Obama Cartoon

Here's what Tom the Dancing Bug had to say:

Both comics are certainly satirical. Even people who find them tasteless and offensive would agree with that. The question is: what is the satirical intent? Is it that Obama is a crazy leftist who has Muslim leanings, so wouldn't it be "funny" if he ended up a terrorist President? Or is it that people BELIEVE Obama is a crazy leftist who has Muslim leanings, so isn't it "funny" to mock their misplaced apprehensions by showing how absurd their fears are?

Because my comic is obviously longer and the premise is more developed, I could make it clear (or relatively clear) that I'm mocking people's misplaced fears about Obama, not Obama himself. My comic shows explanations for Obama's nature and behavior that are clearly ridiculous, making fun of the paranoid, delusional explanations that are actually floating around out there -- Barack Hussein Obama is clearly not a "typical" American name that would be perfect for a Muslim Manchurian Candidate. The people supporting him are clearly not terrorists disguised at young white idealists.

But it's actually less clear what the satirical intent of The New Yorker cartoon is. It just shows an America-hating, terrorist President Obama. Of course, I'm certain Blitt intended to make fun of people's paranoid perceptions of Obama, not how leftist/radical/Muslim Obama is. But that's because I've seen his cartoons before, and because I know what could or couldn't be the stance of The New Yorker. But if this same cartoon were created by Sean Delonas and published by The New York Post, I'd think it was satirizing Obama himself, and that's a very different (opposite) point -- it would be tasteless and offensive.

I couldn't have said it better.

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Evolution and Ethics

Few sciences have a history as mixed with villainy as evolutionary biology. I say this as someone who spent years studying evolution and who now studies its history -- its a subject of endless fascination for me. But I began thinking about some of the perverted uses toward which it has been put over the years after reading Olivia Judson's column in the NYTimes today calling for the death of the term "Darwinism."

Of course, words don't die that way, but perhaps Judson's plea will kick the can along a little further. The article's main point of interest to me was its failure to talk about the different ways in which Darwinism and Darwinist has been used outside of evolutionary biology -- the unsavory connotations which probably have more than a little to do with her curtain call. There's "social Darwinism" a popular term in the latter half of the nineteenth century which had a bit of an afterlife in the US during the early twentieth -- the idea that the more competent and affluent sectors of society would multiply and the the impoverished only fell to their appropriate level to die out. Then there was eugenics -- social Darwinism cubed -- which was advocated by the grandson of Charles Darwin and became a core justification for the Holocaust. And today, Darwinism remains a term of disparagement within pyschological and sociological circles for practitioners of "evolutionary psychology" and sociobiology. I'm pretty sure that its these pejorative uses and that historical baggage that Judson dislikes the most about "Darwinism" and wishes her field could finally divorce itself from.

This connection to evolutions bette noir also makes for an interesting tie-in to an article published yesterday on E. O. Wilson. Wilson's prestige as an entomologist has never been in question -- he's long been one of the world's foremost authorities on ants and social insects. But starting in the seventies with his book "Sociobiology," Wilson's been a bit of a pop bad boy of evolutionary theory. As the article points out, this is largely the work of Steven Jay Gould and Richard Dawkins -- the former an accomplished popular science writer himself and the latter the proponent of the selfish gene.

Neither Gould nor Dawkins have produced a quarter of the influential core scientific research that Wilson has -- they've long served more as popularizers than practitioners. Wilson's my vote for the mantel of our twentieth-century Darwin. His work on kin and group selection will probably have even more influence in the twenty-first century than Darwin's work on sexual selection. I don't think the orthodoxies laid down by Gould and Dawkins still have the currency they had ten or twenty years ago. But Wilson's difficulty in getting his term "sociobiology" to stick (a term which the article suggests many scientists avoid using even if pursuing its research aims) has a lot to do with the damning Darwinisms of the last century. It remains enormously difficult to assess the ramifications of a given evolutionary theory on human social groups because it's so close to what those social Darwinists and eugenicists of years past sought to do.

It reminds me of something I figured out during a frozen road trip up to Colorado back in college: the application of science to society -- the ethics of science -- has to be wholly extrinsic to science. You just can't evaluate the validity of a given interpretation of human populations or subjects using numbers, experiments, or peer-reviewed journal publications. I realized this because I was traveling with an ex-Air Force classmate who'd just finished reading The Bell Curve. We spent hours arguing on whether -- as the book argues -- certain racial groups are less intelligent and hence less capable of succeeding in society. I'd taken a recent course in sociology and was studying evolution and statistics, so I thought I'd be able to talk him down. We went back and forth as he cited studies and statistics, and I pointed out methodological problems and what I took as pretty heavy cultural problems with the thesis. And I imagined what it would be like to have a major sociologist -- someone with a strong grasp the research -- on a stage with the writers of the book. But I realized the same thing would happen -- they'd argue but neither side would convince the other. It wasn't just because the other position was essentially racist -- not rooted in figures but in a deep-seated belief about other groups. It was also because my position, and the one I assumed a true sociologist would take, was equally not rooted primarily in facts. It is an ethical, not a scientific stance.

You could show me studies of various racial groups with all the controls you might dream up and I'd still refuse to believe there are inherent differences in capacity. My stubbornness stems from a belief that it's just untenable to both believe that certain groups have an innate superiority or inferiority and to believe the essential principle of our society -- that all are created equal and should be afforded equal opportunity. It may be a principle toward which we strive, one that it's almost impossible to achieve, but equality is something that most of us believe in. There are some questions essentially extrinsic to science -- even for the scientist. This points up the absurdity of Wilson's suggestion, related in the article, that "many human activities, from economics to morality, needed to be temporarily removed from the hands of the reigning specialists and given to biologists to work out a proper evolutionary foundation." Imagine you had a "proper evolutionary" explanation for ethics -- how it worked, the purpose it served. How would that effect the current issue? Assuming you could get this model to take a stand on the question of equality -- how much would it matter? At the end of the day, the principle of equality remains the foundation of our society. Wilson's dream of an evolutionary ethics, even if possible, won't put the philosophical and religious moralists out of work. It would just join the chorus (with what might prove a pernicious influence).

Which is why scientists shy away from terms (like Darwinism, or Sociobiology) that serve as hot spots for ethical tussling. They serve as reminders of how fragile science's status can be. Hard science -- the core research -- works blindly and equally for ethical and reprehensible purposes. The physics of nuclear power and nuclear weapons aren't that different. It's up to the ethics of the scientist and the society to separate one from the other.

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Counterblast from a contrarian

No, that title does not mean this post will be a rebuttal to Devo's recent reinauguration of this blog with his whale fart post (I already did my whale post a year ago--seems we talk of nothing else, sometimes). Rather, it is an excuse for me to earn myself even more enemies by plugging Ralph Nader's 2008 yet another Presidential run. This time, he's polling 6% in some states and may end up on the ballet in 45 of them (I think it was only about 23 last time). His strategy is different, and many commentators, though few support him outright, are commending his contribution to this year's already becoming boring (see the recent Stanley Fish op-ed in the NY Times) election. Actually, I don't really want to plug Ralph myself. Rather, I'll let Rather do it. That's right, Dan Rather himself refutes the "spoiler" argument in a recent commentary. I know this may not win many converts from Obamamania '08, but it does make me happy. You wouldn't want me to be unhappy, would you, Devo?

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PZ Myers Wafer Killer

Lots of blogs have been posted recently about the recent death threats and ouster campaign directed at PZ Myers -- a biology professor, noted blogger, and intelligent design antagonist.

I've always had a healthy respect for Myers. Though I class some of his anti-creationism grandstanding alongside the theatrical antics of later Dick Dawkins and Chris Hitchens, I've always appreciated his flawless and unapologetic defense of evolutionary theory. Besides -- I think he's substantively right on the issues, even if I don't agree with how he grinds his ax.

So I'm less than sympathetic with the extreme umbrage taken at this recent post of Myers in defense of another blogger who threatened to desecrate a communion wafer:

So, what to do. I have an idea. Can anyone out there score me some consecrated communion wafers? There's no way I can personally get them — my local churches have stakes prepared for me, I'm sure — but if any of you would be willing to do what it takes to get me some, or even one, and mail it to me, I'll show you sacrilege, gladly, and with much fanfare. I won't be tempted to hold it hostage (no, not even if I have a choice between returning the Eucharist and watching Bill Donohue kick the pope in the balls, which would apparently be a more humane act than desecrating a goddamned cracker), but will instead treat it with profound disrespect and heinous cracker abuse, all photographed and presented here on the web. I shall do so joyfully and with laughter in my heart. If you can smuggle some out from under the armed guards and grim nuns hovering over your local communion ceremony, just write to me and I'll send you my home address.

Pharyngula

Here's the essential problem with the kind of rationalist politics that Myers preaches. Given that a wafer is "just a cracker" (and I agree) it doesn't make much objective difference what Myers does with the crackers. But it's not a question of personal belief and private practice -- it's not about what Myers can do as a private and rational actor. When Myers writes about desecrating a wafer in a public forum he's committing a political act. The entire premise of his blog is that there is a social polity in which Myers participates and in which there are varying beliefs. Hence the utility of debating issues of disagreement (like evolution versus creationism). You might sway someone toward your side. Or reaffirm and strengthen their take. He might defend himself in rational or common-sense terms, but the whole point of his blog is that the people reading his blog have a huge variety of opinion. Else, what's the point? And Myers works to cultivate this variety when he offers to do something as inflammatory as desecrate a holy symbol. As a pretty well-known blogger, on a bad day, I'm sure Myers gets more than a thousand hits a day. Hence, Myers follows the above by suggesting:

Just wait. Now there'll be a team of Jesuits assigned to rifle through my mail every day.

The humor is that this rifling is precisely what his post was calculated to produce. I might be well within my rights if I publicly offered to wipe my dirty ass with an American flag in front of a thousand people, and I might plausibly argue that there's nothing intrinsically wrong with this, insofar as the flag is really just a piece of cloth. But no one, least of all me, would be particularly surprised if I got my ass kicked for it.

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Pig Party II

Well, the pig roast was a huge success -- and I'll have photos just as soon as I can figure out which camera has them. In (un)related news, it seems that some in the Clinton camp are none too pleased that Obama has hired former Clinton staffer Patti Solis Doyle as the Chief of Staff of his eventual V. P. selection. I thought this was a peace offering for Clinton and signalled their openness to selecting here. Not so much (Via Kevin Drum):

"It's a slap in the face," Susie Tompkins Buell, a prominent Clinton backer, said in an interview. "Why would they put somebody that was so clearly ineffective in such a position? It's a message. We get it." She said it was a "calculated decision" by the Obama team to "send a message that she [Clinton] is not being considered for the ticket."

Other Clinton insiders also seethed. "Who can blame Obama for rewarding Patti? He would never be the nominee without her," one person who has worked for both Clintons and remains close to them said. The sentiment reflected what another person in the immediate Clinton orbit described as "shock" that Obama would send such a strong signal that he is not considering Clinton as his runningmate so soon.

Another Hillary supporter puts it even more bluntly: Hiring Solis is the "biggest fuck you I have ever seen in politics."

I'd always thought that the "biggest fuck in politics" looked like this:



But it turns out, it looks more like this:

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Whale Farts -- Passing Sea Biscuits

The other day I was in the midst of a vy. serious discussion with some friends which led us to wonder -- do whales pass gas? I figured, as mammals with homologous digestive systems, they had to. But it turns out that there was great debate over the subject until a few years ago, when an intrepid mariner snapped the following:



The red stream is the "fecal plume" of the Antarctic Minke whale -- and the large halo, the bursting bubble produced by its water-born fumes. As mature Minke whales grow to 4-5 tons, that must have been quite a hunk of cheese.

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BSG science: In which we find out of G-G-G-G-ma was a Neanderthal

Ever wonder why colonials and Cylons can interbreed? Well it turns out there's a blog devoted to the science of Battle Star Galactica. (Correct response: "Well I'll be hogswallered!") Tho I'm not sure I'd use Neanderthals and H. sapiens as my corollary. Perhaps pig and elephant?

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Sex in the City Review, or, How to Lose a Guy in 2 1/2 hours

Last night, in a bid for canonization, I cooked dinner for Meg and offered to take her out to see Sex in the City. I figured it was the only way I'd be able to drag her to the new Indiana flick as well as the remaining Comic book releases of the season. I even promised to be polite, avoid comments, and not dog it afterwards. That's what the blog's for. This was *very* generous -- I'd heard that the movie was 2 1/2 hours long, and I despised the show -- watching it would occasionally spark homicidal fits of gibbering rage that may have ended at least one friendship. But I digress.

Here is where I should put "spoiler alert" -- but since that implies something fresh and capable of ruin, it's unnecessary. Of more interest anyway was the crowd. Hordes of young and older women, dolled up for a sweltering Houston Tuesday, many clearly tipsy (cosmos perhaps?). Their reactions made the movie for me: when wooden Mr. Big walks out on the wedding, widespread sobbing ensued; when Carrie pulls out a Prada box to give to her aspirational blackssistant, there were widespread squeals of delight.

And I laughed several times. Anthony Lane's blistering review is unfair in noting that

No self-respecting maker of soft erotica would countenance such shots, and, as for the matching dialogue (“Something just came up,” Samantha murmurs over the phone, as her boyfriend stands beside her in bulging briefs), it’s a straight lift from flaccid, mid-period James Bond. In a daring plot development, she buys a dog the size of a child’s slipper; the camera keeps cutting away to it, and guess what—the pooch screws, too! Mirth is unconfined.

Flaccid is what MADE 70's bond. The whole point is that there was little virile about Roger "I'm too bloody old for this shit" Moore (who didn't think Grace Jones would rip him to shreds?). I loved the dick and shit humor of Sex in the City -- given a few more years of New World accounts Shakespeare would have surely worked Montezuma's revenge into Comedy of Errors II: Dromios^2. I don't care if it was a bone for me and the other five guys in the audience.

But there were two interrelated points of interest for me in the movie -- elements that made it more interesting than the original show. First, there was the reduced authority of Carrie's voice-overs. In the show, Carrie, as columnist, pontificates with abandon about the social and sartorial foibles of Manhattanites and her friends. But in the movie, she's uncertain, worried about the course of her relationship, and coming to grips with being forty -- no longer the girlish lounge visitor that launched the show. Her incessant critiques of others become troubled examinations of her own life.

And bound up with this re-examination is the movie's own unease with its materialism. It's still filled with bags, boxes, and baubles, of course. Half of the plot involves shipping Carrie's clothes between homes and figuring out how to store her massive shoe collection. But the film makes a strong effort to note the intangibility of these objects, which ironically help wreck her first ceremony with Big. It even concludes with a diatribe against "labels" man/wife, movie/farce. Yet despite the insisted difference between bride and lover, ultimately Carrie still finds comedic resolution in marriage, if for no clear reason (as she and Big agree, they were happier before all the marriage fuss).

This shoehorn marriage marks how the movie is torn, I think, between the need to feed the audience the show created and the desire to reflect on what shape that monster finally takes. (Imagine the trebling roars of outrage if Carrie and Big and gone their single ways.***) It is possible to defend glorifying a $1000 purse and convincing an audience they need to have it -- The Devil Wears Prada made a good pitch -- but it's sure as hell not easy. The show offered a one-two punch that was intoxicating -- sexual liberation with a hefty designer price. Love is passed along in the movie as a gold-plated "Love" keychain (rich metaphorics here). The movie tries to separate love and fashion (one of the characters fails to shop her way out of a failing relationship) but it ultimately fails. In the final scene, the girls gather again in a flashy lounge in the meatpacking district to reflect on their romantic fortunes, sipping Cosmos that would probably cost $20 a pop, ensconced in their haute couture. The final shot -- eerily reminiscent of the casualty shot from Gone with the Wind -- pans back and away, over the lounge crowded with similarly clad covens, and then out onto the street where women trip along in designer shoes, designer bags, designer clothes. They could have been panning over the audience in the theater (and obviously that was the point). But after all the anxiety the movie seems to express for the legacy of Sex in the City -- it felt oddly haunting, not Glamorous.





*** Meg strongly disagreed with me on this one -- she thinks the audience would have been fine without the marriage. But if ever there was a target demographic for the romantic comedy ...

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