Yes, we are still on for the thing tonight, just like we said, god dammit.

Continuing my descent into old fogey-ness, I seem to have encountered another shift in the zeitgeist that marks off my age. The first one was the enormous increase in the number of text messages sent by the average teenager. But this was something that one mostly would only see if one actually has a teenager around the house. Since this doesn't apply to me, I only find out about it in odd magazine articles.

But there is another trend that I have had cause to experience firsthand - the proliferation in confirmatory text messages over every social arrangement.

Up until recently, my general presumption was that things worked as follows:

-You and person X would agree to do activity Y at time Z.

-If one of you couldn't make it, you would inform the other ahead of time.

-Absent that, it is assumed that the arrangements stand and you both turn up at time Z.

You, like me, might presume that this is how things still work, yes?

You, like me, might end up being rather surprised.

These days, a lot of people, particularly young people, seem to have decided collectively that they're switching from an opt-out system of arrangements to an opt-in one. In other words, plans to do things in two days time are merely a suggestion, a vague agreement-in-principle. If you actually intend to follow through, you have to confirm this.

I found this when I'd start getting messages asking if we were still on for what I considered agreed-upon plans. I used to respond with 'of course' or something like that, wondering vaguely why this was now the thing that people did, but dismissing it as evidence of their neediness or insecurity. Confirming to them would seem pointless, but not a big deal.

I remember complaining to a friend, and saying that it was refreshing to find people who didn't need this. I was meeting someone new for coffee that evening, and was glad that we hadn't done the obligatory text message dance, which seemed like a good sign. That is, until she didn't actually turn up. Apparently she had decided that not receiving a confirmation was an indication that things were canceled, so much so that she apparently hadn't bothered to message me to check.

To paraphrase Frank Costanza, as I rained abusive text messages on her, I realized there had to be another way. After my rage subsided, it became pretty clear that my attempts to fight a rearguard action against the culture were as doomed as the 50's protests against rock and roll. So I now suck it up and send confirmatory messages. Sometimes one still isn't enough - I've sent a confirmation the night before, only to get another query confirming things an hour before. Who are these people, and what on earth is wrong with them?

I think the reality is that people have become so flaky that this is actually the more efficient social arrangement. When enough people become sufficiently inconsiderate that they just cancel all the time at the last minute, confirmations are actually time-saving. They're only a net drain when the probability of last minute cancellations is politely low, at which point they're a nuisance. This was what I assumed was the case, but apparently not. The real shift will have arrived when cancelling is so common that it's not even considered that impolite. Once again, I'm pretty sure this is a generational thing.

If narcissism and self-centredness are the psychological traits of our age, then flakiness is merely the natural result. Everyone else's time is less valuable than mine (one reasons), so what difference does it make if I change plans on someone at the last minute? Actually, it's probably worse than that - the median reasoning (such as it is) is probably closer to 'I have something better on, or can't be bothered. Ergo, I won't go'. To that extent, expecting confirmatory text messages at least indicates an ability to escape from pure solipsism and anticipate everyone else's self-centredness too. Which, at the margin, I guess is a good thing, even if the need for such anticipation is ultimately depressing.

Plus I just hate sending zillions of text messages, which annoys me too. Why? Same underlying reason.

Dalrymple on Leading Questions

Some excellent thoughts from the good doctor:

“Do you care about the health of the planet?” is a question not quite in the class of “Have you stopped beating your wife yet?,” but it is approaching it. As it turned out, reading further, the health of the planet meant the health of the people on the planet, with a little biological diversity mysticism (the new paganism) thrown in. “Our aim is to respond to the threats we face: threats to human health and wellbeing, threats to the sustainability of our civilisation, and threats to the natural and human-made systems that support us.” The saintly editor was vouchsafed a vision, though expressed in the first-person plural: “Our vision is for a planet that nourishes and sustains the diversity of life with which we co-exist and on which we depend.” Hands up, then, all those in favor of spreading as widely as possible the threats to human well-being and of eliminating all forms of life but our own. 

It must be a terrible thing to have such boring thoughts, not occasionally but repeatedly, if not constantly, and feel obliged to express them. 

 Ha!

The last point is something I reflect on from time to time - most recently while standing in line to order at a restaurant counter, and listening to some boorish buffoon talking at full volume about insipid nonsense to his two friends. Truthfully, the two friends seemed a little uncomfortable at the volume, or at least the visible unpleasant looks and enforced distance the people nearby were applying. Though since they chose to spend time with our voluminous subject, maybe they didn't mind, and it's just me applying the false consensus effect.

One of the things I use to try to avoid getting annoyed in these situations is to reflect that I have to hear this clown's drivel for 2 minutes. His friends have to hear it for 30 minutes of a meal. But he has to hear it all the time, even when alone, even when in total silence. What a horrifying thought.

The Arbitrariness of Social Conventions

Social customs are strange things. Some rules are totally arbitrary (fork on the left, knife on the right), but usually these end up being conventions where the choice of alternatives didn't really matter much anyway. Mostly social conventions exist to solve some or other common problem in society.

Some rules tend to take odd views of human nature. In Chicago, for instance, if you try to swim out past chest height at most of the beaches, 15 year old pin-head lifeguards sitting in row boats will blow whistles and yell at you to go back on pain of being fined. This, bear in mind, is in a lake that has no waves, no submerged obstacles, and a gently sloping shoreline. I spent frustrated hours trying to work out whether this was a liability issue (if so, hand me the damn waiver, I'll sign it), or a paranoia about the inability of literally anybody to swim. Although frankly, short of a heart attack, I don't know how you'd drown if you tried.

Other rules make sense on their own, but are hard to reconcile with a consistent view of the world. For instance, if you think people are too stupid to figure out where they can walk out to in a lake, how on earth do you justify letting such people vote to decide US foreign policy? If you think that people need to be protected from the prospect of inadvertent mistakes (as one rationale for the insane swimming restrictions), why doesn't this apply consistently? In Chicago, for instance, you're able to ride your motorcycle to the beach without a helmet, but not allowed to swim freely once you arrive. I challenge anyone to explain these two facts as being the result of a consistent approach to anything.

This can get particularly striking when dealing with rules designed to guide conventions of behavior when people are forced to interact in environments when their immediate interests are at odds. An increasingly common indignant complaint in modern life is when one is forced to endure the merest whiff of unwanted cigarette smoke. The tradeoff here is fundamental - one person gains enjoyment by emitting smoke, the other by not having to smell it. If we can't simply separate, as in smoking versus non-smoking sections, who gets their way and who has to lump it? One rule says that smoke is a minor imposition, and the rest of the world has to deal with it. The other says that it's rude to pollute other peoples air, whether by farting, smoking, or not showering after exercise or wearing deodorant before. You should only do any of them where others aren't impacted. Both are individually defensible. Society used to favor view #1, but the evangelists for #2 seem to have won the day, imposing their will on everyone else. They don't tell you it's just their preference, of course - it's all about the cost to society of second hand smoke. Yeah right.

Some of these indignant smoke-botherers would do well to reflect on the fragility of their own intellectual consistency. My favorite in this regard are the people who ask other people to not smoke nearby, because their children will breath it in. I find this such a tone deaf complaint. Personally, I don't get annoyed by smoke very much. But I do get significantly annoyed by loud noises in environments not conducive to them - loud and boisterous tables at restaurants, young children yelling and carrying on, that kind of thing. If you bring your very young child to a restaurant, there is a chance they may start crying and you won't be able to comfort them. If this happens, it's not going to be pleasant for the people around you. Triply so if you're on a plane. This is totally predictable in advance, of course - when you bring the kid along, it's just the risk that goes with the territory.

There's a very reasonable argument that say, tough luck, it's not a large imposition, and we can't expect young parents to just be pariahs for years. Which is fine. But would you be happy if the same argument were applied to smoking? This goes even more so when the child is above the age where they might be taught better manners. If your 6 month old won't stop crying, people understand that sometimes there's not much you can do. But when your 4 year old is talking at full volume in the art museum, and you just carry on thinking it's adorable (as happened to me today)? That, my friend, is the equivalent of lighting up your cigarette at the table just before the dessert course.

The first order response to all this is that most people turn out to be quite flexible in matters of abstract principle once a sufficient quantity of their oxen are about to be gored. As Ace of Spades once memorably put it, everyone is a property rights absolutist right up until the point that their neighbour, also a property rights absolutist, wants to open a fat-rendering plant.

The second is that there is a certain type of utopian that wants to set down consistent principles in all social behaviour, and if certain practices need to be upended to make it happen, so be it. The small-c conservative takes a Camus-like view of the absurdity of much convention - sure it's arbitrary, but that's okay. Ripping up long-standing practices tends to not have a great track record, so maybe you're better off just accepting that it doesn't make any sense.

Part of me is sympathetic to the Utopian view that we need to hammer out consistent principles once and for all. But I don't think it's every going to happen. You're probably better off just embracing the absurdity and contradiction.

I try to remind myself of this when it's my meal being disturbed. As Mr Dylan put it - be easy baby, there ain't nothing worth stealing here.

Conversational Centres of Gravity

Have you noticed that when sitting at a dinner table, conversations have centres of gravity? Not as in metaphorical centres of gravity about subject matters, but as in physical locations. The centre of the conversation is an actual point in space, usually somewhere on the table.

To find out where, the procedure is simple. Look at where everyone's head is facing as discussion proceeds, and then draw a line out from their eyes, perpendicular to their face. Do this for everyone in the group. The spot closest to where the most lines intersect is the centre of gravity.

Here's an example to show you that you don't need to hear any words to know exactly who has what role in the conversation from body language alone:

The centre of gravity is not actually in the middle of the table - instead, it's slightly in front of and to the right of the girl in the brown top.

Once you realise that conversation has an actual locus, it's easy to see that the guy in the red shirt is at risk of being excluded. In a loud room, he would likely be at the periphery of the discussion, sitting there looking inwards trying to stay involved. He's already leaning in quite a way, whereas the girl in pink (equi-distant from the physical centre of the table, but closer to the centre of gravity) looks far more relaxed. Generally, I've found that anything more than 1m away from the centre means you're effectively shut out.

It's hard to see in an example like this, but another sure-fire way to almost guarantee exclusion is if the line of sight from your eyes to the centre of gravity has to pass through part of another person's body. The guy in the grey is physically closer to the centre than the guy in the red, but the fact that the girl in brown is leaning forward with her arms out means he's almost shut out. If the girl in brown turned her left shoulder slightly towards the girl in pink, he'd likely be shut out altogether. Even in the current setup, he looks disconnected from the discussion.

I find that when I can see that the nature of the seating arrangement and the dominance of the various personalities means that I'm going to be excluded, I'll often give up early and try to strike up conversation with the person next to me instead. You can only fight gravity with gravity, and try to create another centre that draws in others when their conversation falters. Usually on a long table there'll be multiple centres of gravity, and one or two guys inevitably in no-mans land. The only hope for them is that the other unaligned powers have something insightful to say. Usually, unfortunately, they don't. In the example above, the centre is significantly determined by layout. As the table gets sufficiently long, the focal point all comes down to who's the most interesting or conversationally dominant (either by being bombastic and loud, or being of higher social status).

In case it wasn't obvious, this theory was honed over various accumulated hours of being shut out of discussions by geography and trying to figure out why.

Social trends I do not understand

Bumper stickers that announce 'My Child is an Honor Student at [XYZ] Elementary School'.

To me, this just seems to be the height of poor manners on so many levels.

Every time I see these stickers, I wonder 'Who exactly is this for?' The random guy behind you in traffic? Why the hell would he possibly care? At least with political bumper stickers, there's the justification of the theory, however misguided, that you might change someone's vote by implicit messaging (although to even state that idea out loud is to realise how ludicrous it is.) But here, it is impossible for the owner of the sticker to not realise that the world couldn't possibly care less.

And what message exactly are you trying to impart to John Q. Citizen, even supposing they do listen? There's two obvious implications of the sticker:

1. I am very proud of my child, whom I love dearly.

2. My child is very intelligent (and yours is not).

My responses to these would be:

1. No $#!7. That's so unusual for parents! Why not just get a sticker that says 'I love my children'? What's that, you say? Because it would sound ridiculous and obvious, like boasting that you always flush the toilet?

2. You're bragging about your child's grades? Do you realise how pathetic that sounds?

The second one, which I suspect is the point of the stickers, just seems so loathesomely gauche and shameless that it's hard to know where to begin. Suppose you're the type of person who loves to mention how much money they make, or how many women they've slept with, or what type of car they drive. You reach middle age, and every interesting thing you've done is getting further and further in the past. You need to justify your insecurities to a world that is passing you by. But sadly, it is getting harder and harder to find opportunities to just insert monologues about your accomplishments into conversation like a misguided V2 rocket aimed roughly at London. People are sick of the same stories about your long-ago glory days. How might you make up for the failed dreams of your youth?

Easy! Just get into vanglorious sloganeering about your child's accomplishments! Better yet, launder it all through the a cheap, see-through veneer of parental love and adulation. Nobody will ever spot the hidden subtext.

Putting a child's A+ test on the refrigerator is a sign of pride and love that the child will see.

Putting a crude boast about the same on your car is tacky and classless.

That depends. When are you going to lose some weight?

As part of your introverted correspondent's mission to understand social conventions, I find myself interested in what personal questions are considered polite and impolite to ask.

One that I find particularly odd is the fact that sizable numbers of people seem to think it's appropriate to ask newly-wedded couples when they're going to have children.

I think this isn't considered impolite by a lot of people, but perhaps ought to be.

Now, this isn't in the category of easily disclosed facts that needs to be concealed in order to prevent social friction between the questioner and the respondent. An example of this kind would be how much someone earns - there's not much ambiguity about what the number actually is or what it means, but disclosing it might provoke either envy or embarrassment. I'm not a big fan of those types of taboos, but I can understand why they exist.

The problem, rather, is that the question seems quite likely to be unresolved, and possibly a sore point as well.

Let's assume your early thirties married couple hasn't had children yet. There's a range of possible reasons that this might be the case, and a lot of them suggest you probably shouldn't have asked.

1. One of the two parties wants children and the other one wants them either later, or not at all. This is almost certainly likely to be a mildly sore point (at a minimum) between the two, and likely not an argument that they would relish re-litigating in front of a public audience.

2. They're actively trying to have children, but are having difficulties conceiving. Way to go! Their medical issues are undoubtedly something that they'd love to talk about at the dinner party. As a bonus, you can also delve into who might be at fault between the two of them! Is he shooting blanks? Is she barren? At worst it's hugely awkward, at best it can publicly reopen rounds of hurtful recriminations!

3. Neither of them want to have children yet, but they'd rather not explain this to you. This is the most compelling reason to not ask, that for the vast majority of people on the planet, it's simply none of their business. Having children or not seems like a fairly important and personal consideration that lots of people might not want to discuss in front of everyone. In addition, the question is almost always phrased as if they need to justify their decision to not have children. I understand why the potential grandparents might feel compelled to inquire, but some guy at the office? Really?

I do my bit for the married couples in my life by never asking. I was talking to a friend the other day, who complained how people tend to ask him when he's going to have kids, impatient for them to happen soon. I told him that I thought it was weird how people always asked these kinds of questions, and to the extent I had any thoughts on the matter, I was quite happy that they seemed content to not have kids in a raging hurry, because if they did it would really put a dent in our hanging out time. Even that, I said only because
a) he'd know I was kidding -I didn't actually consider it any of my business, and would be delighted with whatever choice they made, and
b) he'd possibly find it a welcome counterpoint to the pro-child chiding he receives too much of.

I like people having children. I also like people making their own choices free from needless nosiness.

You wouldn't ask a couple "how's your marriage holding up?". You wouldn't ask "how's that embarrassing medical condition of yours?". So why ask about something that has a good chance of bearing upon both of these?

Stop playing with your damn phone and talk to the person in front of you

One of the most striking modern pathologies is the nervous twitch of obsessively checking one's phone.

I use the terms 'obsessive' and 'pathology' advisedly. People will check their email literally hundreds of times a day, even though they might get only 15 emails (if that). And most of the emails are rubbish anyway. How many of them couldn't wait half an hour until you were back at your computer?

Now, ordinarily I'd just put this down to de gustibus non est disputandum. If people want to spend all their lives poring over a tiny screen, that's their business.

But as a question of manners, I find it strange how much obsessive phone checking intrudes into otherwise polite situations.

Last night, I was out at a quite nice restaurant. At the table next to me was a couple, late 20's or early 30's. Quite stylishly dressed. I overhead them say to the waiter that they were on holiday from Dallas.

And yet during the meal, when I glanced over the guy was on his phone continuously for perhaps a two minute stretch at least (or happened to be on it both times when I glanced over). Phone in his lap, head down tapping away. The girl was sitting there poking at her salad, looking bored. It didn't look like the guy was quickly checking wikipedia to settle an argument as to whether the English side in the Battle of Hastings was lead by King Harold or Ethelred the Unready. It looked like he was just zoning out to do his own thing.

Seems like a funny way to spend an evening at a nice restaurant with your girlfriend.

Now, in some ways this isn't the most perplexing case though. Phones are a great way to deal with boredom and social isolation. Perhaps they'd just ran out of things to say, and the guy wasn't good at dealing with silences. It's still somewhat poor form, but understandable.

No, the truly bizarre trait is the people who'll compulsively check their phone while carrying on a conversation (at 50% attention level, of course). That's just plain rude. It's saying that the discussion with the other person is not worth your full attention. Would you just pick up a newspaper and start reading when the other person was in mid-sentence? Would you turn on the TV? No! So put down the damn phone.

This is a trait concentrated almost for the most part in young people. This is partly because they're more technology-obsessed to begin with, and partly because they were less likely to be raised with proper manners. They get used to fiddling with it, and nobody calls them out on it.

Well, screw that. If you're hanging out with me, and I like you enough to consider you a friend, you're going to get called out on it. 'Are we playing phones? Woo! Email!'. Or I'm going to do my annoying thing of swatting at the phone while telling you 'Put it away! Put it away!'. (If you're someone I don't know well enough to do this too, I'l just be quietly judging you as having poor breeding, while deciding if I can extricate myself from your boorish company).

And for the most part, people will put it away without too much hassle. Because they themselves know that they weren't really expecting to find anything more interesting there, and that it basically is just a nervous twitch. (If people really are expecting a particular email or text message, they'll usually apologise and say so, which is always fine).

One alternative to it being compulsive is that they genuinely prefer the company of whatever person they're communicating with by email or text message. You can rule this one out easily by noting that if you reversed the roles of 'person in front of them' and 'person on the other end of the text message', they'd still be doing the same thing.

Another is that social discourse has become sufficiently shrivelled that modern teenagers actually prefer to communicate electronically than face-to-face. This is probably part of it - I note an increasing discomfort among young people to speak to anyone on the phone - you'll call them, and they'll text message you back. (Again, this is likely to get you mocked by me). But how do you explain the behaviour by people who are outgoing and gregarious? They don't have any reason to avoid real conversation. Instead they just want to get the positive buzz of an email or text message and (sort of) continue the conversation. It might be that they're selfish in assuming their time is more valuable that yours. It might also be that they're equally happy for you to be doing the same thing back (which seems like one of Dante's circles of conversational hell). It's both hilarious and scary to watch groups of teenagers all sitting around, all playing on their phones and half-talking while texting whichever of their friends aren't immediately in front of them.

The one saving grace in all this is that I'm old enough that my generation doesn't communicate so much by text message, so most of the obsession is on the email front. Because of the immediacy and greater intrusiveness of text messages, people feel the need to respond quickly. But then the other person responds back, and now you're doing nothing but text messaging each other back and forth. At least with email, if there's nothing there when you check, you have to face up to the rejection and go back to the person in front of you. Text messages succeed more with the phone-obsessed  because they provide a never-ending stream of distractions.

Do you ever find yourself  laughing at the idiots playing farmville on facebook, obsessively logging in to water their crops every four hours so that imaginary animals don't die?

Don't. The psychology of people gettting stuck in stupid hedonic feedback loops and ending up doing obsessive things is exactly the same as compulsive phone checking. Farmville just figured out how to turn a profit on it.

And so, in their own way, did the phone companies. It's not for nothing that the prices charged on text messages are astronomical relative to their cost to send. Addicts will always pay up.

'This is Dylan and Maddie's Mum'

The New Yorker has an interesting piece on how American children end up so spoiled. They relate it to the idea of parents doing ever more for their children, rather than giving them responsibilities early on and making them follow through.

I don't know the right parenting strategy to combat it, but I've certainly noticed an unusual indulgence of misbehaviour by kids in this country. Is you child of 4 yelling in the plane/restaurant/shopping centre? Never mind, that's just the joys of children, and everyone should just deal with your little precious! How dare you, stranger, ask my son to keep his voice down!

It's one thing when your kids are brats in your own home. It's another when you merrily let them impose social costs on everyone around you without making any effort to stop it. Everyone understands when your one-year old baby is crying on the airplane that there's not much you can do. They'll be irritated, but they'll understand. But when your 4-year old keeps kicking the seat in front of you and you do nothing to stop it? That makes you a tool, not just your child.

I remember thinking about a broader version of this problem when I was behind a four-wheel drive. Everyone seems to have those stickers that have stick figures of all the people in the family. This lady had gone one step further - her license plate decal read 'This is Dylan and Maddie's Mum'.

What a strange way for an adult to define their identity! Not only inwardly, but to proclaim this to the whole world. I understand the solicitude for one's children, but it seems perverse that the parents come to view their own existence in terms of being appendages to their offspring. Is that really the first sentence that you want to use to describe yourself - I am my children's mother? Even if you were to phrase it as 'I have two children', that would be an improvement, as you haven't relegated the subject (of yourself) to an implied noun to emphasise the object.

Can you imagine a parent of a hundred years ago writing such a thing? Or even fifty years? It seems pretty damn unlikely.

If I were a gambling man, I would bet that Dylan and Maddie were indulged a lot as children. I hope it didn't turn them into entitled brats, but I'm not optimistic.

Here's one thing you can take to the bank - you wouldn't have caught Papa or Mama Holmes with a license plate like that, and when/if I sire offspring, you won't find me with one either.

"Do you want Thai, or Italian?"

One of my minor quests in life is to find ways around small inconveniences in life arising from  people asking (and answering) the wrong question. For instance, I've written before that when someone asks what you want to eat for dinner, the answer 'I'm easy' is often profoundly unhelpful.

But there's another case where people answer the wrong question - the 'Do you want Thai or Italian?'. The reason it gets tricky is that it's not clear whether the person is expected to balance the competing interests in their head before giving their estimate of the consensus best choice, or whether they're just meant to state their own preferences directly, with the consensus to be formed later.

In other words, suppose you weakly prefer Thai, but you suspect that your friend would prefer Italian. Do you just answer 'Thai'? Do you answer 'Italian', based on the assumption that you don't mind Italian and your friend wants it?

In my estimation, the most useful answer is to just state your own preferences - once we know how each other feels, it's easy to balance the competing interests. But the second one is fine too, as long as it's understood by both people what's going on. Things get frustrating when your friend doesn't know which answer you're actually giving - do you really want Italian, or do you just think he wants Italian? What if neither of you actually want Italian, but each thinks that the other one does?

Ironically, this problem gets worse when you have more regard for the other person's feelings. People are reluctant to just say the thing they want, because it might sound too demanding, or because it could be interpreted as a lack of concern for what the other person wants.

Thankfully, this is a situation that can also be solved be answering both questions with the appropriate phrasing. These days, I'll go for something like the following:
'If it were just me eating, I'd lean weakly towards Thai. But if you feel more like Italian we should do that, because I'm happy with that too.'

Bam! Problem solved. They now know your true personal preferences, which is the actually useful part. But you've also given your estimation of the estimated compromise decision, without having it confused for your true preferences. Plus you've demonstrated ample concern for their feelings, which means that you don't look like a tool for stating what you personally want.

Let's just say... you're welcome.

Chateau Holmes - helping you navigate potential minor faux pas situations by spotting the potential confusion in the question.  

Against Internet Pile-ons

One of the things I missed while I was away was the chance to comment in a timely fashion on this interesting piece by Ken at Popehat on the ethics of making people 'internet famous', as he puts it. I generally agree with a lot of what Ken writes about, so it's interesting when I find myself disagreeing on something.

Let me start with the opening part of Ken's post, and then jump around a bit:

For some time, I've been thinking and writing about this question: is it "fair," and "right," that if I act like a sufficiently notable choad on the internet, I may become instantly famous for it, and the consequences of that fame may follow me and have profound social implications?
I keep coming back to two answers: (1) yes, and (2) to quote Clint,deserve's got nothing to do with it.

Obviously the answer is going to depend on exactly what you did in the first place. But usually, what sort of things make somebody become 'internet famous'? Usually it's something like the following:
-Making a racist remark or video
-Saying something particularly mean or off-colour
-Writing an obtuse and inadvertantly funny email
etc.

In general, does that deserve having a lot of nasty web posts come up whenever someone googles your name?

Punishments can be fair in one of two ways.

The first is that the punishment is fair to that individual. Given John Smith did XYZ, is it fair to John Smith personally that he suffers the consequences?

The second is that the punishment is fair given the overall scale of the bad behavior that society is trying to deter and the overall costs of punishment.

To see the difference, think about medieval punishments for theft and highway robbery. The punishment for these was incredibly severe, and harsher than for a lot of other more gruesome crimes. But why? Getting robbed isn't that bad in the scheme of things.

The reason is the lack of enforcement. It was very difficult to catch highway robbers. Hence, when the King did catch one, he had to do horrible things to make an example out of them. This was the only way he could hope to deter crime, without a police force to do it for him. The individual punishment for that robber was surely not fair, but the overall social aim may have been worth it (or not. But it's not an indefensible proposition).

In the case of the generic 'guy acting like an @$$hole' and getting a whole ton of nasty internet posts, I think it's very rare that the actions are fair to him personally.

Ken disagrees:

Some people worry that the result is unduly harsh or unfair — that anyone can become a pariah because of "one mistake." I'm all for the concept of mercy, but I think that concern is misguided for a number of reasons. First and most importantly, the internet is manic and has a short attention span. You have to do something truly epic to go viral. One angry email won't do it unless it is so extreme that it reflects a disturbed mind. If you "just have a bad day," you'll slip into obscurity quickly. It takes talent, or sustained effort, to become internet famous. Consider the case of XXX of Brandlink Communications. Like Christoforo, he acted like an ass, and won a day or two, tops, of internet fame — but now he's slipping inexorably into deserved oblivion. And he's still employed. And it's only been six months, but if you say YYY, people will say "who?"

It's true that the internet has a short attention span. In terms of the number of people who will remember your name offhand, your internet fame will be short-lived. But the internet has an incredibly long memory. When people actually search for you, for whatever reason, they'll still find all the same stuff.  If you want to see the example of the YYY name above, see what searching for her name produces. You may not remember her name off the top of your head, but someone who searches for her is going to find that stuff for a long time to come. And that is what makes it unfair. The woman in question acted rudely on a train, and was caught on video. I confidently predict that the nasty web coverage will still be found by people searching for her name for a longer period of time than a person would serve a prison sentence for manslaughter.

Next, Ken argues that this doesn't matter, because everyone can make up their mind:

Finally, some argue that internet infamy can be "out of proportion" to the offense. Perhaps. But isn't that the call of every person who reads about your actions? People don't win instant internet notoriety based on third-hard accounts of conduct. They win it because they do something on video, or in writing, that's notable. If what they did really isn't that bad — if it's truly been blown out of proportion — then can't future readers determine that for themselves? There's more than a whiff of paternalism to the "blown out of proportion" concern — it seems to suggest that we ought not write about someone's misdeeds because future readers can't be trusted to assess their significance themselves. I disagree. ZZZ's future employers, employees, associates, and friends are perfectly capable of reading up on the situation and making up their own minds.

Sure, but there's still a huge selectivity. Every day, hundreds of millions act like rude d***heads in some situation or other. How many of those are likely to have all their future employers focusing on one bad specific incident in their lives, even if they do 'make up their own mind'. The argument seems to be 'hey, maybe they won't all punish you for it!'. But that doesn't speak to the selectivity of it all. There's still a sizable negative cost, and it gets applied in a very arbitrary and capricious way.

Okay, so maybe it's not fair to the individuals, but is it worth it overall? Ken argues yes:

For the last hundred years, people who care about such things have been complaining about the anonymity of modern life. People who used to live in small towns live in big cities, and people are turned towards television and globalized, homogenized culture rather than towards their neighborhood. One consequence is the ability to treat people badly — even in serial fashion — with relative impunity. It used to be that you'd get the reputation as the town drunk or the town letch, or the village idiot, and that reputation would follow you until you move on to another town. But now many people don't even know their neighbors, let alone their whole "town."
With respect to certain bad behavior, the internet can change that — it can transform you into the resident of an insular town of 300 million people.

But here's the meat of my objection - very few of the major cases of internet fame involve people actually doing anything, as opposed to merely saying something.

And I take a strong stand that mean words on their own just aren't a big deal. Unless you're actively inciting criminal behaviour, words don't matter that much. Make a really mean comment about Trig Palin? Post a racist video on the internet? That makes you an @$$hole. Know what else makes you an @$$hole. Littering. Cutting people off in traffic. Peeing on the seat in a public toilet and not wiping it up. And a million other things that we don't get the vapours about, even though I don't want to associate with people who do them regularly. Rudeness is never going to be eliminated, and I suggest that you may well not actually enjoy living in a society where it had been. It would certainly be a lot more boring.

For the most part, the tendency towards internet pile-ons is associated with a more pernicious trend - sympathetic offense. That remark wasn't directed at me, but I'm going to be outraged on behalf of somebody else, even if that someone else isn't personally offended. This of course leads to what John Derbyshire memorably described as the 'evolution towards the ever thinner-skinned'. Here at Shylock Holmes HQ, we are proud to fight against this trend.

What I don't like about internet pile-ons is the sense of gleeful indignant rage they involve. The people piling on usually are really enjoying laying the boot into someone, assured of their own righteousness.

And that is always an ugly emotion to watch when spread across a mob, even if just an internet mob.

I respectfully dissent.

"No Substitutions"

Are there any restaurant policies more obnoxious than the 'No Substitutions' written on a menu? It seems that every wannabe hipster place now decides that they care so much about their craft that they can't possibly let you ruin that burger by adding bacon or changing the cheese it comes with.

And that's usually what it is, too. It's not like these are Cordon Bleu trained chefs with such a passion for their food being served in the correct way that they'd rather lose you as a customer than alter the dish that took them 5 years to perfect. No, more likely it's a god damn panini, and they won't substitute cheddar cheese for Swiss. Would this breach the conventions of the Sacred International Brotherhood of Bread-Toasters?

There's only a couple of possible explanations for this, and they're all bad.

One is that everything is made in advance, and thus they can't change it. Unless it's pulled pork that's been cooked for hours or a sauce prepared in advance, I doubt it. And when that's the case, usually they'll just tell you for that one item, it won't be written on the menu.

Two is that they steadfastly refuse to spend more than 45 seconds preparing your particular panini, and it would be a huge hassle to fetch the other cheese. A variant of this is that the store is run by obsessively cheap @$$holes who are worried that customers are going to come in and request 'Would I be able to substitute the cheez whiz for some beluga caviar instead?', thereby blowing out the profit margin.

This is weak, because there's a much simpler solution - charge them for it. If it's a hassle? If the new ingredient costs more? Add a buck to the price, or whatever it takes for you to profitably do the thing they're asking. That will quickly determine which customers really want it. Hint, if I'm asking, that's me.

Three, and I imagine most likely, is just that they're giant hipster douchebags with a carrot up their @$$ about how good their food is. I once knew a trendy pub place where the only burger they served had blue cheese on it. And they would actually refuse people that asked for different cheese. Yeah, way to be a purist about a type of cheese that lots of people really don't like. What happened to 'the customer is always right', knob-jockeys?

Four, (and this is the most charitable explanation) is that the owners just got sick of dealing with annoying customers wanting twenty-thousand things done to their sandwich. Look, I hate being in line behind these folks too. But that's why it's called a customer service profession. Your job exists partly to kiss the butt of whichever clown comes in wanting to buy your stuff. At the point that you're unwilling to do that, you're in the wrong profession.

I broadly stopped going to these places. Frankly it's very rare that I want to change an item, but these notices just give me the scours. Clearly you turkeys are too good for my low-brow dollars! I'll just have to take them elsewhere.

A Social Faux Pas that is Fast Disappearing

Opening someone else’s mail. This used to be a big deal. But think about it – how much important personal business is actually conducted by mail?

The average person’s mail consists of a combination of bills, junk mail, and the occasional package from Amazon. Granted, it’s possible that your credit card bill could reveal embarrassing details about you being in lots of debt or lots of purchases from that foot fetish website, but these seem like relatively uncommon occurrences.

The reality is that the vast majority of truly personal correspondence (love letters, scandalous news from friends, family secrets) is conducted by email, phone or text message. I imagine that most people who aren't trying to disguise evidence of an affair on a credit card statement or phone bill would be quite happy to have their spouse read through their mail.  Reading someone else’s email retains much of the flavor that opening mail once had. But the sacredness of mail is something I guess will only diminish with time.

In other news, apparently the plural of 'faux pas' is 'faux pas', which is confusing as hell to me.

Let Hallmark Express Your Innermost Thoughts

I never understood why so many people want to buy cards that have messages already written in them.

I know I'm in the small minority on this matter thanks to the miracle of revealed preference. Go to virtually any card section, and you'll find rows and rows of pre-written cards for all sorts of occasions. The section for blank cards tends to be small, and verging on nonexistent if you're in a cheap place. It's safe to assume that the newsagents and supermarkets know their customers pretty well, and that the distribution of cards on shelves roughly matches the distribution in demand.

I understand that, human nature being what it is, sometimes people really don't know exactly how to express their thoughts, and only 'get it' when they read what someone else has written.

By why are the messages in cards so chronically awful? Does anyone read the boilerplate tripe like "wishing you every happiness on your special day" and think "Yes, YES! That's what I've been trying to say all these years!". Look, If they were printing Valentine's day cards with Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 or condolence cards with Catullus 101, I could understand. Hell, I might even buy one. But no, it's always the most jejune, hackneyed prose, trite to the point of being sickening.

I have a few theories. The most charitable is that card writers know that the average person is deathly afraid of a blank page. The messages are rarely long enough to make up the whole card, so it's assumed that you have to write more. Maybe they're just meant to get your thoughts flowing. But if so, it leaves a page looking tacky and broken up.

Less charitably, I wonder whether people aren't really interested in the message in the card, and just want a low-cost symbolic way to 'show they care' (*retch*). The message in this case means they have to write less, although this would suggest you should get longer messages. Or we just live in age age where bogus sentimentality is the norm, and people don't much appreciate the difference between good and bad messages.

There was however one occasion in which I valued message cards. That was when my brother and I had the tradition of sending each other birthday cards with some other message inside (Happy Bat Mizvah! Congratulations on your Baby!), and the card itself being filled with ribald abuse.

If it turns out that this practice is more widespread than I thought, and sufficient to explain the demand for messages cards, I take back all my grousing on the subject.