Terry Jones

My good friend Emily used to try to get me to write more. We had to find a way to turn it into a competition to get me to do it. Today I was talking to another friend on Skype and was reminded of the following story I wrote for Emily. So I’m posting it here. Maybe some other enterprising (and less scrupulous?) entrepreneur can implement it. I bet it would work.

By modern web attention span standards, this is really long.

LUCKY STREAK

They say the first million is always the hardest. In my case it was actually pretty easy; it just took me a long time to figure out how to do it. They also say “if you’re so smart, why aren’t you rich?” Although I don’t think anyone ever asked me that, I could never shake the question after I first came across it. It always rankled me somehow. If you’re that damned smart, making a mere million bucks shouldn’t even raise a sweat. Just think of all the rich idiots you’ve met over the years. What do they have that you don’t? Luck?

Anyway, that’s all the past. The computer I’m using right now has a monster 52 inch flat-screen plasma display. I’m listening to some of my favorite music on a $27,000 stereo system. I have wireless everything. There’s a high-speed multi-homed satellite connection to the internet hidden in the turret of my castle, and several high-performance motor cars in my graveled driveway. Did I say castle? Correct. I’m in a 16th century castle on a hill in Spain. It’s mine. So just how smart am I? It’s hard to say with certainty, but I’m one certifiably rich white dude. And I’m still raking it in. Over $3M a month, clear. It’s a one-man operation and I work about one hour a week.

Here’s my story.

The seed was sown when a friend told me about the following possibility. First of all, buy a mailing list of 50 million email addresses. These can be had online for under $100. Then, pick some sporting event (let’s say) and make a prediction at random about the outcome: team X will beat team Y (ignore draws for now, that’s just a detail). Send your prediction, couched in the appropriate language about mystical forces, seeing the future etc, to all 50 million people on your mailing list. After the event takes place, half of the people you mailed will have received a correct prediction from you. Chuck out the 25 million addresses of the people who got the incorrect prediction. Now pick another upcoming event. Make a prediction at random and mail it to your 25 million survivors. Do this ten times. Each time, say a little more about how omniscient you are in your email, about how you can look into the future. Whatever. After ten mailings you’ll be down to 50,000 people who will have all received ten correct predictions from you.

I probably don’t need to mention that at this point you’re going to have about 50,000 new friends. You could probably start a religion. You could probably make some real money.

That’s the setup. The problem my friend posed: what to do with these 50,000 believers? How can you turn them into money, and in such a way that you also stay out of jail? Clearly you could pull a crude one-time scam. For example, offer to send them (for a price, naturally) the device you were using to make your predictions, and then mail them a Magic 8 ball. Solutions like that are obvious, but they’re very unsatisfying. For one, you’re blowing away all you credibility in one go. For two, you’re going to have some fraction of 50,000 people complaining that they’ve been scammed (i.e., you’re going into hiding or you’re perhaps going to jail). And for three, you wont make that much money: maybe a million before you figure your costs, and that’s under the highly unrealistic assumption that you’ll be able to convince all those 50,000 people to simultaneously pay you $20 each. So while the basic idea holds water, it’s not clear where to take it and how to maximize its potential while staying on the right side of the law.

I admitted the idea was good. At first I didn’t see what to make of it, if anything. Then two months later, lying in bed, I realized I knew exactly what to do. I quit my job the next day.

I’ll tell you what I do. But first….. Why would I tell you? Because I’ve learned, though actually I knew before I started it, that it just doesn’t matter if you know. It’s not the first time I’ve spilled the beans either, though it is the most explicit and it’s the first time in writing. It just doesn’t matter. Hardly anyone would believe you if you told them the truth. Not even if you presented them with a copy of this with my signature at the bottom. Some would say “well of course” but the rest, the great majority of my users, would be more inclined to argue passionately with you and even stop speaking to you if you will not admit your error. And nope, I’m not kidding.

First of all, I use a trade secret algorithm which combines a person’s email address with the text of a question and comes up with a yes/no answer. The secret sauce, oh so special, far too secret for mere patent protection, is in fact based on a simple MD5 checksum of the concatenated email address and question text. If the first character of the MD5 checksum is 0 to 7, the answer to the question for the person with that email address is Yes. Otherwise it’s No. The system can generate millions of these predictions in minutes.

To prime the service, I just sent out the predictions to people. My initial list was 35 million (valid, non-bouncing, unique) email addresses, and I didn’t whittle it down at all when people got sent a wrong prediction. Once I’d gone through ten iterations, the plan went into serious action.

The main point is to change the focus of the original idea. In the original, the focus or pretense is that you can predict the future. Some number of people are going to believe you. But you’d better take advantage of that belief as quickly as possible because they’re going to stop believing pretty fast once you go wrong and it begins costing them. If you’re infallible and then you start screwing up regularly, you can kiss it all goodbye pretty quick smart.

The new focus? Luck. Instead of telling people you can predict the future, you tell them that everyone has lucky (and unlucky) streaks and that you’ve come up with a way to detect when people are on a roll. You tell them up front (click here to accept the Terms and Conditions of service) that you explicitly cannot predict the future. That they should not bet on your predictions. That, as everyone knows, lucky streaks always come to an end, etc. You cover your ass here. What I offer is a service that advises people when it looks like they’re on a lucky (or unlucky) streak.

After the initial priming, all 35 million emails got a further email introducing them to lucky-streak.com. The introductory email depended on the number of initial predictions the system got right for the email address in question. The people who got sent ten correct initial predictions received a very different email from the ones who had an average time of it. Those with a very low success rate got an appropriate letter. Naturally, the take up rate for the service was extremely heavily skewed towards those who got many correct predictions, with a clear bump at the end of the distribution for those with zero correct predictions.

I mail out the predictions (this is a per-user configuration option) and make them available online so that users can see their prediction history. See their luck. For those that want it, an email or SMS text alert is sent to their PDA or mobile phone to tell them just when it looks like they’re on a roll or when their lucky streak seems to be over or ending. All this for $1.99 a month.

I have a couple of servers, located in Seeland. It’s an offshore secure site with basically no laws. The server takes credit card payments and transfers are made to accounts at one of several banks. Cayman Islands, Bermuda, Switzerland, Channel Isles, etc. I have about 30 offshore bank accounts in seven principalities. My business is highly welcomed, and absolutely no questions have ever been asked. In my very occasional visits to these banks, I am treated like royalty. I tip.

Users get to define their own concept of lucky streak. On average, people choose about 4.3. That is, if 4 or 5 of my predictions go their way in a row, they consider themselves to be in a lucky phase. If the same number go against them, they consider themselves to be unlucky. When these things happen, I send out an alert. Consequently, something between 1/16th and 1/32nd of my users are feeling lucky at any one time and roughly the same fraction are being a little bit more cautious than normal. But that’s neither here nor there – the service costs the same whether you’re in a lucky phase or not. I don’t pretend to know anything for sure. No guarantees, no extra charges.

So I’m like a horoscope service or a palm reader. Everyone knows the service makes mistakes, but people love it. And I mean they _really_ love it. Even when their friends tell them it’s a fraud and that there must be some trick, even if they explain the trick, the believers refuse to listen. They come back for more. You can sign up for a year’s worth for a mere $15. Hundreds of thousands of people take that option.

Behind all this are a couple of machines with a simple database. Just linux PCs from Dell. Nothing too special. The database holds email addresses, the prediction questions, and the record of predictions for each user. When a user pulls up their history, I simply generate a line of recent predictions (red dot = wrong, green dot = right) and let them click on these to see the underlying question. It’s pretty easy to see when you’re on a roll. Lucky and unlucky streaks are undeniable. Of course, most of the time, most people are not on any kind of streak. But that’s no problem, that’s exactly what people expect. After all, you can’t be lucky all the time.

Legally, I’m pretty well covered. First of all, I’m quite hard to locate. I spent several grand on a $400/hr lawyer in New York, crafting the Terms and Conditions agreement. It’s very explicit. It states that my predictions may have no more than a 50% chance of being correct. It warns that users should use the service for entertainment only, and under no circumstance as the basis for any kind of betting or other decision making. It tells them that the concept of a lucky streak is extremely nebulous and unproven and that even if there is such a thing it may end without any warning and at any moment. Then there are half a dozen paragraphs of disclaimers and acknowledgements that basically amount to a General Release. I’ve received two legal challenges over the last two years and both have quickly been thrown out long before reaching any court as the result of filing for declarative judgments. The Terms and Conditions are pretty ironclad. The average time new users spend between receiving the page and clicking “I Agree”? About two seconds.

Naturally, people do bet on my predictions, and in general, when they receive an alert to tell them they may be on a lucky streak. Not surprisingly, that seems to be the principal reason people use the service. In fact, I typically receive a couple of hundred grateful emails a month offering me some cut of their winnings! For legal reasons, I always politely decline and instead suggest that they make a contribution to the political party of their choice. The government isn’t too likely to shut me down. In fact, I expect such contributions are pretty scarce. In any case, as far as I’ve been able to determine, I fall outside the jurisdiction and legal system of all countries except the one I reside in and residence itself is invariably a mathematical concept. Just by spending perpetual spring and early summers in various locations around the world, following the sun, it’s not at all clear that I’m a resident of any country or where taxes might be due, supposing any are due at all. The internet created some extraordinarily gaping holes that the historical national tax and legal systems are going to have a hard time filling any time soon.

So that’s it. Right now (and I do mean right now) I have exactly 1,348,216 monthly subscribers at $1.99 a month, plus 703,237 subs who paid the $15 in advance for a year of alerts. That works out at a touch over $3.5M per month. I have no staff and almost nothing to do. Sometimes, I even consider going back to my old job. The servers have multiple redundant independent power supplies, hourly tape backup, RAID arrays, etc. They’re locked down with tight firewalls and the security team at Seeland apply patches on the rare occasion any problem is found (only 3 patches have been applied in two years – one to apache and two to ssh). The credit card companies take a small cut. They love me too, and are lobbyists with considerable clout. My monthly hosting, service and traffic charge is about a thousand bucks. It took me four months to get the site together originally (this done in parallel with sending out the initial predictions). The lucky-streak.com domain costs me $15 a year.

My users love me too. They thank me. They believe. They have chat rooms, mailing lists, IRC channels, and even support groups (only in America of course). There’s a hard core that refuse to believe something so accurate could possibly be a scam. I’m giving them something they want. They evangelize. They proselytize. They swear by me. And yes, they occasionally swear at me. Articles about the site have appeared in the international media and in many national and regional papers and magazines. I refuse virtually all interviews when occasional reporters do manage to get hold of me, and I never allow photos. I’m on record in a Rolling Stone interview as saying that of course it’s all random and that people shouldn’t take it seriously. Did that put a dent in my numbers? No way. Quite the opposite: subscriptions jumped sharply following the interview. My devoted users, interviewed by the same magazine, and others, simply refuse to believe that the service could be anything but real. Of course many don’t believe it has much, if any, accuracy in its actual predictions. They all have one thing in common: they all believe in luck. They believe that luck is real, and that lucky and unlucky streaks exist. And who doesn’t believe that? I just offer a service, backed by seemingly solid evidence (my personalized prediction history for the user), to help flag the good and bad times.

I read some book about the importance of brand. There was a discussion of the Harley Davidson company as a great example of brand. It concluded something like this: if you can convince your customers to tattoo your brand name onto their bodies, you know you’ve won the branding game. I may not be there quite yet, but that’s the kind of following the service has. Reason and rationality are simply not a factor. The average person has no head for probability, in fact no concept of it. Their friends can’t convince them to stop buying lottery tickets or to cancel their subscription to lucky-streak.com. In the end though, the friends don’t figure there’s much harm. After all, it’s just a couple of bucks a month.

When I said I could start a religion, I wasn’t kidding. Not too many leave the service, and at least at the moment, for every one that leaves, two new ones join. Unlucky streaks are just as important to people as lucky ones. Lots of people have no intention of betting or doing anything crazy, but they want to know when they should be a little extra careful. It’s a vital aspect of the service that I’m there for you in the good and the bad, always trying to help, always on your side, ready to celebrate or commiserate as the case may be. The predictions can be wrong half the time (and, of course, they are), but the service doesn’t lose people as a result. The subscribers don’t care about the individual predictions. They care about when they’re in a lucky phase. When they’re on a roll. When a prediction is wrong and you send them email them telling them to watch out, that their streak may be over, they’ll reply to say thank you. I make a random prediction and send it out. The prediction is completely wrong. Nevertheless, the recipient sends me a thank-you note. It’s wacky, but that’s the way it works. I figure tattoos are not out of the question.

I know it can’t grow like this forever, but when you think about it, a couple of million people really is a very small fraction of the number of people online. I figure it’s going to settle down at around 5-10 million subscribers. At some point, probably within the next two years, I expect something will go wrong and that I’ll shut the whole thing down and walk away from it. You can’t make $35M a year in a vacuum. There are all sorts of people that are simply not going to let that happen. Still, after two full years of operation, I have over $40M spread across my various bank accounts, so I’m doing OK. It’s probably strictly 100% legal. It’s not as easy to spend, invest, or move the money as I would like, but on the other hand I don’t pay tax. I do my serious shopping by wire transfer, often to other offshore accounts. There are clearly ethical questions, but I simply ignore them. Like they say, every man has his price. They also say that lotteries are just a tax on people who are bad at math. But I’m not that callous. I have a service, and I’ve been quite up-front about what it does, what can be expected, and even how it works. People choose to send me money in exchange for the service. And after all, it’s for a very good cause.

Like all my satisfied clients, I know my run will also someday come to an end.

But for now, I’m really on a roll.

I’ve spent lots of time thinking about high-dimensional spaces, usually in the context of optimization problems. Many difficult problems that we face today can be phrased as problems of navigating in high-dimensional spaces.

One problem with high-dimensional spaces is that they can be highly non-intuitive. I did a lot of work on fitness landscapes, which are a form of high dimensional space, and ran into lots of cases in which problems were exceedingly difficult because it’s not clear how to navigate efficiently in such a space. If you’re trying to find high points (e.g., good solutions), which way is up? We’re all so used to thinking in 3 dimensions. It’s very easy to do the natural thing and let our simplistic lifelong physical and visual 3D experience influence our thinking about solving problems in high-dimensional spaces.

Another problem with high-dimensional spaces is that we can’t visualize them unless they are very simple. You could argue that an airline pilot in a cockpit monitoring dozens of dials (each dial gives a reading on one dimension) does a pretty good job of navigating a high-dimensional space. I don’t mean the 3D space in which the plane is flying, I mean the virtual high-dimensional space whose points are determined by the readings on all the instruments.

I think that’s true, but the landscape is so smooth that we know how to move around on it pretty well. Not too many planes fall out of the sky.

Things get vastly more difficult when the landscape is not smooth. In fact they get positively weird. Even with trivial examples, like a hypercube, things get weird fast. For example, if you’re at a vertex on a hypercube, exactly one half of the space is reachable in a single step. That’s completely non-intuitive, and we haven’t even put fitness numbers on the nodes. When I say fitness, I mean goodness, or badness, or energy level, or heuristic, or whatever it is you’re dealing with.

We can visually understand and work with many 3D spaces (though 3D mazes can of course be hard). We can hold them in our hands, turn them around, and use our visual system to help us. If you had to find the high-point looking out over a collection of sand dunes, you could move to a good vantage point (using your visual system and understanding of 3D spaces) and then just look. There’s no need to run an optimization algorithm to find high points, avoiding getting trapped in local maxima, etc.

But that’s not the case in a high-dimensional space. We can’t just look at them and solve problems visually. So we write awkward algorithms that often do exponentially increasing amounts of work.

If we can’t visually understand a high-dimensional space, is there some other kind of understanding that we could get?

If so, how could we prove that we understood the space?

I think the answer might be that there are difficult high-dimensional spaces that we could understand, and demonstrate that we understand them.

One way to demonstrate that you understand a 3D space is to solve puzzles in it, like finding high points, or navigating over or through it without crashing.

We can apply the same test to a high-dimensional space: build problems and see if they can be solved on the fly by the system that claims to understand the space.

One way to do that is the following.

Have a team of people who will each sit in front of a monitor showing them a 3D scene. They’ll each have a joystick that they can use to “fly” through the scene that they see. You take your data and give 3 dimensions to each of the people. You do this with some degree of dimensional overlap. Then you let the people try to solve a puzzle in the space, like finding a high point. Their collective navigation gives you a way to move through the high-dimensional space.

You’d have to allocate dimensions to people carefully, and you’d have to do something about incompatible decisions. But if you built something like this (e.g., with 2 people navigating through a 4D space), you’d have a distributed understanding of the high-dimensional space. No one person would have a visual understanding of the whole space, but collectively they would.

In a way it sounds expensive and like overkill. But I think it’s pretty easy to build and there’s enormous value to be had from doing better optimization in high-dimensional spaces.

All we need is a web server hooked up to a bunch of people working on Mechanical Turk. Customers upload their high-dimensional data, specify what they’re looking for, the data is split by dimension, and the humans do their 3D visual thing. If the humans are distributed and don’t know each other they also can’t collude to steal or take advantage of the data – because they each only see a small slice.

There’s a legitimate response that we already build systems like this. Consider the hundreds of people monitoring the space shuttle in a huge room, each in front of a monitor. Or even a pilot and co-pilot in a plane, jointly monitoring instruments (does a co-pilot do that? I don’t even know). Those are teams collectively understanding high-dimensional spaces. But they’re, in the majority of cases, not doing overlapping dimensional monitoring, and the spaces they’re working in are probably relatively smooth. It’s not a conscious effort to collectively monitor or understand a high-dimensional space. But the principle is the same, and you could argue that it’s a proof the idea would work – for sufficiently non-rugged spaces.

Apologies for errors in the above – I just dashed this off ahead of going to play real football in 3D. That’s a hard enough optimization problem for me.

Well that’s a relief.

I have a little background in user authentication. I wrote my undergrad CS honors thesis on Secrecy and Authentication. If you search Google hard enough you can even find mentions of the Seberry & Jones Scheme for implementing subliminal channels. I held a provisional patent with Sydney University on a biometric user authentication method based on typing style in 1985/6. The method turned out not to be original, has been re-invented multiple times since then, and was even somehow published as new years later in CACM.

I therefore feel eminently qualified to speculate on what user authentication might look like in a world with no free will.

Note that I don’t care whether free will exists or not, and I certainly don’t want to waste my time thinking or talking about it. But if it doesn’t exist, then the following user authentication algorithm does exist. We couldn’t implement it, but it would certainly exist and it’s fun to consider instead of doing real work.

When a computer needs to verify who you are, it tells you to move the mouse around randomly for as long as you like. Or to just bang on the keyboard. The kind of thing you do when you’re generating randomness for the construction of a PGP/GPG key.

But if there’s no free will then it’s not random.

So the algorithm can just look up what you did in a big table to see who you are. As two users could conceivably do the same thing, it probably needs a little more information, like the time of day and your IP address – neither of which you’d have any control over either.

That’s it. No need for anything fancy, just a lookup table. No-one would ever fail to be recognized, no-one would ever be mistaken for someone else, there’d be no identity theft, etc. Even if you just sat there and did nothing for a while the machine would know exactly who you were. You could always log in by just briefly doing nothing at all, and then continuing. The length of time you did nothing for would betray you.

All totally absurd, of course, and thinking about it quickly becomes highly circular. Just like the rest of the debate.

As you were.

I wrote earlier about a bicycle removal problem. I wasn’t exactly flooded with responses. Anyway, here’s my solution.

You buy a large collection of bike locks. Then you drive around the city and lock people’s bike locks to the bike racks (or poles or railings or whatever). People can still take their bikes and their locks away as usual, and your lock then falls to the ground (but is still attached to the bike rack). Once every X weeks your people go out and do a sweep – taking away bikes and bike fragments that still have your lock on their lock, recovering your locks that are no longer locked to other locks, and using these to lock the locks of bikes that do not have your lock on them.

You can put a brightly colored ring with a warning message on your locks “This bike will be taken away in X weeks if this bicycle has not been used”.

Walking on the UCSD campus in 1998, I passed a bike rack that looked partly like a scrap metal junkyard. There were bikes in many conditions, from perfect to clearly abandoned rusting frames. Some had no wheels or no seat. Several were just a frame and a chain locked to the bike rack with a big expensive U-lock.

I thought “interesting, I wonder how they deal with these old bikes, possibly abandoned or forgotten bikes, abandoned frames, wheeless bikes, bikes whose owners died, etc. How can they know when it’s ok to cut something free and take it away? How can they know when it’s not ok?”

I saw the same problem at my apartment building, a similar tangle of 6 or 8 old bikes. Later, living in NYC down in the village I’d see hundreds of apparently abandoned eyesores. Blots on the fair face of the city.

So there’s the problem.

That is, devise a method or a policy for dealing with the removal of these bikes, ex-bikes, partial bikes, etc. Below are some requirements for a good solution. If you miss on any one of these, whatever you’re thinking of probably isn’t as good as what I thought of :-) There are many partial solutions.

1. It must be cheap. You must be able to employ regular people to carry out your plan. No high tech, no massive salaries, none of that.
2. It must be effective: no abandoned or unused bike will be missed.
3. There must be no waste.
4. Bike owners must get fair warning their bike is going to be taken away.
5. No one should be able to cause anyone else’s bike to be taken away.
6. No one should be able to cause a bike that should have been taken away not to be taken away.
7. No one should be able to make a bike be taken away without the owner getting a fair chance to know it was due to be taken. E.g., with parking tickets I can simply take the parking ticket off any car I like and chuck it in the trash.
8. There should not be (as far as possible) opportunities to exploit the system by criminals.
9. You must not interfere with any bicycle (no marking them, etc).
10. The program must be something that has a high probability of being regarded as fair and which gets good press (everyone loves it, business comes to you).

Those are all the conditions I can think of right now, but there may be more.

You get to make all the decisions. Pretend you’re the mayor of NYC, coming up with a new policy for cleaning up the streets. And it’s an election year.

OK, this has nothing to do with calculus, but I wanted a short title. Better would have been On the monotonically decreasing incentive to keep secrets, etc.

If you have a secret and you tell someone, it makes no sense to tell them they can’t tell anyone else.

Let’s say there are 2 kinds of secrets you might be tempted to pass along: a) those that are more important to the receiver than they are to you (e.g., you just found out that X is sleeping with your friend Y’s partner and you’re considering telling Y), and b) those that are less important to the receiver than they are to you.

Clearly it doesn’t make much sense to tell the receiver in class (a) that they can’t tell anyone. They probably have less incentive to be telling people than you do, they’re closer to the source than you are, and perhaps the information is “theirs” more than it is “yours”. Things like that.

But it doesn’t make sense to tell the receiver in class (b) that they can’t tell anyone either. That’s because it’s unreasonable to expect them to keep something secret that you’re not keeping secret when it’s even less important to them than it is to you. Even if you swear them to secrecy, as you may have been sworn to secrecy, you can’t rationally expect them to keep the secret.

Most secrets fall into class (b).

The rational and responsible conclusion is that either you decide that the buck stops with you and you don’t pass it on, OR you decide to pass it on, in the full knowledge that you are actively spreading the secret, and in fact lowering the barrier to it spreading more widely. At the very least, have the intellectual honesty not to preface the secret telling with “you can’t tell anyone about this…”

I’m getting a tooth crowned. I had no idea how involved the process is. I’ve been to the dentist 3 times and she tells me it’s going to be 3 or 4 more visits before it’s done.

I think I first became aware of the tricks dentists use when I was 17 and having my wisdom teeth out. My dentist was a master at the art of gentle persuasive suggestion. “Now you may experience a slight pulling sensation” he’d say smoothly; ahead of a maneuver that felt like my teeth were fastened to a departing tugboat while he held my head firmly in place.

The introduction of the needle is the most basic dentist trick, like the magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, or a juggler eating an apple. You’ve just got to be able to do it, and you have to do it in every show as you warm up the audience. There’s the delayed low sweep of the arm bringing the needle. The needle hand hugs the terrain like a plane coming in under the radar. The needle, out of sight during the whole journey, is upon you before you know it. Ah, but you knew it was coming, didn’t you?

There’s little variety here, and not that much scope anyway. Perhaps a little distracting chatter, a more relaxed and slightly sideways approach (body concealing the delivery arm) as the dentist engages you, watching to see if your eyes are straining wildly to see it. You know the needle is coming, but you know you’d better not look at it, else the dentist will think you’re terrified and start with more tricks.

The tricks are designed for the masses, and so many are quite obvious if you’re thinking about things even a little. But dentists are smart people too, and they’ve been doing this for a long time. So they probably have tricks you don’t notice. I wonder how much of a 5-year course in dentistry is concerned with patient psychology and stress management. Apart from using well-practiced techniques, you have a situation in which one person is trying to pull the wool over another’s eyes, literally right under their nose, and that’s of course full of opportunity for improvised patient management. Add to this the patient probably wanting to believe and wanting to stay calm, and you’ve got very fertile ground.

It’s not easy to engage dentists on the subject because your mouth is typically numb and full of instruments. By the time the show is over, you’re being whisked out to pay and you don’t feel much like talking anyway. I have occasionally managed to get some sense out of dentists about all this. I told the guy that removed my wisdom teeth that he was a master. He just smiled. I had some time the other day before my current dentist started in on me. I told her how all the little techniques had always amused me, especially the introduction of the needle. She said that she can’t help the reassuring stream of comments, like telling me to relax, not to worry, that we’re nearly done, etc.

That’s what I think about at the dentist. It helps keep my mind off the needle.

London tube poster

Speaking of anal sex, I went to see if pooTube.com was taken. It is, and it leads to youTube. I thought it would be the perfect domain for an anal sex site. I like it (the name, I mean) a lot.

If I were in the business of making horror movies, I think I’d probably pay people to faint in early showings. This article describes a series of people being overcome at the opening shows of some horror flick or other. That sort of publicity must be worth a huge amount, though you wouldn’t want to be caught.

I remember reading about people being put on oxygen in Cannes at the showing of Irreversible and its anal sex rape scene. I immediately went out and saw the movie to see if it was as bad as all that. I sat there in the Angelika with a crowd of New Yorkers and no-one got up and left, or made noises like they couldn’t stand it any more, let alone needed oxygen. Perhaps that’s just because they were all living in New York and beyond normal human emotions, but I doubt it.

And you thought buying a shirt was just a matter of walking into a store and picking something out off the shelves? Not at English Cut.