The new LA Weekly is up online and Mathew Duersten reviews the recent work by two Toronto philosophers on the "depths" of consumer culture. The article also includes this amusing episode about a lecture gone "to the dogs"at UBC (where my cousin's husband is a research fellow).
The fact that the authors admit that, in their, uh, advanced 30-something age, they were duped by the countercultural rallying cries of their youth leads them to conclude: “The rebellion against aesthetic norms is not actually subversive.” It’s a thesis certain to enrage. In fact, it already has — but not in the U.S. (at least not so far). Reaction to the book in Canada, where it goes under the somewhat more strident title of The Rebel Sell, is described by Potter as “uniformly bad” — and not because they tweak Michael Moore and their fellow Canuck, Culture Jam author Kalle Lasn, for advocating an uncompromising (and unrealistic) “smash the marketplace” attitude over less-sexy changes in institutional laws. Heath and Potter recently appeared at a lecture at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, chiding their countrymen good-naturedly for their organic-vegetable obsession, which they cast as “a remnant of ’60s technophobia” and a misguided attempt at anti-corporate “ethical consumption” — not to mention a bit smug and aristocratic. Heath and Potter maintained that growing them or buying them does not really strike a blow against consumerism; it just creates a market for more expensive vegetables — thus exacerbating competitive consumption rather than reducing it.
Turns out the Vancouverites didn’t like that one bit. “The very idea of organic vegetables as ‘yuppie food’ generated more heat in Vancouver than it did the U.S.,” laughs Andrew Potter, referring to this kind of countercultural obsession with “micro-issues” that take attention away from simpler solutions — namely, separating politics from the counterculture entirely. “We argue that ethical consumption is not a substitute for political action,” he says. “Only legislative action is.”
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Amateur Anthropology
Missed this by a couple days, but Robert Birnbaum's latest interview is with Eva Hoffman (Lost in Translation: A Life in a New Language, Exit Into History, Stetl: The Life and Death of a Small Town and the World of Polish Jews, and After Such Knowledge: Memory, History and the Legacy of the Holocaust). Another enjoyable read, but he prefaces the interview with an earlier excerpt from Hoffman that introduces the literary set to the pervasiveness of culture in daily life:
In an interview in 2000, Eva Hoffman observed, “I think every immigrant becomes a kind of amateur anthropologist—you do notice things about the culture or the world that you come into that people who grow up in it, who are very embedded in it, simply don't notice. I think we all know it from going to a foreign place. And at first you notice the surface things, the surface differences. And gradually you start noticing the deeper differences. And very gradually you start with understanding the inner life of the culture, the life of those both large and very intimate values. It was a surprisingly long process is what I can say.” A process that seems not to have an end point, as the conversation below exhibits.
In an interview in 2000, Eva Hoffman observed, “I think every immigrant becomes a kind of amateur anthropologist—you do notice things about the culture or the world that you come into that people who grow up in it, who are very embedded in it, simply don't notice. I think we all know it from going to a foreign place. And at first you notice the surface things, the surface differences. And gradually you start noticing the deeper differences. And very gradually you start with understanding the inner life of the culture, the life of those both large and very intimate values. It was a surprisingly long process is what I can say.” A process that seems not to have an end point, as the conversation below exhibits.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
American Dialectics
In today's version of Slate Daniel Gross reviews John Gartner's new book on the psychiatry of American business success, which posits that, "America may be the dominant force in the global economy because we're a nation made of somewhat Crazy Eddies—gonzo businessmen and women who may be genetically predisposed to take big-time risks."
The foray of mental diviners - scientific or not - into the national character is as old as the republic, and I would have been interested in an argument which included sound extrapolation from national data. But, not surprisingly, Gartner falls back on the rhetorical toolbox of psychotherapy: extrapolate from the one, or the few, to the millions:
Gartner sets out to prove his case not through contemporary case studies or the aggregation of vast quantities of data, but through brief, lively studies of key hypomanics from five different centuries.
But shortly thereafter, Gross gets to the real point which caught my attention:
It's a fun read. But Gartner's diagnosis overlooks the more rational factors that were crucial to the settling of America and the construction of our unique economic and business culture. The British Protestants who crossed the Atlantic Ocean in the 17th century came for God, but they also came for the cod. And the timber and the tobacco. By the time John Winthrop arrived in Massachusetts, non-dissenting settlers—economic opportunists, not prophets—had been farming and trading in Jamestown, Va., for more than 20 years.
Immigrants like Hamilton, Carnegie, and David Selznick's parents may have been hypomanic. But whether you were a landless peasant in Ireland in the 1840s, a Jewish cobbler in Russia in 1910, or an Indian computer programmer in the 1980s, the decision to move to America made profound economic sense. America had cheap land in abundance. The opportunities—if occasionally overblown—were real. So was the infrastructure that provided for the rule of law, capital markets, and the protections of minority rights.
In fact, practicality and realism have coexisted with messianism and utopianism in the American experiment from the very beginning. Benjamin Franklin was almost certainly hypomanic by Gartner's reckoning, but he was also one of the most relentlessly practical Americans of the 18th century. The U.S. economy has been distinguished by hypomanic booms and busts and by the creative destruction that lies at the heart of entrepreneurial capitalism. But it's also distinguished by durable systems and institutions that are emblematic of our distinct style of managerial capitalism—the Federal Reserve and the New York Stock Exchange, our telecommunications networks, and Procter & Gamble. Such institutions are not the work of flamboyant geniuses but of tons of thoughtful, far-sighted, and average Americans.
Juxtaposing "practicality and realism" with other seemingly contradictory values allows Gross to argue that one such element cannot be wholly explanatory (contra Gartner, and contra psychological reductionism of social and cultural phenomena) but, rather, value systems which, he reminds us, have "coexisted...in the American experiment from the very beginning." This point of view has been explored not only by social philosophers, but more recently anthropologists. Some weeks ago I had the opportunity to revisit Charles W. Nuckolls' enlightening (and readable) work "Culture: A Problem That Cannot Be Solved" (Wisconsin, 1998), which takes this finding to the heart of his argument: many cultural systems of knowledge are rooted in dialectical relationships between opposing values, and must be understood and explained with regard to this ongoing tension. I recommend it to those who might be interested in the topic, if not those who are predisposed to simplistic, modal explanations of American values. [Nuckolls examined three cases for his argument: cooperation and self-gratification among the Ifaluk in Micronesia; community and individualism in Oklahoma; and opposition within disorder characteristics in American psychiatry.] The following from his preface is a brief description of the argument:
The conclusion of this book is that culture is a problem that cannot be solved, and thus it contradicts the view that culture is a solution to existential problems that all human beings share. This is a statement of an extremely one-sided position, and is probably wrong, but the purpose of the argument is to show that extreme positions are productive when they exist in unrelieved tension with their opposites. This is as true of the book as it is of its ethnographic subjects.
As an example, consider the topic that informs much of the book: the conflict between American values of independence and dependence, or individualism and collectivism. Should we be ruggedly individualistic and cooperate only to the extent that it serves our individual interests? Or should we construct social institutions on the model of the family and form intense and long-lasting dependency relations that are not contingent on calculations of personal gratificiation? Some, like Tocqueville, argue that the conflict between these two positions defines American culture, but whether that is true or not, the real question is this: Can a culture be understood as an opposition between equally desireable alternatives, such that cultural knowledge systems come into being as partial (and necessarily temporal) solutions to problems that can never be resolved?
Certainly, no one expects the conflict between American individualist and communitarian perspectives to be resolved. But in the absence of resolution, the attempt to satisfy opposing ideals shapes the development of knowledge in disparate domains, from political parties (Republican versus Democratic) to the construction of gender (male versus female) to psychiatric categories (antisocial versus histrionic). Americans work through the dialectics constituted by opposing values. In the process they make up whole knowledge systems - systems that develop in pursuit of a goal that can never be reached, to solve a problem that can never be solved. (Pp. xv-xvi)
The foray of mental diviners - scientific or not - into the national character is as old as the republic, and I would have been interested in an argument which included sound extrapolation from national data. But, not surprisingly, Gartner falls back on the rhetorical toolbox of psychotherapy: extrapolate from the one, or the few, to the millions:
Gartner sets out to prove his case not through contemporary case studies or the aggregation of vast quantities of data, but through brief, lively studies of key hypomanics from five different centuries.
But shortly thereafter, Gross gets to the real point which caught my attention:
It's a fun read. But Gartner's diagnosis overlooks the more rational factors that were crucial to the settling of America and the construction of our unique economic and business culture. The British Protestants who crossed the Atlantic Ocean in the 17th century came for God, but they also came for the cod. And the timber and the tobacco. By the time John Winthrop arrived in Massachusetts, non-dissenting settlers—economic opportunists, not prophets—had been farming and trading in Jamestown, Va., for more than 20 years.
Immigrants like Hamilton, Carnegie, and David Selznick's parents may have been hypomanic. But whether you were a landless peasant in Ireland in the 1840s, a Jewish cobbler in Russia in 1910, or an Indian computer programmer in the 1980s, the decision to move to America made profound economic sense. America had cheap land in abundance. The opportunities—if occasionally overblown—were real. So was the infrastructure that provided for the rule of law, capital markets, and the protections of minority rights.
In fact, practicality and realism have coexisted with messianism and utopianism in the American experiment from the very beginning. Benjamin Franklin was almost certainly hypomanic by Gartner's reckoning, but he was also one of the most relentlessly practical Americans of the 18th century. The U.S. economy has been distinguished by hypomanic booms and busts and by the creative destruction that lies at the heart of entrepreneurial capitalism. But it's also distinguished by durable systems and institutions that are emblematic of our distinct style of managerial capitalism—the Federal Reserve and the New York Stock Exchange, our telecommunications networks, and Procter & Gamble. Such institutions are not the work of flamboyant geniuses but of tons of thoughtful, far-sighted, and average Americans.
Juxtaposing "practicality and realism" with other seemingly contradictory values allows Gross to argue that one such element cannot be wholly explanatory (contra Gartner, and contra psychological reductionism of social and cultural phenomena) but, rather, value systems which, he reminds us, have "coexisted...in the American experiment from the very beginning." This point of view has been explored not only by social philosophers, but more recently anthropologists. Some weeks ago I had the opportunity to revisit Charles W. Nuckolls' enlightening (and readable) work "Culture: A Problem That Cannot Be Solved" (Wisconsin, 1998), which takes this finding to the heart of his argument: many cultural systems of knowledge are rooted in dialectical relationships between opposing values, and must be understood and explained with regard to this ongoing tension. I recommend it to those who might be interested in the topic, if not those who are predisposed to simplistic, modal explanations of American values. [Nuckolls examined three cases for his argument: cooperation and self-gratification among the Ifaluk in Micronesia; community and individualism in Oklahoma; and opposition within disorder characteristics in American psychiatry.] The following from his preface is a brief description of the argument:
The conclusion of this book is that culture is a problem that cannot be solved, and thus it contradicts the view that culture is a solution to existential problems that all human beings share. This is a statement of an extremely one-sided position, and is probably wrong, but the purpose of the argument is to show that extreme positions are productive when they exist in unrelieved tension with their opposites. This is as true of the book as it is of its ethnographic subjects.
As an example, consider the topic that informs much of the book: the conflict between American values of independence and dependence, or individualism and collectivism. Should we be ruggedly individualistic and cooperate only to the extent that it serves our individual interests? Or should we construct social institutions on the model of the family and form intense and long-lasting dependency relations that are not contingent on calculations of personal gratificiation? Some, like Tocqueville, argue that the conflict between these two positions defines American culture, but whether that is true or not, the real question is this: Can a culture be understood as an opposition between equally desireable alternatives, such that cultural knowledge systems come into being as partial (and necessarily temporal) solutions to problems that can never be resolved?
Certainly, no one expects the conflict between American individualist and communitarian perspectives to be resolved. But in the absence of resolution, the attempt to satisfy opposing ideals shapes the development of knowledge in disparate domains, from political parties (Republican versus Democratic) to the construction of gender (male versus female) to psychiatric categories (antisocial versus histrionic). Americans work through the dialectics constituted by opposing values. In the process they make up whole knowledge systems - systems that develop in pursuit of a goal that can never be reached, to solve a problem that can never be solved. (Pp. xv-xvi)
Monday, February 14, 2005
Is It Bull?
The start of a new week at the office brings this heartening article from the NYT on Prof. Harry Frankfurt's new eye-opening book. It is just me, or is the correlation with Valentine's Day meaningful or spurious?
The essay on [bull] arose from that kind of struggle. In 1986, Mr. Frankfurt was teaching at Yale, where he took part in a weekly seminar. The idea was to get people of various disciplines to listen to a paper written by one of their number, after which everyone would talk about it over lunch.
The essay on [bull] arose from that kind of struggle. In 1986, Mr. Frankfurt was teaching at Yale, where he took part in a weekly seminar. The idea was to get people of various disciplines to listen to a paper written by one of their number, after which everyone would talk about it over lunch.
Mr. Frankfurt decided his contribution would be a paper on [bull]. "I had always been concerned about the importance of truth," he recalled, "the way in which truth is foundational to civilization and the various deformities of it that were current."
"I'd been concerned about the prevalence" of [bull], he continued, "and the lack of concern for truth and respect for truth that it represented."
"I used the title I did," he added, "because I wanted to talk about [bull] without any [bull], so I didn't use 'humbug' or 'bunkum.' "
Research was a problem. The closest analogue came from Socrates.
Rumor is, Frankfurt will soon be a celebrity guest on South Park.Thursday, February 10, 2005
Dirty Harry - "Pinko" American Movie Star
The weekly Frank Rich media column is up on the NYT site as of today, otherwise wait until this Sunday's paper to read one of the more insightful commentators we have on popular culture. He really nails it in his latest offering, the surprising conservative backlash against Clint Eastwood's new movie "Million Dollar Baby." Far-right discourse appears to have taken a nefarious turn, attacking even fellow Republicans who beg to differ on an important moral issue and I, for one, was a bit shocked to see Clint labelled as something akin to a "pinko." It's back to the 1950s.
But the most unintentionally revealing attacks on "Million Dollar Baby" have less to do with the "right to die" anyway than with the film's advertising campaign. It's "the 'million-dollar' lie," wrote one conservative commentator, Debbie Schlussel, saying that the film's promotion promises " 'Rocky' in a sports bra" while delivering a "left-wing diatribe" indistinguishable from the message sent by the Nazis when they "murdered the handicapped and infirm." Mr. Medved concurs. "They can't sell this thing honestly," he has said, so "it's being marketed as a movie all about the triumph of a plucky female boxer." The only problem with this charge is that it, too, is false. As Mr. Eastwood notes, the film's dark, even grim poster is "somewhat noiresque" and there's "nobody laughing and smiling and being real plucky" in a trailer that shows "triumph and struggles" alike.
What really makes these critics hate "Million Dollar Baby" is not its supposedly radical politics - which are nonexistent - but its lack of sentimentality. It is, indeed, no "Rocky," and in our America that departure from the norm is itself a form of cultural radicalism. Always a sentimental country, we're now living fulltime in the bathosphere. Our 24/7 news culture sees even a human disaster like the tsunami in Asia as a chance for inspirational uplift, for "incredible stories of lives saved in near-miraculous fashion," to quote NBC's Brian Williams. (The nonmiraculous stories are already forgotten, now that the media carnival has moved on.) Our political culture offers such phony tableaus as a bipartisan kiss between the president and Joe Lieberman at the State of the Union, not to mention the promise that a long-term war can be fought without having to endure any shared sacrifice or even too many graphic reminders of its human cost.
Rich is really correct to comment on the saccharine quality of American sentimentality (the British version might be called "treacle"). We have drifted ever-more into an Oprah-like treatment of emotion, where even the most inner thoughts and feelings have to be packaged in a consumer-friendly format, and dragged out into the camera lights of morning network shows. Where is the privacy? Where is the personal reflection without need for public display?
What makes some feel betrayed and angry after seeing "Million Dollar Baby" is exactly what makes many more stop and think: one of Hollywood's most durable cowboys is saying that it's not always morning in America, and that it may take more than faith to get us through the night.
But the most unintentionally revealing attacks on "Million Dollar Baby" have less to do with the "right to die" anyway than with the film's advertising campaign. It's "the 'million-dollar' lie," wrote one conservative commentator, Debbie Schlussel, saying that the film's promotion promises " 'Rocky' in a sports bra" while delivering a "left-wing diatribe" indistinguishable from the message sent by the Nazis when they "murdered the handicapped and infirm." Mr. Medved concurs. "They can't sell this thing honestly," he has said, so "it's being marketed as a movie all about the triumph of a plucky female boxer." The only problem with this charge is that it, too, is false. As Mr. Eastwood notes, the film's dark, even grim poster is "somewhat noiresque" and there's "nobody laughing and smiling and being real plucky" in a trailer that shows "triumph and struggles" alike.
What really makes these critics hate "Million Dollar Baby" is not its supposedly radical politics - which are nonexistent - but its lack of sentimentality. It is, indeed, no "Rocky," and in our America that departure from the norm is itself a form of cultural radicalism. Always a sentimental country, we're now living fulltime in the bathosphere. Our 24/7 news culture sees even a human disaster like the tsunami in Asia as a chance for inspirational uplift, for "incredible stories of lives saved in near-miraculous fashion," to quote NBC's Brian Williams. (The nonmiraculous stories are already forgotten, now that the media carnival has moved on.) Our political culture offers such phony tableaus as a bipartisan kiss between the president and Joe Lieberman at the State of the Union, not to mention the promise that a long-term war can be fought without having to endure any shared sacrifice or even too many graphic reminders of its human cost.
Rich is really correct to comment on the saccharine quality of American sentimentality (the British version might be called "treacle"). We have drifted ever-more into an Oprah-like treatment of emotion, where even the most inner thoughts and feelings have to be packaged in a consumer-friendly format, and dragged out into the camera lights of morning network shows. Where is the privacy? Where is the personal reflection without need for public display?
What makes some feel betrayed and angry after seeing "Million Dollar Baby" is exactly what makes many more stop and think: one of Hollywood's most durable cowboys is saying that it's not always morning in America, and that it may take more than faith to get us through the night.
Innumerants on Parade
If Bush really wanted to pass tort reform in American jurisprudence, he shouldn't start with caps on the system, but rather make jurors pass basic neurological and intelligence tests before deciding punitive awards. From today's LA Times, which seems to have lots of these articles:
When his wife died and he decided in 2000 to move from his $800,000 Manhattan Beach home, Waldrep devised a plan to offer the dwelling as an essay contest prize instead of selling it.
Entrants would pay a $195 fee to participate in the writing competition. Waldrep pledged that 10% of the entry fees would be donated to a local charity that had assisted his dying wife.
But when the contest ended and Waldrep didn't move out of his house, one unhappy essay writer filed a class-action civil lawsuit alleging that the competition was fixed. Last week, a Los Angeles jury decided Waldrep had committed fraud and ordered him to return the entry fees, plus interest, to the writers.
It was when the jury returned Monday to award punitive damages to the writers that the plot thickened.
Jurors agreed that the contestants should additionally split between them the approximately $1 million for which Waldrep sold the house last year. But in a mix-up, jurors inadvertently awarded the 1,812 essayists $1 million each.
Jurors discovered their $1.8-billion mistake while chatting with lawyers after the trial. When they attempted to return to the courtroom of Superior Court Judge Andria Richey to rectify things, they learned they were too late: They had been dismissed.
When his wife died and he decided in 2000 to move from his $800,000 Manhattan Beach home, Waldrep devised a plan to offer the dwelling as an essay contest prize instead of selling it.
Entrants would pay a $195 fee to participate in the writing competition. Waldrep pledged that 10% of the entry fees would be donated to a local charity that had assisted his dying wife.
But when the contest ended and Waldrep didn't move out of his house, one unhappy essay writer filed a class-action civil lawsuit alleging that the competition was fixed. Last week, a Los Angeles jury decided Waldrep had committed fraud and ordered him to return the entry fees, plus interest, to the writers.
It was when the jury returned Monday to award punitive damages to the writers that the plot thickened.
Jurors agreed that the contestants should additionally split between them the approximately $1 million for which Waldrep sold the house last year. But in a mix-up, jurors inadvertently awarded the 1,812 essayists $1 million each.
Jurors discovered their $1.8-billion mistake while chatting with lawyers after the trial. When they attempted to return to the courtroom of Superior Court Judge Andria Richey to rectify things, they learned they were too late: They had been dismissed.
Selling First Contact
"I don't believe there are any ‘uncontacted' people, nor that anyone has to worry about making a ‘first contact,' " Marshall Sahlins, professor emeritus of anthropology at the University of Chicago, told me.
Like many of you, I awoke this morning to NPR's interview with Michael Behar on his article in the February issue of Outside Magazine. Tourism, and especially armchair touristic journalism, is reaching out to increasingly more remote locales (think space tourism) and, not surprisingly, more unbelievable tourist experiences. Behar plunked down $8,000 USD to American-born guide Kelly Woolford (a self-described "hillbilly") to take him into the jungles of West Papua, Indonesia and make "first contact" with a group of natives.
After almost spitting out my morning cup of coffee, and shaking my fist in a Basil Fawlty-like repose, my impression were: (1) What "uncontacted" people? Most anthropologists agree that even remote hunter-gatherer groups have trading ties with surrounding societies and were therefore "contacted" a very long time ago. (2) Behar could have commented more on the doubts most anthropologists have about this type of expedition, and his research. (3) If it smells like a rotten egg, it probably is. Well-meaning people have been duped before into thinking they made the mythical "first contact" with a remote human group. In the 1970s the Tasaday in the Philippines were called an "untouched stone age people," a discovery which was later shown to be a hoax.
I was glad to see, however, that in his article Behar goes into more detail about the reactions of anthropologists he consulted after his trip, most of whom were quick to dispell any romantic notions of a human group unblemished by the sins of modernity:
[West Papuan] tribes are not uncontacted in any absolute sense," argues Paul Michael Taylor, an anthropologist and curator at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, in Washington, D.C. "They've been trading crocodiles and bird of paradise feathers and have had access to metals and tobacco for a long time. So they've always been in contact; it's just a question of degree."Before leaving Nabire, Woolford agrees that his definition of first contact may need to be modified. Should we actually encounter a tribe in the jungle, he says, it might be impossible to determine whether they have ever set eyes on an outsider.
Behar then describes in detail the suprise contact with bow-and-arrow wielding natives, sending his scurrying to the river bank. Upon his return, these "pristine natives" are mugging for a camera shot with another tourist.
Two weeks later, back home in Virginia, I send three hours of our video footage to several anthropologists familiar with West Papuan tribes. None of them is convinced by it.
"I'm 95 percent sure it is a hoax," the University of Sydney's William Foley declares after watching it. He's struck by the fact that the natives didn't appear to have any skin diseases, which are endemic among bushmen. "This is unheard of for people living in the forest," he says. "The guys are too clean. Secondly, their dress is far too elaborate. That's the kind of dress they wear when doing a ceremony. That's not what they wear when they go out hunting and collecting food. All those headdresses—no way."
Other anthropologists have similar reactions. Paul Taylor, at the Smithsonian, adds that it wouldn't be too difficult to hire local villagers to stash their Western garb and then pretend to be "discovered" as Woolford's clients plod through the jungle. "The big question in my mind," says Taylor, "is whether this is something he's paid these people to do over and over again." Whatever is going on, Taylor doesn't like it. "If it's not a first-contact situation, then it's fraudulent. And if it is a first-contact situation, then it's an insensitive way to go about it."
When confronted with these refutations, Woolford reacts like the miner making a living on his claim who has been told by the professional geologist that his rocks are fool's gold, and not the real thing.
Woolford, for his part, fires right back when I run the anthropologists' remarks by him, starting with a comment that anyone who doubts his word should come along on a trip. "Some of these people are just lecturers at nice universities who have tenure and cushy jobs," he says. "If they think I've staged this, then come with me. I give them an open invitation to see for themselves. They can feel the energy of these guys, see them run around, see them barreling down and pointing arrows at them."
Really? Most researchers who study hunter-gatherers live in the field for a year or more for their doctoral research, continue to go back for summer or semester-long trips, and sometimes chock up another year's worth of research during a sabbatical. All this for a pathetically-weak job market, and lower pay than many other professions, so I am not taken in by his characterization that his critics are "lecturers at nice universities who have tenure and cushy jobs." I can hear ad hominem retorts like that on Fox News. Woolford is an entrepreneur, and is selling this experience to those with the money, so naturally he has to "find" something for them to see, making me even more suspicious of his motives. Read the article yourself, but I think you will come away with a similiar reading.
"People pay a lot of money for this trip, and I want to try to find them something," he says. "But locating new tribes is getting harder and harder—and who knows what you are going to come across, if anything."
Like many of you, I awoke this morning to NPR's interview with Michael Behar on his article in the February issue of Outside Magazine. Tourism, and especially armchair touristic journalism, is reaching out to increasingly more remote locales (think space tourism) and, not surprisingly, more unbelievable tourist experiences. Behar plunked down $8,000 USD to American-born guide Kelly Woolford (a self-described "hillbilly") to take him into the jungles of West Papua, Indonesia and make "first contact" with a group of natives.
After almost spitting out my morning cup of coffee, and shaking my fist in a Basil Fawlty-like repose, my impression were: (1) What "uncontacted" people? Most anthropologists agree that even remote hunter-gatherer groups have trading ties with surrounding societies and were therefore "contacted" a very long time ago. (2) Behar could have commented more on the doubts most anthropologists have about this type of expedition, and his research. (3) If it smells like a rotten egg, it probably is. Well-meaning people have been duped before into thinking they made the mythical "first contact" with a remote human group. In the 1970s the Tasaday in the Philippines were called an "untouched stone age people," a discovery which was later shown to be a hoax.
I was glad to see, however, that in his article Behar goes into more detail about the reactions of anthropologists he consulted after his trip, most of whom were quick to dispell any romantic notions of a human group unblemished by the sins of modernity:
[West Papuan] tribes are not uncontacted in any absolute sense," argues Paul Michael Taylor, an anthropologist and curator at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, in Washington, D.C. "They've been trading crocodiles and bird of paradise feathers and have had access to metals and tobacco for a long time. So they've always been in contact; it's just a question of degree."Before leaving Nabire, Woolford agrees that his definition of first contact may need to be modified. Should we actually encounter a tribe in the jungle, he says, it might be impossible to determine whether they have ever set eyes on an outsider.
Behar then describes in detail the suprise contact with bow-and-arrow wielding natives, sending his scurrying to the river bank. Upon his return, these "pristine natives" are mugging for a camera shot with another tourist.
Two weeks later, back home in Virginia, I send three hours of our video footage to several anthropologists familiar with West Papuan tribes. None of them is convinced by it.
"I'm 95 percent sure it is a hoax," the University of Sydney's William Foley declares after watching it. He's struck by the fact that the natives didn't appear to have any skin diseases, which are endemic among bushmen. "This is unheard of for people living in the forest," he says. "The guys are too clean. Secondly, their dress is far too elaborate. That's the kind of dress they wear when doing a ceremony. That's not what they wear when they go out hunting and collecting food. All those headdresses—no way."
Other anthropologists have similar reactions. Paul Taylor, at the Smithsonian, adds that it wouldn't be too difficult to hire local villagers to stash their Western garb and then pretend to be "discovered" as Woolford's clients plod through the jungle. "The big question in my mind," says Taylor, "is whether this is something he's paid these people to do over and over again." Whatever is going on, Taylor doesn't like it. "If it's not a first-contact situation, then it's fraudulent. And if it is a first-contact situation, then it's an insensitive way to go about it."
When confronted with these refutations, Woolford reacts like the miner making a living on his claim who has been told by the professional geologist that his rocks are fool's gold, and not the real thing.
Woolford, for his part, fires right back when I run the anthropologists' remarks by him, starting with a comment that anyone who doubts his word should come along on a trip. "Some of these people are just lecturers at nice universities who have tenure and cushy jobs," he says. "If they think I've staged this, then come with me. I give them an open invitation to see for themselves. They can feel the energy of these guys, see them run around, see them barreling down and pointing arrows at them."
Really? Most researchers who study hunter-gatherers live in the field for a year or more for their doctoral research, continue to go back for summer or semester-long trips, and sometimes chock up another year's worth of research during a sabbatical. All this for a pathetically-weak job market, and lower pay than many other professions, so I am not taken in by his characterization that his critics are "lecturers at nice universities who have tenure and cushy jobs." I can hear ad hominem retorts like that on Fox News. Woolford is an entrepreneur, and is selling this experience to those with the money, so naturally he has to "find" something for them to see, making me even more suspicious of his motives. Read the article yourself, but I think you will come away with a similiar reading.
"People pay a lot of money for this trip, and I want to try to find them something," he says. "But locating new tribes is getting harder and harder—and who knows what you are going to come across, if anything."
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Payback!
Woke up to the news this morning that Carly Fiorina had been sacked as CEO of Hewlett-Packard. Seems there are not many damp eyes in the corporate corridors of power, including my family. Several cousins of mine were vehemently opposed to the HP-Compaq merger, and never quite did forgive Carly for not following through with the finanical rewards it was supposed to have accrued to the company. Daniel Gross at Slate provides a more detailed background to the Fiorina denouement:
For Fiorina, a marketing whiz at Lucent in the go-go 1990s, the CEO job was all about sales—selling employees on the merger with Compaq, customers on the products, investors on the stock, the board on her strategy, and the media on her. (Adam Lashinsky's 2002 Fortune article nicely captures her style.) But the controversial Compaq merger, which lashed HP's highly profitable printing business more tightly to a commodity PC business, didn't produce the synergies and higher profits she promised.
Over time, the gap between her polished rhetoric and the mediocre results grew wider. In July 2004, as Carol Loomis wrote in an excellent Fortune takeout, Fiorina gave a "totally upbeat speech at Allen & Co.'s big Sun Valley conference." A few weeks later, the company announced yet another disappointing quarter. While audiences of media moguls lapped up her speeches, the audiences that mattered most weren't buying what she was selling. The stock bumped along. Fiorina and her team didn't believe their own spiel, to judge by their actions. This record of insider transactions suggests that in the last two years instances in which directors or top executives dug into their own pockets to make even symbolic purchases of shares in the open market were few and far between.
Perhaps insiders and professional investors sensed that Fiorina was distracted. CEOs justify the money, resources, and time spent going to Davos, serving on corporate boards and chairing presidential commissions as ways to schmooze customers, network, and plant the corporate flag. But really, they're more about building a personal brand than a corporate brand. Fiorina's globe-trotting may have sent not-so-subtle messages to investors and her board that her heart wasn't in HP.
For Fiorina, a marketing whiz at Lucent in the go-go 1990s, the CEO job was all about sales—selling employees on the merger with Compaq, customers on the products, investors on the stock, the board on her strategy, and the media on her. (Adam Lashinsky's 2002 Fortune article nicely captures her style.) But the controversial Compaq merger, which lashed HP's highly profitable printing business more tightly to a commodity PC business, didn't produce the synergies and higher profits she promised.
Over time, the gap between her polished rhetoric and the mediocre results grew wider. In July 2004, as Carol Loomis wrote in an excellent Fortune takeout, Fiorina gave a "totally upbeat speech at Allen & Co.'s big Sun Valley conference." A few weeks later, the company announced yet another disappointing quarter. While audiences of media moguls lapped up her speeches, the audiences that mattered most weren't buying what she was selling. The stock bumped along. Fiorina and her team didn't believe their own spiel, to judge by their actions. This record of insider transactions suggests that in the last two years instances in which directors or top executives dug into their own pockets to make even symbolic purchases of shares in the open market were few and far between.
Perhaps insiders and professional investors sensed that Fiorina was distracted. CEOs justify the money, resources, and time spent going to Davos, serving on corporate boards and chairing presidential commissions as ways to schmooze customers, network, and plant the corporate flag. But really, they're more about building a personal brand than a corporate brand. Fiorina's globe-trotting may have sent not-so-subtle messages to investors and her board that her heart wasn't in HP.
McEwan in the TLS
The new TLS is out with Theo Tait's review of Ian McEwan's Saturday, portions of which I was forunate to have seen him read last April at Caltech (watch the video). Overall positive, but Tait also wonders if the "grown-up" McEwan has yet learned to balance the dialectics of "nightmare and reason."
Narrative tension is an absolutely fundamental part of McEwan’s technique. The stop-start method – whereby he announces or hints that something terrible will happen, and then delays disclosure – is one of his most characteristic manoeuvres. It certainly works, driving the plot forward and ensuring the reader’s close attention. But sometimes it seems that suspense is used to mask some fundamental thinness. Certainly, rereading the final section without the benefit of adrenalin, it seems much less good, and much less interesting than the rest of the novel. Thematically, it doesn’t provide a close fit with what precedes it, except in the general sense that it is about security – the earlier nuances about the balance of threat and paranoia are lost. And, as in any television drama where the hero’s family is threatened, it provides a fairly generic catharsis: with the dream of righteous violence used against the invader. Again, you sense the unresolved conflict between nightmare and reason. The kinky cruelty of the early stories and novellas is still lurking, and the grown-up McEwan, rational and concerned, doesn’t quite know how to exorcize it. As a result, there are thematic resolutions which seem forced, episodes and ethical dilemmas which are not quite believable: a violent stand-off, for instance, in which a reading of Matthew Arnold’s poem “Dover Beach” plays a pivotal role . . . .
Narrative tension is an absolutely fundamental part of McEwan’s technique. The stop-start method – whereby he announces or hints that something terrible will happen, and then delays disclosure – is one of his most characteristic manoeuvres. It certainly works, driving the plot forward and ensuring the reader’s close attention. But sometimes it seems that suspense is used to mask some fundamental thinness. Certainly, rereading the final section without the benefit of adrenalin, it seems much less good, and much less interesting than the rest of the novel. Thematically, it doesn’t provide a close fit with what precedes it, except in the general sense that it is about security – the earlier nuances about the balance of threat and paranoia are lost. And, as in any television drama where the hero’s family is threatened, it provides a fairly generic catharsis: with the dream of righteous violence used against the invader. Again, you sense the unresolved conflict between nightmare and reason. The kinky cruelty of the early stories and novellas is still lurking, and the grown-up McEwan, rational and concerned, doesn’t quite know how to exorcize it. As a result, there are thematic resolutions which seem forced, episodes and ethical dilemmas which are not quite believable: a violent stand-off, for instance, in which a reading of Matthew Arnold’s poem “Dover Beach” plays a pivotal role . . . .
All Carrot, No Stick
Forgot to post this AP article from yesteray. Keeping on the theme of "what is wrong with economic models," we read that the incentives given to corporations aren't flowing back into the community at large. And people are surprised?
Lawmakers backing the "homeland reinvestment" provision last year touted the idea of lower tax rates as a way to encourage companies to repatriate their earnings, and by putting extra money into corporate coffers, the thought was that companies would increase operating and investment activity and add jobs to payrolls.
Yet the devil in all this comes in the details. When it comes to the specifics in how the repatriated funds should be used, it turns out that what is considered permissible probably won't drive too many upswings in employment at all, and in some cases, could even spur layoffs.
In fact, a Morgan Stanley survey that was released late last year found that none of the investment firm's analysts believed that any of the companies they followed would use the repatriated earnings for hiring.
Lawmakers backing the "homeland reinvestment" provision last year touted the idea of lower tax rates as a way to encourage companies to repatriate their earnings, and by putting extra money into corporate coffers, the thought was that companies would increase operating and investment activity and add jobs to payrolls.
Yet the devil in all this comes in the details. When it comes to the specifics in how the repatriated funds should be used, it turns out that what is considered permissible probably won't drive too many upswings in employment at all, and in some cases, could even spur layoffs.
In fact, a Morgan Stanley survey that was released late last year found that none of the investment firm's analysts believed that any of the companies they followed would use the repatriated earnings for hiring.
Five Pennies
Want to know what structuralism is? Take a quick look at the history of money and coinage. Today's Slate has a good Explainer column on the history of the U.S. nickle:
Why is stealing nickels and pennies such a bad deal? In the 1790s, the first U.S. coins were produced in proportion to a silver dollar (which was in turn based on the Spanish 8 Reales—the first dollars contained the same amount of silver as the then-common Spanish coin). The 50-cent piece had half as much silver as the dollar by weight, the quarter had one-fourth, the dime had one-tenth, and the tiny half-dime (or 5-cent piece), had one-twentieth. Only the copper penny was fiduciary—its worth was not tied to the value of the metal it was made of.
Thanks to the lobbying efforts of nickel-industry magnate and business-school founder Joseph Wharton, the composition of fiduciary coins changed in the mid-19th century. In 1857, the old, large copper pennies were replaced with smaller "1-cent nickels" made of a nickel alloy. Soon after, the U.S. Mint issued 3-cent nickels of similar material. And in 1866, the small and impractical half-dime was made fiduciary too, and the mint released a 5-cent nickel. At the same time, the 1-cent nickel was converted to bronze, and a new, bronze 2-cent piece was created. These bronze pieces were heavier than their nickel counterparts, so from the very beginning, 45,000 pounds of 5-cent nickels would have been more valuable than 45,000 pounds of pennies.
Why is stealing nickels and pennies such a bad deal? In the 1790s, the first U.S. coins were produced in proportion to a silver dollar (which was in turn based on the Spanish 8 Reales—the first dollars contained the same amount of silver as the then-common Spanish coin). The 50-cent piece had half as much silver as the dollar by weight, the quarter had one-fourth, the dime had one-tenth, and the tiny half-dime (or 5-cent piece), had one-twentieth. Only the copper penny was fiduciary—its worth was not tied to the value of the metal it was made of.
Thanks to the lobbying efforts of nickel-industry magnate and business-school founder Joseph Wharton, the composition of fiduciary coins changed in the mid-19th century. In 1857, the old, large copper pennies were replaced with smaller "1-cent nickels" made of a nickel alloy. Soon after, the U.S. Mint issued 3-cent nickels of similar material. And in 1866, the small and impractical half-dime was made fiduciary too, and the mint released a 5-cent nickel. At the same time, the 1-cent nickel was converted to bronze, and a new, bronze 2-cent piece was created. These bronze pieces were heavier than their nickel counterparts, so from the very beginning, 45,000 pounds of 5-cent nickels would have been more valuable than 45,000 pounds of pennies.
Dismal Science, Dismal Fieldwork
What a difference a day makes. My morning read of Crookedtimber put me on track to a good article by Peter Griffiths on his work as a consulting economist in Sierra Leone and the counterintuitive workings of the World Bank. But my penchant for methodology lead me to this portion of his essay:
But I was not interviewing just for information. I was trying to get people into the state of mind that they would read my final report when I wrote it, and read it appreciatively. I was trying to show them that I was highly intelligent and that I understood what was really going on in the country. I did this by keeping my mouth shut, listening carefully and respectfully to what they said, and writing it down.
At the same time I was collecting reports and statistics. My experience of other countries was that there should be dozens of highly relevant reports, but I could only find a handful here. The statistics were appalling. For example, there were two statistical studies on food production. They disagreed by 80% on the total area planted to rice, and by 60% on the yield per hectare even though they used the identical methodology. There were no reliable figures at all on most of the economy.
I had to resort to detective work. Making sense of the statistical and other information was rather like doing a crossword puzzle. No bit of information had any credibility until there were several cross confirmations. Even then, the credibility grew as the cross confirmations were themselves confirmed by down confirmations. Some of the key information turned out to be things like seeing Japanese rice on sale in a village market, and asking a stevedore how much rice had been unloaded from a ship.
By the end of the first month I felt I was the only person who had a broad picture of the food situation in the country, though there were still lots of gaps and loose ends. I had talked to people from the Minister down. I had talked to people who were experts in different parts of the market. I had any statistics that were available. Everything was starting to come into a coherent model.
Congratulations Peter. You've just made the leap into primary data gathering. Now if only other economists could follow suit. Economic anthropologists have all sorts of horror stories about meeting consultants and econ-trained officials who make short trips to the "country" to take a look around, prefering to hire a bunch of assistants to administer some surveys while they talk to officals back in the capital. To his credit Griffith sounds like an economist who has reflected on the real world application of his profession and, in the above passage, the basics of fieldwork in developing nations.
But I was not interviewing just for information. I was trying to get people into the state of mind that they would read my final report when I wrote it, and read it appreciatively. I was trying to show them that I was highly intelligent and that I understood what was really going on in the country. I did this by keeping my mouth shut, listening carefully and respectfully to what they said, and writing it down.
At the same time I was collecting reports and statistics. My experience of other countries was that there should be dozens of highly relevant reports, but I could only find a handful here. The statistics were appalling. For example, there were two statistical studies on food production. They disagreed by 80% on the total area planted to rice, and by 60% on the yield per hectare even though they used the identical methodology. There were no reliable figures at all on most of the economy.
I had to resort to detective work. Making sense of the statistical and other information was rather like doing a crossword puzzle. No bit of information had any credibility until there were several cross confirmations. Even then, the credibility grew as the cross confirmations were themselves confirmed by down confirmations. Some of the key information turned out to be things like seeing Japanese rice on sale in a village market, and asking a stevedore how much rice had been unloaded from a ship.
By the end of the first month I felt I was the only person who had a broad picture of the food situation in the country, though there were still lots of gaps and loose ends. I had talked to people from the Minister down. I had talked to people who were experts in different parts of the market. I had any statistics that were available. Everything was starting to come into a coherent model.
Congratulations Peter. You've just made the leap into primary data gathering. Now if only other economists could follow suit. Economic anthropologists have all sorts of horror stories about meeting consultants and econ-trained officials who make short trips to the "country" to take a look around, prefering to hire a bunch of assistants to administer some surveys while they talk to officals back in the capital. To his credit Griffith sounds like an economist who has reflected on the real world application of his profession and, in the above passage, the basics of fieldwork in developing nations.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Academic Online Research & Reading Fun
Even social science research design and methodology wonks like myself sometimes ask, "How did they ever come up with that research project?" Today was one of those "special" days. After a cursory read at Crookedtimber, I followed some links and nodes to the Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, which will have an upcoming special issue on The Social, Political, Economic and Cultural Dimensions of Search Engines (!) It seems my unreconstructed positivist allies in computer science and communications have their own academic journal version of Social Text (go to your favorite search engine and type in "Alan Sokal Hoax" for all the entertaining history). A cusory read of the latest JCMC research offerings includes:
Our Latest Issue
Volume 10, Issue 2, January 2005
Gender, Identity, and Language Use in Teenage BlogsDavid Huffaker & Sandra Calvert
The Language of Online Intercultural Community FormationJustine Cassell & Dona Tversky
Hazing as a Process of Boundary Maintenance in an Online Community Courtenay Honeycutt
Mechanisms of an Online Public Sphere: The Website SlashdotNathaniel Poor
The Role of the Habitus in Shaping Discourses about the Digital Divide Lynette Kvasny
Experienced Presence within Computer-Mediated Communications: Initial Explorations on the Effects of Gender with Respect to Empathy and Immersion Stef G. Nicovich, Gregory W. Boller, & T. Bettina Cornwell
A Content Analytic Comparison of Learning Processes in Online and Face-to-Face Case Study Discussions Robert Heckman & Hala Annabi
The Media Downing of Pierre Salinger: Journalistic Mistrust of the Internet as a News Source Thomas E. Ruggiero & Samuel P. Winch
Congress on the Internet: Messages on the Homepages of the U.S. House of Representatives, 1996 and 2001 Sharon E. Jarvis & Kristen Wilkerson
The Italian Extreme Right On-line Network: An Exploratory Study Using an Integrated Social Network Analysis and Content Analysis Approach Luca Tateo
Research Brief
The Story of Subject Naught: A Cautionary but Optimistic Tale of Internet Survey Research Joseph A. Konstan, B. R. Simon Rosser, Michael W. Ross, Jeffrey Stanton, & Weston M. Edwards
Reactions? While I'm not a big fan of many communication research projects (institutional allegiances), I do use social network analysis, some content analysis, and conceptual mapping from cognitive anthropology. But the brevity of some of these projects makes me think of their place within the larger context of academic publishing and Darwinian survivial tactics in the Ivory Tower. The famous Red Queen Hypothesis proposed by Van Valen in evolutionary biology held that species had to "run in place" in order to stave off extinction, and it seems that an analogy might be made for certain research projects in certain academic fields.
Our Latest Issue
Volume 10, Issue 2, January 2005
Gender, Identity, and Language Use in Teenage BlogsDavid Huffaker & Sandra Calvert
The Language of Online Intercultural Community FormationJustine Cassell & Dona Tversky
Hazing as a Process of Boundary Maintenance in an Online Community Courtenay Honeycutt
Mechanisms of an Online Public Sphere: The Website SlashdotNathaniel Poor
The Role of the Habitus in Shaping Discourses about the Digital Divide Lynette Kvasny
Experienced Presence within Computer-Mediated Communications: Initial Explorations on the Effects of Gender with Respect to Empathy and Immersion Stef G. Nicovich, Gregory W. Boller, & T. Bettina Cornwell
A Content Analytic Comparison of Learning Processes in Online and Face-to-Face Case Study Discussions Robert Heckman & Hala Annabi
The Media Downing of Pierre Salinger: Journalistic Mistrust of the Internet as a News Source Thomas E. Ruggiero & Samuel P. Winch
Congress on the Internet: Messages on the Homepages of the U.S. House of Representatives, 1996 and 2001 Sharon E. Jarvis & Kristen Wilkerson
The Italian Extreme Right On-line Network: An Exploratory Study Using an Integrated Social Network Analysis and Content Analysis Approach Luca Tateo
Research Brief
The Story of Subject Naught: A Cautionary but Optimistic Tale of Internet Survey Research Joseph A. Konstan, B. R. Simon Rosser, Michael W. Ross, Jeffrey Stanton, & Weston M. Edwards
Reactions? While I'm not a big fan of many communication research projects (institutional allegiances), I do use social network analysis, some content analysis, and conceptual mapping from cognitive anthropology. But the brevity of some of these projects makes me think of their place within the larger context of academic publishing and Darwinian survivial tactics in the Ivory Tower. The famous Red Queen Hypothesis proposed by Van Valen in evolutionary biology held that species had to "run in place" in order to stave off extinction, and it seems that an analogy might be made for certain research projects in certain academic fields.
Authenticity and Design
Michael Beirut has a good commentary on authenticity and design from a graphic designer's point-of-view today at Design Observer. I kept thinking about Jean Baudrillard, and wondering if I hadn't read this somewhere else before:
No one loves authenticity like a graphic designer. And no one is quite as good at simluating it. Recently on Speak Up, Marian Bantjes described the professional pride she took in forging a parking permit for a friend. "And I have to say," she admitted, "that it is one of the most satisfying design tasks I have ever undertaken." This provoked an outpouring of confessions from other designers who gleefully described concocting driver's licenses, report cards, concert tickets and even currency.
Every piece of graphic design is, in part or in whole, a forgery. I remember the first time I assembled a prototype for presentation to a client: a two-color business card, 10-point PMS Warm Red Univers on ivory Mohawk Superfine. The half-day process involved would be incomprehensible to a young designer working in a modern studio today; with its cutting, pasting, spraying, stirring and rubbing, it was more like making a pineapple upside-down cake from scratch. But what satisfaction I took in the final result. It was like magic: it looked real. No wonder my favorite character in The Great Escape wasn't the incredibly cool Steve McQueen, but the bewhiskered and bespeckled Donald Pleasence, who couldn't ride a stolen motorcycle behind enemy lines, but could make an imitation German passport capable of fooling the sharpest eyes in the Gestapo.
And the illusion works on yet another level. Consider: that business card was for a start-up business that until that moment had no existence outside of a three-page business plan and the rich fantasy life of its would-be founder. My prototype business card brought those fantasies to life. And reproduced en masse and handed with confidence to potential investors, it ultimately helped make the fantasy a reality. Graphic design is the fiction that anticipates the fact.
No one loves authenticity like a graphic designer. And no one is quite as good at simluating it. Recently on Speak Up, Marian Bantjes described the professional pride she took in forging a parking permit for a friend. "And I have to say," she admitted, "that it is one of the most satisfying design tasks I have ever undertaken." This provoked an outpouring of confessions from other designers who gleefully described concocting driver's licenses, report cards, concert tickets and even currency.
Every piece of graphic design is, in part or in whole, a forgery. I remember the first time I assembled a prototype for presentation to a client: a two-color business card, 10-point PMS Warm Red Univers on ivory Mohawk Superfine. The half-day process involved would be incomprehensible to a young designer working in a modern studio today; with its cutting, pasting, spraying, stirring and rubbing, it was more like making a pineapple upside-down cake from scratch. But what satisfaction I took in the final result. It was like magic: it looked real. No wonder my favorite character in The Great Escape wasn't the incredibly cool Steve McQueen, but the bewhiskered and bespeckled Donald Pleasence, who couldn't ride a stolen motorcycle behind enemy lines, but could make an imitation German passport capable of fooling the sharpest eyes in the Gestapo.
And the illusion works on yet another level. Consider: that business card was for a start-up business that until that moment had no existence outside of a three-page business plan and the rich fantasy life of its would-be founder. My prototype business card brought those fantasies to life. And reproduced en masse and handed with confidence to potential investors, it ultimately helped make the fantasy a reality. Graphic design is the fiction that anticipates the fact.
Walk This Way
Yesterday Slate posted an interesting Fashion Week FAQ. Now, generally speaking, anthropologists are routinely characterized as the "worst dressers on campus," so a fashion article should be the last thing people of my ilk and education would read. However, I did notice one question related that conjured up images of John Cleese, the Ministry of Silly Walks, and general anthropological curiosity about mundane, quotidian details of life that escape most people on this planet:
3) Tell us about the models. Where do the models learn to walk? Does their agency teach them? And why do they walk like that? Why can't they just walk normally? Do the models really not eat? Do they diet before the shows?
You may have seen Jay Alexander, who works with Elite Plus in Paris, on America's Top Model. He's famous for teaching models to walk and is rumored to make quite a bundle doing so. But not every model takes walking lessons; some have a natural sense of presentation. "It depends on where the models are from," according to Andrew Weir, a New York casting director. "If they're from Brazil or South America, the walk is innate. The other girls have to watch the Brazilians for a season or two until they catch up."
There are a few walking styles. "If you say to the girls 'Do a Versace walk,' they know what that means—a va-va-voom, shake-it-like-you-might-break-it walk," says Weir. " 'Street' means no swish. It's strong, like the way people walk down a New York street." Most shows now use a near-natural street walk, described by Weir as " 'Street' plus a little bit more." That means a pretty natural stride with no hands on hips or posing. But the walk is still slightly exaggerated: Some extra swagger makes skirts swish dramatically and gives tailored looks a bit of extra power.
Although people don't like to believe it, models are not big dieters. They are blessed with fast metabolisms.
I still don't believe it.
3) Tell us about the models. Where do the models learn to walk? Does their agency teach them? And why do they walk like that? Why can't they just walk normally? Do the models really not eat? Do they diet before the shows?
You may have seen Jay Alexander, who works with Elite Plus in Paris, on America's Top Model. He's famous for teaching models to walk and is rumored to make quite a bundle doing so. But not every model takes walking lessons; some have a natural sense of presentation. "It depends on where the models are from," according to Andrew Weir, a New York casting director. "If they're from Brazil or South America, the walk is innate. The other girls have to watch the Brazilians for a season or two until they catch up."
There are a few walking styles. "If you say to the girls 'Do a Versace walk,' they know what that means—a va-va-voom, shake-it-like-you-might-break-it walk," says Weir. " 'Street' means no swish. It's strong, like the way people walk down a New York street." Most shows now use a near-natural street walk, described by Weir as " 'Street' plus a little bit more." That means a pretty natural stride with no hands on hips or posing. But the walk is still slightly exaggerated: Some extra swagger makes skirts swish dramatically and gives tailored looks a bit of extra power.
Although people don't like to believe it, models are not big dieters. They are blessed with fast metabolisms.
I still don't believe it.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Comfort Food in Iraq
The AP is reporting this afternoon that US soldiers are turning to fast food outlets in Iraq. It seemed that in grandad's day, the camp followers weren't serving up Whoppers with extra cheese (and what will the diet-crazy AMA say about that?):
Pass the ammunition and a slice of pizza. U.S. soldiers in Iraq spend hours -- sometimes days -- on patrol hunting insurgents and dodging roadside bombs. But when they get back to base, they can pick up a case of Dr. Pepper, buy the latest DVD and take a Pizza Hut meal back to the room to relax after a hard day at war.
A soldier's life isn't what it used to be.
Commanders say providing a good quality of life is essential to keeping volunteer troops in the military. Having a chance to skip the mess hall and go to Pizza Hut, Burger King or Subway -- Popeye's Fried Chicken and Taco Bell will be added this month -- makes a big difference, soldiers say.
"I think it's great. The dining facility gets old after a while," said Spc. William Oates, 25, a 1st Cavalry Division soldier from Asheboro, N.C., after finishing a Whopper at Camp Liberty, just outside Baghdad.
The Army & Air Force Exchange Service operates 23 fast food franchises at 16 U.S. bases in Iraq, with 25 more approved and under construction. They also have Seattle's Best and Green Beans coffee shops.
Terry McCoy, the food program manager for Iraq, opened the first Burger King at Baghdad's airport in May 2003, before the military even set up its first mess hall.
"This generation of soldiers has grown up with name-brand fast food," McCoy said. "It's the taste from home that they're missing. It not only gives them that little moment of comfort, I like to think it ... takes them back home for just the 15 minutes they are enjoying a Whopper."
Pass the ammunition and a slice of pizza. U.S. soldiers in Iraq spend hours -- sometimes days -- on patrol hunting insurgents and dodging roadside bombs. But when they get back to base, they can pick up a case of Dr. Pepper, buy the latest DVD and take a Pizza Hut meal back to the room to relax after a hard day at war.
A soldier's life isn't what it used to be.
Commanders say providing a good quality of life is essential to keeping volunteer troops in the military. Having a chance to skip the mess hall and go to Pizza Hut, Burger King or Subway -- Popeye's Fried Chicken and Taco Bell will be added this month -- makes a big difference, soldiers say.
"I think it's great. The dining facility gets old after a while," said Spc. William Oates, 25, a 1st Cavalry Division soldier from Asheboro, N.C., after finishing a Whopper at Camp Liberty, just outside Baghdad.
The Army & Air Force Exchange Service operates 23 fast food franchises at 16 U.S. bases in Iraq, with 25 more approved and under construction. They also have Seattle's Best and Green Beans coffee shops.
Terry McCoy, the food program manager for Iraq, opened the first Burger King at Baghdad's airport in May 2003, before the military even set up its first mess hall.
"This generation of soldiers has grown up with name-brand fast food," McCoy said. "It's the taste from home that they're missing. It not only gives them that little moment of comfort, I like to think it ... takes them back home for just the 15 minutes they are enjoying a Whopper."
Bubble World
Courtesy of Artsjournal.com the Seattle Post-Intelligencer has a brief article on the isolation that personal technology brings to the modern consumer. MP3 players, Game Boys, personal DVD players and all the other bells-and-whistles electronics have been a revolution in personal enjoyment, but at what cost?
And people get so sucked in and preoccupied that they don't even put down their cell phones when being helped by store clerks; headphones stay clamped on a head that continues to bop to whatever song is too good to pause for the sake of, um, common courtesy.
An interesting side effect to being plugged into one's own private universe while operating in the outside world is feeling excessively at ease. This makes people shift into at-home behavior -- the shoes might come off, a nose might get picked, a voice might be raised. When one is in the throws of rapping along to "99 Problems" or perhaps trying to download Seahawks scores on one's Blackberry, the distinction between the private self and public self is blurred. We are transported to our homes, where we surround ourselves with the things that relax us (video games, the sports section, music, etc.).
I recall taking the train to Vancouver a couple of years ago, and even as recently as then, there was much more chit-chat between strangers than there is now. The train ride north this Christmas proved to be very quiet, but for a few small children who weren't plugged into any electronics. This eliminates the charm of being on a trip, the chance meetings we have with each other, the jokes we overhear, the serendipitous connections that make leaving one's home and going outside worth it. It wipes off all social fingerprints from ourselves, leaving us untouched and alone.
I had a similar experience some years ago at the Van Gough/Gaughin: The Studio of the South exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago in 2002. Most of the crowd splurged for the self-guided audio tour, which meant that as one of the few without a headset, I viewed the exhibit with a small but constant buzz of commentary in the background. I could tell when the tape asked the patrons to move to the next picture because dozens of heads moved to the next picture in choreographed unison and everyone shuffled over, like a pack of the worst foreign tourists you've ever seen. No chatter among the viewers, no agreement, and no discord, making me feel as though I had missed some of the "social fingerprints" that tend to accompany anticipated art events.
And people get so sucked in and preoccupied that they don't even put down their cell phones when being helped by store clerks; headphones stay clamped on a head that continues to bop to whatever song is too good to pause for the sake of, um, common courtesy.
An interesting side effect to being plugged into one's own private universe while operating in the outside world is feeling excessively at ease. This makes people shift into at-home behavior -- the shoes might come off, a nose might get picked, a voice might be raised. When one is in the throws of rapping along to "99 Problems" or perhaps trying to download Seahawks scores on one's Blackberry, the distinction between the private self and public self is blurred. We are transported to our homes, where we surround ourselves with the things that relax us (video games, the sports section, music, etc.).
I recall taking the train to Vancouver a couple of years ago, and even as recently as then, there was much more chit-chat between strangers than there is now. The train ride north this Christmas proved to be very quiet, but for a few small children who weren't plugged into any electronics. This eliminates the charm of being on a trip, the chance meetings we have with each other, the jokes we overhear, the serendipitous connections that make leaving one's home and going outside worth it. It wipes off all social fingerprints from ourselves, leaving us untouched and alone.
I had a similar experience some years ago at the Van Gough/Gaughin: The Studio of the South exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago in 2002. Most of the crowd splurged for the self-guided audio tour, which meant that as one of the few without a headset, I viewed the exhibit with a small but constant buzz of commentary in the background. I could tell when the tape asked the patrons to move to the next picture because dozens of heads moved to the next picture in choreographed unison and everyone shuffled over, like a pack of the worst foreign tourists you've ever seen. No chatter among the viewers, no agreement, and no discord, making me feel as though I had missed some of the "social fingerprints" that tend to accompany anticipated art events.
Back to the Future Monday
It seems that as a nation we are taking a big step backwards in time: an increasingly unpopular war in a foreign land; a president with dwindling ratings and domestic troubles; and scandals from the past. Yesterday, in the LAT, John Dean, former WH counsel, informs us that the identity of Deep Throat may soon be revealed:
I have little doubt that one of my former Nixon White House colleagues is history's best-known anonymous source — Deep Throat. But I'll be damned if I can figure out exactly which one.
We'll all know one day very soon, however. Bob Woodward, a reporter on the team that covered the Watergate story, has advised his executive editor at the Washington Post that Throat is ill. And Ben Bradlee, former executive editor of the Post and one of the few people to whom Woodward confided his source's identity, has publicly acknowledged that he has written Throat's obituary.
Last week All the President's Men was on cable, so I wonder if Deep Throat will actually look anything close to Hal Holbrook in the 1976 movie classic. It was a fun time-trip to see working typewriters with carbon paper, wide ties, rotary telephones, bad floral-pattern blouses that look like they were meant to match the wallpaper, and endless bouts of smoking.
But when I mentioned this to a colleague at the office, she immediately recalled the "Watergate cake." What!? I hadn't realized that a culinary offering was associated with that politically infamous episode. So, for those of you who might be interested (as I was) here is the Watergate Cake recipe:
1 pkg white cake mix
3/4 cup vegetable oil
3 large eggs
1 cup 7-up or club soda
1 1 (3 oz) pistachio instant pudding
1 cup chopped nuts (pecans are the best)
1/2 cup coconut
COVER-UP ICING:
6 oz whipped topping mix (dry) (2 envelopes)
1 1/2 cups milk
1 (3 oz) ackage pistachio instant pudding
1/2 cup coconut
3/4 cup chopped nuts (use pecans if that is what you used in the cake. match the nuts)
Combine the ingredients in the order given, blending well after each addition. Pour into a 13x9-inch pan and bake in a preheated 350 degree F. oven for 35 to 45 minutes, or until the cake tests done.
ICING: Combine the topping mix, milk and pudding. Beat until thick. Spread on the cake (the icing will be a light green color). Sprinkle with the coconut and chopped nuts.
I have little doubt that one of my former Nixon White House colleagues is history's best-known anonymous source — Deep Throat. But I'll be damned if I can figure out exactly which one.
We'll all know one day very soon, however. Bob Woodward, a reporter on the team that covered the Watergate story, has advised his executive editor at the Washington Post that Throat is ill. And Ben Bradlee, former executive editor of the Post and one of the few people to whom Woodward confided his source's identity, has publicly acknowledged that he has written Throat's obituary.
Last week All the President's Men was on cable, so I wonder if Deep Throat will actually look anything close to Hal Holbrook in the 1976 movie classic. It was a fun time-trip to see working typewriters with carbon paper, wide ties, rotary telephones, bad floral-pattern blouses that look like they were meant to match the wallpaper, and endless bouts of smoking.
But when I mentioned this to a colleague at the office, she immediately recalled the "Watergate cake." What!? I hadn't realized that a culinary offering was associated with that politically infamous episode. So, for those of you who might be interested (as I was) here is the Watergate Cake recipe:
1 pkg white cake mix
3/4 cup vegetable oil
3 large eggs
1 cup 7-up or club soda
1 1 (3 oz) pistachio instant pudding
1 cup chopped nuts (pecans are the best)
1/2 cup coconut
COVER-UP ICING:
6 oz whipped topping mix (dry) (2 envelopes)
1 1/2 cups milk
1 (3 oz) ackage pistachio instant pudding
1/2 cup coconut
3/4 cup chopped nuts (use pecans if that is what you used in the cake. match the nuts)
Combine the ingredients in the order given, blending well after each addition. Pour into a 13x9-inch pan and bake in a preheated 350 degree F. oven for 35 to 45 minutes, or until the cake tests done.
ICING: Combine the topping mix, milk and pudding. Beat until thick. Spread on the cake (the icing will be a light green color). Sprinkle with the coconut and chopped nuts.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Ernst Mayr
The NYT has just reported that Ernst Mayr has died.
Dr. Ernst Mayr, the leading evolutionary biologist of the 20th century, died on Thursday in Bedford, Mass. He was 100.
Dr. Mayr's death, in a retirement community where he had lived since 1997, was announced by his family and Harvard, where he was a faculty member for many years.
He was known as an architect of the evolutionary or modern synthesis, an intellectual watershed when modern evolutionary biology was born. The synthesis, which has been described by Dr. Stephen Jay Gould of Harvard as "one of the half-dozen major scientific achievements in our century," revived Darwin's theories of evolution and reconciled them with new findings in laboratory genetics and in field work on animal populations and diversity.
One of Dr. Mayr's most significant contributions was his persuasive argument for the role of geography in the origin of new species, an idea that has won virtually universal acceptance among evolutionary theorists. He also established a philosophy of biology and founded the field of the history of biology.
"He was the Darwin of the 20th century, the defender of the faith," said Dr. Vassiliki Betty Smocovitis, a historian of science at the University of Florida in Gainesville.
Dr. Ernst Mayr, the leading evolutionary biologist of the 20th century, died on Thursday in Bedford, Mass. He was 100.
Dr. Mayr's death, in a retirement community where he had lived since 1997, was announced by his family and Harvard, where he was a faculty member for many years.
He was known as an architect of the evolutionary or modern synthesis, an intellectual watershed when modern evolutionary biology was born. The synthesis, which has been described by Dr. Stephen Jay Gould of Harvard as "one of the half-dozen major scientific achievements in our century," revived Darwin's theories of evolution and reconciled them with new findings in laboratory genetics and in field work on animal populations and diversity.
One of Dr. Mayr's most significant contributions was his persuasive argument for the role of geography in the origin of new species, an idea that has won virtually universal acceptance among evolutionary theorists. He also established a philosophy of biology and founded the field of the history of biology.
"He was the Darwin of the 20th century, the defender of the faith," said Dr. Vassiliki Betty Smocovitis, a historian of science at the University of Florida in Gainesville.
Bad News Friday
Two reports today put a cold bucket of water on the cheery "good times are here" folks. First, a report on the quality of life in SoCal gives the region a weak "D," which should give Arnold pause:
The seventh annual State of the Region report by the Southern California Association of Governments ranks the quality of life in the region as a D-plus --potentially failing.
Housing and air quality worsened in 2003, while the grades for traffic, education, household income and public safety remained static. And while the number of jobs in the six-county region rose by 14,000, personal income for its 17.7 million residents stayed flat.
"The fundamental issue this region faces ... is the income issue. Without an increase in wages and per capita income we're not going to have the resources to deal with these issues," said Mark Pisano, executive director of SCAG.
The report details a slate of interconnected problems plaguing Southern California.
Students perform below the national median on reading and math test scores, while 76 percent of residents do not have a college degree -- elements that limit their ability to get high-paying jobs.
Meanwhile, an exodus of well-paying manufacturing jobs to less-expensive areas have been replaced by lower-paying service jobs. With less wealth, residents have to travel to far-flung suburbs to be able to afford a home, which then worsens congestion and pollution.
And on the national level, the latest jobs report shows a slight increase in overall employment from 2001, but a closer look reveals that while the unemployment rate fell, the actual number of people in the labor market is down by 3.4 million! (From the Economic Policy Institute)
The nation’s payrolls increased by 146,000 last month, and the unemployment rate fell to 5.2%, its lowest level since September 2001, according to today’s report from the Bureau of Labor Statistics.
The decline in the unemployment rate was, however, due to a fall in the labor force participation rate (LFPR) from 66.0% to 65.8%, the lowest LFPR since May 1988 and 1.5 percentage points below its most recent peak in April 2000.
Given today’s adult population, this translates into 3.4 million fewer persons in the job market. Since only active jobseekers are counted in the official unemployment rate, this long slide in the LFPR has artificially depressed the jobless rate, which would be higher if some of those who left the job market were actively looking for work.
As of last month, payroll levels have finally surpassed their pre-recession peak. In February 2001—the month before the recession was declared to have begun—payrolls stood at 132,546,000. Thanks in part to an addition of 203,000 jobs as part of the BLS annual revisions, payrolls stood at 132,573,000 last month, 27,000 jobs above the last peak. (Note, however, that this is due to the growth of government employment; private sector employment remains 703,000 jobs below its pre-recession level).
The seventh annual State of the Region report by the Southern California Association of Governments ranks the quality of life in the region as a D-plus --potentially failing.
Housing and air quality worsened in 2003, while the grades for traffic, education, household income and public safety remained static. And while the number of jobs in the six-county region rose by 14,000, personal income for its 17.7 million residents stayed flat.
"The fundamental issue this region faces ... is the income issue. Without an increase in wages and per capita income we're not going to have the resources to deal with these issues," said Mark Pisano, executive director of SCAG.
The report details a slate of interconnected problems plaguing Southern California.
Students perform below the national median on reading and math test scores, while 76 percent of residents do not have a college degree -- elements that limit their ability to get high-paying jobs.
Meanwhile, an exodus of well-paying manufacturing jobs to less-expensive areas have been replaced by lower-paying service jobs. With less wealth, residents have to travel to far-flung suburbs to be able to afford a home, which then worsens congestion and pollution.
And on the national level, the latest jobs report shows a slight increase in overall employment from 2001, but a closer look reveals that while the unemployment rate fell, the actual number of people in the labor market is down by 3.4 million! (From the Economic Policy Institute)
The nation’s payrolls increased by 146,000 last month, and the unemployment rate fell to 5.2%, its lowest level since September 2001, according to today’s report from the Bureau of Labor Statistics.
The decline in the unemployment rate was, however, due to a fall in the labor force participation rate (LFPR) from 66.0% to 65.8%, the lowest LFPR since May 1988 and 1.5 percentage points below its most recent peak in April 2000.
Given today’s adult population, this translates into 3.4 million fewer persons in the job market. Since only active jobseekers are counted in the official unemployment rate, this long slide in the LFPR has artificially depressed the jobless rate, which would be higher if some of those who left the job market were actively looking for work.
As of last month, payroll levels have finally surpassed their pre-recession peak. In February 2001—the month before the recession was declared to have begun—payrolls stood at 132,546,000. Thanks in part to an addition of 203,000 jobs as part of the BLS annual revisions, payrolls stood at 132,573,000 last month, 27,000 jobs above the last peak. (Note, however, that this is due to the growth of government employment; private sector employment remains 703,000 jobs below its pre-recession level).
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