Related

THis is from a cycle blog I read:


""..One London newspaper thought it would be best to give their readers a warning as to what lies ahead.

On Tuesday, The Guardian published a guide to walking on snow and ice. In fact, the paper even consulted a doctor for their list of expert tips.

In the introduction to the article, the editors wrote “that only penguins are really designed for the snow and ice” – a huge surprise to those of us dealing with those conditions a good six months of the year.

Dr. Luisa Dilner advised the obviously delicate residents of Britain not to “talk on your mobile phone or even reach into your pocket,” as that could trigger a fall.

“If you are pregnant,” Dr Dilner continues, “You have already shifted your centre of gravity and should be tucked up at home with a box set of Mad Men.”

That’s right, Canadian women – you thought you could make it through the winter without much change to your regular routine, but it turns out you actually need to hibernate like a bear.

Tell your boss the doctor said so.

And forget about biking. The Guardian doesn't mention it, for fear of causing the English to clutch their pearls in horror, certainly - but it's likely not recommended.

The same goes for carrying heavy boxes and a host of activities many Canadians undertake without much thought at all.

“People who know about snow (climbers mostly) say that ice grips worn over shoes can prevent falls,” Dr. Dilner concludes.

Actually, that’s Canadians, mostly – and most of manage to get around just find without resorting to warnings like these: “However you have to take ice grips off on smooth indoor surfaces and they don't work on black ice because nothing does. Except being a penguin.”"


http://www.citytv.com/toronto/citynews/news/international/article/105315--british-newspaper-publishes-guide-to-walking-on-snow


It is very funny. I have been cycling throughout the winter and have noticed the numbers of cyclists drastically reduce as it has gotten colder. It's not actually that cold - averages about minus five, daytime, and cycling is possible. There are a couple of England-specific dangers though, particularly drivers of motorized vehicles. English drivers do not change their driving habits for anyone, anything or any condition. It seems related to the old War spirit that gets referenced in the media far to often for a healthy national psyche, and is almost as if they are saying:

"Hitler could'nt make us surrender, there's no way I'm going to give in to a bit of snow and ice".

THis extends, in many cases to taking absolutely no precautions whatsoever in winter - there are now snow tyres, no one alters their tyre pressure and apart from volume purchases of windscreen de-icer, driving habits stay the same. The result of this is that the sight of a 'boy-racer' in a souped up Mini, wheels spinning furiously at standstill, engine revving and a bead of sweat trickling form under the brim of his (reversed) baseball cap and going absolutely no-where is not unusual.

Mostly, this is amusing, but for cyclists, it can be very dangerous. We get no extra space, no consideration for the fact that roadsides are very icy and many ( I would say most) drivers still overtake millimetrically with almost zero tolerance. Every time there is a particularly close shave, I revive a fantasy I have had number of years, which is to capture the offending driver, tie them to a chair and then get a big hammer attached to a piece of string and swing it at their heads, trying to get as close as I can without actually hitting. In the case of many 8 wheeler drivers though, the intention would be to make contact.

Unfortunately, I am to become a driver for a few days, as we are renting a vehicle today for the holiday period. A big part of me fervently hopes the weather is too bad for travel, as these roads scare me. And, I have to admit, a big part of me, despite everything said above, loves driving.

Towards a theory of Cycling; A Post Modern Discourse

"Ah" I thought to myself, "Based on the truth that our world is socially constructed, and because no-one appears to be watching, this wont hurt a bit".

A second or two later, I had discovered the limitations of that particular post modern discourse as I splattered face first into a road surface made even more unyielding by a three inch covering of ice.

Of coiurse, like all things, it began with interior decoration, and the observation that at least one scientific law was, despite having been de-constructed ad nauseum, immutable, that law being of course that for every action , there is an equal and opposite re-action. In this case, the carpet that had languished in our front Survivor-watching room, had been moved to the rear room. RHB, applying all action research skills at her disposal critiqued my reaction:

"Looks great" I said "Watcha think?"

THere was a pause. At this point, I should comment on pauses. Over a long, and, in the main bloodless, relationship, I have learnt - possibly through reflection, neural pruning or the actions of mirror neurons (take your pick) - that a pause can be as eloquent as any of the Psalms. Pauses (issued by my partner) can mean "Good idea but I dont agree" (ie 'You have the wrong idea '), they can mean "I am about to explode with fury" (ie "You've done something wrong") or they can mean "What happened to ..." (ie "Whatever you are about to do is wrong"). In the instance of this conversation, the pause was quite long (thats a good thing), did not involve pacing ( even better) and there were no flailing arm movements (phew!), and was simply followed by

"Hmmm... the whole kitchen's the wrong colour now. It doesnt match the carpet."

It was my turn to pause. ALthough not personally endangered physically, this was terrible news. Paint colour selection at Large Mansions is a lengthy process. Colour swatches that I simply cannot tell apart are presented at the breakfast table for my opinion, and I invariably pick the one that "only an idiot would pick". The epistemology behind the process - a joint decision taken by consenting adults - is reasoned and inclusive, but the execution is less so. I cannot see the difference between many paint colours and get bored rapidly. RHB not only sees the differences between paint colours but makes associations between colours that are close to eachother. I think in my case, this inability is the product of being raised in a 1970's wallpapered home, but whatever the reason the only redeeming feature of the process is that the paint store is right across town, a good forty minutes bike ride away.

Which is how I came to be approaching the railway lines near Chanterland Avenue Cemetary at a speed approximating that of a scared cat, bearing several lites of paint in my panniers. AFter sixteen previous trips for samples, the final colour had been decided. Despite the snow, unprecedented in this part of the world, I had been indoors all week, writing term papers and had seized the opportunity to get out on the Crosstowner and have a good old play. En route to the paint shop , I had seen no other cyclists, but had successfully navigated snow-covered side roads, a field and a couple of slippery major roads. THe return route took me over the railway lines.

THere are two ways of crossing icy railway lines in sub-zero temperatures on a bicycle equipped with 'slicks' (in my enthusiasm I had neglected to change the tyres and have been still riding on my summer tyres). The first approach(described retrospectively by a critical friend as 'the only') is to get off and push the bike across, calmly and sedately. The second approach(described by the same friend afterwards as 'sheer stupidity') is to be imagining that you are a resistance fighter in a post-apocalyptic world couriering a vital message, and that despite the travails of snow and ice, the message must get through at all costs, quickly. In the second scenario, the ONLY way of crossing the railway tracks is to accelerate, attempting bunny hops over the icier bits.

"Had a little spill" I am forced to announce as I return home. The limp from a badly bruised knee cannot be disguised. Nor can the dented tins of paint, bruising and minor chip to the bone of the right elbow and torn waterproofs. RHB pauses. I am temporarily alarmed. "Did you get the paint?" she asks. I nod. She grins "You had fun, didnt you?". I nod again, and we laugh. SOme things dont need an explanation.

Snow

As one who believes that a good picture of snow is vastly improved by the inclusion of a pink cat I am, naturally, an apostle for these pictures. Nothing, I feel, illustrates a good snowfall than a blurred picture of a twenty pound cat that has just pounced, adorably of course, on a snowball.

Which information should lead you to conclude that some, or other, entity has been fabricating said snowballs in order for the aforementioned pouncing to occur. This is on account of how cats paws are eminently unsuited to the task. If a reader has any intelligence this string of logic should provide a clue as to who, or whom, the snowball maker is. And given that it is I who writes this blog,and posts photographs and has no friends, and am currently at home writing because the University is closed, and have an unusually (but not suspect) relationship with said cat, I should remove you from your misery and confess: I have spent an inordinate amount of time over the last week making snowballs in the back yard and throwing them. Toshack, responds with loud "MIAOW" then chases off into the snow covered moraine of our rear garden before plouging face first into drifts, frantically clawing at the snow. It is a behaviour more akin to that of a dog

During a short lull earlier this week, his sister Callisandra, who hates the cold, possibly on account of the amount of titanium in her feet (with resultant increased conduction) briefly joined him. She shot across the yard after a smallish ball of ice. Unfortunately, as mentioned, the only reason she was outside was the slight warming. This warming had softened the layer of ice on top of the pond, although it was still masked by snow. Calli charged, intent on her snowball, the ice gave way, she fell in the pond, leapt out looking like a sodden calico pretend toy and carooned into the house up the stairs. I felt a bit guilty, and slightly concerned in case she had been frozen solid, so I went to find her, and she was lying on the bed grooming as cats do, as if nothing had happened. Which in her world, it hasnt.

In the grown-up human world though, the weather has been, for England, unusual. Hull has laboured under a 12" blanket of snow. Food has begun to run out in stores (this in NOT exaggeration) as pensioners have bought up every loaf of bread available (this is both an exagerration and unfair as I have no idea who exactly has been buying all the bread. But there is none). Even the liquor stores have not been restocked. In the media the extent to which this country is unprepared for most of the weather it receives has been the subject of screaming headlines - Every year there are a seasonal round of stories about people dying of the cold. Motorists get stranded for days in 'mountain' passes that are no more than 1500 feet high. Droughts and water shortages follow winter and springs of unprecedented rainfall. People die of heatstroke in temperature approaching the mid thirties (centigrade). The weather in the Uk is nowhere near as varied as most of the countries on the planet - its one of the reasons our climate is called temperate - yet the country seems prepared for none of its seasons.

This however, is not the complete picture. In our street, for the last week, kids have been having snowball fights with adults, the elderly folk have had their drives dug out by slightly less elderly folk, birds have been fed and the overall mood has been one of joy and celebration. THere has been a party atmosphere because practically everyone has been off work.

So who is complaining? Actually, I am. But not about the weather - it is what it is and snow is particularly beautiful. BUt also, I am not complaining too much about the lack of prepardness this country consistently demonstrates. It means more days off work, and in truth, English people are not the Protestant work fanatics they pretend to be. My complaint is the English media - possibly one of the lowest forms of life on the planet. There is one modus operandi in the English media and that is partisan point scoring. From the mighty Times to the lefty Guardian to the Tory Telegraph and the scumbag tabloids, point scoring may operate at various intellectual levels, but it is all the UK press have, apart from lifestyle pullouts. Journalism has a number of capacities which various individual have done very well - change (a lot of Vietnam war photography), observation (Alistair Cooke's letter from AMerica) comment (Charlie Brooker in the Guardian still does this). But the majority of contemporary UK journalism is not these capacitieis, it is whining, niggling and inconsequentialism. ANd although this can temporarily appear to be analogues of good writing - sharp, witty, hip, modern, referenced - they are not good journalism, they're just bad novelisation. So cliched themes,the stock in trade of bad airport novels, are what we get for the majorty of our news. And the recent snow has definitely resulted in the wheeling out of all the 'old ones'. Personally, I would rather play snowballs with a cat than read the British press.

THe anthro Song

http://nineteeneightynine1989.blogspot.com/2010/11/anthropology-song.html

Nel absolutely hates this. ANd I sort of do as well. Except that the kid is so keen...

Studying hard. Hard Studying.

Unpredictability and Indeterminism in Human Behavior: Arguments and Implications for Educational Research

1. Gary A Cziko, Associate Professor


This essay presents arguments for the view that complex human behavior of the type that interests educational researchers is by its nature unpredictable if not indeterminate, a view that raises serious questions about the validity of a quantitative, experimental, positivist approach to educational research. The arguments are based on (a) individual differences, (b) chaos, (c) the evolutionary nature of learning and development, (d) the role of consciousness and free will in human behavior, and (e) the implications of quantum mechanics. Consequently it is argued that educational research that attempts to predict and control educational outcomes cannot be successful and that educational research should focus on providing descriptions and interpretations of educational phenomena to provide findings that can be used to improve our understanding of learning, development, and education and to facilitate their evolution.

EDUCATIONAL RESEARCHER April 1989 vol. 18 no. 3 17-25


I have to admit, in the interests of fairness,but I have not read this full article. Therefore, criticising it, or even critiquing it, is impossible. But, I have learned a degree of caution as I have progressed through my academic trajectory. A 'spidey' sense has developed as I peruse the journal articles, a sort of bullshit detector. I have also found the English glottal tut very useful, as an audible aide memoire - 'dont read anything else by this idiot' - and judging by the quantity of tutting reverberating round the library, a lot of people have also found the same thing useful.

Having said all that I should re-emphasize that I should not criticize the above work. And I know you all know this is coming, so here it is........BUT when I read an abstract linking such grand themes, I hesitate. I have, myself, as the joint second best academic in England, been accused, by mine own spouse, no less, of delusions of grandeur and overambitious thematic association, when I claimed that savanna chimp reactions to fire fire completely proved the theory behind "Civilization: why?". So when I read an abstract such as the one above that claims to link chaos theory, quantum mechanics, psychology, learning theory, politics, philosophy and evolutionary biology I do have to wonder about its specificity. And when I re-read the abstract, it seems as if the author is merely saying "I dont like education being directed by their approach, I'd much rather it was directed by my approach" the spidey sense engages and a large 'tut' issues.

Related to this is my enforced further readings on 'situated learning'. Once again, admonished by RHB NOT to arbitarily dismiss ideas, I have struggled through papers on 'situated learning', 'communities of practise' and 'legitimate peripheral participation' attempting to glean some insight. This has proven very difficult. For me, it is as if I have been forced to watch a series of Manchester United games and comment objectively on the football on display. And this is not a careless observation. Lave and Wenger base their theories of situated learning on observations of a number of apprenticeships, including the tailors of Goa and those of Yucatec midwives. Taken in isolation, both apprenticeships apparently provide examples that certain types of social engagements are models for how learning ought to occur. For example, in Goa, the master tailors and the apprentices together negotiate (or construct) a community of practise where the roles of each person is legitimate. Essentially, apprentices are not empty vessels waiting to be filled, but are as active as the masters in constructing the community of practise. There is no didactic teaching, instead apprentices learn by engagement, and everyone's role is fluid and 'negotiated'. In short,the suggestion is that only if all parties are active in the learning process can proper learning take place and the types of social engagements they describe provide the (only) 'proper' context in which learning can take place.

These observations have led to a very successful business career for some people, advising business and organistaions on organisational structure. The idea, in a nutshell, is that by encouraging 'communities of practise', learning within an organisation or business is more effective.

This may appear to be pretty obvious and general,and it is, but if considered a little bit further (and I must, so you also have to) it implies that didactic approaches to education are less effective. Lecturing therefore, particularly, fact-filled top-down lecturing, is a big no-no because most classroom teaching approaches neglect negotiation. I have a number of objections to Lave and Wenger's work, but I will focus on just one.

While Goan apprentice happily works HIS way through a community of practice until HE becomes a master, happily co-constructing HIS!!! identity, and a Yucatec midwife merrily assimilates the knowledge of HER craft becoming highly respected members of their communities in the process, Wenger and Lave fail to mention the societies in which these idealised forms of learning occur. In practice, neither Goan apprentice tailors, nor Yucatec midwives have much choice of career, as both societies are highly stratified by caste and gender differentiated. This is not particularly a judgement on those societies, although I am happy to have been borne in neither, but how applicable to other societies, particularly Western societies are the examples given? The (short) descriptions do not include what happens to people who fail, or whether the practices the apprentices learn are actually the best way of doing things, or whether the boy borne to be a tailor would rather have been an actor. In most Western societies, we tend to choose our careers, our education and our gender identity, and are relatively free to leave "communities of practice" if we feel like, whereas Goan tailors and Yucatec midwives are not. Goan apprenticeship methods work because they have to, otherwise the people engaged in them dont eat. Seperately, Yucatec midwife apprenticeships work because it is uneconomical to establish a classroom dedicated to physiology and biology for the one trainee apprentice in each village.



After some reading, and much tutting, I have begun to conclude that the applicability is, at best, very general. Attempting to apply principles drawn from one set of cultural practises onto another entirely different culture always gives me the heeheegeebies, academically speaking. It is reminiscent of the way "primitive" peoples, or "Eastern philosophy" were romanticised by the West, and their lifeways generalised out of context, which led to unfortunate things like hippies. Anthropology is a double edged sword - it is important when studying the anthropology of 'others' to realise that we have an anthropology of our own as well.

The Battle of Knobbly Knee

Dateline: 16 November,2010:

Its 8 am and excitement at Large Mansions is practically at fever pitch. In truth, I have not been able to sleep and I cant wait to find out what's going to happen.

"Have some toast, at least" says RHB, "You're too excited"

I refuse, and have to admit I am too excited. As a general rule, I love birthdays, and as a specific rule, I love my birthdays. Also as a general rule, I love presents, and as a specific rule, I love presents that are for me. , Convergently then I love shiny presents just for me, and today has dawned with the possibility that I will receive a particularly unique present built only, and specifically for me, and being made out of titanium, extremely shiny.

There is a down side, however, because in order to access said present, I have to travel across Hull to the Spires hospital. By way of explanation, the gift I am expecting,the thing I want more than anything else in the whole wide world (even more than a 1966 Fender Precision or a new Shimano gear assembly for the Crosstowner) is an operation on at least one of what Grasshopper has characterised as 'the knobblies'.

Without blathering on in too much detail about the circumstances arising that have required some repair to the knobblies, it became apparent two years ago, shortly after arriving in this country, that a hit and run accident whose major effect had appeared to be a demolision of the right elbow, had in fact resulted in far more serious, but less obvious damage to both knees. During recuperation from this spectaculrly broken elbow, knee problems which had previoulsy been 'niggles' became worse and worse. A brief consultation with the Sport Scientists at our gym revealed some pretty bad, but eminently fixable cartilage problems. SO, I booked an appointment with my General Practitioner who referred me to the physiotherapist attached to his clinic. That appointment went not well, mostly because I called the physiotherapist an idiot.

I was then withdrawn form that doctor's surgery and, here I have to admit some culpability, abandoned the matter for a while. However, shortly prior to our vacation in Turkey last year, I decided to re-address the issue, applied to a new General Practitioner and a made an appointment.

I would like to report that this resulted in a flurry of activity. Surely, I thought, the prospect of Hull losing its best scenic carpenter through injury would speed up the process. And doubly surely, dont I always hear on the news how 'Britain' has got the best health service in the world? So when I heard that Grasshopper had approximately the same injury, but diagnosed years after mine, I thought to myself 'HO! She (Grasshopper) thinks she's a bit of a smarty pants living in Canada, but now we'll see who's the clever socks. Living here, as I do, amidst the World's Best Health Service, I will probably be fitted with bionic implants while she's still being pushed round Walmarts' carpark on a sled. And, when Canada does eventually get round to fixin' her up, it will probably be some primitive beaver bone and moose hide contraption attached to her leg, while I shall have mini nuclear reactors powering my leg muscles.'

It was therefore with some jealousy that I recieved a missive from GH, some two months after her injury, describing an unpleasant period of enforced immobility, but an otherwise entirely successful medical procedure. GH's treatment (and I should'nt breach confidentiality here but I will) consisted of a two minute visit to her doctor, a quick coffee with the consultant, and the next week a relaxed keyhole procedure while evryone in the operating room drank Tim Hortons and ate donuts. By contrast, in the home of the Best Health Service in the World, it has taken five specialists, two scans, three different locations across the city and about eighteen months before, last month, I was referred to the local musculo-skeletal clinic, which ironically is two minutes walk away form my house.

AT that appointment, the specialist was examining my xrays and nodding sagely:

"Hmm....yes....well...er... do you see this?"

He pointed to the xray attached to the light box.

I leant forward and agreed that I saw the x-ray.

"Well that..." he said, pointing at the xray of my knee "...is an xray of your knee"
He looked at me expectantly. I said nothing, mindful of RHB's exhortations not to call any 'professional' an idiot, especially if they were (apparently she's just read some research about how bad people are at judging their own competence and the less competent they are, the worse they are at arriving at arealistic assessment of same).

He continued " and this xray does not show significant damage to the bone"

He looked at me again, but I maintained discipline.

"So, its probably some soft tissue damage" he hesitated slightly "which probably means a minor surgical procedure, which..."

"When?" I interrupted

"What?" he said

"When can I get it done? Now ? Let's do it" I began rolling up my trouser leg.

I should point out that I didnt actually say the above, nor did I roll up my trouser leg, but by God, King HArry and St George at this point I had been so frustrated that I wanted to and had even contemplated carrying out the operation my self utilising Toshack's supersharp claws as surgical tools and some elastic bands as replacement cartlidge. What actually transpired was that I left the appointment under the impression that a surgical procedure was imminent, and all I had to do was wait for a letter. I made chilli for RHB that evening in a fizz of excitement as I told her the news "Its finally going to happen".

When the letter arrived, I opened it carefully. Scanning its contents twice, I could see no sentence saying "Your appointment for an operation is ...." Instead, I was invited to call yet another telephone number, this time the number for Patient Choice, an initiative designed to help patients self-select their best options for care. I dialled as instructed:

"Hello, Patient Choice, how may we help?" a friendly voice said

"Well, I dont know" I said " I need to arrange an appointment for a knee operation"

"I see" said the voice," and who do you want to see?"

"I dont know" I replied "I know practically nothing about knee surgery. I suppose I would want to see someone good?"

"Well" said the voice, slightly less friendly " All the surgeons are good. Its up to you to decide which one though."

"Well" I said "What about seeing the best?"

"I regret we dont give out that type of information, I'm afraid" said the voice, sounding neither afraid nor regretful.

I began to worry I was in danger of alienating the voice, so instead of asking what the point of empowering me in respect of a matter that I know absolutely nothing about, I just asked to be booked into the soonest available date - 16 November, 2010. I put the phone down and called RHB "Its the best birthday present I could wish for" I told her. "Dont get your hopes up" she told me.

The end of this very long tale is that of course, this morning's appointment was not the operation, just the final, pre-operative consultation with the actual surgeon. I asked him as I left "Is his definitely it? definitely surgery?" . He concurred. "And all these other examinations, scans, xrays - there's nothing else wrong is there? Some serious underlying problem that you're not sure of?" No, he said, it just routine. Then ( he seems a very nice man) he went on to explain how the efficiency measures of the last few years, designed to filter out unnecessary appointments, focus treatment and act as a barrier to the (very) occasional hypocondriac have built up a layer of triple redundancy that is incredibly inefficient. Furthermore, at least in me, these efficiency measures have led to unnecessary appointments, no (so far) treatment (let alone unfocused( and the development of severe hypochondria in that I suspect I also have thrombosis, gangrene and a necrotising phage, such is the number of scans I have had.



NOne of this is a reflection on the front line staff, who on the whole are very professional, its more a function of an already bureaucratically inclined Government having no idea other than an ideology. While I never imagined my knees being involved in anthropological argument, it is here that we return to the idea of complexity and the collapse of society. Right now though, as long as it doesnt happen before the knobblies get fixed, I'll be happy.

The Intrusive /r/

As you are probably aware, the Third year of my studies is upon me, and I am taking it very serioulsy. So seriously, in fact, that in addition to the usual academic research tools - Wikipedia, Twitter and what some guy down the pub thinks, I have started to use books. And not Len Clancy, or that guy who writes about the SAS either - good as that literature is. No some of the books I am using are to be found in the library.

I had thought that the library at University was like the library anywhere else - mostly fiction. As we buy most of our (fiction)books from Amazon I have not previousy bothered with any of the other floors of the library other than the anthropology section on the seventh floor, which I assumed (ie the seventh floor) was the non-fiction section of the library.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that ALL the other floors of the library were also non-fiction. There is almost a whole floor devoted to languages, for example. This was a huge surprise. I imagined that most languages were taught by the dictaphone technique and didnt think that anyone would bother writing any books about them because until you've actually learned the language, a book is pretty pointless. Once you have learned the language, the next obvious step is that you would start to read fiction and Amazon is perfectly good for this, so the need for loads of book titles that no-one understands is beyond me.

Nevertheless, I decided to roam this section of the library to see if there was anything worth reading, and discovered a book on linguistics which features an article on dialect acquisition. That article features these very words:

"A well-known categorical rule of SEE is R-lessness, the elimination of non-prevocalic /r/ in words like summer, water, north..........blah, blah .....shows that the Canadian youngsters.... have made [my italics] very little progress in acquiring R-lessness."

Literally stunning. Incontrovertible Proof, at last, that the brilliant anthropological/sociolinguistic observation I used to make is fact! Canadians DO add "r' to every single word they speak. And if a word already has one 'r' they add few more just to make sure no-one forrrrgets. Of course the brilliant theory this is all contained in doesnt end there. It goes on to explain that the reason Canadians do this is guilt and shame at leaving out other perfectly acceptable letters from words - like the 'i' in aluminium, for example, or most of the correct letters from 'donut'. . Linguistically speaking, who'd 'a thunk it?