"..." 41

“A life without once reading Hamlet is like a life spent in a coal mine.”

-Hector Berlioz

The Swartz Imperative

“You literally ought to be asking yourself all the time what is the most important thing in the world [you] could be working on right now, and if you are not working on that why aren’t you?”

– Taren Stinebrickner-Kauffman, describing the views
of Aaron Swartz in The Internet's Own Boy (2014)

This I Believe: There is so much bullsh**.

I wrote this "This I Believe" essay as a sample for my students a few years ago. Here it is decensored:

I believe that our society’s attention to detail is wrongheaded.

By this, I mean many things. I mean that we are more concerned about the perception of progress than the reality of progress. I mean that we are more alarmed by sexuality than by violence, depravity, and suffering. I mean that, as George Carlin once said, we are more offended by four letter words than by the intentions behind them. I mean that we are more fixated on rationing sodium and ketchup packets in the school cafeteria than developing the habits that underlie healthy eating. I mean that we are more focused on raising test scores than with eliminating poverty. I mean that we are more adamant about adequately funding prisons than adequately funding schools. I mean that we are more occupied with carefully selected statistics than with genuine, abundant signs of improvement or atrophy. I mean that we are more interested in SparkNotes summaries than with the raw, experiential meaning. I mean that we are more alarmed about microscopic nudity in Where’s Waldo than with naked bigotry in popular culture. I mean that we are more concerned, that is, with perception than we are with substance.

There is an inappropriate word that we use to describe this trend. A philosopher by the name of Harry G. Frankfurt writes about it in his insightful, book-long essay, “On Bullshit.” He writes:

One of the most salient features of our culture is there is so much bullsh**. Everyone knows this. Each of us contributes his share. [… but it] is more polite, as well as less intense, to say “Humbug!” than to say “bullsh**!”

However, Dr. Frankfurt’s conclusions and mine differ. He concludes that “[o]ur natures are, indeed, elusively insubstantial—notoriously less stable and less inherent than the natures of other things. And insofar as this is the case,” he says, “sincerity itself is bullsh**.”

This statement of his is complete humbug—err, bullsh**. In my mind, another philosopher by the name of David Hume resolved this dispute ages ago. Hume’s law tells us that what is does not dictate what ought to be. We might ask, if our politics are dysfunctional, if our society is dysfunctional, if our schools are dysfunctional—is that due their nature? Due to our nature? Are we ourselves dysfunctional?

Bullsh**.

I believe we should always strive to make things better, and not merely acquiesce to their "nature." I believe that words matter, but so does substance. And I sincerely and substantively believe in substance.

A poem, slightly revised

we that have yet to end,

the great, great, great,
great, great, great,
great, great
grandchildren

of soil and
shards of bone,

again looking with wonder

at a canvas
bright with dying stars

on a cold evening

My new favorite joke

A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks the horse if it's an alcoholic considering all the bars he frequents, to which the horse replies "I don't think I am." POOF! The horse disappears.

This is the point in time when all the philosophy students in the audience begin to giggle, as they are familiar with the philosophical proposition of Cogito ergo sum, or I think, therefore, I am.

But to explain the concept aforehand would be putting Descartes before the horse.

1. The driest, most esoteric joke I know. (r/Jokes)

"Reaganomics Finally Trickles Down to Area Man"

HAZELWOOD, MO—Twenty-six years after Ronald Reagan first set his controversial fiscal policies into motion, the deceased president's massive tax cuts for the ultrarich at last trickled all the way down to deliver their bounty, in the form of a $10 bonus, to Hazelwood, MO car-wash attendant Frank Kellener. The late President Ronald Reagan clearly had people like present-day car wash attendant Frank Kellener in mind when articulating his "trickle-down" economic theory in the early 1980s.

"Back when Reagan was in charge, I didn't think much of him," Kellener, 57, said, holding up two five-dollar bills nearly three decades in the making. "But who would have thought that in 2007 I'd have this extra $10 in my pocket? He may not have lived to see it, but I'm sure President Reagan is up in heaven smiling down on me right now."

Leading economists say Kellener's unexpected windfall provides the first irrefutable proof of the effectiveness of Reagan's so-called supply-side economics, and shows that the former president had "incredible, far-reaching foresight."

"When the tax burden on the upper income brackets is lifted, the rich and not-rich alike all benefit," said Arthur Laffer, who was a former member of Reagan's Economic Policy Advisory Board. "Eventually."

...

The $10 began its long journey into Kellener's wallet in 1983, when a beefed-up national defense budget of $210 billion enabled the military to purchase advanced warhead-delivery systems from aerospace manufacturer Lockheed. Buoyed by a multimillion-dollar bonus, then-CEO Martin Lawler bought a house on a 5,000-acre plot in Montana. When a forest fire destroyed his home in 1986, Lawler took the federal relief check and invested it in a savings and loan run by a Virginia man named Michael Webber. After Webber's firm collapsed in 1989, and he was indicted on fraud and conspiracy charges, he retained the services of high- powered law firm Rabin & Levy for his defense. After six years and $7 million in legal fees, Webber received only a $250,000 fine, and the defense team went out to celebrate at a Washington, D.C.-area restaurant called Di Forenza. During dinner, lawyer Peter Smith overheard several investment bankers at an adjoining table discussing a hot Internet start-up that was about to go public. Smith took a portion of his earnings from the Webber case and bought several hundred shares in Gadgets.com, quadrupling his investment before selling them four months later. Gadgets.com's two founders used the sudden influx of investment capital to outfit their office with modern Danish furniture, in a sale brokered by the New York gallery Modern Now! in 1998. After the ensuing dot-com bust, Modern Now! was forced out of business, and Sotheby's auction house was put in charge of liquidating its inventory. The commission from that auction enabled auctioneer Mary Schafer to retire to the Ozark region of Missouri in 2006. Last month, while passing through Hazelwood, she took her Audi to Marlin Car Wash, where Kellener was one of the employees who tended to her car. She was so satisfied with the job that she left a $50 tip, which the manager divided among the people working that day.

1. Reaganomics Finally Trickles Down To Area Man - The Onion

"..." 40

I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us. That is my belief.

—Franz Kafka, 1904

"The most unintentionally profound thing you've ever heard"

1. Reddit, what is the most unintentionally profound thing you've heard? : AskReddit

The Agony of Frank Luntz

It was what Luntz heard from the American people that scared him. They were contentious and argumentative. They didn't listen to each other as they once had. They weren't interested in hearing other points of view. They were divided one against the other, black vs. white, men vs. women, young vs. old, rich vs. poor. "They want to impose their opinions rather than express them," is the way he describes what he saw. "And they're picking up their leads from here in Washington." Haven't political disagreements always been contentious, I ask? "Not like this," he says. "Not like this."

1. The Agony of Frank Luntz: What does it mean when America's top political wordsmith loses faith in our ability to be persuaded?

Bill Moyers: “We are this close to losing our democracy”

Writing in the Guardian recently, the social critic George Monbiot commented,

...

So I don’t blame people for giving up on politics… When a state-corporate nexus of power has bypassed democracy and made a mockery of the voting process, when an unreformed political system ensures that parties can be bought and sold, when politicians [of the main parties] stand and watch as public services are divvied up by a grubby cabal of privateers, what is left of this system that inspires us to participate?

Why are record numbers of Americans on food stamps? Because record numbers of Americans are in poverty. Why are people falling through the cracks? Because there are cracks to fall through. It is simply astonishing that in this rich nation more than 21 million Americans are still in need of full-time work, many of them running out of jobless benefits, while our financial class pockets record profits, spends lavishly on campaigns to secure a political order that serves its own interests, and demands that our political class push for further austerity. Meanwhile, roughly 46 million Americans live at or below the poverty line and, with the exception of Romania, no developed country has a higher percent of kids in poverty than we do. Yet a study by scholars at Northwestern University and Vanderbilt finds little support among the wealthiest Americans for policy reforms to reduce income inequality.

...

When Justice Brennan and I talked privately in his chambers before that interview almost 20 years ago, I asked him how he had come to his liberal sentiments. “It was my neighborhood,” he said. Born to Irish immigrants in 1906, as the harsh indignities of the Gilded Age brought hardship and deprivation to his kinfolk and neighbors, he saw “all kinds of suffering — people had to struggle.” He never forgot those people or their struggles, and he believed it to be our collective responsibility to create a country where they would have a fair chance to a decent life. “If you doubt it,” he said, “read the Preamble [to the Constitution].”

He then asked me how I had come to my philosophy about government (knowing that I had been in both the Kennedy and Johnson administrations). I don’t remember my exact words, but I reminded him that I had been born in the midst of the Great Depression to parents, one of whom had to drop out of school in the fourth grade, the other in the eighth, because they were needed in the fields to pick cotton to help support their families.

Franklin Roosevelt, I recalled, had been president during the first 11 years of my life. My father had listened to his radio “fireside chats” as if they were gospel; my brother went to college on the G.I. Bill; and I had been the beneficiary of public schools, public libraries, public parks, public roads, and two public universities. How could I not think that what had been so good for me would be good for others, too?

That was the essence of what I told Justice Brennan. Now, I wish that I could talk to him again, because I failed to mention perhaps the most important lesson about democracy I ever learned.

On my 16th birthday in 1950, I went to work for the daily newspaper in the small East Texas town where I grew up. It was a racially divided town — about 20,000 people, half of them white, half of them black — a place where you could grow up well-loved, well-taught, and well-churched, and still be unaware of the lives of others merely blocks away. It was nonetheless a good place to be a cub reporter: small enough to navigate but big enough to keep me busy and learning something new every day. I soon had a stroke of luck. Some of the old-timers in the newsroom were on vacation or out sick, and I got assigned to report on what came to be known as the “Housewives’ Rebellion.” Fifteen women in town (all white) decided not to pay the Social Security withholding tax for their domestic workers (all black).

They argued that Social Security was unconstitutional, that imposing it was taxation without representation, and that — here’s my favorite part — “requiring us to collect [the tax] is no different from requiring us to collect the garbage.” They hired themselves a lawyer — none other than Martin Dies, Jr., the former congressman best known, or worst known, for his work as head of the House Committee on Un-American Activities in the witch-hunting days of the 1930s and 1940s. They went to court — and lost. Social Security was constitutional, after all. They held their noses and paid the tax.

The stories I helped report were picked up by the Associated Press and circulated nationwide. One day, the managing editor, Spencer Jones, called me over and pointed to the AP ticker beside his desk. Moving across the wire was a notice citing the reporters on our paper for the reporting we had done on the “rebellion.” I spotted my name and was hooked. In one way or another, after a detour through seminary and then into politics and government, I’ve been covering the class war ever since.

Those women in Marshall, Texas, were among its advance guard. Not bad people, they were regulars at church, their children were my classmates, many of them were active in community affairs, and their husbands were pillars of the business and professional class in town. They were respectable and upstanding citizens all, so it took me a while to figure out what had brought on that spasm of reactionary defiance. It came to me one day, much later: they simply couldn’t see beyond their own prerogatives.

Fiercely loyal to their families, to their clubs, charities, and congregations — fiercely loyal, in other words, to their own kind — they narrowly defined membership in democracy to include only people like themselves. The black women who washed and ironed their laundry, cooked their families’ meals, cleaned their bathrooms, wiped their children’s bottoms, and made their husbands’ beds, these women, too, would grow old and frail, sick and decrepit, lose their husbands and face the ravages of time alone, with nothing to show for their years of labor but the creases on their brows and the knots on their knuckles. There would be nothing for them to live on but the modest return on their toil secured by the collaborative guarantee of a safety net.

The Unfinished Work of America

In one way or another, this is the oldest story in America: the struggle to determine whether “we, the people” is a moral compact embedded in a political contract or merely a charade masquerading as piety and manipulated by the powerful and privileged to sustain their own way of life at the expense of others.

I should make it clear that I don’t harbor any idealized notion of politics and democracy. Remember, I worked for Lyndon Johnson. Nor do I romanticize “the people.” You should read my mail and posts on right-wing websites. I understand the politician in Texas who said of the state legislature, “If you think these guys are bad, you should see their constituents.”

But there is nothing idealized or romantic about the difference between a society whose arrangements roughly serve all its citizens (something otherwise known as social justice) and one whose institutions have been converted into a stupendous fraud. That can be the difference between democracy and plutocracy.

Toward the end of Justice Brennan’s tenure on the Supreme Court, he made a speech that went to the heart of the matter. He said:

“We do not yet have justice, equal and practical, for the poor, for the members of minority groups, for the criminally accused, for the displaced persons of the technological revolution, for alienated youth, for the urban masses… Ugly inequities continue to mar the face of the nation. We are surely nearer the beginning than the end of the struggle.”

And so we are. One hundred and fifty years ago, Abraham Lincoln stood on the blood-soaked battlefield of Gettysburg and called Americans to “the great task remaining.” That “unfinished work,” as he named it, remained the same then as it was when America’s founding generation began it. And it remains the same today: to breathe new life into the promise of the Declaration of Independence and to assure that the Union so many have sacrificed to save is a union worth saving.

1. Bill Moyers: “We are this close to losing our democracy”

Thanks, Obama

Metamorphosis

There's a certain point in life where many people make the profound transition from ignorant young person to misinformed adult. I think this article and the comments below it demonstrate that.
 

1. Common Core: The Obamacare of Education

Michael Bay's career in graphs

"Michael Bay earns approximately $3.2 million for every explosion in his movies and a Michael Bay movie without explosions would earn $154.4 million. This means that if Michael Bay wants to make a movie that earns more than Avatar's $2781.5 million he has to have 817 explosions in his movie."

1. Math and movies - Imgur

Ira Glass on creative work

What nobody tells people who are beginners — and I really wish someone had told this to me . . . is that all of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, and it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not.

But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase. They quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story.

It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

1. Ira Glass On Creativity (or, The Gap Between Our Taste And Our Work…)

On Saturdays

I found this 2 or 3 year-old poem while digging through some file folders:

On Saturdays, now and then,
I greet, at my doorstep, an uncomfortable young woman
wearing a modest blouse
(smelling of primrose)
inviting me to read pamphlets
and undiscover my uncertainty.

My dream last night

My dream last night:

Walk into a Best Buy. Realize I can't leave. The only exit is a ladder/shelf thing that is four stories tall and unstable. I climb the ladder shelf, and it falls over--spilling movie cases and discs everywhere. Spend a few minutes cleaning up discs and realize most of them are pirated or knock-offs. Talk with cashier who didn't seem to be fazed by any of it, and she offers to get someone to hold the ladder-shelf for me. I climb, climb, climb, climb, make a TDKR-style leap from the ladder to the exit ledge. Talk for quite a while with a mellow guy sitting up there and then leave. Outside, I notice there was an easier ground-level exit.

Dang it, brain.
(Also, I haven't set foot inside a Best Buy for years.)

And in other news...

Mitch McConnell filibustered his own proposal on the senate floor today. I don't even know how to react to that.

Two similes

1. Finding a home for a creative impulse is like sex.

2. Re-working and polishing to reach a finished work is like giving birth; it's painful, harrowing, and exhausting, but the end result makes it all worth it.

Dear media

Dear media,

Politics is not a team sport. Republicans vs. Democrats is not the same thing as Red Sox vs the Yankees. Focus on the issues.

Last page of Norwegian Wood

This passage really resonated with me; it's probably my favorite bit from the whole novel. It's funny that endings do that sometimes—a story drags on... and on... and then flowers into something beautiful just as it reaches its close.

Possible spoilers ahead (but not really).

I phoned Midori.

"I have to talk to you" I said. "I have a million things to talk to you about. A million things we have to talk about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning."

Midori responded with a long, long silence - the silence of all the misty rain in the world falling on all the new-mown lawns of the world. Forehead pressed against the glass, I shut my eyes and waited. At last, Midori's quiet voice broke the silence: "Where are you now?"

Where was I now? Gripping the receiver, I raised my head and turned to see what lay beyond the phone box. Where was I now? I had no idea. No idea at all. Where was this place? All that flashed into my eyes were the countless shapes of people walking by to nowhere. Again and again I called out for Midori from the dead center of this place that was no place.