Poem: Effigy

Some old folks 

are like glazed doughnuts,

crusty effigies

on the brink of plastic lunch trays.

The dribble of orange juice,

the nausea of snot —

but she smiles,

because she’s old

and happy

that her son —

well — only me —

came to visit —

a chocolate heart wrapped

in aluminum foil — 

that I went and took a photograph

of

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Poem: "Guilt-Gift"

A mother’s guilt gift to a

future man on her knee

is to enjoy his giggles, fun-loving mirth,

only to demand it back in his

trousers and school-books, his sullen smirk.

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image credit: "Remember" by Telenous

Philosophy of Science: Are We Lamarckians?

All the fuss about how information access on the Internet alters the structure of our brains makes me think of the history of evolutionary theory.

     I recently read a blog post from some random poster who claimed we're getting stupider because more and more people read online. While this may sound true, it seems like more people are plagued with a bad case of how traits are acquired that smacks of bad evolutionary science.
     Darwin did not claim giraffes have long necks because they strained their bodies to reach vegetation high up in the tree. No. Giraffes have long necks because all the "shorter" necked creatures died and the "longer" neck variety survived. The longer neck variety reproduced and made it more probable that another longer neck creature was born. This is basically his theory of natural selection (or survival of the fittest).
Consider the Giraffe
    The location of the giraffe's food source (whether high or low) necessitated biological change over time. The short-necked giraffes died of starvation and hence did not live long enough to produce.
     In the same way, human beings do not change the structure of their brains because information is processed differently on the web then it's processed via print sources.
     For some reason, I don't think a kid who grows up learning by books is going to have a different brain structure from the kid who is raised on Wikipedia.
     That's so Lamarckian. Jean-Baptiste Lamarck is to blame for this faulty logic prevalent in the talk about how biological change manifests. He was basically a 19th-century French scientist who conjured up the first theory of evolution. He had some amazing insights that helped shape the future of evolutionary science, but he also had the idea that certain traits can be willed and acquired. The giraffe-has-long-neck-because-it-willed-it theory is tantalizing but does not hold much water. It's like the father who thinks his 5'5 scrawny son can just will himself to be a great football player.
How We Learn - Is it Lamarckian?
      With the super-fast advent of web technology, and amazing ways to collect information we seem to fall on Lamarck's faulty, but tempting, logic. Out brains must acquire whatever traits the technology dictates. It may be true there's some physical change related to perusing the web ( strain on the eyes, etc.) but one's genetic makeup is not being altered.
      Our brains are hardwired to collect data and store it in memory. It's the result of thousands of years of evolutionary development. Humans had to remember because we were the first hunters and gatherers. The humans who remembered where the good food sources were located survived because they could feed their families. The others with bad memories died. They didn't make babies. So the prefrontal cortex grew because of nature's preference for a large capacity for long term memory.
      The human ability to do the memory thing well lies on a continuum of 1-10.
      Folks who mine the web well do so because they have a genetic aptitude for it. They get a 10. And then there is a mix of others. But no one is dying off. The evolution thing does not work anymore. Humans survive the cold not because their body temperature gets warmer but because we can devise a way to create a heater. The Eskimo does not produce kids who are durable to the cold but rather he produces kids who learn how to fish and build an igloo.
       If our survival depended on our ability to learn through the web, then over time those who suck at information literacy would die and those who fared well would survive. While this could happen - it would be something like the "Final Solution" in Germany. We don't live in a genetic dystopia. Yet. It would be like a worldwide web version of who can make it to the oasis first in the desert. Kinda like a survival of the fittest. The brains with information literacy would produce offspring with other information literate people (because remember, those who can't google are dead).
We're Not Becoming Stupider. Or Are We?
      But, of course, this is not how it works. We don't grant life or take it away based on your ability to surf the web.
      You can't say the structure of our brain changes in a Lamarckian way. It's bad science. You have to say something like this: the way the world wide web is not designed for deep thinkers. It's not, "Deep thinkers are becoming stupider because they're reading tweets instead of novels."
      Sounds semantic? Well, it is. It's wrong at a semantic level and a biological level.
      Semantics is how language functions. Technology forces our language to change, not our brains. By language, I mean the broadest sense of what language means: language and culture.
      If the world lost it's electric plug and all information systems go kablooey it may be up for grabs what makes who fitter.
      It's like that old maxim: "The one-eyed man is king in the kingdom of the blind."
Keeping Up With the Joneses
      The boy who will get ahead in the information age is the boy who can grasp and keep up with how language and culture fluctuate. It's not a quantum change of his brain but rather ONE brain can keep up. It all falls on what must be kept up. Really survival is relative.
      None of us are getting stupider because we read books versus Twitter feeds. No. These systems are designed for shallow knowledge so that's what we get.
      Our brains won't show much change except in a few more generations when we can see who's alive and who ain't. Will the web 2.0 be holding a torch?
      It just might be the book lover is the fittest. Of it may be the twitter lover.
The only thing that's changing is information. That's true.
      Our brains are as prehistoric as they'll ever be. Any real change won't be available for another few years. But that's a question for another blogger. I'm going to go strain my neck to get that coconut. I'll let you know when it's grown.

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Poem: Evolutionary Biology

Stefan clung, like a primate, to his mother

when he was a kid, a little thing;

I would sometimes take him in my arms, pat

his bulbous head, shake his infant thighs — 

And he would cry — for his mother — 

offer his tiny fingers, sweet princely monuments,

Releasing and squeezing my fat adult digits,

all the while yelping for her feminine beauty.

As a dutiful father, I would

place him back in her petulant arms — 

sated his bloated body content between

her breasts — 

And she would extoll my fatherliness,

my manly concern,

all the while shielding and protecting 

some arcane ritual of evolutionary

biology

image credit: "father with baby" by marjanhols
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Alfred E. Neuman and the Upstairs Lounge

This photograph (above) was taken in New Orleans at the Contemporary Arts Center Prospect.1 exhibit, "Remember the Upstairs Lounge" by artist Skylar Feins. The piece is an artifact from a gay night club, the Upstairs Lounge. The club was deliberately burned down in June of 1973. 32 people died. The exhibit memorialized the people who perished in the flames and also showcased memorabilia from the club.

Including this piece:

The exhibit is no longer showcased but if you want a good review, read the Times-Picayune op-ed piece.

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Should I Move Now? — On Moving from New Orleans to New York City

A view of Carrollton Avenue from the streetcar

As I peer out onto S. Carrollton Avenue where I've made my home for the past two years, I decide to rechristen my neighborhood, "The Path Where the Oaks Begin".
At the intersection of Palmer Park and Carrollton, the palm trees end and the oaks begin (but they end too, further down and over on St. Charles).

I came to New Orleans after ten years (more or less, with a brief hiatus abroad) living in St. Benedict, Louisiana.

There my life was directed by an horarium (literally) and circumscribed by a 1200 acre loblolly and part deciduous forest (we had both low-lying magnolias and tall proud pines).

I was a seminarian destined to be a Benedictine and a priest. But, that career choice did not quite bloom into a permanent life decision. My advent into the secular world was a half transition.

I had a car and a bachelor's pad but I still worked for the Church - a la the Christian Brothers.

I like to say my last two years as a civilian have been my own Teach for America.

I turned in my last lesson plan last week, said goodbye to my adorable students, and have decided to rid myself of Nola.

The next few weeks will be a transition time for me.

If you've been a faithful reader of stones of erasmus, I thank you.

I will continue to post, of course. I disconnected my home Internet so my online forays are limited to iPhone 3G splendor and desperate dashes to the corner hot spot (password: shangrila).

I'll try to document the transition to the best of my ability.

Be assured unsolicited words of encouragement are welcome.

P.S.: I'm not sure where I'll be living in the Big Apple but I'm eyeing anywhere along the Red line in the Bronx or even Morningside Heights. I've even considered Staten Island, Jersey City, and Harlem.

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Short Story: "Secret Incognito" (A Piece of Stones of Erasmus Juvenilia)

"Secret Incognito" is a short story by Greig Roselli (© 1996)

A YOUNG BOY DECIDED TO ENTER A FIELD.

Stone monoliths soared into the sky with shards of rusty metal and broken glass beneath.  The enigmatic structures beckoned the lad; the eight slabs of concrete called to him.  Stains of derision from his family clung.  He climbed the fence (which had a clearly visible sign stenciled in red: “NO TRESPASSING!”) to escape for a while. He penetrated quickly to elude the threatening noise of the close traffic. With quick steps, he had already entered the depths, but he wasn’t afraid. Rusted metal, a browned apple core, and aluminum scraps riddled the bare, gaseous earth. Thorn laden brambles engulfed the concrete slabs. A can of Moxie lay entrapped in one of its clutches. Concealed in the twisting vine one could find secrets and lost memories. All of a sudden it seemed an adventure to explore this vast void, to maybe find a truth. A way to prove to himself there was more to life than bitterness and homework. The collected, curly-headed youth looked upward: tall monuments to fallen bridges that once traversed mighty waters stood before him. Huge pieces of masonry, stacked one on top of another, looked enticingly climbable. He scaled it with much agility, using the large rusty appendages as an aid. A bead of sweat etched its way across the boy’s face: the first sign of effort, true gusto, true vigor.