People often perform tasks measurably better when the tools they're using put them in a state of enthused confidence.
You are right to consider this statement obvious, but obvious statements are no more immune to being run through the gamut and deconstructed into their atomic elements than are ambiguous ones. Moreover, it is the humor of the universe that any statement, no matter how initially obvious, will, when dutifully inspected, eventually become so ambiguous as to make further inspection impossible.
To start, tasks can be parsed and categorized numerous ways; here, I'll opt for a straight-forward parsing and claim that the opening statement applies both to creative and non-creative tasks, and all tasks in-between. I'll use three example professions representative of the regions of interest for a task spectrum defined this way. Each example has associated with it a secret door (SD) that opens onto a subtle nuance.
1. An assembly line worker tightening bolts might really be on top of his game and applying consistent torque if he's wearing the comfortable leather boots he prefers over tennis shoes.
SD = the notion that a person's task performance depends on the tools they're using can be expanded to include the articles they're wearing, as well as other items around their person which lack the direct relation to task completion that, for example, a wrench, or other tool, has.
2. If his pencil is not dull, a novelist who likes the clean lines of a sharpened pencil is more likely to produce work that draws the reader in.
SD = while perhaps uncommon, it is perfectly acceptable for someone to prefer tools with characteristics which most others in the same profession detest, and the result, in terms of task completion, should be the same. For example, an author who prefers blurry, wide lines will write better stories with a dull, rather than sharp, pencil.
3. Cooking is an artful science, or a scientific art, by which I mean it falls somewhere near the center of the non-creative to creative task spectrum. A chef irritated at having to use a cheap KitchenAid whisk instead of a hand-crafted Scandinavian piece may nonetheless prepare eggs beautifully.
SD = frustration at having to use tools not to one's liking won't necessarily lead to the task being performed poorly, but may, rather, be expressed as audible obscenities. This is especially true in cases where one recognizes that a task performed even slightly less than superbly jeopardizes one's employment status.
It's natural to wonder whether the enthusiasm of working with preferred tools likewise has an audible outlet option. Theoretically, such an option shouldn't exist, since all the enthusiasm should silently manifest itself in the good quality of the task performance and/or final product. But sometimes there is enthusiasm left over even after these avenues have been filled, in which case the chef might use up what remains by exclaiming "God damn, I benedicted the fuck out of those eggs!"
An important difference exists, however, between the nature of the exclamations when preferred and non-preferred tools are used. In the preferred case, the exclamation is usually a self-compliment, pointing to the quality of performance or end product. When non-preferred tools are used, symmetry would dictate that the exclamation be critical of the performance or end product, but this would be dishonest since, for the job security reasons previously mentioned, the performance/end product are as good as in the former case. This predicament forces the exclamation in the non-preferred tool case to be directed toward the non-preferred tool itself, i.e. "Fucking cheap-ass KitchenAid piece of shit whisk!"
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
In The Wood Of A Moist Tree
C) wins.
She was want for a liquid. Standing, she left the table for the cupboards. She reached into one, pulled a glass down, and dunked it in the water chest. These thirst-driven actions simultaneously communicated her answer to the question posed, to which he replied, in a more conventional, conversational manner:
-Traveling by sea at this time of year? I think our roof influences you unfairly. We're warm and dry indoors. The rain is non-threatening, offering only a friendly pitter-patter. But remember, he warned, our vessel has no cabin.
She sloshed her submerged glass back and forth in the chest, creating a turbulence on the water's surface that emulated a torrential storm.
-That it's raining , he continued, at the very moment when we're considering how to approach Endinborough, might well be a cautionary weather event courtesy of divinity.
He lit his pipe and drew in several times, exhaling smoke at a casual pace, enjoying the gravitas that his statement took on as a function of the length of silence that followed it. And during what he guessed was roughly the period of maximum effect, before further silence risked letting the mind wander in other directions, forgetting what had come earlier, he closed with what he considered to be a particularly elegant summary of his view on the subject.
-Put another way, he said, everything we see here, illuminated by the fire or lamp, is probably casting a foreshadow.
At this she laughed out loud, but briefly, and with her back to him. The suggestion that she was unfairly influenced by the roof, while potentially true, was voided by the hypocrisy of his willingness to be irrationally influenced by the rain. Suspicion that he was innocently unaware of his hypocrisy was at the core of her reaction. She glanced back at him, smiling warmly, and finally drank some cold water. Then she said,
-You so often take things literarily.
-It's a nice balance against all the time taking things literally, I find.
A)
A series of knocks on their door interrupted them sharply. He shifted his pipe to the other side of his mouth and answered her surprised expression with a face of puzzlement. As if striking preemptively against the possibility of speech, another short barrage of knocks came through before either of them could say a word regarding the unexpected visitor.
B)
She brought the now half-emptied glass to rest on the countertop and said,
-I'm quite sleepy...mind the fire before coming to bed.
-Yes, yes, he answered, with an absent-mindedness that betrayed how routinely she made the request.
She left him then, one hand clutching her shawl as the other peeled away an edge of the hanging quilt barrier that separated the rooms in a way that was gentle in its non-permanence. He was left with his thoughts, and with his smoldering tobacco, which warmed his hand through the wood.
C)
The chimney's smoke rose into a sky that looked down and cried on the beauty of the country. From a height of several tree-lengths above the topsoil one could see the whole of the town, albeit obscured in places by intermittent fog. Street lamps were glowing, guiding beacons, as much for lonely street walkers as for brave, flying insects undeterred by falling water bullets.
She was want for a liquid. Standing, she left the table for the cupboards. She reached into one, pulled a glass down, and dunked it in the water chest. These thirst-driven actions simultaneously communicated her answer to the question posed, to which he replied, in a more conventional, conversational manner:
-Traveling by sea at this time of year? I think our roof influences you unfairly. We're warm and dry indoors. The rain is non-threatening, offering only a friendly pitter-patter. But remember, he warned, our vessel has no cabin.
She sloshed her submerged glass back and forth in the chest, creating a turbulence on the water's surface that emulated a torrential storm.
-That it's raining , he continued, at the very moment when we're considering how to approach Endinborough, might well be a cautionary weather event courtesy of divinity.
He lit his pipe and drew in several times, exhaling smoke at a casual pace, enjoying the gravitas that his statement took on as a function of the length of silence that followed it. And during what he guessed was roughly the period of maximum effect, before further silence risked letting the mind wander in other directions, forgetting what had come earlier, he closed with what he considered to be a particularly elegant summary of his view on the subject.
-Put another way, he said, everything we see here, illuminated by the fire or lamp, is probably casting a foreshadow.
At this she laughed out loud, but briefly, and with her back to him. The suggestion that she was unfairly influenced by the roof, while potentially true, was voided by the hypocrisy of his willingness to be irrationally influenced by the rain. Suspicion that he was innocently unaware of his hypocrisy was at the core of her reaction. She glanced back at him, smiling warmly, and finally drank some cold water. Then she said,
-You so often take things literarily.
-It's a nice balance against all the time taking things literally, I find.
A)
A series of knocks on their door interrupted them sharply. He shifted his pipe to the other side of his mouth and answered her surprised expression with a face of puzzlement. As if striking preemptively against the possibility of speech, another short barrage of knocks came through before either of them could say a word regarding the unexpected visitor.
B)
She brought the now half-emptied glass to rest on the countertop and said,
-I'm quite sleepy...mind the fire before coming to bed.
-Yes, yes, he answered, with an absent-mindedness that betrayed how routinely she made the request.
She left him then, one hand clutching her shawl as the other peeled away an edge of the hanging quilt barrier that separated the rooms in a way that was gentle in its non-permanence. He was left with his thoughts, and with his smoldering tobacco, which warmed his hand through the wood.
C)
The chimney's smoke rose into a sky that looked down and cried on the beauty of the country. From a height of several tree-lengths above the topsoil one could see the whole of the town, albeit obscured in places by intermittent fog. Street lamps were glowing, guiding beacons, as much for lonely street walkers as for brave, flying insects undeterred by falling water bullets.
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