"Intelligence"

It's kind of striking that I haven't written this post, even though, at some level, I've been thinking about it, on and off, for decades. If all goes according to plan, this will be about how I ended up with a reputation for academic giftedness, the extent to which I feel I am gifted, and connections to general thoughts on intelligence. Bear with me -- those who know me probably don't anticipate a self-aggrandizing ego fest, but those less familiar might be leery of reading further.

It's taken me a while to articulate and accept, but I think I can say that I'm definitely above average in certain areas. I have, or had, an above-average memory for material I've read, whether technical or literary in nature. I have or had an above-average ability to make connections in seemingly disparate fields. I have an above-average ability to solve mathematical problems.

But I can't be any more specific than that. The quantitative data I have is all outdated, and perhaps problematic. I tested in the 99th percentile in most, and sometimes all, standardized test subjects in K-12 education.

I took a single IQ test in 7th or 8th grade--I couldn't tell you what grade it was, but I can tell you I badly mangled the spelling of luciferous and reversed a pattern I was supposed to construct with red and white blocks, which in retrospect might've indicated some sort of visual dyslexia. I got a 140, which is gifted, but not quite genius level. I got a 1580 on my SATs, which sounds horrible, until you realize that, under that system, a 1600 was a perfect score.

Note that these measures aren't stable over time, are each problematic in their own way, and, obviously, thus far, haven't translated into financial success or personal happiness.

I had some native advantages growing up. I was middle-class in a mostly low-income school community. Unlike many of my kindergarten classmates, I had English as the primary language spoken at home. Additionally -- and precisely how or why this is remains a bit of a puzzle -- I came into kindergarten able to read and count at least to 100. Also, even though I'd say that my mom is not at all academically inclined and of average intelligence, she was an elementary school teacher, and read to me as a child. She also facilitated a culture of reading by providing me with plenty of children's books.

I can't emphasize this enough -- these were substantial advantages at my elementary school, sufficient to identify me early on as a "gifted" student. I'm not sure how unusual any of this is now -- I think many, many children come in knowing more than I did. But it set me apart then, which research has shown can be maintained and extended throughout K-12 education.

Some of the path was shaped by external expectation and reputation. In kindergarten, I had my own reading group in kindergarten, which, being the TV child of the '80s that I was, I promptly named the "Scrooge McDuck reading group". In 6th grade, I was sufficiently advanced in math to be permitted to play Amazon Trail in the back of the classroom while everyone else did math lessons. Most critically, I had a 4th grade teacher that pushed me to do more advanced work in both math, writing, and public speaking, even over my mother's objections.

Notably, my mom did not put pressure on me. She even laughed the time I brought home a "C" on a 6th grade math test. I think she was relieved her child was normal, like her, even if it didn't last.

A lot of the push was internal. I deliberately forced myself to max out reading hours during reading competitions in elementary school. In a high school English class, I wrote essays that regularly exceeded the page limit by a factor of 3. I wish my motivations were more pure, but I genuinely relished the attention, even as I was blind to how isolating it was.

I think I did well in school, in part, because I depended tremendously on the approval of teachers for my self-esteem. As I've written elsewhere, my father is bipolar, and even though I didn't live with him after the age of 3, I saw him regularly, and had enough negative experiences that I'm still dealing with it. I'm also an only child. So I wanted to do well, which ended up distinguishing me from, say, people I met in high school who were brighter and more articulate, but very lazy, or resentful of the pushing they got from their parents, or from even more chaotic homes.

For these reasons, it's difficult for me to accept that I'm somehow innately different. Maybe I just had lots of advantages. Perhaps I deserve some credit for taking advantage of certain opportunities, or making certain choices with time. (I was a quick reader, but it still took a lot of time to read my US history book twice, and I did so just because I was genuinely interested.) But I also recognize that I did have time--I didn't have to work during high school. I didn't date. I did some sports, but not a massive amount. I had time to waste on video games. I spent time on Academic Decathlon, which, in retrospect, wasn't as structured as it could've been, but it did give me the opportunity to get a bit more well-rounded with some self-taught instruction in art history, psychology, music history, economics, and other fields.

But that could just be my liberal, egalitarian philosophy talking. Maybe I do have some genetic advantages. Maybe my application early on translated into increased abilities that, while not necessarily genetic, are more or less permanent.

So, after nearly 30 years of life, if someone were to ask me, "Hey Ryan. Just how smart are you?", I couldn't reply with anything other than "above average".

Because I was. Not just in high school, but college. I went to school with a lot of really, really bright people. No von Neumann savants, but some people who must've had some genetic and cultural advantages AND took advantage of them. I was probably an average to above-average physicist my year, though I looked better on paper (GPA-wise) thanks to good grades in my history courses.

I was also very, very lucky that I made a conscious choice the first semester of college. The first semester at Harvey Mudd College is pass-fail-- there are no letter grades, only "high pass", "pass", and "fail". Some used this as an opportunity to get drunk. I personally felt fear -- people were talking about double-majoring, placing in advanced math and physics classes, and I had tested just below the cutoff to be placed in the incrementally advanced introductory physics course.

Simultaneously, I didn't assume I couldn't catch up. Maybe it was irrational, or prideful. But it worked. I studied my ass off, high-passed a few of my classes (enough to get the "get a life" letter), and generally did well until I hit junior year physics (the triumvirate of statistical mechanics, theoretical mechanics, and PDEs). Even as my grades started to drop off, I still graduated with a GPA somewhat above a 3.7, which is a very respectable grade at HMC.

Grad school was weird. I got the NSF based on a massive amount of work put into the application, and, possibly, because of some things I did in undergrad that let me characterize myself as someone who might serve the country in a science policy position in a few decades. But I was out of my depth, and, honestly, didn't care enough, or believe in myself enough, to keep from drowning. And I've paid various consequences for putting all my emotional eggs in that academic basket.

But back to the positive. In many ways I got very lucky. But I guess I am a bit different. I was with some of the brightest students in the country, and if I didn't hold my own, I did better than I might have reasonably expected.

Looking back, my best friend in high school worked a lot harder than I did. I don't know if it was because he cared more, or if it was because he had to. It did get him a slightly higher GPA (literally, 0.01). And while I paid for the lack of discipline and organization later, I got away with it for a surprisingly long period of time.

And yet, because I went to school with such smart people, my benchmark is a bit skewed, and I can't report anything stronger than "above average". It's taken me a while to say even that. I considered myself average or below average for chunks of college, and most of graduate school. If it's a surprise to you, then you see things that I didn't, and, to this day, still don't.

There are different models for intelligence, and different types of intelligence. I have a passing familiarity with some, but that's partly not the point here. There's a genetic component, and there's an environmental component.

Generally, I believe that the vast majority of us operate far below our genetic potential, and so it's a matter of improving the environment, customized to our history and our dispositions, to make us smarter. Don't drink so much. Exercise more. Eat more healthily. Do hard thinking during certain periods of the day. Sleep better, if not more. And so on -- things that are probably readily obvious, but we make excuses and cut deals with ourselves, with the end result being that we sell ourselves short.

There are other, more philosophical considerations. Why should we assume that knowledge and intelligence are the things that should be maximized for a good life? For a number of reasons, I believed (and a part of me still believes) that my intelligence, however humbly different, is the source of my unhappiness. I've done a decent job of smothering and suppressing it over the last few years through poor choices of time and action, ranging from Youtube videos to video games to chronic unemployment and borderline paranoia. I am, slowly, slowly, coming to accept that it's the same bullshit stereotype of the "mad genius" that makes me try this sort of cure.

There are smart people who are actually quite happy, stable, and successful, and serve as excellent counterexamples for the stereotype (which, by the way, is not really well supported by research). But one can lead a perfectly happy and meaningful life -- even a heroic one -- and be of far, far below average intelligence. Think of anyone you know, and love, with Down's Syndrome.

More mundanely, I did my best to undermine anything remotely resembling pride at my accomplishments, at least in K-12. Bright students with enough wits to be aware of their social surroundings know that a know-it-all can survive only by downplaying his or her intelligence (with it often being worse for women). I can only thank my excellent classmates and teachers for why I was never, ever bullied. Add to that some misguided Japanese false humility, and you had me, basically afraid to breathe in the same room as anyone else, less I affect their oxygen intake.

So yeah, I had, and still have, trouble accepting I'm gifted, or more intelligent than average, even though there is some evidence that I might be. And I don't even know what that precisely means.

What's the point of this post? I'm not sure. It's too long already, so I might cover some additional thoughts on intelligence in another one. But I think some parents have been quietly, or not so quietly, curious how I did so well academically. (We collectively are ignoring the whole dropping-out-of-grad-school-and-becoming-an-emotional-financial-social-existential-disaster component because it's inconvenient and uglies up the narrative.) So this is my retrospective read on how I achieved "success":

• I had some early advantages, which translated into both expectations and opportunities.
• I had access to books and read a lot as a child.
• I spent a lot of time alone as a child.
• I wanted to do well, perhaps to an unhealthy degree.
• I did not receive any pressure, or even guidance, from my mother, or really anyone else in my family.
• I went to a good college that challenged me to rise to a higher standard, and had just enough self-confidence at the time to rise to the occasion (as opposed to withdraw or crash from the system).
• I didn't have to worry about mundane things like money, or food, or personal safety (apart from a very few episodes with my dad) growing up. My Maslow's hierarchy of needs had a solid base, even if, in retrospect, I neglected the middle.
• I *may* have some biological advantages.

I rank the biological component last, for obvious reasons.

If anyone's truly interested, I can more formally write up what parents could do differently to improve their child's intellectual development, though in my experience, most parents just aren't up to giving up enough control to let their kid own their successes and failures, while providing structure for those less "gifted" or more confused. But that's that, for now.

Lawyer Humor

A conversation I had with a church patriarch/lawyer and his lawyer daughter.

Dad lawyer: So when are you going to do your stand-up routine?

Me: When are you going to do yours?

Dad lawyer: My efforts to convey humor in the courtroom have not been well received. The one time I did, the judge said, "Humor does not flow to the bench. Humor flows from it."

Me: I would have responded that something else typically flows from the bench.

Daughter lawyer: That's a given.

'Twas the Night Before Cliffmas

'Twas the night before Cliffmas, when all through the House
Not a creature was stirring, not even a louse.
The committees, hamstrung by the dimwits' despair,
In hope that St. Norquist wouldn't be there.

Cantor and Price nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Speakership danced in their heads.
Obama with Blackberry, and Reid with his trap
Had just settled their brains for this partisan crap.

When out in the markets there arose such a clatter,
Traders sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the terminal those trades like a flash,
Tore open the pensions and burned up our cash.

Lobbyists on the breast of the Washington ho
Gave the lusty noon quickie to citizens below.
When, what to their wandering eyes should appear,
But a sleigh of hand, and eight shifty financiers.

With a little old driver, so frothy and sick
I knew in a moment it must be that prick.
More rapid than vultures his backers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

Now Adelson! Now Scaife! Now Perry! Now Koch!
Now Perenchio! Now Rowling! Now Griffin! Now Loeb!
To the top of the donors! With unmitigated gall!
Now go to hell! Go to hell! Go to hell all!

As vomit flows before the pissed drunk heaves dry,
When they meet with an obstacle, they mount an ad buy.
So up to the House top the donors they flew,
With the sleigh full of pledges, and St. Norquist too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on Fox news
The prancing and pawing of each of those spews.
As I threw up my lunch, and was turning around,
Down the Beltway St. Norquist came with much sound.

He was dressed all in fire, from his head to the sod
And his sickle all crusted by moderate blood.
A bundle of pledges he had flung on his back
And he looked like a dickhead, and spoke through his crack.

His eyes how they frowned! his donors how scary!
His cheeks were like Brillo, his body like (old) Drew Carey!
His mad little mouth was drawn with some words
And the spittle of his chin was as white as bird turds.

The stump of a dogma he held tight in his teeth
And the smoke it encircled policy like a wreath.
He had a mad face and a hatred of babies
And shook when he raged, like a raccoon with rabies.

He was chubby and plump, a right prickish old git
And I cried when I saw him, and my pants did I shit.
A twitch of his eye and a twist of some heads
Soon gave me to know all had much to dread.

He spoke tons of words--would his plan work?
And filled all the op-eds, and threw bombs like a jerk.
And laying his knives aside the country's throat
And giving a nod, on Sunday shows to gloat!

He sprang to his perch, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the screeching Nazgul.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Cliffmas to the poor, and to all, FUCK YOU, I'M RIGHT!"

My grandpa, and writing

It's holiday season. Initially I was going to write about my grandpa, but it may turn into a longer piece about writing.

I've written about my grandfather before. Here's a post about pictures of him, describing both his love of haiku and his arrest during WWII. Here's a more detailed post about his haiku group. This is a long post about anti-immigration laws in California, with a bit about how my grandpa got around the property ownership restriction. (He mail-ordered a bride from Japan with American citizenship.) I also told the brief story about how I ended up with a golf hole in his backyard.

I surprised myself when I realized how much I had written about him. But I shouldn't be surprised; he was probably the man I spent the most time with in my life. He helped raise me and, for better or worse--but mostly for better--, a lot of who I am was shaped by him.

In a lot of ways, I saw the best of him. As a father who ran a farm, he was pretty much a dictator. Even the older cousins told stories about strictness on trips to Disneyland, or getting yelled at, or other things that cowed everyone else into submission.

But I am the youngest grandchild, the only son of his youngest daughter. So I was special. I could do things with both the naivete of a child and the fearlessness of one who is coddled, like scold him for coming home late. By the time I arrived, I was no longer a chrysanthemum farmer, but a comfortable owner (and groundskeeper) of a small trailer park. He wasn't rich, but he was pretty well off -- a member of the 5%, let's say. The trailer park was for senior citizens only, and he kept rent comparatively low.

So he had plenty of time, and a decent amount of money. He drove a Cadillac, and would take me to Chinatown (for haircuts) and to desert trips with his Haiku group. We'd go to McDonalds a lot. Whenever he went to Denny's, he'd always order his steak well done. And when we went to a seafood restaurant in Balboa, he'd always, always order Crab Louie.

He was someone of meticulous patterns. He folded his toilet paper into fourths before using it. (I know this because the flush on one of the toilets was not as strong as it could've been.) His wife would always make him breakfast the night before, leaving it out for him--including pouring the milk into the Cap'n Crunch. Yes, this was left out in the kitchen overnight. It's a testament to pasteurization, or modern paranoia, that he was actually quite healthy and lived until he was 91. When he rolled quarters, he'd stack them five each.

Thanks to the memory of youth, he lived in what will always be the most beautiful house I'll ever see.

It had a large backyard, with dichondra grass meticulously weeded-- he would be on his hands and kness, tweezing away weeds, even as he'd let me hack away with a tiny 4-iron. There were tiger lilies, and bamboo, and a rock path. He had kumquat and persimmon trees. And, of course, he had camelias, which, because of their prevalence in his backyard, I had always assumed were common, dusty, and ugly. (Only later would I learn they hold a special place in Japanese culture.)

He also had rice paper shoji doors to the tea room -- there was a dedicated tea room, with bamboo mats, that my grandmother used for tea ceremony. It also contained the butsudan, or the Buddhist shrine. As a kid, I'd stick my finger through those nice rice paper rectangles, which Grandma would dutifully repair with scotch tape.


He had these very nice scrolls of poetry and art in his house. Once, while watching either Card Shark or The Price is Right, they flashed a number on the screen. I must've really, really wanted to remember it for some reason. So I wrote it directly on the scroll. I might've gotten spanked then. That scroll got beat up quite a bit; it was near the television, where I'd lie down on a set of pillows.

I still have that scroll; it means more to me in its tattered state than anything else.

If someone knows what this blue writing says, please let me know.

The writing--I think he lived for writing. He used the pen name Hakuhanshi; to my shame, I don't know what it means.

He would always write at his old, reddish/brownish/black wooden desk, sticky and bumpy after years of disuse and not enough varnish. The lamp on it must've been at least 30 years old -- one of the lamps you see in the movies that take place in the 1940s on the desks of accountants or police officers. His haiku was written on very thin, crinkly paper. There was a red circle or dot, indicating the start of a line, I guess, and then his neat penstrokes. I still have his fountain pen -- it's a Parker, silver-plated, and it doesn't leak unless you let it. He wasn't a pen fetishist, and didn't really care about keeping them tidy. I was surprised, and a bit regretful, how clean it got with some polish.

I copied him a lot. Once, I had gotten it in my head to sit at his desk and write, just like Grandpa. I proceeded to scribble all over his very neatly written haiku, prepared for mailing to a journal in Japan. I don't remember this, but apparently there was a loud "haaaa!", and I froze, sitting on his chair, with a big crocodile tear starting to come down. (I might've gotten spanked that time -- for whatever reason, I think I got spanked precisely twice by him... probably far less than I deserved.)

We learned "haiku" in first grade. It was basic stuff -- you look at a picture and count syllables. Real haiku has a lot more rules. But he was still immensely proud of whatever I had written.

He kept a scrapbook of my writings. When I wrote my imaginary newspaper, he kept it. I think I had an article about why Orchie [sic] Bunker was so angry (Archie Bunker of All in the Family). I also wrote a notice about his chainsaw accident, where he nicked a vein in his hand and had to drive to the hospital, a notice that I posted on a wooden stick in the middle of the backyard.

As stated in other posts, I'd generally be there when he had his monthly haiku group meeting. They'd talk, recite poems, and occasionally be forced to listen to me sing a song, at the insistence of my very proud grandpa. He'd generally go to his bedroom before the end; he always had the sleeping habit of a farmer, and felt comfortable enough leaving hosting to Grandma.

He was editor-in-chief of that group. He'd correct everyone's poems; I don't know if they corrected his. And he could be jealous; May Sakoda, the creator of delicious cakes and one of the few group members who spoke English fluently, once told me he got upset when a Japanese haiku magazine turned down his submission, but took his wife's.

I'm glad he lived long enough for me to read to him "Grandfather's Table", probably the best poem I wrote before college. It was about being around that kitchen table and listening to the haiku group. Most of all it was about remembering.

For whatever reason, I got the honor of writing, and reading, his eulogy. I remember it included a call for family unity -- his was falling apart as he got sick and after he died, over money, property, and, underlying it all, unresolved problems of not feeling loved enough. I suppose, in the end, all arguments and breakups start there.

***

I don't believe in writing genes. My paternal grandfather wrote a lot -- from what I can tell, mostly angry letters to the editor about some point of Constitutional interpretation. So if you believed in writing genes, I guess you'd say my political posts come from Grandpa Yamada, and my creative ones from Grandpa Yasuda.

But I don't believe in writing genes. As far as I remember, I don't even remember either grandpa teaching me about reading or writing at all. Grandpa Yamada lived in Hawaii, and I barely saw him. Grandpa Yasuda spoke a sort of broken English, and wrote creatively only in Japanese.

What I do remember, and believe in, is a writing culture, a celebration of writing above all else. I think that's why I wrote; in the end, I did it to feel worthy of the most important man in my life.

Writing is a godsend, especially to those of us who feel awkward or uncomfortable in public. Thanks to another titanic influence, my fourth grade teacher, Maureen Manning, I feel quite confident speaking in public. But I remain uncomfortable in public, if you understand. I'm still insecure, with negative body image, and, though I've been told otherwise by lots of people, I still believe I'm not a good conversationalist, and that I don't have much to offer.

Writing is a way for me to communicate in a way that mimics closer to what I would say. I make no claims to being a good writer. But I care passionately about it, which helps. I can be inspiring, or somber, or whatever mood I can think of conveying in a written piece better than I can in public. Because I feel that what is being judged is content, and not me. In the end, this isn't really true at either end--people do judge content when faced with a person, and enough of me is still in the writing that I, and my grammatical lapses, or over-long sentences, am being judged. And I'm a selfish writer -- this, and other posts, are more a diary than a public statement. It's too long; it needs to be organized better; it's not interesting to most others.

But I enjoy writing, especially selfishly. It's liberating. When I'm writing, I'm not thinking about the other things that weigh me down in my life. I'm just writing. For that brief time, I believe I'm someone who has something worth saying, something worth reading, and I can't stop until I can get it out there.

It took my high school English teacher, Eric Burgess, to really teach me how to organize essays, and how to use the power of writing to analyze things -- a book, a poem, or parts of the world around me. I'm grateful for that. But it wouldn't have been possible without the culture of writing I had.

Maybe I depend upon it too much; I can't challenge my negative thoughts about my fitness for society if I stay in my room and just write. But I know that writing will always be a part of me--for better or worse.

Thanks, Grandpa. You gave me a lot, but this, I think, was the greatest gift.

The mechanical timer

The mechanical timer sits near my mother's computer. It is old and cheap -- it doesn't have a name brand. It is shaped like a hockey puck or a small ice cream sandwich, which is to say, it is round. The winding handle/indicator is reminiscent of a sundial-- no, a retractable utility knife. It is old, and the tip is painted in red, and it is faded. The paint looks like a trickle of freshly drawn blood.

My mother keeps it there to facilitate being on time. It works imperfectly -- both the strategy and the timer itself. Sometimes, there is no bell that goes off at the end; it ticks away toward 60, and sputters out.

As a child, I remember playing with these. I found that setting the timer for very short times led to poor performance and, sometimes, no bell at the end. I remember discovering that you can force the dial to make it go past 60 counterclockwise, negative numbers, even though the machinery would groan and quiver in protest.

I'm sitting here, listening to it. Sometimes I'll force it to run faster, and there's a distinctive gallop, a second, quieter, but double-paced beat that comes from some small, hidden gear straining to keep up with a larger one.

Sometimes, I'll try to slow it down, and if I get it just right, the mechanism grows quieter, quieter, until it is still. It's delicate, because it resists being stationary, unless of course it's completely wound down.

It resists running backward, mightily. It does so only very slowly, and very noisily. I don't even know if it's actually running backward. Maybe it's only winding, with some gear clicking frantically, futilely.

I'll probably break the damn thing.

It's dirty, too, though I don't think it's ever seen use in a kitchen.

Right now, it is so inexplicably important to me.

But despite that, I won't take it apart. I won't watch the gears. I'm just not curious. It'll sit in that crappy opaque plastic casing, maybe forever.

A math problem and a general life lesson

A former student highlighted a problem that I found too intriguing to resist. It was challenging, but I managed to solve it.

Let me be clear - the point of this post isn't to shore up my ego by demonstrating my ability to do algebra better than someone else. That is not the point at all. I think the student showed just the right judgment in struggling with it for a couple hours, then giving up and searching for an answer. That's not intellectually dishonest -- it's quite smart. I probably would've given up and not ask anyone -- which I did do, to a distressing level, in college.

The point is to show how something intimidating and new can be connected with prior knowledge. College, especially in technical disciplines, is largely about extending this prior knowledge in ways that are new, but connected with what you already know. Don't worry, you'll get practice, training, and experience, which will refine your judgment and improve your ability to solve problems of increasing complexity.

Here's the question:

Here's my handwritten solution. Sorry if the photo isn't great - my scanner is broken.

It took about an hour. Most of that time was spent on wrongheaded paths. Once I realized what would work, it took about ten minutes. By the way, that's probably an optimistic estimate of the amount of time solving a problem/knowing what to do versus the amount of time wandering like blind moles in research, in my own terrible experience.

 Some of my friends might find that ridiculously slow. I suppose I could say I'm rusty, but, to be honest, I never really put as much energy and thoughtfulness into mathematical derivation in school as, say, understanding psychology or international relations. It just never interested me -- or it frightened me.

Remember, the point of this post is to illustrate a point about math, and life. Sometimes, when confronted by something that seems impossible, it can help to look at hints for how to derive something.

Repeating, in case it's not clear from the scan.

In this case, there were two key insights:

1. The solution form looks like solving for tan (x/2) was the penultimate step. This suggested a substitution of a dummy variable equal to x/2.

2. The radical on one side of the equation in the penultimate step suggested a quadratic solution, with tan(x/2) as "x" in the quadratic form of the equation. From that, I was able to figure out what A, B, and C are. (Note that it doesn't matter whether A is positive or negative, but the relative sign of A, B and C are important.)

Based on that, I was able, after some time, to figure out the right approach and the right substitutions to make, and solved it quasi-formally.

Note:
In this case, looking at half-angle and double-angle formulas was briefly counterproductive. I saw a radical in the half-angle formulas, and a radical in the solution, so I thought that was the proper approach. Big mistake - I ended up wasting time just because of a superficial connection.

As with many things, looking for and identifying superficial connections between things can lead us astray.

For this problem, I needed to know how to recognize the solution of a quadratic equation, how to use a quadratic equation to solve for a function (versus a variable like x), how to substitute a variable for another one to take advantage of double-angle formulas, and a sense of which double-angle formulas I should use. (sin 2x is straightforward, while there are three choices for cos 2x; even though they are equivalent, not all are equally useful in a given situation. The handwritten work shows I momentarily chose the wrong one.)

So stuff from Algebra 2 could be put together to solve an algebraically intensive problem from first-year college physics.

Now I think this is generally true, even at the cutting edge of science, and perhaps other human endeavors. We build off of our prior knowledge. We extend our knowledge and tools to dazzling heights -- but, barring something really weird and advanced beyond my ken, every tool and every solution builds by analogy or by logical extension from previous ones.

So the next time you see something like this on a test -- don't panic! Take a deep breath. See if the form of the solution looks familiar. It might pay to make a list of the standard tricks -- in this particular case, substituting to take advantage of double-angle formulas, and solving for a function instead of a variable using the quadratic equation, with particular attention to coefficients.

Don't be afraid to work backwards -- sometimes it makes a lot more sense to do that. For the formal proof, you need to start from the beginning, but there's no rule saying you can't understand a derivation by reverse engineering it. Just practice, and try to see how anything that is "new" relates to things you know already. If you don't know those other, more fundamental things, make sure you do before you tackle the complicated things.

(Aside: I wish I thought this clearly 11 years ago. I would've probably done a bit better in college and gotten more out of it.)

Finally, to my former students -- sorry if sometimes it seemed like you were being thrown into the deep end of the pool when I was teaching. It was tough-- there were students at all different levels, and I think as an amateur teacher I didn't do as good a job as connecting the dots as I should've. Consider this a down payment on that deficit.

Now, left as an exercise to the reader: extending this analysis beyond math into daily life.

Petition to the Obama Administration to Require a Facebook Dislike Button

https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/require-facebook-provide-dislike-button/Zx9pBT4L

Here is the text for the lazy:

WE PETITION THE OBAMA ADMINISTRATION TO:

Require Facebook to Provide a Dislike Button

Facebook has ignored petitions for a dislike button. As the prime social networking platform, it should better comply with the First Amendment, which protects free speech and respectful dissent.

Facebook finds a dislike button valuable enough to use internally, via Push Kharma, to provide feedback to its software engineers.

Here is why an opt-out dislike button is needed on Facebook.

1. It lets users express disapproval easily without being offensive.

2. A dislike button lets users distinguish between posts with little interest and controversial posts.

3. It works well on other websites.

4. Facebook accounts are not anonymous. Users are more accountable, making it less likely it will be abused.

5. An official button will destroy the demand for malware dislike button imposters.

Silly White House Petitions

Update: you can view my own petition for a Facebook dislike button here. Sign it - it needs 150 signatures before it can be viewed by the public on the White House website!

I was curious, so I decided to survey all of the 239 (at time of writing) active petitions at https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petitions.

Some are quite serious, calling for, among other things, the recognition of a Sikh genocide in India in 1984, GLBT (when did it stop being LGBT?) marriage equality, transplant rights for autistic children, concealed weapons in Illinois (which, it claims, is the only state that doesn't offer concealed permits), student loan relief for Peace Corps volunteers, appointing a pediatric oncologist to the National Cancer Advisory Board, and Federal income tax exemptions for wounded and disabled veterans. Also, with about 7,000 signatures, is a petition to have all religious organizations pay federal, state, and local sales tax. This is another one close to the threshold. There's also a petition for a revenue-neutral carbon tax -- someone is taking this process seriously. Another worth looking at: a petition to declassify findings by NSA mathematicians. Also, resurrecting FDR's Second Bill of Rights.

Also, I learned about the Chagossians. (The U.S. Government Must Redress Wrongs Against the Chagossians)


But then there are the secession petitions, from a lot of states -- most notably Texas. (Alaska gets points, or loses them, for using all caps in its petition title, as well as making a Moses reference "LET MY PEOPLE GO!") And there is a counter-petition to strip the secession petition signatories of citizenship. This one would actually deport them, and has met the requisite 25,000 votes. There are more, too.

Here are some noteworthy weird petitions:

Shut down White House petitions, since they never get a sincere response, few read them, & they are ultimately worthless

This one actually has a good point. Didn't they take lessons from the Chevy Tahoe ad campaign (which might have been more successful than I thought)? Or maybe it's just being hipsterish.


Transfer funds from the drug war to fund the research and development of the genetic engineering of domestic cat girls

So, this. Why girls? Why not boys? Someone might be thinking of another kind of stimulus plan, even hairier than the passage of the first two. As it has only 649 signatures, it appears that the male furry stoner demographic can't be bothered.


Uninstall Obama- meaning remove Barack Hussein Obama, his appointed government leaders, & failed policies from America.

Ok. So let's assume they're serious, instead of trying to make some sort of smarmy point. I think this person is calling for a coup within the confines of a White House petition drive. Either this person vastly overestimates the power of a petition directed at an authority the author regards as illegitimate... OR "uninstall" refers to some software that Obamabot is using. Surely, you didn't think Romneybot was the only Android-American running for President?

Create and Approve The MICHAEL JOSEPH JACKSON National Holiday.

All caps are probably a no-no when addressing the Executive Office of the President. At least the petition links to a list of his humanitarian efforts. Whatever day it ends up being, it probably has to be in the first half of the month (under 16).


Stop non-citizens from voting illegally and the states from illegally sending non-citizens voter ID cards. Stop Fraud!!

More than one exclamation point should disqualify a petition. In fact, any exclamation point is probably not good. No grammatical errors, but the author is clearly pissed that the residents-but-not-citizens gave the election to Obama. Also wants us tracked nationally by social security number, which entails... what? Anything different from the status quo?


Disban the Humane Society of The United States on the basis of fraud and racketeering .

So, they forgot the "d" at the end of "disband" in the title. Intrigued, I read the text. Evidently the author misspelled too ("to"), and tactics ("tatctics"). The author is also concerned about the Humane Society banning all farm ownership of animals. Is the author absolutely certain that the target is PETA?


Require Barack Obama To Allow The Public Examination Of His Birth Certificate Records & His College & University Records

Birthers aren't back. They never left! Now in a new flavor -- college transcripts!

Stop the War on Gaza

First, the author is giving the POTUS a lot of credit if they think he can stop the war in Gaza. Second, it claims that Israel started all the wars. I'm not the biggest supporter of Israeli foreign policy, but that just isn't true. Everyone has their own line for when something is Anti-Semitic, but the mere fact that I'm bringing it up says that this probably is not a reasonable petition. Only 600+ signatures, and it's kind of moot.


United States Government recognition that Israel authored the 9/11 Terror attacks

Wow. This has 620 signatures, all of which have been entered into an FBI watch list. Seriously, tinfoil hat conspiracies + Anti-Semitism = loads of crazy. Still, worth reading, because it apparently resulted in Bin Laden being killed several times (why wasn't his word good enough?) and central banking conspiracies.

Nationalize the Twinkie industry

Sign this. It's a strategic resource. Fat people will help America float as the oceans rise, because trust me, I used to be a scientist.

For certain counties (within respected states) to withdraw from California and Oregon and form the State of Jefferson.

It's respective, dumbass. And lest you think I'm being unfair, I read the petition, and the author clearly means "respective". The last sentence reads, "Please grant us our freedoms that is promised to us". Also, California appears to be "to [sic] diverse". It looks like Fallout 2 nailed the characterization of the average resident.

Establish new legal system of motorcycle riding "Judges" who serve as police, judge, jury, and executioner all in one.

Nice. Nearly 3,000 signatures, and 20 days to go. "That's Honorable Hell's Angels to you, bitch!"

Allow United States Military service members to place their hands in their pockets.

I did not know this was not permitted. Maybe it's seen as threatening to the local population. Maybe it inhibits readiness -- I've never tried to shoot a gun from a position of hands in pocket, but I can imagine it would be difficult. Bonus points for borrowing from the flowery language of the Declaration of Independence, and for being

provide University graduates ability to trade their diplomas back for 100% tuition refunds.

And I thought I was bitter about college.

We, the People, DEMAND an immediate, thorough and honest investigation into GEO-ENGINEERING, HAARP, & "CHEMTRAILS"

Lost points for shouting. Claims that we are the victims of biochemical warfare.

Support a Resolution of Expulsion of Mitch McConnell from the Senate for his disloyalty to the United States.

Was joking about the practice of ostracism via White House petitions. Evidently someone beat me to it, and is very specific.This was at least educational -- it claims that the Senate has expelled fifteen members in its history. Not a McConnell fan (though I do think he should have the screen name McConnellSanders), but I think this is a bit harsh, and probably not a good idea to approach this via the executive branch.

have the President to attend a Fark.com party. If scheduling does not permit, at least have a beer with Drew Curtis

Nicely done. Free advertising FTW!

End to the War On Coal, end the job killing policies of the EPA and require an economic impact analysis of new policies

Evidently this suggests that there is no economic impact report done for new pieces of regulation. Also, I'm no expert, but I think coal's been losing the war in the marketplace for some time. It currently has over 25,000 signers, so a response will be forthcoming.

Recount the election!

Nearly 64,000 signatures. Self-explanatory.

Include Licensed Naturopathic Physicians as primary care providers in the Federal Healthcare Law (Obamacare).

Not sure it will make it  (13,853, with 14 days to go). Perhaps like homeopathy, with fewer votes, it will be even stronger.

Repeal the House of Representatives Resolution 121 to stop aggravating int'l harassment by Korean propaganda & lies!

Persuade South Korea (the ROK) to accept Japan's proposal on territorial dispute over islets.

Remove the monument and not to support any international harassment related to this issue against the people of Japan.

I was not expecting to see a Japan lobby in these petitions. AIPAC is nowhere near here, other than a single proposal to support Israel no matter what (which probably does not have AIPAC involvement). I'm not sure if this is a testament to the weakness of the Japan lobby (also the Polish lobby), or if there are some Tule Lake folks that remain embittered. (Ask Google or your JA friends about the last bit.)

Note: these all have over 25,000 signatures. I didn't even know there were that many JA's left in America that were Internet-capable and gave a shit about politics. (Kidding. Barely.)

Light the White House Purple to Celebrate 75th Anniversary of March of Dimes and as Symbol of Hope to Preemie Families

It's over the threshold, and seems like a nice thing to do. Precedents, yes, but it's got the best shot of all of the petitions I've seen.

Stop destruction of our U-233 for more NASA space exploration, new cancer treatments and thorium based energy abundance!

I only learned recently about a small, obsessive group that believes in Thorium reactors. I'm ashamed that as a physics major, I don't know much about this type of reactor. But the vibe I got was similar to other groups that feel victimized and persecuted. (Related: see the surprisingly weakly supported petition, Answer ALL the questions posed by Congressman Ron Paul in his final speech on the House floor, Nov. 14, 2012.)

Help Free D. Randall Blythe From Prage, Czech Republic. Where he is falsely accused of commiting Manslaughter.

This is one of several petitions that ask for an intervention of some sort (pardon, reopened investigation, etc.) for a specific criminal case. I chose this one because it concerns a crime outside of the United States, thereby possibly necessitating federal involvement and because it is the only one above the threshold. If nothing else, the band Lamb of God has a decent number of fans.

What this taught me is that there is a paucity of well-written petitions. I've decided to create my own -- stay tuned!

Brief thoughts on boycotts

As with many things, my energy and interest are flagging on a post regarding boycotts, examining boycotts of franchises specifically. Might get to it later if enough people think it's worthwhile.

For now, here's what I've discovered/reasoned:

1. Boycotts can be morally tricky, and boycotts of franchised business are especially so. That's because it's harder to punish the parent company without inflicting collateral damage (the franchisees).

2. Franchises usually pay the parent company a fixed sum for franchise rights, and a variable amount based on gross sales (not profitability or other things). An incompetent or unlucky franchisee can have a ton of sales and lose money after paying the parent company.

3. There's a difference between a company where (1) a franchisee makes a political statement, and (2) a CEO makes a political statement.

4. There's also a practical difference between a food service company that does takeout/delivery and a dine-in restaurant. On a practical basis, we might feel more empathy and concern for servers at a dine-in restaurant we regularly patronize than at a fast food joint with changing staff, or a series of delivery people. I think it probably has to do with frequency, duration, and intimacy of interaction.

5. Given these things, I think the Chik-Fil-A boycott might make sense, as it dealt with statements made by the CEO, though most of those who would boycott it probably didn't eat there (sales numbers appear to remain robust). I think the Papa John's boycott might be defensible because it, again, involves a CEO wading into public policy. However, I'm willing to see how and if his classroom comments were misrepresented. The Denny's boycott is absolutely moronic, as it involved comments made by a franchisee in Florida, and not the CEO. However, I note that it did get results (CEO statements and scoldings) that might not have happened had sales not dipped nationwide. Ignorant outrage can still get results -- not condoning, just observing.

6. Target's getting off relatively lightly compared with Wal-Mart, as far as I can tell. There are probably a few books that look at how Target managed to brand itself in opposition to Wal-Mart, even if functionally it is quite similar.

7. If you're a well-paid CEO, it makes sense to assume that any comment you make in a classroom, on a company email, or anywhere outside of your meetings with trusted companions can and will get out. Don't pretend to be, or actually be, so ignorant that you think you're never "on the record". It's a price you pay as pitchman-in-chief. It's presumably a small price to pay for substantial compensation.

This is more, not less, true when you are a CEO of a company with franchisees. I would be incredibly pissed if I had paid an up-front sum of money, and handed over a portion of revenues (not profits) to a parent company, and was committed to a long-term venture, in which most of my personal assets are invested, only to have some asshole CEO say something that will affect my sales, regardless of either parent company or franchise policy.

This is mitigated to some extent in Chick-Fil-A's case, as its origins and history make it clear that franchisees know what they're getting themselves into. (Also, franchisees have comparatively little skin in the game -- the parent company retains ownership of the restaurant and collects a larger share of revenue in exchange for surprisingly little start-up investment (~$5000!) from the franchisee.)

John Schnatter is founder and CEO of Papa John's, so I guess he retains enough shares and legitimacy that he gets more of a pass to say controversial things. However, Papa John's franchisees, unlike their Chick-Fil-A counterparts, might not have foreseen the risk of having a founder CEO feel entitled to air his opinions -- especially when subsequent analysis found he overestimated the costs of the Affordable Care Act by about 400%.

8. If you're a well-paid CEO who can keep his or her mouth shut, take joy from the idiots who don't, because they provide the think-tanks and lobbying groups with enough ammo that you don't have to speak up. KEEP YOUR DAMN MOUTH SHUT.

Unless your brand--personal or corporate--explicitly internalizes externalities in the social welfare or environmental realms, it's implied you want lower taxes, less regulation, and no healthcare mandate. It's understood that the major shareholders don't give a damn whether a dollar is made from selling pizza or building munitions or making toilets, and so your flexibility in the politics of morality, one way or another, is limited. Don't feel compelled to make the case unless you absolutely need to, and if you do, do it in concert with your industry peers as a matter of policy, not as a personal opinion. I'm assuming they taught you in B-school about the advantages of a fast second over being first.

9. There's a broader lesson for franchisees -- check your contracts, and check the ownership. If the CEO is also a founder, or has been around for a long enough time, consider whether their track record and statements might give you trouble. Maybe they won't -- maybe they align with what you consider to be both good business practices and morality. But don't claim ignorance or innocence -- you are buying into a brand, and the brand is your shield and cloak.

10. I'd worry more about companies that tried to make their employees vote for Romney. But it's harder to boycott Murray energy coal than it is to boycott pizza. Boycotts have to get more specific and selective for them to become effective at changing policy.

The first and last post about the UCLA-USC rivalry

First, I don't care. To use an incredibly tasteless football-related metaphor, I don't have a dog in this fight.

I went to a private school that wasn't USC, and, quite frankly, I took glee that we outranked the USC-like member of our consortium in national rankings of liberal arts colleges, even though we were a science and engineering school. I didn't even think about going to UCLA, though I got in. I was so certain I didn't even visit the campus, even though it was about 20 miles away.

BUT

I have to share an observation I made during a previous big UCLA-USC game.

A couple years ago, I was on a metrolink train heading toward Los Angeles, where, apparently, there was a big matchup. I couldn't tell you what sport.

I observed that the USC fans were on their smartphones or chatting casually with each other. Many were older, and were clearly not undergraduates. It's possible some weren't even alums, but I have no way of telling who is an alum and who is not. (Even the license plate border test might be flawed.)

The UCLA fans tended to be college-age, and were all studying textbooks. I peeked, and noticed that they were chemistry texts. They had their faces painted, etc., but apparently they had a test coming up.



Now, I'm not saying that UCLA students are more studious than the USC students. I didn't quite see what the USC fans were doing on their phones. Maybe they had already studied for the day.

I'm not saying that UCLA has a narrower fan base, confined to its students, while USC fans span the gamut of Southern Californian fauna. Presumably, those UCLA alums are doing something worthwhile to advance society, like working in hospitals, or public service, or becoming captains of industry.

I happen to know one Republican mayor of a Southern Californian city that, because of his connections, morphs from a stalwart conservative to the biggest supporter of a state-sponsored, left-leaning, Prop 30 tax gorging institution.

I'm also not saying that, to my knowledge, USC hasn't produced a titanic coaching legend like John Wooden, is overpriced, or exhibits the traits of defensiveness, arrogance, and hyperbole indicative of a significant inferiority complex vis a vis its cross-town rival and its East Coast competition.

I'm not saying anything, really. Just observing. :)

You are very special

Yes, you are.

If you're reading this, then we are probably Facebook friends. And, believe it or not, that means something.

It means I spent some time contemplating and weighing the benefits and costs of maintaining what seems like the tenuous of connections. But remember: Facebook is my window to the outside world, to people scattered across the globe, from various points in my life. And so, the finger of judgment hovered, and sometimes lingered. But it ended up judging in your favor.

What does it mean, then?

It might mean that I think you're doing an amazing job studying/working things that I find both esoteric and amazing. I appreciate your commitment to knowledge and understanding, however specific or broad, or your dedication to your craft.

It might mean that I appreciate the standard you set in character -- that I still remember your kindness, your compassion, your thoughtfulness toward others.

It might mean we've laughed a lot -- a lot. As I grow older, humor is becoming increasingly important. Someday, it might surpass kindness, or generosity, or even courage. I don't think it will ever surpass truth -- I think humor is often profound truth wrapped in a comprehensible way.

It might mean that I find your thoughts and ideas fascinating. Or frustrating. Or downright ridiculous. But in any case, I appreciate your unique perspective (and in some of your cases, it's got to be unique).

It might be because you've taught me about family, about what it's like to be a good mother or father. Even though I don't think I'll ever raise children, I draw from your struggles, your heroism with the ordinary inconveniences and trials of parenthood, and am proud of your love for these little, vulnerable beings. I can put up with a lot of bullshit and ridiculousness from a person as long as I am convinced that they are a good parent.

It might be because I served as a mentor or teacher to you, and I care about you -- yes, you! -- enough to keep the door open. I've learned a lot about myself in guiding you, and for that, you have my gratitude. As long as you don't disappoint yourself, you'll never disappoint me.

But in all cases, it's because there is at least one thing about you that I find admirable. I should tell you specifically what it is, and I might, especially if it encourages you to focus on that and stop doing all the other nonsense that drives me nuts.

Thank you for your patience. In matters of care and consideration of others, I'm often negligent. You deserve better, and I hope to be able to deliver.

Thanks for reminding me of my honor, and of what this life has to offer. Please continue to remind me.

Thanks for reading.

"I Voted" sticker variants

The classic version, good for discounted booze, a sugar cookie, and discounted oysters if you live in the Los Angeles area.

Sadly, I was beat to the creative punch by about four years by this guy. But it inspired the next sixteen.

True story. 

18 stickers, one for each electoral vote Ohio is using to hold the entire country hostage. Have fun today!

Reintegration

Crap, I always hate this part.

David sat on one side of the floating raft, reminiscent of an amusement park water ride. He looked at the polished, overly-expensive sides. It was better than looking at what lay ahead.

"David? David! David?"

He remembered, a bit too late, to squelch the instinct to turn around. The price he paid for a tardy brain signal was finding himself face-to-face with another David.

Well, he thought, at least he still looks like me.

In fact, there were around forty Davids on this raft, all coasting slowly to the reintegration chamber ahead. Why it took so long, he didn't know.

"Hi David! It's David! David David David! Hahaha!"

One of the side effects of multielement time travel was the creation of less-than-perfect shards, or copies of the original person. Occasionally the shard would be psychopathic, or philosophically inverted, or otherwise unsuitable for the job. Some would be deformed. All defective shards would be incarcerated upon creation and not released until reintegration.

Sometimes, they would have to be destroyed. The scientists said that the loss of a shard or two wouldn't affect his reintegrated self, though he always harbored doubts. He always felt a bit more... hollow... after a reintegration process short a few shards.

But most weren't psychopaths. Some were just... weird. Like this moron.

"We're going to the bright light! The bright light! Tra la la la la la!"

The first time he was being reintegrated, he tried to kill one of the annoying ones. But the technicians stopped him.

"Don't do it -- that's a part of your personality!"

"The fuck it is. There is no part of me that's like this dimwitted moron!"

But they stopped him. And it bothered him that he was part moron, deep down, somewhere in his psyche. He also knew, by the technicians' response to his attempted shardicide, that they were lying about the effects of reintegrating with fewer shards than were initially created.

He surveyed the large, open, metallic chamber. The sides, floor, and ceiling were unadorned and unbroken, except by occasional splotches of equipment and, of course, the river of glowing goo.

To tune out the babbling idiot next to him, he thought about how the program.

He was part of an elite group of agents responsible for protecting or repairing aspects of the timeline. They were chosen for the strength and consistency of their personalities and the ability to function under duress, important both for the multielement process as well as the missions proper.

I guess an average person would be stuck on a raft of weirdos. Maybe this is why I don't go out anymore.

Not all shards were created equal. Beyond occasional personality divergences, the process could generate a maximum of 16 shards at a time. Experiments involving more shards were ongoing, but he wasn't informed about them. The joke among agents was that the first 32-shard process generated a bunch of three-foot midgets. The truth was probably a lot less funny.

For complicated missions, it would sometimes be necessary to generate shards from shards. Sadly, the number of viable shards would decrease rapidly in subsequent generations. For that reason, no agent had been able to complete a mission that involved less than third-generation shards. At that point, it was classified a failure, the agent lost -- not enough viable shards would remain in the facility for reintegration -- and another agent would be sent to finish the job. David didn't know if there were any missions that were just total failures. In spite of his cynicism about how the program was run, the nature of temporal meddling could mean that new missions would just go back to the point when old missions were started, thereby providing infinite chances to get it right.

Despite this, some agents never came back. The cynicism resurfaced, and he concluded that it was because a failed mission mattered, while a success that involved an agent death was still a success. One didn't tempt the temporal gods through the pursuit of perfect outcomes. Or pester the director with rescue mission proposals.

And the missions could be hard. David had lost 11 shards -- two first-generation, nine second-generation -- during a mission last year. Shard 11 was able to blow up the power plant and return home, but died of radiation burns. Again, the scientists had assured him that reintegration would be complete and healthful, though they did insist he take a month of leave and scheduled intensive personality therapy afterward.

At least reintegration left only one real David at the end. Early efforts at multielement time travel didn't involve reintegration, which had the nasty side effect of agents not being certain who was the "real" one, and developing nasty psychological complexes over it. Initially, they tried killing all the shards except one, and only belatedly realized the nonviability of later-generation shards.

No, he thought, these are the golden days of this program. Even with stupid shards.

The stupid shard had gone back to bothering a shard in the fetal position two rows back. "Hey! Whassa matta wit you?" Another shard was masturbating.

David grimaced, then sighed. Well, he said, no one ever accused me of not being complicated.

How I engaged in voter coercion

I was nine years old when I first "voted". It was 1992, and H. Ross Perot was shaking up the political establishment with his funny ears and his aggressive, detailed critiques in his infomercial ads. I liked him, and I encouraged Mom to vote for him. I went in with her to the booth, and made sure she voted Perot.

When I was 13, I enjoyed watching Norm MacDonald play Bob Dole on Saturday Night Live. In particular, there's a skit about Bob Dole living in the "Real World" house. Sadly, the clip appears to be lost and not on the Internets, but here's a transcript.

Bob Dole: Who the hell ate my peanut butter?! Peanut butter!

Chris: I guess I did. Why?

Bob Dole: Yeah, well, now it's gone! Next time, ask! Nobody eats Bob Dole's peanut butter without asking!

Chris: Whatever..

[ cut to Annabel summarizing the scene ]

Annabel: Bob needed to work on his "people skills"..

[ cut back to the scene ]

Bob Dole: You wanna chip in, that's a different story. Otherwise, keep your grubby hands out of Bob Dole's peanut butter! [ throws the empty jar across the floor ]

[ cut to Annabel summarizing the scene ]

Annabel: So I called a house meeting..
Needless to say, I pushed my mom to vote for Bob Dole in 1996.

So, there are two cases in which I coerced a Democratic, minority woman's vote and caused her to vote against her economic interest. I'm sorry.

Why I am proud to be a Democrat

Thank you, Demosthenes, for a spirited speech, and an articulation of so much that we admire in both Republicans, and in Americans in general.

Demosthenes and I agree on a number of things. We agree on the innate goodness of the American people. We agree upon our proud traditions and values, and our quest to form a more perfect union.

I am glad he extends such courtesy to our party, and I shall do him like service. The Republican party, in its history, has been the lead for some of the most wonderful movements in our history. It was a Republican President that freed the slaves. It was a Republican President that created the national park system. It was a Republican President who created the Interstate highway system, a national science policy in the face of Sputnik, and ultimately proved the strongest voice against American imperialism. The Republican party has been a party of progress during much of its time, and has many accomplishments. Many of our great leaders come from those ranks.  As I extol my party, I take nothing away from the Republicans. It is good and right that we each take pride at our history, at the calls we got right, and the role each of us has played in this American pageant.

The gentleman is right that the forces of obstructionism and division are the real enemy. But here is where I must begin the long, disagreeable, but necessary process of disagreement with him. The Republican party is a shadow of what it once was, hostage to forces it long ago rejected and fought, and threatens to take the nation down with it as it stumbles toward implosion. For love of country and your honor, sir, I pray you tend to your house, for it is in considerable disorder, and your less distinguished colleagues do great disservice to the memory of your former greatness.

One of the gravest false choices that has been shouted at us is that the state can be strong only at the cost of the individual. No, no, no! I cannot stand by and allow these fearmongers malign our Republic, and in so doing, diminish the individual.

Our nation is a group of individuals, bound together by our love of freedom, our duty toward its protection, and our commitment to each other. We know our history -- that too frequently the liberty of some have come at the expense of others, those too weak, without an advocate, without economic independence, without the legal right to own property, or vote, or decide matters concerning their own body. We know that without a society of laws and common principle, the lesser elements will set us against each other, to their own gain.

We have seen it again, and again, and again, and we must oppose it, for this is the snake in the Garden.

Your party has celebrated the individual, and yet will not safeguard her when she needs food for her children, clean water to drink, affordable healthcare that she might be a mother, a wife, a grandmother to other great Americans. What you offer is not the emancipation of the individual -- you offer the freedom of the wilderness, the freedom of the lion's den.

That is not liberty -- that is callousness, a dereliction of our sworn duty as citizens and leaders. I reject the notion that we seek a state that dominates the life of the citizen. I also reject the notion that we owe our fellow citizens no protection against raw nature. It is a false choice between the two, and I reject both utterly.

This nation has, when it is at its best, stood for freedom from hunger, from oppression by interests both public and private, freedom from fear, freedom of choice, freedom to walk clear beaches and choose who you want to work for and who you want to marry. This nation is about freedom -- a freedom that often must be defended by the state against private interests that seek, for one reason or another, to curtail it.

We have shown that good people working in government are no different from good people anywhere else -- they have a job to do, they have rules they must follow, and they want more or less the same things those who work for companies do. Enough! Enough with the artificial divisions!

Now let me focus on what the Democratic party stands for, and not what it is against. For to be against principles and policies without offering better alternatives is not American at all.

I am a Democrat because I believe that no one should be forced to apologize for their love for another person -- not the love of a husband and wife, not the love of same-sex partners, not the love good men and women have for the poor, not the love a father has for his son, nor the love of the Son for all of us. It's not only the greatest commandment -- it is the greatest joy, the source of inspiration and meaning and human progress.

I believe passionately that we can judge a people by how they treat its most vulnerable - whether it be children, or women, or minorities, or the disabled, or the poor, or its non-citizens.

I am proud to be a Democrat because I believe in the wedding of principles and pragmatism. No generation has been free from difficult choice, from the crucible of old and new challenges. And ours is no exception.

I believe, as Viktor Frankl did, that liberty without responsibility is not freedom. It is the beginning of the end of freedom, for it is passion and defiance without wisdom and vision. It is not responsibility imposed by the state, nor the sacred text -- it is the responsibility that thoughtful souls realize in the dark of night, in their own struggles and their own blessings. It is the responsibility that is such a part of our identity that it transcends the identity divisions of faith, race, and nation.

I am a Democrat because, while I accept the imperfect nature of human beings, I believe that humans can be better than they are. I believe that men and women of sufficient courage can rise above the circumstances of birth to become more productive, more ethical, and more free. I am, despite everything, an optimist.

I am a Democrat because I believe in a nuanced partnership between expertise and democracy -- that a confident, open society can generate the best solutions if it both trusts its experts and guides the policy agenda in a manner consistent with our uniting principles. We do our people the greatest service when we trust them to face real facts honestly and in an adult manner, and do them great disservice if we seek to obscure what science tells us in more comforting, and more fatal, lies.


We must base our legislation on facts, not fears.


I am a Democrat because I want to be on the right side of history, to stand in support of, instead of opposed to, the arc of human history in which individuals become more free, and our identities become more rich and complex.

And yet, as much as I care about legacy, I am also a Democrat because I believe our duty is, first and foremost, to the present. It is to people I know and love who enjoy less than full citizenship, for whom daily life is filled with a hundred insults and obstacles that serve no purpose whatsoever. Whether inspired by differences in  race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, or economic status, these acts hurt not only the target, but also diminishes the attacker. In my humble service, I do as well as I can to wed these high principles with a more primal desire to see justice, to preserve and protect those I know and love, even those who do not love me back, because of values that are bigger than any of us.

It may never be enough -- the path of principles demanded may never be fully lived up to. But I want to live in a way I can continue to look myself in the mirror, and look my mother and father in the eye, and say, "I don't know if I did enough. But I did something. And I will do more tomorrow."

I am proud to be a Democrat because it is a big tent, as America should be. I have known too many gifted individuals, of the highest qualities of character, intellect, and heart, to shut the door to any group, any creed, any people who have the desire and the fortitude to play their part in our unfolding greatness. No matter where they were born, or what they were born, or to whom, these men and women of talent and tenacity ought always have a place in America.

Those under this broad tent argue and bicker, often like family at Thanksgiving. But it is with thanksgiving I appreciate the strength of our Republic, that it can stand the confluence of disparate ideas united by our essential American spirit. It is through the dual traits of our diversity and our faith in our common dreams that makes our diversity our strength.

I am every bit as patriotic as my Republican colleagues, but find no reason to be as loud about it. I am proud to be a Democrat because I believe, firmly, that government is often a matter of the small and uncelebrated. It is a matter of tax incentives, a fair and transparent tax code, clear, effective regulation, protections such that we have healthy food to eat, clean air to breathe, safe cars to drive, and care for our elderly and disabled. It's about boring things, like highway bills, and electricity infrastructure. It is about policies that demand data, and expertise, and thoughtful consideration, but which will not have us lauded by generations hence. Sometimes, governance is mundane, and this is a virtue, our rhetoric notwithstanding. I am content to leave greatness to those who would seek it in the boardroom, the classroom, or the emergency room, or wherever outside this chamber that true heroes live and fight.

I am proud to be a Democrat because it is the party that best represents the spirit with which my ancestors came to these shores, and found opportunity even as they found challenges. I am here, in this great party, because I look around and see the future, a future of youth and ideas, guided by experience and wisdom.

I am proud to be a Democrat because I know that the best way to celebrate our military is to ensure they are not sent into harm's way unless absolutely necessary, until all other options have been exhausted, and then, only then, to do so with the reluctance, seriousness, and the weight of responsibility that belongs to those who would send them into danger.

I am proud of what the President has done, and how he has done it. I sometimes disagree with him on matters of policy, sometimes intensely. But I also stand in some awe at the great deal he has accomplished in four years, in the face of economic hardship, international hatred, fervent political opposition, and even his own coalition of disparate, centrifugal forces. He is a good man. Let me repeat, for it bears remembering: he is a good man. He is one of many good men and good women, including a Secretary of State that has played an indispensable role in guiding American foreign policy back on the right track. To both, we owe a debt of gratitude; to the nation, they express their gratitude for the trust placed in them.

***

The election draws nigh, and we can look forward to a mix of relief, celebration, disappointment, and uncertainty. But one thing is clear: we go into November 6 as Americans, and on November 7, we will still be Americans. We must not forget what that means, nor what was paid to achieve it, nor what we must yet do to maintain and grow our nation in peace and prosperity.

I am but a lowly man. But through service in this chamber, for this party, for this President, and, most of all, for this great nation, I have become more -- I have become a citizen of a Republic that is unparalleled in all history, a Republic that has achieved, yet continues to strive toward greater and more perfect expression of the goals of civilization. Together, through common citizenship, and all it means, I have found purpose and hope, laughter and love. I express my undying gratitude to this country of mine.

Whatever your party, whatever you belief, I hope you exercise your sacred duty November 6, and vote. Know that voting is not the end of your service, but the beginning, one of many, many things that define our efforts to keep freedom free.

God bless you, and God bless America.

- Locke