math’s blog

related?

nobody@vox.com(math) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 13:12:48 -0700

I suspect these two words are VERY related, although the relationship is not clear from the etymological explanations given here:

jealous
c.1225, from O.Fr. gelos (12c., Fr. jaloux), from L.L. zelosus, from zelus "zeal," from Gk. zelos, sometimes "jealousy," but more often in a good sense ("emulation, rivalry, zeal"). See zeal. Among the ways to express this are Swed. svartsjuka, lit. "black-sick," from phrase bara svarta strumpor "wear black stockings," also "be jealous." Dan. skinsyg "jealous," lit. "skin-sick," is from skind "hide, skin" said to be explained by Swed. dial. expression fa skinn "receive a refusal in courtship."
"Most of the words for 'envy' ... had from the outset a hostile force, based on 'look at' (with malice), 'not love,' etc. Conversely, most of those which became distinctive terms for 'jealousy' were originally used also in a good sense, 'zeal, emulation.' " [Buck, pp.1138-9]

zealot
c.1300, "member of a militant 1st century Jewish sect which fiercely resisted the Romans in Palestine," from L.L. Zelotes, from Gk. zelotes "one who is a zealous follower," from zeloun "to be zealous," from zelos "zeal" (see zeal). Extended sense of "a fanatical enthusiast" first recorded 1638.

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whither managers

nobody@vox.com(math) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 12:08:57 -0700

A valid and important question concerns the state of the art in the science of management in America.

There have been high and low points in the progress of management from country club to science. We are part of the way there. The overall arc of progress over the last two hundred years has been in respectable directions. We have embraced and given some status to entrepreneurs, allowing that the entrepreneurial business should be run differently from others. A step further is the lesson that many have read about and a handful have learned, which is that the agility and savvy of the entrepreneur are good for larger businesses too.

The cyberneticists turned into the operations researchers, and they begat the folks who researched and applied great tools like the Plan-Act-Check-Fix cycle, and the notion of positive and negative feedback loops. The cult of total control gave way to the pragmatic view of control within limits. A few figured out that control - another way of saying that you don't want to flush money down the toilet - requires good information, and that drew in what the AI folks and semanticists were saying about knowledge and representation of same. Then you have to ask questions about who actually has the knowledge to do and fix the work processes, and the researchers who made the greatest strides were the geniuses who said what the managers did not want to hear. That is, the workers know a lot of shit and the manager would do better to shut up, go out on the floor, listen and learn.

Pretty soon, we had a mini-war between the people actually doing the management in American companies and the people who knew the most about it. The latter - the eggheads and egalitarians - were banished to developing nations like Japan. There the bright and rational management scientists were given a chance to Plan-Act-Check-Fix (that four-stroke engine appeared everywhere and everywhere with a new name) and holy camoly, Japan started to really cook.

Competition got stoked up and took off like drag racers. Competition drove a lot of back-and-forth stealing and renaming of ideas. It also, however, stimulated a lot of innovation and hybridization. Soon you had heartland red-white-and-blue managers speaking the lingo of kaizen and kanban, and you had Japanese workers thinking about (oh the heresy) starting their own companies. It was tumultuous and productive.

Read the cool books and it sounds all empirical, exciting. There are handles on complexity; there are useful strategies for pitting problems productively against each other; there are plugs to the brain drain; there are clear distinctions between good and bad managers. Looking at the best ideas that are out there almost makes managing a company look manageable.

Still, if you look around, work around, talk around, read around, you still find most American companies are run by bosses (in the worst sense of the word). Dilbert is less a comic strip more a dagger in the real fat gut of a very dysfunctional boss and plebe culture.

It perhaps can be said that we are rich in ideas, but impoverished in praxis. Like science. We have labs and professors and grants and patents and Nobel Prize winners galore. But the average Joe and Jane know shit about the difference between data and shinola; between a hypothesis and a null in the ground. It is something like that with management. We are swimming in a chlorinated pool of inspirational and scientifically tested techniques, but hell if we know why none of them are being applied. Go into the CEO's office and you find all the titles talking about measurement, responsiveness, keeping the best people, using the best practices, reading the future, thinking strategically, and empowering those who actually do the work and make your profits.

But where is that CEO? Golfing with the board. Chatting up the politicians. Sucking down all the perks. Looking at themselves in the mirror and seeing a real American hero.

There is again now a war between those who are in position to KNOW about good management and those who are in a position to maximize their personal gain by VIOLATING good management. As correctly stated in an opinion piece by an egghead, "The behavior that became so widespread and toxic at Enron is not unique to Enron. Many executives (not to mention those who engage in other competitive endeavors) are fixated on exploiting rules to their advantage, instead of thinking about how best to build a sound business while complying with the principles that underlie the legal rules. And this is where they often lose their way." [http://hbswk.hbs.edu/item/5456.html]

Anyone reading the papers in the last few years has been assaulted with stories about massive business failures. Bubbles everywhere. Collapses of giants. Scams turning into bailouts. Storied and celebrated business brands crashing and burning, coming down around the heads of the very managers who ate the guts out of the place like termites.

What is the current state of the art of American management? As measured empirically?

Ford. Chevy. Chrysler. Fannie. Freddie. Bear Stearns. WorldCom. Enron. Arthur Anderson. KPMG. New Century. The American Red Cross. AIG. Tyco.

You all know the list. You all can add to the list. You probably work for some firm who is going to be on the list sooner rather than later.

Yes yes yes. The story outlined here is negative. You might say it is in the CHECK part of the think-do-measure-fix cycle. Not checking, not recognizing failure, would not be good management, would it?

In deference to the pollyanna reader who does not tolerate critical statements, the issue can be rephrased in terms of alternatives. Which is better - to manage like Detroit did, or to manage like Detroit didn't? What should and must be done if the bubble-style school of management is to be replaced by something more rational, more healthy, more successful, more scientific, and more responsible?

As another alternative (or corollary) question, it may be useful to ask what the rest of the world knows, sees, learns and thinks about American business management. Add to the recent epidemic of 'bubbles' the management disasters in Iraq and Afghanistan, and it gets very difficult to avoid a painful answer.

Where, then, will the developing nations of the world (including the Islamic ones) look for leadership in strong, effective, visionary and stable business management? To the USA? Not likely.

Business, it might be aptly said, is about the future. Study the past, read the future, fix the present.

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so far borrowed

nobody@vox.com(math) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 10:10:28 -0700

There have been many things
that started out but did not end up
nights praying for what was wrong
and years preparing for a past
some babies were waited for but
never greeted with pink or blue
waves that swelled up and exhaled
before breaking
creatures that died in my care poems
I left off pursuing
hobbies leftovers bicycles porches
books on shelves books in the mind
convictions marriages religions
medicines advice healthy or sour
wages not even saved but spent
on rent instead of going
promises resolutions revolutions
parts of songs and songs
the explications of meanings carved out
of the granite of old thinking
the sweetness of a connection wanted
more than a final breath
all these things I call things because I
lost them before I named them
they saluted and then threw their bodies
into the line of fire on the front
where should did horrible battle
blade in gut with deserving
others who should've too been thanked
but ended up not on top.

There was this blessed boy
blessed with burdens and heaviness
and blessed with the light of
apricots and secret codes
this boy and his mother would make up
nonsense like skies
this boy and his father would spar
like death could be figured out
spring too wet to play on so
he poked holes and jumped buttons
crops summer green or fallish
acres turned over ready again
the growl of pencils and compasses
center down spirals til dark
used to close his eyes and see
what was under the tree long before
those boxed up little future gasps
were even asked for
he shot and blocked and cheated
wrote new rules like they did
his little girls years later and all
the other ones with wily eyes
with eyes that loved up storms
around corners over ages
the boy insisted this is my song
I want to spell it wrong
because that way is the way
all nature told him to
all the nature in the ten fingers
in the supernatural made
made up made over made more
made pacifist and killer.

There was a lesson learned
make space for what's missing
that's because what is missing it
will fall apart without it
so the gaps in god and man and game
were kept track of religiously
ochre needs the rouge and Hebrew
can't spit it out without wishing
for those hot mornings in the delta
noisy with critters and calls
gone like seeds gone like semen
gone in layers like pots
gone and waiting the phone will ring
the digger needs waking up
the dog will bark when the cat is run
between the back and front yard
the belly will growl and toast pop up
the kiss will rise from Eden
the dawn will cut through afternoon
and bring back silent sanity
all kinds of loud and boyish yelps
are required to bring about
the breaking down of fool to rule
to humble the overly pious
worshipper of shiny the bower to badges
eraser to sacred scratchings
because what is missing is buried
in an impulsive glottis
blessed with stratified ponderings
hearing rivers lap that did
when mom-and-dad-ness
was waiting to be opened.

There were pots and pans
receiving and sending out smells
drinking eating making messes
clean as fruit falling
significant as that fine edge
cooked up and celebratory
between the beginning and the descent
of the plot into its origin
of the gardener into the rose beds
of the weeds into the pile
of the branches into the fence
that made me and makes you
sit stay then dive in right
at the instant the sun
hits the trees and no longer
has any power to cook up
evil or even any funny stories
cut off it makes no one laugh
here is the border of the city laid out
in debts and definitions
here the lines on my palms object
to the package put in em
they promised in their breaking
short and long and got some
distance some acquired length
and they want to reach out
they those little indentations in skin
want a present to open
to open up and find a cookbook
one like was never read
never written never sniffed at
by the boy at second base.

There was along the way a leaning
a slant a slide a bend
a bent or two stopped and stimulated
undesigned propped up
avoidable or not is a question
askable by the spiritual
nuts wanting to share power
with the deities fickle as they are
of inundation and harvest
the clouds come out or don't
maybe they will weep today tomorrow
the fields have been prepared
all the paragraphs and compositions
took time to take time
like an almanac lightly as a dragonfly
touching on every subject
what is in your neighborhood
will be waved at at breakfast
the next to will be bumped into
if not digested sooner
rather than when able attention
pushes itself away from the table
and looks around at all the stacks
and takes time one at a time
to scrape and wash and rinse
and handle and examine
and heed and arrange in likes
and differences deeper than
in rainbow and resonant
choir-some lexicons beating
like the heart of a hive
trails leading as out as in.

There was and still is and still
there sits with all solemnity
a table and chair and flagpole
statements stamped and unheard
my head on a brick for a pillow
I ponder all the prey there is to catch
pouncing over whole seas
muscled into contentment
with pelts on my belt and skills
any warrior would be jealous of
and so so here
I go me and the boy and the stellar
stairs and lunar fenestras and both
the dungeons and imaginations
picked up and practiced along the way
with a word and some correct
fit it cuts through it all falls away
a battlefield from morning to Mars.
When my hooves get going like that
galloping all over the uncharted
the writer inside says frowningly
what did you just say
and the singer answers with a grin
from C to some other waystation
somewhere sensed but not been
contracted led up to
but not quite given its due
hard articulation
and like and appropriately borrowed I
use what I heard once.

There will be spiders in niches
and flying things gravitating there
a cat in the grassy dirt a goose
in the willows waiting
for signals no hunters know no
shapes any amphibians were primed for
leaping at the windblown lingo
my species has been practicing
and my family perfecting thunderously
for as long as coal burns
there will be and here it is said
there will shall still be
A sweet deciduous too generous
to keep from shading all
A tall tower for powerlines
pumping playful blood
A room a hall with a stage a dais
where grand directions will be decided
A horse responding to sirens
rescuing and being rescued
A vine a mile of vines a field
and every year a new wisdom
A ship slower than you want but
promising the world
A gong-like waterfall who will
fall rising and not look back
here and in every ray and shadow
now and fortuitously
eyes wake and open and flowing
in is work to be done.

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it is a sign

nobody@vox.com(math) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 14:31:53 -0700

Took a train up a foothill
took my eye off her leg
the whole continent got flooded
it's a sign
even it it's not
it's a sign to me.

Went to sleep and woke
half way you know where
the map read like Shakespeare dear
it is a sign
sign of the moment
loved lost and found.

Ate an avocado with wine
and every hot place I've been
turned salty and started all over again
it was a sign
even if it wasn't
it was a sign to me.

Trusted in god
god trusted in my lips
I licked 'em and the full moon came out
that was a sign
sign belonging
to a lunar language.

Spoke without granting
blood and brain are contrary
came out peace and deep rootedness
it's a sign
even if I wanted
no sign I got one.

Ran and panted
like I never did before
I want it and it wants me like a newborn
it's a sign
even it it's not
it's a sign to me.

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new and blue

nobody@vox.com(math) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 11:10:51 -0700

Getting up and walking around the world every day
is strenuous like rope climbing all arms and grip
no legs and thinking about it makes you slip
you are not exhausted when you think you are
about to get to where everyone else has
feet on the ground
new and blue.

Ornette Coleman wrote a song called Turnaround
called by its part and once more aquamarine
play the melody low play the melody up here
play what he wrote aspiring to what he said
this is not science this is not science fiction
here it comes again
new and blue.

Got to a point where I didn't need another book
the old ones made sense and still do a little
pointing in places of spinning off into mystery
to the reasons I must've got 'em in the first place
what new book could better jump my fences
than the classics
new and blue?

Everyone else goes to work I putter at study
what it that word that chord what is that next
step into the cavity between grazsses between rains
and what house ornate and formal all made up
like a face will tell me when the fit fits
when the turn turns
new and blue?

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pen and posture

nobody@vox.com(math) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 11:09:02 -0700

Pen with sliced nib says much more
discovered in the thins and thicks
that pale line from a sixties magazine
slipped a mickey into my rhetoric.

Step on a stone this one a daughter
jump to another this one a son
the rocks across are getting bigger
where did all the water go?

Woke up warm everyone else up
scorching to middling so as to storm
but it won't it's a familiar trick
played on the blind by the dumb.

Posture for fools who can't leap from
the rules to getting the most of both sides
stand up for those who stand up
even after they lose verticality.

No freedom like severance severed
the answer between the flight and fledgling
condemns to practicality the free fall
nothing to touch but air molecules.

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sisters

nobody@vox.com(math) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 13:15:00 -0700

three of my daughters

oil and water and a cocktail

Sisters

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it's just hair

nobody@vox.com(math) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 13:05:58 -0700

Mohawk boy

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a lawyer with priorities

nobody@vox.com(math) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 13:02:35 -0700

While I was in Idaho Falls on the fourth of July, I walked past a law office and noticed that some lawyers may be worth talking to. I might go visit this one.

IF law firm

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melancholy coffee

nobody@vox.com(math) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 12:40:17 -0700

melancholy coffee
muddy as my meandering
stream of consciousness turning
right left almost backward
trying to get downstream.

melancholy coffee
and half baked coffee cake
cool bare feet on grass
wishing for more silky
eager belonging.

melancholy coffee
here the noises annoy
here the vacuum whines
here the speckled grackels
breathe down my neck.

melancholy coffee
I will gladly go to work
in a mine in a pit
in a cube in a factory
if it were a little less sleepy.

melancholy coffee
stare and wonder why
with a busy brain and eye
on a sky closed and gray
barking barking behind the fence.

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