bzzy

One thousand orders awaited us on arrival at work on Monday morning. We shipped about 350. Blogging will suffer.

Brain Tube

Watching TV Makes You Smarter [NYT blogerated link]: Steven Johnson thoughtfully dissects the increasing use of layered, limited-perspective narrative in television and argues that the increasing use of this strategy “makes you smarter,” a pretty shaky thesis. His analysis is pretty interesting, though. I found the bogus cheerleading for the dubious notion that this kind of narrative is necessarily a good-for-your-noggin brain excercise pretty weak.

The depth of analysis applied to the plot structures of the shows he looks at is pretty cool, though. I guess my issue is this: if the writer is capable of such careful work, why not conduct emprical studies that validate or invalidate the thesis? The basic argument is that the use of complex plot structures and narrative methodologies must require more brain work from the viewer. If this is so, and it seems reasonable, does this necessarily translate to “smarter”?

I’d have to guess that it’s demonstrably not so. Mastering complexity is a routine feature of traditional responses to comic books, science fiction, baseball and other sports (statistics!) and music. Managing the reams of data beloved by the respective fan-cultures may well be an activity that folks with a certain intellectual bent engage in. But I’m not so sure it makes them smarter. I’d guess that the activity follows the prediliction.

Still, an interesting read.

Bloomingchickens

Recently, for reasons unknown, I noted myself wondering about a couple of old friends from Bloomington, Melissa Overton and Jenna Hanes. I most recently saw Melissa on my last visit to the town, in 1999, I think. It’s possible I actually saw her on the prior visit.

I haven’t seen Jenna for years and years, though. It was my impression that she was working for Bloomingfoods at the time I was there last but it’s clearly possible that that was only true ten or more years ago. Googling for her proved a touch difficult as her name is partially shared by a porn star and a brand of clothing. I suppose creating this post means it’s possible that either person might come across it while eGoogling, in which case, hi ladies! Hope you are well!

Eventually, I did come across the minutes of a Bloomington Board of Zoning Appeals meeting in which a mighty battle was fought concerning a person’s chicken colony. Jenna appears to have testified in favor of the chickens, noting that she and her daughter enjoyed them. A surprisingly large number of people appear to have attended the meeting, all favoring chicken lib.

A pair of articles in the local paper by editor Carrol Krause were cited, and upon further investigation, I found this recent article on a chicken seminar held by none other than Carrol Krause: Chickens in the City.

This journalist student’s work cites one David Rollo, a member of the city’s Environmental Council, as recalling the chicken-oriented activism:

“There was one citizen’s group, called CLUCK, which stood for Citizens Love Urban Chickens,” he said. “They wanted a change in the municipal code so that they could keep chickens as pets and get their own eggs and such right at home.”

Sadly, no further trace of CLUCK was uncovered in using Google to scratch at the dirt of the farmweb. All power to the glorious people’s poultry protesters!

Sell phone

So, curious why I had not yet received a cell phone bill, I looked up my account on the Cingular website. You will be unsurprised to hear that the one-month balance approached half a K, approximately $400 of which was in data charges associated with the Treo.

These charges are levied at 3 cents per kilobyte, or $30 per mb. Over the first 30 days of use, my data usage was about 14 mb, primarily in failed atempts to get AvantGo to sync.

Naturally, I renegotiated my service plan. I’m now on an unlimited data-usage plan.

Longtime readers will know in advance that while I’m pleased at my calm and methodical approach to getting a significant portion of the bill credited back in exchange for the upgrade, I loathe having been so smoothly pinballed into the entirely unreasonable total monthly service plan.

You heard it here first: after two years, no more cell phones for me. I’ve had and rejected them several times in the past, and see no compelling reason to expect that I will ever become reconciled to a one-hundred dollar monthly communication tax.

Headline plumbs depths

Cavers smash world depth record (BBC News): “A Ukrainian team has reached a record depth of 2,080m (6,822ft), passing the elusive 2,000m mark at Krubera, the world’s deepest known cave. The nine-strong group were part of a project that has made breaking the 2,000m depth its goal for four years. They built on records set by a previous expedition, which blasted through blocked passages in the cave.”

I am unaccountably amused by this headline.

Crime

A friend of mine had a break-in tonight. It’s a bummer. I’m glad we were able to be there for him; he’s understandably unsettled.

Teevee

Well over a month ago, we inadvertently became a semi no-TV household. Our satellite provider mailed us a replacement ‘smart card’ for our satellite box, a five-year-old WebTV-integrated PVR which we have never used as a PVR or as a WebTV device but only as a receiver. The smart card managed to disable the device, and so the only reception we have was broadcast. Living in the center of a large city, you’d think that would mean fifteen or twenty channels but realitistically it limits reception to PBS and the local NBC and ABC affiliates. Happily for Viv, that has meant she has been able to keep up with the hypnotic ‘Lost,’ and happily for me, that means I have been able to catch a ‘Nova’ and a ‘Frontline’ here and there.

More happily for me, that has meant that the constant background noise of the TV has been replaced by the constant background noise of WCPE, and I have strongly felt my mood lift. I am frequently occupied with murderous, hateful mutterings when the TV is on constantly, an internal dialogue filled with fantasies of destruction directed at the media icons and humiliatingly-portrayed buffoons who flicker on and off stage in venues such as ‘Oprah,’ and ’20/20.’ I have been largely unaware of this dialogue until this month, when it’s vanishment occasioned reflection on the cause of my uncharacteristically charitable, forgiving, and pleasant mood.

I view with some trepidation the family negotiation that this calls for; Viv’s mood and sense of self have been ever-nurtured by the tube and I am nearly certain that she has felt as deadened and oppressed by the absence of the brainsucking spawn of hell as I have lightened and released. Where I feel as though a stinging, biting swarm of gnats, whose bites produce nightmares of hatred an torture has suddenly ceased to afflict my existence, based on past conversations, I suspect she has felt a sense of suffocating isolation, the solitude of the grave.

I would have to say this is something of a pickle.