The Lottery Paradox

It is impossible to win the lottery, yet somebody still always manages to do it.  Nevertheless, it is a statistical near certainty that a given ticket in one's possession will not have the winning number on it. Because it is impossible to win the lottery.

So it also is with the odds of being a victim of terrorism. In the last thirty years, including 2001, an American was in fact more likely to win the lottery (and that's impossible!) than to die in a terrorist attack. Since 9/11, about 1 American a year (One. That's the number that's more than 0 but less than 2. Out of 319 million.) has died in an act of terror perpetrated by a person of foreign birth. Terrorism occurs; but the likelihood of it happening to a specific person is vanishingly small*, even in spite of the hubris of thinking that way.  Even knowing that horrible stories always feature someone saying, “I didn’t think it could happen to me”-- almost as though thinking that way is what caused it-- they were really right to think it (or to not think the opposite).

Sometimes when I’m worried about my wife being late getting home without letting me know, on those rare (and getting rarer) occasions when circumstances prevent me from learning where she is and why she's not home yet and from doing anything about it, it makes me feel almost instantly better when I realize how extremely unlikely it is that the reason she is late and I don’t know about it is that something bad has happened.

I’m just blathering about this because it was on my mind, not because I feel especially qualified to counsel on the subject.  Since it would be good to have money handed to me about now, I was thinking originally in terms of the lottery, i.e., in terms of something abnormally good happening; but it occurred to me only later that the consolation of this principle is that it's equally applicable to certain especially unlikely, extraordinarily bad things.

The situation with respect to probability is of course no consolation to those unfortunate enough to find themselves the deliberately random victims of the nihilistic, anti-human, misdirected aims of terrorists (always wrong, regardless of who sponsors them or of what inspired or provoked them). But if you were looking for a reason to live without fear, to not yet give in to terrorists or to the terror-engendering terror-perpetrating anti-terrorist state apparatus that fosters, commits and thrives on terrorism and on the irrational fear of terrorists who are not them, this may be it.  Lottery winners, on the other hand, will need to return their money.**

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Department of Qualification:

* In parts of the world not embroiled in active upheaval certainly-- and peace and solidarity be with those not in those parts

** Of course if I win the lottery or die in a terrorist attack tonight, please disregard.  < :insert winky face: >

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 [See a more thorough description of  Kyburg's Lottery Paradox here and do not miss Smullyan's variation, which observes in effect that while only a conceited person would think that every single belief they have is true, nevertheless we all believe each one of our individual beliefs in turn.] 

Sailor song

I was reminded of this tonight:

Which somehow reminded me of this:

"The mouth of the world is only full of dirt"

Romanian Proverbs from a translation exercise in Grigore Nandris' Colloquial Rumanian (Routledge, 1945): 

Unde nu e cap, vai de picioare. - Where there is no head, woe to the feet.

După război mulți viteji se găsesc. - After the war, many heroes are found. 

Corb la corb nu scoate ochii. - A raven does not take out the eyes of another raven. 

Cine se face oaîe, îl mănâncă lupii.  - Who make themselves sheep, make a feast for the wolves.  

  The Romanians don’t pussyfoot around with their proverbs. 

 Fă-te tovarăș cu dracu, până treci cu el lacu.  - Make friends with the devil until you’ve crossed the lake.  

Get on solid ground before you antagonize the prince of darkness.  Wisdom that could not be more timely.  (And note the echoes from pop culture in the term for the devil, which in its definite form is "dracul").  

You can’t help but think about gothic things when reading these words of folk wisdom from the edge of Europe from a book that was already creaky when I made my debut on the planet.  Of course I can literally translate but probably only actually "get" about half of them, and even the ones I get, I can't be positive I've gotten as there is no key to the exercise in the back of the book.

Here’s an example of the difficulty I’m having:  The second proverb in the list is: "Gura lumii, numai pământul o astupa" which means literally (roughly) "The mouth of the world is only full of dirt."  Sounds nice I guess, but what the hell does it mean?  Because of the way the book is organized-- 6 independent sections for 6 general topics of language instead of a series of integrated lessons imparting increasing proficiency-- there is no “lesson vocabulary,” just a vocabulary section in the back of the book; and it says "Gura" is mouth and "lume" is world.  Consultation with the grammar section confirms that it’s in the genitive and it’s definite so it means "the world’s mouth".  Is it some arcane reference to hell that reverberated with Romanians of the early 20th century and before but is lost on a 21st century American atheist’s ear?  

So I Google translated it and Google tells me "Gura lumii", Mouth of the World, is an idiomatic equivalent of the English expression, Word of Mouth.  Oh!  Ok that makes sense.  In this case, the force of the wit is lost in translation, but the gist is clear: Information that comes from the street is going to be covered in grime.  Once again, a timely quote given the weight the chief executive places on things he “hears”.   

It’s the sort of thing that I would never have been able to deal with on my own before the advent of the iPhone.  That’s probably the difference that could account for why Hungarian which I picked up 3 years ago from another out-of-print Routledge book kind of "stuck" in contrast to the languages I struggled with before the internet, and why I’m so far happily sticking with Romanian.  (Granted, Google Translate, amazing as it is, is not yet perfect and there’s still plenty of stuff that leaves me scratching my head, but the nuggets are plentiful enough at this juncture to keep me at it.)

Tamás Cseh: Train to Krakow

Below, in a film from 1979, Tamás Cseh performs Krakkói Vonat, one of many highlights of his long collaboration with  Géza Bereményi which ended far too soon in 2009 with Tamás' death at 66.   It's easy to see why Cseh and Bereményi are legends in Hungary.  Géza wrote the lyrics; Tamás wrote the music and created iconic recordings of the songs often with János Másik.  The songs were a cut above, like the creamy Czech beer Krakkói Vonat's protagonist and his companion start with before realism sets in forcing a switch to the cheap Polish stuff. The song is a masterfully bittersweet slice of life behind the Iron Curtain in the 1970's. The everyday objects are totems of the time and place: dining car tablecloth stained with Czech and Polish beer, East German earrings, Forte film from Hungary, Plovdiv cigarettes from Bulgaria, and an Austrian cigarette lighter that must at some point have seeped over the Hungarian border as the only referenced artifact from the West.  Take heart, 2017 America: East or West, North or South, even in the Putin era, life proceeds, sometimes quite beautifully.

Behold the express, stunning countryside ride, scooting along with us

Like it used to, back to Krakow-- we’re riding the train

We drink foaming Czech beer in the dining car

Look out at the landscape with a dawn feel to it

GDR earrings sprinkle lights,

We switch to sixty-five zlotyi beer.

Gorgeous dawn, brisk galloping assembly, scoots us along

Austrian lighter flame flares up, we’re going to Krakow

Eyes reflected in the dining car

Beer-stained tablecloths from our sixty-five zloty beer

I check the window glass and see my face, it’s old

At the end of a Plovdiv cigarette, glowing coals.

Look out at the dawn and in the fields for many, many memories revolving.

There is Vanda and look at Stefan beckoning with his hand.

Think of the pigeons in the main square of Krakow,

Forte Photo made film of you and me.

Fill my cup back up and look at me again.

Well, we had a nice experience.

I reach, passing over the tablecloth, see your ring

Follow the dazzle

Last year, in Dubrovnik...

Well, we just did it for the experience

Well, we did it just for the experience

Well, we did it just for the experience

Well, we did it just for the experience ...

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While we're remembering Tamás Cseh, here's a beautiful cover of Váróterem (Waiting Room) performed by Bin-Jip for a tribute album of songs by Hungarian artists released the year after his death (but which may have been in the works while he was still around):