Category: Guidance

Find answers to questions you never knew existed.

Cram

Duncan 1 Comment

Life is full of tests. These test can take many forms, including blood, pregnancy, road, animal, aptitude and weapons. Today we will be focusing on written tests, specifically those used in the North American secondary and post-secondary education curriculum.

These tests take many forms, since each teacher has a unique style and some subjects require specific testing methods. A math test, for example, would likely have students solve equations, while an English test would steer toward essays and short paragraphs. Though tests may vary in design, they all have one thing in common: ambiguity. Before we unravel this obscurity, we should first define the nature and intent behind a test.

A test, in the form we are discussing, could be defined as a set of questions or problems given to a student in order to determine knowledge and aptitude. In addition, tests are most often expected to be completed by the individual during class, without the aid of electronics or books, by the end of the period. A test is usually given after a section of course material is completed, or at the end of the term, attempting to assess a student’s grasp on topics recently discussed in the class. Now that we know why we take tests in school and how they are generally dispensed, let’s find out how they are ambiguous.

Imagine you’ve just finished covering World War II in your history class and you are told that there will be a test the following week. The teacher informs you that the test will be on World War II and that it will have some long form questions. On the night before the day of the test, you diligently study your textbook and notes, attempting to cram your brain full of facts in preparation for the exam. When class begins you sit down at your desk, pencil firmly in hand, heart firmly in throat, while the tests are distributed. After receiving your copy and carefully reading the first question, your body swells with anxious heat as you realize that, for whatever reason, you skipped over this section of the textbook. Discouraged and perspiring, you flip the page, glancing at later questions. Panic and diarrhea set in as it becomes apparent that this test is asking for exactly the answers that you didn’t review. How could this happen? You thoroughly examined your notes, the teacher’s handouts, as well as key topics in the textbook, yet you are about to fail the test. The culprit is ambiguity.

When teachers notify their class about an upcoming test, they are deliberately vague about the content of the test. They tell you the chapter and general test structure, but they don’t tell you exactly what questions will be asked. The reason why teachers hold back and do not reveal the details of the test to their students is because of a hidden tension caused by a flawed testing system.

Tests are supposed to determine aptitude and knowledge, to find out if a student is absorbing information. There are two ways of going about such a task. The first is by, without warning, asking the student to answer questions about course material. The second is by alerting the student of an incoming test, allowing ample time for adequate preparation. Unfortunately, by announcing to the class that they will be tested, the teacher eliminates the test’s capacity to determine whether or not the student has absorbed information during the class. The test no longer measures knowledge and understanding, instead it measures a student’s ability to cram information into their brain the night prior to a test. If a student wished to display their grasp of course material, they should consider studying to be a form of cheating. Unfortunately, students are compelled by parental and administrative pressure, as well as personal satisfaction, to ceaselessly study for these ineffective examinations.

Teachers know about this tension, that is why they give hints about the test’s content. They abandon the first method of testing when they reveal the existence of the test to the class, yet they corrupt the second form when they refuse to disclose the test’s exact content. A test should either be unannounced, aimed at testing what the student has learned from the class, or entirely revealed so that the student is not left wondering whether they have studied the correct portions of the textbook.

There are two additional factors which influence the form of testing employed in schools. One is the fact that teachers know that by being vague about test content they can coax students to over prepare.  If they disclosed the exact test questions to the class, the students would merely read those portions of their notes and textbook, skipping over the untested portions. For some reason this is unacceptable, and the students must suffer. Teachers want students to study for questions that won’t be on the test, so they don’t reveal exactly what the questions will be. This is how we arrive at our desk, draped in the despair of impending failure.

The other factor is the refusal, by teachers, to accept that most of what a student learns through a course will be forgotten shortly afterward. Teachers, being former students themselves, surely know that little of what they learn in class is retained after the semester. Rather than attempting to infuse information into students by passionate instruction and lively metaphor, teachers abandon hope of passing on enduring knowledge, using tests as merely a vessel to assault young minds with a surplus of feckless facts.

Teachers should consider the aim and design of their testing. If they wish to know whether or not their students are learning during class, then give tests without notification. If they require their students to answer questions beyond what they have learned in class, then give sufficient notification and complete disclosure. Students should no longer be tormented by enigmatic examinations and obscure test tactics.

The Uncanny Canyon: Part II

Duncan 1 Comment

In part I we learned about the relationship between humans and artificial beings, such as androids and toasters. We also learned about the plight of such beings which are too human to be treated like a robot, but too robotic to be human. Unfortunately, robots are not the only creatures trapped at the depths of the uncanny.

The graph we looked at in Part I was merely a two dimensional interpretation of a larger concept: the Uncanny Canyon.

Each line, or valley, is a representation of only one variety of the condemned. The canyon depicts the rejection, by humans, of the uncanny – that which closely resembles the familiar, but is not familiar. When we encounter something that is ordinary, yet strange, we can experience cognitive dissonance, resulting in the abjection of that uncanny thing. Basically, we reject that which imitates, or resembles, what we know and love. Anything which rings the bells of familiarity, yet is foreign to us, is a counterfeit and is treated with suspicion, including other people.

Whether we live in a multicultural or agricultural society, we find ways to separate ourselves from others and define our identity. Our clothes, speech, diet, musical taste and preferred sport – we use them all to distinguish ourselves as individuals. However, there is more to identity than individuality, for humans also have a desire to belong. We find others who share our behavior and preference, uniting with them to define our social identity.

Many wars which may appear to have been fought over money, power or religion, were actually fought over identity. In order to have a war, or any conflict, we must have an us and a them, and this distinction is most often made over small differences. If there was no identity, there would be no conflict in the world, but, whether by primal instinct or social convention, identity has become essential. This is why we are suspicious of others who resemble ourselves; they are a threat to our identity. Let’s look at some situations, both historical and ongoing, in which sharing similar behavior, origin and preference has led to rejection and conflict.

  • Schoolyard rivalries
  • Horde vs. Alliance
  • The Rwandan Genocide
  • Nintento vs. Sega
  • Protestants vs. Catholics
  • Mac vs. PC

In all of these examples the two sides share far more in common with each other than they share with any other group. PC users and Mac users may seem drastically dissimilar, sharing no more in common than John Hodgman does with Justin Long, but they actually only disagree on minor differences in user interface. Because the two sides share so much in common, they take intentional measures to segregate themselves from each other by creating unique vocabulary and launching ad campaigns.

High school is a breeding ground for us vs. them behavior. Even though the students may all be of similar age, live in the same area, have the same teachers and attend same classes, they are compulsed to separate themselves from each other, banding into rivalrous factions.

Without similarity, there is no conflict, for those who are vastly different from us cause only curiosity, not contempt. The reason for this conflict is because these groups have enough in common to make them suspicious of each other, but not enough to unite them, for unity is a part of human nature, but unity only with those who have crossed the Uncanny Canyon.

The Uncanny Canyon: Part I

Duncan 1 Comment

In the world of robotics there is a peculiar and well-known phenomenon known as the Uncanny Valley. In case you haven’t heard of it, we will briefly define the concept. If you would like to know more, please take a moment to e-search the subject before we continue.

The term Uncanny Valley was first used by a 1,970 year old Japanese robot named Masahiro Mori to describe how people react to humanoid robots, or androids. Some machines are not humanoid at all, such as the toaster, and we do not feel anything for them, apart from a mild appreciation for making our lives more delicious. We treat anthropomorphic contraptions like ASIMO as, in my opinion, a domesticated animal, such as a raccoon or bunny rabbit. The idea is that as robots become more human-like, we treat them with more respect and affection, but only until they reach the edge of the Uncanny Valley.

When encountering an artificial being, whether it’s an android or a computer generated character, we empathize with that being to a level appropriate with its appearance and personality. For example, R2-D2 does not have a humanoid body, but she does have a simple vocabulary of bleeps and whistles which allows us to empathize with the droid. C-3PO, on the other hand, has human form and is fluent in over six million forms of communication, though they must be spoken with a dainty English accent; his appearance and character elicit a response similar to what we would give an annoying child. One would think that as synthetic beings surpassed this stage, they would be welcomed as equals into society. Instead, they tumble down into the depths of rejection.

When a robot such as Wall-E or Johnny 5 embarks on an adventure, we are drawn in by their emotional journey, fragile whimpers and large eyes, but when we saw Actroid unveiled in 2003, something was clearly wrong. There’s no doubt that Actroid is more human in voice and appearance than any of the other androids we’ve mentioned, but there is something unsettling about a machine which so closely resembles ourselves. Theories range from a fear of robot dissent to the existential threat to our individualism – knowing that we could be copied or replaced. For now, let’s agree that there is just something creepy about these machines.

There is hope for aspiring androids; they can ascend out of the Uncanny Valley. Some say that by adding comical features we may restore emotional attachment to these rejected robots, but this merely pulls them backward, toward less convincing models. In order for these machines to achieve equality with humans, they must break through the barrier of believability and earn our love by an impeccable imitation, leaving not a hint of suspicion.

Today, androids of this caliber must still reside in the land of fiction. In movies and television their roles are filled by actors wearing cosmetics and costumes. Some motion pictures have attempted to capture the human form using computer generated images, but none have quite convinced audiences of the legitimacy of their characters.

In part II we will explore what the Uncanny Valley can teach us about subjects beyond the mechanical imitation of human beings.

Adorability

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Why do humans domesticate animals? Obviously, we harvest them for their delicious meat and furry skin, harness their strength for transportation and agriculture and breed them to be sold. But to capture and cage an animal merely to enjoy its presence? This is surely a strange thing to do.

There are some unique reasons for humans taking animals into captivity: the owner could be disabled, using the animal to enhance their deteriorating sense of smell, the animal could also be used to fight crime by sniffing suitcases at the airport, or perhaps the owner desired to impress their friends by purchasing an exotic pet, such as an orangutan or rhinoceros. These explanations are certainly legitimate, but the majority of pets are purchased at a young age, before they can fight crime or plow fields, and many species, such as cats, are neither useful, exotic nor do they make steadfast companions. The most common reason why a human will buy a pet is that it is cute.

If we imagine a cuddly baby animal, we usually think of a kitten or puppy, for they are the most common cuties picked up from local pet shops, but our appetite for the adorable extends to rodents and reptiles as well. Baby goats, turtles, owls and bears – we love them all – but why? What is it about these infant creatures that makes us want to pick them up, snuggle them and mutter high-pitched gibberish?

Most of us associate adorability with certain morphological proportions. One attribute commonly associated with cuteness is large eyes, but the creature with the largest eyes in proportion to its body is the vampire squid, which is hardly a cuttlefish. Another proportional association, commonly observed in newborn humans, is short limbs and an oversize head. However, Tyrannosaurus is famous for its incredibly short arms and is known as a modern icon of savage predation. As well, a sperm whale’s head can grow to 1,400 cubic feet (one-third of its body size), and they are awful brutes, undeserving of affection. Perhaps proportion isn’t the solution.

Maybe the answer is behavior. We recognize certain whimpers and cries as cute sounds, but that is probably because we know that they are coming from a adorable, vulnerable life form. Newborns are also noticeably clumsier and less stable than their adult counterparts. Clumsy babies are definitely cute, but there’s nothing cute about a grown person falling down – it is merely hilarious.

Many of us associate cuteness with size, since young animals are both smaller and cuter than adults. However, being smaller than an adult does not guarantee that an animal will be cute. Pandas, for example, are born as hideous, pink, eyeless blobs. The animal must be both small in comparison to an adult, as well as recognizable as one of its kind. It seems as though the vital characteristic that all cute baby animals share is that they are a shrunken version of an adult of their species. Now that we know how they can be cute, we can begin to wonder why they are cute.

When we encounter a young animal, we are overcome with concern for the tiny creature. This could be an instinct which causes us to care for our young, but why would it make us concerned for the young of another species? Adorability could be a trick that young animals use to discourage predators from devouring them, which explains why humans tend to feel guilty about eating young animals. Unfortunately for lambs, they are far too delicious for their cuteness to save them. Perhaps cuteness is merely an emotional reaction to observing the fragility of an unusually small version of a creature. These explanations seem viable, but cuteness can be found in places outside of the animal kingdom.

If small size and resemblance to adults is what makes baby animals cute, this could also apply to any other miniature replication. When we shrink down spoons, dolls, food and furniture, they also become adorable, and they aren’t even alive! Do not be deceived; cuteness is merely an instinctive concern for fragility brought on by the observation of an unusually tiny version of an object or creature.

Remember, baby turtles and alligators may seem like a cute idea for a pet, but they grow up!

Vinny

Duncan 1 Comment

People enjoy their French fries with a variety of condiments, seasonings and sauces. Applying these savory supplements is simple and fun, unless, of course, you want vinegar on your fries.

Vinegar, also called vinny, is dispensed at restaurants in glass bottles which are terribly inaccurate, unpredictable and unsafe. The vinegar either drips straight down from the bottle, completely soaking one French fry, or it is launched over the plate, entirely. The problem is that the nozzle only has one small hole which is not large enough to allow for the simultaneous exit of vinegar and entrance of air. This unidirectional nozzle, when attached to a bottle which cannot expand or contract, produces a dangerous and erratic stream of acidic liquid.

Over the decades, condiment containers have evolved in shape, size and spout. From the classic glass Heinz ketchup bottle to the modern upside-down plastic squeeze models, companies have poured millions of dollars into developing new and exciting sauce vessels. Unfortunately for vinegar lovers, there is no major distributor developing new containers for you. Restaurants continue to purchase ancient condiment dispensary technology and pay their employees to clean up the mess.

There are many potential solutions to this problem. We could be using eyedroppers, soap pumps or even a Windex bottle to gently mist our food. Misting our food with sauces and dressings? Now that is a good idea.

Mating Souls

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Many of us go through life feeling incomplete and isolated, as if there is one special person out there who can make us whole again. This extraordinary person is often refered to as our soul mate. While some are fortunate enough to find this person and embark on a voyage into the sea of love, others are destined to wallow in the puddles of solitude.

Here’s some bad news for you hopeless romantics: soul mates don’t exist, at least not in the way that you would like to imagine. The concept of a soul mate is as complex and diverse as it is vague and oversimplified, maybe more so. Let us begin by defining each individual word before attempting to unravel the mystery of the soul mate.

soul. [sohl] -noun.

1. the spiritual aspect of human beings, representing thought, feeling and identity; eternal and distinct from the physical body.

2. currency which can be traded for Alf pogs.

mate. [meyt]

 -noun.

1. a spouse, counterpart, comrade or partner.

-verb.

2. what your parents do on Sunday nights, a term falsely used to describe the manufacturing of babies.

So if we combine these words, using the definitions above, the term soul mate should be defined as follows:

soul mate. [sohl-meyt] -noun.

1. a human being’s spiritual spouse or counterpart, with whom they have soul sex.

Given this definition, the existence of soul mates seems like a reasonable conclusion, unless you reject monogamy or the existence of the soul. Barring these qualifiers, it is perfectly plausible that each of us have soul mates. However, there is an additional concept attached to this definition which renders the idea inconceivable: monosoulmatism.

Monosoulmatism is a doctrine which holds that each human being has only one soul mate. This doctrine is essential for the romanticization of the idea of soul mates. People are comforted and enchanted by the idea there is one perfect person out there, waiting to burst into their lives. Conversely, there is nothing magical about knowing that we could have 50 soul mates in our city alone.

Perhaps we are overestimating how unique we are when we conclude that only one person on Earth is right for us. One person in seven billion? What are the chances that we might even meet this person? Even if we happened to encounter them, with 225 countries and approximately 6,800 languages, we would most certainly have nothing in common with them. Those who believe in monosoulmatism argue that there is some cosmic force, sometimes called fate, which ensures that we will encounter our soul mate. We are supposed to believe that this mysterious power would also make certain that we would speak the same language and be of similar age. How else could so many people find their soul mate in their home town?

Even if all of those conditions were met, there’s still the problem of deciphering the identity of our soul mate. We could meet our soul mate, but unless we had some way to know, we might not pay any attention to them; we could walk past them in a grocery store and never know it. This is why those who are searching for their soul mate are overcome with paranoia, often latching on to every new acquaintance who could be the one. Ironically, this behavior substantially lowers their chances of finding a mate. Of course, fate will make sure that they both fall in love anyway.

There is also the problem of the sex ratio – for every 100 female babies born, there are 105 to 107 males. Perhaps we are should conclude that the cosmic force generates additional homosexual males to compensate for this, or merely plots the demise of these extra boys.

Divorce is another problem for monosoulmatists. Marriages and other serious relationships often end unexpectedly, does this mean that these people are leaving their soul mates? Believing that we have one soul mate can make us skeptical of our lover, sewing seeds of doubt as to whether or not they are truly our soul mate, for if our spouse doesn’t feel like they are our soul mate, then perhaps they are not our soul mate.

Whether they exist or not, believing that you have a soul mate does not help you find them, neither does it increase your chance of having soul sex.

Movie Twins

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What do the following movies have in common?

  • The Illusionist
  • Event Horizon
  • The Brave One
  • Dante’s Peak
  • The Thirteenth Floor
  • Deep Impact
  • A Bug’s Life
  • Kickass
  • The Truman Show
  • Mission to Mars

No, the answer is not that they are all memorable films released in the past 15 years, though that is true. The answer is that all of these titles have a movie twin. 

A movie twin is a film which shares its general storyline and release date with another movie. Dante’s Peak and Volcano, for example, were both documentaries released in 1997, which depict the disastrous effects of a lava on the human body, while Mission to Mars and Red Planet, two films released in 2000, both portray the perilous journey of a crew on their expedition to a desert in space.

On occasion, movies are spoofed by low-budget counterfeits, intended to leech off the hype of the original film; this does not result in a movie twin. For example, Battle: Los Angeles and Battle of Los Angeles are not movie twins, since Battle of Los Angeles was a straight-to-DVD release, and no legitimate film ever went straight to DVD.

It is hard to imagine that two movies with analogous subject matter could be produced at the same time by coincidence. So are movie twins just well-made knockoffs? Not likely, since these films enlist respected directors, accomplished actors and have sizable budgets. In fact, movie twins tend to be of such similar quality that intense debate often breaks out between friends over which twin is superior.

Maybe it’s a conspiracy. Movie companies could be instructed by the government to produce multiple titles with a certain theme in order to induce uncertainty in the mind of the public. Using these movies, the government preys on our inherent fear of insects, magicians, virtual reality and space travel in order to control us. Conspiracies are difficult to accept, however, since they falsely presuppose that government is organized and competent.

Perhaps the movie companies are all in cahoots. When an executive at Warner Bros. gets a hold of good script, he phones up his old college roommate at 20th Century Fox and gives him a heads-up. How else could two “competing” companies come up with the same idea at the same time?

Whatever their cause, movie twins are great because they give us an opportunity to argue over which film is better. Our choice of movie twin can often be attributed to personal preference, but there is just no way that The Illusionist is better than The Prestige.

For reference, here’s a list of some of the more well-known movie twins:

  • Dead Man Down / Only God Forgives
  • The Black Dahlia / Hollywoodland
  • Matrix / The Thirteenth Floor
  • Alfie / Closer
  • White House Down / Olympus has Fallen
  • Despicable Me / Megamind
  • Pandorum/Cargo
  • Friends with Benefits / No Strings Attached
  • Gordy / Babe
  • Mirror Mirror / Snow White and The Huntsman
  • Inception / The Adjustment Bureau
  • Rio / Rango
  • Over The Hedge / Madagascar
  • Bicentennial Man / A.I. Artificial Intelligence
  • Event Horizon / Sphere
  • The Book of Eli / The Road
  • Babel / Crash
  • Traffic / Blow
  • Gone in Sixty Seconds / The Fast and the Furious
  • Powder / Phenomenon
  • Jumper / Push
  • Volcano / Dante’s Peak
  • The Brave One / Death Sentence
  • Mission to Mars / Red Planet
  • The Truman Show / EdTV
  • A Bug’s Life / Antz
  • Deep Impact / Armageddon
  • The Illusionist / Prestige
  • Kickass / Super
  • The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen / Hellboy
  • Green Hornet / Green Lantern
  • Watchmen / Franklin
  • Nine / 9
  • The Mist / The Fog
  • Aeon Flux / Ultraviolet
  • My Boss’s Daughter / In Good Company

Servo Diem

Duncan 2 Comments

Since the dawn of history we have immortalized the exceptional in art and song. Statues, murals and architecture were more commonly employed in the classical period, while today we use music and facebook pages to commemorate movements and saints. One method which has been used throughout history to honor significant people and events is the holiday. Just look at your calendar and you’ll see days dedicated to wars and kings, countries and queens. Unfortunately, the past decade has seen an alarming growth in the number of marked days.

It all started with the dawn of the special interest group, when a few well-meaning citizens sat down together and decided that their cause was the best one. They discussed how they could create a public symbol for their cause, but statues, paintings and songs weren’t far-reaching and accessible. They wanted to reach the entire world with this symbol, but they didn’t want to actually make something, so they decided to borrow a day from the calendar and call it their own.

This wasn’t a big deal; after all, they only took one day and there was plenty remaining. But other groups caught on, realizing that they could compel others to recognize their movement by creating special interest days. Soon, special interest groups were gobbling up days in a frenzy, until one group had a brilliant and terrible idea: the special interest week.

Today, we have dozens of days, several weeks and even a few months dedicated to special causes, and more are being generated all the time. Just listen to the radio for a few minutes and you’ll hear a promotion for National Wildlife Week or Bike to Work Day. Unfortunately for these groups, they fail to realize what made holidays special in the first place, their scarcity. A calendar with 365 holidays actually has 0 holidays; none of the days are special because all of them are special.

One day we could be observing No Power Hour on Bike to Work Day during National Wildlife Week in Breast Cancer Awareness Month. There’s no question that this needs to stop, but what can we do about it?

August 30th is now Calendar Preservation Day. In order to promote awareness about the dwindling number of unmarked days on our calendar, we will all join together, with one voice, on August 30th and say, “We will no longer recognize special causes on certain days!”

Menu Mayhem: Part I

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It’s a clear, warm Saturday night in August, around 7:00 PM, when you decide to go out for a nice dinner with your darling.

You arrive at your destination: a mildly extravagant downtown eatery. After being led to your seats, you and your lover open the menus and begin scanning them while discussing the day’s events.

A few moments pass and you are gently interrupted by a well-spoken man in his late twenties with a clean but edgy haircut and a light beard.  With a confident and friendly tone, he introduces himself and adds that he will be your server for the evening. You order a couple of drinks to sip while you scour the selection of appetizers and entrées.

You take turns pointing out potential choices, but each one doesn’t quite fit your appetite tonight. The peppercorn steak looks appetizing, but you don’t really feel like eating that much meat. The southwest chicken salad sounds delicious, but it’s a salad. Several unproductive minutes go by and the server returns to take your order.

You request a few additional moments to finalize your selection, but you’re actually less sure about what you’re going to order than when you walked in. After frantically turning the pages back and forth, you surrender – there just isn’t anything good on the menu.

This is not an uncommon experience for restaurant patrons, usually ending with the defeated selection of something mediocre. There is a way, however, to avoid this tragedy.

Read the entire menu.

This solution is obvious, of course, but no one does it. Menus are one of few literary sources which are seldom read from start to finish. Newspapers and magazines are explored in a nonlinear fashion, but they are much larger than restaurant menus and are still read categorically.

We will often open menus to a random page and begin reading at an arbitrary location on that page. We’ll read one or two items in the nearby vicinity of the first, then skip to another page. We explore appetizers, desserts, drinks and entrées without actually reading any of the sections in full. By the time we begin to lose hope we have actually explored only a small number of the choices on the menu.

Even if you aren’t going to read all of the items, at least read the entrée section before dismissing the entire menu. Claiming that your options are exhausted before examining the entire selection is obviously quite foolish.

Read your menu like a book: start to finish.

In part II we will see how a systematic exploration of a typical restaurant menu exposes terrible inconsistencies.