Fixed Fish Fights, Bystanders & Logic

Fish use logic. There, I managed to type it. Not with a straight face, but still, there it is in print I created. The implications for this are so vast I don't know where to begin. Probably I should begin with something that helps you believe me.

The January 25, 2007, issue of the journal Nature has a paper by Stanford scientists Logan Grosenick, Tricia Clement, and Russell Fernald entitled, "Fish can infer social rank by observation alone."

The researchers had a swell time setting up a system of rigged fights that was viewed by "bystander" fish who were later tested on what they'd grasped from watching the series of encounters.

All of the fish involved were male fish of the Astatotilapia burtoni variety, which are ferociously territorial. In Lake Tanganyika, home turf for the species, the fish "engage in regular aggressive bouts that determine their access to territory and resources."

But they do not engage in fights just for the heck of it, because if they lose more than they win they end up "losing their bright coloration and becoming reproductively dormant." Which is even less fun than it sounds like. Eager to keep their colors and their virility, each fish - similar to a drunk cowboy with a chip on his shoulder but not a death wish - prefers to fight someone they think they can whip.

The experiment was designed to see if fish could put two and two together successfully. Five fighters, A, B, C, D, and E, were paired in matches in which Fish A beat Fish B, Fish B beat Fish C, Fish C beat Fish D, and Fish D beat fish E.

The bystander fish never saw Fish A fight Fish E. Therefore, if a bystander fish preferred fighting Fish E instead of Fish A, it would mean the bystander had used logic to make this choice.

The bystanders made the right choice.

To make sure there wasn't something specific about a particular fish that helped with the selection, the fish labeled "Fish A" for half of the bystanders was given the role of "Fish E" for each of the other bystanders. Who also made the right choice.

How do you rig a fish fight? Well, the scientists knew a fish in his home area had an advantage because of Astatotilapia burtoni's natural tendency to "vigorously defend their territory against intruding rivals." So they moved the fish designated to lose into the tank of the fish designated to win. And, prior to doing that, the designated loser was "stressed twice by suspension out of water for 30 [seconds]" with a one-minute reprieve in between.

The little fellahs had all the hope of a baseball team in the Super Bowl. But their losses were all in the name of science, and I for one am grateful. Because of these fish, I'm more optimistic about elected officials.

It wasn't just that the bystanders had the intellect to figure out fighting Fish E would be wiser than fighting Fish A - they even deduced that fighting fish D was smarter than fighting Fish B, even though B and D both won and lost the same number of bouts.

Like it had been with A and E, the bystander fish never saw B and D fight each other. And since the bystanders saw D win just as many fights as B, their preference for D could only come from the fish figuring out the ranking system.

Initially, it was impossible to contain my joy. If these fish have a basic grasp of logic, surely there's hope for Congress. If fish can correctly manage their way through an "if this, then that" situation, certainly human beings in Congress have the skill, even if it's buried way deep under apathy, greed, and the over-riding desire to get re-elected even at the cost of a future for the world. ...Then I remembered a basic difference between the fish and Congress. The fish were motivated.

The fish needed to figure out the ranking in order to remain ongoing participants in the life of their species. Currently Congress is not motivated to use their intellect to forge a better future through an honest assessment of facts and open debate of diverse ideas. Evidence has shown them the best route to survival is pandering to huge corporations and lying to voters.

It is up to us to make it so members of Congress lose color and become "reproductively dormant" when they repeatedly are visionless and self-centered.

Elected o-fish-cials should be required to get a clue.

Arguing for an alternative metaphor

In their book, Metaphors We Live By, George Lakoff and Mark Johnson say American culture views arguments in terms of physical battle, and that this is revealed in the way we talk about arguing. We say things like: “He attacked every weak point; His criticisms were right on target; With that strategy, she’ll wipe you out; She shot down all the arguments.”

Lakoff and Johnson say our view of “argument is war” goes far beyond our methods of speech, into our behaviors. They say “it structures the actions we perform in arguing.” Attacking and defending become the order of the day, and feelings of gaining or losing ground are inseparable from the issues under discussion.

“The essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another,” say Lakoff and Johnson. They note that quite a lot of us may never consciously associate argument with war, but the fact remains that “argument is partially structured, understood, performed, and talked about in terms of war,” and it is, in the U.S., the “ordinary way of having an argument and talking about one.”

So when republicans and democrats see each other as opponents to be stomped into the dirt, it may not only be out of cussedness, or a quirky desire to be as ineffective as is humanly possible. It may in part be due to the fact that our country is currently lacking a metaphor for argument that could help them out.

Right now they see anybody who disagrees as an opponent, and they face every discussion in terms of beating the other side or getting beaten. What we need is a metaphor that would allow for clearer thinking. Something that promotes a point of view where solving problems is winning, and not solving problems is losing.

Something to get rid of the attitude that says, “I will do any stupid, counterproductive, devastatingly backwards, chuckleheaded, and ill-informed thing as long as my team came up with it, because that’s still winning.”

Lakoff and Johnson talk about what arguments would be like in a culture where “argument is dance” replaces “argument is war.” For one thing, winning wouldn’t be destruction of the other person or group – it would be figuring out how to get better and better at keeping things moving despite differences.

They wrote the book in 1979, and an Afterword in 2003, where they express frustration at those who see metaphors as “a mere matter of words” and not as something that shapes thought and behavior. They point out that if one spouse’s metaphorical concept for marriage is of a partnership forging ahead, and the other spouse’s concept is marriage as a haven from the outside world, the thoughts and behaviors shaped by those metaphors will be very different. “Because we reason in terms of metaphor, the metaphors we use determine a great deal about how we live our lives.”

Well, I’m game. If adopting a different metaphor for argument has a microscopic chance of helping Congress put their heads together on wars, the economy and healthcare, I’m for it.

Dancing is good. We need a new rhythm for moving forward.

Six word combination is a great writing tool

Some people have said to me, off and on over the years, that things tend to show up in life when you need them. The front-row parking space in the rain when you have a sick child to carry. The sofa bed at the garage sale the same day old friends call to say they’re coming to spend a long weekend.

What makes these incidents so cool is the fact that timing just isn’t that perfect most days. Many times the front-row parking space isn’t open until you’re carrying the sick child out to the far side of the lot wrapped in an improvised grocery-bag rain cape, and the sofa bed isn’t spotted until the last afternoon of the out-of-towners’ visit.

I didn’t read the following information in Natalie Angier’s book, The Canon, until the day after a four-flight trip concluded: “You would have to fly on a commercial airline every day for 18,000 years, he tells them, before your chances of being in a crash would exceed 50 percent. You want to know what 18,000 years looks like? Think ‘twice as far back as the dawn of agriculture.’”

It was two days after the flights before I remembered the box of Kiwanis peanuts in our kitchen, and considered how fun it would be to have taken those along and shared the packets with other travelers in the now peanutless skies.

But I did come across the book of six-word memoirs, Not Quite What I Was Planning, in just the nick of time. I was attempting to journal some notes about our family vacation to Puerto Rico, working at jotting down enough information to capture my favorite parts and be able to resurrect the sights, sounds, and emotions at some distant future point, but without making the project such a slog that I would lose all motivation to do it. Procrastinating, I flipped through Not Quite What I Was Planning, making a list of the brief memoirs that appealed most to me:

“Afraid of everything. Did it anyway.” Ayse Erginer

“Slightly psychotic, in a good way.” Patricia Neelty

“Macular degeneration. Didn’t see that coming.” Ian Gould

“Found true love, married someone else.” Bjorn Stromberg

“Followed white rabbit. Became black sheep.” Gabrielle Maconi

“Seventy years, few tears, hairy ears.” Bill Querengesser

Later, taking pen in hand again, it occurred to me that if these people could pack such a punch in only six words about their lives, there was every reason to believe my vacation journaling could be done in the same style. I may never journal any other way again.

Denver morning, Dallas afternoon, island evening.

Speak Spanish to taxidriver, learn words.

Seaside trail, fort walls, history calls.

Unique fountains call for open enjoyment.

Rent car, get lost, buy map.

110 miles by 40 is huge.

Roadside stand, unusual food, super breakfast.

Climb rainforest tower, see for miles.

The Atlantic seems deeper from here.

When in rain forest, bring umbrellas.

Husband, daughter, in waterfall; I’m dry.

Noisy forest full of loud frogs.

Winding, switchback roads, with papaya trees.

This map is not to scale.

East side to west side, awesome.

Arecibo radio telescope, reading the sky.

Thunder is louder in the mountains.

Rincón sounds beautiful, and it is.

Lemon Tree, home away from home.

You can drink the water here.

Bright sunny mornings, cozy rainy afternoons.

Crystal clear water, turquoise swimming beach.

Caribbean has more colors in person.

Large brown pelicans dive straight down.

Nurse sharks don’t bother with people.

Rainy day, long book, sheer joy.

There’s even time to cook here.

Popcorn tastes better by the sea.

Graduated daughter, college soon, together today.

Early morning, looong walk, late breakfast.

Snorkeling gear, sunny water, jeweled fish.

Collecting with daughter, memories and shells.

We laugh more while on vacation.

Hermit crabs have interesting, full lives.

Fire ants know people like shade.

Dairy cows near beach watch people.

Some dogs swim in the surf.

I’m surprised we remembered the sunscreen.

We should have photographed the eel.

Some fishermen share with the birds.

Jellyfish can be returned to life.

When walking a beach, have pockets.

Sometimes shells are still being used.

Tides come in when not expected.

It’s always worth looking around corners.

Thunderstorms cause waves that bring coconuts.

Ron can open coconuts without machetes.

Suitcases have been known to shrink.

The return drive is new, too.

Remember, map is not to scale.

Sheila accidentally finds culinary festival downtown.

Learning languages makes more stories available.

Learn more about the Chupacabra legend.

Puerto Rico is two flights away.

Next time I’m taking the peanuts.

Lysistrata - a vehicle for discussion

Lysistrata – a vehicle for discussion

Tammy Hansen Snell

When my daughter Sheila grew old enough to read my favorite books, I experienced a deep sense of joy. When she grew old enough to recommend books to me, the well of joy expanded exponentially.

The writer Joe Queenan calculated he could read 2138 more books, if he lives to his normal life expectancy. He broke this down into types: “500 masterpieces, 500 minor classics, 500 overlooked works of genius, 500 oddities and 138 examples of high-class trash.” I don’t know if he reads faster or slower than I do, but he has made me a far more finicky reader than I would have been without this thought of a finite number.

Books hold vast mysteries, hysterical anecdotes, and awe-inspiring insights. With every book I learn more about myself, enjoy more about others, and expand my experiences of the world a thousand-fold. The vast number of exhilarating and heartwarming experiences dormant in books, waiting for me to crack them open and become aware of them, gives every spare moment of the day glorious potential.

There is never any danger of running short, because no matter how choosy I get, or how rigorously I set my standards – there are still a few million books from which to select. A few million is no exaggeration – even with the unbending requirement that they make me gasp with delight and teach me something – and that’s been without expanding the scope back before 0 B.C., a time period I’ve narrow-mindedly been ignoring.

Without Sheila’s recommendation, I would have remained unaware of the chuckles, blushes, and aha moments held in the pages of a play written in 411 B.C. “Mom,” she said, “You ought to take a look at this play I’m reading – Lysistrata.” And with that she handed me the map to a goldmine. Thanks, honey.

Lysistrata sounds like an awesome name for a car. “New for 2012 – the sleek, fuel-efficient Toyota Lysistrata!” Or a dog. “Meet our Labrador Retriever, Lysistrata – she catches Frisbees.” Lysistrata was written by Aristophanes. (Another great name, but his doesn’t work as well on a car.) Aristophanes lived from 448 to 385 B.C., during the Peloponnesian War, which involved fierce fighting between Athens and Sparta. It started in 460 B.C. and lasted until 404 B.C, with only a minimal time of peace from 445 to 431.

Lysistrata is the main character in the play, and my new hero. She is one tough cookie, with the charisma and panache to carry out an ingenious peace plan. She calls together Athenian, Spartan, Boeotian, and Corinthian women, all of them married, and all tired of losing husbands and sons to war. “All the hopes of all the States are anchored on us women,” she tells them, urging them all to agree to her plan of withholding themselves from their husbands until the men stop fighting and arrange for lasting peace. The women aren’t wild about this, but know that Lysistrata is right – unless they force change by refusing to have sex, the men will always go to war.

The women take over the Acropolis, locking themselves inside. It doesn’t take long before the men are outraged, and their chorus sings, “What coaxing rogues are ye! That was quite a true opinion which a wise man gave about you. We can’t live with such tormentors, no, by Zeus, nor yet without you.” (And now we now how old THAT line is.) The men try to force their way in, and fail, and eventually agree to talk peace.

Lysistrata reminds the armies of what they have in common, and the times each region of men has helped the other. She gets them to make a treaty, settling arguments over disputed territory. (The fact that a woman named Reconciliation stands in as a map makes me think Aristophanes wrote plays that were the Ancient Greek equivalent of The Daily Show.)

Before everybody goes back to their respective homes with their spouses, they feast together. Afterwards, one ambassador says to another, “We were wondrous witty in our cups.” The second answers, “Ay, ‘tis when we’re sober we’re so daft. Now if the State would take a friend’s advice, ‘twould make its envoys always all get drunk. When we go dry to Sparta, all our aim is just to see what mischief we can do. We don’t hear aught they say; and we infer a heap of things they never said at all.” International relations explained, 2419 years ago.

Unlike Queenan, I don’t categorize the books I read – and it’s a good thing. I could make arguments for Lysistrata to be in any of Queenan’s classifications – masterpiece, minor classic, overlooked work of genius, oddity, and high-class trash. Instead I’ll just classify it as DWR – definitely worth reading.