proper corona admin, vol 105 - taking my jabs

All this TOA election talk, what a bore! And I think there is one more post coming on Tuesday. Let's take a break today and talk about a fun topic instead.

The first dose

I spent months trying to understand why these COVID vaccines were being referred to as The Jab. Well, I should say, I know why, the motion of injecting an arm is similar to what a boxer does, that short and quick version of a punch is called a jab, and that's sort of, well, not exactly, but it's close enough to how I got my vaccine from the nurse, so it's The Jab.

But why do we need this nickname? It seems fine to me if we call a vaccine a vaccine, but instead we have The Jab, which has become so common that a Google search for those two words returns articles, podcasts, and videos about the COVID vaccine. Some additional "research" (that is, more Googling) revealed that "jab" is a more common expression in the UK for vaccines in general, but that doesn't explain why the COVID vaccine is causing it to catch on here in the US. Haven't needle-based inoculations been a core part of the US healthcare system, at least for my lifetime? I'd think if it was going to catch on, it would have done so long before the pandemic.

One obvious answer is from my experience on TOA - I know from proofreading that I avoid repeating words within a sentence (and the less common the word, the less I want to repeat it). The same ethos defines the broader trend of how people naturally invent new expressions for the same old thing - nicknames, jargon, acronyms, localized terms, just writing out this sentence shows me that the category itself is its own example, spewing an endless list of ways to say the same thing. At the core, I think there is something here about the way new expressions help build and reinforce community, almost like a collective form of an inside joke, at least in the sense of how such jokes serve as an unofficial ID badge for membership in an otherwise undefined group. Let's be frank for a moment - the only functional feature of a Boston accent is signaling you're from Boston.

So I guess this begs the real question - what is the social purpose of calling it the jab? My musings in the prior paragraph have me on the lookout for a community, though the scale is such that at best I can only generalize, leading to the plausible BS that longtime readers know as the TOA trademark. My best guess goes back to January, when I was unsettled by the blinding pace of the vaccine's development and found myself asking questions which seemed to make no sense to anyone - why is everyone so dismissive about the unknown of long-term effects? What's the deal with mRNA? Wasn't the approval process a little fast? Was there an approval process at all? My voice was lost under the endless drumroll of stampeding feet, all headed to the first place that would jab them, marching to a drummer I'd always ignored - jab, jab, jab...

Sometimes I think back to these days in the beginning of the year and I wonder - what was the big deal? The fact is that what I know about the vaccine is one-millionth of what people who know about vaccines know about vaccines (and I would say that, on average, I know more about vaccines than most people). If people who think about vaccines all day say a vaccine is ready to go, then it's not so important what I think about it.

The second dose

He was wearing a mask. This wasn't the problem with the guy, in fact the mask made him seem almost reasonable, like the sort who files away his papers and pushes the chair under his desk before leaving the office. A believer that superficial displays of organization would make him more organized, maybe. The problem was that he had walked right up next to me, so close I could almost smell him, like we were about to play Red Rover with the folks lined up at the other end of the crosswalk, or maybe Red Light, Green Light, the pedestrian version, where the colors were switched. In fact, my body was the first thing to register his presence, like a sixth sense was tickling the hairs along my spine, before I turned my eyes and confirmed his proximity. He wasn't looking back, though, he was looking around, lost, a tourist both in the city and in life, ready to ignore the traffic signals, waiting to follow the herd and its cues that would ensure and endanger his safety.

I stepped sideways to my right, though I didn't feel the need to keep my distance as I had done at this time last year. Still, my shift seemed to get his attention, his sense of vision - and perhaps his sense of life - dependent on movement. He gave me a puzzled look and possibly even spoke, but I couldn't tell - he was wearing a mask. It was all for the best, I thought, as he shuffled into the street alongside a couple scurrying to beat a truck through the intersection. I didn't have anything to say that would have made sense to him or anyone else who would wear a mask while standing at my shoulder - maybe keeping a safe distance would work better than a mask, but he wasn't going to do it unless he saw everyone else doing it. Sometimes we see no sense in making our own decisions, perhaps regarding it like one of those anonymous gifts - no receipt, no recognition, just done for its own good, and what's the point of that? I guess there is always a moment when everyone else becomes irrelevant, when knowing what you know is all that matters, and I knew I could wait for the light while the second jab protected me.

Side effects

I hadn't been anywhere like this since the start of COVID, possibly even longer - pool tables, bowling lanes, an entire room full of arcade games, why if it wasn't for the two bars at opposite ends it would have existed solely to host birthday parties for ten-year-old boys. We were among the earliest groups, separated by closer to sixty than six feet from all others, with the plexiglass barriers reminding everyone of the COVID restrictions. But for what purpose? I wore my mask to our table, then removed it to go play pool. When it was time for a drink, I went to the bar and yelled at the bartender because she couldn't read my lips - I was wearing my mask. I think we're all doing the best we can, I just don't know what we're doing.

There's been talk of vaccine passports, which would require proof of vaccination to enter certain public spaces. I think there are some good reasons for and against, though if I had to make a decision I would be strongly in favor because doing otherwise would place a huge risk burden on the staff of these establishments. However, the question of being for or against something like a vaccine passport misses the point, creating the same false duality that plagues so much of what passes for public discourse these days. The question on my mind is whether something that requires a vaccine passport should be open at all, but I don't think anyone wants to go to the trouble of having that conversation. The problem might be hard to see at first, but I think I got it from my experience proofreading TOA - this discussion of what's safe and not safe in a pandemic, it just sounds too much like what we've all heard before, and I just know that nobody likes to see the same words twice unless I can trick you into reading them.

Or maybe it's far simpler than that, maybe it's the same reason why we can ignore the risk while we drive cars or play helmet football or drink a couple of beers at an arcade for adults - I suppose we've decided we can live with the illusion of safety, and if something goes wrong, then that's life. We're all tourists here, pretending to be interested in the same old things. In the meantime, we survive by creating and preserving our communities, which means doing things together like taking the jab, or just calling it that. I had a couple of beers while playing pool, but it was safe - I didn't poke anyone's eyes out while taking my jabs, and I exchanged my cue for my mask before going to the bathroom.

Booster shot

It's been nice to hear the booster shot referred to as a booster shot, in line with the language I've always used to discuss routine healthcare. It makes life seem normal again, doesn't it? But I don't think I was so alone back in January, was I, when I discovered that I was more of an anti-vaxxer than I'd thought for my whole life? It was easy to be 100% pro-vaccine when it referred to a bunch of things that happened before I turned on my memory, you know? I suspect this was the case for quite a few people, maybe even millions of people, who I'm sure will probably never talk about it, preferring instead that superficial signal of consistency to the real thing that lurks within - the messy set of contradictions that we carry with us through our whole lives. But why would anyone talk about it? It's a scary realization, pointing to the possibility that there may be other beliefs we currently consider integral to our identities which are in fact nothing more than unchallenged self-delusions, ready to crumble away under the withering examination of another moment as serious as this pandemic.

I suppose the fact that I went in and rolled up my sleeve, somewhat reluctantly and always at the back of my line, is evidence that I could benefit from letting my actions speak instead of my words. But then what are my words for? We called it a jab, I think, because we had a lot of people out there who weren't so comfortable about a vaccine produced in record time, and someone knew that the right words can take the sting out of a needle, can make something serious seem like no big deal. They knew that just by establishing a certain set of words which everyone could repeat like a secret handshake, the power of community would emerge to help carry countless others past that initial moment of hesitation.

I think I was something like that high school student who knows everything he needs to know about drugs - his report card has the "A" to prove it - and yet he finds himself astonished that the best argument against him is nothing more than a series of nicknames, each trying to make the case that some things are just not worth worrying about. Mary Jane? Molly? Special K? It just doesn't sound so bad when you put it a certain way, and everyone's doing it. One source reported that "the jab" goes back over a century, to "morphine and cocaine fiends". What expression is more likely to get someone over that initial reluctance - hypodermic injection, or jab? The fact is that what I know about jargon is one-millionth of what people who know about jargon know about jargon (and I would say that, on average, I know more about jargon than most people). If people who think about jargon all day say that a vaccine is a jab, then maybe it's not so important what I think about it.

leftovers - the boston mayoral race (the poverty criteria)

Those familiar with TOA may have scratched their heads at one point in Sunday's post - why does the definition of leadership matter in this case? Haven't I said on multiple occasions that my vote will go to the candidate who is going to make more progress against poverty? If this is allegedly my number one priority as a voter, then shouldn't it be the only criteria with which I judge candidates?

Dear reader, I agree with your objection (and thanks for reading, by the way) but in this case I think I should have clarified that I had a hard time distinguishing the candidates along those lines. This isn't meant to imply that the candidates are ignoring the issue, but as usual no candidate has bothered to state in the simplest terms "my goal is to end poverty". The reality is that no candidate I'm aware of has ever made such a claim, which means that I've never really had an opportunity to vote along such lines. I'm looking forward to it, let's say, though I won't guarantee that I'll live to see the day.

I did make an attempt to think a bit more about how the candidates might indirectly represent this goal. If you asked me whose policies would leave us closer to the end of poverty, I would suggest Michelle Wu as being more likely to bring progress in this regard. However, as I look over their respective websites, I see examples of how someone might challenge my conclusion. The first paragraph of Wu's campaign website, for example, states a commitment to "closing the racial wealth gap", which I assume would be parroted by whomever decides to make the end of poverty an official campaign promise. But when I look at Annissa Essaibi George's website, it doesn't take long to get to her version of the same basic idea, which in her words is "fight back against economic inequality". It would be a disappointment if my choice loses the election, but at least I'll have the idea that Essaibi George will make some progress against poverty during her term.

I'm realizing that the problem with my criteria, which sounds so high and mighty in the abstract, is how a candidate truly needs to place it front and center before it can have any relevance. The question of poverty is of such a scale that it can't be dealt with as a secondary concern, or treated as something that will naturally ease over time due to the second-order effects of other policies. They say that climate change is one of the greatest issues of our time, and perhaps rightfully so, but such declarations forget that the claim hinges on the collective decision to ignore the problem of poverty, which has been central to the human experience since the dawn of civilization, and remains the only issue of all time. There are scores of candidates who seem to get it - change, change, change, something needs to change, they tell us they'll change it. But what is going to change? When I see the candidate that fits my criteria, it will be a commitment to a simple thing - change will mean the end of those questions, sometimes directed at me on consecutive street corners, from tired voices or fraying cardboard signs, asking me if I have any change.

the boston mayoral race

I voted for Michelle Wu in the preliminary round of the Boston mayoral election, and I've known since she made it to the final round that I'll vote for her again sometime this week. This conviction might explain why I ruled out the idea of analyzing the final round of the election in greater detail, comparing Wu's positions against those of her opponent, Annissa Essaibi George, because to me such an exercise conducted after the fact would be more about justifying my choice rather than providing a balanced examination of my decision. But it's also true that just as it was the case when I last went to the polls - er, the mailbox - the reality of my vote is far simpler, making such a comparison entirely unnecessary. The reality is that my choice wasn't really a choice at all between two candidates and their campaign promises, but rather the result of applying my definition for leadership to the situation, with the end result of that process dictating my decision.

I suppose this requires me to clarify my definition for leadership, which is a minor challenge given that we collectively lack a consistent definition for the skill. This shortcoming often becomes apparent to me during an election because the coverage seems incapable of providing information about a given candidate's leadership qualities, particularly in comparison to other considerations such as endorsements, accomplishments, or positions on key issues. I think it would be hard to find a voter who dismisses the importance of a candidate's leadership skills, but the way election coverage presents information suggests voters have little interest in weighing leadership skills as part of their decision. The campaign websites in this mayoral race reinforce my hunch - it's hard to find any reference to leadership skills on either site, with the closest thing being the odd mention of having demonstrated leadership in a prior role.

This is slightly puzzling to me because I think a lot of voters, particularly those who have been generally untouched and unconcerned by the coverage of the election, would find it helpful to know more about the type of leadership a candidate would bring to the mayor's office. In fact, the only consistent piece of information that seems readily available about the race is how Boston will soon elect both its first woman and first person of color as mayor, which, in addition to being slightly disrespectful of Mayor Janey's interim term, also implies that the point of voting this year is not to participate in the city's democratic process but rather to collect a participation trophy for being seen at the ballot box on a historic day. What I mean by this outburst is that since I suspect a lot of observers may initially have a hard time distinguishing the candidates, the lack of clear information about their contrasting positions may discourage unmotivated voters from showing up to cast a ballot, particularly in an off-cycle election. It may be instructive to look at CNN.com's summary of the preliminary round, which could be the only thing an outsider might know about the race. The summary cites the following differences in the candidates - race, the fact of Essaibi George being more "police-friendly", and their endorsements. How many undecided voters are going to make a decision based on those factors? And if these voters remain undecided, how likely are they to vote?

And yet, perhaps this problem is somewhat unavoidable. I realized something just last week about the race - I don't think I'll vote in another election at this level of government where the two final candidates seem to share so much common ground over key issues. One illustrative example starts in the first paragraph of Wu's campaign website, which states a commitment to "closing the racial wealth gap". Essaibi Geroge's website requires some scrolling to get there, but it does come up - she'll "fight back against economic inequality". If your singular concern as a voter was to have a mayor committed to addressing inequality, well, what do you make of those examples? I'd probably stay home, too. I guess the more appropriate response here is to dive deeper into the details, where eventually one candidate will distinguish herself from the other, but I don't think too many voters have much interest in getting that far into the specifics, preferring instead to choose a candidate based on clear ideological signals. In other words, what we have in the mayoral race is a little different from the stupefying simplicity of two-party politics, which has conditioned me to expect that if I support one candidate, then I'm supposed to consider any opponent to be more fit for a prison sentence than a term in the same office.

I guess the lingering question here is that if all of the above is true, then how have I managed such a clear decision? Well, there is no magic answer, it came out of some time spent in those pesky details, and although it wasn't anything specific in those details that caught my eye, the process ultimately helped me to my conclusion. What emerged in my examination was a trend that suggests something of a contrast in leadership philosophy - Wu seems interested in solving the problems that need to be solved, whereas Essaibi George is more inclined to solve the problems that can be solved. I know some people don't consider this to be much of a distinction, but from my perspective it's the kind of detail that can shape two entirely different approaches to leadership.

Take one of the more popular talking points, setting free the "T", which is Wu's proposal for fare-free transit. This isn't such a big distinction from Essaibi George in an important way because her website mentions "decreasing the cost of transportation... for disadvantaged groups". Given that a single subway ride costs $2.40, the difference between Wu taking it down to $0 and Essaibi George finding some middle ground between those fares doesn't seem like a massive distinction at first glance. But if you look further into the question, you can find some interesting moments from the campaign regarding Essaibi George's skepticism over the fare-free proposal. In a recent debate, Essaibi George asked point-blank - "who's going to pay for that?" I'm tempted to say that if the price is $0, then no one pays, but instead of being a smart-ass I can instead point out the obvious - if fare-free isn't working, we can always just start charging people again. The status quo has left the "T" in a staggering amount of debt, with quite a bit of anxiety surrounding the discussion of its financial future. So why is a mayoral candidate pushing a platform of same old, same old, as if things will suddenly change in 2022? It's not like our transportation situation was in great shape before the pandemic, either, so a return to the good old days isn't going to do much good. The broader point is that the "T" example highlights the main distinction between the two candidates - one is going to try a bunch of things, failing at most, while the other is going to succeed with a much smaller agenda. It's not surprising at all that the CNN summary would point out Essaibi George's position on police reform since it's a common topic of discussion in both national and local politics. However, I'd like to clarify something about the position - isn't it easier to keep the money in the police budget if you don't have any other ideas for reallocating the dollars? Maybe the right answer to the earlier question is that the police would pay for those $0 subway rides.

It's as if Wu's plan is to try twenty-five things, succeeding at seven, while Essaibi George is looking to go three for four. Or maybe, it's like both candidates want to go for a hike, but Wu is picking the trail that leads to a higher peak. There's probably a time and a place for each approach, and I guess the ability to know which is the right fit for the moment is my definition of leadership. Ultimately, there is no one right way to demonstrate leadership, no single set of skills that will apply to every situation, but it's clear as I look back on a decade in this city that too much has changed about daily life to expect much of the status quo. The way I see things these days, I'm much happier to go for those seven successes, knowing that such a plan would bring failure eighteen times more frequently than going three for four, hoping that those seven wins outweigh the effects of failing those other eighteen times. To me, it's the right moment to emphasize the number of successes rather than the success rate. What is so good about life in the city that we should avoid taking risks to build a better future? I think the definition of leadership that fits this situation describes Michelle Wu, and that's why I'm voting for her in this election.

mission impossible

After a stretch of successfully churning out a reading review within three or four months of finishing a book, I've encountered a bit of a rut recently that's left some of my early reads from 2021 on a gradually expanding backburner. This happens to me from time to time, with the obvious reason being length - there's too much in the book to easily compress into a review. I offer this reasoning, for example, to explain why Thinking Without a Banister has sat on my to-do list for over six months - Hannah Arendt's essay collection is listed at 608 pages. If I could do it, it would be done, right? The problem is that this explanation demonstrates a common reasoning flaw as it relates to backlogs. If you think about it, all I'm doing by pointing out the length is describing an aspect of my process that should be accounted for in my turnaround time. After all, if I set three or four months as the deadline, it suggests that I've done so after factoring in the impact of long books.

The real explanation may have revealed itself over the weekend, when I tried to make progress on two such books - Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong and Trick Mirror by Jia Tolentino. Both collections share a certain feature in the possibility that I might be better placed to relate to the work than the average reader - my experience as an Asian American could be reflected in Hong's work while Tolentino's age and background suggest I have more in common with her than I do any other writer on my 2021 reading list (so far). The issue that became so obvious over the weekend was the realization that although I wasn't necessarily wrong with my hunch, I definitely didn't get what I expected from these books, and perhaps I need to reset my thinking so that I can look at these books without the influence of my expectations before I can finish the posts.

One moment that sticks out when I think back a few days was the way a note from Trick Mirror seemed to be a better fit for my thinking about Minor Feelings - specifically, that the innocent question of "who would play you in a movie?" is a bit of a challenge given the lack of actors who look like me. I don't want to go back and dig out my "TOA Leadership Bias Test", but I think the same logic applies - if you put one minute on a timer and name as many actors as you can, I bet you won't have many Asians on that list. This example seemed to apply in reverse, as well - I felt that the basic theme of Tolentino's collection is scamming, and the way scams define the millennial experience of the system that dictates modern life, but when I look at the notes I took from Hong's work I understand that a book about race, the biggest scam of all-time, will have much more to say about the matter than a few essays with a broader focus.

It's perhaps somewhat appropriate that I took a break from all of this on Saturday night to catch a movie. I worked hard all day, you know, trying to write these reading reviews, so it was time for a rest. This was the first time I recall seeing a film in close to a decade, which I suppose is a relevant detail given my earlier complaint - I stand by my quiz about Asian actors, but the fact is that I can't name many actors of any race. The thought occurred to me during a quiet moment of the movie, when I briefly reflected on my self-imposed exile - did I stay away from the cinema simply because there was never any representation of me in these scenes? The movies, so often aspiring to become enduring portraits of this American life, are perhaps just another scam, its mission made impossible without Asians. But maybe that was Tolentino's point, or was it Hong's? I guess for now it's mine, my point being that I walked away from movies ten years ago for no explainable reason, and that I'm now considering whether this had something to do with the people asked to star in these films.

I didn't linger on this thought, returning to it only just now, because I had to focus on the film, a spy thriller from a franchise I'd once followed with devotion. The movie turned out fine but it wasn't quite good enough to crack my long-forgotten top ten list. Wasn't there a movie called The Prestige on it? I think I did like The Shawshank Redemption, though maybe I'm just confused, having read the story. I do know for sure I loved The Last Samurai since I rewatched a few favorite scenes during those dark days of the pandemic, though the several Asian actors starring in the movie would throw a wrench into my snarky little quiz. But why worry? I have my answer for that stupid question, and besides I'd be stunned if anyone could name more than the star of the film. Wasn't he in a spy film, too, or did I just dream it? He doesn't exactly look like me, either, but hey, it's all a scam anyway, right, the movies, race, all of this? If he can at least speak some English and Japanese, then I say it's all you need to play the role, it's all I'm doing now, it's all I ever do, just go on long enough until the audience, all of us, are convinced I'm fit for the part, though we do have to go on longer than most. But anyway, the guy can play a samurai or some agent or even a secret agent, he can probably play me, I mean he has played me, he's played us all, but who can blame him since he's only being asked, since I'm asking? It's his mission if he wants it, should he choose to accept it.

time to end early voting

I think it's time to end early voting - not the concept, but the expression. I don't think it's a helpful way to describe this feature of the democratic process, specifically the use of "early", which implies either that there is something distinct about the idea or that it's possible to have such a thing as "late" voting. Let's start with the former. My experience voting early has been no different from my experience voting on the hallowed election day - excuse me CNN, Election Day. If I showed you video footage of me at the polls, you'd have a hard time telling whether it's from early voting or not. To me, it makes sense to call identical things by the same name. Getting rid of the early voting label would better demonstrate the irrelevant distinction between showing up to polls early or "on-time". Would election week work? Maybe voting season? If our national debt is as bad as everyone says, maybe we can sell the naming rights - Ten Days at The Polls, presented by Coca-Cola. Call it what you want, just don't call it early.

I'm tempted here to expand the argument, perhaps suggesting that this type of change would make us collectively more receptive to other election changes, such as allowing online voting (we can call this an "innovation", if you are the sort who ignores that Estonia started this a decade and a half ago). The possibility that a name change could improve chances for future process improvements might not seem entirely important to a certain type of American, who I will gently describe as oblivious, perhaps primarily concerned about watching TV on election night, excuse me Fox News, Election Night. However, if the nonsensical controversies generated by mail-in voting last year proved anything, it's that we are suffering for a collective fear of change in this centuries-old process that defines our system of government, and we should be trying everything in our power to help others overcome their fear. If something as simple as using new labels helps people come around, then I think we need to try it.

But forget that for now, let's return to the latter point from above, the "late" voting concept and what it implies, which I bring up more as a symbol of the issue. The point is that I think words matter, particularly names, in the way they help us understand what's going on in the world, and in this case calling it early voting might suggest to some that it's not a serious way to cast a ballot, or at least the correct way. I suspect there are countless people in every election who, having had an opportunity to vote early, never gave the possibility any serious thought, reasoning perhaps that the correct way to vote was to stand in line like my father's great-grandfather did back when Columbus wasn't just some guy who got lost. It seems like an innocent decision, this impulsive notion that early voting is simply incorrect, and of course it's almost obnoxious of me to criticize someone else's decision about voting - I mean, isn't the whole point of voting to accept someone else's choice? I think so, even if the behavior of Democrats and Republicans suggest otherwise.

But in this example, all I think someone accomplishes by waiting until the correct day is to make the line a little longer for someone who didn't have time to vote early, and who definitely doesn't have time on election day - excuse me NBC, Election Day. Life in this country is simply too difficult, and we should accept that not everyone is going to have an hour to stand around waiting to cast a ballot on some Tuesday evening in November. And that's not to suggest the only effect is on others - what if this hypothetical voter, waiting patiently to do the American thing and vote at the right time, suddenly has to deal with an unforeseen circumstance and can't go to the polls? When I say what if, we know what I mean - the vote is lost, wasted, not counted at all, the same way it's not counted anytime a person goes home because the line is too long. I suppose the reasons explaining these types of lost votes may only hold the most tenuous connection to the label of early voting, but I think the stakes are too high to dismiss anything that might cost the country even one vote.

I'm open to change, but I'm realistic about it, too - we have early voting, but we'll never have late voting. So what's the point of calling it something that might lead to a missed vote, which means a wasted vote? This is an American tragedy that only an Estonian can truly appreciate. Since there's nothing special about calling it early voting (and according to my rant thus far some possible negative effects), I ask - what's the point? Most of the average Americans I know won't even try new food unless they saw it on TV, so we should be sensitive to the difficulty of rethinking basic democracy, which has unfortunately become tied into the big event mentality of election night - excuse me ABC, Election Night. There is a certain pageantry of participating in a collective activity, then seeing your fellow citizens on the news that same night, and given how we're talking about an almost uniquely American event I know it's a hard sell to change our ways. But what the cameras miss is everyone who was left out, either by chance or by design, in part because we are mired in the 18th century thinking that dismisses out of hand the concept of having a fortnight to cast your vote. They may call it a civic duty, but I'd prefer to think of it as an obligation, not to just cast your vote but to make sure we all can; we should be doing all we can to make it easier to vote, even if it's something so small like thinking about a better name for certain parts of the process, because doing otherwise would mean living in a county that's not worth voting for at all.

reading clearout - october 2021

Hi reader,

Some updates on reading I won't feature in a full "review". Or is it "full" review? Who knows, who cares.

Gold Boy, Emerald Girl by Yiyun Li (September 2021)

In an unusual departure from my standard reaction to short story collections, I actually enjoyed this work as a whole more so than I did any single story; I didn't bother marking a single story for a repeat read. The few notes I took from the book speak to a handful of bleak tales, with the characters and their decisions almost always influenced but never entirely defeated by the weight of experience. The stories shared a blend of resignation and distance that created an unexpected effect for me - rather than inhabiting the perspective of any one character, I found myself placed as an observer within these scenes, more often accepting rather than understanding the compromises that make us capable of moving on in a world too inflexible to accommodate our specific circumstances.

Don't Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine (August 2021)

I suspect I picked up this book because I came across either Citizen or Just Us (maybe both) and decided that it would be wise to read this book first given its earlier publication date. I enjoyed Don't Let Me Be Lonely, but it didn't have the same effect on me as it seemed to have for the many other readers who were compelled to post gushing reviews. I suppose one explanation for my indifference is that Rankine's referencing the numbing effect of television had no impact on me, having used the concept myself as the centerpiece for several (hundred? thousand?) TOA posts (1). The numbing achieved through television's sensory overload is necessary to fully witness the pain, suffering, or sadness in the world without becoming incapacitated by it, but for me seeing the message put across in this work didn't help me see anything new in the idea. I'd say there is the strong likelihood that this is one of those times when I just need to hold up my hands and admit that the book didn't happen for me, and that this experience will not temper my enthusiasm for reading either of those aforementioned books.

The Lives of a Cell by Lewis Thomas (April 2021)

I followed up with this one after enjoying The Medusa and the Snail, but I didn't like this book of short essays quite so much as the last one. That said, I did come across a few interesting ideas in this read, though perhaps the sense was more that I was being reminded rather than educated by these pieces. The theme that we often overstate our knowledge was once again present, with perhaps the most amusing note being that, historically, the most important service provided by doctors was being present at the time of death; Thomas adds elsewhere that a source of waste in medical spending lies in forgetting that most illnesses get better without intervention. The insight that growth tends to make people lose their innate sense for living humanely was a fascinating concept, with his specific example highlighting the failures of large cities to protect the vulnerable.

Footnotes

1) Don't think, don't worry, everything is just fine...

Or, possibly, I should just blame the Zoo TV tour. Anyway, readers will be delighted to know that several upcoming posts, including the one this Sunday, will once again place TV in TOA's crosshairs.

the bias for data

I just finished taking down notes for Ruha Benjamin's Race After Technology, and the process confirmed that this will be on my list of best books from this year's reading. Benajmin's book focuses on the ways algorithms, applications, and programs, which are often presented to the public as neutral, can reinforce or deepen inequality, bias, and structural racism. I'm looking forward to collecting a few of my thoughts for a reading review later this year.

There is one idea I have been thinking about this week, which is related to Benjamin's comment regarding the way some will demand more data before committing to action. From her perspective, this comes up even when many experts are already in agreement regarding the necessary next step toward solving a problem. Benjamin uses the task of improving childhood education as an example of this phenomenon, noting how despite expert agreement that reducing poverty is the most important intervention toward achieving this goal, some demonstrate a certain perversion of knowledge by demanding to collect more data before committing to the intervention.

There are many reasons why some might demand more data in this type of situation, with cynical motivations certainly among the possibilities. However, what I've been thinking about this week regards the type of mentality that could lead to an innocent mistake - the tendency among data-driven thinkers to view the collection of data, either in volume or quality terms, as an unassailable strategy. There is, in other words, a bias for data, and this bias manifests in situations where data collection itself becomes both process and outcome, with no consideration allowed for whether additional information can improve the quality of upcoming decisions. The trend over the past few years has elevated the importance of being "data-driven" to the point where it would be unfathomable for a person, team, or organization to describe itself otherwise, but like with many empty buzzwords its strictest adherents would struggle to explain the drawbacks. The key distinction to me is that although having more data increases the odds of making the right decision, there is no guarantee that collecting additional data in a given moment will increase the odds of making the right decision.

The question in my mind as it relates to Benjamin's example is how to separate the cynical intent from the innocent errors made by those who have stumbled blindly into the cult of the data-driven approach. But in a general sense, the distinction may be a trivial one, for those who believe more is always better will never sate their appetite for additional data, which means their behavior will always be indistinguishable from those in outright opposition. The good intent of data collection simply hides the fact that this mentality has more in common with certain sins like gluttony or greed, which are likewise defined by the inability to know when enough is enough. I would prefer that we generally adopt a more careful approach to data collection. I think it's impossible to effectively adopt a data-driven mindset if those in charge of a project cannot identify how much data is necessary to reach their outcome; those collecting additional data for its own sake likely do not understand the issue at the core of their specific problem. 

I've had this on my mind over the past week because I recently realized that I will soon encounter this type of situation in my work. Over the next few months, I'll join a workgroup seeking to drive progress against a set of inclusion, diversity, and equity goals within the organization. I'm unsure about how to implement or even introduce my approach because I fear it will challenge and possibly threaten some members, particularly those who perceive themselves as data-driven without having given the label a great deal of thought. Should I simply demand to see the plan that would be set in motion given the accumulation of more data? Or is it best to start with the idea, then work out a way to apply the philosophy to the situation? It may be wise to simply point out what I think is plainly evident - if the goal to improve decisions necessitates collecting better data, then the obvious question is to find a consensus regarding the point where we have enough higher quality data. In healthcare, there is a concept defined by HIPPA known as "minimum necessary", and perhaps invoking this principle could help us find the right starting point.

My fear is that we will make the kinds of mistakes that result from good intentions. For example, we may decide that certain decisions will be driven by the kind of information we can extract from only the highest quality data. This sounds good in the planning stage, but it's easy to imagine that we'll have more success collecting such data from those who are the easiest to collect from. And who would be the easiest to collect from? My strong hunch is that we'll collect from those already affiliated with our organization, excluding the potential supporter groups that we are trying to include in our work, which would only reinforce the existing structural challenges that prompted the establishment of the workgroup in the first place. This concern will remain right at the front of my mind, placed there perhaps by what I've recently read and noted from Race Against Technology, which maintains this kind of thinking as its unofficial theme - we must think seriously about how we use so-called neutral tools, and remember that their neutrality is no guarantee we won't use them to reinforce existing biases.

proper corona admin, vol 104 - out of shape

It's been about a month since I returned from a four-week writing break, but I would argue that I'm still returning to peak writing fitness. Tonight, for example (October 6), is the first time I've written on four out of five nights since the end of May, speaking to some of the burnout that in hindsight was always the logical outcome of my pandemic schedule. But in addition to the volume, there is also the more basic question of forming words into the chunks befitting a TOA post. Take this very sentence, for example. I had no plans to write such a thing until about five minutes ago, when I realized that I needed more time to finish the piece. No problem, but this left me in a pickle because I had thought it would be finished tonight so that it could go up tomorrow.

So now what? There are things on my mind, subjects of sentences on the page, but nothing is predicated. Where is that familiarity I once knew about the process of connecting one word, one line, one thought to the next? I feel like I did this morning, stumbling into two colleagues who were sitting outside a café, two people I had not seen, in person, for over a year and half, trying to get caught up in the eternity of ninety seconds, a minute and a half wondering just what I had done in the past when I knew where to look, knew what to say, and knew when it was time to stop.

the toa podcast hall of fame - reply all (the takeover)

There was a time when Reply All and its unofficial predecessor TLDR were among my favorite podcasts. My interest in the shows has faded over time for a handful of reasons, those being irrelevant to this post (the TLDR version is that, at least in my mind, the show has drifted from its original focus on short, quirky stories about the internet). Today's episode - Reply All's 29th - best captures what I liked about these shows. It's about a teenager who started a Facebook group where its members could pretend - over message boards, emails, and chats - to work in a corporate office.

My favorite aspect of this episode is not necessarily what I liked about the podcast series. The best part of hearing these shows over the years was the way a certain observation would reappear over and over across various stories - eventually, each story reached a point where it implied that the internet is not much different from the other tools in our lives. The specific details unique to highly unusual episodes might challenge this conclusion from time to time, but for the most part it seemed to me that the show confirmed how the internet is merely a digital substitute for what could otherwise happen in the physical world. Given that it is a substitute - meaning the results of using it are mostly interchangeable with the alternative - then the decision to use the technology comes down to factors such as speed, accuracy, or ease of use (which always favors the internet). Think about TOA as an example - I could distribute this as a print newsletter, but would it be a great use of time to ship "proper admin" to home addresses? The main lessons I've drawn from years of listening to these shows feel similar to those a dedicated bookworm could have drawn up in 1995 - that we humans are starved for connection, ready to build new communities around our interests, and almost always too shy to bring up life's biggest questions until we sense an added layer of safety.

The previous paragraph might seem like I'm just stating the obvious, but it leads me to an idea - the fact of the internet being faster, more accurate, or easier to use is often provided as the explanation for regarding the internet as an unambiguous improvement, at least in the sense that results improve by substituting the internet for the in-person alternative. This is like suggesting the view from a particular mountaintop would improve if someone cleared the trail leading to the summit, or that a sandwich tastes better because you cut it with a sharper knife. The challenge with my TOA example from above is separating the process of collecting, distributing, and posting from the end product. It's certainly an improvement to rely on the internet for much of the process, but it's not so clear to me if having TOA on the internet has made me a better writer.

The logical question that results from this thinking is something I've wondered about "The Takeover" - if the process improvements can make it seem like the outcome improved, then is it possible for process improvements to actually hide a situation where the outcome has been made worse? It's like the hypermiling driver whose obsession with fuel efficiency means he never arrives on-time. My thought about this podcast episode is that although the internet seems to improve the learning process, there are certain instances where these process improvements obscure how some situations are ill-suited for the digital classroom. The subject of this story is essentially using an internet substitute to mock an aspect of a particular in-person culture, which he understands well enough to parody yet hasn't connected to any larger explanation that could clarify why this culture exists in the first place. I think this failure is partly reflected in the way he seems to consider the web-based elements enabled by his project as sufficient for a full recreation of the culture - what happens within the group is a truthful rendition of the culture, but outside its original in-person context the digital participant misses the point.

It would be a different story if this had happened two decades ago, where the subject could have rounded up some friends and pretended to work in a company for the purpose of mocking corporate culture. But what would happen next? I think it would become pretty clear that any person who wasn't participating in the silly premise would be detracting from the group, and this person would soon be asked to stop playing the game. But isn't this what happens in the corporate office when a colleague refuses to participate in the culture? The point isn't so much that the iguana joke is stupid, the point is that the joke signals who wants to be part of the team. The digital parody could never capture this insight because there is no pressure to keep anyone in the group, but I think it would have been different if he had tried this in-person. I'm not sure if the subject would have necessarily learned this lesson just by trying this experiment outside the digital setting, but it seems to me that he at least would have stood a chance.

The revelation about corporate culture is that there is a certain safety in numbers, particularly when the consequences of sticking out at work can be devastating in terms of both professional reputation as well as personal finances. I suppose you can learn this in one of two ways - either you are in a setting where you felt the power of that safety, or you listened to the end of "The Takeover" and appreciated the irony. It's not clear to me if the subject recognized the connection between his rejection of the culture and his eventual demise, or if he bothered with a logical follow up question to his initial idea - if this culture is so stupid, so banal, then why do so many otherwise intelligent people tolerate it? I think the way the story ends gives us a look at one answer to this question, where colleagues rely on strength in numbers to protect themselves - not from any visible, stated, or obvious threat, but from that ever-present reality of the relentless, grinding gears that chew up so many isolated corporate employees.