Archive for the 'philosophy' Category

May 30 2011

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Taking the Psychopath Test

Jon Ronson's The Psychopath Test is an enthralling read for anyone who is even the slightest bit odd. (And if you're reading this, chances are I mean you.) It's a wild ride, a Philip K. Dickian roller coaster through some of the darkest crevices of human behavior, spiraling out into the macro-levels of societal power structures and human history, and then back into the minutiae of everyday people living lives with the greatest intentions of normalcy. And in its way it is an act of torah, in the universal sense -- a paean of love for humanity, of love that looks closely and does not flinch.

Be warned that if you go in and go deep you will probably go a little crazy. And perhaps the great honesty of the book is that it dives in deep here as well, pushes you to reflect on your own crazy, and the expanded crazy of the greater semi-conscious social system that we live in.

It will make you think about your friends, your enemies, your coworkers, your family. I know people who are capable of violence. Some of them great violence. You know people like this, too -- maybe you even are one. One of the questions at the heart of this work is one asked by dystopians for centuries, and yet one that seems to get sharper with every increase in our civilization and technology: where do you draw the line around what kind of abnormalities should be eliminated from society, by imprisonment, by medication?

To draw that line is to say that we have found the pattern. We want so badly for there to be a decisive list, for there to be labels and boxes, for things to be clean. We are pattern-seekers. Patterns make a chaotic world comprehensible, they lull us into functionality. And so ultimately, we need books like this, the world needs books like this, that peel back the skin of reality and have a good sticky look inside, to challenge the artificiality of the psychological borders that keep us safe. And as all truly well designed things are, it achieves a life of its own by being entertaining, by taking us from Douglas Hofstadter's Strange Loop to Bedlam to Mississippi industrial ghost towns, from Wall Street to the brainstem of psychiatry to mass murderers, from Scientology to DSM IV, from opulent Florida mansions to four-year-old children being treated for bipolar disorder.

In the end, once we have gone through the wormhole of inquiry and emerged onto the far side, changed, the concluding question is: if there were a "normal", truly, would we want to be it? Even considering the consequences of the vast systems around us, their need to contain us, to statistically filter out danger and potential disruption?

Hopefully, the answer remains no. Hell no. My cold dead hand no. God is dead no.

And yet, being the social animals that we are, it is inevitable that we try. And that's okay. And also a little bit crazy.

No responses yet

May 30 2011

Profile Image of Erin

Taking the Psychopath Test

Jon Ronson's The Psychopath Test is an enthralling read for anyone who is even the slightest bit odd. (And if you're reading this, chances are I mean you.) It's a wild ride, a Philip K. Dickian roller coaster through some of the darkest crevices of human behavior, spiraling out into the macro-levels of societal power structures and human history, and then back into the minutiae of everyday people living lives with the greatest intentions of normalcy. And in its way it is an act of torah, in the universal sense -- a paean of love for humanity, of love that looks closely and does not flinch.

Be warned that if you go in and go deep you will probably go a little crazy. And perhaps the great honesty of the book is that it dives in deep here as well, pushes you to reflect on your own crazy, and the expanded crazy of the greater semi-conscious social system that we live in.

It will make you think about your friends, your enemies, your coworkers, your family. I know people who are capable of violence. Some of them great violence. You know people like this, too -- maybe you even are one. One of the questions at the heart of this work is one asked by dystopians for centuries, and yet one that seems to get sharper with every increase in our civilization and technology: where do you draw the line around what kind of abnormalities should be eliminated from society, by imprisonment, by medication?

To draw that line is to say that we have found the pattern. We want so badly for there to be a decisive list, for there to be labels and boxes, for things to be clean. We are pattern-seekers. Patterns make a chaotic world comprehensible, they lull us into functionality. And so ultimately, we need books like this, the world needs books like this, that peel back the skin of reality and have a good sticky look inside, to challenge the artificiality of the psychological borders that keep us safe. And as all truly well designed things are, it achieves a life of its own by being entertaining, by taking us from Douglas Hofstadter's Strange Loop to Bedlam to Mississippi industrial ghost towns, from Wall Street to the brainstem of psychiatry to mass murderers, from Scientology to DSM IV, from opulent Florida mansions to four-year-old children being treated for bipolar disorder.

In the end, once we have gone through the wormhole of inquiry and emerged onto the far side, changed, the concluding question is: if there were a "normal", truly, would we want to be it? Even considering the consequences of the vast systems around us, their need to contain us, to statistically filter out danger and potential disruption?

Hopefully, the answer remains no. Hell no. My cold dead hand no. God is dead no.

And yet, being the social animals that we are, it is inevitable that we try. And that's okay. And also a little bit crazy.

No responses yet

Sep 16 2009

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Life, addictive game mechanics, and the truth hiding in Bejeweled

One of the occupational hazards of being a game designer is an obligation to play up-and-coming games, both to stay ahead of where the market is moving and to dig for signs of the One True Game Design, aka universal mechanics that move people. Lately there's been a lot of buzz around Bejeweled Blitz, so I dug in for a sample today.

Blitz takes the familiar Bejeweled mechanic, itself going back along the Columns lineage in games, and makes you play it fast. They bolt on a bunch of social features -- leaderboards and achievements -- making it massively multiplayer in a lightweight but fun way. No surprise it's sweeping through facebook, and a good time to be doing so.

Games like this, based on such simple and compelling mechanics, are on the one hand at the heart of game design and on the other inevitably raise the concept of "addicting" game mechanics. Because, man, that mechanic is addictive.

"Addictive" is a word we use in game development perhaps too lightly, though I would argue that there is no game designer who doesn't treat that term with a huge dollop of trepidation. Executives love to hear the phrase "addictive gameplay". Game designers, speaking for myself and those I know (whom I'm sure will correct me if they disagree), find the concept intriguing but simultaneously dangerous, even if we believe deep down that games don't -- even can't -- hurt people. And no one, from executives to game designers to behavioral psychologists, can give you an absolutely clear and quantifiable test for what "addictive" means when applied purely to a behavior or action. (As opposed to, say, a chemical. Chemical addiction is an equine of differing saturation.)

From a design analysis standpoint, Bejeweled's addicting elements are simple but profound:
1. The game is simple to understand; two clicks and you're in.
2. The game presents a clear problem with a clear solution (make rows of 3+ jewels).
3. The results of action frequently create cascading consequences.
3a. These cascading consequences have an element of randomness / unpredictability / intermittent reward.

There are further sub-elements, such as the vivid feedback (attractive effects and sound), persistent environment (it hits on this "let me poke this thing and see what happens" basic human drive) -- but those are the topline elements.

The simplicity of the game reduces the consequence of failure and the speed of re-entry. The clarity of the problem and solution fires our cognitive circuits without requiring the engagement of messier things like grey area judgment, ethics, social repercussion, or any of the myriad other complex elements we have to deal with in the reality of our daily lives. The reward system and its cascading consequences ensure that we achieve a variable but deeply satisfying result from our simple, clear action.

So I get why it's addictive. I play it, I feel the cognitive engine revv up, the little five year old in the back of my brain goes "Ooooh." I understand that I want to keep playing, and when this reaction fires in me my ethical brain also kicks in and goes, "hmm, what are other people experiencing when they play this, and what responsibility ensues?"

Then I had a little epiphany, one of those simple ones that feels very important. I realized that what pulls me away from playing Bejeweled continuously is that I actually want to perform the complex behavior I'm supposed to be performing instead (in this case, moving onto another task at work).

Addiction is not about what you DO, but what you DON'T DO because of the replacement of the addictive behavior.

The reason why what defines addiction for one person may not define addiction for another person, even given quantified equal stretches of time action or consumption, is because addiction is not about the action, but about the individual person.

This is why merely resisting addiction of any kind is not enough. This is why -- although some activities are more broadly compelling than others -- virtually any activity can become an addiction. What addictive behavior does is reveal underlying anxiety (and often depression, which itself is nebulous) and lack of desire to perform the things we're "supposed to" be doing.

One of the questions that I've asked before has to do with that "supposed to". It is a deeply existential and social question: to what extent are we obligated as individual human beings to fulfill the expectations of our peers, when they run counter to our individual desires? Is the 7-11 gamer more happy in his successful guildleader existence than in his blue-collar job, and if so, is it wrong, and who is allowed to make that judgment for him?

These are deep human questions that are difficult to answer. But the game, as always, is a mirror. It does not create in us behaviors that we would never have otherwise; it reflects back to us what is lurking beneath the grind of our everyday existence.

The solution is not to break the mirror, but to resist the urge to look away from what it shows us.

Truly compassionate addiction counselors understand this: that resolving an addictive behavior (which cannot be done, by the way, until the person who has the behavior acknowledges it and decides that THEY want to change their behavior) is more than causing the behavior itself to cease. It means addressing the lack of meaning in a person's life that leads them to pursue a simpler activity that may make them temporarily happy but not happy in the grand scheme of their life. (And the critical definition there is that only the individual in question can seek and define their state of relative happiness. It cannot be determined for them, not by family or anyone else. I've known people who think of themselves as depressed when really their only major source of unhappiness is that their families don't like or accept what makes them happy.)

Some of this has a personal note, I should acknowledge. I've had a couple of moments wherein I thought I was addicted to one game or another. In one case, I stayed home sick from school to play a game all day. Lame, I know. (I was otherwise a pretty good student; the notion of skipping class was a big deal.) It had nothing to do with the game itself, but the fact that I was sixteen and (as I perceived it) my life sucked, and the game presented me with power and simple solutions to simple problems that were a relief from the complex crappy things that existed in my reality. From here, thoroughly not addicted, I can look back on that time in my life and say, you know, things sucked, and I completely understand why I would have rather played that game than deal with reality. When I stopped playing it, it wasn't because the game changed, but because my circumstances did, and I no longer felt the need to disengage from meat life. And to this day the game evokes feelings of comfort, not danger, when I play it.

The reason why we, as game consumers and game creators, need to understand this, is because for many the solution is to break the mirror rather than understanding it. The latter is certainly more difficult. But we need to understand ourselves and our drives in as deep and thoughtful a way as possible not merely for our own individual benefit, but to solve the greatest problems that existence presents: the questions of why we live, and how we live. We need to understand what makes us human, and part of that is recognizing the value in the tools and art that we create to reflect ourselves back to us in the quest for that understanding. And what is so fascinating about these pieces of art is their universality -- that you don't need to consciously think about any of this to feel why Bejeweled pulls you. Our human nature is there whether we acknowledge it or not, and the rabbit hole runs deep and dark. There is a greater cause beyond mirror-breaking, more good that we can do through understanding and compassion, in fields where those who do play games more often than they should most often have to deal with professionals who have no understanding of what those games mean, or their genuine value, even to the addicted, after addiction.

5 responses so far

Sep 16 2009

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Life, addictive game mechanics, and the truth hiding in Bejeweled

One of the occupational hazards of being a game designer is an obligation to play up-and-coming games, both to stay ahead of where the market is moving and to dig for signs of the One True Game Design, aka universal mechanics that move people. Lately there's been a lot of buzz around Bejeweled Blitz, so I dug in for a sample today.

Blitz takes the familiar Bejeweled mechanic, itself going back along the Columns lineage in games, and makes you play it fast. They bolt on a bunch of social features -- leaderboards and achievements -- making it massively multiplayer in a lightweight but fun way. No surprise it's sweeping through facebook, and a good time to be doing so.

Games like this, based on such simple and compelling mechanics, are on the one hand at the heart of game design and on the other inevitably raise the concept of "addicting" game mechanics. Because, man, that mechanic is addictive.

"Addictive" is a word we use in game development perhaps too lightly, though I would argue that there is no game designer who doesn't treat that term with a huge dollop of trepidation. Executives love to hear the phrase "addictive gameplay". Game designers, speaking for myself and those I know (whom I'm sure will correct me if they disagree), find the concept intriguing but simultaneously dangerous, even if we believe deep down that games don't -- even can't -- hurt people. And no one, from executives to game designers to behavioral psychologists, can give you an absolutely clear and quantifiable test for what "addictive" means when applied purely to a behavior or action. (As opposed to, say, a chemical. Chemical addiction is an equine of differing saturation.)

From a design analysis standpoint, Bejeweled's addicting elements are simple but profound:
1. The game is simple to understand; two clicks and you're in.
2. The game presents a clear problem with a clear solution (make rows of 3+ jewels).
3. The results of action frequently create cascading consequences.
3a. These cascading consequences have an element of randomness / unpredictability / intermittent reward.

There are further sub-elements, such as the vivid feedback (attractive effects and sound), persistent environment (it hits on this "let me poke this thing and see what happens" basic human drive) -- but those are the topline elements.

The simplicity of the game reduces the consequence of failure and the speed of re-entry. The clarity of the problem and solution fires our cognitive circuits without requiring the engagement of messier things like grey area judgment, ethics, social repercussion, or any of the myriad other complex elements we have to deal with in the reality of our daily lives. The reward system and its cascading consequences ensure that we achieve a variable but deeply satisfying result from our simple, clear action.

So I get why it's addictive. I play it, I feel the cognitive engine revv up, the little five year old in the back of my brain goes "Ooooh." I understand that I want to keep playing, and when this reaction fires in me my ethical brain also kicks in and goes, "hmm, what are other people experiencing when they play this, and what responsibility ensues?"

Then I had a little epiphany, one of those simple ones that feels very important. I realized that what pulls me away from playing Bejeweled continuously is that I actually want to perform the complex behavior I'm supposed to be performing instead (in this case, moving onto another task at work).

Addiction is not about what you DO, but what you DON'T DO because of the replacement of the addictive behavior.

The reason why what defines addiction for one person may not define addiction for another person, even given quantified equal stretches of time action or consumption, is because addiction is not about the action, but about the individual person.

This is why merely resisting addiction of any kind is not enough. This is why -- although some activities are more broadly compelling than others -- virtually any activity can become an addiction. What addictive behavior does is reveal underlying anxiety (and often depression, which itself is nebulous) and lack of desire to perform the things we're "supposed to" be doing.

One of the questions that I've asked before has to do with that "supposed to". It is a deeply existential and social question: to what extent are we obligated as individual human beings to fulfill the expectations of our peers, when they run counter to our individual desires? Is the 7-11 gamer more happy in his successful guildleader existence than in his blue-collar job, and if so, is it wrong, and who is allowed to make that judgment for him?

These are deep human questions that are difficult to answer. But the game, as always, is a mirror. It does not create in us behaviors that we would never have otherwise; it reflects back to us what is lurking beneath the grind of our everyday existence.

The solution is not to break the mirror, but to resist the urge to look away from what it shows us.

Truly compassionate addiction counselors understand this: that resolving an addictive behavior (which cannot be done, by the way, until the person who has the behavior acknowledges it and decides that THEY want to change their behavior) is more than causing the behavior itself to cease. It means addressing the lack of meaning in a person's life that leads them to pursue a simpler activity that may make them temporarily happy but not happy in the grand scheme of their life. (And the critical definition there is that only the individual in question can seek and define their state of relative happiness. It cannot be determined for them, not by family or anyone else. I've known people who think of themselves as depressed when really their only major source of unhappiness is that their families don't like or accept what makes them happy.)

Some of this has a personal note, I should acknowledge. I've had a couple of moments wherein I thought I was addicted to one game or another. In one case, I stayed home sick from school to play a game all day. Lame, I know. (I was otherwise a pretty good student; the notion of skipping class was a big deal.) It had nothing to do with the game itself, but the fact that I was sixteen and (as I perceived it) my life sucked, and the game presented me with power and simple solutions to simple problems that were a relief from the complex crappy things that existed in my reality. From here, thoroughly not addicted, I can look back on that time in my life and say, you know, things sucked, and I completely understand why I would have rather played that game than deal with reality. When I stopped playing it, it wasn't because the game changed, but because my circumstances did, and I no longer felt the need to disengage from meat life. And to this day the game evokes feelings of comfort, not danger, when I play it.

The reason why we, as game consumers and game creators, need to understand this, is because for many the solution is to break the mirror rather than understanding it. The latter is certainly more difficult. But we need to understand ourselves and our drives in as deep and thoughtful a way as possible not merely for our own individual benefit, but to solve the greatest problems that existence presents: the questions of why we live, and how we live. We need to understand what makes us human, and part of that is recognizing the value in the tools and art that we create to reflect ourselves back to us in the quest for that understanding. And what is so fascinating about these pieces of art is their universality -- that you don't need to consciously think about any of this to feel why Bejeweled pulls you. Our human nature is there whether we acknowledge it or not, and the rabbit hole runs deep and dark. There is a greater cause beyond mirror-breaking, more good that we can do through understanding and compassion, in fields where those who do play games more often than they should most often have to deal with professionals who have no understanding of what those games mean, or their genuine value, even to the addicted, after addiction.

No responses yet

Aug 03 2008

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My Dog Ate Your Poetry

Item unrelated to the subject line #1: although I put a little icon of Clockwork Phoenix in my sidebar, I've been very lax about posting the terrific feedback the collection has been getting. [info]time_shark rewards my indigence with bad-habit-training rescue in the form of the excellent website he posted recently, containing details on said fantastic feedback as well as guidelines for Clockwork Phoenix 2. Go forth in strangeness.

Item unrelated to the subject line #2: I have found two new (to me) philosophers recently, one of which I should have known about (Levinas) and one that I can squeak by for not knowing (Peter Singer). I post them mostly so I'll remember later when I am inevitably trying to backtrack a google trail. The second is fascinating particularly in the context of The Philosopher's Apprentice, a Jim Morrow novel I recently read (thinking that I would be going to ReaderCon). I also today downloaded five of Nietzsche's books to the Kindle, along with Fear and Trembling and the collected works of Bram Stoker. It would be reasonable to expect repercussions.

Now, the subject. I have sold two poems ("No Signal" and "Bag Man") to Farrago's Wainscot. This is particularly satisfying to announce right now because they currently have some fantastic stuff up by Bryan Dietrich -- you should definitely go check out "WWJD". But my path to publication in FW has come by way of the digestive tract of a chocolate lab.

About a week ago I got a response to a query that was so great I asked the editor if I could post it to my blog (so this is all with permission, o ye traumatized editor response letter carriers). He obliged, and gave me a photo to go with it.

Hello Erin,

Glad to hear from you. These poems were in a "second read" stack that was eaten by one of my dogs a while back. Came home to find a smiling Labrador atop a pile of poetry-confetti. Thought I'd gotten back to everything that was in there, but she must've ingested the bits with your name on them.

In any case, I've been busy at work the last couple days since you sent this email and am at work now, but will take another look and get back to you very soon. I'm off Wednesday and Thursday, so will definitely get to them by then. Many thanks for your patience

Cheers,
Aaron
--
Coeditor: Poetry
Farrago's Wainscot
http://www.farragoswainscot.com


I waited until the end of the week so that I could post this with the results of the submission to complete the story -- accept or reject, it makes an entertaining tale -- and this is Bailey:



...looking sad and guilty.

It seems she ate a copy of Hal Duncan's Vellum last week, too. My poems are in good company! And their digital ghosts should be up on FW sometime this year or next.

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Jan 23 2008

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Shift Your Weight

Over the last couple of months I've experienced a strange confluence of influences. Call it collective unconscious or determinism or blind stupid coincidence, some of it happens because of the things I surround myself with while trying to puzzle through the big game of life. For me this is indelibly entwined with writing (which, as I've said, for me is always driven from theme), or perhaps more broadly to anything creative. I have never been able to be creative without first knowing what I am being creative for.

So it was interesting to come across so many recent touchstones for another piece in my ongoing grokking of the world. Over the last couple of weeks I've been working on a short story called "Karma Ex Machina", which centers around a new kind of capitalism, and then for Christmas I received from my mother an audiobook of Bill Clinton's Giving.

It's difficult to talk about this without stirring up a political debate, so I'll just log here that I would rather not go there; I'm more interested in the contents of this book, which were very much a kind of invigorating sugar scrub spa treatment for the soul.

Giving is about the myriad good things going on in the world at any given moment. It is about incredibly smart, successful people coming to the inevitable realization that if we love life we must love our fellow man, and if we love our fellow man we should prevent their suffering where we are able to do so. And if we are smart and if we are looking for the sustainability of global happiness and prosperity we should also increase our own wealth through this process.

It is very much a part of the quality of life rhetoric that has been slowly fighting what often feels to be a losing battle against the insane overwork culture that has gripped the US over the past few decades: that doing what is right, doing what is good, doing what is healthy, leads to prosperity. And business should be about prosperity, so these two things do not come into conflict. When they do they inevitably lead to a self destruction situation.

The "old" capitalism, the capitalism of the 1980s and 90s, existed in a different world where survival was so recently an issue (all of this, probably contaminated by my exposure to [info]thehollowbox, has greatly deepened my interest in the Cold War lately) that the concept of enlightened self interest seemed about as comprehensible as calculus to a chimpanzee. But that's what this is. It is calculus of the soul, an enlightenment where our self interest means the interest of humanity and of the planet, and we should not rest until all of those interests are singing together. This is a core critical thing to me that has only been thrown into greater relief over the last five years. A good job is not a good job unless it is doing good in the world.

But at any rate what I intended here was to highlight, out of the incredible panoply of charitable organizations presented in Giving, a few of my favorite charities. And this stuff is percolating -- [info]jeffhowell posted recently about the high-powered Microsoft dude who left his job after visiting a deeply impoverished school in Nepal. John Wood's story appears in Giving, too. He sold everything he had to buy books for these kids halfway around the world. And now he has a foundation.

But that length is not necessary (though it's pretty cool). With the amount of wealth in the US, or in any civilized nation, the merest fraction of average monthly income makes a world of difference in a third world country. One of the most interesting charities in the book was Kiva.org, an organization that facilitates microloans to developing countries. For $25 you can go in for 1/7 of a business loan to a single individual in Afghanistan who will use that money to open a bakery, grocery, or other small business. And it is a loan -- they start the business, report on it, and you get your money back, to then invest back into the system or keep if you like. Loans like this are what make for genuine rebuilding. On the website you can look at all of the business proposals of these individuals all over the world and contribute directly at any denomination to their cause. And you can see your fellow lenders.

The other program that I found extremely interesting is Chess In the Schools, an initiative to start chess programs in second grade classes in New York. This group has field tested chess programs in second grade classes and demonstrated with raw data that teaching kids chess at this level improves their academic performance and confidence across the board in all subjects. Now they just need to implement it in as many schools as possible. An entire class program can be funded for $3000. They aren't currently open to new joinees, but I am going to be contacting them to see if there's a way Gamewatch can sponsor a particular class. Obviously my interest here is that it boosts math and science in the US, which are frighteningly behind other nations, and it's (yet another) way that shows that games are good for you.

Then there are groups I didn't know about like Ready4Work and Citizens Against Recidivism. It doesn't take much learning about the situation to realize that the revolving door prison systems across the US are destructive, inhumane, and huge cost sinks. I caught Ted Koppel's interview on the Daily Show several weeks ago on this subject, specifically with the breaking point that California is approaching with the intensely overloaded prison system, and the reasons why people who enter it have the odds stacked against them of breaking out. Ready4Work and CAR have proven track records of keeping people out of prison. This cycle has always struck me as one of the most harmful and unnecessary injustices currently in progress in the US, so these two programs really caught my ear.

Heifer International deserves a mention, even though they're one of my favorite charities and I knew well about them before. But they're an amazing and perfect example of a smart charity that perpetuates itself and generates wealth and stability at an astronomical rate.

That's just a tiny handful of the programs profiled in the book, and links to all of them and more are up at the Clinton Foundation website.

Listening to this book really was a kind of therapy. And it was exhilarating in its own way. Much of what Clinton talks about in the opening of the book is the way that things have changed, and the way that the information age has revolutionized charitable work in the US and across the world. We have been steeped in negativity for so long that it becomes easy to forget all of these people working quietly away to do amazing things in the world. The internet has actually changed a lot of that -- made this information easier to access, connected people across th e world, allowed organizations to form around specific niche interests.

And that is how the change comes. You don't have to quit your job or starve yourself or do anything incredibly melodramatic to make a positive change in the world. You just have to lean a little bit. Look at the things you purchase, look at where your money goes, and shift it a little to a company that has committed to going carbon neutral or donates to local charities. My financial planning company has a 401k "ethical responsibility" profile ready-made -- yours probably does too. If we each leaned a little bit, the world would move.

I am making the same offer with this that I did with An Inconvenient Truth. If you're interested in reading or listening to Giving, leave me a comment and email me your address and I will have it sent to you in your format of choice (audio or print). All you have to do is pick one of the charities in it, kick them $10 or $20, and post about which one you donated to and why. Offered to the first to reply with interest. If you don't find it amazing, I'll buy the donation back from you.

The book is honestly full of hope. It really will make you feel better about the world. One of the complicated aspects about the internet and the "information age" is that it can be difficult to sort through it all, to get an algorithm that gets you the right information in the right dose at the right time. This is the right information. This is the stuff we ought to be thinking about. Give Britney Spears a break and invest in something good for the world.

No responses yet