From The Economist:

Have Ms Williams and Mr Federer discovered a new method for older players to compete effectively? Both of them have unique skills that are unusually resistant to the ravages of ageing. Ms Williams’ greatest strength is her remarkably fast and accurate serve, which is easily the best in the history of women’s tennis. She hit 24 aces in her semi-final win against Victoria Azarenka, tying the single-match record on the women’s tour, and set a new record for total aces in a tournament with 102. Opponents can only take advantage of Ms Williams’ declining foot speed if they manage to return her serve. Moreover, the high number of points Ms Williams wins with a single shot prevents her from tiring too quickly.

Mr Federer’s corresponding advantage is his versatility. Whereas Mr Nadal often tries to wear down his rivals with his punishing strength and stamina, Mr Federer aims to disrupt the rhythm of fitter opponents by mixing up his shots. He has become better than ever at keeping his adversary guessing, even though he is much more likely to lose energy and focus over the course of a long match than he once was.

Yet it was no coincidence that Ms Williams and Mr Federer both ended their title droughts at the same tournament. Wimbledon is the only Grand Slam that is played on grass, where tennis balls bounce lower and retain more of their speed than they do on other surfaces. That leads to shorter rallies, reducing the physical demands on players, and favours the aggressive, risk-taking style of tennis that both Ms Williams and Mr Federer play.

More here.

In case you haven't read enough yet, more from Steven Weinberg in the NYTimes:

A case can be made for this sort of spending, even to those who don’t care about learning the laws of nature. Exploring the outer frontier of our knowledge of nature is in one respect like war: It pushes modern technology to its limits, often yielding new technology of great practical importance.

For instance, the new particle was produced at CERN in collisions of protons that occur at a rate of over a hundred million collisions per second. To analyze the flood of data produced by all these collisions requires real time computing of unmatched power. Also, before the protons collide, they are accelerated to an energy over 3,000 times larger than the energy contained in their own masses while they go many times around a 27-kilometer circular tunnel. To keep them in their tracks requires enormously strong superconducting magnets, cooled by the world’s largest source of liquid helium. In previous work at CERN, elementary particle physicists developed a method of sharing data that has become the World Wide Web.

On a longer time scale, the advance of technology will reflect the coherent picture of nature we are now assembling. At the end of the 19th century physicists in England were exploring the properties of electric currents passing through a near vacuum. Although this was pure science, it led to our knowledge of the electron, without which a large part of today’s technology would be impossible. If these physicists had limited themselves to work of obvious practical importance, they would have been studying the behavior of steam boilers.

More here.

From Vanity Fair, an adapted introduction by the late Christopher Hitchens to forthcoming Diaries by George Orwell:

As someone who had been brought up in a fairly rarefied and distinctly reactionary English milieu, in which the underclass of his own society and the millions of inhabitants of its colonial empire were regarded with a mixture of fear and loathing, Orwell also made an early decision to find out for himself what the living conditions of these remote latitudes were really “like.” This second commitment, to acquaint himself with the brute facts as they actually were, was to prove a powerful reinforcement of his latent convictions.

Read with care, George Orwell’s diaries, from the years 1931 to 1949, can greatly enrich our understanding of how Orwell transmuted the raw material of everyday experience into some of his best-known novels and polemics. They furnish us with a more intimate picture of a man who, committed to the struggles of the mechanized and “modern” world, was also drawn by the rhythms of the wild, the rural, and the remote.

Read the rest here.

From lensculture:

“If I indulge myself and surrender to memory, I can still feel the knot of excitement that gripped me as I turned the corner into Rue Mimosas, looking for the house of Rene Magritte. It was August, 1965. I was thirty three years old and about to meet the man whose profound and witty surrealist paintings had contradicted my assumptions about photography.”
—Duane Michals

This slender book is really a joy to behold, and one can sense the photographer's excitement at meeting and collaborating with one of the most influential masters of surrealism.

More here.

From The Independent:

When brothers and sisters are young, observed the psychologist Dorothy Rowe, they fight with each other for their parents' attention. When they are older, “siblings battle over who has the most truthful, accurate memory of their shared past”. Adult siblings generally do not face the same pressures as, say, married couples to agree on a story about their pasts. Individuals who have spent a lifetime trying to define themselves in opposition to each other are unlikely to be quite as motivated to settle their memory differences. And the fact is that adult siblings usually do not get as many opportunities as couples do to negotiate their memory disputes.

Third Person

a haze a heron in a tide-pool
and for a long time out of
time
two children push a giant yellow globe

coyotes come and every June the same
the unrequited
loneliness the same
out-of-tune expressions herons dance
the same blue
wings
it all made sense
the way he asked me for
the Book of Job
to make some pattern make some rhyme
out of his life
before he died
the way he scrutinized his patterned robe

when he did die it's simply that he sensed
there was no
more to do no other dance
to be composed no present tense

by Maria Gapotchenko
from Clarion 15, Boston University

From FT Magazine:

Perhaps it was the opium talking, but Thomas de Quincey once wrote that an evening in the company of Samuel Coleridge was “like some great river”. The poet “swept at once into a continuous strain of dissertation, certainly the most novel, the most finely illustrated, and traversing the most spacious fields of thought, by transitions the most just and logical, that it was possible to conceive”. Most of us have hopefully felt the unmoored elation of staying up all night talking with a friend or a lover. But Coleridge was that rare thing, a conversationalist: eloquent, witty, with a seemingly bottomless reservoir of cultural knowledge. Nor was he the only one back then who could claim his company was a performance art. David Hume once engaged in so much raillery at a dinner party he left Jean-Jacques Rousseau clinging to a table leg.

What makes a good conversationalist has changed little over the years. The basics remain the same as when Cicero became the first scholar to write down some rules, which were summarised in 2006 by The Economist: “Speak clearly; speak easily but not too much, especially when others want their turn; do not interrupt; be courteous; deal seriously with serious matters and gracefully with lighter ones; never criticise people behind their backs; stick to subjects of general interest; do not talk about yourself; and, above all, never lose your temper.” But Cicero was lucky: he never went on a first date with someone more interested in their iPhone than his company.

More here.

From Smithsonian:

In 1966, I stood outside my elementary school in Maryland, waving a sign for Spiro Agnew. He was running for governor against a segregationist who campaigned on the slogan, “Your Home Is Your Castle—Protect It.” My parents, like many Democrats, crossed party lines that year to help elect Agnew. Two years later, he became Richard Nixon’s surprise choice as running mate, prompting pundits to wonder, “Spiro who?” At 10, I was proud to know the answer. Agnew isn’t otherwise a source of much pride. He became “Nixon’s Nixon,” an acid-tongued hatchet man who resigned a year before his boss, for taking bribes. But “Spiro who?” turned me into an early and enduring student of vice-presidential trivia. Which led me, a few months ago, to Huntington, Indiana, an industrial town that was never much and is even less today. It’s also the boyhood home of our 44th vice president.

His elementary school is unmarked, a plain brick building that’s now a senior citizens center. But across the street stands an imposing church that has been rechristened the “Quayle Vice Presidential Learning Center.” Inside the former chapel, you can see “Danny” Quayle’s report card (A’s and B’s), his toy truck and exhibits on his checkered tenure as vice president. He “accomplished more than most realize,” a caption states, noting Quayle’s visits to 47 countries and his chairmanship of the Council on Competitiveness. But the learning center isn’t a shrine to Quayle—or a joke on its namesake, who famously misspelled “potato.” It is, instead, a nonpartisan collection of stories and artifacts relating to all 47 vice presidents: the only museum in the land devoted to the nation’s second-highest office. This neglect might seem surprising, until you tour the museum and learn just how ignored and reviled the vice presidency has been for most of its history. John Nance Garner, for one, said the job wasn’t worth a bucket of warm spit.

More here.

Siren Song

This
is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is
irresistible:

the song that forces men
to leap overboard in
squadrons
even though they see the beached skulls

the song nobody
knows
because anyone who has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember.

Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me

out of this bird suit?

I don'y enjoy it here
squatting on this
island
looking picturesque and mythical

with these two feathery
maniacs,
I don't enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.

I
will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This
song

is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are
unique

at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.

by Margaret Atwood

Over at The Wilson Quarterly, Ethan Zuckerman examines the paradox of our increasing insularity in the era of globalization:

As we start to understand how people actually use the Internet, the cyberutopian hopes of a borderless, postnational planet can look as naive as most past predictions that new technologies would transform societies. In 1912, radio pioneer Guglielmo Marconi declared, “The coming of the wireless era will make war impossible, because it will make war ridiculous.” Two years later a ridiculous war began, ultimately killing nine million Europeans.

While it’s easy to be dismissive of today’s Marconis—the pundits, experts, and enthusiasts who saw a rise in Internet connection leading to a rise in international understanding—that’s too simple and too cynical a response. Increased digital connection does not automatically lead to increased understanding. At the same time, there’s never been a tool as powerful as the Internet for building new ties (and maintaining existing ones) across distant borders.

The challenge for anyone who wants to decipher the mysteries of a connected age is to understand how the Internet does, and does not, connect us. Only then can we find ways to make online connection more common and more powerful.

Read the rest at here.

From The Browser:

It’s widely presumed that the English language will become entrenched as the world’s lingua franca and that minority languages will continue to die out. But you don’t really buy into this theory and have argued that new technology might allow minority languages to thrive. I wonder if you could expand on this?

I try to look at things from a historical perspective rather than just what’s happening in this decade or century. I look at the progress of languages over centuries and millennia – my book Empires of the Word starts in 3000 BC and ends in modern times. Each of us only lives two or three generations, so it’s quite difficult for us to get that perspective without really striving for it. When it comes to languages, we tend to be familiar only with the one that we use on a daily basis. When we are also conscious that in the last century or two that language has spread out all over the world, it gives us a very foreshortened perspective. What I’m trying to do is to correct that.

There have been many lingua francas and English, although it is the most widespread that we know of, is a relative latecomer. We still can’t tell the full form of its life history yet because if you look at a really established lingua franca like Latin it lasted for one and a half millennia. Just when it was thought that it was on its way out with the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, it got a new lease of life through its association with the Catholic church. So these things are difficult to predict.

More here.

Liat Clark in Wired:

After repeatedly subjecting fruit flies to a stimulus designed to teach numerical skills, the evolutionary geneticists finally hit on a generation of flies that could count — it took 40 tries before the species' evolution occurred. The findings, announced at the First Joint Congress on Evolutionary Biology in Canada, could lead to a better understanding of how we process numbers and the genetics behind dyscalculia — a learning disability that affects a person's ability to count and do basic arithmetic.

“The obvious next step is to see how [the flies'] neuro-architecture has changed,” said geneticist Tristan Long, of Canada's Wilfrid Laurier University, who admits far more research is needed to delve into what the results actually mean. Primarily, this will involve comparing the genetic make-up of an evolved fruit fly with that of a standard test fly to pinpoint the mutation.

The research team, made up of geneticists from Wilfrid Laurier University in Canada and the University of California, repeatedly subjected test flies to a 20-minute mathematics training session. The flies were exposed to two, three or four flashes of light, with two or four flashes coinciding with a shake of the container the flies were kept in. Following a pause, the flies were again subjected to the flashing light, however none prepared themselves for a repeat of the shake since they could not discern a difference between two, three or four flashes. That is, until the key 40th generation of descendants were put to the test.

More here.

From the Moscow Times:

I never thought I'd write a column about the word агент (agent). What's there to write?

Both агент and agent come originally from the Latin, although агент probably entered Russian later than it entered English. Both агент and agent share pretty much the same range of meanings. Агент might be a representative of an organization or person who is empowered to act for them, like страховой агент (insurance agent) or литературный агент (literary agent). Or агент might be a substance that causes some kind of change, like активный агент (active agent) in a chemical process. And then агент might be a spy, like двойной агент (double agent). Interestingly, a dictionary from the 1930s lists the last meaning as разговорное, устаревшее (colloquial, archaic). My, how things change.

But still — so far, so good. For once, the two languages are in perfect harmony.

And then in its recent legislative bacchanalia, the Russian parliament proposed that the term иностранный агент (foreign agent) be used to identify any nongovernmental organization in Russia that receives foreign funding, insisting that this is a direct translation of the U.S. designation “foreign agent.”

And with that, harmony went out the window.

More here.

The Rolling Stones, it might be argued, were not even as radical as the Beatles. But their music was defiantly dirty, and it got better and better. The syncopated chops that kicked “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” into being were the prelude to a domination of the rock scene that perfectly mirrored the febrile times. The band members themselves still flirted with the accoutrements of gracious living, twisting its elegant ways to suit their own purposes. In 1969, guitarist Keith Richards and his then partner, the actress Anita Pallenberg, moved into a Queen Anne mansion in Chelsea bought from a Conservative undersecretary of state. “The study where government officials had debated the Suez crisis in 1956 was now occupied by a large hookah,” writes Sandford with no little relish. It wasn’t the Stones selling out to the establishment, so much as vice versa.

more from Peter Aspden at the FT here.

Darwin had anticipated the charge of plagiarism. Buried somewhere in his notes was a list of predecessors he had planned to acknowledge. With so many enemies lining up against him — venting the expected “disgust and outrage” at his theory of natural selection — he could ill afford to offend his allies. So in the first American edition of “Origin,” he appended a “Historical Sketch” crediting 18 others, including Powell. In subsequent editions, the roll expanded. Stott usefully includes as an appendix the version Darwin added to the fourth British edition, in 1866. It cites over 30 names, many now obscure. Stott, in her absorbing account, shows that Darwin, who had sat on his discoveries for 20 years, had good reason to worry about his book’s reception. Among many other cautionary tales, there was one very close to home: that of the doctor and poet Erasmus Darwin, his talented and outspoken grandfather.

more from Hugh Raffles at the NY Times here.

The year 1909 would be an important and traumatic one for Joyce, challenging him once again as a writer, and enticing him back to the novel over which he had laboured so long and which he had come to neglect. But it took a moment of mutual discovery to galvanize him. In February, Ettore Schmitz, his student, mentioned to him shyly that he too was a writer and had published two novels under the pseudonym “Italo Svevo.” These were “Una Vita” and “Senilità,” published ten years earlier. Joyce took them to read and was deeply impressed, telling him, “Do you know that you are a neglected writer? There are passages in ‘Senilità’ that even Anatole France could not have improved.” His words moved Schmitz almost to tears. From then on he talked to Joyce openly about his frustrated ambitions. Joyce’s enthusiasm had reignited his will to write, and he would soon embark on the novel that would bring him literary recognition. His brother, said Stanislaus, was more than a teacher to Schmitz, he was “an influence.”

more of the excerpt from Gordon Bowker’s new biography on Joyce at the LA Times here.