Microkhan by Brendan I. Koerner

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What Sand and Cocaine Have in Common

June 10th, 2010

Despite a government ban, Cambodian dredgers are once again raking the floor of the Koh Pao River in search of vast quantities of sand. The risk of running afoul of the authorities is apparently far outweighed by the riches to be gained from exporting sand to Singapore, which desperately needs the granular commodity to expand physically. If anything, the ban on dredging in Cambodia—which followed the example set by Indonesia and other sand exporters—will simply drive up the price of sand to even more astronomical levels:

The legitimate sand is first sold to international brokers, at about S$1.50 (65 US cents) per cubic meter, who then mark it up to Singapore construction firms at S$20 (US$13). Analysts predict the price of sand could shoot up to S$50 per ton or more because of the ban, with an ensuing increase in overall construction costs.

As is the case with illicit drugs, the demand is virtually guaranteed to remain steady regardless of the measures taken by the likes of Cambodia and Indonesia—Singapore will not give up its yen to grow just because construction materials are becoming dearer. As a result, expect a lot more smuggling in the near future, a crime trend that is already growing by leaps and bounds.

The only possible solution we foresee is some sort of new technology that allows Singapore to expand using non-sand means. Islands made of recycled plastic, perhaps?

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Manipur on the Brink

June 9th, 2010

A grim report from North-East India, where Manipur has been under seige for two months:

Manipur faces an acute shortage of food and medicines with supplies of essentials cut off for the 60th day Wednesday following an indefinite economic blockade by several tribal groups.

“The food crisis is simply acute and also there is a severe shortage of life saving medicines with the blockade entering the 60th day and still no chance of breaking the deadlock,” N. Biren Singh, Manipur government spokesperson and a senior minister of the Congress party ruled state, told IANS.

Several Naga groups called an indefinite blockade of National Highway 39, Manipur’s main lifeline, April 11 to protest against the decision of the state government not to allow separatist leader Thuingaleng Muivah to visit his birthplace.

At this point, we find it baffling that India’s central government refuses to intervene. True, Delhi has long taken a laissez-faire approach to managing the North-East, in order to appease the ethnically distinct tribes that dominate the region. But Manipur and Nagaland are not sovereign nations, and they should expect some measure of oversight—especially when avowed separatists are essentially allowed to starve out their neighbors over slights to honor.

For comparison’s sake, this situation is akin to America’s federal government shrugging its shoulders at a dispute between the Dakotas, in which North decided to lay siege to the South because a Bismarck bigwig wasn’t allowed to visit his Rapid City birthplace. Perhaps the vast majority of Americans would initially regard such a dispute with amusement, given the Dakotas’ limited population and relative remoteness. But opinions sure would change once rural kids started starving, wouldn’t they?

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The Myth of the Mickey Slim

June 9th, 2010


Last week, the long discussion spurred by this post led one of our most trusted readers to offer this startling factoid:

Bizarre note: there was a cocktail in the 40s and 50s called the Mickey Slim that was made with gin and a pinch of DDT.

Sure enough, The Tubes abound with mentions of this lethal-sounding tipple. The ostensible recipe is here, along with a caveat to try replacing the DDT component with absinthe in case you value your life.

The Mickey Slim sounds like such a mixological abomination that we had to stop and ask ourselves: Could it all be a hoax? Our brief investigation follows.

We started in the laziest way possible, by checking out the sources cited in the drink’s Wikipedia entry. There’s really just one, 2001’s The Dedalus Book of Absinthe (released stateside as The Book of Absinthe: A Cultural History). The tome’s brief discussion of the Mickey Slim can be read here; however, there is no footnote or endnote, so it’s not clear where the author found this piece of trivia.

Try as we might, we found virtually no mention of the Mickey Slim prior to the publication of The Book of Absinthe. We searched a galaxy of databases, from ProQuest to JSTOR to PubMed, but came up more or less snake eyes. The only thing we could dig up was a lone mention in the TV listings section of the June 28, 1992, edition of The Observer. It comes in a summary of a BBC2 documentary called “Goodbey Mrs. Ant,” which can be viewed in its entirety here. The reviewer’s lead sentence goes:

There used to be a cocktail called a Mickey Slim which was gin with a pinch of DDT, guaranteed to make you feel on top of the world.

We watched all of “Goodbye Mrs. Ant,” but didn’t hear a single word about the Mickey Slim. That means the entire story of the Mickey Slim traces back to an anonymous TV summarizer for The Observer. Is it possible that this person simply riffed off the Mickey Finn, thinking no one would ever bother to check his or her facts?

This isn’t to imply that DDT wasn’t alarmingly common back in the day. But as far as we can tell, oral consumption was inveighed against as soon as the insecticide hit the civilian market. It’s hard to imagine the bartenders of the day ignoring those warnings.

As always, of course, we’re open to proof to the contrary. Anyone have a vintage Mickey Slim recipe lying around? If so, please let us know. In the meantime, though, we’ll file the cocktail in our “Debunked” file, alongside the fur-bearing trout,

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Now That’s an Exit

June 8th, 2010


Some Wired research recently familiarized us with the career of Keeve M. Siegel, a well-known champion of both holography and controlled nuclear fusion. Siegel’s involvement in the latter technology earned him a 1975 invite to Congress, where he was supposed to make the case for additional government funding. But, tragically, he never got the chance to wrap up his testimony. The March 19, 1975 edition of The Washington Post gave a brief account of what transpired:

Last week, as he was beginning to read a statement urging Congress to provide more funds for non-governmental fusion research activities, Keeve M. Siegel collapsed. He died a few hours later as a result of a cerebral hemorrhage. His friends and associated in a little known corporation called KMS Industries Inc. attributed his death to overwork. For years, he had been pursuing, day and night, one of those ultimate dreams—the successful generation of energy, in a controllled way, from the fusion reaction that provides the power of the hydrogen bomb.

Leaving aside the whole debate over whether Siegel’s dream was actually feasible, we couldnt help but be wowed by the manner of his untimely demise. To pass away in front of Congress, while in the throes of relating the importance of one’s life’s work—has there ever been a more dramatic political death that didn’t involve violence?

The only candidate that immediately popped to mind was former Vice President Alben Barkley‘s famous outro during a speech at Washington and Lee University. Take a listen above—we’ve got it cued up to his last words, which are soon followed by thud of body meeting floor.

Anyone have a topper? Remember, no violence—the death must be due to natural causes, and it must have taken place during a public event.

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When Bread-and-Circuses Backfires

June 7th, 2010


While researching a post about the ever-popular sport of wild cow milking, we came across a paper on the history of Native Canadian cowboys. A healthy chunk of the work is dedicated to the development of rodeo culture among Canada’s First Nations, who were often encouraged to engage in calf roping and bronco riding in lieu of participating in traditional pastimes. Yet on at least one occasion, the Canadian government seems to have forgotten that in order to be effective, bread-and-circuses inducements must deliver the goods:

According to Pete Standing Alone, an elder, rancher, actor, saddle-maker, and well-known cowboy from Blood Reserve, the first rodeo to take place in their community was in 1896. The federal government was making every effort to discourage the Blood people from taking part in the annual Sundance, and it organized a rodeo in hope of luring participants away from the Sundance ceremonies. As an added incentive, a few beef cattle were killed and the meat distributed among those who attended and took part in the rodeo. The cattle killed, however, were so skinny that when boiled there was hardly any meat left on the bones. An Indian boy born shortly after this rodeo was named Lean Boiled Meat, in memory of the poor quality meat that had been distributed at the rodeo that year.

Poor Lean Boiled Meat probably didn’t fare too well around the schoolyard. And we thought this girl we knew with the surname “Slutsky” had it rough.

(Image via the Glenbow Museum)

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The Oaxacan Example

June 7th, 2010

Continuing on with our promised examination of DDT’s usefulness in the War on Malaria, we’re gonna turn our gaze southward this morning. As carefully detailed here, Mexico was a longtime heavy user of DDT, sloshing out 70,000 tons of the controversial chemical between 1959 and 1999. Then the nation resolved to phase out DDT entirely, and instead employ other means of combating malaria. Chief among these new tactics was a focus on eliminating mosquito breeding grounds—something that was much more achievable in practice than it might seem on paper. From a 2003 paper from the International Journal of Hygiene and Environmental Health (paywalled):

Beginning in 1999, the NMCP identified localities with a high incidence of malaria along the Oaxaca coast and trained volunteers from these communities to identify and assess the conditions of breeding sites. These volunteers also mobilized community members to clean the streambeds and eliminate the green algae on a monthly basis. The trained volunteers learned to record the presence of algae, trash, and larvae and to maintain records on the effects of the cleanup efforts. Based on the two kilometer flight range of A. pseudopunctipennis, clean-up activities are concentrated in a two-kilometer range from the perimeter of the inhabited communities. Over a three year period, these measures have resulted in a 70 percent decrease in larval densities and more than an 80 percent reduction in adult mosquitoes.

Combined with a revamped drug treatment regimen that ratcheted down the number of humans carrying the parasite, Mexico was able to make malaria virtually disappear within four years: Cases fell from roughly 17,900 in 1998 to just 254 in 2002.

We don’t think the Mexican success story necessarily proves that DDT has no role in fighting malaria. The nation obviously benefited from its relative wealth, which translated into a central government with the money and expertise required to see through changes in Oaxaca. Spraying DDT is obviously a heckuva lot easier than getting poor communities to rid their water of algae every month. But shortcuts do have consequences.

(Image via the National Army Museum)

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“Here Comes That Guy Again”

June 4th, 2010


We’re off to deal with the federal government, so we’ll outro with one of the greatest stunts in cinematic history: the crocodile jump from Live and Let Die. As amply shown above, no fancy CGI or other tricks were used in the making of this scene—croc farm owner Ross Kananga (nee Heilman) actually jumped from snout to snout to snout a grand total of five times. (That third try looks especially perilous.) Sadly, Kanaga passed away while spearfishing just a few years after the film’s release, thereby joining John Cazale in the pantheon of 1970s film legends who were taken far too young.

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The DDT Equation

June 4th, 2010


Yesterday’s post about temperance medals somehow got the Microkhan community meditating upon whether DDT deserves to have its reputation rehabilitated, at least as a malaria fighter. The revisionist stance these days is that the chemical should be used to combat the disease “when no other effective, safe and affordable alternatives are locally available.” That doesn’t mean that DDT is safe, but rather that the risks it poses are less harmful than allowing malaria to run rampant. And so you end up with situations like that in eastern and northern Uganda, where the government has decided that DDT is its only viable option:

THE Government will soon start residual spraying of DDT to kill mosquitoes that cause malaria. Health state minister James Kakooza yesterday said sh7b had been earmarked for the exercise in the next financial year’s budget.

Speaking at a press conference at the Media Centre in Kampala, Kakooza said DDT will be sprayed alongside Icon, so as to bring down the prevalence of the deadly disease from the current prevalence rate of 25% to between three and five percent by 2015.

DDT, Kakooza said, would be sprayed, starting with areas with a high malaria prevalence, such as Kabale and parts of eastern and northern Uganda. He defended the use of DDT, saying it was not known to have any side effects on humans.

The decision to start spraying DDT comes two years after the High court banned the spraying of the chemical, following allegations that it could kill about 320 people daily.

The Government, however, won the court case and will once again embark on the exercise.

The minister’s argument is obviously a bit disingenuous, but we understand where he’s coming from. People don’t want to hear that meaningful solutions can have terrible consequences, a truism that probably explains 75 percent of political lies the world over.

More on DDT and malaria next week. We’ve got some reading to do this weekend.

(Image via Mindfully.org)

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When Our Heart First Rose Up

June 3rd, 2010


We were totally unplugged during our Northern Michigan trip, so we just learned of Gary Coleman’s tragic passing a few hours ago. Given our relatively advanced age, it should go without saying that his work played a major part in our cultural formation—we certainly feel a small nostalgic thrill whenever someone quotes Diff’rent Strokes. But the memory of Coleman that looms largest in our mind is his turn as Lester, the homeless horse-picking genius from On the Right Track. The movie stays with us ’til this day because it marked the first time a film ever brought us to tears. We quite vividly recall sitting in this theater and crying our eyes out when Lester (SPOILER ALERT) loses everything, and is thus relegated to once again living in a bus-station locker. We were totally floored by the fact that a work of fiction could do this to us—our first real taste of the power of storytelling.

Rest in peace, Mr. Coleman. And thanks for helping introduce us to the emotional potential of movies.

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Back from Whitefish Bay

June 3rd, 2010

Though there were moments during our vacation when we were tempted to chuck it all and reboot our lives as laborers on the Soo Locks, we finally managed to make it back to world headquarters yesterday. It might take us a day or two to shake off the mental dust, but Microkhan should be back in full effect shortly. Thanks for your forbearance, which shall be rewarded with a summer chock full of the most incredible polymathism imaginable.

We’re gonna start by directing your attention to one of the most esoteric corners of medalophilia—the collection of British temperance medals, which were used to reward the raj’s soldier’s for abstaining from the drink. There’s an entire book dedicated to such baubles, from which Mr. Mustache’s photo is taken. The author breaks down the history like so:

In the British Army in the 1800s drunkenness among the soldiers was a constant problem, particularly in India where there was little attempt to provide alternate amusements and recreation for the troops. Several of the more enlightened officers established Temperance Societies in their Regiments to encourage sober habits, but it was not until 1862 that the Army in India organised the “Soldiers’ Total Abstinence Association”. The men were encouraged to sign a pledge to abstain entirely from alcohol. Similar organisations were formed for the Royal Navy in 1868, and for soldiers in Britain and Colonies outside of India in 1893. All of these organisations issued medals for varying lengths of time that a man had retained the pledge, from 6 months to 20 years, as well as additional medals for anyone who had rendered a special service in the cause of temperance.

We find this interesting because, at least from a purely logical perspective, medals strike us as a poor inducement. They had little or no monetary value when they were awarded—in fact, it appears that recipients were charged a small fee to obtain the decorations. Yet medals tap into a very basic psychological drive—the human need to engage in games. And how can one tell if the game is being won if there isn’t some sort of tangible evidence of success?

Our odds of having earned one of these medals would have been positively nil, of course. We believe we came close to setting a record of Huma-Lupa-Licious consumption during our Great Lakes adventure.

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Decompression, Cont’d

June 1st, 2010


We’re still enjoying the best that northern Michigan has to offer. Back as soon as we’re able to pick up Microkhan’s Jr. from Detroit and bundle him onto the plane. But if we’re not posting anew by, say, week’s end, just assume that we decided to chuck it all and become professional taxidermists in Ontonagon.

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Krinklebein’s Poor Russian

May 28th, 2010


We’re still in northern Michigan with the Grand Empress, and you’re hopefully prepping for a raucous three-day weekend. As you pack or purchase beer, enjoy the sonic stylings of a talking fish and his feline arch-nemesis—one of Microkhan Jr.’s favorites. It really is a fine piece of animation, save for the fact that Mr. Krinklebein’s Russian leaves much to be desired. We have it on good authority that his phrase means “Hat in the Hat,” rather than “Cat in the Hat.” But thumbs up for making the effort in the midst of the Cold War—this scene was probably considered somewhat shocking back in 1971, when Russian was the tongue of the enemy.

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“This is a Titanic Above Water”

May 27th, 2010


Okay, here’s the deal: Ever since Microkhan Jr. entered the picture, we’ve been able to spend a grand total of one night alone with the Grand Empress. But all that’s about to change, starting today: By the time you read these words, the Microkhan crew will (hopefully) be winging its way to Detroit, en route to dropping off the progeny with the in-laws. Then the royal duo’s heading up north, with only a map and our collective nose for Bell’s Beer to guide us.

So, the upshot is that posting will be light the next few days. In our honor of our initial destination, we’re gonna start by sharing the clip above—the first part of a killer French documentary about the Detroit techno scene. The image of the baroque theater transformed into a parking garage will stick with you, no question.

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Cheesy Ain’t Easy

May 26th, 2010


So how does Frito-Lay create the world’s favorite orange-hued snack? We reveal the secrets of Cheetos manufacturing in this month’s Wired. Our favorite factoid, as a teaser:

Every half hour, an in-house lab analyzes the chemical composition of samples pulled from the cooking line to verify that the Cheetos have the right density and nutritional content. Then, every four hours, a four-person panel convenes to inspect and taste the snacks, comparing them to perfect reference Cheetos sent from Frito-Lay headquarters.

For the record, we asked for a bag of “perfect reference Cheetos,” but were denied. We bet they taste like what the gods on Mount Olympus used to feast on.

(Photo via Gazing Girl)

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Jamaica’s Crossroads

May 26th, 2010


As the violence continues in Kingston, let’s pause to consider the scope of Jamaica’s problems. By any measure, the nation should have long ago started working its way toward the middle of the development tables. Think about how much the place has going for it: lots of bauxite, fertile soil, an English-speaking populace, a thriving tourism sector, a healthy flow of remittances from emigrants, a distinct cultural brand that’s revered the world over. Yet as the inflation-adjusted data above shows, Jamaica’s economy consistently lags behind not only the world’s, but even that of its closest neighbors.

The political system is obviously broken in Jamaica, as evidenced by the fact that Prime Minister Bruce Golding was faced with a terrible choice: Either give up the IMF assistance that has kept the nation afloat (and indebted), or turn on one of his most reliable political allies—a man he’d long enriched with a steady diet of government largesse. The fact that he chose the latter was probably the lesser of two evils, but it doesn’t necessarily portend the necessary sea change in Jamaica’s political culture. That will require the state to commit to providing the services and security that have long been the responsibility of strongmen like Christopher Coke, who are not bound by written laws.

We fear that the Jamaican power elite has little interest in extending the state into locales such as Tivoli Gardens. It is much easier for them to cede control to the dons, in exchange for political support. As long as Jamaica’s politicians employ this shortcut, the nation can never fulfill its potential.

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The Sons of Gumby

May 25th, 2010


Our beloved WEFUNK just celebrated its 600th show in grand fashion, with sets dedicated to late ’60s soul, Clinton-era hip-hop, and the fine art of locking. Given the show’s Montreal base, they also couldn’t help but throw some north-of-the-border rap into the mix, including the gem above from DJ Format (whose British by birth) and two of his Canadian sidekicks. The song’s pretty good—plus one to ’em for finding a rhyme for “hermaphrodite”—but the stop-motion video is even better. Eat your heart out, Fantastic Mr. Fox.

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Where the Sharks Swim

May 25th, 2010

In the latest account of NBA big man Eddy Curry’s never-ending money woes, this passage jumped out at us:

On Friday, a Manhattan court ordered Curry to pay $75,000 a month to lender Allstar Capital Inc. to resolve a debt that swelled to $1.2 million with interest. The court also has issued an order letting Las Vegas-based Allstar seize three of the cars: a Rolls Royce Phantom convertible and two Land Rover SUVs, all 2009 models.

He took out the $570,000 personal loan in February 2008, promising to pay it back in five months at a nearly 85 percent annual interest rate–legal in Nevada, according to Allstar lawyer Donald N. David.

Wait, an 85 percent APR on a loan exceeding half-a-million dollars? That sounds rather usurious, and it would certainly be illegal in virtually any other state. But Nevada is unique, in that it explicitly allows such loans provided that certain conditions are met. (For example, the monthly debt service cannot exceed 25 percent of the loan recipient’s annual income—no problem for Curry, who is playing through an eight-figure contract.) Furthermore, there seems to be few restrictions on who can lend—based on our research, we could find no other mention of Allstar Capital Inc. in the Nevada legal archives. We have to wonder if the company isn’t simply a one-man lending operation, of the sort that commonly operates without legal protection in other states.

The question then is whether Nevada’s permissive law is an odious curiosity, or something that deserves to be replicated elsewhere. Many moons ago, we wrote a tongue-in-cheek Slate piece that made the case for the legalization of private high-interest lending. The article was in part a polemic against payday lenders, who often profit by obscuring the outrageously usurious nature of their loans. But we also pointed out that pushing loan sharking above-ground would eliminate violence—why kneecap a deadbeat when you can just sue him instead?

The key, of course, would be transparency—some measure of regulation would be required to ensure that loan recipients understood their obligations, and that terms couldn’t be changed on the fly. While we do sympathize with Curry’s plight, we also have little doubt that he understood the terms of the Allstar deal. In the end, we’re glad he’s in debt to an entity that sees fit to seize his cars through legal means, rather than do him bodily harm.

(Image via the Leicestershire City Council)

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St. Helena Off Santa Barbara

May 24th, 2010


The politics in our native state never cease to entertain, especially when the gubernatorial elections roll around. Who could forget, for example, the ill-fated candidacy of Gary Coleman? This year’s contest seems similarly likely to offer its share of oddities, starting with reactionary Douglas Hughes. Though he has positions on all the major topics of the day, Hughes has chosen to brand himself as the only candidate in favor of exiling pedophiles to one of the Channel Islands:

One of the Orange County Republican’s main campaign promises is to turn Santa Rosa Island off Santa Barbara into “Pedophile Island” where convicted molesters would be housed. Not only that, but they’d be charged with building infrastructure and creating civil society. They’d even write their own constitution.

Hughes argues that pedophiles released from prison end up back in neighborhoods where they’ll strike again. So, he says, put them on the island instead. In fact, under his plan, pedophiles would have to either leave California, stay in prison or go to the island upon their release.

This utterly wacky idea got us thinking about the legality of exile in America. Everything we’ve learned about the “cruel and unusual punishment” ban has led us to believe that banishment is uniformly unconstitutional. But to our surprise, the issue is far murkier than we anticipated: Exile has actually been used in the American justice system in the past, as stated in this 2007 paper:

After the revolutionary war, the newly independent states repaid the loyalists in kind. Eight of the thirteen colonies officially banished those who had supported Britain, while the remainder passed laws that essentially accomplished the same goal. These banishments were challenged in the American courts and ultimately approved in Cooper v Telfair—but the Court was uneasy in its acceptance: “There is, likewise, a material difference between laws passed by the individual states, during the revolution, and laws passed subsequent to the organization of the federal constitution. Few of the revolutionary acts would stand the rigorous test now applied.”

But that didn’t stop certain states from trying to use exile over the ensuing decades. Ultimately, federal courts seem to have come down on the side of banning banishment from one state to another. And Hughes’ plan for essentially creating an Escape from New York scenario almost certainly wouldn’t pass constitutional muster. But what about banning a convict from a city or county? As long as exile isn’t specifically prohibited in a state’s constitution, that might be legally copacetic—especially if the banishment isn’t indefinite.

Read the whole paper on American exile here. We’re dubious on the practice, but we can also see how it might make for a mighty weapon in terms of breaking up criminal enterprises that rely on non-electronic communication.

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The Provider

May 24th, 2010

America’s long-running (and endlessly futile) War on Drugs is on the verge of claiming another casualty: the government of Jamaica. The Caribbean nation’s capital is partly in flames today, as residents of Tivoli Gardens battle police with fire bombs and heavy weaponry. The reason for the bloodshed is the government’s call for the surrender of alleged drug lord Christopher “Dudus” Coke, who is set to be extradited to the U.S.

For the impoverished residents of Tivoli Gardens, Coke is a key benefactor—a man who provides a social safety net that the Jamaican government does not. Perhaps more importantly, he has done an excellent job of extending his tentacles into legitimate endeavors—Coke’s front company, Incomparable Enterprise Ltd., is Kingston’s largest vendor of construction material. And that has not only enriched Coke and his allies, but also bought him a fair bit of political power:

Since taking over central and local government administrations, the Coke’s company has been awarded over $100 million dollars in state contracts, excluding the latest contract on Washington Boulevard. Records from the Kingston & St Andrew Corporation and the Office of the Contractor General show that the contracts were awarded after the ruling Jamaica Labour Party took over parish council in 2003, and August 2009.

Less than a year after assuming power, the Government awarded the company a number of lucrative contracts, which, by August last year, amounted to approximately $71,754,897.49 in contracts endorsed by the National Contracts Commission.

But it does not stop there, and Prime Minister Golding’s disclosure that he sanctioned the Jamaica Labour Party move to hire a US law firm to lobby the US administration on Coke’s extradition has raised several questions about Jamaica’s commitment to fighting organized crime.

It seems that the threat of losing International Monetary Fund backing finally coaxed the Golding regime into giving up Coke. But having legitimized Dudus’s power all these years, through dealmaking as well as by letting him run Tivoli Gardens as his own personal fiefdom, the government should have anticipated the blowback.

Unfortunately, the violence seems certain to escalate—the U.S. has too much at stake to permit Coke to evade extradition, and so will eventually force the Jamaican government to invade Tivoli Gardens, regardless of the collateral damage that will ensue. Given his nation’s desperate need for IMF assistance, the prime minister will have no choice but to comply with the Americans’ wishes.

The full dossier on Coke here, including his phone number (876-847-4573). Probably not the best time to give him a shout, though.

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The Language Barrier

May 21st, 2010


Bananas week ’round here, as we put the finishing touches on our addiction opus for Wired and prep for a much-needed vacation. (If anyone knows of must-see attraction on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, please advise.) So we’re gonna float into the weekend by reviving our Bad Movie Friday feature, which has been absent from these pages for far too long. Fortunately, we’ve been saving up a gem—a particularly laughable entry from Frank Zagarino‘s surprisingly extensive filmography. Though he’s best-known for his ’80s cheese, Zagarino has taken zero time to rest upon his B-movie laurels over the years. The clip above is from 1998’s Armstrong. We know of few films that better portray the hazards of humanity’s polylingualism. Enjoy.

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Rye and Beer at Nine-Fifteen

May 21st, 2010

An associate of ours recently told us that John McPhee once stated that he lives in constant fear of being outed as a fraud. Since we share this uniquely writerly anxiety, we’ve been searching high and low for the exact quote in which one of non-fiction’s true masters reveals himself to be a mere mortal. Try as we might, alas, we’ve been unable to locate the confession. But though our hunt has so far failed to achieve its primary goal, it hasn’t been a total waste. The quest compelled us to read McPhee’s “The Search for Marvin Gardens”, his 1972 elegy for Atlantic City. The man’s descriptive prowess is a wonder to behold—few other writers can drag the reader’s eye across an entire urban landscape in a single passage:

Mediterranean and Baltic are the principal avenues of the ghetto. Dogs are everywhere. A pack f seven passes me. Block after block, there are three-story brick row houses. Whole segments of them are abandoned, a thousand broken windows. Some parts are intact, occupied. A mattress lies in the street, soaking in a pool of water. Wet stuffing is coming out of the mattress. A postman is having a rye and a beer in the Plantation Bar at nine-fifteen in the morning. I ask him idly if he knows where Marvin Gardens is. He does not. “HOOKED AND NEED HELP? CONTACT N.A.R.C.O.” “REVIVAL GOING ON CONDUCTED BY REVEREND H. HENDERSON OF TEXAS.” These are signboards on Mediterranean and Baltic. The second one is upside down and leans against a boarded-up window of the Faith Temple Church of God in Christ. There is an old peeling poster on a warehouse wall showing a figure in an electric chair. “The Black Panther Manifesto” is the title of the poster, and its message is, or was, that “the fascists have already decided in advance to murder Chairman Bobby Seale in the electric chair.” I pass an old woman who carries a bucket. She wears blue sneakers worn through. Her feet spill out. She wears red socks rolled at the knees. A white handkerchief, spread over her head, is knotted at the corners. Does she know where Marvin Gardens is?

Read the rest here. How we wish that McPhee could have been hired on to write a few episodes of Boardwalk Empire—we feel like he gets A.C. on a super-deep level.

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The Organ Trade Equation

May 20th, 2010


As we jam on our monthly Wired column deadline, we thought we’d give y’all something to chew over—a interesting snippet pulled from this excellent Discover piece about the kidney black market in India. Given our philosophical leanings, we generally find ourselves arguing for the legalization and regulation of kidney sales. But then we come across data points like this, and we’re forced to re-evaluate:

Iran, which has allowed kidney donations for cash since 1988, has virtually eliminated the waiting list for the organ. A survey of 500 Iranian donors who received $1,200 and a year of medical insurance from the government found that their quality of life, as measured by factors like financial condition and psychological health, remained poor three to six months after the donation. “Nobody denies that most donors live in extreme poverty; many are drug addicts,” says WHO’s Noël. “There is candid recognition in Iran now that the scheme is working well only for the recipients.”

More on the Iranian experience here. Does this mean that, should a legalized kidney market come to fruition, that donors must be subjected to “fitness tests” to ensure that the financial windfall they receive will be put to good use? Or would that be too much government meddling?

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Beyond Bulgarian Metal

May 19th, 2010


In discussing Bulgaria’s long and healthy tradition of heavy metal last week, we briefly lampooned the first act that popped up when we Googled “Bulgarian hip-hop”—a buffoonish rapper named Ustata. As fate would have it, a Bulgarian reader chimed in to gently upbraid us for highlighting her nation’s most embarrassingly awful MC:

I’m amused that Ustata, the Bulgarian Vanilla Ice, is mentioned here when Upsurt is much more of a solid hip-hop choice from the country.

In the interests of righting a wrong, then, we present you with Upsurt’s latest video (above). It seems to represent a major departure from the band’s previous efforts, which were obviously inspired by the Hype Williams school of music promotion. The faux mullets and country twang on display here make us think the Upsurt team did a swing through Western Brooklyn at some point in the not-too-distant past, and came away changed by the irony-heavy experience. Which is not to say we don’t really dig the music or visuals here—it’s tough to resist a creative product that makes such effective use of rabbit iconography.

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Pax Upon Him…Perhaps

May 19th, 2010

If the whole Richard Blumenthal saga has taught us anything, it’s that the brazen mendacity of public figures is relatively easy to detect, provided that someone is willing to put a little elbow grease into the search. Of course, that search requires resources, specifically time and money. Microkhan is short on both, alas, so we can’t quite drop the investigatory bomb like the big boys of dead-tree journalism. But we’d still like to take a stab at debunking a claim put forth by a major historical figure: Sam Cohen, the man behind the neutron bomb.

Those already familiar with the history of nuclear weaponry will know that Cohen is quite a card—we very much doubt that his famous contemporaries would have had the gall to title their memoirs F*** You Mr. President! He also seems to harbor a deep sense of resentment against the military establishment for ignoring the neutron bomb’s tactical potential; as he made clear in this 2004 interview, Cohen believes that the weapon could have saved thousands of lives had it been used in Vietnam. He also insisted that the Vatican understood what the Pentagon could not:

I believe that the neutron bomb is a moral weapon: very discriminative and in accordance with the Christian just-war principle. And this was appreciated and recognised by the Vatican: in 1978, Paul VI gave me the Peace Medal.

Cohen repeats the claim in his memoirs, albeit a bit more colorfully:

Some weeks later I received a medal from his Holiness, Pope Paul VI. I doubt if I got it for stopping beating my wife.

While we don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility that Cohen was so honored, a couple of things make us skeptical. First of all, try as we might, we’ve been unable to identify a “Medal of Peace” or “Peace Medal” among the Vatican’s long list of decorations. Furthermore, though The Tubes do not seem to offer a quick-and-easy compendium of living recipients of Vatican medals, news stores suggest that these honors are not handed out like lollipops—and certainly not without some degree of pomp. The fact that Cohen is Jewish should have certainly made waves at the time, since non-Catholic recipients of papal honors are a rare breed, indeed. Oh, and doesn’t it seem a wee bit unlikely that the Vatican would choose to honor a weapons creator?

It’s also worth noting that unofficial Vatican “medals” can be purchased at souvenir shops for a pittance. Perhaps Cohen picked up one of these $35 specials on his way back from Rome?

An addendum to Cohen’s memoir claims that a photograph of his Medal of Peace exists. If anyone knows how we could dig that up, we’d be much in your debt. And if it turns out that Cohen’s honor is legit, we owe him a pint of airag.

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The Rabies “Racket”

May 18th, 2010


Healthy skepticism is obviously the lifeblood of a functioning society, yet there are moments when distrust of The Man can have dire consequences. That is too often the case in the public-health sphere, which we reckon makes sense—the notion of injecting ourselves with foreign agents is terrifying, especially since it’s so hard to observe how those agents act inside the body. And so recent history has been peppered with controversies in which medical advances have been reviled as dangerous schemes, based on little more than gossip and conjecture.

Decades before this whole unpleasant smackdown, for example, there was a similarly heated controversy over the rollout of a mass-produced rabies vaccine in the United States. The spat seems quaint now, given that the canine vaccine obviously worked so well—once depressingly common, the disease formerly known as “hydrophobia” now kills just one or two Americans per year. Yet as the vaccine went wide during the tail end of the Great Depression, the forces of fear did their best to stop the progress. No less an authority than House and Garden magazine agreed, terming the nation’s efforts to vaccinate dogs “one of the cheapest and most dangerous rackets in the history of medicine.” And the Pittsburgh Press took delight in slamming veterinarians for insisting that dogs be vaccinated as a matter of course:

There is no doubt that some of the manufacturers of vaccine are still trying to push the product and even to whip up hysteria that will lead to compulsory vaccination, and it seems that here is where the veterinary profession could itself a good turn.

It takes little reasons to recognize that if fewer dogs are being sold there are fewer potential patients for the veterinarians. It seems that any continuation of an attempt to push a vaccine which has been held valueless by an eminent scientist after a thorough investigating is extremely foolish if, as seems probably, it is hurting the breeding of dogs.

None of this implies that Big Medicine’s claims should always be taken at face value—far from it, in fact. But it does us little good to always make the knee-jerk assumption that the profit motive and solid public-health policy are mutually exclusive.

(Image of Louis Pasteur removing a rabid bunny brain via The Open University)

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Room 118

May 18th, 2010


If all goes according to plan, this post will go live right as we exit a federal courthouse. That where we plan on spending the better part of the morning, in search of a case file that is likely jaundiced with age. Wish us luck in dealing with the quizzical looks of the clerical staff; back here soon, provided the 2 train’s running alright.

Oh, and Syl Johnson—someone out on the street just drove by, blasting this particular tune. Made everything seem okay, despite the incessant background noise of a bedtime-resistant Microkhan Jr.

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The Weapon That Almost Wasn’t?

May 17th, 2010


It is with great sadness that we note the passing of Edward G. Uhl, renowned as one of the co-fathers of the bazooka. It is safe to say that World War II would have been a much tougher slog for the Allies without the tubular weapon, which Dwight D. Eisenhower hailed as one of our side’s four keys to victory. (The others were the Jeep, the A-bomb, and the C-47.) Yet according to one august rocket scientist, the American military nearly took a pass on the bazooka:

The United States Army was opposed for a year to the adoption of the Bazooka—the sensationally successful hand-operated anti-tank projector.

Dr. C.N. Hickman, America’s leading rocket scientist, claims he suggested the Bazooka in 1941, but the Army disregarded the idea until private enthusiasts demonstrated its value.

Dr. Hickman said that the Army in 1941 obtained one million rifle-grenades for disabling tanks, but although the tremendous recoil shattered every rifle in which they were tested, the grenades would not penetrate the armor of tanks.

Hickman’s claim could simply be a product of professional jealousy. Or perhaps he was just miffed upon realizing that he’ll always be the Elisha Gray of the bazooka.

On the plus side for Hickman, he did receive his due for a less lethal invention: the Ampico Re-Enacting Piano.

(Image via Dunechaser)

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A Question of Lead

May 17th, 2010

Back in November, we opined that the likes of the United Nations would be well-advised to focus less on paying for physical improvements to impoverished schools, and more on reducing lead poisoning among very young children. As it turns out, the endlessly troubled city of Detroit might want to consider heeding that advice, too:

A landmark study by the city health department and Detroit Public Schools of lead data and test scores shows that the higher the lead level, the worse a student’s scores on the Michigan Educational Assessment Program exam, or MEAP.

Overall, 58% of roughly 39,000 DPS students tested — 22,755 children — had a history of lead poisoning, according to the study.

Perhaps more startling: Of the 39,199 students tested as young children, only 23 had no lead in their bodies.

These numbers disturb so greatly because the link between elevated lead levels and impaired intellectual development is pretty well-established at this point. Given that it’s proving so massively expensive to improve school performance through traditional means, perhaps it’s time to start thinking about lead abatement not as a public-health goal, but rather as a vital (and relatively affordable) part of education reform. We already know how to ratchet down lead levels, so it wouldn’t be a huge stretch for a city like to Detroit to copy the approach used by, say, New York City. All it would really take is money, which is why it makes sense to shift the goal into the education column—school systems generally have bigger budgets than municipal health departments, plus better access to national grants.

In other words, we believe that failing school systems would be wise to spend some money on preventing lead poisoning, rather than engaging in more trial-and-error classroom experiments. Our gut tells us that the long-term outcomes would be much, much better.

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Sci-Fi in the DDR

May 14th, 2010


The Stasi was hardly the only important East German institution to leave behind a wealth of archival material. Deutsche Film Aktiengesellschaft, better known to Western film buffs as DEFA Studios, also preserved its documentary heritage upon Communism’s collapse. The state-run movie producer has since bequeathed much of its vast archives to the University of Massachusetts, so that future generations can revel in the weirdo sci-fi visions of such films as Eolomea (above). If you like what you see in the trailer, we suggest that you try watching all of Eolomea here—though be forewarned, it’s a version dubbed in Russian. Not that we think that the flick is particularly easy to grok in any language—East German sci-fi was not renowned for its audience-friendliness. Cool spaceships, though.

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Lessons from the Thin White Duke

May 14th, 2010


Even if you never owned the cassette version of Use Your Illusion II, this recent interview with Slash can’t help but entertain. We’ve loved the man ever since seeing him avoid self-immolation by ever-so-calmly removing a dropped cigarette from his knee-high boot. (Such are the perils of falling asleep on talk-show couch, apparently.) Oh, and the guitar solo on “Paradise City” really makes us want to bench press something. Yet Slash also has a keen and curious mind, which led him to approach rock-and-roll debauchery in a manner befitting a university student. His sage teacher? None other than Ziggy Stardust himself:

I did get advice from David Bowie at one point when I was really deep in my drug thing in 1989/90, where he basically gave me a philosophical look into where I was mentally and spiritually in those days, saying: “You are exposing yourself to the darker realms of your subconscious being.” Which was very handy and it stuck with me! I don’t know if he felt quite responsible [he would party with Slash’s mother when Slash was a child], it was more that he felt obligated to share some of his wisdom with me at that time – you know from an outsider looking in. I was desperately in need of it.

As parents ourselves, we also appreciate the fact that Slash saw fit to ditch his cobra collection upon the birth of his first child. Even the speediest kid is no match for a Naja siamensis.

(Image via Celebrity Rock Star Guitars)

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