Rough Theory

Theory In The Rough

Category Archives: Miscellaneous

Worker Bees

I have to admit, I’ve never particularly thought about the industrial organisation of crop pollination, until I read this column from the New York Times discussing possible responses to Colony Collapse Disorder – the mysterious plague that causes adult bees to desert their hives, leaving honey and larvae behind. I found this image particularly striking:

…it is important to add that, here in the United States, the majority of our crops are pollinated not by wild bees, or even by honeybees like mine, which live in one location throughout the year, but by a vast mobile fleet of honeybees-for-rent.

From the almond trees of California to the blueberry bushes of Maine, hundreds of thousands of domestic honeybee hives travel the interstate highways on tractor-trailers. The trucks pull into a field or orchard just in time for the bloom; the hives are unloaded; and the bees are released. Then, when the work of pollination is done, the bees are loaded up, and the trucks pull out, heading for the next crop due to bloom.

Results of the Immediate Process of Production

An echnida in warm socks.Just a quick note to apologise for my ongoing silence: nothing is wrong – quite the contrary – I am currently one very-well-cared-for echidna… The results of my immediate thesis production process, however, have been a long silence on the blog: the sort of writing I’m doing at the moment unfortunately involves a lot of reworking of things most readers will have already seen in some form here, and it seems unfair to dribble revisions out bit by bit on the blog as well. Once everything is done, I’ll put the chapters up for anyone who would like to give things a final critical eye before they go off for examination. Then, hopefully, I can get back to the regular conversation…

Take care all…

Between Sunset and River

Apologies that I’ve had to leave so many conversations hanging – both here and at other places. I am reading – and hoping to get back to everyone next week, after the Historical Materialism conference.

Much to say… soon…



Somehow I managed to avoid noticing that offers DVDs of their collection. I wish I had seen this earlier: I would have ordered it to take with me overseas…

What One of Us Does When Not Blogging…

L Magee continues to amaze: it seems that, around stints of teaching, developing software, writing a PhD, holding down a “real” job, posting here and at schematique, and providing me with endlessly patient advice on my own work, LM has somehow found time to train for a half-marathon on the sly!

Next Sunday, 17 June, LM will be participating in The Age Run to the G, on behalf of nominated charity OxFam. When I offered to plug the event on the blog, LM responded by worrying that doing this might render LM’s motives unclear:

I’m sincerely not interested in the prizes, and am not interested in fundraising in my name. But if the curiousity of a sometime-roughtheory poster running (jogging? walking?) a half-marathon entices people to contribute something small to OxFam, this is not a bad thing.

So: if anyone is interested in cheering from the sidelines, LM will be one of the faces in the crowd setting out at 7:15 next Sunday morning from Federation Square. And if anyone would be interested in making a donation to OxFam, more information can be found here. Note that, since LM is trying diligently to disqualify from the prize pool while still raising money for the Stamp Out Poverty campaign, you might need to drift over to the regular donation link on the OxFam site to make a donation not explicitly linked to a race participant.

If I Have to Be Trapped in a Lift, You Have to Read About It…

So I just spent a couple of hours trapped in a lift with a colleague. After a meeting meant to clear the air about certain things that haven’t been discussed here. Sometimes life has a fantastic sense of irony…

Our adventure began when we had almost reached our floor, heard an almighty *SNAP*, and felt the elevator begin to fall. Before we’d had much time to panic, the elevator came to a stop on the same floor the library occupies, and the doors opened a crack. We tried to force them open the rest of the way – no dice. We tried the emergency telephone button inside the elevator – no dice. We then spent an interesting several minutes calling out to students and staff wandering right past us on the way into the library – so intent on their reading, apparently, that it took some time for us to find someone willing to peer into the gap we’d pushed between the elevator doors, and listen to our calls for help.

The library staff were more attentive, calling security and sending someone out every few minutes to check on us. Security, when it arrived, asked how many of us were trapped inside. “Two of us!” we answered, only to hear the security guard say into her walkie-talkie, “There are only two of them” – which prompted my colleague to shout, “But we’re very important!!!”

The security guard then berated us for having contacted the library staff, rather than calling security directly by pressing the emergency telephone button. We advised that we had tried to do this. She didn’t believe us, and asked us to press the button again. We did (not that this seemed particularly relevant, now that they were on the scene, mind you – but we weren’t in what one might call a strong negotiating position…). The security guard said, “No – we need you to push the emergency telephone button.” “We are!” we replied. “No,” the security guard informed us, “not that button – the emergency telephone button.” Since we could see what we were pushing, and the security guard could not, we wanted to know, “When you say ’emergency telephone button’, do you mean the orange button in the bottom right, with the telephone on it?” The security guard indicated she would call the elevator repair company…

Left by ourselves for the time being, we discussed the sorts of things one discusses when trapped in a lift. Films we had seen recently. Holiday events. Small talk of various sorts. I mentioned that I should have brought the book I’m currently reading. I flipped through my notebook to see what it might have inside, and found a printout from someone else’s blog. My colleague wanted to see it – flip, flip, flip – clearly not reading a word. They then started talking about the fictitious rock group their son had formed on MySpace, which now apparently has its own Wikipedia page. I quietly despaired that this is everyone’s immediate association when I mention academic blogging…

The security guard returned, telling us that the elevator repair company would arrive in 10 minutes -20 at the most, and asking us whether we were okay. When we said yes, the security guard tried her best to suggest reasons that, in spite of our assurances, we might not be: “Are you getting too hot in there? Is it too stuffy? Are you thirsty or anything?” No. No. Not at all. “That’s good then – the librarian will check on you in a few minutes – you be sure to tell her if you’re not okay.” The security guard wandered off. Amused, I asked my colleague what good it would do, if we told the librarian we weren’t okay – what could she do about it? Noticing the strained look that flitted across my colleague’s face, I decided not to make any more comments like that…

Ten minutes passed. Several more minutes after that. Then the librarian wandered out to tell us that the elevator repair folks would be there in 20 minutes. “Twenty minutes from now?!” my colleague asked, voice sounding somewhat higher pitched than normal. “Are you okay?” the librarian wanted to know. I tried not to make eye contact with my colleague…

More lift discussion… How much does child care cost these days… How often do you make it back to England… etc.

The elevator repair person finally arrived, looked at us through the crack in the elevator doors, said, “Hmmm… the doors are stuck open”, and then closed them. No further communication. We discussed whether this development, which now leaves us in an airless, enclosed space, represents something that should, strictly speaking, be considered progress. A few minutes later, the elevator moved – just enough to stop between floors. Better and better.

Over the next half hour, we watched the lights for random floors switch off and on. With no apparent correlation, we felt the elevator move – up, down, up, down. Then we heard someone walking on the top of the car, exclaiming: “What is going on here?!” Small suggestion: this is probably not the best thing to say…

Just as my colleague had reached the end of their tether, and was pressing the (obviously nonworking, but I wasn’t going to point this out) “emergency phone button” to try to get someone to tell us what was going on, the doors opened again, and we could finally escape…

It’s a funny thing: on my own, I never take the lift to my office – shows me the dangers, I suppose, of hanging out with the wrong crowd… ;-P

Updated to add: I’ve been watching an email exchange on the incident flit around this afternoon, initiated by my colleague’s complaint to the powers-that-be, who responded – instantly – with a satisfying flurry of emails both up and down the food chain to make sure the incident would be properly investigated, followed by a very concerned individual response to us:

This is terrible news…I have already written to the respective people to get this looked into….are both of you okay is there anything we can do???

All of this is making me feel terribly guilty, even though I’m a mere “cc” on all this action: I feel like I should have broken a limb at least, to justify this level of solicitude…

My colleague has replied:

Thanks for giving the urgent notification to those that needed to know, and for your concern.

N. and I had a pleasant conversation, and managed to suppress for that time the anxiety of the lift dropping out of the sky! The Library staff were also very attentive. No major physical or psychological injuries apparent.

Note to Other

To the person who came across the site on a Google search for: “Can an acme klein bottle be used for drug use?” – apologies that my klein bottle post was not more helpful. However, your question is addressed on the Acme Klein Bottle FAQ, which states:

Would you make one of these for smoking?

Nope. I make Klein Bottles, not bongs, not hookahs. A Klein Bottle is homeomorphic to a sphere with 2 crosscaps. A waterpipe (or bong) needs an input and an output, so it’s likely to be homeomorphic to a cylinder, and therefore not a Klein Bottle. It’s possible to make something resembling a Klein Bottle into a waterpipe, but I’m not interested in doing so. There’s too many other nifty topological shapes to create!

Note to Self

Note to self: no matter how irritating the photocopier situation at your office, try not to forget when you send long print jobs to the photocopier, containing your fragmentary notes on Hegel… This practice attracts undue attention and necessitates much explanation the following day – particularly from the folks who have already been dropping in, wondering why you have so many books in your office…

Remembering Clifford Geertz

Princeton’s Institute for Advanced Study has posted this announcement on the death of Clifford Geertz. Savage Minds posted on the subject yesterday, and has now also assembled a collection of links on Geertz’s work. I haven’t yet written here on Geertz as a cultural theorist, although I have used his works often in my teaching – his influence crossed many disciplinary boundaries, and he will be sorely missed.

Latte Politics

The other day, I stopped in to a cafe I visit occasionally, looking for a quick coffee. I placed my order, but background noise kept me from making out some additional bit of information that had never been required before. The conversation went something like:

Barista: “So, would you like WHZZZRRRRvroom? Or regular?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Barista: “WVZZZZZZ? Or regular?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Barista: “FrZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ? Or regular?”

Conscious of the growing queue behind me, and guessing that we were having some kind of conversation about the size of my coffee, I opted for what I thought was the safe, neutral option: “Uh… I’ll have a regular.”

My safe, neutral answer, however, earned me a startled dirty look from the barista. I then had to suffer through the scorn of the next two people in line, who both decided it was appropriate to look directly at me while saying, “Well… I’ll have the fair trade coffee, thanks…”

I returned to the same coffee shop this morning, to find that my autonomous decision-making skills are no longer trusted at this establishment: I placed my order, only to have the barista inform me: “You’ll have fair trade coffee.”

Yes sir. And like it.