Posts Tagged ‘George Herriman’
“You see much more of your children after they leave home”*…
… And so, American parents are seeing less of their 18-24 year-old kids. From David Crowther, a graphic reminder that a historic rite of passage for young people and their parents has changed…
As we enter the peak summer months, many students and newly-minted college graduates are taking their first steps into the big bad world of work. In decades gone by, a wave of weddings often followed and young newlyweds shacked up to leave a huge cohort of “empty nesters” behind. That is no longer the case.
In the late 1960s, nearly 40% of 18-24 year-olds lived with their spouse. Last year, just 6% did.
Indeed, data plotted from the Census Bureau (and inspired by reddit user u/theimpossiblesalad) reveals how dramatically the living arrangements of America’s youngest adults have changed in the last 50+ years…
More on how we now live: “Who do Gen Z and Millennials live with in America?” from @ChiefChartmaker in @chartrdaily.
* Lucille Ball
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As we ruminate on residence, we might recall that it was on this date in 1910 that those epic enactors of the human condition Krazy Kat (and Ignatz Mouse) first appeared in print, in New York Journal (as the “downstairs” strip in George Herriman’s predecessor comic, The Dingbat Family (later, The Family Upstairs). Krazy, Ignatz, and Offisa Pup stepped out on their own in 1913 and ran until 1944– but never actually succeeded financially. It was only the admiration (and support) of publisher William Randolph Hearst that kept those bricks aloft.
“I sensed myself in the presence of something I didn’t really know how to handle, didn’t understand.”*…
Bill Janeway, with sage advice– for businesses, but easily extensible to our personal lives– on how to live, and succeed, in an environment of radical uncertainty…
… From John Maynard Keynes at the University of Cambridge 90 years ago through Robert Lucas at the University of Chicago in the mid-twentieth century, economists have placed expectations at the core of market dynamics. But they differ on how expectations are formed. Are the data we observe the outcome of processes that are as “stationary” as physical laws, like those determining the properties of light and gravity? Or do the social processes that animate markets render future outcomes radically uncertain?
For a long generation starting in the 1970s, Lucas and his colleagues dominated economic theory, giving rise to different strands of Chicago School economics. While the Efficient Market Hypothesis asserted that prices in financial markets incorporate all relevant information, the Real Business Cycle Theory of New Classical Economics held that the macroeconomy is a self-equilibrating system whose markets are both efficient and complete. The system may be subject to external shocks, but it is not amenable to fiscal or monetary management.
This assumption of complete markets implies that we can overcome our ignorance of the future. It suggests that we could, at any moment, write contracts to insure ourselves against all the infinite possible future states of the world. But since perfect, complete markets obviously do not exist, the Chicago School’s Rational Expectations Hypothesis (REH) proposes that market participants will guide their forward-looking decisions by reference to a (generally implicit) model of how, on average, the world works and will continue to work. As a result, expectations will be tamed and aligned with efficient market equilibria.
For their part, Kay and King look further back to the pre-REH period, when Frank Knight and then Keynes correctly showed that our ignorance of future outcomes is inescapable. As Keynes famously put it in 1937:
By ‘uncertain knowledge’ … I do not mean merely to distinguish what is known from what is merely probable. … The sense in which I am using the term is that in which the prospect of a European war is uncertain, or the price of copper and the rate of interest twenty years hence, or the obsolescence of a new invention, or the position of private wealth owners in the social system in 1970. About these matters there is no scientific basis on which to form any calculable probability whatever. We simply do not know.
The shockingly unanticipated Global Financial Crisis of 2008 brought this insight back to the fore.
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The central question remains: Where can we find guidelines for mitigating the consequences of radical uncertainty? What basis is there for purposive action in the face of “We simply do not know”?
I see three paths forward. The first two are defensive, and the third is proactive. All three reject an exclusive focus on efficiency in the allocation of resources. Thus, they stand outside what remains the dominant paradigm of mainstream economics.
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Success in the real world demands a recognition that the future is unknowable. Three strategies: “What to Do About Radical Uncertainty,” from @billjaneway in @ProSyn. Eminently worth reading in full.
* James Baldwin, Sonny’s Blues
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As we contemplate complex contingency, we might recall that it was on this date in 1910 that George Herriman‘s signature characters, Krazy Kat and Ignatz Mouse, made their first appearance in the bottom of the frames in Herriman’s The Dingbat Family daily comic strip. They got their own strip three years later, scored a Sunday panel in 1916– and delighted readers with the surreal philosophical questions they raised until 1944.
“I would say lenguage is that we may mis-unda-stend each udda”*…
Long-time readers will know that your correspondent adores George Herriman’s Krazy Kat (c.f., e.g., this post: the remarkable Chris Ware on the modern relevance of the seminal strip). Today, Amber Medland on Krazy Kat‘s huge resonance with Modernists throughout its run…
The Kat had a cult following among the modernists. For Joyce, Fitzgerald, Stein, and Picasso, all of whose work fed on playful energies similar to those unleashed in the strip, he had a double appeal, in being commercially nonviable and carrying the reek of authenticity in seeming to belong to mass culture. By the thirties, strips like Blondie were appearing daily in roughly a thousand newspapers; Krazy appeared in only thirty-five. The Kat was one of those niche-but-not-really phenomena, a darling of critics and artists alike, even after it stopped appearing in newspapers. Since then: Umberto Eco called Herriman’s work “raw poetry”; Kerouac claimed the Kat as “the immediate progenitor” of the beats; Stan Lee (Spider-Man) went with “genius”; Herriman was revered by Charles Schulz and Theodor Geisel alike. But Krazy Kat was never popular. The strip began as a sideline for Herriman, who had been making a name for himself as a cartoonist since 1902. It ran in “the waste space,” literally underfoot the characters of his more conventional 1910 comic strip The Dingbat Family, published in William Randolph Hearst’s New York Evening Journal. Hearst gave Herriman a rare lifetime contract and, with his backing, by 1913 the liminal kreatures had their own strip. Most people disliked not being able to understand it. Soon advertisers worried that formerly loyal readers would skip the strips and miss the ads. Editors were infuriated by devices like Herriman’s “intermission” panel, which disrupted the narrative by stalling the action…
For [E.E.] Cummings, who, with his flagrant anti-intellectual stance, privileged what he called “Aliveness” above all else, Charlie Chaplin was the only artist to rival Herriman. But technology disrupted both Chaplin’s and Herriman’s idiosyncratic work. At the introduction of sound in film in 1927, Chaplin said that the “spontaneity of the gags had been lost,” but what he really lost was his control of time. Sound erases distance; there was no longer a delay in which the incongruity between seeing and comprehending could bloom. In his essay “What People Laugh At” (1918), Chaplin noted “the liking of the average person for contrast and surprise in his entertainment.” Both Herriman and Chaplin orchestrated meticulously timed, silent dialogues between images and words. Slapstick—a word that originally referred to two pieces of wood joined together, used by pantomime clowns to make loud noises—is, in their work, a deliberately clumsy cleaving of the relationship between words and images. If people could explain themselves, there would be no time to revel in ludicrous situations, as when in The Kid, Chaplin, caressing the hand of a policeman’s wife, is accidentally caressed by her husband…
The unsung Modernist: “E. E. Cummings and Krazy Kat,” from @ambermedland in @parisreview.
Enjoy Krazy Kat strips here.
* Krazy, to Ignatz (Herriman one-upping Wittgenstein…)
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As we praise percipience, we might recall that it was on this date in 1948, in the Bugs Bunny cartoon “Haredevil Hare,” that Marvin the Martian made his debut.
“The more beautiful will the piece be by reason of its size”*…
From the annals of animation…
A Boy And His Atom earned the Guinness World Records record for the “World’s Smallest Stop-Motion Film.”…
What you see on screen are individual carbon monoxide molecules moving around. The film was zoomed in 100 million times. The actual plot of the film is about a boy who bounces his atom around and watches it morph into different forms such as clouds and the word “THINK,” which has been IBM’s slogan since 1911…
And as to how it was made…
“A Boy And His Atom is the world’s smallest movie,” from @BoingBoing.
* Aristotle, Poetics
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As we muse on the micro, we might lament that fact that it was on this date in 1944 that the final installment of George Herriman’s comic strip Krazy Kat appeared– exactly two months after Herriman’s death. The strip– aguably the best ever; inarguably foundational to the form– debuted in New York Journal (as the “downstairs” strip in Herriman’s predecessor comic, The Dingbat Family (later, The Family Upstairs). Krazy, Ignatz, and Offisa Pup stepped out on their own in 1913, and ran until 1944– but never actually succeeded financially. It was only the admiration (and support) of publisher William Randolph Hearst that kept those bricks aloft.
“We must believe in free will — we have no choice”*…
In March, a group of neuroscientists and philosophers announced that they’ve received $7 million to study the nature of free will and whether humans have it. Uri Maoz, a computational neuroscientist at Chapman University, is leading the project. “As a scientist, I don’t know what it entails to have free will,” he said in an interview with Science. That’s a philosophical puzzle. But once Maoz’s philosopher colleagues agree on a definition, he can get to work to see if it occurs in humans. “This is an empirical question. It may be that I don’t have the technology to measure it, but that is at least an empirical question that I could get at.”…
Or can he? An update on neuroscientific efforts to answer a philosophical question– and an appreciation of your correspondent’s favorite television series, The Good Place: “Can Neuroscience Understand Free Will?”
* Isaac Bashevis Singer
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As we muse on motivation, we might recall that it was on this date in 1910 that George Herriman‘s signature characters, Krazy Kat and Ignatz Mouse, made their first appearance in the bottom of the frames in Herriman’s The Dingbat Family daily comic strip. They got their own strip three years later, scored a Sunday panel in 1916– and delighted readers with the surreal philosophical questions they raised until 1944.
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