Month: January 2017

The interpretation of Quora’s T&C I’ve seen is that you can backup/archive your own content (since you retain full rights to it), but nothing by anyone else.

Quora does not provide this functionality. Of course, Quora does not provide a whole lot of functionality.

There are several third party solutions that have come and gone. The most recent I’ve seen is:

Stefan Delic’s answer to Does Quora have any plans for a feature to allow listing and downloading of a persons own answers in bulk? (as plain text)

The one I’ve used quite happily is:

Brian Bi’s answer to When, and how, will I be able to download all of the Quora content I have produced, like the Facebook and Twitter feed export options? (as HTML)

What happened next? was a little story about an exchange I had with Carlos Matias La Borde recently. The exchange was in comments.

Philip Newton wins the prize for guessing what happened next accurately: I got a BNBR notice. Scott Welch, as far as I know, Carlos didn’t get a warning.

Interesting discovery: if a comment triggers BNBR, the comment is deleted. That, I did not know; I assumed BNBR would only collapse comments. Don’t like that at all.

Edward Conway, John Gragson and Alfredo Perozo all wrote entertaining speculations (and Clarissa Lohr’s was meta-entertaining 🙂 Hard to pick. I’ll pick John, but anyone else who wants to collect a prize, let me know.

And Philip and John: sonnet or cartoon?

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I am appealing the BNBR notice. It is actually only my first eponymous one; my first anonymous one was a couple of weeks beforehand, and I’ve also appealed it. It really made no sense to me at all, but it’s an anonymous answer, so I’m not getting into it here.

The BNBR for this is… well, it’s as nuts as the BNBR notices I protested on behalf of others, at Nick Nicholas’ answer to Do you believe Quora moderation is doing a good and responsible job of maintaining this site’s policies? Why or why not?

The putative BNBR violation is me telling Carlos he doesn’t sound like a shitposter—a term he used to describe himself, a term with a specific Internet slang meaning, and a negative term I was expressly saying did not apply to him. One would have thought I was being nice to Carlos, if anything.

I thought so, and so did he.

What we actually have here, of course, is Quora Moderation clamping down on the language of interlocutors, to maintain appropriate “tone” for the place. I have seen Tatiana say somewhere that, even if two people are having an exchange with sharp words that neither takes offence at, bystanders might draw from that the wrong conclusion that such tone and language is acceptable on Quora.

It boggles my mind that “You don’t sound like a shitposter at all, Carlos!” falls under even that rubric; but the contractors or bots of Quora moderation clearly must have thought so.

Of course, the application of such policing of tone seems pretty random. There’d be no Dan Holliday if it was policed rigorously, after all. But plenty of Quora users have felt its wrath. User [Rick Klugman], I do not forget.

And what do I think of such policing of “tone”?

Marcos Mayer was a user here. He deleted his account a few months back. We had an exchange about this issue in comments, when he was still here.

Remember that episode of the Twilight Zone, It’s a Good Life (The Twilight Zone), when a six-year old gains power of life and death over a town, and the whole town is terrified to say anything to upset that six-year old, for fear of him smiting them?

Quora Moderation reminded Marcos of that episode.

I maintain a list of users who have been edit-blocked, banned, or deactivated, that I find in my own Quora journey, or that others have reported to me.

Necrologue

I am a dunce in the visual arts.

I walked through the Uffizi, and kept saying, “meh, Raphael can’t draw… Michaelangelo thinks people are made of granite when he draws… Finally, someone who gets it!” (Caravaggio)

So my choice is a dunce choice. I like it a lot: sensuous, elemental, striking, visceral, driven by symbols, a skilful composition. But the guy was a dead end in the history of art; that much I do know.

Danaë (Klimt painting)

Do I trust Quora not to flag this as an NSFW violation? I don’t actually. Not the way reporting has been looking lately.

From what I can tell, Judith Gabrielle is currently under Real Name suspension:

e.g. Sverigielle Von Gothenburg’s answer to Has Judith Gabrielle tried Ayahuasca and does she understand its potential? , currently displaying as “Quora User”.

This blog does not get that much exposure. Oh well.

I’m going to tell you a story, those who do read this. At the end, whoever guesses correctly what happened next, gets a prize. And whoever comes up with the funniest incorrect guess as to what happened next, gets a prize. I’ll give it 24 hours. The prize will be either a sonnet in your praise, or a cartoon.

Carlos Matias La Borde, for reasons which will become obvious, you are not eligible to guess. Though there will probably be a cartoon of the incident anyway, featuring you.

And tomorrow, I’ll discuss what happened next, and what I think of it. Hint: whatever happened next had nothing to do with Carlos.

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Once upon a time, there was a Quora user named ME, who was a gentle, irenic, supportive cuddle-bunny of a business analyst.

At the same time, there was another Quora user named Carlos. Carlos was a witty prankster of a poster, and his default bio said as much:

occasional shitposter and TW ’16

The term shitposter was new to me, but by analogy to shit-talker, its meaning was clear enough.

shitposter: Urban Dictionary

A person who regularly submits terrible or nonsensical posts to an internet forum.

Shitposting: Know Your Meme

“Shitposting” is an Internet slang term describing a range of user misbehaviors and rhetoric on forums and message boards that are intended to derail a conversation off-topic, including thread jacking, circlejerking and non-commercial spamming.

So, Carlos is admitting to writing disruptive posts to Quora on occasion. I’d noticed some good snark from Carlos, but admittedly nothing that quite merited that name.

Recently, I heard a recording of Carlos’ voice. As often happens, the poster’s voice was not what I expected it would be. Because he says he’s a prankster, swears a bit (as befits a pedagogue of programming), and is youngish, I assumed he’d have a high-pitched, Quentin Tarantino kind of voice. Instead, Carlos had a mellow, West Coast baritone.

I rushed to compliment Carlos:

… You don’t sound like a shitposter at all, Carlos! What Martin Silvertant [complimenting him] said. Even your “for fuck’s sake” was more subdued than I expected!

Carlos responded courteously:

That’s how I get away with doing it in real life so much.. I’m normally not flying off the handle at every turn, I just swear a lot, but do it in a normal fashion.

As to the shitposting, it’s not constantly, but I do it from time to time:

Carlos Matias La Borde’s answer to Is it considered rude not to update an answer with a “thank you” if it receives a lot of upvotes?

And yes, I trust you will agree that the said answer is a hilarious exemplar of the genre.

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OK, men and women of Quora.

What happened next?

I’ve written a couple of answers where I’ve translated Classical Greek using only my knowledge of Modern Greek—although I was being overly permissive about understanding Classical grammar.

So. Daphnis & Chloe, 2.5.

https://msu.edu/~tyrrell/daphchl…

Thereupon, he burst into loud laughter with a voice unlike that of a swallow or nightingale or swan. At the same time, he turned into an old man like me and said: `Philetas, it’s no trouble at all for me to kiss you, for I want to be kissed more than you want to be young again. Consider this: Is this gift good for you at your age. For old age won’t help you or keep you from chasing after me once you have had your single kiss. But I’m hard for the hawk to catch or the eagle or any faster bird, if there is one. I’m not a boy, even if I look like one, but I’m older than Cronus and all time itself. I knew you as a youthful shepherd pasturing a broad herd on that mountain over there, and I sat beside you as you were playing your pipe beside those oaks yonder when you loved Amaryllis, but you didn’t see me. Yet I stood right next to the girl. It’s a fact that I gave her to you, and now you have children, good shepherds and farmers.

Translating with only educated Modern Greek:

Here, laughing a very ??, they let off a laugh such that either a swallow nor a nightingale similar to me becoming an old man. “To me, O Philetas, it is no pain to kiss you. For I probably want to be kissed, or you would become a young man. But look if the gift is to you according to age. For old age will not benefit you towards not expelling me after one kiss. I am hard to hunt, and to a hawk and an eagle and if any other vulture sharper than them. These, I am a child and if I think a child, but even older than Cronus, and that whole year. And I ?? you distributing ?? in that mountain the broad bucolics and I was by you ?? towards those ??, because ?? of Amaryllis, but you did not ??? me though indeed next to the maiden ??. So I gave you her, and already there are children for you, good natured bucolics and farmers.

ἐνταῦθα πάνυ καπυρὸν γελάσας ἀφίησι φωνὴν οἵαν οὔτε χελιδὼν οὔτε ἀηδὼν οὔτε κύκνος ὅμοιος ἐμοὶ γέρων γενόμενος· «ἐμοὶ μέν, ὦ Φιλητᾶ, φιλῆσαί σε πόνος οὐδείς· βούλομαι γὰρ φιλεῖσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ σὺ γενέσθαι νέος. ὅρα δὲ εἴ σοι καθ᾽ ἡλικίαν τὸ δῶρον. οὐδὲν γάρ σε ὠφελήσει τὸ γῆρας πρὸς τὸ μὴ διώκειν ἐμὲ μετὰ τὸ ἓν φίλημα. δυσθήρατός εἰμι καὶ ἱέρακι καὶ ἀετῷ καὶ εἴ τις ἄλλος τούτων ὠκύτερος ὄρνις. οὔτοι παῖς ἐγὼ καὶ εἰ δοκῶ παῖς, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦ Κρόνου πρεσβύτερος καὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ παντὸς χρόνου· καί σε οἶδα νέμοντα πρωθήβην ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ ὄρει τὸ πλατὺ βουκόλιον καὶ παρήμην σοι συρίττοντι πρὸς ταῖς φηγοῖς ἐκείναις, ἡνίκα ἤρας Ἀμαρυλλίδος, ἀλλά με οὐχ ἑώρας καίτοι πλησίον μάλα τῇ κόρῃ παρεστῶτα. σοὶ μὲν οὖν ἐκείνην ἔδωκα, καὶ ἤδη σοι παῖδες, ἀγαθοὶ βουκόλοι καὶ γεωργοί

Can they understand it? It’s not Thucydides, the vocabulary and syntax isn’t that bad. But as with other classical texts: they will miss a lot.

Thank you for your A2A, Daniel.

Jessica Lee has given an excellent answer; Vote #1 Jessica Lee’s answer to Why is it that the Oedipus myth resonates so much with a Westerner (Generic collective)?

I’m answering more because Daniel isn’t convinced:

As for the myth, it appears that the Westerner is afraid of being caught up in some spooky path of subordination to some higher authority. This is sorta the opposite of the Chinese Dao concept whereby one can “see” one’s fate and future trajectory if one observes himself and his relationship to his circumstances through deep insight and meticulous attention. But there must be more I am not seeing here.

I’m grateful that Daniel is resuming the challenge. Let me expand on Jessica’s answer, and ask them to weigh in.

Greek tragedy works on the notion that the protagonist has a flaw (typically pride), which prevents him from seeing the Right Way. His punishment is merciless and disproportionate. The protagonist is not a hero: he is not praised for his flaw, and the romanticisation of the rebel which the West has embraced is a recent child of romanticism. The protagonist is not a monster either; the audience is moved to pity, because the flaw is something that audiences recognise in themselves.

So. The Greek tradition in the West works with Oedipus’ story as follows.

• We accept the Way, but we also fear the Way, as merciless and unfair.
• We are fascinated by the individual’s struggle against the Way. We see ourselves in it, even if we disapprove of the individual’s rebellion.
• We value Oedipus’ flaw, because it is also one of our most cherished treasures as a species: our pride in our intellect.
• The defeat of Oedipus reflects our fear that our intellect, which sets us apart from the animals, cannot save us from a cruel Universe.
• The defeat of Oedipus is horrific, which reflects a visceral strain in Western story-telling (shared in unexpurgated fairy tales and mythologies); transgression of taboos is used to communicate moral lessons, and horror at the cruel universe.

So, you tell me Daniel. Which of these does not sound like the traditional Chinese way of viewing the universe?

You know, I don’t have one.

But I do have several Ancient Greek ones, and those tended to end up in Latin in the West.

Πάταξον μέν, ἄκουσον δέ will do. Verbera sed audi.

“Verbera sed audi.” CloudyQuotes.com

Themistocles, when Eurybiades, commander of the Spartan fleet, raised his staff to strike him. In Plutarch’s Life of Themistocles, Chapter XI.

“Hit, but listen!” Or, to emphasise the Greek contrastive particles more: “You can hit me if you want. But you WILL listen to me.”

Verbera sed audi. Yeah, that will do.

My fellow Greeks have made excellent choices. So I have to choose another one.

My choice fails Achilleas Vortselas’ criteria. They are the right criteria, they are what makes a zeibekiko such a joy to dance to. But I’m choosing a zeibekiko which isn’t as danceable, isn’t as heavy, isn’t as underworld, but is just as great, and is in its way, transcendent.

At Nick Nicholas’ answer to What are the top 5 best Greek Songs of all time?, I named one such zeibebiko: Mikis Theodorakis’ One Evening.

This is the other one by Theodorakis. Drapetsona. 1960. Lyrics: Tasos Livaditis.

Drapetsona was, then and now, a working class suburb of Peiraeus. And the lyrics match.

stixoi.info: Δραπετσώνα. The original performance by Bithikotsis, with Hiotis’ virtuoso obbligato.

Built with blood. Sorrow with every stone.
Bitterness and sobs with every nail.
Yet when we’d get back from work each evening,
me and her, dreams and kisses.

The wind and rain would beat it down,
but it was a haven, an embrace, a solace.
Ah, our little house, too, had a soul.

Take our wedding crowns, take our geranium.
There’s no life for us in Drapetsona any more.
Hold my hand, and let’s go, my love.
We’ll live, though we’re poor.

A bed and a cradle in the corner.
Stars and birds through the holes in the roof.
Sweat and sighs with each door.
A sky in each window.

And when the evening came,
the lads would party in the narrow alley.
Ah, our little house, too, had a heart.

Take our wedding crowns, take our geranium.
There’s no life for us in Drapetsona any more.
Hold my hand, and let’s go, my love.
We’ll live, though we’re poor.