Why do behavioral paradigms change when human behavior doesn't?

Freud and Phil. I always get those two mixed up.

The power of a model of course lies not only in it’s ability to account for all the observable facts, but predict future facts, yet minds as diverse as Freud, Skinner, Piaget, etc, had decidedly different views as to what motivated the same behavior.

And some behavioral models are better predictors than others, even if they’re not entirely welcome. I’m not personally crazy about BF Skinner and his pecking pigeons, but when it comes time to managing my 5-year-old, I use reward and punishment as if she were a pigeon.

But the end of all this (because most of my posts bring you to some end, I hope) is that models reflect the generation that creates them as much as they account for the facts they’re modeling.

The generation that thrilled to Freudian slips would not have responded the same to Dr Phil.

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Jing with Dr Phil in Niagara Falls. He didn't talk much.

I think that’s pretty insightful. I no doubt have a repressed narcissism and needed to overtly express that.

And how does that make you feel?

You again?

I’m always here, listening.

And talking.

When it’s your turn to listen.

Shaddup already, willya? I’m writing here.

[2014-04-10]

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The wishbone from Thanksgiving 2013 (a Cairns tradition).

The wishbone in our kitchen from 2013's Thanksgiving turkey.

My dear cousin Carolee taught me a tradition many years ago:

I spent a number of Thanksgiving dinners with Uncle Ken, Aunt Dorothy, and my cousins Carolee, Dee Dee, and Tom Tom when they lived in Holly, MI. Carolee always cleaned the bird after Thanksgiving dinner and hung the wishbone up over the kitchen sink, where it stayed for a year, until the next Thanksgiving, when it granted a wish and a new one was hung in its place.

I’ve been doing it every year since then, and this is the first year I am doing it in my new home in Ada.

Thanksgiving is far away, but I look at that wishbone every day when I do the evening dishes, and I think of Carolee and that house in Holly and Thanksgivings that were.

[2014-04-11]

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The blank stare starts early.

Anyone with kids knows the vacant aspect that falls over children of a certain age when presented with animated television.







Mimi watching Disney's Frozen on 2014-04-12….

But we also get out a lot...

Dee Dee and Mimi in the children's play area at Woodland Mall in Grand Rapids

[2014-04-22]

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“What kills American religion isn't argument. It's Facebook.”

Andrew Brown, The Guardian

Excellent article by Andrew Brown at The Guardian:

Is the internet really killing religion in the US? >

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Any other big box writers out there?

Target? Walmart? Sears? I read what you’re writing, as I’m sure you occasionally read mine.

Writers tend to be reclusive and shadowy figures. Just wondering if you blog as well.

I’d like to follow the personal blogs of those who write for a living. I get enough SEO and infographics each day to know what’s going on behind the curtain (or what others think is going on); I’d rather read what writers write when they’re not working, the sort of thoughts that remind us we’re human, not the sort we express when advertising ourselves.

(Which is what Google really wants to index.)

What do you write when you write for yourself?

[2014-04-09]

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Sumbitch mouse.

I started working on the Internet many years ago, for the same big box retailer I’m privileged to work for still.

In those days, there was no such thing as high bandwidth; if you wanted to get online you had to buy a modem, which eventually reached speeds of 56 kbit/s, as fast as they got before offices were routinely equipped with T1 lines.

At that point, the Internet tipped over and everyone who worked in an office with open access began viewing ads and doing their shopping online. That turned Mondays and Fridays into heavy traffic days. The Monday spike persists to this day, I suspect not because folks don’t have access at home, but because the habits they established then are still with them today.

It was during this part of the Internet’s history and my role with my big box retailer, that I became the Dot Com Call Center. I took calls and answered emails from our customers. Our website was too small and unimportant then to matter to the rest of the company, but eventually I was answering 100+ emails a day, at which time folks began to realize something wonderful was happening and they wanted to be a part of it. That’s when I turned my support role over to others and returned to writing.

But before that happened, I took a call from a folksy old man whose voice sort of dripped from the corner of his mouth like he was chawing honey comb.

He was having trouble creating his shopping list from our online ads, and also happened to be having trouble with his mouse; in viscous exasperation he kept saying “sumbitch mouse” each time I asked him to click on something.

We eventually got his ads straightened out. His mouse, alas, eluded us.

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Fresh honeycomb was a treat for us when we were very small. My Grandma and Grandpa Cairns would bring it home from visits to a bee farm. They didn’t do it often, just a couple times that I remember. The honeycomb came packaged in small wooden boxes, about the size you might sell a ring in.

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An afterthought on teaching (when nonconformity is regarded as disrespect).

(This is a followup to yesterday’s blog, "Why I’m not a teacher (at least, not in the conventional sense)")

Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society

When I was a student teacher, my supervising teacher, Ms N, upon getting a hug from a student, said “That’s what makes it all worthwhile.”

I don’t know why that bothered me. The smugness, perhaps, and the rift between us that was widening with each class bell. (I wanted to teach, she wanted an acolyte. I needed a good recommendation, she needed a sub while she took a vacation.)

But only within the past few years have I realized that writers write for the same reason they breathe and eat and make babies and other biological imperatives.

Saying a hug from a student “makes teaching worthwhile” is like saying “coming up for air when you’re swimming makes breathing worthwhile.”

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I realize that when two folks don’t get along, it’s rarely the fault of only one person, but Ms N’s pedagogy was atrocious. (She read grades from the front of the classroom and favored attractive and intelligent students.) I would have liked nothing more than to explore wild and crazy ideas with her to get the kids excited, but my nonconformity was (I think) regarded as disrespect.

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Clarence’s Grey Poupon award from his teacher education days.

One of my education teachers gave me her Grey Poupon Award (a large empty Grey Poupon mustard jar; only one student got it each year, and that year it went to me; I have it still and it’s pictured here).

It’s been many years, but I think that teacher was Professor Arden Post. She told me, “I expect to hear great things about you.”

I’m afraid that was not to be, at least not as a teacher.

(You can learn more about Prof Post and her wonderful work with young readers in the Alexander Literary Experience here >)

[2014-04-16]

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Why I’m not a teacher (at least, not in the conventional sense).

Top: Charles Dickens Bottom: Arthur C Clarke

When I was a student teacher covering for the main teacher, Ms N (who had taken a vacation and left me in charge for a week and a half), I reached out to a troubled student who was missing a lot of class. This was 9th grade English, and he was refusing to read the assigned book, A Tale of Two Cities.

I had previously been in a meeting with Ms N, the principal, and the boy’s parents (genuinely concerned and nice people). I learned the boy was reclusive and belligerent and often locked himself in his bedroom for days at a time.

But he was also quite bright; there was a light that flickered occasionally when he lifted heavy eyelids from his desk; he otherwise kept his head bowed and stared at nothing; he didn’t doodle or fidget or read; he did nothing at all.

On my first day teaching solo (and Ms N on vacation), I got down on my knees next to him and asked what he liked to read. He said Arthur C Clarke. I said, “If I let you read Arthur C Clarke for class credit instead of a Tale of Two Cities, will you take a test on it and agree to be graded along with the others?”

He agreed. I assigned a Clarke book he hadn’t read that was near the same length of our abridged Dickens and off we went together and a journey of discovery. He even joined other groups and talked about the book he was reading and the book they were reading.

When my supervising teacher Ms N returned and found out what I’d done, she pitched a fit, told the principal and student he could not read Arthur C Clarke for credit and if he didn’t read the assigned curriculum he would fail.

I protested, but it did no good. I watched a troubled teen just coming out of his shell crawl back in. He eventually stopped coming to class altogether. I suspect his parents had to find specialized care.

I chose then not to become a teacher, even though I loved it.

An afterthought tomorrow.

[2014-04-16]

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A Congressman, a Lobbyist, and a Page walk into a bar.

A Congressman, a Lobbyist, and a Page walk into a bar.

The Page says, “Do you guys really like wearing suit coats? I mean, in the car and between meetings, we just hang them up, right?”

Right, they all chimed.

“And ties,” says the Lobbyist, “You guys like wearing ties? I mean, we spend all that time buying and coordinating, and they don’t do anything except choke us and fall into our beer.”

Right, they all chimed.

“And dress socks,” says the Congressman, “Mine look nice for a couple months and then wear out.”

“Whatya all say we all wear dungarees every day?” said the Page.

Then the Lobbyist said, “But we’ve never done that before. What would happen if everyone decided it was okay wear dungarees every day? People might get downright comfortable at their desks.”

Yeah, they all chimed.

“And the first thing you know, they’ll start wearing sneakers...” said the Congressman.

Yeah, they all chimed.

“... and T-shirts…”

Yeah, they all chimed.

“... and ball caps...”

Sneakers and T-shirts and ball caps, oh my!, they all chimed.

“... and how could we tell the cheap suits from the expensive ones?” asked the Congressman.

Crickets.

“I guess you’re right,” said the Page, as he daubed his napkin at a bit of beer foam on his tie. “It was a dumb idea.”

[2014-04-09]

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Another reason why I write. (Thank you, Chris.)

Chris, the son of a roommate of mine from Calvin College, frequents this blog, and referenced me in a recent school essay.

He wrote:

“A wise friend of mine once suggested that human beings often fall prey to one of two fallacies regarding their perception of morality. The first logical error lumps all moral issues under one label: ‘variant of gray’. The second pitfall throws every issue into one of two categories: ‘suffocating darkness’ or ‘blinding light’. My friend considered both errors equally dangerous (Cairns).”

--Chris J, “The Good, the Bad, and the Bittersweet”

I am glad to count Chris among my friends, and anyone who can say the same someday will be glad as well.

I explained to my wife that the thousands of visits to my blog punctuated by delightful discoveries like this is part of what compels me to write even when so many other things seem utterly senseless.

It’s not about the likes and comments, though those are nice, it’s about the Chrises who spend a moment with my words.

Thank you, Chris.

[2014-04-16]

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In the days when TV was an appointment and athletes were role models.

Rosey Grier and Jimmy Dean from an episode of Daniel Boone.

I’m off from work today (but working) and watching Rosey Grier and Jimmy Dean on an episode of Daniel Boone. Dan’l is conspicuously absent and Rosey and Jimmy are hamming it up something wonderful.

Rosey Grier had been defensive tackle for the Los Angeles Rams, and Jimmy Dean was a country singer, actor, and sausage pitch man.

That was in the days when TV was an appointment and two fun characters like this were a treat.

Grier became a minister (learn more >). Choices like that were once lauded; now they are the stuff of late night skits and pop culture scorn (Tim Tebow >).

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I recall an especially intense episode of Daniel Boone about a beautiful squaw and her cowboy boyfriend who were on the run from some bad guys. She hurt her arm in an accident and the cowboy was forced to amputate. This took place in the woods by a campfire. The camera showed the cowboy sterilizing the knife in the fire, the women closing her eyes and nodding, then retreated to a long shot, from which we could only see the burning fire and hear her screams.

I must have been very young. The image stays with me still.

[2014-04-16]

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Language channels understanding.

TEDTalker Keith Chen

My brother sent me this interesting TED Talk.

This is an old idea in linguistics, and of course anything that impacts my understanding also impacts everything else in my life, since nothing I think or do or say happens outside of what I (think I) know about the world around me.


Keith Chen's TEDTalk: Could Your Language Affect Your Ability To Save Money?

The very real problem with this type of language research is, of course, if the language you speak confines or predisposes your understanding, how do I know if my language isn't interfering with my understanding of you? And vice versa. It's sort of like linguistic quantum mechanics - we can't really examine the meaningful bits of language without impacting meaning.

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Unrelated: We spend most of our lives keeping our deepest disagreements to ourselves, mostly to preserve domestic tranquility, careers, and other relationships that need generous doses of restraint and patience.

But if everyone said what they really thought, we’d probably be surprised how much we agree and wonder why we aren’t changing some things that really need changing. We’d likely end up saying to each other, “But I thought you wanted it this way.”

A short story on that later.

[2014-04-07]

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Check the CD tray, ya big dummy.

(The context may only be funny if you’ve ever installed a gabillion Linux distros on the same box.)

I had a reliable version of Lubuntu 13.1 working for a couple weeks, but it kept dropping the USB wireless connection. Instead of reinstalling distro after distro, I put on Racy Puppy 5.5 and then added Grub4Dos (which sees all my partitions, and gives me a nice, intuitive Grub menu at boot).

Now, I’m thinking, I really want something more robust than Racy Puppy, and Lubuntu keeps dropping the wifi, so let’s try a full Ubuntu install again.

Hmmm… Let’s see what I already have in that stack of CDs. Ubuntu 9.1… nothing newer? Well, let’s start with that. If I like it, I’ll upgrade later.

(Noooooo… I hear someone screaming, don’t do it!)

Sure. I go for Ubuntu 9.1.

But installation fails and it replaces my Grub boot options with an older completely unintuitive Grub menu.

Try again.

And again.

Okay, okay, enough of this, start over, do a fresh install with oldest distro, repartition whole drive, work my way forward.

There. Should bring up a shiny new Ubuntu 9.1 login.

Nope.

Reboot. Grub menu. Will not boot from CD.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Okay... research.

Reboot.

ESC.

Choose CD to boot.

Grub.

Will not boot from CD.

@#$@# what in the world is wrong with that disk in the CD tray?

Nothing is wrong with the CD. There is no disk in the CD tray.

Ya big dummy.

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After numerous trials with many versions of Ubuntu, Mint, Kubuntu and Racy Puppy, I am back to Lubuntu, where I will stay for a while. Linus Torvill must have smiled on me, because my wifi is no longer dropping.

Clarence's Lubuntu desktop today with Conky running on right

[2014-04-07 & 08 & 09 & today]

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