Author: Ken Arneson
Drawing a Blank
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-17 17:25

I (Ken) went to San Diego this week. Thursday evening, I went to a game at Petco Park. I’ll assemble my thoughts on Petco later, but here’s a quick story:

I was wandering along the main concourse at Petco, when I realized I was walking shoulder-to-shoulder with someone. I turned to look at the guy, and I recognized him.

I searched my brain for a name to match the face, but I drew a blank. Where did I know him from? School? Work? TV?

Nothing. I couldn’t think of a name, or where I had seen this man before. He turned to look at me, and we made eye contact.

If I hadn’t recognized him, I could have just smiled or nodded and moved on. But what if it was an old friend or something? I didn’t want to be rude. I had to say something. So I entered into chit-chat mode.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” said the man.

I recalled once running into Paul Molitor this same way, walking along a concourse. Is this guy an ex-player? A scout? A GM? Maybe he works for the Padres, I thought. I decided to say something about Petco.

“Nice ballpark,” I said.

“It is a nice ballpark,” he agreed.

Then he turned to enter his seating section, and we parted. An instant later, the name came to me: Frank McCourt.

I had just been chatting with the owner of the Dodgers, and the only thing I managed to say to him was how nice the Padres’ home ballpark is. D’oh!

I’ve been suffering from a major case of l’esprit d’escalier ever since. If you have the chance to say one sentence to Frank McCourt, what should you say?

For Kids…See?
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-11 10:20

Blogging from me (Ken) will be light this week. So I’ll just offer a few quick notes. I’m apologetic.

It’s nice to know that I’m allowed to write about politics if I want. Of course, I’m also allowed to have a root canal without anesthetics.

Bobby Crosby has been very solid on defense, but shaky at the plate. I had expected the opposite. He seems patient early in the count, but if you get two strikes on him, he swings at anything. Kinda reminds me of a young Matt Williams. If Crosby can have a career resembling Williams’, you’ll have some happy fans of the Athletics.

Et maintenant: I have seen Khalil Greene. Wow. He looks spiffy both in the field and at the plate. Suddenly, Rey Ordonez’s character is a lot more sympathetic.

This architectural review of Petco Park is good. I especially like the phrase, “The quality that makes SBC Park so lastingly seductive is that its virtues are born of necessity. [snip] But at Petco Park, and at many of the other 15 major-league ball fields that have opened since 1991, quirks were designed by committee.” Exactly. There’s a difference between real beauty and cosmetics.

Every personality test I take says I’m an architectural type: I am driven to understand and design systems. I love to see a simple system of ideas result in complex functionality. I get jazzed about the simple idea of a logic gate making computers possible. I’m fascinated that the difference between two kinds of human memory can result in aesthetics.

So this explanation of Google’s architecture really excites me. Oh, the possibilities! But I find that my enthusiasm for an architectural vision is usually hard to share. People don’t get it until they can see and touch the final output. I always end up feeling like Tim Robbins in The Hudsucker Proxy. Here’s my great idea:

O

For kids…see? And I think I’m brilliant, and everyone else looks at me like I’m pathetic.

I don’t share Jason Kottke’s enthusiasm that this architecture will make Google the most important company in the world in 5-8 years. I once helped found for a company that was a calculated bet on the Netscape/Java web architecture. I thought that one of two things would happen: (a) Microsoft would change, or (b) we’d be on the winning side. Wrong, bozo. Microsoft found a third path: (c) use your monopoly power to crush the competition. When Microsoft is an obstacle, I learned the hard way not to be optimistically prophetic.

That’s all the time I have, so now I’ll stop waxing poetic.

The French Cousin?
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-08 2:11

OK, I’ve heard “Who’s on First” a gazillion times, but there’s one joke I don’t get. Can anyone explain this to me?

Abbott: Strange names, pet names…like Dizzy Dean…
Costello: His brother Daffy.
Abbott: Daffy Dean…
Costello: And their French cousin.
Abbott: French?
Costello: Goofé.
Abbott: Goofé Dean.

The audience on the recording laughs at this, but I just go, huh? Goofy Dean? French? I’m missing something. Why is this funny?

Quarters
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-07 22:40

We put the kids to bed, then I told my wife I had a surprise for her.

“Hey, new shoes! Nice,” said the wife. “Now are those quarters in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

For some reason, she wasn’t very happy with my answer, or the surprise…

So I’m happy to welcome my new leader, Scott. Which reminds me of a corny joke I heard today. Don’t know if this joke works outside the Bay Area or not, but:

Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Scott.
Scott who?
Congratulations, you’re on the jury.

A’s 3, Rangers 1
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-06 23:28

I’m gonna play Will Carroll for this one.

The protagonists of tonight’s Rangers-A’s game were four players who had injury-plagued seasons last year. They all look healthy now. Mark Mulder and Chan Ho Park dueled it out, and both pitched fabulously. It helped that the home plate umpire, Brian Runge, had a far more generous strike zone tonight than last night’s ump, Dana Demuth.

Jim Mecir took over for Mulder in the eighth. He is quite noticeably thinner; he lost over 20 pounds to take pressure off his troublesome knee. He also pitched great; his screwball seemed to have much more bite than it did at any time last year.

And then there’s Jermaine Dye. Dye won the game with a homer in the sixth off Park. I’ve seen Dye four games in a row now, and he is a monster. The last two years, with his legs hurt, you could blow fastballs by him at will. Now, his hips are rotating quickly; he is getting around on those fastballs, and crushing them.

On Saturday, he took two fastballs off the plate inside and yanked them for a homer and a double. Yesterday, he singled and doubled to right. He’s smoking the ball all over the field. Everything is hit hard, even his outs. Yadda yadda sample size, but unless he hurts those legs again, he looks to me like he’s going to destroy all of those conservative projections for him. This isn’t the Jermaine Dye of 2002-03.

I’m going to the game tomorrow; Colby Lewis vs. Barry Zito. Should be fun.

Mouse Potato: Rangers at A’s
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-05 23:35

It’s late, these notes will be short, cuz I’m feeling tired.
I’m glad Bobby Kielty was acquired.
The umpire was calling all the low strikes balls.
Hudson ended up throwing a lot of pitches because he wasn’t getting his calls.
The Rangers may have lost ARod, but they can still have a very good offensive attack.
Jermaine Dye is back.
This game was a good one with had a lot of twists and turns.
Eric Byrnes!
The Rangers need a better LOOGY than Mahay.
Arthur Rhodes will probably be OK.

Mouse Potato: Giants at Astros
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-05 21:44

This game has some moments, and a couple of strange plays. But forget that: only two things mattered here: Barry Bonds and Willie Mays.

Bonds raked two fastballs off Roy Oswalt to left field for doubles. Oswalt walked him next time up, to save himself the trouble.

Mays joined the Giants broadcast booth for an inning, which was pretty fun.
He said he’s going to give Bonds a torch when Bonds hits 661.

In his day, besides himself, Mays decreed, only Vada Pinson and Mickey Mantle had more speed.

Bonds came up in the eighth, with two on and one out, Giants down 4-1. Jimy Williams decides not to put on base the tying run.

Not an easy choice; a hard one to decide; but Jimy’s choice was wrong, one pitch and we were tied.

I don’t think Mays will need that torch as a gift to give, because Barry Bonds shouldn’t see a pitch to hit as long as he shall live.

Mouse Potato: Phillies vs. Pirates
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-05 19:48

Kevin Millwood and Kip Wells throwing well, the innings fly by fast.

Game Break: Ben Grieve goes deep! Brewers lead 4-1. St. Louis comes back and ties it. Dave Burba relieves Ben Sheets. Dave Burba? Isn’t he from a decade in the past?

Pirates take the lead in the fifth with a double to right by Tike.

Imagine a ballpark designed by Frank Gehry. What would that be like?

Is it the fault of teachers that more kids don’t turn to poetry for enjoyment?

Littlefield and McClendon got contract extensions today? Okayyyy…I guess it’s not brain surgery, and somebody needs to give Raul Mondesi employment.

Royals score six in the ninth to beat the White Sox, 9-7! That’s a surprising Game Break.

Craig Wilson homers. Dude can rake.

Why does the Herald Tribune logo show a clock at 6:12? And does every watch ad show the time is ten past ten?

A scary thought for Pirate fans: they’re going to the pen.

Rollins drives in a run with a sac fly. Philly down 2-1.

Mesa mows ’em down in the ninth, and the Pirates have won!

Mouse Potato: Cubs vs. Reds
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-05 18:27

Top 1, Corey beats Cory, as Patterson takes Lidle deep. “Dusty Baker doesn’t want to see that,” says Joe Morgan, immediately placing his unique logic on full display.

Sosa pops up. Alou flies to left. If they’re hitting the ball in the air off Lidle, the Reds are in for a long day.

Adjectives: there’s no reason to fear them.

When Lidle struggles, he nibbles, and now he loads the bases. Alou doubles to clear them.

Reds scratch out a couple against Wood, but the rally dies when Casey strikes out.

GMail looks tempting, but privacy makes me pause with doubt.

Barrett hustles himself into a triple. He should have been out at third.

7-0 Tigers. Perhaps picking the Tigers to win the AL Central wasn’t so absurd.

ESPN shows Sandy Alomar Jr. homering in Ozzie Guillen’s managerial debut. My wife says: “Ozzie Guillen? Ozzie Guillen is managing? Whose idea was that?”

5-4 now after a double by Casey at the bat.

Hey, Ruz, it’s Mike Wuertz! He throws strikes! He goes 1-2-3! He knows how to perform!

Stretch time. The last few innings have been quiet. The clam before the storm?

My spelling is gelling!

Kent Mercker? Isn’t he too old yet?

Cubs score two when Dunn arrives at a fly, but then forgets to hold it.

Wow! A single to center with men on first and third becomes a double play: 8-2-5!

Borowski’s save looks shaky, but he manages to survive.

The True Giant in the Lineup
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-04 18:21

I went to the A’s-Giants game yesterday, and saw something yesterday that may never be repeated. Granted, this was just spring training, but still…

Ricardo Rincon was pitching, top of the 7th, game tied, one out, one run in, runners on second and third. First base was open and Barry Bonds was up. Pedro Feliz was on deck, with A.J. Pierzynski following.

So you walk Bonds, right?

Not Rincon. He has a huge lefty/righty split, so he prefers facing left-handed batters. So Rincon goes right after Bonds and gets him to pop up. He walks the right-handed Feliz semi-intentionally on four pitches, then retires the lefty-batting Pierzynski to escape the rest of the inning unharmed.

I laughed. It’s as if Rincon said to himself, “OK, Bonds, Pierzynski–easy outs. Just don’t let Pedro Feliz beat you. You always gotta be careful with Pedro Feliz.”

Watchin’ and surfin’
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-02 23:59

Surfing the web while watching A’s vs. Giants on TV.

“Jerome Williams looks like he still needs a note from home to pitch in a night game.” Ah, it’s so nice that Hank Greenwald gave up being a retiree.

Top of the first, Eric Chavez takes Jerome Williams yard.

If Ed Cossette can complain about Sears, then I can proclaim that I’d rather work side by side with the Poopsmith all day than stand in line to return something at Home Depot. Why must they make it so hard?

I didn’t want this: a reason to bring my laptop to the game.

Zito walks Snow. His fastballs are up too high. Grissom pops up on a high 3-1 fastball with Bonds on deck. Then Bonds pops up, too. It didn’t take Zito long to rediscover his aim.

Williams’ sinker looks good tonight. The Chavez blast didn’t leave Williams shaken.

Who is this SB Poet person? Isn’t that name taken?

“Mohr struck out 106 times last year, and is not unfamiliar with that walk back to the dugout,” says Hank.

Things I never considered before and never will again #298: the fine art of avoiding dishes that clank.

Greenwald on Zito’s batting: “Some guys would be happy to hit their weight. Barry would be happy to hit his number.”

The other Barry, Bonds, rakes a line-drive double to the wall even though he broke his lumber.

Neifi Perez is worth $6.1 million! Statistics now show it!

This explains everything: a good programmer is a poet.

Zito has a new upright position out of the stretch. A’s pitching coach Curt Young is on mic and says Zito thinks it puts him closer to the same motion as his windup. The better posture also gives him a much better pickoff move, it helps take pressure off his knee, and just generally makes him look more handsome.

Just to prove Curt Young right, Zito picks off Cody Ransom.

Oh no! What happened to homestarrunner.com?

Zito is mowing guys down. If you were worried about Zito losing it, be calm.

I’ve wondered why my poetry is so much better than my prose; now I found a tool that shows me the reason.

I don’t agree with all of Will’s politics, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a “curiously nattering philosophy of treason.”

Today’s trivia: “Six players from the 1989 World Series played for both the Giants and the A’s. What are their names?”:

Says Hank, “The 1989 World Series, isn’t that the one where the underdog Giants took the heavily favored A’s all the way to four games?”

Of all the things that happen in April, isn’t National Poetry Month is the biggest event?

Barry Zito’s pitch selection last year: fastball 55.3%, curveball 22.0%, changeup 22.7%.

Bonds pops up to right on a 3-0 two-out fastball. McMillon drops the ball. Santos, on first, wasn’t running hard all the way and gets thrown out at the plate.

Zito goes seven scoreless. He was great.

Ugh. Eric Byrnes gets beaned in the helmet by Leo Estrella. He’s lying prone on the ground. Blood is flowing down his head.

Byrnes gets carted off. Good news, it seems there’s no concussion, just a nasty cut that bled.

Trivia: if you answered, “Dave Henderson, Stan Javier, Bill Bathe, Kelly Downs, Kevin Mitchell, and Ernest Riles”, you were right.

Scutaro makes a nice diving catch in the 9th. I’m rooting for him to win the job at second. Mecir closes it out. A’s win 4-0, game over, and good night.

The Good Old Days
by Ken Arneson
2004-04-01 12:07

I don’t really disagree that SportsCenter was better in the old days with Olbermann and Patrick. But I don’t think it’s quite fair to blast the current anchors. They have a much tougher job.

It’s far easier to be innovative in an immature art form. Certainly, you have to be talented to innovate at any time. But when an art form is new, you don’t have a whole library of clichés to battle against. Now, there have been over 25,000 SportsCenter shows. What’s left to do that hasn’t been done before? Is it even possible to avoid clichés at this stage? I think you’d have to be extremely, extremely talented.

Lately, I’ve been mulling what the predictors of quality are in daily art forms (talk shows, comic strips, blogging, baseball play-by-play, etc.) It’s impossible to create great work on a daily basis. You don’t have time to refine things.

Half the battle, I think, is just showing up. Longevity seems to be important in judging the quality of daily art forms. The reason Johnny Carson is viewed as being better than Jack Paar is probably because Carson stuck around longer. 40-year-olds don’t win the Ford Frick Award for baseball broadcasting excellence, 80-year-olds do.

You also need a certain level of competence. The best daily artists have moments where they break through the clouds of routine and let their brilliance shine through. But to get to those moments, they need to show up every day and go through the inevitable motions.

Some daily artists, like Gary Larson and Bill Watterson, won’t accept going through the motions, and quit when they hit the wall of clichés. Others, like Charles Schulz, find a way to change things up (getting Snoopy up on two legs) just enough to keep going.

Which of today’s bloggers will be the Carsons of tomorrow? We’ll see who sticks around for 30 years. In the meantime, damn the clichés, full blog ahead!

Vinegar
by Ken Arneson
2004-03-31 17:22

So Will invited me, Ken, to join this blog, and I asked Will what he expected from me, and Will said “Write whatever you want Ken” and I thought “OK, simple enough, I can do that.” But then Will introduced me. It started off nice:

“He’s full of heart (sure) and humbug (definitely), intelligence (perhaps) and vinegar.”

Vinegar? I’m full of vinegar? Now I’m confused. What does that mean? If Will is expecting vinegar out of me, I’d better go do some research and find a definition:

Vinegar can be made from any fruit, or from any material containing sugar. [It is produced by] fermentation of natural sugars to alcohol and then secondary fermentation to vinegar.

Apparently, Will expects me to take something sweet, like baseball, and make it rot–twice.

My role here isn’t discourse; it’s decomposition.

So now I’m feeling a little déjà vu.

Ten years ago, I was working for a struggling database company called Ingres when Computer Associates bought us out. CA planned to lay off most of the company. The other database companies started recruiting Ingres employees like mad. Sybase hired an airplane to circle our building with a recruiting banner. Oracle held a special day just for us, and Larry Ellison himself showed up to encourage us to join his team.

Ellison was so charismatic that if he had produced a contract right then and there for me to sign I would have signed it, no questions asked. (Charisma wears off; I later declined an Oracle offer.)

Although I was dazzled by Ellison’s charm, I can only remember one thing he said. When asked what he thought about CA, Ellison paused, then said, “Well, every ecosystem needs its scavengers.”

An odd thing to say, really, considering that Oracle itself was scavenging for new employees out of the remains of CA’s kill. But heck, Oracle is a fabulously successful company. CA eats pond scum, and you are what you eat, but they’re also a fabulously successful company. Decomposition is good business.

Businesses are born, they merge, and they die. Blogs are born, they merge, and they die. If the baseball blog ecosystem needs a scavenger to feed off the rot, to pick upon the bones of last week’s news, I am happy to serve it. Being recruited, being wanted, being needed, whether for software or for blogging, is a wonderful feeling, even if I may not deserve it.

So thank you, Mr. Carroll, for the seat
inside your friendly bar across the street.

And Mike Crudale.

In Other Words…
by Ken Arneson
2004-03-10 18:20

Art is the language
our instincts can understand:
patterns, not logic.

Keeping Score in the Arts #6: A Better Mousetrap
by Ken Arneson
2004-03-10 16:30

This is the sixth in a series of six articles.
Preview. 1. A New Science. 2. A Brain Lesson. 3. Hypothesis. 4. Some Explaining to Do. 5. A Lifetime of Art.

Beyond just explaining observed art phenomena, I imagine that this hypothesis could be used to make the creation and criticism of art more efficient.

The creation of art is a feedback loop between Android Brain and Animal Brain. Android Brain works through the steps of creating a work of art. The steps involve speaking in the language that Animal Brain understands: novelty, patterns, emotions, satisfactions and alarms. Animal Brain gives the artist feedback about the quality of the artwork, about whether new nondeclarative memories are being formed by it. Based on that feedback, the artist, in Android Brain mode, then alters the work.

Many artists just trust their own Animal Brain feedback and follow that. For those who are successful doing that, good for them. Don’t change a thing. But I think many artists would probably see the quality of their work improve if they had some good guidelines for Android Brain to follow.

Good rules can help artists be more aware of the choices they have and tradeoffs they make. Android Brain is built for step-by-step instructions. It’s methodical. There are already many good instruction books for artists to follow, but I think we can use the language of memory formation to make our explanations more precise.

Such explanations would not only be useful for pure artists, but also for advertisers and producers of goods whose measures of success are not counting new memories, but counting sales. As Virginia Postrel points out in her book The Substance of Style, aesthetic quality is becoming an important part of our economy.

A similar feedback loop pertains to art critics, too. Animal Brain is the source of our reactions. Android Brain has facts and rules about how art should work. It’s the source of our explanations. A good critic will move back and forth between Animal Brain and Android Brain, testing what their rules tell them against what their actual reactions are. If their reactions differ from their rules, they’ll adjust their rules. The goal of art criticism is to explain to Android Brain what’s going on in Animal Brain.

Some bad critics favor one system or the other. A bad Animal Brain critic will have a reaction and try to explain it without using any logic at all: I opine, therefore I’m right. That’s not helping Android Brain, which wants logic. A bad Android Brain critic will have rules about what art “should” be, and analyze according to those rules. But if you’re not testing the rules for accuracy against Animal Brain, you’re likely to have ineffective rules.

I can imagine people reacting negatively to thinking of art as a form of engineering. Even to me, it feels like the magic of it might be diminished. But because of that inaccessible data inside of our Animal Brain, I think art will always retain a certain mystery. The conversation between Animal Brain and Android Brain need never end.

To work with things is not hubris
when building the association beyond words;
denser and denser the pattern becomes–
being carried along is not enough.

Take your well-disciplined strengths
and stretch them between two
opposing poles. Because inside human beings
is where God learns.

  –Rainer Maria Rilke

   from Just as the Winged Energy of Delight
   translated by Robert Bly
   in The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart

And finally: A summary in haiku form

Keeping Score in the Arts #5: A Lifetime of Art
by Ken Arneson
2004-03-10 7:15

This is the fifth in a series of six articles.
Preview. 1. A New Science. 2. A Brain Lesson. 3. Hypothesis. 4. Some Explaining to Do.

In my last article, I used my hypothesis to explain some commonly seen phenomena about art. In this article, I want to explore how our tastes change over the course of our lifetimes.

Babies

When my daughter was three months old, she laughed for the first time.

I bent over, so that my daughter could only see my hair. Then I suddenly lifted my head up, so my daughter could see my face again. My daughter burst out into a fit of giggling laughter.

The scientific term for this behavioral phenomenon is “peekaboo”.

Peekaboo is an art form. If you reveal your head too slowly–no laughs. If you lift your head up and down too quickly–no laughs. To achieve maximum laughs, must hide your face, and then reveal it, with a certain optimal delay.

My three-month-old daughter, who could not talk, who could not eat solid food, whose only major accomplishment of human behavior was to hold her own head up without it flopping over, was suddenly demonstrating a sense of aesthetic quality.

Child psychologists say that peekaboo tests the concept of “object permanence”. Object permanence is the concept that an object still exists even though you cannot see it. Before object permanence, when the face is gone, it’s gone. When it’s there, it’s there.

Object permanence turns peekaboo into a paradox: the face is not there (I can’t see it), but it is there (objects continue to exist even while not visible). It’s not there, but it is there! Two separate, and indeed contradictory, memories get associated with each other, and the result is a new memory.

Peekaboo’s effectiveness lasts for several months. At first, it seems you can play it endlessly and get a laugh every time. Slowly, though, the game gets more sophisticated. Your timing needs to be more precise to elicit laughter. You can’t emerge from the same place each time: you have to suddenly emerge from unexpected directions to get a laugh. Eventually, sometime after the child’s first birthday, peekaboo stops working altogether.

Peekaboo becomes a cliché. The child has become completely habituated to the idea of object permanence.

Preschool age

Why do kids like cartoons? Do you know of any young child who prefers a live action film to an animated one? I don’t.

As you saw with object permanence, one new memory can become half the building block for another. It’s a long process, though. Children take much longer to become habituated to new things than adults. Ask any parent who’s had to tell the same story over and over and over. And over. And over. And over.

Adults are habituated to so many more things than young children are. Children experience much more unrecognition with any given artwork than an adult does, and far less cliché.

Cartoons are simpler in every way than live action film. With live action, there is so much else going on: the colors, the lighting, the backgrounds, the body movements, the facial expressions–they are all more complex than a cartoon. There is so much more the brain needs to filter, and so the young brain becomes much less likely to recognize patterns in live action film.

In cartoons, however, there is much less information to sort through. The child can more easily recognize the patterns, the plots, the characters and their emotions–and trigger all those pairs of neurons, and create new memories.

School Age

When my daughter turned five, she was given a (fake) coonskin cap from a relative who had visited the Alamo. She loved it. When she started kindergarten, she wore it on her first day of school. She’s in first grade now, and she still sometimes wears it to school.

That won’t last. Nobody else in her school wears a coonskin cap.

Somewhere between second and fourth grades, ages 8-10, what other people think about art suddenly becomes hugely important to us. The clothes that looked fine before suddenly are rejected because that’s not what everyone else is wearing. Kids will suddenly develop passions for sports or pop music, because that’s what their peers are doing.

In other words, art becomes a social act. Before this, a child’s reaction to a work of art is almost purely its own. After this point, what other people do enters the database of patterns we build up in our brain, and becomes a factor in our judgments.

The child is building more and more sophisticated patterns every day. More and more adult-level patterns move from unrecognition into recognition, as the child-level patterns move into cliché.

Young adults

Mature adults often hate popular artworks aimed at a teenage audience. Adults see them as cliché, but the teenagers don’t. As the teenagers mature into young adults, and experience those patterns over and over again, that begins to shift.

Why don’t college radio stations play bubble-gum pop music? Because college-age students are finally at the age where they can easily recognize the clichés of popular culture. At an age where young adults are establishing their own independence, there’s a natural rebellion against the standards of popular culture from the previous generation.

The passing of generations is probably a vital creative force. In the effort to reject the old generation, a new generation puts a lot of effort into finding new kinds of patterns that they can identify as their own.

Mature Adult

So why don’t we just hate everything by the time we’re say, 50 years old? By then, we’ve probably seen so many patterns we become nearly impossible to please.

This is where I think my focus on habituation breaks down a bit. I focus on it because I think it plays such a huge role in how we perceive art. But all the other forms of conditioning can also affect how we form nondeclarative memories in our Animal Brain.

Nostalgia is the result of a kind of associative conditioning, similar to Pavlov’s dog. When you first enjoy a work of art, you get a positive emotion associated with it as a sort of byproduct. Those positive emotions will remain with that artwork, and any similar artworks that remind you of it. You become conditioned to enjoy that kind of art, the way the dog became conditioned to expect food after hearing a bell.

I still listen to a lot of the same music I listened to in college. Yes, I can recognize the clichés in the old stuff, but I still like it anyway. A lot of the new stuff is either too clichéd or unrecognizable to me.

I’m just an old fuddyduddy now, I guess.

Next: A better mousetrap.

Keeping Score in the Arts #4: Some Explaining to Do
by Ken Arneson
2004-03-10 0:15

This is the fourth in a series of six articles.
Preview. 1. A New Science. 2. A Brain Lesson. 3. Hypothesis.

We have a hypothesis, so let’s use it. We’ll begin by trying to explain some phenomena we frequently observe about art.

  • What all art forms share

    Part of the problem with trying to decipher art as a whole is that art forms seem so different on the surface. What does painting have to do with music? What does dancing have in common with architecture?

    But if you look at the elements of each genre as a building block to a memory, you can begin to see the commonality. Since it takes two pieces of data to form a new memory, we can look at each art form for ways in which it creates associations between unrelated items.

    Some examples:
    In drama, you’re often given a conflict. One character wants something, and another character wants it, too, but for a different reason. The motivations are different, but there’s a common desire. Your brain creates an association between the different motivations, and a new memory is formed.

    Music composers often pair a major chord with its relative minor. Major chords are often described as sounding “happy”, and minor chords as sounding “sad”. But the difference between a C major chord (notes C-E-G) and an A minor chord (notes A-C-E) is only one note. By juxtaposing the C major chord with an A minor chord, the composer is creating an association: they’re dissimilar because of the major/minor difference, but they’re also similar because two of the three notes are the same.

    That’s what we’re looking for in each art form: juxtapositions of opposites, differences between similar elements, paradoxes, repeated sequences of different elements, associations between items: unrelated pairs which are combined to create a new Animal Brain memory. For want of a better word, let’s just call all these things patterns.

  • The role of emotions in art

    Emotions do two things for us. They trigger automatic, physical reactions which keep us alive and breeding. They also serve to enhance memory formation. We’re more likely to remember things that are associated with emotions. Those emotionally enhanced memories keep us from repeating dangerous actions, and give us incentives to repeat beneficial behaviors.

    Although emotions are not essential to memory creation, they are a powerful enhancer. If the goal of art is to create new nondeclarative memories, the triggering of emotions is a very important tool in the process.

    I don’t think our physical reactions to art (clapping, cheering, booing, crying, toe tapping, etc.) are a factor in our judgment of the quality of art. I’d guess that quality judgments and physical reactions are two separate effects from the same cause.

  • Why art is so hard to explain.

    You make a judgment about a work of art, and then you want to explain why you feel the way you do. The problem is this: the data you used to make the decision are not available to your conscious mind. The data that informed the decision are nondeclarative memories. They’re locked up in your Animal Brain, and you can’t query them.

    Instead, you go scouring for reasons in your Android Brain’s declarative memories, but that’s not where the answer is. Your Android Brain may contain facts about the patterns in the artwork, but it doesn’t have the actual patterns themselves.

    You cannot know for sure if the facts in your Android Brain match the patterns in your Animal Brain. It’s a bit like Schrödinger’s Cat. There’s no easy way to peek inside the box.

  • Clichés and “I don’t get it”

    A cliché is simply a habituated memory. It’s something we’ve been exposed to so often, that we have learned to ignore it as insignificant, just as the zebra ignores the wind-blown grass.

    The “I don’t get it” experience happens when an artist intends for you to recognize a pattern, to make some association between two items and create a new memory, and you don’t recognize the pattern or association. I call this unrecognition.

    An artist has to walk a delicate balance between cliché and unrecognition.

    My baseball limericks suffer from both these problems. The limerick form is quite clichéd. Most people know the meter and rhyme pattern, so it’s hard to create a novel experience. And if you’re not a baseball fan, you’re unlikely to recognize the associations I’m creating by juxtaposing the attributes of various baseball players. The size of my audience is therefore quite limited. I’m doomed to mediocrity, at best. Oh, well. But speaking of mediocrity…

  • Great vs. Mediocre vs. Bad

    The great works of art resist habituation. The patterns within them are so layered and interconnected that you can keep finding relationships between the details of the work, even if you experience the artwork many times.

    Mediocre works of art, on the other hand, may work to stimulate us once or twice. But sooner or later, habituation sets in.

    Bad works of art don’t even work the first time. They’re riddled with cliché and/or unrecognition from the start.

  • Different opinions about the same work of art

    We’re measuring the creation of nondeclarative memories in our Animal Brain. To create a new memory, you need two bits of data. The bits can come from two sources: the artwork, or previous memories stored in the brain.

    The artist controls only one of those sources. Some brains won’t recognize patterns in the artwork, others will. Some brains will see clichés in the artwork, others will find the same pattern novel. Our own brain participates in the measuring of the artwork.

    For example, there are two songs about dying on Peter Gabriel’s album “Up” which I find particularly moving: “No Way Out”, and “I Grieve”. The reason I find them so moving is because they trigger emotional memories of my own father’s death. If my father were still alive, I doubt I would have had nearly as strong a reaction to the songs. Half the source of my emotional reaction is from the music, but half is from my own brain. The association between the two sources forms the new memory.

    For this reason, it really doesn’t make much sense to say a work of art is simply “great”. You really need to say the work of art is great to somebody. Any general measure of greatness needs to include some kind of demographics and probabilities. Hamlet is unlikely to seem great to preschoolers. It is more likely to seem great to adults.

  • Rise and Fall of Genres

    Each genre of art has its natural building blocks, its common types of patterns, for creating new memories. As artists explore these genres, the building blocks get used over and over again. So as a genre ages, it becomes more and more difficult for the artist to avoid cliché.

    Eventually, the artists feel the need to break the boundaries of the genre. When this happens, though, the result is often unrecognition for the masses. The patterns become so complex that it begins to take a trained eye to recognize the associations the artist is making. At this point, the popularity of the genre begins to fade.

    You can probably recognize this phenomenon in the histories of painting and poetry. The patterns of abstract paintings and free verse are much more difficult for an untrained audience to recognize than those of representational paintings or rhymed verse, whose patterns are more obvious.

  • Difficulty predicting future analysis of current works

    I remember the first time I heard the music of Prince. It sounded so strange to me! Unusual rhythms, weird chords: I just didn’t get it: unrecognition. Twenty years later, what seems strange that I thought Prince’s music was so hard to comprehend. Those rhythms and chords are everywhere now: cliché.

    The old artwork has not changed. Our brains have changed. And because our brains change, the things artists do to create associations will adjust to those changes. In turn, those adjustments change what kinds of patterns we recognize.

    It’s a cycle that is hard to predict very far in advance. Art history can turn unrecognition into attention, and attention into cliché, or vice versa.

  • Critics who hate everything

    Some of us are more susceptible to habituation than others. I suspect that those members of the population at either extreme don’t make particularly good critics.

    If you are very difficult to habituate, everything will seem interesting to you. You’re going to like just about everything. That’s not very useful criticism. We need to know the difference between good and bad art.

    If you’re easy to habituate, you’ll quickly build up a considerable library of clichés in your brain. Over time, you will become harder and harder to please. These types of critics should probably switch genres often, so they can work with a balance of novelty and cliché.

Next: A Lifetime of Art

Keeping Score in the Arts #3: Hypothesis
by Ken Arneson
2004-03-09 18:00

This is the third in a series of six articles.
Preview. 1. A New Science. 2. A Brain Lesson.

A brief recap:
The human brain has two separate decision-making systems.

One system is intuitive, fast, and subconscious. It’s designed to recognize patterns and react automatically to them. It holds your memory of motor skills and habits. We’re calling that system our Animal Brain.

The other is rational, slow, conscious. It’s designed to follow step-by-step instructions. It holds your memories of facts and events. We’re calling that system our Android Brain.

Animal Brain tends to dominate our behavior. It broadcasts all kinds of information to Android Brain. But Android Brain has no easy way to communicate back to Animal Brain.

The Hypothesis:

Now we’re ready for my guess as to how art works. Remember that this is just an attempt at reverse engineering: to make something that behaves the same way the original does. The internal workings of the brain may be quite different from this. If so, that’s OK. I’m really only concerned that the outputs are similar.

I propose that art is simply a way to communicate with our Animal Brain. We do that by taking advantage of Animal Brain’s own nature. Animal Brain is constantly on the lookout for unusual patterns in its environment, so that is what we give it with art.

So here’s my hypothesis, using my terminology:

The purpose of art is to provide a way for Android Brain to communicate with Animal Brain.

The definition of art is anything made with the intention of communicating with our Animal Brain.

The unit of measurement in art is a single new memory in our Animal Brain.

The quality of an artwork is the rate at which the artwork creates Animal Brain memories.

Now for the same thing, using scientific jargon:

The purpose of art is to enable the declarative memory system to communicate to the nondeclarative memory system. Or, to give System 2 a way to talk to System 1.

The definition of art is anything artificially constructed to stimulate the formation of nondeclarative memories.

The unit of measurement in art is the formation or enhancement of a single nondeclarative memory. Or, a chemical signal resulting from it.

The quality of an artwork is the rate at which nondeclarative memories are formed. Or, the cumulative strength of the resulting chemical signals.

If my hypothesis is correct, all we need to measure the quality of art is some kind of nondeclarometer, which can count the appropriate chemical signals from the Animal Brain’s nondeclarative memories as they are created.

New memories send out strong chemical signals. Habituated memories release weaker chemical signals. These chemical signals tell Animal Brain what to pay attention to and what to ignore. I’m hypothesizing that the strength of these chemical signals are what we are measuring when we judge the quality of a work of art.

Drat! I just Googled “nondeclarometer” and got zero hits.

Neural scanners are still pretty crude, but I imagine someday it might be possible to measure memory creation fairly accurately. But for now, measuring art is possible only in theory, not in practice.

The brain is a complex organic machine. I’m sure this simple hypothesis is just that, too simple. But if our goal is usefulness rather than accuracy, simple is probably better, anyway. A hypothesis is a beginning, not an ending. We can test our hypothesis against observable phenomena, and adjust it as we learn more. So let’s go use the hypothesis to explain some common phenomena we observe about art.

Next: Some Explaining To Do.

Keeping Score in the Arts #2: A Brain Lesson
by Ken Arneson
2004-03-09 9:30

This (somewhat long) article is the second in a series of six articles.
Preview. 1. A New Science.

When we judge whether we like or dislike a work of art, we’re making a decision. To truly understand how to measure art, we need to understand how the brain makes decisions.

In his book The Metaphysical Club, Louis Menand describes an observation Oliver Wendell Holmes made about our legal system. Even though our legal system is set up to make decisions like this:

  1. gather facts
  2. analyze facts
  3. make the decision

it seemed that most of the time, judges actually did this:

  1. make the decision
  2. gather facts that support the decision
  3. present analysis to explain decision

People made their decisions first! How could they make their decisions before they had seen the facts? What, Holmes wondered, did they base their decisions on? Practical experience, Holmes decided.

(Holmes then went on to make some quite illogical decisions based on his own practical experience, including ruling that professional baseball should be exempt from anti-trust laws.)

Daniel Kahneman won the 2002 Nobel Prize for Economics. His studies have focused on how people make economic choices. Kahneman and others have found that people have two decision-making systems. One system is intuitive, the other is rational. From an interview in Strategy+Business (registration required, emphasis mine):

There are some thoughts that come to mind on their own; most thinking is really like that, most of the time. That’s System 1. It’s not like we’re on automatic pilot, but we respond to the world in ways that we’re not conscious of, that we don’t control. The operations of System 1 are fast, effortless, associative, and often emotionally charged; they’re also governed by habit, so they’re difficult either to modify or to control.

There is another system, System 2, which is the reasoning system. It’s conscious, it’s deliberate; it’s slower, serial, effortful, and deliberately controlled, but it can follow rules. The difference in effort provides the most useful indicator of whether a given mental process should be assigned to System 1 or System 2.

Kahneman tried to train people to make decisions using their rational system in instead of their intuitive system. But the effort was fairly futile:

Our research doesn’t say that decision makers can’t be rational or won’t be rational. It says that even people who are explicitly trained to bring System 2 thinking to problems don’t do so, even when they know they should.

In other words, he found the same thing Holmes did: that people have an extremely strong tendency to judge first, then reason later.

A just machine to make big decisions
Programmed by fellows with compassion and vision
We’ll be clean when their work is done
We’ll be eternally free yes and eternally young
I.G.Y, Donald Fagen


Humans appear designed for inefficiency. Judges make decisions before they consider the evidence. Businessmen ignore logic and opt for less-than-optimal economic choices. Perhaps the song I quoted above is correct. We’d be better off having some kind of android making our decisions for us.

The perplexing thing is that each of us already has an android-like system for making decisions within us: Kahneman’s System 2. Let’s call this system Android Brain.

Android Brain does things methodically, in sequence, and follows rules to arrive at logical conclusions. You can give Android Brain step-by-step instructions, and it will follow those instructions. It’s programmable. It’s available to use. So why do we ignore it? Why do we so strongly prefer the intuitive system that is more error-prone? Are we designed wrong?

Not really. There’s a very good reason we do this.

Quick, tell me exactly what you do with your left big toe when you walk.

Don’t know? Well, actually, you do know. If you didn’t know, you couldn’t walk. So how come you can’t tell me?

Well, just as there are two reasoning systems in the brain, there are two memory systems, too. Scientists call the two types of memory declarative and nondeclarative.

Declarative memory is what we usually think of when we think of memory. It is our conscious memory. It contains facts and events. When it fails, such as in Alzheimer’s Disease, we lose our ability to remember what happened in our lives. Declarative memory is strongly associated with Android Brain, our reasoning system. Its processing center is an area of the brain called the hippocampus.

Sometimes called procedural memory, our nondeclarative memory is often overlooked because these memories are not conscious. They hold things like motor skills and habitual behavior. The reason you can’t tell me what your left toe does when you walk is because this is a nondeclarative memory. Your conscious mind does not have any access to this data. The processing center for nondeclarative memory is an area of the brain called the amygdala (a-MIG-da-la).

The amygdala has a second purpose besides handling your nondeclarative memories. It’s also the central processing center for your emotions. When you’re afraid, angry, excited, or happy, that’s your amygdala talking. The fact that the amygdala handles both your motor skills and your emotions is significant.

Imagine you’re a zebra, grazing on the savannahs of Africa. There’s a light breeze blowing the tall grass around. Suddenly, you notice a strange indentation in the grass. You feel fear, and in fear, you jump up and run away. A good thing you did, too, because that indentation was a lion sneaking up on you.

This is Kahneman’s System 1 in action. Let’s call this system Animal Brain.


Animal Brain has a tight coupling between emotions and motor skills. It’s an effective architecture, because quicker you react to danger, the more likely you’ll stay alive.

Animal Brain did three things to save your life:

  1. It recognized an unusual pattern in your environment
  2. The recognition caused an emotional reaction
  3. The emotional reaction triggered a habitual, physical behavior

Because you were able to recognize this pattern and react to it in an instant, you are still alive.

This is why we have a strong preference for the decisions of Animal Brain over Android Brain. Any ancestor who favored using the slower, rational decision system of a Android Brain was more likely to be eaten by lions. The ones who preferred the quick decisions of Animal Brain stayed alive to pass their genes on to you.

So how did our imagined zebra know the difference between the motion of the grass caused by the wind, and that caused by the lion? Let’s take a slight detour and look at memory.

The process for creating Android Brain’s declarative memories is pretty complex. Animal Brain’s nondeclarative memories are more primitive and easy to explain.

In 1949, a scientist named Donald O. Hebb proposed a theory about how learning works in the brain. All learning, whatever the senses involved, uses the same basic mechanism: pairs of neurons firing together.

Fifty years later, a 1999 study out of Princeton University led by neurobiologist Joe Tsien revealed the genetic mechanism for Hebb’s rule. The gene, called NR2B, creates a protein which acts like a double lock on a door:

It needs two keys — or two signals — before it opens. As such, it is an excellent tool for creating memory, a process that fundamentally consists of associating two events. If two signals arrive at the same time — maybe one results from seeing a lit match and the other results from a sensation of pain — then the receptor is triggered and a memory is formed.

Animal Brain memories are altered by various forms of conditioning: repeated exposure to stimuli in the environment. The most famous example of conditioning is Pavlov’s dog. The dog drooled when he heard a bell, because he had been conditioned to expect food after a bell rang.

One form of conditioning is called habituation. In the book Memory: From Mind to Molecules, authors Larry Squire and Eric Kandel describe it like this:

…habituation is learning to recognize, and ignore as familiar, unimportant stimuli that are monotonously repetitive. Thus city dwellers may scarcely notice the noise of traffic at home but may be awakened by the chirping of crickets in the country.

When we’re first exposed to something new, a new memory is formed. If we are repeatedly exposed to it, though, and it proves harmless, we get conditioned to ignore it.

Thus, a zebra who is repeatedly exposed to the pattern of grass waving in the wind will become conditioned to ignore it. However, a change to that pattern could indeed have alarming consequences: it could be a lion. The zebra won’t ignore that stimulus.

Now, back to the two brain systems. Let’s compare them:

Animal Brain Android Brain
science term System 1 System 2
reasoning instinctual rational
speed fast slow
awareness subconscious conscious
reactions automatic deliberate
effort effortless effortful
memory type nondeclarative declarative
memory content patterns, motor skills, habits facts, events
processor amygdala hippocampus

The reasoning skills of our Android Brain seems rather unique to humans, although other mammals do have declarative memories. It should be obvious that all mammals, if not all animals, have a brain system that works more or less like Animal Brain.

Although the human Animal Brain shares many things in common with a zebra’s, they are not identical. Humans have evolved some very important differences.

At the Neuroesthetics conference I went to, Dan Fessler, an anthropology professor from UCLA, gave a presentation about shame and pride, two uniquely human emotions. These emotions depend on the ability to imagine what someone else is thinking. For example, you don’t feel ashamed if you’re alone and you discover your fly is open. You only feel ashamed if you know that someone else knows that your fly is open.

But by far the most important difference between a human’s Animal Brain and a zebra’s is language. Language is a function of our Animal Brain: it is an automatic and subconscious skill. We speak and understand without deliberate effort. It has a sophisticated type of pattern recognition (listening), and an associated motor skill (speaking).

What happens when the two systems need to interoperate? It was pointed out in the Neuroesthetics conference that the conversation is extremely one-sided. Animal Brain broadcasts all kind of information to Android Brain: emotions, sensations, decisions, language. But Animal Brain seems to be completely unaware that Android Brain even exists. Hardly any information at all flows in the other direction.

Remember, Animal Brain is designed to keep you alive and reproducing. From an evolutionary standpoint, nothing is more important than that. And Animal Brain knows it.

Frog and Toad ate one very last cookie.

“We must stop eating!” cried Toad as he ate another.

“Yes,” said Frog, reaching for a cookie, “we need will power.”

“What is will power?” asked Toad.

“Will power is trying hard not to do something that you really want to do,” said Frog.

  –Arnold Lobel, Frog and Toad Together

In this delightful children’s book, Frog and Toad have a problem. Their Animal Brains are telling them to eat more cookies. Their Android Brains are telling them not to. They are finding it extremely difficult to ignore their Animal Brains.

Animal Brain is like that guy you meet at a party that you can’t get away from. He talks and talks and never listens to a word you say. If you try to ignore him, he STARTS TALKING LOUDER. If you try to turn away, he pulls you back: THIS IS IMPORTANT! DON’T MISS A WORD! You have no choice but to humor him.

Animal Brain: what a jerk.

Now, if his message is “there’s a lion sneaking up on you,” you’re grateful for his message. But if you’re on a diet, and he keeps telling you “EAT ANOTHER COOKIE”, it would be better to ignore his message. But it’s very hard to do so. He’s so insistent! Animal Brain assumes everything is urgent. Every situation is life or death.

How do you handle a jerk like that?

Well, one way is to use your own strengths. One of Android Brain’s strengths is the ability to follow rules. So we come up with rules that help us manage the behavior of Animal Brain and correct its errors: Ten Commandments, Twelve-Step Programs, Seven Effective Habits, that sort of thing.

Another way is to exploit his weaknesses. And Animal Brain does have weaknesses. That’s where art comes in.

Next: Hypothesis

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