Monthly Archives: February 2020

He still had a pipe, so he wasn’t at the bottom.

When the mighty have fallen right into the city dump, at least those searching for a new butler, and having the luck to search the city dump, are likely to find someone who knows the position from their side, which is to say: what to expect. So goes My Man Godfrey (1936), where a dryly witty Godfrey finds his address is now the city dump, where he’s known as ‘Duke’ to his fellows, and pokes around the piles of debris in hopes of finding something to sell.

We open on the night of a scavenger hunt, a high society competition to find things, and this night one of the goals is a ‘forgotten man.’ Cornelia and her younger sitter, Irene, arrive at the dump and Cornelia sets upon Godfrey, who takes offense at this rather cold use of a man down on his luck. Cornelia huffs off, giving Irene the opportunity to express remorse, upon which Godfrey relents.

When they arrive at the headquarters of the competition, Irene wins with her ‘forgotten man,’ and ends up offering him a job as butler. Godfrey shows up the next morning, meeting Molly, the long-time maid, who expresses no surprise at the new butler, stating there’s a new butler everyday. Such is an intimation of what’s to come.

Soon, we know why: the mother’s a nutcase, Cornelia a sadistic witch, Irene’s encased in her own little world where Godfrey has fallen in love with her, Carlos is the mother’s protege, and the father worries how to support his high society family. Godfrey displays unexpected talent in navigating treacherous waters, dealing with Irene’s pouting, Cornelia’s baiting, and the mother’s apparent infatuation, or whatever it is, with Carlos. He even manages to get Irene to become engaged to a startled young man, who, if he hasn’t had too much at the party, will soon have had too much of Irene.

But a spot of trouble emerges when a gentleman shows up and recognizes Godfrey. This is Cornelia’s opportunity, and she takes advantage in trying to pry Godfrey’s big secret out of him. In a fit of pique at his unwillingness to deal, she hides a string of pearls in Godfrey’s room, and when Godfrey drunkenly stumbles home, calls the police to report the missing pearls.

But the police never find them.

Soon, however, the father’s worries prove all too true, as this is the middle of what would later be known as the Great Depression, and one day he comes home, kicks Carlos out, and sits his family for a talk that will include their possible future home: the city dump.

And then Godfrey comes sailing in, resignation letter in one hand and pearls in the other.

Witty, conscious, quick-paced, and fun, it’s a fine example of the misplaced man or woman story, of finding a new role in society and, through it, gaining a new understanding of that society and how it pettily fails those who have fallen on hard times.

While it’s not earth-shattering, it’s fun with a serious undercurrent to it. The actors know how to deliver, and, while I seriously disagreed with the ending and felt that the maid, Molly, was underutilized, it was still good for quite a few laughs.

This book took me about three years to read, and I had to start over. While I didn’t exactly have expectations when I bought it, beyond whatever review I read that convinced me to purchase it, author Deyan Sudjic’s style was unexpected and unsettling. He writes in a passive voice, and he writes in rapid-fire stories. There’s little attempt to formalize a language for describing cities; he’s far more interested in the commonalities of stories across the world pertaining to cities, how they succeed, fail, wax and wane and wax.

As an example of his style, Chapter 1, What is a City, is on page 2 quoting Walt Whitman:

City of the sea! …
City of wharves and stores! city of tall façades of marble and iron!
Proud and passionate city! mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!

Whitman’s first two lines are missing. They reflect an even more important measure of urbanity:

City of the world! (for all races are here;
All the lands of the earth make contributions here)

Clearly, we’re not discussing critical population densities. Sudjic explores historical and contemporary ideas concerning the differentiation of cities and other instances of gathered human habitations; metrics of success; patterns throughout history; etc. He establishes an almost stream-of-consciousness style which can disturb the fussy reader, thus my need to stop, wait, and restart from the beginning.

Chapter 2, How To Make A City, begins with a name: a refugee camp usually has no name, implying its hopefully transient nature; a city has a name, which may mean something, and a history; a slum is somewhere in between, a possibility with no guarantees. Sudjic uses the name as an instrument for exploring the various histories of cities, from St. Petersburg to Istanbul, Ankara to Soweto. The monuments erected in a city are explored, and then on to the resources available to a city, such as  the people, river, sea, or ocean which helps define its commerce; political advantages, such as being a capitol city, are also discussed. Languages and immigrants and mixed people get their due. Streets, the various views of them by architects and inhabitants; Brasilia of Brazil comes in for a particularly vicious swat upside the head for its omission of street corners, salubrious for chance encounters vital to city life. And how streets contribute to successful navigation, or not, is also important.

Chapter 3, How To Change A City, traces how several cities have been changed by chance and by plan, concentrating on several. London comes in for an examination, due to its historical preeminence, followed by its fading in the latter half of the 20th century, and its regeneration as the political elites who sought to preserve the fading glory were undermined and thrown out in favor of commercial concerns.

By © José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link

The Government of Cities is Chapter 4, begins with Walt Disney and his desire to regulate how cities were run, which leads to Robert Moses, unofficial dictator planner of New York for many years, and onwards to Haussmann of Napoleon III’s era. It explores the various options used throughout history, how they impact the health of cities. He mentions even the artist Lorenzetti of Siena, whose mural The Allegory of Good And Bad Government is to the right (partial), symbolizing how government can affect the city for good or bad.

Chapter 5, The Idea of a City, begins with Charles Dickens and the Marxist Friedrich Engels, and their horror at the conditions to be found in London in the mid-1800s. Engels noticed that the wealthy no longer lived in the city, they were now suburbanites, at least in Manchester, while the working class stayed in the city. It marked a new way to imagine cities. Add in the epidemics which poisoned the imagination of architects, and Sudjic is tracing how cities change in response to the critiques of observers, the dangers of living so close together without benefit of effective medicines, and the imaginations of architects seeing, perhaps for the first time, how bad a city can become as its infrastructure is overwhelmed by unforeseen populations. From there he traces the evolution of cities to today’s corporate campuses in cities from Cupertino to Pune.

The final chapter is Crowds and Their Discontents, and covers how crowds can abruptly turn vicious, or be a force for good; how sheer numbers can ruin the monuments and attractions of a city.

Like Pompeii.
Image: True Brick Ovens.

There’s no real conclusion to this book, and none really seems needed. Just like a city, a conclusion is neither wanted nor needed; it just goes on and on, until it suffers catastrophe, with no one left to write about its last days.

Today was the last day of the exhibit of snow sculptures for the St. Paul Winter Carnival, and it was a bit … warm. This was apparently supposed to be a ram’s skull. I’ll bet it was impressive before the warm weather had its way with it.

But I suppose it could have been an impressive moment when it lost its integrity.

The tonsillectomy was hellacious. No sedatives.

It’s amateur hour with The VelociPedal.

VelociPater.

VelociPatter.

VelociPlaster.

No, no, no. VelociPasta.

That ain’t right, either.

The VelociPastor (2017). Oh, yes, that’s it. Ooooooh, was that it. Clawed my eyes out, right? They must have borrowed a costume from this race:

It’s supposed to be funny, but we were watching in a sort of horrified fascination, wondering just how much worse it was going to get.

It did. A clumsy non-velociraptor velociraptor vs a ninja squad. Awwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeawwwwwwweeee.

And that’s all I want to say, or remember, of this one.

In the thread of meaningless logic used in the service of theology (last one here), we may add this proposed law for Indiana, known as HOUSE BILL No. 1089:

Synopsis: Protection of life. Repeals the statutes authorizing and regulating abortion. Finds that human physical life begins when a human ovum is fertilized by a human sperm. Asserts a compelling state interest in protecting human physical life from the moment that human physical life begins. Provides that court decisions to enjoin the law are void. Specifies the duty of Indiana officials to enforce the law. Specifies that federal officials attempting to enforce contrary court orders against Indiana officials enforcing the law shall be subject to arrest by Indiana law enforcement. Redefines “human being” for purposes of the criminal code to conform to the finding that human physical life begins when a human ovum is fertilized by a human sperm. Makes other conforming changes.

It’s quite the bill, isn’t it, rather childishly suggesting that Federal agents and members of the judiciary who find against it will be arrested – this is someone who just can’t tolerate opposing views. The author is Indiana State Legislature Representative Curt Nisly (R-22IN), who, according to Ballotpedia, asserted in his 2014 campaign for office:

Life begins at conception and lasts until one’s natural death. Life is one of the unalienable rights mentioned in the Declaration of Independence. Taking the innocent life of another denies this fundamental right.

It’s convenient – for him – that he registers life as beginning at egg fertilization (while hiding behind some supposed “finding”). He avoids the “Monty Python Conundrum” of what to do with masturbators, eggs that are never fertilized, and gentlemen who inadvertently have what was called in my youth night emissions, through careful choice of a demarcation point.

While he may think he’s being clever, it actually raises the question of why unfertilized eggs and sperm, as the necessary ingredients to life, are not similarly considered sacred and protected. Without them, there would be no life. That certainly puts them in a special category, doesn’t it?

If you accept a merely fertilized egg is, somehow, alive.

Unfortunately for him, human life is characterized by independent motility and intelligence, as well as a primary independence, and while we can use these to characterize an infant as not human life,  the objection is nothing more than wistful: it’s a rare mother who’ll actually discard an infant – we’re not wired for it. The objection would require a vivid imagination.

Quite simply, we have not evolved enough English words to describe the situation. We have death, we have life, then we have that length of time when Mom is pregnant – but that specifies the mother, not the entity inside. It’s not capable of surviving without medical help outside of the womb, so it’s not alive by the above standards, but it has potential to reach it, if its DNA is a good enough interpretation of the two contributions, if nutrition is good, if not to many allergies are developed during the pregnancy, if the mother isn’t killed in some sort of horrid accident – such as violating Indiana theological law. And then we don’t seem to have a term for sperm and eggs which captures its special qualities. Or maybe we do. Lunch sits heavily in me, and my cleverness isn’t what it should be.

In the end, the longer we remain entangled in the irrationalities of theology, formal or informal, the longer these arguments will continue. It would be far better if we sat down, as members of a secular and rational society, and asked, in practical terms, Why is murder forbidden in our society (I suggest the societal instabilities brought on by the sudden and intentional deaths of its members will lead to society’s termination, or at least stagnation), and then ask how abortion could lead to the same, especially in the face of 25-50% of pregnancies already ending in miscarriages, without apparent damage to society.

Or, we can use my previously suggested solution:

Since we’re currently in the domain of someone who believes their theology should be law, that lets us place God at the scene of the crime.

Yep, that’s right. If you have God, then God must have planned the whole thing, right? So the old saying goes, at least: God has a plan for everything. God Is Responsible, since miscarriages are, by definition, not induced by humans.

I’m a reasonable person, or at least that’s part of my personal set of delusions, and so I realize that imprisoning a divine, all-powerful being could only occur if he, A) permits it, and B) can be found.

Neither condition seems likely to be fulfilled.

Similar arguments apply to the imposition of fines on the divine being.

Therefore, in order to discourage God from committing crimes in the State of Ohio, I recommend finding his or her or its ordained representatives and imposing appropriate penalties on them. Now, I recognize that, because there are multiple sects involved in the worship of said creature, it’s actually difficult to ascertain which one, if any, is the duly authorized and recognized (by it) representative, in the body of the leader of the sect, and which are merely well-meaning but deluded, psychopaths with agendas, or indolent parasites, nor is it the role of a secular state to make that determination.

But I will not throw my hands up in the air at this conundrum! Instead, let me supply a convenient answer which side-steps the intellectually obstinate theological questions raised above, and that is this:

Let the author of this delusionary segment of the bill be identified; from there, their sect & church may be further identified; and let the fines for the involuntary miscarriages be levied against that sect and its adherents, no matter how large or how small. Let’s be generous to God and impose no more nor less than $5000 per miscarriage. Furthermore, if that sect should disband for any reason, then the section on ectopic pregnancy shall be null and void.

Does this sound like madness? I am a practicing software engineer, logic is my everyday business. I’m simply practicing a bit of logic here. So, if this sounds like madness, perhaps we should go back to the assumption that a fertilized egg is somehow a person, and re-think what I consider to be a specious, and even malignant, assumption.

These daft proposed laws should surely signal there’s something wrong with their foundational assumptions, not with a society which sails along merrily without those laws in place.

And that off-the-cuff observation, now that I’ve reread it, may be the best argument against this whole “life starts at conception” brief.

Prescient:

1. divine omniscience
2. human anticipation of the course of events : FORESIGHT [Merriam-Webster]

Noted in the second part of Andrew Sullivan’s tripartite diary entry, “America Needs a Miracle,” New York Intelligencer:

And maybe it’s a good moment to see where we are. A man quotes Shakespeare comparing “man, proud man” with “an angry ape.” Any literate person can see that Shakespeare is not talking about race at all; he’s talking (rather presciently) about human beings’ deeper, more primal natures that can obscure our rational thought. But Shapland instantly thought he was being attacked for being black. The distortion and poisoning of the mind here is quite something to behold. And mourn.

Because this passage in an article on how cause and effect might be subject to superposition doesn’t make sense to me:

In 2019, [Caslav Brukner at the University of Vienna, Austria] published a paper that took this idea a step further. He wanted to build a picture of causality that reflected the full complexity of the world, merging the notions of temporal superposition from quantum mechanics with general relativity’s prediction that time seems to pass more slowly in stronger gravitational fields. His thought experiment imagines a scenario in which two spaceships – operated by sworn enemies we shall call Alice and Bob – synchronise clocks before readying their photon cannons to fire. Then, at precisely 1200, each of them fires a photon at the other’s ship. But there is a plot twist: Bob’s spacecraft is docked near a dense planet. According to general relativity, objects such as this with strong gravitational fields would cause nearby clocks to slow. So, time should run slower for Bob, and he would get Alice’s photon before his clock shows 1200.

So far, so classical. But, Brukner asks, what if you could put that massive planet into a quantum superposition state, so that it is close to both Alice and Bob, and affects both of their clocks? In that scenario, the impossible seems to happen: a superposition state is created where Alice’s photon arrives at Bob’s spaceship before he sends his, but Bob’s photon also reaches Alice before she sends hers. [“In the quantum realm, cause doesn’t necessarily come before effect,” Kelly Oakes, NewScientist (18 January 2020, paywall)]

Or would they? Wouldn’t both photons slow down? They’re traveling the same path, albeit in opposite directions.

Down at the quantum level, things are so bizarre – allegedly – that they feel like a hack, a kludge, not something natural.

Trypophobia:

A psychiatrist said that Amanda (not her real name) had trypophobia. There isn’t much in the medical textbooks about this condition, but you can find lots of information online about how it is a fear of holes. You can follow links to pictures of sponges and the perforated heads of flowers that claim to test and diagnose you. But like much information on the web, descriptions of the condition are misleading. Trypophobia isn’t really down to holes. Or fear. It might not even be a phobia, because new research suggests it is triggered by disgust. Less fear and more loathing. Reliable figures are hard to come by, but some researchers believe we will see an uptick in cases. [“Trypophobia: Why a fear of holes is real – and may be on the rise,” David Adam, NewScientist (18 January 2020, paywall)]

When it comes to the evangelicals and President Trump, not all are pleased to endorse and vote for him. Daniel Deitrich in South Bend, IN, is a worship leader and a musician:

A man self-aware enough to ask how his fellow Evangelicals can possibly endorse a man such as Trump. Shane Claiborne of Religion News Service interviews Deitrich:

What do you think is the purpose of worship music?

There’s this great line from a prayer in the old Church of God hymnal that says, “We thank you for music, and for everything that elevates our spirits above the smoggy confusions of our time and gives us hope.” I love that. I’m stuck in the smoggy confusion a lot. Worship music should give us hope — hope that the way of Jesus can bring healing and peace to a hurting world here and now.

Worship music teaches and shapes us, so what we sing about really matters. There are a ton of great songs that help us praise and thank God, but worship music should also help us lament, reflect, confess, celebrate, challenge and push us outside the walls of the church to be the hands and feet of Christ.

… elevates our spirits above the smoggy confusions of our time … I just have to love that line. It’s an admission that anyone can be wrong, that it’s not about emotion, but rationality, even if it’s only to interpret the Bible, rather than forcing emotional reactions on the Bible.

Oh, yes, I’m still an agnostic. I take wisdom where I find it.

I wonder how long it’ll take for him to be bodily ejected from the Evangelical movement – and how many Evangelicals will be brave enough to listen and think for themselves.

I wonder how many other puns I missed.

If you desire to watch Discarded Lovers (1932), you may need to sit down and really concentrate on the first fifteen minutes of this whodunit, because it comes off a little flat. Irma Gladden, beautiful movie star, has been leaving a trail of men behind her: husbands, ex-husbands, lovers, wannabe lovers. She’s the sort who inspires the most devoted family man to lust more than a little in his heart. Supposedly. The quality of the print, and Irma’s manner, did little to nothing for me. And the chauffeur’s in the mix for stealing and pawning one of her jewels, just to satisfy that diversity requirement.

So when Irma is found dead in her car, a lot of people go into shock: former husband, current husband, current secretary, random reporter who’s been hanging around the set to chat with the scriptwriter. Heck, even the scriptwriter’s a little woozy, working on the movie she’s just wrapped up, had to write her dialog just moments before she’d say it – perhaps he wrote it badly in the first place so he could be on set with her, no?

I’ll be dead soon enough. That’s what happens in the movie, at least. Gotta talk to that scriptwriter about that.

Once Irma’s dead, though, the movie accelerates, even if it does have the unfortunate burden of the classic over-confident, incompetent cop hanging around its neck for far too long. The murderer is clever, hiding behind curtains, attempting to silence the secretary, and even knocking off one of the other suspects who claims he knows the identity of the killer, but -ahem- won’t say it over the phone. Sheesh.

In the big windup, we get to see the climactic seen of the movie Irma was making, and it has the classic effect – it turns the killer into a big ol’ blabbermouth. Which is not entirely unbelievable, since this was a crime of passion, not of business, and someone was just bursting to boast about having put her out of his misery.

Throw in a romantic subplot and a useless police chief, and this is a mediocre specimen of the genre. Less than an hour long, you won’t feel like you’ve gone through two or three of your own lives watching it. But you may wish the print could be cleaned up.

Another way to watch your life drain away on the datafeed of a smartphone:

Since April 2019, there have been more than 300 cases in the UK of attacks in which people try to fraudulently obtain codes that would let them gain control of someone’s mobile number, the UK’s data watchdog has revealed in figures that suggest the practice is becoming more common.

The process of SIM-jacking, or SIM-swapping, involves an attacker contacting a person’s mobile network operator and fraudulently obtaining a porting authorisation code (PAC) enabling them to switch the victim’s phone number to another phone on a different network.

UK-based food-writer Jack Monroe recently had about £5000 stolen from her bank account after someone managed to hijack her mobile number. [NewScientist (11 January 2020)]

And the worst thing about it? There’s almost nothing you can do about it! It’s all about the mistake someone makes at your carrier!

Another reason to view using your phone as your critical interface to the world with some a lot of suspicion.