can't be prepared. I told myself it wouldn't happen, and when it did I was shocked.

January was a blur. I entered February reeling, uncertain, anxious . . . I still felt that I was wearing a costume. I didn't recognize the person in the mirror. That is a special horror. Then suddenly I wasn't wearing a costume, I was myself, and the person in the mirror was myself. Different. I have lost seventy pounds in almost a year, a significant life change by itself. Another way my body had become a stranger to me. I no longer need the CPAP machine I used every night for five years. I stopped using it gradually, got out of the habit and didn't even notice the difference. 

People ask me almost every day how I lost so much weight. The answers are 1) I received a tremendous shock last Spring that completely changed my life, including eating; 2) I got a dog and she needs to be walked every day; 3) I stopped taking Celexa in 2015 after fifteen years, and as a result no longer believe I suffer from chronic insomnia; and 4) losing a little bit of weight made me sleep better. Sleeping better led to losing a lot more weight.

I am a different person. It's a good feeling but also a frightening, nerve-wracking, disconcerting, and even dangerous process. We can hurt ourselves with happiness just as easily as with misery. I was cracking and buckling under the tremendous pressure of too much change. It didn't feel like it at the time but I notice now that my mood was fading. Many things in my life have been hurt or damaged, for many reasons but primarily through my own poor judgment. I didn't see the darkness until I was almost out of the tunnel. 

I can still barely concentrate for longer than five minutes . . . except for typing, and driving. Typing holds me in rapt attention for hours on end, which is why these essays exist. If it wasn't helpful for me to do this  I wouldn't. It makes me feel better so I write and rewrite constantly in the hopes of arriving at some way to make sense of a senseless life in a senseless universe. It's why my dream of a writing career has any hope of succeeding: writing is the only activity that relaxes me. I am incentivized to do as much of it as possible by seeing the drastic improvement in my mood once I got into the habit of trying to write each day. This is how I made it through the Winter. Even if it was just a Twitter rant or a message to a friend, I was making time to sit down and write every night. Soon it was the best part of my night, soon the best part of my day. A good habit to build. 

I wish I were good at literally anything other than writing essays. Such an oddly specific habit. I haven't tried writing fiction in a long time. My dream career, the one profession to which I am most uniquely suited by habit and temperament, is writing Star Wars novels. If you know someone hiring for that, pass on my name. I'm still remarkably bad at self-promotion. Readers are extraordinarily enthusiastic about my work but it would benefit from a larger audience. Although I am quite bullish that these essays will eventually look good bound between two covers, that makes them slightly less than attractive propositions as ostensible blog posts. I'm writing for the trade. They require a lot of hand-selling in terms of being feasible recommendations. My hope is that people like the work enough that they sell it for me. That's a terrible long-term strategy that has nonetheless worked pretty well so far. 

My greatest fear in this world is that I will be misunderstood. I wish to make myself understood. I would very much like to have a more successful writing career because I think I would be very good at it. The problems is that I have difficulty concentrating long enough to promote my writing more assiduously. My follow-through is shit. 

Click to hear "A Time To Be So Small"

The verdict of the psycho-educational evaluation was inconclusive but fateful: serious problems with executive functioning, not believed to be connected to hyperactivity. Stimulants are off the table. I wasn't expecting a miracle - had specifically tried to moderate my already low expectations. The situation is critical. The hypervigilance I feel from the moment I wake carries through the entire day. I leave Post-It notes anywhere I need to remember things - writing down in order the errands I need to run after work, because otherwise I will forget. It was funny at first but for a while now - years, probably - my attention span has been slowly drifting downward. It takes a force of will to sit still long enough to grade a single paper, and even then my brain wanders, scattered, mutinous. I used to be able to inhale a medium-sized book in a single sitting.

PTSD is a hard label to accept but my therapist agrees readily when I present her with the evidence. For what? Going back how many years? Decades spent tying myself into knots because of fears of mental illness, fears of poverty, fears of being queer. (Now I know I am mentally ill, poor, and queer, and work hard to eradicate every shred of guilt and shame about it.) A feeling of bottomless anguish leading back to years of self-inflicted wounds, all the way to a turbulent childhood where disassociation was sometimes a survival skill. If I hadn't learned to turn everything off, I could never have made it through public school, or maintained a semblance of a normal adult life. I trained myself to get by without so much as admitting I had a problem. I could get by. I always got by. 

Until I couldn't get by. And I refused to acknowledge what was happening or why it was starting to destabilize every aspect of my life. In hindsight the cracks were already clear in my last years as an undergraduate. The process of applying to grad school was arduous, and I dropped the ball towards the end of the two year process. I got into a good school but fucked up a few applications along the way because I was already cutting corners and had no clue why.

I put it off for as long as I could but I went to take the test. I already knew the answer, and I already know the consequence. I cannot continue indefinitely in my current career unless I arrest the slide. I can no longer read for more than five minutes before my eyes glide off the page. I need help and I don't know how to ask for it. 

My terrible classroom observation comes at the beginning of February. It doesn't surprise me. It forces me to realize how disconnected I have become from my former ideals and life goal. My advisor, a kind man who has never been unfair to me in any way, is nevertheless an intimidating man who always makes me nervous. Very tall. I think back to my shitty performance in both oral exams as well as my observation and I deduce that I am easily intimidated by men in positions of authority. I always have been, but never understood why. 

I thought I wanted that security. But it's not my security - any kind of authority is rancid and bitter. Academia was his dream. If I let go, it's easier. 

That's not how we got here, sorry. I'm scattered.

Transition is rarely as sudden and sharp as mine. I snapped my fingers at midnight on December 31st and was reborn in the first moments of 2017. Without having had any intimation of my nature at any point throughout the previous thirty-five years before April 30th 2016, I retained a lifetime's worth of taboos regarding cross-dressing. It's difficult to retrain your mind to understand that the taboo doesn't apply anymore, that it never should have applied in the first place but for a quirk somewhere along the assembly line. I am afraid and intimidated by every single aspect of my life so I try to run forward as hard and fast as I can, headfirst into the breach. 
 
I spend much of January in shock. I don't remember days on end. The first night before I step in front of a class of teenagers dressed as a woman I sleep for less than two hours. The second for three. It gets easier, but I fall into the habit of only sleeping two or three hours on the nights before I teach. Eventually it is simply routine. It's normal. The first time I wear women's clothing is also the first day I step outside of the apartment as myself, to get my first real haircut and an industrial piercing in my right ear. It feels like jumping into the caldera of an live volcano. No one notices. It's normal.

Until I no longer feel quite so much tension I will not know just how hard I struggle to combat anxiety and insecurities about my presentation. I have no desire to grow my hair long or wear dresses. I have my hair clipped tight on the sides and floppy on top, a future side cut providing the hair on the top of my head continues to regrow. I wear jeans (size eight, astounding me and everyone else in my life) and boots, plaid flannel shirts and bright pink hoodies. It's eclectic. I refuse to dress to anyone's expectations: wearing a skirt would feel as coercive as returning to mens' clothing. It doesn't fit any preconstructed narrative of how trans women are supposed to dress, and as such I am never recognized as trans by anyone who doesn't know in advance. I never correct anyone because correcting everyone I meet would make every social interaction hell. I am worried, vaguely but persistently, that I am somehow doing it wrong.

This is what life is like now. I'm lonely a lot. Even when I'm surrounded by people, friends and loved ones and family and students who have opened their arms to the new me - even in most cases prefer the new, cheerful me - I'm still special and set apart, someone to notice. Someone whose presence, when felt, is registered. I'm still alone because I'm a unicorn now. I have friends all over the world but my only connection to people like me is a small glowing rectangle of glass and circuits that never leaves my hand. I don't know anyone like me where I live. I feel sometimes as if I am the only person on a very large island. The relief I feel when I encounter another of my kind is palpable. There are so few of us. I am now a proud member of an elite club of walking cultural flashpoints. It's not something that gets better, you just have to get used to it. You never really get used to it.

I hit upon the most interesting and helpful accessories. I remember a passing fancy of two identical steel rings worn on the middle fingers of each hand. It seemed like an interesting aesthetic, statement pieces around which to build a persona. I find a brass ring at Madewell that fits around my right pinky perfectly, breaking the symmetry. 


I don't know what kind of person wears those rings, but I like the way they look. I want to be the kind of person who would wear those rings. From the last week of December through to the present I never go longer than a day between coats of nail polish. My memory is such that I need the mnemonics. The rings also help immensely as well, a constant reminder not to accidentally lapse into old ways of moving or talking. 

I'm a different person. February began in a daze, a state of heightened tension that was a symptom of heightened pressures both internal and external. By March I no longer feel that I am wearing a costume. I look in the mirror and see someone new. It makes sense. I make sense. I passed through the crucible and I feel lighter.

Last week I deleted all the Interpol off my phone, replacing it with Arcade Fire. I need something completely different. Arcade Fire are a band I have always enjoyed at a wary distance, and I look forward to getting to know them better. I have gotten in the habit of listening to music on my headphones as a fall asleep every night, something I haven't done since my late teens when I would lay in bed with my Discman. As of this moment I have no intention of writing an essay about Arcade Fire. Who am I? Apparently the kind of woman who drives around town blasting Arcade Fire from my car, wearing a bright neon hoodie and singing along, badly, as I slowly learn the words to these beautiful songs with terrible lyrics. I have developed the habit of rubbing my hands together so the rings make an ominous clicking sound. You will always hear me coming.

It's hard to build a new person. I feel throughout the month of February 2017 as if I am a deep-sea diver, stumbling among the coral ("Bottom of the ocean she dwells / Bottom of the ocean she dwells"). The initial rush of adrenaline from the first of the year has warn off. Now I'm stuck. I need help and I don't know how to ask for it. 

I lash out at the people I love, falling back into his old worst personality traits with the ease of sliding on an old pair of slippers. So much easier to procrastinate. To let all the pressure build up until it feels as if you are covered in blocks of ice, immensely heavy, cold. Sharp. I am a bad friend and ignore my work. The reason I only get two or three hours of rest every night is that for some reason I intentionally starve myself of sleep. I do everything I do to avoid sleeping even though I am always tired. I am paranoid, unsettled. I jump at the smallest noise. I'm backsliding: I need help but the only words I can think to type are either accusations or bromides. I have developed a reputation for hopefulness that initially I find encouraging but soon feels like a straitjacket. Hope is hard. From a dark place, hope is very far away. I begin splintering at the end of January and the fissures have almost overtaken me by mid-February.

I don't see it, of course. I'm writhing like a bug pinned to corkboard. No one notices. I don't even notice. Without even thinking I've lapsed back into the same double-column bookkeeping that kept me safe and miserable for decades: the real work of my soul is subterranean. I don't recognize what is happening until I'm already surrounded by wreckage. I have lost a great deal. I would do anything to have this month, these weeks back. They're lost. Swallowed up by depression. I am being ground into gravel by anxiety. I am simply tired. I feel as if I have been wrung out and left to dry. 

I drive out into the fields surrounding town and on a long and lonely stretch of agricultural land I scream as loudly as I can for as long as I can into the darkness of the evening. I feel that I am fraying. Nothing helps. But I notice in the moment that the side of the road is not hard gravel but soft dirt. My wheels are sinking. Now I'm stuck. I almost have to call a tow truck to pick up my car off the side of the road because of a nervous breakdown. I'm able after a minute to extricate the wheels, thankfully. It's a low point. 

But I will write my way out, build a sixteen thousand word labyrinth in which to lose myself, left with the simple challenge of finding my way back out of misery by following the string wherever it leads. Hopefully somewhere good.

How did we get here? The world has changed, and not necessarily for the better. There’s no going back.

Something happened. 

I’ve been listening to Interpol incessantly for the last three months. I started by returning again to Turn on the Bright Lights, the only of their albums I returned to with any regularity in the last decade. It seemed like a good idea, an old favorite I hadn’t heard in a while. It stuck around. Paul Banks' bruised and scarred masculinity spoke to the moment, a state of tentative sorrow that precluded appeal. Banks channels weakness against a backdrop of sturm und drang, a wounded and paranoid man who nevertheless accepts his fate with dignity. The sound of resignation.

There was a feeling in the songs, a weariness that fit me. Crucially it wasn’t a selfish or solipsistic sadness. It was a communal sadness informed by shared experiences of trauma and shock, rarely individual agony. It was most importantly a compassionate sadness that carried in its bones the hope of impossible reconciliation. Interpol is about loneliness. Every song is about communication, somehow - trying to speak, to be understood, to somehow be heard and recognized even though in the moment nothing seems to be working. Nothing fits and nothing works because we're all always alone, but we don't have to be. The desire to leave behind the person we are in order to find something new is overpowering. Sometimes you make it. Sometimes there's nothing waiting for you on the other side of the mirror. You just have to find out, leap into the unknown and accept the consequences of a necessary drastic change.

Everything frozen. Suspended. Unable to process change. Unable to comprehend the enormity of having to move, find a job, possibly a new career, while making headway as a writer while continuing the never-ending process of transition. Eventually the stasis thaws. I realized I need to finish this essay before its incomplete status threatens to scuttle the whole project.

Everything frozen. Suspended – collapsed on the bathroom floor broken. The TV news playing in the other room echoes the same disbelief, shock on the faces of pundits across the ideological spectrum. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime upset that people will write about for a hundred years. Except it’s not a history book, it’s happening now, the consequences are real, the people are real, the fear radiating outwards to my limbs, numbing every nerve and making it difficult to pull myself off the ground, even to speak, is real.

When I pull myself up after twenty minutes I can’t focus. It’s everywhere. The dog is upset and there's nothing I can do because she's upset because we're upset. There’s no escape, no reprieve. This is happening, this isn’t a hoax or an imaginary story, not a dream or cautionary tale. I don’t realize I’m shouting, I don’t really know why I’m shouting and I can’t hear my own words. Someone is talking on the phone. I’m not cognizant. It’s midnight and I have to clean the bathroom, scrub the walls with the heavy-duty chemicals necessary to peel off months of shower scum and mold from the low ceilings. There’s more yelling. There’s a knock on the door and three police are on my porch. Yelling I hold my phone in my hand, sweat pouring off my body in sheets, wearing yellow kitchen gloves to protect myself from the heavy-duty chemicals. The dog is barking because the dog always barks. The police ask me to raise my hands. I do. They see the phone and relax. They see me covered in sweat from labor. My partner comes in from the other room, perturbed at the dog. It occurs to me only later, after processing the sly thumbs up given by the police that they leave after thirty seconds only because they process the scene as something other than misery, and certainly not the domestic disturbance which they expected and for which they arrived en masse, three large men at my doorstep. In just two months I will no longer be able to depend on the willingness of the police to allow straight white men to commit petty offenses.

It’s later, the early morning of November 9th 2016. I am walking my dog in the small park behind our apartment building. It is still, quiet, and cold. It is difficult to imagine in a moment of such peace that the world has come unmoored, that this stillness can be broken. I am walking around the park slowly, allowing plenty of time for the dog to explore. As I stroll I am reading on my phone an article written that July by Tobias Stone entitled  “History tells us what may happen next with Brexit & Trump.” History does not have cheerful things to say:

So I feel it’s all inevitable. I don’t know what it will be, but we are entering a bad phase. It will be unpleasant for those living through it, maybe even will unravel into being hellish and beyond imagination. Humans will come out the other side, recover, and move on. The human race will be fine, changed, maybe better. But for those at the sharp end — for the thousands of Turkish teachers who just got fired, for the Turkish journalists and lawyers in prison, for the Russian dissidents in gulags, for people lying wounded in French hospitals after terrorist attacks, for those yet to fall, this will be their Somme.

Suddenly I am aware in the frosty morning black that the gears have moved beneath my feet. The life I thought was mine has disappeared forever behind the rustling curtain, relegated to the realm of alternate outcomes built on foundation stones drowned in the flood. Even though I saw it unravel thread by thread, the end seemed quite unreal – until it wasn't. To imagine that the world might stand still long enough to allow me to live a life untouched by history - !

Standing at the literal dawn of a new epoch, cognizant that the world has changed around me and that the stillness I feel is an illusion, I remember the only other time I have felt anything like what I feel in that moment. I remember mopping the wood floor in our living room, moving to concentrate on something besides the images being broadcast on the television, images of planes hitting towers that will be played and replayed beyond exhaustion in the coming years, seared with a branding iron onto our memories. My wife is coming home early because there’s nothing left to do at work. She will be one of the first let go from her job at Williams Communication after her company suffers significant losses the following year, partially due to the economic downturn that follows September 11th. I mop and I clean and I cook because there’s nothing left that I can do, nothing else to possibly exert order or control over a world that exists beyond my ability to effect change.

Click to hear "The New"
It’s a feeling I hear echoed on the penultimate track of Turn on the Bright Lights, “The New.” What begins tenderly, almost as a lullabye, grows in intensity and ferocity over the course of its six-minute run time, traveling the distance from hushed reverence to screaming despair in just a little longer than the time it takes to type these thoughts. The first words of “The New,” recorded as the rubble of the Twin Towers still burnt at the foot of Manhattan, convey the sense of devastating loss:

I wish I could live free /
I hope it's not beyond me /
Settling down it takes time. /
One day we'll live together /
And life will be better /
I have it here yeah in my mind.

Banks doesn’t sound convincing. He doesn’t even sound convinced himself. The first two lines, built on wishes and hopes, convey a longing for a life that the speaker knows is gone. The aspiration to “one day” be able to relax, to settle down, live together with someone you love in peace and freedom – that dream is a fantasy. What’s real, what’s new, is terrifying. The old world is already a fast receding smudge on the rearview mirror. It’s a lie. The speaker knows that future has been foreclosed. It exists now only as a memory of a time when the world could have been something else. In the coming weeks I will take to absent-mindedly humming these lyrics under my breath in the car like a defeatest mantra.

That’s all it takes, sometimes – a moment, an instant to realize that a change has occurred, and that the stillness that surrounds you is the dead calm at the eye of the storm. But soon the gears turn and the machinery begins again. The axis pivots, leaving you facing in a different direction, a new land with new scenery and strange customs. There’s no going back.

Sometimes the world changes and it’s not fair. Sometimes it's your fault. It never really makes a difference. The message from the future never arrives in time. The planes always crash. The election always miscarries. You can’t unsend the message drafted in a moment of weakness and anger. You will wait long enough to know that you were wrong to expect an apology when the mistake was yours. But there’s no way to return to that moment. The future is different now.

It's too late. The universe keeps what it takes. We rage, we mourn, we bargain and lie and desperately flee to the past only to preserve what is already gone. 

Soon we must rise from the rubble at the end of our world and rededicate our lives to the preservation of what is left.

But that’s not what this essay is about.

*
 Part Eight of an ongoing series. 

4. Someday We Will All Be Free
5. Trifles, Light As Air  

Let's Talk About What We Talk About When We
Talk About Teaching Let's Talk About Love
6.  One - The Modern Age
7. Two - Slow Decay
8. Three - A Time To Be So Small


*
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*

*
06 Mar 12:13

Dave Hunt, R.I.P.

by evanier

Comic book artist Dave Hunt died this past weekend, the end of a long battle against cancer. Some sources are reporting his age as 75 but my references peg him with various earlier birthdates so I just don't know.

What I do know is that he had a long career that had him working as an art director at various comics-related magazines in the early seventies, segueing into comics as an apprentice inker around 1973 and becoming a full-fledged inker just a few years later. He did painting and sculpture outside of the comics field.

For comics, I think he worked exclusively as an inker with a long stretch as Curt Swan's inker on Superman for DC, and inking most of the Spider-Man books for Marvel…but at one time or another, his work appeared in most of both firms' major titles, as well as lots of work for Archie and Disney Comics. He was well-liked both as a person and an artist, and the few times we worked on the same project, I found him to be professional and easy to get along with. Given the volume of work he did, I would guess that was the experience of everyone who was fortunate enough to work with Dave. We need more guys like that.

The post Dave Hunt, R.I.P. appeared first on News From ME.

05 Mar 18:49

A party at war with itself: Labour in Manchester Gorton

by Jonathan Calder
Photo of Victory Street, Rusholme, by Bill Boaden

Yesterday the Liberal Democrats chose an impressive candidate for the Manchester Gorton by-election: Jackie Pearcey.

At the end of that post I described the Labour constituency party in Gorton as "faction-ridden". An article by Jennifer Williams in the Manchester Evening News fills in some of the details.

Ambitious Labour activists had been confidently expecting Sir Gerald Kaufman to retire for at least two general elections and so were circling the seat like wild turkeys around a dead cat.

Jennifer Williams explains what this has lead to:
Last year a mammoth falling-out between different factions and personalities reached its zenith at a Levenshulme branch meeting. As with all things to do with Gorton CLP it can be difficult to get to the actual facts – but suffice to say the police were called in amid claims of vote-rigging, abuse and intimidation. 
A letter from regional office to the CLP at the time said allegations ‘related to the conduct of Labour party members both during and outside of Labour party meetings’, as well as to ‘the conduct of members of the CLP executive committee in administering internal ballots’. 
It had received complaints from members fearing for their safety, it added. 
The party was then suspended and although that suspension was lifted in November, Gorton CLP remains under a range of heavy restrictions. 
To all intents and purposes it is in special measures, with regional office overseeing selections and the convening of key meetings – and all new party members required to show two forms of ID. 
As one rank-and-file member put it, the local party is ‘allowed to go out leafleting’ but not a lot else. 
Quite how the selection process will work, therefore, remains rather unclear, although it is understood local members will be allowed to vote on the eventual shortlist. But one outcome, believe many in Manchester, is inevitable. 
“It will end up being like a micro-replica of the turmoil within the Labour party as a whole,” said one councillor.
At the last general election Labour polled two-thirds of the vote in Gorton and had a majority of 24,079 over the second-placed Green candidate.

Yet today Rebecca Long-Bailey, the Corbynites' anointed as the next Labour leader, announced that it was not a safe seat,

Maybe she was on to something?

Historically, it is the Liberal Democrats who have been the closest challengers in Gorton.

If you want to help the by-election campaign, you can donate the national Liberal Democrats site.
05 Mar 11:07

The €60 billion question. The EU exit charge and what it means

by TSE

Picture: The front page of yesterday’s Times newspaper.

Alastair Meeks, who accurately predicted the outcome of the Article 50 case, looks at the looming Brexit divorce settlement.

One of the many points that will be up for discussion as part of Britain leaving the EU is what Britain will pay as part of the divorce settlement, if anything.  Michel Barnier, the EU’s negotiator, is reportedly making a demand for €60 billion his opening gambit.  The UK government, backed up by a House of Lords committee, asserts that it does not need to pay a penny.  Who is right?  And what does this dispute mean?

It is customary in articles such as this to start with an explanation of the argument.  Customary, but entirely wrong, because the looming argument is secondary to the negotiation it will form part of.  Britain is about to start the process of negotiating its exit from the EU.  The two sides are seeking to reach an agreed set of terms that each regards as advantageous as possible.  Those terms may well ultimately bear relatively little resemblance to the pre-existing obligations on both sides, depending on each side’s negotiating priorities and their relative strengths.

The pre-existing position is relevant only because it helps define the position if no agreement is reached and in helping to construct rationales for the arguments that each side wishes to put forward.  The law is only relevant if no agreement is reached.  In those circumstances, the matter would be litigated and an answer would eventually be obtained, but all that would be incidental to the disorderly Brexit that would then be taking place.

So to understand this dispute we can put the intricacies of the law to one side for now.  Let’s concentrate on the more important aspect.  What are the two parties trying to achieve through this argument?

For this we do need a bit of context.  The EU has, as part of its usual activities incurred present liabilities that will fall due in the future.  A good example of this is in my own area of expertise, its future pension commitments.  One of the questions to be settled is what Britain will need to contribute to these costs.

The EU’s starting figure of €60 billion is making a statement.  The FT looked at the possible extent of the liabilities in October 2016 and came up with a figure of €20 billion as a plausible upper estimate.  Newspapers are not known for their understatement of potential problems in reports.  The estimate of €60 billion looks like a typical builder’s “double the first number you think of and add a drink on top” estimate.  The number is no doubt intended as a statement to be heard by the UK government.  The statement is clear: you can expect a very hard time in negotiations, we think our negotiating hand is very strong, we think time is on our side and we are not too concerned if no deal is reached.

The British government’s response might be understood in kind, though slightly more muted.  The British government is not saying that it will not pay a penny, merely that it is not obliged to.

I have to say, however, that the British government’s response so far looks poor on at least three different levels. 

1) The nuance in that response was completely lost in the newspaper headlines.

If Britain does end up paying a substantial sum, which has to be the overwhelming probability if any deal is to be reached, those headlines will be recalled by the public but the implied qualification will not.  The response only works with the public if no deal is to be reached.

2) The government appears to be attempting to play poker using strategies more appropriate to bridge.  By entering into legal arguments about the amount to be paid, it opens up a discussion that the EU negotiators will relish getting into about legal niceties on a point that it very much suits them to discuss.

There are various possible strategies that the British government could follow.  For example, it could describe such a gambit as one that indicated that the EU were negotiating in bad faith, seeking the removal of the negotiators who put forward such a manifestly outrageous demand. Or it could link such a discussion to a related discussion on far more congenial territory (such as ownership of shared EU assets).  In short, it should be bringing in new dimensions into a negotiation that it suits the other negotiating party to treat as one dimensional.

3) The British government’s response looks both morally and legally weak.  If Britain has been part of an organisation that has entered into long term commitments, seeking to wash its hands of any responsibility to pay for them after the fact is not a lofty position to take.

The legal argument is scarcely better.  It apparently turns on the phrasing of Article 50 of the EU Treaty, which reads at the relevant point: “The Treaties [of the EU] shall cease to apply to the State in question from the date of entry into force of the withdrawal agreement or, failing that, two years after the notification.”

The argument floated in the newspapers is that Article 70 of the Vienna Convention means that brings all Britain’s liabilities to an end.  That article provides that:

“Unless the treaty otherwise provides or the parties otherwise agree, the termination of a treaty under its provisions or in accordance with the present Convention:

(a) Releases the parties from any obligation further to perform the treaty”.

But this ignores two points.  First, Article 31 of the Vienna Convention provides:

“A treaty shall be interpreted in good faith in accordance with the ordinary meaning to be given to the terms of the treaty in their context and in the light of its object and purpose.”

So the exit provisions in Article 50 need to be given appropriate meaning for handling the withdrawal from a complex multinational treaty of one of its members.  It is implausible that exiting members would be intended to leave without paying up their share of pre-existing commitments.  Its words should be read accordingly.  It is more natural in that context to read Britain’s release from any obligation further to perform the treaty as being restricted to obligations after that date rather than to wipe the slate completely clean.

And secondly, Article 70 does not finish with the words quoted in the newspapers.  It goes on to provide:

“[Unless the treaty otherwise provides or the parties otherwise agree, the termination of a treaty…] (b) Does not affect any right, obligation or legal situation of the parties created through the execution of the treaty prior to its termination.”

This would also seem to give Britain responsibility for its share of future EU liabilities already incurred at a time that Britain was a party to them.

As I said at the outset, the legal argument really isn’t very relevant, unless negotiations break down completely.  But while it’s bad enough playing bridge at a poker table, it’s worse still doing so and then fumbling your cards.

Alastair Meeks

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04 Mar 22:42

A digital clock built in Conway's Game of Life.

A digital clock built in Conway's Game of Life.
04 Mar 21:25

Amazon’s next shipping destination might be the moon

by PG

From The Washington Post:

More than four decades after the last man walked on the lunar surface, several upstart space entrepreneurs are looking to capitalize on NASA’s renewed interest in returning to the moon, offering a variety of proposals with the ultimate goal of establishing a lasting human presence there.

. . . .

The latest to offer a proposal is Jeffrey P. Bezos, whose space company Blue Origin has been circulating a seven-page white paper to NASA leadership and President Trump’s transition team about the company’s interest in developing a lunar spacecraft with a lander that would touch down near a crater at the south pole where there is water and nearly continuous sunlight for solar energy. The memo urges the space agency to back an Amazon-like shipment service for the moon that would deliver gear for experiments, cargo and habitats by mid-2020, helping to enable “future human settlement” of the moon. (Bezos, the founder of Amazon.com, owns The Washington Post.)

“It is time for America to return to the Moon — this time to stay,” Bezos said in response to emailed questions from The Post. “A permanently inhabited lunar settlement is a difficult and worthy objective. I sense a lot of people are excited about this.”

The Post obtained a copy of the white paper, marked “proprietary and confidential,” and the company then confirmed its authenticity and agreed to answer questions about it.

. . . .

Blue Origin’s proposal, dated Jan. 4, doesn’t involve flying humans, but rather is focused on a series of cargo missions. Those could deliver the equipment necessary to help establish a human colony on the moon — unlike the Apollo missions, in which the astronauts left “flags and footprints” and then came home.

Link to the rest at The Washington Post

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04 Mar 20:46

Jackie Pearcey to fight Manchester Gorton for the Lib Dems

by Jonathan Calder
A tweet from John Leech brings news that Jackie Pearcey has been chosen to fight the Manchester Gorton for the Liberal Democrats.

Jackie was profiled by the Manchester Evening News in 2010:
Originally from Hartlepool, Jackie Pearcey started life on a council estate and has since lived in Leeds before coming to Manchester, where Jackie has been a councillor for Gorton North in since 1991 [she was defeated in 2012].
During that time she has been finance spokesperson, education spokesperson and more recently crime and disorder spokesperson. 
Jackie, a lifelong Liberal, has fought many campaigns as a councillor – from the campaign to allow war pensioners to have their war pensions disregarded for council tax and housing benefit calculations, to campaigns to protect local facilities ...
Outside politics, Jackie has both a degree and PhD in physics and worked in nuclear safety before switching to IT.
The faction-ridden Labour constituency party has yet to name a candidate for the contest, which was cause by the death of Sir Gerald Kaufman,
04 Mar 13:54

The Times reporting that the Tories are “deeply worried” about possible action over the GE2015 expenses investigation

by Mike Smithson

Could this be another scalp for Michael Crick?

The Times is reporting that the Tory GE2015 election expenses investigation, first brought to light by Channel 4`s Michael Crick, is getting to a point where charges could be be brought.

“.. Downing Street is “deeply worried” about the outcome of a police investigation into claims of expenses fraud during the 2015 general election.

Senior figures fear that the results of up to half a dozen constituency votes could be declared void — causing hurried by-elections — if prosecutors decide to make an example of the party. Criminal charges against key individuals are also possible.”

The cases are about allegations that the Tories exceeded the maximum expenses limit in a number of key marginals where there are strict rules on how much can be spent on constituency campaigns.

After the election the agents and candidates sign formal statements that there declaration of expenses is an accurate one and if there is any action then these people are thought likely to be the ones singled out.

It will be recalled that the Tories exceeded by some margin the projections of how many seats their national vote share would produce for them.

A police source quoted by the Times said “that files were expected to be sent to the Crown Prosecution Service within weeks”.

One of the seats which has been highlighted is Thanet South where the Tories beat off a challenge by UKIP’s Nigel Farage.

It is really hard to assess where this will lead and whether we could see by-elections in what were key marginals two years ago.

The Tories would feel confident seeing off a LAB challenge in seats where the red team was their main opponent. Nigel Farage and some of the LD seats they took could be a completely different proposition.

Mike Smithson

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04 Mar 13:02

N Ireland’s election: the road to nowhere?

by David Herdson

We look to be heading back to a suspension

Normalcy does not suit Northern Irish politics. A political structure designed to overcome the legacy of the seventeenth century (with a good deal of success, it has to be said), is in severe danger of being incapable of handling the practicalities of the twenty-first.

It’s not unusual for a coalition to break down over some disagreement of policy or administration, and for elections to follow. It is, by contrast, unusual for the parties concerned to be obliged by law to work together again after the election.

Such is the situation in Northern Ireland. The St Andrews agreement means that the largest party in the largest designation – which is likely to be the DUP, as unionists should outnumber nationalists in the new Assembly – will be able to nominate the First Minister. They will nominate Arlene Foster, First Minister before the election and the minister responsible for the RHI scandal. The largest party in the next largest designation – Sinn Fein – gets to nominate the Deputy First Minister. And as this is back with the status quo ante the election, they might well not nominate anyone, which is what they did to prompt the election in the first place.

In any other legislature, discussions would then go on with the other parties to see if either of the big two could form a different coalition or govern as a minority but Ulster doesn’t have any other legislature and those talks can’t happen: the rules are prescriptive and because they’re so prescriptive, there’s probably now at least a 75% chance of a suspension of the Assembly and Executive.

And this is why Stormont isn’t any other legislature and how the shadows of the Boyne still intrude. In a normal polity, the DUP would have suffered from the RHI overspend and lost vote share either to their main opponent (Sinn Fein in this case) or a rival party occupying a similar position on the spectrum (the UUP). In fact, while the DUP share did drop slightly, the higher turnout means that they won a good deal more votes than last May. Incompetence in office remains trivial as against breaking solidarity with the community.

Which is a problem because as long as voters remain stuck so rigidly in the habit of voting on community lines, true accountability will be difficult. Even the theoretical option of switching to another party within the relevant designation is limited when the risk of doing so is that it hands the prestige of being the largest party to the other side. Indeed, as this election has shown, even attempting true accountability risks losing the whole settlement.

Does this matter? After all, Stormont has been suspended before since the end of the Troubles. It does matter. For one thing, the Troubles were never really over: the terror threat within the province is still Severe. But the other reason Northern Ireland might soon be back in the news is Brexit.

The UK’s decision to leave the EU raises a lot of difficult questions about how that will impact north of the border (and indeed, on the border). Will there be a hard border with customs? Will freedom of movement be retained, to the Republic at least? How will customs be applied if the UK leaves the customs union? And so on. The lack of a First Ministerial pair and an Executive will make those negotiations even harder.

That shouldn’t be allowed to continue. There needs to be change and pressure needs to be brought to bear on the DUP and Sinn Fein to share power, either with each other or with smaller parties.

David Herdson

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03 Mar 22:34

Disability Day of Mourning: about the victims and no one else

by Neurodivergent K
Wednesday was the annual Disability Day of Mourning, when disabled people and our supporters gather and hold vigils and read the names of the hundreds of disabled people murdered by caregivers. In addition to holding meatspace vigils, there is an online vigil and people make their observance known in other ways across social media and in person, as their abilities and inclinations allow.

This post isn't about that much, except that the list is SO LONG. SO. LONG. Y'ALL. Starting with 2016 (it was cold, rainy, and a very late start) it still took half an hour to read names without causes of death. That's upsetting.

But what this post is about is the reactions of...certain individuals...to the existence of DDoM.

The Disability Day of Mourning is about remembering the disabled victims of caregiver violence, who are so often erased from their own stories, who are made to be the bad guys in their own murders. That is what it is about. That is who it is about.

So why are parents of disabled people making it about them? Why is the knee jerk reaction of so many parents "stop demonizing me" and "not all parents" and "acknowledge how hard it is!!!!"

Y'all. Listen to yourselves.

If you did not kill your disabled family member, you don't get a cookie, and DDoM is in no way about you. No shit "not all parents", this is not about parents. It is about disabled people, who are people in our own right, not just as appendages to Real People like yourselves. And everyone goddamn acknowledges your shoes all the fucking time. DDoM started because, after the murder of George Hodgins, the Autism Society of America put out a story about "the tragedy of Elizabeth Hodgins" that didn't even mention George's name. That's how bad the erasure is here.

We needed a vigil, done by us, to have our deaths at least be about us rather than about how we inconvenience those around us.

It is not about you. If you feel attacked by the very existence of an event, one day a year, to remember people murdered by caregivers, dig deep and think about why that is. Do you relate to the killers a bit too much? Do you struggle to see disabled people as people rather than as appendages to those you can see as people? Really contemplate, rather than lashing out at people who are mourning.

Even if you won't mourn with us, allow us our grief. The people we remember on DDoM deserve to be cried for, and we deserve room for our pain. Let us have that. It's one day a year that isn't about your shoes. Let us have one day where we can be mournful about people ripped from our communities without making it about someone else's goddamn shoes.


03 Mar 22:22

The Richmond Park by-election - and some local Liberal history

by Jonathan Calder


Seth Thévoz has written a study under the title The Richmond Park By-Election in Perspective: Lessons from Liberal, Social Democrat and Liberal Democrat By-Election Gains for the Social Liberal Forum.

Like everything he writes, it is worth reading. The first lesson he draws is that:
Liberal Democrats should be realistic in aiming to make more by-election gains this parliament - but not ... imagine that a streak of four or five such victories is likely, given the diminishing number of by-elections triggered. One more, maybe two, would be quite enough to show that the party is winning elections again.
That is surely true. I am less convinced by his argument that we should consider ad hoc arrangements with other parties in parliamentary by-elections.

In part this is because I believe Jeremy Corbyn is politically toxic and an alliance with him might well do more harm than good for the Lib Dems.

More fundamentally, it is because, as I have argued before, the idea that a party can deliver its voters en bloc to a different party is a bit of an activist's fantasy.

And as I also argued then:
When voters have made up their mind to throw out the Tories, they are quite capable of organising themselves to do it. 
Think of 1997, when the operation was carried out with ruthless efficiency. Sometimes that was to the detriment of us Liberal Democrats. 
In several of our target seats (St Albans, Hastings and Rye, Bristol West) ... Labour came from third place to beat the Tories.
Seth also goes into the history of modern Liberalism in Richmond upon Thames. As I was active there in 1983 and 1984 that part is of particular interest to me.

He is right to say we were convinced we were going to gain the seat at the 1983 general election, only to lose by 74 votes.

Given how close that result was, it is fair to suggest that a more dynamic candidate that Alan Watson, and in particular one with stronger roots in community campaigning, might well have won.

Seth also underestimates how home-grown the Liberal success in Richmond was. He writes:
In the aftermath of the December 1972 Sutton and Cheam by-election, Liberals in Kingston and Richmond were visited by Trevor Jones, who had served as campaign manager in the Sutton by-election, and offered a masterclass on how to win council seats, with these techniques being put to good use.
I never heard any mention of this visit from Jones while I was in Richmond, so I wonder how important it was. My memory of those days was that just saying you were from Richmond when you turned up to help at a by-election somewhere else gave you remarkable kudos.

And if you read the Wikipedia entry for Stanley Rundle, the pioneer of modern Liberalism in the borough, you will see how early he stated publishing Kew Comments (a forerunner of the ubiquitous Focus):
Rundle targeted the Kew ward on Richmond Council from 1963, distributing the monthly Kew Comment bulletin. When a by-election occurred in 1966, he won the Liberal's first seat on the council. 
However, he was narrowly beaten in the Richmond upon Thames London Borough Council election, 1968, after a local residents' association put up rival candidates. Another by-election arose later that year, and Rundle won, becoming the only opposition councillor on the Conservative-dominated body. 
The Conservatives would meet in private to agree council business before holding a formal meeting with Rundle also present. In protest at this, Rundle organised his own pre-council meeting with local residents; over 400 turned up, attracting press attention.
Note how radical Rundle was. Everyone who mentioned him to me did so in terms of enormous admiration. I suspect his contribution to the Liberal revival deserves to be much better known.

Rundle died in 1978 and I believe he had been ill for a while before that.

It was expected that his protege John Waller would fight Richmond in 1979, but Alan Watson (then something of a television personality) wowed the selection meeting and won the nomination instead.

John Waller crossed the river and fought Twickenham instead. In those days the Liberals were firmly in third place there. I can recall one young Liberal activist confiding to me in the pub that, crazy as it sounded, he thought one of the wards in the centre of town might be winnable.
Featured on Liberal Democrat Voice
But because of the foundations John Waller laid, Twickenham was gained by the Liberal Democrats in 1997 on the same night we gained Richmond.
03 Mar 18:22

Dilbert - 1993-03-03

03 Mar 17:55

Northern Ireland elections and the political centre

by Nick

(Like my post the other day, and as I expect posts here to be frequently from now on, this is me thinking aloud about issues that circle around my PhD thesis so thoughts, comments and corrections are welcome)

It’s electoral systems geek Christmas right now as Northern Ireland counts its latest Assembly election. As one of the few places in the world to use STV elections and because it has both parties and voters ready to utilise the full potential of the electoral system, it’s fascinating to watch how election counts unfold and see how votes transfer between parties and candidates. (For live coverage, I recommend the Slugger O’Toole blog and Nicholas Whyte’s analysis of the constituencies and the effects of the drop in seats from 6 to 5 in each of them gives a good background)

Beyond the general geekery, one thing that has caught my attention in this election has been the potential development of a new politics of the centre in Northern Ireland. One thing I’ve been working on in my research is the question of how we define a ‘centre party’, and I’m currently looking at ideas of how the political centre can have two different meanings, depending on the political context of the times and the current situation in Northern Ireland gives an interesting illustration of that.

A lot of the theory about political parties is based on the idea of them being an expression of cleavages in society. For instance, in conventional ‘left-right’ politics, parties developed to represent the interests of workers on one side and business on the other. (This is a simplification, but I’m writing a blog post, not an entire paper) When I talk about centre parties, I’m talking about parties that instead try and sit in the middle of that cleavage as an attempt to bridge between the two sides (again, blog post not paper, but you can read my in depth thoughts on this here). This is why Northern Irish politics are interesting in this terms as not only is the main cleavage and dimension of competition a nationalist-unionist one, rather than left-right, it has a clear centre party (the Alliance Party) that intentionally places itself in the middle of that cleavage as well as two main competing parties on either side of the cleavage (Sinn Fein and the SDLP on one, the UUP and DUP on the other).

One of the key changes in Northern Irish politics since the Good Friday agreement has been the movement within each side of the cleavage away from the moderate parties. In the first post-Agreement election, the UUP and the SDLP were the two leading parties, with David Trimble and John Hume leading an all-party power-sharing administration. Since then, the DUP and Sinn Fein have supplanted their more moderate rivals, eventually leading to the position after the last election where they formed an administration between themselves, leaving the more moderate parties to go into opposition. The DUP/Sinn Fein administration collapsed in January over the ‘cash for ash’ scandal, prompting the current election, but part of the reaction to that has been the UUP and SDLP leaders both saying that they would give each other’s parties their second preferences in the vote.

This, I think, helps to illustrate the idea I’m working on of there being two separate but linked idea of the political centre and what it means to be a ‘centre party’. In conventional times, a centre party is merely one that defines itself as being in the middle of the cleavage, but in more polarised times, the conception of the centre widens to include all of those who make common cause in defence of conventional politics against the threat from extremists on either side of the cleavage. Northern Ireland makes for an interesting example of this change because of the strength of the cleavage beforehand, where there’s been very little cross-community voting but now the UUP and SDLP appear to have come to a common realisation that they have more in common with each other across the centre than they do with their rival parties from within their own community. The idea of parties uniting in a democratic centre isn’t new – it’s been a feature of countries threatened by extreme parties, and those emerging from dictatorship into democracy – but it’s interesting to see it playing out in a politics based on a different dimension of competition.

One idea I need to look into more is perhaps the difference between ‘permanent’ and ‘temporary’ centre parties (or perhaps it’s more a difference between explicitly centre parties and those with a centrist tendency?) to look at this idea more, especially the question of when a system reaches a tipping point when competition switches from being cleavage-based to becoming about the centre vs the extreme.

And on that note, it’s time to go and see how the people of Northern Ireland have actually voted, and whether the voters have followed the party leaderships in moving towards the centre, or if they’ve just made all this speculation pointless.

03 Mar 17:53

John Calnan, R.I.P.

by evanier

We recently found out that veteran comic book artist John Calnan passed away at the end of last year at the age of 84. John was kind of a utility infielder for DC Comics from around 1967 to 1982, working on all their books — war, western, romance, super-hero, etc. Sometimes he penciled, sometimes he inked. He drew Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman and was the artist for Metamorpho after artist Ramona Fradon left comic books to draw the Brenda Starr newspaper strip.

Calnan was a graduate of the School of Visual Arts where, like many of his contemporaries, he studied with artist Jerry Robinson and got his first jobs in comics as an assistant to Lone Ranger artist Tom Gill. Mr. Calnan did some work on his own for Classics Illustrated, then went to work in advertising for a time. A co-worker at the ad agency knew some people at DC Comics and that led to Calnan beginning to moonlight for DC. Eventually, the part-time job became the full-time job and vice-versa.

He proved to be a very reliable artist for them — not flashy but really, really useful to have available. DC editor Murray Boltinoff is said to have remarked, "My job would be a breeze if every artist was as good and professional as John Calnan." I never met Mr. Calnan — apparently, relatively few folks who worked in comics ever did — but I greatly respected his skill and dedication and I thought his passing should be noted.

The post John Calnan, R.I.P. appeared first on News From ME.

03 Mar 17:53

Why is fair and equal pay still up for debate?

by feministaspie

Doing the rounds on Twitter this morning is this clip of a Polish MEP arguing that women should be paid less than men. To quote directly: “And of course women must earn less than men, because they are weaker, they are smaller, they are less intelligent.” …Yep. Really. If you’ve made it on to this blog, I’m going to assume you already know that these views are abhorrent, that equal work deserves equal pay regardless of any stereotypes attached to the worker, and these discriminatory stereotypes certainly can’t be used to justify further discrimination in pay, because that’s just an awful circular argument when instead we should be fighting to end discrimination in the first place. At this point, in 2017, it isn’t even up for debate in the minds of all but the most extreme misogynists. Incidentally, a quick scroll through Google and Wikipedia shows that Janusz Korwin-Mikke has daughters, but that evidently hasn’t even stopped him being actively sexist, never mind giving him a free pass to speak on behalf of all women on the basis that he happens to be a parent of girls.

Keep this in mind.

Doing the rounds on Twitter yesterday was a ~debate~ over whether or not disabled people should be “allowed” to work for less than the minimum wage. (I’m not 100% comfortable giving that article more clicks, so instead I’ll link to this great Twitter thread by Stavvers which does also link to the article if you’re interested.) This argument did not come from a disabled person who wants to be allowed to work for less than the minimum wage; it came from an abled person who happens to be a parent of a woman with Down’s Syndrome (whose opinion, as far as I can tell, has never even been asked for). She also happens to employ disabled people in her own business; she’s effectively saying she should be allowed to pay her own employees less.

To be fair, a lot of people seem to be seeing this for the awful retrogressive ableist argument that it is, but it turns out there’s also a worryingly high number of people who don’t – or at least, they’re saying it’s so hard and complex, because it’s better than nothing and it could be a stepping stone and you can’t just easily fix society, y’know?  Maybe this shouldn’t have shocked me, but it did, because equal pay should not still be up for debate. Honestly, this post should end here. But given that these arguments do still have a lot of traction, I think it’s worth going through some of them.

Because it apparently needs to be pointed out, paid work and volunteering are not the same thing. At this point I feel I should say that I now volunteer with an autism organisation myself – I won’t go into details for anonymity reasons, but I will say that I and the other autistic volunteers have been treated with nothing but respect from the start, it’s all about real autistic participation in shaping how they run and it’s an incredibly rewarding experience, and it’s absolutely NOT  the same as a paid job. It’s volunteering, as in voluntary, as in I actively want to be a part of this and I’m not being pushed into it by other constraints, and it’s something I do every so often on an irregular basis for a few hours at a time around the degree that I’m doing full-time. If I got a regular job with them or somewhere else in the sector, I would expect to be paid, as their autistic and neurodivergent employees are. Of course, there’s also the ongoing issue of lengthy unpaid internships that basically amount to unpaid work, but that can’t be used to justify “allowing” (read: coercing) disabled people into unpaid work either – one exploitation doesn’t justify another exploitation, they’re just both exploitative.

And let’s not make the patronising assumption that disabled people are somehow exempt from the system of money. Disabled people are people – we need to eat, and have somewhere to live, and clothes to wear, and all kinds of other needs just like everyone else. Not all disabled people live with their parents or even have the option of doing so (it’s almost as if disabled people aren’t just extensions of abled parents or something…) and even for those who do, not all families can so easily support the needs (disability-specific or otherwise) of that person with their existing funds, especially as the Tory government continues to decimate disability benefits. A “fulfilling and purposeful life” is nice, but we also need money. And besides, why is work necessary for a fulfilling and purposeful life? What does that say about how society views those disabled people who are unable to work?

Another argument that I keep seeing conflates accessibility and adaptation of jobs for disabled people with paying disabled people a lower wage for some reason. It’s this idea of it being the first rung on the ladder, the idea that if only disabled people were “allowed” to work for less than the minimum wage, employers would jump to make all the accommodations necessary and eventually provide a fair wage. Even if I set aside my scepticism as to whether that would actually happen (why would employers want to take experienced disabled people on at a fair wage if there were allowed to take them on at an exploitative wage?), this ignores the fact that employers shouldn’t need cookies for bearing the oh-so-tragic-burden of accommodating disabled people – employers should accommodate disabled employees because it is legally required.

The next response is usually something along the lines of “but changing society is hard, this is better than nothing in the meantime”. And this is something I find really infuriating. Some accommodations are as simple as clear directions, as simple as moving to a calmer area, as simple as understanding and acceptance, basically as simple as not actively being ableist. That’s not the case for all accommodations for all people, but it would be a huge step forward, and it’s easy – if only abled people would listen. Some accommodations are less straightforward and would take longer to implement, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t even try. The gender pay gap persists after years of campaigning, but that doesn’t mean we should give up and accept that that’s the way it is, even though ending the gender pay gap would involve huge changes to the current way work life is structured which disadvantages maternity. Society has undergone lots of major long-term changes over the years – this is just saying disabled people aren’t worth making the changes for. The “better than nothing” approach is essentially expecting disabled people to just give up, to accept our lot, to be grateful for scraps because abled people couldn’t be bothered to give us anything better. “In the meantime” says that we should just wait our turn until a magical day in the future when abled people can be bothered, even though conceding ground such as this will decrease what little political will there is to actually empower disabled people currently. Discrimination is an artificial problem – rather than just acting like it can’t be helped, we need to end it.

These kinds of arguments were used decades ago, and apparently even today, to block equal pay for women. We know, fundamentally, that equal pay for women is not up for debate. So why are we even entertaining the idea for disabled people?

03 Mar 17:51

Let's Talk About What We Talk About When We Talk About Teaching Let's Talk About Love

by Tegan O'Neil

Part Seven of an ongoing series.  
Catch up with the previous section of this essay here
Catch up with Part One of the series here.
If you like my writing, please consider a donation to my Patreon.


Part Two - Slow Decay

With thanks to Matthew Perpetua, although he probably doesn't remember why

In Chapter 12, Wilson states that “there’s so much cultural capital invested in the muscular aesthetic judgment: we restrict our approval to what we can love, and sever ties with any less certain constituencies.” This is one of the overarching ideas of Wilson’s book, and of this class in general. When Wilson says we invest “cultural capital” in our aesthetic judgment (taste), he is saying we put a great deal of ourselves into what we choose to like: what we like is a function of the person we want to be, as well as a project of the kind of people we don’t want to be. Do you think he’s right? Explain your answer.

A good drummer elevates a mediocre band, and a great drummer transforms good musicians into something more. R.E.M. will serve as example. 1983’s Murmur is hailed as one of the great debut albums, a record that managed to sound both impressive at its genesis and prophetic in hindsight regarding many future directions the band would explore. Murmur captures the band at a very interesting moment in their genesis. To put it bluntly, out of four musicians only one of them has any idea what he’s doing – Bill Berry, the drummer. The other three are all quite enthusiastic, and already developing the chops that will carry them forward as a more balanced four-piece. But that first album is all about Bill Berry: he can play fast and he can play subtle, but mostly he can just play.

The presence of a competent drummer inspires other musicians to follow, and in little time the rest of the band caught up – 1984’s Reckoningis confident in every way that Murmurwas tentative, the work of a band who may not have completely caught their drummer but who are working hard to stay in the cut. The same dynamic can be seen on Turn on the Bright Lights­ – an album that, like Murmur, masks any deficiencies of technique with atmosphere and hooks. It’s a murky album, a late night album. It’s also an urban album, and not just because songs like “NYC” are explicitly about, well, New York City. It’s claustrophobic and paranoid music about cities for people who look upwards expecting to see not the reflected light of the sun shining across concrete and glass skyscrapers but tall buildings crumbling to the ground. 





Turn on the Bright Lights­ introduces a band that is already remarkably comfortable playing together. As on Murmur, much of the success rests squarely on the drummer’s shoulders, but not all. Carlos Dengler – “Carlos D” – wraps his bass tightly around Fogarino’s rhythm. Dengler is the band’s melodic core, a rumble at subterranean frequencies carrying the germ of every melody. The two guitars – lead Daniel Kessler and Banks – are often textural Sometimes the sound is pretty, as on the aforementioned “NYC,” a song luminescent in its commitment to beauty. Right after “NYC,” however, comes “PDA”: dating back to the band’s earliest demos in 1998, “PDA” moves with confidence, a grace belied by the angry and abrasive guitars which burn through the entirety of the five minute running time.

Click to hear "Stella . . ."

The album’s centerpiece is the six-and-a-half-minute epic, “Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down.” This is an ambitious song that depends for execution on Fogarino’s technical ability to convey a great deal of emotion. The beat rolls and pulses, shivers and pounds, but never sits still. For such a sad song, it swings with a military tautness. Subtract every other instrument and Fogarino still communicates mood: anxious, variable, by turns intense and delicate. He tells a story with a drumstick gliding like a cat’s paw across his snare.

It’s very easy to overlook a drummer's skill and especially their subtlety. In conversation I’m surprised to learn that many people don’t even hear the drums in their favorite music. Drummers aren’t actually invisible, but their contributions sometimes are.

Again, with "Stella" we see the Joy Division comparisons ring false. Despite the forbidding exterior, Interpol is a very warm band. They play with a unity that seems instinctive. Even if the songs themselves may be sad or paranoid, the music itself is the product of a band playing in close proximity and with great enthusiasm. They sound like they enjoy playing together quite a bit. Joy Division is music for the tundra - or, Manchester - spare and frigid, epic in its devotion to melancholy. Stifling. Interpol is the sound of New York City, intimate and dehumanizing. 

Having plenty of experience with severe depression both in myself and my family, I find a little Joy Division goes a long way: too real. But it is real, and raw. Banks rarely asserts raw anguish in the same primal fashion that Curtis did. The emotional palette has greater breadth, if less depth. He’s anxious, yes – anxiety is perhaps the single overriding emotion across the entirety of the Interpol discography – but he’s also by turns hopeful, loving, caustic, and angry. Wounded. As a lyricist he is pensive and humble, lacking the stentorian confidence Curtis broadcast in his guise as a visiting potentate from beyond the valley of sadness. It's not "better" but it's certainly a lot more varied than the reductive comparison of a few surface similarities would imply.

Take the aforementioned “Stella.” Banks likes to hide intimate and emotional sentiments behind prurient veils. The eponymous Stella suffers from depression. It's not a song about sex, although sex is described in the lyrics as something Stella uses to harm herself. The singer is unable to help her as she falls before his eyes: 

When she walks down the street /
She knows there's people watching /
The building fronts are just fronts /
To hide the people watching her. /
She once fell through the street /
Down the manhole in that bad way, he-ey /
The underground drip /
It's just like her scuba days.

Stella suffers clinical depression so severe it makes her feel like she's drowning. The paranoia Stella exhibits (“She knows there's people watching”) is a symptom of the depression that causes her to, periodically, fall through the streets, into the sewers – the “underground drip” of her “scuba days.” The speaker knows from experience that when Stella puts on her scuba gear, she is in big trouble. Even when depression lifts, there’s the awareness that it can return according to the whims of chance, chemistry, or both. The calm that follows every chorus is misleading, peace achieved through exhaustion. The moment towards the end of the song when it appears as if it might swoop up into another climax, before ultimately dissipating, is the moment the listener realizes they're tense like a clenched fist, waiting for a reprise that never arrives.



It makes for an interesting counterpoint with the obvious corollary, Joy Division's "She's Lost Control," from 1979's Unknown Pleasures. Both take as their ostensible subject a woman in the throes of a destructive illness - Stella with her depression, and the unnamed woman who suffers from the same epilepsy that made its indelible mark on Curtis' brief life. "She's Lost Control" is a howl of very personal rage. Curtis' description of the illness draws from his own perspective as a sufferer as well as the shock of seeing another person experience the same kind of pain, supposedly in the form of a woman he met while working his day job at the benefits office:

And she screamed out kicking on her side and said /
I've lost control again /
And seized upon the floor I thought she'd die /
She said I've lost control.
It's a potent song because it manages to describe an awful event from both the perspective of the sufferer and the bystander. It's also, like much Joy Division, extremely claustrophobic. It's painful to experience and painful to see, but the event itself is dwarfed in Curtis' telling by the simple fact that the seizure is a recurring event that demolishes every illusion of self-discipline and personal autonomy. It's not "just" that she's lost control, it's that she's lost control . . . again. It's a hell that stretches towards the horizon, indefinitely. 

Banks lacks Curtis'  harrowing gravitas. He sings from the perspective of a man powerless to save the woman he loves from self-destruction, not as a fellow sufferer but as a bystander. "Stella" succeeds in conveying an experience that Curtis does not: while he feels great sorrow for his lover, there's no moment of recognition, no moment where Banks indicates he understands Stella's suffering. Curtis' strength as a lyricist and a singer comes from his ability to inhabit and transmit from places of great misery, but it's also a limiting perspective. Banks is honest about the limits of his ability to empathize, but what he can express is something quite different but equally important: the experience of someone who is surrounded by pain that he can neither fully comprehend or arrest. It's an honest admission of helplessness, and a familiar feeling to anyone who has ever lost a loved one under similar circumstances.

Throughout the song he repeats “Stella I love you, Stella I love you, Stella I love you” over and again like a mantra, before asserting that “She was all right 'cause the sea was so airtight.” Then you realize he’s discussing Stella in the past tense. He keeps yelling that “she broke away,” and our minds automatically drift to the worst outcomes. The final words of the song hint at her final disposition:

There's something that's invisible /
There's some things you can't hide /
Try to detect you when I'm sleeping /
In a wave you say goodbye.

Stella’s gone. In her wake she leaves the pain of those who loved her, a man who can only say goodbye in his dreams. Someone who can’t go forward, left to worry a wound that has not healed and feels for the moment as if it may never. The world, his world, their world has changed, and not for the better. There’s no going back.

But that’s not what this essay is about.

It’s a provocative thought: that the melodramatic, the sentimental, might be a repressed truth of human feeling, inhibited by the modern imperatives of reason and ambiguity. Perhaps the dream content of the sentimental is today in need of liberation, the way that in the early twentieth century, Freud and the surrealists realized western society needed to bare and scratch the sexual, violent underbelly of consciousness. With inhibitions against them removed, the tender sentiments might unveil their unsuspected splendors. (Wilson)

As a writer it’s not enough to identify your audience. This is an easy enough exercise in the classroom. I ask students, who’s the audience for your papers? The answer is simple – me, the teacher. But then they have to go one step further. What does your audience need? How do you tailor your ideas to fit the needs of your audience?

Exigency is the root motivation behind your writing, the prime mover that pushes you forward, that stands behind your stated purpose. What is your purpose in writing a school paper? To get a good grade. How do you do that? By giving the teacher what they want to see. What does the teacher want to see? Good writing. Impress your audience – me – and be rewarded accordingly with a good grade. But what is your exigency? You want a good grade, but that’s just part of it – why are you here in the first place? Exigency is the hole to be filled, the situation that creates the need that your act of communication is created to meet.  

It’s a rudimentary observation of cause and effect, but it does the job of showing students how they already understand these concepts. Everyone already understands how to tailor their communication to fit their readers, so long as they know that a text message to your mother looks differently than a text message to your girlfriend. Most people also understand that someone’s stated or presumed purpose is a different idea from core motivation. Purpose is why you are doing something, but exigency is your motivation. You want to get a good grade in this class because you want to go to graduate school to become a social worker and give back to your community? Excellent, now write like you care, like every grade counts as a step in that direction. 

Writing doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Communication is a social exercise. I enjoy telling my students that it’s OK to acknowledge that their purpose for writing well is a good grade. It’s the truth, after all. But that’s just one layer of motivation, and this is especially useful to remember when the assignment calls for something like writing a hypothetical cover letter for your resume (a common enough composition assignment). Sure, their “ultimate” audience is me and their ultimate purpose is a grade, but in order to do that they have to first figure out how to pretend to write for another audience – in that instance, a prospective employer. Asking students to imagine hypotheticals never quite works out the way I think it will, and they sometimes struggle with the make-believe aspect of pretending to write for a certain audience. But I have no doubt that when they sit down to write a cover letter they will know how to switch tone to match circumstances, because the consequences of failing are no longer imaginary. 



Over the course of a year I read Wilson’s book cover-to-cover half-a-dozen times, teach every chapter and rehearse every argument with my students. I never regret structuring the class around Wilson’s book because it is an excellent book with many lessons that can be applied to the classroom. Wilson is a superb stylist, able to communicate complex ideas with simple and direct language while still retaining a great deal of subtle affect when the moment calls for it. In order to write well students must be exposed to good writing, and I had no compunction about holding up Let’s Talk About Love as a model of straightforward, concise, and inventive prose.

Moreso than just a well-written book, however, Wilson has constructed a surprisingly intricate personal narrative around the ostensible purpose of discussing Celine Dion. It’s not something that leaps out at the reader, and in fact, Wilson’s own life is barely mentioned for most of the book. Each chapter approaches the “problem” of Celine Dion from a different perspective, with cute titles such as “Let’s Talk About Schmaltz” and “Let’s Talk About Who’s Got Bad Taste,” indicating the different strategies Wilson adopts in order to triangulate his elusive subject throughout the course of the story. There is a story, after all – Wilson is telling us about his life, although it’s only towards the end of the book that we understand his core exigency.

A Journey to the End of Taste is not linear. Rather than a straight shot from thesis to conclusion, the book meanders through tangents, wandering until the goal of the investigation becomes obscured. Finally it clicks with the discovery of a thread leading through the heart of the labyrinth and back again:

She loved it, she said, because it was the truth. There was nothing more layered or contradictory to say. “Oh boy!” expressed exactly how she felt, right there and then, about me. (Wilson)

It’s not until the book is 5/6ths over that the reader even knows what it was about. All the pieces were there. He didn’t act as if he were constructing a mystery. You didn’t even know at the outset that there wasa motivation for Wilson writing the book other than its stated goal of investigating Dion’s popularity. But suddenly there’s another reason, and everything you’ve read clicks into place.

This is the “Eureka!” moment, I tell my students. This is where the magician pulls the rabbit out of his hat and you’re amazed because you didn’t even know there was a trick in the offing. The class is never quite as impressed as I think they should be. This is an important lesson, however: motivation is often hidden. Motivation is often only apparent in hindsight. Everything in the book means more after he tells you that he’s writing it to come to terms with a recent divorce. He recollects a scene where he and his lover listened to an old Buddy Holly 45". He wants to understand why she loves the song, but she just does, and "nothing more layered or contradictory" needs be said. It makes her feel something. The memory of her, of the song, makes him feel something, too. Of course that's why he wrote the book. It just makes more sense.  

Although it was most certainly not intended to be, Let’s Talk About Love was a remarkably effectively rhetoric reader. Wilson is thorough. He approaches every aspect of Celine Dion’s career up to that date, sifting through arguments and approaches scholarly, historical, sociological, and anecdotal, before concluding that the only way to accurately and respectfully explain Dion’s popularity would be through a simple appeal to pathos. You listen to music because it can make you feel good and it can make you feel sad. You listen to remember better days and bad days. Sometimes it’s as simple as that: people listen to music because they want to feel something. Sometimes people write long essays because they want to feel something.

Let’s Talk About Love is a book about developing empathy. It’s also a good tool for explaining the concept of empathy as it rates to writing: good writing must anticipate the needs of its audience and tailor itself to fit. Wilson's book is literally about understanding audience. (Wilson certainly understood the audience for his book, as proven by its success – the only volume in the 33 1/3 series to rate a trade reprint without series branding. It’s a good enough book that it outgrew its audience.) Know your audience. Try to understand your audience – the better to be able to communicate effectively. Learn to approach unfamiliar situations in both writing and life with patience and humility. Communication is hard. The effort required to communicate effectively with another human being is equivalent to the effort required to understand them. Whatever tools you need to use in order to be able to understand another person, use those tools. Embrace them. 

Who are you or I to let something as insignificant as taste dictate our attitudes towards other people. The book planted a seed in me, and the seed ultimately bore fruit in a loss of confidence in the very idea of professional scholarship.

But that’s not what this essay is about.



In this chapter Wilson also mentions a group called Sonic Youth, and refers to them as a “terrific soundtrack for making aesthetic judgments.” Listen to one of the Sonic Youth tracks I’ve upload onto the Smart Site annotations for Chapter 12. (If you’ve heard SY before, you might have an advantage here!) Based on these examples (and our understanding of rhetoric), what kind of audience do you believe Sonic Youth might appeal to? How can you tell that Sonic Youth are supposed to appeal to a different audience than the kind of audience that likes Celine Dion?

I purchased El Pintor at the Santa Clarita Target on a shopping trip with my partner during her first week of classes at CalArts in 2014, and she will go on in 2016 to graduate with an MFA in Photography. I am extraordinarily proud of her. Don Cheadle speaks at her graduation and passes within a few feet of me. That is the closest I have ever been to a very famous person. The graduation ceremony comes on May 13th, ten days after Donald Trump clinches the Republican nomination for President, and fourteen after I discover that I am trans. 

It’s an excellent album, far better than any fifth album – and first after losing a core member – has any right to be. It’s spry and upbeat, full of crunchy guitar hooks and high on energy throughout. In places its almost Corgan-esque. Without wanting to read too much into band dynamics to which I am not privy, it almost sounds like a kiss-off. They are uncharacteristically happy in places, such as the spry "Anywhere" and anthemic "Ancient Ways."


Their fourth, untitled album – and the last before Dengler leaves the group – is a moody, pensive affair, forbidding and cyclopean. It is low on hooks, and suffers from a weak middle stretch. It very much sounds like the kind of album a band makes before losing a core member: cool, technically proficient, but remarkably glum. It’s not a happy album in any way, and lacks the moments of levity that dot even Turn on the Bright Lights­. It matched the country’s mood at the time: tense and tired, exhausted by partisan resistance to the first two years of the Obama administration. The miraculous expectations built by his meteoric ascent have already been punctured, and will never again return.

It is a dense and intricate listen. Listen to “Summer Well”: so many different songs packed into a tight four minutes. Every 16 bars or so Fogarino switches up the rhythm, building tension from the quiet opening moments up through the eventual climax that builds momentum into an exhilarating motoric denouement. Listen to how Fogarino uses his hi-hat to communicate restlessness and anxiety throughout the early sections, but after the track segues into the final passage he doesn’t touch the snare again. We process its absence with relief even if we failed to register its initial presence.

I buy both the fourth and third Interpol records at the same store, albeit in different locations: the fourth album at the Northampton branch of Newbury Comics, Our Love To Admire at the previous location in Amherst. I purchase the former at the beginning of the last year of my return to college, the latter in the summer before my first.

Click to hear "Who Do You Think"
Our Love To Admire was the band’s attempt at a major label breakthrough after spending their first two albums (and two most recent) at venerable super-indie Matador. I didn’t think much of it at first, and neither did the rest of the world, as it was their first and only album for Capitol. It’s an odd record composed only of sharp edges – even the ballads sound brittle and jagged. When it gels, it cracks and roars with a ferocity unique in their catalog – “Who Do You Think” especially excels as a star turn for Fogarino, built completely around chorus and verse hooks supplied by Fogarino’s punishing but precise technique. (In terms of falling headfirst into the frustrating chasm that separates pop ambition and success, Our Love To Admire shares quite a bit with First Impressions of Earth. Both albums are unsettled.)

Summer 2007 was a hopeful time. George W Bush was fated to be president for another year and a half but was deep into the invisible final two years of his term, defeated by a litany of political wounds largely self-inflicted. Barack Obama had already announced his candidacy for the 2008 election earlier in the year. After reading Larissa MacFarquhar’s 2007 profile of candidate Barack Obama, published in the May 7 issue of The New Yorker, I decide to vote for Hillary Clinton in the primary. MacFarquhar’s portrait of Obama as a pragmatic politician, one who values compromise above all other virtues, seemed to represent the candidate as a kind of bait-and-switch. I was already wary of candidate Obama’s language, unsettled by the discrepancy between his lofty rhetoric and the small-ball incrementalism of his stated policies. I imagined Hillary to be motivated at least in part by a desire for revenge against the Republican establishment, whether she admitted this or not. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps Hillary should have received the nomination in 2008. I didn’t believe at the time that her politics were that different than Obama’s – similarly centrist and corporatist – and I still don’t. In hindsight she seems the smarter choice for an election that did not require a great populist movement to unseat a remarkably unpopular incumbent party.

(An aside: Our Love To Admire was released on the same date, July 10th 2007, as Spoon’s Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. I distinctly remember buying them on the same shopping trip, one of the first undertaken from my then-new apartment in Holyoke, across a bridge over the Connecticut River from South Hadley. While the Spoon album was an instant favorite, it would be another nine years before I came around to the merits of Interpol’s third.)

Antics was likewise purchase at Newbury Comics, the Worcester branch. It came out in the final weeks of summer weather, 2004, two days after my birthday. I dreaded the Fall. 2004 was my second Fall in New England, having arrived the previous October after running out on our mortgage in Oklahoma. The lengthening of shadows filled me with a presentiment of loss. It was not a happy period. Although my marriage shuddered forward for another year – ending, formally, on my birthday, September 26th 2005 – we were already growing distant. In hindsight this was an inevitable effect of having survived the stresses of previous years.   

In the fall of 2004 the Iraq War was a year and a half old. The long, sick slide into catastrophe unfolded in slow motion, a country lurching forward in overreaction to an unconnected tragedy. We lied to ourselves about the reelection of George W. Bush, because we all wanted very badly to believe that the country would course-correct from such a disastrous misadventure. But the fix was in. People were still scared. They’d soon go from scared to angry as W’s presidency was hobbled in its fifth year by the disastrous trifecta of an increasingly unpopular occupation of Iraq, a failed attempt at entitlement reform that overestimated the breadth of his mandate, and the singularly inept handling of Hurricane Katrina. 
Click to hear "Not Even Jail"

Although overshadowed by its famous parent, Antics is every bit as good as its predecessor. It lacks the wiry energy of the debut: that first album sounds immediate and jittery in a way the band is never able to recapture. But Anticsis confident. It’s the work of a band operating at the precise peak of their power. There are no wasted notes. No filler. From the opening strains of Hammond organ on “Next Exit” – one of the few instances of any kind of keyboard or synthesizer in the Interpol oeuvre – to the final grace notes of closing dirge “A Time To Be So Small” (a less rapey rewrite of Magazine’s “Permafrost”), Antics develops and mutates the formula of Turn on the Bright Lights­ with great ingenuity. Again, the comparison to R.E.M. is most instructive: just as Reckoning was a refinement of Murmur, Antics is a purification of the impulses that created Turn on the Bright Lights­, for better and for worse. It also has a bit of Fables of the Reconstruction, reflecting a kinship between early R.E.M.’s Gothic southern regionalism and the Interpol’s Gothic New York City – both seem crabbed and occasionally dreary from afar, but reveal on closer inspection a great deal of humor and compassion hiding among the wreckage.  

The centerpiece of the album – and a cornerstone in the Interpol discography – “Not Even Jail” crystallizes the band’s strengths into a six-minute howl of impotent rage. This is the key, crucial to understanding what the band are and what they represent: Banks is always powerless, prey to events he cannot understand and trapped in terrible situations. The song begins smoothly enough, with a placid Banks crooning,

I'll lay down my glasses /
I'll lay down in houses /
If things come alive. /
I'll subtract pain by ounces /
Yeah, I will start painting houses /
If things come alive.

Something is off here, though, even if his tone is calming. The sequence of statements seems disconnected. The ugly slant rhymes of “glasses” / “houses” and “ounces / houses” (both “houses” and “alive” repeat as self-rhymes) lend the passage a conversational tone. Someone is talking. Someone is explaining themselves very carefully, but imprecisely, placing emphases on strange incidents and objects whose significance is not immediately clear to the listener. Things are going to get better if the situation improves, he says. I’ll stop drinking, I’ll get to work. I’ll begin to make incremental improvements to my life, by ounces.

Banks doesn’t sound convincing. He doesn’t even sound convinced himself.

The song is driven by Fogarino’s relentless stomp, a steady pounding heartbeat that moves like a panic attack, fervid discontent building ruthlessly to a forceful climax. Much of the power in these early Interpol albums comes from the sense of rivalry between Banks and Fogarino, the impression that Banks is always running from behind, consistently trying and failing to reassert authority. He is powerless to effect change in his life, and this powerlessness – the feeling of being a bystander in your own life, even of being second banana in your own band – is the defining theme of early Interpol.

He wants to explain himself, to justify his actions and behaviors, to offer up some kind of explanation as to why he just doesn’t work right. But his soft words are overwhelmed by the force of the hairpin turn at the 1:46 minute mark, at which moment the extended loping instrumental bridge drops gear into the first chorus, hitting the downbeat with a hammer just as Banks' frustration with being misunderstood manages to overwhelm his natural reticence and shame. Soon he is reduced to shouting self-improvement homilies into the crescendo (“Remember take hold of your time here / Give some meanings to the means / To your end”), humiliated by his inability to make himself heard over the din of his own music.

He’s not happy. And he’s not happy because he can’t communicate. He’s trying to be reasonable, trying to explain the problem, but he doesn’t really understand the problem and is growing increasingly distressed that his unheard interlocutor is upset (“Oh, but hold it still, darling, your hair’s so pretty / Can't you feel the warmth of my sincerity?”). Banks, being Banks, can’t help but sell a plea for genuine sincerity as bitingly obtuse. Of course we can’t, your wooden sincerity is about as warm as a wire mother. It unsettles people.

Please be quiet, you’re making a scene: “You're making people's lives feel less private / Don't take time away / You make motion when you cry.” The situation has long since slipped away from him and he is lost. The narrator by now is desperate, for reconciliation, for calm, for every ounce of unpleasantness to disappear, as he fights for a resumption of an amity that is gone now and forever.

We all hold hands /
Can't we all hold hands /
When we make new plans?

Of course we can’t. That’s not how this works. The needy parts of our souls are the most vulnerable, and most hurtful. Sometimes we don’t get to pick and choose when we hurt people, sometimes we don't even understand why. It just happens. And sometimes people get left behind.

I don’t remember precisely when I bought Turn on the Bright Lights­, but I remember where: the Best Buy next to the health club my wife and I join in 2004 because we need shower facilities. We drive into and out of Worcester from Rutland (a twenty minute drive) every day or every other day to clean ourselves because we live in a dirty cabin with rudimentary plumbing. Before the health club, I become expert in washing my hair in the kitchen sink and giving myself sponge baths while standing in a plastic bin in an unheated kitchen.

But that’s not what this essay is about. 

To Be Continued

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 Part Seven of an ongoing series. 
4. Someday We Will All Be Free
5. Trifles, Light As Air

Let's Talk About What We Talk About When We
Talk About Teaching Let's Talk About Love

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Don Cheadle, CalArts Graduation Ceremony, 05/13/16

$8 nachos, CalArts Graduation Ceremony, 05/13/16
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02 Mar 16:53

Another way of looking at how the parties are doing – how successful they are at fundraising

by Mike Smithson

LAB drops to 3rd

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02 Mar 16:33

Is Americanization speeding up?

by lynneguist
Today I got to hear myself on BBC Radio 4's Word of Mouth talking with host Michael Rosen and anti-Americanism-ist Matthew Engel.

This is just a picture. Click HERE for the program(me)!
Biggest regret: that I completely blanked on the fact that sidewalk is originally a British word. Had to go home and read about it in my own book manuscript. I also regret that they cut a bit I said about British music artists singing in their own accents. (So please read this instead. I think the producer/editor might have thought that the reference to grime music would be too much for the Radio 4 [orig. AmE] listenership.)

But listening now to Engel repeatedly saying that American English influence on British is constantly increasing, I wish I'd pointed out this:

The 20th Century is often called "The American Century". The 21st Century is looking a lot less American. To be sure, it's not looking like the British century either. That came the century before.

American culture (and words) could easily spread in the 20th century because it was hard to produce and distribute recorded entertainment, but the US had the capacity and the economy and the marketing savvy to do so [And I mustn't forget the Marshall Plan, which my colleague just mentioned to me.] America was inventing and manufacturing all sorts of things and putting names on them and selling them everywhere. Two world wars and the cold war had Americans stationed all over the world using their slang in the presence of young recruits from other countries. The 21st century is looking rather different.

The 20th century brought us talking pictures and television. Radio, the most affordable form of broadcast, remained a more local proposition--though the recorded music could be imported. (Though the word radio, well that's an Americanism.) The 21st century is the time of the internet and of personali{s/z}ed entertainment. The popular songs are less universally popular, because people have more access to more different kinds of music on download. Instead of two or three or four choices on television, there are hundreds. And if you don't like what you're seeing you can go on YouTube or SoundCloud (or other things I'm too old and [orig. AmE] uncool to know about) and find all sorts of people doing all sorts of things. People go on the internet and meet each other and talk to each other, meaning that there's more opportunity than ever for there to be exchange of words between people, rather than just reception of words from the media. The slangs that young people use are sometimes local to their school or area and sometimes particular to an international online gaming community or music fandom. The notion of community, for many people, has internationali{s/z}ed. Language is moving in different ways now than it ever had the chance to move in the 20th century.

In the meantime, all indications are that the US is becoming politically more isolationist and more of an international pariah. Are its words going to flow so freely abroad? Will there be a taste for them?

The American century has happened. I don't know whose century this will be (please, please not Putin's), if indeed it will be any nation's century. (Better a nation's century than a virus's century, though.) American words will continue to spread to other parts of the world, but I can't see the evidence of Engel's strong claim that the imbalance between US and UK word-travel is increasing faster than ever.

At the start of the 21st century, British words seem to be entering America in greater numbers than they were a few decades ago. Much of this has to do with journalism and how international that's become. The online versions of the Daily Mail and the Guardian are extremely popular in the US. There are more US fans of Doctor Who now than in its Tom Baker days. Harry Potter is the single most important thing that's happened to children's publishing in the English-speaking world in my lifetime, and though the editions sold in the US are translated into American to some extent, it's actually only a small extent. Americans are reading and hearing more British English than they have in a long time.

The scale(s) is/are still tipped in American vocabulary's favo(u)r. But as far as I can see, there's not a lot of reason to believe that the degree of the imbalance is rapidly increasing. Yes, the number of American words in British English constantly increases, but there's more westward traffic now, more UK coining of managementspeak, and new local youth cultures making their own words in Britain. The tide hasn't turned, but there is (mixed metaphor alert) (orig. AmE) pushback.

And if English continues to be popular as a global lingua franca (due to its momentum, rather than the foreign and cultural policies of the UK and US), then more words may be coming from other places altogether.
02 Mar 12:44

Business Musings: Writing with Chronic Health Problems

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

This morning, I got a piece of well-intentioned advice from someone I’ve never met. I get advice often. I also get great tips and links from you readers, notes about my math errors and typos (of which there are far too many), and all sorts of marvelous things.

I also get well-intentioned, if wrong for me, advice. This particular piece of advice is one I get monthly, sometimes weekly.

It goes like this: At your age, it’s time to stop running and do low-impact cardio. (Or swim, or go to the gym, or lift light weights, or do yoga.)

The implication is that running is bad for me and my health, based solely on my age, and maybe on the fact that I’ve injured my knee in the past.

The knee injury, according to several doctors, had nothing to do with running. And, for the record, the knee injury occurred when I was standing still.

Anyway.

Lots of studies show that running is the best exercise for any age, period. And that knee thing? That low-impact thing? All myths. Here’s a bunch of studies about the good things running does for a person.

It is, by far, the best exercise you can do (and the cheapest).

But that’s not what’s important to this blog. What’s important to this blog is this: Running is the best exercise I can do.

Why?

Because I do it.

The best exercise for you is the one you’ll actually do. The one you look forward to. The one you enjoy.

I loved swimming, but it took 3 hours out of my day—getting to the pool, socializing (introvert me hates that), showering before and after, getting home and oh, yeah! Swimming. Plus the chemicals just aren’t good for me, and I don’t live in a climate that allows me to swim in the lake year-round.

I had a gym membership that I used for years and years. I still gained weight. I hated the workout, hated the TV set on some stinky cable news channel (I don’t care which one—they’re all stinky), hated the boredom, which I fought by listening to audio books. I did my low-impact workouts, I got an award-winning short story out of my spinning class (aptly titled, “Spinning,”), and I was diligent.

I went cycling with a friend for two years and rode in my first (and only) century. That ended when I set my bike down fast rather than hit a car blowing a stop sign, and broke my elbow. (Got a story out of that one too, when I could type again.) In cycling, it’s not if you fall. It’s when. My first bike accident (at 9) knocked out my front teeth and left me with permanent scars. This last one left me with an elbow that complains every time it rains.

I still gained weight. I still felt crappy. I still had all of my chronic health problems, so I missed a lot of scheduled exercise events because I was ill.

It wasn’t until I got a Fitbit on a lark that exercise became do-not-miss for me. Why? Because I can hit my 10,000 steps even when I’m sick. I shuffle around the house like the walking dead, determined to hit that magic number, because I’m anal, and because finishing my steps every day before midnight is something I can control.

The knee injury got in the way. I made my doctor give me a schedule and benchmarks so that I wouldn’t start up again too soon, but also so that I would start as soon as I could. He thought I was nuts, but he did it. And I followed it, even though I didn’t want to. (I wanted to hobble around the house to hit that magic 10,000 steps.) Even with an injured knee, I got 3,000-4,000 steps per day (using crutches), because I really can’t sit down for very long.

It drives me crazy.

So why am I telling you all of this? This is a writing blog, right?

Because dozens of you have asked me, both privately and in comments, how I write with a chronic health condition.

There really is a trick to the writing while chronically ill. But the trick is personal, and it’s tailored to each individual person.

So, more personal stories—and then tips.

I have many many many allergies. It’s taken years to identify them, particularly the food allergies. I’m deathly allergic to perfume and soaps (particularly anything with manmade glycerin) and that causes more problems than I can say. It’s also the allergy that’s forcing me to rethink travel.

The worst health problem I have, though, is chronic migraines. From the age of 19 on, I got migraines so severe and long-lasting that I would lose weeks to them. By the time I reached my mid-thirties, I would have migraines 21-25 days per month.

And yes, those were the years I was building my career, and editing The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. I was working at an international level career, traveling (even though it made me sicker), and was horribly ill through much of it.

I ranked the migraines by severity. I could work through a mild migraine. It was just pain, after all. If I could think relatively clearly, I could read. I could write both fiction and non-fiction with a “mild” migraine.

The mid-range migraine—the kind where I couldn’t see anything around me clearly, the kind where I didn’t feel safe driving—I could still read when I had it. Or write nonfiction, with a lot of spellchecking. But I couldn’t do close work or go over a copy edit or line edit anything.

I could also teach and speak in front of a group with a headache that bad, as long as I was talking about something I knew. Giving a prepared speech, with a text and a teleprompter? Impossible. But off-the-cuff? Easy, easy, easy. Just as long as no one expected me to remember the details the next day.

The bad ones were truly bad. I couldn’t get out of bed for some of them, could barely speak, certainly couldn’t think. I’d have 5-7 of those per month, and if I managed them right, the worst of it would last about six hours. If I managed them wrong, I might have that level of migraine for days.

So…how did I work with all of that? Mostly, I didn’t. That’s the odd thing. If I had a nine-to-five day job, I would have had to go on disability, like so many of my friends in similar situations. Either that or have a truly understanding boss, one who knew I wasn’t faking when I said I couldn’t come in until the afternoon—and maybe not even then.

With the exception of one job I had with a truly understanding boss, I never worked traditional hours. When I had day jobs, I had unusual ones, the kind with flexible hours or the kind that were performance based. (If I finished all my work, I could go home.)

So, as we’re talking about working through chronic health problems, keep in mind that as writers, we’re in control of our own schedules. We figure out how to manage the day-to-day business.

The word management is the key. The other key is acceptance. (I have a tougher time with the second one.)

Management

Notice, I can still give you, years later, the schedule of my migraines. I didn’t always know when they would arrive or how long they would last, but I could manage my response to them. I could avoid triggers—changing time zones, for example. Changing air pressure. Stress.

Over time, I learned what foods aggravated the migraines. Eventually, I realized that the food allergies existed (I thought it was a migraine problem, not that the migraine came from the allergies), and cutting all the things I was allergic to out of my diet reduced the migraines by several a month.

Working with my doctor helped as well. I found the right doctor, and I gave her my headache chart. I’d kept a chart on my calendar to prove to myself that I wasn’t a slacker. If I failed to get work done, it was because of a migraine, not because I was lazy.

That habit proved effective when I started working with this excellent doctor who helped me manage the migraines, and bring them down to only 14 or so a month.

But still, 14 a month is roughly half the month with a migraine. I could have given myself permission not to do anything at all during that period of time, but I’m not built that way.

So I evolved around the migraines.

Here’s what I realized I could control:

  1. I could control the triggers—and avoid them.
  2. I could exercise. The migraines got better if I exercised. And I could run (or walk) with a migraine and, magically, the migraine often got better.
  3. I could divide my work days according to the migraines. Remember, I told you that I could work through some migraines. The key for me was to try to do the actual work I wanted to do. If that wasn’t possible, then I would move to “easier” work. If that wasn’t possible, then the couch it was for me for the rest of the day, so I could work the following day.
  4. I could prioritize everything. Rather than try to do all of the work all the time, I could divide the work into things that I absolutely couldn’t miss to the things I could let slide. (Filing, I’m looking at you.)

Even though it’s fourth on the list, prioritizing was absolutely the key to everything I did.

I examined my life and set my priorities. I don’t have children, and I have a writing spouse, who understands. (Thank heavens. More on him later.) I saw Dean every day, often for hours. We work at home, so we spend more time together than many other couples do. He’s a priority, but we don’t have limited time, so I didn’t have to schedule my time with him.

Therefore, some of the priorities most people have—family obligations, day jobs—are not the kinds of priorities I have.

Still, I came up with a list.

I needed to:

Write Every Day

Exercise Every Day

Manage My Food Intake

Get Enough Sleep

Read something

Sounds simple, right? But simple was what I needed, what I still need.

Notice what’s missing from the list? No email, no website work, no promotion. Those weren’t my priorities, and still aren’t. Those things can—and often do—wait.

Writing first. Exercise second. Food and sleep and reading. (Socializing with Dean is as natural as breathing, so it’s not even on the list: it’s assumed.)

It became critical to have food in the house, in case I couldn’t drive. On my good days, when I was the primary chef (Dean has taken that over for reasons to do with his health), I would cook extra food and freeze it for the days when I couldn’t cook.

I never beat myself up for sleeping too much. I got sicker if I had less than six hours of sleep, so if I occasionally had nine, I figured that was fine. I slept when I needed to.

When I got the Fitbit and started the 10,000 steps per day, I had to put exercise ahead of the writing. If I had to choose writing or exercise in the hour between 11 P.M. and midnight, I chose exercise. I finished those damn steps.

One reason I started running was because I could get my steps faster when I ran. That was all. It takes me a minimum of two hours walking to get my (these days) 11,000 steps. When I run, it takes 30-40 minutes. That’s a lot of writing time. I take two days off per week on running, and those days I’m always annoyed at the fact that walking takes so bloody long.

But the writing…note that in that list above, it’s first. Because I didn’t allow myself to do anything (besides eat breakfast) before I started writing. With those headaches, I might only have a few good hours in a day, and often they were in the early part of my day. Better to get to the writing first, because if I waited—for any reason—I might not be able to write at all due to my health.

In 2012, a vitamin supplement I was taking changed the added ingredients (the coating, essentially) without noting that change on the label. (This company was later sued by others and settled out of court.) The change added something I’m extremely allergic to, and I was poisoning myself by small doses daily. I got sicker than I have ever been, before or since. (I figured it out on my own, realizing that I got sicker after I took my vitamins, and I just quit taking vitamins entirely.)

Those days were so bad that I could barely get out of bed, barely function. I would stagger to my writing office, manage about 1,000 words, and be done for the entire day.

Looking back, I’m astonished I managed that much. I could barely heat up food. Yet I managed to write.

Because I had put into place that set of priorities. Write first, everything else second. I knew, without thinking about it, how to plan my day.

Get up, eat something, write. Repeat. Rest if necessary. Exercise when possible.

When I’m healthy, I can write 4-5,000 words per day on most days, with time left over for living, cooking, exercise, relaxation, and all the other things that normal people do.

So 1,000 words per day seems like nothing to me. Yet I can still remember just how hard those words came, and how important they were.

Because 1,000 words per day adds up. That’s 365,000 words per year—more than three novels worth. It was a heck of an accomplishment, and I’m still proud of it, because I know how hard fought and precious those words were.

So, I managed my days, down to the hour. I gave myself permission to rest. I also knew that I would lose days whether I wanted to or not.

Those “lost” days weren’t really lost. They were me taking care of myself, getting rested, making sure I didn’t lose more days by pushing too hard.

The migraines have eased, because I’m older (migraines decrease with time), because I know the triggers, and because I no longer eat the foods that I’m allergic to. I still have 4-6 migraines a month, but only 1-2 days of severe migraines, which is just heavenly.

And what I’ve learned was that something else happened in the down time. Not just rest (which I’m having to relearn how to accomplish when I’m feeling healthy), but thinking.

Apparently, I did a lot of creative thinking when I was down. Making connections that I wouldn’t have made otherwise, having weird realizations because my brain was scrambled. I’m a lot more original when I’m resting than I am when I’m pushing hard on something.

More to learn.

I didn’t just manage my days. I managed my month, and sometimes my year.

I had to be honest with myself about what I could accomplish. I couldn’t guarantee that I would get 5,000 words per day, nor could I guarantee 1,000. But I could guarantee that I could write as much as possible.

What I did was this: I averaged my writing output. I figured some days I would get 5,000 words, some days I would get 1,000. So I averaged my output as I planned my year. I figured I could manage 3,000 words per day. That wasn’t exactly true. But if I wrote four days in one week, got 5,000 words on two of them, and 1,000 words on two of them, then I would get 12,000 words—or the same as 3,000 words every day for four days.

Figuring things that way made the math easier.

Then I had to be honest about how many days I was down. That’s really hard for me (see acceptance, below). But I figured I’d have at least four days when I couldn’t write at all, and four more when I couldn’t write or read or do anything.

Or…you know…I could say I didn’t work weekends, for the sake of my planning. Five days per week, 50 weeks per year (two weeks of travel or extreme sickness or vacation).

With those numbers in mind, I would then figure out how much I could write and how fast.

In the days when I worked to a traditional publishing deadline, I’d start with the do-not-miss deadline, and then subtract a month. That was my real deadline.

(For example, if the drop dead was July 31, then my real deadline was June 30.)

That system built in some time in case I had a particularly bad period leading into it, and also gave me a reputation for being early or on time with most of my projects.

Using the real deadline, I would then analyze how long it would take me to write the project at 3,000 words per day. So, if I had a 90,000 word novel due, I had 30 days of writing ahead of me. At five days per week, that would take me six weeks. I added a seventh week for yet another cushion, added an eighth week for first readers and cleanup, and found my personal drop-dead start date.

I would try to start sooner than that, depending on the deadline.

So…let’s say that July 31 project was a 90,000 word novel. I needed to have it done by June 30. Factoring in all of that, I would need to start the novel no later than May 8. But May 8 is a weird number, so I would start the book on something easy to remember, like May 1.

I would often finish by my real deadline. Occasionally, I would get too close to the drop-dead deadline for my comfort. I would let my editor know I was running a little late. Even then, I usually made my deadline on time, but I still built in cushion.

I didn’t push any harder than I could. I didn’t set unreasonable expectations. I made sure I took care of myself, and part of taking care of myself is writing as much as I possibly can.

Because I love it. Just like I found a form of exercise I like.

Necessary stuff, and stuff I still do. Because just going to the grocery store can knock me flat for days if someone shows up wearing too much perfume and gets too close to me for an extended period of time. If I have an allergic reaction to that person’s perfume, I’m down for the count for hours to days. And I still have to build that stuff in. You can’t plan for it (As in: I will have an allergy attack on January 3, at 5 p.m.). You can only cope with it once it happens. And it still happens way more than I like.

Dean also has chronic health issues. (He gave me permission to discuss that.)

Because he suffered several incidents of heat stroke in his years as a professional athlete, he is extremely sensitive to heat. And he had a stroke five-and-a-half years ago that left him partially blind in one eye. He has high blood pressure, which he wasn’t managing well at the time of that regular stroke (due to extreme stress and a decision he and his doctor had made on plans that changed overnight).

Dean has to deal with all of those things, and they’re tied together.

First, he has to manage the actual health part. He has to eat right, and exercise, and take medication for his high blood pressure. He has a blood pressure cuff at home, and he uses that whenever he’s feeling like the blood pressure is spiraling out of control (or when he’s under a lot of stress).

He too has travel restrictions, mostly due to the heat stroke in his past. He has to be very, very, very careful not to overheat, which isn’t just about hot summer days. It’s also about overheated rooms in the winter, and not paying attention when he’s getting hot.

He has to be aware of his circumstances at all times, make sure he’s getting enough fluid, and cool his body down immediately if he’s at all worried about overheating.

The eye, though, that’s the one that has the greatest impact on his writing. Because he is very aware that he only has one eye left, and if he loses sight in that eye, everything changes. Writing will still be possible, but he’d have to learn a whole new skill set, which he emphatically does not want to do.

How does he manage? He micromanages his day, with an emphasis on resting his eyes.

He limits his computer time to 30-40 minutes per session. During that session, he makes sure he looks into the distance several times, and focuses on something far away.

He then leaves the computer and closes his eyes for at least five minutes in a dark area, easing eye strain.

He takes a ton of breaks when he’s reading on paper, for the exact same reason. And when he drives somewhere (also causing eye strain), he stops the car and walks around a lot.

Even in periods of extreme deadlines and high stress, he does not vary these routines, because to do so would harm his health worse.

He manages.

So do I.

The key to management, though, is…

Acceptance

I love to think that I can do anything. And then I remind myself, as those of you who read this blog regularly, that I will never play professional basketball. Even if I had been born after the WNBA was formed, I would never have played professional basketball. I’m not tall enough and I’m not fast enough to compensate for being short. Wouldn’t have happened, no matter how much I wanted it to.

When the migraines were at their worst, I struggled mightily with the limitations they placed on me. Dean would sometimes have to remind me that rest now equaled a good day later.

I am struggling right now with the limitations that the perfume allergy (which has grown worse over time) has placed on me.

But only through accepting that I have this issues can I plan for them. I could easily have promised books to my traditional editors on 30-day deadlines, thinking I would be able to write 5,000 words every day for 30 days.

I would have been wrong, and angry, and frustrated.

Knowing—and accepting—my limitations made my writing possible.

Knowing—and accepting—my limitations made my career possible.

Rather than focusing on what I couldn’t do because of my health, I focused on what I could do.

Did (and do) I have days when I feel sorry for myself because I can’t do something? Sure. But the key isn’t focusing on the negative. The key isn’t really focusing at all.

The key is doing.

I can’t dunk a basketball. I’m not a professional athlete. But I’ve been running long enough now that 3 miles is not tiring or even that unusual. (I kinda miss that extreme effort: I like the challenge, and now I have to ramp it up.) That makes me an athlete of sorts. Which is weird, considering where I started.

I might not be able to write as much as my husband. He can write 3-5,000 words after working eight hours on other stuff. But I’m consistent, and I get a lot done anyway.

Because I’ve learned to accept the chronic health problems. I live with them. They’re as much a part of me as my bone structure.

The main thing about chronic health issues is accept them, then manage them. Work to keep them from impinging on your life too much. When they do impinge (and they will), accept that’s part of who you are.

And realize you’ll struggle. We all do.

I do, weekly. I really do hate rules and regulations, even when I put them on myself. But I keep my eye on the goal as much as I can.

The goal for me is to share the stories in my head. So I have to figure out how to do that, with all of my personal challenges.

The thing is, those challenges are no different from the challenges that people who have day jobs face or people who have toddlers or people who have sick parents. We all have things that get in the way of our writing.

We just have to figure out our priorities and figure out where the writing falls in the scheme of our lives.

That’s so easy to write, and so hard to do.

And now, I’m signing off, because I still have 6266 steps to achieve before midnight—and this is not a running day.

Dammit.

Those of you who get the blog posts early on Patreon will notice a pile up of blogs in the next week or two. I have a workshop coming up, and I’m planning ahead—managing my time. I will have a migraine when the workshop ends, and the migraine will fall on my usual blog writing day. So I’m planning for that, plus the lost time that I will spend in the workshop itself.

Managing, managing, managing.

It’s kinda fun to write a lot of blogs at once.

You’ve helped with that, by giving me suggestions and helping me focus on what to write. Thank you! And thank you for the comments, forwards, links, and shares. Much appreciated.

I set up a Patreon account late last year because so many of you asked for it. You wanted to support the blog, but not on PayPal. So, if you want to support the blog on a regular basis, use Patreon. If you want to contribute to this post only, the PayPal donate button remains on the site. If you go that route, please include your email address in the notes section, so I can say thank you.

Back when I was having the worst of the health problems, that constant dripping deadline of the blog got me to the computer when nothing else would. Thank you all for that, and for reading this week in and week out.

Thanks so much!

Click paypal.me/kristinekathrynrusch to go to PayPal.

“Business Musings: Writing With Chronic Health Problems,” copyright © 2017 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch. Image at the top of the blog copyright © 2017 Can Stock Photo / prometeus




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02 Mar 12:37

News from Abroad

by Cicero
Some people have drawn parallels between the shock of Brexit in the UK and the shock of the advent of Donald Trump as President of the United States. In particular on both sides of the Atlantic there is a powerful sense of the role of the media in both events. Of course, Trump himself is a product of celebrity culture who managed, improbably, to turn a reality TV show into a platform for government. Through the power of the alternative media he was able to create a platform and a power base. The supporters of Brexit many of whom, such as Nigel Farage, are close to Trump also followed an alternative media playbook.

Both the Leave campaign and the Trump campaign played fast and loose with the truth, or to put it plainly- they lied.

There are doubtless many other parallels in the campaign, but what has happened since the the advent of May and Trump- May unelected as PM and Trump 3 million votes behind in the popular vote- is instructive. Neither government can claim a fully legitimate mandate, yet both are following an agenda that is extreme and, by the standards pertaining before 2016, illegitimate.

However the overwhelming difference is that in the United States the majority of the media are attacking the policies of the controversial President. In the UK, by contrast, the majority of the media is so supportive that they are demanding that the the Conservative government be even more extreme.

Theresa May is following an agenda that is directly dictated by the editorial policy of the Daily Mail.

What is particularly outrageous is that the newspapers that advocate the most extreme- and in my view damaging- policies have several things in common. The are all owned via tax efficient holdings, often foreign or offshore. They do not pay the full amount of tax due to the UK, while at the same time hypocritically savaging those deemed guilty of a lack of patriotism to the UK. These targets for abuse seem to include include such "radicals" as any judge, politician, actor, sportsman- or indeed any public figure- who speaks up against them. The disgraceful invective that is launched against those who dissent from their dangerous, damaging and occasionally out-and-out evil agenda is truly terrifying. 

The United Nations has condemned the hatred put out by the UK right wing press, but the response from the five off-shore and foreign billionaires who control 60% of the UK press has been to double down on the hatred, confident that no one will not dare challenge them, even when there is proof positive of activity- such as phone hacking- that is unambiguously and undeniably criminal.

So whereas in the United States the media is challenging power, in the UK the media is cheering on extremism- it is power. Figures such as Paul Dacre- backed by his proprietor Lord Rothermere, who Private Eye named as one who falsely claims non-domiciled status in order to avoid taxes-  spew forth an agenda that is fully in keeping with the Daily Mail of the 1930's. At that time the Mail supported the Blackshirts of the British Union of Fascists. The Barclay Brothers- the owners of the Telegraph- avoid tax by living on the island of Sark, where their attitudes have earned them the loathing of most of the islanders. The owner of the Daily Express- a newspaper that refuses to accept even the toothless regulation of Press Complaints Council and in consequence repeatedly prints lies with no sanction- is a porn baron, Richard Desmond

Then there is Rupert Murdoch. The charge sheet against this Australian naturalized American is long indeed, but the "dirty Digger" has acquired a level of power and influence that few- if any- have ever acquired without holding political office. Yet he has been investigated and censured by the UK Parliament and several of his highest executives jailed.

These five men, these five billionaires, are evil men who serve an evil cause. 

For as long as they control the UK media, the country will find it exceptionally difficult to change course. The incompetence and arrogance of the May government is coupled with cowardice in the face of the hatred and bile of the press. The result is that while Donald Trump is being challenged by his media, the UK is being incited to jump from the bridge by the baying mob orchestrated by the corrupt and criminal press barons.

As the break-up of the Kingdom moves inexorably forward, with Scotland now facing another referendum and Northern Ireland fearing a return to the abyss of violence that a Brexit hard border would very likely create; as millions- both British and European- now contemplate the economic disaster beginning to unfold and make plans to leave; as it begins to dawn on the British people how much they have been lied to by the Brexit mob; so the worst predictions emerge as the grim reality.

When the time comes to name the guilty men, the five billionaires, and those who did their bidding, should be the first to receive condemnation.
02 Mar 01:16

‘Where I come from’ we claim universal generalities as our peculiar virtues

by Fred Clark
"Folks 'round here love their families," the Very Nice man says. "We value hard work and honesty." And the Very Nice man seems Very Nice, until you realize that what he's actually saying is that he and his community imagine that other people in other places do NOT love their families and that "those people" do NOT value hard work and honesty. Once you realize this is what they want and need to believe about everyone else, the Very Nice man and his Very Nice community no longer seem quite so nice.
02 Mar 01:09

New GitHub terms of service are incompatible with many Free Software and open source licences.

New GitHub terms of service are incompatible with many Free Software and open source licences.
01 Mar 21:15

Mapping across – how the Brexit vote might translate onto the next general election

by TSE


(Source: Prof John Curtice)

The referendum vote cut across party loyalties.  While Conservative supporters primarily voted Leave and Labour supporters primarily voted Remain, substantial minorities of both party supporters dissented from their colleagues.  This gives both major parties a potential headache about how to proceed in the wake of the vote, the more so because the British Election Study found in October that people were more likely to identify themselves as Remain or Leave supporters than followers of a particular party.  Stray too far from their self-identification and these voters will be off.

To date, all the discussion has revolved round how Labour should respond – not surprisingly, given their steady spiral of decline in the polls and at by-elections.  But the Conservatives have a potential problem too that they would be unwise to lose sight of.  A third of their present support comes from Remain supporters and they need to find ways to keep them on board the good ship Brexit.

Many commentators have noted that over 400 constituencies voted Leave.  The estimate of Leave/Remain seats comes from the work of Chris Hanretty of the University of East Anglia, which can be found here.  These estimates are not exact, as Chris Hanretty has readily acknowledged.  But they are right enough for our purposes.

As a result, many have concluded that backing Brexit is therefore where the action is.  With nearly two thirds of seats voting Leave, that superficially looks like a landslide.

Certainly, some of the most strident Labour Remain-backing MPs have constituents who take a very different view of the matter.  Ed Miliband, for example, represents constituents who voted almost 3:1 for Leave (more emphatically than Douglas Carswell’s constituents).  But it should also be noted that some prominent Leave MPs are just as awkwardly placed. Kate Hoey represents a constituency that voted nearly 80% Remain – the 10th most Remainian seat in the country according to Chris Hanretty.  Gisela Stuart represents a constituency that voted nearly 60% Remain.  They are all going to need to hope that their constituents (and, in the case of the latter two, their constituency parties) have either moved on by the time of the next election or regard other matters as more critical to their vote.  MPs on both sides of the divide are going to find themselves awkwardly placed.

But how did a vote that ended up 52:48 result in such an imbalance of seats?  And is it the right measure to be working to anyway?

From Chris Hanretty’s table we can see that the Remain vote strongly clustered in specific areas – inner London and Edinburgh, for example.  That, coupled with the fact that a lot of seats were just “won” by Leave (114 in Britain fell in the 50-55% Leave band, while only 75 sat in the 45-50% Leave band, for example), resulted in the imbalance.

So the first thing to note is that many of these “Leave” seats are only marginally Leavey.  It would be a brave candidate who completely ignored Remainers in such seats, not much less brave than completely ignoring Leavers.

But there’s an assumption being made that only needs to be articulated to be shown to be very questionable.  The assumption is that the voters in the referendum will be more or less the same as the voters in the next general election.  But since turnout was a fair bit higher at the referendum than at the last general election, this seems very doubtful.  Indeed, much has been made on other occasions of the fact that infrequent voters had turned out in large numbers for Leave.  Are they going to turn out at the next general election?  Personally, I doubt it.  At least, nothing like all of them.

If it is hard to estimate with accuracy how seats voted at the referendum, it is impossible to estimate with any great accuracy how seats would have voted in the referendum on the turnout at the next general election.  Nevertheless, that is what we must try to do.

I asked regular politicalbetting poster @AndyJS for his view (for those that aren’t aware, AndyJS produced a spreadsheet in advance of the referendum that proved uncannily accurate in its par ratings for each reporting local area, enabling many of us to profit mightily as a result).  His lick of the finger estimate is that on a normal general election turnout, roughly 350 seats would have voted Leave.  That seems entirely plausible to me.

If this is anything like correct, it means that the perceived constituency-based advantage of backing Leave is actually not all that great.  350 out of 650 is under 54% of the Westminster seats.  Other voting motivations (or, indeed, differential voting motivation among Leave and Remain voters) are likely to outweigh this particular consideration in many seats – if voters on both sides of the divide have not been alienated by their MP’s stance on the subject.

At present, Leave voters are far better catered for electorally than Remain voters, even though at a general election they will be roughly even in number.  The Conservatives and UKIP are both firmly Leave parties while Labour under Jeremy Corbyn is lukewarm Leave.

John Curtice has recently noted that Labour have been losing support not to UKIP but to the Lib Dems.  The Lib Dems have made ultra-Remain their USP for now, but with Lib Dem seats and plausible targets barely more common than lapis lazuli, ultra-Remain is going to be out of reach for most voters.  In any case, while Remain voters by and large have not revised their decision as to the correctness of their choice, many of them also believe that the referendum verdict must be seen through as a matter of democracy.

So right now a lot of potential votes are going unsolicited with no natural home at present.  Yet it is far from clear that soliciting them is a losing proposition, with a crowded field chasing Leave votes.  You would have thought that a Brexit-sceptic party that accepted the referendum vote but that keenly harried every hard Brexit choice that the Conservatives made would have good prospects.  But are there politicians willing to step into that void?

Alastair Meeks

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