Walking and Talking

Last Saturday we went to a farmer’s market that is set up in a parking lot. It was busy and we had to park in another parking lot just up the hill. It had rained a bit, off and on that morning—much needed rain.

There is no sidewalk between the two lots, but over time people (possibly lazy) had trod a rather direct path down the hill to connect them. The path was clear but narrow: punctuated by rocks and stones of various sizes and bare dirt which had turned slippery from the rain.

None of this is unique or interesting, of course, except that it’s less frequent in the city. It was just unusual enough compared to my normal homebound routine for me to have to pay attention to where I put my feet and to notice that I was doing so.

We talked a bit as we picked our way along the path, remembering trips to the Boundary Waters, noting that somehow our feet, legs and pants were getting disproportionately wet and dirty, discussing lunch plans and how we were going to cook and freeze the sweet corn we just bought.

There’s a lot going on there—looking, stepping, talking, listening—all at once and all more or less automatically. It’s two of the things we humans seem to be built for and they’re extraordinarily complicated, requiring a great deal of effort from our brainparts. And yet walking and talking are so fundamental to human behavior—they are at once both completely mundane and borderline magical. It’s probably also not a coincidence that being able to do them simultaneously is quite practical.

The idea that our excursion down the hill (and back up) that day was “coordinated hunter-gatherer behavior” is laughable, but it had the right elements—the same shape. It’s uniquely human and we shouldn’t simply give it up. A nice set of cement steps and landings wouldn’t necessarily make it better. And maybe taking the long way through the parking lot, down the street and into the market isn’t better exercise: maybe sometimes the shortcut is.

Trays: Unsung Heroes of the Home

There could be other simple technologies that are more overlooked and under appreciated, but it’s hard to think of one. Trays belong in the pantheon of simple machines, along with the lever, pulley and screw, but somehow Archimedes missed it.

Trays embody one of the principals of luxury: they enable us to more easily enjoy food and drink in settings that aren’t the kitchen or dining room table.

Breakfast on the porch? Bring out the coffee, juice, bacon and pastries on a tray—done! Lunch in the shade of a tree in the backyard? On a tray, complete with lemonade. Drinks on the patio? A tray will carry the two-drink minimum for the evening along with pretzels and a cheese ball. S’mores and whiskey by the campfire? A tray gets it done efficiently and you won’t drop the chocolate in the dark and lose it or spill the whiskey.

DO NOT SPILL THE WHISKEY!

Trays: allies of the hands; steady and stable; useful and versatile.

It’s Complicated

Why are we able to learn complicated movements? Why are we capable of learning to play the violin or the piano; tie knots, manipulate marionettes—or make shadow puppets? Drive a manual transmission, touch type, crimp a pie crust or sew on a button?

Obviously, all of those things are actually useful so there is a certain impetus created by the demand. But there’s a demand for being able to do long division and find square roots, yet we don’t pick up on those nearly as well. So what is it about complicated movements?

They have the unique property that they can be even more pleasurable than simple movements, for one. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi might say that a sufficiently complicated movement that demands all of our attention but doesn’t quite exceed our capability can help us to achieve a “flow” state—being completely present, engaged, satisfied and temporarily egoless.

But why? Why should nature reward us with pleasure when we’re operating right around the limits of our ability?

Because just beyond that limit is our new, leveled-up ability after we practice a bit more.

Because when we have a little extra time and energy (as a species) we tend to make everything more beautiful and elaborate—better—than it needs to be.

Because among animals we are slow and weak and limited. Because growth and adaptation and learning is all we’ve got.

An Exercise for the Reader

If you’re in the mood, try this to see if you notice anything:

Stand on a carpet, area rug, yoga mat or wherever you feel comfortable doing something weird for a couple minutes.

1. Get down on the floor and lay on your back.

2. Get back up to a standing position

3. Do this 3-5 times on each side

I’m fairly comfortable with this kind of thing, and yet when I did it my abs seemed to notice I was doing something a little out of the ordinary. It’s work standing up and laying down on the ground repeatedly. My cats thought it was extremely interesting. Seems like a very unsexy, pedestrian sort of exercise: boring. But I can’t help thinking about what it must be like to not be able to bend and flex enough to get on the floor, or more importantly to get back up...

This Post is About Coffee

I like coffee—a little too much, probably. Depending on my mood and the time of day, I’ll either make it with a French press (I wonder what the French call it? “Le Presse”?), an Aeropress, a Moka pot or a pour-over/cone/funnel thingy. I enjoy the ritual most days and it’s relaxing.

I caught myself wondering the other day how I would design an automatic pour-over device and how that differs substantially from a drip coffee maker. (Too much engineering and coffee nerd stuff to unpack in that sentence.) A machine, after all, could be more accurate and precise; it would save me time in the morning...

But part of the luxury of coffee in the morning is the ritual, even if it is a little hurried sometimes. If I delegated that to a machine, I may as well just use our Nespresso machine. (told you: I like coffee a little too much)

So second best is that I watch someone else make it for me. I get to enjoy the ritual vicariously through them. Also relaxing, also effective and efficient.

But really, the difference between a human (me or anybody else) and a machine making my coffee is attention. It feels better to make it myself because I get to indulge in giving the ritual my attention and control the outcome. It feels better to watch someone else make it because I can see them giving it attention as well as observing and indirectly experiencing the process of making it.

To precisely monitor and control the making of my coffee is not the same as giving it attention. Technology doesn’t have attention to give.

A Sketchy Idea

I have to think through problems at work pretty frequently. Sometimes they’re complicated, sometimes they’re simple. I find that drawing a quick sketch can be enormously helpful for clarifying the issue and framing up good solutions.

A lot of people would say, “Oh, yes! Visualizing the problem accurately through the use of diagrams is a tried and true method of arriving at solutions.”

Yes, but what if it isn’t only about the visual qualities of the diagram? What if it’s the physical act of drawing the diagram? It’s a little hard to tease apart, perhaps, but there are psychologists (whose work I don’t have time to read) who are developing theories of embodied cognition: a fancy way of saying that your physical, non-brain body parts are also part of the thinking process.

Ever feel like you need to get up and clear your head? Maybe you go for a walk, or to lunch?

Ever feel like you can’t get at the details of a problem without picking something up and fidgeting with it?

Ever have a great idea while doing dishes, taking a shower, mowing the lawn, or doing something with your body besides sitting at a desk thinking about the problem?

Cooling Lap

It’s evening and it’s cooled off outside. It’s cooler and drier than we have any right to in August: it’s perfect.

I can hear the crickets outside, the fan in the next room and the plaintive, white noise from the few cars passing by each minute. They are mostly distant and listening to them (the cars, not the crickets) you could almost be forgiven for mistaking them for the sound of breaking surf on a strange beach. It isn’t quite the same as watching and listening to a fire after dark, but even the sounds of a quiet urban evening can have their charms. The similarity is that it’s mostly quiet and no one feels like they need to say anything at the moment.

I used to take walks on nights like this when I was in graduate school. Actually, I used to take walks almost every night when I was in graduate school. It was a “cooling lap” to relax and take my mind off of my classes. School required an awful lot of sitting and thinking, so the walking that I did to and from my apartment—whether for class or for relaxation—felt like it was good for clearing my head. And it helped me to become tired, to want sleep.

I may have to take up the practice again of doing a cooling lap before bed: to get a little tired, to listen to the city and the crickets, and to settle into a gait and a mood where I don’t feel like I need to say anything to myself for a while.

Technology vs. Conversation

One of the curious things about human language is that it is so infrequently written. Of the 6,000 or so currently spoken languages, only about 200 have a writing system. And the earliest writing system wasn’t developed very long ago when you consider that we’ve been talking for somewhere between 80,000 and 120,000 years.

So you’d think that voice recognition technology would be enormously intuitive and helpful and wonderful. And it almost is, but not quite.
Let’s take a small step back, or just off to the side: who here really loves leaving voice mail messages? Anybody? I don’t—not even when I know exactly what I want to say.

Not really even when the message is going to be: “Hey, call me when you get a chance.” Why?

Part of it might be that there’s not a person there to look at while you’re talking, but that seems kinda thin. I think it has to do more with the fact that there isn’t someone on the other end to have a conversation with. If you hesitate or stutter or say “...um” 3 times in a row there isn’t anybody on the other end to give you any feedback. Nobody is there to say, “Oh, yeah, cool.” or “Hey, can I call you back?” or “Look, the restraining order covers phone calls, too!” You could just as well be shouting into the void, because electronics basically look like a void to the human voice.

We learned to talk—whether it was 100,000 years ago or 10 years ago—from other people. We learned speech as assertions, questions, conversations, demands and explorations—not as mere recitation or performance. We haven’t evolved beyond needing someone to listen and respond; to signal to us that they understand. Even talking to ourselves is helpful (another form of embodied cognition?) for formulating thoughts and clarifying ideas. But trying to get your demands met by voice recognition is hit-and-miss without the fluid (if sometimes absolutely maddening) exchange you would have with another person.

For now we’re stuck performing for our devices, in the hopes that they will perform for us. We’re probably in an uncanny valley, where voice recognition is weirdly good but not quite perfect, for another decade or so. In the meantime, I’ll just have to get used to turning toward my smart speaker and trying to make it understand that I just want it to listen to me.

Principles

One of my guilty pleasures is watching the Great British Baking Show. It’s delightful for a lot of reasons (British accents, pastry porn, etc.) but there are some interesting lessons, as well.

The contestants get advance notice of what they’re baking for 2 of the 3 challenges each week, and 1 of the challenges is unknown until the day of. So, for 2 of the challenges they can plan and practice. They can tweak their recipes and prepare special tools—really get things worked out ahead of time.

But something always goes a little wrong: maybe the tent is really warm that day and their stuff melts or won’t cool properly. Maybe they just get distracted and fall behind their schedule. Maybe they forget a step.

This is where it gets interesting. This is where you get to see who really understands the fundamental principles of baking and how well they understand their particular recipe and plan: How do you recover? Can you save the effort you’ve put in or do you have to start over? Do you still have time to start over? Can you ditch part of your plan in order to save the rest of it? Are there any shortcuts or substitutes that won’t ruin it?

And the first, deepest, most important principle of baking (and oh, I don’t know, everything else): don’t panic, see the situation clearly and formulate a new plan with what you’ve got.

Technology vs. Food

Cooking is very much a human endeavor—animals don’t cook their food, even if they do things like bury it or wash it. We benefit enormously from cooking food by needing to spend less time chewing it and by getting more calories and other nutrition from it.

Cooking is inherently about tools and techniques: you can’t really cook without them. Yes, you can bury a sweet potato in some hot coals and let it sit for hours and then dig it out and eat it, but I still think you’re going to want a stick or a rock or something to move the coals with. (Or build the fire, for that matter.) A knife is an indispensable tool for cooking, as well as eating—it just makes every aspect of working with food easier. And applying heat is about the most basic and fundamental cooking technique there is. We build special tools so that we can transform some foods into other foods, like soup or pizza or M&M’s—no other animal does this.

Cooking is technology.

Postmodern Movement at Work – Still Standing

The benefit of working at a standing desk isn’t that you’re standing. It’s that you’re not sitting still.

When you stand, you’re constantly shifting your weight back and forth from one leg to the other. You might rock back and forth from the balls of your feet to your heels. You might arch your back once in a while. You might reach backwards with your arms or even overhead occasionally just to stretch. You might twist because you feel your hips, neck or back stiffen up. You might flex your knees a little because they’re stiffening up, too. If you’re like me, you might even crouch down once in a while to alleviate some of the tension that your tight hip flexors place on your lumbar spine. You might notice your posture and straighten up or re-align.

If you’re sitting down, your body is at a standstill. But it’s really hard to stand perfectly still.

(Nerd note: when you’re standing, your body is constantly solving the inverted pendulum problem. Your body doesn’t have to solve shit when it’s sitting down.)

Deglaze

Sometimes you run across a concept or technique and you think, “Whoa, that sounds complicated—I’ll have to think about that. Maybe read up on it…”

Deglazing a pan when cooking seems like it belongs to that category, but it doesn’t. My take on deglazing a pan is as follows:

1. Cook some meat in a pan, probably on high or medium high. Let some of it stick. (e.g. sear a steak, stir fry some chicken, etc.)

2. Grab a liquid—it could literally be almost anything—and pour a little in the pan. It could be vinegar or broth. It could just be water. It could be beer or wine that you would never serve to someone you were on good terms with.

3. Heat up the undrinkable liquid and scrape up the stuck food. (optional: add some butter, herbs and/or other stuff for additional flavoring)

4. Pour the scraped-up mixture over the meat you cooked in the pan in step #1.

Congratulations: you made a fancy sauce using food bits that were destined for the garbage and a liquid you wouldn’t drink unless you were dying of thirst—and you did it by getting a head-start on cleaning the pan.

Language Notation

Human language has only recently appeared on the surfaces of things. For tens of thousands of years it only used to exist in our mouths and ears—whether whispered or shouted, mumbled or sung. At its deepest, primal level, human language is about sound and feel. It is not the alphabet or spelling—that’s just notation. Nuance has to be carefully designed into sentences that are drawn on a page or rendered to a screen rather than spoken. Without the breath to convey the complexity of emotion and energy—without that river to carry words along—there is much that simply sinks out of sight.

But we invented punctuation, too: further elaborating on our notation to try to convey the information in spoken language. But they are only symbols—approximations—and never spoken. Or at least they didn’t used to be spoken until we started dictating into our phones to create text.

Which, of course, is the perfect exercise to help you realize just how awkward and unnatural punctuation is.

Apprehension

Often times, when we’re talking about something or looking at it we’ll say, “Let me see that.” Of course, kids will subsequently taunt each other by saying, “See! You can see it!” and holding the item just out of reach. Because what we really mean when we say, “Let me see that” is, “I’d like to hold that and examine it more closely.”

We are extremely reliant on our vision to inform us about the world, but seeing something doesn’t always communicate everything we want to know about it. We can infer what something might feel like by looking at it closely. But the texture, weight and balance play off of each other to give things a certain feel. We can see how big something is, but that’s different from knowing how it fits in our hand (or not). The percieved quality of a luxury item can literally be weighed in our hands.

The word “apprehend” has two meanings in English: one is to arrest someone for a crime, but the other is to understand or perceive. The root of “apprehend” is the Latin prehendere: to lay hold of. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

A Theory of Yoga

I have a theory about the origins of yoga: it was developed by people in their late 40’s as a response to noticing how it might feel to be in your late 40’s. This elaborate theory follows in its entirety.

It wasn’t an esoteric, austere, way-too-hot-in-the-room, intense, super-exercise routine that some people seem to want to make it. There was no competing with the goddamn show-off two rows in front of you that still has a flexible spine and can actually sit in “easy pose” without falling over backwards and who doesn’t have hip flexors so tight that you could shoot an arrow 1,000 yards with them.

I think its original intent involves gentle stretching, but not in the sense of trying to become super flexible—it’s more about moving your joints through their available range of motion. Just trying to get their back to feel a little better. Just trying to work out the stiffness in their legs. It might be about making sure you can get down on the floor and get back up again.

I think it’s exactly the same thing as getting out of bed and stretching your arms out because it feels good—there’s just a whole bunch of those for all your body parts with cool Sanskrit names. I love yoga best when I’m just letting my body remember how to assume, move through and enjoy a variety of postures.

On the Similarities Between Cooking and Writing

• It is best to taste and re-season often.

• Advance preparation can make the activity more pleasurable.

• Recipes are a beginning, but deeper satisfaction can be found within experimentation.

• Sipping whiskey (in moderation) or coffee (to excess) whilst engaged can elevate the experience.

• There can be happy accidents, as well as the drudgery of throwing away effort and beginning again.

• You may not wish to begin very late at night.

• Fine, luxurious tools are a pleasure, but not necessary.

• If the disorder becomes too great, you may wish to spend a few minutes tidying up.

• Bacon.

• It can be delightful to engage in it alone, but oftentimes the result is even more enjoyable when shared with friends.