Jean Hannah Edelstein in the Guardian:

For a short time a couple of years ago, I dated a nice young man who looked exactly like my father. In my defence – a defence that I had to voice quite often after my dependably hilarious parents located a photograph of the nice young man on the internet and emailed me a near-identical picture of my father, circa 1974 – we met on a blind date. I felt that this detail rendered our liaison less creepy than if I had fallen him after spotting him from across a crowded room. But only a little less creepy. Sometimes, despite my best efforts to ignore the familiarity of the structure of his cheekbones, the shape of his nose, and the placement of his eyebrows, I would find myself gazing at my suitor’s handsome face, quite smitten, but also quite worried that he might be my half-brother.

My romantic interlude with the dad-esque man didn’t last very long – no doubt he could smell that our pheromones were just too similar – but I have remained slightly haunted ever since by having dated my father’s doppelganger. Until yesterday, that is, when was I absolved from responsibility for it by science: researchers in Hungary published findings that demonstrate that my unnerving attraction was far from unusual. According to their study, women are inclined to choose partners whose faces resemble those of their fathers, and vice versa with men – further confirming previous theories of so-called sexual imprinting, which hold that people who have good relationships with their parents tend to be attracted to partners who strongly resemble them.

“Dulce et Decorum Est” by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, 
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, 
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs 
And towards our distant rest began to trudge. 
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots 
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; 
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots 
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! –  An ecstasy of fumbling, 
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; 
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, 
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . . 
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, 
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. 
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, 
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. 

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace 
Behind the wagon that we flung him in, 
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, 
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; 
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood 
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, 
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud 
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, 
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest 
To children ardent for some desperate glory, 
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est 
Pro patria mori.

8 October 1917 – March, 1918

From lensculture:

Jeff Cowen is one of those restless artists who is always challenging himself to do something new and different and better. When he fears he might be getting complacent, he picks up his entire studio and his life and moves to a new place just to shake things up. In the past 8 years he’s lived in New York, Paris, and now Berlin (and he’s also accomplished unique bodies of work in Cuba, Romania, and rural areas of France and Spain). Each of those places has born creative fruit for him.

A one-man show at the A/34 Gallery in Barcelona this summer includes work from each of those periods (including a few earlier works that have never been exhibited before), but focuses mainly on new work — and there is a lot of it.

More here.

The comparisons with Bush around the middle are priceless:

From The Chronicle of Higher Education:

“……I understand there is a Ph.D. thesis somewhere which displays a list of Hardy’s novels in the order of the percentages of gloom they contain, but one does not feel that that sort of procedure should be encouraged.”

Over the last decade or so, however, a cadre of literary scholars has begun to encourage exactly that sort of procedure, and recently they have become very loud about it. The most prominent (at least in the nonacademic media) are the Literary Darwinists, whose work emphasizes the discovery of the evolutionary patterns of behavior within literary texts — the Iliad in terms of dominance and aggression, or Jane Austen in terms of mating rituals — and sets itself firmly against 30 years of what they see as anti-scientific literary theories like poststructuralism and Marxism. In the past few years, such critics have had the honor of a long, if quizzical, New York Times Magazine profile and, in May, a place on the Boston Globe’s Ideas page, where Jonathan A. Gottschall, a leading proponent of Literary Darwinism and an adjunct English professor at Washington and Jefferson College, explained why the approach is for him, as he says, “the way and the light.”

More here.

And Shirley Dent in The Guardian here.

Amy Ozols in The New Yorker:

Dear All:

Before I begin, I’d like to apologize for sending a mass e-mail.

I’m writing because I’ve lost my cell phone, and I’d really appreciate it if each of you could reply to this message with your phone number, home address, and any other pertinent information I might need to get in touch with you. I kept all that information in the cell phone that I lost. I never wrote it down on a piece of paper or in a book, or backed it up on a computer, because cell phones are historically quite dependable, and not prone to getting lost or stolen—at least, not where I come from, a place where there is neither crime nor personal failure. I come from Iceland.

I’d also appreciate it if you could send me your e-mail address. I already have your e-mail address, which I’m using to send the e-mail you’re currently reading, but I plan to delete it from my memory after I’ve finished typing, because I really prefer to keep this sort of thing in my cell phone. I find that it frees up my “brain space” for other important things, like meditation and prayer and comparing and contrasting the prices and features of various cell phones.

If it’s not too much trouble, I’d also like to know your birthday, preferably with the year included. This is so I can send you one of those electronic birthday cards. I’ll send it to your e-mail address, which I plan to enter into my future cell phone before subsequently losing it in a public rest room. So, actually, what would be really helpful is if you could let me know your birthday, then wait three weeks, then send me your e-mail address, so that I can store it in my two-phones-in-the-future phone for use on your next birthday.

More here.

Jenny Turner in the London Review of Books:

Some years ago, the novelist David Foster Wallace submitted himself to a long television interview with Charlie Rose, the PBS chat-show host. It was a terrific performance, and in it Wallace talked about why, in much of his work, narrative is split into body-text and footnotes:

There’s a way, it seems to me, that reality’s fractured right now, at least the reality that I live in. And the difficulty about . . . writing about that reality is that text is very linear and it’s very unified, and . . . I, anyway, am constantly on the lookout for ways to fracture the text that aren’t totally disorienting – I mean, you can take the lines and jumble them up and that’s nicely fractured, but nobody’s gonna read it.

Last year, Helen DeWitt posted this passage on paperpools, her blog: it ‘says everything I might have wanted to say about life, the universe, postmodernism and Your Name Here.’ Your Name Here is a 120,000-word novel; DeWitt is one of its authors, the category of authorship itself having been split. (At this point, it might have been appropriate to spin off into a footnote about its other author, Ilya Gridneff, an Australian journalist of Russian origin, born in Sydney in 1979 and currently working in Papua New Guinea for the Australian Associated Press, except that the DeWitt/Gridneff partnership doesn’t do much fracturing with footnotes. Epistolary structure and multiple avatars, yes, scans of original documents, including contracts, because ‘without the contractual details any book is just fogbound Jamesian kitsch,’ but not really footnotes: perhaps because, since it’s an authorship made up of two people, the challenge is to discover how, like Bloom and Stephen Dedalus, Don Gately and Hal Incandenza, they might ever be brought together at all.)

More here.

Charles M. Blow in the New York Times:

Sarah Palin has a pregnant teenager. And, she’s not alone. According to a report published in 2007, there are more than 400,000 other American girls in the same predicament.

In fact, a 2001 Unicef report said that the United States teenage birthrate was higher than any other member of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development. The U.S. tied Hungary for the most abortions. This was in spite of the fact that girls in the U.S. were not the most sexually active. Denmark held that title. But, its teenage birthrate was one-sixth of ours, and its teenage abortion rate was half of ours.

If there is a shame here, it’s a national shame — a failure of our puritanical society to accept and deal with the facts. Teenagers have sex. How often and how safely depends on how much knowledge and support they have. Crossing our fingers that they won’t cross the line is not an intelligent strategy.

To wit, our ridiculous experiment in abstinence-only education seems to be winding down with a study finding that it didn’t work. States are opting out of it.

More here.

George Soros in the New York Review of Books:

In January 2007, the price of oil was less than $60 per barrel. By the spring of 2008, the price had crossed $100 for the first time, and by mid-July, it rose further to a record $147. At the end of August it remains over $115, a 90 percent increase in just eighteen months. The price of gasoline at the pump has risen commensurately from an average of $2.50 to around $4 a gallon during this period. Transportation and manufacturing costs have risen sharply as well. All this has occurred at the same time as a world credit crisis that started with the collapse of the US housing bubble. The rising cost of oil, coming on top of the credit crisis, has slowed the world economy and reinforced the prospect of a recession in the US.

The public is asking for an answer to two questions. The principal question is whether the sharp oil price increase is a speculative bubble or simply reflects fundamental factors such as rapidly rising demand from developing nations and an increasingly limited supply, caused by the dwindling availability of easily extractable oil reserves. The second question is related to the first. If the oil price increase is at least partly a result of speculation, what kind of regulation will best mitigate the harmful consequences of this increase and avoid excessive price fluctuations in the future?

More here.

Brian Hayes in American Scientist:

This column marks an anniversary: It has been 25 years since I began writing these essays on the pleasures and possibilities of computation. My first columns appeared in Scientific American ; later I wrote for Computer Language and then The Sciences ; since 1993 the column has been happily at home here in American Scientist . (Some of my earlier essays are newly available online at bit-player.org/pubs .)

For my very first column, in October of 1983, I chose as an epigraph some words of Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz: “Let us calculate!” In Leibniz’s Latin this exhortation was actually just one word: “Calculemus!” Leibniz was an optimist—he was the model of Voltaire’s Dr. Pangloss—and he saw a bright future for what we would now call algorithmic thinking. Calculation would be the key to settling all human conflicts and disagreements, he believed. I can’t quite match Leibniz’s faith in attaining world peace through computation, but in my own way I’m an algorithmic optimist too. I see computing as an important tool for helping us understand the world we live in and enriching our experience of life.

When I wrote that first column, the idea of a personal computer was still a novelty, and there was some question what it might be good for. Now the computer is a fixture of daily life. We rely on it to read the news, to keep in touch with friends, to listen to music and watch movies, to pay bills, to play games, and occasionally to get a bit of work done. Oddly enough, though, one thing we seldom do with the computer is compute. Only a minority of computer users ever sit down to write a program as a step in solving a problem or answering a question. In this column I want to celebrate the rewards of programming and computing, and cheer on those who get their kicks out of this peculiar sport. I also have a few words to say about the evolution of tools for programming.

More here.

On Maya Lin’s Vietnam Memorial:

Pete Lunn and Tim Hartford debate the question in Prospect:

Dear Tim
12th August 2008

These are exciting times to be an economist. The whirligig of international finance has come crunching to a halt. The British housing market inflated until we could hardly bear to watch, then popped in a destructive, sticky instant. The prices of food and oil are yo-yoing on speculative strings. And the textbooks still tell us that markets populated by rational, selfish, independent agents allocate resources efficiently.

Meanwhile, a revolution is under way in economic thought. Behavioural economics is no bell or whistle on the contraption of traditional economics; it is a big departure which will deliver a revolutionary new way of understanding the world. The founding assumptions of orthodox, neoclassical economics—that people can be thought of as rational, selfish and independent—are collapsing under the weight of empirical refutations…

Dear Pete
13th August 2008

I’m disappointed. I had assumed, given your opening paragraph, that you were going to explain how behavioural economics might have predicted the credit crunch and the commodity boom, or offered a new way to regulate banks. That really would have been revolutionary. Instead, you offer the dear old ultimatum game. I was not surprised to read your lop-sided and unconvincing caricature of orthodox economics (“textbooks” are such a convenient straw man), but I was astonished to see you present a caricature of the subject you claim to be championing…

More from both men here.

///
Song of Taste
Gary Snyder

Eating the living germs of grasses
Eating the ova of large birds

…the fleshy sweetness packed
…around the sperm of swaying trees

The muscles of the flanks and thighs of
ppppppp soft-voiced cows
pp the bounce in the lamb’s leap
pp the swish in the ox’s tail

Eating roots grown swoll
ppppppp inside the soil

Drawing on life of living
pp clustered points of light spun
ppppppp out of space
hidden in the grape.

Eating each other’s seed
ppppppp eating
pp ah, each other.

Kissing the lover in the mouth of bread:
…………lip to lip.

From Regarding Wave (New Directions, 1970)

///

From The Telegraph:

The Wittgenstein family was one of the richest, most talented and most eccentric in Europe. While the youngest son, Ludwig, became one of the great philosophers of the 20th century, three of his seven siblings committed suicide, and all struggled to grow up in the shadow of their bullying father, Karl. In an extract from his book about the Wittgensteins, Alexander Waugh describes a unique dynasty.

LUDWIG AND PAUL WITTGENSTEIN

In adult life Paul Wittgenstein was far more famous than his younger brother, but nowadays it is the other way round: Ludwig, or Lucki to the family, has become an icon of the 20th century – the handsome, stammering, tortured, incomprehensible philosopher, around whose formidable personality an extraordinary cult developed in the years that followed his death in 1951. At the time of Gretl and Jerome’s courtship, Paul – attractive, neurotic, learned, nature-loving and intense – was 17 and about to sit his final school examinations at the classical Gymnasium in Wiener Neustadt. Ludwig, a year and a half younger, was lodging during term-time with a family in Linz where he attended lessons at the Staat­sober­realschule, a semi-classical state secondary school of 300 pupils.

According to the recollection of one of his fellow pupils, the majority of the school’s teachers were mentally deranged, and quite a few ended their days as honest-to-God lunatics; their collars were unkempt, their external appearance exuded uncleanness, they were the product of a proletariat denuded of all personal independence of thought, distinguished by unparalleled ignorance and most admirably fitted to become the pillars of an effete system of government which, thank God, is now a thing of the past.

That pupil – just six days older than Lucki – was Adolf Hitler.

More here.

From Scientific American:

Researchers have discovered that the same nerve cells involved in forming memories also are involved in replaying them. The finding, published today in the online edition of Science, provides new insight into how complex memories are laid down in a single neuron (nerve cell) and how neural firing, or communication, patterns created during memory formation are maintained during recall. Scientists at the University of California, Los Angeles, (U.C.L.A.) showed 13 volunteers—epilepsy patients with therapeutic electrodes implanted in their brains—several five- to 10-second clips from videos such as The Simpsons. The researchers found that a small sample comprising some 50 neurons in the hippocampus and entorhinal cortex (memory centers in the brain) fired in distinctive repeatable patterns that differed for each clip.

“The results were quite astounding,” says senior study author Itzhak Fried, director of the U.C.L.A. Health System’s Epilepsy Surgery Program. The same neuron that activated during the original viewing of a specific snippet also fired during recall, and the action began a second or so before the patient reported seeing the clip. That means, Fried says, that “the very neuron that was selectively active during the encoding, during the original viewing, suddenly came to life. It essentially replayed that memory by firing.”

More here.

William Deresiewicz in The Nation:

Like a peddler just arrived in town, or a traveler come from foreign shores, Salman Rushdie spreads before us his magic carpet of stories. Rushdie has been many things–political novelist, national epicist, probing essayist, free-speech icon out of force of circumstance–but he has always been, first and last, a storyteller. As Conrad sought to return to fiction the immediacy of the sailor’s tale–one man entertaining his mates over claret and cigars–so Rushdie seeks to reanimate the printed page with the exuberance and exoticism of legend and fable, fairy tale and myth: the province of the wanderer, the yarn spinner, the bard. More than Ulysses or The Tin Drum, his most persistent models have been the Thousand and One Nights and the Hindu epics, The Wizard of Oz and Bollywood. He doesn’t want to be Joyce; he wants to be Scheherazade. His greatest works engage the tragedies of modern history through the most audaciously archaic of narrative devices. Midnight’s Children hinges on the switching of two babies in the cradle; The Satanic Verses features flying carpets and Ovidian metamorphoses.

More here.

Dexter Filkins in the New York Times Magazine:

Late in the afternoon of June 10, during a firefight with Taliban militants along the Afghan-Pakistani border, American soldiers called in airstrikes to beat back the attack. The firefight was taking place right on the border itself, known in military jargon as the “zero line.” Afghanistan was on one side, and the remote Pakistani region known as the Federally Administered Tribal Areas, or FATA, was on the other. The stretch of border was guarded by three Pakistani military posts.

The American bombers did the job, and then some. By the time the fighting ended, the Taliban militants had slipped away, the American unit was safe and 11 Pakistani border guards lay dead. The airstrikes on the Pakistani positions sparked a diplomatic row between the two allies: Pakistan called the incident “unprovoked and cowardly”; American officials regretted what they called a tragic mistake. But even after a joint inquiry by the United States, Pakistan and Afghanistan, it remained unclear why American soldiers had reached the point of calling in airstrikes on soldiers from Pakistan, a critical ally in the war in Afghanistan and the campaign against terrorism.

The mystery, at least part of it, was solved in July by four residents of Suran Dara, a Pakistani village a few hundred yards from the site of the fight…

More here.

Jane Perlez in the New York Times:

In April, Mr. Zardari told Ishaq Dar, the finance minister at the time and a member of Mr. Sharif’s party, which has since broken with Mr. Zardari, that he wanted the price the government paid farmers for wheat to be raised substantially as a way of rewarding an important constituency in Punjab Province, the nation’s most populous, according to two participants in the discussion with Mr. Zardari. The government would then have to heavily subsidize the cost of wheat to the consumer.

When Mr. Dar asked Mr. Zardari how he thought the government would pay for the subsidy, Mr. Zardari replied, “Print the notes,” according to the two participants, a government official and an associate of Mr. Zardari’s. In an effort to solve the impasse over the subsidy, it was suggested that Mr. Zardari form a committee of experts.

“ ‘I am the expert,’ ” Mr. Zardari said, according to his associate.

More here.  [Thanks to Tasnim Raza.]

///
Night Words
Philip Levine
after Juan Ramon

A child wakens in a cold apartment.
The windows are frosted. Outside he hears
words rising from the streets, words he cannot
understand, and then the semis gear down
for the traffic light on Houston. He sleeps
again and dreams of another city
on a high hill above a wide river
bathed in sunlight, and the dream is his life
as he will live it twenty years from now.
No, no, you say, dreams do not work that way,
they function otherwise. Perhaps in the world
you’re right, but on Houston tonight two men
are trying to change a tire as snow gathers
on their shoulders and scalds their ungloved hands.
The older one, the father, is close to tears,
for he’s sure his son, who’s drunk, is laughing
secretly at him for all his failures
as a man and a father, and he is
laughing to himself but because he’s happy
to be alone with his father as he was
years ago in another life where snow
never fell. At last he slips the tire iron
gently from his father’s grip and kneels
down in the unstained snow and unbolts the wheel
while he sings of drinking a glass of wine,
the black common wine of Alicante,
in raw sunlight. Now the father joins in,
and the words rise between the falling flakes
only to be transformed into the music
spreading slowly over the oiled surface
of the river that runs through every child’s dreams.

From The Mercy (Alfred A. Knopf, 1999)

Michel Rocard in Porject Syndicate:

At first glance, European social democracy appears to be in crisis. Gordon Brown’s slump in the United Kingdom; the brutal shock of Spain’s economic downturn; the difficulties of renewing Socialist leadership in France; the collapse of the center-left coalition in Italy; and severe infighting within Germany’s SPD: all point to social democracy’s seeming inability to seize the opportunity – which the current financial crisis should present – to exert greater influence.

But the simultaneous occurrence and high visibility of these problems is less significant than they appear. Mistakes or clumsiness in governance are not exclusive to the left: Belgium is paralyzed by the threat of break-up, Austria is still looking to cement an unlikely conservative coalition, Poland is struggling to find a steady balance for its numerous reactionary impulses, and the French president is hitting record lows in terms of popularity.

Two factors help to explain current European uncertainties. First, there is the economic and financial crisis that we are only slowly overcoming. Second, there is the way in which the media are covering it. The combination of the two is, I believe, behind the feeling of powerlessness that is now affecting the whole of Europe, and that may appear to characterize social democracy in particular.