LIBOR is the London Interbank Offered Rate, the benchmark interest rate for the banking industry at all levels. (I have had credit cards in which the interest rate was determined by adding X, where X is some absurd quantity, to LIBOR on a specific date.) It is inconceivable that LIBOR should be screwed with, so inevitably it was:
The U.S. Commodity Futures Trading Commission says Barclays tried to influence the interest rates as early as 2005, before the world financial crisis broke. Barclays employees urged other banks to participate in the attempted manipulation. And the CFTC says senior Barclays managers made false reports to protect the image of the bank during the financial crisis.
British and American regulators came down hard, or as hard as regulators are allowed to come down, fining Barclays $452 million. Since the bank has assets somewhere in the vicinity of $2 trillion and earns revenues well into the tens of billions every year, this is the economic equivalent of having to toss a dollar into the cuss jar.
Barclays boss Bob Diamond says he will not resign, though he did decline his annual £6.5 million bonus.
Given the dozens of megabytes I’ve devoted to, um, whatshername over the past couple of years, it’s about time I showed some appreciation for her older sister. Accordingly, here’s a shot of Emily Deschanel at Bringing Farm Sanctuary to All: A Celebration of Expanding Compassion, in a slightly-quirky (maybe it runs in the family) dress by BCBGMaxAzria:
Emily’s current gig, you may recall, is playing Dr. Temperance “Bones” Brennan in the Fox series Bones.
From the Things I Did Not Know files, courtesy of Nvmeri Innvmeri:
The Romans had no negative numbers, and could express only a limited range of fractions with numeric symbols, principally the twelfths from 1/12 to 11/12. (The American pound has 16 ounces, but the Roman libra was divided into 12 unciae.) That means that while any properly-formed Roman number can be expressed in Arabic numbers, the converse is not true.
Since Wilson Pickett has been on my mind of late, I asked for a Roman equivalent of 99½, which comes back XCIX S; apparently one through five twelfths are represented by horizontal lines ordered in pairs, and seven through eleven by S plus those same lines, so 999/12 would be XCIX S= – or something like that.
Well, a week in 1880, anyway. The Grand Inquisitor, in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov:
[N]othing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom. But seest Thou these stones in this parched and barren wilderness? Turn them into bread, and mankind will run after Thee like a flock of sheep, grateful and obedient, though for ever trembling, lest Thou withdraw Thy hand and deny them Thy bread.” But Thou wouldst not deprive man of freedom and didst reject the offer, thinking, what is that freedom worth if obedience is bought with bread? Thou didst reply that man lives not by bread alone. But dost Thou know that for the sake of that earthly bread the spirit of the earth will rise up against Thee and will strive with Thee and overcome Thee, and all will follow him, crying, “Who can compare with this beast? He has given us fire from heaven!” Dost Thou know that the ages will pass, and humanity will proclaim by the lips of their sages that there is no crime, and therefore no sin; there is only hunger? “Feed men, and then ask of them virtue!” that’s what they’ll write on the banner, which they will raise against Thee, and with which they will destroy Thy temple. Where Thy temple stood will rise a new building; the terrible tower of Babel will be built again, and though, like the one of old, it will not be finished, yet Thou mightest have prevented that new tower and have cut short the sufferings of men for a thousand years; for they will come back to us after a thousand years of agony with their tower. They will seek us again, hidden underground in the catacombs, for we shall be again persecuted and tortured. They will find us and cry to us, “Feed us, for those who have promised us fire from heaven haven’t given it!” And then we shall finish building their tower, for he finishes the building who feeds them. And we alone shall feed them in Thy name, declaring falsely that it is in Thy name. Oh, never, never can they feed themselves without us! No science will give them bread so long as they remain free. In the end they will lay their freedom at our feet, and say to us, “Make us your slaves, but feed us.” They will understand themselves, at last, that freedom and bread enough for all are inconceivable together, for never, never will they be able to share between them! They will be convinced, too, that they can never be free, for they are weak, vicious, worthless, and rebellious. Thou didst promise them the bread of Heaven, but, I repeat again, can it compare with earthly bread in the eyes of the weak, ever sinful and ignoble race of man?
(Translation by Constance Garnett. Suggested by neo-neocon.)
The thing that always struck me about Lloyd Price’s version of “Stagger Lee” — if you haven’t heard it lately, see Nicole’s almost frighteningly detailed history of the song — is that it’s downright jubilant: not only does Mr. Lee shoot Billy without discernible consequences, but the background singers are egging him on (“Go Stagger Lee!”) all the while. Furthermore, not only did Dick Clark refuse to allow it on the sanitary stage of American Bandstand, but for the next couple of decades, urban BMFs of this sort were expected to come to a Bad End. (See, for instance, the case of Leroy Brown.) Then again, the cleaned-up, Clark-approved version has been utterly ignored ever since; covers by everyone from Wilson Pickett to Tommy Roe have stuck to Price’s first telling of the story.
From Nicole’s notes:
The versions in which he takes over Hell from the devil also likely come from the perception that Lee was black and a black man strong enough to do all of that would have quickly become a folk hero to an oppressed minority population, who, although having been freed from slavery 30 years prior [to the original incident, which dated to 1895], were still laboring under Jim Crow laws. A trickster type of character would appeal to people in less than optimum conditions who saw no path to change.
Exactly so. In fact, Bobby Seale of the Black Panthers actually named his son after Stagger Lee, and cited Lee as a civil-rights hero on par with, for instance, his Panther co-founder Huey Newton. But there’s this:
Standin’ on the gallows,
Stack O’Lee did cuss,
The judge said let’s kill him
Before he kills some of us.
So sang Mississippi John Hurt in 1928. It would be thirty years before Mr. Lee was allowed to get away with it, and, well, a lot can happen in thirty years.
If you’re old enough, you may remember the old flathead engines with the valves positioned on the side of the block; modern overhead-valve engines with pushrods were a bit more complicated, but they allowed for higher compression ratios, something that mattered a great deal in the late 1940s and early 1950s. I’ve never owned a car with a flathead mill, and I retain a certain fondness for pushrods, inasmuch as the first car I could call my own was a Chevrolet, a make which had actually started building OHV engines in 1929, a mere 37 years before my little Nova with the 230. But my last three rides have had double overhead cams and four valves per cylinder, something I tend to think of as a relatively recent innovation.
And of course I’m wrong. In fact, the DOHC configuration was first used in a car a hundred years ago this week: a racer driven by Georges Boillot of the Peugeot team, equipped with a 7.6-liter DOHC four, won the French Grand Prix (Grand Prix de l’ACF) on 26 June 1912, easily beating a 14-liter Fiat S74s and suggesting that there might indeed be a replacement for displacement. The next year, Jules Goux, driving a modified version of the Peugeot — down to 7.3 liters — won the Indy 500, leading for 138 of the 200 laps.
Not that this layout is ideal or anything: of the three DOHC cars I’ve owned, only one had a torque peak anywhere in the lower half of the tach, if you can call 130 lb-ft a peak. Or, for that matter, torque.
Rebecca Black in concert? Is this even possible? Short answer: yes. It’s going to happen in August, on the Jersey shore. (No, not on a Friday, though.)
Earlier in the week, interviewed on the red carpet at the premiere of old pal Katy Perry’s Part of Me, RB allowed that she was “recording an album right now,” and that “it’s a little bit different than what I have put out so far.” Not that she’s going to let any secrets slip at this point in her career.
(Parenthetically: I must grumble here that by the time I turned fifteen, I’d pretty much had the construction “different than” beaten out of me [figuratively, anyway] by a succession of teachers of English, all of whom thought it was a barbarism. Then again, when I turned fifteen, Orange County’s previous superstar, Richard Nixon, had just been elected President. To contemporary kids, this might as well have been in the days of the dinosaur.)
I will, of course, put on my fanboy hat and haunt iTunes until this album actually shows up.
(Here’s the full-sized photo, by Jason Merritt/Getty Images.)
There has been butthurt on a galactic scale in response to the Zuckerborg’s most recent Neat Idea: the replacement of your email address, as listed in your Facebook profile, with YourUserName@facebook.com. I wish to state for the record that I don’t really give a flying fish, for the following reasons:
- The vast majority of my FB friends already know at least one address at which they can reach me — four of the five I maintain have been active for over a decade — and presumably don’t need to hunt down the profile page;
- I can always use it as a spam trap if I have to.
I can’t really feel personally affronted by this action: I learned a long time ago that I was the product, not the customer. And once in a while I do look at my Facebook messages, though I admit I don’t always peer into the mysterious “Other” folder.
(Provoked, sort of, by Teresa.)
It was hypothesized by the Public Policy Research Lab [at LSU] that the actual word “Fracking” may have a negative connotation that is separate from the environmental concerns that often accompany discussions of the process. Due to the harsh consonant sounds in the word itself, and an undeniable similarity to a certain other four letter word starting with the letter “F”, it seemed plausible that some of the negative public sentiment about “Fracking” may result from how unpleasant the word itself sounds.
In order to test this hypothesis the Public Policy Research Lab placed two randomly assigned blocks of questions into the 2012 Louisiana Survey. Half of the respondents got one block, half got the other. One block contained questions about “Fracking” and used the word “Fracking” while the other block of near-identical questions … used a description of the “Fracking” process without actually using the words “Fracking” or “Fracturing.”
Apparently using that particular F-word reduces support for the process:
Still, I can see myself adapting this research to the vernacular: “What the hell kind of fracking response (or, for that matter, non-fracking response) was that?”
(Via Language Log.)
You of course remember the Gadsden flag, with its rattlesnake ready to take on any and all trespassers. It dates to the 1770s, and still shows up now and then in American political discourse. If we didn’t have Gadsden, we’d have — what? Lileks offers an alternative:
“Get off my lawn” isn’t just an expression of a joyless old juiceless dude shaking his whittlin’ kinfe at some kids cutting across the lawn, it’s the basis of how you see the relationship between the individual and the state. See this? My lawn? Get off it. By which I mean don’t put a carbon tax on my lawn mower. Don’t ask for tax dollars for a program to raise consciousness about alternative grasses. Don’t regard my tenure on the lawn as transiton and conditional because you know it can be taken away if I don’t pay the taxes. (House = castle / lawn = moat)
And of late, we lawnowners might be well advised to keep a rattlesnake or two on hand, just because.
If your childhood self used to think that germs came from, um, Germany, here’s just the Canadian story you need:
A hand sanitizer meant to protect people from germs is being recalled because of bacterial contamination, Health Canada said Thursday.
Kimberly-Clark is recalling its Kleenex-brand Luxury Foam Hand Sanitizer after company testing detected bacteria that may pose serious health risks to people with weakened immune systems, especially those with the lung disorder cystic fibrosis.
(Via Fark, where it got the IRONIC tag.)
The label here is slightly misleading: this is a Stevie Wonder set (at the Toronto Jazz Fest), and Monáe doesn’t actually come in until about halfway through. Still, this is pretty close to an answered prayer, inasmuch as it’s been a long time since The ArchAndroid, and hey, it’s Stevie.
The place I got this also has two original songs from Monáe’s own set, which make me wonder (sorry) about the two albums she’s supposed to be releasing this year.
I’m really surprised it took this long. The Currently Reading sorta-widget down there in the sidebar (it’s available here) gets its jacket photos and such through Amazon Web Services, and serves up, among other things, an Amazon link if you exhibit enough interest in a title to click on it. It’s been up for several months now, and apparently Amazon just noticed I was signed up for AWS, because they sent me half a dozen suggestions based on a book I’d featured in the widget.
That book was Jeffrey Eugenides’ novel The Marriage Plot, and these are the suggestions:
- Chad Harbach: The Art of Fielding
- Téa Obreht: The Tiger’s Wife
- David Levithan: The Lover’s Dictionary
- Russell Banks: Lost Memory of Skin
- Haruki Murakami: 1Q84
- Julian Barnes: The Sense of an Ending
All of these look like they have some potential. (I’ve read about the Harbach novel and the Murakami trilogy, but have yet to read them for myself.) I’m putting this up as a reminder to myself, mostly.
Australian Olympic swimmer Stephanie Rice caused some mild consternation when she snapped a photo of herself in a swimsuit and duly sent it up to Twitter. Admittedly, it’s not a competition swimsuit, but it’s not all that racy. (You can see it on Instagram.)
In 2008, Rice won three gold medals — 200- and 400-meter individual medleys and 200-meter freestyle medley — and set world records for all three. And occasionally she doesn’t wear a swimsuit at all:
Two of those three records have since been broken — the 400-meter remains intact — so she’s got her work cut out for her in London.
No matter what Microsoft representatives tell you, no matter what Microsoft writes on their support pages, DO NOT EVEN ATTEMPT TO USE AN XP COMPUTER TO DOWNLOAD WINDOWS 7.
Capitalization as in the original.
One reason for this:
The first software that needs to be downloaded and installed on an XP computer is supposedly .net 2.0. Remember that I’d just installed all the Microsoft updates on the XP laptop? It seems that .net 2.0 is “incompatible” with the version now on my laptop which was .net 3.? I think. Does Microsoft never update these pages? Does Microsoft think I’m going to uninstall a newer version of their software to install an older version so that I can download and use the latest version? And possibly screw up the one relatively full-featured computer I have working?
And we all know what I think of .NET, although somehow I have gotten 2.0 and 3.5 to coexist. (Versions below 2.0 are now supported only by whoever does installs for Cthulhu.)