The Good Aztec

"Hold him closer to the flames, Anacoana" said Huemac, the Good Aztec, "otherwise he'll never learn"

Anacoana dutifully lowered the struggling child closer the flames of the fire while Huemac poked more cactus spines(dipped in chilli oil) into the soft flesh of the boy's thigh. After about five more minutes, Huemac nodded and Anacoana let the child go. Huemac addressed the child solemnly:

"Now son, do you understand how important it is not to make your toy houses more than one storey high?...." The boy nodded "....and why?" asked Huemac. "Yes" said Huemac's son, "The Jaguar God doesnt like us to have houses more than one storey high. Unless we're nobles, its an insult to Heaven and we should be killed if we build a two strorey house. Or wear cotton. Or cough from the left side of our mouths. " Satisfied, Huemac turned to Anacoana "Give him some extra cocaine with his chocolate at bedtime - he's been a good boy to accept his punishment and learn from it."

Huemac threw on a cloak and headed for the door. "I'm off to watch our oldest lad at the ball game. Hopefully he'll score a few goals and have his still beating heart ripped out of his chest later tonight" he said, but just as he was about to step outside, a final thought struck him, so he turned back to Anacoana "Make sure you wrap the little one's head tightly - it's not pointy enough. If that kid's head isnt as pointy as an arrow by the spring plantings, he'll wont grow up clever enough to be an architect."

All of which explains why evolutionary psychologists are, fundamentally, wrong.

I should, perhaps, expand. Throughout the voyages that constitute my scholarly endeavours, I have been subjected to a barrage of theories, models and paradigms on learning. Fairly soon after starting my degree, it became obvious that rather than a neat procession of modelling, experimentation, observation and hypothesis forming leading to a narrower and more accurate focus which eventually becomes a consensus forming a solid theoretical base from which aspiring pedagologists could launch their careers, the field of studying learning more resembled a disorganised yacht regatta.

From the headlands of studenthood, one gazes down at the harbour of theory. Yachts of different shapes and sizes mill around, apparently at random. Some boats, the good ship "Paiget", for example, work but only for very short journeys. Others, like the "SS Learning Styles" have their sails rigged underwater - tides getting them to their destinations, although the crew swear it's the wind doing the work. Still others - the "Merry Humanist" for example, sail round in ever decreasing circles in a knid of self satisfied ballet. At the moment, the one catching my attention is the "Veritable Evolutionist" - a brilliantly designed ship - sleek of line, ruthlessly efficient, relentlessly logical and 'yar'. Oh! how 'yar'. The only problem with this ship is that it has no room for humans.

I realise as I have been writing this that, like a post_Modernist trying to explain why a combustion engine works, I have become completely caught up in my own metaphor and, in true post Modernist vein, have completely failed to say anything of significance. So I will try again.

The evolutionary psychology, or evolutionary anthropological theories of human development mostly hold that the preponderance of human behaviours can be explained in terms of evolution. Lately these theories have been - once again - gaining ground, especially in the educational field as the nonsense of learning styles, split brains and beating the child senseless have all fallen by the wayside. Simply put, evolutionary psychology/anthropology are fairly deterministic, biologically based models that ascribe and try to explain the bulk of human behaviour through evolutionary principles. Some of the work, especially that of Geary( see for example http://web.missouri.edu/~gearyd/GearyEvoEd.pdf) who I've been ploughing through recently is very powerful. Geary, (in short and with apologies to him because his theories are nuanced and elegant) presents a two-fold mechanism for human learning - a "folk" mechanism whereby we learn easily (things that are directly related to survival) and a "novel learning" mechanism that requires us to exert some effort via accessing memory, working memory and active cognitive processes. Because most of what we learn in schools is "novel", school learning is for most people effortful.

But heres the rub. Humans throughout the history of civilisation have overwhelming been the cause of our own "novel" situations as we have invented cultures like Huemacs. So while evolutionary ideas might well explain HOW we negotiate the cultural structures and oddities we construct, they still do not explain WHY we constructed diverse cultures in the first place that were so heavily laden with practises and behaviours that were at best irrelevant (adaptationally) and at worst such a bad idea (like binding your children's head or adopting agriculture) that we had to employ an enormously "expensive" (biologically speaking) "novel learning" mechanism practically continuously.


It is a monstrous problem - just how different are humans from animals? In fact, the answer is already partly out there(in some very diverse, but reputable, literature), and itself presents a whole bunch of new problems, because other strands of research have begun to suggest that we arent that much different form animals but that animals are much, much, much more complicated than we previoulsy believed. Evolution it seems, explains a hwole bunch of things. Apart from the ones I am interested in.

Wolf trails

Just a quickie!

Here's a link where you can follow the movements of a radio-collar tagged artic wolf.

As soon as I work out how to redesignthe pages again ( the last redesign fgailed because I was trying to do something fancy-pants) I'll post this as a link.

But this wolf page is actually my favourite page at the moment. In fact, I think its the best blog in the world right now.

Exaptions and Spandrels

Quite how I got here, I have no idea. What I do know is that I hate Stephen J. Gould and Steve Pinker with a passion that I have not felt since the referee at Liverpol v Sunderland allowed a goal quite clearly outside the rules of the game.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKq_7Tl1eyQ

The real problem is that I have only the vaguest idea how I got here - exaptions and spandrels, that is. One moment I was minding my own business quietly in awe of David C. Geary's (http://web.missouri.edu/~gearyd/)papers on education and the next I was contemplating whether the wing feathers of Archaeopteryx represented insulation gone wrong or a precursor to NASA's new breed of re-entry vehicles.

Gould and Pinker are culpable, as are every person who has ever made me think (this probably means YOU), for introducing the world of academia and thinking and stuff in the first place. I should have stuck with the old wood. Although bark, when you think of it could have been an exaption, a spandrel or an adaptation. I wish I believed in Intelligent Design.

The Correct Use of Soap

THE VAULT nightclub in HULL. As always, I would recommend clicking on the photgraph for a full view.
THE NOVA SCOTIA PUB with Walkers Crisps van outside. In Bristol.


There are phrases, I confess, that I run away from quicker than a global warming denier runs away from peer reviewed journals. Some of these - "take it to the next level", "step up to the plate", "to be fair", "to be perfectly honest", "Manchester United are a good team" - are so repulsive that I have sworn a blood oath never to use, even in jest. Some Other phrases I have been forced, particularly in light of my position as the joint-second best Academic in England, to silently despise but not publically foreswear. These Other phrases, I actually hate more than the ones I dont use, mostly because I know that I will have to use them one day. One such phrase is 'cognitive dissonance'.

The week has, eventually, turned out "rather nice, aint it?", as my Cockney friends might say. The week, considered as an entity, warmed slowly as a vintage car might, and it was as if the week itself slowly worked through the gears of sobriety until the effects of the wedding had faded and its kidneys had rejuvenated. Love life as we do, it should never be forgotten that our aim, since we arrived here, has to be thoroughly bored as soon as possible. THe weekend was far too much fun for the desired state to prevail - the week, cold master of time, warmed up to an excitement level that was tolerable and low key.

The same week that we have been discussing also culminated with a visit from Amelia, a Canadian friend we last met in Halifax, and whom we had not seen for several a year. Amelia and her partner are now ensconced in Aberdeen, a Scottish place, where Amelia now works in a similar field to RHB. Amelia was here (ie Hull) to give a talk on her research. Afterwards we went for a nice dinner. I dont normally attend these academical binges, but loyalty to my chosen country prevailed, so we went to the usual place, a local Thai restaurant. Naturally, it was great to see Amelia, and also great to hear a Canadian accent, and before long we (Amelia, RHB and self) were chatting happily.

Our companions at the meal, Skarra and Ig (co-boffins of RHB) joined in, but occasionally I could see a quizzical expression cross the face of Skarra, who, as well as being a colleague of Red, is my partner in "Cheek to Cheek", a new musical venture. More, perhaps, about "Cheek to Cheek" another day (we aspire to be a Radiohead/Wayne County and the Electric Chairs/Morriconi acoustic tribute band on the local club circuit) but suffice to say, I know Skarra quite well by now. We are, despite his hailing from Manchester and supporting the football devils that inhabit the place, friends.

It was as RHB was describing how the local 'store' was "kitty corner", and perhaps more importantly, A was understanding what she was saying, that I realised why Skarra bore on his face an expression similar to one that might be worn by a fisherman, who fishing for trout on an inland stream, had actually landed a cod. The problem you see, is that while I will never pretend that I could ever insert enough 'r's into the word 'coffee' to pass as full blooded Canadians, we both can communicate in Canadian, as well as standard English. We are bilingual, and by virtue of meeing Amelia had both entered the mysterious world of language slippage, caused by the proximity of a native of the True North, Strong and Free and our years of several excursion in the Best Country in the Worldtm. Over the course of mere minutes, 'cats' had become 'kittys' , 'shops' had become 'stores', 'Hoovers' - 'vacuums', 'cash machines' - 'ATM's, 'rubbish' - 'garbage'. 'Cars' had become 'vehicles' filled with 'gas' and if things were'nt 'hilarious' they were 'awesome'. It 'rocked'.

Despite this division, commonality among the whole group, was restored when the conversation shifted to talking about University life, research and students. I observe among the assembled brains a passion for science, deep involvemnt in their research and a genuinely expressed concern for many of the young minds they witness voyaging through the seas of knowledge that is the University experience. Back home, RHB and Amelia continue the discussion, looking forward to the next day when battle with the Unknown will again commence, but soonish sleep beckons, cognitive processes slow down and a peace settles over the intellectual powerhouse that is Large Mansions, interrupted only by the embarrasingly loud noise that accompanies the anal grooming of the larger of our two cats.

The next day, I wake early - so early in fact that it is not even an 'o'clock' yet - and shower in preparation for my last lecture of the week. The Crosstowner is made ready, and when prepared I bid adieu to Amelia and 'later gator' to RHB,cycling the kilometer or so to University. The lecture is the last of a series for this semester, and our lecturer, echoing the concerns of the previous evening's dinner co-attendees, (at least in respect of desiring to see students do well), is anxious to fully prepare us for an essay we have to complete. The details of the module and topic are not relevant - suffice to say that we are, as second year undergraduates, asked to compose, in groups, a list of 'things' that we do, and do not, 'like' about our recent learning experiences at University. Reproduced below is a sample of offerings derived from this exercise. I may be guilty of terminological inexactitude in rendering the below as justification for using the phrase 'cognitive dissonance', but I do believe that, as with many religious epiphanies, I experienced the sense of the phrase for several hours after the lecture. At least until I could get home and give the cats a good tickle.



Question: Discuss, in groups, what you do, and do not like about your learning experiences at University.



Responses as tabulated on the interactive whiteboard during the lecture:

LIKE:
videos
group work
colourful powerpoints
drawings
lots of handouts
short lectures - not boring

DISLIKE:
big words
complicated texts that arent brokn down
abstract concepts
complicated theories
being told I am wrong
loads of information

Anthropogenic relativism

In some respects, Brian is a Scot plucked, in a phrase borrowed from a friend, right out of central casting. The son of a Glasgow (pronounced 'Glasgae') sheet metal worker, he is, (physically at least), a bear of a man, of the type that only Hibernia can produce. In fact, on first meeting Brian, I immediately formulated one of my brilliant anthropological theories, something to the effect that the reason the Scots eradicated ursa minor and major (and all the ursas in-between) from the Highlands was to allow space for men like Brian to grow. It is also not incompatible with Brian's physical appearance to imagine him naked (except for thin smearing of blue wode) bearing down on Hadrian's Wall to the terror of Roman Legionnaires. But the eyes of these same Picts shone, (after the raid), not with a messianically idiot bloodlust, but with a steely intelligence, fully aware of the effect of their appearance - one of the first examples of effective psychological warfare in Western Europe. Brian's eyes have the same quality - they can either invite you to an intelligent discussion or pin you to the mast of your own stupidity between blinks. In Walter's, a glance from Brian at an acquaintance at the other end of the bar talking about his "brilliant" business strategy, then a similarly quick glance at me illustrated the difference, and too my relief, it was the portly grey panted businessman who got the killing look. We moved away from the bar to chat.

I was meeting Brian, not really to "get the job" as RHB wrote it, but to network. My plan, over the next few months, is not only to destroy my fellow students in History debates, but also to get a "jump" on future employment, and the strongest advice I have been given, from all quarters, is that the best way to achieve this, in the field I wish to pursue, is by volunteering to teach, mentor or advise people until they cannot be taught, advised or mentored any further. On first receiving this advice, I assumed that volunteering was a snip - one simply had to walk into the nearest service that seemed appropriate and announce that one's hard earned world wisdom was available, (on a non-sale basis), and when would the service like to start to receive the benefit of one's brilliance? Reality however, as usual ,soon put an end to my insomniac fantasies: achieving pre-eminence as East Riding's most sought after volunteer is more much more difficult than landing a paid position as an astronaut (let alone the World's First Scouse Astronaut).

This is understandable, on reflection - charities, especially educational charities, have been left, thanks to successive governments, with the task of educating, training, supporting and helping the most disadvantaged and vulnerable members of society and given that this is the case, the charities need to be especially careful when engaging people. It would be unwise in the extreme, given the load of responsibility (unwillingly?) assumed by charitable organisations, for them to put their users at risk by failing to vet applicants more thoroughly than the average paid employee is vetted.

If this situation (ie charities as the major providers of service to the most disadvantaged people) was not such a depressing indictment of societal failure, it would be marvellously easy to write a humourous blog about the twisted logic of this state of affairs. One could jokingly imagine scenarios where major thematic elements included politicians getting themselkves into all sorts of ridiculously convoluted "situations" as they tried to pretend that poverty, appalling living conditions and large scale societal inequality didnt exist. Unfortunately, although true comedy is best when reflecting the truth, there has to be an element of exaggeration in the best humour, but the picture I have painted, at least when cycling round HUll looks more like an underexaggeration. In reality, Blair et al's vision of an England where everyone is flying off to Spain on Easyjet every five minutes, buying second homes and investing in private education, is, I would claim, more of a fiction than my snapshot.

There is certainly a middle class here in the UK, but instead of "raising" everyone else to that middle class level, all that seems to have happened is a consolidation of class divisions. Those of us who are relatively well-off, or able bodied, or articulate are fully provided with the best services, education, health care, transport and acceptable housing. The best medical clinics, and schools, in the city are the ones scattered around the University. Even the bus timetable in our neighbourhood is superior - it is not possible to cross Newland Avenue, our neighbourhood shopping area, without getting run over by some form of omnibus, whereas in the area that Blessed Mandy lives - a sprawling council estate on the northern fringes of the city (the same area where the sewerage facilities are located) - buses are more expensive and about as common as red alligators. In Blessed Mandy's area, it is charities that run everything, from the stores where people buy clothes to the youth club, the sports centre, the drop-in centre for elderly people and the buses for the physically disabled.

NOTA BENE: It is not acceptable these days to use class titles - middle, lower, upper - everyone is said to be middle class. So I am forced, in future, to use a different name to describe what used to be the working class - I'll call them the Undiscovered. The middle class, I will call the not-entirely(yet)-dispossessed. Upper classes, I will refer to as "The Guilty".


The situation of the Undiscovered, then, is unpleasant and difficult. This is of course all relative. Because I am not claiming that all of us in the Western world are not much better off than the majority of the planet's population. Opportunities do exist for people, even those disadvantaged in our society, that make all of us kings in comparison with the rest of the world. Helping people to realise this, through education, and then take advantage of opportunities that do exist, is an integral part of my plan. In short, I plan to save the world by teaching anthropology. If necessary, I will do this one street-kid at a time, until our whole society is so excited by Nuer culture that we'll all be too busy debating kinship to take drugs.

Bearing in mind the difficulties I mentioned previoulsy in respect of obtaining ungainful volunteer employment, it is perhaps unsurprising that without an introduction, most of the charities I have pitched my idea to have looked askance, wondering in many cases where the funds for a field trip to Namibia might come from, and whether they would prioritize said trip over getting the leak in the roof of their office fixed or not. This is where Brian re-enters the discussion. Introduced to me by the marvellous JJ, Brian works closely with the volutary sector. It is from him that I hope to establish contacts that will allow me to work voluntarily and this advance my teaching career.

Me and Brian leave the pub after a good four hours drinking. I can read my handwriting on most of the notes I met at the start of our meeting, but as the drink has been taken, scrawl has appeared. As we hardly knew eachother at the start of our meet, we've swapped the legends of our backgrounds and established good, solid working class credentials over a couple of glasses of red wine and some environmentally friendly organic real ale in one of the most expensive bars in the city. We get taxi's home, and as a special treat, ordered whatever we want from a local takeaway. It has been a delightfully civilised occasion. If I had to be perfectly honest, one of the reasons I want to teach is because I dont want to live with the Undiscovered. I feel - as I suspect my other 'working class hero' friends feel - I dont mind working for a charity, but I never want to apply to one.

Gymangling

"It is a beautiful afternoon - idyllic actually - the light is fantastic across he back yard and its warm eought ot have the door openm, so Meepy is just sitting in the sun, enjoying the warm on her fur. I'm getting stuck into some reading and Tosh is sitting in the shed looking for a fight. I could do this for ever.

Unfortunately, I've gotta ruin it - I'm meeting Brian and possibly the head of THE WARREN about 3.30pm. I kept saying "coffee" but Brian had decided a pub downtown as his venue. Obvioulsy, I'm not going "on the ale" but this is just to warn you that tea might be improvised tonight (again)"

...is the body of the email that I sent to RHB. What I dont add, and what she will therefore remain ignorant of, is that I'll be writing this blog entry until just before 3.30, rather than reading about "Inclusive Learning". In this, especially given that this subject has recently (ie this morning) nearly killed me, I feel entirely justified.

RHB's reply to my e-mail, full of the dignity and fine sensibility that I've come to know and endlessly appreciate throughout our beautific century spanning eon, nearly un-mans me with it's selfless regard. It is typical of the writing that made her one of the leading Euroscientists in the East ridings of Yorkshire....

"No problem - if you have to get pissed to get the job - just take it
on the chin gracefully."

But perhaps I should explain, starting with my near death at the hands of Inclusive Learning. We are in the gym, attempting to repair some of the damage occasioned by the great occasion that was B and K' s wedding. I am still stiff after the several hours of driving that were involved in traversing this island from coast to coast, so decide that light training is indicated - I am, being something of a string bean, subject to muscle pulls and dont want to risk injury by attempting something rash. Inside the gym, I head for the walking machine (the treadmill, is, I believe an alternative nomenclature for the devices) telling RHB I am going to walk for 30 minutes. I mount my station and gradually increase the incline to 15 degrees, simultaneoulsy increasing the speed to 6.5kms per hour. As walking on a treadmill is possibly the most boring thing that it is possible to do, unless you are a hamster, I have brought with me a paper on Inclusive Learning that I plan to read during my exercise.

THe paper "CSIE: THE INCLUSION CHARTER" starts off promisingly enough. There is a succinct list of six Points, clearly written, that set out CSIE's case for Inclusion in Learning. Following the six points there is an explanatory notes section. "Ah ha!" I think to myself "THIS is where it gets interesting. Obvioulsy, the text that I am about to read will expand usefully on the six points. Before I know it, I'll be knee deep in some excellent theoretical discussions: Foucault, Friere, Levi Strauss, Kant, Leavis, Tomlinson, Gramsci and of course Nel Noddings - all the guys will be there."

Unfortunately, what actually happens next, is distressingly common in academia. THe explanatory notes turn out to be a way of saying exactly the same thing that the Six Points do, only longer. For example, Point Three of the Six points, starts with the sentence:

"We believe that all students share equal value and status."

The explanatory notes for this same point start as follows:

"Students with learning difficulties are of no less value than students who gain Oxbridge entry and are no less worthy of respect."

This all continues in much the same vein, except the rephrasing of the initial point just gets longer and longer and more convoluted and the language gets more and more awkward and unusable. The whole thing is becoming very frustrating and I'm getting hot with all my exercise, so when I reach a sentence (still on point three) that starts with the phrase "Theoretical androgodies emphasize that the value of LD students should be undifferentiated from...."I lose it. "Enough is enough" I say to myself. I fold up the paper, rather ungraciously, stuff it into my pocket, and take off my sweatshirt.

Or rather, I try to take off my sweatshirt, because I have, in all the excitement, totally forgotten that I am on a treadmill. My perambulation is not entirely my own and ceasing to move my lower limbs while removing my sweatshirt does not automatically halt my motion. I realise that I am moving backwards and downhill, at approximately 7kms/hr, only with the hood of the sweatshirt firmly wrapped round the old noggin, and with one arm hopelessly trapped in a sleeve.

After I have picked myself up off the floor, I glance round to see if anyone has noticed. Practically the whole gym is staring in my direction. I hope, for a moment that this is because aliens have materialised just behind me, but another quick glance proves that this is not so. I reassure the nearest young person, who doesnt ask,( and is trying not to laugh), that I'm ok, and casually stroll to the water dispenser, trying to make it look as if my disengagement from the treadmill might have been part of a fitness regime. At the water fountain, the guy standing next to it jumps back, alarmed. Presumably he is frightened in case the thing explodes due to my proximity. I realise I am being excluded.

Curious

Its a night that started in Hull, but now we're in Bristol drinking Plymouth gin. In the morning we'll be on our way to Tenby from where Benjamin and Kirsty will leave for St Petersburg. RHB, mostly a traveller, is fading and Sal, ex-Mansfield, has gone to bed, with the parting gift "You're p**ssing me off, Scally Puff Boy". I have come from Liverpool via Leicester, Coventry and Halifax, N.S. "The important thing about blogging" I tell W. "is originality". W. opens his notebook, and writes "original".

The reason for these travels is that we're making preparations for a marriage in what is, at least for us, the countryside. The marriage is between Benjamin, RHB's nephew, and Kirsty, whom I have never met.

I ask Sal "What's Kirsty like?" . "Much f**kin nicer than you" she says. "And more attractive." W. opens his notebook and writes "attractive".

Sal is looking forward to the event "I f**kin love Niome" she says, before adding "F**k off, Martin". This is because I have speculated that the dresses will, according to latest fashion, be very sparkly, and RHB's nieces will be among the sparkliest and the most beautiful. Even RHB, who is now a Doctor in this country, has a sparkly dress. Sal, I have decided, is stripey. W opens his notebook, but doesnt write "sparkly". Instead, he looks at Sal, and underlines "original".

There is a critical mass of chaos surrounding RHB's family - its like the dark matter that the majority of the universe is supposed to comprise - unseen but immensely powerful, a quantum effect. Our own journey started in Hull, perfectly on time, and if various members of the L'Argent family were not converging on Tenby, we would have arrived in the mansion we have rented for the weekend perfectly on time. I have promised another of RHB's nieces, Sadie, that we will meet them at about 5.30pm in Tenby and have a family pillow fight, but it's now 8.30pm and we're running out of gas and weather just inside the Welsh border with 150 miles to go. The L'Argent Effect is in full force - every "short cut" we decide to take to reduce our journey time turns out to be longer than our original route, every gas station we stop in for refreshment or a bathroom break is closed, and as the journey progresses, it becomes evident that we've left toothbrushes, razors, wedding presents, cards and sparkly dresses behind, as well as losing all details of time of, directions to, and arrangements for the following day's ceremony. "Is Lyd's going to the wedding?" I ask Sal. "Of course Lyds is going, you idiot" says Sal "I f**kin love Lyds" she adds.

The wedding is brilliant. Joyous. Good humoured. Sparkly. There's not enough time to catch up with everyone, and there's the usual (for me) short-sighted offence of looking right through people you should know (sorry again L and Neil), but on the whole, it is such a different experience, for me, than the usual wedding experience of knowing in advance who is going to deliberately snub whom, and who might punch whoever. Afterwards, our crowd all crash in the massive living room of the mansion we've rented for the weekend to watch a very late edition of X-Factor - "F**kin X-Factor? Justify! Justify! Justify! F**kin karaoke! Just all sparkly b**ll*cks" . Sal is the last to arrive. W. opens his notebook and writes "sparkly".

With apologies to "spurious".