Saint alert: Jane Goodall

Jane Goodall was born in 1934 in Bournemouth, England; her father was a businessman and her mother a novelist. When she was barely one, her father bought her a lifelike chimpanzee doll, which she took everywhere with her. (She still has that toy today, though it is now completely bald.) She also had a dog, Rusty, with whom she bonded. After reading Dr. Dolittle and the Tarzan books as a young girl, she dreamed of going to Africa some day.

During World War Two, Goodall's father served in the British Army as an engineer. When he returned, her parents divorced. Goodall lived with her mother and grandmother in Bournemouth, though she visited her father in London frequently. When she graduated from high school in 1952, there wasn't enough money to send her to college, so she got a job as a typist at Oxford.

In 1956 a friend invited Goodall to visit her family's farm in Kenya. Jane was thrilled. She quit her job in London and moved back to Bournemouth to work as a waitress in order to save the money she needed for the trip.

While in Africa, Goodall met paleontologist Louis Leakey and went to work for him, first as a secretary at the Coryndon Museum in Nairobi, then at Olduvai Gorge, helping him dig up fossils. Leakey had been looking for someone to study wild chimpanzees, thinking they might yield clues about mankind's earliest origins. He saw Goodall as the perfect candidate, and in 1960, she went to Gombe National Park in Tanganyika to observe chimpanzees for two years.

In 1962, Leakey arranged for Goodall to go back to Oxford to get a Ph.D. in ethology; she obtained that in three years (much of which was spent at Gombe) despite not having a BA. After obtaining her doctorate, she spent much of the next two decades at Gombe.

Going off to Africa to study chimpanzees was something young British girls simply didn't do back then. It took courage, independence, and intelligence.

But what really set Goodall apart was her patience, serenity, and self-sufficiency. At 28, an age at which most young women were fretting about whether they would get married, or, at least, what parties they might be missing back home, Goodall was content to spend her time in the company of chimpanzees, studying them and making observations about their behavior that had never been made before.

She was no Margaret Mead, who came back from her years in Samoa with a head chock full of misinformation after having basically been put on by the locals. Goodall merely observed quietly, and reported on what she saw, without bias. She had great affection for the chimps, but reported the bad along with the good, including their often violent nature and the way they sometimes killed each other (and each other's babies). Goodall was the first to observe that chimps used tools and hunted other animals as well. She was also the first human to ever be "adopted" by a tribe of chimps, although she was eventually driven out by a new alpha male.

Goodall must have been a remarkably soothing presence, because she was never seriously attacked by chimps, which can be vicious when they feel threatened.

She was married twice, first to Hugo van Lawick, the National Geographic photographer sent to cover her; they divorced after seven years. Her second marriage, to Derek Bryceson, director of Tanzania's national parks, ended when he died five years later.

One indication of a person's character is how willing they are to spend time alone: how un-needy they are. Goodall seemed the epitome of of calmness, and self-sufficiency.

Yes, it's somehow easier to attribute good qualities to a beautiful woman; as Tolstoy pointed out, "It is amazing how complete the delusion that beauty is goodness." But there are plenty of beauties who radiate maladjustment and discontent and, sometimes, outright hostility. Goodall exuded serenity.

 Dian Fossey, who devoted her life to studying and protecting gorillas, and Goodall were evidently friends; both had been started on their careers by Louis Leakey. (A third woman, Birute Galdikas, was sent by Leakey to study orangutans in Borneo.) Fossey was also an admirable woman. Yet she never gave off the same vibe as Goodall; she did not have a happy childhood, constantly smoked, did not get along with her assistants, was always on the lookout for men, and liked to joke about her vibrator keeping her company in the wild.

While it's hard to imagine Goodall joking about a vibrator, she was not without a sense of humor. From Wikipedia:

One of cartoonist Gary Larson's more famous cartoons shows two chimpanzees grooming. One finds a blonde human hair on the other and inquires, "Conducting a little more 'research' with that Jane Goodall tramp?" Goodall herself was in Africa at the time, and the Jane Goodall Institute thought this was in bad taste, and had their lawyers draft a letter to Larson and his distribution syndicate, in which they described the cartoon as an "atrocity". They were stymied by Goodall herself when she returned and saw the cartoon, as she stated that she found the cartoon amusing. Since then, all profits from sales of a shirt featuring this cartoon go to the Jane Goodall Institute.

Today Goodall, 79, spends her time raising money for preservation of wild lands for chimps and other environmental causes. She reportedly owns only two sets of clothes (she wears one while the other is being washed), and travels around the world lecturing and raising funds for preservation. Looking at the pictures of her now, she is still a beatific presence:

She's let herself age gracefully; plastic surgery would have been entirely out of character for her. She still seems completely at peace with herself, if not with a world which is encroaching on wild animal habitat.

It is precisely because she doesn't seem to care all that much about herself that she is a saint. She cares about the future of the chimps and other wild animals, not about her own legacy. (Contrast this to Mother Teresa, whose entire life seems to have been an active, conniving campaign for her own sainthood.)

Goodall is not a religious figure, so she won't be canonized. (When asked if she believed in god, she replied, "I don't have any idea of who or what God is. But I do believe in some great spiritual power. I feel it particularly when I’m out in nature. It’s just something that's bigger and stronger than what I am or what anybody is. I feel it. And it's enough for me.")

I do hope she'll at least be memorialized at Westminster Abbey.

Sociopath alert: Wendy Davis

Texas Democratic gubernatorial candidate Wendy Davis has been in the news recently for having stretched the truth about her past.

Her campaign website says, "Mine is a story about a teenage single mother who struggled to keep her young family afloat. It's a story about a young woman who was given a precious opportunity to work her way up in the world. It's a story about resiliency, and sacrifice, and perseverance. And you're damn right it's a true story."

(If I hadn't heard anything about this story, that last sentence would still have given me pause: why add that it's a true story? Nobody had accused her of lying when she wrote that. The lady doth protest too loudly.)

Davis claimed to have been a divorced single mother living in a trailer at age 19 who put herself through Texas Christian University and Harvard Law School.

The truth was a bit more complicated. She was 21, not 19, when she got divorced. And she lived in a family mobile home for only a few months before moving into an apartment with her daughter.

So far, these seem like fairly benign misrepresentations. Perhaps she was separated, if not divorced, at age 19; and she did live in a trailer, if only briefly.

But, according to Wayne Slater of the Dallas Morning News:

A single mother working two jobs, she met Jeff Davis, a lawyer 13 years older than her, married him and had a second daughter. He paid for her last two years at Texas Christian University and her time at Harvard Law School, and kept their two daughters while she was in Boston. When they divorced in 2005, he was granted parental custody, and the girls stayed with him. Wendy Davis was directed to pay child support.

Davis got a man to support her. So, from age 24 on, it was no longer quite the story of "resiliency, sacrifice, and perseverance" that she had painted. And she certainly didn't "put herself" through Harvard Law School.

But even there, the misrepresentations seem more like exaggerations than lies made out of whole cloth. After all, she did have to support herself from age 19 to 24. So far, the "scandal" seems a bit overblown.

But lying -- or at least stretching the truth -- about one's past always emits a faint odor of sociopathy, and a closer look at Davis' life leaves little doubt about her character.

First, her explanation for the misrepresentations came across as more devious than her original fibs: "My language should be tighter. I'm learning about using broader, looser language. I need to be more focused on the detail." This is the kind of lawyerly, Clintonian evasion which is meant to imply that her faulty statement was a matter of semantics, with no dishonesty involved. (It is a peculiarly sociopathic trait to not admit guilt even when one has been caught red-handed.)

Her second husband, Jeff Davis, liquidated his 401k in order to finance her education, then eventually took out loans as well.

According to Slater:

Jeff Davis said that [their separation] was right around the time the final payment on their Harvard Law School loan was due. “It was ironic,” he said. “I made the last payment, and it was the next day she left.”

This would indicate that her primary interest in him was financial. Gold diggers tend to be at the very least narcissistic, if not outright sociopaths. And leaving the day after he finished paying off her loans speaks of a coldness that goes beyond mere narcissism.

Wendy Davis did not even try to get custody of her children:

According to Jeff Davis, “She said, ‘I think you’re right; you’ll make a good, nurturing father. While I’ve been a good mother, it’s not a good time for me right now.’”

Note how she said she was a good mother -- as if she can be a fair judge of herself on that score. She undoubtedly kept her children fed and clothed and bathed. But did she give them the greatest gift a mother can give her children -- love? No, not if she could give them up so easily. If you really love your children, it's always a good time to be with them.

(Merely entering politics, just like being a Hollywood producer or being a corporate CEO, seems almost a yellow flag for sociopathy these days. Having these occupations obviously does not mean you're a sociopath; but you're far more likely to be.)

Davis didn't even enter politics with a clearcut political vision. She started out as a Republican, then switched parties. This implies that her career was driven less by political feeling and more by personal ambition. (There's nothing wrong with being ambitious, but cloaking that ambition with a patina of platitudes about how you're doing it for "the people," or other noble reasons, is exactly the kind of thing that sociopaths do.)

While researching this post, I stumbled across a video of Davis in which she said, "I love this state," referring to Texas. What exactly does Davis mean when she says that? Does she love the actual territory that is in Texas until she comes to the Oklahoma border and then all of a sudden the ground there holds less appeal to her? Does she love all Texans? People who aren't sociopaths know that you can only truly love a few people in your life. But sociopaths don't truly love anybody. So they tend to throw the word around promiscuously, as in, "I love you all!" or, "I love this state." It's a ridiculous concept, but Davis stated with full-throated conviction, as if she really, with all her heart, loves…a state.

Sociopaths often give themselves away with that kind of false emotionality.

Here's a picture of Davis when she was at Harvard Law School:

And here's a more recent picture of her:

(Her political opponents now call her "Abortion Barbie.") I couldn't find a picture of her torso when she was young, but large, immune-to-gravity breasts sprouting out from the bony chest of a 50-year-old woman usually mean implants. And her face is barely recognizable.

Again, plenty of non-sociopaths get plastic surgery; but a sociopath is far more likely to get it.

I was also struck by this picture of Davis:

As I've pointed out elsewhere on the blog, sociopathic inmates looking for penpals often pose with animals in an attempt to look warm and affectionate. (Here's another such murderous poseur, at the bottom of this post.) But when someone's on Death Row for murder, posing this way is obviously just an attempt to mislead. I couldn't help but be reminded of those pictures when I saw this photo. (Here's a picture of another sociopathic politician posing the same way.) Maybe Davis really did feel an overwhelming amount of affection for this dog; but given her attitude toward her own children, that seems doubtful.

To pose this way with a dog is really a form of manipulation, to pull at the heartstrings of true dog-lovers. Note that her smile is directed not at the pet, but at the camera.

Davis initially gained a modicum of national attention for her eight hour filibuster against any restrictions on late term abortions in the state legislature. Filibusters have been around since the time of Roman Senator Cato the Younger. And in the past, they have been an effective diversionary legislative tactic. But the opportunity to filibuster also seems to attract those who want attention, and who want to appear heroic.

It can attract those who don't otherwise seem sociopathic, like Rand Paul. Or it can attract those who do, like Ted Cruz or Wendy Davis.

Verdict: between the fact that she exaggerated her background, never really owned up to those misrepresentations even when caught, left her husband the day after he finished paying off the loans he took our for her education, didn't want even partial custody of her own daughters, and displays false emotions, it's pretty clear Davis is a sociopath.

Pig's kin

I was amazed to find out in this morning's NY Post that the NFL actually has tax-exempt status, along with the NHL and the LPGA.

How can tax exempt status possibly be justified when commissioner Roger Goodell is paid $29 million a year?

It's a perfect example of how corrupt our special interest system of government is.

Coincidentally, this morning a friend just sent me this Daily Beast article about how former quarterback Vince Young has declared bankruptcy. Young was paid $34 million over six NFL seasons up until 2011.

An excerpt from the article:

According to a 2009 study, 78 percent of former NFL players file for bankruptcy or are under severe financial distress within two years of retirement.

That's a mind-boggling statistic. You have to wonder what's going through the 78 percent's heads while they're active. They must all think that they're going to never get injured, or cut, and that as soon as the world recognizes their greatness they're going to be raking in major endorsement deals. So in the meantime, why not flash some bling?

On top of that, a lot of players have poor relatives to support, and because of their lack of financial savvy, they get taken advantage of by unscrupulous agents, managers, and lawyers. 

It's a witches' brew of optimism, narcissism, generosity, innocence, and stupidity.

NFL players often represent a combination of extreme physical power and extreme lack of caution and common sense.

Lottery winners are given the option of a longer term or lump sum payout. Most opt for the immediate money, and most, like professional football players, go through their winnings fairly rapidly.

Maybe pro footballers should not be given that option. With a slower payout, fewer would get into financial trouble, and, frankly, fewer would have the opportunity to get into the kinds of trouble they tend to get into during their playing years. 

Maybe Roger Goodell could partially justify his bloated salary by instituting such a system.

Sociopath alert: Jordan Belfort

That Jordan Belfort, whom The Wolf of Wall Street was about, is a sociopath is hardly a revelation. Anybody who orchestrated a con like Stratton Oakmont, his glorified boiler room operation, would have to be a sociopath.

But it's always gratifying to see the number of ways in which a sociopath gives himself away, and Belfort demonstrated practically every distinguishing characteristic of a sociopathy.

The movie, by the way, is a little reminiscent of Catch Me If You Can, which also starred Leonardo DiCaprio, in that it essentially celebrates a sly devil whose trickery and success the audience are supposed to identify with and revel in. Hollywood has a tendency to present sociopaths in a misleadingly sympathetic light -- especially given that those sociopaths themselves had exactly zero sympathy for their victims.

Belfort was obviously a natural salesman (read: manipulative), as he showed right from the start of his career. He imparted his sales techniques to the over 1000 brokers he hired for his firm, and now makes a living as a "motivational speaker" (read: teacher of same sales techniques).

To be a convincing salesman, you must come across as if you believe completely in your own product, even if you know it's a complete sham. You can't have any telltale tics, you can't have a catch in your voice, and you can't appear nervous. (In other words, you can't feel guilt.)

Jews tend to look down on Anglos for their excessive drinking; and they tend to take fewer recreational drugs as well. Belfort, though Jewish, showed no such discipline. He developed a serious addiction to Quaaludes, and if the movie is accurate, snorted a lot of cocaine as well. It takes a certain impulsiveness to allow oneself to become addicted like that, and impulsiveness is a hallmark of sociopathy. (This is why sociopaths are more likely to be substance abusers.)

Nor did Belfort have any inhibitions about sex, as his frequent use of prostitutes demonstrated. (Sociopaths are generally more promiscuous, and far more likely to claim "sex addiction.")

We all like money, but Belfort practically worshipped it. Money equals power, and sociopaths are always power hungry. It goes beyond that, however; practically every sociopath I've ever known seemed to almost worship money and imbue it with an almost talismanic quality, and was willing to do anything to get more.

Belfort was a great believer in conspicuous consumption, as befits a narcissistic personality. His helicopter, his yacht, and the "most expensive house on Long Island" (according to the movie), were all his way of declaring his greatness to the world. (Sociopaths always seem to have a strong need to make this declaration.)

The yacht later sank because Belfort disregarded his captain's advice not to sail into a storm. (Sociopaths are fearless as well as reckless.)

Perhaps the most telling giveaway of Belfort's sociopathy is how he enjoyed himself while the scam was going on. Sociopaths have an almost preternatural ability to party and have fun even while they are in the midst of propping up a house of cards which must inevitably come crashing down. They have absolutely no compunctions about their victims, and seemingly don't even worry about their own future well-being. They simply live it up, in situations where most of us would be worried sick.

Part of Belfort's partying evidently included dwarf tossing, which was briefly a fad during the heyday of Stratton Oakmont. This "sport" usually took place at bars, and its appeal seemed to be precisely that it was so obviously wrong. The concept is almost funny, in a sick sort of way; but actually doing it requires a complete lack of concern for others. Stratton Oakmont was certainly an appropriate setting.

At the end, after the feds closed in, Belfort got a more lenient sentence because he became a government witness, i.e., testified against his former friends and colleagues. (Sociopaths are often the first to turn, unburdened as they are by any feelings of loyalty.)

He ended up serving only 22 months for having swindled innocent victims out of over $100 million.

To hear Belfort now, you'd think his life was one big morality tale, with a character arc of the type you generally see only in the movies. The picture he draws is of a guy who was essentially seduced by the Wall Street lifestyle, as if he were almost an innocent victim himself. According to the DailyMail, he now says, "I'm a wolf who became a more benevolent character. I refuse to glorify my past" -- as if a sociopath can ever change his stripes. (And as if the book and movie are anything but glorifications of his past.)

As part of his settlement, Belfort was ordered to make a total of $110 million in restitution to his victims; so far only $11.6 million has been recovered, mostly from the sale of his forfeited properties. The agreement he reached required that he pay 50% of his income until restitution was complete. But in the past three years Belfort has been paid $1.7 million, mostly from book and movie rights, yet he has paid only $243,000 to the authorities in the past four years. Whatever benevolence he claims to have achieved evidently does not extend to his victims.

He also told Reuters in 2007, "I believe I have a shot at being redeemed by leading a good life today." He also told them that he is trying to right past wrongs. (Well, maybe he's just not trying that hard.)

Sociopaths are forever claiming to be turning over a new leaf; but they never do. That they expect people to believe them, even after all their lies, is another peculiarly sociopathic quirk. Because they've lied successfully in the past, they always seem to believe that they can continue to do so for as long as they wish. The fact is, sociopaths are as likely to grow a third arm as they are to develop a conscience late in life. Sociopathy is incurable.

The "Early Life" section of the Wikipedia article on Belfort doesn't contain any revelations. He came from a middle class family in Queens; both parents were accountants, and his mother later became a lawyer. My guess is that because both parents worked full time during his early years, he didn't form as strong a bond with either as he might have.

Belfort says that he came from "a good family," as if it is a big mystery how he could have ended up doing what he did. But there are many outwardly respectable families which are in one way or another dysfunctional. I know nothing about his parents other than that they spawned him; whatever else they were or weren't, they certainly bred sociopathy.

(The movie, by the way, is actually quite enjoyable; it's just that as a character study it's misleading.)

Filial respect, Part II

We saw The Wolf of Wall Street last night. Afterwards, I asked my son if the movie made him want to work on Wall Street. He said no, but it did make him want to party more, and maybe take drugs. I warned him that cocaine (which along with Quaaludes is prominently featured in the film) was addictive. He asked where I'd rank it on a one to ten scale of addictiveness. He explained, "You know, with heroin as a ten. And a one would be, say, burning your hand on a stove -- or reading Just Not Said."

Maybe it's just my skewed perception, but filial piety seems to be lacking in my son. His favorite names for me are Colonel Raisin Balls, Vagisaurus Rex, Emperor Menstruatious, and Ovulato. (Seriously.)

Earlier this week I took him to Macy's to buy him a sport coat; he expressed his gratitude by saying, "Jesus Christ, all this enforced togetherness time is really making me crazy."

When he first got back from the Army, I made the mistake of telling him a couple times, "I'm so happy you got back safe and sound from Afghanistan."

His response to that usually ran along the lines of, "My god, you are the worst buzz kill ever. There's absolutely no one who can so totally ruin a good vibe like you. I'm having a good time, I've got everybody laughing, and you have to spoil it by saying that."

He would then imitate me in an exaggerated sad sack voice, and add,  "Great, another Downer Dad Attack."

There are times when he's kinder though. Why, just two days ago he said, "You know, looking at your wrinkles and emaciated body, I realize what you are: my own personal memento mori." (A memento mori is a reminder of one's mortality).

Hiroo Onoda, RIP

Lt. Hiroo Onoda, the Japanese soldier who didn't come out of the Philippine jungle until 1974, when his former commanding officer from WWII flew to Lubang to personally inform him that he was relieved of duty, died two days ago in Japan.

There are two ways of looking at Onoda. One is to admire his indomitable fighting spirit. (This is what the Japanese did upon his return in 1974.) The other way to view him is as a representative of a peculiarly Japanese form of fanaticism and craziness.

Onoda wasn't the only soldier who refused to give up. He was originally part of a group of four. One of the men surrendered to Filipino authorities in 1950, another was shot and killed in 1959, and another was killed by the police in 1972.

Another Japanese soldier hid out on Guam until 1972. And there were others who held out for years after the end of WWII.

Onoda and his men killed approximately 30 Filipinos after the war. Technically, this makes him a serial killer, which would be yet another way to view him. From a psychological viewpoint, though, he was the opposite of most serial killers.

What Onoda did by not surrendering was extremely admirable and extremely stupid at the same time. His never-say-die spirit and resourcefulness in wresting a living from the jungle showed a tenacity most people couldn't dream of. At the same time, you have to conclude that his actions were not those of a reasonable man.

I'm half-Japanese, and I see this fanaticism -- and stupidity -- in myself. For instance, this blog: I've now written over 1600 posts since 2008. Why? I don't get paid for it, and the blog averages only 600 readers a day, which doesn't compare to some of the more prominent blogs. It seems pointless, but I've stuck with it anyway.

I'm almost 60, and still swim competitively. I took the sport up at age 14, and have never given it up. I could talk about the health benefits that come from exercising, or the camaraderie of masters swimming, but the truth is, even without those things, I'd still swim. It's another pointless, profitless activity. So why do I do it?

Because I'm an obsessive half-Japanese.

It's not much of an explanation, but it's the best I can come up with.

Banzai!

Skeletons

Human skeletons have long been a staple of Halloween and haunted houses.

It is only just now occurring to me that there is a good evolutionary reason why skeletons -- or just skulls -- are such a scary sight: they often signify that there is something in the vicinity which can kill you.

Maybe it's a nearby tiger which has developed a taste for humans. Maybe it's a nest of vipers which live close by. Maybe it's a poisonous water supply. Maybe it's a serial killer. Whatever it is, it represents a potential danger to you.

The skeletons themselves are obviously not dangerous to you, though some people seem to find them creepy in a ghost-like, zombie-like way. It's the fact that they signal a potential danger lurking nearby which proved fatal to the person that skeleton used to be, and which could prove fatal for you. (This is why we don't feel the same jolt when we see a longhorn skeleton, for instance.)

Evolution works in a logical way, but the instincts it breeds may not necessarily seem so. For instance, the sexual instinct has been bred into us as a means of procreation. But when you see an attractive member of the opposite sex, you do not think, ah, I really want to procreate. Your thoughts are more along the lines of, I want some sexy fun with that hottie. It doesn't matter that you're not thinking of screaming little tots; your instinctive desires will result in them, and that's all that matters.

Likewise, when we see a skeleton, we don't have to run through the possibilities of what may have caused that human to die. All we need to feel is a desire to flee, and if we think that it's the creepy skeleton itself which is dangerous to us, no matter: the important thing is that we flee.

So, over the millennia, we developed an instinct to feel scared when we see a human skeleton.

There are a lot of different types of people who have taken advantage of this instinct. It's why the pirates used the Jolly Roger, with its skull and crossbones, as their flag: to scare merchant ships into quick submission. It's why guys who want to appear badass will get tattoos with a skull and crossbones motif. It's why hazard signs will sometimes also feature them: to instill an element of fear so that you take their warnings more seriously. It's why skeletons are featured in horror movies.

Evolution has selected human beings to react appropriately when a sign of danger appears.

Misnomers in education

A lot of universities refer to their undergraduate programs as "the college of arts and sciences." Fair enough; some of what these colleges teach is science, and some better classified as arts.

Browse through any list of majors and you'll find listings like "materials science" and "food science" and "computer science." Those teach you about real, quantifiable things. You'll find biology and chemistry and physics, none of which need to append the word science to their titles, since they so obviously are sciences.

You'll also find English and Architecture and Music and Philosophy, all of which are perfectly fine majors as long as you're not overly concerned about getting a good job when you graduate.

The problem is with the fields which want to cloak themselves in respectability by calling themselves sciences, when they're plainly not. For instance, where is the science in political science? (Maybe this is just early training for the kind of misleading spin that poli sci majors tend to spew.)

"Social science" may be worse. Sociology is as squishy a subject as you'll find.

If universities were businesses, the Better Business Bureau could sue them for false advertising.

People with the most advanced degrees are called Doctors of Philosophy. PhD's do not heal philosophy. (If you meet one who insists on being called "Doctor," you can be sure he is a twit.)

I might as well call myself a doctor of blogology. Or a veterinarian of swimming. Or a nurse of stock trading.

I actually am a bachelor of arts. (Or do I just have one? I'm not even sure.) When I received it, sure enough, I was still a bachelor. But I wasn't much of an artist.

To get a "masters degree" in a subject implies a certain mastery of it. But I seem to know a lot of people (including myself, with my masters in business administration) whose masterfulness seems questionable.

Maybe this is just a querulous Andy Rooney-style quibble about long-standing semantics that nobody takes all that seriously. But the subject is still worth a moment's thought, since it summarizes so well what academia is about so well: meaningless labels and degrees.

Confessions of a beta male Part XIX: Fatherhood

I haven't written any new posts in this series since July of 2012, but I recently realized that my beta male mindset affects my relationships with my children as well as my peers.

Monday was a fairly typical day for my daughter and me. I woke up early, and made a copy of the NY Times crossword puzzle for my daughter.

I then washed her dishes from the night before, and did a load of her laundry.

After she woke up I paid her spring semester college tuition.

I then offered her a ride to the Y, which she declined; but she knows she can alway borrow my car anytime it's not in use.

Later on I helped her with some clues with the crossword puzzle and complimented her on how well she'd done with the other answers.

That evening, when we had our usual game of family Jeopardy, I complimented her when she got some answers which I hadn't known.

After the game was over, because she found it annoying that I had complimented her, she hit me in the arm. (Hard.)

I guess I won't be swimming well at my masters meet this coming weekend.

But my primary concern is: how can I be less annoying to her?

Nature, red in tooth and TV

I watch a fair amount of the National Geographic Channel. One of the most striking things about it is how many of its shows appeal to guys who like gore: Built for the Kill, Caught in the Act, Australia's Most Deadly, Secret Life of Predators, and so on. Many of those shows focus on animals killing each other.

I sometimes get the feeling that if they could get away with it, the National Geographic Channel would stage the fights themselves. Think of some of the dream matches: for instance, between a polar bear and a tiger. Or between a wolverine and a hyena. Or between an alligator and an anaconda.

It's not the National Geographic Channel's fault that human nature is so ghoulish. If you doubt that, just look at the most Youtube statistics. This cobra vs. mongoose video has gotten 59,414,095 views. This video of a python vs. an alligator has garnered 42,567,476 views. Battle at Kruger, showing the herd of Cape Buffaloes rescuing a young buffalo from a pride of lions, has gotten 73,546,597 views (although this one, admittedly, has a heartwarming aspect to it).

On the other hand, this video of a water lily blossoming in fast motion has gotten 54 views.

The folks who run the National Geographic Channel are not unaware of this disparity. They have a network to run, just like any other channel scrambling for viewers. And they, like any good shopkeepers, know that the  customer is always right.

I'm certainly not claiming to be above any of this. I too like my nature porn. Give me a video of a lion vs. hyenas and I promise not to switch the channel. A show about raindrops, on the other hand, will hold my attention for maybe two seconds.

The nature show audience is not unlike an ugly sports crowd: we want blood!

And the National Geographic Channel obliges.

"Kim Jong Un 'fed uncle to pack of 120 ravenous dogs'"

You've probably heard about this already; in case you haven't, you'll probably find it interesting.

When a country puts "People's Republic" into its official name, as with all those formerly communist countries, it's pretty much a guarantee that it's anything but. Likewise when a country calls itself a "Democratic Republic."

When a country crams both words into its official title, as with the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, you know it's really gone to the dogs.

All kinds of roads lead to Rome

This blog doesn't allow me to see who has looked at it (which I'd love to be able to do). But it does allow me to see how many page views it has gotten on any given day, which posts people have gone to, and what they typed into their Google search bars to get there.

Some of the searches that lead here are a little surprising. Many are actually Google Image searches, which explains a lot. I've kept a list for the past week, just to be able to post about them:

"Topless FEMEN protesters." A lot -- an awful lot -- of people search for images of the FEMEN protesters. I'd like to think they come here or here or here because they want to re-read my wry and witty takes on the hypocrisy of the protesters. But realism compels me to admit that they are just looking for pictures of half naked beautiful women to masturbate to. (When I mentioned this to my son, he said, "That must be just 14-year-old boys. Older guys tend to jerk off to much more depraved stuff than just a picture of some woman's boobs.")

"Men sucking women's boobies." Honestly, I can't think of a post where I broached that subject.

"Hottest girls currently in prison." I did write about that at one point, although my focus was on their personalities and not their supposed hotness.

There were searches for "Jada Pinkett feet" and "Thandie Newton feet" on the same day. I'm guessing both of these inquiries were from the same guy. Then, several days later, "Willow Smith feet." I did have a picture of Jada Pinkett's foot in this post, though the emphasis of that post was on her sham of a marriage and not on her feet. With Newton, I focused on the beauty of her face. In any case, I can only hope my blog brought this searcher to the point of fruition.

"Nude male veterinarians" somehow leads them to this blog. For life of me, I can't recall writing about that -- or including any pictures of such.

"Good-looking swimmers" leads them here. "Daniel Craig nude" will also lead them to this blog; the closest I came to that was including a picture of him in his bathing suit in a post about the various actors who'd played James Bond. Just this morning I got "gay top" and "guy with muscular body type." (I hadn't started out intending to make this blog a gay mecca; but since it has become such, I embrace the identity.)

"Gay Club Med" is another frequent search that leads here. I hope my somewhat pointed description of the various types of gay men won't discourage any of them from embarking on one of those vacations; those fellows really did look as if they were having a good time.

On a fairly regular basis, people Google "just not said," which I am happy about, since it means they actually want to read my blog, and not just jerk off to it.

Or, maybe they just want to see how much of a jerkoff I've been recently.

"Stereotypes woman athletes face" is another frequent search. How disappointed -- or enraged -- the women must be when they find that I pretty much agree with the stereotypes.

"Racist whites." I actually get fairly frequent searches from people who are probably surprised to find that, at least according to me, "racism" cuts both ways.

"My conscience is bothering me." After reading this post, they may realize that in fact their consciences really aren't bothering them that much.

I get a lot of inquiries about "socialpaths" -- evidently from people who aren't that familiar with the concept. I can only hope they find this blog educational.

"Can sociopaths kill?" Yet another inquiry which indicates a certain unfamiliarity with the breed.

"Bill Clinton sociopath" is another common search, this one from people who are familiar with both the syndrome and Mr. Clinton himself.

A lot of people also ask if Steve Jobs was a sociopath.

"Why laugh at own jokes?" Various forms of this question are obviously from people annoyed by narcissists.

"What is best fighting dog breed in world?" That question has no definitive answer, though I take a stab at it here.

"Is Obama gay?" That question. which comes from those with more finely attuned gaydar than me,  leads to a more definite answer.

It's been interesting finding out exactly what people are curious about. Or, at least, what they want to jerk off over.

"Here's to you"

A post I wrote three years ago today, which is still appropriate for tonight.

American Hustle

American Hustle is about a pair of small time grifters who get caught up in an FBI sting modeled after Abscam, which ensnared a Senator and several Congressmen in the 1970's. The movie was well written, well plotted, and captured the late 70's perfectly, without being condescending to a decade toward which condescension is almost de rigueur. But the most striking thing about it was how good the acting is.

Amy Adams, as one of the grifters, was nothing at all like the fairy tale princess she played in Enchanted, nothing like Lois Lane, nothing like boxer Micky Ward's lower middle class girlfriend. Here she went from frustrated to (fake) elegant to ecstatic to scared to manipulative to desperate to angry to bitter to adoring, and she was convincing throughout.

Christian Bale played the other small time grifter. He has been heroic in 3:10 to Yuma, Batman Begins, and Terminator Salvation. He's been glossily evil in American Psycho, pathetically addicted in The Fighter, and tortured in The Machinist. In American Hustle he was nebbishy and sleazy and brilliant, all at the same time.

Jennifer Lawrence was fantastic in a role that called for her to be aggressively, passionately stupid. She is an absolutely fearless actress, and plays raw like no one else. Judging from her recent public comments, playing stupid may not be a stretch, but she still puts it all on the screen with great courage.

In the last two decades Robert Deniro has been reduced to a mockery of a shell of his former self. But he was downright scary as a Mafia chief here, and exuded a hardness that was a reminder of how great he used to be.

Jeremy Renner has played tough in The Town, stoic in The Bourne Legacy, and fearless in The Hurt Locker. Here he was great as the expansive New Jersey politician who gets caught up in the bribery scandal for mostly noble reasons.

Louie CK was believable as the put-upon mid-level FBI manager who must navigate between an ambitious underling and an ambitious boss.

Bradley Cooper was good as the ambitious underling. He seems somewhat overrated as an actor -- somehow, in every role, he's always recognizably Bradley Cooper, trying gamely to portray every emotion he's supposed to -- but he's still good.

There seems to be an almost direct inverse correlation between acting ability and vanity. Note how Angelina Jolie (at least since 2000, when she was excellent in Girl, Interrupted) has concentrated on playing glamorous. She is never photographed in light less than flattering and never has a hair out of place. And as a result, her roles have been limited to, cool heroine.

The actors of American Hustle on the other hand, exhibit no such vanity. Smeared makeup, black eyes, ridiculous hairstyles, fat, and baldness are all on ample display, along with the great acting.

"Duffel Blog"

Stumbled across this clever satirical blog about life in the military; here's a particularly funny article.

Updating "going postal"

UncleBob's Treehouse, Bob Wallace's excellent blog, mentioned recently that there have been over 80 public school shootings in the past decade as a result of people "going postal."

That phrase originated after a series of five incidents involving postal workers between 1986 and 1993. But it occurs to me that with the far greater number of shootings involving students, it's time for the expression to be updated.

I propose a new phrase for unbalanced people who go berserk: "going scholastic."

You could say that the Columbine killers "went academic."

You could say that Adam Lanza "went scholarly." You might even say that Lanza, given the extremely horrific nature of his crime, "went Phi Beta Kappa."

If you're particularly frustrated with a situation or filled with rage for some reason, you could express your emotions by muttering ominously, "Man, I'm about to go to school."

Or, "I fucking feel like going to college."

Or, "If that jerk pushes me any further, I swear, I'm gonna get studious on his ass."

The change in our language is really long overdue, given that the new phraseology is far more warranted than "going postal" ever was.

When you think about it, the new expressions would work on more than one level. To become scholarly at most colleges these days is to gain a patina of political correctness, which basically translates as factual incorrectness. And since the traditional definition of insanity is to be divorced from reality, the new expressions would be doubly appropriate.

Sociopath alert: L. Ron Hubbard

I've always been vaguely aware of Scientology as a religion, though I've never paid it close attention. I knew of its cult-like reputation. I knew that it had attracted a couple of prominent Hollywood stars who were supposed to be closeted gays, and I'd heard something to the effect that the church had claimed it could "cure" homosexuality. I'd heard that the church had gotten into bitter disputes with former members.

And I also knew --- vaguely -- that it was somehow based on the teachings of L. Ron Hubbard, the science fiction writer. But for all I knew, some people had decided to base a religion on his writings, perhaps the same way, say, a group of people might decide to base a new religion on the Dune series by Frank Herbert.

When a commenter ("Remnant") recently asked if I was aware of how L. Ron Hubbard was a sociopath, I looked into it. The fairly extensive Wikipedia article about Hubbard makes it apparent that he was.

Scientology, of course, presents an idealized version of Hubbard's life, some of it exaggeration, some outright lies. For instance, according to Wikipedia:

Biographical accounts published by the Church of Scientology [say that Hubbard] was brought up on his grandfather's "large cattle ranch in Montana" where he spent his days "riding, breaking broncos, hunting coyote and taking his first steps as an explorer". His grandfather is described as a "wealthy Western cattleman" from whom Hubbard "inherited his fortune and family interests in America, Southern Africa, etc." Scientology claims that Hubbard became a 'blood brother" of the Native American Blackfeet tribe at the age of six through his friendship with a Blackfeet medicine man.

However, contemporary records show that his grandfather, Lafayette Waterbury, was a veterinarian, not a rancher, and was not wealthy. Hubbard was actually raised in a townhouse in the center of Helena. According to his aunt, his family did not own a ranch but did own one cow and four or five horses on a few acres of land outside the city. Hubbard lived over a hundred miles from the Blackfeet reservation. The tribe did not practice blood brotherhood and no evidence has been found that he had ever been a Blackfeet blood brother.

All this is hardly evidence of sociopathy: the lies and half-truths may well have come from Scientologists who later tried to romanticize his life, and not from Hubbard himself. (If some group later decides to start a religion based on this blog, and worships me as its god, then claims that I got "millions of readers daily," that lie could hardly be attributed to me.)

Nonetheless, Hubbard told plenty of lies about himself on his own, and if you look at his life through the prism of sociopathy, there is a pattern of dishonesty, disloyalty, and fraud that is unmistakeable.

Hubbard claimed to be a "graduate engineer." In fact, he dropped out of George Washington University after less than two years there. He also claimed to have studied nuclear physics; records indicate that he took one course in the field, for which he received an "F."

Hubbard, who was born in 1911, married his first wife Margaret "Polly" Grubb in 1933, and started to write science fiction to support himself shortly thereafter.

In 1941, Hubbard was commissioned as a Lieutenant in the Naval Reserve. He claimed to have seen combat repeatedly. Official Naval records show that he never saw combat and that his performance was judged as substandard. According to Wiki:

After Hubbard reported that the PC-815 had attacked and crippled or sunk two Japanese submarines off Oregon in May 1943, his claim was rejected by the commander of the Northwest Sea Frontier. Hubbard and Thomas Moulton, his second in command on the PC-815, later said the Navy wanted to avoid panic on the mainland. A month later Hubbard unwittingly sailed the PC-815 into Mexican territorial waters and conducted gunnery practice off the Coronado Islands, in the belief that they were uninhabited and belonged to the United States. The Mexican government complained and Hubbard was relieved of command. A fitness report written after the incident rated Hubbard as unsuitable for independent duties and "lacking in the essential qualities of judgment, leadership and cooperation."

(Sociopaths tend to lack judgment and cooperation, though they can be skillful at a twisted form of leadership.)

In 1945 Hubbard moved into the house of Jack Parsons, a fellow occultist, and befriended him. Shortly after, he stole Parsons' girlfriend, Sara "Betty" Northrup. Shortly after that Hubbard convinced Parsons to invest his life savings in a company whose ostensible purpose was to buy yachts in Miami and sail them to the West Coast where they could be sold for a profit. In the meantime, Hubbard tried to leave the country with one of the yacht, intending to take a world cruise with girlfriend Northrup. Parsons was ruined financially by this venture and subsequently had to sell his house to make ends meet.

According to Wikipedia:

Hubbard's fellow writers were well aware of what had happened between him and Parsons. L. Sprague de Camp wrote to Isaac Asimov on August 27, 1946, to tell him:

"The more complete story of Hubbard is that he is now in Fla. living on his yacht with a man-eating tigress named Betty-alias-Sarah, another of the same kind ... He will probably soon thereafter arrive in these parts with Betty-Sarah, broke, working the poor-wounded-veteran racket for all its worth, and looking for another easy mark. Don't say you haven't been warned. Bob [Robert Heinlein] thinks Ron went to pieces morally as a result of the war. I think that's fertilizer, that he always was that way, but when he wanted to conciliate or get something from somebody he could put on a good charm act. What the war did was to wear him down to where he no longer bothers with the act."

In August of 1946 Hubbard married Northrup, despite still being married to Polly.

In 1951, according to Wikipedia:

Hubbard and two Foundation staff seized Sara and his year-old daughter Alexis and forcibly took them to San Bernardino, California, where he attempted unsuccessfully to find a doctor to examine Sara and declare her insane. He let Sara go but took Alexis to Havana, Cuba. Sara filed a divorce suit on April 23, 1951, that accused him of marrying her bigamously and subjecting her to sleep deprivation, beatings, strangulation, kidnapping and exhortations to commit suicide.

In 1952 Hubbard, then 41, married 18-year-old Mary Sue Whipp, and moved to Phoenix to set up Scientology.

During Hubbard's lifetime, Scientology had more than its share of controversies. In 1958 the FDA seized thousands of pills that Hubbard had been marketing as "radiation cures."

In the early 1960's, Scientology was banned in parts of Australia. In 1972, France charged Scientology and Hubbard with fraud and customs violations. Scientology's fleet of boats, known as Sea Org, were banned from various ports around the world.

Hubbard "invented" a device called the "E-meter," which he climbed could read a person's innermost thoughts. (Sociopaths are good at reading people; this is an ability that helps fortunetellers and other con artists. The idea that there was a device that could do this is, of course, ridiculous.)

Scientology is well known for its extremely aggressive approach towards anyone who criticizes the religion. According to Wikipedia:

[Hubbard] told Scientologists: "If attacked on some vulnerable point by anyone or anything or any organization, always find or manufacture enough threat against them to cause them to sue for peace ... Don't ever defend, always attack." 

(Vindictveness -- and being on both sides of a lot of lawsuits -- is another hallmark of sociopaths.)

Here's a character testimonial from Hubbard's own son, L. Ron Hubbard Jr, from an interview with Penthouse Magazine in 1983:

Hubbard: Well, he didn't really want people killed, because how could you really destroy them if you just killed them? What he wanted to do was to destroy their lives, their families, their reputations, their jobs, their money, everything. My father was the type of person who, when it came to destruction, wanted to keep you alive for as long as possible, to torture you, punish you. If he chose to destroy you, he would love to see you lying in the gutter, strung out on booze and drugs, rolling in your own vomit, with your wife and children gone forever: no job, no money. He'd enjoy walking by and kicking you and saying to other people, "Look what I did to this man!" He's the kind of man who would pull the wings off flies and watch them stumble around. You see, this fits in with his Scientology beliefs, also. He felt that if you just died, your spirit would go out and get another body to live in. By destroying an enemy that way, you'd be doing him a favor. You were letting him out from under the thumb of L. Ron. Hubbard, you see?

Wikipedia also cited a telling opinion about Hubbard, this one from Judge Paul G. Breckenridge, who in 1984 ruled in favor of a former Scientology member, Gerry Armstrong, who was disillusioned when he found out that much of what he had been told about Hubbard was lies:

The evidence portrays a man [Hubbard] who has been virtually a pathological liar when it comes to his history, background and achievements. The writings and documents in evidence additionally reflect his egoism, greed, avarice, lust for power, and vindictiveness and aggressiveness against persons perceived by him to be disloyal or hostile. At the same time it appears that he is charismatic and highly capable of motivating, organizing, controlling, manipulating and inspiring his adherents. He has been referred to during the trial as a "genius," a "revered person," a man who was "viewed by his followers in awe." Obviously, he is and has been a very complex person and that complexity is further reflected in his alter ego, the Church of Scientology.

Judge Breckenridge has given us a textbook description of a sociopath.

I came across this clip of Tom Cruise talking about Scientology on Youtube. He has some interesting things to say. Two quotes:

"A Scientologist has the ability to create new and better realities." (Is this not what sociopaths do with their lies?)

"We are the authorities on getting people off drugs. We are the authorities on the mind….We can rehabilitate criminals…We can bring peace and unite cultures…" (Sociopaths tend to believe in their own omnipotence.)

I'm not saying Tom Cruise is a sociopath. He comes off more as a True Believer: dim and/or crazy. (It occurred to me while watching that clip that he may have Asperger Syndrome as well. People with Asperger's are far more likely to join an organization which will do their thinking for them.) But the religion itself, and its tenets, is obviously the outgrowth of a sociopathic mind.

Adherents must cut off all contact with family and friends who are judged to be unsympathetic to Scientology. (Sociopaths tend to be very controlling personalities.)

Hubbard first organized Scientology into franchises, with all of the local franchises expected to pass along ten percent of their income to headquarters. (This is not entirely unlike an old-fashioned chain letter, or what is now known as multi-level marketing, or pyramid selling. The people who start such schemes tend to be con men.)

Hubbard himself was called a paranoid schizophrenic with delusions of grandeur. He was also called, a con man and a pathological liar, back in an era where people weren't as familiar with the concept of sociopathy. An extremely narcissistic personality would, rather than take any sort of "blame" himself, simply reject such labels. Hence, Scientology abjures all conventional psychology.

During Hubbard's time, low level adherents to Scientology aboard his fleet of ships were treated abusively, and that tradition has reportedly continued more recently. (This is consistent with how a sociopath treats others.)

The vindictiveness of Scientology towards its former members is also reflective of Hubbard's personality.

Hubbard himself was unquestionably a sociopath, and his fingerprints are all over Scientology.

(Now, I can only hope they don't notice this obscure little blog.)

President Klitschko?

The most divisive issue facing the Ukraine right now is whether to join the European Union, or remain more closely allied with Russia. Vladimir Putin is currently threatening to disrupt their natural gas supplies if they opt to become members of the EU.

Current heavyweight boxing champion Vitaly Klitschko, a member of the Ukrainian Parliament, is now evidently the leader of the opposition to President Yanukovych, who wants to remain in Russia's orbit. Klitschko is now seen as a potential leader of his nation. Klitschko also favors greater transparency for government, a crackdown on corruption, and lower taxes.

At age 42, Klitschko is reaching the end of his boxing career. (His last fight was on September 8, 2012, but he is still the reigning WBC titleholder.) It is nonetheless surprising that he can juggle both roles. Apparently if this political thing doesn't work out, he wants to have a trade to fall back on.

This seems to be a surprisingly common career path for former Eastern Bloc athletes. Alexander Karelin, the great wrestler who won the super heavyweight gold medal in Greco-Roman wrestling in three successive Olympics, is now a member of Russia's Duma, or parliament, as a member of the United Russia Party:

Here is a more recent picture of Karelin:

Nikolai Valuev, the recent heavyweight boxing champion, is also a member of the Duma, and also a member of the United Russia party:

(The acromegalic Valuev is seven feet tall and weighs 331 pounds.) Here he is in the Duma:

Even Manny Pacquiao, who has been a world champion boxer in eight different divisions, is now a Congressman in the Philipine House of Representatives:

Strangely, this progression doesn't seem to happen in the US. You never see a Senator Mayweather or Congressman Holyfield.

One has to wonder about the wisdom of voting in as political leaders men whose livelihood has entailed getting their brains battered for the past decade or longer. But, evidently, they don't worry about that in places like Russia and the Ukraine and the Philippines.

Humans were hunters and gatherers, i.e., "cavemen," for roughly four million years. Agriculture came into existence about ten thousand years ago, and technology three hundred years ago. So we humans spent the vast majority of our evolutionary development being selected for traits which would enhance our hunting and gathering abilities. Throughout all that time, the natural leader of any tribe was the man who could best lead the effort to take down a woolly mammoth, or to beat the opposing tribe with which they were constantly at war. And the man best suited to doing those things was often the strongest and most aggressive man.

We no longer hunt mammoths, and wars now tend to be high tech affairs, but our primitive instincts remain with us.

Vitaly Klitschko, at a well muscled six foot seven inches, is a natural leader of men. (There is one caveat to that "natural": he tested positive for steroids in 1996, at the end of his amateur career, but has tested clean since.)

Klitschko recently announced that he intends to run in the 2015 Ukrainian Presidential election. I would recommend this as his campaign poster:

The picture would, in a way, lend credibility to whatever caption he chose:

"I will crush our enemies!"

"I will stamp out corruption!"

"This is what I will do to inflation!"

"I will fight for the people of the Ukraine!"

Or, ironically:

"Vitaly Klitschko -- the candidate of peace!"

(Klitschko does in fact favor greater Ukraine-NATO cooperation, and he and his brother have worked for UNESCO.)

In any case, whatever Klitschko promised, that picture would send the message that he is not just another hack politician making empty promises, but a man who backs up his words with action.

I'm joking, of course, but if he actually did use it, it would likely get him some votes. It would appeal to atavistic notions of what a leader should be. Plus he has that every-man-wants-to-be-him-and-every woman-wants-to-do-him sort of appeal.

As for the steroids, when I mentioned this to my son, he suggested that all national leaders be required to take steroids, "just to help them make the right decisions…..well, the more manly decisions, anyway."

Charlemagne was said to have been six feet six inches, which made him even more of an anomaly in a day when the average man stood five foot six inches tall. There's nothing like towering over other men -- and embodying the implicit threat of physical violence -- to give one a commanding presence.

It's really not all that different in spirit from Californians having electing Arnold Schwarzenegger their Governor. Of course, he was only a fake warrior, whereas Vitaly is a real one. But, he was a real movie star. And more to the point of this post, he was a commanding physical presence. Ultimately, the Governator was unable to muscle his agenda through the state legislature, and ended up bogged down by the minutiae of politics. But that didn't mean that a big part of his constituency didn't secretly long for Schwarzenegger to exert his will Conan the Barbarian-style.

Vladimir Putin is evidently a huge fan of Fedor Emelianenko, the mixed martial artist. It would be interesting to see what his reaction would be to a President Klitschko. My guess is, he will instinctively have a more visceral regard for him, perhaps even to the point of not following through with his threats to cut off those natural gas supplies.

Klitschko's younger brother, 6' 6" Wladimir, is the current WBA, IBF, WBO, and IBO heavyweight champion. There must be a place for him in a Klitschko administration. Perhaps Vitaly could appoint him Attorney General, the same way John F. Kennedy appointed his brother Bobby to that position. Or better yet, name him as his Vice President. This would ensure a virile image for the country for years to come.

Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing the US turn in a similar direction. As my son said back when he was in high school, "As long as we're going to have a black President, why couldn't we get someone exciting, like Mike Tyson?"

Obama's selfie

There's been a lot of talk in the press lately about the way Obama took a selfie with Denmark's Prime Minister Helle Thorning-Schmidt and British Prime Minister David Cameron at Nelson Mandela's memorial service recently:

Most of the commenters have criticized Obama for showing disrespect at what is supposed to be a solemn occasion. And many have noted Michelle Obama's disapproving expression while these shenanigans were going on.

Some have even said how hypocritical this seems, especially given that when Mandela died, Obama ordered all federal flags to be flown at half mast, something almost never done for a foreign leader.

But perhaps there is a different take on all this. Perhaps our Fearless Leader is merely showing courage in the face of what must be a devastating personal loss for him. Perhaps he is simply trying to cover up his grief.

Or perhaps not.

Whatever your interpretation, a picture of someone taking a picture of himself is worth a thousand words.

Those Russians are tough

There are subcultures of toughness in the US. Any criminal gang -- black, white, or Hispanic -- is going to esteem toughness. The military obviously does. And jailhouse culture is all about proving you're not a "punk."

Among whites, both Irish-Americans and Italian-Americans seem to have more than their share of self-proclaimed tough guys. In general, the Irish seem to pride themselves on being tougher than the English (both here and in the UK). It's a little the same way Norwegians pride themselves on being tougher than Swedes, both here and in Scandinavia. (Those Old World rivalries die hard.)

In today's America, though, much of the toughness is just Sylvester Stallone-ish posturing. (What is Stallone, after all, but a more intelligent and successful version of the Jersey Shore boys?) It's an ersatz, for-show version of toughness: take steroids, lift weights, strut around in a muscle shirt, try to look manly, and if you're lucky, have people film you. The Italian Mafia can be tough on other people -- but the ability to inflict pain on others is an altogether different quality than a willingness to undergo it yourself.

The Russians shine in both regards. They have a culture of toughness, and they seem to venerate the quality for its own sake.

It may have something to do with having being toughened by years of communism. But it goes beyond that. There are plenty of other places -- like most of Eastern Europe -- which suffered under years of communist rule, but which simply don't place the same premium upon stoicism and grit.

The prominence of combat sports can be a fair barometer of the character of a people (think tae kwon do in Korea), and Sambo (a form of grappling) is a popular sport in Russia. Fedor Emilianenko, considered by many to have been the greatest mixed martial artist of all time, was also a four time world sambo champion. He was known for his calm, businesslike demeanor while fighting. Here is a good example of that.

While Fedor was the greater MMA fighter, his brother Aleksandr Emilianenko, a three time world sambo champion, may be an even better embodiment of Russian toughness. Here is his brief fight against the pumped up, posturing James Thompson. Aleksandr somehow managed to look not only calm, but downright bored, not only before and after, but even during the fight. Aleksandr spent three and a half years in jail (in Russia, one doesn't get those kinds of tattoos, especially those stars on the front of the shoulders, without earning them). And Alexander reportedly goes bear hunting with just a pitchfork and a knife. (C'mon, it wouldn't be sporting if the bear didn't stand a chance.)

A man who had once visited some brothels in Prague told me that they employed Russian ex-military guys as security men there. He described these guys as "all muscle, arms covered with tattoos, probably in their thirties but with their crew cuts already going gray, with these incredibly hard faces which looked as if they hadn't smiled in about ten years."

A recent article in the NY Times about training Russian flight attendants explained that the biggest hurdle seemed to be to get them to smile. (A culture which venerates toughness does not engender smiley face, have-a-nice-day personalities.)

Prison shows are a staple on various cable channels these days. Most emphasize the harshness and brutality of life behind bars. There was a show about a Russian prison recently; it made even the American supermax jails look like summer camp.

Consider how the national character of our two countries is reflected by our leaders. There's no doubting Vladimir Putin's no-nonsense, realpolitik attitudes. Our President, on the other hand, is Barack Obama.

We could wish for a more formidable leader like Putin, but do we deserve one? As long as enough of us are willing to be brainwashed by the mainstream media, we probably deserve a President who is the embodiment of political correctness.

Others who've had firsthand experience with Russians tend to agree.

Last year my daughter was a freshman in college. She was assigned a roommate from Moscow, who came to stay with us over Thanksgiving. This girl was intelligent, well-mannered, good-natured, and extremely enamored of the US. At one point I asked her who she thought was tougher, Russians or Americans. I knew beforehand what her answer would be, but was curious as to exactly how she'd say it. She didn't hesitate: "Oh, Russians."

This past summer when I was in London, I chatted for a while with a South African woman, a former ballerina studying to be a midwife. She was a Boer, and back home she had helped her uncle illegally poach game. (She could still skin a sheep with a knife.) The Boers are a plain-spoken lot; she mentioned that her father had told her she was "pretty from far, but far from pretty," meaning that she wasn't good-looking up close -- not the kind of thing most American fathers would say. She herself had gotten her ten-year-old son over his fear of the ocean by forcing him to swim out alone beyond the breakers; this, too, is not the usual American way. In any case, at one point I asked her what the Russians in London were like. She immediately responded with a shudder, "Oh those Russians, they're tough."

(If you haven't clicked yet on the link to Aleksandr Emelianenko's fight, it's worth a look; he is the quintessential Russian.)