Halfway down the Danube

There and Back Again

    So we went to Nagorno-Karabakh, and then we were back here in Armenia for a week, and then I went to Bucharest, and then I went to Chisinau, Moldova.

And then I got sick.  Urpy stomach, achey head.  Took half an Ambien to help me sleep.  Fell into bed at 9:30.  Got up around 2 and staggered downstairs to... do something, I'm not sure what.  "Well, as long as I'm downstairs, I should check my e-mail," I thought.  Claudia found me an hour or so later passed out in front of the computer.  Which is a first.

(Yah, first Carlos, then me.  Go figure.  But he seems to be worse off, so send some love his way.)

And there's so much to blog about!  Nagorno, Moldova, Bucharest.  Old Bishop Teoctist finally left us at the age of 91, so Romania has a new Patriarch -- a liberal, but he was probably working for the secret police back when, just like everyone else.  Sixteen Polish tourists got trapped by avalanches on the Trans-Fagaras Highway last week; as the Romanian English-language paper put it, "the tourists were very surprised to discover a destination where they could die".   Armenia's economy is continuing to defy gravity.  Nagorno-Karabakh has a new government.  There will be a new Chipmunks movie out this winter!

I'll try, I promise, just as soon as my stomach settles down.  Meanwhile: open thread.

Fever dreams

Waiting for the fever to break. Almost the definition of "no fun". I think the worst time was in the Philippines, when I was ten or so, one of those fevers of mysterious origin which turns your life into a Philip K. Dick novel. You know, you wake up and you're not really sure whether you're still in a dream: this is not my beautiful house? oh wait a minute, it is. Dammit. Anthony Burgess did a pretty good job with the strange fevered word associations, in his Shakespeare book of all places. His Malayan trilogy is frustrating too.

Since Dave MB and Noel are around, let me throw out this idea that's been rattling around in my head for a while (especially in the last 48): there's a connection between Blanchard's model of the breakdown of a centrally planned economy, Razborov & Rudich's concept of the natural proof, and Goodman's grue paradox. Something to do with complicated Boolean functions which I can't quite put into words yet.

In the middle of the night I thought I remembered a children's book about a beatnik girl, which maybe I saw in a store window once, maybe. The book exists, so I am not crazy (at least in that sense), and it's called Suzuki Beane. Googling around, it looks like some self-promoting jackass now has the copyright, instead of the original author, Sandra Scoppettone, who now writes mysteries which have completely passed me by. Cute pictures by the original illustrator, Louise Fitzhugh, who wrote Harriet the Spy soon after.

I am so tired. Update: Okay, now I know why Jerry Lewis gets so crazy during those 72-hour Labor Day telethons.

The Pure Product of America: Bennies?

Bennies? what is this, 1956? No, mon semblable, mon frère, the only bennies I get are those my employment doesn't provide. More zinc, I think. And, let's see: Summer in the Country, The Dud Avocado, or Digressions on some poems by Frank O'Hara? Since I'm apparently not going to rest sleepfully any time this weekend, and I don't want to be reading the Internet at 3 AM again.

The Pure Product of America: Oh, you'll be here, all right. You'll be here.

Oh, my two peoples.

Oh noes: Tommy Thompson is First Victim. Now we'll never have that official White House Mixer's Manual. (I don't count the incumbent's.)

In unrelated news, Rene Requiestas is the Joker:

Slowdown

New computer delayed. But La Loca asks me to write more! Well, OK. This has been my past non-work week, which I am sure will cause her to press the dreaded z key:

• Found a 1938 Macmillan copy of Gone With the Wind on the street.
• Played bocce with Z. I lost.
• Finished the final Kage Baker. No spoilers.
• Onion John cancelled his Bastille Day book giveaway party. The BASTARD.
• Bought a homeless guy chicken. (Gary and I used to talk about God and stuff.)
• Peeled a grapefruit I thought was an orange. Unexpected!

This is why they call me Mr. Excitement. Can you feel it?

(ahem)

Er, hi there. Doug and Claudia aren't really blogging at the moment. As you can kind of guess, there's a lot of stuff on their plate right now, like overcooked broccoli and unidentifiable post-Soviet gristle.

I'm waiting for a replacement computer myself, after which I can whip this blog into shape. The software I had previously planned on using is incompatible with my archaic operating system, dammit. The New York City Math Teacher (y'all know he's Dave G., right?) has suggested Ubuntu, but I ain't installing that before I back everything up, which -- given the archaic operating system -- is a tedious process. But you know, safety over sorrow.

After that, I'm setting our friend Noel Maurer up with a guest account on HDTD. He's got some more posts on foreign places himself (lucky dog).

And after that, I'm going to figure out how to use tags properly, so we can get some fresh meat new traffic. Right now, I have the feeling we're like the guy with the new car who only uses it to listen to the radio.

Finally, because everyone likes reading about food, let me mention a recipe I came across: coffee-fig sauce for pork chops, a cross between red-eye gravy and the sweet-and-sour fig sauce known from classical times. I'm afraid it's pretty suocentric; the recipe could be tweaked for beef or lamb, but I'm not sure the flavors would work all that well.

Everyone is spawning, everyone is blogging

Wow, my old neighbor Nicki is baby blogging for the Houston Chronicle! She and her husband Andrew are getting rid of their bitchin' cars for their one-year-old, Peanut. Greater love have no parents. Also, if anyone can invent the no-calorie double-strength margarita for moms, it will be Nicki.

This book has a release date of October 30, 2007.

They do have bocce at Union Hall, and the best part is, the indoor bocce courts are presided by two portraits of Shriners. They also serve something called "Floyd's KY Beercheese". I'm down with the beer and the cheese, but I'm worried about that third ingredient.

Everyone is spawning, everyone is blogging

Wow, my old neighbor Nicki is baby blogging for the Houston Chronicle! She and her husband Andrew are getting rid of their bitchin' cars for their one-year-old, Peanut. Greater love have no parents. Also, if anyone can invent the no-calorie double-strength margarita for moms, it will be Nicki. This book has a release date of October 30, 2007. They do have bocce at Union Hall, and the best part is, the indoor bocce courts are presided by two portraits of Shriners. They also serve something called "Floyd's KY Beercheese". I'm down with the beer and the cheese, but I'm worried about that third ingredient.

Perhaps pounding my head against the wall will make the pain go away.

Some of you may know that Claudia, the missing third of Halfway Down the Danube, once met British humorist Terry Pratchett at one of these convention things. (Thanks to Carrie for the link.) I couldn't believe the article -- literally, I couldn't believe in its existence. Now con-going has made the New York Times Travel section? Because really, once you've seen all the covered bridges in New England, what's left. I look forward to science fiction fandom's infiltration into the Times's Vows section, The Ethicist, and especially Modern Love. "Hi, I'm a 56-year-old fan and numismatic expert who was recently ordained in the Chaldean Orthodox church. Lately I've been experiencing an irresistible compulsion to..."

But that's not the funny part. (Well, it is funny, in a Shakes the Clown sort of way.) This is the funny part:

But on Saturday afternoon, after lecturing on deep-space colonization, Les Johnson, the manager of NASA’s science programs and projects at the Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Ala., lamented what he saw as a generational shift in fans’ interests. "I see a lot of young people here gaming, but I don’t see a lot of the younger folks here for the science fiction," said Mr. Johnson, who has been attending conventions since his own adolescence in the 1970s. "That bothers me, because the dreaming is what interested me in getting into physics. If they aren’t reading the stuff, where are our next-generation physicists and NASA engineers going to come from?"

You know, I have a sister with a degree in aerospace engineering. She designed space missions for her senior thesis. Do you know how much interest she has in science fiction? Take a guess. The answer is below the fold.

Update: two trolls in twelve hours over the weekend! now deleted. People are dumb.

Perhaps pounding my head against the wall will make the pain go away.

Some of you may know that Claudia, the missing third of Halfway Down the Danube, once met British humorist Terry Pratchett at one of these convention things. (Thanks to Carrie for the link.) I couldn't believe the article -- literally, I couldn't believe in its existence. Now con-going has made the New York Times Travel section? Because really, once you've seen all the covered bridges in New England, what's left. I look forward to science fiction fandom's infiltration into the Times's Vows section, The Ethicist, and especially Modern Love. "Hi, I'm a 56-year-old fan and numismatic expert who was recently ordained in the Chaldean Orthodox church. Lately I've been experiencing an irresistible compulsion to..." But that's not the funny part. (Well, it is funny, in a Shakes the Clown sort of way.) This is the funny part:

But on Saturday afternoon, after lecturing on deep-space colonization, Les Johnson, the manager of NASA�s science programs and projects at the Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Ala., lamented what he saw as a generational shift in fans� interests. "I see a lot of young people here gaming, but I don�t see a lot of the younger folks here for the science fiction," said Mr. Johnson, who has been attending conventions since his own adolescence in the 1970s. "That bothers me, because the dreaming is what interested me in getting into physics. If they aren�t reading the stuff, where are our next-generation physicists and NASA engineers going to come from?"

You know, I have a sister with a degree in aerospace engineering. She designed space missions for her senior thesis. Do you know how much interest she has in science fiction? Take a guess. The answer is below the fold. Update: two trolls in twelve hours over the weekend! now deleted. People are dumb.

Digression: China's dream of EMPIRE!

So there's this map of China.

The map comes in various versions, but it purports to show Chinese territorial claims. It shows China claiming all of Southeast Asia, Korea, hunks of Central Asia. It usually pops up in the hands of fervent anti-Communists and other Sinophobes, who claim that it's an "official Chinese publication".

I ran into the map back in grad school. A professor mentioned offhand that it was a piece of 1960s Soviet propaganda, classic disinformatiya from the land of the Elders of Zion.

The map popped up again on soc.history.what-if recently. Joe Eros saw it and mailed me a couple of interesting links.

Digression: China's dream of EMPIRE!

So there's this map of China. The map comes in various versions, but it purports to show Chinese territorial claims. It shows China claiming all of Southeast Asia, Korea, hunks of Central Asia. It usually pops up in the hands of fervent anti-Communists and other Sinophobes, who claim that it's an "official Chinese publication". I ran into the map back in grad school. A professor mentioned offhand that it was a piece of 1960s Soviet propaganda, classic disinformatiya from the land of the Elders of Zion. The map popped up again on soc.history.what-if recently. Joe Eros saw it and mailed me a couple of interesting links.

Random filler while Doug is away

Question 1: Sometimes I lose the urge to communicate with humanity. (Yes/No)

There's a question?

Reading about the artist Foujita. It takes a lot of charisma to pull off a bowl cut, Coke-bottle glasses, a Hitler mustache, and an earring, even in the Paris of the 1920s. The pics from the early 1940s are even better. You really don't think of anyone dressed like Andy Warhol living in wartime Japan. I do wish the book had color reproductions of Last Stand on Attu and Compatriots on Saipan Island Remain Loyal to the End. I am not making this up.

The Pulitzer Prize-winning author Wallace Stegner wrote the early corporate history of the Arab-American Oil Company (better known then as ARAMCO). Again, I am not making this up. Better yet, the abridged magazine version is available online. Read about the Italian bombing of Dhahran here. "There it lay, lighted up like a California supermarket opening."

Question 6: Sometimes I suffer from cartoonist envy. (Yes/No)

Random filler while Doug is away

Question 1: Sometimes I lose the urge to communicate with humanity. (Yes/No)

There's a question?

Reading about the artist Foujita. It takes a lot of charisma to pull off a bowl cut, Coke-bottle glasses, a Hitler mustache, and an earring, even in the Paris of the 1920s. The pics from the early 1940s are even better. You really don't think of anyone dressed like Andy Warhol living in wartime Japan. I do wish the book had color reproductions of Last Stand on Attu and Compatriots on Saipan Island Remain Loyal to the End. I am not making this up. The Pulitzer Prize-winning author Wallace Stegner wrote the early corporate history of the Arab-American Oil Company (better known then as ARAMCO). Again, I am not making this up. Better yet, the abridged magazine version is available online. Read about the Italian bombing of Dhahran here. "There it lay, lighted up like a California supermarket opening." Question 6: Sometimes I suffer from cartoonist envy. (Yes/No)

I blame the painkillers.

After extensively analyzing recent reader response (18 replies to a post on theoretical nuclear physics, zero replies to a post on kittens), I've determined that Halfway Down the Danube's core demographic is actually Jeff "Skunk" Baxter, former guitarist for the Doobie Brothers and current defense consultant for the US government.

In his spare time, he wrote a five-page paper on a primitive Tandy computer that proposed converting the military's Aegis program, a ship-based antiplane system, into a rudimentary missile-defense system... "Skunk really blew my mind with that report," Mr. Rohrabacher says. "He was talking over my head half the time, and the fact that he was a rock star who had basically learned it all on his own was mind-boggling."

Okay, who here among us hasn't done this?

Of course, on the opposite side of the political fence, there's Grand Funk Railroad.

While GFR may be best remembered in the West as Homer Simpson's favourite band ('the bong-rattling bass of Mel Schacher,' eulogised Homer), their impact in poorer nations should not be underestimated: Cuban maestro Juan de Marcos Gonzalez told me GFR and Steely Dan were his favourite American bands in the 1970s, while Mohammed Sacirbey, Bosnian Ambassador to the UN, loved the Funk so much he inspired them to briefly reform in 1997 and play benefit concerts for a Bosnian children's charity.

From Garth Cartwright, Princes Among Men: Journeys with Gypsy Musicians.

Wow, Sacirbey definitely has the Yugoslav male pattern baldness thing going. Honestly, if minoxidil had been discovered before the Constitution of 1974, the Balkans would look very different.

I blame the painkillers.

After extensively analyzing recent reader response (18 replies to a post on theoretical nuclear physics, zero replies to a post on kittens), I've determined that Halfway Down the Danube's core demographic is actually Jeff "Skunk" Baxter, former guitarist for the Doobie Brothers and current defense consultant for the US government.

In his spare time, he wrote a five-page paper on a primitive Tandy computer that proposed converting the military's Aegis program, a ship-based antiplane system, into a rudimentary missile-defense system... "Skunk really blew my mind with that report," Mr. Rohrabacher says. "He was talking over my head half the time, and the fact that he was a rock star who had basically learned it all on his own was mind-boggling."

Okay, who here among us hasn't done this? Of course, on the opposite side of the political fence, there's Grand Funk Railroad.

While GFR may be best remembered in the West as Homer Simpson's favourite band ('the bong-rattling bass of Mel Schacher,' eulogised Homer), their impact in poorer nations should not be underestimated: Cuban maestro Juan de Marcos Gonzalez told me GFR and Steely Dan were his favourite American bands in the 1970s, while Mohammed Sacirbey, Bosnian Ambassador to the UN, loved the Funk so much he inspired them to briefly reform in 1997 and play benefit concerts for a Bosnian children's charity.

From Garth Cartwright, Princes Among Men: Journeys with Gypsy Musicians. Wow, Sacirbey definitely has the Yugoslav male pattern baldness thing going. Honestly, if minoxidil had been discovered before the Constitution of 1974, the Balkans would look very different.

Sweep the kitchen

Links and other miscellanea. Armenia will have its next Parliamentary elections on May 12. Incredibly, these have been scheduled on the same day as Eurovision! I foresee much channel-surfing that night. I am enjoying Dr. Vector. Probably because he's obviously enjoying himself.

I have seen and handled many common snapping turtles, and I can tell you that they are meanest creatures on the planet, and that legends of their ferocity usually come nowhere near the truth. I raised one from a hatchling to sexual maturity (carapace length of about 8 inches) and when it was younger it would frequently kill fish that were bigger than it was. The speed and power of the bite and the turtles' willingness to use it on anything that moves could hardly be exaggerated. They are my favorite living tetrapods.

Dr. Vector likes taking things apart. Like us, he has a small child.

Guest-blogging with Leon Maurer, part one

HDTD readers may know Noel Maurer as an occasional commenter and guest poster here. Some of you may even know that he and I have been working on a project together. But most of you don't know Noel's dad Leon; and you should. The word 'raconteur' was devised to describe him. I remember sitting spellbound at a diner on Broadway, listening to the man's tales. He was a young man in World War Two:

Did I tell you the story of how I was picked on by the gumba Mafiosi tough guys when I first arrived in the company and had to beat up a punk twice my size to get my reputation as someone to contend with in the company? Besides the supply sergeant named Goldstein, I was the only other Jewish guy in outfit, but they soon forgot all about that. The rest of the outfit were Midwesterners and Southerners whom I got along with easily. The gumba guys later became my buddies too when I told them all about Meyer Lansky, Al Capone, Bugsy Siegel, Lucky Luciano and the rest of the Brooklyn mob that were my Dad's high school buddies.

But maybe we should start at the beginning. Mr. Maurer?

Well, the story goes like this...

It was around February 1944. There I was, hanging out at the overseas staging camp in Newport News, Virginia, waiting for a bunk on the next departing ship.

Guest-blogging with Leon Maurer, part one

HDTD readers may know Noel Maurer as an occasional commenter and guest poster here. Some of you may even know that he and I have been working on a project together. But most of you don't know Noel's dad Leon; and you should. The word 'raconteur' was devised to describe him. I remember sitting spellbound at a diner on Broadway, listening to the man's tales. He was a young man in World War Two:

Did I tell you the story of how I was picked on by the gumba Mafiosi tough guys when I first arrived in the company and had to beat up a punk twice my size to get my reputation as someone to contend with in the company? Besides the supply sergeant named Goldstein, I was the only other Jewish guy in outfit, but they soon forgot all about that. The rest of the outfit were Midwesterners and Southerners whom I got along with easily. The gumba guys later became my buddies too when I told them all about Meyer Lansky, Al Capone, Bugsy Siegel, Lucky Luciano and the rest of the Brooklyn mob that were my Dad's high school buddies.

But maybe we should start at the beginning. Mr. Maurer?

Well, the story goes like this... It was around February 1944. There I was, hanging out at the overseas staging camp in Newport News, Virginia, waiting for a bunk on the next departing ship.

Random thoughts from an undisclosed location

Hi, back for a bit. Who knew this retreat involved so many Xeroxes? Anyway, some thoughts.

1. The press corps and the Prisoner's Dilemma

I am not the only person to have watched American news organizations over the last decade and wondered, "WTF? No, really, WTF?" Because I am crass, my first guess at an explanation was, "Money." Because I am extremely crass, my second guess was, "P&B, you know how they live."

But, since I do know how some of them live, I understood that these explanations were, at best, incomplete.

My third guess has to do with the game theory of asymmetrical information access. And, unfortunately, it's not something I know enough about to think further on. Suggestions?

2. Milman Parry.

Parry is an unrecognized keystone figure in the intellectual history of the twentieth century. And that's an interesting list in itself; I would be interested to learn what other figures HDTD's readers would add.

3. Incremental hedonic progress and the invention of mayonnaise.

The ingredients in mayonnaise have been known since before history began. But put together as a commonly used sauce? Not until the early modern era, and good luck trying to track the history down.

How many other small improvements to the human condition have been made whose provenance has been lost, and whose existence we take for granted? Enough little things can add up to a big thing. Mmm, mayonnaise.

Random thoughts from an undisclosed location

Hi, back for a bit. Who knew this retreat involved so many Xeroxes? Anyway, some thoughts. 1. The press corps and the Prisoner's Dilemma I am not the only person to have watched American news organizations over the last decade and wondered, "WTF? No, really, WTF?" Because I am crass, my first guess at an explanation was, "Money." Because I am extremely crass, my second guess was, "P&B, you know how they live." But, since I do know how some of them live, I understood that these explanations were, at best, incomplete. My third guess has to do with the game theory of asymmetrical information access. And, unfortunately, it's not something I know enough about to think further on. Suggestions? 2. Milman Parry. Parry is an unrecognized keystone figure in the intellectual history of the twentieth century. And that's an interesting list in itself; I would be interested to learn what other figures HDTD's readers would add. 3. Incremental hedonic progress and the invention of mayonnaise. The ingredients in mayonnaise have been known since before history began. But put together as a commonly used sauce? Not until the early modern era, and good luck trying to track the history down. How many other small improvements to the human condition have been made whose provenance has been lost, and whose existence we take for granted? Enough little things can add up to a big thing. Mmm, mayonnaise.

Skip and hop!

Fedex apparently is using advanced technology that hasn't made it to the news yet. Or have you heard about the instant teleportation device they have in Sacramento? I want that for home use. Just imagine, hopping to Germany to get some good bread two minutes before lunch. Cravings for Ben&Jerry could be satisfied instantaneously. No more month-long waits for the move to arrive. Grandparents would be just a skip and a hop away. Bali, so close! Oh... It would be like living next door to everybody!

I mean, see for yourself:

Information and services provided to Fedex users.

Package Progress

06/13/2006 19:36 NEWARK , NJ
06/13/2006 16:23 NEWARK , NJ
06/13/2006 08:43 SAN JOSE , CA
06/12/2006 23:24 OAKLAND , CA
06/12/2006 20:41 SACRAMENTO , CA
06/12/2006 17:56 SACRAMENTO , CA
06/12/2006 17:56 MEMPHIS , TN
06/12/2006 17:56 SACRAMENTO , CA
06/12/2006 17:03 SACRAMENTO , CA

Tracking results provided by Fedex

Just saying.

Skip and hop!

Fedex apparently is using advanced technology that hasn't made it to the news yet. Or have you heard about the instant teleportation device they have in Sacramento? I want that for home use. Just imagine, hopping to Germany to get some good bread two minutes before lunch. Cravings for Ben&Jerry could be satisfied instantaneously. No more month-long waits for the move to arrive. Grandparents would be just a skip and a hop away. Bali, so close! Oh... It would be like living next door to everybody! I mean, see for yourself:

Information and services provided to Fedex users. Package Progress 06/13/2006 19:36 NEWARK , NJ 06/13/2006 16:23 NEWARK , NJ 06/13/2006 08:43 SAN JOSE , CA 06/12/2006 23:24 OAKLAND , CA 06/12/2006 20:41 SACRAMENTO , CA 06/12/2006 17:56 SACRAMENTO , CA 06/12/2006 17:56 MEMPHIS , TN 06/12/2006 17:56 SACRAMENTO , CA 06/12/2006 17:03 SACRAMENTO , CA Tracking results provided by Fedex

Just saying.

Worthwhile Canadian initiative

So I saw this game at Snooky's: "Ten-man Trinidad and Tobago shocks Sweden".

Let's see. A blonde guy fell down and whimpered like a little boy who skinned his knee, somehow causing a black guy to leave the field permanently, at which point the blonde guy popped up and skipped away -- excelsior! -- returning to the game less than half a glass of water later. Despite this, the blonde guys were unable to do a damn thing against a goal that was open almost to goatse proportions.

No one scored any points at all. I suppose the absence of a rout is shocking, if you cared about the narrative in the first place.

UPDATE: A counterpoint from Noel -- yes, from Noel -- is below the fold.

Worthwhile Canadian initiative

So I saw this game at Snooky's: "Ten-man Trinidad and Tobago shocks Sweden". Let's see. A blonde guy fell down and whimpered like a little boy who skinned his knee, somehow causing a black guy to leave the field permanently, at which point the blonde guy popped up and skipped away -- excelsior! -- returning to the game less than half a glass of water later. Despite this, the blonde guys were unable to do a damn thing against a goal that was open almost to goatse proportions. No one scored any points at all. I suppose the absence of a rout is shocking, if you cared about the narrative in the first place. UPDATE: A counterpoint from Noel -- yes, from Noel -- is below the fold.

Your last stop for World Cup coverage

The Guardian accidentally ran something insightful on the American disdain for soccer this past April, in a supposedly humorous guest column by the American impresario David Eggers. Since it's by Dave Eggers and in the Guardian, it is not actually funny. But, as my co-blogger says, even a blind pig finds an acorn now and then:

The second and greatest, by far, obstacle to the popularity of the World Cup, and of professional soccer in general, is the element of diving. Americans may generally be arrogant, but there is one stance I stand behind, and that is the intense loathing of penalty-fakers.

As much as I hate to say it, Eggers is right.

Your last stop for World Cup coverage

The Guardian accidentally ran something insightful on the American disdain for soccer this past April, in a supposedly humorous guest column by the American impresario David Eggers. Since it's by Dave Eggers and in the Guardian, it is not actually funny. But, as my co-blogger says, even a blind pig finds an acorn now and then:

The second and greatest, by far, obstacle to the popularity of the World Cup, and of professional soccer in general, is the element of diving. Americans may generally be arrogant, but there is one stance I stand behind, and that is the intense loathing of penalty-fakers.

As much as I hate to say it, Eggers is right.

Shazam!

Looks like lightning zapped my USB adapter last night in Brooklyn. Hopefully that's the only damage. (Update: replaced the adapter, re-installed the driver, everything seems to work.)

The best fiction I've read on the Napoleonic wars since Patrick O'Brian has talking dragons in it. (And again, it's been praised by writers I wouldn't trust to recommend shoelaces.) Step up, people!

(C&D, all three books are in the latest box to Yerevan. Y'all should be getting a box every two, three weeks now until August.)

Latest reading: Mark Kemp's personal history of Southern rock, Dixie Lullaby, Norman Douglas's South Wind, and Huntford's biography of the polar explorer Fridtjof Nansen, who was unaccountably not from Wisconsin.

Shazam!

Looks like lightning zapped my USB adapter last night in Brooklyn. Hopefully that's the only damage. (Update: replaced the adapter, re-installed the driver, everything seems to work.) The best fiction I've read on the Napoleonic wars since Patrick O'Brian has talking dragons in it. (And again, it's been praised by writers I wouldn't trust to recommend shoelaces.) Step up, people! (C&D, all three books are in the latest box to Yerevan. Y'all should be getting a box every two, three weeks now until August.) Latest reading: Mark Kemp's personal history of Southern rock, Dixie Lullaby, Norman Douglas's South Wind, and Huntford's biography of the polar explorer Fridtjof Nansen, who was unaccountably not from Wisconsin.

For the mothers amongst our readers

For the mothers amongst our readers

Typhoon Max, Part II

...So I seduced him. Two weeks after the typhoon, the whole thing was just getting totally intolerable. I mean, he just kept looking right THROUGH me. Wouldn't let me near him, wouldn't let me touch him. Wouldn't sleep with me anymore... he'd still sleep on my bed, but only during the day when I was out. Spent his nights in the guest bedroom. Spent a lot more time than usual wandering the neighborhood, too... he actually got into a fight, his first in months (probably with his archenemy, The Evil Orange Cat). And now and then, if I tried particularly hard to attract his attention, he'd shoot me these brief looks of utter contempt... you know, like "I KNOW I'm compelled to share my living space with you, but MUST you be such a loud, tacky, vulgar, uncouth... human?" Well. In a proper seduction, timing is everything. Timing, and patience, and careful preparation. And knowing the weak spots of the object of your seduction.

Typhoon Max, Part II

...So I seduced him.

Two weeks after the typhoon, the whole thing was just getting totally intolerable. I mean, he just kept looking right THROUGH me. Wouldn't let me near him, wouldn't let me touch him. Wouldn't sleep with me anymore... he'd still sleep on my bed, but only during the day when I was out. Spent his nights in the guest bedroom. Spent a lot more time than usual wandering the neighborhood, too... he actually got into a fight, his first in months (probably with his archenemy, The Evil Orange Cat). And now and then, if I tried particularly hard to attract his attention, he'd shoot me these brief looks of utter contempt... you know, like "I KNOW I'm compelled to share my living space with you, but MUST you be such a loud, tacky, vulgar, uncouth... human?"

Well.

In a proper seduction, timing is everything. Timing, and patience, and careful preparation. And knowing the weak spots of the object of your seduction.

Typhoon Max

This was my first published story. Okay: so far, this has been pretty much my *only* published story. But let that bide. It's a true story, mostly. Happened when I lived on Saipan, in the Marianas Islands. That was from 1991 to 1998. The typhoon was in, hmm, must have been early '97. I posted the story on the Lois Bujold mailing list, and someone passed it along to a woman who edited a magazine, and I ended up getting some money for it. The money was very nice, but the main thing is... I miss Max. Still. Anyway. Someone just asked about it. I didn't keep a copy, but now that we have internet, I was able to find it quickly enough. So here it is.

Typhoon Max

This was my first published story.

Okay: so far, this has been pretty much my *only* published story. But let that bide.

It's a true story, mostly. Happened when I lived on Saipan, in the Marianas Islands. That was from 1991 to 1998. The typhoon was in, hmm, must have been early '97. I posted the story on the Lois Bujold mailing list, and someone passed it along to a woman who edited a magazine, and I ended up getting some money for it.

The money was very nice, but the main thing is... I miss Max. Still.

Anyway. Someone just asked about it. I didn't keep a copy, but now that we have internet, I was able to find it quickly enough. So here it is.

Belle's balikbayan blogging, boo-yah!

We've started a trend! Belle Waring of the super-amazing expat family academic comic feminist philoso-blog (with recipes) John and Belle Have a Blog writes about her trip to the Philippines. Same issues, different perspective. (Warning: pig's head immediately follows the link.)

Belle's balikbayan blogging, boo-yah!

We've started a trend! Belle Waring of the super-amazing expat family academic comic feminist philoso-blog (with recipes) John and Belle Have a Blog writes about her trip to the Philippines. Same issues, different perspective. (Warning: pig's head immediately follows the link.)

Balikbayan guest blogging 6: Manila Cha-Cha

HDTD's man in Manila, Noel Maurer, continues his ongoing series, with some impressions of two of the Philippines' "greatest generation".

I have two more planned entries in this blog, one on poverty and one on politics. (It may stretch to more. I hope y�all don�t mind.) [there better be something on Filipino food, otherwise people will claim I am making it all up. -- CY] But before I get to those cheery topics, I want to discuss my meeting with two remarkable 80-something men: Washington SyCip and Bienvenido Tan. Let�s start with Mr. SyCip. Anyone visiting the Philippines is told to �go see Wash. Go see Wash.� In my case, it was Michael Chen. So we went to go see Wash.

Balikbayan guest blogging 6: Manila Cha-Cha

HDTD's man in Manila, Noel Maurer, continues his ongoing series, with some impressions of two of the Philippines' "greatest generation".

I have two more planned entries in this blog, one on poverty and one on politics. (It may stretch to more. I hope y’all don’t mind.) [there better be something on Filipino food, otherwise people will claim I am making it all up. -- CY] But before I get to those cheery topics, I want to discuss my meeting with two remarkable 80-something men: Washington SyCip and Bienvenido Tan.

Let’s start with Mr. SyCip. Anyone visiting the Philippines is told to “go see Wash. Go see Wash.” In my case, it was Michael Chen. So we went to go see Wash.

Balikbayan guest blogging 5: Back in Batangas

HDTD's man in the Philippines, Noel Maurer, continues guest-blogging, this time on the effects of the medical brain drain on the Philippines. (This might be of interest to our new Armenian readers. Welcome! Compare! Contrast! We're all in this together.)

On Wednesday I spoke to Dr. Maria Lorenzo, a prominent researcher at the Philippine National Institutes of Health. The PNIH is located in an old shambling colonial era building�which in the Philippines means the Depression or thereabouts: 1930, not the nineteenth century. The facilities are rather run down. The research they do there, however, is excellent. One of the Philippines� big worries is the loss of skilled personnel, particularly in health care. Health care workers make up only about a quarter of all skilled emigrants�but that�s the only statistic about the outflux that isn�t impressive. There are roughly 200,000 practicing doctors and 300,000 registered nurses in the Philippines. Approximately 130,000 nurses (many of whom had trained as doctors) work abroad. Britain�s National Health Service, in particular, is having a field day, now that they�ve sucked all the professionals out of the West Indies like a giant socialist vacuum cleaner.

Balikbayan guest blogging 5: Back in Batangas

HDTD's man in the Philippines, Noel Maurer, continues guest-blogging, this time on the effects of the medical brain drain on the Philippines. (This might be of interest to our new Armenian readers. Welcome! Compare! Contrast! We're all in this together.)

On Wednesday I spoke to Dr. Maria Lorenzo, a prominent researcher at the Philippine National Institutes of Health. The PNIH is located in an old shambling colonial era building—which in the Philippines means the Depression or thereabouts: 1930, not the nineteenth century. The facilities are rather run down. The research they do there, however, is excellent.

One of the Philippines’ big worries is the loss of skilled personnel, particularly in health care. Health care workers make up only about a quarter of all skilled emigrants—but that’s the only statistic about the outflux that isn’t impressive. There are roughly 200,000 practicing doctors and 300,000 registered nurses in the Philippines. Approximately 130,000 nurses (many of whom had trained as doctors) work abroad. Britain’s National Health Service, in particular, is having a field day, now that they’ve sucked all the professionals out of the West Indies like a giant socialist vacuum cleaner.

Balikbayan guest blogging 4: Chillaxing on the volcano, or, the end of empires

Another missive from HDTD's man in the Philippines, Noel Maurer. Warning, it's a long one...

I am sitting on a cliff overlooking a volcano sticking out of a lake, and contemplating the end of empires. I�d like to claim that the reason for that is the fact that I am being serenaded by a three-man band in mariachi suits singing an off-key rendition of �La Bamba.� Is there an image that better captures the colonial history of the Philippine Islands? The United States, I assure you, is the only other country on the planet in which you might find an �eatera.� Anyway, I am contemplating the end of empires, in this case America�s empire in the Philippines.

Balikbayan guest blogging 3: Manila, finally

Like Magellan (but not), our intrepid guest blogger Noel Maurer makes landfall in the Philippines:

Ninoy Aquino International... Bus Terminal. Actually, it�s not as bad as the build-up. [hah! -- CY] The linoleum is a little frayed, and the lighting is a little harsh, but it works. The airport�s problems go a little deeper than the dcor. You see, there are three terminals here at Ninoy Aquino. The shiny new international terminal is reserved for Philippine Air Lines. Now, Philippine Air Lines is not one of the planet�s great air carriers. The airline�s owner is Lucio Tan. I hesitate to speak badly of Lucio Tan. (I lived in Mexico during the bad old days; I know how these things work.) Let�s just say that after he bought PAL in 1992, a group of senators signed a petition demanding that the deal be undone, and the Ramos Administration spent the next six years unsuccessfully attempting to prosecute Mr. Tan for everything from tax fraud to influence peddling. Under President Estrada�who yesterday took the witness stand for the first time in his five-year-long corruption trial�Tan got the government to go to bat for PAL in a dispute with two Taiwanese airlines. The government lost when Taiwan stopped accepting Filipino guest workers, but Tan managed to preserve PAL�s monopoly over the shiny new terminal. There is a reason that I didn�t fly PAL, despite its non-stop service from California and comfortable arrival area.

(I would think there are several.)

Balikbayan guest blogging 2: still in Hong Kong

Noel is now in the Philippines, in lovely Makati City, after touring the lock-down garbage dumps of Payatas. We continue with his sojourn in Hong Kong:

Asian food. Isn�t. Asian. Although it seems to be food. For dinner during my stopover in Hong Kong, Mike Chen and his lovely Malaysian wife, Joyce, took me out to dinner in Kowloon. We neither drove nor took the subway; rather, we hopped the old-fashioned ferry. And it�s seriously old-fashioned. Two decks of stomach-churning fun for the whole family. The upper deck is called �first class,� but the main difference seems to be that the seats are more comfortable downstairs. Think the Staten Island Ferry with anorexia. Very much not like the rest of Hong Kong. Mike tells me that the ferry�s one concession to modernity is that they no longer roll down the doors and lash them to the deck. He misses the bells they used to ring. I told him that it was only a matter of time before they realize that they can charge more if they bring �em back. Yes, it�s private. Hong Kong, you see, is a libertarian wet dream. Well, other than the government�s land monopoly and the tight business regulation and the strict zoning laws. And the social insurance scheme that pays single parents up to US$1100 a month should an industrial accident befall their spouse. (Yes, regardless of the spouse�s sex.) Oh, right, and the socialized medicine. So other than the monopoly and the regulation and the social insurance, it�s a libertarian paradise. I am reminded of the Monty Python bit about the Romans.

And this despite my attempts to keep HDTD a Python-free zone.

Monday special guest balikbayan blogging!

We have a guest blogger this week! Noel Maurer is travelling to the Philippines for arcane work-related reasons, and he is sending his observations on to me, who in turn am sending them on to you, one of our thirty-seven remaining readers. Here he is in Hong Kong. Enjoy!

... Cathay Pacific is a very nice airline. Of course, I was flying first class [bastard. -- CY] � but the automatic upgrade when seats are available is part of why it�s a very nice airline. You�re greeted by these hostesses wearing spray-painted green evening gowns. Then, at your seat, a tall fellow in a shiny purple suit and a petite woman in a bright red miniskirt give you pretty much whatever you want. It sort of felt like a Prince video. (Well, whatever you want that can be mentioned on a G-rated blog, so don�t ask for **** ** * *******.) Chep Lap Kok really isn�t the best name for an airport, but it is a very good airport. The moving sidewalks are broad. And the police wear these bitchen uniforms, the height of 21st-Century neofascist chic, black suits with a belted jacket and baggy slacks that make �em look cool instead of like bus drivers. And unlike Great Britain, they didn�t feel the need to carry intimidating and utterly useless automatic weapons on slings. Of course, the poor Ethiopian couple in the immigration line ahead of me suffered from a rather intimidating interrogation by these guys; me, I just got waved through. Customs doesn�t seem to exist. There were some more extras from V for Vendetta sitting at their desks, but they didn�t stop a soul.

Random Monday links

This blog not only has a horrible name, but it has some guy named Carlos (not me) who has clearly overdosed on the "Mankind's destiny in SPAAAAACE" Kool-Aid. On the other hand, it has the sanest things Larry Niven has said since the 1970s. The early 1970s. We shall see. For some real space exploration, here's the Planetary Society's weblog. (Doug suspects I have a crush on its proprietor, Emily Lakdawalla. Doug knows me far too well.) Someday this site too will join my frightening blogroll. I know guys like this dead journalist. Man, they are hard to get along with. And yet, the world is poorer when they leave. Now to install those Armenian fonts.

Interlude interlude

A minor break. Some goober started a trash fire on the steps leading to the building next door's basement. [1] Because the people of New York City have now become as efficient as Wisconsinites at dealing with the slings and arrows of weather, jackassery, and random fate, the people of the building, after using up their fire extinguishers, organized a bucket brigade and put out the fire -- which could have been very bad, flames licking along the paint is not a good sign -- before our local firemen could show up. Which they did pretty quickly, but you still want to have professionals examine the work. Still, it's not as impressive as the time a blind man fell onto the A train track in Columbus Circle and four guys immediately jumped down to pull him out. I don't even think they looked. (I looked, which means I got 911 duty.) He was rattled and a little bruised, but OK. The most amazing thing was, after everyone was satisfied that the right thing was being done, they went their separate ways on the same train. [1] Yes, Noel and Carrie, it's the one with the cute women across the kitchen window from me.

Balikbayan interlude 2, the mystery of Filipino sports

Let me be blunt. The national sport of the Philippines is basketball. And no one knows why. 1. There is no soccer in the Philippines. Yes, that's right. In the Philippines, while there are soccer players, soccer has no national following of any kind. You might as well be kicking a dead panda's head around. This British blogger is completely bewildered at the lack of soccer in the Philippines. Like most soccer bigots, he blames American influence. "Yes, those Americans have a lot to answer for!" Uh-huh. The idea that soccer is not a very interesting game to someone not brought up in the sport never crosses his mind. 2. In fact, there is no football, period. But "Nomad" also neglects to point out that the Philippines has also rejected real football, the gridiron (although other Pacific islands have adopted it with almost religious zeal), and even that occasionally worthwhile Australian kind, perhaps due to Filipinos encountering too many Australian football players over the years. But perhaps not. 3. There is no baseball in the Philippines either. Like other east Asian countries, like other Latin American island nations, the Philippines has also flirted with baseball. I myself don't understand the passion baseball can inspire. For me, it's only a pastime: pleasant, pastoral, a relaxing way to spend an afternoon with a beer. On the other hand, it can seduce the most unlikely people. For instance, here's British historian Simon Schama:

I�m helplessly and permanently a Red Sox fan. It was like first love, the first time you go to bed with a woman. You never forget. It�s special. It�s the first time I saw a ballpark. I�d thought nothing would ever replace cricket.

(3a. Which lets you know where cricket stands in the scheme of things.)

Welcome! and enjoy the hockey!

I swear, everyone is having kids but me:

On Saturday, Feb. 25, at 7:16 p.m. ET, the population here on this good Earth is projected to hit 6.5 billion people.

And before anyone asks, I ain't too worried about population growth. I'm worried about economic growth. (Factoid first spotted at University of Wisconsin anthropologist John Hawks' weblog.)

Puppy hug!

I'm really not a pet person. But for this fella, I might make an exception:

Minding the gap

Claudia's sick, Doug's in Laos, so I guess that leaves me to keep y'all amused. Anyone have a deck of cards? No? Then I suppose I'll fill the dead air with mindless chatter links. My exgf, La Belle Dame Sans Culottes Piti Loca, sent me this recipe for Vegan Twinkies. As many of you know, Twinkies were developed during the Cold War as a snack food that could survive a nuclear holocaust, like roaches. I have yet to try this version. The good people at UbuWeb have put up a passel of avant-garde films, including Buuel's Un Chien andalou and Maya Deren's Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. In fact the whole site is filled with nuggets of good weirdness. Finally, enjoy the saga of Terry Long. Very few things on the Internet make me "laugh out loud", since I am notorious for my humorlessness and general lack of levity. But this did.