May 182011
 

My favorite part of talking to a new pshrink—and you can go through a fair number in a system like the VA’s—is what I’ve come to call the menu. There’s this set of questions they have to go through, basically all the major calling cards of serious conditions, and I’ve learned pretty much what the effect of most “gray area” statements will be, because my answer can vary. Hell, the drive in can alter the “considering harming others” query.

It can especially fun with residents.But when they get to the ones about hearing voices in your head other than your own, I feel like asking “How do you think I write? How do you think I read fully and deeply? How do you think I have any chance of understanding another human being? What kind of person only hears himself?”The answer to the last, apparently, is a “sane” one.

If that’s the case, I’m cool with insanity, thanks.

 

Usually infoporn stays out of the gray moral zone and evaluations are functional: those colors are horrible, using that chart type is inspired, nothing wrong except that it’s misleading, etc. This one does not. There is a lot here to think about and to react to, and much of it lies outside the normal realm.

100 Years of World Cuisine

I think I would approve publishing this if it came from outside the publication, though the more jellyfishish side might want to put an editor’s note beside it. (If it were in-house it would go back for accuracy.) There are flaws, errors and poor choices in it, but it is primarily meant to be provocative and succeeds, and lest we forget the provocative is meant to provoke, to begin, to cause a reaction.

Provoking is inherently no more a sin than reacting, though individual actions can be. Provocation can lead to useful discussion if it and the reaction to it are entered into honestly. That is the part we’ve all too often lost in America.

A graphic that makes you wonder about the similarities between conflict and cuisine is a huge risk, and if it gets you (and me) talking, that risk has paid off. Among the zillion other things I’ve hoped for the Internet is that it and the techical mindset in engenders will lead to a renaissance of information graphics. This graphic is an example of what I’d like to see, and Nathan’s blog (and his commentary about infoporn) is hopefully evidence of that rebirth.

A century of deaths and a lot of fake blood (Flowing Data)

May 032011
 

My sleep phase is shifted very, very late; left to my own devices, I’d go to sleep around 03:00 and wake around 10:00. It’s just how I’m wired, and I call myself and those like me vampires, as compared to larks and owls.

But note how long I’d sleep: seven hours. That’s a bit below the human average but it’s enough for me. But it also means that I’m not “sleeping in”, “lazing around” or whatever.

 

I remember one of my first political thoughts after 9/11: “This is the wrong president for this time.” History has, I think, shown me to be right. It wasn’t that Geo. W. Bush was mendacious or opportunistic, though he was both. It wasn’t that he was surrounded by people, especially in the defense and foreign policiy apparatuses, who had their own axes to grind and few morals in getting to the wheel, though he was.

What made him the wrong president for those days was his inattention, his incuriosity, his profound disinterest in the lives of those he thought below him, at home and abroad. He is, after all, a man who let himself be railroaded into a war of convenience and ego-aggradizment, who treated the learning necessary to his position with disdain (even after it came to light that he had been warned specifically about attacks like those on 9/11), and who managed to squander quite possibly the widest-spread groundswell of goodwill the U.S. has had since WWII, and possibly ever, in less than two years. Heckuva … you know the rest. “Bring it on.” “Now watch this drive.”

Barack Obama was, conversely, damned near the perfect president for the moment when Osama bin Laden was killed. Some has nothing to do, really, with his actions It would be hard to argue that Muslims’ reactions could get much better unless the president were an actual, practicing Muslim; the son of  a Kenyan with authentic ties to Muslim communities and a deft, sensitive touch with cultural matters has to be considered a full house at least.  Right now it even looks like he played the Pakistan angle well, something I thought might be a no-win situation.

I don’t want to make too much out of this. A lot of this fortuitous combination of man and event is just that: due to fortune. Sure, some people in the voting booth chose Obama because they thought he’d make better decisions in the cultural aspects of the war on terror—both of them feel pretty vindicated right now—but most of us were voting the present, not the future. Funny how things work out sometimes.

 

(with apologies to Judith Viorst for title pilferage)

Keanu Reeves has a bit in The Replacements where he talks about quicksand: those awful times when something bad happens and not only do you get stuck, but every effort to overcome your difficulty only seems to drag you in deeper. Yesterday was not quicksand, it was a minefield. Every time we turned around there was the very real possibility that something would blow up in our faces.

We had it all yesterday: A late start so Kel and the kids could participate in a parade running long. (That Kel was the only staff member there who wasn’t required to be there sucked as well.) Miscommunication delayed the truck getting loaded. The air conditioner compressor failed spectacularly when we started the truck. The shop couldn’t get the part because it was after noon on a Saturday.

The drive was relatively uneventful and the hotel is decent (except for the wireless Internet; why is this so freaking hard to do right?). At least, until I discovered I left the power supply for my CPAP machine at home.

You think you’re in the clear and boom!

Like I said, a minefield.

 

Traditional education is often of little utility to the self-motivated, self-directed learner, and its usefulness to a someone with wide-ranging interests is very limited. It’s also pretty much a complete waste on people who don’t want to learn anything beyond what they need to do some job. (There’s a whole other discussion to have on how some schools and parts thereof have moved away from the traditional process because of those students’ desires, but let’s leave that lay.)

There’s another group that doesn’t benefit from almost any kind of education, traditional or otherwise: those who think that citation is the highest form of argument. In other words, my philosopher (or historian or whatever) can beat up yours.

The reason this last group doesn’t get anything out of education is that they miss the most important reason for going to any school: to learn how to learn and how to think. This is kind of quixotic, because beyond some basics, these things can’t really be taught. The best we have learned to do, very imperfectly, is to try and create an environment where they can be learned and a process that for a pretty remarkable percentage of the population leads to some success.

There is a great graph that shows what (hopefully) happens to a person’s sum of knowledge as they progress from grade school to a doctorate. In the early stages, there’s an increase in general knowledge. In college, there’s a further expansion of general knowledge, but a large increase in a certain area or two. Post-graduate education pushes out a more concentrated extension in a narrow area until, with the doctoral dissertation, one’s knowledge extends beyond the limit of all human knowledge in one tiny area.

That’s how it’s supposed to be; admittedly, that’s not always the case. Nor is adding to the sum of knowledge restricted to doctoral students and “above”. It’s also a very specific path that moves along a single path from college on, which is far from the only path or even the usual path.

But looked at another way, you could see that progression as the accumulation of the skills and knowledge necessary to learn and think on one’s own. There is something to be said for a large number of people reaching the level of thinking and learning skills that (hopefully) accompany a four-year degree. The liberal arts tradition deliberately does this by exposing students a large amount of other people’s thinking in the early years. This isn’t the problem, even if individual students don’t ultimately learn to learn and think.

The problem is with these feather collectors, these amassers of information and shunners of thinking, these people who act as if where they went to school, what they majored in or what they studied determines what they know. Those things affect your learning; it’s pretty hard to argue that Harvard isn’t a more fertile environment for students in most fields than Apollonia State. But just because you went to Harvard does not mean you didn’t learn anything there; sadly, even the best institutions let through people who don’t learn anything.

But don’t knock this whole process that has been the cause of more human advancement than anything since fire because some assholes seem determined to parade their lack of getting anything out of school. It’s not for everyone, it’s not the only way to learn, it’s not foolproof (see assholes for proof) and it’s not guaranteed. But, much like democracy, it’s the best method yet found for getting some learning and thinking skills to large numbers, and for pushing the envelope of human knowledge.

 

Over at Bridging the Nerd Gap, Brett Kelly takes some issue with the use of passion in the widespread posts on turning one’s passion into something of a living. (If you don’t know, that sort of post makes up a large portion of a productivity pr0n hound’s diet. Damned things are everywhere.) The post is good, go read it.

I like the definition “passion: something you’d do anyway” and while I agree that making a living off one’s passions isn’t a sure thing, those passions are among the most important things to incorporate into your life. Finding time and energy for everything is a bitch, but it beats the hell out of hating your job (or your family) for keeping you from ever doing what you love.

And we should recognize that the things we love to do may not always include our job or our families. An overlap between two of the three makes the work/life balance a lot easier, and that’s why making a living off one’s passions is so damned attractive. Other options include including your family in your passion (c’mon kids, lets collect stamps from Burma!) or in your work (who wants to shred incriminating documents?) or all three (welcome to the Presley House of Burmese Stamps, White Collar Crime and Professional Editorial Services, how may I help you?). Seriously, though, getting your life together to the point that these things work together or, at worst, leave room for one another is a major acheivement.

Also, I would argue that, at least in part, the rise of geek culture has not only made having passions more acceptable but greatly enlarged the marked for the products of those passions. Sure, some things shouldn’t have been made (see regretsy.com for many, many of these), but makers have found other people who value their products because it’s cool (or at least much cooler) now to own place mats with every single Star Wars character, rendered 8-bit style. (If someone sees these or feels up to knitting them, contact me.)

So, to come back around to Brett’s point, if what you like to do doesn’t meet his or my definition of passion, it probably isn’t something you should throw your whole life into disarray to live off of. If it does, though, you’re going to be far happier if it’s part of your life, and if you can get paid for it, so much the better.

 

Brett Kelly, a man who has even named his blog Bridging the Nerd Gap, claims that most people reading said blog are nerds, like it or not. And with one quibble, I think he’s onto something.

The quibble, in a time-honored fashion among the strangely enthusiastic about esoteric subjects, is about taxonomy. My frequently un-catastrophic social interactions makes me think I might edge out of the social awkwardness area. (A Venn diagram is, of course, the ultimate authority on questions of who belongs where.)

The wife came up with history, politics, game rules and anything my kids ask me for an explanation of. In like two seconds of zero thought. I’d probably add football, the other football, the media, the English language and its proper use (resuscitate the semicolon!), and journalism, but I admit that even a nine-item list doesn’t even hint at the vastness of my geekery. I share William Gibson’s problem: all things are increasingly interesting to me. If you wait long enough I’ll probably take a look (history definitely falls into this category; I hated it until I had a decent professor, now it’s apparently on the top nine list), and I’ll find a way to link it to most anything.

I suspect most of Brett’s readers are in the same boat.

Finally, let’s spend a moment giving thanks for this Internet thingy, surely the greatest thing since the library in Alexandria for anyone who wants to explore the nooks and crannies of human knowledge. And while its apocryphal nature may rival the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, there is plenty of gold in it. (Brett’s employer, Evernote, has gone a very long way toward solving that other problem with wide-ranging interests: saving all those wonderful things. One day, I shall write an ode worthy of this app’s awesomeness.)

Whether I and others like me were born geeky or found an outlet (or rather, an inlet) for it in the ‘Net is a question I’ll leave to another day.

 

In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn’t cope with, and that terrible listlessness that starts to set in about 2:55, when you know you’ve taken all the baths that you can usefully take that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o’clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul. — Douglas Adams, Life, the Universe and Everything

I can’t claim to know what Adams was talking about with this passage, if anything at all, but I do know what it reminds me of: the time between submitting a piece of writing and hearing back from your editor. To be fully honest, I can be something of an arrogant ass when it comes to writing and can feel a distressingly sneering contempt for those who can’t write a decent line except unintentionally. And unlike my fully justified pride in my spelling, vocabulary and accuracy—which, while imperfect, are a hell of a lot more quantifiable—might be motivated by the fear that what I’ve just written might suck.

That the magic might be gone.

I understand why ancient poets tried to entice the muses to visit and modern football players thank god for their touchdowns, and despite not believing in either and having a fairly good idea whence these skills come, I can’t fault either. You see, writing (and all creative work, really) requires a weird blend of unselfconsciousness and critical review, and part of the first really requires faith that you’re going to pull something that might be useful from a sort of black box in your head. I’m a firm believer in Anne Lamott’s idea of the shitty first draft (or the idea that I need to take care of the quantity and dumb luck will take care of the quality), but I know from experience that getting the hell out of my way results in far more decent writing amid the dreck. And that results in the appearance of decent writing that comes from nowhere.

If it comes from nowhere, if it happens without conscious intervention, if you are unselfconscious during the creation it is entirely too easy to believe that it really does come from without. So you invoke the muse or thank god for the touchdown, and you live in fear that one day it won’t appear. And one day it won’t, temporarily or permanently, and all the whistling past the graveyard that is writers (and others) denying the existence of writer’s block can’t dispel the fear that thought brings.

So there’s a gap between sending a piece in, when you think of all the things that could be wrong with it, when you imagine that the muse has finally tired of you, where you dread not hearing from the editor (or audience or whatever), but of never hearing from them. For what form of contempt could be more complete than silence?

“You’re a jerk, Dent. A complete kneebiter.” — same book, two pages before the quote above

Sure sounds like the editor that lives in my head.

 

One, if you’re not reading Boing Boing, you really should. It’s a group blog that grew out of an underground magazine (or ‘zine). If you don’t find something of interest in a week, you can shoot me in the buttock with a toy bow and arrow of your choice, it’s that good. It may not be the only worthwhile ‘zine to make the transition to online, but it’s hard to argue it isn’t the most worthwhile.

Two part A: the backstory. In case you missed it, the New York Times continued its practice of balancing out the good journalism it does with stupid shit by publishing a “Findings” item by John Tierney that took the “daring” stand that biological differences in intelligence could very well be to blame for differences in representation of women in the higher echelons of science. The justification this time was that on certain standardized tests there seem to be more men than women in the extreme right tail of the bell curve; that is, there are more massively smart men than massively smart women, so shut up and let nature work uninhibited.

Two part B: the incident. One of Boing Boing’s contributers wrote a post about Tierney’s article that collected parts of four woman scientists’ reactions to said article. They dismantled his tiresome tripe into the steaming little bits it deserved to be in, from the faux daring that those espousing especially hideworn bullshit seem to like adopting, to the absolute uselessness of the specifically mentioned SAT test for identifying intelligence. (No one pointed out one of the few things I know about psychometrics, the study of testing: tests designed to test normal people suck at properly placing people outside of the norm; so if my IQ is 125 and yours is 135, the Stanford-Binet test could put us equal or at a distance greater than 10 points, errors it’s far less likely to make if the IQs are 95 and 105. We’ll talk about the several problems with the SAT and Stanford-Binet, standardized testing and psychometrics itself another time.)

Two part C: the awful realization. The contributor published her post, but then made a startling realization: in a post excoriating bigotry, she’d managed to put together a glaringly one-sided collection aside from their shared gender. And she wrote an explanation both graceful and edifying, included below.

What I got wrong about women in science

from Boing Boing by Maggie Koerth-Baker

failroad.jpgIn the comments section of my post last Friday on women in science, a couple people were confused by the idea that bigotry and discrimination could be something done, for lack of a better word, accidentally … even subconsciously. I can understand why that’s confusing. Most of us were raised understanding that discrimination was a bad thing, done by bad people who thought that they were superior to the people they discriminated against. It’s logical to look at the way we learn about discrimination and say, “That doesn’t describe me, so I’m OK.”

The truth, sadly, is a bit more complicated.

Good people—people who aren’t supremacists of any sort—can and do act in ways that support systemic discrimination. We do this, not because we’re full of hate, but because we’re full of other lessons we learned as kids … things like, “Girl stuff isn’t as cool” or “people of that race aren’t like me, and that’s bad.” We might not cosign those ideas if they were expressed directly, but they can still quietly influence the way we act. And, if we happen to have been born into a non-minority category, we have the privilege of not even noticing when those old lessons direct us to do things that discriminate—because, from our point of view, the world still looks fair.

Case in point: That post on women in science, itself. Several hours after I hit “publish”, I realized that I’d managed to put together a panel on diversity made up of nothing but white people.

I didn’t set out to do that. But it happened, nonetheless. And it still furthered discrimination, by making it appear as if there aren’t women of color scientists worth talking to, and by implying that their perspective on the issue wouldn’t be any different from a white woman scientist’s. Neither of which is true. Without intending to, I left out the people who didn’t look like me. And because I have the privilege of seeing myself reflected in the media often enough, I didn’t notice the point of view that was missing until after I’d already published the story.

I’m writing about this now with the hope that it makes it more clear how discrimination happens, even in situations without big, evil villains. Sometimes, people with the privilege to not think about diversity don’t, and they make decisions that leave out people not like them. When that same situation happens over and over and over, the people who don’t look like the privileged end upmarginalized. It’s simple. And, frankly, it’s a lot scarier than big, evil villains, because it’s harder to change. In the future, I’m going to try harder to think past my own privilege. And, whether your privilege is based on gender, race, wealth, sexuality, or culture … I hope this post will remind you to do the same.

Image courtesy Flickr user fireflythegreat, via CC

Three: the moral. We can all easily recognize and publicly abhor overt bigotry when it’s Trent Lott’s post hoc endorsement of Strom Thurmond’s segregationist campaign or even Don Imus’s blisteringly unthinking “nappy headed hos” comment about the Rutgers University women’s basketball team (and, boy, is there ever a metric crapload of examples for just about any minority you care to recognize; these two just came to mind first). People even do a pretty good job of it when they’re in the majority but think about the statement or situation a little.

But when you’re going through life and thinking “I’m going to put together some scientists’ statements about this idiocy” or even “I’m going to invite kids to my child’s birthday party” it is a hell of a lot harder without someone pointing it out. And the reason is easy to see: most people who do this aren’t bigots, by any useful definition of the term. There is no intent and it would be unlikely that a thoughtful, mindful action would produce such a result.

Hopefully most of us have stood on the minority side and felt (or tried to feel) what it’s like to look at some grouping and realize there’s nobody there outside the majority, at least as an intellectual exercise if not in reality, or to hear someone casually dismiss a minority as unimportant or nonexistent.

Too often the reaction to pointing out this sort of unintentional bigotry is some version of “they didn’t mean it that way” (usually with a helping of “get over it” or “toughen up”). It’s often entirely true and almost always beside the point. That people mindlessly make decisions or say things or act in ways that perpetuate bigotry is bad enough; it may be worse when they try to rationalize or minimize it. Far better to react like this, and say “Yes, I did wrong without meaning to.” The call to learn from the mistake has the potential to turn it into a net positive, and we should all aim for that.

(Before anybody gets the pitchforks to “encourage” me to get off my high horse: I’m guilty of this, maybe moreso than most people. I am, after all, judgmental and critical and obstinate and blunt, plus probably more traits that make my stated goal of mindfulness so damned hard to achieve even briefly. I can round people up into a pen and brand them with the best cowboys that ever strapped on spurs, and I can give you chapter and verse to justify the corraling and the singeing. I can only hope that when I am called out on it, I can recognize my error and make half as good an explanation as Maggie did here.)

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