Weirdness, Baseball Edition

This is an odd thing: the baseball season has arrived, and I did not publish any kind of preview prediction thing. It's the first time in several years I have not bothered to put together a prediction sheet. It's not that my life is too busy right now, per se, but I seem to have little time to spend on activities that are not "must do" actions. Nevertheless, I'd like to say a few things about the new season, just to put a few observations down for the record.

Most notable right now, several teams got off to very good starts. The Dodgers came flying out of the gate, while the Nationals, Cardinals, Rangers and Tigers have all impressed in the early going. Some of these starts will be meaningful in the long run, but I'd caution any fans of these teams about getting too excited just yet. There's a muddled record for fast starting teams achieving ultimate success; especially teams that were nowhere just last season, and are now pushing the envelope in April.

That may mean trouble for Washington. They have talent, but it's young talent, and those are the kinds of ballplayers who play well when they're playing well, but then have trouble bringing themselves out of the tailspin when the slump comes (as it inevitably will). I also retain my prejudice against St. Louis; championship or no, I remain convinced that that team isn't as good as recent results suggest. (They will, however, benefit from playing in an obviously weakened division this year.)

Conversely, Texas has made a believer out of me. You can't go to the Series two years in a row, then come flying out of the gate the next year, and not convince the doubters. I think they're in it for the long haul. I expect the Dodgers to stick around, too; their fast start suggests that their struggles the past couple of seasons represented artificially suppressed output, due to the toxic scene caused by the ownership fiasco. Detroit will probably stay up there, too, but I'm less certain about that.

On the other side of the coin, I'm worried about the team of my youth, the Phillies. They're scuffling even with their superior pitching, and that worries me. Injuries in the offense should have an impact, but even so a set of starters that good should keep you winning games. I'm not writing anything off just now, but check back with me in June, and the answer might be different.

There's a smell around the Angels, too, just now, and that might linger as well. Yes, Pujols will eventually hit his usual share, but I get the vibe that that team, for whatever reason, is less than the sum of its parts, and has been for a few years now.

As for my local nines, both teams look a lot like "four games over .500" teams this season--and that will play very differently on either side of the bay. An 83 win season will not find many friends with the Giants, but that feels like their ultimate destination. They just have that one step up, one step back feel to them, despite their own high expectations. Conversely, finishing over .500 will be hailed as a triumph by the Athletics, should they get that far. Everyone was very down on them going into this season, but as of this writing they're one game over .500, with almost half of Manny Ramirez's suspension in the books. That may turn out to be a non-trivial matter; if they hold their own for the next 30 games, and then get a little more juice in their lineup from MR's presence, the A's could turn into a very big surprise. Again, get back to me in June.

Finally, whither the eternal questions about the Red Sox and Yankees? Since there can never be any baseball discussion anymore without those two teams in the mix, we must address the issue. The good news is, I think the results of the last couple of seasons have worn away the veneer from these two teams. The Yankees look good, but not that good. Meanwhile, Boston just reeks of bad medicine. Worst of all--for these two teams; it's good for the rest of us--the mystique has been dissipated, and rest of the AL East has just about caught up. The Rays are legit challengers, as always lately, but even the Jays and the Orioles aren't afraid of the big two anymore. I think that erosion just might be enough to send one, or even both, of these teams packing come the end of the regular season. And a big sigh of relief for that.

Keep watching this space for more baseball related insight, or at least baseball related whining.

Recently Read

The Believing Brain
by Michael Shermer

If you've got a party that needs spoiling, Michael Shermer is your guy.

Michael Shermer's
The Believing Brain

This is not to cast Shermer with nefarious motives. I doubt the well-known skeptic and founder of the magazine of that name seeks to ruin anyone's fun with his latest work of analysis, The Believing Brain. The author is simply a man of science, and wishes everyone else could be, too.

But I must admit to feeling twinges of disappointment and sadness while I read Shermer's latest. I remember how much fun I had as a kid, reading books about hokum like the Loch Ness monster, Bigfoot, sea serpents, and ghosts. That stuff was, as Denzel Washington's Training Day character Alonzo Harris put it, "bullshit...but entertaining bullshit." Much as folks of all ages spice up their dull as dishwater lives with the imagined possibilities of science fiction, so too the more colorful products of pseudo-science help us retain a bit of that childlike wonder, some semblance of a belief that there's more to the world around us than the banality of everyday life.

To be fair, The Believing Brain is not simply a debunking report on those characters of our dreams (and not a few nightmares). Shermer has attacked such targets in previous works, notably the earlier book, Why People Believe Weird Things. This current work serves up a straightforward examination of how the human brain works; it is a discourse on the cognitive processes that lead us believe ideas both common, ordinary and demonstrable (that sound in the bushes might be a dangerous predator, so watch out) and odd, outrageous and unprovable (the aliens have already arrived and are ruling the world from behind the scenes). Shermer makes his strong case that, contrary to intuitive thought, our beliefs come first, then we use our cognitive biases to reinforce those beliefs, until we find ourselves well convinced of our hold on the "truth."

All well and good, for the psych student. But such discourse does not necessarily make compelling reading for the casual observer. Though Shermer is by now a seasoned pro at writing interesting, accessible, and often humorous prose, parts of The Believing Brain can be difficult to connect with. Some readers will find it easy to get lost in the author's descriptions of the various parts of the brain and their various functions in perception and belief building. While Shermer's account of his personal journey from believer to skeptic is instructive and quite readable, his descriptions of "patternicity" and "agenticity" may prove too technical for many to understand. Reading the early sections The Believing Brain gives you the distinct impression that you're slogging through a bunch of details in order to get to "the good stuff" later in the book.

There are, in fact, pieces of "good stuff" in the book's latter pages. Particularly intriguing is the discussion of Galileo's discoveries at the end of the Middle Ages, and how the reliance on authority so prevalent at the time led otherwise intelligent observers not to see the very objects so readily apparent in Galileo's telescope. (The story suggests obvious parallel's to today's conservatives--current society's arch-lovers of authority--and their obstinate disbelief in evolution, climate change, etc.) And Shermer's account of the debates among astrophysicists regarding the nature of the universe--arguments that ultimately led to Hubble's cosmological discoveries--stands as an eloquent exemplar of the value of the scientific method.

So you can learn a lot reading The Believing Brain. Particularly, you will learn a lot about the author himself. How the reader responds to the ideas presented in the book may depend not upon empirical evidence, but upon how you feel about Shermer. It's hard not to view Shermer himself as part of this equation; the book is littered with the author's imprimatur regarding his subject matter. Many terms of the discourse are categorized as "what I call..." terms; i.e., "we practice what I call 'agenticity'." One suspects that many of the terms so labeled in the book are not necessarily of Shermer's own coinage. Plus, numerous concepts in the text are fleshed out through examples from the author's own experience--particularly when it allows Shermer to recall one of his television appearances, or the marathon bike race he founded and participated in, or to educate his audience about his preference for libertarianism. In fact, a reader could readily draw the conclusion that the one thing Michael Shermer truly believes in is Michael Shermer. That perspective must necessarily color the reader's judgment of the arguments presented in The Believing Brain. Is that shading enough to invalidate the concepts presented in the text? Not in this reader's view; Shermer's arguments retain their validity, based on their own strength. But it's easy to see others having their judgment thrown by the author's somewhat obtrusive personality.

Overall, The Believing Brain succeeds on its own terms. It may not be everyone's cup of tea, but the strength of the scholarship and reasoned argument it presents is not easily refuted. If we all read this book, and were moved to question our own deeply held beliefs--even for a few moments--that would probably be a good thing.

Wordsmith

Another term for Stephen's Dictionary:

Cunt Blanche
[noun]
The unconditional, unconstrained authority certain female creatures believe themselves to have, to be invoked however she pleases, in the manner most unpleasing to anyone who has to spend five fucking seconds dealing with her

D'oh! Not Udoh!

I just want to pop in here and make a few (time-stamped) comments on the recent activities by my local NBA outfit, the Golden State Warriors, at the trade deadline.

I don't have a problem with trading away Monta Ellis. A lot of folks have been grinding their teeth over the trade with the Bucks, because the W's sent away Ellis. That's not my beef; Ellis is a good player, and I appreciated watching him these last few years, but scoring guards are not hard to come by.

What really cheesed me about this deal was the departure of Ekpe Udoh. Few observers made any points about Udoh's loss, but I think in time this is going to be the real bungle to come out of this trade. (Especially when Andrew Bogut spends most of his Warriors career on the bench looking like a Mens' Wearhouse advertisment.) The Warriors' eternal quest has been for frontline players: guys who play near the basket, scoring down low, rebounding, and defending the rim. Udoh had the last part down cold; he's good for a couple of blocked shots a game, and altered an odd number of additional shots just through presence in the lane. Lately, in the last several games before the trade, Udoh showed a developing low post scoring game; he has made tremendous progress in that area since the start of last year's rookie season. And while his rebounding has been questioned, the willingness to work on his game--as exhibited by the developing scoring touch--promised better things in that area as well. In short, Udoh had all the promise of growing into exactly the kind of player the Warriors have been trying to get for years.

And they just traded him away. For the NBA equivalent of a handful of magic beans.

It says here that, in three or so years, when Udoh has blossomed to the point where he gets picked as a back up for at least one All-Star game--don't laugh; big men who are solid on both ends of the court are extremely rare, and just a little good game will go a long way--then everyone in the Bay Area will be griping about yet another player who got so much better after leaving the Warriors, and how they let another one get away. The only difference is, this time you heard it here first.

Recently Read

Pity the Billionaire

Pity the Billionaire
by Thomas Frank

What's the matter with Thomas Frank? Nothing, in particular.

Frank, the author of multiple explorations of America's right-wing madness--including the now classic What's the Matter with Kansas?--has not sunk into a literary morass in any legitimate sense. His latest work, Pity the Billionaire, shares much in common with the author's published antecedents, particularly Kansas and The Wrecking Crew. Frank brings his usual keen insight into conservative minds and motives, and presents his thesis with impeccable logic and exhaustive research and citation. (Pity might be better reserved for Frank himself, who, judging by the extensive notes backing up this slim volume, must spend more time watching, reading, and immersing himself in right-wing media and live events than anyone ever could and still hope to remain truly sane.) And the author's greatest strength--Frank is one of the best wordsmiths in the field of political discourse--remains intact; when Frank describes Sarah Palin as the "[right wing] movement's snarling sweetheart," it is just one more example of his skill at delivering a wholly apt yet economical mot juste.

Yet, for all that, Pity the Billionaire never reaches the same heights of literary brilliance as Frank's earlier works. While the book delivers plenty of solid reporting, along with several chuckle-worthy turns of phrase, Billionaire never lifts the reader up to the seriocomic heights they way Kansas did. The latter book, with sublimely titled chapters like "Russia Iran Disco Suck," and its ludicrous exposé on the various anti-Popes who call the Sunflower State their home, meets no equal in Pity the Billionaire. Though it covers much of the same warm and fertile ground, Billionaire reaps a somewhat uninspiring harvest.

Why is this? One might first suppose that the latest work is simply an inferior effort, but that interpretation doesn't feel satisfactory. Upon further reflection, the problem may lie--ominously--with the passage of time. Here is Thomas Frank, pricking much the same balloon as he was nearly a decade ago...and yet, for all of its absurdity and wrongheadedness, that balloon never seems to deflate. Indeed, as the central thesis of Pity the Billionaire points out, the balloon keeps re-inflating itself, actually growing larger than before, no matter how forceful are the efforts of men like Frank to put it out of its (and our) misery.

The overall effect, then, is one of recognition and at least mild depression: recognition that this thing keeps happening to us, and a sense of depression when we recognize that we can't seem to escape it--that we should expect the same thing to keep happening to us, and keep doing the same damage over and over again. Knowing that Glenn Beck is an asshole does nothing to keep Beck, and others like him, from soiling our political landscape and leading legions of the misinformed down socially destructive paths. Frank can point out the folly, pick it apart for all to see, and we can absorb the knowledge he presents us--but we're still bound to have to live with half the population playing suckers and fools, to the detriment of(almost) all of us.

As Frank makes perfectly clear, there's no reason to pity the billionaires. Those .01%ers are doing just fine, as always. It's the rest of us who could use the pity. We can hope that Thomas Frank and his ilk keep trying to talk some sense into our nation; but it's becoming more and more clear that we can't rely on the lesson ever taking hold.

My Life

Just read an extremely interesting article on AlterNet, Would We Have Drugged Up Einstein? How Anti-Authoritarianism Is Deemed a Mental Health Problem. It reads like a summary of my own life. In a minor sense, that is--I know I'm no Einstein, but I've definitely always had an issue with authority. The money quote:

Many people with severe anxiety and/or depression are also anti-authoritarians. Often a major pain of their lives that fuels their anxiety and/or depression is fear that their contempt for illegitimate authorities will cause them to be financially and socially marginalized, but they fear that compliance with such illegitimate authorities will cause them existential death. 

I wouldn't say I have severe anxiety or depression. But financially and socially marginized? Check. Fear of "existential death." Check.

I've said many times over the years, my take on psychological prescription drugs amounts to, "Here, you become a drug addict so the rest of us can stand to have you around." I first had that thought about 20 years ago, and I've seen nothing to change my mind on the subject since. And it is encouraging to see written words that, in some small way at least, back me up. Be careful whom you call crazy...or even a problem.

Recently Read

Baseball in the Garden of Eden:
The Secret History of the Early Game
by John Thorn

Baseball in the Garden of Eden

It's an annual ritual, on a par with pitchers and catchers reporting in mid-February, the pomp and circumstance of Opening Day, and the passionate denouement that is the World Series: my yearly off-season quest for a literary baseball fix to get me through the dark, game-less days of Winter.

This year's entry into that long tradition is John Thorn's Baseball in the Garden of Eden. Subtitled "The Secret History of the Early Game," veteran writer and researcher Thorn's volume utilizes a two pronged approach to cover the baseball's earliest development. Much of the text is devoted to a straightforward narrative of the game's evolution from various forerunner activities into the sport that would become the nation's pastime. Wrapped around that core history is Thorn's somewhat well-documented, somewhat speculative account of the "secret history" that surrounds baseball's "creation myth"--specifically, the doings of the members of the Mills Commission of the early 1900s and their specious conclusion that the Civil War hero Abner Doubleday created the game out of whole cloth one day in Cooperstown, New York in 1839.

Thorn's narrative about the origins of the game--who really developed the rules of baseball, where and when the game truly became "baseball" (rather than ancestral forms like "rounders" or "three old cat"), where and when those pioneers played the game, and how it evolved into the sport we've followed for roughly 130 years--is far more successful than the other half of his presentation. Die-hard fans, even those well versed in the history of the game, will learn new and fascinating facts about early baseball, including: the antiquity of some of baseball's current rules (e.g., the rule that the catcher must cleanly catch a third strike to record the out goes all the way back to the earliest schedule of regulations, the Knickerbocker Club's rules from the 1850s); the fact that the "World Series" was played, under that specific name, as the post-season championship between the National League and the American Association, long before the 1903 detente between the NL and the new American League; that the DH was proposed, and almost enacted, back in the 19th century; and the eternal fact that free agency, player salaries, and ownership shenanigans (including syndicate ownership of multiple teams) were crucial concerns then as much as now. All of Thorn's revelations about baseball's primordial form and environment serve to deeply enrich the hardcore fan's appreciation of where the sport has been, and perhaps where it may yet go.

Unfortunately, the other side of Thorn's narrative--his meticulous examination of the development of the Doubleday creation myth--provides less interesting fare, even for the reader most primed for this sort of history. The author's study and speculations on the Mills Commission, the role Albert Spalding played in ginning up the Cooperstown fantasy (it was known contemporaneously to be a humbug among those in the know, despite the poobahs' pronunciations on the matter), even his conspiratorial notions about the role the Theosophical Society (of all things) played in the creation scheme--all of this examination proves to be of little particular interest.

Perhaps the problem is one of time and perspective. While this story might have been a revelation to baseball fans 50 years ago, today almost no baseball fan believes the Doubleday story. Even the favored alternate history, placing Alexander Cartwright in the sport's primal position, has been superseded by further revelations on baseball's antiquity, in some form or another, far exceeding Hoboken's Elysian Fields in 1845. (Thorn himself notes the now well-known reference to baseball, in the laws of the town of Pittsfield, MA, from 1792.) Since the whole thing is now widely regarded a sham, today's reader can see little more than a historical curiosity in the tale of American chauvinism and vague Victorian spiritualism leading Spalding to rig up Doubleday (a fellow Theosophist) as baseball's Prometheus. The creation myth exegesis is a story that probably won't resonate with most readers, and holds little connection to the modern organization of baseball, beyond the continuing location of baseball's Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.

Thus, Baseball in the Garden of Eden reaches to the reader as only half of a good story--or rather as one good story needlessly paired with a second, much weaker story. Still, those Winter nights are long and dark, with nary a pitch, bunt, double play, or home run to take the edge off the cold. Thorn's book has the necessary ingredients to make it worth a look while waiting for the opening of Spring Training. It's about baseball, after all, and it's hard to go wrong with a book about our most literary sport. Baseball in the Garden of Eden may not be a solid hit, but it will get the runner over to where he needs to be: in scoring position, ready to move when that hit finally does come.

Authorship

Be it here announced that I have just published the third work of writing to go into my collection on Scribd. The latest piece, Bunts, Baseball, and the Virtue of Small Steps, is a study/rumination on baseball and life, and strategies thereupon for both. It's a brief little essay, and hopefully worth a few people's time. Check it out, if you feel like it (follow the link above).

Pigskin Flux Capacitor

I've often ruminated on why I hate sports. Occasionally, I've even put those thoughts into print. But I also have ideas about why I love sports, too.

Most notably, I've often thought that sports are perhaps the only source of tangible, objective reality we have available to us. Everything else is so subjective, so wrapped up opinion and perspective: music is good or bad, according to your taste; food is delicious or awful, depending upon what you like; even history and its facts are subject to interpretation. As noted many times before, there are lies, damned lies, and statistics. We live in a universe built on quicksand.

Not so with sports. Sure, there are points of disagreement, especially when discussing all-time greats. But for the most part, sports present us with a simple, objective reality upon which we can all agree. One team or competitor wins, the other loses. A game that ends 6-3 is a game that ends 6-3. Not much argument there. In a world of shifting sands of perspective, the sports fan can read the final score and stand steadfastly anchored on solid ground. Sports, in this way, can be a reliable and comforting antidote to all of life's other uncertainties.

So much for that. Yesterday, a fresh, brand new idea--another reason to love sports--popped into my mind, courtesy of the San Francisco 49ers.

Time-travellers Vernon Davis and Jim Harbaugh
Photo courtesy oregonlive.com

Yesterday's dazzling win by the Niners over the Saints has stirred up a feeling that has not been seen around the Bay Area in a very long time. Many folks have drawn comparisons to 2002, the last season when the 49ers made it to the playoffs. The game-winning throw and catch by Alex Smith and Vernon Davis brought back many memories of a similar playoff-winning TD in 1999.

But for me, this run by the 49ers is reminiscent of their original Super Bowl team in the 1981 season. Like the 2011 model, Bill Walsh's first championship team came out of nowhere, after several years of abysmal failure. They too sported a 13-3 season record, yet went into the postseason as decided underdogs against traditional playoff heavyweights like the Cowboys, whom they beat in the conference title game. If the current edition of the Niners makes it to the Super Bowl, they will have dispatched not one but two recent champs to get there.

But even if they lose on Sunday, the 49ers will have accomplished something that has solidified in my mind another reason to love sports: time travel.

The only real form of time travel we have available to us is memory. The only way we can go back to yesterday--or yesteryear--in any sense is through our memories of those past times. And, as noted above, the 49ers' victory has proved that sports can provide a powerful vehicle for evoking those memories.

Maybe not as powerful as Doc Brown's suped-up Delorean in Back To The Future, but at least as powerful as any of the other sources of memory recall we can experience. Art can stir up those memories of the past and bring one a sense of days gone by. Food can do it too. Music may be the most powerful vehicle for evoking that sense of past times and places. And now, I can attest from these past 30 or so hours, sports can perform that same magic as well. The memory of what it was like when I was a kid, when Montana threw that ball to Clark, has been surprisingly strong this weekend. And someday, someone who is a kid today will be able to travel back to this time, when athletes not yet born will make a play with an uncanny resemblance to what Davis and Smith hath wrought on Saturday.

Small wonder then, given its power to evoke such feelings in its adherents, that sports can continue to thrive the way it does, even in the face of all that is so desperately wrong within its purview. Today it may be just a game, but in thirty years today's game, tied to another game in the future, will be a connection to our lost youth, and a window into a lost world.

Reel Reviews -- U

U2: Rattle And Hum (+) -- What to say? One of the all-time great rock bands at the top of its game. Watch this one in a room with a great sound system. Posted 7/18/05.

U-571 (~) -- Mostly, it's your standard WWII submarine flick (they are legion) until the story takes a turn for the interesting, and the movie really grabs your attention, until by the end it's finally...your standard WWII submarine flick. Got that? Nevertheless, I must admit that the action/battle sequences are top notch, and Matthew McConaughey gives a first rate performance as the would-be leader of men. If you can't get your hands on Das Boot, this will do. Posted 4/1/04.

Ulee's Gold (+) -- A tale that moves at a measured pace--to put it mildly--but still a pretty good movie. Peter Fonda's performance really makes it worth it--his Ulee practically defines world-weary (in this case, that's good).

Unbreakable (+) -- Something of a stealth movie--its quality sneaks up on you, and you realize how good it is when thinking about it later, after you've finished watching it. And I really dig director Shyamalan's willingness to hold a shot; it's a refreshing change from today's dominant 'quick-edit' style.

Under The Tuscan Sun (+) -- I suspect this movie did not get much love upon its release because it does not stick to comedy or drama but blends the two freely. (Most folks like their stories to color only within the lines these days.) That wasn't a problem for me. And there are other pluses: beautiful locations, good story (and sub-stories) and a real commitment to the heart. Top all that off with one of our favorite actresses, Diane Lane, and you've got a winner. (Lane being oh-so-easy on the eyes has been well documented, but she's really a fine actress; watch her here in the opening scenes, where she's conveying the pain of her character's break-up and divorce.) All in all, definitely worth a look. Posted 12/2/04.

Underworld (+) -- Mostly, I liked it. I'm not going to give it any awards, but it stayed watchable all the way through, and as long as you don't start poking around looking for logic in the back story, you'll do all right. It might have been better with someone other than Kate Beckinsale--don't get me wrong, a fine actress--in the lead role; maybe some gal with a little more action heft. Plus, you have to admire the cheek of the producers, setting up a sequel when there really is no reason to believe there will be one. Posted 2/27/04.

Unfaithful (~) -- As we all know, Diane Lane is a freak--she's actually getting better looking as she gets older. That's not merely a lascivious observation; it's integral to making this movie work. You would hardly believe the story if Lane, despite her (and her character's) age, was not the hottie she is. As for the acting, the real props go to Richard Gere, who plays so skillfully against type, laying on the nebbishness, that you can actually get past his own handsomeness. Plus there's some handsome and artful direction from Adrian Lyne. Put it all together and...well, it's OK, not great. It's probably better than I'm willing to say, but it still felt unsatisfying to me. Hard to say. Posted 9/12/04.

Unknown (+) -- That positive recommendation is tentative; it could have slipped into squiggle territory if there had been one more thing wrong with this movie. Because there do seem to be a lot of holes in the plot; and we've seen this sort of international intrigue play many times before. But what pulls it through is the work of Liam Neeson, who really shines in this sort of role: a mystery man who needs to fight against desperate odds in order to ultimately come out on top. As with the underrated Taken, Neeson's performance makes this thing go, though this time he gets help from a very good supporting cast. It may not be a necessary movie, but you won't regret watching it either. Posted 1/5/12.

The Upside of Anger (--) -- Alert! There's been a Kevin Costner sighting. Good work, too. Too bad it's in a bad movie. The story is simply not engaging, too weighed down by Joan Allen's flawed central character to make much headway with the viewer. (We're told at the beginning how good she is/was, but we see no evidence of that fact within the story. Kinda hard to generate much sympathy that way...) You can easily see why the movie failed with viewers. Posted 7/28/06

The Usual Suspects (+) -- A movie that set the tone for a generation of crime flicks to come. Cool, funny, smart, and steeped in good performances. You're not hip if you haven't seen this one.

Recently Read

Predictably Irrational

Predictably Irrational
by Dan Ariely

So it turns out that the invisible hand of the marketplace is palsied, weak, and apparently attached to a kleptomaniac.

That is the inevitable conclusion one must draw from Predictably Irrational, Professor Dan Ariely's light treatise on how we among the consuming public act as purchasers, choosers, and in some cases outright liars. In a light and breezy tone that makes for easy reading, Ariely serves up a succession of arguments about the nature of human beings as economic animals--backed up by examples from his own research experiments--all of which point to the same idea: that we do not always make the correct, rational choices in life circumstances both large and small. Instead, we carry with us biases that frequently thwart our best efforts to make the right choice, in situations as trivial as buying a piece of candy to those as momentous as deciding what house to buy or what career to follow.

Through his work and experiments, Ariely demonstrates that not only are we irrational choice-makers, but (as the book's title suggests) that we are predictably so--that there is, in fact, little mystery in the frequency with which we make our unwise decisions. All one needs is to know how to read the characteristic elements of any given situation--particularly commercial transactions; i.e., anything involving money--to make a safe bet on which way the typical person will go when making his choices. Such is the author's argument, and Ariely makes the case that, with a little self-awareness and a little more careful examination of the pieces in play, we can train ourselves to make better choices.

Such is the implications of Ariely's argument for our personal outcomes. More intriguing, from a broader perspective, is the implication of his work for the larger political sphere. In short, Ariely's demonstrations of our irrationality as economic actors strongly refutes the current received wisdom, touted so often by the Very Serious Persons, that market forces are always right, that Adam Smith's famed "invisible hand" will correct all economic mistakes and guide the world to better outcomes for all. The pundits' oft-invoked credo, that we must "let the market decide" what's best for our economy and politics, relies on a foundational concept that just isn't true. Ariely himself touches on this idea in his conclusion:

Standard economics assumes that we are rational--that we know all the pertinent information about our decisions, that we can calculate the value of the different options we face, and that we are cognitively unhindered in weighing the ramifications of each potential choice...wouldn't it make sense to modify standard economics and move away from naive psychology, which often fails the tests of reason, introspection, and--most important--empirical scrutiny? Wouldn't economics make a lot more sense if it were based on how people actually behave, instead of how they should behave?

Those questions ring loudly in the ears of anyone who has witnessed the conservative free-market mania that has enveloped much of the world in the last thirty years. We are living amid the debris scattered about by what has been, at best, an unswerving faith in the rational decision making of actors in free markets. (At worst, it's been little more than a cynical swindle, but that's another story.) Ariely's experiments--particularly those focused on the common human impulse to cheat for personal profit--put the lie to that misplaced faith. We can only hope that some policymakers pick up Predictably Irrational and learn not to listen the next time some think tank pundit tells them to let the market decide what's best for the country.

For our own part, we as individuals can read Ariely's book and try to make ourselves more aware of the biases we bring to the table in all walks of life, Maybe, if we keep Predictably Irrational in mind, we can all make better choices and come out ahead for ourselves, if not our society and our world.

Thwarted

Well, so much for that.

Insanely Awesome

Image from Shackleton Antarctica expedition, 1915
(Courtesy Retronaut.co)

Thanks to Khoi over at Subtraction, I just got hip to the wonders of Retronaut. The site features collections of vintage images, including rare, antique photography, covering a wide range of topics. My first intro to the site was a collection of photographs--in color, no less--from Shackleton's expedition to the Antarctic, almost one hundred years ago. As a storehouse of encapsulated historical imagery, Retronaut must be considered a resource of inestimable value--not to mention a dynamite, terrific idea for a website. That is so much the case that I am adding the site's home page to my Sausage Factory over there at the right. If you have any interest at all in history, photography, visual arts, or the intersection of any of those, do yourself a favor and check Retronaut out.

Psychic Ability

I've been thumping this drum for about a week and a half now, so I figured I'd cowboy up (pun intended) and set it down with a date and time stamp so everyone will be wildly impressed when I prove right: I think the Eagles are going to win the NFC East. I see them winning their last two games, the Cowboys losing their last two games, and the Jets putting the Giants out of our misery this coming Saturday. A long shot, I know, but I think it's more probable than some might imagine, and I want to get out in front of it. So there--I set my prediction down in black and white (or whatever colors you monitor is showing right now). We'll see how it goes...

Calls of the Wild

The children of the night...
such music they make.
(Photo courtesy wikipedia.org)

So here I am, staying at my Mom's place in the old folks' village of Rossmoor, and every night about 1 or 1:30 I get to hear a brief symphony from the local coyotes.

This is not exactly new to me; I heard the coyotes howling plenty of times during my residence at my apartment in nearby Lafayette. But these late episodes bring something special to the scene: a certain wonderfully ominous character to them that strikes my ironic funny bone in a most peculiar way.

You see, it's basically winter out there (not by the calendar, but for the Bay Area, this is pretty much it as far as that season goes). And you have all these old people holed up in their boxy little apartments, while outside a band of mini-wolves is howling at the door. It's like a theater in the round version of a very odd Russian play. Next thing you know an army will march through and seize everyone's grain.

Yeah, I know it's not much, but in these trying times I have to amuse myself with what I've got. Check back in next week when I'll be house-sitting and enjoying more leisure time with myself for something more entertaining.