Google amongst the academics
This article from the Seattle Times (Google for a Grade : UW class to study popular search engine) has excited a certain amount of discussion on a library listserv to which I subscribe. From the article:
Using their interest in research and technology as a backdrop, the 50 students who finish [Professor Joseph] Janes' class in March will have to determine whether Google is in fact good or whether researchers' reliance on such a simple and one-sided search tool is degrading the quality of research.
I wonder: will he require them to document the use of non-Googled sources for their research?
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Doubt : a history, by Jennifer Michael Hecht
Here's yet another book I may have to read. From the Washington Post's review:
For instance, Xenophanes, another of the pre-Socratics, argued that the gods of mythology must be human inventions. The Ethiopians posited black gods, while the gods of the red-haired Thracians were, unsurprisingly, red-haired. If horses and oxen had hands and could draw, he dryly remarked, they would draw their gods as great horses and oxen. Xenophanes suggested what Montaigne insisted on 2,000 years later: The exclusive authority claimed by competing religions cannot be taken seriously; their myths derive from obviously local sources, and their truth claims cancel each other out....
Montaigne, as it happens, thought that disagreements among scientists showed that science was as much a cultural construction as religion, and ought therefore to be treated with skepticism.
Here's yet another book I may have to read. From the Washington Post's review:
For instance, Xenophanes, another of the pre-Socratics, argued that the gods of mythology must be human inventions. The Ethiopians posited black gods, while the gods of the red-haired Thracians were, unsurprisingly, red-haired. If horses and oxen had hands and could draw, he dryly remarked, they would draw their gods as great horses and oxen. Xenophanes suggested what Montaigne insisted on 2,000 years later: The exclusive authority claimed by competing religions cannot be taken seriously; their myths derive from obviously local sources, and their truth claims cancel each other out....
Montaigne, as it happens, thought that disagreements among scientists showed that science was as much a cultural construction as religion, and ought therefore to be treated with skepticism.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Censorship and consolidation
Last year, the FCC dismissed concerns about the effects of media consolidation on the diversity of viewpoints available to Americans. They were overwhelmingly vindicated this year, when CBS even-handedly accepted ads from all political viewpoints during the Super Bowl.
Oh, wait a minute. They didn't.
The network refused to let political activist group MoveOn buy airtime for an ad that criticizes the Bush administration's runaway deficit spending. That's political issue advocacy, said CBS, and, gosh, we can't allow that kind of stuff on the air. (Meanwhile, an ad from the Bush White House was run in its place.)
Another ad, from PETA, was also banned:
"We just want to be able to present our jiggly women," said Lisa Lange, spokeswoman for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, asking to join advertisers like beer brewers who has boosted sales with images of scantily-clad women . -- from Planet Ark
CBS claimed that PETA's ad "raises significant taste concerns and has strong potential to offend significant numbers of viewers." I guess that's a privilege that CBS reserves for itself.
This story has actually received a fair amount of press over the last few days, and CBS has been on the receiving end of well-deserved jeers. What's less well reported is the fact that such bias is widespread and routine in the broadcast world, and is significantly restricting, even warping, the view of the world that is available to people who receive most of their information from broadcast media.
Adbusters, an activist group that criticizes and mocks consumerist "culture", has routinely been banned from purchasing airtime by all major broadcast networks (other then CNN, which acquiesced after some initial resistance.) The litany of reasons given for banning their ads ("Big Mac Attack", "Buy Nothing Day", etc.) is as damning as it is, occasionally, funny:
"We can't advertise something that's too controversial.... [w]e're a network and we're loyal to our advertisers." -- MTV
"[F]or a broadcast TV network things like boycotting television and anti-consumerism might not go over very well with our other advertisers." -- Fox Broadcast Corporation
"The character is seen burping." -- Channel 5, France
-- from Jan/Feb issue of Adbusters magazine
Now I recognize that a private business has the right to make decisions about what viewpoints it wishes to express, and isn't obligated to provide a soapbox to everyone who has an idea to shout out. But what about a marketplace where the availability of soapboxes is limited by artificial scarcity imposed by a government agency, as when broadcasting licences are controlled by the FCC? And is consolidation and centralized control of those scarce soapboxes, under any aegis, a good thing? (Discuss amongst yourselves, please.)
Last year, the FCC dismissed concerns about the effects of media consolidation on the diversity of viewpoints available to Americans. They were overwhelmingly vindicated this year, when CBS even-handedly accepted ads from all political viewpoints during the Super Bowl.
Oh, wait a minute. They didn't.
The network refused to let political activist group MoveOn buy airtime for an ad that criticizes the Bush administration's runaway deficit spending. That's political issue advocacy, said CBS, and, gosh, we can't allow that kind of stuff on the air. (Meanwhile, an ad from the Bush White House was run in its place.)
Another ad, from PETA, was also banned:
"We just want to be able to present our jiggly women," said Lisa Lange, spokeswoman for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, asking to join advertisers like beer brewers who has boosted sales with images of scantily-clad women . -- from Planet Ark
CBS claimed that PETA's ad "raises significant taste concerns and has strong potential to offend significant numbers of viewers." I guess that's a privilege that CBS reserves for itself.
This story has actually received a fair amount of press over the last few days, and CBS has been on the receiving end of well-deserved jeers. What's less well reported is the fact that such bias is widespread and routine in the broadcast world, and is significantly restricting, even warping, the view of the world that is available to people who receive most of their information from broadcast media.
Adbusters, an activist group that criticizes and mocks consumerist "culture", has routinely been banned from purchasing airtime by all major broadcast networks (other then CNN, which acquiesced after some initial resistance.) The litany of reasons given for banning their ads ("Big Mac Attack", "Buy Nothing Day", etc.) is as damning as it is, occasionally, funny:
"We can't advertise something that's too controversial.... [w]e're a network and we're loyal to our advertisers." -- MTV
"[F]or a broadcast TV network things like boycotting television and anti-consumerism might not go over very well with our other advertisers." -- Fox Broadcast Corporation
"The character is seen burping." -- Channel 5, France
-- from Jan/Feb issue of Adbusters magazine
Now I recognize that a private business has the right to make decisions about what viewpoints it wishes to express, and isn't obligated to provide a soapbox to everyone who has an idea to shout out. But what about a marketplace where the availability of soapboxes is limited by artificial scarcity imposed by a government agency, as when broadcasting licences are controlled by the FCC? And is consolidation and centralized control of those scarce soapboxes, under any aegis, a good thing? (Discuss amongst yourselves, please.)
Progress down under
While the U.S. persists in abandoning and scrapping railroad lines even as traffic increases and railroads experience "traffic meltdowns" with distressing frequency, the Aussies are laying new rails and adding new trains to the schedule. Maybe the folks Down Under know something the American bigwigs have forgotten.
While the U.S. persists in abandoning and scrapping railroad lines even as traffic increases and railroads experience "traffic meltdowns" with distressing frequency, the Aussies are laying new rails and adding new trains to the schedule. Maybe the folks Down Under know something the American bigwigs have forgotten.
Choice the screen as right....
One of the gifts I received at Christmas is an external hard drive for my computer. Sadly, the instruction manual seems to have been written by one of those legendary typing monkeys:
Step 1: Click on [start], choice the [control panel] in [setting],double click [system] and open [hard disk]. A screen appears as right.
"Step 2: You can see the USB2.0 hard Disk you just add. High light the USB Hard Disk and choice the [property], select [setting]. setting the USB2.0 Hard Disk to [removable].
"Step 3: After restart the system, a removable HDD is added to [My Computer] . Choice the removable HDD and click right bottom of mouse. Select the [format] to format your USB2.0 Hard Disk Drive.....
Unfortunately, none of the above results in the computer acknowledging the drive, either "after restart the system" or before, no matter what I "choice", no matter whether I "click right bottom of mouse" or somewhere else. I expect that I and their telephone technical-support staff will be spending much productive time together.
One of the gifts I received at Christmas is an external hard drive for my computer. Sadly, the instruction manual seems to have been written by one of those legendary typing monkeys:
Step 1: Click on [start], choice the [control panel] in [setting],double click [system] and open [hard disk]. A screen appears as right.
"Step 2: You can see the USB2.0 hard Disk you just add. High light the USB Hard Disk and choice the [property], select [setting]. setting the USB2.0 Hard Disk to [removable].
"Step 3: After restart the system, a removable HDD is added to [My Computer] . Choice the removable HDD and click right bottom of mouse. Select the [format] to format your USB2.0 Hard Disk Drive.....
Unfortunately, none of the above results in the computer acknowledging the drive, either "after restart the system" or before, no matter what I "choice", no matter whether I "click right bottom of mouse" or somewhere else. I expect that I and their telephone technical-support staff will be spending much productive time together.
Political preconceptions
It's interesting to watch people making assumptions right before your eyes.
Last week, while I was chatting with one of my colleagues at the reference desk, he casually asked me: "So, who are you voting for in the Democratic primary?"
It's apparently inconceivable that anyone working at a university could be anything other than a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat.
Little does he know that I am a secret servant... er, campaign worker... of Cthulhu For President! ("Why vote for a lesser evil?") I particularly like the Great Old One's statement of political positions ("Eat Them Up, Yum!"), and his associates' "Look-and-Feel" lawsuit against the Thing That Came From Redmond.
Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fthagn!
It's interesting to watch people making assumptions right before your eyes.
Last week, while I was chatting with one of my colleagues at the reference desk, he casually asked me: "So, who are you voting for in the Democratic primary?"
It's apparently inconceivable that anyone working at a university could be anything other than a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat.
Little does he know that I am a secret servant... er, campaign worker... of Cthulhu For President! ("Why vote for a lesser evil?") I particularly like the Great Old One's statement of political positions ("Eat Them Up, Yum!"), and his associates' "Look-and-Feel" lawsuit against the Thing That Came From Redmond.
Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fthagn!
Back from the Sunny Shore
Again, I've been delinquent about posting, but due to overwhelming public demand (thanks, Carlos), I'm back to harass, harangue, and generally blather away from my little virtual soapbox-in-the-ether.
I enjoyed the trip to California, although I quickly realized that the comfort level on crowded, long-distance late-night "cattle car" flights between major cities was going to be very different from what I was accustomed to on shorter and less crowded flights. I also realized that I much prefer flying out of small airports like those at this or thisrather than overcrowded, Dante-esque multi-terminal places like LA International. The Detroit Metro Airport is somewhere in between the two extremes, being fairly new, spacious, and more-or-less logically laid out.
Being trapped in LAX for eternity, with no boarding pass or means of leaving the airport, would be a fair approximation of Hell.
"Saint Barbie" is a very pretty town, but as usual, there's a catch. The median house price is about $550K, and the oh-so-chic residents have passed all kinds of entertaining laws to govern themselves. Among them is a requirement that all construction -- even a Burger King -- must be Spanish Colonial. Now I have nothing particularly against courtyards, or stucco walls, or tile roofs, but an entire city built in a uniformly "cute" architectural style is uncomfortably reminiscent of The Village. And, of course, there are precious few library jobs that will permit one to shell out a mil or two for a house. Most of the people who work in the library seem to commute for an hour or two each morning, and back again in the evening.
Talking with the folks at the library early on the morning of the interview quickly revealed that they were particularly interested in presentations involving electronic show-and-tell, so I scrapped the presentation I had planned to do (for which I was going to rely heavily on verbal interaction, handouts, etc.) and improvised a talk about a subject for which I had prepared an electronic research guide which was accessible on the Internet. I easily managed to fill the allotted time, since it was on a subject in which I have a particular personal interest, but not in a terribly organized fashion. Time will tell what the search committee thought about it.
Saturday was devoted to seeing the sights of Saint Barbie. The South Coast Railroad Museum, in a relocated depot building about a mile from the university, has a model railroad display depicting S.B. when it was a division point yard on the Southern Pacific's Coast Line, as well as a somewhat larger "model railroad" and other exhibits. Unfortunately, although the model railroad looks like it could be operated so as to duplicate the actual operations of the SP, I was informed that it's rarely used for anything but round-and-round display operation nowadays. The Mission and Presidio in were interesting, if a bit crowded in their built-up urban setting, and the State Street shopping district yielded a few interesting restaurants and bars, although the high rents have apparently driven out all the secondhand bookstores, leaving only the Two Big B's. (Those who think that I stood on principle and refused to buy anything from the B's don't know me very well.) A little Thai restaurant supplied a lamb curry with a fieriness balanced exquisitely on the line between pleasure and pain, and a glass of a locally-brewed pale ale provided a nice cool-and-sharp counterpoint. A few dubious business concepts made me shake my head, as when something called Bogart's Bar advertised "genuine Irish style".
Guess I didn't know His Coolness was Irish. (Shakes head, walks on down the street....)
Sunday was devoted to driving around aimlessly to see if I could find any place less grossly overpriced. The crooked, challenging highways through the startlingly jagged coastal mountain range were fun to drive, especially since the rental outfit at the airport had supplied me with a sexy black Mustang instead of the dowdy four-door midsize car I'd reserved. This sleek, sable FelixMobile surely struck fear into the hearts of other drivers on the road, especially when its driver suddenly realized that he needed to be three lanes over on the highway, or decided on the spur of the moment to veer into one of the sightseers' roadside parking spots overlooking a precipitous coastal cliff. It was almost cool enough that I could hold my head up amongst the ubiquitous Porsches and Beemers and Hummers.
"Saint Inez", located about twenty miles inland, proved to be almost as overpriced as Saint Barbie. A kindly and condescending real estate agent advised me to try about twenty or thirty miles further west, near the air force base. While eating a chicken-and-brie sandwich at a local winery/restaurant, I listened to the local horsey set chat about their concerns. The waiter was Hispanic and very obsequious. The historical society across the street was exquisitely decorated, hushed, and watched over by a very dignified lady who made it quite clear that she had better things to do than chat with the hoi polloi. While I was there, a nervous-looking blonde, in high heels and dressed to the nines, arrived for her appointment to discuss volunteering. Meanwhile, I looked over their well-preserved and/or professionally-restored collection of 19th-century carriages and stagecoaches and peered in the windows of what must be the world's smallest public library (a frame building, about 10 feet square, open only on Saturdays from 2 to 5).
The nearby "Saint Inez" mission was well-preserved, but between the Mass in progress and the sign (like the one in Saint Barbie) demanding a $4.00 ticket for a "self-guided tour", I decided I'd pass on anything more than a cursory walk around its exterior.
It's just as well. "Purity" Mission, out in a less crowded area, was a knockout by comparison. Less successful as a mission, it's more successful as a historical site. After being abandoned in the 1800's, it fell into ruins and was reconstructed as a historical site in the 1930's by the CCC, complete with rebuilt irrigation channels, animal corrals, workrooms, gardens, etc. I could easily have spent all day wandering around the place, and I couldn't help but think that it would be the ultimate site for a live-action Old West roleplaying game. Turns out that, according to one of the park rangers, it is in fact used as a set for television and film scenes from time to time.
(Feel free to make comments about me preferring churches as historical artifacts over churches as living institutions....)
This nearby town looked like a place I might be able to afford to live in, although by this time it was too late in the day to find any apartment leasing offices open. So I drove out to the local beach -- much more attractive, and cleaner, than the ones near Saint Barbie, with an Amtrak depot and railroad junction to boot! Unfortunately, although it was open on the day I visited, it seems one cannot count on that always being true.
Closed the day by following the Lompoc Branch of the railroad back to town, noting several modelable features (short length, attractive scenery including fields of commercially-grown flowers in addition to the aforementioned beachfront junction with the mainline, and a small-town terminal with a steeply-climbing switchback spur up San Miguelito Canyon to a plant producing diatomacious earth), then driving back to Santa Barbie via the incredibly constricted Gaviota Pass, which still looks much like this picture, except that the highway has been expanded by blasting a tunnel through one of the rock walls of this geographical chokepoint. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to commute along such a highway for an hour in and an hour back every weekday, especially if several hundred other people are having to make the same commute.
Gaviota Beach, where a towering iron trestle carries the Coast Line over the beach and a long fishing pier reaches out into the Pacific, seemed like a good place to watch the sun set and have a beer, after which it was back to the SB airport for an 8:00 departure. Or so I thought. When I got there, the folks at the United ticket counter, due to some unspecified problem with their scheduled flight, were frantically shunting all their ticketholders over to the American counter for transfer to an earlier flight. Okay. Despite being tagged for "special treatment" by the baggage-searchers, I managed to make the flight, but without a boarding pass for the connecting flight out of LAX.
Fortunately the "Northwest Club" staff at LAX were able to print me one with a minimum of delay, but they quietly made it clear that non-First Class riffraff were not quite welcome there, so I waited among the crowds of people waiting for an Air New Zealand flight.
My plan to sleep on the overnight flight back to Michigan worked about as well as you might expect, and arriving at 5:30 a.m. local time left me about as dazed as you might expect at work the next day... and the next.
And so back to normal. Or what passes for it.
Again, I've been delinquent about posting, but due to overwhelming public demand (thanks, Carlos), I'm back to harass, harangue, and generally blather away from my little virtual soapbox-in-the-ether.
I enjoyed the trip to California, although I quickly realized that the comfort level on crowded, long-distance late-night "cattle car" flights between major cities was going to be very different from what I was accustomed to on shorter and less crowded flights. I also realized that I much prefer flying out of small airports like those at this or thisrather than overcrowded, Dante-esque multi-terminal places like LA International. The Detroit Metro Airport is somewhere in between the two extremes, being fairly new, spacious, and more-or-less logically laid out.
Being trapped in LAX for eternity, with no boarding pass or means of leaving the airport, would be a fair approximation of Hell.
"Saint Barbie" is a very pretty town, but as usual, there's a catch. The median house price is about $550K, and the oh-so-chic residents have passed all kinds of entertaining laws to govern themselves. Among them is a requirement that all construction -- even a Burger King -- must be Spanish Colonial. Now I have nothing particularly against courtyards, or stucco walls, or tile roofs, but an entire city built in a uniformly "cute" architectural style is uncomfortably reminiscent of The Village. And, of course, there are precious few library jobs that will permit one to shell out a mil or two for a house. Most of the people who work in the library seem to commute for an hour or two each morning, and back again in the evening.
Talking with the folks at the library early on the morning of the interview quickly revealed that they were particularly interested in presentations involving electronic show-and-tell, so I scrapped the presentation I had planned to do (for which I was going to rely heavily on verbal interaction, handouts, etc.) and improvised a talk about a subject for which I had prepared an electronic research guide which was accessible on the Internet. I easily managed to fill the allotted time, since it was on a subject in which I have a particular personal interest, but not in a terribly organized fashion. Time will tell what the search committee thought about it.
Saturday was devoted to seeing the sights of Saint Barbie. The South Coast Railroad Museum, in a relocated depot building about a mile from the university, has a model railroad display depicting S.B. when it was a division point yard on the Southern Pacific's Coast Line, as well as a somewhat larger "model railroad" and other exhibits. Unfortunately, although the model railroad looks like it could be operated so as to duplicate the actual operations of the SP, I was informed that it's rarely used for anything but round-and-round display operation nowadays. The Mission and Presidio in were interesting, if a bit crowded in their built-up urban setting, and the State Street shopping district yielded a few interesting restaurants and bars, although the high rents have apparently driven out all the secondhand bookstores, leaving only the Two Big B's. (Those who think that I stood on principle and refused to buy anything from the B's don't know me very well.) A little Thai restaurant supplied a lamb curry with a fieriness balanced exquisitely on the line between pleasure and pain, and a glass of a locally-brewed pale ale provided a nice cool-and-sharp counterpoint. A few dubious business concepts made me shake my head, as when something called Bogart's Bar advertised "genuine Irish style".
Guess I didn't know His Coolness was Irish. (Shakes head, walks on down the street....)
Sunday was devoted to driving around aimlessly to see if I could find any place less grossly overpriced. The crooked, challenging highways through the startlingly jagged coastal mountain range were fun to drive, especially since the rental outfit at the airport had supplied me with a sexy black Mustang instead of the dowdy four-door midsize car I'd reserved. This sleek, sable FelixMobile surely struck fear into the hearts of other drivers on the road, especially when its driver suddenly realized that he needed to be three lanes over on the highway, or decided on the spur of the moment to veer into one of the sightseers' roadside parking spots overlooking a precipitous coastal cliff. It was almost cool enough that I could hold my head up amongst the ubiquitous Porsches and Beemers and Hummers.
"Saint Inez", located about twenty miles inland, proved to be almost as overpriced as Saint Barbie. A kindly and condescending real estate agent advised me to try about twenty or thirty miles further west, near the air force base. While eating a chicken-and-brie sandwich at a local winery/restaurant, I listened to the local horsey set chat about their concerns. The waiter was Hispanic and very obsequious. The historical society across the street was exquisitely decorated, hushed, and watched over by a very dignified lady who made it quite clear that she had better things to do than chat with the hoi polloi. While I was there, a nervous-looking blonde, in high heels and dressed to the nines, arrived for her appointment to discuss volunteering. Meanwhile, I looked over their well-preserved and/or professionally-restored collection of 19th-century carriages and stagecoaches and peered in the windows of what must be the world's smallest public library (a frame building, about 10 feet square, open only on Saturdays from 2 to 5).
The nearby "Saint Inez" mission was well-preserved, but between the Mass in progress and the sign (like the one in Saint Barbie) demanding a $4.00 ticket for a "self-guided tour", I decided I'd pass on anything more than a cursory walk around its exterior.
It's just as well. "Purity" Mission, out in a less crowded area, was a knockout by comparison. Less successful as a mission, it's more successful as a historical site. After being abandoned in the 1800's, it fell into ruins and was reconstructed as a historical site in the 1930's by the CCC, complete with rebuilt irrigation channels, animal corrals, workrooms, gardens, etc. I could easily have spent all day wandering around the place, and I couldn't help but think that it would be the ultimate site for a live-action Old West roleplaying game. Turns out that, according to one of the park rangers, it is in fact used as a set for television and film scenes from time to time.
(Feel free to make comments about me preferring churches as historical artifacts over churches as living institutions....)
This nearby town looked like a place I might be able to afford to live in, although by this time it was too late in the day to find any apartment leasing offices open. So I drove out to the local beach -- much more attractive, and cleaner, than the ones near Saint Barbie, with an Amtrak depot and railroad junction to boot! Unfortunately, although it was open on the day I visited, it seems one cannot count on that always being true.
Closed the day by following the Lompoc Branch of the railroad back to town, noting several modelable features (short length, attractive scenery including fields of commercially-grown flowers in addition to the aforementioned beachfront junction with the mainline, and a small-town terminal with a steeply-climbing switchback spur up San Miguelito Canyon to a plant producing diatomacious earth), then driving back to Santa Barbie via the incredibly constricted Gaviota Pass, which still looks much like this picture, except that the highway has been expanded by blasting a tunnel through one of the rock walls of this geographical chokepoint. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to commute along such a highway for an hour in and an hour back every weekday, especially if several hundred other people are having to make the same commute.
Gaviota Beach, where a towering iron trestle carries the Coast Line over the beach and a long fishing pier reaches out into the Pacific, seemed like a good place to watch the sun set and have a beer, after which it was back to the SB airport for an 8:00 departure. Or so I thought. When I got there, the folks at the United ticket counter, due to some unspecified problem with their scheduled flight, were frantically shunting all their ticketholders over to the American counter for transfer to an earlier flight. Okay. Despite being tagged for "special treatment" by the baggage-searchers, I managed to make the flight, but without a boarding pass for the connecting flight out of LAX.
Fortunately the "Northwest Club" staff at LAX were able to print me one with a minimum of delay, but they quietly made it clear that non-First Class riffraff were not quite welcome there, so I waited among the crowds of people waiting for an Air New Zealand flight.
My plan to sleep on the overnight flight back to Michigan worked about as well as you might expect, and arriving at 5:30 a.m. local time left me about as dazed as you might expect at work the next day... and the next.
And so back to normal. Or what passes for it.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Goin' back to Cali
Tomorrow I'm off on another trip, this time to the sunny California shore. Rather ironic, considering how often I've characterized California as the Cereal Bowl of the Nation (i.e., fruits, nuts, and flakes!). Perhaps I've finally become eccentric enough to fit in there, lounging in decadent lassitude on the Pacific shore, waiting for the Big One.
In any case, January is a good time to spend an expense-paid weekend outside of Michigan.
Tomorrow I'm off on another trip, this time to the sunny California shore. Rather ironic, considering how often I've characterized California as the Cereal Bowl of the Nation (i.e., fruits, nuts, and flakes!). Perhaps I've finally become eccentric enough to fit in there, lounging in decadent lassitude on the Pacific shore, waiting for the Big One.
In any case, January is a good time to spend an expense-paid weekend outside of Michigan.
Guide to Pr*blematical Listserv Posters
If I ever compile a "Top Ten List of Signs You Spend Too Much Time Reading Library Weblogs And Listservs", one of them is going to be the following:
#: Seeing the name "Don S*kl*d", or the phrase "Guide to Pr*blematical Library Use", or any reference whatsoever to the B*st*n Public Library, makes you scream in fury and lunge for the delete key. Over... and over... and over... and over.... and over....
See why here. But only if you're very, very brave. Or bored. I've been known to be a cranky and obsessive library user from time to time, but this guy takes the cake. He has a couple of weblogs of his own which the interested can easily find by searching Google, but I ain't postin' no links to 'em. It's enough of a nuisance that his name shows up a dozen times a day in my e'mail inbox whenever he decides to harangue one of the listservs I'm on. (And, no, the e'mail service I'm using doesn't allow for mail blocking unless you pony up cash for the "Platinum" option. Grrr.)
If I ever compile a "Top Ten List of Signs You Spend Too Much Time Reading Library Weblogs And Listservs", one of them is going to be the following:
#: Seeing the name "Don S*kl*d", or the phrase "Guide to Pr*blematical Library Use", or any reference whatsoever to the B*st*n Public Library, makes you scream in fury and lunge for the delete key. Over... and over... and over... and over.... and over....
See why here. But only if you're very, very brave. Or bored. I've been known to be a cranky and obsessive library user from time to time, but this guy takes the cake. He has a couple of weblogs of his own which the interested can easily find by searching Google, but I ain't postin' no links to 'em. It's enough of a nuisance that his name shows up a dozen times a day in my e'mail inbox whenever he decides to harangue one of the listservs I'm on. (And, no, the e'mail service I'm using doesn't allow for mail blocking unless you pony up cash for the "Platinum" option. Grrr.)
This isn't a weblog, it's a bicycle club!
So says the occasionally-sensible Walt Crawford. Whee! Let's all ride our bikes and have fun!
So says the occasionally-sensible Walt Crawford. Whee! Let's all ride our bikes and have fun!
Monday, January 19, 2004
More dangerous reading
We've all probably heard about the FBI's recent warnings about terrorists using almanacs as Tools of Terror. But that's not all they're looking for....
Robert Mueller III, director of the FBI, explains in the current issue of American Libraries that "I am personally committed to fighting the war on terrorism without violating the principles of civil liberty and privacy that make this country great...." He says also that "We must recognize, however, that libraries and their services occasionally attract individuals involved in criminal conduct, including terrorism and espionage." Ted Kaczynski, the good ol' Unabomber, is trotted out as an example:
"Included within the [Unabomber's] manifesto were references to an obscure book, The Ancient Engineers, by L. Sprague De Camp. A librarian in Montana near Kaczynski's home told FBI agents that Kaczynski had ordered 'tons of stuff' on L. Sprague de Camp. Kaczynski was subsequently arrested and convicted for his role in a string of bombings."
Huh? Am I missing something, or are there a few gaps in his logic here?
It's a little odd to characterize de Camp's The Ancient Engineers as "obscure". De Camp was an extremely prolific writer of science fiction, fantasy, and nonfiction, and the winner of several science fiction and fantasy award, most notably the Hugo Award in 1997. At one time or another, I've seen copies of that particular book on the bargain-books rack of just about every Barnes & Noble store I've been to, as well as in numerous used-bookstores. OCLC WorldCat reports that 1028 libraries own the 1963 original edition, with hundreds more owning copies of subsequent editions that came out in 1966, 1970, 1974, 1976, 1977, 1986, and 1990. Does the FBI really think that reading, owning, or requesting a copy of this book, or 'tons of stuff' about its author, is a "terrorist" characteristic? If so, we've got an awful lot of terrorists out there. Enough to make de Camp a bestselling author in his heyday, and enough to vote a Hugo Award to him in 1997. If this is the case, considering that I like to read about old technology, read science fiction, and lived in the same city as de Camp, I have no idea how I managed to avoid becoming a Terrorist.
I note that Mr. Mueller is rather vague about just what connection there is between Kaczynski's reading of de Camp, FBI's snooping into his library records, and his "subsequent" arrest. Does he mean to say that the references to de Camp's book in the Unabomber's manuscript, and some kind of mass trawling through library records for "people who read L. Sprague de Camp", were the critical evidence that allowed the FBI to identify and arrest Kaczynski?
My recollection of the events is that the FBI and other police agencies actually identified and arrested Kaczynski only after his brother recognized his writing style in the published manifesto and turned him in. (See Wikipedia's entry on Kaczynski.) If the FBI inquired into Kaczynski's library records after that point, it was (1) after the case had effectively been broken, and (2) with critical evidence identifying a suspect already in hand -- evidence that evidently met the existing requirements for library disclosure, pre-"PATRIOT" ACT.
Does Mr. Mueller intend to say that if the FBI had had "PATRIOT"-style powers of inquisition at that time, they would have conducted a massive, nationwide fishing expedition through library and bookstore records for the names of everybody who had read best-selling authors like de Camp, Joseph Conrad, Eric Hoffer and other authors cited by the Unabomber? And then somehow magically identified the "right" one from that massive list? What of all those who read de Camp, Hoffer, et al in pure, unblemished innocence? 'Fraid yours truly is "guilty" of reading all three. Although I may be more bookish than most of the population, it seems likely that there are thousands of others who fit the same definition.
In any event, this example is, if anything, an example of why the so-called "Patriot" Act was unneeded. Evidently the FBI got the necessary information about Kaczynski under the pre-existing system. The claim that this supports the "need" for at-will and unsupervised surveillance of all American citizens' reading and researching habits is unjustified.
We've all probably heard about the FBI's recent warnings about terrorists using almanacs as Tools of Terror. But that's not all they're looking for....
Robert Mueller III, director of the FBI, explains in the current issue of American Libraries that "I am personally committed to fighting the war on terrorism without violating the principles of civil liberty and privacy that make this country great...." He says also that "We must recognize, however, that libraries and their services occasionally attract individuals involved in criminal conduct, including terrorism and espionage." Ted Kaczynski, the good ol' Unabomber, is trotted out as an example:
"Included within the [Unabomber's] manifesto were references to an obscure book, The Ancient Engineers, by L. Sprague De Camp. A librarian in Montana near Kaczynski's home told FBI agents that Kaczynski had ordered 'tons of stuff' on L. Sprague de Camp. Kaczynski was subsequently arrested and convicted for his role in a string of bombings."
Huh? Am I missing something, or are there a few gaps in his logic here?
It's a little odd to characterize de Camp's The Ancient Engineers as "obscure". De Camp was an extremely prolific writer of science fiction, fantasy, and nonfiction, and the winner of several science fiction and fantasy award, most notably the Hugo Award in 1997. At one time or another, I've seen copies of that particular book on the bargain-books rack of just about every Barnes & Noble store I've been to, as well as in numerous used-bookstores. OCLC WorldCat reports that 1028 libraries own the 1963 original edition, with hundreds more owning copies of subsequent editions that came out in 1966, 1970, 1974, 1976, 1977, 1986, and 1990. Does the FBI really think that reading, owning, or requesting a copy of this book, or 'tons of stuff' about its author, is a "terrorist" characteristic? If so, we've got an awful lot of terrorists out there. Enough to make de Camp a bestselling author in his heyday, and enough to vote a Hugo Award to him in 1997. If this is the case, considering that I like to read about old technology, read science fiction, and lived in the same city as de Camp, I have no idea how I managed to avoid becoming a Terrorist.
I note that Mr. Mueller is rather vague about just what connection there is between Kaczynski's reading of de Camp, FBI's snooping into his library records, and his "subsequent" arrest. Does he mean to say that the references to de Camp's book in the Unabomber's manuscript, and some kind of mass trawling through library records for "people who read L. Sprague de Camp", were the critical evidence that allowed the FBI to identify and arrest Kaczynski?
My recollection of the events is that the FBI and other police agencies actually identified and arrested Kaczynski only after his brother recognized his writing style in the published manifesto and turned him in. (See Wikipedia's entry on Kaczynski.) If the FBI inquired into Kaczynski's library records after that point, it was (1) after the case had effectively been broken, and (2) with critical evidence identifying a suspect already in hand -- evidence that evidently met the existing requirements for library disclosure, pre-"PATRIOT" ACT.
Does Mr. Mueller intend to say that if the FBI had had "PATRIOT"-style powers of inquisition at that time, they would have conducted a massive, nationwide fishing expedition through library and bookstore records for the names of everybody who had read best-selling authors like de Camp, Joseph Conrad, Eric Hoffer and other authors cited by the Unabomber? And then somehow magically identified the "right" one from that massive list? What of all those who read de Camp, Hoffer, et al in pure, unblemished innocence? 'Fraid yours truly is "guilty" of reading all three. Although I may be more bookish than most of the population, it seems likely that there are thousands of others who fit the same definition.
In any event, this example is, if anything, an example of why the so-called "Patriot" Act was unneeded. Evidently the FBI got the necessary information about Kaczynski under the pre-existing system. The claim that this supports the "need" for at-will and unsupervised surveillance of all American citizens' reading and researching habits is unjustified.
Recent Reads:
Meals by Fred Harvey : a phenomenon of the American West, by James David Henderson
Since I have a few relatives with the same surname, who lived in the same general area at the same general time that Mr. Harvey was starting his chain of restaurants, I had idly wondered whether there might be a family connection to the man who history credits with bringing both edible food and marriagable single women (the famous Harvey Girl waitresses) to the Western frontier. Unfortunately, what biographical information there was in this short book pretty well nixed that idea. It was an interesting read anyway; if I ever decide to build a western-themed model railroad module, a Harvey House restaurant would be an interesting item to include. (If you look closely at this photo, the Slaton Harvey House appears to have received coal by railcar, and according to the book, Harvey frequently had refrigerator cars of produce and meat routed to his restaurants, adding some local freight switching operations to the mandatory passenger-train stops.)
Meals by Fred Harvey : a phenomenon of the American West, by James David Henderson
Since I have a few relatives with the same surname, who lived in the same general area at the same general time that Mr. Harvey was starting his chain of restaurants, I had idly wondered whether there might be a family connection to the man who history credits with bringing both edible food and marriagable single women (the famous Harvey Girl waitresses) to the Western frontier. Unfortunately, what biographical information there was in this short book pretty well nixed that idea. It was an interesting read anyway; if I ever decide to build a western-themed model railroad module, a Harvey House restaurant would be an interesting item to include. (If you look closely at this photo, the Slaton Harvey House appears to have received coal by railcar, and according to the book, Harvey frequently had refrigerator cars of produce and meat routed to his restaurants, adding some local freight switching operations to the mandatory passenger-train stops.)
Insert obligatory pun here
From the Jan. 2004 issue of Locus, p. 13:
Follow the Pulp Paper Road : Two and a half million return copies of old Mills and Boon romance novels, or 92,000 books per mile, were used to produce a new 16-mile stretch of the M6 toll road in Birmingham UK. "Unsold copies of the books were shredded into a paste and added to a mixture of asphalt and Tamac," which "helps to bind the asphalt and the Tarmac, preventing the surface from splitting apart after heavy use." Project manager Richard Beal said, "There is an old saying that the road to true love doesn't run smoothly but thanks to thousands of Mills and Boon romance novels we hope that the M6 toll will."
From the Jan. 2004 issue of Locus, p. 13:
Follow the Pulp Paper Road : Two and a half million return copies of old Mills and Boon romance novels, or 92,000 books per mile, were used to produce a new 16-mile stretch of the M6 toll road in Birmingham UK. "Unsold copies of the books were shredded into a paste and added to a mixture of asphalt and Tamac," which "helps to bind the asphalt and the Tarmac, preventing the surface from splitting apart after heavy use." Project manager Richard Beal said, "There is an old saying that the road to true love doesn't run smoothly but thanks to thousands of Mills and Boon romance novels we hope that the M6 toll will."
Thursday, January 15, 2004
Pulp fiction reference tools
Since I brought up pulp fiction in the previous post, I'll be a dutiful librarian and mention a few online reference sources that should gladden the heart of pulp readers everywhere.
According to a posting on the Stumpers-L listserv, Gordon Van Gelder, the editor of the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction has recently announced a comprehensive online index covering stories and other items published in F&SF from 1949 to 1999. This includes the first appearances of quite a few stories by well-known authors like Robert Heinlein, Alfred Bester, et al. Now, if only more libraries had the indexed volumes on the shelves for easy access....
The FictionMags Index provides spotty but useful coverage of fiction published in many of the classic pulps such as Railroad Stories and The Shadow, as well as publications both more respectable (The Saturday Evening Post) and considerably less (Spicy Stories , Playboy, and the intriguingly titled Naughty Bits)
And of course there are always the Locus indexes.
Have fun. Drive your local interlibrary loan department crazy. Don't tell 'em I sent you.
Since I brought up pulp fiction in the previous post, I'll be a dutiful librarian and mention a few online reference sources that should gladden the heart of pulp readers everywhere.
According to a posting on the Stumpers-L listserv, Gordon Van Gelder, the editor of the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction has recently announced a comprehensive online index covering stories and other items published in F&SF from 1949 to 1999. This includes the first appearances of quite a few stories by well-known authors like Robert Heinlein, Alfred Bester, et al. Now, if only more libraries had the indexed volumes on the shelves for easy access....
The FictionMags Index provides spotty but useful coverage of fiction published in many of the classic pulps such as Railroad Stories and The Shadow, as well as publications both more respectable (The Saturday Evening Post) and considerably less (Spicy Stories , Playboy, and the intriguingly titled Naughty Bits)
And of course there are always the Locus indexes.
Have fun. Drive your local interlibrary loan department crazy. Don't tell 'em I sent you.
Isn't it Romantic?
Jen Wolf has created a fun webpage honoring the sub-sub-subgenre of Library Career Romance novels, a subset of the Career Girl novel of the 1950's, itself a subset of Women's Novels, which is in turn a subset of Pulp Fiction in my own peculiar taxonomy. Who knew that working in libraries was such a whirl of glamour and romance?
Be sure to check out the cover images and excerpts supplied. For example:
"Sue sighed. She was still disappointed that she hadn’t gotten the job at the Main Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. She had been so sure she would get it. Her pride still ached when she thought of the homeliest girl in the class enjoying that coveted position, even though Sue knew that grades, not looks, were the deciding factor. Sue wasn’t looking forward at all to hacking around in the frozen north. But at least it was a job, a temporary job. Sue bit her lip. Now that it was too late, she wished that she’d studied harder. She knew she could have been near the top of her class in library school if only she’d tried. Then she could have had her choice of jobs. [from Books and Beaux]
Or consider this moment of epiphany from Anne Fuller, Librarian:
The microfilm reader fascinated Anne. It had been so helpful in the libraries where she had worked the last two summers. But she had never before had the responsibility of a machine, as she did now. She arrived early on her second day and went to the metal cabinet beside the machine to study the films which the library had collected. It still seemed a miracle to her that the contents of a whole book, or a big issue of a newspaper, could be recorded on a small roll of film less than two inches wide. [p. 67]
Unfortunately, not a single one of these worthy tomes holds out a scintilla of hope for men in the library profession to Find True Love. Presumably truly Manly Men of the 1950's were expected to be off fighting the Cold War, building Chevys, and generally being Manly while demure Anne gawked at the miraculous microfilm machine. (Don't tell her about the Internet; she'll fall down in a dead faint!)
(Link ripped from Jessamyn West, the sine-qua-non of library bloggers.)
Jen Wolf has created a fun webpage honoring the sub-sub-subgenre of Library Career Romance novels, a subset of the Career Girl novel of the 1950's, itself a subset of Women's Novels, which is in turn a subset of Pulp Fiction in my own peculiar taxonomy. Who knew that working in libraries was such a whirl of glamour and romance?
Be sure to check out the cover images and excerpts supplied. For example:
"Sue sighed. She was still disappointed that she hadn’t gotten the job at the Main Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. She had been so sure she would get it. Her pride still ached when she thought of the homeliest girl in the class enjoying that coveted position, even though Sue knew that grades, not looks, were the deciding factor. Sue wasn’t looking forward at all to hacking around in the frozen north. But at least it was a job, a temporary job. Sue bit her lip. Now that it was too late, she wished that she’d studied harder. She knew she could have been near the top of her class in library school if only she’d tried. Then she could have had her choice of jobs. [from Books and Beaux]
Or consider this moment of epiphany from Anne Fuller, Librarian:
The microfilm reader fascinated Anne. It had been so helpful in the libraries where she had worked the last two summers. But she had never before had the responsibility of a machine, as she did now. She arrived early on her second day and went to the metal cabinet beside the machine to study the films which the library had collected. It still seemed a miracle to her that the contents of a whole book, or a big issue of a newspaper, could be recorded on a small roll of film less than two inches wide. [p. 67]
Unfortunately, not a single one of these worthy tomes holds out a scintilla of hope for men in the library profession to Find True Love. Presumably truly Manly Men of the 1950's were expected to be off fighting the Cold War, building Chevys, and generally being Manly while demure Anne gawked at the miraculous microfilm machine. (Don't tell her about the Internet; she'll fall down in a dead faint!)
(Link ripped from Jessamyn West, the sine-qua-non of library bloggers.)
Now playing...
Del and the Boys (Del McCoury Band, 2000)
It don't get much more country than this. I have sometimes winced at the so-called "high lonesome" sound of bluegrass music, and at the cliched images of "hillbillies" that too often accompany it in places like "Dollywood" or "Silver Dollar City". But against all expectations, I enjoyed this album immensely, and it reminded me that bluegrass has a far greater and deeper heritage than the cornball cliches of "Hee-Haw", one that I need to explore.
True, McCoury's voice at full blast has some of the sonic qualities of a high-speed bandsaw cutting through sheet metal, but so help me, it works on these songs. Although there's one instrumental number on the album, and Del's band (including his two sons) plays blazing licks throughout, most of the songs, like the traditional folk ballads and gospel songs that gave birth to the bluegrass genre, depend on the lyrics as much as the music for their impact. They're songs that tell stories drawn from the weird and phantasmagorical world of backwoods American folklore, where angels or devils can lurk behind the faces of strangers on trains or the temptations of the whiskey bottle, and McCoury's their ideal storyteller. As sung by McCoury, a song like "1952 Vincent Black Lightning", a rather tawdry tale of an ill-fated biker and his red-haired girlfriend, becomes high drama despite itself. Even slightly-over-the-top bits like the protagonist's fashion comments ("Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme!") and the dying words of a man who sees "angels on aerials / in leather and chrome / comin' down from Heaven / to carry me home" work amazingly well when belted out in McCoury's urgent backcountry twang.
Elsewhere in the album, "All Aboard"manages to bring one of the oldest tropes in the gospel-songwriters' book to vivid, nerve-jangling life, and "Pharisee in Recovery" manages to be both humorously self-deprecating and Biblically sound. The latter song, if I had my way, would be required listening for all church officials of all denominations.
Del and the Boys (Del McCoury Band, 2000)
It don't get much more country than this. I have sometimes winced at the so-called "high lonesome" sound of bluegrass music, and at the cliched images of "hillbillies" that too often accompany it in places like "Dollywood" or "Silver Dollar City". But against all expectations, I enjoyed this album immensely, and it reminded me that bluegrass has a far greater and deeper heritage than the cornball cliches of "Hee-Haw", one that I need to explore.
True, McCoury's voice at full blast has some of the sonic qualities of a high-speed bandsaw cutting through sheet metal, but so help me, it works on these songs. Although there's one instrumental number on the album, and Del's band (including his two sons) plays blazing licks throughout, most of the songs, like the traditional folk ballads and gospel songs that gave birth to the bluegrass genre, depend on the lyrics as much as the music for their impact. They're songs that tell stories drawn from the weird and phantasmagorical world of backwoods American folklore, where angels or devils can lurk behind the faces of strangers on trains or the temptations of the whiskey bottle, and McCoury's their ideal storyteller. As sung by McCoury, a song like "1952 Vincent Black Lightning", a rather tawdry tale of an ill-fated biker and his red-haired girlfriend, becomes high drama despite itself. Even slightly-over-the-top bits like the protagonist's fashion comments ("Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme!") and the dying words of a man who sees "angels on aerials / in leather and chrome / comin' down from Heaven / to carry me home" work amazingly well when belted out in McCoury's urgent backcountry twang.
Elsewhere in the album, "All Aboard"manages to bring one of the oldest tropes in the gospel-songwriters' book to vivid, nerve-jangling life, and "Pharisee in Recovery" manages to be both humorously self-deprecating and Biblically sound. The latter song, if I had my way, would be required listening for all church officials of all denominations.
Total Information Hypocrisy
From US News & World Report, January 12, 2004, p 6.
Shushing Homeland
Security is one thing, but how about this from the Department of Homeland Security? The agency has instructed employees to ignore, in some cases, court orders to disclose information. The agency says that an employee who gets a court order should seek a delay. And if he or she is unsuccessful and the court persists, the employee "shall respectfully decline to comply with the demand."
"Rule of Law"? Yeah, right. Thanks to the LU List.
From US News & World Report, January 12, 2004, p 6.
Shushing Homeland
Security is one thing, but how about this from the Department of Homeland Security? The agency has instructed employees to ignore, in some cases, court orders to disclose information. The agency says that an employee who gets a court order should seek a delay. And if he or she is unsuccessful and the court persists, the employee "shall respectfully decline to comply with the demand."
"Rule of Law"? Yeah, right. Thanks to the LU List.
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Thunder, Thunder over Bunny Road!
CNN reports that a pair of Belgian desperadoes were recently captured by police despite having a car tricked out with enough gadgetry to satisfy James Bond or Lucas Doolin.
[The car was] reinforced with metal plates to stop bullets. [It} was also equipped with an automated box ready to spring tire traps to slow pursuers. The poachers had fitted a halogen lamp on the outside to blind their prey and shielded the car's number plates with lead sheeting to avoid identification. There was also a device to eject two old bicycles fixed on the back of the car on to the road as an obstacle to any vehicle in hot pursuit....
And the valuable, illicit cargo these daring highwaymen were smuggling? Bootleg liquor? Cocaine? Stolen artwork? Pirated DVD's? Nope. Rabbits.
All together now....
(CHORUS)
And there was (hippity-hop, hippity-hop!) over Thunder Road
(Hippity-hop!) was their engine, and (Hippity-hop!) was their load....
(Real lyrics here.)
With that kind of imagination and mechanical ability, couldn't these guys find anything more, uh, interesting to smuggle?
CNN reports that a pair of Belgian desperadoes were recently captured by police despite having a car tricked out with enough gadgetry to satisfy James Bond or Lucas Doolin.
[The car was] reinforced with metal plates to stop bullets. [It} was also equipped with an automated box ready to spring tire traps to slow pursuers. The poachers had fitted a halogen lamp on the outside to blind their prey and shielded the car's number plates with lead sheeting to avoid identification. There was also a device to eject two old bicycles fixed on the back of the car on to the road as an obstacle to any vehicle in hot pursuit....
And the valuable, illicit cargo these daring highwaymen were smuggling? Bootleg liquor? Cocaine? Stolen artwork? Pirated DVD's? Nope. Rabbits.
All together now....
(CHORUS)
And there was (hippity-hop, hippity-hop!) over Thunder Road
(Hippity-hop!) was their engine, and (Hippity-hop!) was their load....
(Real lyrics here.)
With that kind of imagination and mechanical ability, couldn't these guys find anything more, uh, interesting to smuggle?
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Guess I'm not the only one with a dirty mind
The city's most prominent and best-known landmark has been officially acknowledged as the World's Most Phallic Building.
Original contest and story from Cabinet magazine available here; text of historical marker plaque here.
The city's most prominent and best-known landmark has been officially acknowledged as the World's Most Phallic Building.
Original contest and story from Cabinet magazine available here; text of historical marker plaque here.
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