A Peek Backwards, as Far Back as Possible

peek

Never before have I deliberately tried to recall my earliest memories. This morning, however, simply to see what might happen, I tried it. In my imagination, I returned to further back than I ever had gone before, to a period before I learned to communicate. In this early period, I could visualize things, with the imagery which appeared being geometric in nature. Later, I had to learn English, as a second language, to express the mathematical ideas in my head. My first word, according to my parents, described one of the two shining round things in the sky: “Moon.” I have always preferred moonlight to sunlight, for the intensity of direct sunlight is painful to me.

At least, that’s how I remember these things; I could be wrong about the earliest parts. All I know is that the image above popped into my head, when I tried to recall my oldest accessible memory. I then made the image above, in a short period of time, using Stella 4d, Polyhedron Navigator, available to try for free at this website. (I’ve used the program for over a decade, and find it an indispensable tool for geometrical investigations, such as this recreation of what I found in this morning’s early-memory-search.)

The Inverted Popularity of This Aspie’s Phobias and Philias, Part I: An Explanation

phobias and philias

The image above contains three colors: white, black, and red. The words appear in red because I see it as a color denoting positive or negative intensity, and phobias and philias are both certainly intense. To “see red,” I have learned, does not usually mean what it would mean if I said it myself. Consistent with Asperger’s Syndrome, which I have, I tend to be almost completely literal in the words I use, while the non-Aspie majority often uses words in confusing (to me) non-literal ways. Over the years, I have figured out that this phrase means, when non-Aspies say it,  that they are extremely angry. (I, however, would only say “I see red” if I was actually seeing light with the wavelength-range, ~620 to ~740 nm, which our species has labeled, in English, as “red.”) On the other hand, red roses and Valentine’s Day hearts are popularly used to symbolize romantic love, which is an intensely positive emotion, while extreme anger is extremely negative. White and black, the other colors above, in much of the world, are commonly associated with, respectively, positive and negative things. I, on the other hand, view these colors the opposite way: I have avoided sunlight for much of my life, and continue to do so (to the point where I need to take supplements of vitamin D), while also reveling in darkness, in much the same way that I revel in my “Aspieness.” Right now, it is daytime here, and I am writing this inside, in a dark room, with the only artificial light reaching me coming from computer screens.

It is a common misconception that Aspies (an informal term many people with Asperger’s use for ourselves) are non-emotional. After all, two well-known fictional characters from different incarnations of Star Trek, Spock and Data, are based, in my opinion, on Aspie stereotypes. Stereotypes, I have observed, are usually based on some real phenomenon, and in this case, that phenomenon is that many Aspies experience emotions in radically different ways from the non-Aspie majority — so differently that we are sometimes perceived by non-Aspies to be emotionless, although that is not the case. This causes a considerable amount of tension, and no small amount of outright hostility, between the community of Aspies and the non-Aspie majority. When I write on the subject of Asperger’s Syndrome, I try to do so with the goal of explaining and understanding our differences, in order to reduce Aspie/non-Aspie misunderstanding, which is both common and unhelpful — in both directions. This is the reason I use the factual, non-hostile term “non-Aspie,” in place of the unhelpful and perjorative term “neurotypical” (a word in common use within the Aspie community), one of three unfortunate words discussed in this post.

Explaining my choices of colors in the image above was a prelude to a personal, mathematical analysis of the inverted popularity of my own phobias and philias. I have long observed that I have an intense, inexplicable affinity (in many cases, reaching the level of a “philia,” an often-misunderstood word and suffix, for reasons I will discuss below) for things which the majority, in my part of the world (the American South) hates and/or fears. Examples include spiders, cats, the number thirteen (and all other prime numbers), mathematics in general, geometry in particular (strangely, even many people who like mathematics still dislike the subfield of geometry), being different from those around me, darkness, the color black, night, the physical sciences, evolution (which happens, like it or not), enclosed spaces, heights, flying on airplanes, women, and Muslims. I have also struggled with phobias, working (with professional help) on eliminating them, one by one, but they tend to be less common. Examples of targets for my current and past phobias include light, especially sunlight, to the point where I actually have to take vitamin D supplements; as well as voice calls on cell phones (human voices coming out of small boxes freak me out); death; the life sciences; insurance; sports (and related events, such as pep rallies); loud noises; efforts to control me; and, since my mother died, last November 16, the 16th day of any month, especially at, and after, six months after her death.

I’m a teacher, and it’s the 16th of July, and I simply do not have the option of falling apart on the 16th of every month when school starts again next month, at a new school, with new students, for, as the saying goes, the students will arrive — whether I’m ready or not. That’s no way to start a school year.

I have much to be optimistic about, for I will be teaching in a different building, but on a much-improved schedule, with far fewer different subjects to prepare for each day than I had last year. When I fell asleep last night, after completing four full days of training to teach Pre-AP Physical Science for the first time, starting next month, some part of me knew that mental health improvement — before the 16th hit again, today — was essential. Was that something about which I was consciously thinking? No. I apparently rewrote my mental software (again) last night, an ability I have worked on developing for over thirty-five years. When this brain-software-debugging process first became evident, a few years back, it was happening in my sleep, just as happened again last night, and it took some time for me to figure out exactly what was going on, and how my ability to rapidly adapt to change had improved. 

In Part II of this post, I will analyze, mathematically, the inverted popularity of my phobias, compared to the most common phobias, ranked by incidence among the population. First, however, it is necessary for me to explain what I mean — and do not mean — by the word “philia.” There is a serious problem with this word, in English, when it appears as a suffix, and that is due to an unfortunate linguistic error: the incorrect application of a Greek idea, and word, to the horrific, disgusting, and criminal behavior of child molesters, as well as those who have sex with corpses. The ancient Greeks, as is well-known, used four different words for different kinds of love, and “philia” (φιλία) referred specifically to fraternal, or “brotherly,” love. This was not a word the ancient Greeks used for any type of sexual act. The words “pedophilia” and “necrophilia” are, for this reason, historical anomalies. Both terms are misnomers, meaning, simply, that they are messed-up words, and their existence creates the potential for misunderstanding. A philia, properly understood, is simply the opposite of a phobia. Phobias are better-understood, of course, and require no detailed explanation. 

One example of what I mean by my own philias should suffice. I have, for many years, had an abnormally strong fascination with spiders. I like them — a lot — so much so, in fact, that I actually have a tattoo of a spider, and often wear a spider necklace, to express how much I like this one biological order, the largest within the class of arachnids. Despite my strong affinity for spiders, however, I have zero sexual interest in them. It is accurate to call me an arachnophiliac, which is the opposite of an arachnophobe.

It is now near 9 pm on Saturday, November 16, and Friday night’s sleep therapy gave me the energy to work on the needed improvements to my mental health during the day today, by using reflective writing as a therapeutic technique. I also have a new appreciation for sleep, which will come soon. Part II will be posted soon, but it will not be written until after I have enjoyed a full night of sleep — starting, hopefully, in a few minutes. Goodnight, and thank you for reading Part I.

[Update, July 17: Part II is now posted here.]

Bible Hub: A Website Review

http://biblehub.com/

bible hub

Whether one is a Christian, or not, we should all be able to agree that the Bible is an important book, and that greater understanding of it will benefit anyone who lives on this planet. There are, after all, well over a billion people, alive today, living in families which try to use the Bible as a guidebook for life. (As an aside: is it also true that anyone on earth can benefit from improving their understanding of the Qur’an? Of course it is — and for exactly the same reason.)

Before today, I had never encountered a website which serves that purpose — greater understanding of this important book we call the Bible — with the purity of Bible Hub. I found it by accident, while discussing, with my wife, the original languages in which the Bible was written: Hebrew for the Old Testament, and, in the New Testament, an ancient form of Greek — plus one important sentence (depicted as the last pre-death-and-resurrection words spoken by Jesus) in Aramaic. The New Testament was not written for an audience which understood Aramaic, so the books of the Bible which include this sentence (Matthew and Mark), as originally written (as far as we can tell), follow the Aramaic words of this sentence with a translation into the same form of Greek (Koine, or the ancient Greek of the common people, as opposed to the ruling class) in which the rest of the New Testament is written. The influence of Greek culture (which could have spread along with the Greek language) could only have affected the New Testament, not the Old Testament, for historical reasons. The two of us were discussing the possibility that the absence, then presence, of a Greek influence might help explain why the Old and New Testaments are so radically different from each other. For quite some time, though, I became sidetracked by my inability to remember the last words of Jesus on the cross, in Aramaic, and I decided to investigate that topic more closely.

I do not read Greek, so I have read the words in this important New Testament sentence (“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”) only in English translations of the Bible. I simply used Google to do a search for this sentence — and that’s how I found Bible Hub.

On the two pages at this website related to the verses I was researching, the first thing I found was an amazing variety of English translations of each verse, clearly labeled, including many translations of which I was previously unaware. Navigating to other languages is easy, at the upper right. Below the numerous English translations, there is commentary, but it is clearly labeled as such, so that no one will confuse the commentary with the various translations of the verses in question. If one wants to read sermons related to a given verse, there is an easy-to-find link provided for that purpose, but it is easier, of course, to not click on a hyperlink than it is to click on it.

My favorite feature of this website, by far, is that I was able to get the information I wanted quickly, without anything at all telling me how to interpret what I read. At Bible Hub, the default format is to let readers interpret the various parts of the Bible for themselves. For that reason, in addition to other features described above, I give this website an A+ grade.

A Plea for Consistency in the Use of Numerical Prefixes

consistency

First, let’s face facts: the numerical prefixes currently in use, in English, are a horrible mess. Most of the ones used with polyhedra, for example, such as tetra- (4) and penta- (5), are derived from Greek. For polygons, however, a four-sided figure is usually called a quadrilateral, with “quad-” derived from Latin, just as it is in “quadrillion,” or “quadruplets.” Why use two prefixes for the number four? It would be more consistent (and therefore better), since four-faced polyhedra are called tetrahedra, for four-sided polygons to be called tetragons, just as we call five-sided polygons pentagons. Consistency improves comprehension, simply by reducing the number of prefixes one needs to understand, and can therefore aid in both teaching and learning. Inconsistency, though, has the opposite effect, and that benefits no one.

The Greek-based prefix for 5, “penta-,” has a Latin-based rival, also: “quint-,” as in quintuplets, or the number quintillion. It doesn’t make sense to use two different prefixes for the same thing, for both English, and mathematics, are complicated enough without adding unnecessary complications. The necessary complications are quite enough!

My preference is for Greek-based prefixes, for two reasons: (1) more of them are in use than their Latin counterparts, and (2) the Latin-speaking Romans appropriated ideas from the ancient Greeks, not the other way around.

Even the number one is not immune from this problem. For one, we use “mono-,” “uni-,” “un-,” “uni-,” “en-, “and “hen-,” all to mean “one,” and each has at least a slightly different derivation. Examples include “monomer,” “monologue,” “unicycle,” “undecillion,” “undecagon,” “endecagon,” and “hendecagon,” the last three of which all name the same polygon. (Also, these last three prefixes are for 11, actually, formed by combining a prefix for the one with the Greek-based “deca-” prefix for ten. Combinations of prefixes will be addressed later.) I call 11-sided polygons “hendecagons,” for both prefixes in that word are derived from Greek.

Prefixes for the number two are also unnecessarily numerous, as well as ambiguous. “Bi-” is used in “bicycle,” “binary,” and “billion,” but that’s a horrible idea, since “bi-” is also used, in some cases, for ½. This shows up, for example, in chemistry: the bulk of a carbonic acid molecule, if fully ionized, is called the carbonate ion. However, if it is only half-ionized, it is often called the bicarbonate ion, as in sodium bicarbonate, better-known as baking soda. In chemistry, “di-” is used for two, as in carbon dioxide, a molecule containing two oxygen atoms. “Do-” and “duo-” are also both used for the number two, with the first derived from Greek, and the second from Latin. When combined with the Greek prefix for ten, to make twelve, these prefixes appear in words such as “dodecagon,” “dodecahedron,” and “duodecimal.” I find the word “duodecimal” particular irritating, for it combines Greek and Latin prefixes in a single word. If one person had deliberately designed this entire system, with the goal of causing confusion, it would have taken a lot of work to invent a system more confusing than the one we actually use.

If, for ½, we only used “bi-,” that would be nice, but that isn’t what we do. Half a circle is a semicircle, and then half a sphere is a hemisphere. Since it originates from Greek, my preference is for “hemi-.”

At least three’s prefix is usually consistent, with “tri-” being all-but-universal. The only exception I know of appears when “tri-” is combined with “deca-,” to create a prefix for thirteen, and the Greek work for “and,” which is “kai,” often appears with it, as in triskaidecaphobia, the fear of the number thirteen — in this word, “tri-” is modified to “tris-.” However, a thirteen-sided polygon is simply called a “tridecagon,” with no “s” attached to “tri-,” and the “kai” omitted.

I don’t actually care if we use “kai,” or not, in numerical prefixes, but we should pick one or the other, and stick with it. It makes no sense that a fifteen-sided polygon is usually called a “pentadecagon,” while sometimes called a “pentakaidecagon.” Why do we not simply choose just one?

Six and seven are similarly troublesome. The numbers “sextillion” and “septillion,” as well as the month of September, all use Latin-derived prefixes for these numbers. I prefer the Greek-derived prefixes used with polygons and polyhedra: “hexa-,” and “hepta-.” With eight, though, as in the case of three, English-speakers lucked out, with “octopus,” “octillion,” “octagon,” and “octahedron” all starting with the same three letters.

With nine, however, our system falls apart again. In high school, geometry students are taught the Latin-prefix-containing word “nonagon” for a nine-sided polygon, and “November” contains yet another Latin-based prefix meaning nine. (It was named the ninth month, rather than the eleventh, because the start of each new year was marked with the first day of Spring in ancient times, rather than the first day of January.) A professional mathematician, however, is more likely to call a nonagon an “enneagon,” for “ennea-” is derived from Greek, making “enneagon” consistent with its “neighbors,” the octagon and the decagon. Ten is not a problem, though, for the Greek-based “deca-” was simply appropriated by the Latin-speaking Romans, who named their tenth month December — using a prefix close enough to “deca-” that it is unlikely to cause confusion.

One numbers exceed ten, though, a new problem is encountered, in addition to the issue of whether or not we use “kai.” Numbers such as 12 and 24 require us to combine prefixes, but there is no consistency in the order in which this is done. For example, a twelve-faced polyhedron is a “dodecahedron” — using a prefix for two, followed by a prefix for ten: the smaller number, and then the larger number. We continue this practice with words such as “pentadecagon,” already described above. Then, however, we have this thing, the dual of the snub cube:

Penta Icositetra

The faces of this polyhedron are 24 pentagons, and it isn’t the only well-known polyhedron with 24 faces, so “pentagonal” is part of this polyhedron’s name, which makes sense. However, if its name followed the pattern in the paragraph above, that would make it a “pentagonal tetraicosahedron,” or perhaps a “pentagonal tetrakaiicosahedron” — the smaller “tetra-,” meaning “four,” would come before the larger “icosa,” meaning twenty. At least both these prefixes originated in the Greek language, but, for mysterious reasons, the prefixes are put in the reverse order, relative to the order used for the dodecahedron: it is called the “pentagonal icositetrahedron.” Polyhedral names are hard enough to learn without arbitrary switches between “smaller, then larger,” and its opposite, “larger, then smaller.” We should choose a method, one or the other, and then stick to it.

[Note: the rotating polyhedron above was created using Stella 4d, software you can buy, or try for free, at this website.]

In chemistry, naming-disputes (what to call a newly-synthesized element, for example) are settled by the IUPAC: the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry. I know of no organization with a corresponding role in the field of mathematics, but, if one were created, perhaps that would help get this mess cleaned up.

On Deciphering Informal Medical Language, from an “Aspie” Point of View

Confusion

Confusion

A major challenge for many Aspies (an informal name many of those with Asperger’s use for ourselves) is communication with the larger, non-Aspie population. Frustration and anger are common reactions to this challenge — sometimes from both sides. The reasons for this are known: these two parts of the population use language quite differently. Aspies tend to use and interpret language in absolute, literal terms, to a point that seems odd to most. Non-Aspies, by contrast, are often more flexible with use of language, and are (somehow) able to convey ideas between themselves using words which mean the exact opposite of their literal meaning. (Several examples will follow.) This difference is all that is required to explain why Aspies and non-Aspies often have trouble communicating with each other.

Just as with most people, Aspies are quite different from each other, but we also have some traits in common. For example, an intense urge to study and analyze some esoteric subject, which few others care about, is common — but the identity of that subject, or subjects, varies widely from one Aspie to another. My special interests all involve puzzles; I enjoy trying to figure out mathematical, scientific, and linguistic problems, in particular. Another Aspie might share none of those interests, but might be able to rattle off, say, hundreds of sports statistics, as easily as I can list the names of dozens of polyhedra. The existence of these “special interests,” as they are known, is (nearly?) universal among Aspies, but the topic of these special interests is not. For example, fewer than 1% of the Aspie population shares my obsession with polyhedra — a fact I know because the world’s most-focused “polyhedra people” are so uncommon that we have established many lines of communication between each other, enabling the formation of a rough estimate of this population. My estimate is ~300 people, worldwide. Even if I am off by a factor of ten, that simply isn’t nearly as many people as 1/10th of 1% of the world’s rapidly-growing Aspie population.

In my experience, medical terminology, in particular, has provided large numbers of baffling puzzles over the years. When talking to medically-trained professionals, I always let them know I am a teacher of science and mathematics. This lets them know that they need not hold back with medical jargon, which has a large overlap with scientific and mathematical jargon. I can understand it fairly well, and, when an unfamiliar term is used, I simply ask for a definition. When I need to, I take notes. If medical instructions are not clear, precise, literal, and detailed, people can die as a result. For this reason, such instructions generally are written in a precise, literal form of English which is a beter match for “Aspiespeak” than what we typically hear from non-Aspies.

On the other hand, when I speak to non-Aspies about medical subjects, I often get quite confused, and I suspect this happens with many other Aspies, as well. Examples follow.

“Nerve pills” — As someone who takes prescribed medication for the relief of anxiety (which is the way a doctor or pharmacist would likely phrase it), I have occasionally been asked if I might benefit from taking a “nerve pill.” Before remembering the translation of this term, I always think, and sometimes say, something along these lines: “I’m already nervous. Why would I take a pill to make me more nervous?” It’s the implied, omitted parts of the phrase, of course, that contribute to my confusion. As it is, this practice makes me wonder why we don’t call deodorant “oderant” instead, a term coined by Jerry Seinfeld, since that would make equally little sense, but would at least be consistent.

The related phrase “pain pills” elicits a similar response from me. Due to a fall over twenty years ago, I already hurt, and, sometimes, I need something that relieves pain — but I never need anything to cause more pain! Fortunately, the people I actually see for such medication, when it is needed, are physicians and pharmacists, and they use literal, precise terms for such medication. They also know the risks of such medication, and conversations with such people are important for anyone needing such medication, for obvious reasons: such medications should only be used in ways consistent with advice from doctors and pharmacists. Patients cannot obtain such advice without having honest conversations with these knowledgeable professionals.

The most confusing informal medical term like this which I hear, though, is the term “crazy pills.” I don’t hide the fact that I obtain professional help for mental health issues, and explained my reasons for this openness here. Most of those who do seek treatment for mental health problems, though, are not Aspies, and so it is quite common to hear such treatment, in the form of medication, referred to by this confusing term, which I must admit I intensely dislike. For one thing, the word “crazy” is not one to use lightly, due to the fact that it has been used, historically, to stigmatize those who need help maintaining or restoring mental health. For another, the literal meaning of “crazy pills” is the exact opposite of its in-use meaning.

The term I use to replace “crazy pills,” in my own speech, is “sanity pills.” Sanity is, after all, my preferred state, and that is the reason the psychiatry-related category on this blog is named “Mental Health,” not “Mental Illness.” Reminders that mental health is the goal are helpful; the opposite focus is not.

Puzzles like this (figuring out non-literal terms used by non-Aspies) are not my favorite kind; in fact, I don’t enjoy them at all, for little or no logic is involved, and any pattern which might help me learn these things more easily has, so far, eluded me. Non-Aspies seem to just intuitively “know” what such phrases mean, as if they got a memo which was deliberately withheld from Aspies — and that is, for me (and many of us), both baffling, and irritating. Can I understand these things? Yes, with difficulty — I have to figure them out, step by step, each time, due to the fact that they do not make logical, literal sense, and thus do not come naturally to me. In fact, studying calculus was easier than understanding these common phrases which nearly everyone else just seems to somehow “know,” as if the knowledge was sent to them telepathically, but deliberately withheld from me, for reasons unknown.

For a fictional depiction of Aspie/non-Aspie confusion, this clip from Star Trek: The Next Generation, while not medically-oriented, does illustrate this commuication-problem in a humorous fashion. When the character of Data was created, some “Aspie” characteristics were deliberately included, just as they were for Mr. Spock, his predecessor. Some Aspies have criticized the Star Trek franchise for these practices, but I, personally, think they have been helpful, in that they use humor to try to bridge the currently-existing comprehension-gap. This gap is not helpful, so anything that narrows it is something I like.

Teaching in Central Arkansas? Here’s a Key to Acronyms in Common Use in Our Profession.

For the full list, please follow this link.

Reading Acronym Soup

This site was compiled by teachers. While we have strived for accuracy, we cannot guarantee that this alphabetized list is free from error. It is also not intended to represent the viewpoints of our employers, nor any other organizations. Its purpose is simply to help teachers, especially those new to the profession in our area, navigate education-related “acronym soup.” Suggestions for additions, corrections, or clarifications are welcome — simply leave them in a comment, below.

  • ACSIP: Arkansas Consolidated School Improvement Plan
  • ACT: American College Testing
  • ACTAAP: Arkansas Comprehensive Testing, Assessment, and Accountability Program
  • ADE: Arkansas Department of Education
  • AEA: Arkansas Education Association (state affiliate of the NEA, and our professional organization, which you can join here)
  • ADHE: Arkansas Department of Higher Education
  • AESOP: Automated Educational Substitute Operator (their website is used to report teacher absences and request substitute teachers)
  • AGS: Arkansas Governor’s School
  • AIMSS (also called Arkansas AIMS…

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Kaizen

kaizen

I painted this many years ago, as a classroom poster, and then moved it from classroom to classroom, for years, until the posterboard on which it was painted was finally too damaged for further use. At some point, I will have to make a replacement.

Kaizen is a Japanese word which translates only loosely into English, as “continuous improvement.” To me, it means more than that:  it means never being content with simply staying the person I am today, and going to sleep, each night, with the sincere intention to be a better person tomorrow.

Does this always actually work, as each day becomes the next one? No, I must admit that it doesn’t — but that does nothing to change the fact that keeping the kaizen principle in mind is an excellent way to live one’s life. On a year-to-year basis, it works much better, in practice, than it does from day to day. I am confident that I am a better person now than I was 365 days ago, even though there have, of course, been ups and downs, as the last year has passed.

Setbacks, which happen to everyone, are no reason to give up, and personal improvement, in all important parts of life, will always be a goal worth pursuing.