I lost a bet last night with my criminologist colleague Katrin H. It turns out that you can order a drink called “Elbar Grease” in London, in a “secret” comedy club in a distant suburb (see Sept. 30 post).[i] The trouble is that it’s not nearly as sour as the authentic drink (not sour enough, in any case, for those of us who lack that aforementioned gene). But I did get to hear some great comedy, which hasn’t happened since early days of exile, and it reminded me of my promise to revisit the “comedy hour at the Bayesian retreat” (see Sept. 3 post). Few things have been the butt of more jokes than examples of so-called “trivial intervals”.
