From The Columbia Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition. 2001:
Natural latex obtained from Palaquium gutta and several other evergreen trees of East Asia. The latex, collected by felling or girdling the tree, is allowed to coagulate and is then washed, purified, and molded into bricks for shipping. Like caoutchouc, gutta-percha is a polyterpene, i.e., a polymer of isoprene (see rubber), but, unlike caoutchouc, it is not very elastic; the reason for the difference is that the polymer molecules in gutta-percha have a trans structure, whereas those of caoutchouc have a cis structure (see isomer). Gutta-percha is an excellent nonconductor and is often employed in insulating marine and underground cables. It is also used for golf-ball coverings, surgical appliances, and adhesives.
Malleable, insulating. There are anecdotes here, I believe. And wonderful metaphoric possibilities. This website on gutta-percha is particularly interesting:
http://www.altcorp.com/AffinityLaboratory/guttahistory.htm
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Friday, February 10, 2006
"On Anecdotes"
From Charles Brockden Brown, from the Comments below:
"Anecdotes are literary luxuries. The refinement of a nation influences its literature; we now require not only a solid repast, but a delicious dessert. A physician, austere as Hippocrates; a critic, rigid as Aristotle, are alike inimical to our refreshments. We will not be fooled into their systems. We do not dismiss our fruits and our wines from our table; we eat, and our health remains uninjured. We read anecdotes with voluptuous delight; nor is our science impaired, or our wit rendered less brilliant. It is not just to consider anecdotes merely as means of improvement. They serve also the purpose of utility, and deserve to be classed higher on the scale of study than hitherto they have been."
"Voluptuous delight!" How about that!
"Anecdotes are literary luxuries. The refinement of a nation influences its literature; we now require not only a solid repast, but a delicious dessert. A physician, austere as Hippocrates; a critic, rigid as Aristotle, are alike inimical to our refreshments. We will not be fooled into their systems. We do not dismiss our fruits and our wines from our table; we eat, and our health remains uninjured. We read anecdotes with voluptuous delight; nor is our science impaired, or our wit rendered less brilliant. It is not just to consider anecdotes merely as means of improvement. They serve also the purpose of utility, and deserve to be classed higher on the scale of study than hitherto they have been."
"Voluptuous delight!" How about that!
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Oracular
So two non-fatal disasters struck me in the last week. The question is: what does each mean? Do disasters have meaning? (Pat Robertson would of course say yes.) For the purposes of this blog, anecdotal value lies not only in the event but also in the making meaning.
Event number one: a huge tree fell on my guest house, slicing the house in two and shattering to splinters my first marriage bed. There had been a huge rainstorm overnight but the tree did not fall until after 10:30 in the morning. Had it fallen in the night it would have killed my husband, with whom I am separated, and who has been sleeping in the guest house since September. The guest house looks pretty good from the front (except for the roof) but you open the door and it is open to the air in the back and there is a huge gash in the wall cutting down to the floor, where the remains of the bed are strewn, along with insulation and roof shingles. But the bathroom, closet, bookshelves, and rest of the house stand unhurt.
Of course my husband has had to move back into the main house (I am moving out, into the townhouse referenced back in November). So should we read the falling tree as a sign of the final end of the marriage or the end of the separation or something else?
(For the record, nobody--none of our neighbors at least--heard the tree fall.)
Event number two: My computer at work crashed utterly. I never learned how to back up or use the "M" drive or whatever the special saving drive is named. So I lose everything: my writing, student papers, grade histories, etc. Moreover, not particularly loving my job for reasons best not blogged about, I have been actively job hunting on my work computer, and all of my job letters and resumes are now gone forever. (I've asked the helpdesk people to try to see if they can get certain named files, which is unlikely but possible, but I can't really ask them to spend money trying to get a file named "job search."
So is this a sign that yes, I should leave, or that I should stay and forget about my job search?
(For the record, when my hard drive died it made no sound.)
Event number one: a huge tree fell on my guest house, slicing the house in two and shattering to splinters my first marriage bed. There had been a huge rainstorm overnight but the tree did not fall until after 10:30 in the morning. Had it fallen in the night it would have killed my husband, with whom I am separated, and who has been sleeping in the guest house since September. The guest house looks pretty good from the front (except for the roof) but you open the door and it is open to the air in the back and there is a huge gash in the wall cutting down to the floor, where the remains of the bed are strewn, along with insulation and roof shingles. But the bathroom, closet, bookshelves, and rest of the house stand unhurt.
Of course my husband has had to move back into the main house (I am moving out, into the townhouse referenced back in November). So should we read the falling tree as a sign of the final end of the marriage or the end of the separation or something else?
(For the record, nobody--none of our neighbors at least--heard the tree fall.)
Event number two: My computer at work crashed utterly. I never learned how to back up or use the "M" drive or whatever the special saving drive is named. So I lose everything: my writing, student papers, grade histories, etc. Moreover, not particularly loving my job for reasons best not blogged about, I have been actively job hunting on my work computer, and all of my job letters and resumes are now gone forever. (I've asked the helpdesk people to try to see if they can get certain named files, which is unlikely but possible, but I can't really ask them to spend money trying to get a file named "job search."
So is this a sign that yes, I should leave, or that I should stay and forget about my job search?
(For the record, when my hard drive died it made no sound.)
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Anecdotal Value (again)
How, two people emailed to ask me (you know, you can comment on the blog), am I really going to win the Nobel Prize for this?
First, let me reiterate that I'm planning to win the Nobel Prize in Economics, not Literature. I want to quantify the value of stories in an economy, or, perhaps, the economic value of stories. A story, like money, ciriculates. I started thinking of this when I was working for The New Yorker and had friends in Wall Street who said that the best jokes start on the trading floor. My first thought was, "I should be paying 1% transaction fees for this?" and then I thought, "why not?"
So the question is: are stories a Public Good, like fresh air and a nice view? Could one articulate a Problem of the Anecdote, like the Problem of the Commons? Does the Coase Theorum apply to anecdotes?
Please, my economist friends: help address this and don't be snarky....
First, let me reiterate that I'm planning to win the Nobel Prize in Economics, not Literature. I want to quantify the value of stories in an economy, or, perhaps, the economic value of stories. A story, like money, ciriculates. I started thinking of this when I was working for The New Yorker and had friends in Wall Street who said that the best jokes start on the trading floor. My first thought was, "I should be paying 1% transaction fees for this?" and then I thought, "why not?"
So the question is: are stories a Public Good, like fresh air and a nice view? Could one articulate a Problem of the Anecdote, like the Problem of the Commons? Does the Coase Theorum apply to anecdotes?
Please, my economist friends: help address this and don't be snarky....
Anecdote, Talmud, and Ethics
Anecdotes, I believe, reside in a space outside of ethics. That is, as a story (small story or integral story or whatever it is that makes anecdotes a subset of the genre story) it in and of itself has no duty to be ethical. An anecdote about something unethical is not unethical; a story about something ethical is not ethical. Anecdotes are amoral, perhaps one can say.
However, one can use anecdotes unethically and one can use anecdotes ethically. A talmudic friend of mind (or, rather, a friend who shares my love of Talmud), remarked recently that the Talmud is in essence a book of anecdotes. Indeed it is: and I would add that it is a book of anecdotes used ethically. Why? Because these anecdotes are used to parse, to understand, to make legible, to apply, to approach -- that is, to understand G-d.
Anecdotes can be used unethically when they are used to persuade. The Talmud itself is clear on this (chapter and verse, as it were, in later posts). The most unethical use of anecdote (or talmudic ethics) is in order to persuade oneself or others that what one is doing is actually ethical, even when it appears unethical. One should take great care not to keep a critical distance from the ethics one is studying, lest one think oneself above ethics.
However, one can use anecdotes unethically and one can use anecdotes ethically. A talmudic friend of mind (or, rather, a friend who shares my love of Talmud), remarked recently that the Talmud is in essence a book of anecdotes. Indeed it is: and I would add that it is a book of anecdotes used ethically. Why? Because these anecdotes are used to parse, to understand, to make legible, to apply, to approach -- that is, to understand G-d.
Anecdotes can be used unethically when they are used to persuade. The Talmud itself is clear on this (chapter and verse, as it were, in later posts). The most unethical use of anecdote (or talmudic ethics) is in order to persuade oneself or others that what one is doing is actually ethical, even when it appears unethical. One should take great care not to keep a critical distance from the ethics one is studying, lest one think oneself above ethics.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Parachute Salesman
I met a parachute salesman during my last plane trip. This seems interesting on its face; any further elaboration would be pointless. Or rather, the idea of a parachute salesman is somehow complete without narrative embroidery. But you are probably wondering about this anyway, since I don't usually talk to people on airplanes, let alone salespeople.
But he was very handsome in a twinkly eye sort of way when he was putting his bag in the overhead bin and apologizing for leaning over me. I was reading a medieval history textbook (which who'd have thought would be a real guy magnet?) and he sat down and then left to a seat in a different row (apparently with his boss) and then came back and said "I'd rather sit next to a medieval history book than pages of specs for our new parachute line." I said "you're in the parachute line? how pessimistic." "Au contraire," he rejoined (it is apparently a French parachute company that he works for), and, as you might imagine, very little medieval literature was read until we landed.
This was nearly a week ago and I should add that he apparently listened closely to my name and my college's name and found me and has emailed hello. Despite a wedding ring.
Hm.
But he was very handsome in a twinkly eye sort of way when he was putting his bag in the overhead bin and apologizing for leaning over me. I was reading a medieval history textbook (which who'd have thought would be a real guy magnet?) and he sat down and then left to a seat in a different row (apparently with his boss) and then came back and said "I'd rather sit next to a medieval history book than pages of specs for our new parachute line." I said "you're in the parachute line? how pessimistic." "Au contraire," he rejoined (it is apparently a French parachute company that he works for), and, as you might imagine, very little medieval literature was read until we landed.
This was nearly a week ago and I should add that he apparently listened closely to my name and my college's name and found me and has emailed hello. Despite a wedding ring.
Hm.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
The Second Pig
Everybody knows the story of the three little pigs. They are sent out by their mother to live on their own and become responsible pig citizens. The first pig makes his house out of straw -- quick, cheap, and easy -- then proceeds to have fun, at least until the wolf huffs and puffs and blows it all in (or down, whatever). (I'm dispensing with all discussions of hairs on chinny chin chins too, pace purists). The second pig (and it is unclear whether this pig first sees what happens with the first pig or is just a bit more cautious) builds his house with sticks, which would seem to offer more wolf-whistle resistance, but alas no. The third pig builds his house out of bricks, which not only withstands the wolf, but offers refuge to his risk-taking brothers.
The real idiot of this story is of course the second pig. The first pig gets something: playtime and the manifest support of his two brothers when he's in need. The third pig gets something too: the twin satisfaction of being prepared and of helping his brothers in need. But the second pig gets nothing: he takes no playtime, he gets no security. He can't even help out the first pig for very long.
The lesson: people who choose half-measures not only get nothing, they also lose the opportunity to get something. I'm a third pig who appreciates first pigs. But second pigs: ugh. Losers every one.
The real idiot of this story is of course the second pig. The first pig gets something: playtime and the manifest support of his two brothers when he's in need. The third pig gets something too: the twin satisfaction of being prepared and of helping his brothers in need. But the second pig gets nothing: he takes no playtime, he gets no security. He can't even help out the first pig for very long.
The lesson: people who choose half-measures not only get nothing, they also lose the opportunity to get something. I'm a third pig who appreciates first pigs. But second pigs: ugh. Losers every one.
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