Dave Brubeck died today, I’m sad to say. I’ve always had a soft spot for him. A few numbers I’d mention are his versions of “Linus and Lucy,” “These Foolish Things,” “The Way You Look Tonight,” and “Le Souk.” I shook his hand once, after a concert in 1987.
All posts for the year 2012
Dave Brubeck, RIP
Posted by acilius on December 5, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/12/05/dave-brubeck-rip-2/
The internal structure of the calendar
The ancient Roman calendar gave special names to two days in each month: the Kalendae (in English, “Calends,”)which was the first day of the month; and the Idus (in English the “Ides,”) which was the fifteenth day of March, May, July, and October, but the thirteenth day of every other month. Other days were specified by counting the days until the next Calends or Ides. So, the last day of April was pridie Kalendas Maias, the first day before the Calends of May. There was some special significance to what came to be called the Nonae (in English the “Nones,”) that is to say, the ninth day before the Ides. So, in March, May, July, and October, the Nones would fall on the seventh day of the month, and in other months they would fall on the fifth day. So today, being the fifth, is the Nonae Decembris. As far as the formal language of law and religion were concerned, this arrangement around the Calends and the Ides constituted the whole internal structure of the month. The Romans did experiment with various forms of the week, most notably an eight-day week that determined when markets would be held. Undoubtedly these sequences of days would also have influenced the Romans’ perceptions of time, even if they were not regularly integrated into the official calendar.
I bring this up because of an xkcd strip that appeared a week ago today. Cartoonist Randall Munroe used Google’s Ngram search to tabulate the number of occurrences of each date by its name (ordinal number + month name) in English-language books since 2000. 
His results suggest that our months do have some kind of internal structure that is not illustrated on our usual calendars. Those simply display numbers in a grid of weeks. Yet Mr Munroe’s findings suggest that there is more to it than that. As the mouseover text points out, in eleven of twelve months the eleventh is mentioned much less often than any other date. The exception is of course September, where references to the events of 11 September 2001 propel that date to the very top of the list of frequently named dates. Yet this pattern was already well-established before 2001, and there is no obvious explanation for it.
Some variations in frequency are relatively easy to explain. The first of the month is usually a day when many bills and reports are due, and so the first is among the most named dates of each month. Holidays are also prominent; notice, though, that the eleventh of November, Veterans’ Day in the USA and Remembrance Day in the countries of the Commonwealth, is no bigger on Mr Munroe’s chart than the little elevenths of the other months. The 15th of April is quite prominent; that has traditionally been the day when income taxes were due in the USA. But, in addition to the mystery of the obscured elevenths, we also notice that the fourth and nineteenth are bigger than average in most months. Why would that be? Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything, but perhaps there is some explanation that would become obvious if we were in the habit of thinking of calendars, not as the grids of weeks that are usually tacked on walls in the West, but as structures built around major days, structures like those the ancient Romans used. Too bad we can’t raise some ancient Romans from the dead and put them in charge of investigating the question, their perspective might result in a most fruitful study. I suppose the best substitute would be classical scholars who have spent time studying the ancient Roman calendar.
Posted by acilius on December 5, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/12/05/the-internal-structure-of-the-calendar/
The Internet: Bureaucracy or Fiefdom?
Bruce Schneier declares:
It’s a feudal world out there.
Some of us have pledged our allegiance to Google: We have Gmail accounts, we use Google Calendar and Google Docs, and we have Android phones. Others have pledged allegiance to Apple: We have Macintosh laptops, iPhones, and iPads; and we let iCloud automatically synchronize and back up everything. Still others of us let Microsoft do it all. Or we buy our music and e-books from Amazon, which keeps records of what we own and allows downloading to a Kindle, computer, or phone. Some of us have pretty much abandoned e-mail altogether … for Facebook.These vendors are becoming our feudal lords, and we are becoming their vassals. We might refuse to pledge allegiance to all of them — or to a particular one we don’t like. Or we can spread our allegiance around. But either way, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to not pledge allegiance to at least one of them.
The whole piece is worth reading. For my part, I’ve often wondered if the Internet doesn’t fit Max Weber’s conception of a bureaucracy. Weber described six major characteristics of bureaucracy (here‘s a handy summary of his views.) First and most familiar in the popular use of the word, a bureaucracy has a formal hierarchical structure. While there is no group of people who are the president and board of directors of the Internet, the machines that make up the Internet do in fact relate to each other according
to set routines. Weber described bureaucracies staffed by human officials, but parts of his description still apply where, as in the functioning of the Internet, the officials are replaced by machines.
The second characteristic of bureaucracy in Weber’s description is a set of rules that consistently transform particular decisions made in one part of the structure into particular actions taken in other parts of the structure. In this regard every bureaucracy aspires to the condition of a machine; as a bureaucracy composed of machines, the Internet would in a sense represent the ultimate bureaucracy. Along with these rules comes a heavy emphasis on written documents and permanent records, to ensure that decisions are communicated from one part of the structure to another accurately and that they are converted into action appropriately. Here again, the Internet’s tendency to preserve data makes it the ideal form of bureaucracy.
Third, Weber says that bureaucracies are organized by functional specialty. Here we see two levels of organization taking place independently of each other. Of course, the machines are sorted together by their functions. At the same time, the people who use the Internet develop specializations in their ways of relating to it. Those who resist specialization remain on the fringes of the Internet. So, a general-interest blog like this one toddles along for years with a handful of readers; start a tumblr site devoted entirely to eighteenth-century cocktail recipes, and you might draw a thousand followers in a week. Through them, you can learn more about your topic than you had imagined possible. Because of the efficiency that results from the Internet’s specialization and consistency, users have strong incentives to specialize their own use of the system and to respect its rules. Thus, the Internet’s human users behave as they would if they were clients of a bureaucracy staffed by human officials.
Fourth, Weber’s bureaucracies have missions. These missions are not simply tasks for which groups might be established ad hoc, but are the overarching goals that justify the organization’s continued existence. Because so many people have stakes in the continued existence of large bureaucracies, their missions tend to become rather broad and ill-focused over time; the last thing anyone wants is for the bureaucracy that provides his or her livelihood to have completed its mission. A phrase like “the distribution of information,” precisely because it is so vague, is therefore a perfectly apt mission statement for a major bureaucracy.
Fifth, bureaucracies are impersonal structures, in which the relationship of one person to another is restricted to the roles that those people are playing. So, if Alice is a sales agent for her company and Bob is a purchasing agent for his, their business discussions are between vendor and client, not between Alice and Bob. When Internet cafes first appeared, nearly twenty years ago, a huge percentage of them had Peter Steiner’s cartoon from 5 July 1993 The New Yorker taped to the wall:
Now we’re living in the age of Facebook, and on the Internet everyone knows that you’re a dog, what you had for breakfast, where you like to do your business, etc. Still, there is an element of impersonality built into online interactions. So online political discussions, even on Facebook itself, quickly become interactions between supporter of Party X and supporter of Party Y, even when those supporters are close friends in other settings. Obviously people can turn each other into symbols of opinions they dislike in any social environment, but I don’t think it’s controversial to say that online discussions are particularly prone to this sort of reduction. Moreover, the most pleasant online relationships tend to be the simplest, those in which participants change their personas least often. If Alice and Bob meet at a site devoted to eighteenth-century cocktail recipes and interact simply as devotees of those recipes, I suspect they are likelier to look forward to hearing from each other than they will be if they start talking about other topics and expecting other kinds of emotional and intellectual support from each other. Offline, I would think it would be the opposite, that people who discuss only one topic and present themselves to each other in only one way are unlikely to become close. I’d be interested to see studies on this hypotheses, a quick Google Scholar search hasn’t shown me any but if you know of such, please enlighten me.
Sixth, employment in a bureaucracy is based on technical qualifications. Civil service exams, educational requirements, efficiency ratings, and other devices for measuring competence are not necessary if the best person for the job is the person who has inherited it as a matter of right. They are necessary if the best person is the ablest. Of course, every human bureaucracy exists within a society where there are laws, institutions, and ethical ideas that predate the rise of bureaucracy and survive independently of it. So one does not expect a certifying authority to require the person who owns a business to prove that s/he is the ablest person to oversee its operations. Nor does one expect anyone to require potential parents to demonstrate any particular abilities in order to earn a license authorizing them to produce children, or to raise the children they have produced. If all social life were subject to the demands of a single bureaucracy, we would expect to see such requirements. Indeed, as bureaucratization proceeds apace, we see ever more footprints of bureaucracy in areas which were once matters of right. In many parts of the USA, for example, voters are routinely required to produce identification before they are allowed to take ballots, even though there is no evidence that anyone has ever impersonated a voter, and absolutely no way to affect the outcome of an election by impersonating voters. These laws are accepted, not because they serve any legitimate purpose, but simply because it seems natural to the residents of a social world dominated by bureaucracy to be called on to produce one’s papers.
As for the Internet, there are technical specifications devices must meet in order to be connected. This automated bureaucracy rarely sorts its human users by technical qualifications, though they do sort themselves in much the way that the clients of bureaucracies staffed by humans sort themselves. And, as they do when interacting with bureaucracies staffed by humans, Internet users do tend to see themselves as clients receiving services rather than as citizens asserting their rights. Zach Weiner expressed that point very effectively in February, with his now-classic cartoon about the so-called “Stop Online Piracy Act” that was then before the US Congress:
So you can see why I have thought it made sense to look at the Internet as a bureaucracy in Max Weber’s sense. Perhaps, though, it makes more sense to follow Mr Schneier and look at it as a feudal realm. While every element of a bureaucracy is, at least in theory, accountable to some overall authority that regulates that bureaucracy, the elements to which we trust our online security are accountable to no one. As Mr Schneier writes:
In this new world of computing, we give up a certain amount of control, and in exchange we trust that our lords will both treat us well and protect us from harm. Not only will our software be continually updated with the newest and coolest functionality, but we trust it will happen without our being overtaxed by fees and required upgrades. We trust that our data and devices won’t be exposed to hackers, criminals, and malware. We trust that governments won’t be allowed to illegally spy on us.
Trust is our only option. In this system, we have no control over the security provided by our feudal lords. We don’t know what sort of security methods they’re using, or how they’re configured. We mostly can’t install our own security products on iPhones or Android phones; we certainly can’t install them on Facebook, Gmail, or Twitter. Sometimes we have control over whether or not to accept the automatically flagged updates — iPhone, for example — but we rarely know what they’re about or whether they’ll break anything else. (On the Kindle, we don’t even have that freedom.)
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
I’m not saying that feudal security is all bad. For the average user, giving up control is largely a good thing. These software vendors and cloud providers do a lot better job of security than the average computer user would. Automatic cloud backup saves a lot of data; automatic updates prevent a lot of malware. The network security at any of these providers is better than that of most home users.
Feudalism is good for the individual, for small startups, and for medium-sized businesses that can’t afford to hire their own in-house or specialized expertise. Being a vassal has its advantages, after all.
For large organizations, however, it’s more of a mixed bag. These organizations are used to trusting other companies with critical corporate functions: They’ve been outsourcing their payroll, tax preparation, and legal services for decades. But IT regulations often require audits. Our lords don’t allow vassals to audit them, even if those vassals are themselves large and powerful.
In some of my darker moments, I’ve wondered if the USA is undergoing a revival of feudalism. Mr Schneier makes a strong case that it is, at least in this area.
Posted by acilius on December 3, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/12/03/the-internet-bureaucracy-or-fiefdom/
Monday links
1. My favorite right-wing economist, Paul Craig Roberts, argues that the USA is headed for ruin. He seems pretty happy about it. (Counterpunch)
2. Dana Hunter has some things to say about what happened to Pompeii in AD 79. She isn’t at all happy about it. (Scientific American)
3. Gary Younge points out that the US states that favor the rightwardmost social policies are those which are the biggest net recipients of federal spending. Makes me wonder when the deficit hawks will suggest kicking them out of the Union. (The Nation)
4. Do countries with ethnically diverse populations have higher homicide rates than those with homogeneous populations? No, not particularly. (hbd* chick)
5. Having completed a bachelor’s degree in Classics at Berkeley in 1961 doesn’t necessarily mean that you won’t say something asinine about ancient Greek 51 years later. (Language Log)
6. According to Jenny Hendrix, Evelyn Waugh’s Helena has some really good bits. These sentences of Ms Hendrix’ are irresistible:
In recognizing the Magi as patron saints of the unnecessary (what use, exactly, were myrrh and frankincense to the kid?), he reconciles prayer and literary aestheticism. The Wise Men, though committing, as Waugh put it, “every kind of bêtise,” arrive in the end and find their silly gifts accepted. In so doing, they allow for the acceptance of the artist’s gifts as well: “For His sake who did not reject your curious gifts,” Helena entreats, “pray always for all the learned, the oblique, and the delicate.” (Slate)
7. Yes yes yes, cats doing cute things are the ultimate Internet cliche, but I defy you to look at this for less than five seconds:
Posted by acilius on December 3, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/12/03/monday-links/
Tuesday links
1. Mark Shea misses his pet troll, and is advertising for a new one. If you have some hostilities and want to work them out by taunting a bunch of Roman Catholics, give it a try!
2. Ben “Yahtzee” Croshaw” dislikes the word “Warfighter,” and Mark Liberman isn’t sure why. I have my own theories (here and here.)
3. John Wilkins asks why Darwin’s theories are still controversial, and gives a simple answer. I suggest a slightly more complex answer.
Posted by acilius on November 27, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/11/27/tuesday-links/
Something Brilliant
This was one of the Videos of the Week the other day at Ukulele Hunt, I hope it wins the Nobel Prize for Awesomeness:
Posted by acilius on November 16, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/11/16/something-brilliant/
Wednesday links
Zach Weiner explains very succinctly why it’s so hard to be a pacifist, Eve Tushnet reads about single mothers, John Wilkins doesn’t believe politicians have mandates, some guy named “Zippy Catholic” decides that women’s suffrage and abortion rights are inseparable (and therefore women’s suffrage must go!,) Laura Flanders and Eve Ensler have never talked to each other about their vaginas and don’t plan to start, this map does a terrific job of encapsulating the results of the 2012 US presidential election, xkcd is hilarious, and Jim Goad can think of ten good reasons not to assassinate Barack Obama.
Posted by acilius on November 14, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/11/14/wednesday-links/
“The blind idiot god Azathoth, Lord of All Things”
Three days after the US presidential election, CIA chief David Petraeus stepped down from his post. In his letter of resignation, General Petraeus confessed that he had carried on an adulterous liaison with a woman named Paula Broadwell. Ms Broadwell had written a book about him. The book was titled All In, about which title I will not make any jokes.
Many observers have speculated that there must be more to the story than this. Surely the head of the most famous and most lavishly funded spy agency in the world could not be ousted simply because of a private indiscretion. For example, on Counterpunch Bart Gruzalski speculated that the general may have burbled out some state secrets to Ms Broadwell, and that these state secrets may have threatened to damage the reputations of well-connected figures.
Glenn Greenwald analyzes the matter, and points to what I would consider the most chilling explanation of all. Mr Greenwald points out that General Petraeus, as Director of Central Intelligence and in his previous posts as commander of US forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, would seem to have done a great deal that one might consider objectionable:
[I]t is truly remarkable what ends people’s careers in Washington – and what does not end them. As [Michael] Hastings detailed in that interview [broadcast on MSNBC’s Martin Bashir Show on 9 November], Petraeus has left a string of failures and even scandals behind him: a disastrous Iraqi training program, a worsening of the war in Afghanistan since he ran it, the attempt to convert the CIA into principally a para-military force, the series of misleading statements about the Benghazi attack and the revealed large CIA presence in Libya. To that one could add the constant killing of innocent people in the Muslim world without a whiff of due process, transparency or oversight.
Yet none of those issues provokes the slightest concern from our intrepid press corps. His career and reputation could never be damaged, let alone ended, by any of that. Instead, it takes a sex scandal – a revelation that he had carried on a perfectly legal extramarital affair – to force him from power. That is the warped world of Washington. Of all the heinous things the CIA does, the only one that seems to attract the notice or concern of our media is a banal sex scandal. Listening to media coverage, one would think an extramarital affair is the worst thing the CIA ever did, maybe even the only bad thing it ever did (Andrea Mitchell: “an agency that has many things to be proud about: many things to be proud about”).
Perhaps the real reason that General Petraeus resigned was nothing more than meets the eye. While the directorship of Central Intelligence is a civilian post, the general retains his commission in the US Army, and under Article 134, paragraph 60 of the USA’s the Uniform Code of Military Justice it is a crime for an American soldier of any rank to commit adultery. It may be the case that the Army prosecutes that crime only occasionally; however, if an officer of General Petraeus’ prominence were to be allowed simply to disregard a long-established and well-known provision of military law, morale in the ranks might well collapse. So his resignation might have been unavoidable.
Mr Greenwald’s column is well worth reading; his main theme is the extent to which the Washington press corps has come to regard the US military and its senior commanders as figures above reproach. So for example, when Mr Hastings listed the grounds quoted above for regarding General Petraeus’ recent career as something less than glorious, the ostensibly progressive Martin Bashir hustled him off the air with unseemly haste. The overall portrait Mr Greenwald paints of the Washington press corps reminds me of C. Wright Mills’ concept of “crackpot realism.” As Mills explained it on pages 86 through 88 in his 1958 book The Causes of World War Three (as quoted here):
In crackpot realism, a high-flying moral rhetoric is joined with an opportunist crawling among a great scatter of unfocused fears and demands. In fact, the main content of “politics” is now a struggle among men equally expert in practical next steps—which, in summary, make up the thrust toward war—and in great, round, hortatory principles. (p. 86)
. . . The expectation of war solves many problems of the crackpot realists; it also confronts them with many new problems. Yet these, the problems of war, often seem easier to handle. They are out in the open: to produce more, to plan how to kill more of the enemy, to move materials thousands of miles. . . . So instead of the unknown fear, the anxiety without end, some men of the higher circles prefer the simplification of known catastrophe. (p. 87)
. . . They know of no solutions to the paradoxes of the Middle East and Europe, the Far East and Africa except the landing of Marines. Being baffled, and also being very tired of being baffled, they have come to believe that there is no way out—except war—which would remove all the bewildering paradoxes of their tedious and now misguided attempts to construct peace. In place of these paradoxes they prefer the bright, clear problems of war—as they used to be. For they still believe that “winning” means something, although they never tell us what. (p. 88)
. . . Some men want war for sordid, others for idealistic, reasons; some for personal gain, others for impersonal principle. But most of those who consciously want war and accept it, and so help to create its “inevitability,” want it in order to shift the locus of their problems. (p. 88)
The crackpot realist regards his or her warlike worldview as the only one worth taking seriously for a most understandable reason. S/he is surrounded by highly competent, impressive people who command great resources and occupy lofty positions within the social order. The sheer fact that these individuals want a thing makes that thing seem reasonable. That they constitute an isolated group with interests that are far removed from those of society at large does not seem credible when one is in their presence. Yet the more impressive such a group is, the more of their wishes it is likely to persuade the public and policymakers to grant. A group that is as impressive as America’s generals and admirals undoubtedly are will be very likely to press its agenda far beyond what the national interest demands. Mr Greenwald quotes John Parker’s remarks on this phenomenon:
The career trend of too many Pentagon journalists typically arrives at the same vanishing point: Over time they are co-opted by a combination of awe – interacting so closely with the most powerfully romanticized force of violence in the history of humanity – and the admirable and seductive allure of the sharp, amazingly focused demeanor of highly trained military minds. Top military officers have their s*** together and it’s personally humbling for reporters who’ve never served to witness that kind of impeccable competence. These unspoken factors, not to mention the inner pull of reporters’ innate patriotism, have lured otherwise smart journalists to abandon – justifiably in their minds – their professional obligation to treat all sources equally and skeptically. . . .
Pentagon journalists and informed members of the public would benefit from watching ‘The Selling of the Pentagon’, a 1971 documentary. It details how, in the height of the Vietnam War, the Pentagon sophisticatedly used taxpayer money against taxpayers in an effort to sway their opinions toward the Pentagon’s desires for unlimited war. Forty years later, the techniques of shaping public opinion via media has evolved exponentially. It has reached the point where flipping major journalists is a matter of painting in their personal numbers.
To that, Mr Greenwald adds “That is what makes this media worship of All Things Military not only creepy to behold, but downright dangerous.”
Undoubtedly it does. But there is more to it than that. If General Petraeus, high priest and god-king of Washington’s cult of military worship, a man exempt both from the laws that forbid extreme violence and from the rational scrutiny that analyzes the costs and benefits of public policy, can be brought low by what is in the end a conjunction of personal weakness and bureaucratic inertia, then “the sharp, amazingly focused” minds at the helm of the USA’s military establishment have not coalesced into an intelligent policymaking body. As individuals they are eminently rational; as a group they are a mindless thing.
Warfare and spycraft are endlessly fascinating to adolescent boys; much of the military worship current in the USA is an outgrowth of the fact that many men never outgrow that fascination. Action movies, thrillers, and war-themed video games form much of the canon of twenty-first century culture; lessons about the rule of law, the value of restraint, and the role of diplomacy find little reinforcement in this canon. I’ve taken the title of this post from the writer of another sort of story that appeals chiefly to adolescent boys. H. P. Lovecraft wrote horror stories, eventually uniting them with an elaborate, and to me frankly rather boring, system of mythology. Still, his description of one figure in that mythology haunts me, and seems perfectly apt as a description of the National Security State and its worshipers:
Before his eyes a kaleidoscopic range of phantasmal images played, all of them dissolving at intervals into the picture of a vast, unplumbed abyss of night wherein whirled suns and worlds of an even profounder blackness. He thought of the ancient legends of Ultimate Chaos, at whose centre sprawls the blind idiot god Azathoth, Lord of All Things, encircled by his flopping horde of mindless and amorphous dancers, and lulled by the thin monotonous piping of a daemoniac flute held in nameless paws.
(from “The Haunter of the Dark,” 1935)
A “flopping horde of mindless and amorphous dancers… lulled by the thin monotonous piping of a daemoniac flute held in nameless paws.” That fits the Washington press corps perfectly. Perhaps I’ll call them that from now on. Or perhaps I’ll shorten it to “the flopping horde.”
Posted by acilius on November 13, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/11/13/the-blind-idiot-god-azathoth-lord-of-all-things/
Fatigue. Hypothermia. Death.
Featured in an old Mental Floss list that I stumbled upon a few moments ago, a poster for some movie called Open Water 2:
I’d never heard of Open Water 2; honestly, I’m not sure I’d ever heard of Open Water 1. But I haven’t been able to stop laughing at the idea of a movie that was evidently marketed under the slogan “Fatigue. Hypothermia. Death.” The funniest part of it is the punctuation.
Posted by acilius on November 13, 2012
https://losthunderlads.com/2012/11/13/fatigue-hypothermia-death/






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