(9:30 PM) | Brad:

The Politics of the Exponential Function {A Blatant & Shameless Cross-Post}

All right, let’s look now at what happens when we have this kind of steady growth in a finite environment.

Bacteria grow by doubling. One bacterium divides to become two, the two divide to become 4, the 4 become 8, 16 and so on. Suppose we had bacteria that doubled in number this way every minute. Suppose we put one of these bacteria into an empty bottle at 11:00 in the morning, and then observe that the bottle is full at 12:00 noon. There's our case of just ordinary steady growth: it has a doubling time of one minute, it’s in the finite environment of one bottle.

I want to ask you three questions. Number one: at what time was the bottle half full? Well, would you believe 11:59, one minute before 12:00? Because they double in number every minute.

And the second question: if you were an average bacterium in that bottle, at what time would you first realise you were running of space? Well, let’s just look at the last minutes in the bottle. At 12:00 noon, it’s full; one minute before, it’s half full; 2 minutes before, it’s a quarter full; then an 1?8th; then a 1?16th. Let me ask you, at 5 minutes before 12:00, when the bottle is only 3% full and is 97% open space just yearning for development, how many of you would realise there’s a problem?

Now, in the ongoing controversy over growth in Boulder, someone wrote to the newspaper some years ago and said “Look, there’s no problem with population growth in Boulder, because,” the writer said, “we have fifteen times as much open space as we've already used.” So let me ask you, what time was it in Boulder when the open space was fifteen times the amount of space we’d already used? The answer is, it was four minutes before 12:00 in Boulder Valley. Well, suppose that at 2 minutes before 12:00, some of the bacteria realise they’re running out of space, so they launch a great search for new bottles. They search offshore on the outer continental shelf and in the overthrust belt and in the Arctic, and they find three new bottles. Now that’s an incredible discovery, that’s three times the total amount of resource they ever knew about before. They now have four bottles, before their discovery, there was only one. Now surely this will give them a sustainable society, won’t it?

You know what the third question is: how long can the growth continue as a result of this magnificent discovery? Well, look at the score: at 12:00 noon, one bottle is filled, there are three to go; 12:01, two bottles are filled, there are two to go; and at 12:02, all four are filled and that’s the end of the line.

Thus Bartlett lays out the logic of exponential arithmetic to explain what is wrong with with seemingly innocuous notion that we must always be growing in order to be productive. His analysis of the problem is about as good as you're going to find. Introductory, funny, engaging, and downright chilling when he applies this soberly to our consumptive appetite for energy. In short, his mathematical gaze is to the point: not only is our energy consumption unsustainable (we all know that, right?), but the tipping point is actually right upon us, almost certainly within twenty years. The behooves us to ask, he warns: what will your world look like after the demise of cheap energy?

His only major misstep, in my opinion, is his overriding focus on overpopulation. I don't know. Maybe I'm going to ridiculed for this, but I think this is a potentially very dangerous red herring. Certainly as it is traditionally argued -- and even as Bartlett does here. There is, of course, the mathematical and geographical problem of overpopulation, which will surely lead to a catastrophe. A finite area, such as a city, a state, a nation, or a globe, cannot sustain unending growth. I do not argue that. What Bartlett does, however, and what I find most people do who talk about overpopulation (esp. in the global sense), be they conservative or liberal, is speak fully in the abstract about the problem w/ no real vision of a true solution. What is the typical solution? Namely, education -- be it the conservative vision of abstinence, or the liberal vision of unbridled birth control (or, if they're more "radical," reversing patriarchal hierarchies). Maybe tax cuts for people who stop having kids after one or two. Few, of course, will argue for a mandated systemization of abortion. Even fewer will apply a dark vision that genocide, war, and famine will do our job for us, so perhaps we should leave places like Africa to their own devices.

The problem with this perspective, near as I can tell, is that it assumes a certain equality that simply isn't there. It assumes that we are all individually complicit in such a global problem as overpopulation, in equal measure. Of course, that this perspective results in the Third World getting the stink eye is quite natural, as their populations are exploding far beyond that of the First World, and as such they're clearly not doing their part in this worldwide effort to be smart with Mother Earth. This, though, seems a little convenient.

What is so pernicious about this logic is that the very problem damned by the First World, we who search for the solution overpopulation frantically, is, in fact, caused by the steady march of First World growth. The very thing that now defines the First World! In spite of his absolutely vital critique of this growth, even Bartlett ignores the fact that this philosophy of growth is engrained in the very functioning of the First World. I.e., growth is built into the system in such a way that reality no longer matters -- otherwise, would the fact that advanced western economies are built on debt and credit, the buying and selling of debt unbacked by tangible resources, make sense? There is, I would argue, absolutely no means of reforming capitalism with a little humanitarianism here, and and some compassion there. The incremental progress that late-capitalism was to bring, at this point, is running up perilously close to the end of the cheap and ample resources that brought the First World to its present heights in the first place.

The deficiency of Bartlett's math is that it doesn't seem able to show the socio-economic reality that where there is constant growth, there is also an inevitable decline, in the form of those who do not own the land that produces the goods that churn the wheel of progress. These, rather, are given a different criteria by which to judge their success, versus that of the rest of the world -- their standard of living is judged by comparing it to those who are just as poor or poorer, in such a way that we can justify paying them what amounts to scraps in terms of a First World criteria, because 'it's more than they'd normally get, so they really should be happy.'

And then we have the First World solution to the overpopulation of the very places that it effectively renders, and arguably keeps, poor. (Okay, yes, I realize that China is getting richer; as is, say, India. And while one could argue that this is not likely filtering down to the lowest levels of either society, I would argue that the effects of this growth is built on an ecological and energy-depleting timebomb that extends to the budding middle class of these countries a new kind of poverty, namely, a uniquely modern myopic vision of reality that threatens the very livelihoods that have moved them beyond the slums, and inevitably their lives even to the budding middle-class of these countries. So goes the metaphorical cocktease taking place in emergent economies: the extraordinarily hot virgin (capital) with an inexplicable and incurable venereal disease.) This, despite the fact that where there is poverty, there is typically a population increase -- be it in Africa, or be it in Everwhere Ghetto, USA; as poverty decreases, so does the birth rate -- be it in western Europe or Everywhere Suburb, USA. Where there is poverty, education falls, women's rights decrease, and contraception is less available. We know that social conditions have a tremendous impact on population growth, and yet it is officially a non-starter when one questions the relationship of late-capitalism (which, I say again, is fundamentally indistinguishable from the inexcusably ignorant -- willfully ignorant -- object of Bartlett's dead-on critique). Instead, we mistake the symptom for the disease.

That Bartlett shrinks away from this, to something so abstract as warning us about overpopulation, when the the real problem itself is staring him, us, you & me, square in the face, is telling. It is telling of the disconnect between what we actually know and what we believe to be true.

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(12:07 PM) | Ben W:

What if they had a Tuesday Hatred and nobody came?

When Adam asked me, last night, if I would do the Tuesday Hatred this week, naturally I leapt at the opportunity, without a pause to consider it. Why? I suppose because I like The Weblog, and like feeling like a part of the The Weblog Community, and all that jazz. But now that it's Tuesday—and now that I've remembered that I committed myself to the Tuesday Hatred—do you know what I find?

Not a lot of hatred! For whatever reason, this week I'm pretty mellow. Oh, sure, I've got complaints. Who hasn't? But would I say (in public) that I hate this or that? Not really!

So it's in a spirit of noncompliance with Adam's hateful regime that I post this now. I invite you all to share in my lack of hatred, if only for the day: perhaps, together, we can make our little corners of the world that much better, for ourselves and for others.

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(Ben W has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Sunday, July 22, 2007

(11:12 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Liquidate the Democrats: A Thought Experiment

The Democrats are valued exclusively for what they're not. First and foremost, they are not Republicans. The value of this non-Republicanism should not be underestimated -- the "reality-based" Democrats are, at the very least, open to persuasion, something that is increasingly not the case with Republicans. More problematically, however, they are valued as a screen on which to project our fantasies, fantasies that are often based on their non-Republicanism. We like to imagine that, if unconstrained, they would implement a welfare-state paradise in America, with ample public health care, public transit, etc.

The thing is, it's not clear to me that they actually would. Even though everyone is talking a good talk about health care reform, I'm not confident that they'll actually follow through (or even be able to -- the Republicans will, after all, continue to have representation in Congress). Nor are we likely to see full withdrawal from Iraq. Doubtless whatever they do will be at least marginally better than the Republicans, but the Democrats can hold us left-leaning types hostage like this forever and ever as they continue to try to reach "values voters" or something.

The fundamental problem is that we have a true right-wing party, and then a party that by global standards is basically center-right. Mitt Romney has said that Hillary couldn't get elected in France, and he's right -- but it's not because she's too far left "even for France," it's because she's to the right even of Sarkozy.

What would it mean to stop being held hostage by the Democrats? It would mean establishing not a third party, but a new second party -- one that would be, at the very least, truly center-left. At this point, I would be thrilled if we managed to get a genuine social democratic party in the US, particularly one that is explicitly anti-militaristic.

There are Democrats who fit this basic profile, so the first step would be to get them to defect to the new party. That way you already have incumbents who are able to serve as anchors. The second step is to take away the blackmail of throwing the victory to the Republicans by running only in Congress at first and promising to caucus with the Democrats if necessary to prevent a Republican majority. And the third step is to convince donors of the Soros type to defect. Recruiting a major figure to lead the new party in Congress, with an eye toward providing a stage for this person's future presidential run, would also be crucial -- the fantasy, of course, would be that Al Gore would have a conversion experience and renounce Third Wayism. After all, for all that his wimpiness has cost us, he at least owes us the favor of destroying the Democratic Party!

Suddenly what was formerly the left wing of the Democratic party would have actual power, and the Democrats themselves would increasingly have to either take their demands seriously or else be totally absorbed into the Republicans -- a major improvement over the current situation where people to the left of Hillary are completely held hostage and the Republicans are regarded as the only serious interlocutors. Over a few election cycles, the reason for the Democrats' continued existence would be increasingly unclear.

My hope is that if this were done right, the Democrats would effectively be completely extinct as a party within ten years, and a new social democrat party would replace them -- with a different institutional culture, with explicit commitments besides a nihilistic pursuit of popularity for its own sake, and with something to offer aside from not being their opponents.

(All of this is offered up in the spirit of a thought experiment.)

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Saturday, July 21, 2007

(12:55 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

The Unitary Executive

We are now probably familiar with the theory of the Unitary Executive -- a hierarchical view of the executive branch where all authority emanates directly from the president and attempts by Congress to intervene in executive affairs violates separation of powers. I am no constitutional scholar, but it seems to me that this is a serious and obvious departure from the intent of the founders.

But let's assume it's not. Let's assume that every executive branch official directly "emanates" from the president. Under this theory, wouldn't that imply that the president is directly responsible for all his subordinates' actions? So, for instance, one wouldn't impeach Bush for abusing his power of pardon in the Scooter Libby case -- one would impeach him directly for Scooter Libby's perjury. There would be no way of isolating the "higher ups" from the prisoner abuse and torture -- Bush himself would be directly guilty of torture.

Of course, proponents of the unitary executive theory would never accept that outcome. Just like the "quantum Vice President," the actual existing application of the unitary executive couples claiming the maximum possible amount of power with the least possible means of being held accountable for it -- the president is simultaneously omnipotent in his control of executive branch officials, yet somehow still able to "keep his hands clean" with respect to the actions of his subordinates.

This is yet another example where arguing with the Bush administration and its apologists at the level of reason and persuasion is a blind alley. They must be met with force -- meaning in this case with criminal convictions and with impeachment. One does not "dialogue" with George W. Bush -- the only responsible thing is to have security escort him out of the White House. That will hopefully happen automatically in January 2009, but one can't help but wish that more specific laws than the term limits on the president be somehow brought to bear on Bush.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Friday, July 20, 2007

(6:30 PM) | Brad:

Friday Night "Texas Jazz": The Donald Barthelme Edition

"The Glass Mountain"
by Donald Barthelme
(from Sixty Stories)

{Townes Van Zandt, Live at the Old Quarter, "Mr. Mudd & Mr. Gold"}

1. I was trying to climb the glass mountain.

2. The glass mountain stands at the corner of Thirteenth Street and Eighth Avenue.

3. I had attained the lower slope.

4. People were looking up at me.

5. I was new in the neighborhood.

6. Nevertheless I had acquaintances.

7. I had strapped climbing irons to my feet and each hand grasped sturdy plumber's friend.

8. I was 200 feet up.

9. The wind was bitter.

10. My acquaintances had gathered at the bottom of the mountain to offer encouragement.

11. "Shithead."

12. "Asshole."

13. Everyone in the city knows about the glass mountain.

14. People who live here tell stories about it.

15. It is pointed out to visitors.

16. Touching the side of the mountain, one feels coolness.

17. Peering into the mountain, one sees sparkling blue-white depths.

18. The mountain towers over that part of Eighth Avenue like some splendid, immense office building.

19. The top of the mountain vanishes into the clouds, or on cloudless days, into the sun.

20. I unstuck the righthand plumber's friend leaving the lefthand one in place.

21. Then I stretched out and reattached the righthand one a little higher up, after which I inched my legs into new positions.

22. The gain was minimal, not an arm's length.

23. My acquaintances continued to comment.

24. "Dumb motherfucker."

25. I was new in the neighborhood.

26. In the streets were many people with disturbed eyes.

27. Look for yourself.

28. In the streets were hundreds of young people shooting up in doorways, behind parked cars.

29. Older people walked dogs.

30. The sidewalks were full of dogshit in brilliant colors: ocher, umber, Mars yellow, sienna, viridian, ivory black, rose madder.

31. And someone had been apprehended cutting down trees, a row of elms broken-backed among the VWs and Valiants.

32. Done with a power saw, beyond a doubt.

33. I was new in the neighborhood yet I had accumulated acquaintances.

{Townes Van Zandt, Live from the Old Quarter, "For The Sake Of The Song"}

34. My acquaintances passed a brown bottle from hand to hand.

35. "Better than a kick in the crotch."

36. "Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick."

37. "Better than a slap in the belly with a wet fish."

38. "Better than a thump on the back with a stone."

39. "Won't he make a splash when he falls, now?"

40. "I hope to be here to see it. Dip my handkerchief in the blood."

41. "Fart-faced fool."

42. I unstuck the lefthand plumber's friend leaving the righthand one in place.

43. And reached out.

44. To climb the glass mountain, one first requires a good reason.

45. No one has ever climbed the mountain on behalf of science, or in search of celebrity, or because the mountain was a challenge.

46. Those are not good reasons.

47. But good reasons exist.

48. At the top of the mountain there is a castle of pure gold, and in a room in the castle tower sits...

49. My acquaintances were shouting at me.

50. "Ten bucks you bust your ass in the next four minutes!"

51. ...a beautiful enchanted symbol.

52. I unstuck the righthand plumber's friend leaving the lefthand one in place.

53. And reached out.

54. It was cold there at 206 feet and when I looked down I was not encouraged.

55. A heap of corpses both of horses and riders ringed the bottom of the mountain, many dying men groaning there.

56. "A weakening of the libidinous interest in reality has recently come to a close." (Anton Ehrenzweig)

57. A few questions thronged into my mind.

58. Does one climb a glass mountain, at considerable personal discomfort, simply to disenchant a symbol?

59. Do today's stronger egos still need symbols?

60. I decided that the answer to these questions was "yes."

61. Otherwise what was I doing there, 206 feet above the power-sawed elms, whose white meat I could see from my height?

62. The best way to fail to climb the mountain is to be a knight in full armor--one whose horse's hoofs strike fiery sparks from the sides of the mountain.

63. The following-named knights had failed to climb the mountain and were groaning in the heap: Sir Giles Guilford, Sir Henry Lovell, Sir Albert Denny, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir Patrick Grifford, Sir Gisbourne Gower, Sir Thomas Grey, Sir Peter Coleville, Sir John Blunt, Sir Richard Vernon, Sir Walter Willoughby, Sir Stephen Spear, Sir Roger Faulconbridge, Sir Clarence Vaughan, Sir Hubert Ratcliffe, Sir james Tyrrel, Sir Walter Herbert, Sir Robert Brakenbury, Sir Lionel Beaufort, and many others.

64. My acquaintances moved among the fallen knights.

65. My acquaintances moved among the fallen knights, collecting rings, wallets, pocket watches, ladies' favors.

66. "Calm reigns in the country, thanks to the confident wisdom of everyone." (M. Pompidou)

{Townes Van Zandt, Live from the Old Quarter, "Waiting 'Round To Die" }

67. The golden castle is guarded by a lean-headed eagle with blazing rubies for eyes.

68. I unstuck the lefthand plumber's friend, wondering if--

69. My acquaintances were prising out the gold teeth of not-yet dead knights.

70. In the streets were people concealing their calm behind a façade of vague dread.

71. "The conventional symbol (such as the nightingale, often associated with melancholy), even though it is recognized only through agreement, is not a sign (like the traffic light) because, again, it presumably arouses deep feelings and is regarded as possessing properties beyond what the eye alone sees." (A Dictionary of Literary Terms)

72. A number of nightingales with traffic lights tied to their legs flew past me.

73. A knight in pale pink armor appeared above me.

74. He sank, his armor making tiny shrieking sounds against the glass.

75. He gave me a sideways glance as he passed me.

76. He uttered the word "Muerte" as he passed me.

77. I unstuck the righthand plumber's friend.

78. My acquaintances were debating the question, which of them would get my apartment?

79. I reviewed the conventional means of attaining the castle.

80. The conventional means of attaining the castle are as follows: "The eagle dug its sharp claws into the tender flesh of the youth, but he bore the pain without a sound, and seized the bird's two feet with his hands. The creature in terror lifted him high up into the air and began to circle the castle. The youth held on bravely. He saw the glittering palace, which by the pale rays of the moon looked like a dim lamp; and he saw the windows and balconies of the castle tower. Drawing a small knife from his belt, he cut off both the eagle's feet. The bird rose up in the air with a yelp, and the youth dropped lightly onto a broad balcony. At the same moment a door opened, and he saw a courtyard filled with flowers and trees, and there, the beautiful enchanted princess." (The Yellow Fairy Book)

81. I was afraid.

82. I had forgotten the Bandaids.

83. When the eagle dug its sharp claws into my tender flesh--

84. Should I go back for the Bandaids?

85. But if I went back for the Bandaids I would have to endure the contempt of my acquaintances.

86. I resolved to proceed without the Bandaids.

87. "In some centuries, his [man'sl imagination has made life an intense practice of all the lovelier energies." (John Masefield)

88. The eagle dug its sharp claws into my tender flesh.

89. But I bore the pain without a sound, and seized the bird's two feet with my hands.

90. The plumber's friends remained in place, standing at right angles to the side of the mountain.

91. The creature in terror lifted me high in the air and began to circle the castle.

92. I held on bravely.

93. I saw the glittering palace, which by the pale rays of the moon looked like a dim lamp; and I saw the windows and balconies of the castle tower.

94. Drawing a small knife from my belt, I cut off both the eagle's feet.

95. The bird rose up in the air with a yelp, and I dropped lightly onto a broad balcony.

96. At the same moment a door opened, and I saw a courtyard filled with flowers and trees, and there, the beautiful enchanted symbol.

97. I approached the symbol, with its layers of meaning, but when I touched it, it changed into only a beautiful princess.

98. I threw the beautiful princess headfirst down the mountain to my acquaintances.

99. Who could be relied upon to deal with her.

100. Nor are eagles plausible, not at all, not for a moment.

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(Brad has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(12:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Friday Afternoon Confessional: Une pipe

I confess that I've been wearing this shirt an awful lot. I confess that The Girl's complaint that I had effectively cock-blocked her from buying the shirt herself was correct, even though we don't hang out very often.

I confess that I'm now 27 years old. It feels remarkably similar to being 26.

I confess that I attended a free Decembrists' concert in Millennium Park, but could not actually see the band. I confess that when I tried to picture the lead singer (whom I've never seen), I ended up picturing Kriston Capps.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

(1:15 PM) | Adam R:

Go Paperful

As long as John brought it up with those yummy Éditions le Real (see below), I'd like to point Weblog readers to my li'l baby press, Publishing Genius. I'm two chapbooks deep at this point, and very open to y'all's avant garde proposal.

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(Adam R has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

(8:43 PM) | John Emerson:

Two Books by John Emerson Published

I've just self-published two books which some people here might be interested in. Relics is a book of poems written during a past life. Substantific Marrow is very diverse, with sections on Eastern European history, philosophy, Americana, and The State, but there's more literature than anything else. The section made up of my garblings of psychoanalysis, ontology, and the Bible was mostly first published here.

Substantific Marrow can be bought for about $17 (or $3.75 for an e-book). Relics (Poems 1967-1980) can be bought for about $13 ($3.75 for an ebook). YMMV because of state taxes and shipping costs.

More information here: http://www.idiocentrism.com/le%20real.htm

Books can be bought here: http://stores.lulu.com/emersonj

By Christmas I should have a third book out, about philosophy, economics, and temporality. Sometime next year my book on Inner Eurasian history should be out, and after that a book on Chinese philosophy. I'm going to be spending the next several years gathering and finishing up stuff I've been working on since about 1985.

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(John Emerson has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(1:45 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Tuesday Hatred: The Morning After

I exhausted most of my hatred in yesterday's post, but I would be remiss if I didn't say the following: I hate soggy bread.

It is more edifying and healthy to love than to hate -- but at the same time, if people didn't hate, nothing would ever get done.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Monday, July 16, 2007

(12:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

On Hating Democrats

Every election season, we non-Republicans get a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. Suddenly we expend massive amounts of energy trying to identify with the political party that continues to screw us over. Hopefully the euphoria from the last election has worn off by now, and we're far enough away from the next election that the undecided grandma in Ohio will have forgotten about my tirade by the time it rolls around -- that is, hopefully, the time is ripe for hating the Democrats.

First, Al Gore, I personally, deeply hate you for your performance in 2000. Your should have demanded a state-wide recount -- hell, a nation-wide recount. Instead, you did the typical bullshit Third Way Democrat thing of trying to cobble enough counties together to get a win by a hair, as though an election were an elaborate heist. It's bad enough normally when they do this ("If we track just a smidge right, we'll hopefully pick up enough national-security-conscious soccer moms in Ohio to pull this thing off..."), but you were doing this after you had already fucking won the election. Then, when the Supreme Court screwed you over (in a decision that was party-line, but -- and I know it's heresy to admit it -- it was bullshit that you were asking for targetted recounts only in counties that would help you win), you played the good boy, play by the rules, don't be divisive.

Divisive? Let me tell you what's divisive -- some cokehead frat boy who lost the popular vote by half a million votes strutting around like he obviously owns the presidency because he won one state by only 200 votes, even with his brother actively rigging the game in his favor, such that by a stupid technicality, he technically "wins." That's divisive. Calling him on his bullshit? That would be -- totally fair. Al Gore, you had options even after the Supreme Court fucked you over (in part because of your own idiocy, but still -- you were ultimately in the right). You could have been cultivating some "faithless electors." You could have strong-armed some senators into cosponsoring a challenge to the electoral vote count. You fucked us over, Al Gore, and now you get to travel around the country giving gripping lectures and you're treated like some kind of hero. Bullshit. You were in the right, and now you get to enjoy being in the right and having all the right opinions without having to actually do anything. I hope you choke to death on your fucking useless correct opinions.

But it's not all poor Al Gore's fault -- look at the influences he was dealing with! We have a whole party full of people who have no idea why they're in office anymore, other than to continue to be in office. Vote for the war to look tough on national security, follow the stupid non-entity of a president around like a puppy dog so as not to disturb the poor little nation during its "time of crisis" -- Democrats, fuck you and your empty desire to be popular. Let me give you a little lesson here: popularity is not something that you can ever get directly. In a democracy, for instance, the normal way to become popular is to propose and implement policies people like. I know it's hard, because so many of those policies are "crazy liberal" and you won't be taken seriously by right-wing pundits, but maybe it'd be worth giving it a shot at some point.

Even if you can't be popular, though, it seems like you probably have a couple basic duties as public servants. Upholding the constitution, for instance. If you're in Congress, providing a counterbalance to the executive branch -- especially when the whole reason you even have a majority in Congress is because the public is sick to death of the war that you helped give them in your eagerness to shore up your "toughness" credentials. You don't want to cut off funding for the war because it would look like you're betraying the troops -- well, they fucking already constantly say you're betraying the troops. What's there to lose? More generally, you don't want to end the war because you don't want to be blamed for "losing" it. Maybe you will be blamed -- so what? This war is a much more serious issue than the legislative careers of a few Democrats in unsafe seats. Take some fucking responsibility!

The same thing with impeaching Bush -- oh no, there may be some backlash if we try to impeach him. Like what? His approval ratings jump back up to 37%? Republicans will call you partisan? Have you not put two and two together? The reason you keep getting screwed every time you do anything is because the Republicans actively screw you. It's not like there's some kind of force of nature at work whereby the Republicans always get off scot-free, but you're screwed no matter what. If you want the Republicans to suffer for their actions, you have to make them suffer.

Seriously, you hate those motherfuckers, right? Well show it! You're not going to get any serious legislation passed as things stand, but why not use every ounce of your power to screw those fucking Republicans as much as possible? Is it because that would be too divisive? Too partisan? Not fair? Well, let me tell you what's objectively not fair: allowing the Republicans to have any power whatsoever. That's not fair at all. A Supreme Court vandalized by an illegitimate president? Not fair. Countless dead in Iraq? Not fair. I could go on and on. It's a pretty damn divisive list -- but let me tell you, it's not the people who bring it up who are divisive, it's the people who did all that shit. You want to be the party of balance and reasoned deliberation and constitutional checks and balances? Well, by treating the Republicans as good-faith parnters in that enterprise, you're effectively destroying everything you stand for. At this point, you can either just pretend that all that stuff is possible under these conditions and therefore continue to dig yourself into a hole, or you can have the courage of your convictions and fight for them, which you fucking won't, you fucking spinless sacks of shit!

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Saturday, July 14, 2007

(11:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Back in Time

Yesterday, in my continued quest to grapple with the inordinate slowness of my computer, I switched from iTunes back to Winamp. They now have a plugin for Winamp that allows it to play music through an AirPort, and the install file alone is only one-tenth the size of iTunes'. Under the install options, I selected to have no "visualizations" and no support for video -- when given a choice between so-called "modern" skins and the "classic" look, I went for "classic," which was now mainly intended for people with slow computers or inordinate nostalgia.

All of a sudden, I could switch between application without having time to get up and top off my coffee, and I could type -- get this -- in real time. But I asked myself -- could I get things moving faster? I switched back to the "Windows classic" scheme and found, much to my surprise, that it responded basically instantly when I clicked on the Start Menu, without having to wait for it to render the fancy rounded corners, etc. What had I been doing all these years? I could have gotten my MBA in the time that I've wasted waiting for Windows to "swap" bloated features that I have no use for.

Now I'm starting to feel some nostalgia for those long hours frittered away editing my config.sys and autoexec.bat files to get over 500K of conventional memory. Does anyone have tips for me to further improve performance? I should note that the one thing I'm not willing to give up is (the admittedly bloated) Microsoft Word, because I'm in the middle of a fairly significant writing process and want to stick with what I know.

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Friday, July 13, 2007

(7:39 PM) | Brad:

A Dedication

Adam is working every so diligently on a writing project, so I thought I'd dedicate a transcribed passage about writing to him. Carry on, good man!

***********

Oh, said the yellow paper when Kleinzeit picked it up. Oh, oh, oh, I'm so glad you're back. It clung to him sobbing.

What's all this then, said Kleinzeit. Did you really miss me?

You'll never know, said the yellow paper.

Kleinzeit read his three pages, started writing, wrote one, two, three more pages.

It's like magic with you, said the yellow paper.

There's no magic in it, said Kleinzeit. It's simple heroism, that's all that's required. Like the Athenians and the Spartans, you know, all those chaps. Thin red line of hoplites, that sort of thing.

Yes, said the yellow paper, I believe you. You're a hero.

One does one's possible, said Kleinzeit modestly. That's all.

Death came in, sat down in a corner.

Where've you been? said Kleinzeit.

I have my work too, you know, said Death.

Oh, said Kleinzeit. He started a fourth page, got tired, stopped, got out of his chair, walked slowly through the flat. In the kitchen were spices, pots and pans, authoritative new things brought by Sister. Clothes of Sister's hanging in the wardrobe. She was out shopping for dinner now. Next week she'd be taking some of her holiday time so she could stay with him. He stretched, sighed, felt easy. No pain.

He went back to the plain deal table, patted it, looked fondly at the yellow paper, patted it as well.

You and me, he said.

Fool, said the yellow paper.

What'd you say? asked Kleinzeit.

Cool, said the yellow paper. I said be cool.

Why?

You'll last longer that way.

You don't sound the way you did a little while ago, said Kleinzeit. You sound funny.

Do I, said the yellow paper.

Yes, said Kleinzeit. You do.

The yellow paper shrugged.

Kleinzeit read the three pages he had written today and the three pages he had written before. Now as he read them the words lay on the paper like dandruff. He shook the paper, brushed it off. Nothing there. Black marks, oh yes. Ink on the paper right there. Nothing else.

What's happening? he said.

Nothing's happening, said the yellow paper. Why don't you make something happen. Hero.

That was what he'd called it: HERO. There was the ink on the first page spelling HERO. Ridiculous. Kleinzeit crossed it out.

What is it? said Kleinzeit.

No answer from the yellow paper.

Damn you, said Kleinzeit. What is it? Why'd my words fall off the paper like dandruff? Tell me!

There aren't any 'your' words, said the yellow paper.

Whose then? said Kleinzeit. I wrote them.

'I,' said the yellow paper. That's a joke, that is. 'I' can't write anything that'll stay on the paper, stupid.

Who can, then? said Kleinzeit.

You're being tiresome, said the yellow paper.

Goddam it, said Kleinzeit, are you my yellow paper or not?

Not, said the yellow paper.

Whose then? said Kleinzeit.

Word's.

What happens now?

Whatever can.

HOW - CAN - I - MAKE - WORDS - STAY - ON - THE - PAPER? said Kleinzeit very slowly, as if talking to a foreigner.

They'll stay if you don't put them there, said the yellow paper.

How do I do that?

You don't do it, it happens.

How does it happen?

You simply have to find what's there and let it be, said the yellow paper.

Find what's where? said Kleinzeit.

Here, said the yellow paper. Now.

Kleinzeit took a blank sheet, stared at it. Nothing, he said. Absolutely nothing.

What's all the fuss about? said Death looking over his shoulder.

I can't anything in this paper, said Kleinzeit.

Nonsense, said Death. It's all there. I can see it quite clearly.

What does it say? said Kleinzeit.

Death read something aloud very softly.

What's that? said Kleinzeit. Speak up, can't hear you.

Death said something a little louder.

I still can't understand a word you're saying, said Kleinzeit. He felt an overpowering regret for the shimmering sea-light and the smile of the china mermaid in the aquarium that was gone. Then he felt suddenly like a glove with the hand inside it slipping away. Quite empty, as everything smoothly disappeared in silence. (Russell Hoban, Kleinzeit, 166-68)

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(6:19 PM) | Brad:

Weekend Jazz: American Travel Edition

We left the City well after noon – roughly about three hours later than we had planned, meticulously, two evenings earlier. The sheer number of errands we had both delayed until the very morning of our departure seriously betrayed the fact that neither of us were ready for or excited about the trip. The problem is never a matter of too much history, but of not enough future to put it into proper perspective, never enough present time for the past and future. It is sometimes enough to make you dizzy.

[Charles Mingus, from Tijuana Moods, "Dizzy Moods"]

Once we were finally driving, things were uneventfully smooth. Chicago snuck up on us like a lumbering though strangely effective thief, but ultimately caused our driving schedule no harm. From there, we had before us a 2.5-hour drive through Illinois. In some areas of the United States, driving on the highway can be made exhilarating. In Colorado, for example, you have the sphincter-tightening turns of I-80 through the Rocky Mountains; and on I-75 you have the lazy bliss that is driving through the rolling hills of central Kentucky and the foggy valleys of northern Tennessee. North-central Illinois, however, offers the traveller little but weary, blurring eyes and a hungry, screaming stomach.

[Charlier Parker, from The Complete Live Performances on Savoy, "A Night In Tunisia"]

The road spat us like two fleeing Jonahs into Davenport, Iowa just as the sun was setting. Delirious with hunger, though, I drove us north around the city instead of south, and we found ourselves in the midst of an endless path of fast food drive-thrus. Another level of hell. Not wanting to subject ourselves to this inevitable torture so early in the trip, we continued our detour around the Quad-city area until we an unassuming restaurant in Walcott, Iowa called Gramma’s Kitchen.

It turned out, if the quality of food and service isn't one of your dining considerations, Gramma’s is a truly great place. Our waitress moved as quickly as either of my grandmothers, and they’re both dead. J. suggested she subscribed to the whole “slow food” philosophy, whereby we as consumers train ourselves to be conscious about what we eat, why we are eating it, and where it comes from. I decided, though, she was cleverly hoping that if she served us slowly enough the senescent decay of Gramma's taste buds, nothing worse than a dead tongue, might afflict us, too, for then we couldn’t blame her, anybody but her, for our sub-par portion of their promised “American slice of life.”

[Art Blakey, from Moanin' (Live, 1968), "You Dont Know What Love Is"]

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(12:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Friday Afternoon Confessional: Domestic Bliss

I confess that yesterday was perhaps the most productive day of my life. I got groceries and enough toilet paper to last a few weeks, did laundry and ironed, changed my sheets, ran the dishwasher, took out the garbage -- and I still got a significant amount of academic work done as well. I confess that it was strangely unfulfilling.

I confess that this morning I checked my free annual credit report. I confess that I only looked at it because they e-mailed me to let me know that a year had passed and I could look at it again without impacting my credit. This leads me to wonder: Why on earth did I want to look at it this time last year? I confess that the new security measures that most financial websites are implementing -- inputting the password on a separate page with some special image on it, collecting answers to several personal questions that I can apparently be asked at any given time -- do not make me feel more secure. In fact, they make me feel like there are more ways for me to mess up and be blocked from accessing my own account.

I confess that my computer is very slow lately, and it is making me angry. I confess that yesterday I ran Ad-Aware, freed up some disk space, and defragmented the hard drive. I cannot yet report if this has sped anything up.

I confess that I am running out of "maintenance" tasks. Perhaps I should run an online poll for what pathetic and unnecessary household chore I should do next:

• Clean the Venetian blinds and adjust the strings
  
• Wash the garbage can
  
• Clean the coffee maker I bought a month ago
  
• Clean the fridge (after living here only three months)
  
• Remove encrustation from the ketchup and mustard bottles
  
• Run the ice trays through the dishwasher

I confess that I've gotten so good at folding fitted sheets that yesterday I had to actually unfold the sheets to be able to tell which was which -- the fitted sheet version of a Turing Test.

UPDATE: I confess that someone has apparently solved the RSS feed problem I was complaining about recently.

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Wednesday, July 11, 2007

(3:27 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

My Life as a Powell's Addict

Sometimes when I go to Powell's, I'm not so much shopping as taking mental inventory of what I would buy if I came into money or if I was moving away from Chicago. Most of these are items that have been present for several years, so there is no sense of urgency (as there was when I learned from a friend that they had Benjamin's complete letters, an item I was pretty sure would be snatched up). Here's my tentative list, so that my enemies can go buy these items out of spite:

1. Hegel, Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion (3 vols., nice hardcover)
   
2. Troeltsch, Social Teachings of the Churches (2 vols., in two or three different editions -- none of which are going anywhere as far as I can tell)
   
3. Barth, Protestant Theology in the 19th Century (a paperback version of this recently sold, but they still have a reasonably-priced hardcover)
   
4. Brunner, Man in Revolt (nice hardcover, some pencil underlining)
   
5. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament (they have a one-volume edition, but I'd like the more traditional two-volume hardcover, which they also have)
   
6. Husserl -- all kinds of stuff. They have more Husserl than you can even begin to imagine.
   
7. French novels -- they have literally everything, in French, for like $2 each. My need for a particular Zola novel at any given time is usually pretty low, so I never take advantage of this, but I could easily establish an entire library in one fell swoop.

My biggest mistake shopping at Powell's: they had a nice Greek New Testament (I still don't have one) for only $5. I saw it around noon, passed it up, then thought better of it and came back later the same day -- it was already gone.

Second biggest mistake: not checking the foreign-language basement area often enough. One time when I went down there, they had gotten a lot of stuff from a university library sale, including the Marx-Engels Gesamtausgabe -- the fabled MEGA!!! More attentive customers had already picked it clean. Basically all that was left was Engels stuff, and not even Anti-Dühring or Origin of the Family. How naive of me to think I could just lightheartedly wander down there and come back with the German text of the 1844 manuscripts (which would actually be useful to me for various reasons).

I'm sure one day they'll get all of Freud, and by the time I get there, all that will be left is endless discussion of anal-erotism.

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(10:54 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

David Lynch

Last night I went to see Blue Velvet at the Gene Siskel Film Center, which is part of their David Lynch retrospective (full calendar here). I had seen it before on video, but for me it was a qualitatively different experience in the theater. One benefit is watching it with a large audience (surprisingly large for a Tuesday night, in fact). Another is that it's more all-encompassing in the theater -- I paid closer attention, and I feel like the impact of the film was more intense because of that.

After I left the theater, the world at large felt like a David Lynch movie to me. That alone was worth the price of admission, though experiencing that several nights in a row would likely drive one insane.

I will likely try to go see Wild at Heart, Lost Highway, and Mulholland Dr. His latest movie sounds interesting, but I'm nervous to go see it because of the handheld camera work. In the last couple months, my movie-related nausea thankfully seems to have dissipated, but I don't want to actively antagonize my body, given that Blair Witch Project was what prompted my bizarre syndrome of getting motion sickness every time I went to the movies for several years.

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Tuesday, July 10, 2007

(9:53 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Tuesday Hatred: Hate Responsibly

I hate how late I slept in today. I hate when I get caught in the cycle where having to go to the bathroom is keeping me minimally awake, but I'm too tired to actually get up and go.

I hate that when I went to buy milk, the nearest White Hen was selling a gallon for nearly $3.50, and the latest expiration date I could find was only four days away.

I hate it when I let the garbage get so full that I can't tie the bag. I hate how hot it is. I hate how much of a spendthrift I've been lately -- but somehow without buying more short-sleeved shirts, of which I stand in profound need.

But why hate all the time? Why not love?

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Monday, July 09, 2007

(1:06 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

An Open Letter to the Internet

Dear everyone who has a blog or other RSS-enabled site,

You need to go into your settings, and make it so that the RSS feed shows the entire post instead of just the first two sentences.

If you have the full post showing and I subscribe to your blog, I will almost always read every single one of your posts. If you don't, then I will probably only read a small proportion of them. I'm sure I'm not alone in this.

Thanks,


Adam Kotsko
Chicago Theological Seminary

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Sunday, July 08, 2007

(3:25 PM) | Anthony Paul Smith:

You too can get a degree in postmodern gun repair...

EGS has quite a few lectures on YouTube.

So what are you waiting for? Call now.

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Saturday, July 07, 2007

(1:46 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Impeaching Cheney

Jonathan Schwarz alerts us of a new effort to Impeach Cheney. As he puts it, "In all of American history, has there ever been a government official who deserved impeachment more than Dick Cheney?"

They even have logos:

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Friday, July 06, 2007

(12:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Friday Afternoon Confessional: Vegan Insomnia

I confess that I continue to suffer from insomnia in any non-routine situation. I confess that The Weblog continues to receive occasional hits from the link to my commentary on a New Yorker cartoon encaptioned "Vegan Insomnia, from this site. I confess that I am functionally a vegetarian except when I eat out, as a result of a series of more or less arbitrary dietary decisions unrelated to a moral objection to eating meat.

I confess that on Thursday I bit my lip so hard that the person I was eating lunch with said that it became immediately swollen. As a result, I bit the same spot again later in the meal. I confess that I sometimes discuss extremely trivial matters in the Confessional and the Hatred.

I confess that I have been offered an opportunity to give a lecture in the class I'm TAing, but I can't decide what topic would be best (there's no listing for the Trinity, my favorite theological topic). I confess that I would really like to get a chance to teach either History of Christian Thought or Systematic Theology at CTS; the latter seems like more of a longshot.

I confess that so far, Hildegard of Bingen is not very interesting to me. I confess that when I hear the term "Open Theism," I reach for my gun. I confess that I have an idea for an awesome combination of Whitehead with Zizek's analysis of brain science, and best of all, it's totally theological, since Whitehead is now an honorary church father, and the Zizek stuff is about free will. I confess that, more generally, I have a desire to do some work with Whitehead, but to never mention the existence of process theology. Sadly, though, any peer reviewer for a paper on Whitehead would be "process" and would try to force me to mention that stuff.

I confess that I take perverse pleasure in claiming to advocate the Ptolemaic model of the universe and in dismissing as mere "superstition" the idea that "the brain somehow 'houses' our consciousness." Once when someone followed up on some comments of mine along those lines, I said, "Whatever happened to the soul? And the pineal gland?" I confess that 90% of what I say depends on people not following up on it.

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Wednesday, July 04, 2007

(3:09 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

A Good Idea

This is inspired by all the people trying to find each other at the fireworks last night. Since 90% of the benefit of a cell phone is being able to find people, they should take the next step and create a feature where your phone can send your location to your friend's phone, and then their phone will tell them the equivalent "hotter or colder." This could also be accompanied by a map.

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(2:05 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

This Actually Appeared on TV

I thought there was a gentleman's agreement that such sentiments would never be expressed on television. Maybe the compromise was that it could only air on MSNBC.

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Tuesday, July 03, 2007

(3:10 PM) | Brad:

The Bush Administration and the Dukes of Hazzard

In light of the Libby pardon, I wonder if Patton Oswalt is editing this bit just a touch:

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(12:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Tuesday Hatred: "Walgreen's Fault"

I hate the lady who was in front of me in line at Walgreen. She belonged to the classic genre of "lady who buys an inappropriately large number of items at Walgreen," with the variation of "constantly consulting the weekly ad to make sure the cashier isn't ripping her off." The thing is, this was nearly 11:00 at night, so there was only one cashier. A substantial line formed, and after a while, I tried to see if the register at the back of the store was open. Seemingly in response to me (I was right behind her), she said to the air, "It's not my fault. It's Walgreen's. They never have enough people."

I hate that I went through this awkward ten-minute ordeal for a $2.00 box of Shredded Wheat.

I hate it when people are rowdy and loud on the train. I hate the seething throngs attending Taste of Chicago. I hate Sundays and holidays, though I think the Sunday thing might be a fixable problem.

I hate the commercials for Taco Bell's new "Taquitos" and for Heineken Light. I hate any commercial informing me of the good charitable work a corporation is doing. I hate that I've already seen every episode of Robot Chicken and Aqua Teen, including the Star Wars Special and the movie, respectively.

UPDATE: I hate that I didn't write this. I also hate that Haloscan is being unreliable today.

Share your love here.

UPDATE(2): David Brooks wrote the worst column of his career today. I do not make this declaration lightly. Text is "beneath the fold" for those unable to access Times Select.

Ending the Farce
by David Brooks
Published: July 3, 2007

In retrospect, Plamegate was a farce in five acts. The first four were scabrous, disgraceful and absurd. Justice only reared its head at the end.

The drama opened, as these dark comedies are wont to do, with a strutting little peacock who went by the unimaginative name of Joe Wilson.

Mr. Wilson claimed that his wife had nothing to do with his trip to investigate Iraqi purchases in Niger, though that seems not to have been the case. He claimed his trip proved Iraq had made no such attempts, though his own report said nothing of the kind.

In short order, Wilson established himself as the charming P.T. Barnum of the National Security set, an inveterate huckster who could be counted on to wrap every actual fact in six layers of embellishment. His small part in the larger fiasco of the Iraq war would not have registered a micron of attention had the villain of the epic — the vice president — not exercised his unfailing talent for vindictive self-destruction.

Act Two opened with a cast of thousands crowding the stage, filling the air with fevered vapors and gleeful rage. Perhaps you can remember those days, when the Plame story pretended to be about the outing of an undercover C.I.A. agent. Perhaps you can remember the howls of outrage from our liberal friends, about the threat to national security, the secret White House plot to discredit its enemies.

Perhaps you remember the media stakeouts of Karl Rove’s driveway, the constant perp-walk photos of Rove on his way to and from the grand jury, the delirious calls from producers (The indictment is coming today! The indictment is coming today!).

There were media types so eager to get Rove, so artificially appalled at the thought of somebody actually leaking classified information, they were willing to forgive prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald for throwing journalists in jail. It was like watching a city of Ahabs getting deliriously close to the great white whale.

That was back when everybody thought Rove was the key leaker. But then it turned out he wasn’t. Richard Armitage was, as Fitzgerald knew from the start.

By the start of Act Three, nobody cared about the outing of a C.I.A. agent. That part of the scandal disappeared. And all that was left of Joe Wilson and Valerie Plame were the creepy photos in Vanity Fair.

Act Three was the perjury act, and attention shifted to the unlikely figure of Scooter Libby. As Joe Wilson was an absurd man with a plain name, Scooter Libby was a plain man with an absurd name. And the odder thing was that Libby was the only normal person in the asylum. People who knew him thought him discreet, honest and admirable. And yet the charges were brought and the storm clouds of idiocy gathered once more.

Republicans who’d worked themselves up into a spittle-spewing rage because Bill Clinton lied under oath were appalled that anybody would bother with poor Libby over lying under oath. Democrats who were outraged that Bill Clinton was hounded for something as trivial as perjury were furious that Scooter Libby might not be ruined for a crime as heinous as perjury. It was an orgy of shamelessness. The God of Self-Respect took sabbatical.

The trial and sentencing, Act Four, was, to be honest, somewhat anticlimactic. Fitzgerald, having lost all perspective, demanded Libby get a harsh sentence as punishment for crimes he had not been convicted of. The judge, casting himself as David against Goliath, demonstrated an impressive capacity for talking about himself.

And finally, yesterday, came Act Five, and a paradox. Scooter Libby emerged as the least absurd character in the entire drama, and yet he was the one who committed a crime. President Bush entered the stage like a character from another world, a world in which things make sense.

His decision to commute Libby’s sentence but not erase his conviction was exactly right. It punishes him for his perjury, but not for the phantasmagorical political farce that grew to surround him. It takes away his career, but not his family.

Of course, the howlers howl. That is their assigned posture in this drama. They entered howling, they will leave howling and the only thing you can count on is their anger has been cynically manufactured from start to finish.

The farce is over. It has no significance. Nobody but Libby’s family will remember it in a few weeks time. Everyone else will have moved on to other fiascos, other poses, fresher manias.

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Monday, July 02, 2007

(5:46 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Roaming Free in the Library

I am at the Regenstein today, and for various reasons feel free to follow my desire in a way that hasn't seemed possible for months now. (That feeling may be illusory, but I'm going with it.) My desire right now seems to be focused on recent French interpretations of Hegel -- a development I had not foreseen.

I've also discovered that there is a book by Blanchot on Kafka, entitled De Kafka à Kafka, that does not appear to have been translated into English yet. Up and coming grad students: here is your chance. The combination of Blanchot and Kafka is so tasteful and elegant as to be nearly overwhelming -- the kind of thing that never goes out of style. (Incidentally, the space the Regenstein devotes to Kafka is considerable.) Clearly, someone must translate it. I'm a little busy right now, so someone can feel free to call dibs in comments.

My goal in coming here was to read the remaining 20 pages of Taubes' Abendländische Eschatologie and trade it in for a new German reading text. I felt that after a year of reading the thing, it was time for a change. I am following Brad's suggestion: Adorno's Minima Moralia. Lord willing, I should be able to finish that by late 2009, around the same time that I finish reading Augustine's Confessiones (begun May 2006; currently a little over halfway done). I would like to go to Germany with a DAAD scholarship in the hopes of speeding things up a bit -- does anyone know an instructor at the Goethe Institut who would be willing to certify me as meeting the minimum application requirements, in exchange for eternal gratitude and/or a bribe?

My goal in writing this post, of course, is simultaneously to put off the hard work of reading Taubes and to alienate as many of my readers as possible.

But seriously -- one of you should translate the Blanchot on Kafka thing. It's published by Gallimard. Just track down the e-mail address of the person who handles translation rights and ask them if they've been claimed. If not, translate a chapter or two for a sample, write up a proposal, and shop it around to English-language publishers. (I wouldn't recommend translating the whole thing before you've signed a contract.) This is an easy and fun process that will enrich the world even as it enriches your CV. In 14 years, when it's finally in print, we can have a big party. Everybody wins.

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Sunday, July 01, 2007

(9:32 PM) | bitchphd:

Sunday Permission

If you are, or know, John Edwards Leonard,* you can do anything you feel like doing today.

Otherwise, no. You have to Buckle Down and Get To Work.

Unless you have something enjoyable to do, like go on a picnic or take your kids to a movie. In which case, god bless.

*Sue me. Writing even short blog entries with a kid around tends to lead to idiotic errors.

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