Incompetent and Unaware

This is a very interesting email I received today:

"Perhaps the single academic study most germane to the present election is the 1999 psychology paper by David Dunning and Justin Kruger, “Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One’s Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments.”

The two Cornell psychologists began with the following assumptions.

• Incompetent individuals tend to overestimate their own level of skill.
• Incompetent individuals fail to recognize genuine skill in others.
• Incompetent individuals fail to recognize the extremity of their inadequacy.

To put their theories to the test, the psychologists asked a group of Cornell undergraduates to undergo a series of self-assessments, including tests of logical reasoning taken from a Law School Admissions Test preparation guide. Prior to being shown their test scores, the subjects were asked to estimate how they thought they would fare in comparison with the others taking the tests.

On average, participants placed themselves in the 66th percentile, revealing that most of us tend to overestimate our skills somewhat. But those in the bottom 25 percent consistently overestimated their ability to the greatest extent. For example, in the logical reasoning section, individuals who scored in the 12th percentile believed that their general reasoning abilities fell at the 68th percentile, and that their overall scores would be in the 62nd percentile. The authors point out that the problem was not primarily underestimating how others had done; those in the bottom quartile overestimated the number of their correct answers by nearly 50 percent. Similarly, after seeing the answers of the best performers — those in the top quartile — those in the bottom quartile continued to believe that they had performed well.

Im a PC Ads

Apparently, some in the community think that the ads are really working.

http://www.techcrunch.com/2008/09/19/huh-those-mac-ads-arent-as-funny-any-more/

Still in agreement with the Seinfeld commercials not being the most engaging. However, I think – if it gets people talking its good. No such thing as bad publicity. Plus I thought the Seinfeld commercials had a lot of people burning in anticipation for something newer and better. Everyone was saying “Is this going anywhere?”. Don’t know if that was the intent, though.

Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey, William Wordsworth. JULY 13, 1798

FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur.--Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10 These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 20 Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The Hermit sits alone. These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:--feelings too 30 Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, 40 Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on,-- Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft-- 50 In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart-- How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee! And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 60 The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man 70 Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all.--I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, 80 That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompence. For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes 90 The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit, that impels 100 All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 110 Of all my moral being.

....

William Wordsworth
1798

Rock On!!

Over the past few months, my friends and I have gone out out to a bunch of much-hyped Indian movies screened in shoddy theaters around town. Jodha Akbar, Dasavatharam, Kuselan were the more hyped of them all.

JA was actually not bad at all. But Dasavatharam had us tearing at our hair, crying tears of blood and laughing with ultimate, resigned, consternation at a megalomaniacal, ego-massaging, record hungry 3 hours of torture. Coming from Kamal Hassan - it was like double venom. Seinfield said - Wet is wet...dry is dry...dead is dead. If you shoot a man after you kill him - he doesn't die again. But Dasavatharam hadn't come out yet - so he can be forgiven for such a mistake.

Jerry, we died there, right in the hall...and could swear we were desensitised to all the nonsense - owing, of course, to our death - when Kamal surprised us again. And again. And then some more. I swear we heard a loud flushing noise - the irreparable sound of three hours rushing down the drain- never to be seen again. I thought I spotted a few wrinkles and a touch of grey next day in the mirror.

Kuselan was just yawn inducing. Coming from a Rajini movie, it was blasphemy. Too bad for Rajini - who I thought stole quite a few scenes (all the scenes he was in) with a magnificently understated performance. Poor Rajini. Everytime the guy tries to actually act, the audience sends him packing. This time too, the audience would have none of it. Tears and Rajini apparently should not be in the same frame. Or acting and Rajini. Not in the same frame. EVER.

And both movies were pretty expensive to watch.

So when I called my friends out to catch ROCK ON today- the floodgates on creative excuses burst open.

"Oh...uhhh...", said one, thinking on his feet, "what was it I had to do?.....oh right - my cat caught on fire...I used my fire extinguisher on her, but dint know she was allergic to carbon dioxide, man. Poor thing. My girl is nursing her back to health. And needs me for emotional support, you know....sorry man - would have really LOVED to go!! Aah such is life." As he launched in to his dissertation of existentialism and the human condition generously punctuated by tears, sobbing and clutching at my shirt in desperation. Looking back, I think there might have been something fake about the whole performance. Don't know for sure...hmm...

But I had faith in Farhan Akhtar. And I decided to be brave and watch the flick -friends or no friends. This movie is Farhan Akhtar- the director of "Dil Chahta Hai"s- acting debut.

And…

Wow.

LOVED IT!!

The music was great – very original and true blue melodious Rock.

Performances were great - even Arjun Rampal did a great job. I had never quite figured out what he did in movies - and used to studiously avoid movies that billed him - but perhaps I have been too harsh..ah well..proverbial water under the proverbial bridge - what?

Prachi Desai played Farhan’s (Adi’s) wife and is a real discovery. Extremely cute and extremely good actor. VJ Purab Kohli who played KD the patelbhai is very funny!

The dialogues were really tight and well done. Some very snazzy and funny exchanges in the movie.
The second half was undoubtedly better put together than the first...but perhaps the second half felt better BECAUSE of the good work they did in the first half -which was slow and deliberate. But in the whole movie, I could only think of maybe one sequence that could have been edited out.

All in all - it was a very stylishly made and very slick – pretty sophisticated and realistic. Think Dil Chahta Hai with a music theme.

Because this movie is about a band - it actually makes sense to have songs in this one. Speaking of songs - I don't know what the rubbish is about bad reviews for the music - especially Farhan's singing. I thought Farhan did a marvellous job...and Shankar Ehsaan Loy really scored...the last song actually got a round of applause from the audience and I found myself joining in. It was quite a bravura musical performance actually!
This is obviously a feel good movie, where the emotions are actually underplayed. And people who know me would swear that I am one who doesn't mind feeling good at all! "Aah, Sarat - there's a guy who doesn't mind feeling good - takes it like a man, I say", they say.

I have decided I want Adi’s apartment, BTW. Do they even have houses like that in India? I wonder.

Anyway, as Murphy's law would have it - this was one movie that would have been great to catch with friends–

So, Bollywood fan or not - this one's a good one to catch. I for one am going to get the music CD. And the DVD when it comes out.

A letter from Groucho to the Warner Brothers

Groucho's response when Warner Brother's threatened to sue him over the film title "A Night in Casablanca"

Dear Warner Bros.,
Apparently there is more than one way of conquering a city and holding it as your own. For example, up to the time that we contemplated making this picture, I had no idea that the city of Casablanca belonged exclusively to Warner Brothers. However, it was only a few days after our announcement appeared that we received your long, ominous legal document warning us not to use the name Casablanca.

It seems that in 1471, Ferdinand Balboa Warner, your great-great-grandfather, while looking for a shortcut to the city of Burbank, had stumbled on the shores of Africa and, raising his alpenstock (which he later turned in for a 100 shares of common), named it Casablanca.
I just don't understand your attitude. Even if you plan on releasing your picture, I am sure that the average movie fan could learn in time to distinguish between Ingrid Bergman and Harpo. I don't know whether I could, but I certainly would like to try.

You claim that you own Casablanca and that no one else can use that name without permission. What about "Warner Brothers"? Do you own that too? You probably have the right to use the name Warner, but what about the name Brothers? Professionally, we were brothers long before you were. We were touring the sticks as the Marx Brothers when Vitaphone was still a gleam in the inventor's eye, and even before there had been other brothers - the Smith Brothers; the Brothers Karamazov; Dan Brothers, an outfielder with Detroit; and Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?. (This was originally "Brothers, Can You Spare a Dime?" but this was spreading a dime pretty thin, so they threw out one brother, gave all the money to the other one, and whittled it down to "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?")

Now Jack, how about you? Do you maintain that yours is an original name? Well it's not. It was used long before you were born. Offhand, I can think of two Jacks - Jack of Jack and the Beanstalk, and Jack the Ripper, who cut quite a figure in his day.
As for you, Harry, you probably sign your checks sure in the belief that you are the first Harry of all time and that all other Harrys are impostors. I can think of two Harrys that preceded you. There was Lighthouse Harry of Revolutionary fame and a Harry Appelbaum who lived on the corner of 93rd Street and Lexington Avenue. Unfortunately, Appelbaum wasn't too well-known. The last I heard of him, he was selling neckties at Weber and Heilbroner.
Now about the Burbank studio. I believe this is what you brothers call your place. Old man Burbank is gone. Perhaps you remember him. He was a great man in a garden. His wife often said Luther had 10 green thumbs.

What a witty woman she must have been! Burbank was the wizard who crossed all those fruits and vegetables until he had the poor plants in such confused and jittery condition that they could never decide whether to enter the dining room on the meat platter or the dessert dish.
This is pure conjecture, of course, but who knows - perhaps Burbank's survivors aren't too happy with the fact that a plant that grinds out pictures on a quota settled in their town, appropriated Burbank's name and uses it as a front for their films.

It is even possible that the Burbank family is prouder of the potato produced by the old man than they are of the fact that your studio emerged Casablanca or even Gold Diggers of 1931.
This all seems to add up to a pretty bitter tirade, but I assure you it's not meant to. I love Warners. Some of my best friends are Warner Brothers. It is even possible that I am doing you an injustice and that you, yourselves, know nothing about this dog-in-the-Wanger attitude.
It wouldn't surprise me at all to discover that the heads of your legal department are unaware of this absurd dispute, for I am acquainted with many of them and they are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits and a love of their fellow man that out-Saroyans Saroyan.

I have a hunch that his attempt to prevent us from using the title is the brainchild of some ferret-faced shyster, serving a brief apprenticeship in your legal department. I know the type well - hot out of law school, hungry for success, and too ambitious to follow the natural laws of promotion. This bar sinister probably needled your attorneys, most of whom are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits, etc., into attempting to enjoin us.
Well, he won't get away with it! We'll fight him to the highest court! No pasty-faced legal adventurer is going to cause bad blood between the Warners and the Marxes.
We are all brothers under the skin, and we'll remain friends till the last reel of A Night in Casablanca goes tumbling over the spool.

Sincerely,
Groucho Marx