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Are digital technologies making politics impossible?

The Mask of Anonymous

“Well, maybe this: If you want to satirize the condition of a society, going after the apex of the pyramid is a waste of time. You need to attack the bottom. … And this requires the satirist to present the average citizen as a naïve sheep who fails to realize the hopelessness of his or her position.”   – Chuck Klosterman, I Wear The Black Hat

On January 27, 2000, President Bill Clinton congratulated his fellow Americans and himself, in his State of the Union speech:

“We are fortunate to be alive at this moment in history. Never before has our nation enjoyed, at once, so much prosperity and social progress with so little internal crisis and so few external threats. Never before have we had such a blessed opportunity and, therefore, such a profound obligation to build the more perfect Union of our Founders’ dreams.  We begin the new century with over 20 million new jobs; the fastest economic growth in more than 30 years; the lowest unemployment rates in 30 years; the lowest poverty rates in 20 years; the lowest African-American and Hispanic unemployment rates on record; the first back-to-back surpluses in 42 years; and next month, America will achieve the longest period of economic growth in our entire history.”

Academics wrote of the end of history.

By Mike Davidson for Hillary for America

By Mike Davidson for Hillary for America

Recently though, politics has not been so grand nor so compassionate. Examples are abundant; here are just a few: the U.S. Congress’s pitiful response to the ZIKA virus, the corruption scandals in Brazil, Malaysia and South Korea, the imploding economy of Venezuela, Zimbabwean hyperinflation, the bank note farce in India, and a horrible war in Syria, and another in South Sudan. This sorry state of affairs has become normal for our post-millennium times, yet 2016 will be unique due to two events, BREXIT and the election of President Trump. Two others should also get an honorable mention: the ‘No’ vote in the Italian referendum, and the narrow defeat of Nobert Hofer, who belongs to the far-right Alliance party, in the Austrian Presidential Election. Hofer might have been the first far-right European president since World War II.

In the postmortems on the European events in the U.K., Italy and Austria, the phrase “digital technologies” was not bandied about much, nor how it threatened democracy much discussed, although hindsight may reveal a bunch of malign influences, murky conspiracy, and sinister programmers. During the BREXIT debate, there was plenty of lying of the good old fashioned kind; the most egregious porkie (rhyming slang: pork pie) was the big red bus emblazoned with “We send the EU ₤350 million a week”, and “let’s fund our NHS instead”. At any other time, any one of the European dramas would be a big thing, much discussed in the media. The honorable mentions might fizzle away. BREXIT will take years to effect, and yet may die – an anencephalic left in a side ward. Then, there is the surreality of Donald Trump becoming the 45th President of the United States of America.

This was so wildly improbable back in December 2015 that a bet placed on Trump would now yield 18 times the original stake. How did The Donald pull it off? Three days after her defeat, Hillary Clinton blamed her loss on FBI director, James B. Comey, and his announcement eleven days before the election. By December 8, she knew that: “It’s now clear that so-called fake news can have real-world consequences”, and implied that she had been robbed in the 2016 Presidential Election by fake news planted in the social media, principally Facebook. The CIA says they can prove that the Russian government was behind the hackers. The FBI isn’t so sure, maybe. The right-wing news website breitbart.com, which is run by President Trump’s (first) political strategist, has called the CIA reports fake news. Meanwhile, President Obama agreed that he had warned the Russians about hacking and has evicted a few from American soil, which brings us to the topic of this essay: “Are digital technologies making politics impossible?” As a high school term paper, a resulting essay might look something like this:

Digital technologies are what computers turned into and they are everywhere, even my dog. In olden times, computers printed things like the Snoopy my gran’ma has in her restroom downstairs. Then the hippies in California invented The Internet and PC’s, and soon everyone was happy and sending emails all the time. Then they got even happier when Mark Zuckerberg invented Facebook and it became real easy to share pictures, messages and things with their friends. Now everyone spends hours and hours on Facebook, and don’t even watch TV no more.

Politics is what governments do. The government is run by people like Hillary Clinton and Barak Obama. Politics is about stuff what happens in other countries far away where they don’t have a clue how to do things right. Out there there are lots of really bad people like in Russia there is a very bad man called Putin, and other places there is ISIS who is also really, really scary.

Politics became impossible this year, because Donald Trump beat Hillary Clinton in the American election. Hillary is much better at politics and has lots of friends in Washington D.C. and

New York, and said she could do things to help people. Donald Trump is really, really rich, like a billionaire, and is famous for being on “The Apprentice”. He would say “You’re fired”. He don’t know anything about politics and is friends with that Putin guy in Russia.

Hillary Clinton lost because of Fake News. Like I said, everyone spends their time on Facebook and don’t watch TV much. They get news from their friends. This is called echo chambers. Because everyone trusts their friends that bad man Putin paid people to pretend to be everyone’s friend and tell awful lies. That Jestin Coler says right-wing people believe anything bad about colored people, China, gays, Democrats, the left-wing media conspiracy and Hillary Clinton.

Fixing fake news is difficult because like I said right-wing people like it, and don’t care much if most people think they are stupid. Some people make money making fake news, sometimes a lot. We need to copy China. China has a Great Chinese Firewall and can tell whether the news is from China or just fake. If you live in China and you send fake news a police man will take you to a special camp to educate you. That might work here.

This fictional essay, from one of Klosterman’s naïve sheep might be worth a B minus – appalling academese, I know, but it’s a fair summary of the Fake News circus of Spring 2017. Would Hillary Clinton substantially improve on its substantive? She did leave US national security to a computer you might buy at Best Buy. Her fellow Democrats fared little better.

The blistering pace of modern invention leaves everyone a little amnesiac. It wasn’t so long ago that a mobile phone was the size of a brick, and computer programs PUSHed and POPped data a byte at a time. Any worthwhile book on “digital technologies” ought to define what the beast is, describe it and how it got to be. This ought to be eminently readable but also tech savvy, touching on areas such as the Deep Web, Dark Fiber, Deep Mind, and perhaps Deep Thought.

In my opinion, there are two crucial facts that the Fake-News FBI-conspiracy circus is uncannily obtuse about.

Thing1:

The first fact is the failure of the polls to predict President Trump. Newsweek reported: “By almost every metric, Clinton was the favorite to win. Trump’s presupposed loss was so unanimous among the political pundit class that he was used as an example to put the 2016 World Series into context. On October 30, after the Cubs fell behind to the Indians two games to one, FiveThirtyEight gave the Chicago squad less chance than our current president elect …. It should have been a sign.” That is except for The National “Enquirer: The Voice Of America!”, who along with an exposé about Tom Cruise’s girlfriend starring in a lesbian porn movie, claimed that, “The ENQUIRER drove light years ahead of the “lame”stream media …. Though The ENQUIRER did not follow the strict rules statistical samples, they proved to be the ONLY accurate results”. Perhaps Agent K’s assessment in Men In Black is true:

Kay: [at newsstand] We’ll check the hot sheets.

Jay: *These* are the hot sheets?

Kay: Best investigative reporting on the planet. Read the New York Times if you want, they get lucky sometimes.

Jay: I cannot believe you’re looking for tips in the supermarket tabloids.

Kay: [front-age article about farmer’s stolen skin] Not looking for. Found.

Quality Journalism Means an Informed Citizenry by Mike Licht

Quality Journalism Means an Informed Citizenry by Mike Licht

Thing2

The second fact is that the supposed chuckleheads who voted Trump into the Presidency and the spinsters from Rhyl who voted for BREXIT agreed with Thomas Piketty and his tome, Capital in the Twenty-First Century. I doubt that Brer Cletis et al. have heard of Piketty, nor do they know much about negative interest rates, Gaussian copula functions or the Panama Papers, but they have intuited the principle political truth of our times: the richer you are the richer you are getting, and this is now a problem. Although one should not go overboard about the wisdom of crowds, the Trump presidency clearly shows that the Trumpers and Trumpettes know that Globalization has made Thing2 The Problem.

Finally, the bad side of Globalization has become a political hot potato. We are lucky that it happened, and if social media contributed to it, that too is good. Back in 2002, Bo Karlson et al. from Wireless@KST published the seminal Wireless Foresight: Scenarios of the Mobile World in 2015. The book is prescient, as it predicts Fitbits, Google Glass, Siri, Netflix, Internet of Things, and has much to say about how this was to come about. It posits four scenarios: two were slow and environmentally friendly, one was disruptive and the last Orwellian. Karlson favored the disruptive “Wireless Explosion – Creative Destruction” scenario. This is the one we got: we won.

Panama Papers

Panama Papers

Any worthwhile book on modern global politics, possible or otherwise, ought to describe how the world became a village and the roles that digital technology played in this process. Such a book ought to examine how power has bled away from nations to organizations, bigger and smaller, which may ignore national boundaries and can manipulate national law. An example is the wrangle about taxes between Apple, Eire and the EU.

Just over one hundred years ago, in one day, 84,710 men from France, men from Britain, and men from Germany died a violent death in a field in Flanders. They had their faults but they also had families, friends and sweet-hearts. At Christmas, they had sung Silent Night. Such loss shattered the notion of Pro Patria Mori, destroyed the four absolute monarchies which entered the war, and would take supreme world power away from Europeans and give it to others. Today, we marvel at how the decision-makers chose a War to End All Wars. Also, we are reminded that many of their considerations were frankly trivial and how they sheltered under a common delusion that their choices could not harm them personally. Comparing their times and ours, we find that equality in wealth is roughly the same, elites who are aloof, fearful, and ill-prepared, technology that has run well beyond the ken of all but a handful, and most people dispirited and poor. To this, our times can add global warming, unprecedented environmental destruction, tens of millions of refugees and atomic bombs. What could go wrong?

So, say should The Donald and Teresa and buddies be unable to recast our world, do we, we humans, have a Plan B? One that does not involve hundreds of millions of people dying. One that does not wreck our planet, forever. One that attempts to live up to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Any worthwhile book ought to suggest ways to recast our world. I believe we can, we will, and that it will be quick. After all, gay marriage became law in only a few short years. We have the technology, we have the talent, how might it happen?

A mustard seed

Cognitive Bias Codex - 180+biases, designed by John Manoogian III

Cognitive Bias Codex – 180+biases, designed by John Manoogian III

We love stories. We met them in childhood when we learn their conventions. They grow up with us and are pressed into business, history and politics. The adult world employs those linear, narrative conventions found in fairy stories to shape our understanding and our reasoning. The same tools are used to make sense of the Norman Conquest and World War 2, Fibonacci’s Liber Abaci and Quantum Mechanics, and the invention of the printing press and the Industrial Revolution. The minuscule size of the human working memory means that anything more complex than a Russian novel requires a crib sheet.

The usual workaround in the study of the past is to focus on a few individuals or events, and exclude the rest into a fuzzy background, occasionally narrated by Charlie Brown’s teacher. Complexity is hidden within flabby labels, caricature and generalization. When writ small, as in a TV show, these errors are magnified: traditions and peoples are squashed into cartoonish stereotypes, and the world is drawn as a spectator event viewed through soap opera glasses. This simplification has real world consequences. Did Aleppo fall to Assad partly because the US media portrayed his enemies primarily as jihadists like ISIS? No wonder Vladimir Putin pores over and vets school textbooks.

The world is now too complicated to rely on narrative technique alone; story telling needs an upgrade.

A good model for the process of this upgrade is the development of the procedural computer language C into the Object-Oriented C++. Bjarne Stroupstrup did this by adding keywords, so C++ is commonly described as a superset of C. The purpose of the Object-Oriented methodology is to reduce computer bugs by making code reuse part of the design of the language and to promote careful thought at the start of a project, rather than optional.

CPT-OOP objects and classes

CPT-OOP objects and classes

My book will suggest candidates for History++..  Descriptive linguistics and the Classic Style in writing are promising. History++  would be at home with math, be it Game Theory, Statistics, or Linear Modeling. It would facilitate connecting humans, history and Big Data. It would recognize that people are people, and listen to Kahneman and Tversky. It would live in a real world of volcanos and famines, the Life-World and bacteria, fashion and sex.

History++ would eschew magic. Its Classic Style would deal in concrete events, choices, and where possible measures. These are bound together in a causal network. They are effected by an environment, including all the above and more, marshalled by a notion from descriptive linguistics: some rules are necessary, e.g. Newtonian physics, and others are optional to various degrees, all are relevant at the cutting face.

The continuum of human life and events, are not loped into ages of this material or that person. Instead, it grounded in Rubicon events, which have direct and indirect participants who make choices and who have their own histories, agenda and character; events framed by beliefs, the natural world, and technology; events that are essential to understanding the world they leave in their wake. Caesar’s Rubicon choice is not one of these Rubicon events; if he won big in Gallia, he always intended to return to Rome. One such event is the arrival Cortez’s first treasure ship at Seville, on December 9, 1519.

Labels should be scrutinized. Flabby ones, with their overflowing steamer trunks of baggage, would be ridiculed and discarded. For example, “populism”: it has become the cliché of a speaker, no one in particular, rabble rousing. It connotes Mark Antony, Elizabeth I, Winston Churchill, Mussolini, Martin Luther King and Donald Trump. It’s quintessentially snobby and smug, and should be retired, immediately. History++ would employ the notion, borrowed from Object Oriented program design, called encapsulation. By requiring a strict provenance, History++ would limit 20:20 hindsight and woolly pontification. Its aim is the eloquent simplicity of the C++ keyword, “this”.

For example: How does narrative interpret the choices made by Henry, second of that name King of England, Count of Anjou, Duke of Normandy, and Lord of Ireland, and in particular his support for the common law? Simon Schama’s narrative view, in his excellent “A History of Britain”, is that Henry chose trial by jury because he honored his coronation oath, i.e. Henry was a nice guy and deserves a statue in Parliament Square.

Bueno de Mesquita’s game theory approach suggests that his choice was financial and part of the cold war against the Pope. He chose trial by jury over trial by ordeal, because trial by ordeal was miraculous and the business of the church. It was good business, too, and, for Henry, depriving the church of a nice little earner was a good move. So, a 12th Century squabble over land becomes a part of the stream of events which leads to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The difficult birth of a German king and the hemophilia of the son of another are part of the event stream leading to World War I.

History++ really takes off when it leaves the halls of academia.

this is aztec gold. for real by erin leigh mcconnell

this is aztec gold. for real by erin leigh mcconnell

This how I envision the first block of the 6th grade history class, History of the America. Teacher comes in, takes the register, and announces that today is August 27, 1520. You are either a spices merchant in the town of Ghent, or the spice mechant’s wife. Today you are going to see the treasures on display bought to Ghent by Charles V, the Spanish king. On the way in you bump into a German artist called Albrecht Dürer. You see golden bells, “earrings and nose ornaments of exquisite workmanship, and feathered ornaments mounted in jewels, and there were even ‘books such as the Indians use.” There was an Aztec calendar, “a golden wheel ‘seventy-nine inches in diameter, of a thickness four reales’’ cover in magic symbols and malevolent gargoyles. A ceremonial shield made of feathers. You are rather frightened by the four Aztec warriors dressed in war paint, feathers and precious little else. Ok, kids, I have a question for you: how do we know any of this is true? The teacher quotes Dürer’s diary for that day, and by the by introduces the class to the notion of primary sources. Mrs. Krabappel now invites questions and there are so many of them. The rest of the class, she spends curating those questions as per the teacher’s guide, assigning who will investigate and report on what, all in preparation for next lesson, the Spice merchant’s source of pepper. a Portuguese which leads us to Prince John, the rounding of that African cape, and the dedication of Hagia Sophia and the fall of Constantinople. Back to Charles V’s grandparents, Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile, the Fall of Granada, the Spanish Inquisition, and Columbus, and Pre-Columbia America. The Vikings.  Arrival of the French and then the Brits.

Public policy might model Bueno de Mesquita’s predictions about Iran. Imagine the US sitting down to negotiate with Iran with his game plan. Public policy would require little to be hidden. News reportage would no longer be a TV soap but a sports report.

Of course, there will be timid souls, historians afraid of math, officials guzzling the gravy train, who would prefer the current ruinous state of affairs. I hope this idea will find friends with the intellectual courage, the insight and the foresight to bring it to the world soon.

Once done, the superset nature of this idea make it antifragile; criticism can only make it stronger. Our global networks would give it geometric growth, and as Albert Einstein said “Compound interest is the eighth wonder of the world. … .” It would be wonderful if we could say of our work, the words written by Martin Luther of his faith:

“Oh, it is a living, busy, active, mighty thing,… .”

 

Omnivore’s Dilemma: The Professor and the Wild Pig

The Bison at Altamira

Meal number four

For meal number four, Professor Pollan wanted to get the grub the good old fashioned way, old as in Paleolithic Age old, but he has a problem: “I had never hunted in my life.” It gets worse.

“Being a somewhat accident-prone individual (childhood mishaps included getting bitten in the cheek by a seagull and breaking my nose falling out of bed).”  Moreover, his “father looked upon hunting as a human activity that had stopped making sense with the invention of the steakhouse.”

So how did Pollan’s mum fare? “Thanks to my mother’s more extensive engagement with the natural world, I did have some childhood experience. These elementary foraging expeditions were always accompanied by scary surgeon general-like warnings from my mother about the deadly poisons lurking in berries and mushrooms growing in the wild: she made it sound like it wouldn’t take much for a kid to get himself killed snacking in the woods.”

The poor boy was a danger to himself, even without a gun, and was fungiphobic. Still, he was intent on escaping the cube farm.

“… I had decided that this meal should feature representatives of all three edible kingdoms: animal, vegetable, and fungi. I was about as ill prepared to hunt the former and gather the latter as an eater could possibly be.”

The lack of fire arm proficiency was just too galling: “…a line of Henry David Thoreau’s that had irritated me when I first came across it years ago. ‘We cannot but pity the boy who has never fired a gun,’ he wrote in Walden. ‘He is no more humane, while his education has been sadly neglected.’ That pitiable, uneducated boy was me.”

Gun: tick.

Mushrooms: Well, “Mushroom hunting was to me the very soul of foraging, throwing both the risks and rewards of eating from the wild into the sharpest possible relief. … If I hoped to host representatives of all three kingdoms on my plate, learning to distinguish the delicious from the deadly among the fungi was a necessity

Mushrooms: tick.

Divina Commedia

Pollan needed help. “What if I actually managed to kill something-then what? How do you ‘dress’ an animal you’ve killed? (And what kind of euphemism is that, anyway?)” He will get to almost throw up while dressing his pig. “What I badly needed, I realized, was my own personal foraging Virgil, a fellow not only skilled in the arts of hunting and gathering (and butchering), but also well versed in the flora, fauna, and fungi of Northern California, about which I knew approximately nothing. “As serendipity would have it, a foraging Virgil appeared in my life at exactly the right moment, though it took me a while to recognize him.”

Dante et Vergil dans le neuvième cercle de l'enfer par Gustave Doré

Dante et Vergil dans le neuvième cercle de l’enfer par Gustave Doré

Why Virgil? Does he need Thunderbird 2? Surely Scott in Thunderbird 1 would be a better choice. Ah, no. Pollan is indulging in a literary conceit. A long, long time ago, a poet called Durante degli Alighieri, or the more manageable Dante, was exiled from his home town of Firenze (Florence) by the Black Guelphs. Italian politics was as dysfunctional back then as now, so the machinations are complex, but suffice to say he never returned. He was in the then new wave of Italian poetry, the dolce stil novo (sweet new style, a term which Dante himself coined), and spent 20 years of exile writing Divina Commedia (Divine Comedy), expiring the following year. It is no more a comedy in the modern sense than Da Vinci’s Cartoon in the National Gallery, London is like those of the New Yorker. As the blessèd Peter Cook said of the Da Vinci sketch, “I can’t understand the joke.”

 

 

“The poem begins “Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita” (halfway along our life’s path). Dante is lost in a dark wood assailed by beasts (a lion, a leopard, and a she-wolf). Things were looking dicey for our hero when he is rescued by Virgil. This Virgil is the shade of the Latin poet, author of the epic, Aeneid. He guides Dante, down through the ten circles of the Inferno – one for each sin plus one for Lucifer, then out the bottom of Hell to the base of the mountain Purgatorio, and up its 10 terraces, and to Paradiso.

Divina Commedia “is widely considered the preeminent work in Italian literature, and is seen as one of the greatest works of world literature.” To embroider Pollan’s conceit a little, the CAFOs of Agribusiness might be his idea of Hell and, if Agribusiness were a pig, then Big Organic would be a pig with lipstick. Omnivore’s Dilemma doesn’t really have a Purgatorio, it skips straight to the Paradiso of Polyface Farm.

The most famous part of the Commedia is Inferno, which is peopled by the wicked of Dante’s time. You will find a goodly crop of clerics from Pope Boniface VIII down, assorted enemies from his days in Firenze, characters from Greco-Roman myth, and those who chose mortal sin to end their earthly misfortunes. For some of the damned, part of their punishment is to lose their human form: Pier della Vigna committed suicide and was transformed into a thorn tree which bleeds; Guido da Montefeltro, advisor to Boniface VIII, hoped that the dispensation from the Pope would let him into Paradiso, but Dante finds him in the Inferno transformed into a flame.

The adventure Pollan recounts in the 4th part of Omnivore’s Dilemma is transformational, too. The tale would never feature in the Supermarket Pastoral, the genre of advertising favored by Big Organic. He discovers his Paleolithic ancestry and its uncomfortable potency.

The Forger Virgil

“The guy was a one-man traveling food network, a poster boy for tbe Slow Food movement.”

“Angelo Garro is a stout, burly Italian with a five-day beard, sleepy brown eyes, and a passion verging on obsession about the getting and preparing of food.” He “spends many of his days in California re-creating the calendar of life in Sicily, a calendar that is strictly organized around seasonal foods.”

“’In Sicily you could tell by the smell what time of the year it was,’ he said. ‘Orange season, oranges, persimmons, olives, and olive oil.’”

But before we get to the chase, there are three chapters on human nature and food.

Our omnivore’s dilemma

The phrase “… the omnivore’s dilemma, or paradox, was first described in the 1976 paper, “The Selection of Foods by Rats, Humans, and Other Animals,” by University of Pennsylvania psychologist Paul Rozin. … Rozin found that the rat minimizes the risk of the new by treating its digestive tract as a kind of laboratory. It nibbles a very little bit of the new food (assuming it is food) and then waits to see what happens.” So, omnivores have to be smart enough to successfully recall the foods that were good and successfully distinguish them from the bad and the toxic. “In the words of Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker, ‘Disgust is intuitive microbiology’”.

Wild Pig by Andrei

Wild Pig by Andrei

Human omnivorosity ”is deeply inscribed in human bodies: “Our teeth are omnicompetent- designed for tearing animal flesh as well as grinding plants. So are our jaws, which we cm move in the manner of a carnivore, a rodent, or a herbivore, depending on the dish.”

We have used our big brains to master fire and then master cooking, “one of the omnivore’s cleverest tools, [which] opened up whole new vistas of edibility.” “Indeed, there is probably not a nutrient source on earth that is not eaten by some human somewhere – bugs, worms, dirt, fungi, lichens, seaweed, rotten fish; the roots, shoots, stems, bark, buds, flowers, seeds, and fruits of plants; every imaginable part of every imaginable animal, not to mention haggis, granola, and Chicken McNuggets.”

The omnivorous life style is part of the human toolkit, as there “does seem to be an evolutionary trade-off between big brains and big guts…” Herbivores do not have to be smart, as Sid the Sloth explained in the cartoon movie Ice Age.

Diego: You don’t know much about tracking, do you?

Sid: Hey, I’m a sloth. I see a tree, eat a leaf, that’s my tracking.

Those real-life teddy bears, the koala, only eat eucalyptus leaves which means, as “it happens, the koala’s brain is so small it doesn’t even begin to fill up its skull. Zoologists theorize that the koala once ate a more varied and mentally taxing diet than it does now, and that as it evolved toward its present, highly circumscribed concept of lunch, its underemployed brain actually shrank. (Food faddists take note.)”

To complete our toolkit, or the more sciencey “the cognitive niche”, we pass our food tips and techniques in a package “we call a cuisine [which] specifies combinations of foods and flavors that on examination do a great deal to mediate the omnivore’s dilemma. The dangers of eating raw fish, for example, are minimized by consuming it with wasabi, a potent antimicrobial. Similarly, the strong spices characteristic of many cuisines in the tropics, where food is quick to spoil, have antibacterial properties. The mesa-American practice of cooking corn with lime and serving it with beans, like the Asian practice of fermenting soy and serving it with rice, turn out to render these plant species much more nutritious than they otherwise would be.”

The trouble is “America has never had a stable cognitive niche; each immigrant population has brought its own food ways to the American table, but none has ever been powerful enough to hold the national diet very steady. We seem bent on reinventing the American way of eating every generation, in great paroxysms of neophilia and neophobia. That might explain why Americans have been such easy marks for food fads and diets of every description.”

Food fads have been in vogue in America for a long, long time. The “first golden age of American food faddism” was inaugurated by Dr. John Harvey Kellogg on September 5, 1866, when he opened “his legendarily nutty sanitarium at Battle Creek, Michigan” If you couldn’t afford to go there and get your grape only diet or hourly enemas, then you might “Fletcherize“ which meant “chewing each bite of food as many as one hundred times”. It’s inventor was-“Horace Fletcher, also known as the Great Masticator.” All of these daft ideas were promoted by “exponents [who] spoke not in terms of fashion but of scientific eating, much as we do now.”

The point of any fad is to make money; so long as it follows the letter of the law, you’re fine, consequences are the other guy’s problem. As Pollan puts it, there is a “tendency of capitalism, in its single-minded pursuit of profit, to erode the various cultural underpinnings that a steady society but often impede the march of commercialization.” Care for the bottom line trumps all other considerations.

Steakhouse Dialogues

“The first time I opened Peter Singer’s Animal Liberation I was dining alone at the Palm, trying to enjoy a rib-eye steak cooked medium rare. If that sounds like a recipe for cognitive dissonance, if not indigestion, well, …”

Pollan has a lot to say on the ethics of eating animals. Are the chickens at Polyface Farm mistreated? If so, would we prefer a vegan paradise? We humans are adept at coming up with excuses. This facility Pollan describes in a story about Benjamin Franklin. “He tells in his autobiography of one day watching friends catch fish and wondering, “If, you eat one another, I don’t see why we may not eat you. He admits, however, that this rationale didn’t occur to him until the fish were in the frying pan, beginning to smell “admirably well”. The great advantage of being a “reasonable creature,” Franklin remarks, is that you can find a reason for whatever you want to do.”

Even so, we now know humans do not make choices rationally. We emote, and justify post hoc. In sciencey speech, decisions are locked away in our limbic system. Pollan’s recalls his brief relationship with the animal he brought during his quest in beef industry. “I had been wondering what 534 would be feeling as he neared his end. Would he have any inkling – a scent of blood, a sound of terror from up the line – that this was no ordinary day? would he. in other words, suffer? [Temple] Grandin anticipated my question.” who observed cattle being feed through a chute “getting their shots, and going up the ramp at the slaughter plant. No difference. If they knew they were going to die you’d see much more agitated behavior.’”

Hunting Pigs

Autumn by Alois Wonaschuetz

Autumn by Alois Wonaschuetz

The professor is a male Homo sapiens sapiens. Hunting and killing wild animals is in his biological ancestry, so he is getting to do what evolution fashioned him to do. In a way, he’s been using his clever brain to avoid doing so; living a comfortable life in the cube farm, something that our cousins, the Neanderthals, didn’t have an option on. Pollan will discover that meeting his human past is literally surreal.

“Walking with a loaded rifle in an unfamiliar forest bristling with the signs of your prey is thrilling. It embarrasses me to write that, but it is true. I am not by nature much of a noticer, yet here, now, my attention to everything around me, and deafness to everything else, is complete.

I notice how the day’s first breezes comb the needles in the pines, producing a sotto voce whistle and an undulation in the pattern of light and shadow tattooing the tree trunks and the ground. I notice the specific density of the air. But this is not a passive or aesthetic attention; it is a hungry attention, reaching out into its surroundings like fingers, like nerves.

See that smoothly scooped-out puddle of water? That’s a wallow, but notice how the water is perfectly clear: Pigs haven’t disturbed it yet today.

Professor Pollan writes, “Approaching his prey, the hunter instinctively becomes more like the animal, straining to make himself less visible, less audible, more exquisitely alert. predator and prey alike move according to their own maps of this ground, their own forms of attention, and their own systems of instinct, systems that evolved expressly to hasten or avert precisely this encounter … “

This experience is truly disconcerting.

“WAIT A MINUTE. Did I really write that last paragraph? I recognize this kind of prose: hunter porn. And whenever I’ve read it in the past, in Ortega Y Gasset and Hemingway and all those hard-bitten, big-bearded American wilderness writers who still pine for the Pleistocene. it never failed to roll my eyes.

And yet here I find myself sliding into the hunter’s ecstatic purple, channeling Ortega -Y Gasset.”

Slightly less disconcerting was the reception of his hunter persona by civilized humans. After “my second trip hunting with Angelo when, … we stopped in at a convenience store … . The two of us were exhausted and filthy, the fronts of our jeans stained dark with blood. …

And under the bright fluorescence of the 7-Eleven, in the mirror behind the cigarette rack behind the cashier, I caught a glimpse of this grungy pair of self-satisfied animal killers and noted the wide berth the other customers in line were only too happy to grant us. It is a wonder that the cashier didn’t preemptively throw contents of the cash register.”

Them pigs ain’t gonna hunt themselves

Pollan started training for his quest: “I had tried out my rifle only once before taking it to the woods, at a firing range in the Oakland Hills, and by the end of the morning my paper target had sustained considerably less damage than my left shoulder, which ached for a week.”

And before we get too sorry for the pigs, he points out that in Sonoma County: “The animal is regarded as a pest in many parts of California” and “They are also, by reputation, vicious; one of the nicknames the California pig has earned is ‘dog ripper’.”

Now that the Prof has embarked on the adventure, he has to put any qualms aside; his Virgil is determined and compelling. “’You are going to kill your first pig today’, Angelo shouted over the roar of the engine. Given the nature of hunting, not to mention me, I understood this as less a prediction than a prayer.”

The experience unfolds: “When I could hear Angelo’s footsteps no more my ears and eyes started tuning in-everything. It was as if I’d dialed up the gain on started tuning in – everything.

I found I could see farther into the woods than I ever had before, picking out the tiniest changes in my visual field at an almost inconceivable distance, just so long as those changes involved movement or blackness. The sharpness of focus and depth of field was uncanny, ‘Hunter’s eye’, Angelo said later when I described the phenomenon; he knew all about it.

Later it occurred to me that this mental state, which I quite liked, in many ways resembled the one induced by smoking marijuana…”

The lucky fellow has great cannabis memories; some people just become giddy. The active ingredients of cannabis, the cannabinoids, stimulate the “brain’s ’cannabinoid network’”.  Human brains have receptors for THC, and for anandamine, an endogenous neurotransmitter, which implies that there is a serious role for the cannabinoid network. Pollan suggests that this network has evolved to tune a hunter’s mind to the task at hand. When asked about the cannabinoid network and the role of anandamine, regular pharmacologists plump for their default hypothesis of pain and reward. I prefer Pollan’s hypothesis Anything but the musings of scientists betraying the pervasive conditioning brought to us by their employers.

“Later, when [Pollan] reread Ortega Y Gasset’s description of the experience, I decided that maybe he wasn’t so crazy after all, not even when he asserted that hunting offers us our last best chance to escape history and the state of nature, if only for a time – for what he called a ‘vacation from the human condition.’”

The cannabinoid network even comes with automatic debrief. “It’s curious how the hunting story takes shape in the minutes after the shot, as you work through the chaotic simultaneous of that lightning, elusive moment, trying to tease out of the adrenaline fog something linear and comprehensible.”

“Having introduced a loaded gun …“,

“ … in Act One, the curtain can’t come down until it is fired”. Pollan becomes oppressed by Chekhov and his dictate. Why? Prof missed; close but no cigar (or pig, in this case). A lesser man would have been content to call it a day. but he had not only Chekhov guilting him, he would disappoint Angelo. Then, there was Señor Ortega Y Gasset, Pollan’s literary guide to the hunt. Ortega Y Gasset would understand, smile sadly, and suggest that he had achieved a “platonic” understanding of the hunt, akin to bird watching. The Señor wrote, “Platonism represents the maximum tradition of affected piety.” That kind of affection was not for the Prof, he determined to try again, and consummate the experience.

“The crystal stillness of the scene and the moment in time now exploded into a thousand shards of sense. Something like the fog of war now descended on the scene, and I’m uncertain exactly what happened next, but I believe Angelo fired a second time. Angelo clapped me on the back and congratulated me extravagantly. ‘Your first pig! Look at the size of it. And with a perfect shot, right in the head.’, Angelo continued, “You got yourself a big one. That’s some very nice prosciutto!”

It was a big pig; it weighed “190 pounds. The pig weighed exactly as much as [Pollan] did.” Then, he learns all about the dressing-a-pig thing: “Dead bodies are awkward, among other things, and negotiating one this big proved a difficult, clumsy, and oddly intimate operation.” To Angelo, though, all of it was normal, indeed, “[Pollan] could not believe Angelo was still talking about food. “ They managed to haul the bulky animal back to the truck and suspended from a custom made crane on the truck’s stern.

Undressing a Pig

“Next Angelo made a shallow incision along an equator circling the pig’s belly and began to gently work the hide loose. I held down a narrow flap of skin while he cut into the fat behind it, leaving as much of the creamy white adipose layer on the carcass as possible. ‘This is really good fat,’ Angelo explained, ‘for the salami.’”

Quickly they had an audience: “… a pair of turkey vultures [circled] high overhead, patiently waiting for us to finish. Whatever parts of this pig we didn’t take the local fauna were preparing to set upon and consume, weaving this bonanza of fat and protein back into the fabric of the land. Pollan dutifully “held the [animal’s stomach] cavity open while Angelo reached in to pull out the mass of organs …”

He “reached in and pulled gently and the rest of the viscera tumbled out onto the ground in a heap, up from which rose a stench so awful it made me gag. This. was not just the stink of pig shit or piss but those comparatively benign smells compounded by an odor so wretched and ancient that death alone could release it.

I still had my arms wrapped around the pig from behind, holding it steady and open, but I needed, badly, to break away for a moment to lo-care an uncontaminated breath.

What disgusted me about “cleaning” the animal was just how messy – in every sense of the word – the process really was, how it forced me to look at and smell and touch and even to taste the death, at my hands, of a creature my size that, on the inside at least, had all the same parts and probably looked an awful lot like I did.”

The yucky bit, thankfully, came to an end. Professor Pollan had successfully killed his pig. He, Angelo and Ortega Y Gasset could be proud, and Prof could return to real life. That evening, Angelo sent him an email entitled Look the great hunter! with some photo attachments. Pollan was keen to show his family, so he opened one.

“The image that appeared on my computer screen hit me like an unexpected blow to the body. A hunter in an orange sweater was kneeling observing some hoary convention of the hunter’s trophy portrait. One proprietary hand rests on the dead animal’s broad flank. The man is looking into the camera with an expression of unbounded pride, wearing a big shit-eating grin that might have been winning, if perhaps incomprehensible, had the bloodied carcass sprawled beneath him been cropped out of the frame.

What could I possibly have been thinking? What was the man in that picture feeling?”

 

The mushrooms stalk the Prof

“Nature, as the Woody Allen character says in Love and Death is like an enormous restaurant.” Quite how Woody Allen, an icon of New York City life, might know I’ll leave for your musings. The Prof finds that: “It was almost as if I had donned a new pair of glasses that divided the natural world into the possibly good to eat and the probably not.” He saw “clumps of miner’s lettuce off in the shade (Claytonia, a succulent coin-shaped green I had once grown in my Connecticut garden) and wild mustard out in the sun. {Angelo called it rapini. and said the young leaves: were delicious sautéed in olive oil and garlic.”

In his newly found vigilance, the mushrooms made an appearance. “Hiking in the Berkeley Hills one afternoon in January I noticed a narrow shady path dropping off the main trail into the woods, and I followed it down into a grove of big oaks and bay laurel trees.”

“I noticed a bright, yolky glimmer of something pushing up the carpet of leaves not two feet from where I’d just stepped. I brushed away the leaves and there it was, this big, fleshy, vase-shaped mushroom that I was dead certain had to be a chanterelle.” Bingo!

“I took the mushroom home, brushed off the soil, and put it on a plate, then pulled out my field guides to see if I could confirm the identification. Everything matched up: the color, the faint apricot smell, the asymmetrical trumpet shape on top, the underside etched in a shallow pattern of “false” gills.” Getting warm.

He “felt fairly confident. But confident enough to eat it? Not quite. The field guide mentioned something called a false chanterelle that had slightly thinner gills. Uh oh. Thinner, thicker …”

Damn!                         Prof, the Chanterelle hunter: 0          Prof’s fungiphobia: 1

Pig: Tick, Mushrooms: Next

“Isn’t it curious how in so many of our pastimes and hobbies we play at supplying one or another of our fundamental creaturely needs-for food, shelter, even clothing? So some people knit, others build things …” In Bavaria, after a full week’s work building BMWs, the German male with his German son will don identikit overalls and toolbelts, and set about building houses. Fun should be taken seriously.

Chanterelles by Charles de Mille-Isles

Chanterelles by Charles de Mille-Isles

Professor Pollan likes to garden, and has done so “since [he] was ten years old, when [he] planted a “farm” in [his] parents’ suburban yard and set up a farm stand patronized, pretty much exclusively, by [his] mother.” Garden[ing] is diverting: “mostly comic dialogue with other species”, and awesome: “… the fact that by planting and working an ordinary patch of dirt you could in a few months’ time harvest things of taste and value was, for me, nature’s most enduring astonishment. It still is.”

Still, none of this is going to help in the mushroom hunt, and there is another problem: “Mushroom hunters are famously protective of their spots, and a good chanterelle spot is a precious personal possession ….” He “… asked a slew of acquaintances [he] knew to be mycophiles [literally mushroom lovers] if I might accompany them. (The Bay Area is home to many such people, probably because mushroom hunting marries the regions two guiding obsessions: eating and the outdoors.)”

Pollan discovers that the reaction to this seemingly innocuous request might have been caused by something done by Ted, the teddy bear, in Seth MacFarlane’s movie, Ted. “You could see at once that this was an entirely outrageous request, tantamount to asking if I might borrow their credit card for the afternoon.” Even the urbane fellow pig-hunter, Jean-Pierre fended him off, and others employed :“…the same joke: “Sure. you can come mushroom hunting with me, but I must tell you that immediately afterward I will have to kill you.”

Luckily, the Prof had his Virgil. “I was beginning to think it was hopeless, that I was going to have to learn to hunt mushrooms from books-a dubious, not to mention dangerous, proposition. And then Angelo called.” After Pollan had finished skipping around in glee, a period of mature reflection set in, so he wrote: “Though l probably shouldn’t overstate Angelo’s generosity. The place he took me mushrooming was on private and gated land owned by an old friend of his, so it wasn’t as though he was giving away the family jewels.”

“The chanterelle is a mycorrhizal species, which means it lives in association with the roots of plants – oak trees, in the chanterelle’s case, and usually oak trees of a venerable age.” Angelo had taken him to an oak grove where he was on first name terms with every single tree.

“I looked around my tree for a few minutes, walking a stooped circle under its drip line, flicking the leaf litter here and there with my stick, but I saw nothing. Eventually Angelo came over and pointed to a spot no more than a yard from where I stood. I looked, I stared, but still saw nothing but a chaotic field of tan leaves and tangled branches. Angelo got down on his knees and brushed the leaves and soil away to reveal a bright squash-colored trumpet the size of his fist. He cut it at the base with a knife and handed it to me; the mushroom was unexpectedly heavy, and cool to the touch.

How in the world had he spotted it?”

Morel Mushroom by Clayton Sieg

Morel Mushroom by Clayton Sieg

The age-old reason: practice. That’s “apparently how it goes with hunting mushrooms: You have to get your eyes on”, and “before the morning was out [he]’d begun to find a few chanterelles on my own. [He] began to understand what it meant to have [his] eyes on, and the chanterelles started to pop out of the landscape, one and then another, almost as though they were beckoning to me.”

As you’ll recall, Pollan is a professor of Journalism at UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism, and therefore a fully paid up member of the Guild of Wordsmiths, but the quest to find wild mushrooms has uncovered a profound truth: “Our ability to identify plants and fungi with confidence, which after all is one of the most critical tools of our survival, involves far more sensory information than can ever be printed on a page; it is, truly, a form of “body knowledge not easily reduced or conveyed over a distance.” Language leaves a lot out. No matter how capacious our digital storage becomes, the written word and therefore the Internet, will only capture a little of the world we humans are capable of perceiving. Pollan sums this up in a quote from the Marriage of the Sun and Moon by Andrew Weil:

“’One learns most mushrooms in only one-way: through people who know them.”, which he illustrates with his own experience:

“… now that I have held a freshly picked chanterelle in my hands, smelled its apricoty scent, registered its specific heft and the precise quality of its cool dampness (and absorbed who knows how many other qualities beneath the threshold of conscious notice), I’ll recognize the next one without a moment’s hesitation.”

And he is, rightly, jolly pleased with himself: “It’s not every day you acquire such a sturdy piece of knowledge.” The following week, he’s off to his oak tree and its cache of golden chanterelles: “I hadn’t thought to bring a bag, and there were more chanterelles than I could carry, so I made a carrier of my T-shirt, folding it up in front of me like a basket, and then filled it with the big, mud-encrusted mushrooms.” Gleefully, he “drew looks from passers-by, looks of envy, I decided …” and later smugly mused: “So now I have a spot and, just like Jean-Pierre’s town. (Please don’t ask me where it is.)”

MUSHROOMS ARE MYSTERIOUS

Burned forest by Ethan Trewhitt

Burned forest by Ethan Trewhitt

Just in time, too. “Once the rains stopped in April the chanterelles were done for the year” The next mushrooming where the “morels [which] came up in May.”

During the pig hunts the Prof had interrogated Jean-Pierre, who finally, reluctantly, gave him a name, Anthony Tassinello, and put Pollan “in touch with Anthony” via e-mail. And Anthony was up for it. Pollan: “was surprised he’d let a complete stranger tag along, but after some back and forth by e-mail, it began to make more sense. The morels were on, and Anthony could use an extra pair of hands. especially ones that were asking for nothing in return. … the secrecy issue is not nearly so touchy in the case of the ‘burn’ morels we would be hunting.” “Burn” morels mushroom after a pine forest fire, so are temporary and easy to Google.

In due course the call came and Anthony advised Pollan how he should prepare. “Anthony also advised me to bring sunscreen and bug spray (for mosquitoes), at least a gallon of water, ChapStick, and, if I owned one, a walkie-talkie. Morel hunting didn’t sound like much fun, more like survival training than a walk in the woods.” The Prof set his alarm for 4:30 A.M.

“The forest was gorgeous, and the forest was ghastly. Ghastly because it was, for as far as you could see, a graveyard of vertically soaring trunks that had been shorn of every horizontal, every branch, by the fire.”

Anthony and Professor Pollan were joined by Ben, Anthony’s mushrooming buddy, and the legendary Paulie Porcini. Their prey: The Morel, which is “a decidedly comic-looking mushroom, resembling leprechauns or little penises. The morel’s distinctive form and pattern would make it easy to spot if not for its color, which ranges from dun to black and could not blend in more completely with a charred landscape.” On the blasted, blackened hill slopes, more than ever mushrooms “seem[ed] autochthonous, arising seemingly from nowhere, seemingly, without cause.”

Carefully schooled by the three, the Prof extemporized. “When Ben spotted me hunting in a prone position, he approved. ‘We say, stop, drop, and roll, because you can see things at level you’ll never see from above.” For a time, they wandered, Pollan trying to get his eyes on, and experiencing “mushroom frustration”. “’Mushroom frustration’ is what you feel when everyone around you is seeing them and you’re still blind …”

“Ben and Anthony had a slew of these mushroom-hunting adages and I collected them over the course of the day. ‘Seeing is boleting’ means you never see any mushrooms until someone else has demonstrated their presence by finding one.”

The “’screen saver’ – the fact that after several hours interrogating the ground for little brown dunce caps, their images will be burned on your retinas. ‘You’ll see. When you get into bed tonight,’ Ben said, ‘you’ll shut your eyes and there they’ll be again – wall-to-wall morels.”

“’But you must never forget the final theory, the theory of all theories, ’Ben warned near the end of my morning tutorial. ‘We call it TPITP: The Proof Is in the Pudding’.

After lunch, “Along Beaver Creek that afternoon the morels were totally on, as Ben would say; almost everywhere I looked the honeycombed dunce caps appeared, and I filled a bag in less than an hour.”

“It was deeply satisfying when the morels appeared, a phenomenon ‘You could swear was as much under their control as yours. I became, perforce, a student of the “pop-out effect,” a term I’d first heard from mushroomers but subsequently learned is used by psychologists studying visual perception.” I suppose the “pop-out effect” is something like seeing the 3D shapes in a stereogram or Magic Eye picture.

Circles of Hell in Dante's Inferno Graphic by INFOGRAFIKA

Circles of Hell in Dante’s Inferno Graphic by INFOGRAFIKA

This, the Professor’s last adventure has given us a wonderful insight into human nature and human religion. Earlier, I included a brief introduction to Paradiso under the guise of introducing Virgil, Dante’s guide and mentor. Now, let’s revisit the poem so I may draw an appropriate metaphor for the Prof’s achievement. Paradiso is a truly wonderful poem, and, with a little work, it’s fairly easy to read in Dante’s actual words. In the poem, Dante has captured the universe of the Feudal Church, which, to me, is full of sin and guilt, and far from the teacher who once said, “Let the children come to me”. In our world, there is no pit dug by Lucifer’s plummet from heaven, our real mountains are majestic but nothing like the terraced Babel reaching the outskirts of heaven, and heaven is not a beautiful rose window, sterile and unmoved.

Instead the Prof has brought us news from beyond words, from Husserl’s Lebenswelt (Life world). This Lebenswelt is more wonderful than we imagine, and the more we look the more wonderful it is. Its order is built into a Copper Sulphate crystal growing in a super saturated solution; into the enormous gypsum crystals of the Cueva de los Cristales, Naica; into the basalt hexagons of the Giant’s Causeway, Ireland, built by the wonderfully named giant Finn MacCool; and reflected from far away by the Ice Sculptures of the Carina Nebula. Life, Merleau Ponty’s “Chair” (français (literally): flesh), encompasses the exquisite choreography of cell division, a baby’s smile, the bliss of humans bound together in orgasm, the life of chanterelles, the mighty breach of a right whale, and up and out to the transcendental wonder of our Blue Dot. The humans of the Life-World have answered back with the serene call of the Muezzin floating over Istanbul, the throaty roar of John Lee Hooker’s Boom Boom, the piquancy of Lai from Richard the Lionheart: Troubadors et trouvères by Alla Francesca, and the overwhelming Adagietto from Mahler’s Symphony No. 5. The genius of people created the Song Lines running across the Outback; the feathered serpent god rippling down the staircase to the pyramid temple of Kukulkan at Chichen Itza; the luminous spaces of Santa Sophia, Istanbul; and the ranked immortals and votives, the winged bulls and the black marble throne room at Takht-e-Jamshid. So it goes this Life-World, this Flesh: It runs on and on, worlds without end.

The hunt had made the Prof feel awesomely powerful, similar to the feelings described by Israeli tank commanders driving the routed Egyptian army back across the Sinai during the ‘67 War. The principle entertainment of monarchs and nobles has been hunting, because the chase gave something of the same thrills as battle. A warrior could easily describe his experience as being one with Mars or St. Michael.

Even to a sophisticated, well informed individual like Professor Pollan, mushrooming felt magical and unknowable. The secretive reflexes of mushroomers as they refused to divulge their places was akin to those concealing magical or religious law; the feelings of those questing to find such places is akin to those seeking to find answers in Nostradamus or John Dee’s angelic language. This also goes someway to explain why many prefer the half-baked Ancient Aliens to real science. For supplicants watching a TV science show, they are excluded from the chase, the false leads, the dumb mistakes, and the work with its final triumph.

If science is to be better appreciated then TV science shows should refrain from trotting out facts, handed down from Olympian heights, and seek to engage people in the process of scientific discovery. In the history of science, the pop-out effect has happened many times. From Galileo looking at Jupiter and its moons, through Kekulé dreaming of a snake biting its tail and upon waking realizing that he had a solution for the structure of benzene, to James Watson playing with cardboard shapes representing the components of DNA called bases and realizing that was a good reason for the unusual ratio of their proportions, there is ample material to include regular folk. I maintain that it is quite possible to explain Einstein Special Relativity and Gödel’s Theorem to an interested anyone, perhaps even explain Darwinian Evolution to the satisfaction of a Southern Baptist preacher.

The Perfect Meal

The Menu

The Menu

“Perfect?! A dangerous boast, you must be thinking.” the Prof quips, but I do think so. The food was spectacularly good – have a look at the photo of the menu. The first course of Abalone performed well as a “chaser of mouthwash”.

The humans furnished conversation which was like a “sustainable effervescence, unfurl[ing] like a sail”.

“There comes a moment in the course of a dinner party when, with any luck, you realize everything’s going to be okay. The food and the company having sailed past the shoals of awkwardness or disaster, and the host can allow himself at last to slip into the warm currents of the evening and actually begin to enjoy himself.”

Good job, Professor Pollan, good job.