la la land

Willick1

There is a paradox in attempting to define Los Angeles art both past and present. In fact, the problem of definition is a broader one and is related to the nature of the city itself. The moment one tries to pinpoint what exactly Los Angeles is, one simplifies and distorts its complex diversity. Likewise, Los Angeles art of the recent past, which at its best is unsettling, broadens and challenges long established constructs of post-World War II art history. For example, L.A. artists such as Ed Ruscha, Judy Chicago, and Raymond Pettibon defy simple categorization. Is Ruscha a Pop or Conceptual artist? How are Chicago’s Minimalist sculptures and smoke performances related to her Feminist art? Where do Pettibon’s punk album covers fit in relation to postmodernism? Two recent art exhibitions, the Centre Pompidou’s Los Angeles 1955-1985: A Birth of an Artistic Capital and Translucence: Southern California Art from the 1960s and 1970s at the Norton Simon Museum, offer us divergent approaches to displaying and understanding Los Angeles’ art history. Where the Pompidou’s large-scale retrospective in Paris attempts to make sense of thirty years of L.A. art, the Norton Simon exhibition in Pasadena, California, focuses on a small group of like-minded artists working roughly at the same time. Though remarkably different in scale and approach, both exhibitions expand our understanding of what is, and can be, the value of Los Angeles art.

more from X-TRA here.

phantom limbs

Wood1

blockquote>In the mid-sixteenth century, the great French surgeon Ambroise Paré discovered what he described as a “strange and grievous fact.” As surgeon to François I, Paré had accompanied the king on military campaigns of exceptional brutality. Thousands of French cavalrymen were killed and wounded by arquebuses, precursors of the musket that looked like small hand-held cannons and could blast even the most heavily armored bodies to pieces. Paré treated the wounds made by these weapons with turpentine and rose water, and he pioneered a safer method of amputation. But while creating his signature tourniquets, he found he could not tie up arteries without bruising nerves as well. The “strange and grievous fact” that arose as a consequence was that men who had lost their limbs felt the limbs to be still there. Not only did the patients imagine them, but they sometimes felt pain in these limbs, tried to walk on their non-existent legs, or reach for objects with a missing arm. Paré designed artificial body parts for his amputees, beautiful constructions to be made in metal by armorers, but he could do nothing for these strange configurations of the mind.

Paré was the first to set down the phenomenon in writing; centuries later, in the course of another war, the writer and neurologist Silas Weir Mitchell gave it a name. He said his patients were suffering from “phantom limbs”— since these “vivid hallucinations” were in fact a form of haunting. “Nearly every man who loses a limb,” Mitchell wrote, “carries about with him a constant or inconstant phantom of the missing member, a sensory ghost of that much of himself.”

more from Cabinet here.

MY GOD PROBLEM

Natalie Angier in The Edge:

Angier200 So, on the issue of mainstream monotheistic religions and the irrationality behind many of religion’s core tenets, scientists often set aside their skewers, their snark, and their impatient demand for proof, and instead don the calming cardigan of a a kiddie-show host on public television. They reassure the public that religion and science are not at odds with one another, but rather that they represent separate “magisteria,” in the words of the formerly alive and even more formerly scrappy Stephen Jay Gould. Nobody is going to ask people to give up their faith, their belief in an everlasting soul accompanied by an immortal memory of every soccer game their kids won, every moment they spent playing fetch with the dog. Nobody is going to mock you for your religious beliefs. Well, we might if you base your life decisions on the advice of a Ouija board; but if you want to believe that someday you’ll be seated at a celestial banquet with your long-dead father to your right and Jane Austen to your left-and that she’ll want to talk to you for another hundred million years or more—that’s your private reliquary, and we’re not here to jimmy the lock.

More here.

Abracadabra! A Classic Magic Trick Fools Expectations, Not Eyes

From Scientific American:

Juggle Like tricking a dog into chasing a stick that is not thrown, a stage magician can create the illusion she has tossed a ball into the air when actually she has palmed it. Researchers report that the illusion, which they found could be rather convincing, results simply from watching the magician’s face and not from glancing where the palmed ball would have traveled. “People claim they’re looking at the ball but really they’re making use of social cues,” says a co-author of the report, psychologist and magician Gustav Kuhn of the University of Durham in England.

A magician performing the trick tosses a ball in the air twice and then pantomimes a third throw. “It’s one of these standard tricks in magic. I knew that it was quite powerful,” Kuhn says. To study the source of its power, Kuhn and his colleague Michael Land of the University of Sussex in Brighton, England, videotaped Kuhn doing the trick in two ways: on the final fake throw, he would either look up where the ball should have flown or he would look down at his hand.

More here.

Ern Malley: Doppelgänger in the Desert

Australian poet and author Peter Nicholson writes 3QD‘s Poetry and Culture column (see other columns here). There is an introduction to his work at peternicholson.com.au and at the NLA.

Here is the curious (curioser and curioser) case of Ern Malley, an entirely fictional poet, invented in 1943 to expose what the perpetrators thought of as Modernism’s foolishness. James McAuley and Harold Stewart spent an afternoon, apparently, putting together assimilations of quotations and extracts from policy documents about the breeding of mosquitoes, and other sources. Their friend, the poet A. D. Hope watched, at a distance, over these events. McAuley and Stewart created a poet, Malley, a garage mechanic who had unfortunately succumbed to Graves’ disease at exactly the same age as Keats, leaving behind him a manuscript, carefully worn to look like the real thing. Malley’s ‘sister’ Ethel sent the manuscript of The Darkening Ecliptic to Max Harris, editor of the avant-garde literary magazine Angry Penguins, who published the work enthusiastically. (Angry Penguins comes from a Harris poem: ‘as drunks, the angry penguins of the night’.) Then followed the revelation of the hoax, much to the chagrin of Harris. Subsequent charges of publishing an indecent work added to the surreal aura surrounding this cause célèbre in Australian literary history.

Australia certainly has a lot of desert to contend with, but there can be deserts in the mind too, and the Ern Malley affair, as it has come to be known, does show a certain propensity for literary politicking and obstructionism that has not been without subsequent issue. It might be argued that the Malley affair gives a foretaste of the navel-gazing propensities of the poetry world which the general public have subsequently given the cold shoulder. The free exchange of ideas, generally regarded as the sine qua non of intellectual discourse, has sometimes had a hard time of it in Australia. Even now, one is likely to encounter violent squalls that would frighten the birds from the sky, or provide satirists with fruitful fodder. Fortunately, the Internet demolished all the old redoubts and, at last, there now really is a free exchange of ideas. All the same, I don’t think Australian culture is nearly as well known as it ought to be, though some recent successes of the film industry and the opening of the Aboriginal art component of the Branly museum in Paris show positive moves forward.

One would have thought the Ern Malley character and his literary works might have died off subsequent to the revelations of the hoax, but such has not been the case. There is something in the character of Malley, some aspect of the Australian temperament, which still appeals to writers, painters and composers. The artists Sidney Nolan and Garry Shead both produced a series of works based on Malley. There has been an Ern Malley jazz suite. Peter Carey wrote a novel that used the Malley story as a template—My Life As A Fake. After all, the mechanic who died so young, mirrors many a real tragedy—Henry Lawson’s alcoholism, Francis Webb’s struggles with schizophrenia, Brett Whiteley’s drug overdose in a Thirroul motel room. These were artists who had achieved important art. They had been recognised. Yet their deaths raised the lingering question—did art really matter in the wide, brown land? Was seriousness possible in a country that took a pride on kicking the stuffing out of anyone who took themselves seriously enough to take art seriously? Sidney Nolan’s brutal Malley portrait would seem to suggest a certain self-loathing, or hopelessness. It seemed there was always going to be the doppelgänger waiting in the desert to pull the mat from under artistic pretensions, either the artist’s lesser self, doubting the art made, or the less tangible antagonism, or indifference, of critic, cultural commissar and public. What better symbol of this negativity than the Ern Malley affair with its amalgam of farce and hostility, creativity and cultural atavism.

The Malley poetry is mixed in quality, but there is one poem that strikes at the root of the Australian experience: ‘Durer: Innsbruck, 1495’.

                      I had often, cowled in the slumbrous heavy air,
                      Closed my inanimate lids to find it real,
                      As I knew it would be, the colourful spires
                      And painted roofs, the high snows glimpsed at the back,
                      All reversed in the quiet reflecting waters—
                      Not knowing then that Durer perceived it too.
                      Now I find that once more I have shrunk
                      To an interloper, robber of dead men’s dream,
                      I had read in books that art is not easy
                      But no one warned that the mind repeats
                      In its ignorance the vision of others. I am still
                      The black swan of trespass on alien waters.

As has been commented by Herbert Read and others, this is the real thing. The hoax poem becomes, even against its makers best intentions, a serious work of art. How often in Australia has the satirical shorn off into melancholy, savagery and the dark, bitter, sunburnt tragic mask. The harpy from Moonee Ponds hell with a chainsaw in her mouth, Dame Edna Everage (average, get it), Barry Humphries’ vitriolic creation, is just one fictional character you feel fictional Ern could have had earnest communications with. One problem: Ern ‘died’ before Dame Edna was ‘born’. Still, they could have  metaphysical communications, like Laura Trevelyan and Voss in Voss. How often has the Australian artist felt the sting in the tail of ‘I am still / The black swan of trespass on alien waters’. Dame Edna intrudes with her gladioli and mocking sideswipes. Art intrudes with its unwanted psychological complexities, its unruly passions, its refusal to stick to any ordained historical script.

In retrospect it seems far-fetched to think that such a hoax could have held back Modernism’s tempests in Australia. Art will out and have its say, whatever the oppositions involved. That is simply the nature of art. The Australian cultural melting pot was never going to be constrained by Malley-type hijinks, and Australian culture bifurcated in the decades following on from the nineteen-forties with some astonishing efflorescences, the diverse styles of Aboriginal art being just one example. Poets of every stripe crossed the continent, perhaps a little like the endangered (now extinct) Thylacine, desperate for an audience and therefore sometimes likely to go troppo and savage one another when audiences, or contracts, were in the offing.

Max Harris is a much more important figure than he has been given credit for in Australian literary and cultural history. Not only was he the person on whom the whole Malley fracas descended. Harris was only in his early twenties when he made his editorial decision to publish the Malley poems. Youth is not always wasted on the young, and here youth achieved, with exuberance and delight, the rarest publishing gesture—courage to believe in something new. Here the word became deed. Then followed the vituperation and philistinism. Harris bore with it and kept on speaking up for Australian contemporary modernism before many of us had seen the light of day, encouraging other artists to go forth and multiply. Along with John and Sunday Reed, Harris helped stimulate ‘the vegetative eye’ (a Harris novel scorned by Hope), an eye rinsed clean in the crashing surf and brilliant light of Australian landscape and idiom.

The last words in the suite of sixteen poems that comprise the Ern Malley legacy are ‘Beyond is anything.’ This was meant, I guess, as a last mordant commentary by the originators of the hoax on the perceived hopelessness of the Modernist cause. Well, Modernism has had its day, as have so many other ‘isms’. But art continues to prosper in the unlikeliest places, but not inexplicably, since art is essential to the human. Such anarchic splendour in the mallee scrub! ‘Beyond is anything.’ And if this were to turn out to be true . . .

Here is my fantasy poem in which Max Harris, poet, critic, publisher, bookseller and cultural provocateur, marries an anagram of Ern Malley. In fact, Harris married Yvonne Hutton. They had a daughter, Samela. ‘Brilliant deserts as the prophets come’ is taken from A. D. Hope’s ‘Australia’: ‘Hoping, if still from the deserts the prophets come, // Such savage and scarlet as no green hills dare / Springs in that waste.’ The last line of the Malley Dürer poem is referenced in line seventeen.

 

   Homage To Rema Nelly
               I.M. Max Harris

Glorious niece of language’s funambulist,
Side-stepping safe, orders skewiff,
Where seem is dream, and what’s invented lives.
Your uncle, nuncle, major poemquake shifted
Alphabets to greetings, greenings, ghosts
Of Paris, absinthe visions spread
Over Dali sunsets, time stretched, drowned under.

You toyed with our sedate revisions written,
Our daubs and music stillborn at first hearing,
Your lightning dances trampling on our thighs
Which we had heaved to blurt or cauterise.
Temptress under arcades of forgetting,
We honour what you gathered, rosy splinters
Stuck in shards, then pushed through sunburnt blisters.

To maximum, dear Max, chosen vessel
Of the hope to renovate, renew,
You trespassed on the alien waters flooding
Round our dull collectives and mute souls.
Max, you married Rema, and your children
Now are found in stranger corners trudging
Brilliant deserts as the prophets come.

‘If it’s unfelt it’s not worth buying’,
Rema says to Max, and art should be well-felt,
Felt up to rainbow prisms, down echidna spikes
Roughing the threatening ghost gums of the night.
Here’s to Max and Rema! May they live
Beyond these present realms of dire delight
To help us make the penguins angry with creative might.

Written 2003

Choose What You Want

The following column has been written by 3QD reader Ian McMeans, a game programmer by profession, who won the CPCP challenge that I posted last week. Thanks much, Ian.

How could we predict what a person will do next? We could assume their goal is to maximize their happiness, (a philosopher or economist would more precisely say maximize their utility), then predict that their next choice will do so. This is a common assumption in the real world, one that we make when interacting with other people, and especially in setting social policy: We argue people should be free to do as they like because their chosen actions must be the best for themselves. We like democracy because we assume the electorate will pick the candidates who will maximize their utility, and similarly we like free markets because they are driven to efficiency by our self-interested, utility-maximizing behaviour. If we want what’s best for people, we let them choose it.

Economics until the mid-20th century was developed under this assumption, by treating involved actors as Homo economicus: perfectly rational and self-interested. (What’s interesting to me is that even with perfectly rational behaviour you can find surprising strategies that maximize utility in subtle ways). But what about real humans? We’re nothing like our rational approximation – real humans are a giant mess. Not only are we unable to predict what makes us happy, but we’re unable to correctly make the choices that would achieve those goals, failing twice. It’s like we aim at the wrong target and miss it. We regret our worst decisions while we make them, procrastinate, hope to get rich with the lottery, and have our opinions swayed by content-free advertisements. This is not rational (rational behaviour is utility-maximization, by definition).

Why should people’s suboptimal utility-maximization matter to us, aside from the accuracy of economics? There are people who believe (perhaps I’m one of them) that utility is the only goal worth pursuing, as a moral prerogative. Not just for yourself, but for every creature that can perceive utility and benefit from your actions. Utilitarianism is simple in concept (morality is maximizing happiness over all people and all time), and as a bonus it lets you use phrases like “Felicific Calculus”.

Since Utilitarianism is now our moral goal as of writing that last paragraph, how could we achieve our goal and get more utility for everyone? There are a few different approaches we could take, here’s one:

1) Make more of the things that give us utility.

Technology and our ever-increasing standard of life do a large part to improving our happiness. But why would this be the case – what determines which objects and activities make us happier? There is a teleological argument here from evolution, where the things that make us happy are the ones that made our ancestors flourish: good food, sex, signifiers of social status, curiosity satisfaction, avoiding pain. The mechanism behind this is evident: if we are happiness-seeking agents, then evolution will slowly pressure our species towards being happily rewarded for those behaviours that are well-correlated to genetically flourishing.

Imagine that natural selection gradually put together a utility scorecard, by trial and error it’s the one that makes people the best reproducers:

Action:

Reward: (in Utils, our unit of happiness)

Eat something sweet

5

Talk to a pretty stranger

15

Eat something bitter

-5

All the cavemen who thought poison mushrooms were delicious died, and didn’t pass on their ‘scorecard’. Our ancestors, (who sought out sweet apples because they carried the genes to enjoy them) passed on their sugar-enjoying genes to us. Fitness-maximization over the course of many generations becomes utility-maximization for each individual, and our utility is our ancestors’ measure of how much each action improves fitness.

There is a new strategy open to us for chasing utility: if we want to be happy (without going to the trouble of satiating the traditional evolution-driven goals), we can simply trick our evolution-tuned brains into thinking we’re doing a good job when we’re not. We can trigger those evolutionary fitness-detectors without doing all the work of producing what the detector was designed to originally detect. For example, instead of real social contact, we can enjoy drama in movies. Instead of sugar, we can cook with nutrasweet. We can reward ourselves with books, videogames, and drugs. Is this cheating, or somehow misguided? I don’t think so, because our goal is happiness. Although we were ‘designed’ by evolution to pursue certain goals, why should we care about those goals? We can hijack those reward mechanisms for our own selfish ends. All we care about is the sensation of sweetness, not that sugar is available for digestion and its effects on our differential reproduction. Evolution hasn’t had time to build taste sensors that can differentiate between sugar and nutrasweet, and we can exploit that fact for our calorie-free enjoyment.

It seems the trick here was to follow the chain of causation, skipping the sweet apple and going straight to the sweetness-detector (the tongue) and interacting with it, to get the reward of sweetness. In fact, we can go further upstream with the same goal of avoiding unnecessary indirectness: we can travel along the nerves up to the brain. Why bother mucking about with nutrasweet and tongues? Instead of making things that give us utility indirectly, why not

2) Make more utility, directly.

This certainly seems promising, if a little metaphysically odd. What exactly is utility, and how would you go about manufacturing something as intangible as happiness? It’s not exactly like manufacturing cupcakes, (although that’s close). Wikipedia says:

In economics, utility is a measure of the relative happiness or satisfaction (gratification) gained by consuming different bundles of goods and services.

That seems a bit materialistic. Do we really only care about happiness from goods and services? We could certainly make people happier by manufacturing consumer goods and giving them away, but the economy is already hard at work on this. In fact, the economy is as efficient as it can get, barring the aforementioned lack of rationality on the part of participants. The Earth’s resources are already allocated towards our happiness.

What else could make people happy if not the effects of goods and services? What is happiness? As enlightened (philosophical) physicalists, we believe it must be reducible to some state of the brain – happiness is not stored in the mental res cogitens of an ephemeral soul hovering above us, but in the meat in our heads in electrical impulses, chemical signalling, or some other neurological mechanism. Luckily, there are people who have already figured out parts of it, and we can manipulate it, albeit crudely:

In the 1950s, Olds and Milner implanted electrodes into rat Nucleus accumbens and found that that the rat chose to press a lever which stimulated it. It continued to prefer this even over stopping to eat or drink. This suggests that the area is the ‘pleasure center’ of the brain.

(An aside: Have you ever wondered why your own emotional state is autonomous? If we had control over our own mental states, we would just choose to be happy all the time, regardless of external circumstances. Any ancient humans with that ability would have blissfully starved to death, and not passed on their genes. The reward mechanism is only indirectly accessible to us, so to mediate our own happiness we’re forced to pursue the goal of evolutionary fitness. Supposedly with meditation you can learn to maintain a state of happiness without cause, but this must have been rare or subtle enough in our ancestors to not affect how many children they raised. The wirehead rat was given control over its own mental state, and it acted in a perfectly utility-maximizing way.)

“If it was possible to become free of negative emotions by a riskless implantation of an electrode – without impairing intelligence and the critical mind – I would be the first patient.”
— Dalai Lama (Society for Neuroscience Congress, Nov. 2005)

It’s not hard to imagine a near future where this can be done with more precision, and to humans. Would this really make us happy? There’s an argument here that utility derived from these strange unnatural sources (like the wire going into the rat’s brain) is somehow illegitimate, that it’s not “true happiness” unless it’s earned in the difficult ways we eke out our own happiness from the evolution-sanctioned sources. I strongly disagree with this – as far as your brain is concerned, the way signals get into it are irrelevant, they’re all the same. Happiness is happiness. Why does the possibility of manipulating our own mental state like this make us feel so uncomfortable? People are afraid of having their preferences changed and losing those goals, like with the story of the lotus eaters, or Huxley’s Soma, or even the wirehead rat. The vision of being stupored and ignoring the things you currently care about is terrifying.

So where did we go wrong with this thought experiment? If wireheading is so objectionable, and we want to maximize happiness for Utilitarianism, how can we reconcile them? I think the solution is that wireheading doesn’t lead to an increase is happiness. If it incapacitates you with joy, then you won’t help other people, and (like the wirehead rat) you might end up ignoring the future effects of your actions, like a junkie. Trading a few days of starved wireheading isn’t worth losing a lifetime of milder joy and acting as a moral agent.

Could it be done more carefully? Instead of junkie-like wirehead dependence, what about just making everyone merely happy? It happens naturally to some people, could we trigger it artificially in everyone? Imagine your utility scorecard becomes this:

Action:

Reward: (in Utils, our unit of happiness)

Eat something sweet

50

Talk to a pretty stranger

65

Eat something bitter

45

You aren’t in a wirehead daze, you’re just having a lot of fun doing ordinary things.

It seems far-fetched to discuss this so soon before the technology exists, but what could matter more than cessation of human (and animal) suffering? There is a lot we can do even with current technology (and without drugs) to make creatures less fortunate than ourselves happier across the world, but eventually it will be technologically feasible to make people happier by modifying the people, rather than modifying their environment. Remember our end goal is happiness, not satisfying the arbitrary cues natural selection has implanted in us. Instead of trying to get what we want, we can choose what to want.

This poses a problem for our conception of rationality, though. What does it mean to be a utility-maximizer who can change the rules of the game, and assign utility to actions at whim? It would change people’s behaviour in unpredictable ways, by letting them add incentive to tasks they wish they had more reason to do. Is this something we want in society? It’s conceivable that it could sow chaos: How many parents could resist the temptation of making their children enjoy exercise and diligent learning, and not enjoy fatty foods or gambling? How many dictators could resist the temptation to pacify a population? How many smokers and gamblers would choose to hate their old habits? What would you choose to want?

In terms of evolutionary teleology, we could choose to redirect the reward mechanism that guided our ancestors to flourish. This might not be a bad thing in terms of our species’ survival, because our preferences are already out of synch with what benefits us (A caveman who loved the taste of sugar would do well, but too much sugar harms modern man and leads to long-term disutility. Man hasn’t evolved distaste for too much sugar fast enough). We have the option of adapting people’s utility functions to the modern (and future) environment, to keep pace with technology without waiting for evolution to catch up and tweak us. This could be a great boon, or (if mishandled) a huge disaster. It seems like this is a risk we get with advanced enough technology – once we start intentionally modifying ourselves, things can change very very quickly (faster than cultural evolution has been driving us, because cultural evolution operates in the constraints of biology), and we take future change into our own hands. (Is this yet another possible answer to the Fermi paradox? All the aliens clever enough to make interstellar spaceships don’t live past the self-modification phase).

Non-sequitor 1: Why doesn’t runaway sexual selection eventually break itself? Peahens who make their selections based on other indicators of health (rather than plumage) would beget children who didn’t need to maintain expensive plumage, which is an advantage. Isn’t the evolutionary pressure to select for the traits that natural selection prefers, and sexual selection should track those good traits? It obviously doesn’t, why not? It seems to be circular logic that peahens are optimizing their childrens’ chances of being sexually-selected for the trait, because any trait could get runaway selection in that case.

Non-sequitor 2: Is there a noticeable difference in the effects of (lack of) advertising on Tivo users?

Answers to Last Week’s CPCP Challenge

Last week I posted some math and logic problems. Here are the answers (I have chosen some of the succinctly-expressed answers submitted, rather than write them all out again myself):

  1. Light both ends of the first rope, and one end of the second.  When the first rope is completely burnt, light the other end of the second rope.  The 45 minute mark is when the second rope is completely burnt.
  2. Take X coins and flip them.  These form one pile, the rest of the coins form the other.
  3. Take the chicken and drop it off at the finish. Come back and get the dog, drop it off at the finish and grab the chicken again. Come back with the chicken, drop it off at the start and grab the corn. Drop off the corn with the dog. Head back to grab the chicken, and return to the finish.
  4. 3 cuts.  Cut each link in one chain.  Separate them, and use the links to join the ends of the 3 intact chains.
  5. She has two children, one of which is a daughter. Here are the possibilities: Boy/Boy — this is impossible. Boy/Girl, Girl/Girl, or Girl/Boy. So it’s a 1/3 chance that both children are girls.(NOTE: This answer is wrong, but I am leaving it here to explain the extensive debate in the comments below. The correct answer is 1/2.)
  6. Pick a jellybean from the box labeled blue&red. You can be sure that the all the jellybeans in there are the same color. The box labeled with the other color actually contains both blue and red. The box labeled with the color of the picked jellybean actually contains jellybeans of the opposite color.
  7. Unchanged. The floating cube displaces its own weight in water.
  8. First weight three coins against three others. If the weights are equal, weigh the remaining two against each other. The heavier one is the counterfeit. If one of the groups of three is heavier, weigh two of those coins against each other. If one is heavier, it’s the counterfeit.  If they have equal weight, the third coin is the counterfeit.
  9. Same amount of water in wine as wine in water. Think about it: however much water is missing in the one gallon jug of wine has to be in the other container and vice versa.
  10. 1&2 cross in 2 minutes. 1 returns in 1 minute. 5&10 cross in 10 minutes. 2 returns in 2 minutes. 1&2 cross in 2 minutes. Total: 17 minutes.
  11. Anywhere 1 mile north of the line of latitude near the South pole which is 1 mile in circumference will do, as will an infinite number of points below that point, all around the earth.
  12. 3, 3, and 8. The only groups of 3 factors of 72 to have non-unique sums are 2, 6, 6 and 3, 3, 8 (both add to 14). The presence of a single oldest child eliminates 2,6,6.
  13. Let’s say it takes 24 hours to circle the planet. So each plane can carry
    12 hours of fuel. At midnight THREE planes set out with full tanks. By 3 AM they have gotten 1/8 of the way around. Each has 9 hours of fuel remaining. Plane 1 gives 1/4 tank to each of 2 and 3, filling them up; it has 1/4 left and turns around. By 6 AM #2 and #3 have gotten 1/4 of the way around; each has 3/4 tank (9 hours )remaining.  2 gives 3 3 hours of fuel, filling him up and leaving himself with 6. He heads for home. 1 arrives home and refuels. At noon 3 is half way around. He has 6 hours of fuel remaining.  2 arrives home and refuels. 1 and 2 set out in the other direction. At 3 PM 3 is 5/8 of the way around, with 3 hours remaining. 1 and 2 are 7/8 of the way around; 1 fills 2 up and heads for home with 6 hours remaining. At 6 PM 3 is 3/4 of the way around and running on fumes.  He meets 2, who immediately gives him 3 hours of fuel, leaving himself with 6.  1 arrives home, refuels, and sets out again. At 9 PM 3 is 7/8 of the way around and running on fumes again, while 2 is down to 3 hours.  Luckily here comes 1 with 9 hours of fuel; he gives 3 3 hours. At midnight they all arrive safely; plane #1 even has 3 hours of fuel left.
  14. Flip the first switch and leave it on for ten minutes.  Turn it off, turn on the second switch and go upstairs.  Look at the lamp and feel its bulb if it’s off. If it’s on, the second switch controls the light. If it’s off and warm, the first switch controls the light. If it’s off and cool, the third switch controls the light.
  15. I repeated question number 9 here by mistake.

Oh, and I had promised a harder problem. Here it is (Jesse Mazer mentioned it in the comments to the original post as well, I believe):

You have 12 balls. One of them is either lighter or heavier than the others. You have a scale and can only use it three times to find out which ball is different, AND whether it is lighter or heavier. How will you do it? Good luck.

Don’t post answers in the comments. Email them to me at s.abbas.raza [at] att.net

Getting The Mooney Treatment

Carl Zimmer in his blog, The Loom:

Authorwebphoto2_3Things have not been going so well on the political front for the advocates of intelligent design (a k a the progeny of creationism). This election season their allies on state boards of education in Kansas and Ohio went down to defeat. On the scientific front, things have never really gone well. The Discovery Institute in Seattle claims that it has spent millions on research. They have precious little to show for it. As I wrote last year, a single evolutionary biologist produces more papers in peer-reviewed biology journals than the entire staff of the Discovery Institute. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single paper that actually claims that intelligent design is supported by original evidence. The closest they got to such a minimal standard–a review of the Cambrian explosion–was later retracted by the journal. The Discovery Institute claims that it’s got all sorts of stuff in the works, but they aren’t ready to share it with the world. Instead, they’d prefer to attack journalists.

In September, Casey Luskin of the Discovery Institute posted a 31-page attack on fellow scienceblogger Chris Mooney. Mooney is the author of the excellent Republican War on Science, which details some of the strategies the Discovery Institute uses to promote Intelligent Design, and the resounding rejection of intelligent design by the courts. As I wrote at the time, Luskin’s charges were empty.

Now I’m getting the Mooney treatment.

More here.

Romancing the Blogosphere, or Congratulations to a Now Happily Engaged Jennifer Ouellette and Sean Carroll

We at 3QD want to cheer the engagement of our friend Sean Carroll of Cosmic Variance and our friend and contributor Jennifer Ouellette of Cocktail Party Physics and offer them our congratulations! If you feel so inclined, you can congratulate them here and here. In their own words:

[Sean] How in the world is one expected to find such a person, in a world full of interesting but flawed characters? Well, there’s always the blogosphere. Two kindred spirits, tapping away at their matching MacBook Pros, could find each other across thousands of miles in a way that was heretofore impossible.

All of which, in a fumbling and hopefully-charming way, is to say that it’s happened. I’ve fallen hopelessly for the beautiful and talented Jennifer Ouellette, science writer extraordinaire and proprietess of Cocktail Party Physics. I first plugged her blog (completely innocently! honestly!) back in March, and we met in person at an APS meeting, of all places. Best conference ever.

And, various cross-country jaunts and countless emails later, we’re engaged to be married. If it’s clear that you’ve found the perfect person with whom you want nothing more than to spend the rest of your life, you might was well get the presents, right?

And Jennifer:

Some may wonder: why Sean Carroll, and not some other bloggy physicist or science type? I could provide a laundry list of reasons stretching into infinity, since one rarely needs an excuse to sing the praises of one’s beloved. But I’ll spare my readers. Let’s just say that the man has his very own bag of plush plagues, stuffed toys that represent the biblical ten plagues of Egypt. There’s even a tiny black cube of darkness. With eyes. I covet Sean’s bag of plagues, and figure the best way of sneakily appropriating them for my own is to enter into the bonds of matrimony. Community property and all that.

But the real reason is best illustrated by this: On Wednesday, after I’d finished my blogging duties at the Industrial Physics Forum in San Francisco, we drove to his new home in Los Angeles via the “scenic route” along the coast. At sunset, we stopped briefly to refuel and to admire the brilliant orange, red and purple hues stretching across the horizon, and savor the peaceful sound of waves lapping against the shore. It was the perfect romantic setting to cap off a long and tiring several days. Sean is nothing if not romantic. So he put his arms around me and whispered, “Wouldn’t it be fascinating to take a Fourier transform of those waves?”

I will never listen to ocean waves or view a beautiful sunset in quite the same way again.

it is very bad

Africa_lg_nov06

Africa is a mess and it’s not going to get better any time soon. That’s the awful truth that’s so hard to face — or to state publicly — for those of us who have had a long, intimate relationship with the continent. Mine has lasted for almost forty-five years. But from the very start, my experiences in Africa began conflicting with my hopes, indicating trouble afoot, foretelling that our utopian dreams were going to lead to crushing disappointments. Of course, we should have known what the entire twentieth century taught: that all utopian dreams fail, not least those wrapped in progressive rhetoric. Still, the reality in so much of Africa has been infinitely more appalling than anything we might have feared.

more from The Walrus here.

Nadas on Hungary ’56

Peternadas95101kweb

With some exaggeration, one could say that in October 1956 the peoples of Europe and North America, together with their legitimate governments, decided to put an end, once and for all, to the age of revolutionary change. And they were right to do so. To avoid another world war, the existing orders had to integrate, in some way or another, the social and political dissatisfaction of the age; this became the supreme commandment of the day. Expressing deep regrets, with bleeding heart and being fully conscious of their responsibility, they opted not to support the headless and hundred-and-fifty-years overdue Hungarian revolution either by diplomatic means or by sending volunteers or weapons. This had nothing to do with the Suez crisis. Only the dimmer types in Hungary can console themselves by believing that it was due to some business about ships that the Americans and the European democracies couldn’t pay attention to them. Besides the danger of another world war, they had other good reasons not to do anything. Had they decided to support the Hungarian revolution, it would have soon turned out that the capitalist – socialist dichotomy had remained, irrespective of the ideological hysterics of Russian imperialism (also seriously belated). The Hungarian revolution – contrary to popular opinion, and despite all of its anti-communist excesses – was not an anti-socialist revolution, and in its first phase not even an anti-communist one. It was clearly an anti-Stalinist revolution and clearly a plebeian one, it wanted independence and it wanted no part of the Russian empire; it was a democratic revolution that had no tolerance for foreign rule, for autocracy or for the arbitrary rule of collectives. It should not for a moment be forgotten that in that memorable year, the working class was still intact, along with the Christian democratic and social democratic traditions, and so was the agrarian proletariat, with its own, extremely vital social movements.

more from Eurozine here.

habermas saves europe

Habermas

In many countries, the return of the nation-state has caused an introverted mood; the theme of Europe has been devalued, the national agenda has taken priority. In our talk-shows, grandfathers and grandchildren hug each other, swelling with feel-good patriotism. The security of undamaged national roots should make a population that’s been pampered by the welfare state “compatible with the future” in the competive global environment. This rhetoric fits with the current state of global politics which have lost all their inhibitions in social darwinistic terms.

Now we Europe alarmists are being instructed that an intensification of European institutions is neither necessary nor possible. It is being claimed that the drive behind European unification has vanished and for good reason, since the objectives of peace between the European peoples and the creation of a common market have been met. In addition, the ongoing rivalries between nation states are said to demonstrate the impossibility of a political collectivisation that extends beyond national boundaries. I hold both objections for wrong. Allow me to name the most urgent and potentially risky problems that will remain unsolved if we stay stuck along the way to a Europe that is politically capable of action and bound in a democratic constitutional framework.

more from Sign and Sight here (via TPM).

china in africa

Four or five miles along the asphalt road that runs east from Kaala, a small town in central Angola, a Chinese construction company has carved an unexpected right turn, a broad dirt path that runs over a rise through scrubby forest. The path, which has no marking, winds past a basketball court — recreation for the work force — and then empties out into a vast plaza of meticulously smoothed earth. Dump trucks ferry loads of dirt back and forth. At the far end of the plaza, obscured by tree trunks that have been uprooted and laid carefully on their sides, are train tracks. The whole scene, invisible from the road, conjures the stupendous designs of the evil genius in a Bond film.

The weed-covered tracks are the remnants of a railway built by British engineers a century ago to transport precious minerals from the heart of the continent to the port of Lobito, more than a thousand miles away. The Angolan government is paying a consortium of Chinese companies $1.9 billion to completely reconstruct the tracks, the bridges, the stations, the equipment, all shattered by a quarter-century of warfare and neglect. The construction company working near Kaala had prepared the ground to build a factory that would turn out tens of thousands of iron railroad ties. An Angolan security guard who came out to cross-examine us said that the work force was still waiting for material to arrive. He asked us politely to leave. We complied, and as we drove back to the provincial capital, Huambo, we turned down another dirt road and found another Chinese company building an agricultural high school.

more from the NY Times Magazine here.

drawn to what will soon no longer exist

Koudelka3

The defining images of the Russian invasion of Prague in 1968 were smuggled out of Czechoslovakia and published anonymously, to protect the photographer and his relatives. Ironic, with the benefit of hindsight, since a glance at the pictures is enough to identify the perpetrator: Josef Koudelka, one of the least anonymous, most recognisable photographers in the medium’s history. These pictures – of the citizens of Prague, swarming the streets as tanks rumble towards them – fixed the events of August 1968 in the mind as firmly as the one of the student in front of a tank in Tiananmen Square would do two decades later. The difference is that, where the Tiananmen picture was detached, taken from a distance, Koudelka’s were snatched by someone caught up in the swirl and danger of events, as much a participant as his subjects.

more from The Guardian here.

Imran Khan kicks off movement against Musharraf

From despardes.com:Imran2

Cricketing legend and Pakistan Tahreek-e-Insaf (PTI) chief Imran Khan along with a large number of party’s workers left Lahore in a motorcade for Shahiwal for the opening salvo of a movement against Musharraf’s government.

According to media reports, the Shahiwal administration has refused permission to him for holding a public meeting or taking out a procession in the open ground fearing law and order situation. They have advised him to address the gathering anywhere within the boundary walls or at any of the marriage halls, but without the use of loudspeakers.

Prior to departing for Shahiwal, Imran Khan reportedly told media, “Our movement is peaceful, therefore, the government should not put hurdles in its way, otherwise, all the responsibility for the situation will lie on the administration.” Khan also said the other opposition parties should also resign from the assemblies, following MMA. Friday evening, an Indian TV channel aired a program in which Imran Khan discussed cricket, politics and personal life with the Indian audience.

More here.

The reason behind rhyme

From Guardian:

Muldoonmccabe64 Paul Muldoon’s Oxford lectures, The End of the Poem, offer a trenchant and clever analysis of the power of poetry, even finding space to salute Christ as a ‘great punster’, says Peter Conrad. Paul Muldoon’s premonitory title does not mean what it seems to say: these lectures, delivered during his time as professor of poetry at Oxford, are far from being an obsequy for the art. Poems, if they are good, need never end. A poem, as Auden said when explaining how one was written, cannot be finished: it is simply abandoned by a poet who can add no more to it. The reader then takes over and, with luck, discovers another kind of endlessness: reading leads to rereading, as the words are coaxed into releasing subtler, richer meanings, dilating into ever ampler contexts.

Unlike many of his predecessors, Muldoon chooses not to generalise about poetry. Instead, he explicates individual poems, one per lecture. The procedure demands close attention, but the results are revelatory. Reading here is a collaborative recreation and, at their best, Muldoon’s interpretations – sometimes whimsically tenuous, often breathtaking in their intellectual boldness – are like improvised, free associating poems.

More here.

Insane madness come out like life is a terrific party

Orou190

When people talk about the explosion of art in New York in the 1970s and ’80s, they usually mean the Ramones and Television and punk rock, or Jean-Michel Basquiat and the downtown arts scene. But a lively literary movement was taking place, though it has received considerably less attention. Around the time Patti Smith was recording her debut album, “Horses,” the cultural provocateur Kathy Acker was mailing acquaintances mimeographed stories that juxtaposed violence and vulnerability under the name “the Black Tarantula.” The writer and performer Constance DeJong was creating multimedia works with Philip Glass. At the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church, the monologuist Eric Bogosian was giving his first solo performance. Taken together, according to Brandon Stosuy, the editor of “Up Is Up, But So Is Down: New York’s Downtown Literary Scene, 1974-1992,” this activity represents the birth of an underground literary movement that was just as vibrant as the musical revolution taking place. “Though much of it is out of print and difficult to locate, Downtown writing has never been more relevant,” Stosuy claims.

more from the NY Times Book Review here.

london: a life in maps

Londondetail

Some people prefer to contemplate the maps of London rather than navigate their way around its physical streets. Branwell Brontë, immured in the parsonage of Haworth, closely studied any map of London he could find. He familiarised himself with every street, and every junction, so that he could discourse freely and effectively with any Londoner passing through his neighbourhood. It was as if he had himself become a resident of the city. He never set foot in the cap ital during his short life; but he felt that he knew it intimately. It was an illusion, of course, but all maps are illusions.

The history of London may be said to unfold, map by map, in symbolic fashion. The map is a symbol, not a record or a description. It bears as much relation to the actual shape and nature of London as the sculptures of Canova or Rodin bear to the human form. The map is an idealisation, a beautiful illusion of symmetry and grace. It gives form and order to the formless and disordered appearance of the capital. In the British Library’s forthcoming exhibition “London: a life in maps”, there is a gallery of shapes and perspectives, decorous and intriguing in turn, all of them creating a wholly different London.

more from The New Statesman here.