Posted tagged ‘New York Times’

Thirteen Reasons Not To Set Up A Car Office

October 2, 2009

Re New York Times article of September 30 byMatt Richtel, “At 60 M.P.H., Office Work Is High Risk ,” here are thirteen (or more) reasons not to turn your car into an office:

 1.         The car in front of you.

2.         The car behind you.

3.         The cars on either side of you.

4.         The child who is in one or more of those cars.  (Also, the adult.) 

5.         The child that you may be driving to school (or the one who is already sitting in school.)

6.         Your frontal lobe.

7.         The hot – very hot – cup of coffee clasped between your legs (despite the warning emblazoned on its styrofoam sides that that coffee is “hot, very hot.”)

8.         The fact that you are evidencing to all persons with whom you come in contact, either digitally or through the window, (a) your complete lack of common sense, and (b) your narcissistic grandiosity regarding your own significance in the global world of commerce.

9.         The negative effect upon the demand for good public transportation i.e. a commuter rail or bus system, that would allow you to gab or type away while only irritating people,  not threatening their lives.  (Sorry, that one’s awfully PC.)

10.       The muting effect caused by headphones on (a) talk radio, (b) EZ listenin’.  (I guess that one’s kind of a benefit.) 

 11.   The oncoming speeding car.  (Oh wait—that’s you.)

12.       Can it really not wait till you pull over?

13.       Are you that bored with life?

More on Conditioned Parental Love- The Magic Flute

September 19, 2009

Still thinking about the New York Times Article “Mind:  When Parent’s ‘I Love You’ Means ‘Do As I Say’, by  Alfie Kohn (published September 14, 2009) now in the context of Die Zauberflote (The Magic Flute), by Mozart.  (I saw a dress rehearsal today of the Met’s wonderful production, designed by Julie Taymor.)

The story does not make much sense:  there is the romantic prince hero, Tamino, and the pragmatic everyman hero, Papageno, the conniving, deceptive, alluring, mother, the Queen of the Night, and the wise but endlessly testing father figure-cum-holyman-cum wizard guy (with a very deep voice) Sarastro, and too, the beautiful soprano Pamina who is a bit of a pawn swapped among them.

There is much that is supernatural:  the Queen’s helpers who in Taymor’s production sport oversized (almost Mayan looking) mask faces; the Three Spirits, little boys in underwear with bleached spiked hair and long wispy beards, who ride on a puppeteered flying bird, the birds themselves, dancers with flamingo heads, and ballet-slippered stilts.

There are slaves and betrayals and endless, seemingly arbitrary tests of character, meant (a) to purify the suitors, and (b) to separate the wheat from the chaff—that is, the strong, manly, silent types from chatty pragmatic everymen but more importantly from deceptive wiley women.  Wisdom and love, and some really great robes and headgear, are the prize.

While the story highlights the importance of steadfastness, bravery, self-discipline, the ultimate savior is music.  The power of music is represented by the magic flute given to the princely Tamino (oddly by the bad Queen of the Night), the magic bells or glockenspiel, given to Papageno, the pure songs of the Spirits.  But, overwhelming all of that is the sublime, beautiful music of the opera itself, composed by Mozart towards the end of his life.

This time, watching the opera, looking at the subtitles, trying (a teeny bit) to make sense of the story, I could not help but think of the New York Times article about parental love, and the effects of negative and positive conditioning, particularly, negative conditioning;  described in the article as parental withholding of affection to make children mind.

Die Zauberflote, which, of course, is in German, is a model of positive and negative conditioning (mainly negative).  Love is repeatedly withheld, both by authority figures, and even lovers themselves; punishment is meted out. Papageno, at the opening of the Opera, gets a padlock attached to his lips to teach him not to tell lies;  the Queen of the Night curses her daughter to make her try to kill Sorastro;  Tamino himself, must withhold affection from Pamina to pass his wisdom test;  the wizardly Sorastro says that vengeance does not live in the temple of wisdom, but also orders his bad servant, Monostatos, to get one hundred lashes; Papageno is threatened with a life of bread, water and imprisonment if he doesn’t give his hand to the withered old lady who is the disguised Papagena; Papageno is also nearly struck by lightening for chattering;  and even Tamino’s whole testing regimen is a bit of a punishment, arising from his original distrust of Sarasto and allegiance to the Queen of the Night.

It’s hard to come up with the positive conditioning–it’s mainly there in the form of false promises, I suppose, the promises of the Queen of the Night in particular.  (Praise and offers of rewards which should not be believed.)

In short, the path to love and wisdom and truth winds in and out of punishment, withheld affection, and artful alluring deception.   It’s a path that can only be negotiated through discipline, and with the help, the wondrous, miraculous help, of music.

Okay, it’s a cliché.  (And yes, I did see Amadeus)  But I couldn’t help thinking of the young Mozart, practicing the harpsichord  under the stern eye of his father, then overcoming all obstacles in his path (the crowned heads of Europe, but also that very same father) with the marvelous music he played and created.

In the opera, there is a bit of an exemption from all the discipline for the less high;   Papageno, the everyman, who says he doesn’t need to inhabit the exalted halls of wisdom for happiness, but is content with a glass of wine and a little turtledove wife, has slightly lesser trial.  These are passed by energy, good humor, loyalty, and, of course, the miraculous power of music;  in this case, the magic glockenspiel.

I sure wish I had one.

Talk About Sanctimony

September 5, 2009

Talk about sanctimony.   See e.g. the N.Y. Times “Lens” blog segment called “Behind the Scenes:  To Publish or Not” by David Dunlop about the decision of the Associated Press to publish the photograph of a mortally wounded marine over the objections of his immediate family members.

The photograph was part of a series by Julie Jacobson, a photographer embedded with a Marine unit in Afghanistan.  The series shows the soldier on patrol in the streets of an Afghani village, and then the solider on the ground minutes later, tended by a fellow marine, after his leg has been taken by a rocket-propelled grenade.  The series includes photos of fellow marines mourning the soldier, before his gear, at a memorial service.

The soldier’s father, when shown the photograph of his mortally wounded son, asked that it not be published, telling A.P. that by distributing the photo, it would be dishonoring the memory of his son.  Defense Secretary Robert Gates wrote to A.P. on the family’s behalf, saying, “why your organization would purposefully defy the family’s wishes knowing full well that it will lead to yet more anguish is beyond me. Your lack of compassion and common sense in choosing to put this image of their maimed and stricken child on the front page of multiple American newspapers is appalling.”

But, after what Santiago Lyon, head of the phography division at A.P. called “a healthy discussion…the decision we came to was that — as a journalistic imperative — the need to tell this story overrode some of the other considerations.”

Why am I not surprised?

A.P. and the photographer Jacobson acknowledge that the shock value of the photo was a strong factor in their decision to publish.  (Duh.)  As Jacobson said,  “it is necessary to be bothered from time to time.”  [Italics added.]

Okay, I understand A.P.’s position (which I’m going to accept is a good faith position and not simply as a cover for the photographer’s wish for fame and kudos, and A.P.’s wish to sell newspapers.)    I was very against the Bush administration’s refusal to allow flag-draped caskets to be filmed;  I felt it was a way to lessen the impact of the war at home, and that it, in fact, dishonored the sacrifice of the lost soldiers.

I’m also sure that Jacobson, embedded with the troops, grew to truly care about them and their sacrifice, and that she feels very strongly about the value of her work in bringing much needed attention to them.

So I understand (and I’m willing to believe) that A.P. and Jacobson really do want to show how awful war is, and to emphasize the burdens and terror suffered by the troops.

What I don’t get is how A.P. decided that the collective “bothering” of casual readers  (who can, if they want to get a better view, click a button to expand the image to full screen proportions) outweighed the additional specific anguish that they were causing the soldier’s family, the people who were closest to that soldier’s face and figure, who have a claim in his remains.  (The arrogance and sanctimony of that decision is so mind-blowing that it frankly tends to shake one’s willingness to believe that A.P. and Jacobson really are acting solely in good-faith, and are not swayed by unexamined narcissism.)

Yes, the photo makes the point about the omnipresence of terrible death in war.  But, in the face of the family’s objections, wouldn’t the image of the living soldier, with the phrase, “he was mortally wounded ten minutes later” do the trick?

Lyon of A.P. babbled that the death “becomes very personal and very direct in some way, because we have a name, we have a home town, we have a shared nationality and we have, to a certain extent, a shared culture and some common values.”  But couldn’t A.P. have illustrated the “shared culture” business by showing the soldier at, for example, his high school prom?

Jacobson, whom you sense is just desperate to defend her position (and is clearly devoted to a photo which she must view as one of the greatest of her career),  notes that the other marines in the squad had no objection to the idea of publication.  (I’m guessing the photo “bothered” them less since they were actually on the scene.)   Yet I wonder in this specific case if the marines were informed of the objections of their compatriot’s family.  Somehow I can’t quite hear them saying to Jacobson, “the family’s against it?  So what?”

The final appalling piece to me of this story is the sanctimony of the New York Times.   The Times, during the slow news days of Labor Day weekend, manages to re-publish the picture (again in clickable full screen proportions). In this case,the Times is not even reporting the poor soldier’s death or the terrible burdens faced by troops in foreign wars.  No, with pompous self-regard, it is republishing the photo simply to discuss the burdens of those in the Press.   (The burdens of dealing with family wishes, societal strictures as to appropriate conduct, good taste, compassion, common sense, honor.)

Shame on you, Times.

From Rat Race to Rat Rut

August 18, 2009

In the Science Times section of today’s New York Times (August 18, 2009), is a great article about the effects of stress on brain circuitry.  (“Brain is a Co-Conspirator in a Vicious Stress Loop” by Natalie Angier.)

Ms. Angier reports a study by Nuno Sousa of the Life and Health Sciences Research Institute in Portugal which described how chronically stressed rats succumbed to habitual and seemingly compulsive routines (like repeatedly pressing a bar for food pellets that they had no intention of eating).  The study found that underlying changes had actually taken place in the brains of these rats, with decision-making and goal-oriented areas of the brain shrinking, and areas related to habit-formation swelling.

As Ms. Angier writes, the stressed rodents “were now cognitively predisposed to keep doing the same things over and over, to run laps in the same dead-ended rat race, rather than seek a pipeline to greener sewers.”

In other words, the stressed rats got into a rut, dug, in part, by their own brains.

There’s no clear answer to why the stressed brain is so prone to habit formation.  One possibility posited in the article is that the brain in crisis may try to shunt activities to automatic pilot simply to free up space for  bigger questions.  Which, because of the concomitant weakening of the ability to make decisions, the stressed brain just can’t deal with.

Ah.

This syndrome sounds familiar.   Especially the compulsively pressing the lever part.  (Although it’s a bit hard to imagine any kind of food pellet I wouldn’t eat when under stress.)

Still, after reading the article, I came up with the following list.

Ten Signs That You May Be A Rat in a Rut.   (Or How To Know If Your Brain’s In Stress.)

1.   When you are not sitting at a computer, you check your blackberry every few minutes, even on an underground subway train.

2.   You check your blackberry when stepping out of the subway just to see how long it takes to get service back.  You study the little flashing arrows as you climb the subway stairs, conscious of your breath.

3.   If, after a while, no one’s written, you start to open spam.  Just to clear it out.  Just in case there’s something that’s not spam.  You even open some of the messages for p*n*s enl*rg*m*nt.   (Yes, you’re a woman, but you’re only checking those to see how they managed to get through your spam filter.)

4.   When someone on the phone talks of an article they’ve read, you find it online before they finish their sentence.   (At least you think they haven’t finished their sentence.  You were doing a Google search so you’re not really sure.)

5.   You convince yourself that your interest in Robert Pattinson is a sociological study of our media/youth culture.  (Oh that RPatz!  Oh those Paparazzi!)  You are alternatively amazed at how little and how much is on Google News in the articles posted on Pattinson during the “Last Hour.”

6.   You peruse the sales of online retailers even though you have no money, and (thankfully) no pressing needs.  When you buy something, you congratulate yourself on how much you saved.

7.   You check all the stocks that have gone up dramatically in the last few months but that you did not buy.  (You studiously avoid checking stocks you own, hoping that you can not check those long enough to forget what they were.)

8.   You find yourself reading the same books again and again.  These books are fantasies in which unreal things happen to unreal people, ending happily.  You don’t find the books especially satisfying after the tenth read, but, on the other hand, they are also not disturbing.

9.   Your eyes are sore at night.  When you wake up the next morning, they are still sore.  Even so, you reach for your laptop and/or blackberry first thing.  You decide that a glare screen is the only solution, and shop for one online, looking for sales.

10. Your daughter shouts from the other room at about 9:45 p.m, “are we going to have dinner soon?”   You are working on a computer that has no glare screen.  “Just a minute,” you tell her some time later.

(Wait, what did they say about food pellets?)

If you are more interested in elephants swimming than rats racing, check out 1 Mississippi at the link above or on Amazon.

Re “Symbol of Unhealed Congo” N.Y. Times August 4

August 5, 2009

I  read a chilling article in the New York Times this morning (by Jeffrey Gettelman, published in August 4, 2009 New York Times) about the increasing number of male rape victims in the Congo. It’s an experience of absolute destruction for these men and boys. Some do in fact die shortly after the rapes, others live as if dead.

The horror for the men does not end with the particular violence. Their culture frequently does not extend empathy, but confronts them with derision. Which is what they also feel for themselves. They seem to be derisive of themselves not because they somehow attracted the fate they suffered, but simply because they experienced it.

The article points out that, of course, there are many more women rape victims than men, and that many of their lives are destroyed as well. But I’m not writing here to compare the levels of destruction of the two sexes—destroyed is destroyed.

I don’t really like to read these types of articles.  Sometimes I just don’t.

But skipping over the articles feels almost worse than reading them. Not that I do anything when I read them. (I sometimes, but I have to confess, rarely, give to charities working in war zones.)  I tell myself when I do read an article like this that I am trying to make myself aware. At least I am learning about the suffering, somehow bearing witness to the horror.

But does that actually mean anything?  Isn’t it pathetic in every sense of the world?  Why don’t I do more?

Is it because I am basically so comfortable in my life that I can’t identify with this suffering? Or is it because I am so bothered by my relatively minor discomforts that I refuse to identify?

Or am I just lazy? Miserly?  Self-aggrandizing?

Maybe.  I don’t know.

For me the articles raise another question too. (Not how can people be so cruel to each other?  Though that’s a pretty good one.) Simply why is life so unfair?

Why are some people made to suffer so horribly?  How is it that they can be  snatched out of their lives and destroyed? How come nobody (nobody else) stops it?

I understand that these questions reflect my rather luxurious expectation that life should be fair. That good should triumph at least by the last minute. That every cloud should have a silver lining. That all should ultimately turn out to be for the best.

I know it’s crazy, immature.  But I grew up watching Hollywood movies, reading great and not great novels, going to church, believing in the U.S. of A., being given many many advantages.

In the world of my youth, nothing was supposed in vain. No accident was completely senseless, without at least a teaching.  Certainly, there were events deemed unfortunate, even tragic–bad marriages, irrecoverable accidents– but one tried to not talk of such events too much.  And if one did speak of them, to emphasize what came out of them that could be called good.

In this belief system, one tries to hope that maybe the increase in male rape will somehow bring attention to these issues, will focus the world’s mind more than all the female rape, will make people act in the Congo, will bring some kind of peace.

Even I, a child of the West, a lover of storybook endings, cannot swallow that. Not for these particular men anyway, these men who each stare away from the camera in the Times.

So what should I do?