Those Who Will Not See

Yesterday I shared a post on Facebook that I thought was awesome. Here it is, so you can contemplate it too: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/01/30/share-schools/

The comments I got on it were things like “Wow! Brilliant!” and “This would have changed my life.”

A friend posted exactly the same essay, and here are some of the responses he got, interspersed with comments I made.

COMMENT: Wow, a math teacher that does not understand how game theory works. That is kind of sad.

COMMENT: It should be noted that the premiss [sic] of revenge is that 1+1=0.

 ME: Why are you debating game theory? This is about the human heart.

COMMENT: If she’s optimizing to prevent a low probability event, she’s making the same mistake add the TSA.

ME: Summarize in no more than three words what this essay is about. Kids. Loneliness. Ostracism. Help the hurting. Pay attention, gang. The point is zooming by somewhere overhead. The TSA is irrelevant to this.

COMMENT: I think that people who think that by mining a lot of data and then look for correlations they can detect who’s being abusive are…naive at best, dangerous at worst.

ME: I’ll take naive over uncaring any day. A teacher that cares is way more important than the TSA, NSA, and all those TLA* people. I’m leaving now before I say something that will get me banned. [The poster blocks or bans anyone who engages in ad hominem or other abusive attacks.]

COMMENT: This is a single teacher data mining, yes. The NSA at least has some experience in doing it correctly…

Of course, there were other people who responded to what the post was really about, but I was appalled at the number who skipped right past the topic in favor of showing off their erudition instead of compassion.

Admittedly, I’m a professional nitpicker, and I have sometimes been guilty of the same thing – ignoring the content of a post to go after incorrect usage of “literally,” for example. But my God, the relentless refusal to address the topic, even when it was pointed out repeatedly, and not just by me, that they were discussing Something Else Entirely. With rants so long they were essays themselves, and links to articles on the NSA and how to avoid being arrested. (The thread included comments on profiling as well.)

I have been a victim of bullying, etc. So have many of the people who commented when I shared the essay, and when they passed it along. So have many people who tried to get my friend’s comment thread back on topic.

And so, too, I suspect, were at least some of the people who nattered on about statistical analysis and all the other extraneous matters. I cannot imagine them going through school without getting taunted, threatened, or beaten up for being a “smarty-pants,” “brainiac,” or “know-it-all,” or some words less polite. And I suspect that those people are in MASSIVE denial, still trying to build themselves a shield of words and facts and statistics and analysis and theories and showy buzzwords.

I would tell them (if they would listen, which they likely wouldn’t) that this strategy Won’t Work. I know. I’ve tried it. Again and again. And yet again.

What is that definition of mental illness? Oh yes. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

So what’s the point? The topic, as it were? I may be crazy. But by that definition, so are they. And I’m getting treatment for it, not reinforcing myself with a feedback loop. Oops. Did I just get pedantic and jargon-y? I’ll stop now and apologize.

*TLA = Three-Letter Acronym

Hillbilly Bashing

It seems that hillbillies – people from Appalachia or the southern U.S. – are the last remaining group of people that is acceptable for people to poke fun at, insult, and demean.

Every other stereotyped group has been taken off the comedy table. Indeed, most remarks about stereotypes are not permitted in polite company. You can get into trouble for saying black people are lazy. Italians are mobsters. Fat people are disgusting. The Irish are drunks. The Polish are stupid. The French are snobs. Blondes are dumb (and “blondes” is code for “blonde women“). Feminists are lesbians. Scientists and other geeks can’t get laid. Men are hopeless at child-raising and household chores (or if they’re not, there’s something wrong with them). I’m sure you could add your own examples.

But hillbillies are fair game. Whether you call them hillbillies, hicks, rubes, briars, rednecks, jethroes, bubbas, or peckerwoods, you can make jokes about how they marry their sisters, drink moonshine, screw livestock, and eat roadkill. Honestly, you’d think some people believe that Hee-Haw was a documentary.

Jeff Foxworthy made millions with his “You may be a redneck” humor. It was gentle, seldom-vicious, well-intended humor, but it was stereotypical nonetheless. And was it more acceptable or less because Foxworthy himself was a Southerner? I haven’t decided.

If you look at “reality” shows (I try to avoid them), you’ll get a whopping dose of “Let’s all laugh at the stupid hillbillies. We’re way better than they are.” Duck Dynasty. Honey Boo-Boo. Moonshiners. Hunters and fishers and survivalists. And someone is making a lot of money off these shows. I’ll give you a hint: The moneymakers don’t eat roadkill or have outhouses.

But let’s forget comedy and reality shows for a moment. We all know that’s just entertainment, not one culture actually demeaning another. Let’s look at real reality for a moment.

The other day someone posted about the contaminated water scandal in West Virginia. Many people who replied to this post were, well, less than polite. Here are some examples:

People in those communities need their own Martin Luther King, someone who can raise their spirits and challenge them. Someone who can bypass the whole political process (Me: so far, so good. But wait for it.)…. And because the people there are so fearful of minorities, this version of Dr. King will have to be white and one of their kin, while being aware of much bigger things and principles than Appalachia usually considers.

And this, regarding an elected official who ignored the disaster in his own state:

Yep, and $20 says he gets re-elected. Why? Have you LOOKED at the average citizen of West Virginia? 

And my favorite:

Don’t believe in science? Fine. How about being a good steward of the earth like that book you’re constantly jizzing yourself over says, you half-witted, superstitious dumb-fuck!

Admittedly, there were commenters who called out those who made such comments:

There’s a good chance the “average citizen of WVA” may be keeping your lights on and letting you post insulting things about them.

And:

Extremists have a choke-hold on American politics–and this is true in more places than Appalachia.

And (again, my favorite):

Don’t make the mistake of confusing the politicians and the people. It would be a mistake to stereotype the people of Appalachia as ignorant and racist. You can find ignorance and prejudice in every corner of our nation. You can also find brilliance and humanity in every place as well.

Now I admit I have a vested interest. I was born in Kentucky and so were most of my relatives. And my family has produced teachers and coaches and civil servants and businesspeople and college graduates. And me. Someone who uses proper grammar and punctuation, and makes a living doing that. And yes, listens to country music, knows how to shoot a rifle, has milked cows and collected eggs, and has relatives nicknamed Jim-Bob and Spud.

My culture is as worthy of respect as any other. Appalachian people make beautiful art and music. They have become scientists and celebrities, inventors and innovators.

And let’s not forget that the Appalachian land has been exploited for its mineral wealth, with the profit flowing out to other regions. The farmers who try to make a meager living from land not really suitable for agriculture have had to become sharecroppers. If many people there are poor and undereducated, it’s not because they like it that way.

They may be different than you. But you are not better than they are. Show some respect. The ones who jeer and demean are the uncivilized ones.

It’s All Been Done

The other day my husband came to me, despondent about his photography. “I don’t know what I can shoot that hasn’t already been done by someone else.”

Over the past couple of years, Dan has become a pretty decent nature photographer. He’s developed his eye, learned about S-curves and the two-thirds rule, and considers background and foreground more. When he first started, I would tinker with the contrast and saturation and shadows, but now all I have to do is maybe crop them a little. Sometimes not even that.

Here are a few of his photos. ImageImageImage

I liked them so much that I made them into a slide show for my screen saver. He was surprised and touched.

Then I decided to share them with friends and family. I had 15 calendars manufactured featuring the photos and sent them out as holiday gifts. They were a hit. A stranger saw one at the packing/shipping store and asked if he could buy one.

Then Dan started angsting about having no worlds left to conquer and I had to give him a pep talk. It’s the same with writers, I told him. There are only six plots in the world (around that number, anyway) and literature continues to happen. I told him that yes, every flower has been photographed by someone, but not by him, with his own unique sensibility.

And I suggested that if he was tired of doing flowers, he could start capturing other things that interest him, like textures and patterns. I showed him a few examples of similar photos that a friend had taken and reminded him that an artist friend liked to experiment with patterns of light and shadow.

(I did all this instead of snapping at him that if he really wanted something to worry about, he should look at our bank balance.)

So here’s what he came up with.Image

and

Image

and even this.

Image

 

I think there are many more worlds for him to explore and conquer. If he can get past the Photo Performance Anxiety.

Whither Weather?

No, I am not going to leap into the current “conversation” about climate change, global, warming, and extreme weather phenomena. So if you’re thinking of commenting on that, just don’t. It generates too much heat and too little light.

No, what I want to do is shed a little light on heat. (See what I did there?) In my part of the country, we’ve been experiencing below-zero temperatures, inches to feet of snow, and wild panic-buying of household staples.

(I’m not sure why bread, milk, and toilet paper are the most popular choices after shovels, salt, gloves, and the like. I get nervous if we run low on chicken broth, diced tomatoes, and cat food. But that’s just me.)

My reaction to this dire predicament is a profound shrug. I used to live in upstate New York. On the top of a bald hill (no windbreaks). In a log cabin. Heated primarily by wood. During the winter of 1978-79.

During the recent cold snap I have rediscovered why I both like and dislike heating with wood.

The pluses: A lovely roaring fire in a wood stove is a good thing. It heats the house. You can put a pot of water on top and have an instant humidifier or a pot of tea. The cats like to lie impossibly near it. (Don’t ask me why.) The wood stove is a wonderful supplement to another method of heating and a godsend in an emergency power outage.

The minuses: Stoves require frequent tending – loading and poking and stirring and ash disposal and adjusting the damper, etc. They tend to stop giving off heat between bedtime and morning, and to get them started again you have to get out from under the nice warm blankets.

Most of all, you have to acquire wood and transport it from place to place.

You can buy wood, of course, but that’s really practical only for the occasionally used fireplace or the wealthy. All that I will say about that aspect of wood gathering is that I should never be permitted anywhere near a chainsaw.

Carrying wood from the basement to the second floor of that cabin (it was a big cabin) is what injured my back the first time. The doctor told me I should rest it by not carrying things. This was not an option for me. There are only so many sweaters a person can wear before becoming immobilized.

The upshot is that, while I can appreciate a wood stove, I can no longer operate one by myself. Several bulging disks, pinched nerves, and surgeries later, about the most I can do is advise my husband on how that next log should be positioned. (I do remember the theory; I’m just unable to practice.)

So what I like most about wood stoves is having something other than a wood stove to provide most of the heat and having a husband who can handle the wood transport and assorted bending over that’s required. That and the lower electric bills, of course.

Welcome to my blog!

I will be adding content as time allows. Right now I have to get some work done.