Sometimes ideas about how things work get stuck in my head and I'm not sure where they came from--T.V.? a conversation with a friend? A blurb in a newspaper? Not knowing the source makes me suspicious of their veracity. At times I have enough initiative to do some research, but today is not one of those days.
Having given that as an introduction, allow me to share my thoughts on what I've named (or heard somewhere and am now plagiarizing) neural grooves. The idea, based on real science or not, is that we fall into habits of thought and behavior because our neurons, after enough repetitions, become accustomed to a particular path, which becomes the easiest way to do things, or the path of least resistance--a "neural groove." Getting out of that path requires significant energy.
Is this accurate? At the very least, I'm sure I just jumbled things and oversimplified them a bit. I may have confounded some facts and some bits of pop culture. Or it may be complete mumbo-jumbo, the neuroscience equivalent of Christopher Lloyd in "Back to the Future." I guess the underlying idea, though, that change is hard, but can be exhilarating and liberating, is what I really want to emphasize. I've been thinking lately about some of my unhealthy grooves and how hard it is for me to get out of them.
But what if I could? What if I found a way to break out of the groove of constantly worrying about silly things, or tearing myself down over nothing, or coming home and wasting time instead of getting straight to the gym? Besides the inherent satisfaction of overcoming these tendencies, I can imagine that the feeling of change would be so refreshing. It would feel like the world was truly yours for the taking--and spending time doing something that wasn't habit would make each day feel new and full instead of monotonous.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Super Crunchers: Why stats may be the next course I take
I just read Super Crunchers, by Ian Ayres. The author, a law and business professor at Yale, presents dozens of examples of how computerized data crunching is changing business, politics, even teaching. He shows how computerized formulas routinely trump experts in predicting everything from what years will have good vintages to what unemployment policies are the most successful at helping people find jobs quickly.
The argument was compelling: in case after case, he showed how traditional experts were outdone by numbers. Baseball scouts, for instance, attend one game and believe that they can see something special that will identify a stand-out player. Yet Ayres points out that the difference between a .275 hitter and a .300 hitter is one hit every two weeks. This is a traditional stat any baseball fan follows, but then Ayres explains how a number cruncher named Bill James developed a regression formula to find how any given player actually contributed to runs created. He can now show not only how a players' individual stats add up, but how he contributes to the team's success.
Scouts, naturally, are less than enthusiastic about the new technique. Ayres goes on to point out how experts in their respective fields resist data crunching as it infringes on their terrain. If Ayres is right, the role of human expertise is quickly becoming obsolete. Intuition may still be needed, but in a vastly new way: he sees its role as finding explanations behind the numbers, and determining what factors to weight and how to weight them. Human expertise will be in developing new formulas to do the expert thinking for us.
I still have questions. I believe that skepticism, unlike cynicism, is a healthy thing. The book presented so many relevant data and seemed to address most of the immediate concerns or doubts that came to mind. I want to know more; I want to know HOW to do it myself, and not just why data crunching is changing the world. It inspired me into looking into some stats courses because, if Ayres is right, knowing how to crunch numbers grants a certain kind of power--the kind of power I crave--the power of knowing something of significance.
The argument was compelling: in case after case, he showed how traditional experts were outdone by numbers. Baseball scouts, for instance, attend one game and believe that they can see something special that will identify a stand-out player. Yet Ayres points out that the difference between a .275 hitter and a .300 hitter is one hit every two weeks. This is a traditional stat any baseball fan follows, but then Ayres explains how a number cruncher named Bill James developed a regression formula to find how any given player actually contributed to runs created. He can now show not only how a players' individual stats add up, but how he contributes to the team's success.
Scouts, naturally, are less than enthusiastic about the new technique. Ayres goes on to point out how experts in their respective fields resist data crunching as it infringes on their terrain. If Ayres is right, the role of human expertise is quickly becoming obsolete. Intuition may still be needed, but in a vastly new way: he sees its role as finding explanations behind the numbers, and determining what factors to weight and how to weight them. Human expertise will be in developing new formulas to do the expert thinking for us.
I still have questions. I believe that skepticism, unlike cynicism, is a healthy thing. The book presented so many relevant data and seemed to address most of the immediate concerns or doubts that came to mind. I want to know more; I want to know HOW to do it myself, and not just why data crunching is changing the world. It inspired me into looking into some stats courses because, if Ayres is right, knowing how to crunch numbers grants a certain kind of power--the kind of power I crave--the power of knowing something of significance.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Romney Dilemma
Note: I wrote this almost a year ago but never did anything with it. Since I have become a blog-slacker, I thought I'd stick it on here now. Sorry if the politics grate too much on anyone!
Politically, I fall in a strange place: a public high school teacher, I support the notion that equal expectations in education are not feasible without equal funding; I watch the Bush administration’s foreign policy with increasing horror; I support stricter enforcement of gun laws and I decry Congress’ failure to come to an agreement on the immigration bill. My approach to these issues aligns me with moderate Democrats: Hillary Clinton is most likely the candidate who best aligns with my position. I am also religious, albeit faithful to a religion that I have recently realized is viewed with suspicion by many of my fellow Christians. As a practicing Mormon, I cannot support abortion rights, putting me at odds with virtually every Democrat. In this strange, unrepresented political landscape that I seem to occupy alone, choosing a candidate has never been easy. In some situations, the candidates themselves make the choice easier: in 2004, I voted for John Kerry, confidant that any compromise I was making for the case of abortion was preferable to whatever arrogant and single-minded course Bush would pursue. I feel proven right more than 3 years later.
All of which is why my gut reaction to Mitt Romney is so odd. Politically, we disagree in almost every respect. I am baffled by the way in which he explains his attacks on McCain’s immigration bill two years after being caught on record supporting it. Watching him defend Bush’s war policies in a recent debate made me shudder. Abortion, the major issue where I align with the GOP, is one of the key places where Romney’s record is not consistent with conservatives, giving him the ominous designation as a “flip-flopper.” In short, it would be hard to find a viable candidate whose political views differed more from mine.
So why do I find myself so disappointed to see Romney falling in the polls, losing his edge, being attacked and bashed and questioned as his impressive momentum leading to the primaries seems to gradually be chipped away by his opponents? I publicly avow that McCain is my Republican candidate of choice, and so he is, aligning much more neatly with my political beliefs, seeming more consistent and tried and less likely to shift course for fickle popularity. At the same time, I surprise myself by feeling dismayed when I see that McCain has gained an edge on Romney.
In spite of what many Romney supporters have claimed, I cannot help feeling that votes for or against Romney are a kind of national referendum on Mormonism. Growing up in a mid-sized California town with a visible Mormon population, I felt largely accepted. Besides the occasional attack (always from those who claimed to be Christian, sadly enough, and never from atheists or Jews), I felt like people understood the basics about my faith, and if they did not always respect it, were civil enough to treat us with dignity.
Recent polls showing that Americans are less likely to vote for any Mormon candidate, sound bites from evangelical Iowans claiming their concern in voting for Romney, a professed Christian, who might not believe in “our God” (whatever that means), and ignorant and dismissive comments by renowned religious leaders on national television have left me feeling like I have been duped into feeling accepted. Does this mean that the friends, co-workers, classmates who I thought had granted me their respect were laughing, deriding, or railing against my beliefs while openly treating me with respect? Am I less likely to get a promotion, win an award, be elected to a position of leadership in the teaching profession, because of my faith? If I have children, will other parents whisper behind their backs and eye our family with suspicion?
The lack of tolerance makes me initially want to vote for Romney out of defiance, as a way to neutralize the vote of at least one person who liked him best on policy but was afraid of “his God” or the Book of Mormon or Mormon theology on temples. But then I stop and consider: do I believe that a candidate’s religion should be relevant in the political sphere? I cannot help but feel that a subtle (or not so subtle, depending on how you look at Huckabee’s infamous “bookcase ad”) avowal of religious belief on the candidates’ part has become a new sort of obnoxious flag-waving, a safe way to win votes without actually having to do anything or develop any sort of policy. And perhaps precisely because the idea of measuring one’s religious devotion is so very laughable, it makes sense that this subject should be left out of the political arena. Mitt Romney has many admirable qualities and laudable accomplishments behind him. He is Mormon, which means it is most likely that his religious views align with mine more closely than any other candidate. But I will not vote for him. Politically, we simply differ too much.
Politically, I fall in a strange place: a public high school teacher, I support the notion that equal expectations in education are not feasible without equal funding; I watch the Bush administration’s foreign policy with increasing horror; I support stricter enforcement of gun laws and I decry Congress’ failure to come to an agreement on the immigration bill. My approach to these issues aligns me with moderate Democrats: Hillary Clinton is most likely the candidate who best aligns with my position. I am also religious, albeit faithful to a religion that I have recently realized is viewed with suspicion by many of my fellow Christians. As a practicing Mormon, I cannot support abortion rights, putting me at odds with virtually every Democrat. In this strange, unrepresented political landscape that I seem to occupy alone, choosing a candidate has never been easy. In some situations, the candidates themselves make the choice easier: in 2004, I voted for John Kerry, confidant that any compromise I was making for the case of abortion was preferable to whatever arrogant and single-minded course Bush would pursue. I feel proven right more than 3 years later.
All of which is why my gut reaction to Mitt Romney is so odd. Politically, we disagree in almost every respect. I am baffled by the way in which he explains his attacks on McCain’s immigration bill two years after being caught on record supporting it. Watching him defend Bush’s war policies in a recent debate made me shudder. Abortion, the major issue where I align with the GOP, is one of the key places where Romney’s record is not consistent with conservatives, giving him the ominous designation as a “flip-flopper.” In short, it would be hard to find a viable candidate whose political views differed more from mine.
So why do I find myself so disappointed to see Romney falling in the polls, losing his edge, being attacked and bashed and questioned as his impressive momentum leading to the primaries seems to gradually be chipped away by his opponents? I publicly avow that McCain is my Republican candidate of choice, and so he is, aligning much more neatly with my political beliefs, seeming more consistent and tried and less likely to shift course for fickle popularity. At the same time, I surprise myself by feeling dismayed when I see that McCain has gained an edge on Romney.
In spite of what many Romney supporters have claimed, I cannot help feeling that votes for or against Romney are a kind of national referendum on Mormonism. Growing up in a mid-sized California town with a visible Mormon population, I felt largely accepted. Besides the occasional attack (always from those who claimed to be Christian, sadly enough, and never from atheists or Jews), I felt like people understood the basics about my faith, and if they did not always respect it, were civil enough to treat us with dignity.
Recent polls showing that Americans are less likely to vote for any Mormon candidate, sound bites from evangelical Iowans claiming their concern in voting for Romney, a professed Christian, who might not believe in “our God” (whatever that means), and ignorant and dismissive comments by renowned religious leaders on national television have left me feeling like I have been duped into feeling accepted. Does this mean that the friends, co-workers, classmates who I thought had granted me their respect were laughing, deriding, or railing against my beliefs while openly treating me with respect? Am I less likely to get a promotion, win an award, be elected to a position of leadership in the teaching profession, because of my faith? If I have children, will other parents whisper behind their backs and eye our family with suspicion?
The lack of tolerance makes me initially want to vote for Romney out of defiance, as a way to neutralize the vote of at least one person who liked him best on policy but was afraid of “his God” or the Book of Mormon or Mormon theology on temples. But then I stop and consider: do I believe that a candidate’s religion should be relevant in the political sphere? I cannot help but feel that a subtle (or not so subtle, depending on how you look at Huckabee’s infamous “bookcase ad”) avowal of religious belief on the candidates’ part has become a new sort of obnoxious flag-waving, a safe way to win votes without actually having to do anything or develop any sort of policy. And perhaps precisely because the idea of measuring one’s religious devotion is so very laughable, it makes sense that this subject should be left out of the political arena. Mitt Romney has many admirable qualities and laudable accomplishments behind him. He is Mormon, which means it is most likely that his religious views align with mine more closely than any other candidate. But I will not vote for him. Politically, we simply differ too much.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Snow Days
I dislike D.C. weather. It's no secret. Whenever I'm engaged in the quintessential D.C. small-talk conversation and someone asks me the obligatory question about how I like the area, I answer, "I love how it draws interesting, ambitious, and informed people. I like the city. I hate the weather." It must be admitted that April can be lovely: a good day can have a fresh coolness and a perfect blue sky, and cherry blossom season is a tourist trap in D.C. for a reason. October can also be pleasant--cool and crisp but filled with sunny days--and I admit that this year's fall colors seemed even more breathtaking than usual.
Unfortunately, the other months--and that means January, February, March, May, June, July, August, September, November, and December--are either hot and humid and sticky, rainy, or cold and damp. D.C. temperatures don't dip dangerously low compared to some other cities, but the swampy dampness that makes the summer so intolerable sends a chill to your spine in winter (I know that's a cliche, but it is so descriptively accurate--it actually does make your spine ache as you feel an instinctive urge to hunch over into a ball), and a brittle wind can make the temperature feel much colder than weather.com or my car's thermometer will admit.
D.C.'s unique blend of temperatures hovering near freezing and dampness cause another phenomenon--ice storms. This past week, we got a few inches of snow on Tuesday. For an area composed of people from all over the United States, that's enough to snarl traffic. What happened later that night was that temperatures rose slightly and the snow turned to freezing rain. In the morning, as it got cold again, there now was a thin layer of shimmering, glassy ice on top of all the snow, the cars, the parking lots, and the roads. What does this mean? Snow day for us teachers!
Much as I hate winter, I am very appreciative of the ice and it's resulting unexpected holiday. First, I should explain that my school district schedules 183 school days per year under the assumption that we may waste three of them on snow days. So if we DON'T get our snow days, we're working an extra three days for free. I should also explain that, while teachers get a larger than average chunk of time off, they have no control of the dates. Sick days are a joke: they take more work than skulking into work and giving the kids busy work yourself. And there is something so psychologically rewarding about waking up for work, planning to be at it 10 hours, and then checking the district website to read the message, "All Fairfax County Public Schools are closed today." It is a gift! Suddenly, the hours stretch before you, rife with possibilities: sleep, reading, watching a movie, making pancakes in your pajamas, catching up on bills, going out to lunch with your teacher buddies . . . whatever it is, it wasn't there moments before when you thought you would have to work. Wasting time is not an issue, because the time simply wasn't there before. You can slack guilt-free!
Wednesday was the year's first snow day. After checking the website, I gleefully got back into bed. I slept until 9:30! I'm not really sure how I did it. If that doesn't seem ridiculously late, I should add that that's four hours after I normally wake up. I did work for a few hours on catching up on some grading. I watched a few episodes of "Veronica Mars" on DVD, my newest guilty pleasure. I read. I emailed. I went to the gym. It was a beautiful day!
Unfortunately, the other months--and that means January, February, March, May, June, July, August, September, November, and December--are either hot and humid and sticky, rainy, or cold and damp. D.C. temperatures don't dip dangerously low compared to some other cities, but the swampy dampness that makes the summer so intolerable sends a chill to your spine in winter (I know that's a cliche, but it is so descriptively accurate--it actually does make your spine ache as you feel an instinctive urge to hunch over into a ball), and a brittle wind can make the temperature feel much colder than weather.com or my car's thermometer will admit.
D.C.'s unique blend of temperatures hovering near freezing and dampness cause another phenomenon--ice storms. This past week, we got a few inches of snow on Tuesday. For an area composed of people from all over the United States, that's enough to snarl traffic. What happened later that night was that temperatures rose slightly and the snow turned to freezing rain. In the morning, as it got cold again, there now was a thin layer of shimmering, glassy ice on top of all the snow, the cars, the parking lots, and the roads. What does this mean? Snow day for us teachers!
Much as I hate winter, I am very appreciative of the ice and it's resulting unexpected holiday. First, I should explain that my school district schedules 183 school days per year under the assumption that we may waste three of them on snow days. So if we DON'T get our snow days, we're working an extra three days for free. I should also explain that, while teachers get a larger than average chunk of time off, they have no control of the dates. Sick days are a joke: they take more work than skulking into work and giving the kids busy work yourself. And there is something so psychologically rewarding about waking up for work, planning to be at it 10 hours, and then checking the district website to read the message, "All Fairfax County Public Schools are closed today." It is a gift! Suddenly, the hours stretch before you, rife with possibilities: sleep, reading, watching a movie, making pancakes in your pajamas, catching up on bills, going out to lunch with your teacher buddies . . . whatever it is, it wasn't there moments before when you thought you would have to work. Wasting time is not an issue, because the time simply wasn't there before. You can slack guilt-free!
Wednesday was the year's first snow day. After checking the website, I gleefully got back into bed. I slept until 9:30! I'm not really sure how I did it. If that doesn't seem ridiculously late, I should add that that's four hours after I normally wake up. I did work for a few hours on catching up on some grading. I watched a few episodes of "Veronica Mars" on DVD, my newest guilty pleasure. I read. I emailed. I went to the gym. It was a beautiful day!
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