I've started a new blog at www.mutinouswinds.com about public speech, markets, and democracy. It's a group blog, and I have several great co-conspirators with interesting perspectives (and different from mine). I don't by any means plan to abandon this site; in fact, part of the compulsion to create the new site comes from my desire to develop locussolus more, and in new directions.
That said, I'm going to be out of town for the next week or so, and the limited online time I have will probably be spent first corresponding with my various employers and second over at Mutinous Winds for those critical baby steps. Forgive me if I'm silent here for a few days!
Mutinous winds, by the way, comes from this speech by Prospero in the final scene of The Tempest:
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,As they're so fond of saying, read the whole thing.
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chaes the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew, by whose aid --
Weak masters though ye be -- I have bedimmed
The noontide sun. called forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea anbd th azured vault
Set roaring war to the dread-rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt: the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs plucked up
The pine and cedar; graves at my command
Have waked their sleepers, ope'd and let 'em forth
By my so potent art. But this rough magic
I here abjure; and when I have required
Some heavenly music (which even now I do)
To work mine end upon their sense that
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper tha did ever plummet sound
I'll drown my book.