Organizing by themes IX: The random bits

This site benefits/suffers/both from consisting of posts about a wide range of topics, all linked under the amorphous heading “data-driven storytelling.”

In an attempt to impose some coherent structure, I am organizing related posts both chronologically and thematically.

Having run through the primary themes of this blog…

…all that remains are a few personal odds and ends which defy easy characterization, although the first two have been referenced obliquely in a few of the preceding organizational posts.

–An attempt to find the good news from the year 2016

–A literal collection of “odds and ends” from July 2017

–How difficult it can be to separate the art from the artist who produced it.

–Some thoughts on St. Valentine’s Day (spoiler alert: thumb down) followed by some absurd and funny bits.

–A sampling of my taste in fiction, based upon a Facebook challenge (show one book a day for seven straight days with no explanations):

Detective Fiction

Oscar Wilde/George Bernard Shaw

–Random facts about me

Questions asked…and answered

For my 100th post…100 random facts

–Moving experiences

Moving memories

Moving serendipity

And that is about it.

Well, not quite…a post about random blog posts should be accompanied by a random photograph of random things:

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Until next time…

Organizing by themes VIII: True crime

This site benefits/suffers/both from consisting of posts about a wide range of topics, all linked under the amorphous heading “data-driven storytelling.”

In an attempt to impose some coherent structure, I am organizing related posts both chronologically and thematically.

Having written extensively about film noir and Charlie Chan films and detective fiction—and my maternal grandfather who rose to the rank of Detective on the Philadelphia Police Department in the late 1940s (at the very height of the classic film noir era), it was inevitable that I would eventually turn to true crime–despite it being far less amenable to “data-driven storytelling.”

Actually, that last part is not strictly true…if counting the number of true crime books in my bookcase while counting 100 random facts about me counts as “data-driven storytelling”:

#63. While I still love reading history, my tastes have changed, as reflected by my ownership of 21 books dealing with Jack the Ripper; I think that qualifies me as a Ripperologist….

#64. Overall, I have 70 books I would broadly describe as “true crime.”

#65. That total is dwarfed by my detective fiction collection (and associated biographies, critical studies and histories): 522 (+/-10). Note that some volumes contain multiple novels.

I address Jack the Ripper in a very specific way here.

Four of the remaining 49 books on my crime fiction shelves relate to the January 1947 murder of Elizabeth Short, to which I first alluded in this “worlds collided” post.

And I am still waiting for Larry Harnisch to write his book.

Beyond these two classic unsolved murders, I am particularly fascinated by the Chicago and New York City crime sagas of the 1920s—culminating in the exposure of Murder Inc. using the epic testimony of Abe “Kid Twist” Reles (the “canary who could sing but could not fly”). These account for 10 of the 45 remaining true crime books on my shelves.

When I was in Chicago in June 2013 for a conference, I took this photograph at what, on February 14, 1929 was 2122 N. Clark Street, site of the S-M-C Cartage Company:

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Speaking of the 1930s, I also have three volumes (counting this excellent compendium again) related to the “public enemies” (faux Robin Hoods?) of 1933-34: John Dillinger/Baby Face Nelson, Bonnie and Clyde, Pretty Boy Floyd, the Barker-Karpis gang, and so forth.

The other crime from the 1920s for which I own two books—and which I first learned about from this television movie—is the murder for which Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti were tried in 1927.

That only leaves my two books on the murder of Marie Rogers–and 29 other volumes, including this nearly-forgotten case.

Well, and here are some tangentially-related volumes.

Setting aside my fascination with Jack the Ripper and the Black Dahlia (and many of the Charlie Chan films), it is a good first pass at a broad generalization to say that I prefer my crimes from the 1920s and 1930s, but I prefer my crime movies from the 1940s and 1950s.

Until next time…

Organizing by themes VII: Words beginning with “epi-“

This site benefits/suffers/both from consisting of posts about a wide range of topics, all linked under the amorphous heading “data-driven storytelling.”

In an attempt to impose some coherent structure, I am organizing related posts both chronologically and thematically.

In this post, I sketched the winding road on which a 28-year-old man who had just resigned (without any degree) from a doctoral program in government ended up a 48-year-old with a doctorate in epidemiology.

And in this post, that degree turns out to the endgame (for now), not the starting point.

In between those two points, that man found a genuine resting place in the field of epidemiology. So much so, that when his blog—OK, my blog—debuted in December 2016, I was already contemplating the need to publish an epidemiology “primer” to provide context for the many epidemiology-centered posts I just knew I would be writing.

Ultimately, there was only one such post, based upon an unsettling implication from my doctoral research.

This latter post appeared in April 2017, just three months before I decided to stop looking for an epidemiology-related position (or, at least, one that built upon my 19 years as health-related data analyst that was commensurate with my salary history and requirements, education and experience[1]) and focus on writing and my film noir research.

In this two-part series (which includes links to my doctoral thesis and PowerPoint presentations for each of its three component studies), I describe my experience at the 2017 American Public Health Association Annual Meeting & Expo. In January 2017, when I still considered myself an epidemiologist, I submitted three oral presentation abstracts (one for each doctoral thesis study). Two were accepted, albeit after I had announced my career shift. Nonetheless, I traveled to Atlanta, GA to deliver the two talks; the conference became a test of whether the “public health analyst” fire still burned in me the way it had.

APHA 2017 1

APHA 2017 2

Spoiler alert: not so much.

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Here is the thing, however.

I still love epidemiology in the abstract. As I wrote in my previous post: “In epidemiology, I had found that perfect combination of applied math, logic and critical thinking…”

In fact, I even have a secular “bible”:

modern epidemiology

In essence, epidemiology was both an analytic toolkit and an epistemological framework: critical thinking with some wicked cool math. Moreover, the notion of “interrogating memory” is informed by my desire to “fact-check” EVERYTHING–I am innately a skeptic.

Well–I was not ALWAYS a skeptic.

And much of my writing about contemporary American politics reflects my concern that the United States is facing an epistemological crisis.

Given my ongoing love for epidemiology (even if it is not currently how I make a living) and my desire to promote critical thinking, it is very likely I will revisit my doctoral field in the future on this blog.

Until next time…

[1] I hesitate to say that I was the victim of age discrimination (at the age of 50), since I cannot back up that assertion with evidence. I am on far safer ground noting that the grant-funded positions I occupied for most of the last two decades barely exist anymore.

Two posts diverged…though not in a yellow wood

This post began as the seventh in the “organizing by themes” series, the one that would contain annotated links to my posts related to epidemiology, epistemology, public health and career changes.

THAT post may be found here.

When I started writing, though, I realized that I was telling the full back story of my adult professional and graduate student life. So rather than clunkily shoehorn the “theme organization” post at the end, I acceded to the inevitability of two distinct posts.

This was not the first time I had started writing one post only to find myself writing an entirely different post; it is a welcome process of literary free association.

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As I have alluded to elsewhere, I sort of stumbled into my previous career as a health-related data analyst.

On June 30, 1995, I walked away without a degree from a six-year-long pursuit of a doctorate in “government” (rea: political science) from Harvard’s Graduate School of Arts and Sciences (GSAS). In June 2015, however, I applied for—and received[1]—the Master’s Degree for which I had already qualified when I resigned; it was not the worst consolation prize ever.

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With no idea what to do next (other than remain in the Boston area, having just moved into an apartment with my girlfriend of two years) and a set of quantitative and “critical thinking” skills, I spent the summer of 1995 performing data entry at a long-defunct firm called Pegasus Communications. That bought me some time…though I did not use it as wisely as I could have.

The following January, despite my better judgment, I accepted a position as an Assistant Registrar at Brandeis University. To this day, I do not know why I was offered the position: I was a 29-year-old political science major with zero experience in higher education administration who would be supervising three highly-competent professional women a few decade older than me.

In retrospect, I think my relative youth and inexperience equated to “willing to work long hours for a lower salary.”

Still…you get what you pay for: it was a terrible fit from the start, and I was unceremoniously let go late in May. As relieved as I was to be free from that position, that was the most drunk I would be until the day my mother was buried in March 2004[2].

Regrouping, I narrowed my focus to positions which would allow me to utilize the data analytic skills I had acquired at Yale and Harvard (though, in retrospect, I did not know nearly as much as I thought I did).

My break came in October 1996—just after I turned 30. I accepted an Analyst position with Health and Addictions Research, Inc. (HARI), in part using baseball statistics. And for the first time, I truly enjoyed a full-time adult job[3]. However, the federal grant funding for this position expired (not for the last time) in June 1998, so a few months later I moved on to North Charles Research and Planning Group then the MEDSTAT Group. These latter two gigs were, in order, horrific and not-bad-for-a-few-months.

All of these companies were located in or near Boston (and no longer exist in late-1990s form). However, as 2000 ended, so did my relationship with the woman my wife Nell half-jokingly calls my first wife. As a result, I decided to resign from MEDSTAT and seek a fresh start in the Philadelphia area, where I was raised.

I actually had a good position lined up with a psychometrics firm in King of Prussia (about 21 miles northwest of Philadelphia), but for still-unexplained reasons, I was “unhired” two days before I was scheduled to start. Nothing breeds paranoia like “we are withdrawing our offer but we won’t tell you why!”

The silver lining, however, was that I was unemployed when a Senior Research Associate position became available at the Family Planning Foundation of Southeast Philadelphia (FPC) in June 2001.

This was where a collection of loosely-related health data positions became a full-fledged career in “health-related data analysis.” Following the abrupt departure of my initial supervisor, I effectively ran a grant-funded research project. When that project ended after one year, I was promoted to direct a new grant-funded project; this latter project remains the most rewarding professional work I have ever done.

In the meantime, I was preparing and delivering talks at scientific conferences (American Public Health Association, Eastern Evaluation Research Society—on whose Board of Directors I would serve for a year). My colleagues and I wrote and published a peer-reviewed journal article for yet a third grant-funded project; I was listed as second author[4]. When the woman who directed the Research Department retired, she hired me as a data-analytic consultant.

And so forth.

That first project for which I was hired related to the association between the establishment of neighborhood youth development activities and teen pregnancy rates. As I recall (more than 16 years later), these activities were established in selected zip codes in North Philadelphia (the “exposed” group), but not in West Philadelphia (the “unexposed” group—unless it was the other way around.

FPC was one of 12 sites chosen nationwide to receive one of these teen pregnancy prevention grants. At the end of the project, we began to write an article summarizing our findings. This was scheduled to appear in a special edition of a peer-reviewed journal (I forget which one) presenting the results from each funding site. While I was well-educated in quantitative methods (albeit from a social science perspective), we needed a more specific type of statistical expertise.

Enter Dr. Constantine Daskalakis on a consulting contract.

This man was a revelation to me. I had not known there was such a thing as “biostatistics,” and, despite working in public health as a data analyst, I was only vaguely aware of what “epidemiology” was.

In fact, all I really knew about epidemiology was an odd remark my Harvard doctoral committee chair made while teaching one of my graduate American politics classes: “Getting a PhD in political science is tough, but if you really want to do something hard, get a PhD in epidemiology.”

Make of this what you will: I did not complete the political science doctorate; I did complete the supposedly much-harder epidemiology doctorate.

What most impressed me about Dr. Daskalakis-who had only recently completed his own biostatistics/epidemiology doctorate—was his sheer clarity of thought. He laid out an effective analytic approach in a few quick steps.

It was, for all intents and purposes, my first epidemiology lesson.

For various reasons (the timing and efficacy of the youth development activities was wonky?), we wrote a solid draft but never submitted it for publication; there went my first chance to be a first author.

Until then, I had fully rejected the idea of completing a doctorate in a different field; the wounds were still too raw. But the idea of directing my own grant-funded projects—even directing a non-profit research department myself—began to appeal to me. And that would require pursuing a public-health-related doctorate in either biostatistics or epidemiology (they were already cleaving into distinct fields of study).

It remained simply a vague notion, however, until the summer of 2004 when in quick succession 1) my mother died, leaving my stepfather and I co0-executors of her modest (but not trivial) estate, 2) the second grant project ended, 3) the next grant-funded project proved less appealing and 4) the siren call of Boston grew ever louder, especially after a trip there which combined a HARI reunion and catching up with friends at the 2004 Democratic National Convention[5].

At the reunion, I heard excellent things about the Boston University School of Public Health (BUSPH). With no desire to return to Harvard (and/or fearing they would not want me back, even in a different graduate school), that was the only viable option I had.

That Fall, as the lawyer-driven[6] rift between my stepfather and me grew wider, a solution to our impasse occurred to me: sell the condominium my mother had intended me to have (and from which I was earning rent) and use the proceeds to pursue a doctorate at BUSPH.

Starting around my 39th birthday, no less.

My intention had been to apply for a doctorate in epidemiology, but the deadline for biostatistics was later, so that was what I chose. My GRE scores had long since expired, so I needed to take those again. My scores, after re-learning how to study for any kind of exam (the last time I had taken anything close to an exam was May 1991, when I somehow passed my Harvard GSAS oral and written exams), were…good enough.

But when I submitted my application to BUSPH, their response was a qualified acceptance: given how many years (20) had passed since I had taken a pure mathematics class, they enrolled me in the Master’s Degree program. I was excited and disappointed in roughly equal measure.

[Spoiler alert: they were not wrong]

Nonetheless, I was returning to Boston for what was shaping up to be a multi-step process. I submitted my resignation at FPC, and left—with an emotional send-off—at the end of June 2005.

In the meantime, I was still waiting for my stepfather to settle my mother’s estate with me…which he finally did in July 2005. In the interim, I had to borrow money from a friend to secure the apartment I had located in the Boston suburb of Waltham (yes, where Brandeis is located).

The final dispensation check was dated August 9, 2005; I know the date because I took an enlarged photocopy of it (it is resting comfortably in a filing cabinet behind me and to the left). No, I am not going to include a photograph of the photocopy.

However, just bear with me for a brief romantic digression.

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On October 31, 2005, my first Halloween night back in Boston, I received a message from a woman named “Nell” on Friendster, one of the original social networks (and quasi-dating site). On a lark, I had posted on my profile page 10 trivia questions based upon key interests/likes (sample question: “Freddie Freeloader sits between what two greats?”[7])

Only a few miles away in the Boston neighborhood of Brighton, Nell, a private school teacher from Washington DC, was bored. Something about my profile appealed to her, so she took the time to research the questions to which she did not already know the answers.

Naturally, I was deeply flattered—and intrigued by her profile (and, later, her use of the word “persiflage” as the subject line for her first e-mail to me). We struck up a  brief correspondence then went on our first date (meeting in Harvard Square to eat at Bertucci’s—which is no longer there—and watch Good Night, and Good Luck—at a movie theatre which no longer exists). I was so nervous, I kept dropping the movie tickets.

I must not have been too nervous, though: we married 23 months (and one day) later[8].

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My plan had been to complete all of my coursework in two semesters (while not earning any income other than interest) to save money. I had already paid off some substantial credit card debts and lingering student loans—and a few days after I returned to Boston, my 1995 Buick Century died. Rather than incur new debt, I paid in full for my black 2005 Honda Accord (it was love at first sight when I spotted it on the dealership lot); I still drive that Accord.

Four courses a semester proved too stressful, though, so I paid for an additional semester.

On a Thursday night in early September 2005, I drove down to the Albany Street campus, parked and walked into a classroom—more of a small auditorium, really—for the first time (as a student) in nearly 15 years. It was Dan Brooks’ Introduction to Epidemiological Methods; the two disciplines may have cleaved into different departments but they were still interconnected.

And, just like that, I was home. In epidemiology, I had found that perfect combination of applied math, logic and critical thinking I had not even known I was searching for until I found it. Even as I labored joyfully through, first, Intermediate then Modern Epidemiology (perhaps the best course I have ever taken), I knew I would soon be applying to the BUSPH doctoral program in epidemiology.

It had to be soon, actually, because my GRE scores would expire in 2010.

By January 2007, I had completed both my “theoretical” and “applied” qualifying exams, and I received my diploma a short time later. I had already parlayed my impending degree into a Quality Researcher position at the Massachusetts Behavioral Health Partnership (MBHP), where I would remain until I was laid off (expiration of grant funds again) in June 2010.

My application to the BUSPH epidemiology doctoral program was accepted early in 2009 (“We were wondering when you were going to apply!”), and I enrolled that September. Thank goodness I did, because when I left MBPH the following June, we lost our health insurance; BUSPH picked up the slack.

In May 2011, I accepted an Outcomes Analyst position with Joslin Diabetes Center, where I would remain until June 2015, when—you guessed it—the federal grant funding expired. Yes, not only did my father die on June 30 (1982), I left four different positions (only one truly voluntarily) on that day in 1998, 2005, 2010 and 2015. And yet it is not even close to my least favorite day of the year; I reserve that honor for Valentine’s Day, which I utterly loathe.

Unlike my doctoral program at Harvard, the BUSPH epidemiology program had an elegant, well-ordered rhythm to it: two years of coursework—culminating with the dreaded hurdle known colloquially as “Dan Brooks’ seminar.” After that came the “biostatistics” and “epidemiology” qualifying exams, selection of a three-person committee and a thesis topic, drafting of a short letter of intent outlining the three connected studies you were going to conduct, drafting of a very-detailed 25-page outline of the final dissertation, then the researching and writing of the thesis itself.

Nothing to it, he wrote with a shudder of remembrance.

And, of course, what followed that five-year journey (nine if you count the biostatistics MA) was the doctoral defense.

Oh my…the defense.

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Technically, this photograph was taken (on the late afternoon of December 16, 2014) after I had successfully defended (when the three doctoral committee members leave the room to “confer”—and return with cake and champagne), but my slides are still being projected, so it is close enough.

Not long after, I collected this from…somewhere…on campus.

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Nearly 20 years after I had walked away from one doctoral program, I had successfully completed an entirely different one.

And this is essentially where you came in to the movie.

Until next time…

[1] In December 2015

[2] After the funeral (at which I eulogized my mother), I spent much of the evening walking around my late stepfather’s house, where we were sitting shiva for my mother, swigging directly from a bottle of Scotch. When I walked out the house later that night in the direction of my parked car, a family friend with the superb nickname “Yo!” said he would “rip out [my] fucking distributor cap” if I attempted to do drive myself home. Not being a complete fool, I permitted a close male cousin to drive me home.

[3] And where I taught myself my first geographic information systems (GIS) software package.

[4] A 2000 article based on HARI research listed me as third author.

[5] In June 1991, a late friend of mine from suburban Philadelphia asked me to come to St. Louis to support his candidacy for Treasurer of the Young Democrats of America. I rented a car and drove to St. Louis, renting my very own room in the conference hotel, and joining the Pennsylvania delegation. I became friends with some members of the Alaska delegation, one of whom served as a whip at the 2004 convention in Boston. She was the one who invited me to Boston. I was actually in the rafters of the Fleet Center (the former Boston Garden, now the TD Garden) for former president Bill Clinton’s address—having walked by then-Representative Dennis Kucinich of Ohio on the way in to the building. I was in a local bar watching with dropped jaw as a charismatic young Illinois State Senator and candidate for United States Senate named Barack Obama gave the keynote address. While I was there, Mr. Obama spoke to few dozen or so people at nearby Christopher Columbus Waterfront Park; I saw his speech, but I regret not meeting him and/or getting a photograph with him.

[6] I still do not quite understand why he chose to fight my mother’s—his wife’s—crystal-clear distribution of what property she had. But he did so—then tried to intimidate me by hiring a man named Vito Canuso, who had been the chair of the Philadelphia Republican Party…at some point. I countered by hiring the lawyer—Barbara Harrington Hladik—my mother had used for my sister Mindy’s guardianship hearing (she is severely mentally retarded; I am her legal guardian now). It was a mismatch from the start—Canuso never had a chance.

[7] Answer: “Freddie Freeloader” is the 2nd track on the Miles Davis masterpiece Kind of Blue, “sitting” between “So What” and “Blue in Green,” my favorite track…period.

[8] It was not all smooth sailing—but we made it there in the end.

Organizing by themes VI: Baseball

This site benefits/suffers/both from consisting of posts about a wide range of topics, all linked under the amorphous heading “data-driven storytelling.”

In an attempt to impose some coherent structure, I am organizing related posts both chronologically and thematically.

Many times in the past two-plus years I would drive to my weekly psychotherapy appointment fully expecting to talk about one set of things only to find myself talking about an entirely different set of things.

Something similar happened with this blog.

When I launched it in December 2016, I already had a pool of quirky completed data analyses from which to draw…including a plethora of baseball-related ones. Some of these had their genesis in the mid-1990s, when on a lark I entered a mass of baseball-related data into a primitive statistical software package and began to investigate. Ultimately, I wrote four papers based on those analyses (not sure what happened to them), which I submitted as part of my “writing sample” when I applied for a job at the now-defunct Health and Addictions Research, Inc. in Boston in the late summer of 1996.

I started there in early October—in large part (as a coworker later freely admitted) because of those papers; if anything, he is a bigger baseball fan than I will ever be. That was the start of my two decades in health-related data analysis…which I address elsewhere.

But it comes as something of a surprise that I have only written three posts on baseball (excluding tangential references such as here):

A Hall of Fame case for Jamie Moyer

Revisiting my old baseball player metrics

Phollowing the Philadelphia Phillies is phun again

Yes, I was profoundly disappointed Moyer only received 10 votes (2.4% of 422 votes cast), well below the 21 he needed to remain on the ballot more than one year. That was an especial sting given that he is one of the finest human beings to make a living playing professional baseball.

And, yes, it matters.

5. Voting: Voting shall be based upon the player’s record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played.” (emphasis added)

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One reason I have not written as much about baseball (lately, at any rate) is how badly my Philadelphia Phillies tanked over the last two months of the 2018 season (2018 phillies win percentage), despite the Cy-Young-Award-caliber season of #1 starter Aaron Nola.

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I took this photograph during a May 31, 2014 game at beautiful Citizens Bank Park, which the Phillies lost to the New York Mets in 14 innings, 5-4 (after tying it 4-4 in the bottom of the 9th). We left after the 12th inning, I believe…or maybe it was the 11th.

With the arrival of Spring Training in a few weeks, I will undoubtedly write about baseball again; if nothing else, I want to begin to lay the groundwork for why longtime Phillies shortstop Jimmy Rollins absolutely belongs in the baseball Hall of Fame. In the meantime, in honor of the recent election of the late Roy Halladay to that same Hall of Fame, here is a link to a superb recap of his 2010 playoff no-hitter (as in, Halladay threw a no-hitter—marred only by a 5th inning walk to Cincinnati Reds right fielder Jay Bruce—in his first-ever playoff start!)

While that historic game was being played, I was sitting inside an auditorium-style classroom at the Boston University School of Public Health helping to proctor an exam. I was one of two teaching assistants (TA) for an introductory epidemiology class that semester. In a truly bizarre coincidence, my younger co-TA had attended the same suburban Philadelphia high school as me, albeit some 20 years after I graduated in 1984.

I followed the game on my phone—most likely through the Gameday app. It took all of my willpower not to jump up and down and hoot and holler when catcher Carlos Ruiz through Cincinnati Reds second baseman Brandon Phillips out at first base for the final out of the game.

Until next time…

Organizing by themes V: Popular music

This site benefits/suffers/both from consisting of posts about a wide range of topics, all linked under the amorphous heading “data-driven storytelling.”

In an attempt to impose some coherent structure, I am organizing related posts both chronologically and thematically.

While I have told many stories from my life (and those of my ancestors), I rarely discuss my personal tastes (with exceptions here and here and, to a lesser extent, here).

This includes my taste in music (other than what is written on my home page).

In fact, it usually takes the death of a musician I admire for me to write about music, as I did with…

In every case, I was describing my tastes within the context of a larger story.

As I did with two post about The Beatles: why I thought I hated them, and how I came to love them.

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One reason I rarely write about my tastes in music is that on March 24, 2018, I pretty much said everything I need to say about them. Inspired by giant wall charts detailing the 2004 and 2007 Boston Red Sox seasons—superior examples of what I call “data art,” I created a graphic that displayed—in technicolor splendor—all 9,500+ tracks on my classic fly-wheel iPod by year, artist and genre.

Cropped data art screen shot

What I intended to be a quick overview of the chart’s highlighted became an epic, 4,300+ word journey through dozens of my favorite musical artists, more or less chronologically by genre.

It remains one of the best posts I have ever written–certainly the most comprehensive.

Enjoy.

Until next time…

Organizing by themes IV: Bipartisanship and civil discourse

This site benefits/suffers/both from consisting of posts about a wide range of topics, all linked under the amorphous heading “data-driven storytelling.”

In an attempt to impose some coherent structure, I am organizing related posts both chronologically and thematically.

When I first launched this blog in December 2016, I decided that if I were going to write about American politics—however “objective” my analyses and transparent my methods—I should be careful not to be seen merely as a partisan or ideological hack.

Thus, in only my second post, I laid out what I considered to be my bipartisan bona fides, while also making clear that I am a proud liberal Democrat. The two are not inconsistent.

Over the next six months, as I wrote a great deal about American politics—particularly reflecting on the 2016 presidential campaign—I chose, with one exception, not to refer back to that post.

But as the resistance to President Donald Trump heated up in the spring and early summer of 2017, I began to be disturbed by the nascent tit-for-tat nastiness of some of my fellow liberals (or progressives, or whatever the label du jour is). I found myself writing long Facebook posts that were more or less erudite versions of “two wrongs don’t make a right.”

The end result was that in June 2017, I crafted what remains the post of which I am still the proudest: Two distinct restaurants. Two different conversations. One unanswered question.

One conversation (about gun rights) was with a cultural conservative in exurban Philadelphia (near where I was raised), while the other conversation (about the 2016 presidential candidacy of Democrat Hillary Clinton) was with an ardent progressive in Brookline, MA (where I live now). The former conversation was polite and informative, the latter confrontational and head-scratching.

And the question I still have is:

When do you stick to deeply-held principles, and when do you set them aside to advance the common good?

The answer may something to do with lowering your voice, listening to other points of view and questioning your own certainty.

I have linked to this post on Twitter (less so on Facebook, which I have all but abandoned) more often than any other post. Granted, Twitter is not exactly renowned for being “where cooler heads prevail”—but that will not stop me from trying.

Four months passed, during which I spent a great deal of time (or so it felt) arguing for the repeal of Amendment II on Twitter (see caveat in previous paragraph). The…umm…pushback I received prompted me in October 2017 to write Unpacking Twitter arguments, both coherent and incoherent.

This was the “Featured Image” on that post. It still sits on my desk, where I can easily access it.

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I did not write specifically about bipartisanship again until April 2018, but the notion clearly suffused the following posts:

What if Dewey HAD defeated Truman?

Dynamics of the Party System

Manifest(o) Identity

The latter post, from May 2018, was a first response to what I saw as a rapidly growing and dangerous epistemological crisis (which still exists) in the United States: the division of American citizens into ideological media silos, wherein we only “accept as true” information we receive from our preferred sources.

As a recent birthday gift shows, I am not immune to such siloing; MSNBC rules our weekday evenings.

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In June 2018, I began to proffer a specific form of bipartisan action as the cure for our epistemological crisis—a willingness to vote across party lines, while still staying true to one’s fundamental political views. In Bipartisanship as patriotism, I announced I would vote to reelect Republican Charlie Baker governor of Massachusetts; my wife Nell and I both followed through on that pledge with no regrets.

Just one week later, I published a hopeful piece about the vacancy on the United States Supreme Court created by the retirement of Associate Justice Anthony Kennedy. I did not really expect a more centrist nominee from President Trump, but neither did I expect to have a personal connection to his eventual choice.

Finally, my most recent posts dealing with bipartisanship (other than an exhortation to be involved in the process, whatever your political perspective) came after the deaths of two Republican icons I came greatly to admire (despite our ideological differences and their all-too-human foibles):

John McCain

George Herbert Walker Bush

Rest in peace, gentlemen. You served your country with honor—and did your best to act in accordance with what I wrote on my home page: “It really is possible to disagree without being disagreeable.”

Until next time…