U.S. District Judge Rakoff Smells a Rat

The SEC charged Citigroup with betting against investment "opportunities" it had created. As investors were taking losses the bank made $160 million. The SEC allowed a consent judgment against Citigroup settling the case to be filed the same day it filed its lawsuit against Citigroup.

Did someone smell a rat?

WNYC's blog, citing today's AP story, "City Judge Rejects $285M SEC-Citigroup Agreement" quoted U.S. District Judge Jed Rakoff as writing "in any case like this that touches on the transparency of financial markets whose gyrations have so depressed our economy and debilitated our lives, there is an overriding public interest in knowing the truth.

"In much of the world, propaganda reigns, and truth is confined to secretive, fearful whispers  Even in our nation, apologists for suppressing or obscuring the truth may always be found. But the SEC, of all agencies, has a duty, inherent in its statutory mission, to see that the truth emerges; and if it fails to do so, this court must not, in the name of deference or convenience, grant judicial enforcement to the agency's contrivances."

In much the same way the public needs to know what dealings went on behind closed doors to bail out the banks.  It's the public's money.  We may not now be sophisticated enough to understand what went on, but hey, give us the numbers and some talking heads and we'll see if we should pick up our pitch forks and burning brands or nod our heads at the wisdom of our representatives.

Five Language of Love/Love After Death Row/Modern Love

The NY Times from November 20 had an article about Gary Chapman, pastor of the Brentwood Hills Church of Christ, author of "5 Love Languages".  In  his taxonomy love is expressed by:

• words of affirmation,
• gifts,
• acts of service,
• quality time, and
• physical touch. 

He claimed that he knew in high school that of the two options of working in a Christian framework, he would be a pastor because missionary clashed with his dislike of snakes.

The same issue described the marriage of Sunny Jacobs and Peter Pringle.  Jacobs along with her husband and children were passengers in a car which was involved in an incident which left two Florida law enforcement officers dead.   Both Jacobs and her husband were sentenced to death.  Her husband was electrocuted by Florida.  Later, the third adult in the car who turned state's evidence admitted to being the shooter.  She was released after 17 years in prison.

Pringle was sentenced to death in Ireland for the death of two police officers following a bank robbery.  He was saved by several events: 1) Commutation to 40 years without parole, 2) the transcript of his confession was written before he was interrogated, and 3) Ireland abolished the death penalty.  It is not clear that he was innocent.

Their nuptials were attended by three notable actresses,Brooke Shields, Marlo Thomas, and Amy Irving, who had portrayed Sunny Jacobs in the play "The Exonerated".

The "Modern Love" column by Charlotte Alter, a senior at Harvard, contained this gem: "They say that each generation thinks it invented love. But from what I can see, my generation seems to fear we’ve forgotten it."  

Porn in Progress

By now people where I'm teaching know that when I say, "I'm checking my porn." I'm checking the stock market.  After the recent stomach churning drop in response to the Greek debt crisis compounded with the Italian debt crisis (from "Too big to fail" to 'Too big to save") Dow Jones is up over 2% today with the index over 12,000.

I can stick some standard boiler plate here about market expectation, consumer confidence, phases of the moon, and technical factors, but I'll simply say that I am astounded. Of course there's still an hour for people to come to their senses and send everything into the dumper.

The right wing has done a phenomenal job over the last 40 years in getting the hoi poli to have a vested interest in the stock markets.  With pensions from most worker's disappearing as a factor in their future, money has gone to mutual funds and stocks and with it their expectations.

I try to imagine what others go through when they reach for the brass ring and the merry go round disappears.  (I've long abandoned the belief in a "golden retirement".  My attitude and expectations are similar to my father: all he wanted was a comfortable place to read.)  Can social unrest be far behind if even modest aspirations may soon be out of reach?

Something will happen, but I can't see what it will be.

Tom Keith RIP

I got the news on tonight's Prairie Home Companion.  Tom was the sound effects guy on PHC.  I don't think it strange that I miss someone I never met, but who's work I heard every weekend.  I'll never hear a chicken cluck, a wapiti's mournful cry, or pterodactyl screech again without thinking of Tom.

Tom's passing will probably be the end of the annual Radio Sound Effects Championship which always ended with Tom's challenger being disqualified for hiding a whistle in his nostril.  One part of the contest featured 10 sound effects in 30 seconds.  From 2008 this included a helicopter, a swarm of bees, a flying goose, a knife thrown into a door, a firecracker, a tennis match, a cantaloupe falling from a great height, a giant sneeze (SNEEZE, BELL), an incoming rocket, and arrows shot from a quiver and landing in a bowl-full of lime jello.

Socratic Backfire

The article "Socratic Backfire?" by Kaustuv Basu in the October 31, 2011 issue of Inside Higher Ed discussed the case of Steven Maranville whose denial of  tenure seemed to be based on his use of the Socratic method.  Specifically his students objectioned to being asked questions even though they hadn't raised their hands and being required to work in groups.

I would have thought that being business students this would be regarded as training for corporate life.  Silly me.

In a comment, Larry Gillis proposed a warning label:

WARNING: this course may make you think. Occasional discomfort or, in rare cases, actual embarrassment, may occur. If thoughtfulness lasts more than four hours, please consult your physician.

 Of course there is more to it.  The professor is blind.  He gave up a tenured position to at the University of Houston to move to Utah Valley University.  It seems that department chair and an associate dean approved his teaching style.

We'll see how the plot thickens.

It reminds me of text that faculty have found important to include in their syllabus from the use of electronic devices and deportment to their grading rubrics.  More than one instructor felt it necessary to include in the syllabus an advisory that the syllabus was work in progress subject to change or that the syllabus contained material which needed to be mastered, but would not necessarily be covered in class.  

On this last point the instructors usually justify not covering material in class by saying that if the student knows the material the student's time will be wasted by having the instructor go through it one more time.  A more constructive approach is to assign material with exercises.  If the student has difficulty or questions about the exercises it became the student's responsibility to ask the instructor to cover the material or elucidate a problem. 

With some of the technology available to us a short video that helps the one student this semester may help half the class two semesters from now. 

If any of you cry at my funeral...

"If any of you cry at my funeral, I'll never speak to you again."  Stan Laurel as cited in The Funeral Of Stan Laurel also on http://www.lettersfromstan.com/.

From Wikipedia I got these quotes: "You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be led." (Laurel, Brats) and "I was dreaming I was awake, but I woke up and found meself asleep." (Laurel, Oliver the Eighth)

What was impressive about the life of Stan Laurel was that when he realized that he and Oliver Hardy would not be able to make the films they wanted to make he stopped working.  There were some appearances here and there, but he seemed content in retirement.  Nice if you can do it.

In medias res

In medias res or medias in res (into the middle of things) is a Latin phrase denoting the literary and artistic technique wherein a story begins either at the mid-point or at the conclusion, rather than at the beginning (ab ovo, ab initio).  (I thought I saw the term in A.O. Scott's review of the film "Anonymous", but apparently not.)

The presumed advantage of in medias res is to open the story with a bang, and then fill in the rest after the reader/listener/viewer is hooked.

It made me think of some disturbed souls of my acquaintance who assumed that everyone was familiar with the dramatis personae of their lives.  Stars of their own life and that of everyone else.  At the time I thought it made them special, not realizing how double edged that descripton can be.

On meeting they'd start a conversation assuming you were already familiar with their live, referring to people by nicknames and places by short hand reference.  "We were all down at The Corner" presumed that you knew that "we" referred to the usual crowd of friends minus Larry who used to be a friend, but was now, because of the tiff with Sooz, no longer, and "The Corner" was the south west corner of the student center.

Affinage/You Only Go Through Life Once

The October 5th edition of the New York Times contained an article, "Cheese: A Coming-of-Age Story" about affinage,

"the careful practice of ripening cheese... a series of tedious, ritualized procedures (washing, flipping, brushing, patting, spritzing) that are meant to inch each wheel and wedge toward an apex of delectability."

Uh-oh.  As someone who only draws the line at eating cheese from a spray can, "ritualized procedures" fired its sh*t detectors.  Biodynamics, phases of the moon, unnatural acts with common objects.  Still I buy into it.  Paying attention to what's happening is more likely than not to produce a better cheese.  (Of course to my uncle Hal, "good cheese" was an oxymoron.)

The Times taste sampling of 3 cheeses supported the idea that attention to the cheese resulted in a better cheese.

Living close to the bone it's unlikely that I'll ever taste an artisanal cheese.  Chalk it up to parochial tastes, inherent cheapness, pedestrian aspirations, something.

Oh, wait.  It's could be like the time my brother brought a special meatloaf over for us to sample.  I could tell it was special because there were two different textures of meat separated by pistachio nuts and the slice had a crust around it.   Nice meatloaf I said.  When my brother was able to stop laughing he identified it as a hideously expensive pâté.  (I can't recall the exact figure, but as I remember it, a pound of that pâté costs as much as a ticket to a first-run Broadway show.) Tasted OK though.

Going through life once?  Oh that.  I had a recent conversation with an aunt, the wife of the uncle who wouldn't eat cheese, who said we only have one shot at life.  Why not enjoy it?  Why suffer?  In the specific, she was referring to fixing up her house and eating good food.  My mind translated this to dying as my money runs out: having a fatal attack with the last morsel of that hideously expensive pâté. 

That would be OK in my own home, but not in a restaurant.  Keeling over in a restaurant would stick my estate with the bill and inconvenience the establishment. Not a socially responsible way to go.