Extra! Extra!

The last blog post was featured in a piece published by the Columbia News Service. It was then picked up in a number of newspapers, most notably the Chicago Tribune.

The first weeks: The psychotic casserole

I've been a father for a couple weeks and already I could use a vacation. Friends, no matter what you've heard, parenthood is not all sunbeams and rainbows. There are also rainclouds.

Of course rainclouds have their silver linings. Tornados, on the other hand, do not have linings because no material can withstand the 300 mph winds. Parenthood this week was like a trailer park in Kansas.

Babies have only one way to communicate, and luckily only a few needs: a nap, a feeding, a burp, a diaper change, the Meaning of Life. The last one is tricky, because they need it NOW! You tell them "42," but they have no sense of humor. They do not accept that it's an ill-posed question. They will only cry. And cry. A lot.

The baby books say some amount of crying for no reason is normal. Expect an hour a day, they say. We get more than that, but an hour of pointless crying is still a lot. It's unpleasant, even when it's your own baby. It's frustrating, especially when it's your own baby. Why should this happen for no reason? It's wasted energy (13% more metabolic energy compared to not crying), which babies need--they lose weight after birth and then gain back ~15% of their body weight in a week. For me that would be 25 lbs! But the crying seems worse than pointless because of everyone else within earshot, whose nerves are getting shredded along with the baby's vocal chords. Is the wanton spreading of bad will really the best strategy for someone utterly helpless and dependent on others?

Being a scientist, I looked into this.

People have indeed studied infant crying, but not as much as you might think. Search for "colic and crying" on Web of Science and there's around 100 papers. For comparison, "black holes" has 12,000! Since both black holes and crying babies are singularities that suck in all nearby resources you would think scientists would focus on the ones in people's living rooms before looking 1,600 light years away--wouldn't you?

Anyway, before getting into pointless crying, let's mention the theories for regular (purposeful, consolable) crying. To my knowledge there are only two that are undisputed. One is common sense: that crying signals a discomfort or need, like hunger. The other is that crying is to maintain parental proximity, which is again straightforward, but perhaps less appreciated because the dangers of being left in the savannah, where we did most of our recent evolution (and where the baby is "expecting" to be), are more severe than in the nursery (SIDS is nothing compared to Sudden Infant Lion Food Syndrome). Also, being held is useful for thermo-regulation, which is under-developed in humans and other mammals where the young are carried. Crying that is "pointless" (or "excessive" or "inconsolable") is in relation to these two reasons. There is no apparent need (e.g. the baby refuses to feed) and it continues when the baby is held and soothed. There are other possibilities however.

There is a third theory for crying: that it signals vigor, to encourage parents to give their full support. In this case the purpose could be easily missed. In abundant societies--what we're used to--parents almost always give full support to all their children, but not so in harsher environments. With survival questionable, resources might be better used on a more vigorous child, or on the parents to get them through to a more prosperous time. Throughout most of history, even outright infanticide was a relatively common option. (Today there's plenty of food and adoption agencies, so infanticide is a heinous crime--even on a long transcontinental flight!) Less extreme, parents might just give less care to a baby that's less vigorous (cries less). Supporting this, a study of preterm twins found that the healthier twin received more attention from their mothers, particularly when crying, though without the mothers noticing the discrepancy. 

However, parents want to have vigorous children, but they don't want excessive crying. I think some amount of crying does signal vigor--it's more costly for sick children to cry, and some very sick children do not cry at all--but when the signal is perceived negatively (as irritating or frustrating) then I don't think it's likely to be entirely a signal for something unambiguously positive.

The conflict above suggests yet another theory for crying: that it's manipulation. In the parenting books, you will find no allowance for manipulation--in fact some explicitly state that the baby is incapable of it. (They likely mean conscious manipulation, but this is a false distinction, as consciousness is not required for the theory.)

In fact, we have good reason to expect some amount of manipulation, because of a theory put forth by Robert Trivers in the '70s called parent-offspring conflict theory. It begins with the observation that in sexually reproducing species, like humans, parents share half of their genes with each of their offspring, while offspring share all of their genes with themselves (obviously). Thus the interests of parents and offspring overlap but are not identical; some conflict is expected. And with conflict comes the possibility of manipulation. There is a fair amount of evidence supporting Trivers' theory in birds, insects, plants, and humans, as well as in pregnancy and in the genome itself, all of which is touched on here.

But if the crying really is pointless, then it can't be manipulation. There has to be some goal. Generally, babies that cry more receive more attention, but why continue crying when they're being held and offered food? It would make more sense to cry only when let down, say. However, all babies, even those with colic, have the same number of crying bouts; it's the duration that varies. The same is true of the traditional hunter-gatherer societies that have been studied (they typically have lower amounts of crying than in the West). Other universal features of crying is that it intensifies from birth until the sixth week and then decreases (the so-called n-shaped curve); and each day it peaks in the early evening.

Maybe inconsolable crying is caused by discomfort that the parents aren't aware of, or can't do anything about? Digestive problems is the usual hypothesis--indeed "colic" derives from the Greek word for colon. However, studies suggest that in, at most, 5% of cases is colic (using the "Wessel" definition: >3 hours of crying, for >3 days/week, for >3 weeks) caused by some organic problem, usually cow's milk protein intolerance, but also acid reflux or indigestion. There is no apparent difference between breast fed and formula fed babies. Recently, an intriguing study did find that probiotic supplements for breast-fed babies significantly reduced the time (by 2/3) of crying compared to simethicone (the active ingredient in over-the-counter anti-gas medication, which in other studies worked no better than placebo). This suggests that digestive issues do contribute to colic, at least in some cases, though it should be mentioned that the study was not blind, so parents--who also made the crying assessment--knew which treatment they were getting. Still, even babies with this treatment cried on average for an hour a day. Also, studies (e.g. this one) find that cortisol levels--a sign of pain and stress--are not elevated in babies with inconsolable crying, further arguing against gas pains or other discomfort.

The universal patterns of crying (the n-shaped curve, the evening clustering) suggests that inconsolable crying might be a feature of neurological development. Chimpanzees, which are our closest evolutionary relative, have similar patterns in their crying, however their crying is always consolable. Perhaps human babies' relative immaturity at birth (neoteny) has made this development more fragile? The behavior change at 3 months, when inconsolable crying largely stops, is correlated with physiological changes in the brain (increased cortical-subcortical neural connections, an increase in cortical control of subcortical activity), and changes in the neurons themselves (myelination). Other authors (Jenni) have argued that the patterns of crying may be due to missteps while establishing the alignment of the circadian rhythms. Colicky babies seem to sleep about 2 hours less, for instance, and their nighttime sleeping is disturbed even after controlling for the additional crying (Ref. here).

It's possible that inconsolable crying is merely a side-effect of development and neoteny. However, I find this explanation suspect--inconsolable crying causes too much emotion in parents (and others). It's the leading complaint to pediatricians. It's also the number one triggering cause for abuse and infanticide. Plus, as mentioned it's energetically costly at a time when energy is at a premium (presumably this is one reason babies sleep so much). The above changes are of course relevant, but they're proximate causes; I'm interested in ultimate causes. Lastly, I think the n-shaped curve similarity with chimpanzee cries--which are consolable--suggests the details in inconsolable crying in humans is probably not highly optimized. My guess is that one "knob" related to crying was adjusted (perhaps the off knob), which may or may not have been a side effect (e.g. of neoteny). It then remained that way, or underwent only minor modification, because of the ultimate causes considered here.

With that in mind, I will now turn to my own idea, which I call the hazing hypothesis. I propose that inconsolable crying may be inconsolable and irritating on purpose, to make the parents value the child more afterwards, using the same logic as fraternities that haze. The logic there, in turn, is the "effort heuristic," which is the tendency to attribute more value to outcomes that required more effort. Whether or not this heuristic, or heuristics in general, are adaptive shortcuts, or outright flaws is debatable and interesting (here is an interesting discussion on the rationality of heuristics in general), but I won't get into it here. 

I put forth this hypothesis because it seems plausible and yet to my knowledge has not been considered. Note that it's an extension of the manipulative signal hypothesis. Anyway, one implication of the hazing hypothesis is that after the hazing period parents will value their child more if they cry more. So here's a testable hypothesis: Fathers present during the 6 week hazing period and who subsequently leave the family (e.g. through divorce) will devote more resources (time, money) to offspring that cried more excessively. I would think the hazing would be targeted more at the fathers since they have invested less into the offspring than the mother and have more to gain by leaving. (I chose divorced fathers because their resource expenditures would be easiest to quantify.) Plus, the generally difficult and painful delivery is already a form of hazing for the mother. Another hypothesis might be that infants cry more with a male caregiver present, assuming the strategy is responsive to the environment (weak evidence against this here). Of course, it's possible that the crying itself drives the father away, or worse, and certainly compared to a fraternity where potential pledges are abundant this would be much worse for the baby.

But perhaps it's not worse for the baby's genes? As Richard Dawkins has famously pointed out, evolution acts on genes, not organisms. And the baby shares half its genes with its siblings. If the parents can't handle the hazing then perhaps they don't have what it takes to raise the baby anyway, and it would be better for the genes to have the parents focus on those genes in the baby's current or future siblings. 

Though I predict the hazing to be targeted mainly at the father, I think the mother will experience an effect as well. Here we can hope to find some evidence already in the literature, since research on parenting more commonly focuses on the mother. Studies have compared children with and without colic, and their mothers, after the colic period was over. They found no significant differences in personality between the two groups of children, but they found that mothers of children with colic have more separation anxiety. This is consistent with these mothers valuing their child more, though of course it doesn't imply it.

Here's a final possibility: Maybe inconsolable crying is meant to make us anxious. Anxiety is generally seen as a negative quality--and in an extreme form it is--but in moderate amounts, in the right situation, it is almost certainly adaptive. A baby is a fragile beast. Perhaps you, and people around you (which in tribal days were largely your extended family), should be anxious. You are not on vacation. In fact you're still in Kansas.

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Note: One review article (by Joseph Soltis) was particularly helpful in my research. It included responses from a dozen or so researchers and then another response from the reviewer. It's around 50 pages total, so I have left some things out, for instance the role of the cry tonal frequency.

The first day: The cutest casserole

Today I became a father. It also happens to be Father's Day, and not to mention one of the best days of my life.

The absolute #1 best day of my life, which is not quite as cliche, might have been back in high school when I had a really, really excellent nap. You wouldn't understand--words can't describe the dreams or how well rested I felt (and maybe I'm a bit biased toward sleep these days), but then words can't describe the experience of my daughter's birth either. "Amazireal" comes close, but it's not in the OED yet. But even then the definition would just be more words, and we'd be back where we started.

So onto another problem: the once-in-a-lifetime Best Day of Peoples' Lives happen all the time. At any future time and date you care to name, drive to the nearest hospital and you will find new parents who just had a profound life-changing experience. You would think these experiences would be a little harder to track down -- prizewinning bass are wilier -- but you follow the signs to post-partem and there they are, like fish in a bucket. No fishing buddy needed.

Maybe that makes childbirth all the more amazing. Just about everyone has children and talks about how amazing it is, and still I'm surprised. But that makes sense I suppose, because of the word problem, which we've already discussed. So we've come full circle--or full flattened-ellipse since it was only one stop.

One final issue. Since I did not in fact give birth myself, there is likely yet another gulf of ineffability that I'm unable to cross. Compared to Heather, I was certainly on the outside. But far more than I expected, I was on the inside too. After all, that was half of my DNA in that baby recipe. And for 24 hours, my thalamus and parahippocampal cortex that were experiencing each painful contraction (to some degree). So on the surface it was just like the videos. But it wasn't like the videos at all--the real life emotional kick took me by surprise, and it changed everything.

I expected it to be like following the recipe from a cooking show. There, you leave room in your expectations for what's missing on TV: the smells and tastes, the pride in the result being partly your creation.

But then, as you pull your casserole out of the oven, a ninja stabs you with a hypodermic, injecting you with adrenaline and oxytocin. No one expects that! Not only does your casserole seem more real--you knew that would happen--but it's also surreal. You're in love with your dinner.

You will find you enjoy staying up all night with it, trying to make eye contact.

Don't 'Lord' it over Survivor

Though I missed every episode this season (and for that matter the last 12 seasons), last Sunday I watched the Survivor finale—and it was surprisingly good. And not just because it was entertaining. I'm about to argue it's as valuable culturally as any science documentary or novel.

Snort in scorn if you will, but bear with me for a specific comparison. Take the novel Lord of the Flies, which has obvious parallels with the show and was in fact largely its inspiration. The author of this novel, William Golding, won a Nobel Prize largely because of it. You might consider this recognition that the book is among the best humanity has to offer. In contrast, many pundits use Survivor as an example of the worst humanity has to offer, classifying it as the lowest common denominator, as bad as a show can get, or as outright silly and stupid. Is Survivor obviously less valuable to society than Lord of the Flies?

It helps the comparison that the premises are so similar. In both cases, people are out of their usual element trapped in a more primitive environment, and we're intrigued. What will happen? And right away, Survivor has a straightforward advantage: It's real. Actual people are competing for an actual million dollars. Golding's characters on the other hand are figments. Maybe Golding gets it all wrong.

In the book The Nurture Assumption, Judith Rich Harris argues that Golding does in fact get things wrong. For one, he has the boys using glasses that correct near-sightedness to focus the sun and start a fire—an impossibility, as only reading glasses correcting far-sightedness converge light. But of course Survivor and Lord of the Flies are interesting for their psychology, not physics. Here, Harris claims that Golding wrongly has the younger boys isolating themselves, as little boys will seek out boys a few years older even when they're treated poorly.

A more serious mistake made by Golding, according to Harris, is how the groups evolved. It's said that before reaching the island Jack knew—and was a leader of—several boys from their school choir, yet early on these boys disperse and later side with Ralph, whom they didn't know. The boys also implausibly ignored class, though the novel takes place among British students in the 1950s and they come from different schools and have different accents. Then—perhaps the biggest flaw—well after the two groups were formed, the boys in Ralph's group one-by-one switched sides to Jack's.

A social psychology experiment conducted in the 1950s by Muzafer Sharif and collaborators actually looked to test conclusions about group dynamics drawn from the novel, and they found a fundamental problem. The experimenters randomly selected boys from the same area (Oklahoma), age (11), family background (White Protestant), and IQ (average to above average), and they were taken to what they thought was a normal summer camp, but was instead a carefully planned experiment. They were divided randomly into two groups, but the groups did not know about each other. As soon as the two groups discovered each other, however (this happened before planned), the boys quickly identified with their group, with one group suggesting to run the other off the camp. After one group lost a baseball game and destroyed the other team's flag, the other group raided their cabin at night and stole a pair of jeans, which they tore up and used as their new flag. The next day the other camp retaliated with a bold midday raid and destroyed much of the first group's cabin. The experimenters were relieved when the next phase arrived, where the two groups would be 'peacefully' joined and noncompetitive actitivites were planned. However, the groups were not easily forgotten (and remember the boys here are more similar than in the novel). Even after efforts to unify the camp, the boys still identified strongly with their original groups, and in the mess hall a food fight broke out between the two groups. All of this suggests that at the core of Lord of the Flies is a basic flaw. The boys' leaving Ralph's group to join Jack's was central to the plot, and here we see that intergroup conflict simply doesn't happen that way. The groups would have been stable.

Of course, we can't expect novelists to be social psychologists, and there are still reasons to enjoy Lord of the Flies—Golding's use of language, literary allusion, and symbolism, for instance. Still, we expect novelists to be keen observers of humanity, and that supposed insight is partly why Golding won the Nobel Prize. To be fair, there are non-trivial psychological aspects that Golding did get right. He has the boys first kill a pig (gradual disinhibitation) and then transform their appearance (making them more anonymous) before they start killing each other. The importance of disinhibitation and anonymity have support in Philip Zimbardo's research, most famously the Stanford Prison Experiment. It's also to Golding's credit that he inspired the above studies—and Survivor.

Which brings us back to the thesis. Survivor, unlike a novel, can't get anything wrong, because it just reports what happens. The worst it can do is be predictable. But Sunday's show was not predictable. Even long after events played out, it's apparently still not clear what each character should have done.

One surprise was a fifty-year-old computer programmer named Yau-man. He didn't seem to fit in—the rest of the cast were younger—so people expected him to be voted out early. He won many of the challenges, however, often using basic knowledge of physics (dropping a box on its corner, its weakest point), and bold moves (putting himself on 'Exile Island' which led to another immunity). He also made strong allies, and at the beginning of the finale he was among the last five. In the previous show, with six left, Yau-man made yet another bold move: He offered to give the $65,000 truck he just won as part of the show to another player, who called himself Dreamz, in exchange for Dreamz' 'immunity necklace' if he won it when there were four left. Dreamz was known to be poor (he grew up homeless) and he wanted the truck, and he also was strong and stood a good chance to win a challenge. Dreamz accepted the offer. But he would get the truck no matter what happened—it was only his word he could offer, and he had already betrayed others along the way. Yau-man won the next immunity challenge (a blindfolded maze race), and in the following challenge (holding yourself up on a wet incline) it came down to just Dreamz and Yau-man. Yau-man would either hang on to win, or Dreamz would win and would give his immunity to Yau-man. Yau-man had very impressively guessed which round he would need help, and who best to give it to him!

But then things went all wrong for Yau-man. He held on the wet incline for a while longer, but then fell off. Afterward he high-fived Dreamz, but then he didn't say anything when Dreamz wore the necklace around (the vote wasn't until the next day). He eventually approached Dreamz and asked that if, for some reason, he decided to keep the necklace—though he didn't think that he would—would he at least vote for someone else? The next day at 'tribal council' Yau-man was prompted to address Dreamz, who still wore the necklace. Yau-man was calm: He said simply that Dreamz had made a promise and that he thought Dreamz would do the right thing. Dreamz looked conflicted, but then he decided to keep the immunity necklace, and Yau-man was voted off. The next day the winner was picked from the remaining three by the players already voted off, and another player, Earl, was picked unanimously.

At the end of the show, the cast was in agreement that Yau-man was a great player. Not only did he win many challenges, but he was well liked. Indeed a vote at the final ceremony revealed that if Yau-man were one of the three remaining he would have won. The fansite Survivor.com calls Yau-man one of the greatest players ever. Curiously, no one, including the other players and those on CBS's Survivor message boards, apparently not even Yau-man himself, seems to notice that at the end Yau-man made a fatal mistake. His loss is either seen as bad luck, or as a failure to read Dreamz's character correctly when he made the initial offer.

My take is different. With Yau-man and Dreamz left at the last challenge, Yau-man could have won. His first mistake is debateable, but I think he should have let go—making it clearly purposeful—just after Earl did. That would show his confidence in Dreamz. Of course, if he thought he could hang on to win, then he should've done that, but he didn't hang on for much longer, and Dreamz is strong. Whatever. Maybe it was worth a shot. But an undeniable mistake—his biggest—was his plea to Dreamz to not vote for him if he kept the necklace. What he said, in effect, was that it wasn't a big deal if he kept the necklace. Yau-man gave up his biggest weapon: outrage. Yau-man should have had Dreamz think he would be outraged if Dreamz reneged, and this would have made it emotionally more difficult for Dreamz to renege in the moment. More importantly, Yau-man should have made Dreamz realize that everyone else—particularly those voting—would be outraged too, and that Dreamz would have no chance of winning. That was the beauty of Yau-man's offer! He might have tried to make the truck offer contingent on Dreamz giving up his immunity, in which case if Dreamz decided to pass on the truck then it just would have been a calculated move and no harm done. Even in that scenario, Dreamz likely would have lost in the end because he betrayed multiple people. In the actual deal he at least had a chance to redeem his character. So Yau-man had everything stacked in his favor. That he didn't get the necklace is largely his mistake. It's possible that a clearly thinking Dreamz still would have reneged to gain the difference between second or third place and fourth place (around $40k), but he thought he had a chance of winning the million and he was still conflicted. The boy needed a wake-up call, but Yau-man stood idle!

Of course, it's a lot harder to realize this in the heat of the moment then for me to armchair some days later. But even after some time still no one else seems to see Yau-man's mistake. In the live ceremony that occurs months (guessing from the weight gain of the players) after the vote, Dreamz was asked why he betrayed Yau-man. His response was that it was (only) a game, and people seemed satisfied. Many on the CBS message boards used this refrain when defending Dreamz as well. At the ceremony Dreamz was also repeatedly asked if he planned to renege all along, though this possibility was highly implausible—why didn't he immediately tell Yau-man 'sorry but I'm keeping it' right after winning the last challenge (the only chance to give that move a modicum of respect)? Instead he was clearly wavering (which would be bad enough even if he had given Yau-man the necklace). The wavering continued even at the final ceremony as he skirted the above question. Dreamz finally produced an answer and sank even lower: he answered, unconvincingly, that he had planned the betrayal all along. The logical next question went unasked: Why did he think he had a chance of winning after betraying Yau-man? Instead the host asked the other runner-up, Cassandra, if she believed Dreamz' response, and amazingly she answered yes (though not explictly, which left open, slightly, the redeeming possibility she just felt sorry for him). The show was flirting with travesty. But worst of all, no one asked Yau-man why he didn't try to get Dreamz to see the futility of his betrayal and its lasting damage to his reputation.

So the show fails at its own analysis—but overall it succeeds, because it provides such rich fodder. Let's return to the defense that Survivor is only a game. What can this mean? The phrase is a reminder that nothing of value is at stake. You might hear it after a softball game, say, and there it would be true—winning a softball game is not worth much. But in this 'game,' Dreamz cheated Yau-man out of a lot of (actual) money. He broke a deal worth $65,000. Is this any different than if Dreamz had broken a similar verbal agreement off the show?

I'll answer that with another, more provactive, question: Should the soldiers in Abu Ghraib face criminal charges? In both Abu Ghraib and the set of Survivor the environment is otherwordly. In both, there's a question if 'normal rules' apply, and there's an implication that maybe they don't. But while things do seem different, and we wonder how we would act in their place, in the end we recognize that the consequences are still the same. So while most people don't consider the U.S. soldiers' torturing inmates in an Iraqi prison as bad as torturing random people off the street, nonetheless those soldiers are in jail. Likewise, though Dreamz will not be judged as an outright con artist, many people (though curiously not Yau-man) will, justfiably, judge Dreamz as though he basically cheated Yau-man out of the same truck off the show. In both cases, we feel safer in our judgment because they should have known better. It was being recorded and possibly could (or in the case of Dreamz, certainly would) be broadcast!

Even if you disagree with my analysis, you should see that Survivor, despite its flaws, provides nontrivial food for thought. So why is Survivor so often disparaged? My theory is that, in one form or another, it's elitism. First, the show is not high culture. Indeed, at times it's downright hokey—e.g., the extinguishing of a flame to signify a character's 'death,' the way they take the contrived elements ('tribal council') so seriously. Second, the show is popular, and I think pundit-types often have an elitist bias against pop culture. Third, the show seems easy to make. Once the formula is in place—and even here the formula is borrowed—to make new shows one only has to pick some people and a place. Critics often point at Survivor catering to our 'base' elements, like greed, and this too is meant to suggest the show is too easy. Novel writing, by contrast, is seen as arduous, and most people can't do it competently.

I tried to find a cultural event that fits the above description and yet escapes serious criticism. I came up with a televised sporting event, like football. While no one would consider football high culture, I submit football is far less likely than Survivor to be seen as a bad reflection on our society. But why? It too is just a game. It's in fact easier to make from a production standpoint. The players make more money than contestants of Survivor, and they switch teams often for purely financial reasons (and without condemnation). It's very popular—indeed the Super Bowl is the most watched television event. The main difference, I think, is that only a tiny fraction of people can compete in professional football, whereas just about anyone could compete in Survivor (though not necessarily win). The answer again is elitism. The term is not necessarily perjorative; why shouldn't we care more about the extraordinary?

But ultimately I do mean that elitism here is a problem. I think a snobbish aesthetic is making some people miss the extraordinary in Survivor. It's the situation, rather than the people that is extraordinary, however. Most of us will never be faced with such a competition for a million dollars, and it's likely we would not guess correctly how we would respond in every situation. Told about the Stanford Prison Experiment, for instance, people claimed that they would never commit the acts that people just like them ultimately did. And though the situation of Survivor is extraordinary, the basic problems—how to make friends, to be liked and respected, to read others, to strategize in a complex social web while still justifying yourself to others—are in many ways at the heart of everyday, well... survival.

An unlikely ending

An unlikely coincidence happened today, which seems like a good reason for an entry. I started a free trial from eMusic.com, and I found myself reading the Wikipedia entry for Ryan Adams. (That's not the coincidence.) Turns out Ryan Adams shares a birthday with Gram Parsons, a musician from the 70s he's frequently compared to, and also with Bryan Adams, another musician with an obviously similar name. I figured the odds of this coincidence, by some estimation, are 365^-2, or a little more than 1 in 100,000. Of course it's less unlikely—there are many different ways to find an equivalent coincidence—but how much less? I considered this for a few seconds. Then I noticed what day his birthday was: November 5. What a minute... I check the date on the computer. Today is November 5! The previous odds just got kicked to 1 in 30 million—that's lottery range!

Whenever an unusal coincidence happens, I tend to look for more. I don't really think this, but it's like part of me believes the universe is trying to send me a message and I need to pay attention. A similar thing happened after an unusual incident at an Ohio Turnpike rest stop. An old man asked me to hold a door open and then later cornered me in the bathroom and told me about his newly-installed bladder pump. He was worried he wouldn't be able to figure it out. I was worried he was going to ask me to help! It wasn't as creepy as it sounds—he seemed genuinely worried, and he left for the urinals before any such request—but I did feel singled out, that something else weird was going to happen. And sure enough, as I was walking back to my car a man started calling in my direction. I kept my head down, telling myself he was calling to someone else. I was about to start my car, and suddenly—like in a horror movie—he just appeared outside my car and then knocked on my window!

It was anticlimactic after that—he just wanted a jumpstart—but it was weird, so it seemed that my premonition came true. So today I couldn't put out of my mind that the Ryan Adams coincidence was a sign from the universe that something else was going to happen.

In my mind there was another sign that something was going to happen, but this one came from my stomach. The sign read: barbeque. I was hungry in a specific way, and ten minutes later I was inside Rocklands Grill.

And coughing. The food tastes great—they grill with wood—but the price of getting it is near asphyxiation, and smelling like a campfire for the rest of the day. The smoke fills the place and sticks to you like a bad reputation. I was hoping to avoid the smell by waiting outside after ordering, but the person in line in front of me was going slowly. "Which sides do I want... Oh, I don't know, let me see, is that Caesar salad? Is that any good?..." I considered going outside until she was finished, but someone got in line behind me. I had to stay strong. You can't smoke out The Gopher!

I noticed that all the employees wore uniforms, though this performed no real function. At a department store, say, employees walk among the customers and so a uniform makes identifying employees (for assistance) quick and convenient. Here, however, all the employees stay behind the counter where customers are not allowed. The same is true for fast food restaurants. And baseball teams, for that matter—it's not like batters would accidentally hit the ball to the outfielder because he confused him for a teammate! Even the coaches wear uniforms. What's up with that? Maybe uniforms build team spirit. I suppose that could be useful. If I ever get my own laboratory, maybe I'll make my students and postdocs wear uniforms. Maybe I'll wear one too, like a baseball manager.

Anyway, I finally got to order, and then I stepped outside, following my plan. My clothes already smelled of smoke though. Maybe that's why the employees wear uniforms—normal clothes would just get smoke damaged. I walked around Georgetown for a while and then I went back inside Rocklands. Then another amazing coincidence happened. The next orders called were for "Ryan" and then "Adam"!

No, actually I made that up. But here is what did happen: The next order called was for "Dan" (me) right when I walked in. Maybe it's not amazing (or even noteworthy) but it was a coincidence.

Later that day I pondered the pointlessness of the door close button in elevators. It seems to take just as long whether or not you push it. Also, I wondered: Does anyone use the sock-like covers that come with umbrellas (made of the same material so you figure it's not just packaging)? It's too hard to get the umbrella back in, and besides the strap performs the same function but much more efficiently.

Well, that's all I've got. Nothing else happened. Pretty anticlimactic, I realize. It's just like the jumpstart story—but hey, that's life, my friend. I could try to make up something exciting to end with, but I think you'd rather have a true cooking tip, so here you go: Try peanut butter in your next stir fry or pasta sauce.

My Marxist Morning

I don't usually think about social class, but then I don't usually witness proletariat oppression or stroll with a famous politician either. So this morning was an all around exception.

It started at McDonalds, where (consistent with the theme) I don't often go. Being out of milk, I had skipped breakfast, making me weak and unable to resist the thought of an egg sandwich and hash browns. So me and the Blue Biscuit (see last post) went for a McBiscuit.

Inside the restaurant, a man wearing a suit was bossing employees around. He didn't appear to work there—he had to ask someone where the iced tea was—but he was confidently putting food into his bag, in addition to the bossing, so I guessed he was the owner and had come to get a free breakfast. He seemed irritable with the manager about something, and after I had ordered, the manager came over and gruffly told my cashier to enter the number of coffee creams requested each order into the register. You could feel the tension behind the counter, as the bad bile passed down the chain of command. Then the suited man turned his irritation at a hispanic boy wrapping a sandwich—my sandwich it turned out. "No! What are doing?!" the man snapped. I couldn't make out what the kid was doing wrong. "Don't just stand there looking at me with your mouth open! Duhhh!" The man was mocking him, really being nasty, and I felt sorry for the kid, even after I realized it was my sandwich that was apparently being mishandled. More than pity for the kid, who did seem to be taking it rather well—he looked at my cashier and they seemed to share a mutual relief that the man would soon be gone, even a hint of amusement—I was irritated at the man. Or rather The Man. Couldn't he show a little respect?

After getting my meal, I went to the beverage counter to put sugar and cream in my coffee, and The Man came right up next to me. He was filling his cup with some blue punch—I guess he changed his mind about the tea—and I felt like I should punch him, or at least say something. It was after all my sandwich he seemed so concerned about. Who better to stand up to him? And maybe if someone said something he'd think twice about being rude in the future. If nothing else it would be registered that someone thought his behavior was inappropriate, which seemed like a decent human thing to do.

But I wavered. What if The Man was having a bad day? Maybe that kid really was thoroughly incompetent and that was the last straw? What if The Man were to snap at me and make a scene? They were somewhat lame considerations, but let's be honest: I'm not the confronting type. The Man left and I followed him out, squinting at him, hoping he would trip. He didn't, but at least he held the door open for me.

I watched him go to his car, a Mercedes SUV, which was more evidence he was the owner and not an off-duty manager. He squealed out of the parking lot, and that refueled my annoyance. What an all around dick! The only consolation was that he seemed genuinely unhappy.

Then I wondered, Who was unhappier—this guy or the McDonald's employees? What about in general—the owners of businesses or their low paid employees? I've worked jobs at least as bad as McDonald's (washing dishes in a fish restaurant), and though I would hate to go back to that, I didn't mind so much at the time. Maybe because I knew it wasn't permanent? How permanent was working at McDonald's for the people there? Did they live in the neighborhood, and if so how could they afford the $1000+ rent? I couldn't help thinking of class struggle, even though Marxism for me is kind of like Freudian psychology. They each have their own little obsession with a conflict (class and infantile psychosexual, respectively), and I'm surprised people still take them seriously. Anyway, I considered these matters for a while on the way to work, but I had to focus on something more productive, like work.

But then, waiting to cross the street onto campus, I was distracted by a blatantly bourgeois family. The woman—or matriarch?—gave it away. She was wearing a pink power dress with a matching pink bonnet with—here's the clincher—a black mesh veil, which didn't quite reach her eyes. She was also wearing a lot of jewelry and white butler gloves. It looked like she was ready for Easter service, but I guessed she dressed like this wherever she went. She was talking loudly but in a refined manner, and to no one in particular—something about the decoration in a friend's house, which was very "exquisite." I imagined that she never had to work, that her biggest concern was finding the most exquisite decorations. What a contrast to the McDonald's employees! I looked over the rest of the group. There was a mildly attractive woman my age with odd moccasin-like shoes (the daughter), a man the woman's age in a suit (the father), and two bearded men carrying plastic shopping bags and wearing yarmulkes (uncles maybe). I chuckled silently about my earlier Easter association.

Walking behind them onto campus, I overheard the father talking, and I noticed his voice bore a striking resemblance to that of Joe Lieberman's. A little while later he turned to talk to his daughter and his profile also looked quite a bit like Joe Lieberman's. Wait a minute. This is Georgetown. I walked up closer behind them, to better eavesdrop, but then the daughter turned to look at me—I was getting too close, so I backed off. But just then the wife addressed the man as Joe! It was too much to be mere coincidence. It had to be him. I was walking behind the man who was practically elected vice president! One of the Gang of 14. I looked at the back of Joe more carefully. He was kind of short. His suit was a bit wrinkled, and the material looked thin and cheapish, and his shoes looked a little old and scuffed. I wondered if he maintained a slightly disheveled look to seem more like the common man, as politicians seem to do. He was Joe after all, and not Joseph I., as a business executive might prefer.

I tried to listen in from a non-suspicious distance. His wife, who was farther in front, was still talking vaguely to the whole group, like a tour guide. This time she mentioned something about her daughter's generation (I couldn't catch the daughter's name), and something else about what Joe was doing for it. I wanted to keep following them, but we were coming up on my building, and I wasn't catching much anyway. I felt that if I went inside I'd be losing a big opportunity, but for what? Should I say something? "Hey, I voted for you"? Nothing good came to mind. Also, the thought of saying something made me re-question it was him. People walking toward us did look at him, but they didn't gawk or say anything. Anyway, I didn't say anything either, and I went inside to my lab.

Once inside, I felt again that I should have said something. It was The Man all over again. It seemed like my morning had some sort of theme, like there might have been some hidden lesson. But what? Speak up, or feel regret? But maybe I'd feel even more regret if I'd said something. And what of Joe Lieberman, member of the "ruling class"? How did this fit in with my musings on social class? His posse was walking around without Secret Service after all, and—with the exception of the bonnet—looking rather ordinary. This pushed me toward thinking that maybe class has little meaning in America, as some sociologists think. It's certainly a lot more complicated than in Marx's time. In my case, a city boy born and raised in working class South Detroit (again, see last post) is now a scientist, or is trying to become one.

Speaking of which, it's time to get back to work. There's nothing to conclude anyways. As Marx purportedly said on his deathbed: "Last words are for fools who haven't said enough."

The Pilgrimage

Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit
He took the midnight train going anywhere
--"Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey

Six years ago I was that Journey-song protagonist. In my case, "anywhere" is taken as College Park, and it was my car, The Blue Biscuit, rather than the midnight train (although The Midnight Train would be a good car name). Anyway, last week I journeyed back to the Motherland, south of Detroit, still believein'.

But like most homecomings, I never really got there. (Of course literally I did—and on time, despite a Northwest airline strike.) Every year, home seems more foreign.

It started with the refrigerator. My first Christmas back home after grad school (I lived at home during college), I went for a cold drink but was distracted by the strange heft of the refridgerator door. "Did we get a new refridgerator?" I asked. We hadn't. The aphorism needs some work, but isn't home where your motions are automatic? I closed the door and then opened it again, forgetting what I was looking for. "Are you looking for a pop?" my dad asked. Again it felt strange to hear pop, not soda, which I was already used to. I could readjust to these minor changes though, like going back to your BMX bike after riding a 10-speed.

But with time the 10-speed turns to a car and then a plane. Sometimes you find this happening while literally on a plane. A year or so later I flew to a conference in Texas and returned home—but not to Detroit, to Washington, DC. And it felt like home. Detroit was fading from my life. I could see it—or rather not see it—right there on my return ticket.

Several years after leaving home I quite suddenly noticed a Michigan accent. I always thought the Midwest was neutral—indeed the model American accent is a Midwestern newscaster—but now in Michigan I hear nasal vowels shifted towards 'a', overly stressed consonants, clipped endings of words, and the occasional 'Ohh yah'. It is somewhat subtle—my girlfriend Heather, who's come with me on two Michigan trips now, only notices when I point it out with an impression—which often sounds exaggerated, like a mix between Fargo and the Saturday Night Live 'Da Bears' skit. So I wonder: How do I sound to people in Michigan? I've asked, but no one (aside from a Canadian acquaintance) has said I sound Southern or otherwise different. The Michigan accent seems to vary from person to person—maybe my new accent is within the variation. There is, however, at least one Michigan regionalism I haven't lost: using the past tense for the past participle of some irregular verbs, for example "should've went" instead of "should've gone." I often catch myself, but sometimes the past tense slips.

Something else past is starting to slip too: my memories. I forget directions to what used to be familiar places (though they come back fast). I forget how much open space (as opposed to trees) there is too, and how run down things look. My parents live in the suburbs south of Detroit, in an area called Downriver. The name sounds like a euphemism, and unfortuneately it's apt. There are a lot of dilapitated buildings; many are vacant. Considering its proximity to Detroit, it's not surprising there are a lot of auto-related businesses: collision auto shops, auto junk shops, used car lots, oil change garages, brake and muffler shops, transmission repair shops. Since Detroit is the Motor City, Downriver might be called Used-Transmission Township, or maybe Old-Camshaft County.

I also forgot about the proliferation of bars. This may be an aspect where Downriver was ahead of the times: before the police started caring about drinking and driving in the late 70s, Downriver had already solved the problem. Most people have a bar (or two) within walking (or even crawling) distance. The bars may not be the most attractive establishments, but most do have one or more karoake nights a week! Also, Bingo seems to be more popular than I remember, though maybe that's because I've always been younger than their target demographic.

I'm not selling my hometown very well; there's good stuff too. Indeed Great stuff! The Great Lakes are everything you ever wanted in an ocean, without the hurricanes (a benefit this week's tragic events in the Gulf only underline). But I should stop, because you're never a reliable source about your hometown. Of Detroit, as of my own self, I'm probably both more fond and more critical.

So maybe you should just go and see for yourself. That is, if you haven't already went.