ThomStratton.com

Brad R. Togersen has an interesting post about tribalism that is well worth reading–at least until he then turns to how this applies to the Hugo Awards and the Sad Puppies slate (you can probably stop reading at the “Us/Them” cartoon). Most people probably don’t know and don’t care about nerd in-fighting. But the initial discussion of tribalism is spot on. Most of us are beyond sexism, racism, and all those other -isms, but tribalism remains. And like it or not, it’s not going away. (This is not to say that racism, sexism, etc., do not exist, but I do think certain people see racism when what they’re really looking at is tribalism.)

We all have our tribal markers. There is a reason why I tend to dress a step or two above the accepted dress code at work, even if it’s not a conscious decision. I likely have hundreds of “tells” that help those of similar (and hostile) tribes tell where I belong. That we can read these tells wrong is true, but doing so does not necessarily make you racist or sexist, etc. It just means you read the tells wrong and were surprised to find someone not to be of the tribe you thought.

This is not to say that tribalism is right or good, mind you. Just that it happens. Much of it is neither good nor bad. Certainly much of it is less bad than the other -isms. Racism, for example, tends to judge a person as part of a single tribe based on a single attribute. Tribalism usually acknowledges that a person can belong to multiple tribes, and you need to pick out several markers before deciding if they belong or not. The usual -isms tend to assume that “otherness” is negative. Tribalism allows for “otherness” to be neutral. They’re not of my trible, but they’re of a tribe of which I have nothing against.

Indeed, we usually spend our days moving from tribe to tribe. I have my tribe at work. We see things there in similar ways, though the majority of them do not share my personal interests. I have my online tribe–and boy are they a disparate group! I consider myself part of the Sci-fi/Fantasy tribe, but more of the sub-tribe that takes it seriously, but not to the point of convention-going and cos-play. My musical tastes put me into yet another tribe–an extremely small one, really.

Inclusion in my tribe doesn’t automatically make you a friend, mind you. Nor does exclusion make you an enemy. It just changes the way in which I interact with you. I don’t think less of you or fear you, but I will slip into my standard “getting to know you” routine in which I start trying out different tribal signs to see where you belong. And you’re doing the same to me. Few (and generally small) are the tribes to which we belong where we automatically accept and like each other based on tribal signs alone. You like Babylon 5? That’s great! Prepare for a fun conversation. But even then I’ll be watching for other signs to tell me if I can be truly open with you, even about a supposedly common interest.

I suppose, then, in a tribalistic world the main mark of enlightened, open thinking is how easily we accept people into our tribes, or perhaps how much benefit of the doubt we are willing to give those of other, potentially hostile tribes. Like it or not, the world still holds dangers, even in America. Some people want to give off tribal cues that put them in potentially dangerous tribes, and they should not be surprised or disappointed if people read those cues and respond in a defensive manner. But when encountering someone who appears to be of a different, but not dangerous, tribe we don’t have to put up our guard or respond negatively.

What I often see online is people who feel they need to be the guardians of other tribes to which they may not necessarily belong, but feel are badly treated. This can be a noble instinct, certainly, but the danger is in endowing those “protected tribes” with too much virtue and their detractors with too much vice. Just because someone disagrees with that tribe does not automatically put them in the “anti” tribe. Just because someone belongs to that tribe does not make them a paragon of good judgment and behavior. Most of us are somewhere in the middle; not entirely defensible or condemnable. Be careful in over-generalizing individuals, regardless of the tribes to which they appear to belong. There are a lot of tribes, and often they can look almost indistinguishable from other less savory tribes, when in reality they may actually be much closer to your own tribes than is readily apparent.

Anyway, seeing the world in black and white is always a danger. Tribalism presents us countless shade of gray, which in itself can present just as many pitfalls.

Let’s be careful out there.

I think most parents frequently wish they knew what was going on in the minds of their children. We think we have an idea. But then they’ll do something that makes no sense to us, but obviously makes perfect, instinctive sense to them, and we’re left scratching our heads wondering what’s going on. Spoiler alert: I’ve got no answers there; this is not that kind of a post.

My daughter introduced me to a musical group a while back. She’d heard about it from a friend, and got me to to start listening to them. I suspect she does this on purpose, knowing that if she can get me to buy something she’ll get to share it for free. She’s cunning enough to think of something like that. But I also know she likes connecting with people over stuff she likes. It’s why she’s constantly pressuring me to read books she likes.

Anyway, I’ve invested significantly in this group, and there’s a lot of their music I enjoy. But I’ve noticed that quite often the songs she likes are not the songs I like. She tends toward their more driving songs, while I usually like the gentler, more melodic pieces. She’s an action-hound. I get that. I probably was, too, at her age.

Over the weekend we were driving somewhere, and I’d brought my music along with me. I let her pick the songs while we drove. To my surprise she went straight to one of the calmest songs on the entire album. I’ve never cared for the song myself, and was even more surprised that she did. Just when I thought I had her figured out–or at least her musical tastes.

I knew better than to ask about it. She’s become a full-blown teenager in many ways, and one of those is to clam up if she senses (or imagines) the slightest hint of disapproval in a question. I couldn’t think of a way to phrase the question that wouldn’t trigger her spider sense. So I let it go. Besides, I know what it’s like to try to explain why I like a particular piece of music, literature, movie, etc. As often as not it’s not something intellectual, but visceral. Sure, I’ve learned to come up with numerous speculations as to why a particular work of art appeals to me, but usually I’m picking at the periphery, seldom getting to the heart of it. When it comes to emotional response, it’s like trying to describe the smell of blue.

Nevertheless, in one brief moment my daughter threw a wrench in the works. She threw out a data point that didn’t fit neatly within the distribution. I like to think I know my children, but I’m increasingly being forced to admit that I’m just making educated guesses.

Last year we went hiking on Antelope Island, a large island in the southeast corner of the Great Salt Lake, about 40 miles from where we live. We had set a goal to hike to the top of Frary Peak, and we did it. Coming back down we started thinking about our goal for next year. That’s when we noticed this:

That’s Elephants Head, a large outcropping of land that, on the map at least, looks like a big elephant’s head. We noticed there was a trail winding up there, and thought it might be fun to try that this year.

This week the kids have spring break from school, so I took some time off from work and we planned our assault on Elephants Head. I wasn’t sure how well we’d do, as we’re all still a little soft from winter, and it’s 4.1 miles from the trail-head to the eastern point of Elephants Head. By comparison, our Frary Peak trail is only about 3.2 miles, though much more mountainous.

It didn’t help our enthusiasm any that it rained most of the previous day. But our appointed day dawned dry and clear, so we decided to give it a try. We arrived to find the highest peaks along the island had accumulated some snow the previous day. But we arrived at the trail-head and found a welcoming committee.

It might be a little difficult to make out, but that’s a bison. He was scratching himself against a rock. He watched us, and we watched him, and we all decided the other was not a threat. Soon we headed off on the trail.

The weather was not encouraging. We didn’t get very far along the trail before it began to rain, then to hail, then both, then more rain, etc. We nearly turned back, but decided to keep going. Eventually the rain let up, though the clouds remained dark and threatening for most of the hike out to the end of the trail.

There was some pretty aspects to the rather bleak, wet scenery, though. This is, I believe, a wildflower called “Indian Paintbrush.”

About two-thirds of the way along is a solitary tree where they built a hitching post. A lot of people bring their horses out to ride on the island (we saw a few while we were there) and this was as good a place as any for a rest area. Not far beyond the tree the trail takes a sharp turn uphill.

I like wildflowers, in case you haven’t noticed.

This is the view from up on top of Elephants Head, looking out across Great Salt Lake.

I was a little slower getting to the end of the trail than Terhi and the boys, as I kept stopping to take pictures. But here’s the view from the end of the trail.

This projection of land is the trunk of the elephant. I guess that would make where we were standing the cheek.

At that point we were getting hungry, so we turned back. It had taken us over two hours to get out to the end of the trail, and it was already 12:30 pm. The boys immediately got out ahead of the rest of us. But we weren’t too concerned. With their red jackets against the somewhat bleak landscape it wasn’t hard to locate them.

About that time the sun came out, and we quickly found out that the rain hadn’t been so bad after all. We were immediately set upon by swarms of biting gnats, and for a time I thought we might be battling them all the way back, working to keep them out of our eyes and noses. But then a breeze came up, which helped keep them under control. They just settled on our backs.

It’s always faster going downhill, and we made it back to the car in only an hour and a half. We brushed off all the gnats and headed up to the visitors center to eat our lunch. For whatever reason there were no gnats there, so we were able to enjoy our lunch without any added protein.

All in all, though, it was a fun hike. The gnats got a little much to deal with for a bit, but for the most part the kids handled the weather, the bugs, and the distance (8.2 miles round-trip) without much complaint. We were sure tired out when we got home, though. Fortunately all we really had to to was finish a book I was reading to them, so none of us moved much the rest of the day.

We haven’t set our next goal yet. We might take our time. We’ll probably avoid Antelope Island until the gnat population declines dramatically. It’s strange; we’ve been hearing warnings about the bugs out there for years, but have never experienced any trouble before. I guess this time our luck had run out. Oh well, just another one of those family experiences we’ll all look back on fondly from the far side of memory.

Note: Just click on any of the pictures for a larger version.

I ran across this article the other day: Kentucky’s Andrew Harrison apologizes for postgame obscenity, slur. I almost didn’t read it. The title says it all, right? Just another example of the rampant racism in our country. Nothing more to know.

Except it was a black player who called a white player a “F****** N*****”. Whoa, what’s that all about?

More importantly, do we even need to care? At what point do we need to make a national deal about this, and at what point do we need to just sit down, shut up, and let them handle their own problems? I’m certain there are plenty who want this to be no big deal because it’s an example of reverse racism, which supposedly doesn’t exist. And there are just as many who DO want this to be a big deal because of the implied double standard.

But I’m willing to go with the two players involved on this one. Harrison had this to say:

But he said in a series of tweets his comments were a “poor choice of words used in jest towards a player I respect and know.”

“When I realized how this could be perceived I immediately called big frank to apologize and let him know I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he added.

He said the two of them had a “good conversation” and he wished him good luck in Monday’s championship game.

Okay, seems like it was handled suitably to me. Does Frank Kaminsky, the player insulted, think so?

Kaminsky confirmed Sunday that Harrison reached out to him, and then the All-America forward quickly dismissed the topic.

“Nothing needs to be made out of it,” Kaminsky said.

Alright then. Who are we to disagree?

People keep calling for a national dialogue about race, and yet we see constant evidence that we are incapable of having that dialogue. Indeed, it seems as though those calling most loudly for it are the least interested in actually having it.

Meanwhile, two college players may have a lesson for all of us. Perhaps the negative things that come up between people are best handled that way: between the people involved. It’s on the personal level that hearts and mind are most likely changed. Most of the people getting bent out of shape over this literally had no skin in the game, but are undoubtedly trying to force theirs into it in the form of their noses.

Let’s all pay closer attention to where our noses go, and where they belong. Keep your nose to yourself more, and good will likely follow.

I may be encountering my mid-life crisis. At least that’s what I hear a guy is supposed to do around this age–go out and buy something to help him feel young again. Something to help fight the feeling that he’s becoming old and irrelevant. So perhaps that’s what was driving my spending this weekend.

I bought a Nerf gun.

Except I suspect it has nothing to do with that. It’s probably more to do with never growing up in the first place. I had rubber band gun fights with my family and friends growing up. I had squirt gun fights with my companion on my mission (and got told to grow up by the “older, mature” neighbor that beat his wife). I had disc-gun and squirt gun fights with my sister after our missions (sorry if I wasn’t supposed to reveal that, Sis!).

And so I suppose it only stands to reason that when my boys started buying fancy Nerf guns lately I’d have to get into the act, too. My older boy bought an automatic rifle that can empty its eighteen-round magazine in about six seconds. My younger son bought a single-shot rifle that comes in four configurable pieces, and has a twelve round magazine.

Oh, I can try to justify my purchase by pointing out that I’m helping avoid nasty sibling conflicts. If my two boys battle each other the older one is going to win most every time, and the younger won’t be happy about it. I’m able to keep the peace by getting my own rifle like the younger’s and inviting them to gang up on me. It works, too. I win maybe one battle in three (okay, four or five), but I’m fine with that, and they get to work together instead of trying to kill each other.

But the reality is probably that the little kid in me just loves how the thing feels in my hand. I love the satisfying, pump-shotgun-like “shunk-shunk” action for cocking it. I love watching the foam darts go streaking out of the barrel. I kinda enjoy loading darts into the magazine and slapping it home into the gun. I like making crazed, Han-Solo-esque charges into heavy fire and seeing darts zinging all around me. It’s totally nuts. And it was on sale.

No, I suppose this is more likely Peter Pan Syndrome than mid-life crisis. It just took me until mid-life to find new kids to play with. I’m not sure my wife is very pleased with me. But it’s cheaper than a Ferrari.

Just in case you’re curious, here’s my gun:

The stock and barrel extension both can be removed to change the look and feel (and perhaps accuracy–jury’s still out on that). I’ve opted to leave the stock for balance, but remove the barrel extension (everything from about an inch forward of the magazine) for more of a “snub nose” look. Did I mention it feels good in my hand?

I don’t know why, but I find these amazingly fun and entertaining…

Okay, perhaps I’m not quite this jaded and sarcastic, but I have to admit this “Honest Trailers” take on The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies hits on many of the things I didn’t care for in Peter Jackson’s treatment of the book. I certainly agree with their alternate title: “The Bloating of the Five Pages”, except only to ask, “Could you narrow it down? Which bloated five pages are you referring to?”

And speaking of “How It Should Have Ended”, there’s…well….this “How It Should Have Ended”: