this week i

joined the international conference on establishment statistics v7.0.  notes to self: add 'unclassified' to presentation slides, map almanac phenomena

a handful pulled out due to the u.k. ban on public speaking during election season

there is no overarching methodology for business surveys -ger snijkers 

companies have customer relationship management (crm) so it's valued and tangible

spatially balanced sampling .. voronoi polytopes

for most people, official statistics is what statistics is all about -danny pfeffermann

 but i need to get to my analogy [next powerpoint slide a rollercoaster] which is a rollercoaster -ronda k. britt

is the economy creating or destroying jobs?

the beveridge curve

and most importantly, to train the respondents

quarterly census of employment and wages (qcew) .. for a census, it's extremely high frequency

detroit's employment was 20x more concentrated in auto manufacturing in 2022

nevada's employment was 10x more concentrated in casinos in 2022

antitrust has ignored labor markets until about two years ago

hhi ranges from zero to ten thousand

traditional statistics .. rejects black-box approaches -changbao wu

in the state of tennessee, you can burglarize a motor vehicle -cynthia barnett-ryan 

would you answer a few more questions for us?




read a tale of two cities by dickens.  citizeness, never flitting, still is knitting, still is knitting/as wine barrel busts in paris, just outside defarge's door

say that my answer was, recalled to life

gracious creator of day!  to be buried alive for eighteen years

if monsieur manette had not died; if he had suddenly and silently disappeared; if he had been spirited away

year of our lord as anna dominoes

the faith of his solemn asseveration

hastily written on the paper was the word "acquitted" .. and a loud buzz swept into the street as if the baffled blueflies were dispersing in search of other carrion

he knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so rendered and so free from any mercenary taint

"pick up that, philosopher and vendor of wine," said the marquis throwing him another gold coin .. without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time, monsieur the marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just being driven away with the air of a gentleman who had accidentally broken some common thing, and had paid for it, and could afford to pay for it; when his ease was suddenly distributed by a coin flying into his carriage, and ringing on its floor

the tradesman hurriedly shut up their shops; for a crowd in those times stopped at nothing, and was a monster much dreaded

of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherencies, "the prisoners!" was the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if there were an eternity of people, as well as of time and space

the remorseless sea

and in the years so long after the breaking of the cask at defarge's wine-shop door, they are not easily purified when once stained red

foulon who told the starving people they might eat grass.  foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when i had no bread to give him.  foulon who told my baby it might suck grass, when these breasts were dry with want .. rend foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that grass may grow from him

i send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears through the great bank of tilson known at paris

in the name of that sharp female newly-born, and called la guillotine, why did you come to france?

liberty, equality, fraternity, or death

who kissed la guillotine, looked through the little window and sneezed into the sack.  it was the sign of the regeneration of the human race.  it superseded the cross.  models of it were worn on breasts from which the cross was discarded, and it was bowed down to and believed in where the cross was denied

i, alexandre manette, unfortunate physician, native of beauvais and afterward resident in paris, write this melancholy paper in my doleful cell in the bastille, during the last month of the year 1767.  i write it at stolen intervals, under every difficulty.  i design to secrete it in the wall of the chimney, where i have slowly and laboriously made a place of concealment for it.  some pitying hand may find it there, when i and my sorrows are dust

we seldom have a child there.  it is a pretty sight

each spoke in her own language; neither understood the other's words; both were very watchful, and intent to deduce from look and manner, what the unintelligible words meant

as the smoke cleared, leaving an awful stillness, it passed out on the air, like the soul of the furious woman whose body lay lifeless on the ground