Rectifying Life's Incongruities; Adjusting and Applying Moral Thinking on the Fly

I've been accused in the past of positioning myself within a dubious moral grey-zone, leaving me capable of (sometimes retroactively) finding a justification for any action I take.

In the interest of probing the shortcomings of my current sense of morality and what matters, and with a genuine desire to discuss what I believe to be the strengths and weaknesses of my personal approach, I hope to build a clearer, stronger, and more immediately defensible heuristic by which I can evaluate and make moral decisions.

If I don't feel like paying a bill, for instance, I can easily dismiss it in my own mind by seeking a long-term justification. In a hundred years, when I'm dead anyway, what the fuck will it matter if I repaid US Bank $300 from a closed checking account? I'm not particularly concerned with any moral obligation to repay. Why, then, does the idea of seeking the same kind of ultimate justification for killing another person ring so hollow?

While, in practice, I don't often find myself feeling particularly conflicted while seeking to justify a past or future action, I'm unsettled by my occasional inability to properly convey to others--and sometimes recognize or understand precisely myself--the basis for my moral decision making.

In considering an explanation for the flexibility of my moral outlook (which is a term I'm using to describe the extent to which I believe my actions matter), I've postulated that its basis lies in what I see as the disparity between the differing available scales for considering whether an action has consequence.

One extreme of this spectrum is the ultimately small scale of the self. On this scale, in some way, every action we take, voluntary or involuntary, has an effect. (These actions, however minor, impact the world around us as well as ourselves. Taking a breath, for example, alters the chemistry of the air around you and in some indiscernibly small way the chemistry of the Earth itself. Even a passing cognition alters your pattern of thinking for a moment and, in some way, however large or minute or fleeting or lasting, has altered you and your brain. (butterfly effect, etc)

On the opposite end we have the cosmic scale. On this (essentially infinite) scale, I assume it to be the case that eventually there will be no beings capable of appreciating any of the accomplishments of man. In the absence of a consciousness to contextualize our accomplishments, my life and that of Isaac Newton are indistinguishable. As humans, simply put, our ULTIMATE significance is zero.

Just as physics has it's task of rectifying the disparity between the very small and the very large in attempting to blend the standard model and relativity, I feel obliged to at least explore what I see as the disconnect between the moral considerations of the immediate self and the awareness of seemingly ultimate futility.

The attempt to hone our understanding of "morality" has been constant, it would seem, since the original break from simply acting "morally" on an evolutionary/survival basis to adding the layer of consideration. Philosophy, as a practice, has at its heart the search for this understanding and has for thousands of years been at the forefront of man's noble pursuits. Much more recently, the fields of evolutionary biology and neuroscience have allowed us to increase our understanding of the origins of a moral sense.

we know that we are faced with moral decisions, and that, at all times, all of our resources could be going toward a "higher," "better," or "more moral" purpose... so we are forced to choose

At least in some part based on the immediate--what i can see/feel right now--as proposed in http://reason.com/archives/2007/11/21/the-theory-of-moral-neuroscien. not a complete answer, but a piece we can use in our development of a tool for deciding when to apply what scale.

a quote "But we do not have to be the slaves of our evolved moral intuitions. By showing us the neural workings of our moral sense, neuroscience is giving us the tools to understand and improve our moral choices. "

There are multiple sets of variables. Scale (large or small) and empathy (near/present vs distant).

"ultimate justification," as I refer to it, simply means that on a long-enough timeline the impact of my decisions always drops to zero.

Not everyone needs to have the same exact set of morals, in fact, i will argue that, as long as there are some basics adhered to (probably those closest related to the effects of evolutionary psychology/neuroscience), a world filled with people with differing sets of morals is a stronger world (mixed groups outperform homologous groups, etc)

need concrete definition for piece of what i will mean by morals:

Ink Fades Slower Than Memory

A bearded drunk eyed the inside of my left arm as I entered a cramped, low-ceilinged kitchen in a sticky-floored Minneapolis party house. He gestured at my tattoo with his non-beer hand.

My Tattoo

“What’d you get that when you were eight?” The hammered but affable wiseass cracked to scattered laughs at the sight of the bright green ‘1-Up’ mushroom occupying that dermal real estate.

I couldn’t blame him. Even the rounded nature of the tattoo itself reflects its lack of “edge.” My only tat, I expected the unaccompanied, quickly identified childhood symbol of life sprung anew might seem an odd choice to some for a 20 year old man in 2005. It was, after all, a decade past the era of side-scroller video games like the one that popularized my adopted symbol: Nintendo’s Mario Bros.

Unoffended but taken aback--to this day the man's joke at my tattoo's expense is the only such I recall being spoken to my face--my brain, swimming already in the dully-giddy sensation of too many cigarettes on too much booze, set immediately and unintendedly a course back through the events that led me to a tattoo parlor a few months prior.

“Ten actually,” I joked back reflexively as the memories rolled in, “My folks made me hold out for double digits.”

* * * * *

“I’m going to kill myself today,” Marcus said matter-of-factly.

Blue-eyed and blonde with sincere if angular features and an approachable demeanor, our close friends and I would sometimes jest about how it'd be hard to find a more stereotypically Scandinavian-looking guy.

Marcus

Standing just an arm's reach away in the 8’ x 10’ closet masquerading as my dorm room he may as well have been a galaxy away. He thought I’d understand, but I didn’t. I protested nondescriptly, too aghast and unprepared to adequately rebuff his monumental proclamation with anything beyond a stuttered, "I... can't let you do that, man."

He countered, calmly, “Death is like a zero. Blank. Not bad, not good. Just… nothing. Right now, for me, being alive is a negative two.”

Terror-struck, my throat tensed uncomfortably as I searched for words. Though he possessed a notably quick wit and rarely lacked for a sense of humor, this kind of nonsense-free, logical absolutism in problem solving exemplified Marcus to me in the utmost. It was obviously a position he'd thought through.

* * * * *

In the fall of 2004, in our first few months at the University of Minnesota, Marcus and I were routinely engaging in some of the most exciting, meaningful conversations of my life to that point. We discussed politics and current events--he was the only 18 year old I’ve ever met with a subscription to Foreign Affairs--as well as intriguing matters of science and philosophy.

We relished the opportunity to explore our perceptions and hone our opinions. Doing so on the campus of a large university--whether in the crisp autumn air on the banks of the Mississippi river behind Coffman Union or in the bustling dining center of Centennial Hall during one of our frequent lunch discussions--gave our talks a feeling of added import and seriousness. We were college men now, after all.

Just over a month into our freshman campaign Marcus confided in me: He’d been feeling depressed for some time, though in our years of friendship I’d seen nothing to indicate this. He was routinely cutting himself, I learned. In describing this to me he seemed more embarrassed than anything, though he’d begun attending counseling. Sensing the depth of my concern he assured me he’d continue seeing a counselor and asked me not to tell anyone.

For several weeks while he attended sessions we went about our first semester. In our massive Introduction to Microeconomics lecture--the only course Marcus and I had together--we raced, as we had in high school, to be first to complete and hand in our midterm. We played Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas religiously in our dorms and continued meeting for lunch.

We discussed bits of what he’d talked about with his counselor and he seemed to be making clear progress understanding himself. He didn't appear to lose interest in the many topics that had always fascinated him. He attended class and took notes. I was introduced to Ryan--Marcus's long-haired, spectacle-sporting roommate with a penchant for wearing feathered boas--as well as other new friends he'd made in his dorm. By any measure visible to me it appeared he was assimilating normally.

* * * * *

It was especially troubling in light of these things to see him so resolute in the decision to end his life. Fighting back stinging tears I repeated that I could not simply allow him to go through with it, as he had hoped I would. He reasoned that, after the extent to which our mutual understanding had grown in recent months, I was the only person he could inform about this decision. In his brain, I was meant to get it.

After some serious unease as it became clear we'd have to disagree on the matter, Marcus wanted to leave. Unsure what else to do, I managed to get him to promise he wouldn't act until we’d discussed it further. I believed him in the moment, but knew I couldn't trust him in his mental state.

I called my mom. Despite Marcus's explicit wishes, I'd let her know just after learning myself about his cutting and depression. He badly wished to keep this from his parents--and my mom would tell them, I knew--yet I’d needed someone to confide in myself and understood the importance of getting others involved. I'd kept her updated on the details Marcus gave me about his counseling and how he felt, but this call was different and she knew.

Our mothers wasted no time making the 25 mile trek west from our hometown of Hudson, WI. I exchanged texts with Marcus to keep his attention. He was going to grab a few things at Target before heading back, he said, so I made a plan to meet him outside his dorm. Having picked me up, our moms dropped me off there and waited.

Middlebrook Hall

Outside the entrance, I nervously contemplated how best to approach the upcoming conversation, deciding on brief and direct. When he arrived we took the elevator to his 9th floor room where I followed him inside and, after setting down his shopping bag, he turned to me.

"I know you thought I'd understand," I started immediately, voice trembling but resolute, "but the fact is I can't let you kill yourself. I care too much about you and so do a lot of other people. Our moms are outside downstairs. Let's just all go talk about this."

He shot me a look of serious betrayal. "You're a jerk," he said.

* * * * *

As Marcus and I got into my mother's car, an anxious silence lingered inside. We made our way to the university's on-campus health center. After accompanying them into the lobby, my mom and I left Marcus and his mother alone.

Fairview Medical Center

After a day or two, I spoke to him on the phone in the hospital. He was under heavy observation. Despite this, he didn't seem particularly down. Along with his roommate and a couple of friends, I was allowed to check him out of the next evening and take him to dinner. Over Chinese, Marcus described a battery of personality and aptitude tests he'd gone through, including an IQ test, mentioning he was hesitant to see the results.

"What if I'm not as smart as I thought? It's a scary prospect," he explained.

We let Marcus guide the discussion. The group made small talk about classes, and how the weather getting cold would mean pain-in-the-ass walks across a large campus. We talked about the renewal of Family Guy and a new website for college students called Facebook. Every so often, he'd bring up something we’d all been too afraid to ask about directly.

"When I first went in, I thought I was just depressed," he told us. "Now I know it's a lot more than that."

He stopped there and, though I know we'd all have liked him to elaborate, none of us mustered the courage to push him for more. After dinner, we walked Marcus back to the hospital and went our separate ways across campus.

I spoke with him again on the phone two days later. He was still being held for evaluation but again seemed in decent spirits. I asked him to inform me as soon as he was released so we could hang out and generally get back into the stride of a still-exciting new life in college. The coming week was shortened due to Thanksgiving and I wondered if he'd be out in time to carpool home.

* * * * *

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving was a clear, cool day. One of my classes was called off and I skipped my economics lecture figuring Marcus wouldn't be there anyway. I hadn't heard anything from him in a couple of days. Not wanting to put any additional pressure on him, I waited instead for him to contact me. Needing to turn in a timesheet for my campus job as a video technician before my parents picked me up that afternoon, I made the twenty minute walk across the Mississippi to the other side of campus and up to the top floor of the Rarig Center, out of which my job was based.

Rarig Center

The thick-walled, brick-and-concrete building completely blocked my cell phone signal, so though I never received a call I had a voicemail when I left. It was Marcus’s roommate Ryan. The clear devastation in his voice told me everything. Rarig Center was very close to Middlebrook Hall, Marcus's dormitory, and before the short voicemail could finish I turned and headed that direction.

As I came within eyeshot of the building a growing crowd of students constrained by yellow police tape lining the perimeter confirmed what I’d suspected. A numb shock consumed me as I moved through the crowd of people, letting them know he was my friend so they'd let me pass. Overhearing me, a journalist tried to get an interview, but I couldn't have stopped even if it hadn’t been the last thing I wanted to do.

I made my way to the building where I pleaded to be let in. A woman in her fifties identifying herself as Marcus's counselor approached me from inside and took me to an office where her words solidified the surreal. Marcus had leapt from his window, falling to his death.

* * * * *

My mom, whom I'd alerted through heavy tears on the walk back across campus, met me to take me home. Crawling in pre-holiday rush hour traffic, calls and texts from new college friends rolled in. I'd gotten close with several guys and girls in my dorm and had let some of them know about Marcus's hospitalization. Having heard the quickly-travelling news of a suicide on campus they’d connected the dots and reached out. I was grateful to see such an outpouring of support, particularly since most of these people hadn't known me very long.

This goodwill did little to ease the pain, however, as inevitable questions crept in: When had he gotten out? Why hadn't he contacted me? Had he gone to class that morning? Had I skipped my last chance to see him? While logically I knew I'd tried to help along the way, I struggled to escape the pitfalls of wish-thinking and regret.

The heavily-attended funeral was largely a blur in my grief. Marcus's parents had asked me to act as a pallbearer. I was struck by the lightness of the coffin as the other men and I carried it down a short flight of stairs and into the waiting hearse. Graveside only family and a few close friends gathered. The weighty finality of the moment hung chokingly in my throat as the tear-blurred image of the coffin--covered in the Sharpie-written words of love and support of those who knew him--disappeared into the cold ground.

* * * * *

Back in the sticky-floored kitchen this stream of memories threatened to become unbearable before a cold breeze through a patio door pulled me back into the moment. I made my way outside where the cool fall evening provided reprieve from the muggy, stale air of an over-packed house party. I lit a cigarette.

Exhaling, I brushed my right index fingertip along the outline of the mushroom and reminisced as to why I’d chosen it to memorialize my friend. Having decided shortly after his death on the general idea of a tattoo, I took months choosing a symbol. Careful to avoid anything too obvious for when I felt like sidestepping the full back story, I knew I wanted something capable of standing alone while reminding me of Marcus and signaling hope for the future.

And then I remembered this:

Marcus made this with friends as part of a speech class in high school. His gaming talent and perfectionism made the Super Mario Bros. walkthrough a natural choice for a demonstration video. Spontaneously recounting this with new college friends at one of the spring's first Twins games, I knew I'd found my symbol. I had it inked that summer.

Finishing my cigarette and feeling ready to get back inside, I glanced again quickly at the inside of my left forearm, smiled, and made my way to the keg.

Jeff Neuman

Reflections on my 10,000th day

(The most complete image we have of the universe... so far)

Today marks my 10,000th rotation on this planet and, as such, I figured I’d take a moment to reflect. I’ve remarked previously on how unfathomably lucky we all are to have been born at all, let alone in this fascinating information age, but today I’m feeling particularly thankful for the random confluence of universal circumstances that brought me here.

Given that I was by no means guaranteed a life at all, let alone this relatively charmed* one, it only makes sense that I take time to appreciate the realities of my existence, lest I lose sight of my ultimate good fortune and become unnecessarily bogged down by the pressures of the here-and-now. It’s this grand-scale perspective, actually, for which I’m most thankful. Without it, and the many generations of highly-evolved scientific inquiry and experimentation without which this perspective would be impossible, I’d have no objective basis for understanding the privileged nature of my life.

Cosmology tells us the universe is 13.7 billion years old and that our Milky Way is but one of at least 100 billion galaxies within it. Evolutionary biology clues us in regarding the environmental pressures that shape the course of life on Earth and led to the arrival of modern humans some 200,000 years ago. Advances in neuroscience have taken us closer than ever to the brink of an objective, mechanistic understanding of the human animal and what is, unquestionably, our most intriguing attribute: consciousness.

These facts can seem depressing if taken in the wrong light. Ironically, it’s the evolutionarily advantageous, if fundamentally incorrect, belief in our own ultimate significance that makes the truth hurt. We’ve evolved to feel as though our lives have purpose, a belief reinforced in society and culture. It’s only through objective self-awareness that we can break ourselves of this thinking, at which point we’re free to contextually reframe the idea of meaning in our own lives as we see fit. While this may lack the romanticism of metaphysical ideals, it also lacks the platitudes of religion and other such flawed paradigms, giving us a more accurate--and interesting--demystification of existence.

Rather than letting our incomprehensibly small part in the greater cosmic order depress me, I use thoughts of this nature to reinforce the fact that this life is an extraordinarily rare, one-time ride that needs to be experienced as deeply as possible while we have the chance. Is this a cliched sentiment? Sure (at least among the non-religious). But if I can use this knowledge to spur myself to action where I’d otherwise have failed to act, or to deepen my recognition of nature’s beauty, or if it inspires me to inspire others, or if it helps me disconnect from an unhealthy attachment to an earthly idea, then I’m not afraid to be cliche. The reality is that, for all the “carpe diem” talk in the world, the vast majority of us don’t act in accordance with this.

Most of my 10,000 days were lived without the benefit of this kind of perspective. As I’ve come to see things as I do now, I’ve struggled at times through seemingly-inevitable bouts with nihilism. Through much reading, however, and even more time spent in thought, I feel I’m successfully crafting a model for living my life in light of its underlying meaninglessness without falling victim to impractical fatalism. While at times it may be tempting to long for the simplicity of my worldview circa 5000 days ago, I understand that greater perspective can only aid me in the long run. My willingness to acknowledge the truth is of no consequence to truth itself.

With days 10,001 and on, for as many as I should be so lucky as to see, I want to dedicate myself in greater part to spreading my worldview and its scientific underpinnings. I want to do what I can to disambiguate the often murky philosophical connotations of a life lived in accordance with what science tells us about ourselves. I have no doubts regarding the long-term prevalence of these ideas. Men and women with powers of perception far exceeding my own are already making headway. If I can play even a tiny part, however, in the popularization of a scientifically-grounded view of humanity, society, and our roles as individuals, I’ll have accomplished more than I could ever justifiably have hoped.

Each of the 9,999 days preceding today in my life, unfolding as they have, has built upon the day prior in assembling the composite I call myself. It is impossible to separate out any one day or experience from the next in this causal chain. In light of this, and because I’m truly grateful to be who I am, where I am, when I am, I have no choice on this 10,000th day but to be thankful for everything, good or bad, that’s ever happened to me.


Jeff Neuman


* - my life hasn’t been without its hardships, of course, but taken as a whole and compared against the broad spectrum of the history of human life, I’d be a fool to call my existence anything less.

A Real Decision 2012

For a growing number of jilted Americans, 2012 might go down as the year they make the most important decision of their lives. As you may suspect, it involves this year's presidential election, but, as you may not suspect, this is a question of where rather than whom. As in, if Mitt Romney wins, where else in the world am I going to choose to live?

Many, myself included, have talked about it. When the U.S. has become too far removed from our personal sensibilities, as evidenced to us by, say, the election of such an obviously spiritless, poorly programmed automaton as Romney, it's time to relocate to a democracy with priorities more in line with our own. Nothing, for instance, is more important to me than my sense of personal liberty, and the continued scaling-back of liberties (by Dems and Repubs both) is at the forefront of my personal desire to at least explore my foreign options.

Personally, even if Romney is elected, I'm not at the point where I'll say I'm definitely going to leave, though I would certainly view it as an incredibly bad sign for the future of anyone in America who'd like to see reason eventually prevail. Many people are already at that point though, and, for them, I've decided to catalogue my top five choices* (at the moment, anyway, and not necessarily in order) for relocation destinations once I can no longer reconcile the expectation of a better America in my lifetime.

______________________________

Norway

In many ways the choice between Norway specifically and any of the other Scandinavian countries can be quite arbitrary. As of the 2011 rankings by the private Economist Intelligence Unit, Norway is the world's top democracy**, followed by Iceland, Denmark, and Sweden. People in Norway pay roughly half of their income in taxes, but in return never worry about healthcare, education, or retirement (all of which are top factors in the overall financial insecurity of most non-wealthy Americans). I happen to have half my lineage come specifically from Norway and, though I'm not necessarily one for carrying around dead people's baggage, it might be interesting to see and live in, at least for a while, the land that was home to that side of my ancestry.

Canada

Our friendly neighbors to the north have long been ahead of us in terms of both healthcare and drug policy, both of which are extremely important to me. Ranked #8 in the 2011 democracy index, Canada also makes an enticing choice due to our shared language and cultural similarities, which would obviously help speed the assimilation process. Additionally, cities like Toronto and Vancouver offer the promise of interesting nightlife and thriving artist communities, which as a writer currently living in Los Angeles appeals to me quite highly.

New Zealand

Breathtaking landscapes, a beautiful climate, and a laid back demeanor among its citizenry had New Zealand on my list of places to check out before I'd ever seriously considered expatriating this country. Since, I discovered in addition to these factors that NZ is actually ranked well ahead of the U.S. as a democracy (at least by the EIU: 5th to 19th), which helped facilitate the shift in my brain from "place I need to visit" to "place I might seriously consider living." Having known multiple folks that lived in New Zealand for varying lengths of time in college, their high praise for the country also goes a long way toward nudging me in that direction.

Australia

After the Scandinavian countries, Australia ranks behind only New Zealand in terms of the EIU's Democracy Index, coming in at #6 overall in the world. Like NZ, the warm weather is a major reason I might consider heading down under rather than to Europe, as the last year-and-change in LA has been a welcome respite from the 25 horrendous winters I had to endure living in Wisconsin and Minnesota.

Germany

Though their economy is sputtering currently and unemployment is quite high, Germany still manages to maintain its allure in my mind as a potential relocation destination. Berlin's unofficial motto "Poor, but sexy," coupled with its status as one of Europe's true cultural capitals makes it seem, on paper at least, a great fit for a man of my sensibilities. What I know of prevailing German attitudes towards sex and drugs, as recounted to me by the multiple college exchange students and military servicemen I know who've lived there, also weighs heavily into my decision-making when including Germany on this list.

______________________________

I want to make it as clear as possible that, despite the fact that I use Romney's election as an example of a factor that could--and certainly will, if it happens--incite some to leave the country, this is, for me anyway, not about the fact that he's a Republican. I don't even necessarily think things will be particularly different regardless which politician gets elected this time around, and I'm certain nothing will change on a fundamental level either way this election cycle (history has my back on this one). Instead, my desire to flee would be based on what I perceive as the two hugely negative symbolic connotations of Mitt Romney's being elected in 2012.

1. Money always wins.

This isn't about the fact that Mitt Romney is a rich guy. No legitimate candidate for president is exactly struggling. This is about the fact that in order for Romney to win, his campaign will presumably have to massively outspend Obama's and we live in a place where that's possible. For instance, the oil billionaire Koch brothers are contributing some $400 million of their own and their rich friends' money to Romney's election bid. Now, that amount would be disgusting, I think, even if they were best friends with the guy and really believed he had a plan to make this a better country, but the widely-publicized reality is that these assholes planned to donate that much to anyone who wasn't Barrack Obama. Let's think about it... why would an oil billionaire want to see any conservative elected so badly as to shell out nearly a half-bil to get it done? Surely it has much to do with their desire to see this country improved for everyone, and not the tax cuts for corporations and wealthy individuals, or the less-stringent environmental policies that would allow them to make more money at the expense of future generations. Two words: Fuck. That.

2. More than half of voters are morons.

No matter how much money gets spent in an election, an electorate cannot be forgiven for its ignorance. Regardless of the number of commercials that get thrown in our face, as voters and, I think, as human beings we have an obligation to assess the veracity of the statements we hear, particularly before casting a vote affecting other people. Rarely have I seen a politician telegraph his real intentions as clumsily as Romney, and no amount of money or advertising should shield him from that.

It's clear from Mitt's demeanor and lack of preparation that he views the presidency not as his opportunity to serve this country's people and better America as a whole, but rather as yet another thing owed to him via his birth-into-privilege here. His priorities, for that reason, remain aligned always with those who can best help him achieve that endgame. By this, of course, I mean the wealthy individual and corporate donors it takes to finance an election bid these days, all of whom I imagine expect some kind of return on their "investment."

Here's where it gets gross: people who aren't rich have to vote for him too, it turns out, if he's to get elected. But why, you may ask (as I do constantly in my head), would someone in this country who isn't well-off enough to see any financial gain from it want to elect a man as seemingly unqualified and out-of-touch as Mitt Romney? (I mean, Obama may be just as bad about campaign contributions but at the very least he favors some policies that benefit normal Americans.) The answer is religious-based social conservatism, which has been functioning as a blindfold for the less intelligent masses as long as politicians have been trying to find ways to get people to vote against their own self-interest, and this is the population that would identify itself as a majority with the election of Mitt Romney. These are the people I truly cannot stand, and those whose out-of-whack views are both furthest from my own and most threatening to my idea of progress.

I could be content to let their (probably fat) asses fill up the flyover states while remaining relatively cloistered in the liberal haven that is California, but to know these people make up a great enough proportion of the electorate as to help Romney assume the White House is to concede, in my mind, the idea that this country at large has my best interest at heart, or even possibly in mind at all. While that alone might not be enough for me to turn my back on America, it could potentially set us up for the kinds of sweeping steps backward many of those people would like to see, such as outlawing abortion or ramping up the war on drugs, among other things, which would eventually force my hand.

_____________________________

It may be the case that the continued propagation of the two-party system in the U.S. has already led us down a road that will result in my eventually having to leave the country, but I genuinely hope that's not the case. If I do leave, I want it to be for the experience rather than because America has gotten too far away from representing my values. One way or another, this specific election won't change the fundamental flaws apparent in having only two viable, occasionally-indistinguishable-but-otherwise-completely-polarized parties warring over votes with boatloads of rich dudes' cash, but for the sake of what it would mean about the state of our nation and about us as an electorate I sincerely hope Obama crushes that bitch.


Jeff Neuman


*-I have to make clear that I've never lived in any of these countries, and the only one I've been to is Canada. I created this list based on discussions I've had with others, expert analysis of the states of their democracies, and relatively extensive reading on the cultures of these countries, all coupled with my own individual sense of what makes a place liveable.

**-As determined by their 9.8/10 Democracy Index score, measured by EIU by analyzing the answers to 60 questions about the country and it's governmental operation.

8 things guys may want but Cosmo's never going to tell you

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The .15%

(We may not all be legally-impoverished South Dakota cowboy-turned-jackpot-millionaires, but that doesn't mean we're not lucky.)

It was in an attempt very much like my own here today--and I'm afraid I can't remember offhand precisely where. Dawkins perhaps?--that I first heard the allusion to the some 70 trillion possible people, based on the available number of viable genetic combinations for humans, that could potentially exist (Not allowing for the environmental variances that act on those combinations, which in theory makes this number significantly larger). By having existed at all as human beings--the approximately 108 billion of us who've managed to be born throughout human existence--we find ourselves among the select approximate 0.15% of those potential people to have been realized on Earth.

I think in terms of considering the true beauty in the opportunity life affords us it is essential, at least at times, to keep in mind these things of a grander scale. By recognizing, if not fully comprehending, the incredible unlikelihood of the extreme confluence of circumstances that has allowed humans to rise as a species and--many orders of magnitude less likely--the chance that you would exist in present day as you do, it is not hard to see how some have fallen prey to the insidiously easy idea that there must exist some "higher" design behind our existence. While it is seemingly natural for the human brain to seek out and assign significance and patterns even where there are none, the unfortunate result has been the incredibly convoluted and often violent rise of modern religion which has done more to skew and harm our collective ability to appreciate the realities of human life than any other force.

Thankfully, modern science makes it easier than ever to fend off such unfounded, limiting, and ultimately incorrect viewpoints, shedding great deals of light on the more beautiful and interesting realities of who we are and how we came to be. To even ascertain the very simple 0.15% from above took the combined efforts of biologists/geneticists to determine our genetic makeup through decades of research--not to mention relying on breakthroughs in technology--as well as decades more research on the anthropology side, tracking the rise and growth of humankind using ever-evolving methods on ever-growing sets of compiled physical evidence among other data. And of course they all built on previous human knowledge. Nowadays, an asshole like me can, on a whim, decide to whip together this piece and have at his fingertips this information, reliably sourced, as fast as I can type what I'm looking for (and if it takes longer than that to load I become immediately impatient). That's what I call a "miracle."* In this way, the .15% represents not just a numeric representation of our good fortune as individuals, but also a symbolic testament to our constantly expanding wealth of knowledge as a species.

Though we all defied the odds to be here, our luck clearly doesn't stop there. You're reading this, as I alluded to above, in an utterly fantastic age in 2012. Of course, by the definitions of the vast majority of those other .15-percenters, 1912 would have also seemed a fantastic age. As would 1812. And 1712. In fact, approximately 86 billion of the 108 billion humans--about 80%-- to have lived were born before 1650. See the chart here. We cannot imagine the struggles of many of these people, which becomes increasingly true the further back you trace our ancestry as a species, all the way to the days of life as a nonstop fight for survival. I use this knowledge to hone my perspective and give myself a tool for appreciating the life I have as a truly rare one-time experience to be appreciated as deeply as possible.

In America in particular, but throughout the industrialized modern world, a culture of materialism and a fixation with excess provide additional trappings when it comes to fully fathoming the brilliance of the opportunities we've been given. We're so thoroughly removed from the idea of struggling just to survive on a fundamental level that it seems natural to take things for granted. Progress almost seems to mean the ability to take more for granted. But this disconnect is bad for us, at least without some occasional grounding. I believe a wider-view approach, including a sense of our ultimate scale in the universe--and by that I mean just how unimaginably tiny our part is--can and should be a facet of the mental framework of a rationally-minded person.

By taking at least a little time--and specifically when it enhances the beauty of nature or helps free the mind of the entanglements of our here-and-now world--to reflect on the awesomeness of life and the universe itself, as well as our tiny, unique, inherently lucky part in all of that, I genuinely think we can relieve at least some of the stress we encounter day to day. This campaign season when, if you're like me, you'll be about to want to kill yourself with all the political nonsense and agenda spewing that's going around, take a moment to forget about the 1% vs 99% bullshit and instead reflect on being yourself among the very luckiest of the .15%.


Jeff N.

*The wide availability of this thoroughly backed information is what makes a place like the "Creation Museum" in Kentucky, where schoolchildren are brought to see supposedly accurate depictions of humans interacting with dinosaurs, such an offensive place to me.

Fuck the Bible Belt (and wear a condom when you do); Why can't we learn from their mistakes?

As you can see from this Wikipedia-borrowed map, if Florida is America's dick, the Bible Belt is like our very own version of the clap.

In what began as a passing effort to back up my long-held belief that America's Bible Belt represents a haven for ignorance, intolerance, and backward thinking*, a few weeks back I casually searched the internet for the rates of STIs in the U.S. by state.

This seemed like the perfect starting place to see how strongly the numbers showed the logically-obvious correlation between the Christian fundamentalist stance against contraception and comprehensive sex education and potentially higher rates of sexually transmitted infections. Here's what I found:

As of 2009, the top 5 states by rate of infection by STD (Source)

Syphilis:

1. Louisiana

2. Georgia

3. Arkansas

4. Alabama

5. Mississippi

Chlamydia:

1. Mississippi

2. Alaska

3. Louisiana

4. South Carolina

5. Alabama

Gonorrhea:

1. Mississippi

2. Louisiana

3. South Carolina

4. Alabama

5. Arkansas

As you can plainly see, I was not off the mark. In fact, if you combine these 3 lists into a composite of the top 5 most-infected states, you come up with this:

Most STI-ridden States

1. Louisiana

2. Mississippi

3. Alabama

4. Arkansas

5. South Carolina

Using polling data from Gallup from 2008 (as close in date as I could conveniently find to the 2009 U.S. STI data), I now present you with a list of the top 5 most religious states in the U.S. from the same time period:

"Most Religious" States

1. Mississippi

2. Alabama

3. South Carolina

4. Tennessee

5. Louisiana & Arkansas (tie)

Look familiar? Tennessee is the only of these five "most religious" states that does not also appear in the top 5 list for rates of sexually transmitted infection (though they did crack the top 10 in both syphilis and chlamydia).

None of this was at all shocking to me, of course, but it's always nice to see the data back you up. So why, then, do I feel worse than when I first thought about this? Why, instead, am I just pissed off?

I'm pissed because, rather than heeding the warnings stats like these provide, or listening to the experts who analyze them for a living, in 2012 some states are STILL pushing for abstinence-only in their schools. My home state of Wisconsin, for one, took a massive, Bible-Beltian step backward, spurning its progress-minded citizens and passing legislation instituting abstinence-only sex education in its schools.

I first read about an abstinence-only bill that was moving forward in Utah, posting the article on Facebook and commenting that I was disgusted to see such a thing even being discussed in 2012. This is not to say I don't expect this kind of bogus shit from Utah. Mormons are as anti-progress (at least in the social realm) and shortsighted as their born-again and Baptist brethren in the Southeast, but their governor vetoed the bill.

A day or two later I learned this was also going on in Wisconsin, and Gov. Scott Walker is likely to sign the bill (already passed by the state Assembly) into law soon. I had no idea this kind of thing was on the radar there, and it made me nauseous. Despite knowing things had gotten pretty fucked up since Walker and the Republicans in the state senate took over, I clung to some naive notion that somehow, in Wisconsin, even religious Republicans weren't that fucking stupid.

I found out the goings-on in Wisco from my brother's facebook status, some of which I pasted below.

ABSTINENCE ONLY? DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT'S GOING TO FLY? NOT EVERYONE SUBSCRIBES TO YOUR RETARDED RELIGIOUS BELIEFS! GOD ISN'T REAL! HE IS A JOKE, AND THEREFORE HIS IDEAS SHOULD NOT INFLUENCE THE GOVERNMENT OF ANYONE. IF YOU COULD PULL YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR SELF-RIGHTEOUS HYPOCRITICAL ASSES FOR ONE SECOND YOU'D SEE HOW STUPID THAT IS, AND AGAINST THE VERY NATURE OF HUMANS. YOUR KIDS ARE GOING TO HAVE A SEX DRIVE, AND IT IS MENTAL ABUSE TO MAKE THEM THINK THAT THERE IS SOMETHING SHAMEFUL ABOUT IT. ABSTINENCE ONLY IS GOING TO LEAVE OUT CRITICAL PIECES OF INFORMATION THAT YOUR KIDS NEED, BECAUSE THEY ARE GOING TO HAVE THE DESIRE FOR SEX WHETHER YOU MAKE THEM THINK IT'S SINFUL OR NOT. YOU ARE STUPID PEOPLE

Granted, this is a rant, but you won't find me criticizing any of it. He's spot on in his points, if over-the-top in tone, and he cuts to the heart of solving this as a social issue. Stop pandering to religion.

We need to come together to see that science, logic, reason, and facts are made the basis of our public policy, rather than the dusty, inapt pages of the Bible, Koran, Torah or any other antiquated, mystical text. And no, there is not room for both. In the public realm, in order to continue improving rather than stagnating and falling backwards, we can't waste time by coddling religion, especially ones that would have us unhealthily ignore and repress our sexuality**.

J. Scott

*- By no means do I wish to suggest these qualities are absent elsewhere in the U.S. or abroad, but I find this region particularly representative of the greater worldwide problem of religious zealotry.

**- To say nothing of the many other ways religion holds us back.

Late Twentieth & Early Twenty-First Century Nomad: Thoughts on the word Home by a Guy who's had too many to remember

The above image, which just happens to be among my very favorite, was captured when I was in the fifth grade or so--some 15 years ago as I write--and it pictures me (far right) with two of my favorite people. Jake (left) is my younger brother and Brandon (center in the Green Bay Packers shirt, Go Pack) is my best friend dating back to our days at North Hudson Elementary. When looking at this photo, though, I'd say the strongest feeling I get is a sense of home. It was taken at my grandparents duplex apartment in North Hudson, WI, a very small town in west-central Wisconsin. This is just one of the many, many buildings I've called home, but it's the only of those places that I now think of when I consider the term "home."

That apartment was not where my grandparents lived when I was born (not that I'd have remembered) and they lived in several other places before passing away as residents of nursing homes, but it was the place they lived the longest while I knew them. In addition, I stayed there with them, periodically at first and then more and more consistently as I grew older, splitting time living with them and my parents who, for all their moving, only twice for very brief periods left the greater area of Hudson, WI, where I managed to attend all but a single semester of my K-12 education. Because my parents rarely lived in the same rented house, apartment, or trailer home for more than a year growing up, this apartment on Eighth Street serves as a primary centering point for my childhood memories.

Growing up, our family was perpetually on shaky financial grounds. My parents each bounced between low-paying jobs, and the combination of shitty wages, bad spending (exacerbated by my mother's gambling), and two kids strained my parents well beyond their means at all times. For this reason, we were forced to relocate constantly on a seemingly endless cycle of not being able to afford our rent, finding something cheaper (or staying with the grandparents until we could afford something cheaper), making some very minimal progress to "get ahead" and relocating to a nicer place, only to once again fall behind, failing to pay the rent and having to go back to something cheaper yet again.

It happened for slightly different reasons each time. Sometimes my dad would lose a job, other times my mom would quit hers, and sometimes it was just shitty luck (wrong bill, wrong time, etc.), but it was always something. In all, working on a few occasions with my mom and brother to try and remember all the places I've lived in western Wisconsin, I've come up with around 25 apartments, duplexes, triplexes, condos, trailer homes, and houses, and I am currently working on mapping each one. Sometimes we lived in the same apartment complex but a different unit, other times in the same trailer park but in a different trailer, etc. and I counted these separately, but that's still considerably more than average. (The average American moves 11.7 times in their lifetime). By the time I was 15, I felt like I'd hauled more shit in my life than most professional movers.

Since living with my parents in Wisconsin as a child, of course, I've also lived in a few other places. While attending the University of Minnesota and after, for a total of five years, I lived in Minneapolis. For each of those years I lived in a different place. Freshman year I lived in a dorm, Sophomore year I lived in a nice, too-expensive apartment near campus, Junior year I lived in a cheaper apartment not far from there, and the year I eventually left school without graduating despite wasting a shit-ton of money I lived in a house a short distance from campus. The year after that, at first unemployed and eventually accepting a banking job at Wells Fargo*, I lived in an apartment not far from the previous year's house.

Accepting that working at Wells Fargo was never going to work for me, I resigned myself to returning to an industry I'd worked in the previous two summers--roofing sales. I called in sick to WF knowing it would result in termination because of a growing pile of call-ins, latenesses, and customer and coworker complaints of smelling like alcohol from the late nights of drinking to forget I'd become a banker. I walked in knowing I was getting fired and got a chance to tell the branch manager, "This is the easiest firing you'll ever have in your whole life. I could not be more excited at the prospect of not working here any more." We proceeded to bullshit about my future plans, as well as sports and chicks, for over twenty minutes.

I didn't care because I'd hopped on board as a salesman for a roofing company called CMR Construction. Not even the franchise owner knew what the CMR stood for, by the way. "Make something up if a customer asks," he said. That should tell you what you need to know about that industry. This job was in Midland, TX and it took me all of 22 days to realize how much that place sucked. My roommates--roof salesman as well--and I bailed on west Texas for the monumentally better Denver, CO because we'd heard a massive hailstorm had created a lot of work in the area for ICs like ourselves. Without a specific promise of a job, but knowing the industry was such that anyone with experience could get hired by any company, once we'd made up our minds we couldn't even wait until morning to bail on the tumbleweeds and pump jacks for mountain views and architecture.

While living in Denver I flew home for my birthday and wound up having surgery to remove my gall bladder, which had become infected and threatened to burst. I missed my return flight because of the surgery and ensuing recovery, and shortly after I left the hospital I was fortunate enough to become infected with H1N1 flu, which, as everyone remembers, is a particularly shitty kind of flu to get. Anyway, this happened in October and I didn't make it back to the Denver area until late February. Then, on April 1st, a hailstorm hit Chicago. I lived there, working the storm for yet another roofing company, from April 3rd through August of 2010 before leaving that company and the roofing industry behind yet again.

At that point I lived with my parents in Wisconsin again for a few months before securing my present job here in California through my brother and moving out here in February of last year. Thus far I love it in SoCal, but I'm not yet at the point of seeing myself in any one place forever. For all of the stress it caused me growing up, and the embarrassment of the many, "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you we moved... again," conversations with friends, I've come to appreciate my unusual circumstance for its novelty and as a source of additional perspective. I somewhat like being able to say, at 26, that I've lived in approximately 40 dwellings in more than ten cities and six states. Beyond that, I like knowing that I'll certainly be adding to those numbers in my lifetime.

I feel incredibly lucky to have had that duplex apartment on Eighth Street in North Hudson, Wisconsin as a consistent place to bring my friends and to get together with family. I hope I never forget playing in the now-developed forest that once stood behind that apartment or the once-open adjacent lot that is now a road and row of houses. I use these images and memories to ground me and to know that, no matter where I am, where I live or where I'm going next, I already have a home.

~Jeff N.

*The job that caused me to start smoking weed everyday because they always yelled at me for smelling like booze from my previous night's drinking. How else was I going to get myself through working for such a soulless fucking entity? Certainly not without being fucked up on something.