How Did You Miss This, Ridley? Maybe Because You're a Limey.

Matt Ridley, in his new book The Rational Optimist: How Prosperity Evolves, does a fantastic job of debunking the prevailing pessimism from previous decades: "In the 1960s the population and explosion and global famine were top of the charts, in the 1970s the exhaustion of resources, in the 1980s acid rain, in the 1990s pandemics"; he runs through each of these plus many other apocalyptic scenarios predicted by scientists (DDT, mass extinction, deforestation, the evils of the railroad, cancer epidemics in children, etc.) and then he comprehensively illustrates that none of these panned out in the devastating manner that was predicted and that the average lifespan, amount of leisure time, freedom from disease, and living conditions have improved over time for all humans-- but then he ends with the "great pessimisms" of today: Africa and global warming and when he describes Botswana (an incredible success story on a generally impoverished continent) he explains that they-- like many African nations-- are saddled with this list of failures: 1) they are landlocked 2) they have poor roads 3) exploding birth rates 4) AIDS and other diseases 5) they have never fully recovered from the slave trade 6) they were once colonies 7) their most promising industry-- agriculture-- is stifled by price controls and trade barriers 8) there is ethnic strife 9) the windfalls of resource wealth serve only to corrupt democratic politicians . . . but despite these problems, Botswana succeeded because of its good institutions-- "people could own property without fear of confiscation by chiefs or thieves"-- and it was barely paid attention to "by colonial rule" and so had to develop its own policies, and as I was reading this I was waiting for Ridley to compare Botswana to America . . . if you look at that list of "problems," each and every one has a parallel to America when it was first developing, and the factors that allowed America to succeed-- good institutions and the fact that we were too far from Britain for them to really police us, also makes sense-- but Ridley never made this connection, perhaps because he is British (and I've yet to finish the final chapter and see what he has to say about global warming).

Who Would You Rather Not Be Sleeping With?

Season 3 of Breaking Bad and Season 4 of Madmen both use the same conceit to add tension, pain, and drama: an ex-wife that stays in the picture . . . but I'd prefer Skyler White as my ex, rather than Betty Draper . . . they're both cold, and they're both disappointed with their respective husbands, but at least Skyler is helping out with Walter's business (and if you've never seen Breaking Bad, you have time to catch up before the new seasons starts . . . the show is so good it's making me contemplate getting cable television).

I Learn Where I Stand

I've been recommending Malcolm Gladwell's books to my wife for years, and she's never read one-- but last week I saw her reading a copy of The Tipping Point . . . apparently if her friend Lynn mentions that a book is good, then she runs out and gets a copy, but I can recommend an author for the entirety of our marriage and this has no consequence.

Breaking News! Little Fins Make A Big Difference!

Apparently, I was not having alcohol induced vestibular problems while stand-up paddle boarding on the Raritan Friday morning . . . I took the board for a spin on Farrington Lake this morning, but I deflated it so I could snap the three little fins under the tail (the other morning I forgot to put them on, and you can't put them on once the board is inflated, so I figured: "How much do I need these little fins?" and the answer to that questions is: "A lot") and the board tracked much better and was far easier to paddle and ride and so the moral to the story is: little fins can make a big difference.

This Does Not Logically Follow That

Stand up paddle-boarding the morning after a late night of pool and darts at the Corner Tavern wasn't such a good idea . . . but the murky waters of the Raritan provided enough incentive to keep my balance-- despite hangover induced vestibular problems-- and so I did not fall in.

Some Information on The Information

Twenty years ago James Gleick's book Chaos yanked me from the morass of post-modern fiction into the world of deftly written science, and reading Gleick's new book, The Information, felt like a comprehensive review of my past twenty years of literary science reading-- all bundled into a tour-de-force history of information theory that starts with African drums and ends with the noosphere, with commentary seamlessly merged into the text from all the "characters" that I've learned to know and love:  Babbage and Turing, Dawkins and Shannon, Dennett and Hofstadter, Maxwell and his demon . . . who Thomas Pynchon famously used in his post-modern fiction, Heisenberg and Godel, Einstein and Von Neumann, and many more . . . but Gleick ends his book in a place that has outstripped what science has to offer, and so he relies on two of my favorite post-modern authors to conclude: Stanislaw Lem and Jorge Luis Borges . . . he uses Borges' metaphor for the universe, his story "The Library of Babel," to approximate where we might be headed: "The certitude that everything has been written negates us or turns us into phantoms," but then Gleick ends with his own voice, more positive: "As for us, everything has not been written; we are not turning into phantoms . . . we walk the corridors . . . looking for lines of meaning amid leagues of cacophony and incoherence, reading the history of the past and future, collecting our thoughts and collecting the thoughts of others, and every so often glimpsing mirrors, in which we may recognize creatures of the information."

Is This Sentence Correct? It Doesn't Matter Because You Can Dance To It.

Accuracy is only one strategy among many that an idea may use to survive.

I Respectfully Disagree

I like the premise of the blog 20th Century Motors and the author makes a compelling case as to why the hypothesis "College Basketball: Far Inferior To the NBA" is one of the "worst ideas in our culture," but he doesn't refute my Sweet Spot argument . . . it doesn't matter if they're the best athletes in the world: the court is too small for them and they are too skilled at shooting from distance for the game to look aesthetically pleasing; he also claims that Greg Gillis from Girl Talk is a "make believe musician" and again, his argument is clever, satirical and certainly holds water, but- once again-- he forgets aesthetics: Girl Talk is fun to listen to, a complex and layered distillation of the best of music from our time, and it reminds us that pop music isn't all that serious or complicated anyway.

Serendipity or Stupidity?

My wife has no idea how to start summer vacation, and so instead of swimming, reading, watching movies, and going out to lunch, she is painting multiple rooms in our house-- but she knows that not only am I useless at painting, but I also hate it-- and so she enlisted our friend's younger sister to help her; Rachel is a college student looking for some summer employment, and she's extremely artistic and so after the initial painting is done, she is going to paint bugs on Ian's walls (good thing he's not a regular LSD user!) and Star Wars Lego stuff on Alex's walls . . . but not only does she paint, she also does tattoos . . . and her older sister Liz, who is sort of like her agent, pointed out to me that she is a specialist in drawing the giant squid . . . which is the tattoo that I have always dreamed of, a giant squid and sperm whale locked in a great undersea battle . . . so is it fate that has brought us together-- long after my juvenile desire for this tattoo has faded-- or is it something more sinister?

Just Because You Can't Remember, Doesn't Mean It Was A Bad Idea

So although I have no memory of this brainstorming session-- it was after a long day of imbibing while building a deluxe adjustable basketball hoop with Whitney-- apparently, I suggested to a friend's girlfriend's younger sister that she do the Scopes Monkey Trial for her Peeps Diorama history assignment, and that she should do a "gummy evolutionary ladder" as an exhibit in the diorama . . . and when my friend T.J. sent me a picture of the diorama, I said I thought it was really funny and asked him where he found it, and he had to remind me that it was my idea (and my wife-- who was fairly sober because she was the "foreman" of the hoop construction-- verified that I did indeed suggest this to the student) and so here are some pictures of the beautiful and clever diorama of this event, including a miniature blackboard display showing the progression of gummy evolution: Gummy Lifesaver to Gummy Worm to Swedish Fish to Gummy Bear to Sour Patch Kid to Milk Chocolate Peep to Bunny Peep . . . and so I am proud to have contributed to this award winning diorama, although I certainly did the easiest part-- suggesting an idea for a diorama is like pitching a movie, a hell of a lot easier than actually filming one.

If This Were In A Movie, You'd Call BullSh*t

Though finding meaning in coincidences is an absurd past-time, as we are subjected to an enormous amount of stimuli every waking moment, and our brains are trained to look for patterns-- so if we occasionally didn't note coincidences, that would be extraordinarily strange . . . if the song you were just humming didn't start playing on the radio or if you never ran into the old friend the same day you found a photo of him or her in the drawer, then that would be an improbable life . . . but still, sometimes coincidences are bizarre enough that they border on the unbelievable (remember the opening to the film Magnolia?) and if you are a fan of this blog, then you might remember the Two Fox Event, but that pales in comparison to this more recent coincidence . . . which I will call The Three Turtles in Two Days Event: Friday, on my way to work, I nearly ran over a large painted turtle that was inexplicably trying to cross Fifth Avenue-- so I stopped the car, grabbed it, threw it in the driver's seat, and drove it home so my kids could check it out . . . we let it go in the lake later that day-- and then Saturday morning, I was riding my bike up Second Avenue and nearly ran over an Eastern box turtle-- which was also inexplicable trying to cross a busy road-- so I grabbed this turtle and rode home one handed (I did drop him once, but he seemed fine . . . it's nice to have a shell) and we went through the same routine . . . my kids played with him a bit and then we let him go near our secret salamander spot . . . and then later that day it was Ian's birthday party and as a special treat we hired a reptile guy, who brought many large reptiles, including a giant black and white tegu, an alligator, and, of course, the third turtle to temporarily reside in my yard in the span of two days.

This Is Getting Stupid

My adult league soccer team played the predominantly Jamaican team in the first round of the playoffs last week-- and, unfortunately, we pulled the early slot on an absurdly hot day . . . if you were a betting man, due to the conditions, you'd certainly have taken the Jamaicans over the old old fat men, but we held on for a 4-3 victory, and I've been limping around ever since-- my knee and calf are swollen (I think I popped my knee-cap out of the slot when I cleared a ball) and Terry couldn't even play because of his torn calf from the previous game (not to mention his possible broken jaw and hyper-extended arm) and I think I'm getting to the point where I need to choose another sport to play competitively . . . like darts or pie-eating . . . or stand-up paddle-boarding . . . and so I ordered an inflatable paddle-board from Amazon and I can't wait to take it out on the Raritan and use it at the shore . . . I figure this will be a safe and fun way to rehab my knee, but my friend Connell doesn't think so-- he thinks paddle-boarding on the Raritan will be more dangerous than soccer, as I will certainly contract dysentery from the murky water.

Even More Ha-Joon Chang Analogies!

In his book Bad Samaritans: The Myth of Free Trade and the Secret History of Capitalism, Ha-Joon Chang accuses wealthy countries and their financial institutions of historical revision, and comprehensively proves that it was not the free market led these countries to success-- and in his chapter on intellectual property law he cites the Mickey Mouse Protection Act, or the law that extended copyright protection to the life of author plus 70 years (it was originally 50) and Chang doesn't propose the removal of all copyright law, but he does point out that for developing nations to actually develop, they need to implement first world ideas and technology yet they cannot afford to abide by the same rules as nations that are already technologically developed, and so he uses an analogy to explain his perspective . . . and since I am the main content provider for people in need of summaries of Ha-Joon Chang analogies, I will paraphrase it here: Chang says the amount of copyright law a country needs is like the amount of salt the human body needs: no salt will kill you, and too much salt is very unhealthy, but a little bit is beneficial . . . and the life of the author plus 95 years, even if it means anyone can have their way with Minnie Mouse, is too much salt.

A Fast Review of the Past

If you want to see a deaf mute kill a gangster's trigger-man with a fly rod, or a gun moll betray a private dick, or Robert Mitchum and Kirk Douglas when they were young, then Out of the Past is the movie for you: nine trench-coats out of a possible ten.

Chang vs. Jeter vs. Ridley! To The Death!

Matt Ridley's new book The Rational Optimist: How Prosperity Evolves reminds us that even though many people are professing the end of days because of the sub-prime mortgage crisis, high gas prices, a stagnant economy, rising food prices, and climate change, that people are still living better than at any other time in human history, and he argues that this is because of specialization and free-trade-- and credits David Ricardo for realizing this-- and this system of eschewing self-sufficiency and instead pursuing markets and trade enables ideas to mix and mate and reproduce, which leads to a higher quality of life for everyone involved, but sometimes he oversimplifies his thesis, especially when he makes over-arching statements like this: "The message from history is so blatantly obvious-- that free trade causes mutual prosperity while protectionism causes poverty-- that it seems incredible that anybody ever thinks otherwise," and then Ridley claims that there is "not a single example" from history of a country opening its border and ending up poorer . . . which is the logical kiss of death; Ha Joon Chang provides comprehensive examples of when protectionism is necessary for a country to thrive, and John Jeter provides examples of countries who opened their borders to the forces of global markets and became impoverished . . . so I guess these guys need to arrange a time and a date and settle this debate out in the streets.

Irony, Hypocrisy, Christie

While the extensive media coverage of Governor Christie's use of the State Helicopter to go to his son's baseball game is bi-partisan politics at its worst-- we have far more important things to debate in New Jersey-- there is still a delicious irony to the fact that Christie actually said this on the record:  "People in New Jersey now feel as if there have become two classes of people in New Jersey: public employees who receive rich benefits, and those who pay for them," and, of course, if you call for a "shared sacrifice" to balance the State Budget, then you'd better be prepared to be called a hypocrite if you're not "walking the walk"-- but, considering his plump figure and the fact that he was driven in a limo the hundred yards from the helicopter to the ball field-- it is doubtful that Christie walks anywhere.

No Virginia . . . You Are An Idiot (Spoiler Alert!)

I overheard a conversation between my two sons while we were driving to Grounds for Sculpture; Ian-- who is six-- emphatically professed his disbelief in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny, and Alex-- who is seven-- agreed that they were all manifestations of "mommy and daddy," and I know that I am supposed to regret this moment and think: It's so sad that they've lost their innocence, their belief in make-believe and magic-- but what I actually thought was: Phew! Thank God my kids aren't idiots!

A Cinema Question

Are you supposed to cheer when Raymond Shaw shoots his Communist Red Queen mother at the end of The Manchurian Candidate?

Wonderful Images Day Two: Sperm Cake!

Nearly twenty year's ago at my friend Jason's first wedding, I ended my rambling, extemporaneous, and generally incoherent best-man's toast with a sperm joke-- my peroration was: As long as those little guys can swim!-- and the remark was received by the genteel Southern crowd as you might expect, and so I waited a decade for everyone to lighten up, and then tried a similar speech at Jason's second wedding-- but met with similar results-- but, finally-- no pun intended-- my time has come: Saturday evening at Liz and Eric's wedding, each table received a small wedding cake and a bag of frosting and we were told that we were in a "cake decorating contest," and that the winning cake would be the one cut and eaten by the bride and groom . . . and in my opinion, this is what every wedding needs, because after all the romantic stuff everyone is dying for a little friendly competition; it took my table a few moments to get on board with my plan, but once I took matters into my own hands and drew a giant red wriggling sperm on the pristine white icing, they had no choice but to follow suit-- and once they were in, they were all in . . . Audrey made wee mini-sperms for the sides of the cake, Laura drew a lovely smiley face on the featured sperm, Brady got blue Tic-Tacs from Rob so we could make the egg look more like an actual haploid reproductive cell, Jack and Terry wrote the caption "Life Begins" with crumbled chocolate cookies underneath the sperm and egg . . . and we eagerly pointed out the double meaning of the phrase to the bride and groom when we "campaigned" for our cake . . . and though there were some beautiful cakes, many with exquisite dragonflies on them-- the motif of the wedding-- the bride's mother (an art teacher) put in a good word for us and we we were announced the winners and took great pride in the fact that Liz and Soder cut our cake . . . and though I must be honest and report that there may have been some gloating over the fact that we won . . . perhaps we did not display the best "sportsmanship" after our victory, but, on the other hand, how often do you get to say: "I just won a cake decorating contest!"

A Wonderful Image Trumps An Annoying Event

Aside from this incident-- which doesn't count because it happened while I was running a high fever-- I hadn't received a traffic ticket in twenty years (this is partly because my father worked in corrections and so I could always drop his name and partly because I'm a fairly safe driver) but last week I received a letter from the East Brunswick Municipal Court and it had photographs proving that I "Failed to Observe a Traffic Signal," when I made a right onto Tices Lane off Route 18, but the fact of the matter is (I watched the video) that the light turned from yellow to red just as I was about to make the right, and though I should have come to a complete stop before I made the turn, I've never seen anyone actually do that, and no cop in their right mind would have pulled me over for this, but you can't talk to an automated camera . . . although maybe it would have been worth a try-- I could have waved my PBA card at it and said things like: "MAYBE YOU KNOW MY DAD? HE RAN ALL THE JAILS? HE TEACHES CRIMINAL LAW NOW? MAYBE YOU HAD HIM AS A TEACHER? PLEASE?" and when I explained to my five year old son Ian how the computerized traffic signal gave me a ticket because I didn't stop at a red light, he asked, "How did you get the ticket? Did it come twirling down?" and that image, of a computerized camera spitting out tickets from high above, so that they "twirl down" to the traffic offenders, is worth the 85 dollars I had to pay for my violation.