I use an iPad, but I don’t like Siri. When she’s turned on, it’s by mistake, and without the need for her, um, “help.”
The other day, I accidentally activated Siri. After she said her standard opening bit, I barked at her, “&%$# it, Siri! Go away!”
She replied, in the tone of one with hurt feelings, “I’m just trying to help.” I hadn’t even thought about the fact that she was listening.
Someone actually went to the trouble to give proto-A.I., which is what Siri is, the ability to sulk.
In a class called “Educational Psychology,” the bell curve, a statistical concept often used to describe the distribution of intelligence in humans, should be expected to receive some attention, and, when I took the class, it did — for about five minutes. I found the image below here; in this class, the professor drew a somewhat simpler version of it on a chalkboard.
The professor (who should be glad I do not remember his name, since I would blog it) proceeded to describe, briefly, characteristics associated with different “columns” of the bell curve, as some in academia apply it to intelligence. He then said, “Actually, what I’ve always really wanted to do was to get rid of these people.” He then added an “x” to what he’d drawn on the board. I’ve made it red, simply to make the location where he drew his “x” easier to see.
I sat, in shocked silence, as the majority of the students in the class laughed. Laughed.
Once I could move again, after the initial, paralyzing shock turned into a deepening horror, I looked around the classroom. No one looked appalled, as I was; no one else even seemed to be disturbed, nor even slightly upset. Some were still visibly amused, in fact. I considered objecting, directly to the professor, but I was so affected by the whole episode that I was experiencing severe nausea. I couldn’t speak, for fear of throwing up.
The professor may not have known this — in fact, I would be surprised if he had — but what he was “joking” about has actually happened. It was called the Cambodian genocide, and was carried out by one of the most brutal regimes of the 20th Century, the Khmer Rouge. One of their tools used to stay in power was intimidation, taken to an extreme. In this photograph, from the article linked immediately above, you can see one form of this intimidation: the public display of the skulls of their victims. One need not be able to read to understand the message of such a display; below, the reason why this was important to the Khmer Rouge should become apparent.
I’ve studied this genocide. From just 1975 to 1979, the Khmer Rouge, driven by a radical Stalinist-Maoist and extremely anti-intellectual ideology, managed to reduce the population of Cambodia by an estimated 25%. They targeted, among many others, teachers. They separated children from their parents, since parents are often known to teach their children. They killed people who were seen wearing glasses — because glasses are often used to help people read books. They did their utmost to wipe out as much of the high-intelligence part of the bell curve as possible. They did their best to eliminate literacy.
Those who survived this horror were still devastated, for a whole nation had been traumatized — just imagine an entire country with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). To make this situation even worse, the very people who could have helped most with the post-Khmer-Rouge recovery (doctors, therapists, teachers, clergy, etc. — all professions which require education) were almost entirely wiped out, and the people who could train new recruits for such professions had also been killed. As a direct result of this targeting of intellectuals for slaughter, the effects of the Cambodian genocide lasted far longer than the regime which perpetrated it.
I was thinking about this as the class period ended. In a daze, I walked away — far away. Even though I did return for future class sessions, since the course was a requirement for teacher certification, I never listened to another word that professor said, for he had permanently lost all credibility with me. At the end of the term, I left his class with an “A,” and a renewed determination to oppose those who, like the Khmer Rouge, try to “dumb down” society — at every opportunity. As for the people of Cambodia . . . they are still recovering, and will be, for many more years.
Wiping out a group of people — any group — simply isn’t funny.
I have observed that many people often stop thinking about a phrase, and simply accept it, if they hear it repeated enough times. Since I don’t want to make this error, I’ve developed a habit of questioning such phrases. This quote, from Friedrich Nietzsche, definitely qualifies as a phrase which many believe because it’s repeated a lot, and it is certainly questionable. More than that, in fact: it is utter nonsense — and I can prove it.
The method I will use for this proof is reductio ad absurdam, in which one temporarily assumes the statement is true, then shows that it leads to a conclusion which is pure nonsense, which, in turn, shows that the original assumption of truth was a faulty one.
So the Nietzsche quote, purely for the purposes of this proof, is now (temporarily) assumed to be true. Since being stronger is beneficial, it now follows that we should actually seek out things which damage us, but without killing us. It isn’t hard to think of examples of such behaviors.
If a person were to drive to a hospital’s emergency room, and, while standing just outside the entrance with a hacksaw, started using one hand to attempt to saw off the other one (warning: do not try this yourself!), damage would certainly result. This hypothetical person probably wouldn’t completely lose his hand, for (a) hacksaws are not fast, and (b) someone else would no doubt notice, and take action to stop the self-damage, in time to get him medical attention. He is, after all, already in the perfect place for it.
Another, much more common example:
It’s possible for a person to drink these boxes of inexpensive red wine at a rate of five a week, but it’s an incredibly bad idea. Alcohol will do serious damage, consumed at that rate, given enough time, as can be verified with virtually any physician. Surviving prolonged binge-drinking is possible (but not guaranteed), even if done for a few years; I know this to be true because I have witnessed it. It wasn’t a pretty thing to watch, and the binge drinker could not be persuaded to stop. The binge drinking finally ended, but with an emergency trip in an ambulance needed, for immediate medical care, to prevent imminent death.
In each case, (1) the hypothetical person who tries to saw off his own hand while standing outside an emergency room, and (2) the real person (an adult whom I will not name) who consumed dangerous quantities of alcohol, something happens which damages them, but doesn’t kill them. Does it make them stronger? The first person could easily lose some functionality in his hand, and could also end up in a psychiatric institution. The second person suffered numerous forms of permanent damage to multiple systems of the body, resulting in permanent disability. Both rack up huge medical bills. These aren’t good things, for either person, and they are quite unlikely to “make one stronger.” A far more likely outcome is the exact opposite — each person is weakened, in the sense that are are rendered less able to deal effectively with the rest of their lives.
The proof is now complete. It turns out that those things which do not kill you can, quite possibly, weaken you, and expecting them to make you stronger simply makes no sense. So, world, please stop repeating this insipid Nietzsche-quote. Not only is it logically invalid; it’s also become one of the most annoying clichés in existence.
Fortunately, for those who want advice which actually makes sense, there are many sources available which are not Friedrich Nietzsche.
[Note: I did not create the images in this post, but simply found them with Google image-searches for “hacksaw” and “box of wine.”]
In my last post (click here to see it), I made a case for Arkansans who work in public schools to join the Arkansas Education Association, a state affiliate of the NEA, or National Education Association. I’d now like to introduce you to NEA President Lily Eskelsen Garcia. This video was recorded while she was still the NEA Vice-President, but it remains a great introduction to the kind of person she is.
I don’t often simply yield my blog-space to others . . . but I’m one of Lily’s fans, and have been since I first saw her perform this song, so she gets “airtime” here — without even having to ask for it.
Teachers’ unions are under attack by corporate-backed politicians — all across the country. It’s important that we fight back. The more members we have, the more effectively we can resist the current efforts to reduce the legal rights of those who work in schools (both teachers and support staff). If you are eligible for membership in the NEA (see this page to check on that, and join, please, if you can), I hope you will not only join, but recruit others to join, as well. The more members we have, the stronger we are. The stronger we are, the more likely we are to prevail — over those who trying to destroy public education in this country.
The NEA, and its affiliates, protect the working environment of America’s teachers — and that is also the learning environment of America’s children. Helping the NEA save American public education is, therefore. in the best interests of everyone.
If you teach, or work in some other capacity in an American public school, this is your fight. Please join us.
The Arkansas Education Association is the oldest, largest, most effective, and most well-established professional organization (and union) for educators in Arkansas. I’ve been a member for years, and will explain why, below. First, though, here are three ways to join:
So . . . why join these affiliated local, state, and national organizations? Well, first, let me give you some idea what it costs to be a member. I pay dues of $23.08, by paycheck deduction, twice a month, and that’s the total of my NEA, AEA, and PACT dues. (This amount will vary in other school districts, since each local sets their own dues.) In return, I have a network of people dedicated to (1) protecting my rights as a teacher, everywhere from my own classroom to Capitol Hill, (2) helping me develop professionally as a teacher (through collaboration with an extensive network of colleagues, as well as formal, for-credit Professional Development opportunities), and (3) being ready to come to my legal defense, should I need such assistance.
It is important to remember that a teacher can do absolutely nothing wrong, and still end up in a situation where such assistance is needed — to defend yourself against a false accusation, for example. I’ve been falsely accused of unethical conduct, via an anonymous complaint, in the past; it isn’t a fun situation. Because I was already a PACT/AEA/NEA member, help was provided at no extra cost, and my name was fully cleared. Had I not been a member, I might have had to hire an attorney in that situation — if affording one was possible, but it wasn’t. Few teachers have tens of thousands of dollars on hand to privately hire an attorney, should such a need arise in connection with their jobs, and I was no exception — but union membership takes care of that, if (and only if) you are already a member when trouble strikes. If I consider the dues I pay, vs. what attorneys charge when hired by individuals, I realize the truth: union dues are one of the best bargains available — anywhere.
It is a sad reality that some (not all, but some) administrators have a nasty habit of bullying teachers. In fact, such bullying was exactly what drove me to join PACT/AEA/NEA in the first place. The bullying continued after I joined, so I then reported it to my local’s contacts, and the organization intervened to protect me — successfully. Later, I witnessed similar bullying, of my fellow teachers, by a different administrator, and that’s what prompted my move from being a dues-paying union member to being a much more active union member, and a building Representative as well. In that role, I had the privilege of intervening personally, to do my best to stop such adult-on-adult bullying, and enlisted the help of others, whenever such help was needed. Again, such efforts were successful, although our own confidentiality rules do not allow me to describe the specifics, for we carefully protect the privacy of our members. (Important side note: all of this bullying described above happened in schools other than the school where I currently teach. This is not a coincidence; I am at my current school on purpose, so that I can work with good administrators every day. When teachers are well-treated, as is the norm at my current school, we can do a much better job focusing on, and meeting, the educational needs of our students.)
This is what union members do: we help each other. We protect each other. We support each other. Until the miraculous day when every single person in management and administration suddenly begins behaving ethically, 100% of the time, unions will be needed, and our work will continue to be important. We protect the working environment in schools — and that same working environment is the learning environment for America’s children.
There are other, more dollars-and-cents-oriented reasons to join, as well. For example, through the NEA, I have a quarter-million-dollar life insurance policy which costs me only $32.73 per month — an excellent price. Shopping discounts exist in abundance. There even exist benefits which I haven’t even used yet, simply because there are so many.
Of all the benefits of membership, there is one, above all others, which makes the argument for membership most compelling to me, and that is related to the legal right of representation. For AEA members, the statement below is both vital, and true:
“An employee shall be entitled to and shall be offered the opportunity to have a witness or representative of the employee’s choice present during any disciplinary or grievance matter with any administrator.” This is an Arkansas state law (A.C.A. 6-17-210). Any time an administrator in my district breaks this law, by denying any PACT or PASS member’s request for representation, it is imperative that union leaders be informed of this illegal act, without delay. (One way to reach them is by calling the PACT/PASS office, at 501-374-4955, during business hours.) PACT is our teachers’ union, and PASS is our union for support staff. We work together, which is as it should be. (Those AEA members in other locals, in similar situations, should contact the corresponding leaders of their own locals.)
Union members have representation provided to them upon request, whenever the need for it exists, at no extra cost — for our dues, and the dues of our colleagues, have already paid for it. Those who are not members, by contrast, are at the mercy of the market to find representation, on their own — with no well-organized, powerful organization backing them up, as we have as AEA members. In my opinion, this seals the deal — if you work in an Arkansas school, you can’t afford not to join the AEA, for the benefit of representation, alone. As for the numerous other benefits, they simply make membership an even sweeter deal.
One last thing: should anyone who tries to join the AEA encounter any difficulties doing so, feel free to ask for my personal help, in a comment to this post — and I promise to make certain you get the help you need.
With just two pieces of cardboard and a pair of scissors, you can partition a table which seats four into four sections — one per student. This makes cheating much more difficult, and that’s a good thing for everybody. No tape is needed; each piece of cardboard holds up the other one.
Other materials can be used as well. For one-time use, posterboard is adequate. For something more permanent, wooden boards are recommended.
A doctor needed to look at my brainwaves (and a bunch of other MSLs, also known as “medical squiggly lines”), as recorded during a sleep study, so of course I asked him if I could see them myself. Who wouldn’t want to see their own brainwaves?
Unless you understand all of mathematics — and absolutely no one does — there is a point, for each of us, where mathematics no longer makes sense, at least at that moment. Subjectively, this can make the mathematics beyond this point, which always awaits exploration, appear to be some form of sorcery.
Mathematics isn’t supernatural, of course, but this is a reaction humans often have to that which they do not understand. Human reactions do not require logical purpose, and they don’t always make sense — but there is always a reason for them, even if that reason is sometimes simply that one is utterly bewildered.
In my case, this is the history of my own reactions, as I remember them, to various mathematical concepts. The order used is as close as I can remember to the sequence in which I encountered each idea. The list is, of necessity, incomplete.
Until and unless I experience the demystification of calculus, this blog will continue to be utterly useless as a resource in that subfield of mathematics. (You’ve been warned.) The primary reason this is so unlikely is that I haven’t finished studying (read: playing with) polyhedra yet, using non-calculus tools I already have at my disposal. If I knew I would live to be 200 years old, or older, I’d make learning calculus right now a priority, for I’m sure my current tools’ usefulness will become inadequate in a century or so, and learning calculus now, at age 47, would likely be easier than learning it later. As things are, though, it’s on the other side of the wall between that which I understand, and that which I do not: the stuff that, at least for now, looks like magic — to me.
Please don’t misunderstand, though: I don’t “believe in” magic, but use it simply as a label of convenience. It’s a name for the “box ,” in my mind, where ideas are stored, but only if I don’t understand those ideas on first exposure. They remain there until I understand them, whether by figuring the ideas out myself, or hearing them explained, and successfully understanding the explanation, at which point the ideas are no longer thought of, on any level, as “magic.”
To empty this box, the first thing I would need would be an infinite amount of time. Once I accepted the inevitability of the heat death of the universe, I was then able to accept the fact that my “box of magic” would never be completely emptied, for I will not get an infinite amount of time.
[Image credit: I made a rainbow-colored version of the compound of five cubes for the “magic box” picture at the top of this post, using Stella 4d, a program you may try here.]
As a young child (before I started school), my strong interest in mathematics was always there. No one knew I had Asperger’s at that time, but it is clear to me now, in retrospect, that I was a young “Aspie,” in the early stages of the development of a special interest.
I cannot remember a time without my math-fascination, to the point where I speculate that I was motivated to learn to talk, read, and write English simply to bring more of the mathematics in my head into forms which I could express, and also to gain the ability to research forms of mathematics, by reading about them, which were new to me: negative numbers, fractions, names for extremely large numbers, and so on. I would devour one concept, internalize it, so it could not be forgotten, and quickly move on to my next mathematical “snack.” The shift to geometry-specialization took many years longer; at first, my special interest was simply mathematics in general, to the extent that I could understand it.
I was too young, then, to even understand the difference between actual numbers, and informal numbers I heard others use in conversation, such as zillion, jillion, and especially umpteen, and, armed with this lack of understanding, I endeavored to figure out the properties of these informal numbers. Zillion and jillion were uncountably large: that much seemed clear, although I could never figure out which one was larger. Umpteen, however, seemed more accessible, due to the “-teen” prefix. It seemed perfectly reasonable to me to simplify umpteen to a more fundamental informal number, “ump,” simply by subtracting ten from umpteen, following the pattern I had noticed which connects thirteen to three, seventeen to seven, and so on. This led to the following:
1ϒ – 10 = ϒ (umpteen minus ten equals ump)
I wasn’t using upsilon as a symbol for the informal number “ump” at that age. Rather, I simply needed a symbol, today, to write this blog-post, so I chose one. The capital Greek letter upsilon seems like a good pick. I’m using it more like a digit, here, rather than a variable — although, when I first reasoned this out, over forty years ago, I had not yet learned to distinguish between digits, variables, and numbers, at least not using other peoples’ terms.
Occasionally, I would hear people use ump-based informal numbers (I grew up in Arkansas, you see) which clearly seemed larger than umpteen. One such “number” I heard was, of all things, “umpty-ump.” Well, just how large is umpty-ump? I reasoned that it had to be umpteen minus ten, with this difference then multiplied by eleven.
1ϒ – 10 = ϒ (umpteen minus ten equals ump)
10(ϒ) = ϒ0 (ten times ump equals umpty)
ϒ0 + ϒ = ϒϒ (umpty plus ump equals umpty-ump)
Factoring ump out of the third equation above yields the following:
ϒ(10 + 1) = ϒ(11)
Next, ump cancels on both sides, leaving the following, which is known to be true without the involvement of informal numbers:
10 + 1 = 11
Having figured this out, I would then explain it, at great length, to anyone who didn’t make their escape quickly enough. It never occurred to me, at that age, that there actually are people who do not share my intense interest in mathematics. (Confession: I still do not understand the reason for the shockingly small amount of interest, in mathematics, found in the minds of most people. Why doesn’t everyone find math fascinating, since, well, it is fascinating?)
What I didn’t yet realize is that I was actually figuring out important concepts, with this self-motivated mathematical play: place value in base-ten, doing calculations in my head, some basic algebra, and, of course, the fact that playing with numbers is ridiculously fun. (That last one is a fact, by the way — just in case there is any doubt.)
I did not distinguish play from work at that age, and considered any interruption absolutely unacceptable. This is what I would typically say, if anyone, including my parents, disturbed me while I was working these things out, but was not yet ready to discuss them: “I’m BUSY!”
Everyone who knew me then, I am guessing, remembers me shouting this, as often as I found it necessary.
RobertLovesPi.net 