I had a phone conversation a few years back with the film critic Neal Gabler. I can’t remember what it was about, but I thought he was a really bright and nice guy. I disagree with a lot of “The Elusive Big Idea,’‘ his op-ed piece in yeaterday’s Sunday Times, but I think it’s a must read. The thing is, I agree with his basic premise that much of American culture is mired in rigid orthodoxy and regressing, but I don’t necessarily believe that there’s a paucity of big ideas or that the Internet is damaging our ability to hatch them.

It’s true that it doesn’t make any sense that we seem to be getting smarter and dumber all at once, given the free flow of information available to us all thanks to the Internet. I understand that the disparity between haves and have-nots in regards to financial wealth; that has to do with an alliance of monied interests and venal politicians. But there’s no excuse for such a divide in terms of ideas and imagination, even though there does seem to be one. That said, I don’t think the fault lies in technology like Gabler does, but in ourselves. The Internet may have exacerbated cultural amnesia and exploded egos, but it’s also leveled the playing field like nothing else since the printing press and been a huge gain for knowledge-sharing. There has probably never been a time in our history with more ideas circulating, and I think the troubling incivility and close-mindedness we see may be a reaction to that by people threatened by too many ideas, not too few. An excerpt from his essay:

“It is no secret, especially here in America, that we live in a post-Enlightenment age in which rationality, science, evidence, logical argument and debate have lost the battle in many sectors, and perhaps even in society generally, to superstition, faith, opinion and orthodoxy. While we continue to make giant technological advances, we may be the first generation to have turned back the epochal clock — to have gone backward intellectually from advanced modes of thinking into old modes of belief. But post-Enlightenment and post-idea, while related, are not exactly the same.

Post-Enlightenment refers to a style of thinking that no longer deploys the techniques of rational thought. Post-idea refers to thinking that is no longer done, regardless of the style.

The post-idea world has been a long time coming, and many factors have contributed to it. There is the retreat in universities from the real world, and an encouragement of and reward for the narrowest specialization rather than for daring — for tending potted plants rather than planting forests.

There is the eclipse of the public intellectual in the general media by the pundit who substitutes outrageousness for thoughtfulness, and the concomitant decline of the essay in general-interest magazines. And there is the rise of an increasingly visual culture, especially among the young — a form in which ideas are more difficult to express.

But these factors, which began decades ago, were more likely harbingers of an approaching post-idea world than the chief causes of it. The real cause may be information itself. It may seem counterintuitive that at a time when we know more than we have ever known, we think about it less.

We live in the much vaunted Age of Information. Courtesy of the Internet, we seem to have immediate access to anything that anyone could ever want to know. We are certainly the most informed generation in history, at least quantitatively. There are trillions upon trillions of bytes out there in the ether — so much to gather and to think about.”

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Doomsday-ish 1988 TV news report about a computer virus.

Walter Kirn went a little hyperbolic in his 2007 Atlantic essay about the high cost of multitasking in the Information Age, but it’s still a provocative piece. An excerpt;

“It isn’t working, it never has worked, and though we’re still pushing and driving to make it work and puzzled as to why we haven’t stopped yet, which makes us think we may go on forever, the stoppage or slowdown is coming nonetheless, and when it does, we’ll be startled for a moment, and then we’ll acknowledge that, way down deep inside ourselves (a place that we almost forgot even existed), we always knew it couldn’t work.

The scientists know this too, and they think they know why. Through a variety of experiments, many using functional magnetic resonance imaging to measure brain activity, they’ve torn the mask off multitasking and revealed its true face, which is blank and pale and drawn.

Multitasking messes with the brain in several ways. At the most basic level, the mental balancing acts that it requires—the constant switching and pivoting—energize regions of the brain that specialize in visual processing and physical coordination and simultaneously appear to shortchange some of the higher areas related to memory and learning. We concentrate on the act of concentration at the expense of whatever it is that we’re supposed to be concentrating on.

What does this mean in practice? Consider a recent experiment at UCLA, where researchers asked a group of 20-somethings to sort index cards in two trials, once in silence and once while simultaneously listening for specific tones in a series of randomly presented sounds. The subjects’ brains coped with the additional task by shifting responsibility from the hippocampus—which stores and recalls information—to the striatum, which takes care of rote, repetitive activities. Thanks to this switch, the subjects managed to sort the cards just as well with the musical distraction—but they had a much harder time remembering what, exactly, they’d been sorting once the experiment was over.

Even worse, certain studies find that multitasking boosts the level of stress-related hormones such as cortisol and adrenaline and wears down our systems through biochemical friction, prematurely aging us. In the short term, the confusion, fatigue, and chaos merely hamper our ability to focus and analyze, but in the long term, they may cause it to atrophy.”

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HAS ANYONE HAD GYPSYS KNOCK ON THIER DOOR 2 BUY JUNK CARS?

HAS ANYONE HAD GYPSYS KNOCK ON THIER DOOR 2 BUY JUNK CARS?

About the Carter-Ford Presidential debate, in 1976.

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"He made the statement that he was 'the first born,' and that all who wished to be saved must gain salvation through him."

In 19th-century America, street preachers were often attended by riots and fisticuffs, as the following stories published in in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle clearly demonstrate.

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“Conviction of a Street Preacher” (November 26, 1855): “Hugh Kirkland, a notorious foul-mouthed street preacher was fine $10 in Cincinnati recently for using ‘bawdy, lewd and filthy language,’ there being a statute against such indecency in force in that city. About a dozen witnesses were examined for the State, who testified that he made use of language during his discourse the most foul and libidinous in its character, and which would be entirely too obscene for publication. He defended his own case and declared himself a victim of the Democratic Party.”

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“Arrested for Blasphemy” (May 15, 1895): “In Kansas City, Kan., last night, John Gabriel, in white trousers and white jacket, aroused a crowd of spectators almost to the lynching point by declaring himself to be a second Jesus Christ. He commenced to preach in the court house square. He made the statement that he was ‘the first born,’ and that all who wished to be saved must gain salvation through him. Cries of ‘Lynch him,’ ‘String up the blasphemer,’ and other like exclamations were heard on all sides, while the crowd moved in upon him, Gabriel was unmoved and calmly surveying the crowd continued to speak. At this juncture three policemen appeared and quickly started Gabriel toward the station house. The crowd soon recovered from its spell and pressed closely after the quartet. For a long time it seemed doubtful which would be victorious but the officers by hard work and considerable threatening finally landed Gabriel in the station house. Gabriel is 35 years old and claims to come from Cedar County, Ia. He says he will continue his assertions made to-night. If he does serious trouble is feared.”

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"Some of those arrested were Wide Awakes, who had been guilty of overt acts."

“Street Preaching–Riots and Assaults” (September 4, 1854): “Yesterday afternoon, as usual, several street preachers held forth on the Battery and from the steps of City Hall, N.Y.; and about 5 o’clock, a large party of Wide Awakes, who had been listening to a preacher on the Battery started in procession of the Park, attended by some policemen, but as they were emerging from one of the gates of the Battery a party of Irish rushed upon them with knives, pistols, etc., and in a moment James Wood, a peacable citizen was dangerously stabbed in the left shoulder and side. About a dozen pistol shots were fired by either party, but fortunately, but one man was injured. His name could not be ascertained as his friends bore him quickly away. The police and Wide Awakes finally succeeded in scattering the Irish and then marched up to the Park, but the Irish had again formed, and on reaching the Park commenced a series of assaults and running fights.

The police soon succeeded in clearing the steps of the City Hall of the thousands on and about them, and the preacher, with a part of the crowd, proceeded up Broadway, he preaching as they walked. Another party started up Chatham Street, and still another down Centre Street, in all of which there was more or less fighting. As the day closed, the parties finally dispersed, the police having arrested seven persons, all of whom were locked up by Justice Osborne for examination. Some of those arrested were Wide Awakes, who had been guilty of overt acts. Mr. Wood, the person who was stabbed, was conveyed to his residence, No. 304 Eighth Avenue.”

Um, she certainly wasn’t boring.

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Sometimes I find myself thinking about the remembrance of Wendy Wasserstein, the playwright who sadly died way too soon, that Frank Rich wrote for the New York Times Magazine in 2006. She was apparently inscrutable to even her close friends, even more than the rest of us are to ours. An excerpt:

The Wendy Wasserstein who was always there for everybody (including me) at every crisis and celebration, the Wendy with that uproarious (yet musical) laugh and funny (yet never bitchy) dialogue for every fraught situation, the Wendy the whole world knew and adored was also an intensely private person who left many mysteries behind. Though she had countless circles of friends, the circles didn’t always overlap: her life was more compartmentalized than she let on. Though she had written a memorable memoir for The New Yorker about her personal and physiological journey to childbirth, the subject of her child’s paternity was strictly off-limits. Though it was apparent that she was ill for several years before her death, she hid the specifics and terminal gravity of her illness (lymphoma) until the endgame gave her away. By then she was out of reach of intimates who might have wanted to have a cognizant goodbye.

After her death, her closest friends were left to compare notes and clues about what had gone unsaid. But we had no answers. Roy Harris, the devoted stage manager for many of Wendy’s plays, including her last, Third, spoke for many of us when he published a tender reminiscence that also acknowledged his anger “that she hadn’t allowed any of her friends to be a part of her final months.”

As Roy wrote, dying was entirely Wendy’s “own business.” She was entitled to her decisions and her secrets. But the fact that she so successfully took so many of those secrets to the grave was a major revelation in itself. How could the most public artist in New York keep so much locked up? I don’t think I was the only friend who felt I had somehow failed to see Wendy whole. And who wondered if I had let her down in some profound way. I grieve as much for the Wendy I didn’t know as the Wendy I did.•

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Afflictor: Considering changing dentists, since 2009. (Image by Honustart.)

 

  • Your skin can be transformed into computer interface device.

FromHuman Skin Used As Computer Input Device,” Stuart Fox’s post at Innovation News Daily about the intermingling of flesh and silicon:

“Phones, makeup kiosks, car dashboards, televisions, rolls of paper, museum exhibits; it’s hard to find somethinghat hasn’t been transformed into a computer interface device. Soon, the back of your hand will join that list, as a new device debuted here at the SIGGRAPH interactive technology conference can instantly convert a patch of skin into a multitouch controller for a computer.

Designed by Kei Nakatsuma, a researcher at the University of Tokyo Department of Information Physics and Computing, this new touch interface uses infrared sensor technology to track a finger across the back of a hand, as if it was a digital stylus or mouse. The device itself fits onto a wristwatch-sized band, giving users an adaptable computer control wherever they go.

‘The advantage for using the back of your hand is that your skin can provide haptic (touch-based) feedback,’ Nakatsuma told Innovation News Daily.”

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Dr. Jay Parkinson was a young physician who set up an innovative medical practice using all the modern tools of communication and information exchange and got only grief in return from the medical establishment. Just sad all around. An excerpt from his post (but read the whole thing):

“Upon finishing my second residency at Hopkins in Baltimore in September of 2007, I moved back to Williamsburg to start a new kind of practice:

  1. Patients would visit my website
  2. See my Google calendar
  3. Choose a time and input their symptoms
  4. My iphone would alert me
  5. I would make a house call
  6. They’d pay me via paypal
  7. We’d follow up by email, IM, videochat, or in person

It was simple, elegant, and affordable for me to start. But most importantly, it just made sense given how we all communicate and do business today. Starting a new practice was obviously challenging for me having never done so before, but my patients loved the experience— I was an accessible, affordable doctor in their neighborhood who communicated just like them.” (Thanks Marginal Revolution.)

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Amazing 1928 animation by Max and David Fleischer, who also gave us Betty Boop and Popeye.

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"He called it 'revolutionary suicide.'"

I posted some time ago about Congressman Leo Ryan, who was murdered in 1978 on an airstrip in Guyana as prelude to the Rev. Jim Jones’ Kool-Aid massacre. Scott James of the Bay Citizen section of the New York Times has a scary addendum to the shocking story. Jones apparently had a 9/11-style act of terrorism in mind. An excerpt:

“Twenty-five years before the Sept. 11 attacks in 2001, a religious extremist plotted to hijack a commercial airliner — filled with 200 or so unsuspecting passengers — and deliberately crash it.

The target was San Francisco. And the would-be perpetrator was not a jihadist, but the man who would become one of history’s more infamous villains: the cult leader Jim Jones of the Peoples Temple, whose headquarters was then on Geary Boulevard in San Francisco.

With the hijacking plot, described in a coming book and recently confirmed by a former Peoples Temple leader, Mr. Jones is said to have wanted to cause death on a scale that the world would not soon forget. He called it ‘revolutionary suicide,’ a warped vision of religious martyrdom he would ultimately fulfill two years later, in 1978, with cyanide poisonings and shootings in Jonestown, Guyana, that left 918 people — most of them church members — dead.”

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There were 918 dead but some survivors:

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From 1980.

"You got to watch out for the other guy."

Pony tail, black dress, blue bag & brown bag (Graham Ave.)

6PM, Thursday, Aug. 11, brunette in pony tail, black dress, blue bag and brown bag, walking down Graham while reading her e-book. She almost got hit by a car! You got to watch out for the other guy. 

Discharged patients can have their progress tracked. (Thanks New Scientist.)

"Her mamma taught her the part of Little Buttercup when she was about 5 years old."

Long before moving pictures “normalized” the idea of children entertainers like Jackie Coogan and Shirley Temple, there were half-pints on stage who drew audiences and criticism. One of the first was “Little Corinne,” a sassy singer and actor, who some feared was being corrupted by show business. She probably was. Of course, there were children all over the country who were impoverished and being completely ignored while the Corinne case was being argued vociferously. An excerpt from a story about Corinne in the November 30, 1881 New York Times:

“A handsome, dark-complexioned little girl, quick of movement and vivacious in manner, was taken before Judge Donohue, in Supreme Court, yesterday, by Mr. E. Fellows Jenkins, the Superintendent of the Society for the Preservation of Cruelty to Children. She was well dressed and in every respect looked like the child of loving and wealthy parents. Accompanying her and her custodian was a stout, good-looking woman, who wore a silk circular lined with fur. The child clung to this woman, and gave every evidence that she loved her. Mr. Eldridge T. Gerry, President of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, informed the court that the child was the little actress and singer known as ‘Corinne.’ He said that his society had taken charge of her because, being only 9 years old, she was ‘unlawfully exhibited and employed’ in dancing, singing, and acting on the theatrical stage. The authority for her arrest was an order of the court, based upon a petition of the society averring that ‘Corinne’ was thus unlawfully employed by Jennie Kimball, or Flaherty, who was neither her lawful guardian nor a fit person to have control of her, or to be intrusted with her education. It was the intention of Jennie Kimball, it was averred, to exhibit ‘Corinne’ at the Metropolitan Casino in plays in which she will be compelled to sing and dance, and prior to which she will have to commit to memory large portions of plays. All these things are alleged to be detrimental to the proper physical and mental development of the child, who is of remarkable beauty and of a quick, nervous, and excitable temperament. It is also averred that Corinne’s parents are dead, and that she has no natural or legal guardian.

"I gave it ti mamma to save; what else would I do with it?"

Mrs. Flaherty avowed that she had had the custody of the child ever since she was 2 years old, and that ‘Corinne’s’ mother appointed her as guardian. She asserted that it pleased the child to learn her lines and music, and that Corinne was in excellent health, that she walks every pleasant day, and has a maid, and a carriage and horses to ride whenever she chooses.

The inquiry into the circumstances of the child was then begun. Corinne was the first witness and she gave her testimony in a clear and interesting manner. She said she would be 10 years old next Christmas. She had known her mamma (Mrs. Flaherty) a very long time, but she could not tell how long. Her mamma taught her the part of Little Buttercup when she was about 5 years old, and she played in Boston a long time. She liked to sing and act, and she did not get tired, although she was often called out by the audience. Once a big ship, in which was $1,500, was presented to her. She was asked by Mr. Gerry what she did with the money, and she answered sharply:

‘I gave it to mamma to save; what else would I do with it?’

She said that she wanted to play in the Metropolitan Casino. ‘All the other little girls are allowed to play,’ she said petulantly, ‘and I am not. I don’t think that is right.’ As Corinne declared that she was tired, the examination was adjourned until noon to-day. The child was much distressed at being separated from Mrs. Flaherty and at the fear of being taken to prison. She was finally reassured, and went away to the house of Superintendent Jenkins, accompanied by her maid and her dog Fritz.”

More recent Old Print Articles:

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A fool and his money are soon parted, even if we’re talking about Lotto millions. Alex Tabarrok of Marginal Revolution wrote a post about the predictable results of lottery winners mishandling new-found wealth. In it, he links to a Mail Online story about a British trashman who blew through his lottery winnings and returned to hauling trash. An excerpt:

“He became the self-proclaimed king of the chavs after turning up to collect his £9.7million lottery win wearing an electronic offender’s tag.

But eight years on, having blown all that money, Michael Carroll is practising for a return to his old job as a binman.

The 26-year-old, who squandered his multi-million fortune on drugs, gambling and thousands of prostitutes, has since February claimed £42 a week in jobseeker’s allowance.

But he is keen to get off the dole and back to earning £200 a week collecting rubbish near his home in Downham Market, Norfolk.

The father of two told The People: ‘I can’t wait to stop signing on and start getting paid for doing a proper job like normal people.’”

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Documentary about Lotto “winner” Michael Carroll;

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From 1959.

"By all means avoid practitioners of Falun Gong." (Image by ClearWisdom.net.)

From Andrew Jacobs’ interesting new article in the New York Times about the odd instructions given by the Chinese government to their citizens visiting more liberal Taiwan:

“TAIPEI, Taiwan — As two dozen anxious Chinese travelers began their maiden voyage across the Taiwan Strait, their tour guide called an impromptu meeting in the airport departure lounge.

He warned them about littering, spitting, flooding hotel bathroom floors — and the local cuisine. ‘Our Taiwanese brothers do not like salt, oil and MSG the way we do,’ the guide, Guo Xin, said with a sigh.

Then his voice grew serious, the way a coach might caution his team about the impending face-off with a deceptively courteous opponent. Do not talk about politics with the locals, he warned, say only positive things about Taiwan and China, and by all means avoid practitioners of Falun Gong, the spiritual group whose adherents roam freely on Taiwan but are regularly jailed on the mainland. ‘They will definitely try to talk to you,’ he said. ‘When that happens, get away as fast as you can.'”

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So the market is losing/down bigtime (doesnt affect me one bit)

I dont give a shit what anyone says about mortgage rates and prices and all that other shit.

I was laid off in february 2009 and picked up a lower paying job a month later.

I still have my 3 family house on a fixed rate, but other than that my family lives paycheck to paycheck.

We have nothing in the market. We dont have reitrement accounts anymore.

We are living on the edge and we know it. There is nothing that you can throw at us that would make things any worse.

If we lost our current jobs it would be kind of bad, but even then we would figure something out.

So let this shit go down, I dont give a shit anymore. The market is going to do what it does and no amount of worrying about from me is going to make a bit of difference.

I really want the riots in England to start up over here. I have the banks and businesses scoped out that I would raid during the mayhem.

Lets all fucking start this party and just take the whole system down.

Ted Koppel reports about militaristic paintball games played by adults, in 1987.

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I recently quoted Craig Mod in a post about NYC’s attempt to catch up to Silican Valley as a tech center. Here’s an excerpt from “Post-Artifact Books and Publishing,” Mod’s blog post about the nature of books and what digital means for them in the future:

Take a set of encyclopedias and ask, ‘How do I make this digital?’ You get a Microsoft Encarta CD. Take the philosophy of encyclopedia-making and ask, ‘How does digital change our engagement with this?’ You get Wikipedia.

When we think about digital’s effect on storytelling, we tend to grasp for the lowest hanging imaginative fruits. The common cliche is that digital will ‘bring stories to life.’ Words will move. Pictures become movies. Narratives will be choose-your-own-adventure. While digital does make all of this possible, these are the changes of least radical importance brought about by digitization of text. These are the answers to the question, ‘How do we change books to make them digital?’ The essence of digital’s effect on publishing requires a subtle shift towards the query: ‘How does digital change books?'”

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If Salvador Dali and Whitey Ford could team up to shill for Braniff Airlines, why not Andy Warhol and Sonny Liston?

The opening of The Devil and Sonny ListonNick Tosches beautiful, bruising biography of the boxer, who died young and mysteriously: “The corpse was rolled over and lay face down on the metal slab. It was then that the coroner saw them; the copper-colored whipping welts, old and faint, like one might imagine those of a driven slave.

To say that Charles Liston had been a slave would be to render cheap metaphor of the life of a man. And yet those scars on his back were as nothing to deeper scars, the kind that no coroner could ever see, scars of a darkness far less imaginable than those from any lash. Charles Liston, the most formidable of men, the most unconquerable of heavyweight boxers, had been enslaved by the forces of that darkness: enslaved, conquered, and killed by them.

Born with dead man’s eyes, he had passed from the darkness of those scars on his back to the darkness of the criminal underworld, to a darkness beyond, a darkness whose final form was the last thing he ever saw.”

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