and now I'm asking for it

Obviously, this is all up for debate. Matt asked for my opinion. This is what I shared. Straighten me out!

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Honest opinion: we should not provide "death care" or "slob care". That would change everything. Bonus opinion: focus on and reward people for wellness.

I attended a health care forum hosted by Bob Dole at the Dole Institute. It brought people from various parts of the health care industry (except insurance – that guy didn't show up, and apparently they rarely do). All I remember is that somebody – some expert – quoted a stat that something like 80% of health care costs for a patient's last stay (or maybe all stays?) comes in the last 3 weeks. That's death care, and I don't want to put my buck behind it.

If you don't take reasonable measures to be well, then I don't want to pay for your care. I don't know what those measures need to be, but they should probably be few and straight-forward. "Vegetables" comes to mind. "Corn syrup" comes to mind. Most importantly, they need to be auditable; it should be inexpensive and objective to determine if the guidelines have been met. Too many people develop chronic illness from their lifestyle and then that raises my costs. That's slob care, and I'm ag'in' it.

The government should either compete with, strictly regulate, or obsolete insurance companies. My suggestions above apply in the first two options. I don't know how to obsolete it.

Insurance companies manage risk by randomly pooling its subscribers to disperse costs. That's the origin of employer-provided care; the employer is an easy and (usually) effective way to randomly pool people. I think that model is over-simplified. Insurance costs should be hierarchical based on how healthy I am, right now (yearly re-appraisal?), according to my doctor. This appraisal should not include my medical history – just my current health and the results of that audit I mentioned above.

Primary care physicians should be paid more than specialists. Sure, specialists paid more for their education and are favored by supply-and-demand and such, but this is mucking up the system. It's upside down: specialists have the least contribution to a society's health, and yet they are rewarded the most. GPs are the front-line and need to be treated as such. Their clients-per-day are like students in a classroom and need to be minimized so they can receive the attention and advice needed for wellness.

Basically: reward people for a healthy lifestyle, punish them for an unhealthy lifestyle – deal with it libertarians, if you want insurance. Change the payment/appreciation of GPs versus specialists to reflect that emphasis on wellness. Make a regular check-up more viable and less expensive. Most radically: don't spend tons of money treating dying people or people with extremely rare diseases – it's just not as useful for the society, nor fair to the other people in that risk pool.

Also, reform in the insurance and medical services industries will have non-trivial consequences for any intimately related industries, including pharmaceuticals. Someone needs to research drugs, but that business-model is currently as messed up as the RIAA – it's all about intellectual property, baby.

I'll read the rest of the poem tomorrow

I caught this quote in a film once.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

T.S. Eliot, LITTLE GIDDING

I really like it. I find it very compelling. I don't want to leave my family – I don't want to go exploring – I don't need new friends when I've got such good ones in my daily life already. (I suppose I'm taking an optimistic viewpoint on that last line, but that's well within my liberty.)

The quote seems relevant in light of college graduation. "Where to?"

I don't want anyone to leave. And I want everyone to come back.

just venting really

Rory shared this article, so I'll yell at him the next time I see him. It's a bunch of basic computer science ideas that I already understand surrounded by unfounded claims that I'm wrong. Fun read for the layperson, however.

Once I get to the end, his claim is less drastic than I thought throughout and bothers me less.

The rest of this post is a jumble of tangents my thoughts took.

Chinese Room

Searle's Chinese Room is prominent in Schulman's article.

I don't like it, because understanding Chinese isn't really the question, it's understanding what the other person is saying. A language like Chinese or English is empty – the incoming notes could be a well-formed but completely non-sensical Chinese statement and the person in the room wouldn't know what to say back. The Chinese Room example just wraps a known intelligence – a human – in a layer of machine (the rules of translation).

This relates to the misstep that I see Schulman taking: he talks about "intelligence" or "understanding a children's story" as if such things exist separate from humans exhibiting them. We have no real definition for "intelligence". I believe it's because it doesn't exist separate from us &ndash we are machines interacting and we think we do it in a special way called intelligence. The Chinese Room, like the Turing Test before it, involves a human in the intelligence test because we need to sprinkle in some "real intelligence" into the scenario, since we cannot otherwise characterize how to pass the test.

What?

I don't even know where he's going with this, but I disagree with it. He eventually squirrels it into relevance with one of Searle's apparent contradictions.

But it would be incorrect to take the notion of a hierarchy to mean that the lowest layer—or any particular layer—can better explain the computer’s behavior than higher layers. Suppose that you open a file sitting on your computer’s desktop. The statement “when I clicked the mouse, the file opened” is causally equivalent to a description of the series of state changes that occurred in the transistors of your computer when you opened the file. Each is an equally correct way of interpreting what the computer does, as each imposes a distinct set of symbolic representations and properties onto the same physical computer, corresponding to two different layers of abstraction. The executing computer cannot be said to be just ones and zeroes, or just a series of machine-level instructions, or just an arithmetic calculator, or just opening a file, because it is in fact a physical object that embodies the unity of all of these symbolic interpretations. Any description of the computer that is not solely physical must admit the equivalent significance of each layer of description.

The layers are not equivalent. He earlier spoke of the duality between the symbols manipulated by a formal system (as a computer implements, e.g.) and the represented real object. I think he 1) chose a bad example regarding "opening a file" since it's a very computer-centric concept and 2) leaves out the notion that the monitor connects all the electronic state changes back to the real world &ndash the file is open because we see it presented to us on the screen. That is the result, showing the file's contents to the user. All the lower layers are just how it was done – a distinction he had previously pounded away on.

Ray Kurzweil

When I say the brain is a machine, I mean there's nothing unnatural about it – no magical piece (nothing playing the role of the man in the Chinese Room). I do not mean it needs to be digital. In fact, I'm doubt it is. Schulman points out that Kurzweil does too. Maybe I should read his book.

An old friend

Also, Shulman doesn't smell the problem of induction.

As an empirical hypothesis, the question of whether the mind can be completely described procedurally remains open (as all empirical hypotheses must), but it should be acknowledged that the failure thus far to achieve this goal suggests that the answer to the question is no—and the longer such a failure persists, the greater our confidence must be in that answer.

There's no basis for this claim.

happiness is complex

I realized I want a porch on my house, with a sidewalk. (Rory shared a related article.)

I got to thinking and imagined a visitor to my porch challenging my porch lifestyle (on my porch! the nerve): something about missing out on all the history, culture, and other things happening out there. Then I envisioned my response – more as an abstract, fuzzy bag of words than something I feel like serializing here. The visitor responds, "You're not a 'happy person' are you?"

I'm writing about my answer to that question.

Math is a comfort zone for me, but imaginary numbers are just weird. Applications of complex numbers (the sum of a real number and an imaginary number) do, however, abound in engineering. I got quite familiar with them in electromagnetics. They do have a fun history and are an important part of my favorite formula (snort snort heh), an instance of Euler's.

-1 = e^{i π}

Just look at all the pieces!

The Ol' WP says Descartes called them imaginary in a derisive manner, which returns us to the porch. I use it derisively here as well. I am happy. I am finishing up my second 16 hour car ride this week and I've been cheerful throughout! It's the big picture, fluffy, abstact stuff that weighs me down. I feel happy about the day-to-day and struggle with the imaginary, speculative, ethical stuff.

I started off trying to say that my happiness was a number like day-to-day.speculative for emphasizing that the day-to-day is more important, but the whole radix system didn't work on any more levels. Then I remembered complex numbers.

So my happiness is a complex number (OMG, right?). The real part is a hefty positive number for my day-to-day happiness. My negativity is in the imaginary part. And here comes the clever, optimistic part. Multiplying conjugate complex numbers eliminates the imaginary part: perhaps pair bonding relieves some of the negativity associated with an muddled future. So, if two people are a good match (conjugal even), i²=-1 kicks in and the negativity of the product of their happinesses is eliminated. (The details fall apart on this model if you push too hard...)

/me bows. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you.

41 Whys

I was Googling for information on that thing little kids do when they just keep asking "Why?" I didn't really find the discussion I was after, but I did find this Wikipedia article. And that will have to do as my hook.

Last night, during an insomnia spat, it dawned on me that existentialism is basically the reason that little kid always wins.

1. Wow, Micheal Phelps is awesome!
2. Because he won 8 gold medals; that's an amazing achievement.
   
3. Because that's really hard to do.
4. Because there were many other good competitors.
   
5. Because they were very dedicated to training.
6. Because they wanted to win Olympic gold medals.
7. Because people respect gold medals.
   
8. Because most people cannot do it.
9. Because they haven't trained enough.
   
10. Because it doesn't seem worth the effort.
11. Because they don't like it that much and they don't believe they could ever reach the Olympic level.
12. Because they are not successful enough.
13. Because it wasn't in their genetics or formative experiences.
14. Because their parents didn't make it a priority.
15. Because they weren't good at it.
16. For the same reasons their children aren't.
17. Because that's how people become dedicated enough to sporting activities to get to the Olympics.
18. Because there's really no other reason to put that much effort in.
19. Because sporting activities are not really of any importance.
20. Because sports don't have any inherent value for people except for the competitors.
21. Because sports don't really affect other people.
22. Because their livelihoods don't depend on the outcome, except for risk-takers.
    
23. Because our quality of life depends on caring for ourselves and our loved ones and having the freedom to make choices.
24. Because modern Western culture emphasizes family and freedom.
25. Because those are our traditions.
    
26. Because people acting under those beliefs have survived – it's social evolution.
27. Because families sustain the young and then provide unconditional emotional support while capitalism justifies actions that give people an advantage.
    
28. Because the roles of bread-winner and home-keeper were effective at raising healthy and capable children and anonymizing inequity behind markets means consumers don't realize the ultimate, negative consequences of their actions.
29. Because "out of sight, out of mind."
    
30. Because abstract things that don't affect our immediate safety don't carry much weight in our minds.
31. Because the human mind evolved in environments that did not include such complex systems.
    
32. Because before we formed societies, there were no natural systems under our influence that actually had indirect consequences on our survival, like global warming, terrorism, deforestation, water pollution, or fair trade. (Things like meteors and natural climate change did exist, but we had no mental model of our influence over those things.)
    
33. Because no human system could effect change on a global scale.
34. Because no human systems had yet reached the global scale.
35. Because there weren't enough of us yet.
36. Because our species' growth rate wasn't that big.
37. Because we didn't have the knowledge to survive en masse.
38. Because we didn't develop language until relatively recently.
39. I don't know.
40. I'm tired.
41. I just played 40 rounds of the why game with you!
42. Want some cake?

Disagree with anything?

It always boils down to something like "I don't know why we were the first species to develop language; we just were." And that's a pretty dissatisfying reason to work with when you're trying to make a difficult decision. There is no root cause to rely on, unless you bring faith into the picture. But I also find that dissatisfying. I'm looking for some reason that exists beyond my mind.

Here's what I find most frustrating. Tyler C just got a free subscription to Seed magazine, and in the first issue there was an article that caught my eye. One of the two experts says,

[Thoughtful evolutionary biologists are] saying, "Look, there are basic aspects to human nature that are common to all members of our species and have been there a long time." What's exciting is that we've developed this cognitive mechanism to free us from the things that determine so much of our behavior. And by doing so, we've sort of cut the rope from the rest of the animal kingdom.

Emphasis mine. That sentence pisses me off. I can identify my natural tendencies, I just don't know if I should listen to them. "Being free of them" is really confusing. Very few things compare to their immediacy, but our societal norms tell me it's laudable to deny some of them and to embrace others. Who says so? Why is that?

1. Because philosophy over the past 3000 years has not identified – Ooooo! Is that cream cheese icing?

Whatever the reason, is it good enough? Or is it also something vacuous and underwhelming like, "we just were."

An odd justification for stewardship

I had dinner with Ilya last night. We like to discuss how we make decisions and to butt heads about it, but part with a smile anyway. During our discussion, I realized one reason why the notion of planetary stewardship – sustainability and such – appeals to me.

I recently recognized my existentialist thoughts as such. The relevant idea is that values do not exist outside of individuals: there is no way to justify an action outside of yourself. I find this debilitating. I cannot justify the consequences of my potential actions, so I have trouble choosing an action. I'm scared to act if I can't explain why it's the right thing to do. And I can't because – rationally – such a "right thing" simply does not exist.

One reason stewardship appeals to me, I realized, is because it minimizes consequences. I strive to not influence the planet. I want it to proceed as if we were not here. There's an angelic, ethereal feel to that: existing without leaving a mark.

It's interesting that an accepted value such as sustainability can be derived from self-doubt.

Existentialism's notion of freedom

I feel like I never really understood the term until tonight. I'm blockquote-ing this section of the Wikipedia article.

The existentialist concept of freedom is often misunderstood as a sort of liberum arbitrium where almost anything is possible and where values are inconsequential to choice and action. This interpretation of the concept is often related to the insistence on the absurdity of the world and that there are no absolutely "good" or "bad" values.

I'm on board with this. There are no absolute values to be obeyed.

However, that there are no values to be found in the world in-itself doesn't mean that there are no values: Each of us usually already has his values before a consideration of their validity is carried through, and it is, after all, upon these values we act.

I'll reference this previous sentence below. Again, existentialism and I are in accord. I think I pretty much got to where I am by coasting. And then, abruptly, I stopped coasting and am having to deal with the atrophy.

...[M]aking "choices" without allowing one's values to confer differing values to the alternatives, is, in fact, choosing not to make a choice - to "flip a coin," as it were, and to leave everything to chance.

I am acutely aware of this. I feel this way; recall abulia. My frustration with this observation is what leads me to think about these things.

This is considered to be a refusal to live in the consequence of one's freedom, meaning it quickly becomes a sort of bad faith.

"Bad faith" sort of translates to giving up and lying to yourself about it. And I am uncomfortable leaving important decisions to a coin flip.

As such, existentialist freedom isn't situated in some kind of abstract space where everything is possible: Since man is free, and since he already exists in this world, it is implied that his freedom is only in this world, and that it, too, is restricted by it.

Pure freedom – the misinterpretation – is indeed ridiculous. You cannot fly by flapping your naked arms: you are not free to do so. You cannot be a bluejay. Your freedom is inherently bounded in some ways. Recently, I have claimed to "not know myself anymore". What I mean is: I don't know what parts of me constitute restrictions and what parts constitute my free will. Is liking apples more than oranges a restriction? Or a choice? What about having children? Or a dependence on propinquity? What is hardwired in me – a restriction unless I follow asceticism, which I don't – and what it just up to me?

What isn't implied in this account of existential freedom, however, is that one's values are immutable; a consideration of one's values may cause one to reconsider and change them (though this rarely happens).

A big YES here. I used to consider myself a rationalist, but I'm struggling through some emotional times. So I'm less taken with rationalism, since none of this seems rational. Recall the sentence I asked to you remember. I think one of those times when our values change is when we first attempt to validate them. For me, that took place when I first had to make difficult choices. It is embarrassing that I was 24 years old at the time.

A consequence of this fact is that one is not only responsible for one's actions, but also for the values one holds. This entails that a reference to "common values" doesn't "excuse" the individual's actions, because, even though these are the values of the society he is part of, they are also his own in the sense that he could choose them to be different at any time. Thus, the focus on freedom in existentialism is related to the limits of the responsibility one bears as a result of one's freedom: The relationship between freedom and responsibility is one of interdependency, and a clarification of freedom also clarifies what one is responsible for.

The big question: am I responsible for my emotions? When should I use them to make a decision and when should I overrule them?

I think I'm obsessed

I dislike modeling dynamic systems. Here's my favorite quote from this article on bees' colony collapse disorder.

If it turns out that [we were wrong], it will be evidence that something is wrong with our model: perhaps it is too crude, perhaps we need better data, or perhaps a contagion is not responsible for colony collapse disorder after all.

I imagine this quote was followed by a drastic, slow shrug. The tricky part is we can only recognize that we don't have enough data or we have the wrong model after the fact &ndash which makes the predictive model pretty silly.

On Truthiness

Regarding "telling the truth", my friend Emily says

I have a question: how can you be sure that the truth that you experienced is the truth? Is truth the same for everyone?

I can only suppose that's something that the two of us would work out as we talk. The differences between our truths would remain until they day we tried to tell the truth to one another. And it's helpful to know those differences.

I'd say some truths are the same for everyone, but it gets subtle for sure.

Advice is tricky

Randy Pausch is stunning. Adrienne sent me this WSJ article a while ago (weeks? months?).

One piece of advice Dr. Pausch has chosen to pass along to his children stuck out to me.

Tell the truth. All the time.

This is about the only rule I'm sure about in life. It doesn't (ever) keep things simple, but that's not the point. Telling the truth – all of it – comes from respect. I respect you. And I respect that I am incapable of determining what you do and do not need to know. Only you can do that, so I opt for fully-informed cooperation.

Abandoning the bonfire and wandering by lantern light

As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being.
--Carl Jung

Found that quote in Watchmen. Such a beautiful choice of words, kindling. Beautiful and precise.

In recent times I've become paralyzed in the face of opportunities for my life. To what should I apply myself? Searching for my purpose inevitably leads to searching for everyone's purpose. Quickly, I reach the dead-end of the purpose of life. I have no contribution to that question's answer.

I've decided that there is no objective ultimate purpose for me to adopt as my own. Any and every purpose is of our own creation, and so carries no special gravity. We kindle a light of meaning. We create from nothing our passions, deriving both the warmth for our hearth and the righteousness for our violence, both good and evil. The bonfire is beautiful – the flame and ember looks alive – but it consumes indiscriminately.



We're surrounded by the darkness of mere being. I think of Sagan's Pale Blue Dot space photograph and lecture (please read his words, they're quick). In the incomprehensibly vast universe, glows our speck of life, Earth. We breathe meaning into it, building our bonfire to chase back the cold and the dark of our insignificance, in search of safety.

I would find in the safety of the bonfire the purpose of life, the meaning we've kindled, so that I can be assured my choices in my life are wise. Jung's poetic words resonate with Sagan's photograph, shaking me out of that journey. There is no ultimate purpose to justify my actions, there is only what we create; my search is for not.

I have sought a great bonfire to bathe all my confusions and uncertainties in the light of its truth. I imagine that by inspecting the shadows a question casts, I could find a direction that would lead me to a solution. The light would project the problem onto a simpler plane, flattening its complexities, discarding the infinite subtleties, leaving only the salient moral issues so that I could act, righteous in the well delineated answer I found in the question's distilled silhouette.

I found no great bonfire, but instead many bonfires, each as bright as the next. They cast conflicting shadows, so that there are no shadows at all. With the cumulative light of all these bonfires, I see the many facets of my questions about life, all the intricacies and subtle interactions exposed by the incoherent ambience of the many intellectual perspectives, but no single solution dominates the others. There are no simplifying silhouettes, just an even more complicated problem!

So I have spiraled into the flames that I have kindled, obsessed with the search for meaning but making no progress with my original questions about life. I am warm, but I am lost and I fear I will be consumed.

I am now abandoning the bonfires. Together, they shine too bright and burn too hot to do me any good - there are too many absolutisms to be useful. Since I no longer expect to illuminate all of existence, I need just enough light to take the next few steps. It is wasteful and confusing to use anything more.

I'm going to carry a lantern. May it light my path as I wander into the darkness of mere being.

On "On trust and understanding"

I drafted a post one month ago call "On trust and understanding". It began...

The dichotomy between trust and understanding is new to me. I don't know when exactly I recognized it or by what prompt, but it swept through my thoughts as a unifying duality. You needn't trust something if you can instead understand it.

I recognized that I nearly always prefer to understand than to trust. I'm not religious. I'm hesitant to take advice. And I'm a skeptic and an empiricist – I consider the scientific method to be the best known recipe for true wisdom.

It ran real thin after that, so I stowed it. What I wrote put me in a dark place, hence The Silent Month (The Big Silence, Annie?). Now I'm cannibalizing that post in an attempt to liberate myself from myself (57"?). My favorite part comes after a break-neck discussion of moral skepticism, the futility of all prediction, and life goals.

So pick something and shoot for the stars, huh? What if I shoot for the stars and accidentally take out a jetliner full of infants? Or what if I become so committed to shooting for the stars that I wipe out an entire culture because I need their resources for my giant star laser?

That was for giggles, this is for my emotional blog photo.

I don't know what I am for. I don't know what humanity is for. I don't know where life or the universe came from. No one does. No one ever will. So I only permit myself to wonder about that stuff. How do people choose who or what to trust, anyway? They pick the one that makes them comfortable. Or maybe the one that positively challenges them. Whatever the reason, it comes from inside and inside alone and usually incurs a fair amount of close-mindedness thereafter.

It terrifies me what we sometimes do based on such a silly choice.

I still feel that way.

The heart of the problem actually occurred to me as I put aside "On trust and understanding" and wrote that Ben Stein rant instead. As the opening paragraph showed, I think the scientific method is pretty savvy. But I realized I trust it. I believe in it. I'd brushed that off before as "well, it's different," but now I can't look past it. Even the scientific method is turtles all the way down and that kills me - I thought I was standing on bedrock.

I had put Understanding on a pedestal only to realize I couldn't reach that high. I have principles, yes, but no reasons for them. Realizing that brings a lot of doubt and I'm still trying to choke it all down.

As far as I can tell, moral skepticism can't be directly denied; its biggest problem is its impracticality. Add in Hume's problem of induction and I've got quite the quarter-life quagmire. (That is a 24 Scrabble-point alliteration.)

I'm more lost in life than I've ever been; the ground is not real - there is no ground.

Another mystery named

The dilemma at the heart of qualia really unsettled me as a child. How did I know that my red and your red were the same red? The colors of the world, the rapidity of depth's vanishing act, the smell of burning cookies (sob), could all be completely different to you than they are to me.

That still freaks me out.

The Story of Stuff, Consumed, Living Simply

Appreciation and stewardship, neither makes sense without the other. Yet here we are.

Yes, Annie Leonard is hokey. But she's an activist, not an actress – err – she's an expert, more accurately. Her presentation got me thinking about my consumerist habits again. Leonard claims that I'm caught up in a system. What system is that? The result of almost a century of short-sighted capitalist success. According to Benjamin Barber's Consumed, this whole situation is a natural consequence of America entering the twilight of capitalism where industries manufacture needs instead of goods. It's not that their product satisfies my needs; no, they have crap to sell and they need me to buy it. Lots of people seem to agree. (I know Andy is one of them - I've never met anyone who despises advertising as much as he does.) Barber steers clear of Leonard's emotional hooks by making it explicit that he does not think this is some diabolical plan.

Barber explains that our perils are a natural consequence of unchecked capitalism: it is simply in the companies' best interest to perpetuate an "infantilist ethos" in America. Since our true needs are mostly satiated, there are only wants to target now. Thus, children make better consumers than adults, so whatever just happens to make adults into children will be the profitable plan. Barber writes a book about this because it's having a detrimental effect on our democracy. Children do not make better citizens than adults.

Barber demonstrates how capitalism interferes with democracy in a simple and fundamental way. Prices in today's market do not reflect the true cost of the product (like Leonard's radio). Thus, when individuals entrust social decisions to the markets, consequences result that no individual would have championed as a public good. I'll leave you to conjure your favorite such consequence, but I'll surmise that global warming, the Iraq war, outsourcing jobs, Enron-esque corruption, $500 million campaign budgets, and Walmart benefits packages might be popular options.

I am aboard the "oh shit, something's wrong" wagon. Part of me can say that it's just a quarter-life crisis - I'm searching for importance and immediacy in my life. Another part of me can quite readily believe that we're starting to see the consequences of the unfettered success of capitalism. So what am I to do?

Politics is a dead-end (actually it's two dead-ends). Barber's infantalism is evident there too. Leonard would say it's a system in crisis. Politics is a world of persuasion and deceit to which I'm quite averse. Even the fresh-blooded good-willed Young Turks are doomed; the lobbyists and party strategists are deeply rooted. I want to discuss and to affect public policy, but I don't see my vote - or my support of a candidate - as an effective means to that end. I asked my senators a direct question and received a generic two-page mailer regurgitating information. The system is broken and rotting from the inside out, and I don't believe it can be used to fix itself. I'm probably pissing off Dani with this paragraph, so I'll move on to my point.

Until I find a positive outlet†, my response will be voluntary simplicity. My favorite thing so far is to refuse plastic bags when I buy anything. I don't need a plastic bag to carry home the pair of socks I just bought! I've had to be fast about it - going for the bag is a knee-jerk reaction for cashiers. I've bought canvas bags for groceries, but I forget them. Turns out it's kind of fun to carry it all out to the car precariously balanced in my arms. Plastic bags are just the most obvious unnecessity‡ that I'm trying to learn to avoid. I'm trying to wear clothes more than once before washing them. And the cold weather has culled this one, but obviously riding my bike to class and to the office is a good idea. Eating-in has been like flossing (which is like trying to quit smoking); it feels good, but only after it's over and done. These are simple things, but they are lowering my "footprint" and my costs.

My hook for this post says appreciation and stewardship come as a package. I appreciate the beauty of this world - I live it, breathe it. But I have not been a steward. My interest in The Story of Stuff, Consumed, and living simply reflect a coming of age. I was first averse to politics and then avoided the issues themselves. I was raised in a world of consumption and then participated in it like a child - saving isn't just not fun, it's difficult, confusing, and overwhelming. Well, I've grown up and am dissatisfied with some of the result. Annie Leonard inspires conscious consuming and Benjamin Barber inspires citizenship. I've started the improvements privately, righting my own wrongs, but, as Barber says, there is no such thing as a private citizen - it's an oxymoron. I must develop a public voice. Ready to engage in a public forum without political poles, I see none. Where has it gone? Was it ever there? I'm honestly interested in the issues now, and I'm disenfranchised by my own cynicism.

(I'm struggling to end this post on an up-beat.) I will avoid politics as long as possible, but I am aware that doing so may in fact lead to a personal impasse. Until then, I seek apolitical communities of practice executing and championing conscious consumption.

---

† It took a while, but I've finally resigned to start on the local level. But my search has really just begun. Since I've been enjoying reading about social concerns so much, a book club seems like a cool idea. It could be a start.
‡ I'm sad to see that word already exists.

---

Post post (ha ha) - I've watched the Story of Stuff video a few more times since I first started this post, and it's been less moving. The ideas stand, but the shallow attempts at persuasion have become abrasive. I still think it's a thing to see - awareness and such. It got my blood flowing. But, I have a few favorite parts to mock now. You should read these after you've watched it.

• Who buys a radio? At Radioshack? What?
  
• "Trashing the ... (401 - page not found) ... (User PIN incorrect, please try again) ... (No hablo Inglés) ... (Sorry, we don't have that in stock) ... (Oh boy, I'm in the middle of an environmentalist speech) ... planet."
  
• "...carried by wind currents!" Like how swallows (2:20 mark) carry coconuts.

Because complex discomforts just doesn't roll off the tongue

Before ignorance is OK, there was simple pleasures. One contemplative night at Steak n Shake with Jennifer Gunby, I spelled out a new intent. This was waaay back in the early aughts. She probably doesn't remember anything but the malt, and I certainly don't remember my words. I'll try my best.

What is a simple pleasure? Quick. Direct. Immediate. Easy. Inexpensive. Natural. It's what drug addicts would do if there were no psycho-actives. Not basic needs, basic wants.

Examples include chocolate, hot chocolate, cold chocolate, disc golf (or whatever you like even though you should like disc golf), temperate chocolate, that feeling you get after a good long run (note that you get the feeling, I haven't had it in a while), picking up something an old lady dropped (rhymes perhaps?), watching the leaves fall from the trees, writing a haiku (seriously), free performances at KU, and tempting your little nephew with cheese!



Don't get so caught up in achieving the big goals that you forget to be happy now. Have to study? Find a nice view or a cohort that smells nice. Have to work? ... tough it out? (I don't have all the answers.) But if something quick and easy presents itself, go for it—the sky probably won't fall during your indulgence. Seek these out.

As always, implementation is a matter of finding balance. Linderman carves out the spectrum, and now we must find our point on it.