Trend towards Adrianism

Browsing for new books at the library is a seriously awesome pastime of mine. So, when I came upon Cass R. Sunstein’s book, I was hooked. It has two very impressive features; a phenomenal cover design and an enticing title. I give a little ‘hurrah’ for marketing in literature and picked it up!

I have not been disappointed. The library may be a little disappointed, as I was meant to return it last week, but we’ll be ok. I HAD to finish it and have it here to write about. The ideas and studies presented in Going to Extremes: How like minds unite and divide, were extremely compelling, explain enormous amounts of social interactions, and, I think, were incorrect. Er, I mean, very correct and perfect. Hm, shall I be united or divided?

How do likeminded people become extremists? It is certainly a question that I’ve asked as perfectly competent people make ridiculous decisions, which I’ve witnessed, stupefied. Or, better (worse) yet, be in a situation where one’s voice is entirely disregarded as the group runs away from truth. Oh, how that stings. And, it has a name! It’s called ‘cascading,’ but can go in any direction. And, I even discovered why, that one time, when I was completely certain of my own calculations, then looked at the crowd intent on a particularly lousy decision and decided not to put up the fight, merely excusing myself. Aha, I practiced self-censoring and self-selection. Notably, it has bothered me ever since, as I do not like to take that route.

There are two parts of this book that really got me thinking. One addressed the extremism of Islamic terrorism, and the other was a study of Stanford students. To address Sunstein’s whole argument leading up to his example of Islamic terrorism just might necessitate quoting the whole first part of the book. As I won’t do that, I’ll just give the clincher. If you would like to see a change in something that you find to be incorrect extremism, engage on respected terms. I have often encouragingly quipped ‘politely!’ to those wishing to go head to head with their opponent. Oh, to have someone whom you respect open your eyes to new information and ideas – so beautiful and successful. In the plainest terms, Sunstein concludes that only Muslims can change the mindset of Islamic terrorists.

The other was a study of university students who play acted a psychological experiment as guards and prisoners, wherein the activities were really foul. There was one quote by the psychologist conducting the study, Zimbardo, which has irked me. He said that the students showed no differences at the beginning of the study yet were entirely dissimilar by the end. From what I read, I would disagree, saying they were all still completely uniform at the end. Not one showed heroics, not one rose above any ‘station,’ and not one proved driven by any internal morality. Each participant responded to the authority with obedience, squelching any personally held ideas of individual worth; only a couple of the ‘prisoners’ objected to their treatment, necessitating removal from the project. (The fact that scientists may no longer conduct such human experiments for study is slightly encouraging… of course TV networks may produce highly similar ‘games’ for entertainment value.) Sunstein continues to discuss Abu Ghraib, individual thresholds against bad behavior, and concludes that there are dispositions towards evil and towards good. The makeup and interaction of groups will determine the final outcome.

So I’ve discovered. That there is the opportunity to influence outcomes through bold statements, truth notwithstanding, is overwhelmingly supported through studies and experience. That one may stand against group polarization (or create an opposing group) and turn the tide of extremism is an idea I hope to develop. Watch out for Adrianism!

Frank and Mamah

Loving Frank is meant to be a historical novel. And it is, somewhat. The dates on the pages indicate the setting as turn of the century. The novel moves from Chicago to Berlin, Paris, Tuscany, and Kyoto, to somewhere outside Madison. All those places were true and distinct in the early 20th century. There was the great Woman Movement in the states, the modernist movement in Europe, and certainly ancient art in Japan.

Regretfully our main character, Mamah Borthwick, is completely fictionalized. The only things that are truly known of her are that she was married, loved and translated the writings of Sweden’s Ellen Key, had an affair with Frank Lloyd Wright, and died in a ghastly attack at the home she and Frank shared.

Uh-oh, is that a give-away? Did I just spoil the ending? Hmm, well, it’s difficult to say. I only finished the novel because I skipped ahead wondering if anything ever actually happens other than a 40 year old mother’s internalized wondering if leaving her children was very clever. The idea that she may possibly be a martyr to free love finally gives the book some intrigue. Otherwise, random violence leveled against an introspective woman is not super interesting, especially when the woman was not the famous historical figure of the story.

Writing a fictional account of Frank’s life may be interesting, but there are already biographies and autobiographies on him. Therefore, creating a story about his love life, of which there is precious little record, does strike a note when the three or four scraps of information about one particular mistress are so incredibly potent. However, there seems to be so much more to say that would create a sense of time and place that just didn’t happen, as much of the expression in the novel came across as contemporary. When all is said and done I will be more interested in Frank’s architecture than Mamah’s translations, just as I would have been before.

Uncommonly HOT

It's too hot to blog. It's too hot to cook. It's too hot to read.

However, I have been doing the latter two at my typical rate. Only sitting at a desk typing with sticky fingers has been put on hold. I have determined to take my book and sun tea with peaches to a cool lake for the remainder of this heat wave and may return afterwards when cool rains come and soothe my sweaty soul.

Peace out.

Community Supported Agriculture

Boxes of vegetables are coming my way. I have joined a CSA this year! I’m super excited about what I might discover. So far in my farm sharing I traveled to the peninsula to visit the farm, have a look around, and pick some super phenomenal strawberries.

Now there are a few distinct examples in my life which will elucidate why a farm share works for me. Let me discuss the strawberries for just a moment. I am not a fan of ‘strawberries.’ Picking an organic strawberry that is ripe on its itsy bitsy ground cover bush does not have much to do with ‘strawberries’ as they find their way to so many grocery stores. So, at Nash’s Organic Farm, the strawberries were like the ones that you might dream about if you felt like eating sun warmed juicy candy that melts in your mouth needing only the pressure of your tongue to mash it against the roof of your mouth. This corresponds to the memory I have from my childhood, eating the little strawberries my mom grew in planters on the front steps. Reproducing miracles in one’s mouth is no small thing. This works for me.

This week in my box I got salads and other stuff. I should discuss the other stuff, as that’s going to take creativity to use, but I started out by washing my salads. And then I tasted them. And since then I’ve been eating salad for all my meals and snacks (except breakfast). And that is not because there’s so much and I get another box next week! It has everything to do with the crispy, crunchy, slightly sweet, somewhat ticklish edged leaves they possess.

But I do get another box next week, so I really could use a little help. Are you hungry?

Kateri's Crows

I shudder in my attempt to identify with Kateri Tekakwitha, in The Reason for Crows. Diane Glancy found Kateri, a Mohawk Indian girl, on a panel of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in NYC and has written a first person narrative of her story, including narrative from the point of view of the priests she meets.

Kateri’s mother was stolen by the Mohawks from her original tribe. Kateri’s father was the Mohawk chief. Kateri should have been the daughter of Helen of Troy by my calculations of how people groups do tribal fighting and spoiling and regeneration. Except, in upstate New York during the year 1656 things seem more disastrous on the individual level without the overarching epic story.

The epic story has invading traders, priests, and disease conquering the smaller groups of already warring peoples. But is there love! Yes, we see that there is. Is it sacrificial? To the utmost, as only sacrifice and hardship are available to she-who-walks-searching-in-front-of-her, to her who hears Ezekiel and sees spirits and follows Christ, to her who has joined the epic story of God.

West Coast Cheesecake

For quite some time Seattle has been enjoying good weather. Every time the forecast projects rain, it surprisingly turns to sun. It is surprising, as Seattleites are far more conditioned to hear that sun’s coming only for it to be rain – or, in recent winters, snow.

What does this have to do with cheesecake? And isn’t that a New York specialty? Interestingly, cheesecake reaches far beyond NY, and the weather is highly impactful if you’ve been requested to make cheesecake for your friend’s outdoor wedding in June in Seattle where it’s been uncommonly warm and sunny.

Needless to go on, that was exactly how my shoes felt a week ago.

But I’m going to share a BIG secret. My cheesecake recipe isn’t mine. It’s my paternal Grandma’s. Although I don’t even dream of diverging from the recipe, my mom has effectively perfected it. And it is phenomenal. I refuse to eat any other cheesecake. I don’t refuse to eat any other cookie, pie, tart, pudding, crisp, crumble, cobbler, ice cream, etc. than those made by my forebears, but this is it. Not too long ago I meandered by Junior’s, the cheesecake haven in Brooklyn, and didn’t even feel like going in – it can’t be as good. (Plus, I’d just eaten pizza at Grimaldi’s and nobody needs cheesecake after pizza, even if I was biking.)

So, will I give up the important part of the secret? Well, I’ll tell you one trick: it presents best slightly cool. But, when rather more slopped than sliced, you can still receive complements such as, “I thought I’d had good desserts before, but every time I taste something you make, I realize I’ve never actually eaten anything very good. It’s delicious.” Makes you feel as glowing as a bride!

A School Magazine

I just finished reading my alma mater’s new magazine. There was an impressive amount of self congratulations and boy-is-our-school-the-bomb kind of articles. It’s to be expected. But I’ll admit that the people who were interviewed actually were the bomb. They had published books, started profitable and ground-breaking businesses, received academic honors, lived in challenging locations, and been neighborly, too. And I knew more than one of them. Does that make me the bomb by association? And am I saying ‘the bomb’ because that was in vogue when I attended said establishment?

Because I am discussing reading, or, more truthfully, my alma mater’s poppycock, I tried to become incredibly impartial and decide whether it was a worthwhile read for anybody. Would you want to know what the people who were doing well from my uni were doing? Maybe. If it was compelling writing and the things were truly interesting, not just glorified school fight songs.

So, what is compelling about different people and their interests and their work? Or, more to the point, what is it that makes anything worth reading, because that should transcend interest groups, shouldn’t it? Certainly there’s little question about whether literature, art, architecture and the like are able to inspire people who are from other times, cultures, and belief systems. So, an article extolling the good deeds and results of people – any people, example: those from my alma mater – would necessarily be inspiring to someone who’d never heard of the school or the community if it was excellent.

Aha! Much like most blogs, articles, writings, etc., this magazine will be passed on once, then lost (or recycled) because it does not have that level of depth. It’s full of mildly interesting snippets of people’s stories, printed on heavy glossy paper. But I will continue to read them; they bring me flashes of hope, joy, and recognition – kind of like my picture albums…. Do not despair, as I will soon be back to great literature, worthy to be shared far and wide. (Oh, but I’m going to keep reading the silly blogs, too!)