I think I’ve beaten all of the bugs out of this here website. If anyone gets any new warnings, let me know.
Apparently someone got in through a WordPress backdoor here and the place has been rifled. There are sporadic reports that a page here, left open for a while, redirects to an adult site. If this happens to you, please let me know. I think I’ve closed all of the barn doors, but for all I know, the place now has windows.
I can usually pigeonhole my opinions well with the shorthand, “liberals = smart, libertarians = nutjobs”, but if this Diane Rehm show on the “dangers” of caffeine were 10 minutes longer, I’d be running screaming to the Cato Institute.
The essential premise of the show is that caffeine is bad for kids, and lots of things have caffeine, therefore something should be done. But with the exception of the scientist hired by Monster Beverage to research (and presumably defend) their products, the other guests and Rehm herself just took it for granted that N milligrams, where N is a randomly selected three-digit number, is bad.
That takes a special kind of sloppy thinking. The average cup of coffee has 80-100 milligrams, so hey, let’s call that a “normal” dose. My venti coffee has upwards of 330 milligrams, because it comes in a big cup (and because the average cup of coffee, in my opinion, is a goddamn shotglass). That’s too much. Likewise the 240 milligrams in a Monster Energy drink, because… well, no one really says. It’s just bad.
Personally, if I hear “think of the children” one more damn time in the discussion of any policy, I’m going to start deliberately knocking over toddlers on the sidewalk. But yes, there probably is an upper limit on what children’s intake of caffeine should be — and IMO, most children, after they’ve experienced one bad case of the caffeine jitters, learn what it is. Likewise with alcohol, sugar, and tobacco — most of these drugs, you’ve got a built-in limiting factor where the body says, “slow down, schmuck” after a rather overdone experiment.
What really amused me was hearing Michael Jacobson, of the Center for Science in the Interest of Outlawing Your Vices, say that no one sits down and has 24 ounces of coffee at a sitting. At the moment I heard that, I was somewhere around ounce 28.
The last time I had to be anywhere regularly at 7 AM, I was in high school. Most kids are legally mandated to show up around that time. I’m not a morning person and never was, and if someone had tried to take away my caffeine, one of two things would have happened: I’d have had my first “cold, dead fingers” political moment, or my grades would have plummeted. So, yes, I will think of the children — and I’ll tell them to stop using stimulants when we stop requiring them to live up to the same 24/7 rat race to which we subject our adults.
VOCO made a lot of (bad) headlines in January with their ridiculously sexist advertising and displays. Noted at CE Week that they’ve toned down quite a bit.
On the other hand, this is still considered appropriate for stairmaster sales by whatever clueless schmuck set up this booth:
So today was Neal Conan’s last show on Talk of the Nation. I’ve been a listener for years, and I suspect I won’t know how much I’ll miss it until after it’s gone (and after I’ve worn through a bunch of podcast archives I still have lying around). TOTN is rarely destination radio, but it’s consistently good, which is damned impressive when you consider it’s on for eight hours a week.
That said, I’ll be forever grateful to Conan for one broadcast: he was on several very long NPR shows immediately following 9/11, when I was compulsively burning midnight oil sucking down all of the news I could, and reading the entire goddamned Internet. I specifically remember Conan shutting down several people he interviewed when they extrapolated from what-was-known to pure speculation, and making damned sure that his show wasn’t contributing to any rumormongering.
But beyond that, his voice and demeanor were what I think of as the best BBC tradition during a crisis: authoritative, soothing, and concerned. He helped me get through it.
So thanks, Neal. I’m sorry to see you leave my daily diet of news. You’re welcome back anytime.
I keep on looking up these numbers. I’m going to blog them so I never have to find them again. All figures are highly approximate, so no one give me any shit unless I’ve made major calculation errors. (Paul Guinnessey, I’m looking at you.)
Your approximate speed because you’re standing on Earth’s surface: 1,000 miles per hour
Your approximate speed because you’re orbiting the sun: 67,000 miles per hour
Your approximate speed because you’re also orbiting the Milky Way: 535,000 miles per hour
One of my earliest memories is roadtripping with my parents to Miami Beach when I was three or four, and watching an episode of Monty Python with them late one night in a motel outside Fayetteville. Considering their last business in Atlantic City, I’d like to think it was this one.
Apparently, if I go without tweeting for a few months and my last Foursquare check-in was in Philadelphia, I’d appreciate if someone could pick up the phone and ring Pennsylvania:
An investigation by the Department of Justice found that a Pennsylvania state prison had been unconstitutionally holding inmates with serious mental illness in solitary confinement for months or years at a time. The practice, which has been deemed torture, cruel and unusual, and worse than being held hostage in Iran, involves holding prisoners in isolation for 23 hours a day in a small, often windowless cell with a steel door.
I’d be curious to know what the criteria are for tossing somebody into a locked room and throwing away the room. Somehow, it’s interesting if you actually need to have a transient psychotic break before you’re put in isolation for decades, or if a simple history of mental illness is enough for them to pro-actively put you in isolation for decades.
Probably doesn’t make a whole lot of difference: I’ve personally never had a transient psychotic break, but if I were going to guess my most likely place to have my first, it’s after I’ve been cut off from meds and treatment and thrown into a prison.
One thing does stand out: the DOJ is criticized for “warehousing” prisoners. That’s not a fair accusation. A warehouse is a place where you spend a lot of money because you want a high chance of keeping your stuff in good shape.
Suggested edit: “landfilling” prisoners.
There’s an open question going around concerning the companies involved in PRISM data monitoring: that is, did they willingly go along with it, or did the government somehow get their data without their knowledge?
Here’s an example of how it’s running today:
Hours after the news broke, and every company bar PalTalk and AOL denied any knowledge of the program and allegations of their involvement, the Post has changed its stance. The phrase ”participate knowingly” has been removed from the article, a new passage suggests the firms were unaware of PRISM.
Attention, every journalist and analyst trying to read the tea leaves: the PATRIOT Act enables gag orders for cooperating public and private entities, and enforces them with criminal penalties. Which means that all of the above companies may have been asked or forced to provide information, and then required by criminal law to neither reveal it, nor to say one word about it in public today.
If you’ve got sources on deep background, that’s what you should be asking them.
An “invisibility” time cloak which is able to hide events in a continuous stream of light has been developed by scientists. The cloak works by manipulating the speed of light in optical fibres and means any interaction which takes place during this “hole in time” is not detected.
Though called a time cloak, it’s actually “not a manipulation of time, it’s a manipulation of light” explained Greg Gbur, who specialises in optical physics at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. The researcher, who was not involved in the study, said it showed a huge advance in the work on the time cloak.
Pardon me, then WHY THE FUCK IS IT CALLED A TIME CLOAK?
This is the problem with science reporting: yes, Virginia, it’s a very big deal if we’re able to “manipulate” the speed of light. I assume this has something to do with relativity or quantum behavior or dilithium crystals; in any case, it’s a crucial part of the story, and I’m pretty much left to infer it.
Likewise, I can also infer that monkeying with the speed of light might be synonymous with altering the flow of time (and a bunch of other things), since c shows up in some many equations and is generally constant.
That’s all pretty interesting. An explanation of the above might help get people fired up about science and cutting-edge research. Or we could just call this fucker a Time Cloak, hint at nifty technology in 20 years, and call it a day.
Update: Nature to the rescue with a much better description of what’s going on.
Fascinating and moving story by Radiolab about the choices presented to a couple whose baby was born premature.
Juniper was born one day short of the rather arbitrary 24-week line at which fetuses are considered viable outside the womb. I was born six days short of the 28-week line, which is where it was drawn a few years after when Roe v. Wade made it a matter of law. Some Googling informs me that the doctor to whom my parents always attributed the saving of my life, Dr. Mary Louise Soentgen, died in 1999.
So I’ll send out a posthumous thank you to Dr. Soentgen, and anyone else working at Jefferson in 1969 and 1970. I’m still here, too.
This is the tenth Mother’s Day since my Mom died, and so I’m posting an open letter to her, sharing something I found today that I really wish I had said to her when I had the chance.
Miss your emails, Mom.
Watching the 10th anniversary episode of Mythbusters, and in honor of that landmark I’m reposting what I had to say about the JATO rocket urban myth in The Twentysomething Guide to Creative Self-Employment, eight years pre-Mythbusters:
A story was going around the Internet a while ago about some total schmuck in Arizona who had no idea what he was getting himself into. Apparently, this Einstein decided that he wanted to drive really fast. So he somehow laid his hands on a solid-fuel Jet-Assist Takeoff (JATO) booster rocket, which he then soldered onto the underside of his Chevy. Then he found himself a really long, straight road, and set the rocket off.
Now, this guy was smart enough to smuggle military hardware. He was smart enough to attach the rocket to his car so that it didn’t blow apart the car when it went off. And he knew to do this out in Arizona, which is basically just long expanses of sand broken up by the occasional retirement community—the inhabitants of which must have been very amused to see a Chevy blow by at three hundred miles per hour.
This guy was clueless, however, on two key factors. One, the JATO rocket has no off switch. Two, Chevys aren’t supposed to go much over sixty, and their brakes and steering wheels tend to fail at ICBM cruising velocities. Which is why the guy was scraped off the side of a small hill with a putty knife.
The moral of the story? Hell, it doesn’t really need one. But if I had to say, it’s a case of classic half-assed burnout.”
I’m realizing that after a few modifications to this site, I haven’t checked to see if any of the PDF links to The Twentysomething Guide still work. So if you want to read the whole book, here it is again (8.5 megabyte PDF).
Bruce Schneier declares that the privacy war is over, and the panopticon won.
Increasingly, what we do on the Internet is being combined with other data about us. Unmasking Broadwell’s identity involved correlating her Internet activity with her hotel stays. Everything we do now involves computers, and computers produce data as a natural by-product.
This isn’t something the free market can fix. We consumers have no choice in the matter. All the major companies that provide us with Internet services are interested in tracking us.
Personally, I think that there are two ways we need to address this. The first is to understand the massive distinctions between the panopticons created by government, for-profit businesses, and individuals. These have different effects and different benefits, but we tend to sweep them all under the same rug.
Second, it seems utterly bizarre to me that I own the copyright of this post for 70 years after my death (although that’s completely unenforceable, as I’m not a millionaire), but I have no ownership over data about me. We need to formalize the unspoken right to data that is implicit in signing a TOS with Google and Facebook, because so many entities simply take this information and provide nothing in return.
Somehow I had gotten it into my head that the rifle a five-year-old used to accidentally shoot his two-year-old sister must’ve been a BB gun or something. I mean, not that you should leave a kid alone with a BB gun, but it had to be a gun out of a 1950s comic book, right?
This Mother Jones article made me realize that I had made that assumption. So I continued onward to the Crickett rifle website. If you haven’t checked it out yourself, you really must. This goes double for any of my international readers, because it’s probably been hours since you had another proof that the United States is clinically insane.
Now, I’m the first to say that I don’t know shit about firearms. (When I say “comic book BB gun”, it’s with a vague understanding that BB guns are generally only suitable for killing squirrels and the family pet, and that it takes really bad luck to kill a human with one.) But it seems that a .22 rifle is actually a real gun. It’s the one the Boy Scouts use because it hurts less to use (lower recoil), but here’s the Wikipedia picture of suitable ammo for My First Rifle:
Wherein Our Hero attempts to add a no-limit game to his cash game poker repertoire
Sat down at a 1-1 NL table at Bally’s ($50-$150 buy-in, $2 to call the $1 blind preflop) with $100 I won at Jacks or Better, and was felted on the first hand I played, around two orbits in. Here’s how it went down.
A loose-aggressive player opened for $10 in middle position. $10 is his standard open, which is mathematically insane at a 1-1 table, but as he typically got a few calls this isn’t a bad plan in this case. A loose caller to my right calls. I’m in the cutoff seat and peek to see AKo in the hole.
I’ve got just under $100; the raiser has $330 and has me stacked. He’s also talked loudly about locking in the $300 and playing with the rest.
My decision process: can I fold? Hell no.
Should I raise? Hell yes. I raise to $30. He calls, everyone else folds.
Flop comes AQT two-suited and he checks to me. I’ve got him on anything from a middle pair to a crappy Ace, and the main thing I’m worried about is that he’s hit his kicker for two pair.
I go to bet, and I’m reminded why I hate no limit. There’s $70 in the pot. My normal bet of $35 leaves me pot-committed; I can’t fold to a check-raise because a) he’s aggressive; b) it’s a heavy drawing board, and c) he might think his A-x is good. So I bet the pot and go all-in.
He flips over K-J and takes it with the straight.
Should I have raised to something other than $30? My mistake here is that I didn’t think about it—I forgot my observation about his calling cap. Raise to $40 and there’s a chance that he folds preflop, especially with KJo. On the other hand, as it went down I got my money in good, and he called as a 3-1 dog.
Should I have called preflop? The mistake here is that I didn’t consider it. In retrospect, this was my last chance to control the size of the pot; after my raise, I’m going all-in on a favorable flop, and that hadn’t quite occurred to me.
Again on the other hand, calling here would given me top-pair, top-kicker on a draw-heavy board against two undefined opponents. As it stands, I’m kicking myself for giving myself no chance to get away from a cooler; with a call, I’d be kicking myself for not defining the flop better.
So I’m thinking I played this right, except for one real problem: I’m forced to go all-in on the flop, but I’m only getting called if I’m beat. I don’t see a way around this with a short stack, but instinctively I feel like this isn’t the way to play a cash game.