Min(e)d Fields

Anti-personnel (AP) blast mines are often intended to wound but not kill. The reasoning is that if a mine kills a soldier, that's one less soldier. If, on the other hand, they wound a soldier, that's one soldier incapacitated with potentially several others working on first aid and evac. Several birds with one stone, I guess. When detonated, blast mines deliver a high velocity compression wave of hot gas, sending casing material, dirt, and body parts skyward. They are loud, surprising, disturbing, and after the dust settles, really painful.

To arm an AP blast mine, one attaches a compressible, concave cap that holds the striker pin, removes the safety pin, and buries the device. Often, many mines are placed throughout a field in order to make the entire region unsafe to cross. Those who place the mines generate maps that indicate which fields that are mined, and sometimes, lines of safe passage through those fields. (After all, AP is supposed to mean anti- "they're" personnel, not anti- "our" personnel.) With the passage of time, maps become lost, mines that were once slightly visible become covered over, and the fields become unsafe for anybody--"we" or "they".

Of course, I've never handled a piece of military ordinance in my life, but I've laid a lot of mines. The mines are buried in memories in the fields of my own mind. They are armed and ready to go off at any time. Like many blast mines, the explosions are non-lethal, but loud, surprising, disturbing, painful. They explode with a hot compression wave of embarrassment, regret, and shame. Mined memories can lay anywhere and be from at any time--some old, some new. I do not have a map.

Here's an example. I set off a mine when I was driving to Dallas for Christmas. I remembered the time when I had driven my friend's Mercedes to Dallas en route to California. There was a problem with one of the rear wheels. I even had to stop and duct tape the wheel well back to keep it from scraping. In Dallas showed the wheel to my brother-in-law, and at once he recognized that the tire was too large. It was, but I remembered that I did not want to believe him. KABOOM! Foolish, regrettable. Later, he followed me to the Mercedes shop. I wanted to hear their assessment (and find out if the automatic heigh adjustment system (some benzos are way too fancy!) had been damaged). The tire was too big, and it needed to be replaced. Otherwise, the car was fine. Just like he'd said.

This story holds more emotional charges than that mine. The whole trip to CA was a pain in the ass. Beginning as a late start from Austin due to problems with new tires being put on--the wrong tire, even after going round and round with the tire store. Who the fuck puts 24" rims on a Mercedes?!? What a nimrod! Pulled over at night, by myself, in the cold, in the rain, to buy duct tape and hack the damn car just so I could make it to Dallas. Seriously. There are plenty more, "what the hell have I gotten myself into" stories from that trip, but they're beside the point. None of those memories are mined. I hold no resentments against my friend at all, questionable choices in rims notwithstanding. I didn't trust my brother-in-law's assessment--I didn't want to believe him. That's the mine I'd laid. I didn't even know I was doing it at the time.

My min(e)d fields are extensive; those damn things are everywhere. Some are very old. All I have to do is come across the wrong memory at the wrong time, and KABOOM! Blast wave. Shame. Ouch! Strangely, nearly all the mines I've found thus far have been planted in memories associated with events best classified as "no big deal." Apparently, however, they're a big deal to me, and apparently I need to be reminded of that through the repeated use of emotional ordinance.

Suddenly, I'm reminded of a song:
As I returned across the fields I'd known
I recognised the walls that I once made
I had to stop in my tracks for fear
Of walking on the mines I'd laid
--Sting

I think I know what he was talking about. Such are the min(e)d fields in which I walk. I do not know where are the mines I've laid. I do not have a map.

Am I smart?

Rantings from the Wellcome Library, London.

I don’t identify as an academic, altho I will drop the Ph.D. when it serves.
I’m sure as hell not a capitalist. No special conditions on that one--fuck that shit.


I know a lot. I’d wager a damn sight more than most on most subjects, but I don’t yet share it that well. (I know that sounds arrogant, but in my mind that boast isn’t all that extraordinary.) This isn’t to lambaste the hoi polloi. It’s a comment on my own sense of being and purpose.

But I don’t think people are stupid--not really. I just bought a book about ways in which technology is making us smarter, and I’m glad for it thus far. I’ve been hearing about the dumbening of America, and how technology is making us stupid--too much staring at the ol’ boob tube in all its various forms and incarnations. I’ve heard how Google is making us forget information, how our public discourse is sophomoric, at best. All these things have some truth to them, but I just don’t buy the whole “getting dumber” argument.

We’re probably getting smarter, if that statement actually means something. Even after a Ph.D. in education, with an emphasis on learning theory, I don’t know what “smart” really means. It’s become a four letter word. Smart is an intuitive description (judgment really) that we all seem to somehow relate to. She’s the smart one in the family. That person looks smart. (Here in the Wellcome Reading Room, everyone looks smart, by the way.) Wait, lemme look to see just how dumb that driver looks. Smart/dumb is a judgment I make everyday of just about everyone I see. I’ll bet you do to. I try not to get carried away by it though.

As a quick judgment, smart is pretty easy to grasp. It’s kind of like “cool”. You do know what’s cool and what’s not, don’t you? I judge myself to be smart, and I am therefore attracted to people who I also judge to be “smart”. I wonder, are there people who judge themselves to be dumb and are therefore attracted to dumb people? Maybe, but I doubt it. Everybody likes being smart, and we are able to own up to those areas in which we are dumb, and more or less accept ourselves for it. Of course, the above only makes any sense when we take “smart” at face value--as quick judgments that make enough sense at the time to be somehow useful, but really only make sense until we try to write it down.

Take that smart judgment you just made--about yourself, that guy, that gal--and write down precisely how you came to that conclusion. Really, try it. I’ll wait……..

Whenever I’ve done it, I get a nice exercise in articulating my observations--a worthwhile practice for a part-time social scientist--but I don’t get any clarity on why I looked at that person and saw “smart”. Mostly, I find myself in a morass of cultural biases, personal preferences, and projections. Each time I come to realize that my categorization was really unfair--bordering on mean. The truth is that I don’t have the foggiest idea of what that person things, or how, or why. (Ok, maybe a bit, but it’s mostly experienced speculation.) More to the point is that I have no way of labeling goodness or badness there (i.e. smart=good; dumb=bad, duh!). Then, I inevitably get into the realm of why they’re  smart (or dumb), and I’m into the whole biased, depressing tale of American compulsory education--good grief!

The whole smart/dumb judgment is basically a trap--a well-rehearsed rationalization of a much simpler human judgment: “I am attracted to that person, or I am not.” “I want to talk to you, or I don’t.” “I want to listen to you, or I don’t.” I want to do just enough talking and listening to get you naked”…etc. “Smart” is just something that I like, and I know it when I see it. Am I really seeing “smart”? Probably not; it’s probably other qualities. In the end, “smart” is a word that describes a personal preference--a word that lumps together a suite of attractive, yet hard to describe, qualities.

Now, back to smarter/dumber at the social cultural level. I hope that you have been persuaded by my previous “argument” that smart is a preference. (It’s like an argument, but I’m hardly using any actual evidence. Still, perhaps it was convincing, particularly if you did the exercise.) Given that smart is a preference described by whomever is doing the writing, saying whether or not we’re  getting smarter is up to the author to define.

For me--the author of today’s blog--there is only one brand of “smart” that I give a damn about: awareness. Awareness of self, awareness of others, awareness of environment. To me this is the only one that matters. Not knowledge; not technology; not societal sophistication. Hell, the Nazis were knowledgeable, and they had impressive science and tech, but in the end they were just judgmental, snobby assholes. The Victorians may have been the height of Western civility, but oh the secrets they kept!

Knowledge, tech, social graces--all bullshit.  Awareness is the thing.

The question is, then, are we becoming more aware?