I am part of the exodus from Twitter to Bluesky. I still maintain my Twitter account, but do not post there. I do, however, still scroll both of my feeds on occasion. I am more optimistic for the future of Bluesky for a variety of reasons, not least of which is simply that it is improving with each week. The mechanics are excellent, there is far less garbage/noise/bots, and I never feel like I am party to anything with nefarious ambitions in the long or short run. There is a problem though.

It’s still kind of… boring. The echo chamber feeling at Bluesky is stronger, born almost exclusively of the selection effects of first and second movers from Twitter. I am rarely surprised on Bluesky, I never feel terribly challenged in an exciting way, unless you count the more frequent posting of squishy academic policy affirmations. There’s plenty of (warranted) election anxiety, but there’s no oppositional forces. There’s no tension.

Which is not to say Twitter is providing any of that in spades. Quite to the contrary, it’s a shell of its former self. The heaviest posters with the biggest followings have found plenty of reasons to stay, but for every big follower account, there were hundreds of medium sized accounts that pushed and pulled the conversation in interesting directions, providing both traction and the occasional surprise. A large share of medium accounts have abandoned ship, some moving to Bluesky, but far more have just dropped out of the medium entirely (apologies for the homonyms). There are interesting people left on Twitter, but they are inundated with bots, trolls, and milquetoast careerists only hanging around because they fell ass backwards into a couple thousand followers and feel too capital committed to move elsewhere. A once rich and diverse intellectual stew has been watered down into a thin broth of increasingly questionable nutritional value. And like a lot of spicy foods, I know I used to complain about the heat while I was eating it, but damned if I don’t miss it all the same.

Bluesky has passed the proof of concept. It works. It has value. Now we just need that final cohort to make the leap and bring the heat.

UPDATE ADDENDUM (10/22/24)

So THAT happened. Most people who are going to read it have already read it, but I did want to add two notes for future reference, both of which I tacked onto bluesky threads.

1. What I actually miss is the policy/econ/metrics nerds having esoteric discussion full of rivalry and verve. Yes, it was parallel to all kinds of trash, but it was sufficiently insulated. I have quite purposely come to Bluesky because Twitter is now full of nazis, bots, and nazi bots. I promise I don’t miss the nazis
2. I’ll admit I didn’t expect the word “tension” to get parsed as “negative approbation” , trauma, horrific violence, or hate. I could blame this on the internet, but this is my fault. I’ve been around long enough I should have know better. There is a reason why I tend to write things that come off pre-emptively defensive or as if they are equivocating. I try to prevent misinterpretation, willful or earnest, of my words. I should have done a better job here.
3. People are rightfully protective of Bluesky as a space separate from Twitter. That said, there are definitely a lot of trolls and bots already in place trying to turning any discourse into a hatefest.

We’re on day 4 without electricity, so this will be a brief post. Things I’ve learned or had reinforced:

1. Prepping for the apocalypse is silly but prepping for a disaster is not. This time has been inefficient and uncomfortable, but not especially problematic. Compared to Asheville, we got off quite easy, a fact made all the clearer by our fortune to maintain a fairly normal life thanks to the most modest of preparations: a couple charged phone banks, LED lamps, batteries, a propane tank and grill, and coolers pre-filled with ice.
2. Price controls during a disaster, formal and informal, remain problematic. More than few people saw their esteem of Clemson drop as fans descended on the region for the football game and grab up every bag of ice they laid eyes on to facilitate their tailgating, a problem that probably could have been averted by simply letting the price of ice quadruple.
3. Public goods matter and government remains a superior way of providing and coordinating large swaths of them. Not to get all Nozick and Rawls on you, but think of it this way: disaster response and coordination requires scale. Any institution that emerges that is superior in providing such responses will have the scale of government, will be a de facto government, regardless of whether you call it a government or not.
4. Power lines. Bury the damn power lines. God how I miss living where the bulk of power lines were underground. I never knew how good I had it.
5. Hank was right. Propane and propane accessories are where it is at.

Stay safe everyone.

I’ve been hearing more grumbling about bad service in restaurants than usual, bundled with a growing nostalgia for when service was “better”. This could, of course, be simply a sign that my cohort and I continue to rise in age, but let’s put aside healthy skepticism for a moment and accept this observation at face value. What if service in restaurants, hospitality, etc is, in fact, lower in quality than it was one or two decades ago? I would like to suggest that this is a good sign of improving times.

In 1930, 1 in 20 households had servants in their home. “If the poorest households are excluded from the statistics, the percentage of homes with servants increases dramatically, as indicated by 1930–1931 studies of urban, college-educated homemakers, or middle-class families, from 20 to 25 percent of which had a servant” (Palmer 2010). By 1950 these numbers were cut in half and they’ve plummeted since. Imagine a elderly couple who had raised children with full-time, possibly live-in, servants have since grown to watch their children marry and have children of their own. They go out to enjoy a family meal in 1975, doting over their grandchildren while oh-so-subtly critiquing the parenting technique of their sons- and daughter-in-laws. When you see them in your mind’s eye, are they happy with the restaurant’s service? Is there anything a server or manager can do that can possibily compete with the level of service they enjoyed in their parenting and prime earning years?

I suspect that you are envisioning something similar to myself: a Karen, indefatiguable in her complaining, a gray-haired husband encouraged to leave an outrageously low tip. They enjoyed service at the level of employer and boarder, in a social construct that we would today frame as a remnant of an outdated class system. You may be annoyed that no one has refilled your water glass in 10 minutes, that the menu is a QR code, that you are expected to exceed 20% in your tip. Your disappointment, however, is positively quaint when compared to the dropoff relative to what a significant portion of the population was wholly accustomed to even 2 generations ago.

These entitled complainers that you absolutely cannot empathize with? The mechanism behind their comtemptible behavior is the same that leads you to tip 18% before leaving the Cheesecake Factory in a huff. The world has moved on, gotten better, and brought Baumol’s inescapable cost disease with it. The time and attention of humans is more expensive than ever. The pandemic brought with it a shock to the hospitality labor market that is still rippling today. A lot of people learned about the market value of their labor and those that got out first have reported that life is often better on the other side, that the pay was better than expected and their work involved immeasurably fewer misogynistic sad dads and spiraling white wine Karens. Wages have of course adjusted, but so has employment. I don’t have the data in front me, but anecdotally I’m seeing fewer hosts and table bussers, more tops per server, more lunch shifts stretched across an assistant manager and server duo. That means less service on average with a higher variance in quality.

Which is fantastic. The world is getter better and people’s time and energy are more valuable for it. Should restaurants find that the balance of profit margins increases faster with quality of food rather than service, all the better. Temporary parasocial relationships are right up there with big houses and fast cars for me: overrated traps that siphon away household resources from the things that actually matter. The ribeye served with a smile over clean linen is fine, but it’s got nothing on tacos uncermoniously dropped on a plastic table you can afford to share with someone you love.

This speech is still the best advice for anyone in the academic or artistic line of work.

https://thecomicscomic.com/2015/07/23/dana-goulds-just-for-laughs-keynote-address-of-2015-youre-doing-it-now/

If audio doesn’t work for you at the moment, here’s a transcript:

Please enjoy my Keynote address fromthis year’s Just For…

This post might seem lazy. Because it is. But it’s also a measure of my accumulated wisdom. Not so much that I’ve perfectly internalized the wisdom of this piece in my bodhisattva-like personification of enlightenment. Rather, it is a demonstration of my wisdom because I have written and posted it in lieu of an anger-filled rant about the horrors of politicians pandering to their base in which I imply vast swaths of humanity are less-than-perfect people. Nope. Don’t need it. This is better. Listen to what Dana has to say and think about how it applies to your career.

Rather than engage in meaningful labor on this hallowed day, I will instead make a prediction: if a significant tax on unrealized capital gains is introduced, the following markets will enjoy increased prices:

1. Art
2. Accountants

Now, what will define the art in question is beyond me, but I imagine unrealized gains from art will be easier to quantify if the art in question exists as anything more than one of a kind, so I expect definitively “one-of-a-kind” pieces i.e. classics will experience the lion share of increased demand.

As for accountants, the demand for training in how to properly ledger assets to remain outside the bounds of quantifiable equity assets will prove a boon to anyone with an accounting degree. Accounting talent for establishing loan collateral two degrees removed from equity will similarly grow in value.

I have additional predictions, but putting them forth under my name and defending them in a public forum would require a meaningful amount of labor, which I am not willing to provide today.

Election season tends to spoil watching sports that have ad breaks, but one positive (for me at least) is that there is constant pedagogical fodder for my public choice & political economy class, particularly with regards to the median voter thereom. The biggest gripe with the MVT that people just insist on bringing up is the minor detail that it is obviously always wrong, which just misses the point entirely. Politics is neither fast nor slow. It’s more geological in that is slow to change until it isn’t. It can be painfully slow to watch coalitions 1. Coalesce 2. Cooperate 3. Fall apart 4. Return to 1. But politics is also opportunistic, which means responses to context can sometimes manifest relatively quickly. I would argue that nothing can provoke a more stark change in a political coalition than when their opposition abandons a position or brand that appeals to the median voter.

I tend to view Trumpology the same way I view Sovietology: it’s interesting to consume out of curiosity but we probably won’t have a deep understanding and know who was right until 20 years after the fact. Warren Nutter was right about the Soviet Union being an industrial ruse, but in his time he was mostly dismissed. My mental model of Trump and his team is that he’s a bad-faith business person who leverages transaction costs to the hilt and whose narcissism makes him effective at assembling imcompetent yes men. But, and I can’t emphasize this enough, we don’t really know what’s happening internally, there’s just too much noise in the information stream. What we can effectively observe, however, is the policy bundle and platform messaging on which he is compaigning.

That bundle is overwhelmingly negative. Beyond traditional scapegoating, the picture being painted of the current United States is bleak. Pessimistic, dystopian imagery appeals to plenty of people from the left and right extremes, but I struggle to think of a time in US history where the median American did not believe in America as both a good idea and a good place to live. A lot of people when discussing the MVT focus on the prediction that both parties will, in a vaccuum, arrive at identical platforms, an idea that seems false on it’s face. This is not unlike the prediction of physics that a feather and a bowling ball will fall at the same velocity in a vacuum – to demostrate that they don’t from the top of your apartment building is to both miss the point and place the people around you in intellectual (if not mortal) danger.

The most important insight in the MVT is the gravity of the median. Or, in the case of the current election, the speed with which one party will reclaim any branding opportunities around said median when the opposition abandons them. I have no doubt there are some veteran leaders within the RNC that are fuming over the long term costs of letting the Democratic party claim the mantle of the more patriotic and optimistic party. These are the kind of brands that are hard to take from the opposition- you pretty much have to wait for them, in a moment of foolishness or chaotic happenstance, to release their grip. Which I suspect the Republicans have.

I have no doubt the Democrats will find a way to do makes similar mistakes with this or other positions in the future. Politics is chaos and the median voter is far easier to find on an abstract two-dimensional curve than in reality. But that doesn’t mean we can pretend the median voter isn’t out there and that they don’t matter. It’s a simple model that may always be wrong, but it will never lead you astray.

Interpreting policy talking points from people running for office is difficult for a variety reasons, but it essentially boils down to the fact that voters often do not want the outcomes that would be produced by the policies they will in fact vote for. Candidates, in turn, must find a way to promise policies they will either do their best not to deliver or, if they do deliver them, said policies will be bundled with other policies that will mitigate their effect.

Interpreting the true intended policy bundle being signaled by a candidate is fraught with traps, not least of which our personal biases. If I want to like a candidate, for social or identity reasons, I will have a tendency to interpret their policy proposals as part of a broader, unspoken, bundle that I like. If I don’t want to like a candidate, perhaps because they are a petty, boorish lout whose principle aptitude appears to be grifting at the margins of legality and leveraging the high transaction costs of our legal system, then I will subconsciously interpret each policy proposed as part of a more insidious unspoken bundle.

How should voters and pundits navigate an environment where information is limited and bias is largely unavoidable? I don’t know, but here’s how I try anyway.

1. Assume every candidate has basic competency in appealing to their base.
2. Assume every candidate wants to appeal to the median voter.
3. Do not assume anyone knows who the median voter is.
4. Assume both candidates and their advisors have the same capacity to assess how their respective bases will react to a proposal and how it will actually impact them, but do not assume they know how the median voter will react and be affected.

In essence, candidates will always have a deeper familiarity, with greater repeated interactions, with their voter and donor bases. They know how they will react and how they will actually be impacted. Platforms will be designed around navigating contexts where popularity and expected impact are in conflict. What this means is that, in the aggregate,

1. A candidate stands to do the most damage when advocating for policies that will aid their base at the expense of the median
2. A candidate will create the most uncertainty when the desires of their base are at odds with the consequences for their base.

For example, assume both major parties are advocating for trade restrictions. Let’s call them the Plurality party and the Majority parties. Trade restrictions will hurt the median voter, full stop. The Plurality party, whose indentity constitutes a minority of the total population but the largest share of the population of any subgroup, stands to gain the most through policies that extract from others in a negative sum game. It will be easier to take their candidate’s policies at face value because of uncertainty around the median voters preferences, in part due to voter uncertainty about how policies will affect them.

The Majority party, on the other hand, is more fractured in the subgroups that constitute its more numerous whole. They can be thought of an encompassing group coping with the high costs of intragroup bargaining. Their greater numerical advantage in elections is partly, if not wholly, nullified by difficulty solving collective action problems and their need to solve positive sum games whose benefits are spread too thinly to excite their base. Further, the Majority party is inclusive of the median voter, about which there is greater uncertainty. The Majority party, as such, has greater incentive to rely on a form of subtextual deception. To win elections, they will need to propose the policies that the various elements their base wants while also bundling them with other policy elements that will mitigate their consequences in the aggregate and leave options open downstream as consquences for the median are made manifest. Interpreting proposals of the Majority party demands more Straussian reading, which also means that greater care is needed in monitoring your own bias. Because all complex political economy aside, sometimes parties do in fact just have bad ideas.

Good luck.

My wife and I were watching Guy Ritchie’s “Sherlock Holmes” (2009) last night. There is a chase/fight scene where a large commercial ship being repaired along a dock is detroyed as collateral damage. She asked me “What are the consequences of that ship being destroyed?” I had to admit that I didn’t fully know the state of the insurance market in Victorian England, but suffice it to say a few businesses and/or families were likely ruined. Which led to a conversation about collateral damage outside of the main narrative in movies and insurance. Sorry, that’s just what happens when you marry an economist. Things to consider the next time you’re filtering your prospects.

Which got me thinking: how much does the suspension of our disapproval of the protagonist’s actions (similar to the suspension of disbelief) depend on our undeclared faith in the insurance market of a fictional world? We don’t worry about destroyed livelihoods because we assume everything is simply absorbed as a tail event against which everything is insured. Car through front window? Automotive insurance tail event. Plane crashing onto the Vegas strip? Aeronautical tail event. Godzilla’s tail sweeping through a city? Giant lizard tail tail event.

How about the rise of the antihero? How many heists include a character shouting exposition to a crowd of cowering bank customers that they are there to steal money from the insurance company rather than the customers? The filmmaker needs the audience to suspend disbelief that bank’s have multiple customers inside in the age smart phones and suspend disapproval of the morality of the thieves’ actions as they steal from what they can only hope the audience will deem a souless corporation that can absorb the loss without broader consequence.

There’s two intellectual rabbit holes you can go down when you start thinking about insurance. You can dive in vertically, asking how much of our daily lives, including the consumption of narratives, is dependent on the presumption of insurance. You can also start thinking horizontally: how many dimensions of our lives boil down to creating formal and informal sources of insurance. We acquire formal health, home, pet, and automotive insurance. We also join groups, like churches, synagogues, mosques, and (yes) cults for social insurance. One motive to have children is to insure against the limitations and isolation of old age. Anything and everything we invest in, both individually and as a society, that softens the tail events at the expense of the expected outcome is a form of insurance.

It can go on and on. If anything, it takes care at some point to stop seeing everything as a form of insurance. Why did they feature an actor in the poster and the trailer despite their only appearing for 14 minutes in the film? Why were they paid more than double the lead actors? Oh, right. They’re an insurance policy against a catastrophic opening weekend. If the movie is good, but needs word of mouth to spread for people to starting coming out, you need to survive to a second weekend to start making money. Better to eat a chunk of your expected profits on a big name than risk getting dumped from theaters before the audience can find you.

What’s that you say? No one goes to theater’s anymore? Oh. Well, there’s some risk you can’t insure against.