The Wisconsin Idea

Not too long ago, Jay and I had this exact conversation:

JAY: How's your blog going, Emmy?
EM: Not bad. But I sometimes feel like it's too predictable. "Hey look, Em wrote about the Twins. Hey look, Em wrote about quilting." I mean I'm trying to take a more meaningful tack on these things, like I said I would, but I'm starting to wonder if there is really any substance to what I've written so far. I need something meatier. But then there's also the other extreme...I don't want to be overly serious all the time either. I may have gone analysis-overboard with the HeLa post...and the anosognosia post...you know?
JAY: Well, have you written about the Wisconsin Idea yet? I mean you really love the Wisconsin Idea...it's sort of your whole academic raison d'être...

(Okay, Jay didn't really speak French, but it's super cute to imagine that he did, right?)

History of Higher Ed class notes circa 1997

So I sat down and started hammering away at this blog post...actually researching this blog post...looking up resources at the Wisconsin Historical Society, consulting my higher ed textbooks, and digging through course notes I'd scribbled over a decade ago...generally throwing myself into my work. Jay is right. I love the Wisconsin Idea!

Sifting and winnowing...

But just what is the Wisconsin Idea, you ask. Well, it was defined in the 1995-96 Wisconsin Blue Book as the impetus that fosters contributions to the state from the universtiy "in the forms of serving in office, offering advice about public policy, providing information and exercising technical skill, doing research directed at solving problems that are important to the state, and conducting outreach activities."

But I like the definition offered by Dr. Richard Roberts, of the UW School of Medicine and Public Health, better:

"The Wisconsin Idea is figuring out ways to help leverage resources and skills of the university across the state so everyone benefits," (Badger Herald, 2010).

The Wisconsin Idea was born of the roots of political progressivism in the early 1900s, and is often re-imagined to fit with current times. This also provides a nice history of the Wisconsin Idea...just in case you're as excited about this as I am!

At Vassar, decked out in Bucky!

In fact, I love the Wisconsin Idea so much, that it contributed to one of my very favorite days of my life, which happened while I was in my masters program at the University of Kansas. It was Thursday, October 9, 1997, when, in my History of Higher Education class, we talked at considerable length about the Wisconsin Idea. It wasn't so much that I'd never heard of the Wisconsin Idea before...of course I had...it was absolutely part of the ethos of my educational experience at Madison. But to see it in print, in a book...to see it as an item on the syllabus...to realize that it meant something outside of my undergraduate institution...that was pretty darn cool. Especially because I was tired of my Jayhawk pals actually thinking KU was a better school than UW [insert incredulous, maniacal laugh here].

And thanks to my American Higher Education: A History textbook (by Christopher J. Lucas), it was like I finally had some serious academic authority to claim the moral superiority of my baccalaureate alma mater (because, as you know, these are critically important battles). Like I wanted to walk up to the lot of them, slam the not-at-all-heavy book down on the table and say something like:

Fine. You take the invention of basketball. I'm taking the idea of a state and it's university "work[ing] in concert, mounting a systematic attack upon the nation's ills" (Lucas, p. 175).

Or:

Fightin' Bob La Follette

No, no...you go on ahead with your James Naismith and your Phog Allen. I'm gonna hang out over here with a policy stance that, in the words of Fightin' Bob La Follette, "bring[s] all the reserves of knowledge and inspiration of the university more fully to the service of the people."

Oh snap! [insert smiley-faced emoticon here to demonstrate that most of this is just some good ol', in-jest, smack talk...I do so love my University of Kansas! Rock Chalk Jayhawk and all that.]

That last quote, by the way, is from Robert M. La Follette's autobiography and can be found on page 15 of the 1968, 4th edition paperback bequeathed to me by my father when I was appointed to River Falls City Council, complete with notes in the margins in his unmistakable, meticulous, warms-my-heart penmanship.

Anyway. Back to the Wisconsin Idea and its contribution...how it warms our world:

It goes without saying, that the Wisconsin Idea contributes to the public good and the general well-being of the citizens of the state of Wisconsin. I'm not going to say too much about it, since it's so obvious. But I will offer this:

UW's fifth president, John Bascom, called for "a more organic connection between [UW's] activities and [the state] community needs" (Lucas, p. 176). It wasn't enough, as a member of the University of Wisconsin community, to merely engage in service or volunteerism. It was time to "bring higher learning into the mainstream social life, to extend the benefits of applied scholarship and research to the real needs of the people, to enshrine the ideal of public service as the organizing center of academic life" (Lucas, p. 176).

The other contribution of the Wisconsin Idea is the wisdom and intelligence of the concept itself. This nearing-the-turn-of-the-century idea of service to the people of the state, with particular regard to policy development and the resolution of various societal issues, is one that is decidedly prescient, especially when contrasted with the overriding expectation today that universities (especially public, state universities) serve predominantly as economic engines for the region/state.

Not that policy, service and economic welfare are mutually exclusive ideas...of course they are not. They are obviously part and parcel of a healthy state. Economic development is certainly an important role of modern academic institutions. But it is not the only role our public institutions should play. More importantly, the subsequent privatization of knowledge that often follows an increasingly for-profit emphasis...the idea of education as a personal, private good, instead of a larger, public good...the rush to market in regard to academic research...is troubling to me. Especially in a time where we--so very critically--need an open forum for ideas to make our world a better place. This all makes me extremely grateful that a group of leaders in education and policy took the time, well over a century ago, to formulate such thoughtful, far-sighted ideas for the future of their state.

If you want to accuse me of being wildly idealistic about all this, go ahead. I'm fine with it. I come by it honestly. You see, I was brainwashed to love the University of Wisconsin from a very young age. All of this romanticism, however, doesn't mean I'm not critically aware of the conspicuously hypocritical, no-so-public-good-y examples coming from my alma mater. This stem cell controversy made me sick. And if you need any explanation why, go read my previous post. This is hardly the only example, but I don't want to rant and be negative. Besides, I think you catch my drift.
 
Before I wrap this post up, I do want to share a story with you...about how I learned to love Wisconsin so very much. A key bit of propaganda went something like this:

[Walking through Library Mall, the heart of the University of Wisconsin campus, my father (UW class of 1966) puts his arm around my shoulder and says]:

Dad embraces a Gopher.

Em, wherever you want to go to college, wherever you can get accepted, your mother and I will be so proud of you and we'll support you wherever you want to go, we'll do whatever we can to make that a reality for you...

[long, pregnant pause]

...but really, why would you want to go anywhere else but here!?

You can obviously see that I had no chance...I was a Badger from the very beginning. It's a heartwarming story, isn't it? Absolutely one of my favorites.

You know what else warms the heart (and the world)? Idealistic notions about making our world a better place...state by state, school by school, citizen by citizen.

ON WISCONSIN.

Drive-In Movies

One of the great things about working in higher education is perpetually being part of an academic cycle. I don't want to say a whole lot about this right now, as I've already begun assembling a "back to school" post for right after Labor Day (try to contain yourselves). I will, however, go ahead and say that the academic calendar is not without it's lasting repercussions. In fact, I still get some pretty serious Residence Life PTSD every year around this time of the summer.

Why, you ask?

Well, after spending the better part of eight years ensconced, in one way or another, with the residence halls, it's hard to let go...even though I've been gone from that world for almost seven years. When you're in Residence Life, once the 4th of July has come and gone, your summer is, for all intents and purposes, over. By the middle of July, you're putting the finishing touches on RA training. You're gearing up for the return of professional staff. You're planning Welcome Week programming. You're making door decs. Oh yes you are. I can still feel the weight of the plasticky, multi-tabbed, three-ring binder full of policies and training activities. I can still smell the industrial-sized, poster-making markers. It's all still too real.

Until I realize that I've crossed over into academic affairs. [Exhaling a huge sigh of relief!] While August won't have that same lackadaisical whimsy that we experience in July, the beginning of the true craziness is still a couple weeks away. [Exhaling a second, even longer, sigh of relief!] So you know what that means? 

My summer is still in full-swing!

As such, I have more than enough time to enjoy my new favorite summer night activity (introduced and insisted upon by my always-in-search-of-a-new-silly/romantic-adventure husband): The Drive-In.

There is something decidedly romantic and old- fashioned about drive-ins. Like in that super-sentimental, pining-for-the-days-of poodle-skirts-and-soda-fountains way. Or as Jon Stewart puts it, the "incredibly over-simplistic nostalgia we could be wallowing in" (Sorry about the link to a link...The Daily Show page won't bring up this video). I never went to a drive-in as a kid. I can't believe my otherwise-perfect parents denied me this childhood experience. I haven't confronted them about this yet. But, believe you me, I will.

A rare, functioning speakerRegardless of  the socially-constructed nostalgia, the drive-in really does feel like a place where time stands still. Especially at the Vali-Hi Drive-In. Everything looks old and retro. Sometimes in a charming way, sometimes in a crappy, broken-down way. It doesn't matter...I love it all. And thanks to these few remaining drive-in theaters, our summers know the contribution of boundless, unabashed glee. From the not-too-pricey concession stands and the expansive, but amazingly quiet, lot of parked cars, to the elaborate movie-watching systems of the patrons, there are so many expressions of unabashed glee to celebrate. For example:

Movies are more magical in the great outdoors. There's just no way around it. Last summer, I kid you not, we saw the most amazing shooting star soar right over the top of the screen, right in the middle of Star Trek. Like when they were flying around out in space. Apropos? At least! And those big alien thingies from District 9? It totally felt like they were going to walk straight out into the lot of parked cars and start throwing us all over suburban Minnesota. When Iron Man (2) was flying through the night sky earlier this summer? Coulda been Lake Elmo rather than Los Angeles. Who would even know the difference? (Okay, don't answer that one.)

The next thing that I find particularly delightful is the effort that folks put into devising their movie-watchin' systems. The Vali-Hi, bless their hearts, allows outside food and drink. For Jay and me, this means a bag full of fruit, chips and candy, and a couple Diet Cokes. Sometimes it means a stop at the Sonic just off of White Bear Avenue, which always includes a futile attempt to refrain from eating all of the tator tots before we even pull into the parking lot of the theater.

Seriously though...we are complete amateurs.

The first time Jay took me to the drive-in, I was utterly aghast at the set-ups of our fellow driver-inners. There were people with hibachi grills and coolers full of food. There were picnics spread out on card tables or on blankets in truck beds. There were lawn chairs carefully positioned underneath the open back hatches of minivans, strategically placed near the rear speakers for a maximized listening experience. There was even an SUV with the interior completely lined with couch cushions (nice ones!) so every square inch was converted into a comfy, sofa-ish environment. These people planned this. For real. This wasn't "throw-some-grub-in-your-purse-and-hope-there's-a-blanket-in-the-trunk." These were people with SYSTEMS. I'm not gonna lie: I'm more than a little jealous. Someday, I too, will have a system. A good one. I'm serious.

The final manifestation of unabashed glee at the drive-in theater relates to the delightful, communal experience. As you drive through the expansive lot, tires crunching over the gravel, searching for the perfect spot, people are tossing footballs back and forth or kicking soccer balls around. Little kids are screeching as they run between cars, and families are playing board games. Herds of high-schoolers sit on the hoods or trunks of their cars. My inner-skeptic was in full-effect the first time Jay took me: "I bet those teenagers are going to yell through the whole movie." "If that little kid gets scared and cries...why would their parents even bring them to this movie?!" "Some jackass in an Escalade is going to park in front of our Saturn and ruin everything."

But for as loud and rambunctious as everyone is right up until dusk, the hush falling over the whole place when the movie starts is really pretty captivating. In fact, I like to get out of the car at least once during the evening (obviously, I need something else from the concession stand...those tots were gone a long time ago) and just wander a bit through the crowded lot...taking in the collective quiet, peeking at everyone all cozied-up in their cars. It's really amazing that so many people in such close proximity are so well behaved...so respectful of one another...so quiet.

Conversations fade. Dome lights go out.

The little girl in the truck to our right, who started out the movie laying up on top of the cab, laughing loudly, will slide down into a pile of blankets next to her father. She will fall asleep before Shrek Forever After comes to its medi-ogre conclusion, and I will reach through my open window to hold the passenger door while her father loads her back into the truck. He will give me a quiet smile as he drives away.

We will stay for the second movie--a fresh round of concession stand treats perched in our laps--knowing that warm, waning summer nights are a little brighter when you're watching movies under the stars.

"The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot

When I got to graduate school at the University of Minnesota and was about to start my research assistantship, I envisioned spending semester after captivating semester studying things like the public good of our higher education institutions. Or access to college for first-generation students. Or the history of Land Grants. Or academic freedom. Or...well, any number of awesome, higher ed-y things. So when I met the faculty member for whom I would be working (my beloved MSA) and she told me we were going to be knee-deep in [insert screechy, needle-coming-off-the-record-player sound effect here] the Mertonian Norms of science, if you close your eyes, you can practically see the befuddled look on my face. The whoozy-whatzit of what? What happened in 1942? And what does it have to do with higher education? You can only imagine how difficult this made the "what-do-you-do-so-I-can-explain-it-to-other-people-when-they-ask-me" conversation with my mother. (We settled on, "Emily works for a professor who is really into academic misconduct and other unethical things." Tee hee.)

As it always goes, everything in life happens for a reason. My advisor, MSA, turned out to be this awesome combination of Mr. Miyagi and Professor Dumbledore, and the four-year period I spent learning about scientific misconduct and research ethics has been incredibly formative. And, little did I know, MSA's "misconduct stuff" and my "public good stuff" would morph nicely into a dissertation topic:

Scientists' Perspectives on the Market Orientation of Scientific Research

It's gonna be brilliant. You mark my words.

Anyway.

Thanks to a recommendation from my mother, I recently picked up a copy of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, the first book of the talented author, Rebecca Skloot. Ms. Skloot's book tells the story of an African American woman who died of cervical cancer in the early 1950s. Her name was Henrietta Lacks. While being treated at Johns Hopkins, the doctors took a sample of her tumor and shared it with a lab scientist who was working to find ways for cells to live indefinitely in cultures.

For reasons that I wouldn't know how to explain, the cells are still alive to this very day (almost 60 years later) and are known as HeLa cells. They replicate themselves pretty much at will...in fact, at this point in time, if you could put all the HeLa cells ever produced on a huge scale, they'd weigh as much as 100 Empire State Buildings. They have been critical to countless scientific discoveries... literally a transformative force in modern medicine. Henrietta's cells helped cure polio. They went to the moon so we could understand how gravity affects the human body. They've been essential to scientific progress relating to--just touching the tip of the iceberg here--cancer, AIDS, in vitro fertilization and gene mapping.

But here's the rub. Whether or not Ms. Lacks gave consent for the biopsy is a point of contention. And she certainly never approved the use of her cells for widespread diffusion in scientific labs around the world. And when these cells were eventually bought and sold, generating billions and billions of dollars in profit (though not by the doctors who originally removed and studied them, even though they could have profited greatly), Ms. Lacks' family never saw a dime.

To put it bluntly, this is the story of a poor, black woman using the free clinic at Johns Hopkins versus the white, male doctors and the corporations owned by rich, white men. There is really no other way to frame it, if we're all being perfectly honest. Even when historical context is taken into account in regard to race, gender, economics, education, law and the culture of science, it's not hard to see that the gravest of wrongs was committed.

Before I continue, I'll quickly mention that if you have just under 6 minutes, you should really watch Rebecca Skloot's interview with Stephen Colbert. It's a perfect overview of the story...and let's face it, Colbert is the best. Ever. This NY Times piece is also a decent summary of the story.

Since the moment I started this book (and especially since I've finished), I've been ranting about it to anyone who will listen. The current list of victims includes my husband, my mother, my boss, the inside of my car, and a few well-loved teddy bears whose permanent location in our apartment can only be described as, if they were hoping for any peace and quiet, inauspicious.

There are many bases on which to evaluate the contributions of this book. The story of Henrietta Lacks has finally been told in its entirety...with the dignity and respect that she and her family so richly deserve. The history of and rationale for research ethics and the rights of patients is displayed in an astounding, unvarnished fashion. The influence of race, class, gender and opportunity on one's life experiences are overtly exposed for our consideration.

But the contribution that is of most interest to me--at least within the mission of this blog--is the inherent debate between public goods and private rights that presents itself at every turn in this book. If we think of public goods as things like:

• an increased quality of life for society (especially in regard to health, in this case), 
• improved ability to adapt and develop in regard to science and technology, and 
• greater overall productivity as a society,

and we think of private goods as things like:

• Personal health
• Improved status or personal/professional mobility
• Personal wealth (the above list was adapted from IHEP, 1998)

then we can see there are countless issues raised by this book. To what extent should we have ownership of the materials that come from our bodies? Especially if we're not discussing things like corneas and kidneys. What if we're talking about tissues? Should I be able to stake a claim to profits garnered from my cells? It seems outrageous that Henrietta and her family lived (and still live) in poverty, while the tumor cut from her body has spawned a multi-billion dollar industry. But what are the ethical considerations that accompany private, individual payments for our cells? Would there be any repercussions for the greater good?

On the other hand, how is it just to have small numbers of individuals and corporations making unimaginable profits off of the raw materials harvested (albeit legally) from human bodies? Why should someone else get rich off of our cells? That certainly can't be what we're referring to when we talk about the greater good.

It's a lot to think about. I've been yelling about it for days. Just ask my mom. And my husband. And the bears.

So here's where I'm at...here's my rant (and feel free to rant back, if you are so inclined):

What scientists learn from research done on my tissues and genes and cells (and whatever else they're looking at...remember, I'm a SOCIAL scientist) is generally most influential when examined in relation to your tissues and genes and cells...and yours...and yours...and yours.........and yours. So this is really about all of us, right? While there will always be occurrences where someone's spleen gives rise to a $3 billion empire, these situations will be the exception rather than the norm.

Imagine a reward structure that took all of that into account. Imagine that when patented gene sequences or drugs or medical widgets hit a certain profit margin, some percentage of the profit ends up in a place that benefits the folks on whose backs this work was done. Some sort of credit through your insurance (if you have it) or some sort of discount (if you don't). Could there be some sort of fund to support the critical care of people dealing with a disease related to whatever it was that got patented and is generating a ton of money? What sort of patient services could be funded off an ad infinitum revenue stream of, say 3% of some big discovery? We do tax credits and rebates and refunds all the time. We have PayPal, for crying out loud.

Regardless of the logistics, the idea is that the public--who have contributed their literal blood, sweat and tears to science--would benefit from their contributions. I know this is romantic and idealistic and bureaucratic, but that doesn't mean it's not possible, right?

Which brings me back to the Mertonian norms of science. These ideas were an attempt to "give shape to the normative system of science by specifying norms that fairly and uniquely characterize the system (MSA et al, Journal of Higher Education, 2010*). While the norms weren't meant to encompass every aspect of "doing science" and are not the only way to consider the work of scientists, they have been widely embraced by the scientific community. Simply put, the norms are defined as such:

• Communality - the common ownership of results and methods, shared freely
• Universalism - work & findings should be evaluated on pre-established, impersonal criteria, objectivity
• Disinterestedness - work remains uncorrupted by self-interested motivations
• Organized skepticism - detached scrutiny of beliefs in terms of empirical and logical criteria (MSA, JHE, 2010).

Empirical evidence tells us that these norms still resonate with scientists, but when I work on my dissertation and think about the steady march to market due to the influence of academic capitalism on our campuses, the romantic idealist in me can't help but wish we were all a little more tuned in to the Mertonian norms. Common ownership of ideas and results? Objectivity? Selflessness? Logic and scrutiny? Sounds like public good to me.

I know these ideas don't map perfectly to our society...they aren't meant to. And even I know that capitalism isn't inherently evil...when ideas make it to the free market, the societal benefits are immeasurable. But when I think about the story of the HeLa cells, I wonder if we all wouldn't fare a little better in this world if we focused more on our collective benefits, rather than our individual ones. And when I say "we" and "collective," I mean all of us...individuals and corporations alike.

Rebecca Skloots' book and the story of Henrietta Lacks present many timely issues for our consideration. I hope that as our society addresses these critical questions, we do so with a long-term vision for our collective future. I hope we do so with an eye toward solutions that are mutually beneficial for the greatest number of people. The collective body of research is built on the backs of researchers and patients, alike. Image if the rewards were too.

_________________________________________________

*If you'd like to read the whole article, I'll lend you the issue of JHE, since they sent me 2(!) copies. But please, please everyone...stop your clamoring...there's more than enough to go around.

Anderson, M. S., Ronning, E. A., Martinson, B. C., & De Vries, R. (2010). Extending the Mertonian norms: Scientists' subscription to norms of research. Journal of Higher Education, 81(3), 366-93.

Also...
Institute of Higher Education Policy (1998). Reaping the Benefits: Defining the Public and Private Value of Going to College. Washington, DC.

Unknown Unknowns - The Errol Morris NY Times Series that Completely Rocked My World

(This post is way too long. I apologize in advance. I couldn't help myself. My brain was on fire.)

It was the spring of 1994, and I was in the second semester of my freshman year at the University of Wisconsin. Laden with a heavy backpack and a heavier heart, I made my way through the narrow corridors of Van Vleck Hall, searching for the office of Professor Askey, hoping he could shed some light on the whole "Calc II" business. After a relatively successful Calc I experience, I was crashing and burning at a fast and furious pace second semester. I didn't understand the reading. I didn't know how to even begin the homework questions. I needed serious help. 

I remember he was eating a bagel sandwich and warmly invited me into his office, even though I showed up unannounced and outside of his regularly scheduled office hours. He asked me what I needed help with...what I didn't understand. I stared back at him blankly. I didn't even know the answer to that question.

Needless to say, I was mercifully weeded out of the hard sciences. I landed in the social sciences and, eventually, student affairs and higher education administration. But I will never forget how it felt to be so stupid/out-of-sync/clueless about a topic that I wasn't even able to articulate what I didn't understand.

So...a couple weeks ago, I stumbled across a 5-part series in the Opinion section of the New York Times by filmmaker (and Wisconsin alum) Errol Morris. To be perfectly honest, I clicked on the link in the first place because, in my haste, I thought it was about agnosticism (And for the record, I'm not self-identifying as an agnostic. I am, however, perennially, yet passively, in search of material that helps me articulate my spiritual underpinnings. But that's a conversation for another day). But what I discovered--what absolutely set my brain on fire--was a series about anosognosia, or a condition where people with a disability or impairment are unaware of (or perhaps in denial about) their condition. Truth be told, I'd never even heard of anosognosia, up until that moment.

This series starts out (Part I) with an intriguing conversation between the author (Errol Morris) and a social scientist (David Dunning) about our ability, as human beings, to be aware of that which is unknown to us. How can we know things that we don't know? There is a lengthy conversation about the difference between known unknowns (I don't know how to knit, but I could learn...I don't know anything about Physics, but I could read about it or take a class), and unknown unknowns, or this whole area of life about which I don't know a thing...and I don't know that I don't know a thing (sorta like the neighborhood that you didn't even know existed, thus you've never visited it). Essentially, the discussion focuses on the idea that humans aren't very good at gaining awareness about things which they know nothing:

There have been many psychological studies that tell us what we see and what we hear is shaped by our preferences, our wishes, our fears, our desires and so forth. We literally see the world the way we want to see it. But [...] there is a problem beyond that. Even if you are just the most honest, impartial person that you could be, you would still have a problem — namely, when your knowledge or expertise is imperfect, you really don’t know it. [...] We’re not very good at knowing what we don’t know.
~David Dunning

The series goes on to explore anosognosia in a more medical sense (Part II), talking about clinical experiments and even detailing President Woodrow Wilson's illnesses and their effects on his presidency (Part III). Eventually, the conversation returns to a slightly more conceptual tone (Part IV), as neuroscientist V. S. Ramachandran, explains that "belief is not a monolithic thing," and that "our brains are wired up to be slightly more optimistic than they should be":

Some part of the brain can believe something and some other part of the brain can believe the opposite (or can deny that belief). [...] The left and right hemispheres [of the brain] react differently when confronted with unexpected information. The left brain seeks to maintain continuity of belief, using denial, rationalization, confabulation and other tricks to keep one's mental model of the world intact; the right brain, the  "anomaly detector" or "devil's advocate," picks up on inconsistencies and challenges the left brain's model in turn. When the right brain's ability to detect anomalies and challenge the left is somehow damaged or lost, anosognosia results. 

~ Errol Morris & V.S. Ramachandran

The series concludes (Part V) with a discussion of the importance of seeking feedback, whether or not we are intellectually equipped to deal with it. Dunning states, "The road to self-insight really runs through other people." Feedback is, however, only as valuable as we allow it to be. If we are in denial about an issue or are surrounding ourselves with people who know as little as we do, it may not be particularly useful. Ultimately, Mr. Morris appears to be rather skeptical, if not cynical, about our ability, as humans, to explore parts of life previously unknown to us.

The contribution of Mr. Morris' column is the intelligent manner in which it introduces the concept of unknown unknowns, presents the idea within its clinical roots, and then extends the thoughts to our individual abilities and shortcomings...this was all pretty darn cool, in my humble opinion. Ultimately, Morris is challenging the reader to think about the concept of anosognosia at a societal level, which is even more interesting, when you really dig into it. I like the idea of taking something that has basically been used as a pejorative description of a disability and presenting it as a way in which we all go through our daily lives. None of us are bigger than this societal malady. It afflicts us all.

In a broader sense, it isn't just the intelligent ideas in Mr. Morris' column that are contributing to our world, but this larger concept of the wisdom of being open to things about which we are unaware. How much better would we be at life, at being humans, at being humane toward one another, if we were more aware of our own limitations? If we were more curious about what we didn't know or didn't understand? If we were honest about the fact that we don't know even a fraction of what we think we know? Thus, the main contribution of the article is not so much the intelligence it imparts, but the wise course of actions it encourages us to pursue, on behalf of larger, societal benefits.

If I were given carte blanche to write about any topic I could, it would be about how much our ignorance, in general, shapes our lives in ways we do not know about. Put simply, people tend to do what they know and fail to do that which they have no conception of. In that way, ignorance profoundly channels the course we take in life. And unknown unknowns constitute a grand swath of everybody’s field of ignorance.
~David Dunning

As I mentioned before, and as you'll see if you read the series, Mr. Morris and his panel of experts have a healthy skepticism about our ability, as humans, to become more aware of the things we don't actually know. Their outlook on the matter is decidedly grim. This makes me think about my own use of optimism in life...is it just denial? Rationalization? I don't like to think that it is...at least I hope it isn't. I guess I think of optimism as a mindset, a way to approach a world that I already know to be challenging and defeatist if we let it be so. A former colleague of mine often asserted that truly intelligent people could never be happy because they fully understood how awful the world really was (or something like that...I'm paraphrasing and dramatically simplifying), and I remember understanding that perspective conceptually but not being able to get on board with it in actuality. Because if we're smart enough to see the challenges around us and understand how dire life really is (or can be), then shouldn't we also have the mental wherewithal and intestinal fortitude to get hell over ourselves and fight to make our world the place we wish it was? If raw intelligence makes us aware of the demons in our midst, shouldn't our wisdom make us brave enough to face them head-on?

So I will search for the unknowns in my world. I will strive to expand my sense of what is possible. But I will not bow my head to the challenges of life, no matter how grave. While some may settle for the conclusion that we are "incarcerated in a prison of cluelessness" (Part V), I will embrace the philosophy espoused by physicist Dyson Freeman:

I prefer to live in a universe full of inexhaustible mysteries, and to belong to a species destined for inexhaustible intellectual growth.

Amen. 

When Blog Posts Collide: Fireworks at a Twins Game!

Tonight, we kicked off our 4th of July weekend at a Twins game (or was it a late celebration of Jay's birthday?), and had a wonderful evening! The Twins beat the Rays 2-1 with great pitching, and Twins-style, string-together-a-bunch-of-hits baseball...not to mention a warm, breezy night that concluded with fireworks. What more could we ask for?

My favorite part (besides the Polish sausage from Kramarczuk's) was that right as the fireworks were about to begin, the Twins players and their families came out of the club house and settled into the grass along the first base line...and we all watched the show together. Beautiful!

Just wanted to share this little adventure with you...especially since I'd written about each of these things rather recently.

4th of July Fireworks (with Guest Blogger, Ms. Amy K.)

My husband really likes to make a big deal about birthdays. Case in point: for my 29th birthday (the first one we celebrated as a couple), there was a table full of presents, a cake, an itinerary (requiring casual and dressy attire), and at least 3 major events. While I think a great deal of the hoopla was part of his initial woo-ing, he really does love to celebrate birthdays. He also, as you might imagine, really likes it when people make a big deal about his birthday. I think that growing up with a summer birthday, right before a major national holiday, he got a little full of himself (but that's a conversation for a different time). I mean if there were long weekends and family vacations and community barbecues and huge fireworks displays every year right around your birthday, wouldn't you just soak up every moment of it?

Since Jay has always been so generous with surprises and celebrations for my birthday (and, let's face it, really just all-around, fantastic in general), last year I decided I was going to surprise him. Did I mention he really loves the 4th of July? And also New York City? So when I woke him up on July 1, 2009 at 4:30 a.m. (by blaring Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" in his sleepy face) and told him to start spreadin' the news, because we were on our way to the Big Apple for 5 days, I felt incredibly victorious! Especially since normally I can't keep a secret to save my life.

It was an amazing trip... probably the best of the 4 NYC experiences we've had together. We visited museums we had yet to explore, wandered through parks we'd never seen, and ate (thanks to my sister and her bf) at restaurants we never would have discovered on our own. But the really cool part was the fireworks display on our last night in the city. These were not just any 4th of July fireworks. In 2009, the fireworks were held over the Hudson River in honor of the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's arrival in Mannahatta.

Armed with a half-dozen cupcakes from Magnolia, a couple bottles of wine, and a huge pack of Styrofoam cups from Duane Reade ("What are we going to drink from? Oh, this is cheap and transportable!"), we staked our claim near 28th and 12th, sacrificing river's-edge seats for an uncharacteristic amount of elbow room. Eventually the street around us filled up, the sun set, and the show started. Amazing. I'm trying to imagine another time in New York City when you can have what truly feels like every single soul on the isle of Manhattan sitting quietly and calmly and respectfully together...no rushing, no yelling, no honking. Just co-existing peacefully, in awe of the sky above. (Except, as you'll see the in grainy video below, the guy who left in the middle of the grand finale so he could beat the crowd...and then changed his mind and stopped right in front of my sweet Jay and his videography. Effin' New Yorkers!)

At any rate, fireworks are wonderful. Especially on the 4th of July. And my pal Amy thought we ought to talk about it. As we emailed back and forth about the idea earlier in the week, we agreed that unabashed glee and public good were the criteria. Here are her thoughts on the matter...

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Are fireworks blog-worthy? Are you taking suggestions?  And I guess it's not even so much the fireworks as the feelings I remember from being a kid.  Usually the 4th of July was only time we ever had a camp fire, so there was the annual toasting of marshmallows and hot dogs and the making of s'mores. Most years we would spend the evening with our neighbors, the Sanners. Their son, Dean, was two years younger than me.  My brother, Tom, and their daughter, Sherri, were about the same age. I remember all of us playing shadow tag, eating cherries right from their tree, running with sparklers, and stirring the fire. Mom always bought (what seemed to be) a ton of fireworks. The adults would set them off while we all waited for the glow of the softball field lights to fade, indicating the start of the local fireworks.

After soaking ourselves in bug spray and grabbing blankets and one last beverage for the road, we would drive towards town and join a group of people on the edge of the road. It was a great spot for watching the fireworks, while avoiding the crush of people in the park. We would sit there on the edge of the truck beds ooohing and aaahing with the best of them, giving our own names to the various explosions.

The only way (in my opinion) to enjoy fireworks is spending the day with the community. Spending nights making the 4-H float and practicing something for summer marching band, either going to or participating in the parade, eating the Lions' Club BBQ chicken in the park, enjoying the community, and so on. But really, it's being wrapped up in a blanket as the night cools down and the sky lights up. It's sharing one of the most transient of art form displays with a community. One of the best things about my apartment in South St. Paul was the fact that I could see five or six or more different cities' displays, but there wasn't the pure enjoyment of the event because I was alone.  In fact, made me a little glum

As I've grown older, I've seen fireworks on the Capitol Mall, over Lake Michigan, over some super small town in Northern Minnesota, looking down on the fireworks while trying to break onto the campus of my friends' Catholic high school and trying to get the best view, in Dallas, Texas, blocks from where Kennedy was shot, and while sitting on the grass by the South St. Paul High School...always sharing the experience with some of the closest people in my life.  Fireworks, bringing and keeping people together one explosion at a time. Except for the flash-bangs. I could do without those.

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A huge THANK YOU to Ms. Amy K. for suggesting the topic, mulling over the criteria, and eloquently sharing her memories. Just so you all know, Amy warms the world in countless wonderful ways. She is a loyal friend, a lover of LOL Cats, an eternal optimist, and an amazing cook. I am so grateful to know her.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday weekend with family and friends. May you dance in the twilight with sparklers and marvel at spectacular sites in the nighttime sky...