"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn." — T.H. White, The Once and Future King

A website by Shanta Rohse on learning, technology and design

Recently in: Portable Learner

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The continuing education of an educator

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Becoming Screen Literate

We are peo­ple of the screen now, says Kevin Kelly. When we were peo­ple of the writ­ten word, we devel­oped a long list of inno­va­tions and tech­niques to per­mit ordi­nary read­ers and writ­ers to manip­u­late text in ways that made it use­ful (think: quo­ta­tion sym­bols, tables of con­tents, page num­bers, indices, foot­notes, bib­li­o­graphic cita­tions, and of course, hyper­links). We will do the same to sup­port screen fluency:

With our fin­gers we will drag objects out of films and cast them in our own movies. A click of our phone cam­era will cap­ture a land­scape, then dis­play its his­tory, which we can use to anno­tate the image. Text, sound, motion will con­tinue to merge into a sin­gle inter­me­dia as they flow through the always-on net­work. With the assis­tance of screen flu­ency tools we might even be able to sum­mon up real­is­tic fan­tasies spon­ta­neously. Stand­ing before a screen, we could cre­ate the visual image of a turquoise rose, glis­ten­ing with dew, poised in a trim ruby vase, as fast as we could write these words. If we were truly screen lit­er­ate, maybe even faster. And that is just the open­ing scene.

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How To Run a Con

The key to a con is not that you trust the con­man, but that he shows he trusts you. Con­men ply their trade by appear­ing frag­ile or need­ing help, by seem­ing vul­ner­a­ble. Because of THOMAS, the human brain makes us feel good when we help oth­ers – this is the basis for attach­ment to fam­ily and friends and coop­er­a­tion with strangers. “I need your help” is a potent stim­u­lus for action.

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Amoebae Family Values

Single-celled organ­isms stick with rel­a­tives to avoid being duped when food becomes scarce. Sci­en­tists say the amoe­boid coop­er­a­tion con­tributes to our under­stand­ing of how some of the ear­li­est organ­isms may have bal­anced coop­er­a­tion with self-interest, essen­tial traits for social behav­iour.

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The End of Journalism

There have always been reporters, but will there always be pro­fes­sion­als? George Brock in his review of Robert Fox’s Eye­wit­ness to His­tory:

The idea and ideal of jour­nal­ism has been smudged and blurred by wor­ries about eco­nom­ics and the means of deliv­ery. The vehi­cles for report­ing have to adapt. The rivalry between print and the screen may evap­o­rate as screens become thin­ner, more flex­i­ble and more portable. The tra­di­tional bun­dle that is the news­pa­per, mag­a­zine or news bul­letin may morph into many dif­fer­ent ver­sions. But dig­i­tal com­mu­ni­ca­tions have not dam­aged lan­guage or its power. On the con­trary, screens and key­boards have allowed words to be pro­duced and con­sumed more widely and in greater quan­ti­ties than ever before. Ama­teurs and pro­fes­sional wit­nesses to events may com­pete, but together they enrich the writ­ten record. Per­haps Eye­wit­ness to His­tory stops at the dawn of a golden age of writing.“

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The maturing human network

This oth­er­wise unin­spir­ing white paper from Deloitte Con­sult­ing on the inter­est­ing topic of social net­work­ing in the enter­prise makes the sig­nif­i­cant point that orga­ni­za­tions are increas­ingly invest­ing in Web 2.0 tech­nolo­gies as a way to retain knowl­edge and solve problems:

A big part of knowl­edge is under­stand­ing where to find the answers. In today’s world, global organ­i­sa­tions are con­stantly chal­lenged with dis­parate pock­ets of infor­ma­tion cre­ated within dif­fer­ent func­tional silos and busi­ness units. They find it increas­ingly dif­fi­cult to locate spe­cific sub­ject mat­ter experts quickly and effi­ciently. Social net­work­ing tools with pow­er­ful search capa­bil­i­ties pro­vide a plat­form to expe­dite these con­nec­tions. If organ­i­sa­tions can­not effec­tively con­nect peo­ple and resources across regions, func­tions and net­works, they can­not increase ser­vice capabilities.

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How do you find what you want and how do you know it is true?

Judy Breck quotes Howard Rhein­gold on the infor­ma­tion morass that is seek­ing what you want and know­ing if it is true:

All of the world’s knowl­edge is in the air to be plucked down by our tele­phone. Of course it’s also all the world’s dis­in­for­ma­tion, mis­in­for­ma­tion, spam, porn, Niger­ian frauds, urban leg­ends, hoaxes. So how do you find what you want and how do you know that it’s true? Those seem like to me both extremely impor­tant ques­tions today .…

The answer, says Judy Breck, is noth­ing less than to change both where we look and the way we ascer­tain truthfulness.

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Debunking Psychological Stages

Elis­a­beth Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief. Sig­mund Freud’s five stages of psy­cho­sex­ual devel­op­ment. Lawrence Kohlberg’s six stages of moral devel­op­ment. The urge to com­press the com­plex­i­ties of life into neat, tidy stages is irresistible…and has very lit­tle to do with real­ity.

Those stage the­o­ries reflected a time when most peo­ple marched through life pre­dictably: mar­ry­ing at an early age; then hav­ing chil­dren when young; then work, work, work; then maybe a midlife cri­sis; then retire­ment; then death. Those ‘pas­sages’ the­o­ries evap­o­rated with chang­ing social and eco­nomic con­di­tions that blew the pre­dictabil­ity of our lives to hell.

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Never Say Die: Why We Can’t Imagine Death

Jesse Bering on why so many of us think our minds con­tinue on after we die; rather than being a by-product of reli­gion or an emo­tional secu­rity blan­ket, such beliefs stem from the very nature of our consciousness.

And so per­son per­ma­nence may be the final cog­ni­tive hur­dle that gets in the way of our effec­tively real­iz­ing the dead as they truly are — infi­nitely in situ, inan­i­mate car­bon residue. Instead it’s much more “nat­ural” to imag­ine them as exist­ing in some vague, unob­serv­able locale, very much liv­ing their dead lives.

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You’re Sick. Now What? Knowledge is Power.

Oncol­o­gist Marisa Weiss’s advice to those inclined to research their own med­ical care: it’s manda­tory. “The time you have with your doc­tor is get­ting pro­gres­sively shorter, yet there’s so much more to talk about. You have to pre­pare for this impor­tant meet­ing.” This New York Times spe­cial sec­tion, Decod­ing Your Health, offers use­ful advice on eval­u­at­ing what you might find: a primer on inter­pret­ing med­ical stud­ies shows that “no mat­ter how com­pelling and excit­ing a hypoth­e­sis is, we don’t know whether it works with­out clin­i­cal tri­als”; and self-diagnosis via the inter­net may well prove you have a fool for a doc­tor.

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Ocean View

Jesse Smith’s review of the recently ren­o­vated US National Museum of Nat­ural His­tory points out the meta­mor­pho­sis from stuffy sci­ence insti­tu­tion to mod­ern entity that must “edu­cate with­out bor­ing, elu­ci­date with­out offend­ing, and advo­cate with­out annoy­ing.” For exam­ple, the museum offers no lin­ear pro­gres­sion through the exhibit, but rather any num­ber of nat­ural courses that reflect the chaos of the ocean itself:

Earth’s oceans, we are reminded, form a sin­gle inter­con­nected body of water. Its species and cur­rents are not con­strained by labels such as Atlantic and Pacific, so why should their inter­pre­ta­tion? Sec­tions meld seam­lessly into one another, but infor­ma­tion in each is pre­sented in a con­strained man­ner so that if you do, say, jump from a stuffed pen­guin in Poles to a pre­served Coela­canth (the giant fish con­sid­ered extinct until a fish­er­man found one off the coast of South African in 1938), a vis­i­tor can still learn or expe­ri­ence at each. With the excep­tion of the Jour­ney Through Time exhibit — which explores the slow march of evo­lu­tion that began under­wa­ter — there is never a pro­gres­sion to fol­low, no order by which a vis­i­tor must read or look. In this way, tour­ing the hall feels a lot like surf­ing the Web.

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