This is the dawning…

This is a bit flaky, but I’d like to propose that we are living in The Age of Complexity. Not the information age, or the age of media, internet, connectivity or whatever, but the age of complexity. I think that’s the primary obstacle in modern problems and stresses: how to stop clinging to simplified half-truths and start understanding complex, interconnected systems. Naming the thing might help us to remember to figure it out.

Complexity— and how counter-intuitive everybody seems to find it— comes up everywhere these days: in media and internet, software design, urban planning, health, environmentalism, psychology, and anything that tries to organize a group of people. I think George Lakoff’s work with the Rockridge Institute, to provide priorities and frames for progressive ideas, is part of dealing with complexity, even though his books are about politics and linguistics, not systems theory.

I’ve been thinking about generalism and distributed knowledge for my independent education project, too, which just struck me as a sort of complex system of learning. Rather than specializing in a particular field, I’m trying to figure out what would count as graduate level work on a general problem (the topic so far is what I want my death to be like). And rather than hook up with a structure or institution, I’m trying to use a lot of small, independent resources. This pleases me more and more, because it suits how I think about information and the web, etc. (Is that called symmetry, when different levels or parts of a system have the same patterns?)

So. This is the link that finally put me over the edge, when I was catching up on Kottke today.

I wanted to ask a more general question: how can people stop needing simple stories, and what can we use instead? I remember, back when I first started making websites in the ’90s, when I first understood hypertext as an alternative to linear narrative, it seemed like the same idea that Kottke is looking at, up there, in the history of science. (How’s that for a hyper sentence, remembering things in the past and present? It seems accurate so I’m going to leave it.) My favourite websites are still the ones that use links as complex context, instead of in sequence.

All of this is just the last chapter of Death and Life of Great American Cities all over again. That’s the chapter where Jane Jacobs describes the kind of problem a city is, and suggests that human knowledge needs new tools to understand organized complexity. The longer I live after reading that book, the more I can’t believe how many people haven’t read it, or how I hadn’t heard of it until I was 25. I come back to that book all the time, and it wasn’t even the first thing I read about complexity or emergent systems.

I think the reason Death and Life had such an impact on me might be because Jane Jacobs is so definite and concrete in that book— she really captures the “aha” of suddenly seeing patterns in chaos, of seeing the bigger, realer simplicity. She sums up the problem of cities in only four principles. Four!

The books I’d read before were much looser. Christopher Alexander’s pattern language for designing houses and cities has over 200 items. Godel, Escher, Bach never intends to sum up intelligence in a set of patterns, although it nearly does anyway. Jane Jacobs got her perspective down to a tight, efficient package, without simplifying anything. It’s inspiring.

There are more general introductions to complexity and emergence (like say, Emergence), but I would still recommend Death and Life as the essential tome on the subject. So far. I’m still learning.

The best thesis since Xena

I helped my granny pick her peach tree on the weekend, so I took the opportunity to explain my new thesis project to her and ask for her input about mortality and dying.

She’s 86; she grew up on a farm; she’s had her funeral and burial plans pre-paid for years; she tells a story about her experience speaking with the spirit of her recently deceased sister; and we often have conversations about my grandpa’s advanced Alzheimer’s dementia and the merits of burning out versus fading away (elder nursing home version). I thought she’d have lots to contribute.

The first thing out of her mouth?

“Oh darling, there’s a book I’ll have to give you when I’m finished. It’s about one of those… those men who never die? (Well he could die in a fight, but not of old age.) And he’s supposed to hunt evil? It goes back centuries. Just centuries.”

(The name she’s looking for is Dark Hunter, and he surely owes his existence to Boris Vallejo.)

Dark Hunter novel cover

I know that I need to start narrowing my topic as soon as possible— at the moment I’m reminded of my aunt’s high school independent research project on the entire history of ancient China— but for now, while I scope out the lay of the land, it’s pretty cool to just ask everyone I know if they have any tips or resources about dying, to see all the different angles that pop up. I would not have thought to examine sexualized immortality in post Buffy pulp fiction if granny hadn’t suggested it.

Weird weekend

Yesterday I spoke on a panel discussing the film Petals, which follows a photographer who creates a collection of vulva portraits. In one of the scenes, a woman who has studied some kind of native southwestern or Mexican sexual tradition is naming different vulva shapes. Deer woman, buffalo woman, dancing woman. OK.

Towards the end of the scene her explanation gets away from her a little and she starts just stringing animal names together, at which point Galen and I both cracked up despite ourselves, and despite having the film’s producer sitting with us. “Sometimes you’ll see a woman who is half deer, half sheep, and that’s called a fox, and…” Stop, stop!

During the post-film discussion, a woman in the audience asked about the vulva names and where she could learn more about deer woman and company. It suddenly sounded a lot like the fabled 100 Inuit words for snow. The panel didn’t go there at all, but I wondered what I would do with 100 words for genitals, how that would help me communicate or think. (Howard Rheingold’s They Have A Word For It is a great book on this theme.) I’m not sure I want to get into categorizing body shapes and types. What it really made me want to know was 100 words for feeling weird, because I was deferring a lot of weirdness at that moment on the panel.

When I showed up for the screening, the film festival director didn’t recognize me when I said hi, even though we’ve met several times and my name was in the program. He still didn’t know who I was when he invited the panel to come up front, and instead of covering with any grace he just sort of squinted at me with his mouth open. The producer I was sitting with piped up with my name, so it sort of worked out. Then the panel turned out to be unmoderated, no one got introduced, and the director wrapped up the discussion by walking in front of the stage and shouting “Is that about it?” like a reluctant teacher interrupting a boring student presentation. Whoa.

So I’m looking for a word, English or otherwise, to explain the general sentiment that “This would embarrass a lesser woman, and I’m sure glad that I know better than to let this ruin my weekend. Where are my usual friends and when can I hug them?”

I’m also in search of a word to express my reaction to a photo shoot I organized on Saturday where somebody invited about 30 extra models (quadrupling the total population of the shoot), and other various things. We went to a barbecue and the address was abandoned? Galen was moved more than once, this weekend, to declare, “At least we still have our dignity.”

What is the word for this kind of weekend, and what language has catalogued silly angst in this level of detail?

Goodbye, 2005. It’s been swell.

All that goal-setting required some stock-taking. I keep such close tabs on my business development and my personal growth that all I really want to tally up is my reading list for 2005. I barely read at all this past spring, but really got down to business in the fall. I wish I’d actually kept a list, so that I could name the quantity of books I’d like to read in 2006. Why is a numerical goal so appealing? Je ne comprends pas.

Read in 2005

These go approximately reverse-chronological, from memory only. Emphasis shows stuff I especially enjoyed.

  1. The Blind Assassin, by Margaret Atwood
  2. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
  3. Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell
  4. The Tipping Point, by Malcolm Gladwell
  5. Loop-d-loop, by Teva Durham
  6. Knitting without tears, by Elizabeth Zimmermann
  7. Freakonomics, by Stephen Levitt
  8. The Confusion, by Neal Stephenson
  9. Quicksilver, by Neal Stephenson
  10. Post Captain, by Patrick O’Brien
  11. Master and Commander, by Patrick O’Brien
  12. The Search, by John Battelle
  13. Designing with Web Standards, by Jeffrey Zeldman
  14. The Zen of CSS Design, by Dave Shea and Molly Holzscholg
  15. I Will Fear No Evil, by Robert Heinlein
  16. A New View of a Woman’s Body, by The Federation of Feminist Women’s Health Centres
  17. Petals, by Nick Karras
  18. Bazaar Bizarre, by Greg Der Ananian
  19. Not Wanted on the Voyage, by Timothy Findley

So that’s 19 books, plus a lot of comics. Considering how familiar I got with the library this year, I’m sure I’m missing several no-name typography books and the like. But maybe 30 is a reasonable goal for 2006. 30 then, to be reassessed in June!

To read in 2006, in case I forget…

  • Infinite Jest
  • Confederacy of Dunces
  • Sound and the Fury
  • The System of the World
  • What the Body Remembers
  • Guide to Getting it On (for myvag)
  • The Erotic Mind (ditto)
  • Godel, Escher, Bach (finally kill it!)
  • The Nature of Order #2
  • Laws of Media
  • Emergence (finish skimming it… I’ve read a lot of the books in its bibliography, but it would be good to put it to bed)

Toothpaste book… awesome/crappy ratio

My copy of Drew ‘s Toothpaste for Dinner book arrived on Monday, among other packages addressed to birthday boy Galen. Hooray! Some things:

  • I laughed when I saw the signature. Drew was signing thousands of copies in the first couple of weeks, and it kinda shows. I liked the minimal scrawl.
  • The proper binding and commercial design of the book freaked me out a little bit. On the one hand, I was happy that one of my preferred web comic guys had a great looking book out. Good for him! On the other hand, the main reason I like Toothpaste for Dinner is that it is so spotty: a lot of the funniest comics are working the “so unfunny it goes around the corner to funny again” factor (i.e.). I hadn’t realized until now how suitable the “so ugly it goes around the corner back to awesome” design of the website was. Reading endearingly patchy comics from a shiny book is disconcerting. It’s like… did the publisher know this was awesomely crappy, or did they just think it was what the kids call awesome these days?