Granted Glory

Better Late Than Never

2010-02-09T13:47:11Z

I would like to think President Obama read my reactions to his State of the Union Address, but I won’t delude myself. And yet, it seems almost possible.¹

I finally got around to watching his Q&A session with House Republicans. I hadn’t given it primacy because from my pundit reading I had gotten only four things:

There really was no reason for things like this to be televised.
The President “won” the event.
The President’s only gaffe was using the wrong name for the congressman from Texas.
The Republicans made a tactical error by giving the President the primary microphone, allowing him to outyell them, in effect, and still look good. And, as always, they were stupid.

In other words, nothing to see here.²

I’m glad I disregarded their gloss.

The event was a primer on American politics. The President has frequently spoken over the last two years–with little or no effect on Republicans, Democrats, his administration or, indeed, himself–about the need to move beyond political posturing. In this event, he gave that argument a test case.

First, he tried to have an honest debate. He refused to be cajoled into spewing partisan talking points and, instead, used fact, truth and open conversation as more than campaign slogans. He restated his desire not to “relitigate the past” and acted accordingly. He pointed out factual inaccuracies, but left room for policy differences.

Second, he wouldn’t let the conversation be squeezed into pre-defined molds. He mashed together taxes, health care, jobs and deficits so much they almost seemed inter-related. Apparently he forgot politicians only change topics to avoid difficult questions, not to worry about some bigger picture.

Third, he dropped the ‘if clause’. Two nights earlier, he’d told Republicans if they demand a supermajority vote on all action, “then the responsibility to govern is now yours as well” (emphasis mine). At the Q&A, he treated them as if they had a responsibility to govern because they had been elected, and he attempted to engage them accordingly.

Perhaps my favorite moment of the night was the President’s response to the final question. A former Illinois state senate colleague had engaged the President relatively congenially, providing too accommodating a finish for what Republicans hoped would be a clash of prepared talking points, so the congressman from Texas stepped up with his list of misleading grievances and fired off a closing missive. The President smilingly but clearly questioned the rant’s divisive intent, corrected the false claims, and provided a concrete example of how it could have been done. Diplomacy made politics looked stupid.

All this is not to say political problems are over. One freshman congressman notably pointed out that for all the President’s talk of engagement, the congressional Democrats were extending a hand only to stiff-arm Republicans. The rest of the Republican speakers spent their time posturing, posing and generally ignoring his calls for honest conversation (after all, they’d invited him there to make their points, not to get their questions answered). And, honestly, the President was breaking new ground by making his bipartisan rhetoric seem realistic. Change I can believe in? I’m not sure. But it at least gave me hope.

I finished my SOTU notes pointing out, “We’d be a lot better off if he could inspire himself to act in a way that might accomplish his vision [of politics that are generous and participatory].” We’re a lot better off after this Q&A.

He even referred to the health insurance reform bill. I mean, really. ↩
I found it interesting that President Obama had predicted the relative silence of the media, in effect daring them to report his engagement of political adversaries. I should not have had to watch this to find out that President Obama likes Paul Ryan and his family–unless it’s politically detrimental to the congressman, of course. ↩

His Take on SOTU

2010-02-05T23:25:11Z

If you liked (and understood) my take on the State of the Union Address, you might be interested in James Fallows’s take. He has a similar take on some issues, though he comes from a different perspective.

If you didn’t like my thoughts, you might like his. Though he has a similar take on some issues, he comes from a different perspective. He more elegantly notes some of the things I pointed out, but his evaluations differ from mine in some respects.

If you like the idea of individual responses to particular statements or actions, you’ll like his article.

If you didn’t like my brief, hurried composition, you’ll like his long, detailed form.

If I haven’t addressed your feelings yet, you might want to go read someone who does.

In other words, I’d recommend Fallows’s annotated SOTU to any interested parties.

There’s another white meat?

2010-02-02T19:22:26Z

Why do Americans eat more chicken than pork?

If you’re like me, this is true of you, but you can’t really explain why. So when my dinner companions asked me this the other day, I wasn’t really sure what to say. In China, pork is probably the most common meat. It’s the fallback meat–the meat you turn to when you don’t have anything particularly meaningful for it to do. For you, it might be ground beef, but for me it’s always been chicken.

I was a little surprised that they’d even ask. So, I simply confessed my ignorance and shifted over to why we don’t really eat much mutton in America.¹

Then I went shopping. For the first time in months (literally), I bought meat to prepare. Chicken.

Perhaps it was curiosity I’ve been fostering during this holiday. Perhaps it was excess time being domestic (i.e., sitting at home). Perhaps it was hunger. I decided to cook.

Saturday night, I made plum chicken and rice–a personal creation inspired by the common availability of plum juice here and my rather uncommon taste for it. I should have replaced the rice with mashed potatoes, but I didn’t feel like going back out to the store. And the rice was pretty good too, I must say.

Sunday night, I made a sort of chicken and brocolli risotto. Sort of. While the concept is common enough, the method is personal.

Monday night, I made chicken parmesan. Drawing upon vast experience in eating it, none in making it, I created my own version, starting with crumbing my own bread (don’t get too excited–I had canned spaghetti sauce).

All from scratch. Without recipes. With nothing more than a hot plate, a microwave, and a rice cooker. I just did what seemed appropriate. None of them was perfect, but each of them was worth eating.

Now, those of you with cooking experience are waiting for the point. Those without it are rather proud of me.

I’m just grateful to the chickens, without whom none of this would have been possible.

I’m glad I’ve been abroad enough to find out that mutton is good. Also, lizard. ↩

My Take on SOTU

2010-01-30T14:30:41Z

After seven hours of downloading, I finally got to watch the State of the Union Address. After that much effort, I felt obliged to record my comments as they happened, thinking I might live-blog it three days late. Considering that a chronology would require you to either re-watch the speech or vaguely surmise context, though, I decided instead to present them topically and add a few notes.

Distractions

Until last weeks ago, I assumed I was about the only American who found Barack Obama’s speaking style simply annoying. Then I had a chat about him with a Chinese student. It turns out I’m the only person in the world who finds Barack Obama’s speaking style annoying.Watching this speech reminded me why. Each phrase—of his speeches—is spoken—as if it is—it’s—own—sentence—worthy of—Bartlett’s. Each phrase also gets a falling tone, a vapid gesture (most often the left-handed pinch-point) reverting to folded hands, and a smug nod. Clunky. Pretentious. Annoying.

But something miraculous happened during this speech. Occasionally, he started talking in full sentences and with standard tones and rhythms. It turns out he’s conversant in normal English. I actually liked his style in parts.

Distractions other than the President

I’ve had my share of time onstage behind a speaker, so I know it’s hard. Pelosi did too. She was so self-concious that people were going to see her at the beginning she went out of her way to look engaged and engaging. She actually looked friendly—almost human. But that gradually gave way to making faces at the audience and then a glazed stare. Biden was tall enough to keep his face out of the picture most of the time, but he did randomly rub his chest for a few minutes.

Michelle Obama scares me.

I know audience response is the only way to express feelings, so I don’t blame Boehner for raising his hand or Alito for mouthing words any more than everyone else for obviously talking and making faces to could get camera time and making a point.

That said, where did the cheering come from? I thought I was watching a Presidential address, but at times it sounded more like a high school football game. I even got a distinct “U-S-A, U-S-A”.

I wonder if the recorder was trying to record the cheers, because he was definitely punching keys during an extended ovation.

Notable ovations

“The true engine of job creation in this country will always be America’s businesses.” Standing O. Seriously? That’s what we call a truism, people. It doesn’t really deserve an ovation.

“All this [activity that caused the economic collapse and subsequent deficit] was before I walked in the door.” Applause. They seriously applauded the budget deficit, since Barack said it wasn’t his fault. And just to make sure, the President paused and made faces until he got sufficient response. That, my friends, was disgraceful all the way around.

We’ll get rid of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. Huge, drawn-out ovation. We’ll get equal pay for women. Moderate applause.

Things he said that I liked:

He broached the bailout early and effectively in argument, rhetoric, and demeanor.

A focus on jobs is a good call. A really good call. I especially like one that pays attention to infrastructure needs. Sounds a little Rooseveltian, but it’s worthy.

“I know the Senate will [pass a jobs bill]. They will. They will.” I found this particularly effective. He was applying some pressure, while displaying support for the Senate he had already referred to as “gridlocked”. (Sadly, it was the last positive gesture toward political opponents.)

He was pretty heavy-handed with the lobbyists. While they are Washington’s most bipartisan whipping boys, I hope he actually does something about them.

Things he said that I didn’t like:

About those letter-writing children. Do kids really write letters asking the President why they have to move and how to afford homes and education and health care (and if they do, does he really read them every night)? ‘Cause those were either fabricated Obama talking points or some freakishly informed kids.

“[T]he best anti-poverty program around is a world-class education.” Not really sure I agree, but coming from Columbia and Harvard, he obviously values world-class education. “So we’re going to improve community colleges and offer $10,000 to families trying to send kids to college.” (my paraphrase) Yup, world-class.

Anyone else pick up on the countless distinctions between himself and the American people? It started early as he told about how Americans faced a tough year, but “they” were resilient and “they” were staying busy and “they” were working hard.

“We won’t quit. I won’t quit.” Quite a way to finish a speech when you’re a President who already feels the need to deny a Messiah complex.

Things he didn’t say, but said:

If you really want to play a dominant part in the world, China, you have to join it. (Future trading partners have to “play by the rules”.)

Republican Senators, you’re the minority. Go away. (“If the Republican leadership is going to insist that sixty votes in the Senate are required to do any business at all in this town—a supermajority [thanks, Mr. Webster]—then the responsibility to govern is now yours as well.”)

Democratic Senators, let’s ignore everyone else and do whatever we want. (“Democrats, I would remind you that we still have the largest majority in decades[.]“)

Things he said, but didn’t say:

America will double its exports over the next five years. (How, you ask? By finding new, developing markets.)

My exports plan will create two million jobs. (That exports plan he doesn’t really have. Ironically, that’s the same wildly unreliable number of jobs he claims to have created with his stimulus package.)

Things he said that didn’t make sense:

I’m not sure, but it certainly sounded as if he repeated the numbers from his famously inaccurate website to track job creation. I’d call that both deceitful and stupid. But that’s just me.

“We can’t afford another so-called economic expansion like the one from the last decade—what some call ‘the lost decade’.” Who, exactly? I’ve read a lot about the economy lately, and I’ve never heard that. Even from the most depressing pundits.

The CBO says the health [insurance] reform bill will reduce the deficit by one trillion dollars in two decades? Say it with me, Joe: “You lie!”

The Republicans’ response to deficits would be to make “fewer investments in people”—by giving tax cuts. To people.

Health care reform has been in progress for the last “century”?

Ways he contradicted himself:

He’s all about transparency. But the Supreme Court ruling that lets corporations make political advertisements with their names on them instead of doing it through a PAC is a problem.

“We could argue about who’s to blame for [lack of unity], but I’m not interested in re-litigating the past.” Other than when he just spent the last half hour blaming Republicans and Bush for all our problems.

“I will not give up on trying to change the tone of our politics.” “Democrats, let’s rock. Republicans, go home and die. [paraphrase—see 'Things He Didn't Say, But Said' for the direct quotes])”

Summary

His agenda is worthwhile. His speaking style was lighter—almost relaxed and engaging at times. His rhetorical vision was grand, generous and participatory. His message was spiteful, dismissive and partisan. Despite my personal distaste for his delivery, I recognize that he has inspired millions to act in a way that might realize his vision. We’d be a lot better off if he could inspire himself to act in a way that might accomplish his vision.

Digest: Why the Health Care Reform Bill Should Be Scrapped

2010-01-29T03:45:37Z

Thus I inaugurate what may become a staple of the blog—the Digest. The basic theory is that a real post should be well-reasoned and explanatory, probably with a lot of links. I have ideas for these kinds of posts. Generally, they grow more and more consuming and the related Google Reader tag gets longer and longer until the post would require countless hours of writing, several editors and a publishing agreement. The Digest is where I rattle off some of those ideas with minimal explanation, perhaps returning later to further explain a point. In other words, I just dump my thoughts out and let you run with them. Go ahead. Run.

It’s not health care reform. It’s health insurance reform. While this may seem a minor complaint, it’s actually the key source of the problem. And it’s being ignored.
No one has ever died for lack of health insurance. Despite all the claims of death-by-lack-of-insurance, it’s a bogus notion. Ask yourself when was the last time you saw an EMT carrying a briefcase full of insurance contracts or an obituary lamenting the lack of a signature on the appropriate form. People die from lack of health care. (cf #1)
Forcing participation in a broken system doesn’t fix it. The current health care system doesn’t work. Insurance companies, rather than spreading costs and leveraging their size to lower prices, have become middlemen that complicate processes and raise costs. Throwing money at those companies (or forcing the citizenry to do so) doesn’t solve the problem. It’s simple, really: expensive faulty system + tons of money = really expensive faulty system.
Socialized health care has the potential to work. Ask Europe.
Socialized health care has the potential to fail. Resurrect and ask the USSR or just ask a real, live Cuban. Or rate the quality of care in China.
But this isn’t socialized health care. It’s socialized health insurance. (cf #1)
Insurance |inˈ sh oŏrəns| noun; a thing providing protection against a possible eventuality. (The New Oxford American Dictionary, 2nd Edition)
It’s impossible to force a company to provide insurance for pre-existing conditions. That’s not providing insurance; it’s paying for health care. (cf #1 and #7, noting especially the term possible)
If you think health care costs are too high and insurance companies are crooked now, imagine the state of affairs when everyone has coverage. Insurance involves risk. Insured people are gambling they will require expensive medical care; insurers are gambling they won’t. When it’s mandatory, it’s not gambling.
Insurance is inherently wasteful. Think about this: insurance companies make money. They’re like casinos. Sure, some people win and the company pays out, but they’re still in business. That means lots and lots of people are losing. So let’s make the party bigger. And require yearly trips to Vegas while we’re at it.
Taxing of cadillac health care plans is backwards. We have special taxes on cigarettes and alcohol not because they are privileges, but because they are dangerous. This is the opposite. People who pay out the nose to have every possible medical need and wish attended by young, handsome/beautiful doctors and pseudo-medical personnel are actually taking care of themselves. Now they need punished?
I oppose robbing the rich to pay the poor. While I’m all in favor of those with means helping those in need, it should be a choice.
Remember the American dream? People use to think America was the land of opportunity. Now they think it’s the land of ease and plenty. Everyone’s a socialist until they pull in an above-average income.
It’s worth losing a year of legislative work to protect centuries of history and whatever future we have.
(Oh, and I believe deficits actually matter.)

L1ttle Sh0ut 0ut

2010-01-23T09:49:03Z

One of the questions I’m asked most often by students and other interested parties (often at interesting parties, such as last night’s) is ‘Do you cook for yourself?’ While I’m not sure what answer would most satisfy the questioners, I usually claim to prepare some of my own food while admitting my kitchen inefficacy.

That was before I added a powerful new weapon in the war against domestic ineptitude.

Cookingbynumbers.com gives you simple recipes from simple food. Bachelors, inexperienced kitcheneers who just entered cooking contests, and people too lazy to get out and get food, cooked or cookable—this is for you. Just select the foods you have, and it gives you recipes. Simple recipes with cool names. You’ll feel like a French chef just by swiping some egg on bread and putting it in the oven. And don’t worry, it gives you all the instructions you could need, too—from chopping an onion on up.

It’s obviously not for the master-chefs out there. Or the aesthetes. It doesn’t give you all the details or gourmet results. It does give you edible food, simple instructions and a sense of accomplishment. That’s good enough for me.

It used to feel like -30°.

2010-01-19T11:36:28Z

I used to pay attention to wind chill—not because I actually cared, but because it gave me a much lower temperature to brag about having braved. It was hard to remember the right numbers, though, so I gave up after a while. Besides, I found it was easier to tack on ‘…and that’s without the windchill!’ And as it turns out, wind chill calculations are basically pointless, anyway.

Having lived in ever-colder climates (NE Ohio, Wisconsin, Changchun, Haerbin), though, I’ve always realized the utility of effectively communicating frigidity.

I mean, temperature is standard, but anyone who has lived in a cold place can tell you it has some shortcomings when trying to make others respect your hardiness. How do you make someone feel the difference between 15° and -15°?Obviously, the numbers are different, but they belie the vast experiential shift accompanying that minus sign. Plus, to blend into my non-US environment, I’ve adapted to the noting temperatures in Centigrade, which few Americans bother trying to understand. So we need new scales.

Some people try to explain their cold in experiential terms. I felt ‘like my feet were about to fall off’ or ‘chilled to the bone’ tell us you suffered, but we can’t know how much. For starters, these are only figures of speech. Your feet are still securely attached at the ankle, I’ll presume, and I rather doubt your muscles and subcutaneous fatty layers had failed to properly insulate your skeletal system, substantial though they may be (one or the other, that is). But more to the point—you’re probably just whiny anyway.

Thus I officially call for a sensory chill index (SCI).

Remember that scene in Farmer Boy when they tossed a bucket of water into the air and it would freeze before it hit the ground? That, my friends, is an SCI—something that instantly tells people exactly how the cold is affecting you in a way we can all appreciate.

As you live in colder climes, you develop an innate ability to note cold. It’s not exactly magic, but it almost seems like it. It’s actually just observing various phenomena. The goal of an SCI would be to quantify some of those phenomena.

Here is some groundwork:

Frozen noses. We’re not talking about your nose’s feeling cold here. No, I’m literally referring to the actual freezing of the fluid in your nose. A relatively recent post on some (southern-bred) friends’ blog noted their surprise when they found their noses freezing this winter. It brought back college days. Cold days were when your nose froze at first breath; when the freeze set in at Carey Dorm, you were experiencing just another winter day and making it to the all the way to the library with mobile nose hairs meant conditions were practically balmy.
Snow crunch to squeak ratio. Obviously, warm snow is melty and slushy. I’ve not seen that kind of snow before late April in many a year. I take it for granted that tromping through new-fallen snow sounds something like squishing a bag of corn starch. But when it gets cold, the crunch that renders autumn leaves sensually vapid gives way to a sharp squeak. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t ever try to tell me you have felt cold.
Longevity of visible breath. We all know what it’s like to see your breath. But, as it gets colder, that breath turns into a sort of ethereal scarf. Or it leaves a long trail, as if people were tiny jet engines on a clear summer day. The longer the trail, the colder it is.
Watery eye meltdown. I don’t think we can count eyes’ watering as a reliable indicator, since that varies dramatically from person to person. Shed tears are generally going to respond to conditions pretty reliably though, I’ll warrant. So did your tears drip from your nose, form a mini-icicle there, add icy war paint to your cheeks or threaten to seal your eyelids shut?

I’m no scientist, but I think this could be a start. Care to contribute?

*Sorry for a long post with no picture, but at the speed my internet is working now, a single picture would add a good hour to the already too-long posting process. Besides, it gives you a chance to exercise your imagination.

I’m not (quite) on Facebook.

2009-12-15T08:18:15Z

If you are reading this on my website or via RSS, you can leave now. Thanks for coming. Have a good week.

OK, it’s just us, Facebook Friends. I’ve been hoping for a while to talk to you about something.

I talked with my mom a while ago, and she was under the impression I have been active on Facebook. This conviction confused me for a while. Then I remembered that my blog posts are still imported into FB, so you have been seeing me write new notes from time to time, but I’ve been ignoring messages, wall posts, friend requests and stupid application suggestions.

Here’s the deal: I’m not on Facebook, but I’m finding new FB-interactive tools from time to time. For example, I now can see just how many messages I can’t answer on Facebook. I think I’ll be able to reply to new wall comments soon, too. The systems are quite flimsy and admittedly imperfect, but they’re a start.

One tool I’ve found: When you leave a comment on one of these notes in Facebook, I can now get it back into my blog. And I can answer it there. So, let’s try it. You leave a comment, give me some time to import them and respond, then check my answer on my blog.

See how that works?

OK, thanks for hearing me out. I hope this clears the air between us.

Know that I love you.

Mad Men or Why Americans Hate Themselves

2009-11-10T05:30:42Z

You know those moments when you’re too tired to be productive, but too awake to sleep? I’ve developed a few systems to utilize those eras (also known as afternoons). One of my favorites is to put some Chinese websites’ lack of concern for copyright law to good use by catching up on TV shows that seem noteworthy. That was how I got addicted to Lost and figured out enough Prison Break to appease my students. So, when I was sick a few weeks ago, it started a concentration binge that let me blow through almost three seasons of TV in as many weeks. This time, I took recommendations from blogger friends—primarily Heather—to focus on Mad Men.

If I weren’t already sick, I think Mad Men would have done it.

You weren’t expecting that, I’d assume. Let’s talk about what most people say:

The acting is great. Check.
The photography is stunning. Agreed.
The writing is extraordinary. I happily concur. The dialogue (with a few notable exceptions) is a living, breathing example of why I wish I had a team of screenwriters with a great sense of both the next scene and the historical impact of the moment cueing my every utterance.
The story is fabulous. This is where I get off. Since when do flat characters proving just how well you know them equal plot arcs? I do give props for avoiding the ‘everything you thought you knew was a lie’ cop-out certain seasons of Lost and every five minutes of Smallville fall back on. And they don’t undercut characters’ fundamental personas to give them dynamism (The Office). So, I’ll give it a ‘solid’, but refrain from handing out awards (Yes, I see the irony, but if President Obama’s Nobel taught us anything, it’s that even the big awards tell us far more about the givers’ biases than the receivers’ merits).
It’s historically enlightening. Oh please.

We could discuss finer points of the show for a good long while, but others have been quite effective in this approach. So allow me to revert to my tried and true method of discussion: broad generalizations.

Mad Men is about one thing: escapism.

We’re working on two levels here. First, escapism is the driving force behind every character and most plot advances. Don is scary good at it; Pete is painfully ineffective. Peggy runs from obvious goblins; Betty’s have yet to be unmasked (and dumping the psychiatrist was terribly unfair). Whether living behind a mask (everyone except Roger) or flaunting your disregard for propriety (um, Roger), everyone scurries about trying to hide their tragic flaw only to collapse comfortably back into its clutches at the first sign of trouble.

Of course, the primary escape is sex. Who in the show doesn’t have some sort of sexual struggle? I mean, even Glenn has some weird surrogate Oedipus complex. I’m tempted to say this is just to keep people watching, but not having lived through the ‘50s or ‘60’s, I can’t really speak with authority. Still, it’s like watching a kung-fu movie: there is nothing even remotely realistic in the frequency and extremity of the action, but it just keeps scaling up.

So, why the fascination with the show? Because we’re all there.

Personally, I’m Don. Yes, I’m sure everyone says that. Hear me out. I’ve never assumed a false identity, cheated on my wife or ignored my brother into suicide, but I’m always controlling others’ perceptions. I can’t stop. Ever. I’m totally able to be separate people—and switch between them convincingly and almost instantly. Of course, some distance and locked doors help. And then the occasional three-week binge that terrifies everyone too much to ask what it was. I understand people—I have to. My mistakes are almost never open, and those who know about them usually respect the façade enough to keep from blurting it out. People brought face to face with my ugliness tend to downplay it out of respect, genuine love or fear of the mystery.

Maybe you’re more the ‘quiet desperation’ Betty. Possibly, with the Henry Francis release valve or, more realistically, without it (or the tastelessly gratuitous bar fling). Correctly or not, you think the world hates you, so you hate it back. And watch it pass you by. Smile when you have to.

Need recognition, anyone? Pete’s there with you. Try to fit the socially-prescribed mold? You and Joan connect. Desperate to be progressive and in-touch? Better start growing a beard (probably a soul patch), because you’re Paul. Wanting to break out but disappointed whenever you do? I think Peggy has your line.

Give me one truly satisfied (semi-meaningful) character in the show. Even Sally only gets enough attention to allow her vices to manifest themselves. Have you seen the opening? A dude falling helplessly, but finally presented as sprawling confidently in his chair. Nihilism, cynicism and pragmatism stew under surfaces thin enough to allow everyone to recognize a problem but present enough to keep them from discussing it.

Which brings us to the second way the show is about escape. We watch it to escape. No one (in the show or in reality) is really happy to be hiding. While confession is rare, admission upon confrontation is somehow freeing. So we admit our faults by identifying them as we watch. This is true personally and corporately. The corporate evils (sexism, racism) and the personal ones (greed, lust) the show highlights are ours. Viewing such evil allows us to identify and vilify it. Yet that third-party identification doesn’t actually condemn us directly. We admit it, but escape any consequences. In fact, we cheer for Don when he pulls off his trysts and secretly love the hedonistic office parties while shaking our heads in disgust. And if you think your disgust is genuine, explain why you’re still watching. ¹

So allow me to add my voice once again to a growing chorus calling for true confession and transparency. I’ve advocated this to friends for some time. Admitting wrong and accepting the consequences or forgiveness that follows is absolutely necessary.

And hard.

At least, that’s what I’m saying now.

My explanation is admittedly brief. That’s because the alternative is extremely involved. The above-referenced article takes on some of the ramifications in a national, corporate sense. ↩

Extra Cranky with a side of Self-righteous

2009-11-07T11:21:55Z

I know I’ve not been writing all that much, but if you’ve noticed the reading list on the sidebar,¹ you know I’ve been reading.

My news source of choice is BBC. It’s great to hear about what’s happening in the world with minimal opinionizing, and I find they do a great job of focusing on worthwhile information while ignoring junk stories. And they have a configurable website. What’s not to love?

No, the real problem comes with people who give their opinion. You know—everyone.

Granted, my primary reading of late (Slate, Mother Jones, GOOD, AtlanticWire) is often going to clash with my conservative-leaning values. I knew that going in.² Still, I love me some SCREED and Political Gabfest. And they’ve figured out things like RSS. Mostly.³

What I don’t love is the false sense of truth. And it keeps popping up in obvious ways. (These examples come from my last few days’ reading. And in every case, I agree with the basic idea the author is unsuccessfully attempting to promulgate.)

Promoting a pet idea at the expense of common sense. Worried about the lack of sex ed in China, Michelle Tsai points out in her article “government concern over ‘unhealthy’ entertainment means that at the movies, you rarely see actors do anything more than kiss” and mandatory screening software blocks porn. So, porn is good sex education?
Employing false logic. Here, Kate Sheppard says a coloring book “explains that coal is a major source of electricity (without, however, noting that it’s not the only form of electricity).” Um, “a major source” means there are other sources.
Noting they wash their coal, the author self-assuredly asks, “Actually, it kind of undermines the idea that coal is clean if it has to be washed, no?” And you are dirty since you shower occassionally, no?
(The best part? These fallacies are an attempt to attack a coloring book published by the West Virginia Coal Association that favorably casts the industry. Clearly, they should be telling children they—and the kids’ whose parents work for them—are vile and repulsive. After all, Sheppard thinks they are (while using their coal to power her computer). See previous point.)
Engaging in the word-twisting you’re attacking. Check out how David Corn loses all grasp of reality while responding to a naysayer.⁴

Don’t worry, I won’t go on—because these crude attempts at “smart, fearless journalism” aren’t actually the point.

See, the title isn’t about them. It’s about me.

I’m actually concerned because I can’t let these things go. When I read flagrant stupidity, I get all enraged and lambast them for hours in very realistically-imagined emails. Sometimes, I even write less-inflamed comments. And, of course, I don’t leave the offending articles sitting open on my computer, lest Binbin be poisoned by them.

I’ve always wanted to be a change-maker. The potential for change is what attracts me toward law, management and public policy. I’m a tweaker. Necessary improvement is an obsession-inducing elixir. I’m getting jaded. Futility shuts me down like a direct lightning strike on a fusebox. Seeing exactly how broken our change-inducing systems are, therefore, presents a nasty conundrum: it first feeds the urge to dig in, then leaves an aftertaste so nasty I swear off the possibility of allowing my name to be in any way associated with it.

Maybe it’s a good thing I’m teaching English in China without regular internet access, not hobnobbing with power-players in my final year of law school.

You haven’t. I track this stuff. But it sounded good, anyway. Should you wish to follow along, check my shared items page or subscribe to my recommended reading via RSS. ↩
If you’re wondering why I read sources more liberal than I… 1) I like to think I can honestly consider ideas I don’t agree with. 2) Most conservative sources a) ignore or mindlessly deny environmental and social-justice issues I’m interested in and b) can’t write or reason their way out of the simplest of syllogisms. Give me honest, if disagreeable. If I’m missing something good, let me know. I’ll check it. ↩
I’m looking at you, Atlantic. ↩
Sure, the citation is exaggerated. But the point is that those who don’t do something don’t effect change. And that non-participation can be taking a wrong side. And perhaps that an argument from silence is—what’s it called? Oh yeah, fallacious. ↩