Free time is much too precious for blogs.
Recently, someone recommended I read The Truth of Fact, The Truth of Feeling by Ted Chiang. Just finished it about an hour ago. I liked it a lot.
Loyalty artificially superimposed needs scaffolding made from talk.
Loyalty felt in the bones needs not make a sound.
Hypothesis: A big march for cause X will contribute to the eventual success of X.
- Define X carefully
- Find independent and identical (or nearly-identical) places where X is being supported and stage a march in some of those places and not others.
- Wait to see outcomes and determine statistical significance of any differences between places with marches and places without.
- Examine possible confounds and alternative explanations for statistically different outcomes.
- Submit to peer review.
What the Marchers for Science did:
- Define “for science” as anything positively related to nerds, anti-Trumpism, feminism and other fashionable identitarian conceits, Christianity-bashing, engineering, technology, cute puns based on words you learn in science class, immigration enthusiasm, catastrophic anthropomorphic global warming (obviously), and a bunch of other incongruent stuff.
- Stage marches friggin’ everywhere.
- Take no measurements, just post a lot of pictures to social media and repost news stories and argue about them in Facebook comments.
- Don’t think about whether the march was a success because success was never defined.
- Pat themselves on the back and go home.
I learned something from this, but it isn’t something any journal would publish.
One problem with the web is that it is largely built by people who are generally optimistic and naive; they think the whole world is like their college dorm was, or like neighborhood or workplace is, where everyone they meet is courteous, conscientious, or at least tidy and bright. (Silicon Valley bigwigs have a left-libertarian streak, of course.) In reality though, humans by and large are glorified apes, so you wind up with everything devolving toward 4chan and Facebook killers.
ACTUAL related posts:
Little SW was throwing another tantrum at the store.
“Oh Justine,” said her mother, calling her by her middle name as she always did when she felt overwhelmed and ready to give in, “What do you want?”
Without a break in the screaming, SW gestured vaguely toward the aisle of equalizers, levelers, boosters, and safety nets. Her mother sighed and went to work, dutifully sweeping items off the shelves into her shopping cart, which was already filled to the brim with items from nearby aisles. As newly added items slid off the pile and onto the floor, red-faced SW shrieked and stomped even louder, picking the items up and hurling them at her mother and random passersby.
Most of the passersby looked appalled, but weren’t sure what if anything they should do. So they idly just wished SW’s mother would keep SW quiet.
Al, who was about the same age as SW, stood watching. Young Al was transfixed on SW with a mixture of seething hatred and smitten adulation. Seething hatred because he was simply returning the hate-filled look SW had given him, and adulation because whatever SW was doing to get her way seemed to Al to be working.
Al used to have an aisle in another part of the store where he’d have liked his father to be clearing the shelves into their cart. They were items few people sought out but which Al could articulate strong reasons for wanting. He’d forgotten all about that now. Now it was SW’s tactics that consumed him. She was getting results!
So before long Al tried out his own sort of tantrum. Instead of screeching incoherently the way SW did, he focused on making objectionable noises and gestures: he yelled racial epithets; he Heiled Hitler; he goose-stepped around doing his best impersonation of the Nazi bad guys he’d seen in movies; he pointed out that Jews–Jews!–had stocked the shelves (indeed, many of the people who worked in the store were Jewish); and then he rolled on the ground in a fetal position and wept loudly about how he and everyone like him were being systematically eliminated–he had no children of his own after all, so it seemed his legacy would end with him–and how if it had been SW being eliminated people would care but since it was him nobody cared and people ought to be more alarmed about that kind of inequality don’t you know.
Al’s father Mr. Trite, normally aloof and indifferent, saw at this moment an opportunity to look caring and supportive: he marched over to SW’s shopping cart and ceremoniously picked out one or two of the items she’d demanded. Then Mr. Trite made a show of putting them back on the shelf–though if you noticed his sleight of hand you’d see the items remained in the cart.
SW and her mother did not notice the sleight of hand, and both of them became totally enraged. They jabbed shaking fingers at Al and Mr. Trite, shouting “Devil! Demon! Vile scum!” They tore their hair and rended their clothes.
At this, the passersby got excited, for something primal was awoken in them. What before had been a disturbance in the outskirts of the store was now an all-consuming melodrama, and the crowd could not resist playing along by joining one side or another. Those generally inclined toward equalizers and safety nets took SW and her mother’s side (though some still mumbled quietly that SW should tone down her shrieking) while those interested in different aisles took Al and Mr. Trite’s side (though they weren’t sure what to to make of strange little Al and mostly tried to pretend he wasn’t there).
We don’t know how this story ends. SW might get what she wants though it seems doubtful. Al is happy just competing with her tantrum-for-tantrum, and winning that competition is all he wants now; the aisles he used to long for are gathering cobwebs.
There are people out there who believe whites are being genocided–a ridiculous notion given that by far the #1 reason the white proportion of the population is shrinking is because whites are choosing to have fewer children.
I wonder, what is the total fertility rate among white genocide believers? No data exist, but if it could somehow be collected I would bet with 90% confidence it is lower than 2, and with 65% confidence it is lower than 1.
As I’ve said before, having children is the surest way to create a future society that is to your liking.
Here’s an example of some typical local shock journalism. It’s a short article, so I’m going to analyze the reporting, discuss what the journalist probably meant, and reflect on why writing like this exists in the first place. (Note: I am going only off the written article; I have not watched the video.) Here’s the story, written by a reporter named Paul Orlousky:
KENT, OH (WOIO) –
Police in Kent are warning parents about a danger most probably never thought about — the possibility of drugs or blood contamination on a rest
room baby changing station.
Claim 1: Police in Kent are warning parents.
What does it mean that police in Kent are “warning parents”? Do police officers have a master list of addresses of people with children and going door to door? Are they posting fliers? Are they issuing alerts on emergency frequencies? Are they driving around neighborhoods delivering a warning message through a bullhorn out the window? Or did one police representative issue a vaguely cautionary statement to a reporter? Orlousky should have been more specific here.
Claim 2: Most parents “never thought about” contamination on a public changing station.
Does Orlousky have children? When you use one of those changing stations, usually the first thought you have as you’re opening it is “How gross is this thing? What can I wipe it off with? What can I lay down on top of it so my kid doesn’t touch it?” Or maybe I’m wrong and it’s only me and all the other parents I know who think like that. It’s my word against Orlousky’s because Orlousky doesn’t provide any evidence for his claim. (I was about to add “The difference is, it’s his job to provide evidence,” but actually, it isn’t! He’s only a journalist, not someone we should look to for trustworthy information.)
An incident Friday drew attention to the matter.
Whose attention? Where was their attention before then?
A man went into the Sheetz gas station on North Mantua and went straight to the bathroom. An employee had seen him do it before, according to Kent Lt. Michael Lewis.
“The employee was aware enough to realize that he had seen this type of behavior before from this same subject. The employee also believed the man who we now know is Jason Fischer had gotten high there before, so he called police, who responded quickly,” said Lewis.
When the officer went into the bathroom, the stall door was closed but he could see someone was standing inside through the crack. He ordered him to open the door.
The guy refused and the officer looked inside and saw Fischer shooting up, Lewis said.
I’m surprised “the guy” is considered an acceptable way to describe a man according to a major news outlet’s reporting styleguide. Then again, no I’m not. Or maybe Orlousky just forgot to put quote marks around the statement.
“He had the drugs prepared on the baby changing station in the bathroom stall, which is something very, very concerning to us,” Lewis said.
Also concerning, it appeared there was blood on the baby changing station.
Also concerning to Lt. Lewis? To Orlousky? To us readers? I’m touched that Orlousky is concerned, but isn’t his job to report the facts and not interject his opinion of whether they are “concerning”? (The answer is no. His job is to maximize clicks.)
The drugs are thought to be heroin or fentanyl. Fentanyl is 100 times as powerful as morphine and could easily be absorbed through the skin, and even more easily into a baby’s skin laying on the station.
Dosage is important here, but Orlousky doesn’t bother with those details. His job is to get us scared. Also, he said there was blood on the changing station, but it is very doubtful an IV user would leave drugs there. Orlousky would know that if he spent 15 minutes researching IV drug use. (And maybe he did research it–but again, Orlousky’s job is not to provide a complete picture of the facts, it’s to make readers alarmed.)
Police fear that most people don’t know that gas stations and other areas with public bathrooms are hotbeds for drug deals and almost immediate drug use.
If he was trying to sound more serious, Orlousky could have written “Lt. Lewis said police want the public to be informed about drug activity in gas stations and other areas with public bathrooms,” but that wouldn’t have had the words “fear” and “hotbed” in it. Are people actually ignorant of what goes on in gas station bathrooms? And are police actually “fearful”?
The bit about “almost immediate” drug use is odd. Does it matter whether the drug use is immediate, almost immediate, or if the delay between deal and use is measured not in nanoseconds but in minutes or hours?
Orlousky is probably trying to paint us a portrait of the drug user as desperate, impatient, scurrying hurriedly away from his drug deal to go get the stuff into his veins as fast as possible, hands shaking, mouth watering, eyes twitching nervously about like a scared rabbit. But that wouldn’t sound like journalism, so Orlousky had to write “almost immediate drug use” instead.
Another fear is young children walking into a public rest room alone, they could walk into someone using, or needles or residue left behind.
Whose fear? The police’s? Or Orlousky’s? Apparently he is suggesting it become one of ours.
I say “apparently” because I don’t think Orlousky is actually sitting at his computer cackling about how frightened he is manipulating his readers into being. More likely he knows that the number of clicks on his news stories will be related to his career success. Being a journalist was always tough, but in a world of blogs and alternative outlets and e-zines and social media and Buzzfeeds, conventional journalists are in a shrinking pond. Orlousky is feeling a crushing incentive to write stories in a way that maximize clicks while not crossing some boundary into non-journalism, and he is rationally using all the rhetorical tricks at his disposal in order to do so. What I’m illustrating in this post is the subtle, blurry, hazard-laden nature of that boundary. In fact I don’t believe there is one: journalism is nothing more than a posture.
If you’re going to ask people to accept extraordinary claims about yourself, then accept the extraordinary amount of effort it will take them to do so.