Feedback

     It’s finally summer, and the top is permanently battened down on the Miata. It’s glorious to drive it, especially in the early morning: the wind buffets from all directions, the pebbles in the road surface transmit through the tires, the sun glows from all directions, the exhaust note burbles in response to any throttle input … I’m immersed in the environment, and whatever input I give, I get immediate feedback. It’s quite a contrast to other cars I’ve driven, which are premised on the obliteration of feedback: symphony-hall-quality sound systems, hermetically-sealed cabin air conditioning, sound-deadening insulation, and a host of high-tech distractions. A sports car, a motorcycle, a jet ski or sailboat—all pay homage to the power of feedback, all can provide an experience of full awareness and control.

      It’s something I teach my media classes at the very beginning of every quarter: without good feedback, there’s no real communication. Any message has to pass through a number of barriers on its path from sender to receiver, overcoming the hurdles of encoding (choosing the appropriate symbols, whether words, images, or even musical notes, to represent the thought; filters, both physical and psychological (we tend to “tune out” messages we don’t like to hear); “noise” and static; the receiver’s own “decoding” (what we say is not always what the receiver hears) … As anyone who’s ever participated in the childhood game of Telephone well knows, what we start out saying often ends up as something very different on the other end. The only way to measure the accuracy of the communication is to provide feedback to the sender. And that feedback may well be uncomfortable or unpleasant. Without feedback, there’s no true communication, no exchange of ideas, just a one-way shout. But with the wrong kind of feedback, the kind that sets up a resonance, something even worse occurs: a feedback loop. The signal amplifies—becomes “purer”-- the filters fail, and the message evolves into an ear-splitting squeal. We cover our ears and seek to shut out the noise.

     I recently read The Filter Bubble, by Eli Pariser, which argues that modern data-mining technology is creating this very kind of feedback loop. As our internet clicks are gathered and collated, our online personas are analyzed, refined, and narrowed into tidy marketing niches. We are, increasingly, provided messages that resonate with our pre-existing beliefs and desires; we are offered the products, services and ideas we already want and agree with. As we insulate ourselves with the comfortable and shut out conflicting information, we’re setting up our own feedback loops.

      And here’s the problem. Too many of us these days are metaphorically driving luxury cars with windows up, radios permanently tuned to the same talk shows, and A/C blasting. Modern communication technology has made it easy for us to hear only what we want to hear and see only what we want to see—and it’s driving us apart. We’re believing crazy things: that the President is a Muslim, that allowing people to commit in love to each other will somehow destroy society, that gluten-free foods are good for us, that the lives of celebrities are meaningful and important … and that our tribe of congenial fellow-thinkers is all that matters.

The "Heroes" of the Hunley

I’m a sucker for shipwrecks.  I don’t know why, but there’s something about the presence of a massive structure sitting on a seabed for, sometimes, centuries that just engages my imagination; the envelope of water makes even the most mundane details magical. 

            A few years ago, I had a chance to visit the C.S.S. Hunley, the first successful submarine (successful in the sense of being able to actually kill people other than its own crew—at which it was also remarkably successful.)  On February 17, 1864, the Hunley rammed the Federal warship Housatonic, which was enforcing a blockade of Charleston Harbor, planted a torpedo in its hull, and exploded it.  For the first time, a massive warship sank, helpless against eight men and a mine.

            You have to see the Hunley to really understand just how stupendous a feat this was.  Its propulsion was by a hand crankshaft linked to one small propeller, and operated by eight sailors.  They could not sit upright, but rather were hunched over nearly ninety degrees.  They had to “power” for a mile and a half just to get to their target, and then crank all the way back.  The air was foul, and the illumination provided only by candle.  What really impressed me were the two hatches, about the diameter of a basketball hoop.  These were small, strong men—and once they squeezed into this thing, it would have been impossible to squeeze back out in a hurry.

            And they didn’t.  The Hunley sank after this mission,  drowning all the crew, just as it had twice before.  When it was raised in 2000, all eight were still at their stations.

            Heroes?  To my mind, certainly.  I cannot imagine doing what they did, and I have to admire and honor what they did.  But I’m troubled by that admiration.  They bravely sacrificed their lives, all right, but they did it for an evil cause.

            The crew of the Hunley were Confederates.  They may have had many personal reasons for committing to the side that they did, but ultimately, by doing so, they were committing to the ideal of white supremacy.  The Confederacy was dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal—but that huge numbers of people were not, well, men (or women).  Some people could be property, legally equivalent to cattle and horses.  Moreover, they were part of a culture that had engaged in ethnic cleansing, including the Trail of Tears, and that was openly advocating imperialistic expansion to Cuba, Mexico and Central America.

            Is heroism dependent upon the cause for which it’s expressed?  Can we appreciate the bravery of Nazis at the Siege of Stalingrad or the Battle of the Bulge, or the sacrifices of the Japanese at Iwo Jima?  Can bravery be recognized apart from the bearer’s ideals?

            For the first time in 150 years, we now have the chance to see the Hunley clearly.  Can we?

            Watch the following video from CBS News:  http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18563_162-57363382/restoring-a-piece-of-s.c.s-civil-war-history/?tag=cbsnewsTwoColLowerPromoArea;fd.morenews

From the Hubble Telescope

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

GOOGLE INTRODUCES “GOOGLE GRADER”

Kirkland, WA:  Google today announced the release of a new free software package for community college instructors, Google Grader. 

“We’re very excited about this,” says Google spokesperson Genevieve Eek, “since so many of us spent some time as adjunct instructors and know the terrible burden of grading essays.”  Google Grader, she predicts, will dramatically reduce the turn-around time for returning essays to students, although it may also result in reduced teaching opportunities for recent grad school students.

Google Grader will scan electronic copies of submitted essays for common errors, such as fragments, comma splices, and run-on sentences.  An “Advanced” setting can identify dangling and misplaced modifiers, subject/verb and pronoun agreement problems, and five-paragraph-theme structures (which will automatically be assigned a failing grade.)  One touted feature, however, had to be removed after Beta testing; the “Logic Lapse” analyzer frequently overloaded the program, causing complete system collapse.  “We’re working on a new algorithm for that,” says Eek, but she concedes that, as with Voice Recognition, such a feature may be far from practical application.

Google Grader will be available for download as soon as Google can find interns capable of writing the instruction manual.

Bracing for 64

When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now Will you still be sending me a Valentine? Birthday greetings? Bottle of wine? 

I started wearing suspenders (“braces”, if you’re of the British persuasion.) Is this the final capitulation of the Baby Boomer?

 You know the stereotypes: an old man in a rocker on the front porch of a rickety store, smoking, hooking his thumbs in the suspenders on either side and telling boring stories. Or the urban working class guy with the tattered coat and flat cap (I have several of those, too). Or Uncle Joe of suspect sexual predilections. At best, I’m Captain Jack of Torchwood; at worst, friends call me “Snuffy.”

 I bought them for costumes. The first set was for a bit part in a staged reading of The Rainmaker; I played Grampa. The second pair was part of an appearance by Ken Burns to promote his Prohibition film; I dressed as a worker in a bootlegging warehouse. All in good fun, and I embraced the stereotypes.

 But then I made an uncomfortable discovery: the damn things are comfortable and practical. I’ve been having this problem. My belly protrudes. It didn’t do this when I was working out every day and riding my bicycle to work. But it does now, swelling like a balloon. And my pants keep falling down. I’ve found that I have two options: 1) cinch a belt as tightly as I can around my hips, in which case my shirts invariably become untucked and I suffer from 19th-Century female “diseases”; or 2) hitch the pants up above the apogee of my stomach bulge, in which case I become one of the Katzenjammer Kids.

 The suspenders solve both problems. The pants stay at the proper level, and the shirts stay tucked within them (well, mostly. Buttons still have a tendency to pop apart, though.) So far I’ve been able to hide them under sweaters so my concession to age has gone largely unnoticed, but Spring will someday arrive, and there I’ll be: a certified senior with suspenders and a Hawaiian shirt. Maybe shorts, too—why not embrace the decrepit dorkiness of it all?

 Gotta go. The front porch rocker needs me.

  Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?