Dec 222008
 

The effect of updating the Tarski theme was to break the blog. Until I fix whatever’s wrong, this theme – Blogtxt – will do. For my fellow bloggers: Tarski is (I’m assured) technically excellent, very well-supported and customisable. On the downside, its CSS is rather complex, so to tweak its appearance can take some time, trial and error.

The CSS for Blogtxt is by design about as simple as CSS gets. It follows that I won’t be able to resist playing with it. Hark! do you hear the sound of breaking links?

 

So I’ve upgraded, and as usual it was a struggle to the near-death. Don’t tell me it’s simple, I hear that, it’s a lie. Tell me it can all be blamed on iPowerWeb, mine far-from-genial host of the web. iPowerWeb has the dumbest file manager since Windows 3.0.

Is there an Australian hosting site with competitive rates, support for WordPress, automatic updates and real people, people with names?

Now I want to upgrade the Tarki theme to see if the new version will display comments under the posts so that my learned commentators get equal billing, that being the point, no? But my spirit is temporarily offline.

 

The excellent (and mindbogglingly productive) Megan McArdle has a piece in The Atlantic Online about bad numbers which set me thinking again about the role of blogging. OK, all by herself Megan McArdle is a cogent argument for blogging. But what she says implies a place for anyone at all on the Web who is interested in putting out reliable and trustworthy information.

Her thesis about numbers is that they stick in the mind and distort our judgment even when we know better, even when they’re wrong or irrelevant. Despite what ought to be disabling criticisms of its methodology, the first widely-publicised estimate of the number of civilian casualties caused by the Iraq War remains influential. Why? It was first in the field and came with the imprimatur of The Lancet. So the World Health Organisation’s much lower estimate – one quarter of the number – trails in the shadows.

Ideology figures here: the anti-war Left loved the Lancet figure, and no-one committed to an all-embracing ideology ever has much regard for plain old empirical truth. But McArdle cites work in cognitive psychology that shows that we’re all prone to this error. It’s a form of the well-known and well-attested primary availability error: the first thing we see of a particular kind colours our view of that kind. I like to illustrate that one by reminding people how kids cathect proper names – ‘Ooooh yuk, Derek.’

The Web is full of junk so it’s very tempting for reflective people to dismiss it as a venue for discussion. What the phenomenon of bad numbers indicates, however, is the need for good ones.

Does the same thing apply to arguments themselves? To opinions? Anecdotes-with-tendency? I hope so. What makes me almost sure is the work on attitude formation. This shows that they are rarely formed by one event. (We do get over the fact that Derek stole our peanut butter sandwich in grade two.) Attitudes take shape gradually, solidifying out of a cloud of particles of information, events and experiences small and dramatic.

So even the tiniest blog can add a stone to the pile. Well, a pebble anyway.

 

That crowd in the streets rending its garments and uttering lamentations will now disperse: Wordability is back online. Memo to other bloggers who use WordPress: beware of 2.5.1. Oh it wasn’t only that, hell no, it never is. At the same time, the ISP had a hissy fit and Filezilla suddenly had the wrong settings, so uploads were vanishing into the ether. It has not been pretty, but it’s over, the champagne is flowing, and soon the words will follow.

 

For making detours and going by sideroads, nothing is more convenient than the essay form. One can take off in almost any direction, certain that if the thing does not work out one can turn back and start over in some other with only moderate cost in time and disappointment. Midcourse corrections are rather easy, for one does not have a hundred pages of previous argument to sustain, as one does in a monograph or treatise. Wanderings into yet smaller sideroads and wider detours do little harm, for progress is not expected to be relentlessly forward anyway, but winding and improvisational, coming out where it comes out. And when there is nothing more to say on the subject, or perhaps altogether, the matter can simply be dropped. “Works are not finished” as Val

 

With blogs now numbering in the squillions it’s easy to imagine that one’s own is like the arrow in the poem:

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth I know not where

Most blogs are short-lived. People run out of things to say, or just get too tired or too busy. But for bloggers not clear about their intended readership another stopper must often be a sense of futility: all that effort and no response.
I’ve realised that mine is like the letters that 18th and 19th century travellers used to write. Letters written to members of your family were read aloud, circulated to friends and kept safe for your return. They allowed you to sort out your impressions, and provided you afterwards with a travel diary. Writing for at least one other person forced you to get things down clearly and not let half-formed, half-thought-out impressions vanish in the wake. For most of us that’s what matters, not the Technorati rating.
Not an arrow then, but a song.

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