Small Thoughts on a Small Island

Today is September 13, 2015. I flew to Maui for the funeral of my last surviving grandparent, my paternal grandma. By cruel coincidence, today is also apparently National Grandparents' Day.

I haven't been for 15 years. It may seem strange to avoid paradise for so long.

Fifteen years ago, I was a senior in high school. I had come here with my father to visit family. My grandparents, uncle, and schizophrenic aunt all lived on a small farm in Makawao -- upcountry, about 30 minutes from Kahului.

I remember less than I think I should have from this trip. I remember red soil, a red that stained and dirtied sneakers beyond salvation. I remember that it would rain intermittently at our elevation of three or four thousand feet.

I remember my grandpa showing me his angry, strict constructionist letters to to the editor of the local paper. I remember he gave me Will Durant's book, The Story of Civilization, and showed me his heavily annotated copy. I remember him threatening to shoot the people that stole his cherrymoyas, and my grandmother and father, not taking this threat lightly, said rather lamely in local dialect, "Let them take."

I remember my grandma, who complained about being a farmer, and who fed me lau lau, which, being polite, I ate, even though I hated the stuff.

(I still hate the stuff, though with less passion. All passions, it seem, including those of taste, grow less acute with time.)

But mostly, I remember my father and the AP Biology test.

***

I had brought an AP Biology prep book with me to Maui. My school didn't offer AP Bio, and I had taken Honors Bio as a freshman. Three years later, after determining that I was half a class shy of being a National AP Scholar, I decided to study independently for the AP Bio test. I had done this before -- I had taken the AP Chemistry test as a sophomore, as had four of my classmates. But this was different. For chemistry, I had had the benefit of taking Honors Chemistry that same year. I was on my own this time. And I was three years removed from formal coursework.

So I studied.

During that week, my father had at least one manic episode. Manic episodes with my father resembled volcanic eruptions -- some were sudden explosions, while others started more slowly. This was one of the latter.

He seemed crabby that day. He made some snide comments about how my mother had raised me. I didn't know what he had a problem with specifically, but I did sense the coming storm.

I was studying DNA transcription when he stormed into the house when he marched in. I think he had stormed in and out of the house periodically over the previous thirty minutes. I'm not completley sure -- I was blessed with the power to concentrate and tune out my surroundings.

Finally, he marched in the room. He was shouting at me, telling me I was a bad son, and that Mom had raised me badly. I tried to ignore it. I don't think he used the word "worthless", but that was pretty much the gist of it. He was offended because he was my father, and that I should obey him.

Now, for as long as I had remembered, I was told two things about my father. He was sick, and it wasn't his fault. I was often sad, or angry, but knew I wasn't supposed to be angry with him. (I also was told that I shouldn't work too hard, or feel too happy, or feel too sad, with the unstated implication that I would end up bipolar.)

But something inside me snapped. I told him off. I don't remember everything I said, but I do remember telling him, "You're a small man."

I don't know that I could've chosen worse words to insult his pride. Small man! Small man? I AM NOT A SMALL MAN! Your mother did a bad job! And so on.

He stormed out again. Tears running down my face, I turned back to the book. It took a while for the tears to clear, and for my mind to focus. But I went back to studying.

I honestly have no recollections from the rest of that trip. That May, I took the AP Biology test and got a 5. I also did well enough on my other AP tests (including Microeconomics, which I had studied for on my own) to get the National AP Scholar award.

At Harvey Mudd, I needed to study biology (again independently) and take a placement exam (again independently) to try to pass out of Introduction to Biology (Bio 52), which at that time was notoriously worthless. I ended up doing well enough to pass out of the class, but not well enough to be awarded credit. I was permitted to take Evolutionary Biology (Bio 101), which was a perfectly fine, fairly easy class.

So it didn't really matter that I had studied biology intensively three separate times. It didn't matter that I had gotten the National AP Scholar award. I didn't get an iota of credit from my 11 AP tests.

And yet it did matter. It mattered because it meant I had shit to do. I had a goal, born out of vanity, or ambition, or genuine curiosity, that compelled me to focus on work. It meant that I didn't have time to be patient with the ravings of my father. It meant that the normal precautions and rules dictated by my family, and my own personal anxieties, weren't front and center.

It meant that I could tell him off, recover, and do the job.

***

Fifteen years later, the grandparents are dead. My aunt is dead. My father is dead.  And the dream that I was chasing then is dead. I'm older. Just older.

All passions grow less acute with time. The passion to be right, or to be certain, is diminished. The conviction that something is owed -- resolution, restitution, violence, martyrdom -- by me, or him, or the universe, has been replaced by an accordioning of time and depletion of memory, a diminution of importance.

The house on the farm is half-empty now. I placed some incense at the Buddhist altar, remembering that my grandfather had once said, "Religion is between you and God." Alone, except for the watchful eyes of the god I doubt, I surrendered these memories and committed them to the cerulean sea.

Pausing, but not stopping, to remember the grandmother that passed, and the father who once loomed so unbearably large, but now grows smaller and smaller.

Oh Lord, we commit these bodies to flame, and commit their souls to your mercy. Be merciful to us, Lord, for we do not believe, and yet are saved by the forgetting. Amen.

Law 5: So Much Depends On Reputation--Guard It With Your Life

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW I

During China's War of the Three Kingdoms (A.D. 207-265), the greate general Chuko Liang, leading the forces of the Shu Kingdom, dispatched his vast army to a distant camp while he rested in a small town with a handful of soldiers. Suddenly sentinels hurried in with the alarming news that an enemy force of over 150,000 troops under Sima Yi was approaching. With only a hundred men to defend him, Chuko Liang's situation was hopeless. The enemy would finally capture this renowned leader.

Without lameting his fate, or wasting time trying to figure out how he had been caught, Liang ordered his troops to take down their flags, throw open the city gates, and hide. He himself then took a seat on the most visible part of teh city's wall, wearing a Taoist robe. He lit some incense, strummed his lute, and began to chant. Minutes later he could see the vast enemy army approaching, an endless phalanx of soldiers. Pretending not to notice them, he continued to sing and play the lute.

Soon the army stood at the town gates. At its head was Sima Yi, who instantly recognized the man on the wall.

Even so, as his soldiers itched to enter the unguarded town through its open gates, Sima Yi hesitated, held them back, and studied Liang on the wall. Then, he ordered an immediate and speedy retreat.

Interpretation

Chuko Liang was commonly known as the "Sleeping Dragon." ...The Sleeping Dragon carefully cultivated his reputation of being the cleverest man in China, one who always had a trick up his sleeve. As powerful as any weapon, this reputation struck fear into his enemy.

Sima Yi had fought against Chuko Liang dozens of times and knew him well. When he came on the empty city, with Liang praying on the wall, he was stunned. The Taoist robes, the chanting, the incense--this had to be a game of intimidation. The man was obviously taunting him, daring him to walk into a trap. The game was so obvious that for one moment it crossed Yi's mind that Liang actually was alone, and desperate. But so great was his fear of Liang that he dared not risk finding out. Such is the power of reputation. It can put a vast army on the defensive, even force them into retreat, without a single arrow being fired.

(from The 48 Laws of Power, by Robert Greene)

Law 9: Win through your actions, never through argument

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

In 131 B.C., the Roman consul Publius Crassus Dives Mucianus, laying siege to the Greek town of Pergamus, found himself in need of a battering ram to force through the town's walls. He had seen a couple of hefty ship's masts in a shipyard in Athens a few days before, and he ordered that the larger of these be sent to him immediately  The military engineer in Athens who received the order felt certain that the consul really wanted the smaller of the masts. He argued endlessly with the soldiers who delivered the request: The smaller mast, he told them, was much better suited to the task. And indeed it would be easier to transport.

The soldiers warned the engineer that their master was not a man to argue with, but he insisted that the smaller mast would be the only one that would work with a machine that he was constructing to go with it. He drew diagram after diagram, and went so far as to say that he was the expert and they had no clue what they were talking about. The soldiers knew their leader and at last convinced the engineer that it would be better to swallow his expertise and obey.

After they left, though, the engineer thought about it some more. What was the point, he asked himself, in obeying an order that would lead to failure? And so he sent the smaller mast, confident that the consul would see how much more effective it was and reward him justly.

When the smaller mast arrived, Mucianus asked his soldiers for an explanation. They described to him how the engineer had argued endlessly for the smaller mast, but had finally promised to send the larger one. Mucianus went into a rage. He could not concentrate on the siege, or consider the importance of breaching the walls before the town received reinforcements. All he could think aout was the impudent engineer, whom he ordered to be brought to him immediately.

Arriving a few days later, the engineer gladly explained to the consul, one more time, the reasons for the smaller mast. He went on and on, using the same arguments he had made with the soldiers. He said it was wise to listen to experts in these matters, and if the attack was only tried with the battering ram he had sent, the consul would not regret it. Mucianus let him finish, then had him stripped naked before the soldiers and flogged and scourged with rods until he died.

-The 48 Laws of Power

Pernicious memories from grad school

Why doesn't it die?

I'm tired right now. I think I'm getting a cold. I tutored a student for about 5 hours today in microeconomics. He did a fantastic job; I'm so proud of him right now. I wouldn't be surprised if his semester GPA ends up at least a full point higher. I worked on some revisions for this pdf guide for AP Physics C - Mechanics. I tried, and failed, to complete some statistical analysis looking at whether students really did run out of time on the third free response question. (I'll reexamine Turkey's test tomorrow if I think it's worth it. Right now it looks like the score for the first problem is significantly higher than the other two, but there is no significant difference between the second and third questions.)

And all of a sudden, the image comes flooding back from grad school. It's a story I don't think I told anyone else -- I try really, really hard not to speak ill of specific people from my professional past. But it bothers me enough to write it.

I think my mother and (future) stepfather had come to Cornell to visit. By then, my mental health was deteriorating... it was probably early 2007. There was snow on the ground. I reluctantly took them to Space Sciences. At that point, I hadn't stopped showing up to work, but I think it was clear by then that things weren't working out.

Just in front of the building, I saw my advisor rushing outward. I called to him. He looked up quickly, and kept on walking.

Maybe he didn't recognize me. Maybe he was busy.  I've invented a hundred different reasonable explanations why he didn't acknowledge my presence, or the presence of my family.

But right then, and right now, it's hard to hang onto that.

I don't remember if I took them into the building after that. If I did, it was for a very quick tour. Another grad student from my year and in my research group expressed some surprise that she hadn't had a chance to meet my parents when they were in town.

Several months later, another grad student, also in my year and in my research group, had his father (and possibly other relatives) come into town for a visit. My advisor talked with them, and they sat in the conference room for a lunch talk.

And then, as now, I couldn't help feeling resentment. I tried to think of a hundred reasons why this happened this way with them and why it worked out differently with my family. My mental health was bad, so I couldn't play host. The dad had a PhD, and therefore knew better how academia worked. His family just cared more about what he did, and where he worked.

Anything to avoid thinking that it was directly related to the fact that he was just a better grad student than I was.

Because that's the weird thing about depression. You start seeing things that could be innocuous, but add up to a giant conspiracy against your happiness. I brought in research money into the group with the NSF; neither of the other students had that, at the time. But they got the computer workstations, while I spent time alone in an empty computer lab. They got offices on the same floor as my advisor, while I remained in an office three floors up. They got to go to AAS, and so did I-- but only admission was covered, not my airfare.

Was this their fault? Or his? Not really. I could've asked about getting a second floor office, but I didn't. (Besides, I treasured my officemates -- they helped me keep what sanity and human-ness I had left.) I could've asked for more things. I could've transferred groups if it really was a problem. But at that point I had embraced the giant bullseye I imagined on my back.

He tried, I think, to be a good advisor. Maybe it was cultural/class -- his father had been a prominent diplomat, and on his wall hung proudly an invitation to a dinner with the Prime Minister. I think he tried to reach out to me, and I pushed him away, telling him that he already had one baby to take care of; he didn't need another.

So why do I still feel this pain? Why does it go away for a long period, and resurface? Why, after all the work I've done to rebuild my mind, my ego, to give myself perspective and distance, to generate new priorities?

Why do I still feel such pain? Not hatred, nor desire for another chance. But just pain?

Sleep will probably make me feel better. But I guess some have expressed questions as far as my time there. This is another peek. Were I a stronger or better man, I would've buried this along with the other bodies in my psychological backyard.

But it returns, unsummoned. And I have no way to deal with this, right now, other than to write, and hope, by writing, I can wake up unburdened by it.

The 48 Laws of Power: Meditations

The 48 Laws of Power is one of my favorite books. (It made my 15 books list.) It contains a bit of psychology, historical anecdotes, and some suggestions on how to behave in certain situations.

It is not a good book -- some might call it an evil book. It is with some irony that I'm considering writing a series of posts going through them. Call it an effort in personal development, call it a waste of time. Call it misplaced yearnings for religion. I find it a fun book, even though I think I would never live in the manner that it suggests. It's too different from who I am today.

But therein lies the draw. Could I adopt this mindset? And once adopted, could I safely cast it off? I think that I have labored among a false view of the world and myself. Would this simply be another false perspective? For those who don't know, I could succinctly call it "popular Machiavelli", though that probably doesn't quite capture it. Machiavelli had an eye for how to govern a principality or a republic; this book largely suggests a nation of one, and makes few attempts to suggest a more noble or elevated ambition than self-interest.

As I have previously written, I don't think there's a grand unified theory of human psychology or behavior, and I don't think it's valuable to labor under the assumption that it does exist, and with further research, it will reveal itself to us. So no single lens is helpful.

I think the philosophy this book outlines, sometimes seriously, sometimes in a manner that suggests it's meant to sell books to greedy wanna-be captains of industry, is one I could not willingly adopt. But it is intriguing. And, perhaps, there are times -- many times -- in which this framework is better than the blithely ignorant liberal/social justice/streak of selfishness hodgepodge that is my current cognitive framework.

If for no other reason, a structured approach, a daily devotional of sorts, might prove helpful to order my thoughts, whether they be aligned or in opposition. Moreover, I need to train my mind to be a bit more strategic.

I may indeed try to make this daily. Each "law" is relatively short. If I'm ambitious, I might supplement the discussion with some other examples of transgressions, observances, and possible counterexamples.

Next Post: Law 1: Never Outshine The Master (pending)

Grand Unified Theories

Remember? I'm no longer a scientist. This isn't about physics.

When I was young, I thought people were fundamentally the same. But I didn't really understand well why people did what they did. So, through some classes and independent reading, and with the passion of a lonely only child, I devoted some of my life to trying to figure people out. Why do people do what they do? Why do we feel what we feel? Or, screw everyone else -- why the hell do I do the things I do?

I think, at some point, the allure of the questioning wears off. It stops feeling deep. It stops feeling meaningful. Instead of feeling like thoughtful scholars in a college lounge, contemplating existence over some wine (or other substances), it starts seeming like, well, something drunk or high wastrels do when they are drunk or high.

But more than that, we decide what people are. Experiences, positive and negative (but especially negative), shape our beliefs on human nature. That, in turn, shapes our beliefs about our social, political, economic, sexual, and religious lives. We decide what we are, and who we are -- and more than that, we decide who everyone else is, too.

We decide people are inherently good, or inherently evil. We decide whether those on welfare need it, or are moochers. We decide whether people of other traditions are an opportunity for growth or a threat, or both. We decide, more or less, how much to worry about the past, the present, and the future. We decide whether obstacles make people stronger or are discriminatory. We decide whether or not men and women and unborn babies deserve death.

And we decide that it is true for everyone, or at least enough people, for it to guide our behavior.

I've been looking for that grand unified theory of human behavior. It started with a bit of religion and philosophy. Then a bit of history. Economics was a key component. I stumbled across some sociology and psychology.

But it didn't get more simple. Unlike what we expect for good theories in the natural sciences, sociological theories don't get more elegant, more predictive, more powerful. They get diffused in detail and case-based evaluations. It's not because human behavior is endlessly complicated -- I sincerely doubt that. A

nd I have no idea why the hell it isn't like that.

For whatever reason -- complexity, some mathematically chaotic process, or shitty analysis -- we don't have a grand unified theory of humans.

And I don't think we're going to get one.

Even more importantly, I don't think we need one.

The belief that there is a unified theory is literally killing us.

It is the belief in the existence of universal truth, and the need to enforce that truth above others, that is the root of our religious and ideological warfare. It is the belief in a commonality that ignores different environments, and the potential for simple unpredictability, that have led us to make horrible foreign policies, often, in America's case, based on what is empirically false assumption that all all of us -- leaders and citizens alike -- are essentially after the same things, and that any gaps are due to misunderstanding that is bridgeable by better communication, empathy, or argument.

It is the belief in a universal truth -- simplicity where there is none -- that has caused our economic policies to be dictated by ideology than empiricism. If the free market is right, it has to be right all the time. If Keynesianism is right, it has to be right all the time.

That's total nonsense, especially when we look at the assumptions -- stated or implied -- that have to work. For example, neoclassical economic policies work given certain conditions that preclude market failure -- information, zero transaction costs, negligible barriers to entry, etc. Even if the conditions aren't perfectly met, they work pretty well a lot of the time (assuming the goal is, say, total GDP, instead of equally shared wealth -- another assumption). Keynesianism economic policies work pretty well when markets aren't working like "normal", or when labor has information about wages of coworkers (and fear of losing the job is less than fear of falling behind). Behavioral economics builds in even more psychology -- though, as it acknowledges itself -- there are different regimes for human thinking and analysis that make a universal model problematic. (You can throw in more coefficient weightings, but at some point it becomes an empirical model, not a theory.)

The absence of a theory doesn't excuse ignorance. We should all know neoclassical AND Keynesian AND Behavioral and perhaps even Hayekian economics -- the assumptions, the implications, and limitations of each "school". We should be able to articulate why we cling to one view or another, and be honest whether our preferred perspective of human nature might not be confirmed in a given situation.

Most of us might not have the time and inclination to carry around nearly innumerable bits of knowledge about cognitive biases, biological-behavioral relationships, sociological models, persuasion tactics, and religious traditions and send some observationally/empathetically derived metaphorical punchcard into the poorly-coded mess of our own minds.

Even if we actually did all this, it might not be worth it. Life is meant to be lived, and some mistakes are a lot more fun than we think. (See: Shitty Dates).

So maybe most of us don't have to. And that makes us no different than where we were, except for one thing:

We embrace the humility that we don't have a grand unified theory, that there might never exist one, and that it's toxic and maladaptive to even believe that one exists.

In other words, go ahead and worry about why your partner/friend/relative/boss is so fucked up and different. But, even if you figure them out, don't count on getting much stuff to be used elsewhere.

You're welcome to try -- especially if you're a therapist, pastor, forensic psychologist, politician, or someone else for whom, I suppose, it's important to see patterns in human behavior. I know I'll keep playing armchair economist and sociologist, just because it's fun and makes me feel like I've got stuff to say that is worth listening to (despite considerable evidence to the contrary).

But I suspect we'd be a lot happier and better at life if we just worked on our relationships with specific individuals, and assume whatever successes or patterns we discover work only for them. That just might keep us out of trouble, and make us better human beings to each other.

Sample of what goes on in my head

Stuff that goes on in my head

(Morning, going to pharmacy and tutoring appointment)

Gotta go pick up this medication, even though it doesn't work, because Mom will keep nagging me otherwise.

Sigh -- hope that student is ready to learn today.

Speaking of which, what do you need to learn?

I guess I could learn some more programming.

Ugh.

Do you still have that IDL book?

I bought a new one to replace my professor's.

Was he a dick that he didn't give you one outright?

I don't know. He did put his name on it. Maybe it was his?

But there were no notes inside. And you brought your own funding!

Fuck it -- I'm not revisiting this.

Well, what about programming?

Sigh... I probably do know IDL better than I think. Maybe I should pick up a good C++ book.

Do you want to teach?

Maybe. Gotta send out those CC applications.

Will they take you? You don't have any curriculum! No syllabi! No teaching experience!

Hey, fuck you. I'm supposed to be more positive now.

You know, a good course would revolve around the car.

Yeah, yeah, you've said this before.

Huh. I probably should study a bit about that. The engine could be modeled as some irreversible thermodynamic reaction.

Yeah, you need to figure out how to explicitly make the connections to other subjects.

And, uh, the, uh, steering wheel thingy--

Power steering, dumbass?

Shut up! Yeah, that. I guess you could use a rotational model involving some sort of frictional torque.

Have to be a function. A constant wouldn't work.

Yeah.

Speaking of mechanics, how about giving tensors another try?

I still don't really appreciate the difference between that and a matrix.

Yeah, that kind of makes you relatively retarded compared with other physicists.

Saul Teukolsky would say "retarded" when we were doing special relativity in Electrodynamics class.

*giggles*

Stop that! It's inappropriate.

What's inappropriate is that I'm still trying to pretend to be a physicist.

Well, until you decide to drop that mantle of legitimacy that you cling to like a chewed teat, you probably could afford to revisit them.

I still don't know how I passed GR senior year.

Or how you got an A in that fields class.

Yeah.

You know what was a good tensor? The antisymmetric tensor.

Yeah! That made cross-products a bit easier.

And Lambda, or whatever it was called, that was the four-dimensional tensor used to keep track of the sign differences when talking about time and space.

Yeah. Those were the Good Ones.

Yeah, that was before you got way in over your head with Gamma functions and other shit you didn't understand.

Again fuck you.

Cross-products? I gotta review magnetic fields.

Speaking of which, how awesome is it that Tesla's on currency?

Yeah, we'd never have a scientist on currency here.

Maybe Edison.

Exactly. Edison was an asshole.

Actually, you're assuming that based on what little you've read about Edison and Tesla.

I read enough.

Huh. Aunty referenced Washington's birthday yesterday. He was born in 1732, right?

February 22, 1732. Though it was recorded differently because they used some shitty weird Julian calendar during the Colonial era.

Yeah. Say, wasn't he put on the quarter in 1932?

Yeah. Come to think of it, Lincoln got put on in 1909, a hundred years after his birth.

What about FDR?

Not sure. And I don't know whether 1938 was a significant anniversary for Jefferson.

God, you WERE a coin nerd at one point.

Numismatist, please!

Do you think your FB friends would care enough to read about the transition on coins from Columbia to Presidents?

Do you think I care enough to research it?

Probably not. But it does look like some function whereby the time between when they were born/died and when they get their face on a coin decreases with time.

But what about Jefferson?

Oh, right. Forget about it.

Kennedy got a coin the year after his assassination.

Wonder how that was pushed through.

Oh, wait. We're here. Time to buy medicine.

(evening, going to Panera before another tutoring appointment)

Wow, that girl sitting outside is hot.

[redacted]

You're too old! Jesus.

What's the cutoff?

Berlin Wall.

What?

Die Schandmauer. Has to be born before it came down.

That's what... anyone over 24?

Yeah.

Sigh. I'm broke and out of shape, anyway.

Yes. Yes. That's why we can't have nice things. Go in, fucker.

(enters Panera)


Huh, this is the wrong entrance.

Where's the bathroom?

Huh, that's not the right one.

Damnit, that server totally thought you were awkwardly checking her out.

She was in the fucking way! Besides, I made extra sure to be looking over her head.

Are you always so self-conscious?

Shut up. Time to pee.

(Goes into restroom, pees)


Goddamn it, you didn't shake enough times!

You're not supposed to shake more than twice; otherwise you're playing with it.

Fuck that shit. You're getting older. You gotta hold and squeeze at least four times now.

Wonder if I've got prostate problems.

Fuck. Are you really gonna put this on your blog later?

Yeah, probably.

You're fucked up and an attention whore.

Thank god you're wearing black pants. Why'd you wear a suit today, anyway?

I don't know. I think I wanted to see how the haircut would look with a suit.

That's stupid. And you didn't get one.

Well, Eugene's Hair Salon was closed.

But you walked into that other place. What happened?

Well, they didn't have Time magazine.

So?

All they had was weird tattoo mags and other crap.

Wow, how classist of you.

Shut up. Besides, I thought about it, and I don't think either of the stylists there could cut Asian hair.

You're probably right. That's why you didn't go to the old Mexican guy that cusses, right?

Yeah. He cracks me up and he's cheap, but I get a few patches on the side.

That's because you've got a lumpy head.

Mom shouldn't have told me about those times I fell out of the high chair.

Make you self-conscious?

Well, what if it made a difference?

You're an idiot. Go order some food.

(gets in line)


Huh. What's that? Looks like a nameplate that says "Republic of El Salvador" on that table with those two youngish guys.

Weird. Model UN?

"Excuse me."

Oh, I'm in the way of someone carrying dishes.

Oh! She's incredibly hot!

[redacted]

I think I'm about to say something.

"Oh, sorry."

Ok. Done.

Wait!

Why am I about to say more things?

"Excuse me. Is there a Model UN going on here?"

What the hell are you doing!?

"Uh, what?"

You know what, that's probably a binder that you're viewing edgewise.

"You know, a model UN. I'm not sure myself. See that sign?"

That makes you kind of an idiot.

"What?"

"Er, never mind. I'll ask them myself."

(she smiles, and walks away)


What the hell was that shit?

Uh, I don't know.

Did you have to act like a blathering idiot in front of an attractive woman?

Does it matter that she was an attractive woman? It was weird to say anyway.

Oh, well, THAT justifies it.

Shut up. Do you care about that name tag anymore?

No. Do you?

No.

Besides, who the fuck doesn't know about Model UN? Fuck her!

You barely did it in high school, fucker. Maybe she didn't do it.

Maybe I didn't enunciate.

WHO THE FUCK CARES?

MAKE BABIES

NOT WITH HER

Ok, I'm done.

Good, because you've done enough weird shit already today.

Go sit down and write.

But I haven't bought anything yet.

Fuck it. I need to get out of this line.

Not listening

I told my therapist that this were better this week. He asked, "What changed?"

He and I have considered whether working helps. He and I have considered whether this OCD medication works (the antidepressants failed to work for more than a month, and even though I don't have OCD, this medication seemed, er, less ineffective). He and I have considered whether I've been able to rewrite my automatic thinking to stop believing in the inevitability of becoming unemployed, crazy, and stuck in institutions/nursing homes for the rest of my life. We've discussed the importance of getting a mentor, regular meetings with friends, etc. We've discussed the value of going back to church and belief -- he's an evangelical Christian (though he voted for Obama in 2012).

All of these factors might have helped a little bit. But right now, I think it's something different. Because I haven't been on medication for a few weeks -- and had experienced a severe depressive episode last month, while on medication. I recognized, years ago, the incorrect assumptions and analysis that lay beneath that pattern of thinking. I haven't been spending more time with friends, or family. My relationships with my father and stepfather remain unchanged.

In short, even though I have a host of plausible things that should or could make me better, I don't know that they are fundamentally why I feel like I'm doing better now.

So what is it?

Basically, I'm hungry and intolerant.

I'm hungry because I haven't had a good job in a few years. I've had part-time tutoring and a full-time PITA position at a high school. But that's it. And increasingly I have a chip on my shoulder that won't be satisfied by looking back at past glories or through incremental improvements in my students' lives. I'm poor, and would be homeless were it not for my parents. Counselors and family members are perfectly happy to speculate on whether or not a "tough love" approach would cure me -- but I don't care about that.

Hence, intolerance. I really don't care anymore what family members or ex-classmates think. Some think that I still retain too much pride, and it is the sacrifice of pride that will allow me to accept Christ again and live a better life. They could be right -- but I have a lot of issues with that, and not all emotional. I'd like to think that, even through the sometimes-chaotic periods of the last few years, I have contemplated in a serious manner some aspects of personal philosophy, and that has largely evolved away from strict adherence to a conservative religious position. It has evolved toward financial support of my family's liberal and progressive church, but more in the context of cultural center and extended family than personal belief.

I also really don't care about day-to-day interactions with my parents, and have grown less sensitive to things that are well-intended but effectively undermine my sense of self-worth and human dignity. This sounds excessively dramatic -- basically, I'm learning more effectively to tune out large chunks of things spoken at me. Perhaps if I were a better at compartmentalizing life, thoughts, and emotions, I'd be better at humoring the world view of my mother and father. But a selective mute button works for now.

But basically, it comes down to accepting that I'm more alone than I previously believed.

Now, I'm certain that this set off an argumentative tripwire among those who read this and care about me. That's deliberate. Give me a chance to explain.

I know I have people who love and care about me, and support me as best as they can, in the ways they can. And I know that, over the last couple years, it hasn't really felt like enough. It could by my own fault, a consequence of habitually pushing people away. It could be no one's fault -- the result of everyone just being busy, preoccupied with our respective lives and troubles. And it could be a bit of other people's fault -- but the truth of that is not particularly adaptive.

I have lived, for a long time, under the unspoken belief that I'm not really in control of my own destiny. I pursued a scientific research path, in part, because of influences subtle and not-so-subtle from my father and my teachers. Some of this has to do with a false belief of genetic inevitability/familial patterns/other bullshit.

But I think I'm getting to a point where I have to believe that I have more control over my life, even more than I might actually have, if for no other reason than I think it can, at this particular juncture, empower more than it frightens.

The consequences of this are a bit unknown.

I have to be careful not to beat myself up. I have to be careful not to mistake impulsiveness and impatience for proactivity. I have to also continue to be open to advice from people in a position to really provide it, even as I make sure that that advice is evaluated both in the context of my specific relationship and their specific competence in that area. Part of me worries that this might be the start of becoming more selfish, more of an asshole, and less empathetic.

But I'm willing to take that chance. I can't afford to wait any longer for life to get better on its own. I'm no longer extremely young, and the opportunities for me to do the things that, at some level, I know I can do, is closing. There is an expiration date -- and even if there isn't, I might still get better results thinking that there is.

Looking back, the times I really stepped up -- certain periods in high school, freshman year in college, a very few aspects of college volunteering, and the 2005 EU seminar -- were times I didn't know to be afraid of things not working out. I simply asked, applied, begged, and worked my way into things. And I didn't think about whether I was deluding myself about these things.

I remember a friend -- a close friend -- shot down the idea that I'd be competitive with my peers in an EU seminar to win a trip to Europe. But, for whatever reason, I ignored him, and got it.

A few years later, I remember a friend -- a close friend -- shoot down the idea that I could transition to work in the diplomatic service. I listened to him more, and didn't do it. And that was a mistake.

I wasn't aware enough to realize that, really, I did not have the research background or the organizational skills to be an appropriate candidate for the NSF fellowship. I worked a month on the essays -- and let me give credit to my advisor for supporting me with drafts and recommendations -- and got it. Maybe it was a mistake on their part, but the important thing was that I got the damn thing.

Maybe I need people I don't quite trust fully to tell me no. Maybe not -- that's putting the locus of control externally, again.

The only thing I know, for certain, is that I've got to take more personal responsibility for my life. And, for now, that means not listening to certain people.

Armed force, fear, and ambiguous circumstances

For those of you who don't know, there is a massive manhunt underway in Southern California for Christopher Dorner, an ex-LAPD officer and ex-Navy reservist wanted for three murders in the past week. CNN, among others, has posted updates as well as a summary of the story so far.

It's already getting political and nutty in response to this. HuffPo reports Facebook groups in support of Dorner are popping up, and the comments on the HuffPo article indicate there's enough conspiracy-theorizing and law enforcement hatred to indicate that there isn't the universal desire to see him apprehended that I might have naively expected. I am certain that some conservatives with more passion than sense or taste are making hay of the fact that Dorner's manifesto appeared to praise President Obama and support an assault weapons ban, suggesting, in an odd bit of self-referential writing, that people like him wouldn't be able to commit mayhem like this with such a ban.

Things are very fluid, and this sad and scary story, unfortunately, has the potential to get a lot sadder and scarier. I do hope my cop friends and acquaintances -- and obviously everyone else -- stays safe.

Because of the potential for raw nerves now, and because more details will emerge, I'm going to try to tread lightly here. Arguably, I shouldn't even try to bring this up -- hence why I've buried the lede a bit.

Three people were shot at in Torrance this morning by police because they were driving a similar truck to Dorner's and were near the home of one of the officers designated for protection. Two women were actually shot, one seriously. The women shot were LA Times paper deliverypeople.

More details will come after the investigation, but it appears these might have contributed to why the officer's shot at this particular truck:

1. The truck appeared to be a gray Nissan Titan like Dorner's.
1. The truck was driving with its lights off.
2. The truck was driving slowly, making stops near the officer's house.

Key points:

1. One of the residents knows that the deliverypeople keep their lights off to avoid disturbing sleeping residents.

2 The truck they were in was blue, not gray.

The second incident happened nearby about 20 minutes later, and while this story doesn't state it, I did hear in the KPCC coverage that the officers might have been responding to reports of shots fired in the first incident. This truck was black.

What are we to make of this?

The law enforcement officers hunting for Dorner are stressed, possibly tired -- especially those kept beyond their shift, and emotionally invested. Because Dorner is alleged to have killed not only police officers, but the children of police officers, it is intensely personal.

The situation that presented itself in Torrance was ambiguous, and the officers might well be cleared of wrongdoing (though the department will probably be sued).

And so, despite tremendous amounts of training with firearms and stressful situations, police officers, in two incidents this morning, opened fire, and we don't yet know fully whether they were justified in doing so.

Needless to say, this case in general, and perhaps this part in particular, has significant relevance to debates concerning the "castle doctrine" (aka "stand your ground" laws), gun ownership, and acceptable use of force by law enforcement.

Malcolm Gladwell mentioned in his book, Blink, that studies have found that an officer-involved shooting is less likely to happen if the officer is alone on patrol. (I can't find the excerpt, but related content is on the book's website.) This somewhat paradoxical bit appears to be due to the fact that, being alone and without backup, the officer is more likely to proceed more cautiously and have time to better process the situation. "When police officers are by themselves, they slow things down; with a partner, they speed things up."
Evidently, that part, located on pages 222-224, draws upon Into the Kill Zone: A Cop's Eye View of Deadly Force, by David Kinger. It'd be nice to hear from anyone who has read that book.

In other words, police officers are people -- highly trained, generally good people with guns. But, being people, we need both training and the time necessary to use that training to process information and arrive at optimal conclusions. In other words, Blink is a deceptive title -- we need a few blinks of the eye, a few seconds, to cognitively evaluate situations in the best of circumstances.

I have only a brief anecdote about high emotions among law enforcement after tragedy. In 2004, a CHP officer was shot right outside of the Pomona courthouse. I happened to be part of a group that brought lunch to the homeless on Saturdays in the civic center plaza, a couple hundred yards away from the courthouse. One of the leaders of the group -- a generally wise, thoughtful, and, in case you're wondering, a sober man -- mentioned that things got much more tense in the wake of the shooting. Although the police had not been particularly hostile to the homeless there in the past, he and others had been shouted at and had guns drawn on them in the days following the shooting.

Again, the officers involved in the shootings may well be exonerated -- the luxury of time just might not have been there, depending on the specific circumstances. And thank goodness no one died.

This is not about excessive use of force by law enforcement. This is about how even good, well-trained people might react in a poor manner to ambiguous circumstances when under high stress.

We have to regard our ability to react correctly in ambiguous situations with a bit of humility. The evidence behind that -- from our own, honest recollections as well as aggregated data -- demonstrate that an idealized view of individual liberty, individual responsibility, and individual conscience might not work, even among the best-trained of us. And that has to inform our policies. It's not just a cop problem -- go look up Yoshihiro Hattori. For an example more recent -- ten days ago -- go read about Rodrigo Diaz.

That's all I have to say.

What smart is

If I have one thing I wish I could tell the smart students I've met in my life, it is this:

Smart is not what you are. Smart is what you do.

That's it.

I spent a good chunk of my life doing smart things, like studying hard in school, not getting into trouble with the law, not taking controlled substances, etc. But at some point, smart became my identity. This, in itself, wasn't bad. But that became divorced from the "doing smart things" part. It meant I wasn't working productively, every day, to be more knowledgeable, more wise, and, critically, to make intelligent choices and actions.

I'm not the only one. High school had its share of people who believed smart was a fixed quantity, an identity to be celebrated and bragged about until reality proved inconvenient. These people, like me, reacted in ways characterized by the five stages of grief--denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance... assuming any of us got beyond depression.

College had some people that had trouble dealing with the disconnect between the smart identity they had carried with them for their entire lives and their apparent academic prowess. And again, people reacted in different ways--some by studying more, or studying more intelligently, or by redefining their value system, or by rejecting what they had pursued and valued their entire lives in a fit of pique. I did a bit of each, but heavier on the pique than I'd like to admit.

Anyway, this post was intended to be short, and therefore hopefully of greater impact, than most. Smart is not who you are. Smart is what you do, every day. It adds up, and is somewhat (but not entirely) cumulative, and barring significant biological or psychological changes, you can rely on it for the most part for the rest of your life.

But, please, get over yourself. Or get over your self-debasement, if self-aggrandizement is not your problem. If you think you are smart, shut the fuck up about it and do something with it. If you think you aren't smart, shut the fuck up and do something to make yourself incrementally smarter.

"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.

Let's Play Adventure!

I have a cousin. He is in kindergarten. He is confident, athletic, and bright. Whenever I saw him, he used to say, "Let's play adventure!" As he's gotten a bit older, he has become slightly more polite: "Uncle Ryan, can we play adventure?"

Let me explain.

At some point, in the not-too-distant past, I decided to entertain my cousin by going on a make-believe adventure in the backyard. It involved some convoluted story involving a sacred sword, evil wizards, monsters, merchants, comedic sidekicks, and magic items.

I didn't realize that I was unintentionally committing myself to a long-term contract. Since then, every time I've met this cousin, we've played "adventure". We must've played it at least 25 times; I've lost count.

The goal of this was to stimulate his imagination. I don't know if it's worked -- sometimes, I try, with mixed success, to get him to come up with the storyline. I'm hopeful that he'll play adventure with his friends at school.

Also with mixed success: crafting stories with enough moral ambiguity that it doesn't boil down to killing the bad guys. At least he knows that not all monsters or witches or ogres are evil.

Most recently, given a particularly intellectually bankrupt day, I ripped off The Oregon Trail and took a group of cousins on a long and dangerous journey through a cul de sac in Monterey Park on the way to the Willamette Valley.

It was unusual, in that the cousins included some older folks - one about eight or nine. Initially, a ten-year old girl was part of the party, but she decided to quit early. In revenge for her rational decision to drop out of a kid's game, she became the first person to die of dysentery.

When asked what dysentery was, I explained that it involved nonstop diarrhea. The eight year old boy was delighted.

I'm not a particularly great storyteller, especially when forced to improvise. I think, when I finally find a Toastmasters club I like, I'll choose the storytelling module once I complete the basic one.

But I do think storytelling, and imagination, are tremendously important.

It's a lot of work - more work than playing a game with established rules, or watching a TV program. So why do I do it?

Growing up with a busy single mom and non-English speaking grandparents, I found myself alone a lot. (I'm an only child, and the youngest grandchild in my family.) I did watch a lot of TV -- a lot of "crap telly". But I also spent a lot of time wandering around in the backyard, making up things with dirt and bugs.

Whenever my mom went shopping, I would also try picking up random bits of debris and make up an adventure, hiding in the circular racks and assembling equipment.

I never became a LARPer; again, possibly because my isolation never put me in contact with that culture until college, at which point prejudices and the demands of study discouraged it. And I don't know that an obsession with D&D's modern ruleset would be all that helpful in cultivating genuine creativity and imagination among the young -- to the contrary, it might be borrowing someone else's word of fantasy.

Here's the point of the story: when my cousin asks other adults to "play adventure", they don't really know what it means. And when they do, they often make the excuse that they don't know how.

I worry, deeply, that it's not an excuse, but an accurate statement of fact.

Ten of my malleable perspectives on the world

I am not looking forward to a discussion with a family friend about religion. He is a devout Christian; I am a recently converted agnostic/atheist. (I'm still most comfortable somewhere between what I believe each term means.) Functionally, I guess I'm a bit of a Unitarian - I help out and occasionally attend my family church. Granted, it's a pretty liberal denomination (United Church of Christ), which, in practice, means that biblical literalism is low on the priority list, assuming it even appears.

But this post isn't about my journey to and from Christianity (or Buddhism for that matter...). I decided to just throw out a few things I perceive of the world around me, and open myself up to the challenge of refining or rejecting these conceived notions. So have at it - I'll offer them as points with an economy of explanation.

1. Keynesian economics is mainstream economics, supported by considerable evidence and pretty basic economic logic. It runs into practical issues only because of the ratchet effect of government spending, which is a political problem, but should be addressed after economic recovery has stablized, and not during the process.

2. I personally know too many great people of faith to reject the value of faith in America and in the world, even as I don't personally count myself among believers. I still attend church occasionally because it provides a community I haven't been able to find elsewhere.

3. US foreign policy has been sabotaged by our messianic perspective on our mission in the world, stemming from Woodrow Wilson and a general cultural heritage born of relative peace, prosperity and stability within our borders. There is room to temper this with a bit of realism, and still be a reasonably decent member of the community of nations.

4. Birth order plays a very large role in personality. A lot of things that were previously confounding about my family and friends became more understandable when I started viewing things through that lens.

5. In extreme cases (bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, etc.), prescription drugs are necessary and life-saving. But antidepressants are not really useful. However, they are somewhat habit forming, in that the withdrawal period is horrible.

6. It is possible to make a joke about anything. Anything. However, most of us lack the ability to either execute or appreciate such a joke. The possibility helps us heal and move on; the recognition of our limitations in that facility keep us from being complete jackasses.

7. The European Union is not arthritic because of its models of the welfare state. It has problems because of a structure that gives veto power to each member and the divergence of culture and interests within the community. Centralization and effective execution of Europe-wide domestic economic reforms and effective foreign policy will require an external threat. The Soviet Union is gone, and America, while criticized, is never seen as a credible threat. Therefore, barring a dramatic change, we have witnessed the peak of EU power for our lifetimes.

8. Anthropogenic global warming is almost self-evident in its correctness given a fairly basic level of physics - or it is according to my understanding of the science. If you studied and understood quantum mechanics, you would understand why carbon dioxide and water vapor are relatively opaque in the infrared (rotational modes). This means it doesn't radiate away nicely - it gets somewhat trapped and leads to a higher temperature than if the atmosphere were transparent. If you understand where the oil came from, and appreciate some basic conservation of mass (with corrections for chemical reactions), then it makes sense that industrialization and deforestation are tied with an increase in CO2. Therefore, if burning fossil fuels, making concrete, and cutting down trees releases lots of CO2 and restricts its reuptake, and if CO2 is opaque in the infrared, and if that leads to higher surface temperatures and different weather patterns, then what the hell is the controversy?

9. Even so, we will not be able to stop global warming and climate change. Mitigation efforts will be needed. A lot of people will die, indirectly, because of this. It will be a tragedy, but spread out over so much time, and with enough other sources of blame (war, persistent poverty, greed, bad luck, religion) that the tragedy will be diluted into accepted normality. But mitigation companies will be well poised to be a spectacular growth field.

10. Australia's lifestyle, civil structure, and comedy are among the finest in the world. A shame it is also characterized by an intense hatred of boat people and aboriginals. I could consider living there for a large chunk of my life.

11. Engineers and lawyers make particularly difficult friends/partners, because the rules-based thinking contaminates area of lifestyle that are not well negotiated by rules-based systems (or at least rules-based systems with relatively complex levels of subordinate and superodinate "goods" - which I've never seen implemented particularly effectively by anyone).

12. Most social changes in civil rights are generational. People don't change their minds quickly, if at all. Laws and customs change when old people die.

13. I can't count.

My favorite astropolitik story

Louis XI (1423-1483), the great Spider King of France, had a weakness for astrology. He kept a court astrologer whom he admired, until one day the man predicted that a lady of the court would die within eight days. When the prophecy came true, Louis was terrified, thinking that either the man had murdered the woman to prove his accuracy or that he was so versed in his science that his powers threatened Louis himself. In either case he had to be killed.

One evening Louis summoned the astrologer to his room, high in the castle. Before the man had arrived, the king told his servants that when he gave the signal they were to pick the astrologer up, carry him to the window, and hurl him to the ground, hundreds of feet below.

The astrologer soon arrived, but before giving the signal, Louis decided to ask him one last question: “You claim to understand astrology and to know the fate of others, so tell me what your fate will be and how long you have to live.”

“I shall die just three days before Your Majesty,” the astrologer replied. The king’s signal was never given. The man’s life was spared. The Spider King not only protected his astrologer for as long as he was alive, he lavished him with gifts and had him tended by the finest court doctors.

The astrologer survived Louis by several years, disproving his power of prophecy but proving his mastery of power.

-Robert Greene, The 48 Laws of Power

Nerds: Who They Are and Why We Need More of Them - Introduction

David Anderegg is a psychologist affiliated with Bennington University in Vermont. In addition, he runs a private practice specializing in psychotherapy for children. He has written a fascinating book about nerds. Yes, nerds. In case it’s not obvious, I do have a bit of interest in this topic, if for no other reason than an obsession with fruitless self-examination.

I came across Nerds: Who They Are and Why We Need More of Them by accident. I was looking for Bowling Alone at Borders. But the tantalizing title drew me in. I also take it as a sign from God that the shelf had “fuck vegitarians” [sic] on it, underscoring the decline of spelling skills among America’s young vandal community.

He had sold me at “Why Ashton Kutcher is your kids’ worst nightmare” (part of the title of the introductory chapter).

Thoughts while listening to Philip Glass

From half-remembered moments,
from half a lifetime ago
dendrites strain like monstrous hands
To strangle and elevate a connection.
To leave conviction stranded in the realm of truth.
The terror, the absolute terror of losing all,
waking one distant day to un-discover
a lifetime spent in a fugue state.

Sharing a secret - hopefully funny, likely creepy, and definitely weird

Breaking News: I’m an odd guy.

I’m about to share a secret I’ve never told a soul. But it illustrates a quirk that, I suspect, is either quite common, or will certify me as completely insane.

Once upon a time, I was part of a performing church dance group called Inochi. I participated for much of my childhood until about fifth grade. It was filled with tons of wonderful, intelligent, and attractive teenagers and twentysomethings that I admired.


For a completely unknown reason, whenever I saw one young woman in her early 20s, I always thought the following phrase: "fucking (her last name)".

To clarify, “fucking” in this case was used as an adjective and an insult, not a verb with possibly somewhat flattering connotations.

On growing up "nerdy" and nerdiness at Harvey Mudd College

I started thinking about the extent of my self-identification as a “nerd” after reading David Anderegg’s book, Nerds: Who They Are and Why We Need More of Them. A later post (or posts) will include a summary and analysis of his arguments. For now, as a starting point, I’ll stick with a brief, rough definition he offers. To paraphrase:

Nerds are characterized vaguely by a combination of school success, interest in precision, unself-consciousness, closeness to adults, and interest in fantasy. They are often pejoratively associated with asexuality, poor personal hygiene, sycophantic obedience to authority, ugliness, social awkwardness, and lack of athletic ability.

Growing up, I think I never really thought of myself as a nerd. Yes, I would “geek” out by focusing on areas of interest – one year it was presidential history, another year for mountains and volcanoes of the world, another for US states. I read a great deal, and spent a lot of time playing video games. But these were as much the product of being an only child of a single working parent as anything else. I was small for my age, and remained so for my entire academic life. (I’m born in May, which probably has something to do with it.)

Ms. K is still teaching

For the last few months/years, I have had a low enough opinion of my life and abilities that I do not do much to make my life better – it is the life of someone waiting for death, yet too cowardly to actively seek it out.

It is with some surprise, then, that I find myself feeling somewhat hopeful today. I attribute this to talking with one of my mom’s close teacher friends, whom I'll call Ms. K. (The original article had her name, which my mom rightly criticized as inappropriate to publish in its entirety, without permission.)

Killing the wunderkind

It’s occurred to me that the farther I am from grad school, the more I’ve been relying on academic achievements to shore up my shoddy self-esteem. It’s been sickening is how much I’ve clung to this anachronistic self-ideation. It’s as if I haven’t developed my non-intellectual identity at all. I still hang onto that damn NSF as if it’s some sort of validation of whatever preconceived notions and expectations, even though, at some level, I feel like a failure at best, and possibly even a fraud.