Uncool before it was cool

by Diane | Jun 11, 2014 | It's All About Me

I saw a woman wearing this on a t-shirt today and it made me laugh … and reflect on my relationship with the word “cool.” I’m so uncool I use cool more frequently than any grown woman should to express admiration. If you followed me for a week and wrote down everything I called cool you’d a) be worthy of a restraining order b) wonder what dictionary definition I was using.

One of my early bosses once said he bet I was one of the popular girls in high school. I have no idea why his perception of me was so far off reality other than his cool-dar was way off. I’ve never been one of the popular girls, never wanted to be, never been comfortable with a large percentage of the population. My best friend and I used to sit by our lockers and make snide comments to each other about the “hairspray girls” as they passed by, those heavily made up and follically teased girls who went to the bathroom in packs. They were (theoretically) cool. We were in the segregated International Baccalaureate classes, which made us the poster children for uncool high schoolers. I was so uncool that when a vice principle called us the Bobbsey Twins as we sat by our lockers, I had to point out they were fraternal boy/girl twins so the comparison was off — predating my tendency to point people to Snopes when they spread misinformation. I know that’s uncool — turns out no one really wants to know the truth, Mulder — and usually refrain nowadays.

I’m not part of the cool uncool who love video games, graphic novels and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t follow Wil Wheaton or Felicia Day on Twitter. I don’t lay claim to coolness of any sort, uncool cool or not. But what I have found in very recent years is I’m more comfortable embracing my interests — travel, science, reading, web geeking, animals, cable TV, volunteerism, whatever. And there’s a certain type of person — the kind of person I find cool — who finds that cool.

I’ve known people who maintained the same definition of cool they had in high school – valuing the right music, the right clothes, the right car, the right tastes and things — and to me they are the epitome of uncool (the uncool kind of uncool). I knew someone who created a Meetup group and hosted a murder mystery event so she could meet more people in her new city, and while I’d rather have poked a fork in my eye than attend, I thought the idea was cool: she felt a lack in her life and did something she thought was fun to rectify it.

That is, in the end, how I would write that dictionary definition of cool: people who enjoy things unironically, whole-heartedly, non-judgementally, and without using their specific passions as a secret handshake for entry to their friendship, trust that the people they find cool will find them cool for that.

Embracing my Hubble life

by Diane | Dec 22, 2013 | It's All About Me

In my job and in some of my freelance assignments I’m often in the position of interviewing experts on subjects in which I have little to no expertise, to put it mildly.

Interviewing an electrical engineer a few years ago, I hit on what’s become my standard “charming” way to remind subjects that they’re talking to a layperson who needs to translate their knowledge for other laypeople: “Talk to me like I’m seven.” When he got into imaginary numbers and vectors to explain an acronym I’d queried, I interrupted to say: “OK, now talk to me like I’m five.”

I often feel as though interview subjects find me stupid because I’m asking what to them are simple questions — sometimes because I know the answer but need their words, sometimes because I don’t understand the first frigging thing about electrical engineering.

So I was delighted to stumble across a post a few months ago called “Embracing My Hubble Moments” by Cassandra Willyard. She was studying science writing when a professor brought an astronomer in to talk to the class. The assignment was to listen to the lecture, ask some questions, call other experts for some quotes, and write a news story.

Dr. Astronomer had made his discoveries using the Hubble Telescope and, as he talked, it slowly dawned on me that this telescope he was talking about, this Hubble, is in space. My mind was officially blown. We put a goddamn telescope in SPACE! Holy. Effing. News peg.

I soon realized, of course, that my hook was more than 15 years old. Yes, I had heard of Hubble. And, yes, I knew it was a telescope. But somehow the fact that it orbits Earth had escaped me. Or maybe I knew and then forgot. This was not the first nor the last time I would be astounded by knowledge that everyone else takes for granted. For me, graduate school was peppered with Hubble moments. As these moments piled up, that delightful rush of discovery — we put a telescope in space! — was replaced by burning shame. What else had I missed?

Another joke I like to make, usually in reference to myself, is: “There are no stupid questions. Just stupid people.” Willyard started to feel that way herself:

On the phone with scientists, I tried to avoid asking too many questions. If they said something I didn’t understand, I would “mmm-hmm” like I did. I’ve often heard teachers say, “there’s no such thing as a dumb question,” but that’s not really true. You don’t want to be the science writer who asks a famous astronomer, “So are you telling me that there’s a telescope in space?!”

In the end, by embracing her Hubble Moments she learned to be a better writer — after all, we all have these Hubble Moments and your readers have no hope of understanding the concepts you’re writing about if you don’t understand them first.

Interviewing a lot of scientists and medical professionals is a great way to reduce your Dunning-Kruger effect — that cognitive bias where you think you know more than you really do about a subject, and in fact the greater your ignorance the more likely you are to believe in your superior understanding.

Confucious and Bertrand Russell were right: “Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance” said the former, and “In the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt” said the latter.

I’m obviously not immune to that bias but I do feel as though I walk around in a perpetual state of humbled Hubbleness. So I love that for 2014 I’ll be reminded to embrace my own Hubble Moments by a wonderful Christmas gift: a Hubble Space Telescope Desk Calendar.

And as Willyard says, no matter how many times you hear it, it remains very cool that there’s a goddamn telescope in SPACE whose pretty pictures are available to become an awe-inspiring calendar.

Health and humanism

by Diane | Dec 15, 2013 | It's All About Me

There are a lot of labels out there on which I could hang my belief system, but let’s call it humanism. Who can argue with a human being, being a humanist? Richard Dawkins has ruined atheist for some of us, skeptic feels like an anti-something rather than a pro-scientific method something, and humanist captures the range of beliefs nicely with the added benefit that many people only have the vaguest idea what it means.

I have no interest in converting others to my beliefs, or persuading people out of theirs, which means labelling myself doesn’t come up all that often anyway. I try to respect others’ beliefs and try not to give them a reason to disrespect my own. It doesn’t take many “you’re a nice person for an atheist” or “you don’t believe in anything” comments to feel it’s not worth it to start from scratch with people who aren’t really asking what I think anyway.

Whatever you call them, those beliefs mean it goes against the grain that I’ve started to see a naturopath. Even more so that it’s been a very positive experience so far. I generally agree with today’s Timothy Caulfield Toronto Star piece:

Naturopathic medicine, despite its claims to the contrary, is not evidence-based. Given this reality, provincial health ministries need to carefully consider the long-term implications — including the legal and ethical challenges — of formally legitimizing the pseudo-scientific.

I chose a naturopath who does not believe in homeopathy or other “energy healing” systems. She’s a PubMed junkie and so far the supplements she’s recommended check out as having some scientific credence.

She believes there are times when a conventional doctor is the best choice, and especially given that she hasn’t done a physical examination in my three visits so far, I don’t consider her my primary practitioner. (The fact that I haven’t seen my primary practitioner in a few years, and only a handful of times in the 10 years I’ve been in Vancouver, is a minor detail — if I had major concerns about my health I’d be making an appointment.)

I like that the naturopath has time to listen about the scope of my life and my health. Because of the way GPs are paid that’s not usual of a family doctor. If British Columbia had Nurse Practitioners available for the general public I’d be all over that, but a naturopath whose beliefs mesh with my own seemed like a good alternative.

So while I’m happy with the alternative health care experience so far, it’s a happiness tempered with dissatisfaction with my experiences in the primary care system. The last time I was at my GP’s office was for the same complaint that drove me to a naturopath recently: insomnia.

The GP — who, if she’d read my chart, knows there’s severe mental illness and depression in my family history — asked me if I was depressed. I said “I don’t think so” and she immediately gave me a prescription for enough sleeping pills to kill me several times over. She also told me they weren’t addictive and I could take them as often as I needed. The product monograph disagreed. I wanted the pills — at the time I was working on the Olympics and needed a quick fix — but I’m also lucky that I’m not suicidal and am smart enough to disbelieve there are magic sleeping pills with no side effects. That visit took 5 minutes. The pills worked.

The naturopath talked to me at length about my health and state of mind, and gave me behavioural guidance and supplements that have proved more beneficial than the melatonin I’d been taking, and at least as effective as those sleeping pills. A miracle? No. Placebo? Maybe, but PubMed does agree with her that there’s evidence to support them, and what do I care as long as I’m safely getting more sleep. (Safely is debatable with supplements too, but I just have to trust the higher-grade version is better than store brand.)

So I can both agree with Caulfield and wish there were an answer somewhere between “fix the public primary care system” — which will take considerable time and effort, and some of us need our sleep in the meantime — and “give pseudo-science equal footing with science.” He says:

I am fully aware of the many deficiencies of conventional medicine, including the perverting influence of commercial forces and the lack of good evidence to support many common practices and therapies. Also, many Canadians are not satisfied with their interactions with conventional practitioners, which they find too brief, mechanical and impersonal. These issues need to be addressed.

But the response to the problems of conventional medicine should not lead us to the embrace of pseudo-science. As nicely summarized by well-known science advocate Ben Goldacre, a flaw in aircraft design does not mean we should turn to magic carpets.

I feel lucky that I’m both healthy enough so far that I haven’t had to test the naturopath/physician duality very hard, and that I found a naturopath who — whether she’d use the label or not — is more humanist than magic carpet enthusiast. But it would be nice to take luck out of our medical equation as much as possible.

Shop til you drop? Is dropping … good?

by Diane | Dec 8, 2013 | It's All About Me

‘Tis the season we’re asked incessantly “are you done your Christmas shopping yet?” My unintentionally sanctimonious answer is I’m not doing Christmas shopping this year. I’m somewhat opting out of a holiday I’ve never particularly loved and love less now, but I’m also making my one obligatory present a Christmasy holiday trip.

I have nothing against presents. If you want to send me a gift I am all for that. No need to wait until Christmas, in fact. But as I get older I need and want fewer things — and if I need or want it badly enough I’ll generally buy it myself. As I develop even greater appreciation for experiential or token gifts of meaning, I’m trying to give them more.

[pullquote]Why don’t we use the language of “need” and “deserve” for being debt free, or having time for a walk in the woods instead of the mall, or feeling good about a donation to a charity?[/pullquote]It doesn’t always land well. I once gave a friend a Kiva gift certificate after we had a discussion about making a difference in the world; she reacted like I’d handed her a plate of spinach and never used it.

On the other hand my track record of giving great material gifts is no better. I’ve never actually given spinach, but those hand-painted flower pots were probably close enough. At least this way, as Metro Vancouver would say, I’m creating memories, not garbage. See, there’s the sanctimony.

Last Friday was both Black Friday and Buy Nothing Day and while I appreciate the “think about your consumer habits” symbolism I hate the literal “don’t buy anything TODAY” symbol. Choosing one day not to shop delays a purchase, it doesn’t halt rampant consumerism or the sometimes-sickening displays of holiday commercialism and greed. Yeah, yeah, they know that and the purpose is to raise awareness. But awareness and action are two different things.

If we decided to reduce our holiday expectations, if we were more attuned to being pawns in giant corporations’ marketing game, if we all committed to stop using the cutesy “retail therapy” to describe a very un-cute phenomenon, or if we’d stop saying we “deserve” things we can’t afford, more of us might be able to shift our buy-more mentality.

Why don’t we use the language of “need” and “deserve” for being debt free, or having time for a walk in the woods instead of the mall, or feeling good about a donation to a charity?

Literally not buying anything one day accomplishes nothing unless we’re open to changing our behaviour year-round. And it’s such an individual choice, made with such individual determinism. Taking great steps towards minimalism isn’t something we can be hectored into — unemployed into, yes, hectored, no.

Some of us deliberately inch away from consumerism for various reasons, but many of us inch towards it as our salaries increase through the years. What I consider essential now, idealistic 20-year-old me would smack me for even wanting.

Having just bought a SodaStream I can’t claim to be a minimalist, though I have some of the tendencies and at points in my life lived with very little — sharing a barely furnished apartment with friends after high school, living temporarily in New Brunswick and Mexico, moving back to Canada. I could totally quit my stuff anytime I wanted to.

But I love that SodaStream, bestower of a constant supply of the fizziest of fizzy water. I deserve that SodaStream. I need that SodaStream. You will pry that SodaStream from my cold dead hands.

Yup, changing attitudes and language takes time, and changing behaviour takes even longer.

Everything’s better with robots

by Diane | Nov 23, 2013 | It's All About Me

“I’d never get a tattoo. There’s nothing I’d want on my body forever — I’d change my mind after a week. Plus, I don’t like pain.”

I’ve said that at least a few times in my life, and it was absolutely true. Until it wasn’t.

Yes, I got a tattoo today. I didn’t exactly tell anyone about it because I didn’t want to invite advice or judgment, however well-meaning. I’d sat on the idea for months and knew it was right for me.

When I couldn’t imagine wanting a tattoo, I also couldn’t imagine life without my brother. I take comfort in the idea that he’ll always be a part of me and I realized I wanted the comfort of a literal representation of that idea. A robot was the obvious choice.

His most common movie or television review was that it would have been better with robots. I first remember him saying that when I made the odd choice of renting Whit Stillman’s Metropolitan when he was visiting me — also the first time I remember him marvelling that my preferred genre wasn’t drama or comedy, it was boring.

I could have chosen any robot, really, but I’d bought him Omnibot and it was his Twitter avatar. One of the worst times of the worst three months of my life was helping him move shortly after his diagnosis. It was less an exercise in packing than in getting rid of the accumulation of a lifetime, knowing that life was about to end. Anything too painful for him to throw out — piles of photos of his son, for example — I took for “safekeeping” in the event of a miracle, and he encouraged me to take mementos. Omnibot was one, and he’s looked over me from my bedroom bookshelf since then.

Ryan at Funhouse drew up a likeness of Omnibot and got me through the ordeal with kindness, good humour, and his own enthusiasm for the robot. It’s above my right ankle, hide-able if I want it to be hidden but visible to me without using mirrors or advanced yoga poses.

The not liking pain part remains true. But it turns out owning cats most of my life was perfect preparation, since the pain was roughly equivalent to a cat scratch. Granted I wouldn’t normally let little Siamese Molly scratch me for two hours. Unless she was being really cute about it.

So I have a tattoo, and it is truly just for me — Steve would probably think I was nuts. On the other hand, he was the one who taught me everything’s better with robots. I feel better already.