I walk through my door. The lingering smells of marijuana and the chinese food cooked downstairs each night let me know I’m home. I put on some music and throw my things on the end of the futon. I fall into the desk chair left here by my old roommate and open my computer. I breathe a heavy sigh. I’ve made it through another day, I think. Usually with a more optimistic outlook than how I’ve just described it, but the past week has been less than forgiving for a young man struggling to find his way. The past two days, specifically, I’ve cut class in the morning because I am not motivated enough to get out of bed in time to catch the bus to class. This is upsetting to me because it is not normal. I am not depressed. On the contrary, I am very happy here. However, I think this angst is rooted in a frustration towards the insubstantiality of my normal day. I wake up and go to school where, following my conceptions of secondary education, I should be learning things that will make me a well-rounded individual in society and a valuable asset to the American workforce. Assuming that going to college is, ultimately, the easiest way to earn more money, something They’ve taught us to be the case since a very young age, the pressure to accept that what is being taught is a higher education than what social interaction can offer is very hard for me to succumb to. My distaste for the American economy is so strong (I can not support things that catalyst the ideas of greed and corruption) that the inevitability of contributing to the American workforce for the rest of my life, something They’ve told us to be the case since a very young age, in anything other than a career that makes me happy could very well put me over the edge. Fortunately, I found sociology and psychology. I go to those classes. But to reiterate a previous point, I can’t accept the fact that college will offer me more to life through textbooks and lectures than establishing and maintaining relationships outside of school (I think most people would agree with this statement). However, what is harder for me than maintaining relationships or listening to lectures is maintaining the balance between the social circle and the classroom. I can’t learn about social stratification or differential association theory when what I think is worth knowing is what kind of cookies my best friend likes! In high school, the social circle is set within the classroom but in college the exact opposite is the case. There is a negative correlation between this inbalance of focus in my social circle and school and my outlook on life, pessimistic or optimistic, that will manifest in some sort of change in my internal attitudes. I sense it on the horizon of time.
In baseball, the umpire is often an overlooked entity to the game. He must administer the correct call, bias-free, each time the ball is put into play. He must recognize his downfalls and strive for perfection, as it is demanded of him the moment he steps on the field. As an umpire with the Northern California Umpire Association, I’ve noticed many social cognitions in play (pun intended) when on the field and all are applicable to the study of social psychology.
The halo effect in umping baseball games usually occurs in the negative light. There are only a handful of teams the NCUA works with in the city so I will undoubtedly work games for the same teams. It can take just one unruly coach or player, distressed over a close call, to shout from the sidelines “Blue! Open your eyes! He pulled his foot!” to make a bad impression. During my next encounter with his team or, even more realistically, during the next the play, I am more apt to regard him as a “bad coach” and someone with a quick temper. It can also take just one bad call from me to lose all credibility I have and those players and coaches will remember me at the next game I’m working.
Oftentimes, the halo effect can lead to attitude heuristics, where we base judgments on our attitudes. My job description could probably be best simplified as “Judge.” If I am judging calls on my attitudes towards a particular player or a team because of their unruly coach, for instance, I am not doing my job and am bound to make a mistake. In a situation where perfection is demanded, there is no room to err.
This afternoon I worked a game in the Marina at the Moscone Rec. Center. The visiting team’s catcher looked at a chest-high strike-three pitch. He couldn’t believe that it was called a strike. He made some appeals but eventually stormed back to the dugout muttering some curses under his breath. He was attributing his failure to situational factors (i.e. ump didn’t see the pitch right) rather than his own failure to swing the bat (Fundamental Attribution Error).
It is the nature of the game to disagree with the umpire, especially when you’re in the wrong. As a former player, I realize this. However, I was quick to judge the player as immature and a “hot-head.” After his mild tantrum, I noticed someone got him McDonald’s and, lo and behold, he was eating it inside the dugout during the game! Before I could help it, I was forming a confirmation bias towards this kid. Fortunately for me I recognized it right away and he was taken out of the game by his coach after he finished his cheeseburger before I could a create a self-fulfilling prophecy the next time he was up. My co-worker, the plate umpire, told me after the game that he’ll call every high pitch that player gets a strike because of his reaction. I laughed.
Perhaps the most enthralling part of umping a game is getting to punch the air with a fist while calling “Out!” or swiping the air forcefully while calling “Safe!” on a close play. However, there is an image of professionalism I have to maintain as umpire. In this job, attitude accessibility is an important skill to have. I have to know whether or not the play is a “close” play and whether or not it is a key play in the game. I won’t pump my fist with energy if the center-fielder happens to catch a routine pop-fly in the third inning but I might if there is a pick-off play at second base in the fifth. Even the umpires manual warns against weak attitude accessibility, albeit in much simpler terms.
The key element to good umping is being able to reconstruct the play in your head a second after it has occurred. The good umpire must not let attitudes and biases cloud his judgment while on the field. He must recognize the ramifications of the halo effect before administering a call by properly reconstructing the play in his head instantaneously and correctly. For what would seem like a difficult job to some, I see umping as the perfect setting for the study of social psychology.
Here’s a paper I wrote for my social psychology class dealing with group dynamics and social influence. This is a reaction paper to an in-class exercise we did involving answering yes-or-no questions in a large circle. If the answer was yes, we took a step towards the center of the circle. We would step back and another question was asked. This was done over a period of three lectures. A Secret Deviant Comes to Terms…
The latest class exercise concerned group dynamics and the pressures that the group exhorts upon its members. The close-ended questions we wrote down forced us to answer definitively and immediately. I am certain that some of the more personal questions that were asked caused great discomfort for some students, myself included, and the pressure to hide the truth to appear better in the graces of others was high. Because the exercise was informal and unscientific in its execution, it is impossible to know for certain whether or not conformity was present when questions were asked. However, with the prospect of a professor and thirty-some students judging you because you didn’t graduate high school, social influence was clearly present.
As we’ve learned, the size of the group can make a difference in the level of pressure to conform. Because of the size of our class, I think there was a higher tendency to conform when we were asked questions that pertained to sexuality, drug use, or other, slightly more personal topics.
Take, for instance, the question, “How many here can swim?” Most of the students in the class eagerly stepped forward, with no hesitation. I know I did. Swimming is an essential part of life in the Midwest for many youngsters; my parents forced me to take swimming lessons. To not know how to swim can be humiliating when your elementary class goes on its annual end-of-the-year field trip to the local swimming pool and you have to explain to everyone why you didn’t bring your swim trunks. I was told that when one of my close friends revealed he didn’t know how to swim one afternoon during cross country practice, he was harassed by his teammates relentlessly. The fear of humiliation that can come from not knowing how to swim, something seen as so trivial and easy to do by so many people, could have been discomforting enough to drive some people to conform during our class exercise.
I remember feeling pressured to conform to the majority of the responses when the question “Do you smoke?” was asked. I was hesitant to step into the circle right away, reluctant to admit to a vice that, to some, could show I am insecure. As the milli-seconds ticked and no one stepped forward, my heart started to pound a little faster, my face felt a little warmer and I became moderately anxious. Your presence as a professor, I’m sure, helped cause some of my anxiety as well. After noticing Jorge and a couple others step in, my anxiety began to fade away. I realized I wasn’t the only smoker in the room.
I was asked that question once in class by my high school psychology teacher before I turned eighteen. I remember feeling the same physiological responses, but because I wasn’t eighteen and I had a “good kid” reputation to maintain, or front stage, I wasn’t able to be honest with myself, or my back stage, and remained discomforted afterward. This was a case of cognitive dissonance for me. I wanted to tell the truth for myself but doing so would have resulted in embarrassment and possible legal consequences for smoking underage.
Because it is now legal for me to smoke and your classroom has very open-minded and comforting vibe to it, I was able to be honest with the class and, most importantly, myself when asked the question again. Although I experienced some heightened anxiety because of my past experiences as a secret deviant, Jorge and the others were able to diffuse it once we had unconsciously created an ingroup and I displayed some ingroup favoritism. From informal observation, I’ve noticed smokers tend to stick together, perhaps due to the amount of discrimination we sometimes feel from non-smokers. I remember thinking to myself after the next question, “I wonder if Jorge would like to smoke a cigarette with me after class.” However, had no one stepped in, I am doubtful I could have alone.
Our ingroup/outgroup exercise showed me that even the simplest of questions can cause great cognitive dissonance for some. Our ability to maintain a front stage, while remaining true to our back stage, is tested. Should we fail in this I/me challenge or if the question brings back memories of a traumatic experience, we become distraught and anxious. The chances of us conforming to rest of the group are increased, to reduce the risk of humiliation, when we feel this cognitive dissonance around our peers as well as our tendency to favor those who share the same activities as we do.
Nothing too crazy to post about this past month. Sorry for those who read glance this over every now and then. Life is good. Discovered social psychology. Thinking about transfering to UCSanta Cruz in a few years perhaps. Who knows. Edges have smoothed over (Edges) and the house has been chill. Not sure if I mentioned the eleven heads my roommate brought home one Thursday night about a month ago. That was pretty nuts. Nine slept over. Two had sex in my kitchen. I was none too pleased. I got lost in the city the other night. I was trying to get from the Church St station to Haight and Fillmore. Somehow, and I realized what happened all too late, I managed to walk into the Castro, to Dolores Park, and then back to the Church St station before realizing where to go. This was a fifteen- to twenty-block circular detour in the wrong direction. But I made it. Met up with some friends at the Cafe International and then walked some more. Good night. That’s about all my friends.
Oh! I bought Skate2 for XBOX 360. It’s tough, very difficult to learn actually, but amazing. If you want a realistic skateboarding game, I recommend it.
An edge is the idiosyncrasy in every person that puts someone particularly on the brink of losing self-control. Edges seem to do everything they can to piss you off. They get underneath your skin and start clawing at your insides. You don’t know why. Perhaps you don’t even know what it is about that particular Edge that seems to get your blood to boil. But you know there is trouble. You sense it on the horizon. You see this Edge standing in your way of a good time, keeping you away from peace of mind, day in and day out. Before one can properly identify an Edge, one must ask themself the simple question, “Is she an Edge or is she just an asshole?” If the person in question is outwardly hostile, they are not an Edge. They are an asshole. Assholes are intentionally hostile. Edges do not show hostility! It is the mannerisms of the Edge that infuriate and not the poor result of one single action. The cuts Edges make build until the bandages you wear to conceal your wounds slowly begin to show blood. It is at this point when you must decide: do I let this wound heal or try another band-aid?
I’m beginning to feel the impression that 2009 will be a great year. A year, perhaps, that will be remembered distinctively when I am an old man looking back on his days. I sense the things I am doing and that are happening to me now are going to have a huge influence on what’s going to happen to me in the future. Like the White House, my house has a new face. My older sister moved out to a place in the Mission the past weekend and a girl from Sonoma County moved in. Chill vibes. The rest of my roommates are moving out as well and two more people will move in to keep my rent the same. I’m taking mostly sociology classes at school this semester and very interested in them; taking music classes has taken a back seat it seems. I also managed to find a job with the Northern California Umpire Association for the summer, umping high school and pony league baseball games around the city. I even mustered up the courage to ask a really cute girl out for coffee last night. Change is in the air and I’m breathing it in, one day at a time.
Since I’ve returned to San Francisco I’ve done little. For several days, the neighbors house was as far as I got away from home, or perhaps I’d get as far as the nearby gas station. Today, however, was a different day. Sunny, gorgeous, warm. And when I say warm I mean when you stand in the sun, you had the potential of sweating if it weren’t for a steady breeze keeping your brow dry. I decided to take the opportunity while I had it to ride my bike and read a book. I rode to Balboa Park and took BART to 24th & Mission St. station and rode to Dolores Park. The park wasn’t full but it wasn’t empty either. Probably several hundred people leisuring about in the sun, hula hooping, playing tennis, walking dogs, smoking weed, napping, doing all sorts of things any normal person would do in a park. Except for one guy who was balancing on the top of a park bench and dancing about on it. He did it for a while too. I read a few chapters of my book (Demian by Herman Hesse) and lounged about in the grass before riding back to the BART station. A pleasant change from sitting at my computer.
The struggle of getting somewhere without control of your transportation can be frustrating. As some of you may have read, the trip to Wisconsin was untimely and stressful. I learned last night around 6p that my train home to San Francisco had been cancelled and re-scheduled for Tuesday night due to severe weather storms. In a twisted sense, this is another unexpected layover, lasting a full twenty-four hours. Unlike my previous layovers in Klamath Falls, the Ditch, Pasco, and Spokane, I have the luxeries of heat and running water, virtually an endless supply of food, and a mattress with pillows. But what is similar among those unexpected layovers is that I was anxiously waiting for the chance to move again, to make progress towards my ultimate destination. When I accepted the attitude “I’ll get there when I get there,” those anxieties dissapeared and I was able to enjoy my journey. Without leaving tonight, that anxiety of not moving, of not making that forward progress, is creeping back into my head. Yes, I’ll get there when I get there and I have no reason to rush; I have no obligations to meet once I get back. I see how empty this area is, how little there is for me to do here, how little has changed among my high school friends and what we do for fun, and I compare it to the excitement of the City and living on my own and meeting new people. I see the opportunity to escape the life I led for the life I’m trying to create for myself and I want to take it but I think: Opportunist or Escapist?
Left SF around 9p. Took bus to Emeryville, twenty minutes away. Waited two hours for train. Left at 11.30p. Slept three hours. Woke up around 5.45a somewhere in Northern California. Arrived in Klamath Falls, OR around 9.30a. Waited two hours for bus. Left Klamath Falls by 11.30a. Snow chain broke at 1p. Chains were replaced at 2.30p. Left auto shop, got stuck in ditch at 3.00p. Out of ditch, 5p. Arrived in Pasco, WA at 12.30a. Waited three and a half hours for train. Left Pasco at 4a. Slept five hours. Woke up around 7.30a outside Spokane, WA. Waited in Spokane, WA for eight hours on a train from Seattle. Left Spokane, WA at 3.10p. Met folks on train. Played cards. Wrote. Read. Listened to iPod. Heat goes out in lounge car (where I happened to be assigned because the train was full) sometime Saturday (AM or PM, not sure). Slept in lounge car Saturday night. Seat to myself after 10p. Slept little in cold car. Continued across North Dakota in daylight. Arrived in Winona, MN at 2.45a. Trempealeau, 3a. Total travel time: 78 hours. Approximate wait time (for trains and busses): 19.5 hours. Awesome.
My sister and I spent our Thanksgiving, and her birthday, in Palo Alto with some family friends. The table seated ten others connected through Martina, all very interesting people. We shared an excellent meal of turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, gravy, yams, green beans, and salad. Apple and pumpkin pies and birthday cake for dessert. Conversations throughout the day never left a warm and inviting tone. I never got frustrated with what we were talking about or, more specifically, what people were saying within those conversations. No elevated discussions about the economic crisis or the seperation of church and state, although we talked about that. No concerned tone that suggests unsatisfaction about what I’m doing with my life, although we talked about that, too. It was a great Thanksgiving.
