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Are you bicestrian? You don't look bicestrian.

"So many riders in the Tour de France have been tossed out because of drugs, the overall leader is now a delivery guy from Empire Szechuan," joked David Letterman in 2007.

Anyone who lives on the Upper West Side of Manhattan knows what it's like to walk across Broadway when the sign says WALK and then narrowly escape being hit by a delivery guy coming through on a bicycle. Or riding the wrong way down a one-way street.

There's a simple explanation. The delivery guys have been given the right at any time to regard themselves as either cyclists or a pedestrians. When the traffic light is green, they regard themselves as vehicles and ride. When the light is red they define themselves as a pedestrian who just happens to have wheels. They can choose whatever is advantageous at any time. Who can blame them? Life is short and they need the money.

I am reminded of this when I read rumors that some of the investment banks want to give up their bank holding company status now that their funding crisis is over.

Public Private Investment Partnerships

1. Call me old(-fashioned) but I would like to find a philosophically sound position that justifies my intuitive feeling that the world isn't entitled to the details of Steve Jobs' (Jobs's??) health. Ever since the Sixties there has been a feeling of greater entitlement on the part of the public and the press to know about your personal life under the argument that it affects your public life, and therefore they shouldn't be separable.

I agree that they interact, but I think they should be kept as separate as possible. If you are a political hypocrite who preaches conventional moral behavior but doesn't practice it, I like to think that's relevant, but I could be persuaded otherwise. But I feel in my heart that the world of investors has no right to know Steve Jobs' sexual orientation or what he took sick leave for. If they need to know that, then maybe they also need to know the state of his personal relationships in general, and whether his family gave him a hard time last night, since these things certainly those affect his capacity to do his job.

2. I subscribe to breakingviews.com which I like because they keep you up to date without too much newspaper reading and because they take a somewhat moral approach to economics.

Here's something recent I agree with:

"Banks may have suffered inadequate pain. With green shoots sprouting around the world and mega-bonuses for bankers on their way back, there’s a risk that the industry may be returning to normality too quickly. There’s even a chance that governments won’t be radical enough about reforming the financial system, the UK Financial Services Authority’s Lord Turner has warned.

The general public will be outraged if bankers go back to the trough again, so soon after bringing the global economy to its knees. But it’s naïve to expect financiers to act as moral creatures. They are behaving perfectly rationally in pursuing their own self-interest – taking full advantage of the cheap money and support operations that governments have provided to them.

Given that an appeal to some higher interest won’t work, there are really only two ways of regulating bankers’ behaviour. The first is to make them suffer pain if they make bad decisions. Some of that has happened. Bankers in the City of London and on Wall Street were clobbered pretty badly in 2008. But most of them survived. Without the authorities’ aid, there would have been a near total wipe-out.

The second option is to regulate. And there is definitely quite a bit of regulation in the works. But enthusiasm for this detailed, slightly mind- numbing task could wane as memory of the crisis fades. The banks will also soon get their mojos back and start lobbying the politicians. Turner thinks there is a “real danger” that the authorities won’t seize the opportunity to fix the system provided by the crisis. Hopefully, he is wrong – because otherwise it won’t be too long before the industry runs amok, again."

Sensible Salary Caps

I went to the doctor one day last week after a few weeks of feeling ill. My doctor is a very nice man. HIs nurse put me in an examining room and measured my weight, temperature and pulse. Then 20 minutes later or so he came along and looked into my throat and nose and listened to my chest. Then he gave me an antibiotic. They had my insurance card on file and so I left without paying anything.

A few days later I received an email link to the billing at my health insurance company.

He billed $140 for "office visit".

He billed $135 "lab services".

He billed $480 for "office surgery".

I was initially appalled at a total of $755 for a fairly routine visit, grateful as I was for the help. I was especially appalled at the billing for an "office visit" since it seemed to be double counting with the rest of the treatment.

Then I looked more closely at what the insurance company had paid out, and felt better.

They disallowed the office visit, saying quite correctly that this service was included in other procedures performed on the same date of service.

They allowed $40.17 for the lab services, which I take to be the nurse's treatment.

They allowed $208.72 for the office surgery, which I assume is what the doctor did to me.

The total they allowed was $248.89 and they paid 80% of that, which came to $199.12. I may be responsible for the mismatch, $49.77.

The end result is an arguably unsurprising charge for a routine visit to a doctor of your choice in Manhattan. I don't understand why he had to bill $755 to get paid a third of that. And I wonder if he would have billed me the same amount if I didn't have insurance.

Man and God in NYC

..... ..... ..... ..... There are weird barely visible things happening in New York, weirder than the banks returning their money to the administration or the demonstrations in Iran.

Walking on the West Side this morning, I saw on Broadway the bus illustrated in the upper part of the photograph above. The nyc-atheists.org are having their say.

But then I made my way over to the East Side and there, outside the building I was heading to, was the truck shown in the bottom part of the picture.

God works in mysterious ways. His followers are forbidden from writing his name accurately for fear of committing blasphemy, but he doesn't have to pay for advertising.

I will keep you posted as I learn more.

The Continuum Hypothesis

I went to the World Science Festival to hear several talks about Time, psychological and physical. This led me to a question:

If the time axis in classical physics is of cardinality Aleph 1, that of the continuum, which is noncountably infinite. then what is the cardinality of the number of memories you can have? Are they countable or uncountable?

It feels like for any given memory, you can always go "one decimal place further" or one level more granular in the details of the memory, and therefore there is no way to order them, and so they must be uncountably infinite.

But maybe this is an illusion and if I try it I will hit rock bottom in granularity, even though associations will keep coming.

Obscure Objects of Desire

I used to be a fountain pen fetishist, craving pretentiously named (Dostoeyevsky, Mozart, Oscar Wilde, …) limited editions of Mont Blancs that always ended up leaking into my breast pocket when I leaned more than 3 degrees away from the vertical. I could never understand why Mont Blancs looked so good but worked so bad. I had a Pelikan that you could throw in the air and juggle with and it wouldn't leak. But not Mont Blancs. They live to leak.

I would resist fountain pen temptation for many months, sometimes years, and then eventually give in in order to stop the torture. Sometimes I bought cheaper Lamys that looked very modern, sometimes a faux 1930s Parker, sometimes, just once actually, a (disappointing) vintage bakelite Conway Stewart like the first pen I ever had when I was in high school, which I wish I could find. Once in South Africa at university I owned a Sheaffer PFM (Pen for Men, indeed), a masculine instrument with a not entirely unexpected snorkel filling system that rose up out of the back of the nib and ejected ink (it's true). A few years ago I found it in disuse and nostalgically sent it to Sheaffer for repair, and they kindly emailed me back to say they couldn't repair it,and gave me a lousy cheapo modern trashy Sheaffer as compensation. Like Sheaffer, so GM, an early warning -- can't even repair their own products. Eventually I got it repaired at the Fountain Pen Hospital in New York, who did a great job.

In the end, all the pens were disappointing. By dint of great willpower and the exercise of inborn character, not to mention professional help from Graf von Faber Castell and his wife the elegant Gräfin Namiki, I eventually overcame this addiction. Now I write only on computers, except for making lists of things to do.

Nevertheless, relapses are always possible, and you have to be on your guard. I am in Frankfurt for a day, and in the lobby of my hotel is a glass display box that contains a beautiful black pen with an unpretentious and really modest silver top. Plain and elegant, modern and classic, simultaneously, what more could you want except a nice feel and no leaking? I went over to the store on Rathenau Platz nearby that sells it to take a look. The hotel concierge who directed me to Rathenau Platz didn't know that Rathenau was a Weimar Minister who was assassinated in the 20s -- something I learned from my son -- and when I informed her she said "Sorry, I don't know much history."

The elderly German gentleman in the pen store who served me very graciously interrupted a conversation with five other German gentlemen who all wore suits and ties, as does almost everyone in downtown Frankfurt. I can understand some German and they were coming by to chat, which is to say that the store was empty, another recessionary sign. But he was gracious indeed, and he let me try out Fs and EFs to my heart's content, unafraid to actually fill them with ink the way they fear to in American stores.

While I was writing my name over and over again in various thicknesses on the 40 lb tester paper, I sudenly looked up and at the man and saw that he was running the tip of his index finger over the upper side of his left lip and looking directly at me. I took this to mean that I had gotten some ink on my face from the pen, and, as though he were my mirror image, rubbed my own finger on the corresponding spot on my face and looked at him quizzically. (We had a sort of unspoken agreement to speak as little as possible in either English or German.) He looked back at me, and then ran his finger across his lip again, a little lower. Thinking I had missed the spot of ink, I then did the same. He then moved his finger along the corresponding path. I repeated it. Etc. Finally, I said to him: "Do I have something on my face?" "Oh nein," he answered, "I thought you were pointing out to me that I had something on mine."

I started out this blog intending to say something very positive about local volatility models and calibration, which I have been thinking about for a while, but given the energy I have put into fountain pens, I will postpone that to a future day.