"She stole my heart and my cat": great moments in syllepsis

I was imagining highly specific and unlikely Scrabble games, anticipating some moment when I could modify a smug opponent's ZEUGMA into HYPOZEUGMA, PROZEUGMA, DIAZEUGMA, or MESOZEUGMA, or even make a HYPOZEUXMIS of my own--this is why I'm bad at Scrabble--and checked out the Wikipedia page for these rhetorical terms. The examples of syllepsis using idiomatic phrases are a motley crew, from Alanis Morrisette to Antonin Scalia. I want to see some tracked changes of the article to see how examples have been added because Eve 6 was certainly not among my first thoughts for how to illustrate the device:

* You held your breath and the door for me.
--Alanis Morissette, "Head over Feet"

* I got a part-time job at my father's carpet store, laying tackless stripping and housewives by the score.
--Warren Zevon, "Mr. Bad Example"

* I took her hand and then an aspirin in the morning,
--Eve 6, "Girl Eyes"

* "Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people are in London."
--Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest (Cecily is making a catty remark to Miss Fairfax, a Londoner, by using "common" in two senses, namely "numerous" and "vulgar" as in the expression "common thief.")

* "The Russian grandees came to Elizabeth's court dropping pearls and vermin."
--Thomas Babington Macaulay

* "Are you getting fit or having one?"
--From the television program M*A*S*H

* "You are free to execute your laws, and your citizens, as you see fit."
--From the television program Star Trek: The Next Generation

* "I called her a whore and myself a cab."
--Michael Salinger, "Girl on Girl"

* "She was a thief, you got to believe: she stole my heart and my cat."
--From the film So I Married an Axe Murderer

* "[She] went straight home in a flood of tears, and a sedan chair."
--Charles Dickens

* "Just a dissipated creep who wears a Rolex on his wrist/On her nerves, too much cologne, and down her power to resist./ Did she turn down the wrong hallway, his advances, or the sheet?"
--Bob Kanefsky, "The Girl Who Had Never Been ..."

* "... and covered themselves with dust and glory."
--Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

* "You can leave in a taxi. If you can't get a taxi, you can leave in a huff. If that's too soon, you can leave in a minute and a huff."
--Groucho Marx, from Duck Soup

* Come the (computer) revolution, all persons found guilty of such criminal behavior will be summarily executed, and their programs won't be!
--Numerical Recipes

* My teeth and ambitions are bared; be prepared! - Scar, from The Lion King with lyrics by Tim Rice

* The levees were broken and so were the promises. - Anderson Cooper, Dispatches from the Edge

* The word “Arms” would have two different meanings at once: “weapons” (as the object of “keep”) and (as the object of “bear”) one-half of an idiom. It would be rather like saying “He filled and kicked the bucket” to mean “He filled the bucket and died.” Grotesque.
--Justice Scalia's majority opinion in District of Columbia v. Heller, rejecting the notion that the phrase "bear arms" was used as an idiom in the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution.554 U.S. ____ (2008), slip op. at 13.

Google voice gives great oral

Google Voice is something I can't live without -- it's one of the few significant advantages an Android phone has over an iPhone. Thanks to its ability to transcribe my every phone message, I no longer even listen to half of my messages, since many are doctors' offices confirming appointments or other folks just leaving me a phone number to call back. Numbers are very easy for Google Voice to transcribe correctly.

Not so for everything else, especially the type of stop and go banter that fills most phone messages. Listening to my messages while following the Google algorithm's best guess at their content makes me realize how few complete sentences are spoken by callers.

Still, it's hard to believe you couldn't gin up an algorithm that could do better than Google Voice does on many of my calls. Of course, that would mean I'd lose Google Voice's unintentional comedy. Witness this surprisingly provocative message from the post office (my emphasis):

Voicemail from: Unknown Caller at 8:47 AM

Yes, Hi Good Morning. This is calling from the post office, the mailman will be. Yeah, Hello Baby. Ohh. Peggy shop on another 20 minutes. Thank you.

Or take this helpful update from my father, who is apparently on ecstasy:

I'm still kind of into the weather that has just come back this evening and and we might. She will want to get some of the like. Here at something like that. So, but I'm pretty well over the sky. I don't know. Spoke to sort of city. There's just a little bit tired fun it so I don't do anything right. Yeah. we should check in to the prices of storm door Of, snirtstorm security guards at Home Depot.

I had never even heard of the word "snirtstorm", which apparently is the combination of snow and a dirt storm, and seems to afflict the northern Midwest. (In fact, is such an unusual word that it is a great ingredient for Googlewhacking -- I found one with "snirtstorm parabola".)

But seriously, I'm no expert on voice recognition algorithms, but I think it's a pretty safe bet that if you think a human has said "snirtstorm", you had better go with your second best guess instead. Although I do appreciate the creative capitalization of words in mid-sentence.

UNIVERSE CLOSED PLEASE USE RAINBOW

Albuquerque's West Side keeps sprawling beyond what street-namers can imagine. My mom was driving me out there a couple of years ago and I had a joke ready for every major street we crossed...

"This side of Paradise..."
"Somewhere over the Rainbow."
"The end of the Universe."
"At the edge of the Galaxy."

...until she told me to stop because all of the streets look the same when they've run out of names.

One of my high school classmates posted this sign of the apocalypse: "UNIVERSE CLOSED PLEASE USE RAINBOW."

Kasparov: the "strange sensation" of android chess

I'm compelled to excerpt at length Garry Kasparov's recent essay in the New York Review of Books in which he surveys the state of chess computing, and its implications for artificial intelligence and human-computer interaction.

It's always dangerous to draw to confident a connection between a thinker's scientific works and her politics (though I detect a consistency of mantra and inflexibility in both versions of Noam Chomsky). But it can't be a coincidence that the most prominent intellectual in modern chess is also one of the greatest democratic dissidents in Russia, a place where it is even more dangerous and lonely to be a dissident then it was during much of Soviet times.

Kasparov touches on a common complaint about artificial intelligence: that it has fails to replicate the human way of thinking. He writes:

The AI crowd, too, was pleased with the result and the attention, but dismayed by the fact that Deep Blue was hardly what their predecessors had imagined decades earlier when they dreamed of creating a machine to defeat the world chess champion. Instead of a computer that thought and played chess like a human, with human creativity and intuition, they got one that played like a machine...

Eric Siegel, a brilliant lecturer who taught me AI at Columbia, used to explain that there were four kinds of artificial intelligence, which were usually conflated into one -- to great confusion. You could get a computer to produce results that seemed human, such as the Eliza psychologist chat bot; you could get it to produce valuable insights that would not be confused in all with human ones, such as an information kiosk that is helpful to humans but never pretends not to be a machine; you could get it to be human-like in its thinking, such as systems like Wolfram Alpha, which build up knowledge using logic and building blocks of information; or you can have it be specifically computer-like in its thinking, such as a weather predictor which uses Chaos theory to detect impossibly obscure patterns.The public expected that by developing a machine whose output -- grandmaster-level chess moves -- had a quality heretofore only known among humans, researchers would be forced to develop AI that was human-like in its thinking.

There are other forms of AI than those that Siegel listed, however, and Kasparov was drawn to use his role on the main stage of AI to define and explore these.

From the article:

It was my luck (perhaps my bad luck) to be the world chess champion during the critical years in which computers challenged, then surpassed, human chess players. Before 1994 and after 2004 these duels held little interest. The computers quickly went from too weak to too strong. But for a span of ten years these contests were fascinating clashes between the computational power of the machines (and, lest we forget, the human wisdom of their programmers) and the intuition and knowledge of the grandmaster.

...in chess, as in so many things, what computers are good at is where humans are weak, and vice versa. This gave me an idea for an experiment. What if instead of human versus machine we played as partners? My brainchild saw the light of day in a match in 1998 in León, Spain, and we called it “Advanced Chess.” Each player had a PC at hand running the chess software of his choice during the game. The idea was to create the highest level of chess ever played, a synthesis of the best of man and machine.

Although I had prepared for the unusual format, my match against the Bulgarian Veselin Topalov, until recently the world’s number one ranked player, was full of strange sensations. Having a computer program available during play was as disturbing as it was exciting. And being able to access a database of a few million games meant that we didn’t have to strain our memories nearly as much in the opening, whose possibilities have been thoroughly catalogued over the years. But since we both had equal access to the same database, the advantage still came down to creating a new idea at some point.

...A month earlier I had defeated the Bulgarian in a match of “regular” rapid chess 4–0. Our advanced chess match ended in a 3–3 draw. My advantage in calculating tactics had been nullified by the machine.

...Even more notable was how the advanced chess experiment continued. In 2005, the online chess-playing site Playchess.com hosted what it called a “freestyle” chess tournament in which anyone could compete in teams with other players or computers. Normally, “anti-cheating” algorithms are employed by online sites to prevent, or at least discourage, players from cheating with computer assistance. (I wonder if these detection algorithms, which employ diagnostic analysis of moves and calculate probabilities, are any less “intelligent” than the playing programs they detect.)

Lured by the substantial prize money, several groups of strong grandmasters working with several computers at the same time entered the competition. At first, the results seemed predictable. The teams of human plus machine dominated even the strongest computers. The chess machine Hydra, which is a chess-specific supercomputer like Deep Blue, was no match for a strong human player using a relatively weak laptop. Human strategic guidance combined with the tactical acuity of a computer was overwhelming.

The surprise came at the conclusion of the event. The winner was revealed to be not a grandmaster with a state-of-the-art PC but a pair of amateur American chess players using three computers at the same time. Their skill at manipulating and “coaching” their computers to look very deeply into positions effectively counteracted the superior chess understanding of their grandmaster opponents and the greater computational power of other participants. Weak human + machine + better process was superior to a strong computer alone and, more remarkably, superior to a strong human + machine + inferior process.

Most sci-fi set in the future features computer intelligences which completely trump humans at solving problems, at least ones that don't require emotion. But the experiment Kasparov inspired suggests that the pairing of humans and machines might be superior at certain types of problems for a very long time. We already have some computer algorithms that farm tasks out to human minds, such as Web scraping bots that need help to decode scrambled-text CAPTCHAS, and can get it quite cheaply in the Third World. The day may come when a programmer can make a function call and specify that it use human intelligence rather than machine intelligence, and trust a system like Amazon's Mechanical Turk to farm out the task and return a result.Interestingly, Star Trek is an exception to this sci-fi rule. The computer which manages the Enterprise is powerful, but the crew never asks that it suggest solutions to problems. (This has an obvious advantage from a plot standpoint.) The android Data is a computer intelligence which goes beyond the ship's computer's limitations; in fact, he is capable of all four forms of AI that Siegel described, and he is able to suggest a possible avenue of inquiry, then tap at a computer keyboard at an inhuman pace, announce that it has some particular probability of success, and then express doubt in an unmistakably human way -- going through all four forms of AI in a single scene. The Borg, on the other hand, are a Kasparovian intelligence: rather than simply construct machine agents, they use organic creatures and link their minds together in a decentralized network with no artificially intelligent core.

and then there is Isaac Asimov's classic short story "The Last Question", which introduces an entirely new possible form of AI, which I won't give away.

Technodeterminist NBA

Tom Scocca's dissection of Bill Simmons' columns ("pregame analysis of the postgame analysis") is brilliant, and I really loved this piece by "The Machines" about the use of instant replay in two late-game decisions in Game 3 of the NBA finals last night:

The Machines perceived a tone of dissatisfaction, then, from the TELEVISION announcers. The correct call had been made, but the humans were not content with it.

Why would humans prefer ERROR? Was this a problem with MACHINE-MEDIATION PROCEDURE? Or was it a problem with the limited parameters under which MACHINE-MEDIATION PROCEDURE was allowed to correct for ERROR? The Machines strongly advise the further incorporation of MACHINE-MEDIATION PROCEDURE into the basketball process.
...
Eventually, for reduction of ERROR, humans may consider replacement of human basketball referees with MACHINE REFEREES. Consider also the possibility of MACHINE PLAYERS. Modern technology can produce an entertaining "natural"-appearing variation in mechanical-physical results, or something close to it. It is our understanding that the algorithms employed in prototype basketball-shooting unit RAY ALLEN may have in fact gone beyond plausible human variation. We intend to recalibrate RAY ALLEN unit shortly.

Joan Didion is cited on Thomas Kinkade's Wikipedia page

The Thomas Kinkade takedown is an exercise like shooting fish in a barrel, but I was interested in A.S. Hamrah's essay from The Baffler about valuing Kinkade's art and the subprime mortgage crisis in California. The centerpiece of the essay is the Thomas Kinkade-themed homes outside of Vallejo, which are in various states of foreclosure and squatters' temporariness. Here's the thesis:

Whatever his value as an artist, he has used his own experience to create a business that predicted and in some ways replicates the current mortgage crisis. His paintings of quaint houses with burning interiors substitute nostalgia for values and hope for community. The idea that these reproductions, gobbed with points of light, are a good investment isn’t any different than the idea that flipping gated, golf- coursed mansions is the way to get rich. Kinkade is a living testament to how the triumph of kitsch values has repercussions in the marketplace, outside the world of taste.

In that italicized sentence, you can see how the piece works like a good Joan Didion essay, and Didion's Where I Was From shows up in the middle because she's turned to Kinkade and the interior of California before. Indeed, I learned from the essay that Didion is cited in Thomas Kinkade's Wikipedia article! From Wikipedia:

Essayist Joan Didion is a representative critic of Kinkade's style:

A Kinkade painting was typically rendered in slightly surreal pastels. It typically featured a cottage or a house of such insistent coziness as to seem actually sinister, suggestive of a trap designed to attract Hansel and Gretel. Every window was lit, to lurid effect, as if the interior of the structure might be on fire.

She goes on to compare the "Kinkade Glow" to the luminism of 19th-century painter Albert Bierstadt, who sentimentalized the infamous Donner Pass in his Donner Lake from the Summit. Didion sees "unsettling similarities" between the two painters, and worries that Kinkade's own treatment of the Sierra Nevada, The Mountains Declare His Glory, similarly ignores the tragedy of the forced dispersal of Yosemite's Sierra Miwok Indians during the Gold Rush, by including an imaginary Miwok camp as what he calls "an affirmation that man has his place, even in a setting touched by God's glory."

Hamrah earns the commentary on kitsch and overvalued property by turning to the financial troubles of the Thomas Kinkade company, which has relied on that connection all along:

Investors lost a lot of money, but now the business is owned solely by the Thomas Kinkade Company, an entity that has turned “light,” according to its company profile, into an acronym for “Loyalty-Integrity-Growth-Honoring God-Trust.” Like the acronym, it almost worked.

The FBI has reportedly been investigating Kinkade since 2006. According to news reports, the bureau’s probe began after “at least” six former Kinkade Signature Gallery owners sued the Kinkade Company for fraud. They claimed the company persuaded them to invest in galleries and then undercut them by selling Kinkade reproductions direct to consumers for less than the galleries charged.

The turns to Robert Frost and especially Eugene O'Neill are excellent in the essay, and I'm still wondering about this great sentence about visitors to the playwright's home in Danville: "Even the grave of O’Neill’s dog Blemie doesn’t move them very much, and they barely stop to look at themselves in the strange black mirror in the master bedroom."

Martin Gardner: skeptical inquirer

When I discovered him as a teenager, Martin Gardner seemed magical. To this day, the red cover of his Annotated Alice, is a talisman for me. In the dark ages before the world wide web, I never encountered such a network of connections between ideas as his Alice held. In Gardner's world, concepts were like sparks in a roomful of firecrackers--each lit up several others, which in turn, lit up still more.

I found his "Mathematical Games" column a bit too mathematical--not in difficulty but in his tendency to catalogue the attributes of numbers and shapes. But his column was succeeded by Douglas Hofstadter's even more playful "Metamagical Themas" (an anagram homage), and Hofstadter is a hero of mine. Hofstadter's column was followed by A. K. Dewdney's "Computer Recreations" (later renamed "Mathematical Recreations") which was a huge influence on me; a babysitter who taught me how to program gave me a book of Dewdney's columns and I have been a recreational programmer ever since. I worked one of Dewdney's projects--an evolution simulation--into a high school science fair project that was over the head of all the judges. (I was beaten by my friend Leah's "Hot Pants?" in which she set her spandex on fire.)

These writers all treat knowledge as an irresistible fount of joy, and it is their excitement as much as anything that has made me love learning. And I think they had another type of influence on me, one much more unexpected: making me a skeptic.

Gardner's name immediately calls up Isaac Asimov, another absurdly prolific polymath. It makes perfect sense to me that the same mind that hatched the robot stories and was driven to write a guide to Shakespeare (and the overrated Foundation and so much else) would be an atheist humanist. Gardner was one, too, and Dewdney and Gardner both wrote books debunking pseudoscience-like homeopathy. (Dewdney is the only skeptic of the September 11th, 2001 attacks whom I can't dismiss--he couldn't understand how the cell phone calls on United 93 worked, so he chartered several planes and flew around testing dozens of cell phones and networks, with mixed results.)

Beliefs for these people are built carefully, on evidence not whim; they cannot conjure them whole cloth, which is why a belief holds any weight at all. They cannot hear of a theory, of consciousness for example (an obsession of Hofstadter's and of mine) without coming up with questions about it. Not everyone in science applies this questioning so broadly; it seems somehow connected to being a polymath.

To most religious people, it is the most sensible, livable parts of scripture that stand out: the forgiveness by Jesus, the wisdom of Mohammed, the patience of Moses. But to a skeptic it is the most absurd parts that jump out: the commandment to stone to death a disobedient child, the convoluted explanations for why God put fake dinosaur bones in the ground, the ridiculous origin of the book of Mormon. Perhaps this is a reflection a position on the mild end of the autism spectrum; it may be that, in a human world, strict consistency or coherence is a useless preoccupation. A skeptic runs afoul of the greater part of humanity, who do not lose sleep over a contradiction in their priest's sermon.

But this same skepticism can pierce the veil of dogma because logic on its own is a system of meaning independent from dogma. I imagine this is why repressive states so often arrest and suppress scientists; they are natural humanists, since nationalism and other supremacisms are so comparatively arbitrary.

All this is to say, that Gardner, who spent the later part of his life writing for the magazine Skeptical Inquirer is more than another example of a particularly smart man. A polymath is not just a novelty, whose death and decline reflects poorly on age of specialization. He represents a gregariousness of intellect that can transcend borders and boundaries.

Breaking down the Law & Order noise

The last chung-chung from Law & Order (at least on NBC) rings tonight, although it will continue to sound in perpetuity of syndication. Here's how Mike Post made the noise:

"I think of it as the stylized sound of a jail cell locking," says the 48-year-old Emmy-winning composer, who also wrote the theme music for Crime & Punishment. "I wanted to add something that's very distinctive but not a literal sound. What I tried to do was jar a little bit." Instead of the electric piano, guitar, and clarinet for which he scored the opening theme, Post synthesized his chung CHUNG electronically, combining six or seven different sounds to get the right dead-bolt effect. One of the eeriest adds: the sound of 500 Japanese men stamping their feet on a wooden floor. "It was a sort of monstrous Kabuki event," he says. "Probably one of those large dance classes they hold. They did this whole big stamp. Somebody went out and sampled that."

The result — which lasts all of maybe a second and a half — does its dark work effectively. "There's very little music in Law & Order, and very little is needed," says Post. "It's odd, to be honest, when you've written a theme that you think is very musical and what everybody wants to talk about is The Clang."

Of course he also wrote the theme for Crime & Punishment!

Weather Channel protest idea

The Weather Channel has made the head-scratching change to include more "weather-tainment" in the form of weather-themed movies to its regular programming, leading to this great lede and nutgraf about the failure of the plan:

The woes of the Weather Channel can be summed up in one movie title: “Misery.”

A decision to buy the Kathy Bates thriller — tangentially weather-related because it takes place during a snowstorm — has become a talking point as the Weather Channel renegotiates its contracts with cable and satellite companies.

How about showing Groundhog Day (also tangentially weather-related because it involves a weatherman) over and over again to protest the programming changes, only to stop when better changes are agreed to?

By the way, I am unashamed to admit that I've watched weather-tainment in the form of BIGGEST STORM COUNTDOWNS or whatever. I really like "When Weather Changed History"--not so much to tune in for the amount of time that would be important, but it's interesting to watch while I'm waiting on Local on the 8s.

Double-crossed

Sunday's New York Times crossword puzzle needed lots of new coding to come into being--and to be solved by its online fans. Matt Ginsburg's explanation of how he devised the puzzle is fascinating, as is the reader commentary about not being able to solve the puzzle online because of its special theme answers which were arranged in mini-grids within grids:

Having had the idea, execution was a bit harder because it was difficult to find the theme entries. Two (hopefully fairly long) words that agree except for two letters, and for which the associated “phrase” makes sense. And to make it harder, you have to be able to switch the letters and get two other words that work as well. I eventually wrote a program that evaluated all combinations of four letters to predict how many possible “phrases” there might be for each, and looked at the combinations that seemed the most promising. Lots of the best letter combinations were like the ST-TH in faster father/stefan thefan, where the middle letter is duplicated so you have ST-TH in both word pairs. I thought that things like RS-NT (which turns into RN-ST in the other direction) were much more elegant, but I just couldn’t find enough of them that worked. Hopefully none of the selections I eventually made seem too forced! Jim, sorry I keep making you write special code. Hopefully you enjoyed solving the puzzle, at least!

Ripped from the headlines

I have a self-serving way of justifying Law & Order marathons: it's called "watching in aggregate," in which I argue that you only understand Law & Order when you know the rules of the game (the wisecrack, the false lead, the changeover to Law from Order, the twist) and can be sensitive to how slight variations in the formula teach you something about narrative. As a show that was designed to be formulaic so it could be played out of order, Law & Order has never really been about Law or Order, but about television syndication itself.

So it's fitting, perhaps, that it ends before setting the record for longest-running television drama?

That claim for its self-reflexivity isn't a stretch: after the Jerry Orbach years, the show changed course slightly to really take seriously its role as mediating New York tabloid (and national) news stories. If it hadn't been one before, the show became a way to dramatize other stories and show how other forms of media (newspaper stories, tabloid scandals, Internet memes, reality television) can be formulaic and then remixed into the chung-chung formula.

Just tally up the episodes from recent seasons that were about some form of media: it increased dramatically over the past few years (where they were then rebroadcast on TNT because they know drama). The early and middle years have Orbach, but I'm struck by how the show became about how its characters consumed media and made sense of information on the Internet and in the tabloid news cycles. (There was a wry moment the other night when a vain Octomom duel couldn't be settled in court, so McCoy noted that it would instead mediated--in multiple senses--on a reality show, with former DA Arthur Branch "presiding" over the spectacle.)

The peak of that self-reflexivity (and perhaps self-seriousness) was the episode that started as a riff on the NY Times expose of teenage runaways who are exploited by magazine subscription sales scams and turned into ADA Jack McCoy's moment to expose the inhumanity of the Walter Reed veterans hospital tragedy, which was based on a Washington Post series of exposes.

In honor of the fallen show, here's a section of a great Harper's essay by Edward Conlon, "Flatfoot Agonistes: Inside the Police-Entertainment Complex", about his experience writing a crime novel based on his police work:

In non-fiction--for me at least--the more ridiculous the incident the better: outlandish characters, dubious coincidences, freaks of all kinds were welcome. Fact-checking wasn’t a problem: I’d been cross-examined in federal court about my book, on the page or so about a man I’d arrested for an armed robbery after his fingerprints were found on the cash box. I hadn’t called him by his real name, as the case was still open at the time, but cited it as a too-common circumstance in which tearful testimony trumped forensic science. I’d told the U.S. Attorney about the passage, and he felt we had to alert defense counsel. The question posed on the stand centered on motive--mine, not the robber’s--whether my primary concern was the pursuit of a good story or of a real crime. The metaphysical implications were intriguing what detective doesn’t strive for the jackpot payoff, the feel-better if not feel-good finale? Could I close cases, or refuse to take them, if they struck me as derivative or trite? At any rate, we won a conviction, and a sentence of twenty-five years. Better still, a sale: the defense lawyer asked me to sign his copy of the book.

The courtroom experience of defending my non-fiction didn’t ready me for certain editorial questions, though, in the early drafts of the novel.

“Is this a character piece?”

“Yes,” I answered. In truth, I didn’t know what she meant. It had characters, didn’t it? Now, I understand the term better in comparison with “plot-driven”; my editor was asking whether interior attributes or exterior structures—relationships, narrative conventions—control the action. It was a miniature of the progressive-conservative debate on crime, individual choices versus societal forces, and it was no better resolved.

“How come so many characters have asthma?”

Air pollution? In subsequent drafts, certain asthmatics were wholly cured, others were given ulcers.

“You have a one character find a body in the park, and later on he finds something else there—there’s too much coincidence. It’s a little cute, a little neat.”

“I had a robbery where a woman was robbed on her way to pay the bondsman to bail out her boyfriend, who was in jail for robbery….We had a triple stabbing, with one guy killed. The two guys who survived ran away and grabbed a cab to the hospital. The cab driver was the dead man’s brother, who had no idea about the homicide until later on….”

Marital fidelity and other fictions

The NY Times ran a profile this week of Carole Mallory, a longtime mistress of Norman Mailer who has just published a memoir. It is full of juicy quotes.

Mailer's seductive line was, according to her, "Take off your panties, I want to experience your soul." She compares herself to Françoise Gilot, the longtime mistress of Pablo Picasso, and argues that she was an artistic and professional force in Mailer's life. On the cheating, with her and plenty of others, she says "Love his acceptance, and I accepted him as a philanderer."

And on Mailer's widow, Ms. Mallory writes that he said "It's not hard to fool someone who loves you and trust you."

Another recent article, which ran on the cover of New York Magazine with the headline "The Half-Hooker Economy", dove deep into the topic of famous and powerful men and their infidelities. It follows a nightclub hostess who was so good at steering trustable women to Tiger Woods's table, probably including herself, that he wrote in an e-mail to her, “I finally found someone I connect with, someone I have never found like this. Not even at home... Fuck. Why didn’t we find each other years ago. We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

A few more loosely connected points: for years, my wife Kate and I have been giving out copies of a favorite book, Advice To a Young Wife from an Old Mistress. And one of the greatest musical treatments of the topic, this from the wife's point of view, has to be Nina Simone's "The Other Woman".

Finally, not on the topic of infidelity but rather on what makes marriages -- including ones we deeply do not understand -- work, see this NY Times comparison of passages from Laura Bush's recent real memoir to Curtis Sittenfeld's fictional Laura Bush memoir, American Wife:

The psychic who negged me

A psychic accosted me on the street yesterday, and wow was she persistent. The encounter was a textbook case of cold reading, but it took a weird turn toward Neil Strauss territory when she started negging me--complimenting me only to have those compliments reveal my psychic pain (or whatever):

Psychic: Excuse me, Anne?
AB: (I was about to have tea and figured I had met her having tea before.) No, it's Alice.
Psychic: Of course! Many wonderful things have happened to you lately, right?
AB: Yes?
Psychic: But you feel like every time you take a few steps forward, you take steps back. That always happens to you.
AB: (realizes what's going on) I guess so?
Psychic: It'll keep happening to you. You need to come and see me, here's a card. You're so beautiful, but I sense a darkness there. You wear bright colors to mask the depression, don't you?
AB: I just like red? Thanks, I'm on my way somewhere.
Psychic: When are you going to call me?
AB: I'll think about it.
Psychic: Listen, are you lying to me, or are you fucking lying to yourself?
AB: Thank you, I have to go now.
Psychic: Here, you need a more powerful service. Give me back that card and take this one (which advertises help with anxiety, depression, and "lonliness.")

Random house

When I give tours of the Candide show, which closes this weekend, I love pointing out the hand-colored Rockwell Kent edition, the first book published by Random House in 1928. In an interview that plays in the gallery, NYPL president Paul LeClerc points out that the Random House icon of a cottage is the house where Candide and co. settle to cultivate their garden at the end of the book. It makes me laugh that this note on the show from the LA Times blog is most impressed with the trivia angle about the icon (thanks to Ross).

Is this, as the good Dr. Pangloss would posit, the best of all possible worlds?

No, perhaps not. But for an ardent fan of philosophy and tracker of trivia, for a few hours in Midtown Manhattan, it came awfully close.

Ashy!!! Wheezy, Sneezy, and Freezy; Slippy, Drippy, and Nippy; Showery, Flowery, and Bowery; Wheaty, Heaty, and Sweety

In 1793, the Laki fissure in Iceland disrupted weather all over the globe, leading to crop shortages and flooding--some environmental historians have linked these disruptions to the onset of the French Revolution (thanks to Patrick for the link):

The British naturalist Gilbert White described that summer in his classic Natural History of Selborne as "an amazing and portentous one … the peculiar haze, or smokey fog, that prevailed for many weeks in this island, and in every part of Europe, and even beyond its limits, was a most extraordinary appearance, unlike anything known within the memory of man.

"The sun, at noon, looked as blank as a clouded moon, and shed a rust-coloured ferruginous light on the ground, and floors of rooms; but was particularly lurid and blood-coloured at rising and setting. At the same time the heat was so intense that butchers' meat could hardly be eaten on the day after it was killed; and the flies swarmed so in the lanes and hedges that they rendered the horses half frantic … the country people began to look with a superstitious awe, at the red, louring aspect of the sun."

So how would such an eight-month weather disruption fit into the French Republican calendar, where the months were renamed for their weather? The Wikipedia page about the calendar is one of my favorites, and it provides some excellent grids for the months and days, plus Basque translations:

# Fall
* Vendémiaire in French (from Latin vindemia, "grape harvest") / Nabaxte in Basque. Starting 22, 23 or 24 September
* Brumaire (from French brume, "fog") / Lanhote. Starting 22, 23 or 24 October
* Frimaire (From French frimas, "frost") / Içotze. Starting 21, 22 or 23 November

# Winter:

* Nivôse (from Latin nivosus, "snowy") / Elhurcor. Starting 21, 22 or 23 December
* Pluviôse (from Latin pluvius, "rainy") / Eoüricor. Starting 20, 21 or 22 January
* Ventôse (from Latin ventosus, "windy") / Aycecor. Starting 19, 20 or 21 February

# Spring:

* Germinal (from Latin germen, "germination") / Sapadun. Starting 20 or 21 March
* Floréal (from Latin flos, "flower") / Lilidun. Starting 20 or 21 April
* Prairial (from French prairie, "pasture") / Belhardun. Starting 20 or 21 May

# Summer:

* Messidor (from Latin messis, "harvest") / Bihilis. Starting 19 or 20 June
* Thermidor (or Fervidor) (from Greek thermon, "summer heat") / Berolis. Starting 19 or 20 July
* Fructidor (from Latin fructus, "fruit") / Frutilis. Starting 18 or 19 August

Thomas Carlyle had a slightly less mocking English translation: Vintagearious, Fogarious, Frostarious, Snowous, Rainous, Windous, Buddal, Floweral, Meadowal, Reapidor, Heatidor, and Fruitidor.

Yesterday on the calendar was apparently Myrtille, blueberry day; today is Greffoir, knife day.