Lana Hall at Hazlitt:

I’ll tell you a secret about working in a massage parlour: it’s a lot of waiting around, usually late at night. We’d wait, half a dozen of us, in the dressing room as the evening wore on. On edge and exhausted in equal parts, we perched on the low-slung couch, adjusted the straps of our babydolls, listlessly fluffed our hair, ready to spring into action.

Girl, I’m going insane.

Oh please, I’m already there.

Then, we’d hear the front door open, the low murmur of a man’s voice, the chirp of the receptionist from the parlour’s reception desk. Some of us would circle the dressing room door, ready in case he wanted to see the lineup, curious if he had booked someone specific. Then, the methodical thwack of the receptionist’s pumps would sound down the long hallway as the girls swivelled towards her from their respective stations—pulling towels from the dryer, applying lipstick at the vanity, melting into the couch in a cloud of cigarettes and Pink Sugar perfume.

more here.

Cradle Song

—for Luciana, one month old

One squall from your tiny body, fevered
in the night, outweighs an electorate,
undoes the disgust that knots up my throat
with talk of power and its Founding Fathers.

You’re not the first to come into the world
where bad men bleed the meek, lie about it,
and smile. Burrow deeper into my shirt,
arching bluebell of my most hopeful hour.

For far too few years I know you’ll be safe
in our home, but after that your nation
will try to teach you its collateral
vocabularies of shackle and pledge.

Don’t learn them. Your birthright is no baton.
Don’t wield it. Beacon it, this broken hymn,
this lullaby your father sings to you,
made of spindrift love and rage and larkspur.

by Dante Di Stefano
from What Saves Us —Poems of Empathy
and Outrage in the age of Trump
Edited by Martín Espada

Charlie Fox and others at Artforum:

PAUL REUBENS, who died on July 30, aged seventy, was not just an American original, entertainer, actor, mischief-maker, and mensch, but a great artist. His most famous creation was, of course, Pee-wee Herman, the adorably bonkers, puppy-dog-eyed anarchist in red bowtie and gray plaid suit who took TV off into a wild and wonderful dreamscape totally beyond anywhere (or anything!) it had been before. A CalArts alumnus (student of Allan Kaprow; classmate of David Hasselhoff), Reubens said, “I always felt [Pee-wee] was conceptual art but no one knew that except me.” Yup, he got right into the Reagan-era mainstream when things were hideous to the max and created all kinds of hallucinogenic chaos. Behold his masterpiece, Pee-wee’s Playhouse (1986–91): At the height of the AIDS crisis, queer royalty came over every Saturday morning: Little Richard! Sandra Bernhard! Grace Jones! His adventures, lair, and pals were wholly innocent and extremely subversive, an outrageous celebration of imagination and otherness run amok at a time when that was severely endangered. No other show (nominally “for kids”) has ever been louder or more delighted about being Art, a simultaneously freaky and extremely heartwarming carnival high on its own psychedelic rollercoaster aesthetics, full of nonstop chaos. It was a neon gift and a gateway drug for tons of kids who grew up to be artists. Gathered below, a mourning chorus of friends, collaborators, and devotees give just a hint of the magical singularity of his talents and influence—and of how deeply he’ll be missed.

more here.

Ellen Ioanes in Vox:

Interethnic violence has grown over the summer in India’s northeastern Manipur state, with reports on Thursday claiming three people had been killed and several homes set on fire. The clashes, between the majority Meitei ethnic group and the Kuki tribal groups, risk spilling into neighboring states, but Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government has thus far failed to seriously address the violence or the broader underlying issues of migration and ethnic tensions in the region.

Since May 3, Meitei and Kuki residents of communities in Manipur have engaged in horrific violence including reported rapes, burnings, and decapitations, apparently motivated by the state government’s efforts to extend benefits and jobs once exclusively reserved for Kukis to Meiteis. Over the past three months, the violence has become so extreme that it has triggered a no-confidence motion against Modi’s government this coming week. Though the proposed motion won’t affect Modi and his Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP) grip on power, it will serve two main political purposes: to draw attention to the government’s inaction in containing the conflict as well as other failures and to galvanize the opposition under a new umbrella group. Interethnic, sectarian, and insurgent violence is not new to India, and Modi’s Hindu nationalist ideology has contributed to the atmosphere of discord, if not outright fueled violence in some cases. The BJP governs Manipur state, and rather than attempting mediation between the largely Hindu Meiteis and Christian Kukis, the state government imposed an internet blackout that was only partially lifted last month.

More here.

Arthur C. Brooks in The Atlantic:

Sisyphus, the king of Ephyra, was renowned in Greek mythology for his ingenuity; indeed, so clever was he that he cheated death twice, angering the gods. They took their revenge by condemning Sisyphus to eternal torment in the underworld: He had to roll a huge boulder up a hill. When he reached the top, the stone would roll back down to the bottom, and he would have to start all over, on and on, forever.

Nowadays, any task combining boredom, struggle, stress, and futility might be labeled “Sisyphean.” Think of so-called duct-tapers in customer service, who are tasked to deal with angry people all day, while the conditions that create those aggressive customers never change. I’ve used the word to describe my former job as a French-horn player in a professional symphony orchestra (which was approximately 99 percent boredom, 1 percent terror). One could even argue that all of life is Sisyphean: We eat to just get hungry again, and shower just to get dirty again, day after day, until the end.

Absurd, isn’t it? Albert Camus, the philosopher and father of a whole school of thought called absurdism, thought so. In his 1942 book The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus singles out Sisyphus as an icon of the absurd, noting that “his scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing.” If that doesn’t make you want to reach for a filterless cigarette, I don’t know what will.

More here.

Peter Heller in Crime Reads:

My mother was a private eye.  She was petite and elegant, she could shoot and drive, and she was a crack investigator.

She was born in Paris in 1933 to an American banker and a Connecticut socialite and lived there until the Germans drove them out.  She arrived in Manhattan speaking only French, and all she wanted to do was return to France and fight in the French Resistance.  She was seven.  Everywhere she went in New York City she would listen to groups of people talking and try to make out from their tone and gestures who was a Nazi spy.  She had the investigative bent early on.

Once she had kids she got her P.I. license.  About a week later the FBI called.  They wondered if she could help them track down the perpetrator of a large fraud on the Bank of New York.

More here.

From Project Syndicate:

The challenge of regulating generative artificial intelligence has been a topic of fierce debate since the technology captured the world’s attention late last year. But when it comes to ensuring that generative AI advances the common good, the who is just as important as the how.

For MIT’s Daron Acemoglu, Simon Johnson, and Austin Lentsch, workers themselves must play a central role in compelling their employers not to pursue mindless automation, but rather to use AI to augment human creativity, boost productivity, and ultimately drive widely shared prosperity. The ongoing Writers Guild of America strike will be an important litmus test: if striking Hollywood screenwriters fail, “other knowledge workers will stand even less of a chance of shaping the future of work and technology.”

Maria Eitel, Nike’s founding Vice President of Corporate Responsibility, places the onus for limiting the dangers of AI squarely on the companies developing and applying the technology.

More here.

Tahir Hamut Izgil in The Guardian:

One day in mid-March 2017, I had just finished giving my weekly lecture on film directing at Xinjiang Arts Institute in Urumqi when my wife called. She told me that our friend Dilber had arrived from Kashgar, in south-west Xinjiang, and that she was headed to the front gate of the Arts Institute to meet her. Dilber was the hospitality director of a famous Kashgar hotel. While shooting the television series Kashgar Story the year before, our film crew had stayed at the hotel for two months. We chatted often with Dilber and had a number of meals together; by the time we left Kashgar, we had got to know each other well.

Over the phone, my wife, Marhaba, told me that Dilber’s son, who was studying acting at Xinjiang Arts Institute, had been drinking and picking fights in his dorm, and that the institute was threatening to expel him for violating the code of conduct. Dilber had hurried to Urumqi to plead with school administrators for her son to be allowed to continue his studies.

More here.

Hugh Ryan in the Boston Review:

Earlier this year Gallup published some incredible statistics, showing that gen Z is our queerest generation yet, with nearly 20 percent identifying somewhere under the broad LGBTQIA+ umbrella. (Some two-thirds of this group—13 percent of gen Z—identify as bisexual; about 2 percent of zoomers identify as trans.) When I was first coming out in the early 1990s, by contrast, “1 in 10” was a common gay slogan. How did we get here, with such wide differences in identification between generations? Are there actually more queer people now, or just more out queer people? Or are those the wrong questions to ask?

More here.

Jenny Bhatt in The Guardian:

Every creative artist knows what it is to work under a deadline, and the harshest deadline of all is presented by one’s own mortality. The quick-witted storyteller of Arabian Nights – or One Thousand and One Nights, which is preferred because several stories originated from beyond the Arab world – responded with creative ingenuity to just that predicament. It has probably inspired more translations, retellings and adaptations across cultures, generations and genres than any other text. It has influenced the works of Leo Tolstoy and Jorge Luis Borges, Marcel Proust and Salman Rushdie, Angela Carter and AS Byatt, and many more beyond the western canon.

Each new version seeks to do something different for its readership in terms of outright entertainment, literary craft, aesthetic pleasure and historical revisionism. Some succeed on some of those levels, but it is rare to find a rendition that, quite breathtakingly, comes close to doing it all. The last such work was a translation by Yasmin Seale – the only female translator of this text – who finally gave us a version without the orientalism, racism and sexism. Every Rising Sun, a novelised adaptation by Jamila Ahmed, continues what Seale began. A scholar of medieval Islamic history, Ahmed also adds historical context to her debut work.

More here.

Angus Deaton in Boston Review:

One of the many pleasures of being a Scottish economist is being able to acknowledge Adam Smith as a predecessor. Smith was one of Scotland’s greatest thinkers in both economics and philosophy. I grew up in Edinburgh and was brought up to recognize Scots’ many achievements but was never told about Smith. Many years later, when I was inducted into the Royal Society of Edinburgh, Smith was mentioned, but only as a conveniently placed friend of the Duke of Buccleuch who helped the Society obtain its Royal Charter—that is, as a sort of well-connected lobbyist. Smith and David Hume were internationally renowned in their lifetime; the mathematician Michael Atiyah notes that their fame induced Benjamin Franklin in 1771 “to undertake the lengthy and tiresome journey by stagecoach to a small, cold, city on the northern fringes of civilization,” but Smith’s fame seems to have waned with time, at least at home.

Smith was not only a great thinker but also a great writer. He was an empirical economist whose sketchy data were more often right than wrong; he was skeptical, especially about wealth; and he was a balanced and humane thinker who cared about justice, noting how much more important it was than beneficence. But the story I want to tell is about economic failure and about economics failure, and about how Smith’s insights and humanity need to be brought back into the mainstream of economics. Much of the evidence that I use draws on my work with Anne Case as well as her work with Lucy Kraftman on Scotland in relation to the rest of the UK.

More here.

Elliott Ash and Stephen Hansen in VoxEU:

Public awareness about the possibilities of large language models (LLMs) to perform complex tasks and generate life-like interactions has exploded in the past year. This has led to an immense amount of media attention and policy debate about their impact on the economy and on society (Ilzetski and Jain 2023). In this column, we focus on the potential role of LLMs as a research tool for economists using text data in their research. We first lay out some key concepts needed to understand how such models are built, and then pose four key questions that we believe need to be addressed when considering the integration of LLMs into the research process. For further details, we refer readers to our recent review article on text algorithms in economics (Ash and Hansen 2023).

Large language models are essentially predictive models for sequential data. Given an input sequence of text, they can be targeted towards predicting randomly deleted words – akin to filling in gaps in a time series – or the most likely subsequent word, mirroring the process of forecasting the next data point in a time series. Consider predicting the word that underlies [MASK] in the following sentences:

1. 1. As a leading firm in the [MASK] sector, we hire highly skilled software engineers.
   2. As a leading firm in the [MASK] sector, we hire highly skilled petroleum engineers.

Most humans would predict that the word underlying [MASK] in the first sentence relates to technology, and that the word underlying [MASK] in the second sentence relates to energy. The key words informing these predictions are ‘software’ and ‘petroleum’, respectively. Humans intuitively know which are the important words in the sequence they must pay attention to in order to make accurate forecasts. Moreover, these words may lie relatively far from the target word to predict, as in the above examples.

More here.

T. J. Clark in The Nation:

What goes into the making of a movie? By “movie,” in Pasolini’s case, I take it that we mean a distinctive, unprecedented, unforgettable way of seeing, in which the world is turned toward us and shown in a new light. And the new light is not merely glittering and irresistible (though in Pasolini it is regularly both) but necessary. Necessary to its subject: in this instance, in the films Pasolini made in the early 1960s, the face and temper and desperation—the disintegrating identity—of the proletariat as the long epic of class struggle drew to an end.

What goes into such a moment of form—such a making of a style? I summon up a memory from near the beginning of Accattone, whose opening sequences are stamped on my mind—or his choice of distance between moving face and moving camera, his unforgiving lighting, his shallow depth of focus, the brittle staccato of his soundtrack. Start almost anywhere in these early movies, or in the scenes from Fellini’s Notte di Cabiria where Pasolini’s imprint is unmistakable; open a page at random in The Ragazzi or A Violent Life or A Night on the Tram; and immediately you are in a working-class world that very few others have touched. A savage and absolute grandeur greets you, tinged with (undercut by) bitterness and compassion, and above all by a determination to destroy—at last, in agony, against one’s own deepest wishes—the great myth of the 20th century.

English-speaking readers have been told the story of Pasolini’s life many times, and often very well.

More here.

Ho-Fung Hung in Sidecar:

In the early 2010s, the economist Justin Lin Yifu, a former World Bank chief official with ties to the Chinese government, predicted that China’s economy would have at least two more decades of growth above 8%. He reckoned that since the country’s per capita income at that time was about the same level as Japan’s in the 1950s and South Korea’s and Taiwan’s in the 1970s, there was no reason China could not replicate the erstwhile successes of these other East Asian states. Lin’s optimism was echoed by the Western commentariat. The Economist projected that China would become the world’s biggest economy by 2018, surpassing the United States. Others fantasized that the Communist Party would embark on an ambitious programme of political liberalization. The New York Times’s Nicholas Kristof wrote in 2013 that Xi would ‘spearhead a resurgence of economic reform, and probably some political easing as well. Mao’s body will be hauled out of Tiananmen Square on his watch. Liu Xiaobo, the Nobel Peace Prize-winning writer, will be released from prison’. The political scientist Edward Steinfeld likewise argued in 2010 that China’s embrace of globalization would kickstart a process of ‘self-obsolescing authoritarianism’ resembling that of Taiwan in the 1980s and 90s.

Ten years later, the naivety of these forecasts is apparent. Even before the onset of Covid-19, the Chinese economy had slowed down and entered a domestic debt crisis, visible in the collapse of major real estate developers like Evergrande. After Beijing lifted all pandemic restrictions in late 2022, a widely anticipated economic rebound failed to materialize.

More here. Also see this piece by Michael Pettis from a decade ago.