Category Archives: Contemporary

Reconsidering the Percolator

This article was originally published in Issue 42 of Coffee Lovers Magazine, which is where you should read it because they have things like layout and pictures over there.

Reconsidering the Percolator

in defense of a misunderstood relic

Something’s missing in contemporary conversations about coffee. The one elision in Issue 41’s roundup of preparation methods was mention of the percolator, that much maligned icon of midcentury domesticity. To be fair, it’s easy to forget. Difficult to classify, percolation lies somewhere between immersion and drip methods. For people under the age of 40, “to percolate” is likely more familiar as a metaphorical phrase than a culinary process. To modern sensibilities, the percolator is at best shorthand for 1950’s homemaking; at worst slandered as an inferior method that commits unforgivable crimes against coffee. There is a third way.

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Filed under Contemporary, Historical, Nostalgia

“Rigged” Elections & Mutually Exclusive Realities

a quick take

Part of the problem with not associating with people who disagree with us is that we’re all under the impression that we’re right all the time, and that the other side is delusional.

The assertion that the election won’t be rigged* will only ring true for those who support the winning side. Those supporting the losing side will look around, see only those who voted similarly, and have further “evidence” that the election results do not reflect the reality they see around them.

Sigh. Guess we’ll have to start talking to people who make us uncomfortable…

*It’s worth noting that the person delivering this message–the President–is someone those crying foul of a potentially-rigged election won’t believe under any circumstances. They deny him the authority to speak their truth.

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Filed under Contemporary, Media, Power

Hold Your Applause

This is a recent column from Why Can’t I Eat My Dog?, an ongoing Q&A series about the strange inner workings of U.S. culture. The column is published each month in my newsletter.

Quandary

How do people know how long to clap/applaud at social events?
~Baylee

Anthropological Explanation

Baylee’s question sent me to JSTOR, bastion of academic articles. Unsurprisingly, music journals had a lot to say on this subject, most of it of the hand-wringing variety. (As in, “why, oh, why can’t our stupid audiences clap the way we professional performers think they should?”) But let’s step away from that cacophonous minefield–I’ve collected a few choice gems in the “Miscellany” section at the end–and talk about crowds, social norms, and communication. This discussion focuses on a U.S. cultural context, because that’s what I have the most experience with.

There are different schools of thought about what drives group behavior, some that allow for more individual agency and rationality than others. My attempt to answer this question will employ a mish-mash and I probably won’t provide an adequate literature review to trace their lineage. I’ll be talking about applause in terms of the social situation of a performance, but we can apply a similar analysis to sporting events, speeches, or any situation that involves a person or people set apart from the people whose role in the interaction is primarily observational.

Applause is a form of communication both between audience and performer and among audience members. It can encapsulate several meanings, often at once:

1. Indicating that the performance is over.
2. Demonstrating support of what just concluded.
3. Demonstrating support of the person or people who performed.
4. Indicating a positive emotional or intellectual reaction to the performance.
5. Demonstrating adherence to social expectations of polite behavior.

Let’s unpack that last one. We have been conditioned to behave in certain ways depending on what context we find ourselves in. These are social norms. People who become members of an audience have joined in a ritual that triggers a set of behaviors, one of which is clapping at the conclusion of the performance. In addition, by becoming a member of the audience, people suspend certain individual behaviors in the service of greater group cohesion. Regardless of whether an individual enjoyed a given performance or not, that individuals is likely aware that society expects them to applaud when it is over. To not engage in the group act of applause would be making a strong statement against said performance. Unless an individual has reason to make their negative reaction to the performance publicly known, they are probably going to contribute a few halfhearted claps to the group’s applause at the “proper” moment.

Now that we’ve established the social expectations that generate the group response of applause in the first place, let’s move on to tackle Baylee’s question of how individuals within the group know when to stop clapping. It seems to happen spontaneously, but as we’ve seen from how applause begins, its cessation may also be partly automatic. This question turns on the idea of knowledge, which is a tricky thing to deal with anthropologically. As my professor Anne Lorimer reminded us time and again, “culture is in practice, not just in people’s heads.” So let’s see if we can find what audience members might be thinking in what they are doing when they stop applauding.

“Nowhere has controversy about mental processes been more salient than in theories of crowd behavior.”
Richard A. Berk, ‘A Gaming Approach to Crowd Behavior,” American Sociological Review Vol. 39, No. 3 (June 1974) pp.355-373

In 2013, Royal Society Open Science published research findings that suggested applause spreads among an audience “like a disease,” with people relying on audial cues to drive their individual clap contributions. Other sociological research also takes this “contagion” view of crowd behavior, treating groups of people like mindless herds who merely follow the unidentifiable will of the collective. Of course it’s more subtle and people deserve much more credit. As I outlined above, the meanings of applause and the contexts in which it’s generated depends on people’s awareness–even if they aren’t specifically thinking about it every second–of what behaviors are acceptable and expected of them at any given moment.

As we applaud, we are attuned to the clapping of others in the audience. After a while, someone in the audience will stop clapping. Maybe their hands hurt. Maybe they disliked the performance and were only communicating politeness. Whatever the reason, that one person or handful of people who stop(s) triggers a chain reaction: we become aware, at least subconsciously, that the noise and/or movement around us has reduced, and because we have resigned our individual selves at least in part to the collective personhood of the audience, we conform to the social expectation that we slow our claps, and as a critical mass of people lessen their applause and finally stop, leaving only the stragglers to betray their non-conformity.

[Detour into the Dept. of Speculation]

The duration of applause, especially when you’re contributing to it, can feel instinctual. You stop clapping when everyone else does. Sure, it ebbs a little at the end and there may be a few stray claps, but on the whole audiences tend to synchronize their cessation. How does this happen? Are we telepathic? Sort of. It could be that, like other social norms, we have internalized experiences of the average duration of applause from past performances and are imperfectly replicating those subconscious memories. In a study on the rhetorical forces that influence audience response after political speeches, John Heritage and David Greatbatch noted that “performance factors are found to influence the likelihood of audience response strongly.” This again points to the social norms both governing and encoded within audible forms of communication. The duration of applause might be correlated with the duration of a performance, the fervor with which it was delivered, or the affiliation between audience members and the performer(s).

So it’s not that we necessarily “know” when to stop, or that there are strict parameters that govern the duration of applause, but rather that we collectively decide in the moment how much applause is warranted based on our prior experiential and cultural knowledge of how vigorously and long we’ve applauded at similar events that evoked similar emotional responses. There’s much more nuance and theoretical underpinnings to all this, but I’ve already rambled on long enough without adequately citing sources.

A final thought before we have a chuckle at the moral outrage of early 20th century musicologists: 

It would be interesting to compare the applauding practices of a group of children with that of a group of adults to see whether the children audiences contain more outlying clappers–kids who continue clapping long after the majority has stopped, or those who stop much sooner, or those who choose not to clap at all. Since children are by their very nature not yet fully socialized, I’d bet that there’s much greater variation among the individuals within the audience and between difference audiences.

Miscellany

I can’t not share some of my more amusing findings from these music journal articles. The ones that problematize applause set up a power struggle between the audience and performer/conductor. In the musicologist authors’ estimations, audiences are comprised of uneducated sheeple who should be either domesticated or skinned alive. Behold:

In 1897, a disgruntled patron of the arts wrote the editor of The Musical Times to complain of his fellow audience members’ uncouth propensity to clap before the conclusion of a piece. It seems that the music was too often “marred by a din of applause” before the proper moment. (The editor replied that “the protest of our correspondent is much to be commended.” Snobs gotta stick together.) Western society seems to have gotten the message: rarely do I hear people clap before the end of a classical piece of music–we all must have our eyes glued to the conductor, waiting for them to lower their arms and signal that the music has, indeed, concluded.

“Audiences capable of genuine discrimination are very rare, and in any discussion of them the question of applause has to be faced.” Thomas Russell, The Musical Times Vol. 82, No. 1176 (Feb., 1941), pp. 54-5

There’s an article from a 1925 issue of The Musical Times entitled “The Tyranny of the Audience.” Hear that, people? WE HAVE THE POWER!!!

You can submit your own question about social norms and cultural practices to “Why Can’t I Eat My Dog?” whenever the mood strikes you. The ‘advice’ column welcomes all inquiries, animal-related or not, but cannot guarantee an answer to each submission.

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Filed under Check This Out!, Contemporary, Historical, Sweeping Generalizations, Why Can't I Eat My Dog?

How to Lose a Mattress Sale

An epidemic of introversion threatens the very fabric of our economy. At retail establishments across the land, over-amped sales personnel are charged with accosting unreceptive customers, all for the promised pittance of commission. Pity the retail employee who must cram their square peg sales strategy into the black hole of the introverted customer.  

This unprecedented assault against extroverts has swept the nation, disproportionately affecting sales personnel who work on commission. This injustice cannot stand.  Forget for a moment the larger market forces creating the conditions of their oppression; this battle is best waged on the sales floor, with one-on-one combat. 

Too often sales personnel see the loss of an introvert’s business as defeat. To that I say: THIS IS VICTORY! What I offer is a way forward for our country’s under-appreciated and much-maligned extroverts. Read on, dear sales people, and discover the dawning of a new tomorrow that causes the lost promise of the 1950’s to tremble with jealousy. Continue reading

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Filed under Contemporary, Power, Technology

De-skilling the American Workforce: Saturday Night at Shakey’s Pizza

This happened about a year ago.

One evening, my partner and I were craving the flavors of our youth more intensely than usual, so we set out to find a Shakey’s Pizza*. MoJo Potatoes on our minds, we entered the restaurant about 8pm. A tad later than our usual suppertime, but we weren’t the only ones with similar plans or eating schedules.

A familiar, mostly jubilant, racket burst forth from the entertainment corner, where kids were trying to best the ski-ball game, exchanging real currency for fake in the hopes of amassing enough to purchase the latest in disposable doodads. A few small groups of adults sat eating and chatting. The smells were wonderful, the floors predictably sticky. We made our decision and approached the counter.

There were three, maybe four people working the closing shift that night. One of them was busy cooking, and another rushed over from minding the soda station to take our order before dashing off to attend to another of their many duties.

We settled at a table and waited for our order, talking mostly of how many MOJOs we thought we could eat. A little while into our wait, an employee came to inform us that they had run out of dough to make the large pizza we had ordered. Apparently, Shakey’s restaurants receive shipments of pre-cut dough, an allotted number for each pizza size. Unable to make more dough of the appropriate size, the employee offered to make us two medium pizzas instead. A generous offer (and a little too much pizza, but we aren’t ones to refuse the prospect of leftovers). In due time, the employee returned with two steaming pies and we dug in. Only on our way home did I begin thinking about what had led to our one pizza transmogrifying into two.

In telling us why there were no more large pizzas, the employee had revealed the company’s business model, which seems to place more faith in market research than in the overworked people left minding the store. Instead of providing restaurants with lump sums (heh) of dough or, here’s a thought, the ingredients to make dough, Shakey’s thinks it best to rely on predictions of how many pizzas of each size will be sold and provide pre-cut dough produced off-site. Had they more faith in their workforce, they might trust their employees to cut (or even make) the dough themselves. There would be no running out of sizes, just running out of dough.

But no. Shakey’s denies their employees the agency needed to improvise. By providing pre-portioned ingredients, the company removes the need for its restaurant employees to have or develop culinary skills. I wonder how easily the person in charge of cooking that night would be able to do so in a different pizza establishment. Are all chain pizza places so proprietary in their ingredients & processes that the people assigned to carry out the warming of the food have knowledge specific to that particular pizza place? Inquiring minds want to know…also I’d like the recipe for MOJO Potatoes, please.

Personal anecdote alert: I worked at Starbucks for a while, and I can’t operate an actual espresso machine because we pushed a button to “pull” shots. The transferable skills I learned there had more to do with customer service and pastry arrangement than making lattes (okay, I can also steam milk pretty well).

I know many of you must have similar experiences–of skills so specific to certain companies that making a horizontal career move means at least feeling as though we’re starting at the bottom again. With so many corporate chains employing so many people, I wonder if it’s becoming more difficult to transition from one service job to another because of the specialized knowledge we learn in order to succeed at each company.

What do you think?

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*Yes, some of them still exist!

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Filed under Contemporary, Power