Book'im Danno.

The other night after returning home from the local library, I noticed that I had not checked out the books I was holding. I had been so preoccupied while at the library that I had simply walked out with them. The alarm must have sounded without my noticing.

So the next day when I had some spare time I went back to the library, half expecting to be taken down and handcuffed as soon as I walked in. Or maybe there would be on prominent display some grainy black-and-white photos of me from the closed circuit video. Or at least I would receive a few strong words when I showed up at the checkout desk.

But when I did explain to the clerk at the checkout desk what had happened, her eyes went wide, and she started to gush about what an honest man I was. It was embarrassing. I think she was genuinely shocked that someone, after successfully absconding with some books, would actually return them. Sheesh. The times we live in.

Sentence of the Day (Category: Propositional Logic)

``If Peaches never existed, she surely would have invented herself.'' --Jonathan Valania, writing in today's Philadelphia Inquirer.

Reading Roundup.

1. I came across two recent John Sandford novels, one in the local library and one in the bargain section of Barnes & Noble: Invisible Prey, and Dark of the Moon. I had found the last few Prey books a bit tired, but Invisible Prey was very good (VG). Dark of the Moon, kicking off the Virgil Flowers series, also rates a VG. By ``very good'' I mean that both novels are well plotted, feature believable characters, and have reasonably well crafted prose. I started reading Sandford maybe seven or eight years ago, and I still think that the first four Prey novels are excellent. (However, I still haven't completely forgiven Sandford for naming one of his side characters ``Del Capslock.'')

2. I finally read Michael Connelly's, The Brass Verdict. I'll rate this one a VG+, the plus for some clever tricks. In particular, Connelly places his longtime protagonist Harry Bosch in a supporting role, without providing any of Bosch's internal thoughts -- giving the reader of Connelly's Bosch series a chance to view this familiar character from the outside.

3. In the early 1980's I read and thoroughly enjoyed Martin Cruz Smith's Gorky Park, the first in the Arkady Renko series. I revisited the author a few weeks ago, finishing the Renko series: Polar Star, Red Square, Havana Bay, Wolves Eat Dogs, and Stalin's Ghost. These books all rate an Excellent. My favorite was Wolves Eat Dogs, set in contemporary Chernobyl and its surrounding area. Reading Cruz Smith's detailed descriptions of that contaminated region, and the few souls who scratch out their existences there, was exhilarating, revelatory, and terrifying.

In Honor of the End of the Semester.

Here is my favorite anonymous review of my teaching, from ratemyprofessors.com:

This guy is a really good teacher but he's a complete jerk. no social skills whatsoever. if you don't mind- again, he is a great teacher, just don't expect any jokes.

I particularly enjoy the proximity of ``great teacher'' to ``complete jerk.''

Journalism.

It is now widely known that the Australasian Journal of Bone and Joint Medicine (AJBJM), complete with honorary editorial board, was in fact an advertising ploy for Merck, created by Elsevier; see, e.g., here for details.

A few comments and questions:

1. It has been reported that all of the articles included in AJBJM were legitimate peer-reviewed articles already having appeared in ``real'' journals. So the primary deception appears to have been in collecting Merck-friendly research into a single neutrally titled volume -- so that an unsuspecting reader would conclude that these articles were chosen only for their scientific merit and not for conclusions favoring the drug company. If Merck had bundled the same articles into a volume entitled, say, Merck Research Review, and had explicitly said in a ``from the editor'' page that these articles were chosen to highlight Merck's contributions to medicine, then there would have been no fraud. Moreover, assuming that the articles involved in this scandal all originally appeared in respected journals, it seems to me that an honestly labeled presentation would have had essentially the same advertising impact.

2. Were the authors of the original papers clearly and honestly informed of Elsevier's republication of their research in this context? (Were they paid?) If these authors were unaware, then the author copyright agreements Elsevier and most journal publishers require need to be modified. How aware were the members of the honorary editorial board?

3. I wonder if the editors at non-fake journals from Australasia (for example, The Australasian Journal of Dermatology) are offended by this abuse of their geography. I'd also be interested in the process that led to Merck/Elsevier choosing this particular location.

4. Questionable journals are not limited to medical research. For several years I received e-mail announcements for the Antarctica Journal of Mathematics, which appeared to exist somewhere on the border between fraud and self delusion.

Sentence of the day.

``Not only did Waits and Lurie co-star in Jim Jarmusch's Down By Law, but avant-garde guitarist Marc Ribot infuses fresh blood into the spoken-word delivery from Lurie punctuated by a female chorus.'' --Bill Melville, blogging here about an album by John Lurie.

Indeed, an infusion of fresh blood into the the spoken-word delivery happens to be the only known medical treatment for punctuation by a female chorus.

Is the Semester Over Yet?

I was having a bad dream: In this dream it was night, near morning. I was lying in bed in yesterday's clothes, having been too exhausted to change out of them the night before. I was cold, having been too tired to get under the blankets. My hands hurt from endless typing.

Then the alarm went off, and I awoke: In yesterday's clothes, on top of the blankets, cold, with sharp pains in my hands.

Summers' Protege, III.

There is more to the story, and it gets even more bizarre. The article I cited below listing the 1995 Mazda Protege as Summers' car further states: Summers previously owned a 1996 Taurus GL.

So not only does Lawrence Summers purportedly drive a 1995 Mazda subcompact worth about $1,500, if his previous car was a 1996 Taurus, Summers may have very well bought the Mazda used. Yow!

Summers' Protege, II.

Thinking about it again, I simply can't believe Lawrence (since I don't know him personally I'm not going to call him Larry) Summers' primary vehicle is a 14-year-old subcompact. There has to be more to this story.

Summers' Protege.

I drive a 1997 Honda Civic EX with about 140,000 miles on it. It runs pretty well, and I hope to keep driving it for some time.

I'll admit that this car occasionally inspires feelings of inadequacy -- if I really were a successful and competent person I'd be driving something a bit newer and nicer.

But now it turns out that White House National Economic Council Director Lawrence Summers drives a 1995 Mazda Protege. In other words: The greatest economic mind of our time drives and even older and crappier car than I do. Whoohoo!

Like Peanut Butter and Thumb Tacks.

Why is it that when people want to describe two items as incomparable, they insist on using the phrase, ``like apples and oranges.'' I don't get it. Apples and oranges are very easily compared: They're both round fruit, suitable for lunch bag or quick at-home snack. One has a peel, the other doesn't. In my family the kitchen table fruit bowl often holds both apples and oranges, and I frequently ask myself: ``Do I want an apple right now or an orange?''

So I think we should think up better phrases to indicate incomparability. How about:

``Like apple sauce and gout.''

``Like acne medication and electronic fuel injection.''

``Like chocolate ice cream and the quadratic formula.''

Be Happy, It's still Adar.

A little late for Purim this year, but still during the joyous month of Adar, I found the following image on Wikipedia: A photograph taken during a 1934 Purim celebration in Tel Aviv. Featuring a young member of the Yemenite Jewish community, dressed as the Purim Carnival's Queen Esther.

Not Me Too.

OK, so this is a weird little story. When I told it to my teenage sons, they looked at me with a jaw-dropped fascination. I read their expressions as: How could anyone be that stupid?

To begin: In the late 1970's and early 1980's I became a fan of the Boston-based punkish band, Mission of Burma. Their shows were amazing, I thought, and I went to see them every weekend or so for a few years, at various grubby venues in and near Boston. They had this one EP, Signals, Calls, and Marches, which to this day I believe is one of the best rock records ever. I hear Mission of Burma's influence in a lot of what has come since. They produced layered washes of sound, steadily building to transcendent moments. One song led straight to another, and they would often play continuously for the entire set.

I thought their concerts were so great that I would leave immediately after they finished -- so as not to pollute with other sounds my memory of the experience. At this time they were usually the opening act, and so my leaving meant that I'd miss the main show. I started this practice after seeing Mission of Burma one time at the Paradise, opening for a well known Los Angeles punk band. Mission of Burma played brilliantly for about 45 minutes straight, stopped abruptly, leaned their instruments facing against the amplifiers, and walked off the stage in the ensuing feedback. A few minutes into the main act I realized that I had no interest, and so I left.

To get to the point. I happened to be in Albany, NY (that's another story) when Mission of Burma passed through on one of their low budget tours. I saw them in a small rather typical club. I remember Mission of Burma gave a good if not outstanding performance, and I left after they played. Again, they were the opening act.

The main act was this new band from Ireland whose music I had not yet heard. I remember seeing, before I left, this skinny guy with long bleached hair fussing with the equipment.

So I walked out on Bono on U2's first US tour.

The Music of My Youth.

When I was a teenager, growing up north of NYC, there was only one radio station for me: WNEW FM. This is the station on which I first heard music that has stayed with me since. The Who, Dylan, the Grateful Dead, the Allman Brothers -- a few of the popular rock bands and musicians at the time who, in retrospect, actually reached a reasonable level of artistry and originality. I clearly remember the DJ's, in particular: Jonathon Schwartz (who has since famously moved beyond rock&roll), Scott Muni, and Allison Steele. I remember being home for a visit from college, up late working on a problem set (I think in first semester real analysis), and calling the station. I spoke with Allison Steele, aka the Night Bird, asking her to play ``The Rotters Club'' by the obscure British band Hatfield and the North. She was so cool, with her incredible, smoky voice. And she did play the song. (A quick surf tells me that both Muni and Steele have since passed away.)

Anyway, the WNEW FM I knew in the 1970's and early 1980's dissappeared for a while. But it's back now, and I can listen to it on wnew.com.

Also cool is that I can again listen to the rock station of my late teens and early 20's, Boston's WBCN. Radio on.

A Cool Read.

Just finished The Cold Six Thousand by James Ellroy. The most deliriously insane political thriller ever. To be kept away from conspiracy theorists. Don't talk about Dallas. YOW!

The Worst Post in US History.

I have heard several times now, from ultra-smart Ivy League think-tank types, on radio and TV, that the invasion of Iraq was the worst foreign policy decision in US history. As much as a case can be made that the invasion was a terrible strategic error, and was morally wrong, our great country has made much, much worse foreign policy decisions to date. Just a few examples:

1. The importation to the US of Black African slaves. The US slave trade with Africa ended January 1, 1808, twenty-one years after the adoption of the US constitution. Of course, slavery itself did not end until much later. But until 1808 slavery was at least in part a feature of US foreign policy.

2. The conquest of the American West. People who think that the invasion of Iraq represents the worst of our country's imperialist excess should read (or re-read) Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, by Dee Brown. Remember, before the ``West was won,'' the expansion of the original US into new North American territories was entirely within the scope of foreign policy.

3. US involvement in Southeast Asia. Just as all of the violence in Iraq today can be laid at the feet of the US, all (or at least much) of what happened in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam during and soon after our military involvement in these countries can also be blamed on the US.

OK, enough. I know this discussion is ridiculous. But I think some perspective is needed amidst some of the most harshly critical rhetoric on Iraq.

I will leave an analysis of the war in Iraq to future historians. Of course, my personal hope is that the situation in Iraq continues to improve, and that eventually Iraq becomes a model democracy for the Muslim Arab world.

Also, of course, one of my greatest fears for our country and the world is that the situation in Iraq massively deteriorates from its recently achieved relative stability. G-d forbid that our involvement in Iraq ever does rate high on a list of worst mistakes in US history.

The Best Background Music for the Occasion.

I know that many people have their own personal soundtracks -- background music for the many things they do with their lives. Music played on an ipod, or perhaps just recalled while humming along.

Well, I've just discovered the best background music for grading hundreds of calculus exams: Thelonius Monk. (In particular, Brilliant Corners.) No doubt.

Uh Oh.

This is bad news. But not surprising.

Computer Assisted.

I have frequently pondered just how much easier scholarly research has become with the rise of the internet, digital databases, and search engines. In particular, if I want to find out what has already been written on almost any given topic, I can now do a fairly complete search in a only few minutes. Such a search would take many hours of dull library work before the present age of the internet.

More recently I thought: If ``library'' research is now essentially instantaneous, has there been a corresponding increase in academic output? Are more papers being published per year per scholar? Are better papers being produced?

And then it hit me: Why don't I check the web! Indeed, a Google search on ``internet scholarly output'' produced the following hit:

Bibliometric analysis of the impact of internet use on scholarly productivity, Noam Kaminer, Yale M. Braunstein, Journal of the American Society for Information Science, Volume 49 Issue 8, Pages 720 - 730. Published Online: 7 Dec 1998.

I immediately felt so productive, and efficient, that I called it a day and went to sleep.

Not Recommended.

I had to send several letters of recommendation out Friday, for students applying to graduate school, in advance of February deadlines. (It seems that in the current ``no planning ahead'' culture it's perfectly acceptable to ask your professor for a letter less than two weeks before the deadline.) In any event, I liked the students for whom I was writing, and I was happy to be of service. As is my practice, I put in a couple of hours of work into writing each letter. But what I found frustrating was how long it took to submit these letters over the web. I was (not literally) tearing my hair out. I thought computers were supposed to make life easier.

I eventually figured out (I think -- I'm not sure) that my main problem was in using the Mac Preview program rather than, ahem, that other .pdf viewer. The .pdf forms I was filling out would not save properly, and I had trouble previewing my uploaded files before final submission.

But I've learned my lesson. And maybe I'll be able to do this all more easily next year. Unless everything gets changed again.