Defending the Thesis

I knew a man his brain so small
He couldn't think of nothin' at all
He's not the same as you and me
He doesn't dig poetry, he's so unhip that
When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talkin' about Dylan Thomas
Whoever he is
The man ain't got no culture

I been Mick Jaggered, silver daggered
Andy Warhol, won't you please come home?
Been Roy Haleed and Art Garfunkeled
I just discovered somebody's tapped my phone
Folk rock
I've lost my harmonica, Albert 

~A Simple Desultory Philippic

As some of you are aware, I go to graduate school. This week I defended the thesis. You can look back at older posts on the blog for more info about what I say about graduate school. This post will be short. There will of course be longer posts in the future, probably about one of those topics of iconoclasm, delivered in the form of a desultory philippic. 

Now it would be great if I could say that the thesis that I wrote made some meaningful impact on the world. It didn't. You can usually tell how monumental someone's thesis is by the length of the title. This is at least true in math. If someone has a thesis entitled Tensors, then you can know that they had an important thesis. On the other hand, if the title of their thesis was Recursive Methods for the Development of Categorization Techniques of Geometric Lie Subgroups Over Manifolds of Low Dimension and Non-compact Support,  you can know right away that the thesis was written just so that the person could graduate. If they were feeling especially daring, perhaps this long-thesis-title-writing person even put some hidden gems in the text of the most boring chapter. This way if someone is reading the thesis (40 years later, only in the name of science) and comes across the phrase "This finding is important because it means that mountain trolls actually do exist. Two of them ate the squash from my garden," the reader's life will not have been entirely wasted.

Five whole pages of my thesis are devoted solely to computer output. Another 22 pages are just pictures. But they are not interesting pictures. Here is one of them:

This is one of the more interesting pictures mind you. We were pretty happy to actually find a way to make the picture be in color.

I did wonder how insanely boring it must be to be on a thesis committee. Your job consists of reading every insipid detail about some banal topic, then pretending to actually understand what you read. During my presentation I actually saw one of the committee members with his eyelids drooping.  This probably actually played to my advantage as it meant he was limited in terms of what types of questions he was able to ask because he was slipping into a coma.

Before I defended the thesis the college sent me a packet of documents I had to fill out. By about page 46 I stopped reading what I was signing. Without knowing it I probably signed a document stating I was a mountain troll and ate someone's squash.

Roommates and Roaches

Watch out, you might get what you're after,
Cool baby, strange but not a stranger.
I'm an ordinary guy,
Burning down the house.

Hold tight, wait 'til the party's over,
Hold tight, we're in for nasty weather.
There has got to be a way,
Burning down the house.

~The Talking Heads 

So, this week I will be talking about some of the different types of roommates that one might come across. Maybe some of you have an eternal roommate that fits into one of these categories. Choose your love, love your choice. Although sometimes we do not choose our roommates--they just propose to us. Or something like that. Since starting college, I have had 49 roommates. All have been male. This is actually much higher than I thought (The number, not the gender). Let's hope I can push it up to 50 in the next five years, maybe in a 49-1 gender distribution.

Let me clarify that unless specifically noted, the roommates listed here are not necessarily roommates I personally have had.  If you actually were my roommate at one point, perhaps you will know some of these people. Please, please, do not think that I am trying to call you out. We do not need another Carly Simon moment. I also have realised that some roommates I have had could fit into several of the categories (Right now I think I have a guy in mind that could fit four distinct categories. Wow.)

A few of these will admittedly require a rather pronounced understanding of the code names. This will especially be true on the one about the roommate who had no concept of personal property. Because Kappa is with Lambda, but his name is Clifford, but Clifford is not his real name and is not to be confused with the Kappa Prime, because that's a woman (I think) who liked Alpha Andy. And all of that makes perfect sense.


The Chef. One phrase: London Broil. For some of us, that says it all. Picture multiple crock pots full of beef, smothered in fresh garlic and spices. But  I will say this, the dude only made one bad meal in his life. Cinnamon and broccoli just do not make a good match. I could tell hundreds of stories about "The Chef," but that would be a post in and of itself. So I will summarize it with just a few phrases: "Rice and chicken," "The Hog's on the couch," "Forgive us for our hubris," "The microwave is melting." I probably should also mention hiding in the back rooms to avoid the wrath of The Chef in his task master role.

The Kid. This is a roommate that was still learning the halls of the local junior high when you were in college. This is a roommate who does not know who Monica Lewinsky is because he was born after "that" happened. And O.J Simpson? That's Homer's older brother, right?

The Lover. This is a common type of roommate. A man with an oft-knocking woman. Some people do the whole girlfriend thing well. Others don't. These latter group sometimes break your couch. I will spare you the details. All I can say is Sink Girl sank our couch. I have also had roommates who handle the lover life well.* They managed to realise that I sometimes wanted to use the kitchen or the living room. And I did not have to feel like I was a chaperone for a chimp in heat on Animal Planet.

The Chatter. This roommate is a subcategory of The Lover. Specific to the Chatter is the fact that his lover lives in another time zone and he somehow thinks it will be a good idea to stay up until 2 a.m. getting chatty with her on "MSN Messenger." (You can know that this was not The Kid by the fact that he used an IM to talk to his girlfriend). And he did not even end up marrying the girl. This is usually how it is actually.

The Bad Boy. Avoids going to most ward activities, including "FHE" (which I'm pretty sure stands for Freakishly Huge Entertainment, but I haven't found that in the handbook yet). One time this roommate did not reach quota for dating and did not feel remorse about it. (Awful, I know!) For good measure spilled an entire Crock-Pot of barbeque pork in the corner and stained the carpet red. Nothing could get the stain out. They even tried Bon Ami. Good thing we have couches that can be moved to cover the stain. 

Mr. Chicken and his ghost.

The Trapper. This is the type of roommate that goes to bed and locks the bedroom so you cannot get in. Half of the time you wonder if he even is in school. Then he gets a subpoena from the California Department of Justice, but you realise he has fled the country. At least he found his ham sandwich and a wife.  

The Beavers. These are not roommates, but rather friends of a roommate. The beavers come unannounced and must spend the night dammed up in a pile in your front room, blocking even the simplest of tasks. These large toothed friends usually hail from a university up north and smell of burnt wood. (Possibly from a burned dam?) The reason why these second hand roommates are called beavers is lost to history. 

The Bulldog. "I like power lifting. A lot." That sums it up. Picture a dude that can dead lift 600 lbs and sits in the front room in short pants. Drinks a lot of protein shakes and "whey." Moonlights as a security guard. He did smile one time. The San Antonio Spurs had just won the NBA title. The smile was short lived. Maybe it was his inner Tim Duncan.

The Keeper. This one is sort of like The Bulldog. The main difference is location. The Bulldog spent his time in the front room on the couch, whereas The Keeper spent most of his time in his room. I was home one time for an entire day (foot injury) and The Keeper literally went from 6:30 am (or earlier) until 8 pm without using the bathroom or coming out of his room. And we lived on the third floor and faced the main road, so he was not going out of the window (in either sense). We called this guy The Keeper as a shortened form of "The Keeper of the Chamber of Secrets." There was another time that we had not seen the guy for...a while, so we opened his door to see if he was dead. This literally was what we thought. We though we had become "those roommates" that let a guy die because we did not check on him enough. But he was just fixed on a video game--and had been in there for 24 straight hours as far as we could determine.

The Farmer. There once was a boy named Shmuck. He had a farm--a server farm. It caused a massive power bill. To the tune of $200 for the month of June. Shmuck and his server farm.

The Parasite and his trawler. Is it a common practice to wrap your lover up in the blankets from your roommate's bed? I didn't think so. But there he was, The Parasite, in the blankets from someone else's bed. With his girlfriend. Trawling along the Bayou. Eating seafood he was not ready to pay for. The Parasite once let Santa Claus sleep in his roommate's bed when he was away. The Parasite also used my towel a few times, so I exchanged it with a towel I used to clean the toilet. All I can say is that old habits are hard to break and somehow that towel ended up wet after he took a shower.

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*Although, the week before they got married also proved rather difficult in the furniture department: Evenings usually consisted of them telling jokes from the back of LaffyTaffy wrappers, followed by collapsing onto the floor in a fit of hysterics. I only had to administer oxygen once or twice. #EngagedPeople

Dating is Dead: Part III

I walked along the avenue
I never thought I'd meet a girl like you
Meet a girl like you.

With auburn hair and tawny eyes
The kind of eyes that hypnotize me through
Hypnotize me through.

And I ran, I ran so far away
I just ran, I ran all night and day
I couldn't get away.

~A Flock of Seagulls

This is the final installment in the rant. You will need to read the previous two posts to get caught up to speed if you are just joining us now.

Let me begin today by reiterating that I am aware of the fact that there are ladies who feel they have been marginalized by men only wanting to hang out. This is where a choice can be made. Contrary to how some view it, maybe the proper response to what you perceive to be too much hanging out is not to barricade your house until a Prince Charming comes knocking. Have you tried asking a boy on a date? Not everyone is culturally comfortable with this, but I am personally of the opinion that you either need to be the change or go to the bench. Bounce or be bounced. When you allow yourself to become victim to a restrictive social practice, how in the world can that be my fault? Stop blaming me when you fall into the pit of your own social Dawinism.

"Call me old fashioned, but....." Yeah, about that.

The movement within the society to which many of us are indigenous is not to give women less of a voice or to maintain a certain sort of paradigmatic status quo. This philosophy is not just growing in prevalence in the world, but within the Church (with a capital C) as well.

Asking boys on dates is not for every girl. Even some men are opposed to it. I guess I can live with this. But I am strongly of the opinion that when you ride the status quo train, you go where the track takes you and you do not complain to the driver when it does not go where you want. This is true not just in your puerile romanticism, but in life in general. 

These opinions on girls becoming involved in the asking process are usually rebutted with one of two thoughts: "That's a man's job" and "Back when I was young...." Perhaps these two views are really the same view expressed in different ways. In some senses, it is hard to argue with the first phrase. As long as "A woman's place is in the kitchen," I guess that I will concur that it is a man's job, not a woman's, to initiate all dative interactions. But wait, no well thinking person would actually say that first phrase. Why? Because it is from a bygone era.* I would argue that you cannot have progressive ecclesiastic and educational goals for women while retaining retrogressive social and systemic views to accompany them.  As for you "back when I was young" believers, all I have to say is that smoking kills. And it took a couple centuries to figure it out. Aren't we glad someone finally wised up?**

I remember reading a recap once of an NBA basketball game on January 26, 2011 between the OKC Thunder and the Minnesota Tiberwolves. A player named Kevin Durant (pictured above) was asked about how he had scored 32 points in the second half and pulled down 18 total rebounds for the game. Summarizing, he said something akin to "My shots where not falling in the first 24 minutes, so I decided I needed to just focus on grabbing rebounds. I think my rebounding sparked me a little bit. I started scoring when I became active on both ends." That's my philosophy. Be active on both ends. Any old fool can cherry pick beneath the basket and then complain when no one passes them the ball. You might have some other social perspective. That's okay. The NBA has  players who are pure scorers (e.g. James Harden). I just partake of a more progressive philosophy.*** And don't blame me when your barn burns down. I told you waiting around and smoking in the hay loft was a bad idea.

Not too long ago I was involved in an online discussion on the topic of hanging out. An "older" (her designation, not mine) woman told me her daughter had not been asked on dates because the single men in her area are all addicted to "Settlers of Catan." **** This woman's daughter just loves opera and no boy has asked her on a date to the opera house. That was why her daughter had yet to find a spouse: all of the boys in her town refused to take her to the opera. Darn those opera hating boys. The mom then cited the "back in my day" excuse as to why the daughter refused to run the floor or grab any rebounds. She wanted someone to pass her the ball, and she did not want to set a pick to get it! 

This mother concluded by speaking on behalf of the Church, and then claimed insight into psychological aspects of being a single man: "The church is becoming very concerned about the lack of interest in marriage.. Guys have it easier if motivated." So there you have it. A married woman in her sixties who also happens to be an expert on what it is like to be a single man. Several other people made comments of a similar (vain) vein. I am not going to feign intelligence on what most concerns the leaders of the Church, so no comment on that part of her claim.*****

I am not saying these people are evil or wicked. They probably are actually decent people. My intent is not to belittle this woman or her daughter. But I think that we should be careful about claiming insight where we really do not have any. Few things on the topic of hanging out are more annoying to me than when someone 40 years removed from the modern single culture claims to "remember what it's like to be single." It just doesn't ring true to me. I will fully accept that such persons may have insights that I do not have. If you have lived into your sixties and know less about life than someone in their twenties, you did it wrong. But such commentary comes with the caveat that it is from an outsider, a person who actually does not "remember what it is like," because they never were single in this era in the first place.

To continue with the comments on the opera lady and the online discussion I had, there were a surprisingly high number of people among the 241 comments on this forum with axes to grind on "hanging out." Filthy, wild, bombastic posts were made. Ad hominem was resorted to. Grammar errors were prevalent. The word "Council" was used in place of "Counsel" a disgustingly large number of times. It almost was frightening how many people there are out there with radicalized views on the topic of hanging out. Some of these had seemingly devoted their lives to satisfying personal vendettas. Perhaps I am one of them.

Conclusion.
I think that we still have yet to ask some of the most important questions pertaining to hanging out. Yes, hanging out happens, but WHY? Are single adults of this era made of lower quality material? Are these the same young people who are serving missions at increasingly higher rates, even with a raising of the bar?  Really? Why the nose dive all of the sudden? Sometimes I feel like we are going to the doctor for chest pain and all the doctor can say is "well, I think you have chest pain." No duh. I could have diagnosed that my self. Tell us how to fix it. I know hanging out is a "problem" for some people. Have we ever thought to ask why these single adults are hanging out? I personally feel that that is the real question we need to answer. Some single people hang out. We know that. Now we need to answer the question as to why they do. And might I suggest it is not just because single adults "lack commitment" or some other hooey trash like that.

I think we also need to fully admit that hanging out has been going on for a lot longer than we care to acknowledge. What else would you call a church dance, with its strange mix of sexually veiled lyrics and lots of standing by the sidelines? Yet church dances are sanctioned hanging out that we pat ourselves on the backs for. (Naturally there will be different experiences with dances. I for one do not like them.) My overall point is not that church dances are wicked. Rather, I am indicating that the YSA culture has institutionalized hanging out. I am going to refrain from making a list, so as to avoid starting a fire I do not want to put out.

For me personally, writing all of this has been rather cathartic. I'm not gonna lie: it feels good to throw eggs at the little red school house. Although perhaps it is merely a Pyrrhic victory.

There is a lot more I could say on this, but I am now out of time.  I summarize with three thesis points:

1. Actually do your research. Sure, I study statistics for a living so I care a lot about actual data backing up my claims. But still, do your research. Do not just buy into every agenda driven piece of baseless "social research."
2. Stop wishing that the Bucks still had Lew Alcindor. He and the era's short shorts have retired. Run the floor. Play both ends. Or be benched.
3. Ask the questions that actually need to be asked. Ask why. Ask how. 

I cannot address every concern. I have seen "hanging out" lumped in with topics wholly unrelated in severity. Some people have very valid difficulties relating to marriage. This is not a post about spousal abuse. This is not a post about pornography. Hanging out is categorically different from these evils. Please "get" that. Please. There are of course all sorts of societal ills in relation to marriage. Marriage is perhaps the most fought over topic in the political and public sphere. But hanging out is hardly on the same level as these debates. Hence nothing I said here should in any way be extrapolated to  these topics. Because they are not even close to being the same. 

Let me also add that writing this has allowed me to examine my approaches to how I play the game. There were some times where I really was just sort of going through the motions. Composing this long post has helped me see where I can improve my play on both ends of the court. As always, what I say here is my own opinion. I am not trying to necessarily change your opinion on these issues. But I think that it is important to present my story. There are of course people who think I am way off base on this. That is fine. I've been butting heads with people since 2nd grade with Mrs. Stwetchipants. I am sure I am a hiss and a byword to many a young lady. However, now my view is written. And that's really all I wanted to do in the first place.

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*Understand that I am not trying to belittle women that stay home with their children. Some women choose to work. Some women need to work. My mother was a stay at home mom. It worked well for us. But her place was never "the kitchen."

**This whole "back when we were young" idea is a strange one. It is like a man that used to ride bus 34 on the Blue line still going to the bus stop everyday even though the bus company cancelled that bus back in 1967. Buddy, the bus don't come to these parts no more. And sitting here on the busted bench waiting for it is not going to make it come back. "What you've gotta do is get some hot cakes and..." Those good old Luddites.

***I will here add that the (Nobel Prize winning) Gale-Shapely algorithm in social economics shows that a linear asking methodology with men as the initiating variable leads to women being married to less desirable spouses (i.e. male optimal) than if women had also participated in some iterations as leading variables. In layman's terms, when women will not ask, and men abide by such, women marry a less desirable spouse than if they had participated in asking. Look it up. It is called "Male optimality of the Gale-Shapely Algorithm." This is an example of how we allow traditional social perceptions to lead us to poorer social choices. Here are some papers you can read. Or you can remain ignorant but happy in your social paradigm. Male Optimal Pairs, Major Source on GSAlg. Check out Theorem 1.2.3 of the second link. Male optimal pairing patterns lead to the woman being in the minimal [worst] stable marriage in the discrete space of possible stable pairings. Some of this sounds silly, but it is actually a huge area of study in game theory and social economics. Food for thought.

**** I know that some of you really like Settlers of Catan. I have absolutely nothing against the game at all, nor I am at all trying to shame you for playing it. This was just what the lady blamed for her daughter not being married.  

***** This post is already way too long, but I need to say this one thing: There is strong evidence that the leaders of the Church are concerned about the decline of families in the United States. Hence they talk about the importance of family. Part of that is marriage. Again, I cannot speak from the perspective of the leading councils of the Church, but for me personally, the day where the social practice of dating becomes the emblem of the doctrines of the family and marriage is the day where we have gone far afield from the cause which we should be committing ourselves to sustain.