2005-08-02

Primary Experience, Abdominal Abscess

Writing primary experience, writing abstract concepts

I tend to write here about abstract concepts. Things like Intellectual Property, or the meaning of innocence. I may make it concrete with examples from primary experience, but I don't generally write simple primary experience. So, I thought I'd give that a try, for a change, and see how it goes. I know I'm capable of avoiding abstraction if I'm telling a story, but do I have a story to tell today?

Today, I went to the hospital again

I have this urge, for some reason, to share my disgusting experience with the world. It's gauche, I know, but I do.

Today, I went to the hospital again. This time I had an appointment. I prefer this to riding, groaning, in the car on the way to the Emergency Room. My appointment was a followup with the surgeons there.

On sunday, more than a week ago, (no matter when anyone says it was) I went to the emergency room and the surgeons decided to stick a tube into my abdomen so that they could drain pus from my abdominal cavity. I got two (2) cat scans: one to diagnose, and the other to perform the insertion. I really don't remember the second one, because the anesthetic was a bit stronger than they told me it would be.

So, for essentially nine (9) days, I've had this tube sticking out of my belly.

The first three days or so were a morphine-blurred haze, and I can't say I really remember them all that well. All I remember is watching the same poker game over and over on ESPN. Since then—once they took away my morphine—it hasn't been what you'd call "pleasant." On saturday, the stupid thing started detaching itself from my body, causing all manner of funny sounds, more pain, and a commotion that led to a return, on sunday, to the emergency room. (Yes, that's two Sundays in a row in the ER.) I had high hopes that they'd remove the tube then, but they waited until today.

At the appointed time, I had already been there five or ten minutes. As it happens, they took their time getting to me. Finally, however, the Resident came in. He was nice. His name tag, badge of official doctordom, had his name as "Timmy." I did not make any jokes, or even say his name in a weird voice. He took off the gauze dressing I had put on last night to keep the pus from going all over the place, and then left to talk to his boss, the Attending.

The Attending came in and sent Tim off for the tube-in-your-abdomen-removal-kit. I should mention that the exam room had a Hard, Wooden Chair. It's the kind that is hard to sit comfortably in for any length of time when you're young, flexible, and in tip-top shape. I couldn't sit up straight in it, since I had a tube in my abdomen, and had gotten tired of the chair by this time, so I was lying on the exam table. Contrary to expectations, while Tim was gone, the Attending just sorta pulled the tube out. That's all it took. I'm sure his years of experience and deft surgeon's manual dexterity meant that he pulled it out in a very skillful way, but basically he just pulled on it. I'm not really sure what the kit was for, or why he sent poor Tim to get it. He opened it to take out the gauze and that's all he used. The rest of it—including two metal tools—went straight into the trash.

I won't hesitate any longer to say that, despite his surgeon's dexterity, this hurt. Not as much as some things, but it hurt. I'm sure if I'd pulled it out myself, it'd have hurt worse. Nevertheless, it hurt. Yes, indeed.

Then, and I don't even know why my body is making so much of this stuff, more pus came out. In fact, I need to change the dressing for the second time since I left the hospital.

And that's all I have to say about that.

2005-07-31

Struggling to Feel Normal

Feeling normal, feeling lousy

I don't remember what it's like to feel normal. In fact, I'm not totally sure I ever knew. For the last few months, at least, I haven't felt anything approaching "capable" or even "much like getting out of bed" very often at all.

The past few weeks, however, are a totally different matter, even from the past few months. Constant pain is no fun. At least, I don't know anyone who would enjoy it. Being unable to do normal everyday things—like eat or sit up—eventually makes one desperate.

Desperate to feel normal again

Today, I was in the hospital. I currently have this drain surgically attached to my abdomen. If you find this disgusting to hear about, don't imagine how it feels to have it hanging off of you. I was hoping that they'd remove it today, and they didn't. Gotta wait until Tuesday.

While I was sitting in the bed in the ER, all I could think about was going out to a restaurant—without anything hanging from my belly—and ordering something I'd eat if I were feeling normal. There's a local restaurant, which I will not link, that has a dish called 'Elvis Green Chile Fried Chicken.' It's a chicken-fried chicken (I sometimes wonder if anyone outside Texas makes that distinction), breaded with Lay's Potato Chips, and covered in a spicy green-chile sauce.

Of course I can't eat this. Well, I could. It wouldn't kill me. But it's not on the menu, and won't be for a long time. But to go to the restaurant, sit down, and order something so hedonistic would feel miraculous.

2005-06-19

Why bother writing?

Since 2001, I've had this remarkably odd urge to write things for other people to read. I'd thought about being a novelist before, primarily for the reason I generally give: my experience of the world is partially the result of what I've read; there are quite a few books that mean a lot to me, and I want to be able to create something that means something to others. But I don't think that would have developed on its own into the urge I feel now.

A little story

Sometime in, I think, 2001, I went to a memorial service. It wasn't someone I knew all that well, and he'd already been dead a while. And yet it was one of the most affecting days of my life.

He had committed suicide, after a long period of depression and a variety of severe problems. The original memorial service, in a local funeral home, was almost too soon after his death. Also, I couldn't stay for all of it—not only was it very long, but I had other places I had to be that evening. So it didn't affect me much at the time.

The second memorial service, at the graveside, was much later. The delay was primarily the time it took to design and prepare his headstone, but I think it also involved a significant period of adjustment for his family: going from caring for a dangerously depressed son or brother to trying to live without him had been wrenching for them. The time hadn't decreased the intensity of their loss. Also, this memorial service was much smaller, and I wasn't at the back of a large funeral-home chapel; I was right there in amongst everyone else.

Nevertheless, I was fine until his brother stood up to sing a song to him. Not for him, but to him. For some reason I couldn't take it. The feeling of loss was too intense. I didn't leave, but rather had to cradle my own head, chin-to-chest with my arms wrapped around it, like one might do to avoid vomiting or to let an intense dizziness pass.

And when I got home, in a profoundly altered state, I began to write a short story.

Writing and the desire to write

Since then, rather than writing things purely for myself, I've had an intense urge to write things for other people to read. I was too shy, for as long as I can remember, to really write anything meaningful with the intent of showing it. Sure, I wrote stories, on demand, for classes, when it was required. I enjoyed it, even. Sure, I wrote papers for classes, and took as much care and pride in the structure and wording as I do now. And I had felt the desire to write things that could touch others in the way that many books I read had been extremely impactful for me. But I had never had an irrepressible urge to actually do it.

But it's mostly been frustration. Maybe one day I will be able to write fiction that isn't set in Japan, but for now I can't. I think it's because there's a kind of overwhelming wonder I feel about Japan. It's so different—I've never really liked living in Texas, for as long as I can remember. I've read at least one novel set in Austin, and it was great. But the things I come up with seem either to take place in Japan, or in the past. Since I bog down in the research, not knowing enough history, I never seem to get those stories off the ground.

Until I go back, I can't write fiction. And so I go on writing these things, expressing directly—instead of indirectly—the emotions of the day. It doesn't feel like a very good substitute.

2005-06-14

Michael Jackson & 'not guilty' vs. 'innocent'

Honestly, I'm tired of hearing about Michael Jackson. Before OJ Simpson dropped off the map following his trial, I was very tired of hearing about him too. I don't really want to write about either of them, particularly, but current events often seem to form the basis for what I'm paying attention to of a day.

Celebrity and prosecution

Everyone always has an opinion on a celebrity trial. Sometimes this divides on racial lines—like with OJ Simpson. I have no idea where the division was with Michael Jackson. But with Michael Jackson the issue was further clouded by the fact that he's just weird. I mean, really weird. He's the kind of guy that, when people hear the accusation they automatically think, "well, it would make sense." This mucks everything up.

I don't know where it balances out: celebrities, on the one hand, generally have the money to get sensational lawyers. This certainly contributed to the sense, among many people, that OJ Simpson had evaded justice. They also have celebrity power, which most likely tends to make them harder convict—but would probably make it easier to convict someone like Russell Crowe. I don't know what factor race plays. This has been analyzed to death with OJ Simpson, and I don't care to read any of that. With Michael Jackson, I'm not sure whether it could possibly play a role. I mean, a good portion of his weirdness is the way he looks. He certainly doesn't look like a black man, and, if I had been a juror, I don't think I would have related to him as such. Maybe a serious bigot would, but jury selection should get rid of those. Shouldn't it?

The facts of the case

Everyone has an opinion. However, only about 12 people have actually heard the legal facts and arguments. Now, I realize that rules of procedure can, and often do, obscure things enough that the "legal" facts are not necessarily related to actual events. This particular game is usually played sufficiently well by both sides—especially when the defendant has the means to hire quality counsel—so I don't think it's unfair for us to say that we don't have all the facts. We can't say that the jury necessarily did either, but we—without first reading the court transcripts in full and examining all the exhibits—can't know. We can't know. Basically, that's the big problem.

'not guilty'

So the jury, who presumably should know, ruled 'not guilty' on all counts, including several lesser included charges that amounted to handing a beer to a minor. They heard all the evidence that they were allowed to, saw the people who came in to give witness, and they decided that they couldn't reasonably be certain that the charges were true.

What does that mean, really? In this country, we seem to have some difficulty separating fact from ruling. Everyone seems to assume that the ruling bears on actual fact. It's supposed to, obviously, but it's the result of a process. The process clearly goes awry sometimes. No process can be perfect, and that's why we have the presumption of innocence anyway.

What I think people fail to realize is that the ruling is a public decision, as the result of a process, about what happened. Philosophically, it's impossible to be certain. Notably, people are horrible at accurately reporting what they saw, especially months later after having been asked about it time after time in the interim. Memory is generally of very poor quality, and memories are extremely easy to manufacture. However, we, as a society, have to come to some decision about what happened. When there's the accusation, we have to have a procedure for deciding. Initially we forbear to judge, and assume the person to be innocent. At the end of the process, since we've given up trial by combat and trial by fire, 12 people are supposed to decide if they have been convinced of guilt.

"Convinced of guilt" is the key. Since we assume innocence, no one has to prove their innocence. The jury merely decides if they can, with a straight face, say that the person must be guilty.

Michael Jackson & 'not guilty' vs. 'innocent'

I don't know if Michael Jackson is actually guilty or actually innocent. He's weird enough, and had a pretty messed up childhood. He could be guilty. He could just be weird. I have no way of knowing. I forbear to judge because I don't think I have enough information. But I suspect that if he were really guilty, they'd have found a lot more cases and would have been able to establish their pattern in a meaningful way.

2005-06-07

I don't have anything useful to say today

There are so many things I want to talk about. So many different issues. I don't know if my opinion is unique, or even useful, but I still want to express it.

I think so much and so hard about things. I have so many strong opinions. Too many to sort out and express properly, although I can usually make a pretty clear verbal statement if it's something I've thought about. If it isn't something I've thought about, then I can say so.

I'm opinionated because I think about things, and I think about things because I'm opinionated. How's that supposed to work?


Summing it all up

I think the overall state of the world is awful, but I don't think it's ever been any better. Most places, it's really only been worse as far as I can tell. Maybe someone will tell me that I'm only saying that because I haven't experienced it. "Oh, sure, big american, you don't know what it's like here." But I think about the state of modern Europe—which isn't really good in many ways. And I think about the black death. The bubonic plague laid waste to the whole continent, killing the entire populations of towns, and decimating others. Things suck, but they aren't that bad there.

Are they that bad somewhere? I rather think so. But it's not the whole planet anymore, is it?

2005-06-02

Actual Conversation 5 Minutes Ago

I swear that this is an actual conversation, recorded word-for-word.

[me]
How are you doing, the Keith?
[Keith]
I'm tired.
[me]
You and what army?
[Keith]
The army I rode in on.

Repeating Myself about Intellectual Property

I wonder if I make things too complex

I got a reply on the forum I mentioned last time. I really wasn't expecting a reply, as the thread had been silent for more than a month, I think. But I got one. And the point was missed. The replier was a more reasonable sort, as far as I can tell, than the person who made the post that irritated me. Nevertheless, the point was missed.

posted by Josh

The copy protection was Steve Job's only chance of convincing many record labels to offer their tunes on iTunes.

If iTunes was "download it as MP3, copy it wherever you want" I doubt if many labels would have taken him up on that offer.

But no one is saying there's anything wrong with making copies for your own enjoyment- that is perfectly legal and ethical, on whatever medium(s) you prefer.

reply by me

I know that this is how it has to be right now: whether the recording industry is going to die, transform itself, or find a way to enforce their unreasonable rights remains to be decided.

What I object to is BS about 1) people making money directly from piracy, and 2) the notion that any of this is reasonable.

The fact is, it's not reasonable. It's how it has to be, and there are zillions of things in the world that are absurd and yet can't be changed.

I think this sort of thing eventually will be changed, and I think that the iTunes Music Store may well be part of the solution, in the long run.

I object to people not understanding the basis of copyright law, which was never to protect the artist, but rather to protect the investor—irrespective of whether it was the artist investing his own money in publishing, or someone else who might or might not pay the artist.

In fact, it is apparently possible for a band to get a major label contract, have a successful tour or two, sell a lot of albums, and end up owing the record label money. Copyright law defends the recording label. Copyright law defends Michael Jackson, who bought the rights to a large number of Beatles songs many years ago, as an investment.

This situation has always been problematic. However, the "information age" has made it all the more difficult for this situation to continue.

If you're interested in slightly more background facts, and a fair lot more ranting, I wrote an article about this (more for my own amusement than anything else) in which I quote the original copyright law.

A perspective, with examples, of intellectual property

Blah, blah, blah. I'm repeating myself—here at least. The problem, really, as I said before, is the basic nature of the law. Laws against murder protect people from being killed. This is really straightforward, and makes some basic sense, as most people don't want to be killed. Laws against tresspass, theft, and all those other things to do with physical property protect people from being denied the use of their property. Intellectual Property law protects an investor's right to restrict the use of something that can essentially be infinitely replicated for free. This is not at all straightforward.

For example, suppose I have some land. My ownership of that land means that I have the right to invite you onto that land, or bar you from crossing onto it. I can license you—for free or for a fee, as I see fit—to use the land for a narrowly specified, or completely unspecified purpose. But, whatever part you are using, I can't be using it at the same time. Seriously, two objects can't inhabit the same space at the same time.

For example, suppose I have a stick. My ownership of the stick means that I can loan or rent it to you, that we can enter into a contract about what you can do with the stick and what condition it has to be in when you return it. If you try to take it away from me, I can have you charged with a crime, and if you succeed, it's a worse crime. But, if you have the stick then I don't. And if I don't have the stick, then I can't use the stick.

These are essentially a legalish view of the natural order of things. I can't use the land if you're in the way, and I can't use my stick if you currently have it. Simple, right?

But suppose I have an idea. If I tell you my idea, I still have it. But now you have it. Strictly speaking, you can use the idea at the same time I am using the idea. Your use doesn't prevent my use. Until the printing press there was no problem. I could write my idea down, and you could read it and copy it—by hand, mind you—for whatever use you could imagine. We could both have it, and even make use of it, at the same time.

When the printing press came along, though, I could make an investment in the reproduction—rather than leaving it up to your labor. I could then sell the now physical product—my book—to recoup my investment. But the value of the book is almost solely in the words inside. The logical conclusion—in 1710—was that to protect my investment in the production of the physical product, the idea should be treated like the stick or the land.

I don't think this was a particularly elegant solution.

With the advent of modern technology, you can now copy my book an infinite number of times at a negligible cost to you. Using the internet, you can make a copy of my copy at an essentially negligible cost to me. (Although obviously, if a million of you copy it in the same month, the cost is no longer negligible...)

And yet, the first copy—the original—costs a tremendous amount of time to produce. Say 2000 man-hours. And really, I'm probably estimating low. That's a whole year of work for me, in any case. There's also editorial time, layout artists, etc., etc., etc. If I'm going to live on the writing of that book, I need to recoup enough from selling copies that it supports me for a year.

Difficult, isn't it?

A modern patch-job to a 300 yr. old problem

As you are most likely aware, the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) is feeling, shall we say, extremely embattled since the advent of mp3 trading on the internet. Now, this isn't the first time. They screamed bloody murder at the advent both of cassette tape and CDRs, saying that each would destroy the recording industry. But this time it's possible that they are right.

As an aside, I think this is the result of three basic problems: first, downloading mp3s is truly too convenient. Second, a perhaps overly large portion of the industry is aimed at people with no financial resources of their own—middle and high-school kids. Finally, CDs are too expensive. Given relative costs to produce the two, CDs should not cost more than records. It's absurd.

So, instead of trying to find a business model that works with the technology, they are trying to litigate and lobby to enforce their traditional and (see above) ridiculous rights. One result of this is the DMCA. Basically, the DMCA says that we have to put up with whatever mickey-mouse copy protection scheme they stick into the technology. This applies to Digital Rights Management play-count and computer-authorization features—meaning that it's literally punishable by law to circumvent those restrictions.

There's a general principle about security that everyone always forgets: a little security means a lot of hassle. By instituting laws like the DMCA they really aren't accomplishing anything: as far as I'm aware, music sales continue to fall, and trading is increasing. People are willing to put up with the hassle, or they opt for technologies that are less protected in the first place. Thus, the security is essentially nil. However, the hassle is what this whole rant is about. Having to burn to a CD and re-rip isn't much of a hassle, but if I re-encode it, will there be some difference in the two files? Probably. Will it be an audible difference? Depending on the quality of the file, probably not.

So, it's not much of a hassle? Well, no. But it's a much bigger hassle than the actual amount of security they get. And, it's at a cost in quality. To me, that makes the whole thing fairly ridiculous. Specifically, they haven't accomplished anything but to hassle their customers. WTF is the use in that? At the very least, they should be hassling someone else's customers, not their own.

A different view

I took a break from this to talk to my mom. For lack of anything better to talk about, I told her what I'd been writing about. I defined property ownership for her—the right to contractually allow or deny another person to use the "property." I distinguished this with notions of "intrinsic ownership," which is an almost metaphysical relationship between the owner and the thing owned. Intrinsic ownership (which may well be known under another name in philosophy classes) is neither legally relevant, nor practically applicable. Intrinsic ownership is what is meant by the famous quote, "who can own a rock, who can own a tree?"

When I got to the end, the first thing she went to was intrinsic value. I hadn't thought of this at all. I mean, the legal standard controlling fair use is loss of revenue. Monetary value runs through copyright law from one end to the other, inextricably.

Monetary value is based on demand, of course. So, I could write an essay and show it to one person. This one person could then accomplish something magnificent because they were so inspired by my essay. This person could change the world, because of my essay. If no one else ever reads my essay, there is no demand for it. Therefore, it has no monetary value. But it changed the world. Therefore, it has inestimable intrinsic value.

Is it possible to account for something like this in law? I rather doubt it.

What is it we really need?

Before the widespread use of copyright, artists still produced their art. For example, nothing Mozart wrote was protected by copyright, and his pay was not from royalties. Like all composers of his era, he was dependent on benefactors, conducting positions, etc., for his income. Obviously, it didn't work too well in his case, as he died completely penniless. In some cases it worked quite well. Wagner, for example, did quite well for himself, I think. This isn't too far from the inequity of the current situation: many excellent modern musicians never gain a large following or get lucrative (for anyone) record contracts. And yet Metallica remain popular and profitable to this day. Not to mention all the people who directly copy from Metallica and gain moderate fame. Shakespeare didn't earn royalties on performances of his plays, either, by the way.

It is tough to say what we need now, and I don't have the answer. I can tell you what it'd look like, to some extent: artists would be able to make a living from creative work. Technicians—those who write non-fiction, for example, where there isn't necessarily an artistic component—could make a living from their craft. In other words, the production of things currently covered by intellectual property laws, including patent law, would be encouraged. The current situation where the financial benefit goes primarily to large companies, at the expense of the artists, would be reversed.

A great deal of the current music industry exists to make a relatively small number of people very famous. All that machinery generates a pretty huge amount of money, but it also sucks it all back up again too. Conversely, the artist now and formerly known as Prince, once he finally got separated from his recording company, self-published and internet-marketed a best-of record. Reportedly, he made more money that year than he had ever made previously. That's easy if you're Prince, but what about everyone else? Well, I think if we didn't have the recording industry shoving mediocrity down our throats, people would develop different music habits. Some artists would develop very regional followings, others' would be very spread over wide areas. Some would still gain the kind of extreme fame that we associate with music superstars now. But it would all be done with a lot less direct promotion, and a lot more, "here, listen to this, it's really cool."

But I don't know what it would be like. I don't know how it would work. I just know the situation we have now sucks.

A final note

This is a lot of crap to have written in response to that one little comment by "Josh" on that forum. Most of it doesn't directly reply to what he said. But I do have one direct restatement to make about that: someone is saying that it's wrong to make copies for your own enjoyment for whatever medium you prefer. Forced by the music industry, Apple is saying it's wrong. They do give pretty liberal rights, compared to some. The fact that the music is not subscription, but can instead be played forever is very nice. Nevertheless, you must still use iTunes/iPod. I don't know for certain—I am not a lawyer—but burning to a CD and then re-ripping the track may still count as circumventing the DRM; it may be literally criminal. It is almost certainly a violation of the license agreement. The fact of the matter is, all you're allowed to do with that music is what's explicitly permitted in the license agreement. I know why Apple had to do this, and I understand that they had to. I even applaud their relatively liberal personal use rights. But this situation is totally ridiculous. We need something different. I just wish I knew what.