Sloganeering.Org
home | archive | about | site policies | contact us | s.o store

Archive for the ‘Psychology’ Category

I Might be Wrong

Monday, March 1st, 2010

We all make mistakes. How we prepare to avoid making errors, how we deal the repercussions of the ones happen anyway, and how we decide when to forgive those who screw up, are a large part of our personal lives and our larger culture. Part of that is how people react when they make blunders of their own. When celebrities, politicians, or giant corporations, make mistakes, they’re often writ large, and require big, splashy apologies to keep the money people happy.

Private individuals have more freedom, generally because their mistakes are often small-time, at best. On the domestic level, and when dealing with errors that result in nothing more than a minor inconvenience, a person has a lot of options when it comes to admitting fault. They could deny everything, or cover their tracks—thus the world will never know which family member left the toilet seat up, or tracked mud into the kitchen. Or, they could own up—knowing that the consequences will be light, or last only a short while. The most irritating response, however, is when a big, flashy admission of fault is brought to bear on the tiniest of offenses.

This usually has to do with the fact that the person making such a big deal about making a mistake is attempting to do it in such a self-aggrandizing way. “There’s no doubt about it, yup I made a mistake. I can admit when I’m wrong, you know—when I blow it, I’m not going to try to make excuses. I did it, and there’s no getting around it, yes indeed.” Yes, a Foghorn Leghorn rant is surely the appropriate response to forgetting to change the toilet paper roll and you certainly deserve a cookie for being so honest about your blunder!

There’s a particular personality type that seems especially prone to the occasional bombastic admission of meager mistakes. These folks tend to live in a constant, rotating circle of blame; a place where things keep going wrong all the time, and it’s always somebody’s fault, and it’s their job to remind those idiots that they really need to do better, next time.

When one of these Blamer makes a huge mistake, they desperately fling the responsibility outward. But of course, they know that nobody’s perfect, they know that a person who never seems to be responsible for anything that’s gone wrong is suspicious—and, of course they’re also highly motivated to prove that they’re not the sort of person who is always looking for scapegoats.

So, it becomes vitally important for them to prove that they can take responsibility for their own mistakes. Which is why they latch on to low-cost errors that nobody really cares about, and why they make such a huge deal about them, because–wow! If that’s how he reacts when he forgets to unload the dishwasher, imagine how sorry he’d be if he did something really bad!

The thing is though, the kind of person who owns up to tiny mistakes in such a grandiose way is a lot like the guy who does the least work when helping someone move: “You guys grab that sofa—don’t worry, I’ll get those cushions for you!” Instead of always somehow managing to avoid the heaviest physical burdens, the Blamer always manages to avoid the weightiest part of the responsibility when something goes wrong.

That’s not the problem, though.

The problem is that the Blamer only does the big-deal owning up in order to justify their efforts to assign blame to others, to find fault with others, to nail down once and for all why their plans are always failing, why their desires are always frustrated, and why they can’t seem to get anything important done. And things never ever just happen by themselves, in the Blamer’s world. There’s no such thing as an unavoidable error. They are the Quincy, M.E.’s of personal interactions: It’s never an accident—it’s always murder. In the confines of a private home, this kind of personality-type is destructive enough; but, in an office setting, people’s livelihoods are at stake.

So, let the grandiose mea culpa over nothing serve as a warning. If you encounter someone who makes a big deal about their own little mistakes, do yourself a favor and keep your distance.

| March 1st, 2010 | by BCSilvia | Categories: Miscellaneous, Psychology | Tags: , | Trackback | No Comments »



Silence Says So Much

Friday, January 22nd, 2010

During a recent episode of Marc Maron’s WTF podcast (the one with Bill Burr), there was a brief mention of how some people interpret a person’s silence, when in a social space. After an event in his life that left him with a lot to think about, he happened to end up at a place with a bunch of people, and they found him to be not very talkative. Well, he was thinking about all that stuff he had to think about. But others didn’t see that. They thought he was being arrogant. To me, that seems like quite a large assumption those other people were making. So, sometimes people don’t want to talk. What’s the big deal? I don’t know for sure, but I have a few theories.

Atmosphere counts for a lot. If you’re with a bunch of people who are joking around, being funny, having a good time, then the quiet person might come off as a downer. Worse still, they might appear to be depressed or troubled. Lot’s of people tend to avoid those who seem dour, because they’re just no fun. It could be as simple as that.

Or: Being the quiet person in the room is, ironically, something that can attract a lot of attention. In a place where everyone is trying to figure out what everyone else’s deal is, forming their own interpretations as to what everyone else is about, conversation is a vital clue. In social situations where everyone else is talking quite a bit, the quiet one stands out because he or she seems to be working from a different agenda.

The person you’re talking to is giving you information, just as you are giving information to them. You’re exchanging data. However, the quiet person is not exchanging information. Some may suspect that he or she is taking it all in, absorbing data, without actually giving any information back (even though what’s really going on is that they’re just distracted by their own thoughts). So, they get to figure you out, while they remain the cipher in the catbird seat. That can be disconcerting. It feels unfair. You’ve just exposed yourself (verbally), and there they are observing, possibly judging, while maintaining a fortified position.

Or: As Bill Burr mentioned, people might interpret the unwillingness to talk as arrogance. As if the quiet guy or gal is saying, “I’m above all this petty bullshit,” without actually saying it. But that’s kind of a leap to make about a person, when all they’re doing is not talking much. People sometimes have some shit going on, you know? Unless the quiet person is dramatically sneering, and then peering at you over the hem of their cape, you needn’t immediately assume that they’re silently judging you.

The problem is that quiet individuals are nearly blank slates, on to which some people can’t avoid projecting their own insecurities. If someone is afraid of sounding like an idiot, they might think the quiet person is thinking that he or she sounds like an idiot. If someone is worried about their own value as a person, they might interpret the quiet person’s silence as dismissive.

Can you tell I’ve had problems with this kind of thing? I don’t generally talk much when at functions where there are a lot of strangers about. It’s nothing to do with arrogance or judgment, I’m just shy. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and upset somebody, or waste their time with a bunch of boring, awkward shit. And, sometimes, when there’s a lot of people around, it’s hard to find an opening.

It comes back to bite me in the ass, occasionally. Timidity just doesn’t work. (Especially when alcohol is involved, and I’m not the one involved with it.)

A: “What’s that guy’s problem, why’s he so quiet?”

B: “Him? Oh, he’s okay — he’s just kind of shy.”

A: “No, fuck that — that guy’s a dick.”

(Anyway, be sure to check out Marc Maron’s podcastthat Bill Burr one was extremely good, if you can’t decide which was to check out first. Burr’s also got his own thing going on, too. I haven’t checked it out, yet, but he’s a funny man, so I’ve got a good feeling about it.)

| January 22nd, 2010 | by BCSilvia | Categories: Humor, Psychology | Tags: , | Trackback | No Comments »



Ultimate

Monday, November 30th, 2009

So, another Thanksgiving holiday come and gone. And, with it, goes another Thanksgiving Day weekend, full of television marathons, football, and shopping. And the greatest of these, of course, is the shopping.

I have to admit, though the deals are fantastic, I have never been drawn in by the promise of huge savings that is Black Friday. This is not because I possess some heroic quantity of will-power, nor is this the result of any kind of principled stance. It just so happens that every year, coincidentally, by the time Black Friday comes along I am completely broke.

So it goes this year: As of 12:01 AM on Friday, November 27th, I had exactly $2.17 in my bank account. (And that’s going to have to stretch until next Friday, so I can’t spend it all at once.) This is not an especially bad sum to have left (it’s certainly better than those occasions when I am completely in the red). It is merely the result of several unavoidable emergencies all kind of stacking up on one another.

The thing is, I know that my existence would not even be possible without the constant support of friends, family, co-workers, good Samaritans, charity, random acts of kindness, blind luck, and the government, amongst others. I am a very, very fortunate person. I am also a complete wash-out, since even with all the advantages I have, I somehow manage to deteriorate a little bit more every day. I have absolutely no right to complain about anything, anywhere, ever.

About 20 minutes ago, my clothes dryer died.

It is also quite likely the last clothes dryer I will ever own, because I will surely never have enough money to buy another one ever again. Which is good—more than good, even. It’s a wonderful, glorious thing. I mean, I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not complaining. But I am getting a overwhelming feeling of nostalgia.

I save these various last things in my mental museum. I clearly remember the last visit any location that I know I would never return to, because I deliberately stand there and have my little moment of “this is it, this is the last time” contemplation. I fix last meetings in my memory, too. When disposing of some artifact that I’ll never be able to replace, I take a second to savor it.

So it goes with this latest casualty of planned obsolescence. Already I feel the memorization machinery in my head whirring and buzzing—getting ready to fix all relevant sensations associated with my poor old clothes dryer into a kind of permanent mental memorial. I shall therefore be able to recall, for the rest of my life, what the buttons and dials looked like, what they felt like, what they sounded like, as those these things are significant which, of course, they are not. But it’s an automated process: I cannot stop it.

(Actually, I really will remember all of these things, because I’ll be forced to confront them on a regular basis. I mean, I certainly can’t afford to have somebody haul my broken clothes dryer to the dump, now can I?)

Of course, when the electrical patterns and cell structures that represent my conscious mind break down and cease to exist, so will the memories of all of these last things. But, in many cases, the things themselves will continue, and the dissolution of my mental museum will affect them not at all. The people and the places at least will remain unchanged; only the ephemera will disappear when I go. That’s a little sad; in some way, I think that all the various gimgracks and gadgets in my memory deserve to be remembered, even if I don’t.

| November 30th, 2009 | by BCSilvia | Categories: Money & Commerce, Psychology, Science & Technology | Trackback | No Comments »



The Squeamish Response

Tuesday, October 27th, 2009

I kind of don’t understand why people love horror movies. I mean, I have my theories, but it’s all just speculation; because, curiously enough, none of the horror fans that I know can really explain the attraction, either. Call me a hedonist, but when it comes to entertainment I’m all about feeling good.

I also can’t shake the old TV-hypnotist/crackpot theory that everything we experience is recorded with perfect fidelity in some little black box in our brains. I mean, I know that’s not how it works, but it’s a hard thing to shake. If it’s even remotely possible that our brains store up the things we see, why would you want your mental DVR to be full of human bodies being shredded like wet, red, screaming, tissue paper? Someday, the boundaries that separate your memories and your sense of reality may erode, or even disintegrate. If the monsters are bound to escape, is it really a good idea to stockpile them?

I said I had some theories, but I don’t really want to get into all of them; many are not exactly complimentary towards horror fans, which I know isn’t fair, and it’s all pissing into the wind, anyway. Still, I have to wonder over the fact that, in at least one case that I’m aware of, an interest in horror can grow out of a childhood of intense, abject fear. Could this be true of other fans? Were they all big ol’ fraidy-cats when they were little?

Well, I don’t know. I spent most of my youth utterly terrified pretty much all of the time, and I have no interest in horror films. I also have no interest in machismo, but I couldn’t tell you if that has anything to do with it either.

This confusion over why some people love horror also applies to certain people’s love of misery. I hated The Road because it was so relentlessly dour–which I recognize as a worthy technical achievement on the part of the writer, but my inability to abstract myself from the bleakness made it impossible for me to finish the damn thing. (I think that perhaps a tiny fraction of the loudly-professed affection for The Road came from a kind of chest-thumping pride at the mental toughness required to get through the experience. Well-deserved, I say.)

It’s possible that fans of downer entertainment are just better at shaking off all the negative emotions that they are subjected to. They walk out of the theater cleansed, able to curl up in bed at the end of the night, wafted to sleep on the wings of a sweet dream. On the other hand, maybe they like feeling slightly queasy for weeks afterward, enjoying the sensation of their insides rotting, and at any moment, their hearts may drop into their abdomens. Who knows?

Many people dislike happy endings, too–especially when they’re unearned or ridiculous–but some people really can’t stand them. They hate them with fiery passion. I suppose it depends on the story. Sometimes it makes sense to have a happy ending, and sometimes it doesn’t. But some people find unhappy endings far more satisfying, and I think in some cases it’s got something to do with a perceived independent acknowledgement of their own misanthropy and cynicism. Yeah! You struggle and suffer, and in the end you lose anyway! That’s how the world works, for real.

But, if that’s the case, why the hell would you want to watch a movie about how messed up and hopeless life is? Some people are irritated, or even violently enraged when too much escapism creeps in their escapism. They’ll grant a world with zombies, sure, but no way is anyone allowed to survive until the end. The world is on a mission to fuck you over—why would it suddenly just stop trying?

I don’t have an answer for any of this. Maybe I’m asking the wrong question. Maybe my friends are right, and the real question is: Why do I have to ruin everything?

| October 27th, 2009 | by BCSilvia | Categories: Entertainment, Fandom, Psychology | Tags: | Trackback | No Comments »



Easy Bleeder

Thursday, October 15th, 2009

Stephen Marche wrote a recent Esquire piece, wherein he posits (among other things) that the popularity of vampires in fiction is due to the fact that they are stand-ins for the gay men that young straight women want to have sex with.

After seeing a bunch of links to the piece, I was concerned that it was just one of the many responses to female fannishness that tends crop up every now and again. You know the ones I mean. They fall into two basic categories: The Incredulous (Why do women like this shitty, terrible thing?), and the Superior (Don’t worry, I know why women like this shitty, terrible thing).

But actually, though many find it almost irresistible to drag Marche’s piece to the Pillory of Snark (including myself, apparently), I have to admit it kind of made some points here and there. It’s not at all perfect (first draft?), but maybe there’s some value to be found.

At least near the beginning he was doing okay. Yes, it’s true that vampires in fiction are often metaphors for whatever social or sexual anxieties their authors (and their audiences) were dealing with at the time. And at the end Marche is making the case for hope: In the current explosion of vampire fiction he sees a group, once thought of as freaky monsters, starting to become accepted by a wider culture. Our acceptance of vampires, he claims, is a prelude to, or a parallel of, our acceptance of diverse sexual practices and orientations. And you know, I kind of hope he’s right about that. I just don’t think that he quite makes the case here. It could all just be a coincidence.

I don’t think it was a particularly good idea to include that bit suggesting that teenage girls lust after gay guys because they’re hot, but not risky. For one thing, who knows what teenage girls think? (Why there always seems to be a guy around who thinks he’s got the inside track on the teenage female mentality, I’ll never know.) But, for another thing, I just don’t see how this supports the conclusion Marche reaches in the end.

Are we supposed to feel hopeful about the idea of awkward teenage girls pinning their fantasies on unattainable gay males, as if they are the font from which all tolerance flows? If it means that those girls will eventually take their future boyfriends and husbands to the theater to see vampire movies, and that exposure somehow translates into gay acceptance, then maybe. But, somehow I think that grudging acquiescence, or an obligation to please one’s girlfriend will gain you much. That might sell more books and movie tickets, but it might also lead to quite a few more awkward, contentious moments between actual, real people, with tender, hurtable feelings. Um, yay? (But, perhaps this is where acceptance comes from? I don’t know.)

On the other hand, writing about that stuff was brilliant, because he sure got a lot of links, didn’t he?

| October 15th, 2009 | by BCSilvia | Categories: Books & Literature, Entertainment, Fandom, Gender, Pop Culture, Psychology | Tags: , | Trackback | No Comments »



Site Feeds

Recent Posts

Recent Comments

Archives:

By Category

By Date


Search This Site


RSS Posts at Snappy Patter

RSS Links of Interest

Arts & Entertainment

Books & Literature

Comic Strips

General Interest

Money & Commerce

Politics & Philosophy

Science & Technology

Meta