David Erik Nelson's Blog, page 39

Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #433 (published May 7, 2009): "Like a silk-screen in a submarine."

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Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #433 (published May 7, 2009)

Like a silk-screen in a submarine.

Giant Squid: Ask The Giant Squid: On the Heels of Ambrose Bierce (In the Shadow of the Canyon of Death; part one of four) by the Giant SquidDear Giant Squid:

Something I read online led me to believe that I may be spending too much time on the internet. How can I tell if I should cut back on the time spent reading internet news sites and editorial columnists?

#

My Dear and Beloved and Devoted and Besottedly Drunk Reader,

I am reminded of something my dear, undead friend Ambrose Bierce once said while crouching over me in a Mexican tent. I was accompanying him on his trip south into Mexico. I had approached him some months earlier about writing his definitive biography, and he agreed on the condition that I help him with an important journey. At that moment, in the tent, we had been talking about his long career as a writer of published opinions, and although it bore not upon my mind at the time, I can say now that this conversation has since fundamentally influenced how I approach my own craft. . . .

Fiction: The Wreck of the Lizzie G. by Michael Pelc I'm just out of college and working graveyard at the Courier-Dispatch, which is as good a job as I can get seeing as how I got no experience yet, when this kid, this little piss ant kid who can't be more than nine or ten at the most, comes stumbling into the news room all dripping wet and disheveled from the storm that's raging outside. He's leaving puddles at his feet wherever he goes, what with the water pouring down off his yellow rain slicker the way it is, and all I'm thinking is that Mr. Grasso's gonna have my ass in a sling when he comes in in the morning on account of how, even if he ain't exactly the Charlie Pulitzer of newspaper editors, he does at least take pride in the appearance of the place. And so I'm making plans to get some towels and the like to mop things up, when the little portable lake of a kid holds up this Brownie camera he's toting with him and says, "I got pictures."

"Yeah? Pictures of what?" I ask, being all Joe College cool.

"The Lizzie G," he says. And then he adds, because he sees I ain't looking particularly impressed and/or interested, "getting smashed on the rocks." . . .

Poetry: In Case Of Toxins, Read Poetry by John GreyI did speak to my congressman about it. I'm not exactly sure what he said

(it was a bad connection)

but it sounded something like

"it being a lovely day,

go into deep woods,

seek out the gorgeous scarlet tanager."

Not bad advice . . .

Rant: And for This We Got What?
(A Poor Mojo's "My Travel Fiasco" Rant Contest Notable Entry) by Paul Baughman. . . Several years ago, my mother was moving from Raleigh, North Carolina, to Erie, Pennsylvania. My wife and I flew down from where we live in order to drive the rental truck containing her possessions back north. We would meet my sister and brother at our home, where they would continue driving the truck to Erie. We would arrive in Raleigh about 3:00 p.m., giving us time to go to the truck rental agency to sign for and pick up the truck, which we would load that evening for an early morning departure on Saturday. . . .

Attention Freelancers: Even in Brooklyn a Robin Isn't a Pigeon

Don't Get Screwed Over on "What it feels like to be a freelancer":

This is actually a splashy little viral landing page for Docracy, an open legal documents clearinghouse (especially handy for the freelancers out there):

In six years of freelancing, I've only had one client pull payment shenanigans like these--but, predictable, it was for over a grand, and it was a *helluva* hassle. Let the freelancer beware.

Neil Armstrong, My Grandmother, Moonwalking, and the Only Game in Town

The death of Neil Armstrong occasioned a lot of interesting reflections out in the geekosphere; the most unexpectedly enlightening was this from Charles Apple, the visual journalism columnist for the American Copy Editors Society [sic]:

Keep in mind as you put together your Neil Armstrong packages tonight… -- Charles Apple -- copydesk.org

The problem as Apple sees it? We don't have any good pics of Armstrong on the Moon, for the same reason that we don't have many pics of me on vacation: Armstrong was holding the camera. For example, the pic at the left--which you saw all over the place attached to Armstrong obits--is Buzz Aldrin, not Neil Armstrong, and is a primitive photoshop job, to boot.

Once Apple pointed this out, I realized that I'd actually seen the undoctored photo (shown to the right) on plenty of occasions, but the framing of the two is so different that I actually had always thought they were two distinct photos.

As Apple works through the scant selection of legit photos of Armstrong on the Moon, what we find are a tiny handful of candid shots that, in many ways, are more wonderful than the iconic posed photo of Aldrin. This unconventional view of Armstrong, focused on his work and so far from anything remotely like home, is really poignant:

And this one--where we can see an actual human face in a little super-bathyspheric bubble in that dead gunpowder landscape--absolutely gives me shivers:

Anyway, it all reminded me of my favorite portrait of Armstrong on the Moon--which, in fact, is embedded in that iconic picture of Aldrin that Apple was so annoyed to see palmed off as a pic of Armstrong. Check out the reflection in Aldrin's golden face-shield:

At first I thought what so touched me about this picture was the work ethic it highlighted: Armstrong was the first human to touch the moon, and was perfectly happy to let the other guy be in all the pics, because that was Armstrong's job. A guy like Armstrong is called "hero" all the time, usually because of his willingness to face down death, but I've gotta level with you: that's never impressed me much. I've known plenty of totally pieces of human garbage that would face down death. Frankly, it's sorta what the male animal excels at. What *I've* always admired about astronauts--about scientists like Aldrin and Armstrong in general--is how many names appear at the top of those academic papers; I'm impressed by their willingness to work in teams and share credit and share findings and help the whole of humanity pull itself up by its bootstraps, even if it means forgoing some small sliver--or some giant chunk--of personal fame or riches or glory. To me, Armstrong is a hero not because he got all Quixote on the Moon, but because he understood how important that Sancho Panzas and Dulcineas are to executing the Impossible Dream.

I like Armstrong because he was willing to accept the possibility that he'd end up as history's footnote, he'd hold the camera instead of standing in front of it.

But that's not all of it. I also love this self-portrait because of the pose. The viewfinder on the Hasselblad Armstrong used (and evidently left) on the Moon was on the camera's top, often called a "waist-level viewfinder." Here's a pic of the rig mounted to his EVA suit:

When I was little my grandma always favored a goofy old Brownie box camera--something quite similar to this Brownie Reflex Synchro--which also had a waist-level viewfinder. Since her vision was a touch presbyopic, "waist-level" actually was more like "sternum level." My point being, Grandma's photo-shooting posture--head sagging, shoulders slumped and folded in around her camera, hands cradling a magic box topped with a glowing, misty vision of the world we were in--and Armstrong's were the same.

All of which is to say, in my heart of hearts, I love this portrait of Armstrong because I love my grandmother, who is also dead, and who we will likewise never see again.

Welcome to the only game in town. Amen

Come see GHOSTS WITH SHIT JOBS in Ann Arbor!

Hey Mojonauts and Mojoketeers,

Dave-o is helping host the *only* scheduled midwestern screening of Jim Munroe's new sci-fi mockumentary GHOSTS WITH SHIT JOBS. It's a darkly comic look at post-economic-apocalypse North America that Cory Doctorow called "ingenious—a gripping movie that uses cleverness, not CGI, to paint a vivid and satirical future."

Our screening is at the Workantile on September 9 at 7pm! Seating is limited, so if you want to attend email me (dave[AT]davideriknelson[DOT]com) and I'll add you to the list.

More info here: http://poormojo.org/Ghosts/

Moral Relativism and Rigid Thinking

This is worth your 10 minutes, even if you aren't particularly interested in Rep Todd Akin's fatal "legitimate rape" SNAFU or what some snark-monster blogger for the Economist thinks about it. Kohen's larger point--his really, really important point--is that moral relativism (and I'd expand that to say most relativism) tends to be a very rigid stance masquerading as a very fluid and all-embracing pan-acceptance. Kohen implicitly--enticingly--draws into question whether one can actually *build* any argument on a foundation of complete Relativism, which after all would have to accept the validity of any counter argument (on the basis of, hey, m'man, if that's how things look from where you're standing, then that's all good, bro).

(That I'm more often than not guilty of being just such a bro should go without saying, and that I'm worried that I do so out of a sort of moral laziness rather than conviction--well, that's all baked in the cake, too.)

Running Chicken: Rigid Thinking

Except Todd Akin’s ideas, which are — in Steinglass’ words — “monstrosities.” What makes them monstrosities? Well, Steinglass doesn’t agree with them. And he doesn’t agree, apparently, because he thinks they are the products of absolutist thinking. I also happen to disagree with Akin’s ideas. But I could come up with a perfectly good absolutist reason for my disagreement [see below] rather than a wishy-washy non-argument that says, “Everyone’s beliefs are as good as everyone else’s because there’s no single truth out there … except for the people with whom I disagree; those people are just flat-out wrong.”

Recommended Reading: After the Apocalypse by Maureen McHugh

What a terrific read, both as individual stories and as a set of stories outlining the perimeters of the sort of soft apocalypse that we so often seem to be slumping toward. Several of the middle stories concluded too flatly for my taste, but all were enjoyable, evocative reads in the moment, and the first and final stories in this collection are damn near perfect. Heartily recommended, without reservation (esp. for those who kinda-sorta dug China Mountain Zhang, but couldn't get into it enough to finish).

FACT: Legitimate rape rarely results in pregnancy . . . in ducks

Representative Todd Akin's bizarre claim about the lack of illegitimate children resulting from "legitimate rape" (by which I imagine he means the kind committed against someone you care about, as opposed to the kind deployed as a cheap rhetorical ploy in a political debate) stuck in my craw, both for the shockingly tone-deaf callousness of the claim, but also because it insanely rang true-ish. Then I remembered this 2009 study from Yale:



Ballistic penises and corkscrew vaginas – the sexual battles of ducks – Not Exactly Rocket Science

As it turns out, Rep. Akin is sorta-kinda right: The "female body" really does have "ways to try to shut the whole thing down" in order to prevent pregnancy resulting from "legitimate rape." Sadly, it is only the female bodies of certain breeds of ducks that have these "ways," but that's a start.

Ducks have fascinating vaginas, my children. Read and learn:

female ducks have developed countermeasures. Their vaginas are equally long and twisting, lined with dead-end pockets and spirals that curve in the opposite direction. They are organic chastity belts, evolved to limit the effectiveness of the males’ lengthy genitals.

. . .

So the shape of the female duck’s vagina is a physical barrier that prevents the male from launching forth his ballistic penis to its fullest extent. It won’t stop a drake from ejaculating (and those in Brennan’s trials always did), but it does limit how far the semen is deposited along the vaginal tract.

Not all males are hit equally hard by these defences. Those that the female actually wants to mate with have an easier time. If she’s into a male, she strikes a pose that signals her receptiveness, keeping her body level and lifting her tail feathers high. She repeatedly contracts the walls of her genital tract, relaxing them for long enough for favoured suitors to achieve full penetration.

Males who try to force themselves upon her receive no such help and have to cope with vigorous struggling. The female may not be able to resist such advances, but her convoluted vagina gives her ultimate control over where the sperm of her current partner ends up. The fact that only 3% of duck offspring are born of forced matings suggests that females are indeed winning this battle of the sexes.

(Yes, you read correctly "ballistic penises." Duck penises are actually pretty interesting, too. The whole article really is worth your time this morning.)

Question: Are you a The Hobbit person or a Lord of the Rings person?

PUNKADIDDLE: Top Ten All-Time Best-Selling Books, 4: J R R Tolkien, The Hobbit (1937)

So, I read this essay back at the tail end of last year, and then totally flaked on sharing it with you. It's nominally about the two revisions of The Hobbit--the one you're used to, and the one that meshes with LotR and all the rest--it really helped me understand how I could *adore* The Hobbit while finding LotR not simply unspeakably boring, but also sort of embarrassing. The nutshell:

I don't believe in Evil (note initial cap). And, in fact, it's books like The Hobbit (among a handful of other stories, including Star Wars of all things) that helped me understand that there is neither Evil nor Evil Doers (note caps, again) in the world. There's laziness and incompetence and malice and bad luck, there's greed and viciousness and shame and want, but no Evil force out to do Evil 'cause Evil is what needs doing, no Sauron. Even the evilest (note lack of caps) dicks in all of history thought they were doing what was right for themselves and their "people" (in whatever limited way they defined that). Hitler thought Hitler was making the world a better place. Hitler's assessment of Hitler was almost certainly more positive than Louie Pasture's assessment of Louie Pasture.

The Hobbit, as Tolkien originally wrote it, isn't set in a world with real Evil; it's actually set in a fairly psychologically realistic world (for me, that is, a guy who sees no Evil), in which folks mostly luck into what happens to them, and hilarity ensues. LotR, on the other hand, is set in a world that revolves around Good and Evil and essential qualities that make some folks Destined for Greatness--and, I'm gonna level with you, that bores me. It isn't just that this isn't the world I live in, it's that this isn't the world I *want* to live in.

At any rate, here's a snippet of the essay, which is really worth your time if you have any opinion on Tolkien:

Well, one thing I can say is that Tolkien wrote two versions of the story of The Hobbit. In the first, a troop of dwarves, to use what Tolkien insisted was the proper plural form of the word, are planning to trek to a distant mountain in order to steal a great pile of treasure guarded by a lethal, fire-breathing dragon -- or more properly, to steal it back, since they claim it belongs to them. They are looking for a professional thief to help them in this dangerous business. The wizard Gandalf, for reasons that appear largely capricious, tricks the dwarves into hiring Bilbo Baggins, an ordinary, sedentary, unadventurous hobbit; and likewise tricks Bilbo into going along. This situation is played broadly for laughs, because Bilbo is so patently unfitted to the business of adventuring. 'Unfitness' also seems to characterize the dwarves, mind you: the party stumbles from disaster to disaster as they journey, escaping death by hairs' breadths half a dozen times at the hands of trolls, goblins, wolves, spiders and hostile elves. They are saved from their early misadventures by Gandalf's interventions, for though eccentric he is considerably more competent than they. Later, though, Gandalf goes off on his own business, and the party has to rescue itself. As they continue to stumble into a series of potentially fatal pickles, they somehow manage, by a combination of luck and hobbit-judgment, always to get away. Indeed, following Bilbo's development from massively incompetent to marginally incompetent is one of the pleasures of the narrative. . . .

This is The Hobbit that appeared in 1937, to both acclaim and commercial success. But there's another The Hobbit. I don't mean the upcoming film. I mean a second The Hobbit written by Tolkien, comprising revisions to this first edition, additional material written for the Lord of the Rings and the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, plus other material -- most importantly two separate prose pieces, both called 'The Quest for Erebor' that were collected in the posthumously-published Unfinished Tales (1980). JRRT's first revisions were confined to the 'Riddles in the Dark' chapter: for after writing he first Hobbit Tolkien came to the conclusion that 'the Ring' was more than just a magic ring, more even than a ring of Gyges: that it was indeed the most powerful artifact in the whole world, one with which people became so besotted they lose their souls. Gollum, he reasoned, would not freely give up such an item. So he rewrote the scene. But this is symptomatic of something larger -- a reconceptualising (Tolkien purists might say: a distillation or focussing) of the now-celebrated JRRT-legendarium: no longer a folk-story, now a grand sacramental drama of incarnation, atonement and redemption.

Teaching Is a Sales Position

I continue to write a column for the Ann Arbor Chronicle. This month--for the third month running--I'm writing about the Venn diagram of Business Practices and Teaching Practices. SPOILER ALERT: I'm not of the opinion that this diagram is two primary color circles with no overlap. FURTHER SPOILER ALERT: The governor and I do not agree about what lies in that cross-hatched overlap zone.

The Ann Arbor Chronicle | In It For The Money: Classroom Sales

Kids in compulsory public schools often aren’t willing buyers; they need to be sold. And even Lee Iacocca couldn’t sell 40 reluctant buyers in a single group. That takes goddamn sales magic, and the only cats with that kind of voodoo are politicians and snake-oil gurus. And there isn’t a single such talent in this great nation who’s ever going to settle for $42,000 per year plus medical and a pension--not when his or her earning potential starts in the low six figures and only goes up, up, up.

The problem with education in America--to the degree that there is a problem--is that we’re putting fair-to-middlin’ sales staff into a nearly impossible sales situation. No shoe store owner in the world expects his or her staff to sell shoes forty pairs at a time; if there’s that many folks coming through the door, then they hire more sales staff. They don’t expect shoe buyers to sit in rows six deep and stare at the ceiling while someone yammers to them indiscriminately about chunky heels or high-performance cross-trainers, without regard for what kind of feet they have and what kinda walking they need to do.

. . .

Maybe the girls have a pine allergy? Those can be quite severe.

Middle Schoolers' Sex-Ed Questions

As for the following question: Ladies, I believe the answer should be self-evident, based on the above.