Toddler Books

My daugh­ter is now two, and likes some dif­fer­ent books to the set I reviewed six months ago, although she still likes the Boyn­ton books and Moth­er, May I? by Grace Mac­car­one (I sus­pect because it has a pic­ture of a truck in it, and fea­tures a hug at the end). 

In no par­tic­u­lar order, we have Hand, Hand, Fin­gers, Thumb by Al Per­kins and Eric Gurney, There’s a Night­mare in My Closet by Mer­cer May­er, Dog In, Cat Out by Gil­lian Rubin­stein and Ann James (lots of scope for mak­ing up stor­ies about what’s hap­pen­ing in the pic­tures), Waves in the Bathtub by Eugenie Fernandes (make up your own music for the song, it will sound much bet­ter than the tune in the book), and Where’s My Teddy? by Jez Albor­ough (ours is bundled with It’s the Bear!, which gets nearly equal billing in the tod­dler appre­ci­ation list). These are all books my son liked as well, so chances are good that oth­er tod­dlers will enjoy them just as much. My son did­n’t have Mon­key and Me by Emily Gravett, but my daugh­ter likes it.

And, of course, she also likes any­thing with a pic­ture of a truck in it.

Girls and Trucks

My tod­dler daugh­ter loves trucks; she’ll glee­fully point them out on the street and in books until you’re sick of the word. So just before her birth­day, there was me in the toy store look­ing at truck-related toys for her (trucks, trains, cars, oth­er assor­ted toy vehicles) try­ing to pick out some­thing that did­n’t entirely duplic­ate what she already has. Behind me, I heard a cus­tom­er ask the clerk for help. The con­ver­sa­tion ran along these lines:

Cus­tom­er: Hi, I’m look­ing for a toy for a two-year-old.
Clerk: boy or girl? Not that it should mat­ter, of course.
Cus­tom­er: it’s a girl.

At which the cus­tom­er was taken over to some oth­er aisle, far away from the trucks and trains and related toys, des­pite the claim that “it should­n’t mat­ter”. I was in the toy store for a while, and she nev­er did make it over to what I guess was con­sidered the “boy” side of the store. My daugh­ter loved the trucks we got her, and likes hav­ing the truck book that her grand­moth­er gave her for her birth­day read to her (to cries of “truck! truck!”). I just hope she does­n’t notice that every driver of every truck in the book is a man. 

Managing Distractions

It’s all too easy to get sucked in to check­ing your Twit­ter and your Plurk and your Brightkite and your Face­book and whatever oth­er ser­vices you use; in my case I can claim I need to know some­thing about how these things work for a pro­ject. In the­ory I’m mak­ing use­ful obser­va­tions of how people inter­act with ser­vices and what value they get from them, but in real­ity I spend a bit more time watch­ing and read­ing than is needed for that. It’s very easy to fol­low tweeted links and then find myself web-surf­ing, just like it was in the early days of the web, when we all watched what came up next on NCSA Mosa­ic’s “What’s New” page. So it’s a little iron­ic that John tweeted a link that made me more aware of the slip­pery slope of online dis­trac­tions, and poten­tial ways to com­bat them. Thanks, John!

Communities and Circles

Someone asked me the oth­er day wheth­er blogs were com­munit­ies. This got me to think­ing about how we define com­munit­ies in the online space. And friends, and fol­low­ers, and how some social net­work­ing sites encour­age enlar­ging the social circle while oth­ers con­cen­trate on people you already know through oth­er means. “Social circle” being extremely loosely defined, of course, just as the term “friend” is much more loosely defined in the online space than in the phys­ic­al, face-to-face world. 

So let’s play with some ideas for a defin­i­tion of com­munity. If you have oth­er ideas, please add them to the com­ments and if you think I’m wrong, tell me why; maybe we can come up with a com­munity defin­i­tion of com­munity. Which leads of course to the real­isa­tion that I do think blogs (some blogs, any­way) con­sti­tute a community.

A com­munity is a group of people who inter­act with each oth­er in some for­um. How’s that for a begin­ning? Not too bad, but it does­n’t really nail down very much; the line-up in your loc­al cof­fee shop could be seen as a com­munity under this defin­i­tion. We need to add a tem­por­al aspect: mem­bers of the com­munity inter­act with each oth­er over a peri­od of time (this rules out the cof­fee shop line-up). And at least some mem­bers of the com­munity have to be act­ive with­in the com­munity (a social for­um where nobody posts any­thing is not a com­munity by this defin­i­tion). This last is more fuzzy (what does “act­ive” mean?) but I think is necessary. 

The defin­i­tion of com­munity needs an “act­ive” aspect since in my opin­ion for a blog to be con­sidered a com­munity, people read­ing it have to com­ment on it. Oth­er­wise it isn’t a com­munity, it’s a pub­lish­ing meth­od. We could get into dis­cus­sions about wheth­er a spoke-and-hub inter­ac­tion mod­el where read­ers com­ment on the posts but not on each oth­ers’ com­ments is still inter­ac­tion, or wheth­er you neeed a many-to-many inter­ac­tion mod­el (which is closer to what most people think of in the phys­ic­al world as a com­munity), but I think that’s a detail. What’s import­ant is that the com­mu­nic­a­tion in the com­munity flows in more than one dir­ec­tion. Mind you, the word “inter­act” is a verb, which implies an action, so adding the adverb “act­ively” to it is a tau­to­logy, which I try to avoid. 

This leaves: A com­munity is a group of people who inter­act with each oth­er over a peri­od of time in some for­um. Not per­fect, but not bad for a start.

Blink and The Paradox of Choice

I know I’m really slow at review­ing Mal­colm Glad­well’s Blink: The Power of Think­ing Without Think­ing, since it’s been out for a couple of years now. I finally read it just in the last few weeks, after a col­leagure recom­men­ded that I read it and Barry Schwarz’s The Para­dox of Choice: Why More Is Less for a pro­ject I’m work­ing on.

I’d read a few sum­mar­ies of Blink, and some­how what stuck in my memory was the sound-bite that snap decisions are often the best ones. Wrong! The book shows that imme­di­ate reac­tions are worth listen­ing to, if you’re an expert in that par­tic­u­lar field. If you aren’t, your snap decision may be right, or it may be wrong. Mal­colm Glad­well talks about times when your first, snap decisions are right (speed dat­ing, but only if you don’t try to ana­lyze what people like), and times when they’re wrong (the Pep­si taste test shows what you like when you get only a few sips, not what you like when you’re drink­ing an entire glass). He also goes into depth about people’s inbuilt or sub­con­scious assump­tions, and how they can influ­ence a per­son into mak­ing mis­takes, some­times with tra­gic con­sequences. A good example, one that’s been repor­ted widely, is that orches­tras only star­ted hir­ing women in large num­bers after intro­du­cing blind audi­tions, where the oth­er orches­tra mem­bers could­n’t be influ­enced by wheth­er the play­er was male or female, white or black, tall or short (all poten­tial bases for bias). All they heard was the music, and since they were experts in music, a short audi­tion con­cen­trat­ing only on that was all they needed. More tra­gic con­sequences come when police or sur­geons make snap decisions that may not be the right ones.

In sum­mary, Blink is well worth read­ing, and most pub­lic lib­rar­ies should have it on hand if you don’t want to buy it.

I read Para­dox of Choice shortly after­wards and found it amus­ing how the same research is used in both books (and Stum­bling on Hap­pi­ness) to illus­trate dif­fer­ent points. Barry Schwar­z’s main mes­sage is that if you are con­fron­ted with too many choices, you either spend a lot of time mak­ing the abso­lute best choice, and then will often still be unhappy since you’re not sure that you really made the best choice, or you settle for some­thing that’s “good enough”. Which is often the bet­ter strategy, as most times it is good enough, and it frees up your time and men­tal band­width to con­cen­trate on things that mat­ter more to you. It’s abso­lutely true that in many places there is too much choice; I went into the loc­al pet store the oth­er day to pick up some more cat food. Every time I go in there seem to be more choices for dry cat food, all said to be good and healthy, with the con­sequence that I end up pick­ing some­thing off the shelf that looks reas­on­able because I have no way of decid­ing which is the best. And if the cats eat it, I buy that brand again next time as it’s as good a meth­od as any for mak­ing a choice.

There is also a deep­er point to the book — if your choices are unlim­ited, then if you fail, it’s your fault. So the bur­den of hav­ing to prove at all times that you are doing the abso­lute best, that you are as thin as you should be, or as rich, or as well-read, puts a lot of pres­sure on people. The author points out that the Amer­ic­an “hap­pi­ness quo­tient” has been going down over the last couple of dec­ades; as people have had more choices they have become more unhappy, per­haps as a res­ult of feel­ing like they made bad choices, or per­haps because of not meet­ing their own stead­ily increas­ing expect­a­tions. The counter-intu­it­ive idea that if you have less, you might be hap­pi­er, is not one that would make the con­sumer­ist bene­fi­ciar­ies happy, but is worth think­ing about. In sum­mary, The Para­dox of Choice is worth read­ing, and it might even help make you hap­pi­er with your life.

Montréal in August

Sum­mer would­n’t be sum­mer without a sum­mer con­fer­ence or two. There’s some­thing about walk­ing the streets or sit­ting in cafes, talk­ing about tech­no­logy, in balmy weath­er (well, when it does­n’t rain like it did at last year’s CSW XML Sum­mer School in Oxford). This year I’m off to Mon­tréal for Bal­is­age in the middle of August. Even if the weath­er decides to be nasty, and the streets are too unpleas­ant to stroll, there will be lots of inter­est­ing people to talk tech­no­logy with and cafes near the con­fer­ence hotel to fre­quent. If you missed the dead­line to speak, there’s no need to pan­ic just yet. There is still room on the sched­ule for late-break­ing talks as long as you get your pro­pos­al in by June 13. I was one of the review­ers of the main batch of talks so I got a sneak peek at some of the sub­mis­sions. There is thought-pro­vok­ing stuff on the pro­gram and I expect lots of hefty dis­cus­sion, at the talks and in the cafes after­wards. Warm weath­er, inter­est­ing people, good food — I guess I should brush up on my French a little for those restaurants.