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"The US economy has ceased generating any net new jobs in internationally traded sectors in either manufacturing or services," he notes. "The comforting myth persists that America is shifting from low-tech to high-tech employment, but we are not. We are losing jobs in both in shifting to non-tradable services-which are mostly low value-added, and thus ill-paid jobs. According to the Commerce Department, all our net new jobs are in categories such as security guards, waitresses, and the like. The vaunted 'new economy' has not contributed a single net new job to America in this century. Not one."

Scott Crow is an Austin-based anarchist community organizer, political activist, and writer. His grassroots organizing projects include the post-Katrina Common Ground Collective in New Orleans, which has been called the largest anarchist-influenced organization in modern U.S. history. Scott has worked with groups like Greenpeace, ACORN, and the Rainforest Action Network, and currently works at an anarchist recycling center cooperative in Austin. Scott's political activities have led the FBI to label him a "domestic terrorist," and earlier this year he was featured in a front page article in The New York Times about FBI surveillance of political activists. Scott's book, Black Flags and Windmills: Hope, Anarchy and the Common Ground Collective, will be published by PM Press in September, 2011. Rag Radio is produced in the studios of KOOP 91.7-FM in Austin, Texas, in association with The Rag Blog (http://theragblog.blogspot.com) and the New Journalism Project. Host and producer: Thorne Dreyer; Engineer and Co-Producer: Tracey Schulz. Video produced for Austin Indymedia by Jeff Zavala. A ZGraphix video production. http://zgraphix.org http://austin.indymedia.org

Time isn't what it used to be  TIME is not what it used to be. Once a flowing river whose current we passively monitored, time is now more properly understood as something constructed by the brain and personalised by culture. We have relationships with time; we fight it and manipulate it. Into this arena steps Eva Hoffman with her poetically scientific and austerely titled Time. Hoffman is on an exploration to become intimate with time, motivated by her sense that our interaction with time has changed. Our societies have become obsessed with time and timekeeping, both in the workplace and at home. Jet travel manipulates our experience of day-night cycles and seasons, while biomedical science races to increase our lifespan yet further. At the other end of the spectrum, new technologies adapt our minds to the ever-briefer scales of micro and nano. Hoffman covers a lot of ground, from physics (why time flows in only one direction) to biology (the circadian rhythm and sleep) to neuroscience (how temporality is constructed by the brain). She addresses questions of time and consciousness, including the uniquely human ability to envision large vistas of past or future. Perceived time is illuminated by disease states such as Alzheimer's disease or Korsakoff's syndrome, in which one's time narrative becomes disorganised, and by fantasies and dreams, in which the unconscious brain does not necessarily commit to a temporal narrative at all. Hoffman also investigates individual differences in how people treat time (those who leave parties early versus those who have to be shooed out at the end) as well as cultural differences (communities in which haste amounts to a breach of ethics, for instance). A recurring theme is that the human capacity to manipulate our environment ushers in new complexities to the basic biology of time. For example, while other animals age and die on a strict schedule, humans do everything in their power to control that timing. And the book is full of

Drove House has always loomed large over village life. Boarded-up for years, it is reputed to be brimming with ghosts, and is shunned by the locals - all except Billy, for whom it has been the site of childhood dens and secret adolescent adventures. When the captivating Muriel moves in with her bohemian mother, they sweep out the ghosts and breathe new life into both the house and Billy's quiet rural existence. After an idyllic summer, though, Muriel returns to her life in London, and the newly empty Drove House becomes the backdrop for Billy's struggle to reconcile the vanishing agricultural lifestyle he has inherited with the glimpses of a baffling new way of life Muriel seemed to offer. Charting the conflict between these two competing worlds, Peter Benson's award-winning first novel is at once a lyrical portrait of the landscape of the Somerset Levels and a touching evocation of first love.

As Jeff writes in the introduction, the first part of Age of Greed "is mostly a story of business pioneers who fought government regulation or, through innovation, escaped government oversight," building on fear from punishing inflation in the seventies and a new post-Watergate distrust of government, "all the while diminishing the power of government and reinforcing the changing national attitudes." In the second part, "Once government was no longer a counterweight and a new political ideology cleared their path, financiers led the way... Debts more than innovation and technological progress became the economy's driving force. Financial businesses doubled in size compared to the economy and profits grew still faster. Hundreds of billions of precious American savings were wasted."

Steven Pinker is a Professor of Psychology at Harvard University, the author of several magnificent books about the human mind, and one of the most influential scientists on earth. He is also my friend, an occasional mentor, and an advisor to my nonprofit foundation, Project Reason.Steve's new book is The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined. Reviewing it for the New York Times Book Review, the philosopher Peter Singer called it "a supremely important book." I have no doubt that it is, and I very much look forward to reading it. In the meantime, Steve was kind enough to help produce a written interview for this blog.

According to Thomas Metzinger, no such things as selves exist in the world: nobody ever had or was a self. All that exists are phenomenal selves, as they appear in conscious experience. The phenomenal self, however, is not a thing but an ongoing process; it is the content of a "transparent self-model." In Being No One, Metzinger, a German philosopher, draws strongly on neuroscientific research to present a representationalist and functional analysis of what a consciously experienced first-person perspective actually is. Building a bridge between the humanities and the empirical sciences of the mind, he develops new conceptual toolkits and metaphors; uses case studies of unusual states of mind such as agnosia, neglect, blindsight, and hallucinations; and offers new sets of multilevel constraints for the concept of consciousness. Metzinger's central question is: How exactly does strong, consciously experienced subjectivity emerge out of objective events in the natural world? His epistemic goal is to determine whether conscious experience, in particular the experience of being someone that results from the emergence of a phenomenal self, can be analyzed on subpersonal levels of description. He also asks if and how our Cartesian intuitions that subjective experiences as such can never be reductively explained are themselves ultimately rooted in the deeper representational structure of our conscious minds.

"Linda, dozing in the light of the campfire, jolted awake. She sat up, stretched, willed herself to wakefulness. It was her first duty on watch-she'd insisted on a stint-and she'd dozed. How reliable of her. She peered into the woods, listening, wondering why she'd awoken. The campfire crackled and whispered. A spark popped. She thumbed open the cylinder release of her revolver and counted bullets. The gun looked ancient, like a long-barreled cowboy weapon. As if she would know. She eased the cylinder shut with a click. She settled back again, grateful she hadn't shot anyone. Something rustled in the darkness of the nearby forest. She should be accustomed to this by now. Rainforest nights were deathly quiet in comparison to Boston nights, but that was just the problem. It would take a gunshot or a siren to jar her awake back home, but mere whispers did the trick here. They signaled movement. The jungle was alive, teeming. Jaguars would be about, prowling. The big cats had killed and eaten grown men on occasion. Man-eating jaguars. Nice. No chance of sleep now. Grant slumped in his chair opposite the fire, sound asleep, snoring softly, reassuringly. Not quite enough to set her at ease. The others had gone to bed. He preferred to stay with the watch, a visible, armed backup. What would be more comforting than Indiana Jones sound asleep would be Indiana Jones wide awake. She coughed, gently. Grant slept on. "Grant," she said. No response. "Hey, Grant!" He stirred and rubbed his eyes. "What?" "I didn't say anything." "Hm. Okay." Linda glanced about. "I'm hearing things in the woods. Maybe those sounds woke you." Grant sat up. "What kind of sounds?" He picked up his rifle. "Something moving." They sat in silence for long moments, listening. At last, Grant said, "The alarms haven't tripped. That's a good sign. Anything big would have set them off." He looked at his watch. "Why don't you get some sleep? You've only g

"Linda, dozing in the light of the campfire, jolted awake. She sat up, stretched, willed herself to wakefulness. It was her first duty on watch-she'd insisted on a stint-and she'd dozed. How reliable of her. She peered into the woods, listening, wondering why she'd awoken. The campfire crackled and whispered. A spark popped. She thumbed open the cylinder release of her revolver and counted bullets. The gun looked ancient, like a long-barreled cowboy weapon. As if she would know. She eased the cylinder shut with a click. She settled back again, grateful she hadn't shot anyone. Something rustled in the darkness of the nearby forest. She should be accustomed to this by now. Rainforest nights were deathly quiet in comparison to Boston nights, but that was just the problem. It would take a gunshot or a siren to jar her awake back home, but mere whispers did the trick here. They signaled movement. The jungle was alive, teeming. Jaguars would be about, prowling. The big cats had killed and eaten grown men on occasion. Man-eating jaguars. Nice. No chance of sleep now. Grant slumped in his chair opposite the fire, sound asleep, snoring softly, reassuringly. Not quite enough to set her at ease. The others had gone to bed. He preferred to stay with the watch, a visible, armed backup. What would be more comforting than Indiana Jones sound asleep would be Indiana Jones wide awake. She coughed, gently. Grant slept on. "Grant," she said. No response. "Hey, Grant!" He stirred and rubbed his eyes. "What?" "I didn't say anything." "Hm. Okay." Linda glanced about. "I'm hearing things in the woods. Maybe those sounds woke you." Grant sat up. "What kind of sounds?" He picked up his rifle. "Something moving." They sat in silence for long moments, listening. At last, Grant said, "The alarms haven't tripped. That's a good sign. Anything big would have set them off." He looked at his watch. "Why don't you get some sleep? You've only g

The Senator has been linked to another online prostitution ring…but unlike recent tabloid celebrity Guvner Elliot Spitzher of New Yoke, Senator McCane is being investigated for being the provider of paid sexual services.

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Written in the years between Solzhenitsyn's return from exile to Russia in 1994, and his death in 2008 this new collection of stories from the Nobel Prize-winning author is available for the first time in English. Mostly written in his late binary style, the stories in APRICOT JAM present a series of striking portraits of a Soviet and Russian life across the twentieth century. Through their unforgettable cast of military commanders, imprisoned activists and displaced families, these stories play out the moral dilemmas and ideological conflicts that defined the century.

A squad of soldiers get caught on camera by a Fox news team. The video goes viral. They were already heroes. Now they become celebrities. For two weeks at least. The army seizes on an opportunity to get some good press and sends these soldiers on a 'Victory Tour' culminating in an appearance in front of millions on TV at a Dallas Cowboys football game. What exactly were these men fighting for? "The hot dog, the Brooklyn Dodgers. Mom's apple pie. That's what everyone's fighting for." That's what Yossarian says in Catch-22. Billy Lynn is no longer so sure.

There are no reasons for unreasonable things. Following in the footsteps of Samuel Beckett's tramps from 'Waiting for Godot' Milligan and Murphy finally cut the ties to their ma's apron strings and head out into the big bad world. But they are not alone. Someone is looking after then. Someone else is cycling after them. Will they get to see the sea and once they have what then? Scottish author Jim Murdoch's new novel is an existentialist delight.

There's no doubting the conservative bona fides of Bruce Fein. A high-level Justice Department lawyer in the Reagan administration in the 1980s and previously a resident scholar with the Heritage Foundation, he is a long-time advocate for uncompromising right-wing political principles. Yet paradoxically, Fein has been, and remains, one of the most eloquent and incisive political voices over the last decade. He was one of the earliest and most emphatic critics of Bush and Cheney's radical abuses of executive power. Two weeks after The New York Times revealed in December, 2005, that Bush had ordered the NSA to illegally eavesdrop on Americans without the warrants required by law, Fein used his column in the right-wing Washington Times to warn that "Mr. Bush has adamantly refused to acknowledge any constitutional limitations on his power to wage war indefinitely"; to scorn as "war powers nonsense" the theories assembled "to defend Mr.

In the latest installment of Lethe in Spain, the Director calls the Senora's apartment with an unfavorable piece of news. Lethe returns to his room where he longingly looks over the edge of the balcony and tries to imagine his future in Spain.