Thoughts on Eating Animals

I really want to be a vegetarian. The main reason I am not one at the moment is not that I can't bear the thought of giving up bacon (believe it or not), but it's rather a matter of convenience. Lifestyle changes don't come easy. I'm not a very experienced cook already, so this just adds another layer onto any cooking anxieties I have. Not only would I need to find a recipe for dinner, but it needs to be meatless while still being something that this picky eater won't turn her nose up at...while also being relatively well-balanced and healthy. Right, that's a cinch. Another thing that makes me less likely to try new vegetarian recipes is that they tend to include some rather intimidating ingredients (nutritional yeast?), or at least ingredients that I don't tend to keep in stock and am somewhat unsure of where to locate.

Then there's the whole fake-meat thing. If I read one more "Go veggie—it's easy!" article that recommends fake-meat hot dogs, fake-meat hamburgers, chicken-less nuggets, fake cheese, fake cream cheese, fake sour cream, etc., I'm going to scream. First of all, I don't really eat those things anyway (with the exception of cheese) and thus am not seeking replacements for them. Secondly, I really doubt "you can't tell the difference!" Thirdly: um, hello? Eating nasty fake processed foods is what I'm trying to avoid by changing my diet.

Obviously my motivations for limiting the consumption of animal products aren't really those of most vegetarians, or at least the ones who write how-to sites.

Is the main motivation for vegetarians really that cows are so cuddly, and even fish feel pain, and stuff like that? I sure hope not, but that's the impression I get. Let me set one thing straight: I do not have a moral problem (well, I have a few faint twinges, but they're at a level I'm prepared to ignore) with killing animals for food. I do not think animals are worth just as much as people (hell, half the time I don't even feel like people are worth as much as people). I do (at least to some extent) think that the fact that we're bigger and stronger and smarter gives us a right to eat the smaller, weaker, dumber species. (Yes, if a polar bear or an tiger or a shark eats me, that's my own stupid fault for not being better prepared. May the best beast win.)

That being said, I do have a problem with killing for the fun of it, inflicting unnecessary levels of pain, killing more than we need, and treating animals entirely like products (while they're alive). Animals aren't humans, but they are life, and we do owe them some degree of respect. We need to be good stewards, I guess, for lack of a better word. Yes, we can raise animals for food, but just because we brought them into this world and plan to take them out of it does not mean we can treat them inhumanely while they're here. Now, I don't mean we should avoid doing anything that hurts their delicate little selves in the slightest or read them stories at bedtime or whatever PETA people think we should do, but we should try to treat them at least somewhat naturally.

Animals that evolved to eat grass should not be force-fed corn they can't properly digest until we kill them shortly before they would have died anyway. No animal should be kept in a cage or pen where it cannot move and especially where the bars bite into its skin for its entire life. Why? Partially because, yes, they can feel pain and pain is generally a bad thing to inflict on anything, but mostly because it's horribly unnatural, bad for the animal, and bad for the person consuming the animal. (The stress hormones that are constantly coursing through confinement operation animals' bodies actually affect the nutritional impact of the meat on the consumer. Similarly, corn-fed beef has bad ratios of omega-6s to omega-3s, has more saturated fats than grass-fed, and so forth.) Just as you can't expect a Dalmatian to be a good pet for a third-floor apartment with no yard, you can't expect livestock to live in the dark in super-cramped cages, wallowing in their own excrement. If we're going to say that we're in charge of the planet, we have a responsibility to at least try to keep the rest of the planet in healthy, decent working order.

The part that really scares me about confinement operations, though, is that in addition to the unhealthy meat exacerbating our obesity epidemic and rates of cardiovascular disease, there are the germs. Since they live in close quarters, in their own feces, and eating foods their systems aren't really equipped to best handle, obviously livestock tend to get sick pretty often. No problemo, right? Just shove antibiotics down their throats. (Seventy percent of antibiotics used in the U.S. are used in livestock.) Only one problem: haven't we learned yet that overusing antibiotics is a great recipe for trouble? All we're doing is encouraging bacteria to evolve to be resistant. Then what will we do, when some resistant strain spreads (like wildfire, due to the close quarters) through our food supply?

Oh, but antibiotics aren't all we have to worry about. I mean, there's e coli and salmonella and stuff, but that's beneath my radar. The really, really, really disturbing thing? The swine flu that we're all panicking about (well, nobody's really panicking anymore/yet, but whatever—it is a big public health issue). I mean, this one is kind of a big deal and all, but there's nothing keeping a much, much worse influenza virus from developing in swine because of—you guessed it—confinement swine operations.

See, pigs can get viruses from humans, and pigs can get viruses from poultry, and then pig cells are just fantastic at mixing up and recombining little bits of RNA—voila, a new virus that can pass back to humans. (See this Newsweek article—it starts getting relevant about halfway throught the second page.) So, since we have these "four-legged viral mixing vessels" living in close proximity to each other and often to poultry and humans, we're all set for more viruses to emerge from confinement operations to sweep the globe. Sure, most of them may not be particularly harmful, but it's really just a matter of time until one is. For instance, if the kind of flu that kills people but isn't easily transmitted combines with the kind of flu that's easily transmissible but not particularly deadly and the kind of flu that's resistant to Tamiflu...we're all doomed. (Doomed, I say!)

On the plus side, if we all get wiped out by a new super–swine flu, we won't have to worry about global warming, which is where I was headed next before I got so caught up with superbugs. You know, farts, land use, methane, inefficiencies in growing food to feed to food instead of just eating food, blah, blah, blah.

Basically, I'm just pretty damn sure that our food supply system is going to kill us all, but since I can't really control the entire system, I'll just try to eat lots of whole grains and veggies, which are considerably less likely to kill me and destroy the planet. Plus, you know, I like being in whiny minorities that hold the high moral ground.

Best Era to Live In?

I assume I'm not alone in periodically finding myself wishing I had lived in some other historical era. Being a pioneer in the nineteenth-century frontier: what a simpler time. Living through the World Wars and Great Depression: definitely meaningful, if perhaps somewhat sucky. Being around for the invention of light bulbs or cars or being present for various periods of great social and cultural change—sometimes it seems that practically every time period was more interesting, more dynamic, and more significant than the current one.

(Of course, I have since come to the conclusion that no time seems particularly history-making and society-changing while you're in the midst of it, if for no other reason than that half the time you're not even aware of what's going on until it's over. It is somewhat difficult to detect broad changes without the benefits of hindsight. Anyway, of late, this time period has started seeming pretty interesting: advent of the personal computer, cell phones, the internet; a couple of sweeping social changes (like gay rights); general historical events like 9/11, the election of the first black president, and a crippling economic downturn; a few ridiculous scientific/medical/technical advances (mapping the human genome, anyone?). All in all, it seems my lifetime is set to contain plenty of interesting things that my grandchildren will (hopefully) be jealous I got to live through...even if robots and flying cars are, as yet, not a part of that.)

Anyway, so I was wondering when the ideal time to be born would have been in order to have lived the most interesting / best life (let's keep it narrowed down to America, just for simplicity's sake). What would have been the perfect lifespan—to experience plenty of interesting times and historical events and to be at good ages for appreciating certain things as they occurred? For instance, being a teenager or young adult in the 1920s or the 1960s would definitely be more fun and/or meaningful than being 75 then (a senior citizen flapper?). And don't forget avoiding the worst of negative times; just as graduating from college and seeking a job in 2009 seems less than ideal, obviously, the same would be true for embarking on adult life during the Great Depression or the Panics of 1837 or 1893. (Can we please start calling this the Panic of 2008? That makes it sound much more interesting than "the most severe financial crisis since the Great Depression.") Similarly, being on the verge of retirement when the Panic of 2008 hit pretty much messes up the remainder of your life, and I'm sure the same is true, though to an admittedly lesser extent, during prior recessions.

Right now, I'm thinking coming of age around the turn of the twentieth century would have been a particularly interesting time, though I suppose that puts you raising a family during the Depression (but is there really an ideal time of life to be hit by the Depression?). I'm pretty sure being a baby boomer is not my idea of the ideal life. I mean, it's great for some of them, like Bill Gates, who were able to get into certain industries at exactly the right time (read Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell), but in general, being a middle-aged adult at this point in time seems entirely unappealing.

I'm thinking, as odd as it sounds, that being born in the thirties (too young to really remember much of the Depression, or just being around for the tail end of it) and coming of age around World War II might have been a pretty good time to live. In general, I'm anti-war, but as far as wars go, WWII was probably our most justifiable one. Plus, the entire country was involved and invested—everyone had brothers, cousins, sweethearts, and classmates fighting overseas, the war effort was supported at home (bonds, scrap metal, victory gardens, and the like), and it generally just seems the country all came together. Then that puts you raising a family in the fifties, which seems to be one of the best times to do that. Of course, then you're still stuck being old now, which as we have determined, might kind of suck. Also, the last forty years or so haven't been so great for farmers, which it can safely be assumed a large percentage of these people would have been. Oh well.

I think I'm just biased through the oral histories I've been transcribing for work. So many of the most interesting people whose life stories I've gotten to hear did have this approximate lifespan (which I guess is obvious, since they're pretty much the oldest generation around, so of course they're the ones whose stories people are concentrating on recording before they all die).

My absolute ideal life, as far as I can tell? Being an AP journalist born in the late twenties or early thirties. If you're covering the news, you're practically guaranteed to be present for a pretty big chunk of it. While now is not the best time to be a journalist, retiring a decade or two ago still leaves you with a nice, exciting life full of adventure and feeling generally useful and important. Ah, to have been born 75 years ago...and also a man...whose father knew someone in the newspaper industry...

Creation Myth

This story was written for a college course my freshman year. We had been studying creation myths and were then assigned to write ones of our own. Mine was received to great accolades, which I found amusing, as I had written it as snarkily as I could and felt it was probably directly ripped from an amalgam of every science fiction story I had ever read. At any rate, here it is, edited only lightly (as apparently my grasp of semicolons at the age of 18 was not as flawless as I had heretofore thought):

The Creation of the World (Among Other Things)

A very long time ago, before the world had been created, there existed a spirit. He had no name, but in later years, he has become known as The First One (for obvious reasons). This First One had no body. He was merely a spiritual being that existed in empty space. Well, not quite empty—the space had random balls of gas that gave off light, now known as stars, strewn around it, apparently randomly. The First One could not see the light given out, however, for he had no eyes, and without eyes, there is no perception of light. He was, however, perfectly fine without being able to see. He had no need to see, as he could sense where these stars were. Actually, he did not even have to sense, somehow he just knew. (Incidentally, The First One was not really a “he” either—spirits have no need of gender. He is now referred to as a “he” just to make it easier for those telling the stories, and for those to whom the stories are told.)

The First One does not know how he came into existence, so we cannot know either. He does not remember coming into being, but he knows he has not been in existence forever. He deduced that he had to have been created by something, probably the same something that created the space and the stars, but he was not sure what this was, nor did he really care. He saw no reason why he needed to know how he came into being, as long as he had (a quite logical view, but one that humans, unfortunately, do not share).

The First One had mental abilities. He could create things just by thinking about them and willing them into existence. He discovered this one day when longing for company. Though his mind could amuse him for years, he had been in existence for thousands, or perhaps millions or billions, of years, and he now desired the company of some other being. Since his only experience was with the space (no company there), the stars (ditto), and himself, he logically began thinking of another being similar to himself. It began as an imaginary friend sort of thing, but because The First One had these powers, his “imaginary” friend became real after he had longed for it for hundreds of years. The First One was greatly shocked when, one day (though there were not really days—or years, for that matter—since there was nothing revolving or orbiting the sun, nor, in fact, a sun per se, just millions of unremarkable stars) another being popped into existence. It took him some time to figure out what was happening, as he had never before had contact with another consciousness. In fact, at first, he was a little concerned for his mental health. He did not know if this consciousness was indeed a separate entity, or if he was fooling himself into thinking it was out of some insane desire for company. Eventually, he decided it did not really matter, as long as it alleviated his loneliness and boredom.

The two spirits reveled in the company of each other for some time. Then, The Second One began probing as to her (again, not really a “she,” but the myth has evolved to refer to The Second One as “her”) origins. The First One communicated to her how he had basically thought and willed her into being. They decided to try again, and see if both of them could produce other beings. They could. The First One was naturally better at it, since he had had previous experience. However, The Second One caught on quickly. Soon, there were many spirits occupying the star-strewn space, which we now call the universe. They all enjoyed creating things out of their minds.

Since these beings were intelligent spirits, with no physical manifestation, they communicated through their consciousness. Now, it would be referred to as telepathy or mind reading; however, this is not exactly what it was. The beings basically shared a common consciousness. They knew what the others knew and sensed what the others sensed. Somehow, though, they were yet somewhat separate. We cannot comprehend fully how they were, as it is beyond our realm of experience. There was no actual sending of messages or thoughts; whatever one thought, the others sensed. They could tell that it was originating outside of their own minds, but other than that, it was very similar to the process of their own thoughts. This link existed because each of them had been constructed out of another’s mind. It is impossible to create an intelligent being without having some sort of connection with it.

One of the newest beings, The Little One, somehow made matter with his mind. It was probably an accident, as they had never really thought about matter. The only matter about was stars, which they generally ignored, as they were of no use to these spiritual beings. Nobody had ever thought to try to make anything other than company, in the form of other spirits, nor would they have known how to go about it if they had thought about it. Somehow, though, The Little One created particles of matter, which he arranged into interesting shapes. (The spirits still could not see, but The Little One could sense his matter, since it was his creation. The others could therefore sense it through him.) This accidental discovery started a fad among the younger beings, who began spending all of their time in contests to see who could make the most interesting and novel things out of this matter.

The space began to be fairly cluttered with random clumps of matter. This was not really important, since the spirits had no matter in and of themselves, so it was not as if the creations were taking up space they needed to live in. However, some of the Elders (a few of the older spirits who had created most of the others and who had more traditional mindsets) grew upset at the way the younger spirits were treating their space. They mandated that each spirit who wanted to play with matter in this manner got a specific area of the space. These areas were marked by stars. Each spirit who so desired got one star, around which he could strew his creations. If they expanded too far, the gravitational forces of someone else’s star would capture them, and the spirit would lose his creations, so they were pretty good about only taking up the space allotted to them. The spirits did not create this gravity, nor had they ever sensed it until now, when it became relevant to their existences.

The Elders were still not happy about the fad of matter creation; however, there was nothing they could do about it. They felt a vague uneasiness about the whole thing, since it was meddling with something unknown. Matter and the laws of physics had never before intruded upon their existence, and they felt no reason to be wasting time with such trivialities now. The newer beings, however, did not care about this, thinking (as many young beings do) that they knew better than the older spirits and that since their way was new, it was progress.

One day (for now that there were planets orbiting stars, there were days, years, and other measures of time, or at least the possibility of them, had anyone felt inclined to use them), another young spirit decided it would be fun to make a physical dwelling for his consciousness. He formed a body, which he then occupied with his mind. Soon, everyone was imitating this novel idea. They did not inhabit the bodies all the time, for it would be quite boring to be constantly limited by the physical laws matter was subject to. They created worlds as habitats for the creatures they inhabited, as well as other creatures to interact with the ones they inhabited.

The Elders saw the state of chaos and disrespect into which their universe had fallen, and through their superior brain power (it was closer to the original, and was therefore stronger), bound these young, irresponsible beings to the bodies they were playing with. They were now forced to remain forever in the bodies they had made only to entertain themselves. Separation of the spirits into bodies encouraged them to think more and more within themselves and less and less among the others, causing them slowly to lose their telepathic ability to communicate. In the beginning, it was their choice; they chose to sequester themselves and withdraw from the society of beings. Once they realized the consequences of that choice, they tried to reverse it, but it was too late.

These embodied spirits became the ancestors of every intelligent form of life on every planet. Each one had been embodied on his own planet, in the body he had made for himself to play in. Therefore, the beings on various planets differ widely. Some died out because they had not prepared their bodies to survive very long, and some died out because they had neglected to design a means of replication. There were many, however, who survived. Though the bodies they designed may not have been perfect, they still had enough mental powers to change them slightly before their powers dissipated. The designs for the bodies were still not flawless, but they were good enough to last, and in many cases, they could adapt over time to better fit their environments. Obviously, one of these planets where this occurred is one that we now live on. And this is the beginning of mankind as well as all the other intelligent races on other planets.

Everything I Know, I Learned in Middle School -- Not!

This is a conversation I have gotten into with a variety of people, some of whom had pretty much the exact school experience I had and some of whom had a nearly-indistinguishable one at another of (usually Georgia's) public schools. Mileage may vary according to location, school district, teachers, and, of course, other types of schools, but in general, the people I know (including myself, naturally) are rather displeased with the quality of their educations.

Thus, Things I Should Have Learned But Didn't:

• Foreign language(s). It is well-established that language acquisition is easiest before the onset of puberty. How perfect, then, that most schools begin foreign language classes a few years after puberty. How much easier would it have been for us to acquire near-fluency in another language in elementary or even middle school than in the last half of high school?

• Recent history. Part of this problem, I think, is due to the inevitable crunching at the end of the year as teachers realize everything has taken longer than they thought. Until 11th grade and AP US History, my American and World History classes had never made it past World War II, though I assume we were supposed to in at least some cases. Topics never mentioned: the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Cold War, U.S. presidents/policy from Harry Truman to the current president, social movements from the fifties to the present, conflicts and wars in the Middle East, the de-colonization of African and South American nations and various related conflicts. Knowledge of the past fifty years or so, especially the past 20 (things that have occurred within our lifetimes but that we were too young to understand thoroughly or even to be exposed to, say?) is probably more useful to gain an understanding of the problems facing our country and the world now than pre-WWI European history is or than re-studying the World Wars (for the fifth or sixth time) is, don't you think?

• Current events. I know some teachers tried, but without first having sufficient background in the issues of the day, how much could middle-schoolers really be expected to learn about the world from reading and summarizing one newspaper article a week? It would have greatly helped to have more guidance in the relevant topics of the day. I assume this is discouraged in the name of avoiding the teaching of possibly-controversial personal opinions, but I think there are certainly ways it could have been done.

• Systems of government. I suppose we got a pretty decent overview of the U.S. government, the various offices, and checks and balances, and the like. There's still a lot that's skipped, but I suppose that's inevitable; nuanced understandings of the inner workings can be saved for Poli Sci majors, right? But something I think vital to a true understanding of our political system is a comparison to others. Other than the very basic knowledge that the Soviet Union and China were evil commies and that most of Africa and South America were run by evil dictators (not very nuanced...), one emerges from high school with no idea how the rest of the world runs their governments or even that there are significantly different ways for democracies to run. It was in a college German class that I was first exposed to any detail about another democracy's inner workings. Yes, Germany has a president, but their president's role isn't nearly as great as ours; instead, it is their chancellor who is Germany's face to the world. This was the first time I really became aware of a democratic process that used more than two parties. I guess I had assumed that since the U.S. had (almost always) had two main parties that that was the way it worked and that was best. But wait, some countries have four, six, or more large, relatively powerful parties that usually get proportional parliamentary representation and who select leaders through elaborate alliance-building and negotiations. In many nations, it is common to have votes of no confidence in the prime minister or whomever, forcing a leadership change and a new alliance. Imagine—the American political system is not the only way for modern, industrialized, developed, democratic nations to be run; in fact, it may not actually be the best. (Oh, right, heresy—perhaps why this isn't taught in middle school Social Studies classes.)

• Perhaps a more critical view of the role of America throughout history? (Right, heresy again.) The Spanish-American War, the Mexican War, Manifest Destiny in general...I'm sure there are plenty of other things I can't even think of at the moment or still don't know. The only vaguely anti-American things I remember learning were about displacement of Native Americans and about Japanese internment camps, and I know there's certainly a lot more where that came from, and more recent, too.

• Asian, South American, Middle Eastern, African, and Russian history. Yes, I know, all theoretically included in World History (both in high school and the three to six times before then that the Social Studies courses were supposed to be given a world history slant), but definitely under-covered. (Maybe the problem here was that they tried to teach us the same too-broad topic—World History— five or six times in the broad sense rather than focusing one year on Africa, one on Asia, etc.)

• Science. Yes, all of it. I really can't remember much of anything I learned in science in high school. Before then, I remember plate tectonics, discussion of the sea floor, the water cycle, weather patterns, photosynthesis, types of rocks and how they are formed, the food chain, plant germination, evolution (with a "you may not believe this; I don't really, either" disclaimer), pH, organ systems, colors of pigment vs. light, reproduction (with a variety of disclaimers) and a variety of other useful but basic things. But high school? My strongest memories of physics are of Chewbacca noises from the stools and blaster noises from slinkies attached to the ceiling. Biology? We never even dissected anything, but we did grow some plants, some of which were rumored to have been marijuana seedlings thanks to our resident potheads. Chemistry, I actually do remember a decent amount of, though not in any detail: stoichiometry, valence electrons, chemical reactions.

• Issues to keep an eye on in the future. I would have greatly appreciated someone sitting down and telling us what my generation was likely to face throughout our lifetime: Middle Eastern turmoil, climate issues, the end of Social Security, oil crisis, etc. I think all those could have been pretty easily predicted as important issues of the next five to fifty years or more when I was 13.

• The environment. I'm not sure if we learned what we did because that's what general opinion was concerned with and that's what was known at the time or whether it was to avoid more controversial or frightening topics, but I remember our main environmental lessons being about endangered species, rainforest depletion, acid rain, the ozone layer, and that styrofoam never, ever decomposes. Did we ever talk about the effects of being hooked on gasoline? Melting of the polar ice caps? Global warming in general? Water pollution? The effects of American agriculture on everything? Did we even talk about conserving energy and water in the home?

As sad as it is, I think basically what I came out of public school with what I now consider to be a decent understanding of boils down to basic math (well, up through algebra and geometry, and with the addition of statistics) the English language (which I'm pretty sure I had more than a decent understanding of going in), and the ability to touch-type. I suppose reading, writing, and arithmetic is all that one is promised from a public school education, but it sure seemed like parents, teachers, society, and students all assumed school would prepare students for the "real world." If that's the real goal, it fails miserably. I feel horribly ill-informed about entire centuries of history, huge swaths of science, and basically everything that has actually occurred in my lifetime until the past five to seven years. Upon graduation from high school, I was ill-prepared to be a good citizen of my country, (having said the Pledge of Allegiance every morning for 12 years decidedly does not count as adequate preparation to be a good citizen), much less the world.

Of course, it's not like I have any idea how to adequately prepare children and teenagers for the world. Discussion on any meaningful topic does provide ample opportunity for indoctrination, which the school system is ostensibly against. And then there's the problem of motivation. Children really do not understand at the age of eight or twelve or even eighteen what they're going to wish they had learned or paid attention to when they're 20 or 35 or 50, so even if the appropriate things were taught, there's no way of ensuring they will actually be learned and internalized by students. How depressing. There's got to be a better way.

Melting Brains in the Post-college Young Adult

What happens to people's brains in their twenties that makes homophones suddenly much more confusing than they were previously? I for one grew up never confusing to, too, and two; there, their, and they're; it's and its; since and sense; lead and led; who's and whose or any other set of homophones—ever. I remember doing assignment after assignment of fill-in-the-blank exercises on homophones in English classes from probably third or fourth grade until sometime in high school, but I always thought those assignments were stupid. I seemed to have been born knowing how to use these words correctly and had, in fact, never even realized that there was any reason to confuse them. I wondered if there really were people who thought of homophone pairs (not pears) as the same word and who actually needed to take a minute to distinguish between them, for I had always just unconsciously used each one in the appropriate context and had never even grouped them in pairs as things that could possibly be confused. Their similar sounds were significant only for use in puns.

Sometime toward the end of college, however, I began to notice the occasional slip in my writing, usually while instant messaging. I would almost always catch it before sending and fix it panickedly, annoyed that my brain was starting to fail me. Over the past few years, it has worsened, and I often notice myself making it's/its errors or even more egregious substitutions (at least as far as degree of difference in meaning is concerned). At first, it was only the occasional it's/its or their/there error, but lately, I've noticed right/write confusion, and then twice in one day last week, I noticed that I had written "sense" for "since." Luckily, I caught them. (I can only hope I catch all my errors!) Today I wrote "loose" for "lose" (which isn't even a homophone, or at least not the way I pronounce them—are there regional pronunciations in which those do sound the same?). I even once wrote "tern" for "turn." (Actually, that one, I'm going to assume, was actually a misspelling rather than a homophone confusion, as terns don't really spend a lot of time at the forefront of my mind.)

I would be really concerned about very, very early-onset Alzheimer's or be worried that perhaps the occasional Wiener Schnitzel I ate as a child did indeed contain mad cow (as seems to be the concern of the Red Cross) and that I was now expressing symptoms of Creuztfeld-Jakob, except for the fact that I've noticed the same phenomenon in others. My roommate, another nerd and grammar Nazi like myself, has started complaining about the odd stupid moment concerning homophones. In instant messaging my brother, I've noticed an increase in the number of homophone mistakes he makes. (Of course, he does catch them...most of the time. The other day, though, he said he could feel my judgment through the computer and took another look, catching an its/it's error I had been glaring at.) Several other friends, all of whom are the sort whose souls cry when they encounter such mistakes, are suddenly popping up making them themselves. It's the people who always used to lament these mistakes loudly among themselves, somewhat mocking the poor saps who didn't understand these basic tenets (not tenants—not quite a homophone, but commonly confused regardless) of the English language, who have now begun to commit these same egregious mistakes—and it's so much worse for them! Maybe it's some sort of karmic thing—the universe giving us uppity know-it-alls our just deserts (not desserts—OK, this is one that I actually didn't know, but simply because this word is never used outside that phrase, so I wasn't familiar with it).

All I can think is that for some reason, humans become more phonologically-oriented around the age of twenty, and thus, we write what we hear in our heads rather than what we "see" or otherwise think/represent while we're writing. (Related: phonological representation is much less deep a way of encoding than semantic, and as such, it seems not only particularly prone to errors but also perhaps more likely to occur when one is distracted.) I wonder if this is simply an age thing or if it is somehow related to multitasking or reductions in attention spans. Is the internet making my generation stupid? If so, I can only imagine what it's doing to the kids who are supposed to be learning proper speech and writing now, and who probably get over half of their reading practice on the internet, where there's no guarantee anyone is spelling or using any word correctly. Actually, that might be a large part of the problem: increased exposure to incorrect usage, both via the internet and via working as a preceptor and in the writing lab in college could be skewing my (and my like-minded peers' (not piers)) grammatical compass(es). Continued sightings (not citings or sitings) of misused words could be, in effect, lowering the grammatical defenses of hordes (not hoards) of those who normally speak and write correctly.

What is to be done? If anyone has a solution to this or a better explanation than mine, please let me know. In the meantime, my brain will continue exploding every time I commit this grammar sin.

Food Marketing

Is it not disturbing to anyone else to think of farming as just another industry and crops as just another product to be marketed? I'm not talking so much about Pop-Tarts and Go-gurt commercials, though those are disturbing as well (and if I thought about it for a few more minutes, I'm sure I'd be horrified by that concept, too, but that's not where I'm going at the moment), but more about the marketing by various crop associations to large corporations, other industries, and even other countries.

It seems to me that the world as a whole and farmers in particular should think of growing food in terms of providing good nutrition, not in terms of growing market shares and such. Yes, making money is important, but the rise of agribusiness is taking it a bit to the extreme. Each crop, be it corn, wheat, soybeans, hogs, beef cattle, or dairy (because yes, animals are considered crops—another somewhat unsettling aspect of agribusiness) has its own association (or several), which lobbies Congress for various things to be included in the newest farm bill, provides information to its members, and tries to develop and grow a market for the crop.

One form this marketing takes is the various consumer-oriented campaigns: "Got milk?" (California Milk Processor Board), "Beef: It's what's for dinner" (National Cattlemen's Beef Association), "Pork: the other white meat" (National Pork Board) and so forth. These are not terribly disturbing until you realize that these associations (at least the beef and pork ones) are quasi-governmental associations and that the advertising is funded through checkoff programs, in which mandatory dues are paid for each beef cow or hog sold for the sole purpose of marketing these products.

I would be almost entirely comfortable with the U.S. government running advertising campaigns or public service annoucements to try to increase, say, milk consumption because of its health benefits—in fact, this is what I thought was happening until recently—however, it seems the goal of such advertising is primarily to increase the domestic market for these home-grown food products. I'm not sure there's much of an argument to be made that the U.S. government should try to convince Americans to eat more beef for health reasons. Red meat consumption has lately been even more strongly linked with heart disease and colon cancer, and at least the way beef is produced in America (corn-fed, in confinement operations, overloaded with hormones and antibiotics) makes it even worse. Corn-fed beef has higher omega-six to omega-three ratios than grass-fed; confinement operations and the various drugs used there decrease the animals' immune systems, cause the production of stress hormones which in turn affect the consumer, and can increase the spread of disease, especially when bacteria develop resistances to the antibiotics.

Then there's the way these various associations grow their market shares in more insidious ways. The corn growers have perhaps been the most successful in the past few decades, and as a result, it is quite difficult to find any sort of processed food that doesn't contain some ingredient derived from corn (high fructose corn syrup being perhaps the most ubiquitous, certainly the most recognizable, and currently the subject of much hot debate). This might not seem inherently problematic, but for one, it causes our entire food industry to be way more interdependent than is perhaps wise. One really bad year for corn, and suddenly it's much more difficult to produce a wide variety of products—and they likely cost more, too. For another thing, there is some reason to think corn may not be as great for you as the corn industry, for one, would like you to believe.

Lately, I've had occasion to encounter a number of interviews with farmers, officers on various crop associations, members of farm bureaus, and the like. A number of them mention trips to China and other developing markets to grow the international market for, say, beef or soy. Yes, the Chinese have been eating soy for probably millennia, but the soybean association isn't content with selling China soybeans for soy sauce and tofu or whatever other traditional uses there might be. No, they won't rest until they get the Chinese hooked on soybean oil and, even sneakier in my mind, introduce soy meal into Chinese meat production. To me, it seems that the American food industry is trying its hardest to export the parts of our food supply system that have made it the most artificial, unhealthy, and, yes, dangerous.

One interview that particularly bothered me was with a woman who worked at the National Soybean Research Laboratory. She waxed poetic about the myriad new uses for soybeans they were developing at the NSRL, which sounded interesting and exciting until I realized some of them were largely useless. She talked about using soy flour and other such products as good ways to increase protein consumption in poor Africa schools where cheap nutrition was really necessary. OK, so far, so good. But then she went on and on about how one could substitute between one-third and one-half of the wheat flour in, say, cookie or cake recipes, with soy flour, and so on and so forth. She never really explained why one would want to do such a thing, though. (Soy flour and wheat flour have basically the same calories and fat content, though soy flour does contain a bit more protein.) Apparently soy flour has a weird consistency, which is why one can't replace all the flour, so all in all, it seems like a lot of trouble to go to for only a tad more protein—and since when do Americans need more protein in their cookies, anyway? I am personally somewhat scared of soy (possibly irrationally so) because of the estrogens it contains and the possible effects of those. In general, I think it's unwise to be intentionally attempting to weave an ingredient so deeply into the food supply chain that when unpleasant news does come to light concerning its health effects it is nearly impossible to avoid its consumption (as is currently the case with corn).

What I find the most disturbing of all, though, is that the attitudes of so many in the agriculture industry who seem to view such expansion into overseas markets as their due. They complain about the stricter rules the European Union has, for instance, against genetically-modified grains, or that South Korea has, for instance, on the ages of imported cattle (an attempt to prevent mad cow from entering the country). I'm kind of concerned about our food producers having so much of an agenda of their own, separate from growing what consumers actually want. And really, when they begin to expand their production of meat or grains that adhere to whatever rules other countries have in order to expand their exports to those countries, America is going to be left with the inferior food because we have laxer rules—and that just seems backwards.

Note: My issue is not with expanding the use of corn or soy per se. For instance, I laud the development of corn-based, biodegradable packing peanuts and with the use of soy oil in glass to reduce shattering, and I have nothing against marketing those uses heavily. What concerns me is what seems like pushing the consumption of these ingredients in forms the health benefits or detriments of which have not yet been fully established (or regardless of the health detriments that have been established), working these ingredients into the food supply chain so thoroughly that they are almost impossible to later remove, exporting America's bad food habits to other countries, and, most of all, doing all this in such a way that the average consumer isn't even really aware of it and doesn't know how to comment on it if he or she is.

Newspaper Peeve

One of my many pet peeves: newspapers using irrelevant descriptors for people.

The headline says something like "Cop killed Saturday," leading you to think that he was killed in the line of duty or was jumped by a gang or something. Instead, it's either a random mugging or a car accident or something. "Firefighter arrested for assault"...with a stranger in a barroom brawl, not a coworker in the fire house or with a recalcitrant resident of a burning building. "Teacher allegedly pointed gun, pulled trigger"...at his girlfriend in a domestic dispute, not in the classroom.

Does it really matter what the perpetrator or victim of a given crime does for a living? In these cases, I think not. Obviously if someone is arrested for trying to sell a Senate seat, the fact that they're a governor is significant. If they are a convenience store clerk instead, their occupation is most likely not relevant.

Why do newspapers do this? Is it actually to try to generate more interest by suggesting a more intriguing story to your mind? Is it just that they get tired of writing "Woman, 34, shot in domestic dispute" and need something to liven it up a little? Or is it supposed to make you feel more like you know the person by providing personal details? Whichever way, I do not approve.

Volume Conservation

It's one of those things that everyone knows they should be better at than they are. After a meal, you stand there in the kitchen, eying the food remaining in the pot and contemplating your cabinet full of oh-so-conveniently-sized blue-lidded Ikea plastic containers. If you're anything like everyone else, the container you grab, however, is inevitably much too large for the amount of food you have to put in it. "Oh, that looked like more," you grumble as you press down the lid and stick it in the fridge (which is quite possibly already overflowing with half-filled plastic containers from other nights like this).

This is pathetic. Why can't well-educated, otherwise functioning adults make simple volume judgments? According to Piaget, this is the sort of behavior one should expect from someone in the preoperational stage of development—from ages two to seven! (Piaget had two short, fat beakers filled with the same amount of water, then poured the water from one beaker into a tall, thin beaker, and small children think the beaker with the higher water level has more water.) Now, obviously we are slightly more sophisticated than these two-to-seven-year-olds, since we would, having watched the contents being transferred, know intellectually that they were the same. However, presented merely with the two different containers, we would likely judge them to contain different amounts. The problem is that we apparently lack the skills to judge how much volume a certain amount will fill when its shape is changed. This is not only inexcuseable but somewhat surprising. How are volume judgments not important enough evolutionarily for them to stick?

The good news: it is possible, though extensive training, to master the formidable art of leftovers-packing. I should know, for I have conquered. Behold: the goddess of food volume judgments!

By "extensive training," of course, I basically mean paying attention. I was kind of surprised that one day I just decided, "This is pathetic. I am smarter than Ikea plasticware," and then I suddenly had acquired this ability. Seriously. The first and only real step is just always to select a container smaller than the one you think you need. I have yet to actually run out of container before I ran out of food.

I'm wondering if I will ever not be amazed at my newfound skill. Also, how long it will take for my roommate to get really fed up with my prancing about the kitchen in triumph...

Now a Major Motion Picture!

Due in part to the recent(ish) chatter about how faithful an adaptation The Watchmen is or is not, I've been thinking about book-to-movie adaptations. Personally, like most avid readers, I think, I'm a purist. I want the movie to be the book, just on screen. I'm upset at anything being cut, I'm upset if the actors don't have the right look, I'm upset if the general feel isn't the same...

But isn't it almost impossible to be entirely faithful even if that's the goal? Simply put, there is no way to make a movie that is the book in all its important aspects. The media are too different, our way of interacting with them is different, and it just doesn't work. Most obviously, any length book, from Where the Wild Things Are (trailer!) to Les Miserables, have to fit into basically the same length of movie time, so something almost always has to get cut, or occasionally things have to be expanded.

Then also, books are often advanced through characters' thoughts or descriptions, and these may not translate to film very well. Nobody wants to watch an A Clockwork Orange that is virtually indecipherable because of all the slang (and that takes place in an almost-constant voiceover). Descriptions of scenery or people pretty much have to be conveyed by simply showing them, which isn't quite the same (depending on the author's style, I guess). It's quite difficult to convey the same sort of feeling visually that is conveyed through words, especially as the words definitely don't convey the same sorts of things to different people, and the images may not either. So as a movie maker, you're stuck making decisions about whether to transfer a given set of words into voiceover or rework them into dialogue or whether to convey the same idea visually or set the stage with background music.

Some of the worst book-to-film adaptations I've seen are the word-for-word entirely faithful ones (e.g., anything ever viewed in an English class—Julius Caesar is my personal example of this). Boring! Maybe the problem there is that most canonical books don't ever get to be big-budget movies; they're always stuck being made by literary purists on shoestring budgets. They're not at all artistic. And really, artistry is necessary to make a good adaptation. But this is where you get into trouble with the purists. "They cut out [minor character]!" Yes, because they take up too much time / aren't essential to the plot / whatever. "That's in the wrong order!" Sometimes flashbacks or otherwise chopped-up timelines that work in books are disorienting in movies.

Personally, one of the issues I have in watching movies based on books is that the way I visualized settings or characters isn't ever the way the people who make the movie visualized them, and probably isn't the way the author or any other reader visualizes them. That's kind of the point with books, right, is that you get to visualize it however you want? I can usually get over this, except when it's a book who has main characters who are (a) small children, or (b) animals. In these cases, I think one must be very careful not to take the movie making too seriously and be too faithful. Talking animals that may be perfectly reasonable in a book (largely because you—or at least I—do not fully envision them as real, live animals but rather some slightly fuzzier and less realistic representation of one) look pretty ridiculous in a movie. (e.g., Aslan and the beavers and such from The Chronicles of Narnia) When I first found out they were making a movie of Ender's Game, I was quite concerned, because although when you read it, you know he's only six years old or whatever, it's not quite the same as staring at a tiny six-year-old actor being a freaking genius, or worse, trying and failing. (I guess I won't have to worry about that, though, because they ended up canceling the movie idea.) I guess I can only suspend belief in certain areas—in a book, a talking lion is no biggie, but when there is a lion on the screen, moving his mouth and looking all serious, I find it a bit ridiculous. I would prefer animated versions of these sorts of movies, probably, to relieve my discomfort over this sort of thing.

I think the problem with movies based on books is that fans of the book, other moviegoers, and movie makers all have different expectations from the process. Readers want what I described above (mostly), but can sometimes handle a few well-justified cuts or changes. Everyone who sees the movie without having read the book either wants to know what the story is about or just wants to enjoy a movie. ("Oh, there's a book this is based on. Cool.") The movie makers, however, want to create something. Yes, they took the idea from a book, but their goal is almost never to recreate the book. They want to create something new, a parallel version of this story, or even a much-adapted version emphasizing the parts they think are most significant (or introducing things they think would make it better). I'm sure there isn't much artistic satisfaction in simply translating the written word to the screen; they want to make something new and yes, probably different, to reinterpret something interesting through another medium, to look at it from another angle. I'm trying to realize this and have a more open mind for adapted movies.

Of course, sometimes the adaptations/reinterpretations are so radically different that you wonder why they even bothered keeping the title the same. For instance, 2001: A Space Odyssey is apparently a brilliant and groundbreaking movie on its own terms, but as far as its relation to the book? Not so much. I can't decide whether Kubrick expected people to have read the book or not. I can't imagine that anyone unfamiliar with the book has any idea what's going on in the last half of the movie, especially the Star Child bit. Maybe he likes it that way?

I realized at some point in college that I was approaching the impending release of movies of books I liked all wrong. I'd hear a movie of whatever was coming out, so I'd go reread the book to refresh myself. I would then see the movie and, the book being fresh in my mind, would be indignant about whatever (often relatively minor) changes they'd made. On a couple occasions, I intentionally waited until after seeing a movie based on a book I had not yet read to read the book. I don't find this a good strategy either, because then I visualize the characters the way they were in the movie, and I end up pretty conflicted about which version was better because the movie had compromised my starting point. (Since I generally enjoy books more than movies and think of them as the default and the right or original version, I don't want my experience with them to be contaminated by having seen the movie.)

I finally realized the secret is not to know the book like the back of your hand, and then you'll be happier. Having read the book about six months to a year prior to seeing the movie is pretty much ideal. You are familiar enough to enjoy it all and to have the big things straight, but if something minor is changed, you don't flip out about it. It's nice and drama-free. (Your ideal time may vary—I pretty much have a horrible memory for books and movies, so my detailed memory of them degrades pretty quickly. If you're the sort of person who can recite lines from movies you only saw once and that years ago, you probably ought to have a wider window of time.) I think I read The Watchmen around September or so, then saw the movie in March. That worked, but only because I'd never read it before. For a book I've read more than once, a longer period of time would probably be required.

Tangentially related, I hate, hate, hate it when books put out a new edition, the cover of which has the actors from the movie on it. Viggo Mortensen, though I'm sure he makes a very nice-looking book cover, is not the only Aragorn in the world. I find it again limits your visualization process but also seems to give the movie more power over the book than I'd like. The book is the book, and if people really need to see the actors to remember what movie it was to be tempted to buy it, that's sad. Really, Barnes and Noble can put them on the "the book is always better" table, and people will pretty quickly realize, "Oh, this The Reader is what that movie The Reader was based on!"—no Kate Winslet required.

Conscientious Objectors

Narrator: A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply by the average out-of-court settlement, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one.

Woman on plane: Are there a lot of these kinds of accidents?

Narrator: You wouldn't believe.

Woman on plane: Which car company do you work for?

Narrator: A major one.

--Fight Club

To what degree should one's own beliefs play a role in one's job or public role? The general rank and file Nazis are decried for contributing, via their mundane office work, to the deportation, imprisonment, or death of millions of people. From the secure vantage point of modern-day America, it seems obvious they should have taken a moral stand and refused to continue contributing to such a horror. Well, yes. Of course, it's not all that easy, and of course it wasn't as obvious at the time what was happening or especially how it would all end. (Incidentally, I highly recommend Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil about Adolf Eichmann's post-WWII trial to anyone who hasn't read it.) At any rate, most of us think that ideally, the lower- and middle-rank Nazis (the higher ranks all being written off as pure evil, of course) should certainly have allowed their personal moral and religious beliefs (which, yes, most of them had) to trump the demands of their jobs, even if we admit this might have been difficult for them to do for various social and psychological reasons.

Conversely (though also obviously a less extreme example), John F. Kennedy promised to do exactly the opposite if elected to the presidency. He declared that his religion would not influence his decisions: "Whatever issue may come before me as President—on birth control, divorce, censorship, gambling or any other subject—I will make my decision in accordance with these views, in accordance with what my conscience tells me to be the national interest, and without regard to outside religious pressures or dictates." (I suppose this is slightly different as he is talking about the church's structure and demands rather than personal opinions, but he is still putting the national interest at the fore.) This was certainly a relief to many at the time, although it seems many people in more recent election years prefer their president's decisions to be heavily informed by his faith (but only when it agrees with their own—so maybe this isn't all that different from the JFK situation after all).

In ordinary life, where is the line to be drawn? Should pharmacists be able to refuse to fill prescriptions for the morning after pill or even ordinary birth control? My opinion: certainly not. They're there to perform a job. Yet there are plenty of circumstances in which I do not feel it is appropriate to use "it's my job; I have to" as a justification. For example, if your job entails encouraging people to take out loans they can't afford, denying needed medical care, covering up for legally dubious actions taken by your employer, or bombing civilians in a war, you should refuse. (These specific situations may not be the most universally morally abhorrent—plug in something better if you think of it.)

But there is grayer area yet. Working for a fast food chain could be morally problematic if one disagreed with any of the following practices (not an exhaustive list, I'm sure): industrial farming, grain-fed beef, CAFOs (confined animal feeding operations), high fructose corn syrup, supersizing, advertising junk food, not providing nutrition information in an easily accessible format, exploiting workers at low wages and limited benefits, and yes, even having gender-differentiated kids' meal toys.

The majority of jobs I can think of have the potential for conflict between one's personal values and one's duty. Health insurance—denying people with preexisting conditions affordable medical care because (gasp!) they actually need it? Marketing/advertising—for toys that turn children's brains to mush, for clothing companies who use sweatshop labor, for gas-guzzling cars? Near-monopolistic corporations (Microsoft, Wal-Mart)? Entrapping customers (Comcast, freecreditreport.com)?

Clearly these dilemmas mentioned are slanted a little toward my personal ethical framework and tendency to overthink everything, but in almost any job, there are potentially such dilemmas. How much compromise is too much? To what degree is it desirable that one lose one's sense of agency and become merely a representative of the company while at work? I'm sure, thanks to atrocities perpetuated by people simply doing their jobs, nobody really thinks everyone should do what is requested of them by their employer, no matter what. But obviously society would fail to function pretty quickly if large numbers of people made big ethical stinks about any given aspect of their job that bothered them. (Actually, that's probably not true. Ethical people who made such stinks would be replaced by scabs who would do whatever was asked of them, and the workforce would suddenly be almost entirely unethical.) We can't all run our own businesses, so how should we deal with this?