
Comfy cardboard, bit of sun, what more do we need to be happy?

Comfy cardboard, bit of sun, what more do we need to be happy?
Wouldn’t you love to see one of these babies chase a Jeep!
Okay, it would have to be a very small Jeep to get that Spielberg effect.
Here’s the facts: seventeen inches long; probably an egg-layer; semi-aquatic; probably ate fish. Oh, and predates any other known fur-bearing mammal by 40 million years.
Way cool.
The problem is, we may not know how little we know.
So claims Yale University psychology professor Frank Keil in this article. Keil has conducted research on the disconnect between what people think they know compared to what they actually do know.
We are good at estimating how well we know simple facts (such as the capitals of countries), procedures (such as how to make an international phone call), and narratives (such as the plots of well-known movies). But we seem to have a specific “illusion of explanatory depth” — the belief that we possess a more profound causal [emphasis mine] understanding than we really do. We can be appropriately modest about our knowledge of other things, but not so about our ability to explain the workings of the world.
This is particularly pronounced, Keil says, when the object of our faux understanding is a relatively complex object or system. Because complex systems are “richly hierarchical,” he explains, “they can be understood at several levels of analysis.” Unfortunately, we tend to confound a high-level understanding with a comprehensive understanding.
One can understand how a computer “works” in terms of the high-level functions of the mouse, the hard drive, and the display while not having any understanding of the mechanisms that enable a cursor to move when a mouse is moved, or allow information to be stored and erased, or control pixels on a screen.
Yet once we’re able to explain how to save a file, or log onto the Internet, or defrag a harddrive, we slip into the illusion of believing we understand our computers.
We’re also vulnerable to this illusion, Keil continues, when the parts of the system are visible. “The more parts you can see, the more you think you know how those parts actually work.”
Keil’s piece confines itself to a discussion of physical phenomena, but it strikes me that the same can be said of our understanding of events–historical and current. Surf the ‘net tonight, for instance, and you’ll find as many theories about what’s going on in Iraq right now as you have time to read. People are writing about who was behind the bombing of the Golden Mosque, what their motivations were, and whether this represents civil war or not. Many of these explanations are delivered with supreme confidence.
But in every case, we have individuals who are working with the highly visible parts of a very complex phenomenon.
So, if Keil is right, the aforementioned confidence is actually supreme overconfidence. It’s not understanding; it’s the illusion of understanding.
Almost no one really understands what’s happening–the exception being the people who actually masterminded the bombing.
The same goes for every major event, from Bush’s deal to hand over commercial port operations to Dubai to — well, fill in the blank: _________________________.
We deceive ourselves when we assume that knowing what the pieces are, and how they fit together, is enough to proclaim causality.
And by the way, maybe the political divide in this country wouldn’t be so harsh if we all acknowledged this, eh?
My dad has posted his skunk story now.
There’s been a rash of studies lately that purport to poke holes in popular notions about using supplements to treat various health conditions.
Here’s the latest: an AP report, headlined “Supplements do little for arthritis, study finds” in the Globe & Mail, which says that glucosamine and chondroitin sulfate don’t seem to have much effect on arthritis symptoms.
The article reports the findings of a study by the National Institutes of Health that was published in today’s New England Journal of Medicine. But when you dig into it a bit, some interesting things come to light. One is that well over half of the subjects did get better–including those who were given a placebo:
Sixty per cent who took the placebos had reduced pain compared with 64 per cent who took glucosamine, 65 per cent who took chondroitin and 67 per cent who took the combo pills.
And get this — of the people who took the prescription drug Celebrex? 70 percent reported less pain. Note that the article sums up the spread between the placebo and supplement results as “These differences were so small that they could have occurred by chance alone.” Presumably we could say the same thing about Celebrex vs. glucosamine and chondroitin, then, right?
(No word on whether the subjects taking glucosamine and chondroitin encountered any Celebrex-style side effects.)
The subtext of the argument that traditional medicine likes to mount against alternatives is that alternatives are witchdoctory. Closer to magic than science. But you know what? Traditional medicine is completely dependent on faith, excuse me, “magic,” as well. Publish a few studies that say Celebrex doesn’t work, and that 70 percent figure would start dipping closer to 60 percent.
Me? I just keep my eye out for that perfect placebo. That would be: something that goes well with a nice red wine.

The snow is wet, and my skunk ducked under the deck on his way across my property which muddied his feet a bit — perfect for leaving several sets of pretty clear tracks.
Along with the size of the tracks (1.5-2 inch long prints) one way to tell a skunk track is that the claws on the front feet are markedly longer. (They use them to dig for food–that’s how they tear up peoples’ lawns if they have grubs.) Skunks are also “pacers;” that refers to their gait and the way they place their feet. Pacers leave two rows of tracks, and each row has alternating front and back foot prints.
Usually you can see five toes on both the front and back feet of skunk tracks, but in some cases you can’t. In the tracks in this photo, only four toes show on the back foot print.
Here’s a great online resource for identifying animal tracks, and here’s another.
I happened to look up from my desk a few minutes ago and saw a skunk heading across the street into my lawn!
I grabbed my camera and dashed out the front door. It had snowed last night, so I was able to tell from his tracks where he had headed — up my driveway. I caught up with him next to my garage — I yelped at him, and he whirled around and lifted his tail :-)
I repeated that several times, grabbing shots. Unfortunately, none was a killer pic, but here’s the best of the lot.

Isn’t he cute????
That’s Juliet Annan in The Telegraph, as she shares her rationale for launching a new Penguin hardcover imprint.
Click on the link to read more of what she has to say about what’s needed for a book to succeed in the publishing biz today.
Found out about this site today, via Miss Snark. It’s called BiblioBuffet and as soon as I’ve finished this post, it’s going on my blogroll under daily reads.
The article that caught my attention is about plogs–a word Amazon has trademarked and seems to suggest is a contraction of “personal blog.” (Since “blog” itself is short for weblog, I personally wish they’d chosen “pwog.” It’s much more fun to say, and suggests pucker-lipped little baby amphibians, which is always a plus.) The BiblioBuffet article, otoh, refers to “plog” as a hybrid of plug and blog. It will be interesting to see if the grassroots meme overpowers Amazon’s corporate narrative.
Check the article to see what people–mainly readers–have to say about plogs. It’s not all of it good.
UPDATE: Victoria Strauss of Writer Beware is blogging about plogging.
In a New Yorker review of two books about happiness, John Lancaster argues persuasively that for ancient man, happiness was a matter of luck. Life was “nasty, brutish, and short,” and individuals had very little control over whether they achieved what we, today, call happiness.
He quotes from “Happiness: A History,” by Darrin McMahon:
As McMahon points out, “In virtually every Indo-European language, the modern word for happiness is cognate with luck, fortune or fate.” In a sense, the oldest and most deeply rooted philosophical idea in the world and in our natures is “Shit happens.” Happ was the Middle English word for “chance, fortune, what happens in the world,” McMahon writes, “giving us such words as ‘happenstance,’ ‘haphazard,’ hapless,’ and ‘perhaps.'” This view of happiness is essentially tragic: it sees life as consisting of the things that happen to you; if more good things than bad happen, you are happy.
Then came the Enlightenment, and with it the notion that the world is a rational place, governed by laws that, if mastered, do give us a measure of control over our lives.
Manchester then plunges, as have we all ;-) into the modern world’s examination of happiness, with its increasingly sophisticated science, including neuroscience and positive psychiatry. He notes that some researchers have concluded that each individual has a happiness “set point” that is little influenced by external circumstances. From “The Happiness Hypothesis” by Jonathan Haidt:
“It’s better to win the lottery than to break your neck, but not by as much as you’d think. . . . Within a year, lottery winners and paraplegics have both (on average) returned most of the way to their baseline levels of happiness.”
Yet even David Lykken, the behavioral geneticist who came up with the set point idea (“trying to be happier is like trying to be taller”) went on to suggest things people can do to be happier.
Manchester does, too — read the article for the details, but being socially connected is important, as is spending your time in work you find absorbing.
The fact is, we’re all of us wrestling with the angel.
And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Genesis 32:24-28
We’re wrestling with the angel, and demanding that he bless us; yet if you think about it, even the chance to enter the match is its own blessing, isn’t it?