Sunday, June 25, 2023

Book Review: Speaking Mom-ese

Title: Speaking Mom-ese

Author: Lisa Whelchel

Publisher: Integrity

Date: 2005

ISBN: 1-59145-345-3

Length: 237 pages

Quote: “Lord, help me to remember that correction and love are not mutually exclusive.”

It’s not the main focus of the spiritual journal Lisa Whelchel revised into a short devotional book, but it’s relevant to some things I’ve seen on the Web: Yes, even five-year-olds can tell the difference between corrections—however harsh—and abuse.

I say five-year-olds because that is how old I was when my family went for a nice little summer afternoon stroll in the woods. Mother was carrying my brother. I was scampering about, looking at pretty flowers and pebbles and a stream up ahead. Suddenly Dad’s hand lashed out and knocked me flat on the ground! I started to whine about this indignity, but nobody paid any attention to that, because now Dad was killing a snake where it lay coiled beside the stream. If I’d gone on scampering without interference, I might have stepped on it.

Which might not have been a very bad thing. None of us knew just what species of snake it was. Probably it was not one of the three local kinds that contain venom that can be toxic to humans.

However, if you are a parent, and you see your child scampering toward a snake that is not (in my part of the world) solid black or green, you don’t look for a field guide to identify that snake. You react from the part of your brain that has most in common with the snake’s brain. You might snatch the child up; you might knock it down. You might or might not have time to kill the snake before it slithers away. If you can, you do.

I saw what else was happening up ahead of me, on that day, and understood. I stopped whining. On that particular occasion I was glad Dad had reacted in a hasty, impetuous, offensive way.

I don’t have such clear memories from earlier stages of life, but as a toddler I probably was slapped or shoved away from other dangers, sticking my little hands into fires or machinery, toddling out in front of traffic—the usual toddler adventures. Like most toddlers I probably did some whining about those corrections, too. Like most adults (or older children), if I think back, I’m glad I got the corrections rather than the alternatives. I heard that a local man, when he was a toddler, had taken an opportunity to swallow some cleaning chemicals, and that was why he still had to grind up all his food in a blender. I would’ve guessed that he wished someone had slapped that container out of his hands.

Some other corrections children get may arouse more controversy, especially when there is some room for questioning motives or consequences. Is a verbal “mistake” meant to offend or annoy, or is it an honest mistake? Does a younger child need to be kept in line with threats or scary stories, and if so are adults giving the older child too much responsibility for that younger child, or is the older child practicing being a bully and a liar? People disagree.

Whelchel reminisces, in this book, about having applied hot sauce to the tongue of her son for telling a lie. The incident was publicized. A poll showed that Americans are divided. About one out of three of us, nationwide, recognizes “hot saucing” or “peppering” as a traditional and appropriate form of punishment; two out of three think it’s shocking, barbaric, horrific. Whelchel apparently learned something about our mainstream culture (of which, as a child star, she grew up somewhat outside) and her son learned something about telling lies. This is one writer who understands that although of course we want to guide children in the same way we do adults, when that’s possible, there are worse things than scolding or even spanking a child.

From her experience as a parent, an author, and a semi-celebrity author, Whelchel has pulled together a devotional workbook that’s different from the traditional “daily devotional.” Instead of a short reflection on a Bible passage and suggestion for prayer, Speaking Mom-ese offers 52 family-friendly spiritual/psychological exercises for frazzled young mothers to reflect on for a whole week.

I’m not too sure about the printer’s idea of printing this book in “workbook” format, because it’s a small book, suitable for reading in bed. Some of us can write our reflections on a Bible verse in a three-inch square of narrow lines, and some can’t. If I were going to work my way through these devotionals/exercises I’d want to buy a full-sized notebook or open a computer file. Trying to write on narrow lines is probably what readers are most likely not to like about this book; or what is most likely to make them cheat themselves of the benefit of doing the exercises.

Apart from that, a few passages are on the syrupy side, and I can imagine what C.S. Lewis might have said upon reading suggestions that readers even briefly “think of God as your Daddy…or grandparent” who wants to indulge and comfort you. However, these thoughts were reader-tested. It may be worth devoting a whole week to suggestions like:

[J]ot down a few ideas for becoming more involved…write down the name of people in your church who could use a touch of encouragement or practical help.”

[W]rite down a few methods of discipline you feel would be effective when tough times call for tough measures.”

What items could you give away? What items could you let others borrow?”

Is there someone in your family who deserves a little more of your time?”

Make a list of the significant things you need to talk to your children about.”

If you are, or know, a mother of young children who is far too busy with child care, housework, work-from-home, maybe a bit of homeschooling, a husband who wants a few scraps of her attention too, and the need to squeeze moments of sleep in there somewhere, to talk to a counsellor every week, this book may help her get through the Tired Time of youth without the counsellor. 

Friday, June 23, 2023

Some Very Adoptable Dogs

It would be no use asking the crowd who told such delightful cat adoption stories "How would you pick a shelter dog?" Some of them do live with dogs, or did, but most are strictly cat people. I might ask another crowd at another forum how they'd pick a shelter dog. 

Meanwhile, we've not done collies lately, have we? 

Zipcode 10101: Flower from Huntington  


Well she's part collie. She's eight years old, quite old for a big dog. It's time she had a home of her own. If you want a dog that looks friendly, is said to be friendly, yet also commands respect and makes even Jehovah's Witnesses think twice about approaching your home, isn't this the perfect mixed breed?

Zipcode 20202: Egypt from Upper Marlboro 


It's not much of a web page because she's in the county shelter. She's still a young dog, apparently calm, friendly, with some basic training.

Zipcode 30303: Martin from Atlanta 


Something tells me this dog won't be on Petfinder for long. In addition to the cute picture, he seems to have all the other features that help dogs find homes fast. He's just two years old, has already had some basic training, is said to love other dogs and children, has already been neutered, and is described as friendly, intelligent, and teachable. He is not a purebred collie. Shelters acquire purebred collies but they also acquire lists of people waiting to pay for them. He does have the charisma, and the long fluffy coat you'll love to comb.

If running a fine-toothed comb through the long thick fur of a large dog is not your favorite way to relax, check out the main pages. Petfinder always has a dozen or so dogs near you who do not look like "Lassie" but are known to have other collie genes, reportedly including the ones for loyalty and cleverness. Some of them have short easy-care hair. This photo contest is for dogs with at least a slight resemblance to "Lassie," and I rejected a few who look just like the TV-star dog for having ridiculous adoption fees, but if you only want a smart friendly dog who wants a responsible job and does well with children, Petfinder always has more of those than it has of dogs who look like "Lassie." Border collies don't look like "Lassie" but they do everything "she" did...though not necessarily in half-hour scripts.

Book Review: Everything I Wish I'd Known About Japan

Title: Everything I Wish I'd Known About Japan Before I Moved There: Practical Stuff 

Author: Steve Edwards

Publisher: Brilliant Crow

[Date, ISBN, and length: not shown in the e-book]

Quote: "[This book is] meant...to point you in the right direction; not a detailed list of how to do everything and who to contact or where to find them. Depending on where you are or end up in Japan, those details will be for you to find out."

This is a general, practical guide to living in a country that's only just gone full-bore, admitted socialist, rather than just dragging itself down with an appease-everybody model of "gradual progress in that direction, if that turns out to be the way people want to go," as in the US and UK. Japan has done that--but only recently, so although this book reflects a country newly stocked with angry, violent crooks, it still reflects a country where older people at least try to bring honor to their families, beat the competition by doing good work, and show courtesy to everyone (if only by leaving them alone). 

As an English teacher in Japan today, Edwards' experience has little in common with the one Elisabeth Bumiller described, in an out-of-print book about the year she spent observing the life of a volunteer selected for observation as being a good match for Bumiller in age, status, etc. Bumiller and her peer struggled with questions of etiquette: their contract called for Bumiller to observe and not help with any household task, however menial, so when it was obvious that her subject was overextending herself, would it be unbearably rude for Bumiller to help chop vegetables? (A highlight of the book that has stayed with me for more than 25 years: Bumiller sits in the kitchen, watching her peer chop veg, adjusting recording equipment, and dutifully asks the next quesiton on her list. "Do you believe Americans are lazy?" Hostess, chopping furiously, speaking blandly: "Some would say so.") Edwards describes business transactions in which nobody is bothering to try to act polite, or even honest, or even competitive any more. 

Some observers have always felt that a typical Japanese workplace atmosphere was cutthroat, with all the fuss about ethics and etiquette being the only thing that kept people from coming to blows. Edwards and his colleagues aren't in a position to see so much of that, though they do describe having to edge salesmen out the door by looming over them, outshouting them, but not physically touching the wretched pests. Modern Japanese business people do, however, stoop to all kinds of vulgar and disgraceful tricks for bamboozling, guilt-tripping, and even bullying people into paying for things they don't want and may not actually get. Gone are the days of trying to avoid actually saying "no." Today, Edwards says, it may be necessary to scream "NO!" Repeatedly, even.

It used to be obligatory for visitors to Japan to comment on the absence of the more artificial and sentimental forms of male-to-female chivalry in Japanese etiquette. Japanese men were not taught to rush ahead and hold doors open for women, and instead of automatically promoting all women one notch up a real or imagined hierarchy, Japanese husbands were free to promote themselves one notch above their wives. Language learners used always to be warned that men normally used the shorter forms of long Japanese words and phrases, except when speaking to older or superordinate men, but women were expected to use all the full-length forms. (Edwards reports that all language learners are now generally allowed to skip the elaborate keigo dialect; he does not mention whether those who still attempt the keigo or "polite, formal" words ever encounter any reduction of prejudice in socialist Japan.) Now, Edwards reports, on a more primal level chivalry can be observed: among his friends, women occasionally were able to talk their way out of displays of overt hostility where men had to be the bully or be the victim. (This included the high-pressure salesmen; apparently a TV service was notorious for sending out the most obnoxious salesmen, and one woman, Edwards says, was able to get rid of them by clumsily saying the Japanese equivalent of "I no...eat...television.") 

Another indicator of increasing economic insecurity is the reported attitude of Japanese people (on all levels of society) toward foreigners. Japan is an island nation and older, more rural, or more sheltered individuals have always been notoriously chilly toward foreigners, their body language making it clear that they saw Americans especially as big ugly clumsy slobs, but overt rudeness would have been a source of shame. "Begging ten thousand pardons, Sir, the room is reserved" has, Edwards reports, morphed into overt "No Foreigners" or "No Americans" policies even at banks. If his employers hadn't set up an account for him at one bank, he says, he never would have got one. The bank, and various landlords and other people with whom he had to do business, knew he was earning a decent salary on a legitimate job, but due to socialism they weren't dependent on individual customers' good will, and they just didn't like dealing with English teachers who did tacky American things like speaking English. (But what could he do, Edwards laments. Over his years in Japan he learned to understand the language on a basic level, but when he admitted understanding with a single "hai," he felt that the officials with whom he was dealing thought he'd be perfectly well able to speak Japanese if they just kept shouting at him in it. You always knew the delusion that everyone on Earth speaks your language if you speak it loudly and rudely enough has to be global, but the image of its occurrence in Japan...!) The process of applying for a license to drive even a motorbike in Japan seemed meant to keep exchange teachers paying application fees, taking road tests, and being flunked for no obvious reason. 

Not, of course, that Edwards and his colleagues found everyone in Japan to be prejudiced against them; as teachers they'd been invited to be there to serve a useful purpose, and some people actually liked them. Some of Edwards' co-workers married Japanese people. Some became legal, naturalized citizens of Japan. For those who wanted to get out, the primary reason was not the humidity nor the still only occasional crooks and bigots, but the lower standard of living offered by the Japanese version of Social Security, which still pensions off early retirees at what Edwards calculates as the equivalent of US$ 5,000 per year. Another of Edwards' tips for exchange teachers: If you fall in love with the place or the people, apply for permanent residency or citizenship early, before any traffic violations have been added to your social credit score. 

Japan has never been Paradise and Edwards documents a degree of cultural degeneration that may make some readers cry, but Japan has always had charm to spare. Even as its level of kawaii charm declines, Japan still has more people wanting to move in than people wanting to move out. 

Thursday, June 22, 2023

Things I Like and Dislike About the Romance Genre

This Long And Short Reviews prompt almost slipped away from me--the post is late. But I want to complete the challenge of posting about these topics all year, so here we go:

What I like about the romance genre is that it can include everything. As the late blogger known as Ozarque (who did not write romances) observed, you can say anything in a romance, and that may be your best chance of getting the message out to mainstream women readers. 

Too many men writing under girly-sounding names have used romance novels as a platform to preach the message, "Be a complete fool for 'love' of Mr. Wrong and at least you might have a few good nights with him before the babies come in and he goes out." Urgh. Ick. 

And women writers haven't always helped. What exactly is the message of Wuthering Heights supposed to be? "Marry someone else for money, but continue to hound the man you really want while living, then die young, come back as a ghost, and haunt him until he joins you in an untimely death"? I'm sorry. Jane Eyre is a novel with a romance in it, and a fine one. Shirley is a novel with a romance in it, and a fine one. But I think Wuthering Heights is a fever dream, and if poor little Emily Bronte had been destined to live to a reasonable age, she would have at least revised it drastically, more likely burned it.

But lovely things can be done with the romance genre. Shirley actually took an interest in the working class. Louisa May Alcott's Old-Fashioned Girl rescued her rich relations from despair when they lost their money. Gone with the Wind annoys modern readers because it tells the story and summarizes the plight of the Southern States, as of the 1930s, better than anything else ever did. Jubilee is much more history than romance, but the romance it does contain brings tears to my eyes. Headspace is much more speculation than romance, but the romance it does contain sizzles--and raises serious questions for those who want to think about them.

Ozarque proposed a plot for a romance she never bothered to write--a big sweeping epic romance, or a series of short linked ones, that would manage to work in information about how to nourish the fetal and infant brain in such a way that any poor single mother could raise a "gifted" child. It was an interesting prompt, though I never got beyond an outline for the novel either. Somebody out there wants to write that novel. Either a heroic nurse presenting the pertinent information to poor single mothers in the inner city, or one of those poor single mothers, could be the heroine. She might be tempted by the man who offered her a cushy job in a rich neighborhood, but hold out for her career as a nurse in the poor neighborhood and a man who appreciates her dedication to that career. She might struggle with hostility toward the man who abandoned her and the baby and the men who harass and discriminate against her, then eventually meet a man who was worthy of her and the baby too. She might be a good Hindu working in Calcutta, finding romance within an arranged marriage. She might be a Seventh-Day Adventist who leaves a fishing village in Zambia and faces the human tragedy that is Lusaka and finds True Love with a man from a different village who's done the same. There are all kinds of ways this novel could be written. Someone really ought to write it. Maybe, considering the importance of prenatal and perinatal care in shaping children's lives, different people ought to write all the different versions set in different countries.

What I don't like about the romance genre is the predictability. When it's a freestanding novel that's not published under a "romance" label, the writer has some room to add something interesting to the general idea that two people attracted to each other, but then separate, and then get together at the end. When it's one of those genre romances that used to be sold on rotating racks in supermarkets, you used to know on which page to look for the first kiss, the really torrid kiss, the quarrel, and the explicit bedroom scene if it was one of the labels that guaranteed one of those.

The only originality allowed (those novels were all basically written about trendy "romantic" places, anyway, not about characters) was the characters' names. What stands out in memory was a novel in which the characters were called Race and Jinx. I don't think anyone's ever topped that, although this web site did review a British romance in which the author got away with bashing the Nice Girl stereotype by calling her protagonist "Lady Hel" (short for Helena, of course). Inspired by Race and Jinx and Lady Hel, I once ghost-wrote a novel that started out to feature some confusion between brothers called Ray and Roy, but the client wouldn't allow it. I rewrote it, called them Richard and Raymond (with a brother Godfrey), and made them different men who married different women for different reasons. It was a better story that way but I still think Ray and Roy were funnier.

It's a mistake to take the romance genre seriously. Romances work best, for me, when the author expects and encourages me to laugh.

Let's Make "Karen" the Woman of the Year

I admit it--I tweeted a link to yesterday's full-length blog post after writing it. And even clicked on a "trending" tag and read until I came to a blue tick, just to check whether the "notifications" page collects any evidence that Twitter's even trying to save itself. So far, none.\

The "trending" topic was the word "Karen." Some people think it's cute to take the name some other person's parents gave that person and use it as slang for something else. I don't think that's cute. Using names from history is merely obfuscatory; there was only one Benedict Arnold, but there was a real Benedict Arnold, and if any of his relatives resent the way we remember his name, well he deserved it. Using names from literature, ditto, and at least there never was a real Uriah Heep or Caspar Milquetoast; people recognize those stereotypes but the names given to them are unlikely to be heard as unintended insults to any real person.. But just randomly picking a given name that means any of several hundred thousand living people? ??? Hello, if you're not using the name to refer to a specific person ("then she started singing like Karen Carpenter," e.g.) or homonym ("Many of the people who named their daughters  'Karen' didn't even know it was also the name of an ethnic group"),  then using it as a slang word is just plain obnoxious. And tacky.

I looked this up. As a term of hate for (a) a White woman and/or (b) a woman who insists on getting what she's paying for, "Karen" does not refer to any actual example in history or literature. Somebody just picked on that name and an admittedly silly-looking hair style to create the stereotype that, when a White woman demands her due, she's doing it to persecute some poor Black youth who has some sort of natural right to come to work stoned and fail to do per job, right? 

I would really prefer to leave the chastisement of people who use "Karen" to mean anything but "someone who inherited that as either a given name or an ethnic group name" to competent, responsible Black adults. When I worked in the D.C. school system I knew several. To the best of my knowledge none of them ever used a computer other than at work, though, so I've waited in vain to read where any of them has come online to say, "If you mean 'someone who has made it a goal to get you fired from your job,' you should say that." 

Anyway, the tweet: Women who demand their due are doing a GOOD, GOOD, GOOD thing. If you mean a racist, you should say "a racist."

And you should also be able to prove that you do mean "a racist," as completely different from "a person insisting on the product or service person is paying for." The suggestion that those two disparate things are normally linked--now THAT is racist.  

There is no natural correlation between being Black and being dishonest, lazy, or incompetent.

Women, even in African Muslim countries, have generally been trusted with a positive duty "to reward good and punish evil" by shopping responsibly. That is one of the main ways the virtuous wife in the Book of Proverbs "will do [her husband] good and not evil all the days of her life." A good homemaker is, like a good middle manager or small business entrepreneur, prudent and frugal. She demands her due when she pays for anything. That cultural expectation is global. 

When did "race" come into the picture? When the French Romanticists, concerned about the effect of recognizing women's civil rights during the French Revolution, concocted the idea of disabling women by marketing an ideal of femi-ninny-ty in which the virtuous woman stayed home, didn't bother her pretty little head about money, didn't have any money or go out shopping anyway, and focussed her energy on mystical communion with the dead. Men who worshipped science and technology, in Auguste Comte's demented vision, would feel tired, corrupted, and guilty, so they'd need to come home and unburden themselves to "the angel in the home," that artificially "sweet" (though probably insipid), preferably illiterate, friendless, vocationless, surely at least a little bit "crazy," baby-doll wife who was to be trained to direct whatever stunted intelligence she had toward communion with the dead because, by following Comte's prescription for life, she was pretty sure to join them by age twenty-five.

In real life very few parents seriously considered bringing up little girls this way, but a modified version of "the angel in the home" was sentimentalized about by men and even women who thought women shouldn't be "corrupted" by going to university or having a vote. The modern version is the Nice Girl who doesn't think about moral or ethical questions any "heavier" than some sort of ideal of making everyone feel good. The families that bought into the Nice Girl ideal, producing John Gray's "women from Venus" and Deborah Tannen's "relational women," were (in the United States) almost exclusively of European or Japanese origin. Very few human cultures ever took that ideal seriously. 

So when these typically pale-complexioned women have their own money and are responsible for using it to bring up children and manage businesses, woman-haters are trying to keep them from doing those things well by attacking them with the claim that some sort of stereotype of a woman who wants to talk to the manager, who knows what she's paying for and intends to get it, is...not being a Nice Girl. But these days the majority of American women are well past wanting to be seen as any kind of "girl" and are more concerned with being good women, as in grown-up, responsible, prudent, frugal--and not leaving the store without what we're paying for. So the haters escalate the attack by projecting some of their own racism onto the stereotype. Because these people are serious haters they imagine that the incompetent employee who's going to be punished for being caught cheating this woman is always going to have darker skin than she has. 

Nobody in per right mind seriously believes that it's kind to let people cheat and steal in order to pamper their emotional feelings. In fact, if the manager happens to be honest, the incompetent clerk is likely to be penalized for having too much cash in the drawer, as much as for having too little. When we demand honest, ethical trade, we are being kind to the typically young or newly hired people at the bottom of the company hierarchy who may not have intended to cheat us--the first time: we are teaching them not to cheat.

In real life, women who intend to get what we're paying for don't know or care what the incompetent employees may look like. What we want to punish is incompetence. There may be, in some places, a correlation between Blackness and incompetence. In the notoriously corrupt crony system that used to be Washington, D.C.'s, city government, such a correlation was easy to spot. Corrupt crony systems provide sinecures for incompetent White people in other cities and towns, but in the few places where it's possible for the ruling party to discriminate in favor of Blackness, or Hispanicity or Yiddishkeit or even Nice White Girlhood, then a non-causative correlation between minority status and incompetence is almost guaranteed to form! 

My mother often reminisced about her first grown-up job. Back then "lace-curtain Irish" and "Scotch-Irish" Protestants wer part of the mainstream but Irish Catholics were still a distrusted minority, working their way up; there was a serious question whether an Irish Catholic like John F. Kennedy could ever be electable. Mother's first employer was an Irish Catholic just like the young men, stereotypically all called "Paddy" after their patron saint, who dominated several city police forces; but she judged policemen by their body shape rather than their Irish-ness. "See that fat policeman out on the street? You know he's a crook. Hangs out in places that give him free drinks and snacks all day, never gets any exercise. If he bothered to chase any thief that tried to rob a shop like ours, he couldn't chase the thief ten yards before he'd flop over dead! It's about time for a new politician to promise to reform the system. Then we'll see a lot of slim, trim policemen who will actually do their jobs...until they start hanging out in the places that feed them, and then it all starts over again." 

Identifying incompetence with obesity makes more sense than identifying it with skin color. In Washington when I was there, the shiftless, clueless, working-to-rule or actively-sabotaging-the-office bureaucrats who "lost" payments, misdirected mail, took an hour to do what their counterparts in the suburbs could do in three minutes, but at least were easy for those inclined that way to cheat because they didn't care, were without exception Black--but so were the honest, hardworking people who made the city work. Too many people in the city were Black to make it possible to use "Black" as an identifying trait if you wanted to describe an individual others might want to support or avoid. "Black" was the default. It might be worth the time to mention that someone was not Black. But quite often the incompetent ones were also fat. A correlation between obesity and incompetence can be produced by disabling thyroid disease, or by a tendency to indulge in the Deadly Sin of Laziness. 

When a responsible (and virtuous) woman insists on correcting a bill rung up by a chatter-cheating cashier, on getting a replacement for the object that was broken in the box, on making the person who sprayed poison around the power line replace her now stunted and barren fruit trees, generally getting what is due to her and her family, it's not about the person who could just apologize and correct, or pay for, the mistake. But if that person fails to correct the mistake, but adds insult to injury--telling her she's not acting like a Nice Girl, horrors, she's being a kvetch, a yenta, a strega, bossy, intimidating, domineering, a shrew, a harpy, a "honey," shrill, strident, abrasive, "crazy," "hysterical," "emotional," an emasculating b***h, or these days "a Karen"--nice to drag in all those thousands of random older women--then, perhaps, all of us should be making it a point to go punish that person. The hater.  

"She's just a Karen" is almost as loaded an insult as "honey" is; it manages to insult the generation of White women for which "Karen" was a trendy name, all Black people, and the Karens of that tropical Asian country that can't make up its mind what to call itself in English, all at once. If you really want to insult that many people all at once, nice going, Trash Mouth, you are telling the world you're a serious hater.

It's time to push back against the haters.

What do nice people do when a woman, especially an older woman of European or Japanese descent who may still be dealing with the baggage of the Nice Girl stereotype and whose manner may consequently be brittle or shrill, is standing up for her rights? Why, they stand beside her, of course.

Say, "Yeah!"

Say, "Right on!"

Say, "What she said!"

Say, "Hey, me too!"

Say, "Go, girl!"

If any of those anti-woman dogwhistle words have been used, say "I heard that! Now you do whatever the lady says, fool, because you've got witnesses! What's your name, anyway? What's your job description? Who hired you, and what was the matter with them?"

These days, if a White person uses the N-word in public, per career is over. Why is there still any difference between that and a man using any of those anti-woman words? 

We might even want to sing a little chorus of,

"Dare to be a Karen! Dare to stand alone!
Dare to have a purpose firm, and dare to make it known!"

The last time I went anywhere on a Greyhound bus was the worst bus trip ever. It started innocently enough--for some reason the bus just was not moving at traffic speed, so it was further behind schedule at every scheduled stop. Then for the middle third of the trip the driver was visibly in an altered state of consciousness; he was rude, hostile, racist, and mean, and everyone knew it, and everyone also knew that our only chance of getting to where we were going that day was to ignore the driver's drugged-out condition and pray that he didn't crash the bus. Then there was a long sweaty delay in the Great Dismal Swamp while a bus in working condition was found. Everyone was thoroughly sorry they'd bought bus tickets. 

For what it's worth, the drugged driver, against whom I wrote a complaint the next day, was White. He was also obese. The nice driver who just couldn't get the bus going, on the morning shift, was also White. The tired, surly, but competent driver on the evening shift was Black.

Nobody was very friendly or cheerful as we boarded the working bus with the grumpy driver, but finally we rolled into Washington. I stood up to remove my duffel bag from the luggage rack, as people have always done on all the bus trips I've taken in my lifetime, and the driver squawked, "Sit down while the bus is in motion!" as if he thought he were driving a school bus. I stood there loading my bag onto my shoulder, and the idiot driver said, "I can put you off this bus!" 

I looked out at the Union Station, which was where everyone going to Washington wanted to get to anyway, and called back, "Yes please!"

It was terrific. The bus exploded with laughter and relief. "Yeah, me too!" "Me three!" People stood up and laughed and cheered. 

On that particular occasion, the sight of city buses and trains still at the Union Station, meaning that some of us were going to get home that night after all, undoubtedly had something to do with the change in the atmosphere on the bus. 

Nevertheless, standing beside women who are claiming their due, for the benefit of humankind as well as themselves, feels wonderful. Try to find a way to do it today.

Web Log 6.21.23

Twitter withdrawal is easy. I did post a couple of tweets other than links; they're the topic of Thursday morning's main post. But none of these links went live on Twitter first! Twits have to find them here!

Activism 

Tweakable for non-Christians, recommended for people who want to be activists but don't see how they can. At the very least, if you chant, reflect, pray/meditate, other ideas may come to you. And we can't rule out the possibility that prayer/meditation may make a difference, all by itself.: 


Books 

If you like whimsical writing and animals, you must read Tom Cox's "badgery" post promoting his "rather badgery" 2017 novel, 21st Century Yokel.


Music 

Because Johnny Cash was considered a rockabilly singer who corrupted June Carter's country music, and because some people wanted to show disapproval of second marriages while the original spouse was alive, I missed quite a lot of June's and Johnny's songs on the radio, even when they were popular during my lifetime.  (They were famous before I was born!) So I never heard this one before, and when someone dug it up and shared it I laughed out loud.


Philosophy 

The book I'm reading is Robert W. Malone's Lies My Government Told Me. It's long and, to me, arid, because it's about the coronavirus panic and people have been banging on about COVID-19 for so long that the word is starting to make my eyes glaze over, just a bit. Lots of food for thought; Wednesday's main post is obviously not part of the book review, but it goes off on a mental tangent that was provoked by the book. It is spinach for the brain. You need to read it. For those whose computers read Kindle e-books, free copies are available from CHD. Anyway, as the doctor leads up to another factual point, he throws in this excellent quote just as an explanation of something someone's about to say: 

"On the utilitarian view one ought to maximize the overall good—that is, consider the good of others as well as one’s own good.

Malone MD MS, Robert W . Lies My Gov't Told Me: And the Better Future Coming (Children’s Health Defense) (pp. 320-321). Skyhorse. Kindle Edition. "

That's the pithiest version I've seen...my definition of "the Highest Good" invokes a Higher Power, but sticking firmly in this world for now, my objection to the idea that "altruism" would be desirable, if it were real, is that it assumes a zero sum of good. If I mortify my selfish desires in order to gratify your selfish desires, and you and I are of equal moral value, the overall balance of good and bad is exactly the same as if I trample on your selfish desires in order to gratify my own. Arguably the attempt at altruism is even worse, since my own selfish desires are likely to have some basis in an actual need that I can understand better, and have more responsibility for meeting, than whatever I presume you to need. So we can only begin to think about the Highest Good by recognizing that it has to consider and balance your and my desires equally. What you and I legitimately want is very seldom in conflict in the real world. Even in a situation of extreme scarcity, suppose a famine where there's not as much food available as either of us really needs to eat for health, I legitimately want--and so do you, if you have a healthy conscience--both to eat and to give you a chance to eat, so what we really want is to share the available food.

When well-fed people consider famine as a philosophical exercise, we tend to have an emotional reaction like "I'd want you to have the last loaf of bread from the wrecked ship." And why? "Because... well... I want to be 'good.' I want to be 'altruistic.'" So we're still talking about a selfish desire to hoard all the moral virtue available and burden the other person with guilt, which we're probably trying to project onto person from our own abundant supply of selfish acts in the past. That "altruistic" reaction is selfish, and nasty, too. That's why, as C.S. Lewis observed in The Screwtape Letters, when each side of a family disagreement is "contending frankly for what [they want]," the dispute has a chance of remaining within the limits of reason and good will, but when people are trying to "be unselfish," their hostilities become vicious. 

Book Review: Take My Monsters

Title: Take My Monsters 

Author: C.Gockel

Date: 2021

Publisher: cgockelwrites.com

ISBN: 9798771340203

Length: 58 pages

Quote: "Part of Margusa wants the monster to destroy her. She wants to die. In Hades the mark on her forehead will disappear and she’ll be a free woman." 

This novelette, or short story available as a separate book, is another of C. Gockel's riffs on old folktales. This one is a mash-up of the image of "The Greek Slave," the Scots ballad of "Tam Lin," and the various remnants of Norse mythology available to us. "Tam Lin" appeals because it's an early "strong heroine" story; in Take My Monsters the Greek slave escapes, and becomes the tough and loyal lover who breaks the enchantment that turns Tam Lin into a series of monsters, with the help of the Aesir. 

How this happens is the content of the story, so why spoil it here. Let's just say, instead, that the story is a sort of trailer for a series of longer novels using the Norse ancestor-gods as characters. The deification of the legendary ancestors, Aesir and Vannir, added a peculiar twist to Norse theology--some point to the tribal name "Aesir" as evidence of Asian influence--an acceptance of the mixed nature of things, an acknowledgment that evil things can lead to good things and good things to evil things. Loki, the mischievous but beloved younger son who was regretfully banished from the tribe after one stupid prank too many, was interpreted by the Romans as a counterpart to Prometheus, by the Christians as a prototype to Satan--those interpretations seem to have added to the stories about Loki. As a rebellious youth C.S. Lewis attempted, though he did not attempt to publish, an epic tale with Loki as a hero. C. Gockel has written such a tale and, lacking the constraint of putting it in the form of epic poetry, has had it published as a series of fantasy novels. It's hard to make Loki a tragic hero but possible, for Gockel at least, to make him a romantic one.

But Loki is not featured in Take My Monsters. All this prequel needs to contribute to the Loki novels (I Bring the Fire et seq.) is the image of Margusa, whose name reverts to the normal form Margarites when she ceases to be a slave, and Tam Lin as a mortal couple who freely pledge themselves to the service of the Aesir. 

Its message, as an independent story, couldn't be much more obvious: Women can still hope to be rescued. Sometimes that happens. We can find male allies, anyway. Meanwhile, we need to know when to slay our own monsters and when to take them in hand, tame them, and make friends of them. In these 58 pages Margarites manages to do both.

Butterfly of the Week: Nevill's Windmill

More than halfway through the long list of dark-winged, red-bodied swallowtail butterflies found in subtropical and tropical Asia, we come to the "Windmill"-shaped species currently known as Byasa nevilli, or Nevill's Windmill. It was documented late, in 1882. A lot of material about it has been placed on the Internet since Mr. J. Wood-Mason of the Indian Museum at Calcutta described it: 

"

Papilio Nevilli, n. sp.

Papilio, n. sp,?, G. Nevill,,.List Diurn. Lep. Ind. Mus. Cale. 1871, p. 1. no, 7. Nearly allied to P. ravana, Moore, from Kulu, in the Northwest Himalayas, but smaller, with the well-developed tails not constricted at the base.

[Male]. Posterior wings above with two large pink-white spots, one between the discoidal vein and the second branch of the subcostal, occupying all but the two ends of the space; the other in the space next in front, smaller and not extending so far towards the base of the space, and with three bright crimson submarginal lunules, two subequal in the interspaces between the branches of the median vein, and the third between the third median veinlet and the discoidal vein, equal to, or slightly greater than, the other two taken together ; below with a small pink-white spot between the first branch of the subcostal and the costal veins, forming with the two visible on both sides of the organs a series of three, all equally distinct from the outer margin, the submarginal lunules larger and subequal and much lighter coloured, and with a fourth rather irregularly-shaped crimson spot, subequal to the lunules and divided into two unequal parts by the submedian vein, at the end of the basal half of which it is placed, with the tails well developed, but not constricted at base.

Hab.The vicinity of Silchar, Cachar. The three specimens before me were obtained many years ago by one of the native collectors of the museum, under the late Mr. N, T. Davey, of the Topographical Survey of India.

_ This species will be figured in my paper on the large collection of butterflies formed by me during the past hot season in Cachar.

Obs. P. ravana and P. minereus are both perfectly distinct from P. philoxenus, P. polyeuctes being perhaps only a variety of it.

"


In the lush, dim forests it frequents, does the imperfect circle of spots suggest some sort of predator's face to hungry birds?


Photos from the Reiman Gardens.

B. nevilli has been given even more names than the other butterflies in this group. First called Papilio nevilli, it's also been documented as P. chentseng or chentsong, Tros nevilli, Atrophaneura nevilli, and lately Byasa nevilli. A few sources use nivelli, probably a mere misspelling. Both "Byas" and "Nevill" are family names but my sources did not specify which members of those families the butterflies were named in honor of. ("Byas," for our international readers, is pronounced like the word "bias," and Byasa is generally given enough of a secondary stress on the second syllable that the short A as in hat can be clearly heard.)

One alternative English nickname was "Two-Spotted Windmill." The photos show why the butterfly was given that name, and why the name hasn't stuck. 

Most Indian butterfly species, including B. nevilli, were documented and "collected" by the British Raj. The Rothschilds, among others, bragged about a "family collection" of Papilio nevilli. However, that shortsighted fascination with collecting dead bodies of different kinds of butterfly didn't help modern scientists with what we want to know about them, laments Subrata Gayen. Nobody knows whether butterflies are threatened by climate change, habitat loss, or use of pesticides and/or GMO in India, because nobody knows what their normal population size and density used to be. Nevill's Windmill is not known ro be endangered but it is of concern in India. It is now "very rare." Is it, like so many of the big butterflies and moth, a species that needs to be rare? How rare? Is its population decreasing or increasing, and how bad as that? Nobody really knows.

For even more complicated historical reasons, some of which Torben Larsen discussed in Butterflies of Bangladesh ([published as a book, and online as a PDF at https://www.flutters.org/home/articles/2004%20Bangladesh%20book%20716%20KB.pdf ), the butterfly populations of the smaller countries in between India and China are "very poorly known." What little research did go on has left us with a few collections of crumbling carcasses marked only with old state or country names, or at best species names. Nobody was bothering to study where and how the butterflies lived or how many of them there were before "modernization." Larsen reported that by 2004 it had become difficult to get permits to collect butterfly carcasses for scientific research, though butterflies will always continue to leave their bodies to science after flying for a few weeks, and yet vendors were continuing to sell carcasses in glass cases, with fresh-looking "perfect" wings, to tourists. 

Byasa nevilli is said to be common in western China; China, however, has not made a priority of either documenting or conserving its unique wildlife. Its wingspan is 10 to 12 cm, 4 to 5 inches. Males resemble Atrophaneura dasarada ravana and/or Atrophaneura ravana (some list ravana as a separate species, some as a subspecies of dasarada), but are smaller and have smaller spots. Ravana shows more conspicuous sexual dimorphism than nevilli; female nevilli look more like male nevilli than like female ravana.

The caterpillars eat Aristolochia kummingensis, a tropical vine that contains aristolochic acid and other chemicals that are toxic to warm-blooded animals. These chemicals remain in the butterflies throughout their lives. Eggs show tiny patterns formed by drops of aristolochic acid; other phytotoxins from the host plant give the animals their black and red colors, which blend together in the caterpillar's skin and form distinct patterns on the adult butterfly. Black and red are "warning" colors for insects--typical of species that are at least foul-tasting, sometimes nauseous or toxic, to birds. After eating an orange, black, red, yellow, or blue insect, an animal that has the ability to vomit will usually do so. 

The pupae have that flattened dead-leaf look typical of the red-bodied swallowtails.


Another photo from the Reiman butterfly gardens. (Part of the fun of writing these pieces is seeing my Google searches actually fuel site expansion. This niche is still small enough that individual searches can affect results. Reiman was showing only the two photos when I opened the page, then added this one a few hours later.)

Adult butterflies fly for about ten days. It's easy to collect dead bodies if you're in the right place on the right day, but only chemists have any use for dead butterflies these days. Modern butterfly fanciers collect photos of living butterflies, The English-speaking world is still poorly supplied with good clear pictures of Byasa nevilli.

Wednesday, June 21, 2023

Can Linda Yaccarino Save Twitter?

I'm not optimistic. If our Republican Congress don't grow the backbones so many of them have lacked for so long and crack down hard on the Party of Censorship, it's hard to see grounds for optimism about anything in cyberspace. A censored web site is a dead web site; a censored Internet will be a dead Internet. While fretting about the lack of moderators to pull down content thought to contain "animal cruelty," Twitter's new CEO continued to allow an algorithm to delay a "Please help this shelter dog" message until after the dog was scheduled to be killed. 

I do think it's possible for a good thing to come out of the World Economic Forum--screaming, tearing its hair, running frantically for the place as far as that convention of cartoon villains as it's possible to get.

Does this look like a good thing to you?

 
Not as much, perhaps, as little Greta Thunberg in that video where she was surrounded on the street and badgered by a gaggle of much bigger, older reporters, but Yaccarino has had more practice. She does look frazzled. 

I have a dream in which that hair makes her feel desperate enough to listen to an older woman who can tell her: "When I was eighteen my hair looked like that. When I was thirty I discovered a way that even my hair could look good, for the first time in my life. Together, you and I can guide the world back to a condition in which even your and my hair can look good again." 

I had a dream in which my husband's ex was not lying through her teeth about being in contact with their adoptive son, and we could become a blended family before my husband died, too, eighteen years ago.

But there is a way Yaccarino can save Twitter, in the short term, and actually make it pay...not as much as the stockholders may want, but it can pay...if she's serious about taking it back to first principles.

The relevant first principle would be: Twitter reached the size it reached because it provided instant communication for private individuals, before the corporate advertisers got there. The world did not need another commercial medium, would not have supported one, and won't support one. The world did need a social medium that would flash messages like "Please help! This dog is scheduled to be killed tomorrow morning," around the world, from anybody to any number of other bodies wherever people were interested in dogs.

People will expect Yaccarino to make Twitter work just like NBC. It won't. There is neither a need nor a desire nor a space in this world for any more of NBC. Yaccarino needs to sell her friends at NBC the first principle that TWITTER IS RADICALLY DIFFERENT FROM NBC.

That does not mean that Twitter can't serve them. It merely means that Twitter will fail to serve them if Yaccarino indulges them with another moment of thinking that Twitter can be made into more of NBC. She must help them understand that, in order to be profitable, Twitter needs to remain very, very different from NBC...while serving (some of) the same sponsors.

The key difference, and I say this as a disenchanted former Twitter Insider who's been watching the site and helping it grow for many years--the key difference is the difference between television and social media. 

Television is a medium where corporate sponsors, and the bloat in government that functions as a de facto corporate sponsor, incessantly blare their message to passive viewers who are seldom paying full attention to the broadcasted message. 

People don't interact with the TV set, unless they're pathetic dead-end kids like the TV cartoon characters Beavis and Butthead. Actually, my favorite people don't even turn on the TV set very often, if they even have one. When people I know do turn on the TV set, there are a few shows they actually sit down to watch--weather forecasts, "Jeopardy," and an occasional live broadcast of some special event. Even then, they talk, move around, and step out of the room during the ever-increasing commercial breaks. Most TV programs function as background noise in front of which people can avoid actual conversation while eating, snogging, or falling asleep. The sponsors can say anything they want in the part of the TV broadcast that matters to them, because nobody engages with it, nobody even consciously listens to it or looks at it, and so all they have to do is pound the name of their brand into people's ears. 

Does it work? Maybe. Maybe not. The companies that invest heavily in advertising products on television also invest heavily in getting those products well placed in the right stores. Awareness that brands exist may influence people to be a little more willing to buy those brands, but it does not actually hypnotize people into buying anything. As mentioned before at this web site, as a child I memorized the commercial jingles that were broadcast during the child-friendly shows I watched on family road trips, but although I can still sing some of those jingles today I've never bought the products they advertised.

What TV broadcasts do undeniably do is add stress to people's lives, mild or even benign stress for some people, toxic stress for others. For those who want to watch the ball game or talent show, the effect of the stress is limited to keeping them from sleeping, meditating, or exercising; only when this becomes a long-term pattern does it do any harm. For the family member who hates those ball games or talent shows and hears each one as a fresh display of ingratitude and ill will, every minute the TV blares is another brick in the wall. When couples want to be reconciled, or parents want children to focus and calm down and do well in school, their chances of success are better if they unplug the TV.

For those who want TV broadcasts, there are already plenty of TV broadcasts out there. Nobody is going to pay for an Internet connection that delivers the same experience as a TV broadcast

In order for a web site to interest anyone but the advertisers, the web site needs to deliver an experience that's very different from a TV broadcast. So Yaccarino might start by writing down a complete list of everything the sponsors want a TV program to be, then writing a list of what would be the opposite of that, throwing away the first list, and putting the second list on every wall.

Or I could just tell her what attracted so many people who don't watch TV, if we can avoid it, to Twitter as Jack Dorsey built it--something new, something useful, something that has only two things in common with television: (1) it appears on a screen, and (2) it can be used to display images and advertisements for products.

Here are the most obvious salient features Twitter absolutely must keep in order to stay different from television, to attract Real Twits, and to exist. These descriptions aren't necessarily true of Twitter today, but they are true of the original, viable Twitter. They must be true of "Twitter 2.0" if Twitter 2.0 isn't going to go the way of My Space, Google +, or Niume.

1. Twitter is silent unless a site visitor clicks on a button to play an audio clip. 

2. Twitter contains more words than pictures. This is no longer always obvious, but it used to be. Just accept it: People who choose the Internet over television prefer words to pictures. You never, never want to allow a picture to fill up the screen, as the pictures do on some social media sites like Gettr, unless someone deliberately clicks on a button to enlarge it. You want each picture to take up less of the screen than the words that introduce it. You don't ever want a picture to "move," or "pop," or "flash," unless someone deliberately clicks on a button to allow that.

3. Twitter is rich in the content site visitors are actually looking for. Original Twitter ran about fifty tweets from accounts the individual visitors had chosen to follow in between every one "promoted tweet" from an advertiser. That was, of course, because Twitter had to achieve viability on its own before it had a lot of advertisers. However, it's also a feature that made it possible for Twitter to achieve viability, while other social media sites crashed and burned. I personally feel that it wouldn't hurt the Twitter experience to allow a steady stream of advertising messages to occupy the right side of the screen--provided that the ads are clearly subordinated to the tweets. The center column should remain wider than the sidebars. Paid ads should contain text and thumbnail pictures only until Twits click on a button to expand them. Twits know that Twitter needs sponsors, but sponsors need to have it firmly in mind, at all times, that the different benefits people get from Twitter come from keeping the individual tweets dominant over the paid ads, at all times, in all ways.

(Yes, this can be of benefit directly to the sponsors, but they're going to have to think outside the box to accept the potential benefit. They might need to take a break or do some deep breathing to cope with the cognitive dissonance.)

4. Twitter's safety is maintained by site visitors' control of their own experience. Nobody wants to watch a video that starts with someone saying "Today we're going to beat up a younger kid" or "Today I'm going to slash my wrists," right? Yes, people did things like that on Facebook, and while other people sat there horrified, unable to believe what they were watching, these deranged Facebookers actually committed suicide and real crimes, in real time, live on social media. What have we learned from this? No, NOT to try to filter out bad content so that people don't see it. That's what will NOT help, so don't ever even think about it again. What helps is to watch for the bad content and take it seriously. Somebody posts, "Today we're going to beat up a younger kid." Leave that message where it is! Police should have someone watching. In case they don't, the social media site should have a prominently displayed "hot button" that notifies a site monitor to call the police. Police can trace the signal, find the source of the bad content, and probably stop the crime before it happens, while the malicious user is still bragging about what he's going to do. 

You need to trust individual users, now that people realize that these things are possible, to call the police and then click on to something more pleasant to watch. Which they will do. People love letting other people take care of problems. One of Junior's little friends just threatened suicide, notify the authorities, now back to the chat with the person whose screen image is a woman in a low-cut blouse.

5. Twitter's content is spontaneous and uncensored. People exchange PERFECTLY FRANK opinions of the sponsors' products. You know how that works. People do not actually say, like the character in the Totally Amateurish Radio Drama put together by the characters in an old radio serial that was re-broadcast when I was a kid, "I can find it because I have my new Brand X flashlight. It runs on two 'D' batteries and cost 79 cents at Store Y." Fifty-one weeks in a year they go to Wal-Mart, buy a few dozen staples they use every day, come home, and never think about posting anything as basic and boring as that they have this weekly ritual of buying things they enjoy using at this store. Then the week something goes wrong, they get on social media and flame that Wal-Mart where they expect they should be able to enjoy, in a bland boring way, buying the things they use every day. They never type a word about why they like that Wal-Mart better than the Target, or vice versa. Nor do they type about all the groceries and toiletries they like to use every day. Only when something goes wrong do they flame the everlovin' daylights out of the store and/or the product that disappointed them.

Yes, we all understand the TV sponsors hate this. Yes, we all understand it's the one thing TV sponsors want to censor out of existence in TV Land. But that's what makes live, uncensored, unfiltered social media fun...and what can make them useful to sponsors. They just have to accept this: The Twits who made Twitter great do not live in TV Land, nor do many of them even visit TV Land. Sposnors have to venture into our neighborhood. To do that safely, as when they visit the neighborhoods of the Black friends they all claim to have or at least want, they need to show respect.

What do sponsors do when somebody...like me, because in this respect I am, if anything, a harder sell than the typical Twit, yet it is possible to sell me things...somebody who never thinks of tweeting "We just went to Wal-Mart and bought our favorite brands of groceries and toiletries: Brand X, Y, Z... What fun!" as person might easily do fifty times in a year, does, unfortunately, think of tweeting "Wal-Mart was out of the Brand X soap, the Brand Y printer paper, AND the Brand Z rice I always buy there, AND THE CLERK WAS RUDE!!!"? 

First, it's OK to pound a fist on the table or mutter the rude words that come to the sponsors' minds. Everyone can understand that. 

Now, having acknowledged and released those emotions, the sponsors should be ready to think creatively about how to spin these moments in the direction of profits.

Some people are Difficult Customers and proud of it. We are both made and born this way. Some people voted for Jimmy Carter because they've always gone through life thinking "Why not the best?", but they've been made to feel ashamed of it. Others have embraced it. I was brought up by a well-known Difficult Customer. I preferred spending time with milder-mannered adults rather than my Drill Sergeant Dad, and didn't think I wanted to grow up like him, so I didn't always complain about things as a young woman. I even went to one of those churches where the False Gospel of Nicely-Nice Verbal Abuse had crept in and some people may actually have been able to believe that it was nice not to tell people what they needed to improve...for a short time. Then I got out into the grown-up world of work and realized that well-known Difficult Customers were my best customers. They didn't have to sound like total old-school drill sergeants. Dad was one and sounded like one, but more successful Difficult Customers were fractionally more tactful than that. Fractionally. And I even had the pleasure of voting for one of them for President. I really like a Difficult Customer who is tough, but fair, and I decided before it was too late that I did want to grow up and be one. So now I am.

What makes people choose to be Difficult Customers is that we know that indulging people in undesirable behavior, such as imagining that the seller is ever "on equal terms" with a Customer, is not doing those people any favors. That's it, and that's all. We can be pleased--and we actually enjoy rewarding people when we are pleased. But you do have to earn the rating you want. You have to please us. 

That's where social media come in as the way to market your products to us. We can be pleased. We want to be pleased. And, because you are not wired to be able to understand how to please us, on social media we'll tell you exactly what you need to know.

You just have to think outside the TV advertising box. You cannot go on social media to pound your words into our minds; that's killed other social media sites already, and it can kill both Facebook and Twitter, too. You can go on social media and regain our good will by doing what it takes to please us. 

Not by looking for any rewards before you've earned them. I've been known to give zero stars if the "rate the service you received" screen pops up before I say it's time for it to pop up. 

Not by just trying to smooth over the "feelings" while ignoring the facts. Emotional feelings come and go. They last approximately ninety seconds, then fade quickly if they're not aggravated by feeding them more attention than they deserve. So if, let us say, you represent a shoe store where somebody tried on a pair of shoes, told the clerk they'd take that pair, accepted a wrapped box, took it home, opened the box, and discovered a completely different pair of shoes that didn't even match inside the box, you do not need to waste time with "I can tell you're upset." 

(Number one: if you believe you're a psychotherapist, what are you doing in customer service? Number two: you don't know which people use "upset" to mean a milder form of "angry" and which use it to mean a milder form of "nauseated," but you don't want the conversation to be about either of those things. Number three: the customer may be a woman, in which case, if you've CUTESIPATED her by ignoring a statement of FACT and babbling about her supposed "feelings," you have just outed yourself as a hater and made it her goal to get you fired. From your next ten jobs after this one, likely.) 

You need to own your feelings, approximately as frankly as the customer has just expressed per own feelings, as in "I'm very sorry that happened! It makes me feel like an idiot! Please let me send you the pair of shoes you intended to buy. If you could be so kind as to bring back the box, just in case we have another pair that look just like them somewhere and can donate both pairs to a secondhand store, I'd be grateful." 

Now you're making your store look good. Window dressing is all very well, but you're displaying honesty and a commitment to good service. Now the customer is motivated to reward you. Don't push; let it come naturally. You may have to grovel to a customer who you think is making unreasonable, unrealistic demands, repeatedly, depending on how deeply the customer is set in that dissatisfaction groove, but eventually you'll get free advertising from this customer. And if other people agree with you that this customer is unusually hard to please,per recommendations rate. People automatically discredit everything you say about your products or your honesty or your commitment to customer service, but if you get full marks from that customer, you are obviously doing something right--they'll try a box of whatever you're selling, too.

Before social media, it might have taken months or years for the Difficult Customer to feel confident enough to give you a positive recommendation. Maybe in real life he's never had a conversation about shoes with anyone outside the store. Maybe in real life she has no friends and her grandchildren avoid talking to her long enough to hear her opinions. But on social media, all of the Difficult Customer's followers can see your conversation. Maybe they agree that the customer expects too much; maybe they agree that you're doing a good job. Either way, you've just demonstrated to them, without either paying for an advertisement or automatically self-discrediting by advertising, that your store is a place to look for honest, courteous service. They have not only noticed your brand; they've laid down a foundation of agreement with your message. That kind of advertisement is like motherly love: there's no price tag on it, because it's beyond price.

Of course, some complaints are harder to turn into super-value publicity than others are. Everyone understands that Wal-Mart is so big that some complaints are inevitable. The person who posted the complaint about not finding X, Y, and Z at Wal-Mart will probably be back in the store next week, as will the people who read the complaint. What about "I used your product, as directed, and the doctor reckons that's why I now have cancer"? What about "Taking the guns away from patients only makes Prozac Dementia homicide-suicides deadlier--we have to monitor use of the DRUGS!"? 

This is where Yaccarino has the opportunity to be of real, lasting service to humankind. She needs to stand firm on those first principles.No censorship, ever

In fact she should consider making it part of Twitter's Terms of Service: "If a sponsor tries in any way to suppress complaints about a product, that will be taken as an admission that the product is harmful and the sponsor is not trying to repair the damage, so the sponsor will be permanently banned." And stick to that, however big and rich the corporaiton is and however much they offer. Make that an advertising point for Twitter. "Bayer tried to suppress the Glyphosate Awareness movement? Bayer's gone. Lilly failed to encourage the newspapers to print the results of an analysis of a homicide-suicide's blood tests? Lilly will never be seen on Twitter. Merck had the gall to say rude things to and about people whose children were harmed by vaccines? Die, Merck, die." 

If people have, inadvertently and in good faith, made a product that turned out to be more harmful than they thought it would be, then the way for them to demonstrate that good faith is to take everything the indignant customers throw at them. Humbly. Gratefully. With sincere penitence. "Yes, Sir, it's possible that our product hastened the progress of your cancer. Please accept our deepest apologies and know that your widow and orphans will never be poor," s all Bayer should have had to say--over and over, with different specifics and pronouns--since the total global ban onglyphosate that should have gone into effect in 2018. 

It's been said that, if you look out the window and see a little old lady being beaten until blood drips on the pavement, and you don't feel a reaction, you are what they call a psychopath. Well, I happen to be a little old lady, and I've been battered by repeated glyphosate poisoning--of the air, of food, of water--many times. So far I've not gushed blood onto pavement--only a bathroom floor, once, and you may be sure I scrubbed that floor. But there've been enough days in the past two years when I've stayed home, because I was likely to gush blood onto pavement, that I now classify myself as disabled. I do not want a pension. I want to go back to work. I want that glyphosate ban. And if you don't feel a reaction, you might want to talk to a psychiatrist about that. 

Feel that reaction, Yaccarino, and reconnect the global Glyphosate Awareness network Twitter helped me build, before the coward-boy Agrawal let Bayer interfere with our telling the truth. We've all heard and heard and heard about the coronavirus panic and the fear that people might not be saved by the vaccines that turned out to make them more vulnerable to the way the virus had mutated by the time the vaccine was available...oh well, anyway, it seemed to be so terribly necessary to censor anti-vaccine tweets so that...BOSH, I say. Everyone in Glyphosate Awareness knows the corporate censorship started with us, after political censorship had found a way to exploit the system during the 2016 elections. (Lilly had been leaning on newspapers not to print the most important fact in every homicide-suicide story since 2001, and Merck may have been gaslighting and insulting people with vaccine injury claims before that.) 

Twitter needs to take a firm stand on its first principles. Sponsors with genuine good intentions need to support that firm stand. Nothing must be offered to those who want to censor the unpleasant truth about their products except endless, boundless contempt.

If a corporation has any right to continue to exist, its executives and stockholders need to accept that market forces are what nature intended to impose morality on the corporation. Censorship must not be allowed to protect the corporation's profits. Rather,, any attempt to suppress the facts about a product must cut so deeply into the corporation's profits that nobody would dare to suggest such an immoral, unethical, stupid idea.

And if that means the Democratic Party has a lot of apologizing to do for having hidden behind the filthy coattails of the corporate censors, during even one election--and if that little venture into censorship costs all Democrats any chance at State or federal office for another decade!--even that would serve the Ds right. They didn't start apologizing and purging their ranks soon enough. They need to be doing that, nonstop, from now until November.

Web Log 6.20.23

Granted, I do spend a lot of my e-time on correspondence with publishers of religious content these days, and a lot on correspondence with poetry publishers. But I do find other tidbits here and there...today we have sports!

Sports 

I read about homeboy in the newspaper, started to open Twitter, reminded myself that Twitter has gone pretty much dead for the private users who built it. Seeing that tweet from that poor woman who hadn't even been aggravating an evil corporation, afaik, who was only trying to find a home for a dog--and seeing that the tweet only actually reached her e-friends the day after the dog was scheduled to be killed--has changed the way I think of Twitter. The newspapers would have to be printing, as headline news, "TWITTER ANNOUNCES TOTAL REVERSAL OF ALL CHANGES TO ORIGINAL CENSORSHIP POLICY, SCRAPS ALL ALGORITHMS, RESTORES EQUALITY TO ALL ACCOUNTS," for me to go back there. So, instead, youall get to read about my high school's latest super-achiever on ESPN! Go Big Blue! Go, Mac McClung!

Book Review: Time Traveling to 1983

Title: Time Traveling to 1983 

Author: Michael B. Allen

Date: 2023

ISBN:  9798367220841

Length: 96 pages

Quote: "Despite having a difficult first term as Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, the leader of the Conservative Party, won the election by the most decisive victory since 1945, with a 144-seat majority."

Feminism was working in 1983: Women were moving into top seats without even having to identify as feminists. Justice O'Connor had settled quietly into her job; it was Prime Minister Thatcher's turn to dominate the relatively pleasant news headlines of 1983.

I remember 1983 as a year when I didn't like reading the news. Most headline news stories were still about men. They were not about President Reagan's speeches being well received or Douglas Adams' books being hysterically funny, either, although those things were happening. The men on the front pages above the folds of newspapers were mostly violent criminals. And be warned--although this series of year-in-retrospect books is wholesome historical fluff, Time Traveling to 1983 does bring that back to life. Murders and terrorists, and hunting down the last surviving Nazis passed as the good news. 

Hello, newspaper editors? Nazis were not exactly pleasant breakfast reading, even if they were being arrested, back when they were alive. Nazis became an entertaining, even kinky, stereotype only after the real ones were all dead.

Then there was the Miss America pageant of 1983, the year the pageant lost all claims to respect. White pageant-watchers said ugly things because the pageant winner identified as Black. Black pageant-watchers totally failed to support her because she wasn't Black enough. 


Michael Jackson's song about this kind of thing came later. 

While other Miss Americas toured the country making sweet, vapid little speeches about their dreams of ending world hunger and making the world a happy place for all the little children, for a year, and then went home and had babies, Vanessa Williams caught hate until someone finally dug up an old nude picture of her and demanded that she be forced to surrender her crown, because Miss Americas were still supposed to be "pure" and nudity was not considered "pure." 

(In a college class, around the time Williams was being dethroned, we read sociological studies that showed that confusion about the difference between nudity and immorality was one of the odd assortment of things that define "class" in North America. If your grandparents had college degrees, especially if the women did, you understood that the "shame" of nudity in the Bible was a social, cultural thing. If your grandparents did not learn how to read, you probably took it for granted that all nudity led directly to sexual sin, because you did have enough sense of decency not to have thought in depth about the disparity between this belief and the effect actual nudity was probably having on your grandparents by that time. This kind of thing illustrates how "class" was a matter of culture, not income, even though many things associated with the upper class happen to be expensive. Both Jilly Cooper and Paul Fussell then wrote popular books with Class as their titles. I've not read either book in years but I remember them as interesting, apparently accurate on most points, and quite reliable guides to what was fashionable in what circles in the 1980s. And, yes, the more settled your position as either an intellectual or an heir to old money, the more likely you were to say that Vanessa Williams was a lovely girl whom people ought to leave alone.) 

Thomas skips ahead to tell us that in any case Vanessa had the last laugh. She's still known as a singer and actress, and whatever happened to the other cute chick in whose favor she resigned? The history of the Miss America pageant does list a few other winners who went on to do something with their education--Diane Sawyer, Lynda Carter, Lee Meriwether, and I suppose we should still count Anita Bryant--but nowadays people urge their daughters to qualify for scholarships based on actual academic work rather than body proportions.

Sally Ride and Billie Jean King made headlines in 1983 and belong in this book. Would they have been so popular if they'd been branded by "sexual identities" rather than their legitimate identities as Anglo-American women? Probably not, but we'll never know. In 1983 we still had a quaint custom known as minding our own business. The whole idea of women's using the title "Ms" instead of "Miss" and "Mrs" came from our idea that it was pretty rude to tell the world whether or not someone was married; that might be a matter of public record but it was not the first thing a nice person wouldwant to know. I miss that rule of etiquette, now. As a matter of public record, silence about Ride's, and King's, and Michael Jackson's, and other celebrities' sexual kinks was not death even for their careers. Silence was a chance for people to like them. 

His discussion of 1983 fashions may strike people who still have a few in their closets as remarkably able to overlook the influence of Diana Spencer, and his list of typical 1983 prices is less complete than the price lists in the earlier books in this series that I've read. Lists of 1983 movies, books, and music are thorough as ever. 

As before,. I recommend buying a printed copy so everyone can look at the nostalgic photos and reminisce. This review is appearing almost six months later than it was meant to appear, because the colorful photos take up a lot of memory and snagged not only in Outlook's spam filter but in its spam-deleting program.