Lost in Translation

Such dread was a large part of the post-9/11 decade. A culture of fear had created a culture of spending to control it, which, in turn, had led to a belief that the government had to be able to stop every single plot before it took place, regardless of whether it involved one network of twenty terrorists or one single deranged person. This expectation propelled more spending and even more zero-defect expectations. There were tens of thousands of unsolved murders in the United States by 2010, but few newspapers ever blared this across their front pages or even tried to investigate how their police departments had to failed to solve them all over the years. But when it came to terrorism, newspaper and other media outlets amplified each mistake, which amplified the threat, which amplified the fear, which prompted more spending, and on and on and on.

found on Schneier on Security

Purchased for tomorrow’s Dunwich Dynamo. I found them at the Secret Society of Vegans, who conveniently have a shop near Kings Cross. Anyone can enter, as long as you know the secret hand sign.

There may not be any animal ingredients in this amalgam of dreams, but there aren’t many good ones, either. However, on a long ride the engine room accepts lower grades of fuel.

It used to be a source of wonder to me how Batman could swing his grappling Batarang over the roof of any building in Gotham and always catch it on something able to bear his and Robin’s weight.

I don’t wonder anymore. As I make the rounds of our house I am forever getting hooked on things without even trying.

For example, we have these terrible door handles which were placed at a height determined by an architect to be optimal to catch on clothes, in this case my robe; I doubt our rental contract has a clause on replacing unfriendly door fittings. There also seem to be a myriad of other objects lying in wait specifically to grab earphone cords. The bicycles we have around the place are a particularly rich source of projections.