MISCELLANY

1. Kyrgyzstani opposition leader Kurmanbek Bakiyev says that parliament has named him acting president and prime minister of Kyrgyzstan, following the apparent ouster of President Askar Akayev. How do you pronounce all these Kyrgyz names? The name of the country is pronounced kur-guh-STAHN; the name of the opposition leader is pronounced koor-mahn-BEK bah-KEE-ev; and the name of the outgoing president is pronounced ahs-KAR ah-KAI-ev.

2. If had the opportunity to live in any of these cities for a year, all expenses paid, but you couldn’t work, where would you go? San Francisco, Sydney, London, Boston, Amsterdam, Lisbon, Shanghai, Chicago, Zurich, Stockholm, Tokyo, Bangkok. If you have a strong argument for any of the above, please email me.

3. Oil prices have dropped to less than $54 per barrel, on the news that the United States has 309.3 million barrels in its inventory.
Barrels? Do oil companies really put oil in barrels? Not anymore. Classic wooden barrels were in widespread use only at the very beginning of the industry's history. When Edwin Drake drilled the first oil well in Titusville, Pa., in 1859, he used washtubs for storage. But production was greater than expected, and Drake turned to the wooden barrels used to transport other products such as salt, oysters, or whiskey. At the time customers paid by the barrel, but there was no standard size. Different oil buyers would get different amounts when they filled up from the stock tank at the well. The barrel most commonly used for oil was 40 gallons, the same size as a whiskey barrel. (Indeed, many oilmen used old whiskey barrels, and they may have used similarly sized salt and corn barrels as well.) As production increased, a standardized oil barrel became more important, both for businessmen and for government tax collectors. Some wells were putting out more than 3,000 barrels of oil per day, and coopers were producing large numbers of brand-new containers just for oil. At around the same time, the federal government enacted dramatic new tax laws to help finance the Civil War—a standard measure of oil helped the office of the commissioner of Internal Revenue make its collections. By the 1870s the size of a barrel of oil had been set at 42 gallons, which corresponded to other standard sizes at the time: the 42-gallon "cran" of herring, for example, or the 42-gallon "tierce" of lard. But the wooden barrel was already on the way out. When oil production spiked in early 1860s, prices dropped to as low as 10 cents per gallon. An empty barrel cost a couple of dollars, and the teamsters who hauled the barrels in wagons also charged dearly. These factors led to the development of the first oil pipeline by Samuel Van Syckel; the pipeline connected the boomtown of Pithole, Pa., with the rail terminal at Happy Farm. Wooden tank cars appeared in 1865, the same year oil began to flow through the Van Syckel pipeline. A single rail car could hold 60 barrels of oil, while a tank car could hold 80 barrels in a pair of wooden tubs. Wagons with a large tank for holding oil (instead of a flat bed for carrying individual barrels) emerged in the 1880s, and the first steel tank barge appeared in 1892. With oil in tanks instead of barrels at every stage of the process, the barrel became obsolete. The 42-gallon barrel is still a standard unit of measurement in the oil industry, though. Other units, such as cubic meters or imperial gallons, can be converted to the U.S. barrel fairly easily. For all of these measurements, care must be taken to correct for the effects of temperature, which can cause oil to expand or contract. Though barrels may be close to extinct, companies still ship some oil in 55-gallon steel drums. (Volumes for these are still given in 42-gallon "barrels.") The steel drums used in calypso music are made from these 55-gallon containers. The first appeared in Trinidad, shortly after the end of World War II.

4. “U2 rehearsed their new show before a group of fans in Los Angeles tonight, opening with City of Blinding Lights and closing with 40. City of Blinding Lights, played in front of a startling curtain of lights descending from the top of the stage, was immediately followed by a a trio of songs from Boy. ‘We’re going back to where it started for us,’ said Bono.
But not for long. Next up was Beautiful Day, the crowd already screaming the house down, and we were soon into three more songs from the new album: Miracle Drug, Sometimes You Can’t Make it On Your Own and Love and Peace. As well as a great set of tracks, new and old, there were a series of dazzling production innovations providing clues to the look and staging of ‘Vertigo 2005’. Production insiders have told us that they have rehearsed a huge number of song so there is a lot to choose from.”

ETHICS
from New Yorker

Last week, Theresa Marie Schindler Schiavo, known to cable-news viewers and talk-radio listeners as Terri, was as ubiquitous as Elián González and Laci Peterson once were. Yet she was also hidden, obscured behind layers of political and religious posturing, legal maneuvering, emotional projection, and media exploitation that swaddled her like strips of linen around a mummy.

Terri Schiavo was born on December 3, 1963, near Philadelphia, the first of three children of Robert and Mary Schindler. As a teen-ager, she was obese—at eighteen, she weighed two hundred and fifty pounds—but with diligence she lost a hundred pounds, and by the time she married Michael Schiavo, in 1984, she was an attractive and vivacious young woman. By the end of the decade, she had moved with her husband to Florida, was undergoing fertility treatments, and had slimmed down further, to a hundred and ten pounds.

On February 25, 1990, Terri suffered cardiac arrest, leading to severe brain damage. The cause was a drastically reduced level of potassium in her bloodstream, a condition frequently associated with bulimia. Her death that day was forestalled by heroic measures, including a tracheotomy and ventilation. But when, after a few weeks, she emerged from a coma, it was only to enter a “persistent vegetative state,” with no evidence or hope of improvement—a diagnosis that, in the fifteen years since, has been confirmed, with something close to unanimity, by many neurologists on many occasions on behalf of many courts. The principal internal organs of Terri’s body, including her brain stem, which controls such involuntary actions as heartbeat, digestion, respiration, and the bodily sleep cycle, continued to function as long as liquid nourishment was provided through a tube threaded into her stomach through a hole in her abdomen. The exception was her cerebral cortex, which is the seat of language, of the processing of sense impressions, of thought, of awareness of one’s surroundings and one’s inner state—in short, of consciousness. Her EKG flatlined. The body lived; the mind died. “At this point,” the Florida Supreme Court wrote six months ago, “much of her cerebral cortex is simply gone and has been replaced by cerebral spinal fluid. Medicine cannot cure this condition. Unless an act of God, a true miracle, were to recreate her brain, Theresa will always remain in an unconscious, reflexive state.”

Terri Schiavo’s life, as distinct from the life of her unsentient organs, ended fifteen years ago. But that did not prevent her from becoming the star of an unusually morbid kind of reality TV show. The show was made possible by two factors. The first was a bitter struggle between Terri’s husband, Michael Schiavo, who wanted to allow her body to die in accordance with what he said, and what an unbroken series of court decisions has affirmed, was her own expressed wish, and her parents and siblings, who wanted to keep her body alive at all costs. The second factor was a set of video snippets, provided by the Schindler family and broadcast incessantly by the three cable news networks—CNN, Fox News, and MSNBC—which are themselves entangled in a desperate struggle for dominance.

Sometimes the snippets are identified by the year of their taping (2001 and 2002); sometimes they are not. Sometimes they are accompanied by inflammatory captions (FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE); sometimes the captions are merely dramatic (SCHIAVO SAGA). They show Terri’s blinking eyes seeming to follow a balloon waved in front of her; or her mouth agape in a rictus that could be interpreted as a smile; or her face turned toward her mother’s, with her head thrown back, Pietà-like. As neurologists who have examined her have explained, the snippets are profoundly misleading. A few seconds of maximum suggestiveness culled from many hours of tape, they are more in the nature of special effects than of a documentary record. Without them, there would have been no show—and, most likely, no televised vigils outside her hospice, no cries of “murder” from Tom DeLay, the egregious House Majority Leader; no midnight special sessions of the House and Senate; no calling Dr. Frist for a snap video diagnosis; no visuals of President Bush returning from Texas to land on the White House south lawn, striding dramatically across the grass as if it were the deck of an aircraft carrier.

To read through the documents generated by the years of legal wrangling over Terri Schiavo is to be impressed by the thoroughness and conscientiousness with which the courts, especially the Florida courts, approached her case. On legal, substantive, and constitutional grounds, they seemed to have reason and justice on their side. Yet it was a cold sort of reason and justice. On a human level, it was hard to see what concrete harm there could be in indulging her family’s desire to keep her body alive, its care presumably underwritten by the hospice and the family’s supporters.
Meanwhile, the language of the debate over her fate, pitting a “right to die” against a “right to life,” turned rancid in its abstraction. Terri Schiavo, the person, had no further use for a right to die, because Terri Schiavo, the person, had long since exercised that right. Did it really matter if she had told her husband, when she was young and healthy, that she would not wish to live “that way”? Her body notwithstanding, she was not living “that way,” or any other way. By the same token, she had no use for a right to life, because her ability to benefit from such a right had long ago been rendered as moot as the legal pleadings on her alleged behalf would soon become.

As the week progressed, it was harder and harder to deny that the fervor of Terri’s Christianist “supporters” was motivated by dogmas unrelated to her or her rights. If she truly had a “right to life,” if removing her feeding tube was truly tantamount to murder, then neither the disapproval nor the approval of her family (or anyone else) could make the slightest moral difference. If her parents had agreed with her husband that the tube should be removed, would their acquiescence have somehow transubstantiated murder into mercy? And, with or without their acquiescence, if Michael Schiavo had spent the last ten years adhering strictly to the orthodox code of family values—if he had remained faithfully celibate, if he had not taken a mistress and had children with her—then might not some of those now accusing him of murder be demanding that his Biblically ordained husbandly authority be respected?
Terri Schiavo has become a metaphor in the religio-cultural struggle over abortion.

This—along with the advantages of demonizing the judiciary in preparation for the coming battle over Supreme Court nominees—explains the eagerness of Republican politicians to embrace her parents’ cause. Her lack of awareness actually increased her metaphoric usefulness. Like a sixty-four-cell blastocyst, she was without consciousness. Unlike the blastocyst, she was without potential. If letting her body die is murder, goes the logic, then thwarting the development of the blastocyst can surely be nothing less. Last weekend, as Good Friday gave way to Holy Saturday and Holy Saturday to Easter Sunday, Florida’s made-for-TV passion play neared its climax. The death of Terri Schiavo’s body will only enhance her symbolic value, elevating her to her destined place as another martyr in this dismal age of martyrs.

Istanbul
New York Times

After getting a green light in December to negotiate entry into the European Union, Turkey is buzzing with change. Turkey has reinvented its currency as the new lira, opened a new modern art museum and is feeling a new burst of confidence. Shakeups at the political level have led to a merged Ministry of Culture and Tourism and larger budgets for the arts, a move designed to push Turkey's cultural profile into the international news, even as Istanbul grabs headlines with its human rights reforms.
The new Istanbul Museum of Modern Art makes an unmistakable statement about Istanbul's self-perception as a major cultural capital. The gravel courtyard and warehouse-like exterior are reminiscent of P.S. 1 in Long Island City, Queens, and the interior - with its industrial feel and long, fluorescently lighted hallways lined with amply spaced paintings - brings to mind the Pompidou Center in Paris.
The lively cafe culture in the artsy Beyoglu district reflects this renewed energy. Beyoglu was a renowned intellectual center in the 1960's and 70's, and, despite a period of decline, the narrow streets again resemble the Beyoglu of 350 years ago, which the contemporary travel writer Evliya Celebi described as a place where "the word guhana, temptation, is most particularly applied . . . because there all kinds of playing and dancing boys, mimics and fools, flock together and delight themselves day and night."

Where to Stay
Try running the names of hotels through a search engine before you book; some travel agencies' Web sites offer lower rates than those quoted below. In winter, prices can drop by as much as 50 percent. Film directors, actors and writers thrive in the rundown, eccentric atmosphere of the (1) Buyuk Londra Hotel, with its threadbare wine-red carpeting and old crystal chandeliers in the lobby. The hotel, at Mesrutiyet Caddesi 117, (90-212) 245 0670 or (90-212) 293 1619, has recently redone some of its rooms with water views and added such amenities as televisions and air-conditioning and is billing them as "special rooms." The owner has an interesting collection of antique radios. Special rooms are $82 to $205, at $1.37 to the euro; old rooms are sometimes discounted to $41 to $55.
Up the street, at Mesrutiyet Caddesi 130, (2) Ansen 130 Suites, (90-212) 245 8808, at www.ansensuite.com, is a new boutique hotel in an ornate, creamy building that dates back to Ottoman times. It has 10 suites, each bigger than many Manhattan one-bedrooms , furnished in glass, steel and sleek wood, and equipped with wireless Internet access and a full kitchen, for $200 a night.
Most of the rooms at the charming (3) Anemon Galata, Buyukhendek Caddesi 11, (90-212) 293 2343, www.anemonhotels.com, have a view of either the 15th-century Galata Tower or the Bosporus. Rooms at the ends of the floor have fine views, but if you don't get one of those, spend some time in the restaurant on the top floor. Its floor-to-ceiling windows offer a spectacular panorama. Doubles for $218 a night.
On the Asian side of the Bosporus, the new (4) Ajia hotel, Cubuklu Caddesi 27, (90-216) 413 9300, www.ajiahotel.com, brings elegant modern design to a sleepy little fishing village. The 10 rooms and 6 suites in the restored mansion are tucked behind the coastal road, with a dining room and terraces perched on the water. The luxury comes at a price: doubles begin at $341, plus tax and breakfast.

Where to Eat
Just up the hill from Taksim Square in Harbiye is (5) Loft, located in the Istanbul Convention and Exhibition Center, (90-212) 219 6384 or (90-212) 219 6385, on the Web at www.icec.org/rumelimed.htm. The Mediterranean cuisine is flawless and the service impeccable; the menu includes excellent seafood pancakes, tender filet mignon, and homemade goat cheese ravioli. Dinner for two, with wine, about $140.
The new cafe at the Istanbul Modern museum (6)overlooking the Bosporus is operated by the managers of Loft. Elements of the Loft menu have made the move, but the excellent service and painstaking care in the kitchen seem to have been lost along the way. Spoonfuls of the Turkish baked rice pudding, however, which emphasizes milky pudding over rice, will ease thoughts of the forgetful waiter from your mind. Lunch for two, $35.
Or, save your new lira (one new lira is a million old lira) and get a quick bite at (7) Gulluoglu, Mumhane Caddesi 171, (90-212) 249 9680 in Karakoy, a few blocks from the Modern. It's known for the best pastry in Istanbul, and a superior su borek, a lasagne without meat and sauce, made from sheets of pasta layered with cheese and covered with a flaky pastry crust ($2). Eat inside at the freestanding counter to get a glimpse of big-bellied Turkish men attempting to stretch their mouths wide enough for the large diamonds of unfathomably rich sweet baklava to pass through whole. A plate of assorted pastry goes for around $4.
Back in Beyoglu, (8) Helvetia Lokanta, Gen. Yazgan Sokak 12, (90-212) 245 8780, is the perfect neighborhood restaurant. The small open kitchen takes up about a third of the restaurant, while the other two-thirds is occupied by hipsters craving mom's home cooking. The small, handwritten menu of Turkish specialties changes daily. Dinner for two, $25.

What to Do During the Day
Istanbul's main attraction has always been the stunning Old City, with its breathtaking mosques and palaces. For an Ottoman-era "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" experience, nothing beats the (9) Topkapi Palace (90-212) 512 0480, on the Web at www.ee.bilkent.edu.tr/~history/topkapi.html. Its four treasury rooms, containing too many golf-ball sized emeralds and diamonds to count, are mind-boggling. Admission to the Palace, with treasury rooms, is $17 at 1.35 new lira to the dollar, or $9.30 without. Open daily except Tuesday. Cross back over the bridge to Beyoglu, where newer-fangled diversions await. The new (5) Istanbul Modern museum, Meclis-i Mebusan Caddesi Liman Sahasi Antrepo 4, (90-212) 334 7300, on the Web at www.istanbulmodern.org, shows the work of prominent and emerging Turkish artists, with a strong photography show on the bottom floor. Admission is $3.87.
Relax and enjoy (10) Simdi, Asmali Mescit 9, (90-212) 252 5443, the platonic ideal of a cafe, with its comfy chairs, high ceilings, and brilliant selection of magazines ranging from Wallpaper* to New Africa. Or inhale the 1930's Art Nouveau atmosphere of (11) Markiz, 362 Istiqlal Caddesi, (90-212) 245 8394, over a cup of sahlep ($4.65), a creamy winter drink made from wild orchid root and sprinkled with cinnamon, before emerging back onto the street.

What to Do at Night
Istanbulians emerge in droves on the weekends, so reserve a table or buy a ticket in advance. See www.biletix.com for concert listings.
(12) Babylon, Seyhbender Sokak 3 (90-212) 292 7368, www.babylon.com.tr, is a gorgeous, legendary and blissfully well-ventilated place with acts ranging from mildly politicized Turkish hip-hop to live jazz and Turkish folk music. Winding over to (13) Nardis, Galata Kulesi Sokak 14 (90-212) 244 6327, www.nardisjazz.com, a chic jazz club, takes you past the floodlighted Galata Tower. Inside, Turkish musicians play Latin music and jazz to a sedate, smartly dressed crowd of yuppies.
If you've got energy to burn, (14) Sawady, Kalyoncu Kulluk Caddesi Ekrem Tur Sokak, 5/7, (90-212) 244 7810, an old house converted into a five-floor nightclub, with the music becoming progressively more cheesy and fun as you climb the stairs. At the top it is contemporary R & B and Turkish pop.
Rich kids puff their cigars at the latest "in place," (15) Wan-na, Mesrutiyet Sokak 151, (90-212) 243 1794 or (90-212) 244 5922, a restaurant and bar that serves surprisingly authentic East Asian food.

Where to Shop
Istanbul's legendary (16) Grand Bazaar is a labyrinthine nightmare of heckling salesmen. Find your way to the shops specializing in beautiful antique textiles and robes from Central Asia. Alternatively, trot around the streets surrounding the (17) Arasta Bazaar, where many smaller shops have caches of similar goods, minus the headache. Hunt for antiques in the side streets off of Istiqlal Street in the small Cukurcuma neighborhood, full of picturesque shops with cluttered windows and eccentric, gray-haired proprietors. International brands, and high-end Turkish brands like Vakko, are mostly found in the Nisantasi neighborhood, up the hill from Taksim. Foodies should make a stop at (18) Ambar, just off Istiqlal Caddesi at Kallavi Sokak 12, (90-212) 292 9272, a natural foods store that stocks regional specialties such as poppy seed butter.

How to Stay Wired
At the Istanbul Modern, there are 16 free Internet kiosks.

Your First Time or Your Tenth
In a city surrounded by three bodies of water, there's no excuse not to dine waterside, and (19) Florina, Yahya Kemal Caddesi 32-34, (90-212) 265 6586, is a perfect place to enjoy the views with your breakfast. Their rendition of menemen, a classic Turkish dish of scrambled eggs slow-cooked with peppers and onions until creamy, is outstanding, and the house made savory pastries that make an excellent companion to the traditional Turkish breakfast of honey, clotted cream, olives, cheese, cucumbers and tomato. Breakfast for two, $20.

Getting Around
Istanbul has a public transport network made up of buses, trolleys and ferries. The latter run all day. At night, taxis are relatively inexpensive if you stay on one side of the river, or ask around to find shared vans that run between neighborhoods.

PIECEWORK
by ATUL GAWANDE
New Yorker

In an article about doctors' incomes, one physician tries to explain how doctors calculate their earnings—most formulas look at the "time spent, mental effort and judgment, technical skill and physical effort, and stress"—and notes that the lowest Medicare payment is $10.15 (for "trimming a patient's nails") and the highest is $5,366.98 (for making a new diaphragm for an infant). The piece also examines why doctors are so prone to dissatisfaction with their jobs, and examines a New York City doctor who has become tremendously rich by forgoing dealings with insurance companies altogether. The piece concludes that America has the best paid doctors in the world.

Read this article here.



I bought this racquet on eBay -- haven't played with it yet: