DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

Santorini is home to a number of significant archeological sites. We visited one on the southern end of the island called Ancient Thira, site of a city that outlived three eras in Greek history (Hellenistic, Roman, and Byzantine, if you’re keeping score). The names didn’t mean much to me, but the fact that the city was originally settled in 915 BC (2900 years ago!) is a wonder.

We rode a public bus to Fira, the island’s main city, and another bus south to Perissa, a beach town at the southern tip of the crescent. After a few minutes’ uncertainty in locating the trailhead, we struck off for what would turn out to be the top of the nearest mountain, the peak of which is 396m (1300 feet) above sea level.

During the ascent, we had a great view of Perissa. As we zig-zagged up the face of the mountain we could hear loud Greek music coming from somewhere below. This went on for most of the climb. We attributed the volume to some freaky natural resonance or amplification caused by the terrain — there was no way anybody could be playing music so loudly. (Insert ominous cackle here.)

The climb was hard, in full Greek sun and over dusty ground. It only took an hour, but we were feeling prickly and overheated. At least we’ll get to see things nobody else sees, we thought, feeling self-congratulatory about our industrious natures not to mention cardiovascular fitness and name-brand hiking boots. Then I stepped over that last rise to see a parking lot full of rental cars and tourists. And a snack bar.

Truly, it was a portable snack bar, with the hitch attachment on one end, wheels underneath, and (I assume) a hearty population of roaches inside.

Also we saw some enterprising donkey guides bearing a family of heavyset tourists back down the mountain. They didn’t look like they were enjoying the trip. The donkeys, I mean.

The ruins were powerful. I always get a sense of historical vertigo when I see the remains of an ancient civilization. (Ever been to Newgrange?) The idea that people lived here thousands of years ago, for about a thousand years, makes me feel small and temporary. The idea that they lived for 1000 years in, essentially, root cellars, makes me feel vastly superior, not to mention fortunate… at least until I receive my next telephone bill.

My favorite image from the Ancient Thira site is this one of the amphitheater. The view is spectacular. This may have been the most successful community theater in the history of history, because the whole town would have turned up for every performance — just to see the view.

The hike down from the ruins was quick. We followed the music all the way down to the strip in Perissa, where we learned that a cafe called Aquarius hosted a traditional Greek band and professional dancers. The PA system was severe. Actually a better word is “deafening.” We sat across the street, two tables back, and the music was so loud we had to raise our voices to converse. My ears weren’t ringing — my brain was. I don’t know how the people inside the restaurant could stand it.

Then the restaurant next door fired up its PA. They had a band, too! It was a battle of watts. But there was no clear winner, and the losers included everybody within earshot, because now nobody could enjoy either band. The sonic wash of dueling bouzoukis sounded like the first six tracks from The Mask and The Mirror played simultaneously through Deep Purple’s stage rig.

Here’s a picture of the band at the Aquarius. It’s a terrible photo because I was trying to cover both ears while handling the camera. I’m not exaggerating. I went inside the restaurant to pay the bill and had to fight my way through the wall of sound to get to the cashier. I could feel my clothes moving.

I wish they’d not been so loud. The players were incredible, from what I could tell, but the music was too loud to be enjoyed, except maybe from halfway up the mountain.

I’m happy to see the PNAC in the news: The Project for the New American Century: Why American business should care

If you’re in a hurry, here’s an overview: Cheney/Rumsfeld foreign policy = all war, all the time.

As bad as the Iraq situation is (e.g. 210 US soldiers killed since the President’s May 1 “victory” speech), it’s even worse to think that Cheney and Rumsfeld and the rest of the PNAC goons planned the whole thing in 1998. The WTC attack was a convenient excuse to do what they wanted to do anyway.

Bruce Schneier’s essay on “profiling” injects some much-needed clarity to the debate: Terror Profiles By Computers Are Ineffective

He explains in clear terms what I’ve believed to be true but had no evidence to support: that profiling based on habits or, worse, race/culture/religious affiliation, doesn’t work. I can get caught up in the racist “us vs. them” mindset, in which I think, “I don’t like the looks of that guy; I hope somebody goes through his suitcase!” But it’s dumb, and contrary to the principles on which this country was founded. Also, as Schneier points out, it’s ineffective.

There’s a common belief — generally mistaken — that if we only had enough data we could pick terrorists out of crowds…

[But] identifiable future terrorists are rare, and innocents are common. No matter what patterns you’re looking for, far more innocents will match the patterns than terrorists because innocents vastly outnumber terrorists. So many that you might as well not bother.

In other words, profiling is a recipe for hassling innocent people. So while you might think profiling keeps you safe on the airplane, it’s much more likely to, instead, cause you stress and embarrassment and delay, and not very likely at all to keep you safe.

To illustrate the fallacy of profiling, Schneier closes his essay with a “modest proposal.”

Timothy McVeigh and John Allen Muhammad — one of the accused D.C. snipers — both served in the military. I think we need to put all U.S. ex-servicemen on a special watch list, because they obviously could be terrorists. I think we should flag them for “special screening” when they fly…

I’ve posted some favorite Schneier’s highlights in the past… fun to reread, fun to reflect on next time you’re stuck in line at a security checkpoint.

I guess Olympic Airways runs the Greek postal service… the postcards we mailed from Santorini on 15 September finally arrived today. Total transit time: 38 days.

The Greek post is clearly a much better value than the USPS. Consider that each postcard cost us 70 cents to mail — it seems expensive, yes, but bear with me. Mailing a postcard in the US costs 23 cents, and arrives within 3 days, for a final cost of over 7 cents per day. Our Greek postcards, due to their leisurely month-plus time en route, cost less than a half-cent per day. That represents a real value in international postal service; it’s 92% cheaper! Think of the money US corporations could save if they sent all their business correspondence from Greece.

Charles Siebert published an essay about Roy Horn’s tiger in today’s New York Times Magazine. The piece, Wild Thing, begins,

What on earth was he thinking, Siegfried & Roy’s 7-year-old white Siberian tiger, Montecore, sequestered now “in its usual quarters,” as one report phrased it, at the Mirage hotel in Las Vegas, his future as an entertainer, indeed as a tiger, in serious question.

I admit it’s early in the day; I have not read much yet this morning… but still, eight commas? Two phrases in apposition to the subject pronoun? A restrictive phrase — full of meaning, sure — taxed by a subordinate-clause aside (“as one report phrased it”) and two restrictive prepositional phrase to indicate location — spliced with a comma onto the clause/antecedent/appositive disaster-in-progress? Then yet-another complex phrase, itself containing two subordinate phrases and a prepositional phrase, tacked on after that?

Scraped clean of the loops and detours, we’re left with: “What on earth was he thinking, Roy’s tiger, sequestered, his future in question.” That’s only one-third of the words, but it’s already a mouthful. A brain-ful. Too many facts to hang on a single verb, especially considering the first and main clause is a cliche.

Or as Yoda might say, “Terrible writing that is!” It’s still early in the day, but after an hour’s analysis I continue to be unsure the sentence makes sense.

Initially I intended to diagram it, as an exercise and as word-geek entertainment, to force an upgrade to my mental parser. I haven’t diagrammed a sentence since the third grade, but I have my copy of Shertzer’s The Elements of Grammar handy at all times. How hard could it be?

Too hard, as it turns out.