September 9, 2009
Glenn Beck is an Idiot
I rest my case.
On a related note, when interviewed by the New York Times, Glenn Beck not only compared himself to Howard Beale, the mentally deranged broadcaster in the movie "Network," but also said, "if you take what I say as gospel, you’re an idiot." And how!
August 12, 2009
On Reasonable Discourse
Growing up, my parents used to tell me that you just can't reason with the unreasonable. The phrase usually arose during any discussion of domestic criminals or foreign enemies, with the implication being that you have every reason to dispose of them. I was recently reminded of the phrase during a discussion with my mother about health care reform, not because my mother is a criminal or a tyrant; rather, she has simply become unreasonable through years and years of exclusive media consumption--conservative talk radio during the day, Fox News programming at night. This poisonous combination has been described by some as constituting a "noise machine" and an "echo chamber," and in my experience, I find the characterizations to be apt.
My mom, like many others in this country, believes that the current plan proposed by the Democrats will kill her, literally. She worries that the Democrats wish to transform this country's exceptional health care system into a socialized nightmare in which the government has a vested interest in putting people to death. No doubt, she has gotten this impression from listening to Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, and Newt Gingrich. But during the course of our discussion and my attempts to allay her misplaced and irrational fears, I realized just how powerful and effective the right-wing noise machine has become.
I responded to my mother by pointing out that, according to UN data, the health care system in the United States is far from the best: The US ranks in the 30s when it comes to life expectancy and infant mortality rate (IMR), which are the two most commonly used metrics for assessing health care quality. Her response? "Oh, of course the UN would say something like that. You expect me to believe statistics that come from a corrupt organization like the UN?" She continued, without a tinge of irony, by citing statistics relayed by a Republican congressman on Fox News about the dangers posed by the proposal in the House.
It was at this point that I realized that the right-wing noise machine has succeeded at far more than merely the reinforcement of partisan positions. It has succeeded, more insidiously, in dismissing and subsequently discrediting all sources of information that could be used to refute its claims. Sure, movement conservatism has long detested and demonized the "mainstream media," represented by such reputable outlets as the New York Times and the Washington Post. But it was only at this point in my conversation with my mother that I realized just how potent this demonization has become.
Unless someone pulls from an "appropriate" source--read: a source sanctioned by Fox News or movement conservatism--the data are inadmissible. As a result, the only possible refutation of a position must come from a source that does not--indeed, cannot--exist. Thus, people most deeply embedded in the "noise machine," i.e., those who consume media from no other source (e.g., my mother), become insusceptible to reasoned discourse. It has indeed become impossible to reason with the unreasonable.
I nevertheless sent my mother a lengthy email debunking the claims she had heard. I ended my email with an impassioned plea for her to stop watching Fox News and listening to talk radio. I doubt she even read the thing, but despite the apparent hopelessness of the endeavor, I felt obligated to do it. She is my mother, after all.
My mom, like many others in this country, believes that the current plan proposed by the Democrats will kill her, literally. She worries that the Democrats wish to transform this country's exceptional health care system into a socialized nightmare in which the government has a vested interest in putting people to death. No doubt, she has gotten this impression from listening to Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, and Newt Gingrich. But during the course of our discussion and my attempts to allay her misplaced and irrational fears, I realized just how powerful and effective the right-wing noise machine has become.
I responded to my mother by pointing out that, according to UN data, the health care system in the United States is far from the best: The US ranks in the 30s when it comes to life expectancy and infant mortality rate (IMR), which are the two most commonly used metrics for assessing health care quality. Her response? "Oh, of course the UN would say something like that. You expect me to believe statistics that come from a corrupt organization like the UN?" She continued, without a tinge of irony, by citing statistics relayed by a Republican congressman on Fox News about the dangers posed by the proposal in the House.
It was at this point that I realized that the right-wing noise machine has succeeded at far more than merely the reinforcement of partisan positions. It has succeeded, more insidiously, in dismissing and subsequently discrediting all sources of information that could be used to refute its claims. Sure, movement conservatism has long detested and demonized the "mainstream media," represented by such reputable outlets as the New York Times and the Washington Post. But it was only at this point in my conversation with my mother that I realized just how potent this demonization has become.
Unless someone pulls from an "appropriate" source--read: a source sanctioned by Fox News or movement conservatism--the data are inadmissible. As a result, the only possible refutation of a position must come from a source that does not--indeed, cannot--exist. Thus, people most deeply embedded in the "noise machine," i.e., those who consume media from no other source (e.g., my mother), become insusceptible to reasoned discourse. It has indeed become impossible to reason with the unreasonable.
I nevertheless sent my mother a lengthy email debunking the claims she had heard. I ended my email with an impassioned plea for her to stop watching Fox News and listening to talk radio. I doubt she even read the thing, but despite the apparent hopelessness of the endeavor, I felt obligated to do it. She is my mother, after all.
August 8, 2009
On Perspective
Earlier this afternoon, my roommate and I were watching an MLS game--the LA Galaxy versus the New England Revolution, for those interested--when a rather poignant commercial came on. The commercial was one of several PSAs released by the MLS, in partnership with the Youth for Human Rights International, meant to inform viewers of basic human rights that everyone is entitled to. This particular PSA dealt with the subject of education.
In the ad, a mother, who is white, is driving two little girls to school--one is her daughter, the other has a darker complexion and is "new to the country." Once the children arrive at school, the white girl talks--or more accurately, complains--to her darker-complected companion about school: She whines that school is such a burden, that it is criminal that they are required to attend. All the while, the other girl is oblivious to the complaints, as she stands in awe of the schoolhouse, the other children, and the wonderful opportunity before her. After the white girl concludes her tirade about how much school sucks, she asks the foreign girl how many schools she has in her village, to which she responds, "None." It's pretty powerful.
Here's the ad:
Now, the ad deals with the universal right to education, which--not surprisingly--I support. But what struck me about the ad dealt not with education but rather with the complete lack of perspective demonstrated by the little white girl. Her offensive lack of perspective reminded me of a sentiment I encounter all-too-frequently from others.
How much of our lives is spent complaining? How many things that we complain about are things that, in reality, we should be grateful for? All-too-many of us have an overwhelming sense of entitlement, an overwhelming lack of perspective. We fail to realize just how lucky we are to have the luxury to complain in the first place: We complain about difficulties at work, when many around the world can't find food, let alone a job; we complain about traffic on the way home, when many around the world have no car, let alone a home to drive to; and as this commercial demonstrates, we complain about school, when many are denied the opportunity to learn, let alone the luxury to complain about it.
When I was younger, I spent a few weeks in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, a tourist destination for many, but a learning experience for me. When I arrived, I was appalled by the vast disparity between rich and poor: Villas on the hills, cardboard shacks in the valleys. On one particularly memorable morning, as I exited my hotel, I witnessed a homeless woman on the sidewalk squat over a sheet of newspaper, to defecate. The image haunts me to this day--not because I witnessed a woman shamelessly defecating, but rather because she was forced to do so in the first place. The experience was jarring, and it made me that much more grateful for things I had, up to that point, taken for granted.
My trip challenged me: How much of our lives is simply fortune? I could just as easily have been born into poverty in Rio de Janeiro. I could have been born into a penniless family with no prospect for a nightly dinner, let alone a first-rate education. I had no control over where or to whom I was born, and neither does anyone else. And yet, we so frequently hear discussion of personal responsibility for one's failings.
How much of our failing is the result of our own actions? Conversely, how much of our success depends on the actions and status of others? It was this line of questioning, I think, that led me to take an interest in sociology. Everything I had thought about responsibility, about accountability, about blame was in error: How can I condemn a woman for defecating on a sheet of newspaper? Who am I to judge?
This is not to say that we in the privileged class--and anyone with the luxury to read mindless blog entries like this one are most assuredly privileged--have no right to complain about anything. To be sure, there is much to deplore: wealth disparities, health disparities, civil rights violations, and so forth. But it's important that we take the time to reflect on just how fortunate we are to be able to raise objections like these in the first place. In short, it's important that we have some perspective.
So, the next time you want to complain about your boss, your classes, or about the ice cream sandwich that you absolutely must have, think about the child who goes to sleep on an empty stomach, about the woman who must defecate on the sidewalk. Your life could be much worse, the object of your complaint much more dire. The degree to which we complain suggests that life is terrible, and in many ways, it is. But it's more terrible for others than it is for us.
In the ad, a mother, who is white, is driving two little girls to school--one is her daughter, the other has a darker complexion and is "new to the country." Once the children arrive at school, the white girl talks--or more accurately, complains--to her darker-complected companion about school: She whines that school is such a burden, that it is criminal that they are required to attend. All the while, the other girl is oblivious to the complaints, as she stands in awe of the schoolhouse, the other children, and the wonderful opportunity before her. After the white girl concludes her tirade about how much school sucks, she asks the foreign girl how many schools she has in her village, to which she responds, "None." It's pretty powerful.
Here's the ad:
Now, the ad deals with the universal right to education, which--not surprisingly--I support. But what struck me about the ad dealt not with education but rather with the complete lack of perspective demonstrated by the little white girl. Her offensive lack of perspective reminded me of a sentiment I encounter all-too-frequently from others.
How much of our lives is spent complaining? How many things that we complain about are things that, in reality, we should be grateful for? All-too-many of us have an overwhelming sense of entitlement, an overwhelming lack of perspective. We fail to realize just how lucky we are to have the luxury to complain in the first place: We complain about difficulties at work, when many around the world can't find food, let alone a job; we complain about traffic on the way home, when many around the world have no car, let alone a home to drive to; and as this commercial demonstrates, we complain about school, when many are denied the opportunity to learn, let alone the luxury to complain about it.
When I was younger, I spent a few weeks in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, a tourist destination for many, but a learning experience for me. When I arrived, I was appalled by the vast disparity between rich and poor: Villas on the hills, cardboard shacks in the valleys. On one particularly memorable morning, as I exited my hotel, I witnessed a homeless woman on the sidewalk squat over a sheet of newspaper, to defecate. The image haunts me to this day--not because I witnessed a woman shamelessly defecating, but rather because she was forced to do so in the first place. The experience was jarring, and it made me that much more grateful for things I had, up to that point, taken for granted.
My trip challenged me: How much of our lives is simply fortune? I could just as easily have been born into poverty in Rio de Janeiro. I could have been born into a penniless family with no prospect for a nightly dinner, let alone a first-rate education. I had no control over where or to whom I was born, and neither does anyone else. And yet, we so frequently hear discussion of personal responsibility for one's failings.
How much of our failing is the result of our own actions? Conversely, how much of our success depends on the actions and status of others? It was this line of questioning, I think, that led me to take an interest in sociology. Everything I had thought about responsibility, about accountability, about blame was in error: How can I condemn a woman for defecating on a sheet of newspaper? Who am I to judge?
This is not to say that we in the privileged class--and anyone with the luxury to read mindless blog entries like this one are most assuredly privileged--have no right to complain about anything. To be sure, there is much to deplore: wealth disparities, health disparities, civil rights violations, and so forth. But it's important that we take the time to reflect on just how fortunate we are to be able to raise objections like these in the first place. In short, it's important that we have some perspective.
So, the next time you want to complain about your boss, your classes, or about the ice cream sandwich that you absolutely must have, think about the child who goes to sleep on an empty stomach, about the woman who must defecate on the sidewalk. Your life could be much worse, the object of your complaint much more dire. The degree to which we complain suggests that life is terrible, and in many ways, it is. But it's more terrible for others than it is for us.
August 5, 2009
On Guilty Pleasures
No, I'm not talking about masturbation.
My guilty pleasure deals with one of those musical offerings that we like but are ashamed to admit it. For the most part, our guilty pleasures exist only in secrecy, for fear that our friends would mock or abandon us were they to find out. Guilty pleasures need not be kept secret, however, and the purpose of this post is to clear the air, as it were, with regard to one song that I can't help liking, no matter how much my pride or aesthetic taste try to persuade me otherwise.
My failing upsets me greatly. The song is perhaps the most vacuous ever to be released, with scarcely any redeeming factor, save its "beat," and I've always hated when people say they like a song for its "beat," phat or otherwise. The song is the Black Eyed Peas' recent single "Boom Boom Pow." Just how atrocious and nauseating a song is it? Here are the lyrics:
Can someone translate this gibberish? Chickens jacking style? Stepping on leprechauns? Shitting on me? Perhaps I'm so 2000-and-late, but I can't make heads or tails of any of this nonsense. Lyrics aside, the vocals are overproduced and pushed through a vocoder, making the song resemble, if ever so slightly, Cher's insufferable "Believe."
But what bothers me most is that, despite my recognition that this has to be the one of the most asinine songs I've ever heard, I can't resist it. In fact, I can't wait for for will.i.am to drop the beat.
Kill me...now.
My guilty pleasure deals with one of those musical offerings that we like but are ashamed to admit it. For the most part, our guilty pleasures exist only in secrecy, for fear that our friends would mock or abandon us were they to find out. Guilty pleasures need not be kept secret, however, and the purpose of this post is to clear the air, as it were, with regard to one song that I can't help liking, no matter how much my pride or aesthetic taste try to persuade me otherwise.
My failing upsets me greatly. The song is perhaps the most vacuous ever to be released, with scarcely any redeeming factor, save its "beat," and I've always hated when people say they like a song for its "beat," phat or otherwise. The song is the Black Eyed Peas' recent single "Boom Boom Pow." Just how atrocious and nauseating a song is it? Here are the lyrics:
Don't believe me? Listen for yourself:
Gotta get that
Boom boom boom
Yo
I got the hit that beat the block
You can get that bass on the low
I got the that rock and roll
That future flow
That digital spit
Next level visual shit
I got that (Boom boom boom)
How the beat bang (Boom boom boom)
I like that boom boom pow
Them chickens jackin' my style
They try copy my swagger
I'm on that next shit now
I'm so 3000-and-eight
You so 2000-and-late
I got that boom boom boom
That future boom boom boom
Let me get it now
Boom boom boom (gotta get that)
I'm on the supersonic boom
Y'all hear the space shit zoom
When, when I step inside the room, them girls go apeshit
Y'all stuck on Super 8 shit
That low-fi stupid 8-bit
I'm on that HD flat
This beat go boom boom bap
I'm a beast when you turn me on
Into the future cybertron
Harder, faster, better, stronger
Takes the ladies extra longer, cuz
We got the beat that bounce
We got the beat that pound
We got the beat that 808
That the boom boom in your town
People in the place
If you wanna get down
Put your hands in the air
Will.i.am drop the beat now
Yep yep
I be rockin' the beats (Yep, yep)
I be rockin' the beats (Yep yep yep, yep)
Here we go, here we go
Satellite radio
Y'all getting hit with (Boom boom)
Beats so big I'm steppin on leprechauns
Shittin' on y'all you with the (Boom boom)
Shittin' on y'all you with the (Boom boom)
Shittin' on y'all you with the...
This beat be bumpin' bumpin'
This beat go boom boom
Let the beat rock
This beat be bumpin' bumpin'
This beat go boom boom
Can someone translate this gibberish? Chickens jacking style? Stepping on leprechauns? Shitting on me? Perhaps I'm so 2000-and-late, but I can't make heads or tails of any of this nonsense. Lyrics aside, the vocals are overproduced and pushed through a vocoder, making the song resemble, if ever so slightly, Cher's insufferable "Believe."
But what bothers me most is that, despite my recognition that this has to be the one of the most asinine songs I've ever heard, I can't resist it. In fact, I can't wait for for will.i.am to drop the beat.
Kill me...now.
July 30, 2009
1999: The Worst Year Ever (for Music)
Tonight, my roommates and I were playing Phase 10--a terrific game, by the way--while watching the 90's channel, which plays and shares facts about songs that were popular during the decade. For the most part, the music brought back fond memories. We were all enjoying ourselves, singing along with most of the songs, having a grand old time. That is, until what was perhaps the worst single ever to receive a significant amount of airplay came on.
One of my roommates immediately recognized the opening notes and breathed a sigh of disgust. After a few seconds of the song, the rest of us understood her agony: The song was LFO's god-awful "Summer Girls." For those of you lucky enough to be unaware, "Summer Girls" consists of a series of couplets devoted to the "fine" girl who wears Abercrombie and Fitch. This is the kind of product placement that would make the Black Eyed Peas blush. Just how bad are the lyrics? Here's one couplet from the first verse: "You were the best girl that I ever did see. The great Larry Bird jersey, 33." I kid you not.
For the masochist in you:
Aghast, we listened to every verse, incredulous that such tripe was ever recorded, let alone played repeatedly on radio stations across the country. It was at this point that I realized something: 1999 was the worst year in history for popular music.
At first, it was only gut reaction. I thought to myself, "Any year that permitted something this terrible must have had nothing else going for it." But the scientist in me wanted definitive proof, so I spent a few minutes searching the internet to support my hypothesis. Sure enough, a little research proved me right. Consider the following:
1. LFO's "Summer Girls" reached #3 on the pop charts.
2. The number one song of the year, according to Billboard's Hot 100, was Cher's "Believe," a song that, whenever listened to directly, causes ears to bleed. South Park once did a nice--and deadly accurate--parody of the song:
3. Read points 1 and 2 again.
4. Two more top singles of the year:"Mambo No. 5" by Lou Bega and "Higher" by Creed, which marked the point at which Scott Stapp's messianic complex became painfully apparent.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "Wow, Ian, you sure know how to make a strong argument. But have you forgotten the song that most agree is the worst ever to be released, "Butterfly" by Crazy Town?" A fair objection, and one that I myself raised. "Butterfly" did not top the charts until 2001, but the song was released on the band's debut album...in 1999!
Case closed.
One of my roommates immediately recognized the opening notes and breathed a sigh of disgust. After a few seconds of the song, the rest of us understood her agony: The song was LFO's god-awful "Summer Girls." For those of you lucky enough to be unaware, "Summer Girls" consists of a series of couplets devoted to the "fine" girl who wears Abercrombie and Fitch. This is the kind of product placement that would make the Black Eyed Peas blush. Just how bad are the lyrics? Here's one couplet from the first verse: "You were the best girl that I ever did see. The great Larry Bird jersey, 33." I kid you not.
For the masochist in you:
Aghast, we listened to every verse, incredulous that such tripe was ever recorded, let alone played repeatedly on radio stations across the country. It was at this point that I realized something: 1999 was the worst year in history for popular music.
At first, it was only gut reaction. I thought to myself, "Any year that permitted something this terrible must have had nothing else going for it." But the scientist in me wanted definitive proof, so I spent a few minutes searching the internet to support my hypothesis. Sure enough, a little research proved me right. Consider the following:
1. LFO's "Summer Girls" reached #3 on the pop charts.
2. The number one song of the year, according to Billboard's Hot 100, was Cher's "Believe," a song that, whenever listened to directly, causes ears to bleed. South Park once did a nice--and deadly accurate--parody of the song:
3. Read points 1 and 2 again.
4. Two more top singles of the year:"Mambo No. 5" by Lou Bega and "Higher" by Creed, which marked the point at which Scott Stapp's messianic complex became painfully apparent.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "Wow, Ian, you sure know how to make a strong argument. But have you forgotten the song that most agree is the worst ever to be released, "Butterfly" by Crazy Town?" A fair objection, and one that I myself raised. "Butterfly" did not top the charts until 2001, but the song was released on the band's debut album...in 1999!
Case closed.
July 20, 2009
Religious Literacy Quiz
I just finished reading Stephen Prothero's Religious Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know--and Doesn't. Prothero demonstrates that Americans, while deeply religious, know precious little about what they deem sacred. The reasons are complex, with both the religiously devout and secularists to blame, though the blame falls more squarely on the former. Prothero argues that our profound ignorance of all things religious is deeply troubling and that the solution to our national disgrace is to introduce religious instruction in public schools, a recommendation I wholeheartedly support. Contrary to what many zealous Americans--believers and nonbelievers alike--think, religious instruction is not unconstitutional. The book is a quick and persuasive read.
Early in the book, Prothero confronts the reader with a Religious Literacy Quiz, a quiz that he administers to the students in his introductory course in religion at Boston University. I took the quiz, and while I did better than most of his students and the American public, my score was disappointing. Troubled, I decided that others should test their knowledge of religion. I invite you to take a minute or two to record your answers to the following 15 questions:
1. Name the four Gospels. (1 point each)
2. Name a sacred text of Hinduism. (1 point)
3. What is the name of the holy book of Islam? (1 point)
4. Where according to the Bible, was Jesus born? (1 point)
5. President George W. Bush spoke in his first inaugural address of the Jericho road. What Bible story was he invoking? (1 point)
6. What are the first five books of the Hebrew Bible or the Christian Old Testament? (1 point each)
7. What is the Golden Rule? (1 point)
8. "God helps those who help themselves": Is this in the Bible? If so, where? (2 points)
9. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God": Does this appear in the Bible? If so, where? (2 points)
10. Name the Ten Commandments. (10 points)
11. Name the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. (4 points)
12. What are the seven sacraments of Catholicism? (7 points)
13. The First Amendment says two things about religion, each in its own "clause." What are the two religion clauses of the First Amendment? (1 point each)
14. What is Ramadan? In what religion is it celebrated? (2 points)
15. Match the Bible characters with the stories in which they appear. Hint: Some characters may be matched with more than one story or vice versa. (7 points)
Characters:
A. Adam and Eve
B. Paul
C. Moses
D. Noah
E. Jesus
F. Abraham
G. Serpent
Stories:
1. Exodus
2. Binding of Isaac
3. Olive Branch
4. Garden of Eden
5. Parting of the Red Sea
6. Road to Damascus
7. Garden of Gethsemane
Total possible points: 50
The correct answers (as well as my score) can be found in the comments section of this post.
Early in the book, Prothero confronts the reader with a Religious Literacy Quiz, a quiz that he administers to the students in his introductory course in religion at Boston University. I took the quiz, and while I did better than most of his students and the American public, my score was disappointing. Troubled, I decided that others should test their knowledge of religion. I invite you to take a minute or two to record your answers to the following 15 questions:
1. Name the four Gospels. (1 point each)
2. Name a sacred text of Hinduism. (1 point)
3. What is the name of the holy book of Islam? (1 point)
4. Where according to the Bible, was Jesus born? (1 point)
5. President George W. Bush spoke in his first inaugural address of the Jericho road. What Bible story was he invoking? (1 point)
6. What are the first five books of the Hebrew Bible or the Christian Old Testament? (1 point each)
7. What is the Golden Rule? (1 point)
8. "God helps those who help themselves": Is this in the Bible? If so, where? (2 points)
9. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God": Does this appear in the Bible? If so, where? (2 points)
10. Name the Ten Commandments. (10 points)
11. Name the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. (4 points)
12. What are the seven sacraments of Catholicism? (7 points)
13. The First Amendment says two things about religion, each in its own "clause." What are the two religion clauses of the First Amendment? (1 point each)
14. What is Ramadan? In what religion is it celebrated? (2 points)
15. Match the Bible characters with the stories in which they appear. Hint: Some characters may be matched with more than one story or vice versa. (7 points)
Characters:
A. Adam and Eve
B. Paul
C. Moses
D. Noah
E. Jesus
F. Abraham
G. Serpent
Stories:
1. Exodus
2. Binding of Isaac
3. Olive Branch
4. Garden of Eden
5. Parting of the Red Sea
6. Road to Damascus
7. Garden of Gethsemane
Total possible points: 50
The correct answers (as well as my score) can be found in the comments section of this post.
If I put on underwear, can we go out?
I have returned from my hiatus. You can breathe again. I am deeply sorry to have taken such a long time between posts, but I've had so much on my plate. I know you forgive me.
What has inspired me to return to the world of blogging? Well, I just returned from a brief encounter with a gray squirrel whom I spied devouring a piece of bread my roommate had left in the yard. As I watched, I could not help thinking two things. First, 'ZOMG! squirrels are SO cute!' I must confess, though, that the cuteness factor was diminished when I saw the gluttonous squirrel regurgitate his feast on more than one occasion. Beady eyes and fluffy tails can only do so much.
But the second thing that occurred to me is that this squirrel was being exceedingly selfish. "Surely," I thought, "this squirrel must have a little squirrel family somewhere with whom he can share his feast." How many of his brethren would go hungry while he stuffed his face? But no, the squirrel continued gorging himself on the bread, spasmodic regurgitation be damned. It was then that I realized that truly charitable and generous behavior requires a sense of "I" and "other" that the squirrel does not have. Indeed, no other member of the animal kingdom has a self-awareness on par with that of humankind, a self-awareness that enables moral behavior--and immoral behavior, for that matter--to occur.
Sharing behavior in the animal kingdom--a bird regurgitating food into its young's mouth, for example--is sharing only to a point. In reality, it is merely instinctual behavior--we impute the motive of kindness. Generosity suggests much more than mere sharing--it is the fulfillment of a moral injunction to share. Absent a sense of "I" and "other," it is not possible to reflect on what rightly belongs to "me" or what ought to be shared with another. It is, therefore, impossible truly to be generous.
To close, I was wrong to think the squirrel a selfish, immoral reprobate. He could be nothing else.
What has inspired me to return to the world of blogging? Well, I just returned from a brief encounter with a gray squirrel whom I spied devouring a piece of bread my roommate had left in the yard. As I watched, I could not help thinking two things. First, 'ZOMG! squirrels are SO cute!' I must confess, though, that the cuteness factor was diminished when I saw the gluttonous squirrel regurgitate his feast on more than one occasion. Beady eyes and fluffy tails can only do so much.
But the second thing that occurred to me is that this squirrel was being exceedingly selfish. "Surely," I thought, "this squirrel must have a little squirrel family somewhere with whom he can share his feast." How many of his brethren would go hungry while he stuffed his face? But no, the squirrel continued gorging himself on the bread, spasmodic regurgitation be damned. It was then that I realized that truly charitable and generous behavior requires a sense of "I" and "other" that the squirrel does not have. Indeed, no other member of the animal kingdom has a self-awareness on par with that of humankind, a self-awareness that enables moral behavior--and immoral behavior, for that matter--to occur.
Sharing behavior in the animal kingdom--a bird regurgitating food into its young's mouth, for example--is sharing only to a point. In reality, it is merely instinctual behavior--we impute the motive of kindness. Generosity suggests much more than mere sharing--it is the fulfillment of a moral injunction to share. Absent a sense of "I" and "other," it is not possible to reflect on what rightly belongs to "me" or what ought to be shared with another. It is, therefore, impossible truly to be generous.
To close, I was wrong to think the squirrel a selfish, immoral reprobate. He could be nothing else.
July 3, 2009
Happy Birthday, America!
In other terrific news, Sarah Palin's political career is finished. If you missed her circuitous, hurried announcement, it's worth a watch. Here you go:
Wild Night
Tonight marked the second night of my brief respite in Atlanta, and I believe it was also one of the strangest nights of my life.
I'm not sure how it happened, really. The plan was merely to have drinks at the local pub, but things quickly devolved. The night began with a shared drink outside; my friends and I talked about our personal lives, Lou Dobbs--don't ask--and E-Harmony.com--again, don't ask. Unfortunately, while the conversation was good, the seating arrangement left much to be desired, as we were sitting on benches that lacked proper back support. I suggested that we move to a newly abandoned table so that we could have more comfortable seating, and in so doing, I sealed my fate.
As we sat at the table, we were briefly accosted by a couple of (older) women at the neighboring table who insisted that we not block the fan that was positioned near our table. We took pains to position ourselves in such a way as to allow for proper airflow, and our neighbors appreciated our kindness. So much so, in fact, that they proceeded to ask for our names and whatever relevant background information we could offer. My friends and I, unsuspecting of any ulterior motive, were pleased to oblige, and for a moment, it appeared that the women would go on with their conversation and leave us to ours. We were mistaken, sorely.
As it turns out, the women were far more interested in our conversation than in whatever conversation they were having before we arrived. They were clearly quite a bit older than we--I would estimate their age to be around 40, give or take 5 years--and they were eager to tell us about their lives. Early on, we learned that both were single, having both divorced their husbands in the past few years. One worked for the telephone company, the other for a senior citizens' community center. My friends and I shared a bit about our lives, and as the conversation progressed, it became clear that one of the two women--the larger and seemingly, at least based on appearance, older one--had more than conversation in mind, and I was her target.
The signs were clear enough: twirling of hair, exclusive focus, and flirtatious comments. She told me that I was "so funny," "so cute," and "so full of shit." Little did she know that only the last is true. I did my best to parry and fend off her amorous compliments, all to no avail. A couple of my friends, sensing the ensuing hilarity, quickly readied their iPhones to record the action as it unfolded. Slowly but surely, the woman edged closer--first, she began playing with my hair, then she moved to a gentle caress of my shoulder, proceeding to my leg and chest. I continued to attempt to engage with the group, deflecting whatever compliments and flirtation came my way, but it was futile--the die had been cast.
"You can do whatever you want to me," she said, and sensing her sincerity, I cringed. "I'm going to kiss you," she declared, and I told her that first dates always have me nervous and that it would be best to wait until our second date to proceed to any serious physical contact--futile once again. I told her that I was probably too young for her, that she didn't mean the things she was saying, that she was clearly some sort of flatterer--all for naught.
After countless--and feeble--attempts to defuse the situation, she eventually arose from the comfort of her chair, straddled me, and kissed me. The flavor was unlike any other I'd encountered before: It tasted of Parliaments and Corona, two flavors I'm not particularly fond of, made that much worse in combination. Repulsed, I told her that she had gotten her one kiss and would need to wait for anything more. She then excused herself from the table and ran out the back door of the bar. Several people got up from the table to go find her, but they came up empty-handed. The tranquility was short-lived, however, as she returned about 20 minutes later. (As it turns out, she had retreated to a nearby alley--to urinate. Yes, I attract the classiest of ladies.)
Of course, the night did not end there, and several more pictures and videos were taken to document my misery. Suffice it to say that I need to find new friends.
I'm not sure how it happened, really. The plan was merely to have drinks at the local pub, but things quickly devolved. The night began with a shared drink outside; my friends and I talked about our personal lives, Lou Dobbs--don't ask--and E-Harmony.com--again, don't ask. Unfortunately, while the conversation was good, the seating arrangement left much to be desired, as we were sitting on benches that lacked proper back support. I suggested that we move to a newly abandoned table so that we could have more comfortable seating, and in so doing, I sealed my fate.
As we sat at the table, we were briefly accosted by a couple of (older) women at the neighboring table who insisted that we not block the fan that was positioned near our table. We took pains to position ourselves in such a way as to allow for proper airflow, and our neighbors appreciated our kindness. So much so, in fact, that they proceeded to ask for our names and whatever relevant background information we could offer. My friends and I, unsuspecting of any ulterior motive, were pleased to oblige, and for a moment, it appeared that the women would go on with their conversation and leave us to ours. We were mistaken, sorely.
As it turns out, the women were far more interested in our conversation than in whatever conversation they were having before we arrived. They were clearly quite a bit older than we--I would estimate their age to be around 40, give or take 5 years--and they were eager to tell us about their lives. Early on, we learned that both were single, having both divorced their husbands in the past few years. One worked for the telephone company, the other for a senior citizens' community center. My friends and I shared a bit about our lives, and as the conversation progressed, it became clear that one of the two women--the larger and seemingly, at least based on appearance, older one--had more than conversation in mind, and I was her target.
The signs were clear enough: twirling of hair, exclusive focus, and flirtatious comments. She told me that I was "so funny," "so cute," and "so full of shit." Little did she know that only the last is true. I did my best to parry and fend off her amorous compliments, all to no avail. A couple of my friends, sensing the ensuing hilarity, quickly readied their iPhones to record the action as it unfolded. Slowly but surely, the woman edged closer--first, she began playing with my hair, then she moved to a gentle caress of my shoulder, proceeding to my leg and chest. I continued to attempt to engage with the group, deflecting whatever compliments and flirtation came my way, but it was futile--the die had been cast.
"You can do whatever you want to me," she said, and sensing her sincerity, I cringed. "I'm going to kiss you," she declared, and I told her that first dates always have me nervous and that it would be best to wait until our second date to proceed to any serious physical contact--futile once again. I told her that I was probably too young for her, that she didn't mean the things she was saying, that she was clearly some sort of flatterer--all for naught.
After countless--and feeble--attempts to defuse the situation, she eventually arose from the comfort of her chair, straddled me, and kissed me. The flavor was unlike any other I'd encountered before: It tasted of Parliaments and Corona, two flavors I'm not particularly fond of, made that much worse in combination. Repulsed, I told her that she had gotten her one kiss and would need to wait for anything more. She then excused herself from the table and ran out the back door of the bar. Several people got up from the table to go find her, but they came up empty-handed. The tranquility was short-lived, however, as she returned about 20 minutes later. (As it turns out, she had retreated to a nearby alley--to urinate. Yes, I attract the classiest of ladies.)
Of course, the night did not end there, and several more pictures and videos were taken to document my misery. Suffice it to say that I need to find new friends.
July 1, 2009
On the dangers of insularity
Living in North Carolina for the past five years and hanging out primarily with liberal graduate students, I sometimes forget what life is like outside the confines of the liberal academy. I received a not-so-subtle reminder this evening, when I to my hometown of Atlanta. My friends and I went to play tennis, and after a rousing and invigorating game, we headed to Waffle House for a late-night meal. Exhausting all of the "What have you been up to?" updates and "That's what she said!" banter, the discussion shifted to matters political.
We started by laughing about the recent Mark Sanford scandal, a discussion that segued nicely into a discussion of the sitting governor of Georgia, Sonny Perdue. I commented that it amazed me that the man has been in office for so many years, especially considering that one of the primary reasons for his initial election was the he promised to change the Georgia flag back to the good ol' Stars and Bars. I expressed incredulity that anyone could truly base their vote on such a frivolous issue, recalling the litany of signs, adorned with Confederate flags, instructing everyone at the time to "Boot [then-governor] Barnes." One of my friends countered by saying that people were equally frivolous in their support of Barack Obama in the 2008 presidential election. Sensing what he was suggesting but hoping I was wrong, I asked for some clarification. Sure enough, my friend insisted that people supported Obama merely because he is black.
I gently rebuked my friend but insisted that I would not get into such a conversation with him--it was late, and I did not wish to jeapordize our reunion by lecturing my friend about racism. I nevertheless told him that they were countless reasons other than race to support Obama in the previous election, and as an Obama supporter myself, I assured him that my support had precious little to do with the color of Obama's skin. The conversation quickly shifted to another subject, but I couldn't help noticing that my friend appeared to be peeved by our brief exchange.
It's strange, because I was born and raised in Georgia, and by now, I should be used to these and similar sentiments. But I am nonetheless surprised every time I hear just how unabashed my friends can be about their prejudices. They speak without hesitation, as though everyone at the table agrees. It makes me wonder whether there was a time when I harbored similar views or whether I simply lacked the conviction to call out my friends when they made such comments. If I were to have met these people today, would we become friends?
I suspect not, but I'm glad to have retained these friends through the years, despite our diverging opinions, and not merely because I continue to enjoy their company. Had I not been at the table this evening, I don't know that anyone would have corrected my friend, either because they agree with him or because they're accustomed to hearing such things. I know many of my fellow liberal graduate students have probably purged any racists or conservatives from the ranks of their friends, or perhaps they never had such friends to begin with, but my encounter tonight reminded me of the importance of disagreement and the dangers of insularity. Sometimes we get so caught up in our own opinions and prejudices, which we often share with those around us, that we forget that alternative and defensible viewpoints exist.
Lest I be accused of being one-sided here, let me point out that this insularity occurs at both ends of the spectrum--liberal graduate students, for example, can be every bit as closed-minded and insular as conservatives. I, for one, appreciate the perspective I gain from hanging out with people outside of the academy, who remind me that not everyone loves Obama, universal health care, or environmentalism. I may not agree with them, but it's important to realize that other viewpoints exist. And it's absolutely essential that narrow-minded insular thinking, whether liberal or conservative, be confronted by someone of close affective connection, like a friend.
We started by laughing about the recent Mark Sanford scandal, a discussion that segued nicely into a discussion of the sitting governor of Georgia, Sonny Perdue. I commented that it amazed me that the man has been in office for so many years, especially considering that one of the primary reasons for his initial election was the he promised to change the Georgia flag back to the good ol' Stars and Bars. I expressed incredulity that anyone could truly base their vote on such a frivolous issue, recalling the litany of signs, adorned with Confederate flags, instructing everyone at the time to "Boot [then-governor] Barnes." One of my friends countered by saying that people were equally frivolous in their support of Barack Obama in the 2008 presidential election. Sensing what he was suggesting but hoping I was wrong, I asked for some clarification. Sure enough, my friend insisted that people supported Obama merely because he is black.
I gently rebuked my friend but insisted that I would not get into such a conversation with him--it was late, and I did not wish to jeapordize our reunion by lecturing my friend about racism. I nevertheless told him that they were countless reasons other than race to support Obama in the previous election, and as an Obama supporter myself, I assured him that my support had precious little to do with the color of Obama's skin. The conversation quickly shifted to another subject, but I couldn't help noticing that my friend appeared to be peeved by our brief exchange.
It's strange, because I was born and raised in Georgia, and by now, I should be used to these and similar sentiments. But I am nonetheless surprised every time I hear just how unabashed my friends can be about their prejudices. They speak without hesitation, as though everyone at the table agrees. It makes me wonder whether there was a time when I harbored similar views or whether I simply lacked the conviction to call out my friends when they made such comments. If I were to have met these people today, would we become friends?
I suspect not, but I'm glad to have retained these friends through the years, despite our diverging opinions, and not merely because I continue to enjoy their company. Had I not been at the table this evening, I don't know that anyone would have corrected my friend, either because they agree with him or because they're accustomed to hearing such things. I know many of my fellow liberal graduate students have probably purged any racists or conservatives from the ranks of their friends, or perhaps they never had such friends to begin with, but my encounter tonight reminded me of the importance of disagreement and the dangers of insularity. Sometimes we get so caught up in our own opinions and prejudices, which we often share with those around us, that we forget that alternative and defensible viewpoints exist.
Lest I be accused of being one-sided here, let me point out that this insularity occurs at both ends of the spectrum--liberal graduate students, for example, can be every bit as closed-minded and insular as conservatives. I, for one, appreciate the perspective I gain from hanging out with people outside of the academy, who remind me that not everyone loves Obama, universal health care, or environmentalism. I may not agree with them, but it's important to realize that other viewpoints exist. And it's absolutely essential that narrow-minded insular thinking, whether liberal or conservative, be confronted by someone of close affective connection, like a friend.
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