(Thanks goes to Bob Simonson, my favorite econ professor, for inspiring the title of this post).

Anyone who’s taken introductory statistics can understand the difference between type 1 and type 2 errors in hypothesis testing. Type 1 errors are false positives – falsely rejecting the null hypothesis. On the other hand, type 2 errors are false negatives – accepting the null hypothesis when it’s actually false.

The textbook example usually involves medical testing. If a patient tested for a condition is actually not ill, but her test results come back positive, that’s a type 1 error; if she is ill, but the test is negative, it’s a type 2 (Wikipedia has a helpful chart). I’ve been thinking lately about how people make big life decisions. I think we might have a preference for type 1 errors over type 2.

“Innocent until proven guilty” explains a lot. Our court system is set up so that sometimes the guilty go free, but very few innocent people go to prison (we hope, anyway). Drug testing is designed to stop harmful drugs from getting on the market, and in the process also keeps some beneficial drugs from reaching patients. This makes perfect sense: people who die from taking a drug are more visible to us than people who die because they don’t have a drug to take. It’s politically impossible to take things away from people (see: Medicare, Social Security), and much easier  to deprive them of things they haven’t yet received (by imposing higher taxes to cover ever-increasing program costs).

I’m curious if this (possible) preference carries over to other aspects of our lives. Do we choose “what is seen” over “what is not seen?” Part of my rationale for moving to Washington D.C., jobless and in the midst of a nasty recession, was that I didn’t want to end up settling down in Minnesota without first having tried making it out here. If it doesn’t work out, well shucks, at least I tried, and that’s better than wondering what could have been. Of course, this reasoning ignores the opportunities – not related to my still-undefined career – that I had back home which I may be giving up to be out here.

Is this why some people stay in bad relationships longer than they should? Or get into relationships despite early warning signs? Knowing with certainty whether this person is “the one?” Individual differences in risk-aversion likely also play a role, as well as certain individuals’ resistance to making decisions. A risk-averse person my favor type 1 errors, whereas a person easily overwhelmed by too many options might prefer to wait things out rather than make wrong the choices, favoring type 2 errors.

None of this changes the fact that, like it or not, the world is full of uncertainty (death and taxes being the only exceptions). It seems that the people who try to exert the most control over their lives are the people who are shaken up the most when life throws curve balls their way. Not-a-one of us has any clue what’s going to be right around the corner. Three years ago, I couldn’t imagine life after college, let alone ever living in Washington D.C. I’m obviously not the kind of person who sets ambitious life goals. Rather, I’ve always swam with life’s current, and while it probably won’t lead me to a law degree and a six-figure salary, it will (hopefully) take me across the paths of interesting knowledge, people and experiences.

Over the last several months, I’ve been using the word “kitten” a lot. I primarily use it as a noun for addressing a young-ish male, or in the plural form for addressing a group of friends/familiar acquaintances. I’ve been thinking recently about what message I’m sending through this term, and whether that message is being received by others.

When I call somebody “kitten,” I’m generally communicating friendliness, and sometimes joking playfulness (as in calling an unusually tall man, or a man who doesn’t appear obviously young a “little kitten”). It’s like a warmer alternative to “dude” (which I still use all the time anyway). It can be used for a romantic interest or a platonic friend, and isn’t intended to be insulting or emasculating in any way.

Some of the ways I use the term:

• Hep cat, buddy; “What up, kitten?/What are you kittens up to tonight?”
• kid, young person; “You’re only X years old? Wow, you’re just a little kitten.”
• endearingly; “Aw, I’m sorry to hear that, kitten.”
• guy; “That dude’s one angry kitten.”

“Kitten” might be my favorite addition to my vocabulary ever.

This is the first in a series of posts on my move to D.C.

I’ve been in Washington D.C. for almost six weeks now, and to be honest, I’m at an impasse. What I came here to do – research tech and info policy – has thus far failed to really trip my trigger. It’s surprising, because I like tech and all forms of technophilia. Which means its the “policy” part that’s killing my ambition. Wonkishness might not be my “cup of kool-aid.”

I think it’s public policy in general that’s got me down. I’ve been ignorant about and apathetic towards government and politics for most of my life. It wasn’t until I switched majors in college to economics that I started thinking about public policy. In fact, I recall doing some pretty awesome projects on social security, health care, and tobacco taxes for my senior-level classes. But as econ ushered me into the world of policy analysis, so it promptly showed me the door; the smattering of public choice theory that I’ve read has cemented my opinion that the whole dang system is structurally in disrepair, and there ain’t much we can do about it, folks. The founding fathers strove to create a system of government that was resilient to tyranny, but failed to come up with a fail-safe plan for getting gov’t back to its modest roots after the big bad progressives went and exploded it.

I guess you could say I’m disillusioned. Disaffected. Disturbed. The whole idea of national public policy, working on the hill, power-hungry pols, coalition-building, logrolling votes, us-vs.-them mentality, crafting legislation, analyzing policy, and generally living and breathing in the political sphere doesn’t exactly make me jump out of bed in the morning. Where I’m from, it’s still considered rude to talk politics at dinner.

So, in short, I have to tackle the question of whether or not a career in public policy is really for me. For the last few months, I’ve felt overwhelming ambivalence towards living out my life in DC as a policy wonk. But maybe I’m just really, really homesick. I definitely miss living close to my family, my friends, the ease of college life, and having a monthly rent bill that doesn’t break the bank. Or maybe I’m just stubbornly resisting growing up and becoming an adult. I realize that I need to give this more time.

The big question I’m asking though, is: Does it make sense to invest time and effort in a career path that doesn’t really have me jazzed about it?

If so, then I might as well go to law school, become a full-fledged alcoholic amidst the stress, and make some money at the end of it.

Is there any law that the French won’t pass? This week, fifty French lawmakers proposed a law that would require advertisers to place disclaimers on any retouched (or “photoshopped”) image. The proposal was backed by an expert on adolescent eating disorders. Advertisers who fail to comply would be slapped with a fine of €37,500 (or about $55,000).

While it’s unfortunate that so many women and girls suffer from psychological distress and “body issues,” that’s not a very good reason to get the government involved. Try as they might, the French government will not be able to legislate away sadness, insecurity, or irrational self-loathing.

Yes, images are retouched, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that fashion models are “average” women in the first place. Unfair though it may be, the exclusive fashion and beauty industry favors women born with extraordinary genetic endowments.

(And by the way, aren’t the French already notorious for their beautiful, demure, and seductive women?)

To see the possible unintended consequences of this law, let’s assume it will pass. Most people are well-aware that advertisements and magazine covers are a long way from our natural state. Requiring disclaimers won’t change the game; instead it will likely raise the wage of the most beautiful models and put the second-stringers out of a job entirely, as advertisers will be unwilling to settle for less-than-perfect women who would otherwise be retouched later. As a consequence, women might suffer more “psychological distress” knowing that the beautiful models they see aren’t photoshopped, but are the natural, “true” beauty ideals that they’re “supposed” to live up to.

When I was just a bright-eyed, young little kitten, I used to think that someday I’d like to change the world. I wanted to make a difference so large that statues would be built in my likeness and honor.

Then the other day, I saw a flock of pigeons just hanging out on the statue of Admiral Farragut in the center of Farragut Square. There’s something about a bird standing on top of your head that looks really… undignified.

I’ve spent my labor day weekend this year getting settled in my new Mount Pleasant basement apartment. When I moved in, the place was awfully dark, and both the landlord and the previous tenant had warned me about the dearth of natural sunlight. Say what you will about federal bans on incandescent light bulbs, but CFLs really are the superior option (I just lost some libertarian cred there, I’m sure). I’ve put CFLs in the main living room and bedroom, and neodymium incandescents (GE’s “Reveal” brand) in the bathroom, kitchen, and all other light fixtures. My apartment is much brighter and less claustrophobic-feeling now. If you haven’t tried either CFLs or neodymium bulbs yet, go out and get some – they make any room more inviting.

On a related note, the big move is over and done with. Last week, I packed up my car and drove 1200 miles across the country to Washington D.C., where I’ll be playing the role of the bright-eyed, midwestern ingenue who’s determined to Change The World (but I’d be happy to just find a job).

Disclaimer: I don’t know jack about foreign policy or matters of national security, so take this post for what it’s worth.

Will Wilkinson got me thinking (as he usually does) with a recent post in which he denounces Americans who advocate, or even tolerate, the military’s use of torture:

That so many Americans are so ready to rally around the most vile, most obviously illegitimate arm of the American state is evidence for the proposition that patriotism is a tool for rendering a people ready to torture and kill at the state’s behest, or to tolerate it. I am disgusted that people who pretend to care about liberty are not disgusted.

My instinct is to wave the banner of peace and emphatically agree with Will. And for the record, I believe that in most situations the use of torture (or “enhanced interrogation methods”) by representatives of the state is abhorrent. I say most situations in order to allow room for a Jack Bauer-type of character to do whatever it takes to keep a nuke from detonating in Manhattan, or whatever kind of far-fetched, only-in-television scenario you’d like to imagine.

But what if (and I’m being purely hypothetical, here) those interrogators actually believed that they were in an extreme situation similar to those found on prime-time dramas?* Imagine that you were an interrogator, that some large-enough number of people were facing imminent death, and that you believed the person you’re interrogating had information that might help you prevent those deaths. I have very little doubt that 99% of humans would be capable of inflicting a kind of harm that would make Eli Roth queasy, if they believed it could save some large-enough number of people. Hell, any parent could bring unspeakable horrors against another human if they thought their child was in danger.  So I wonder if our collective hesitancy to insist that this torture scandal be continually in the spotlight is due, in part, to the understanding that, while a certain action can be unjust and morally reprehensible 99.99% of the time, there are those very few, highly unlikely situations where we know our own sense of right and wrong would easily succumb to panic, emotion, or even a utilitarian formula concerning the quantity of lives saved. Perhaps we’re hesitant to admit that we’d really like to leave that option on the table. (Author’s note: as a general rule, whenever I write about society using a lot of “we” and “our,” I’m being purely speculative).

On the other hand, and more seriously, extreme cases rarely justify the general case. Public figures who subscribe to this “by any means necessary” approach to interrogation really are a disgrace. There’s absolutely no justifiable reason for either a government or a society to openly advocate the torture of prisoners, especially, as Will rightly points out, when that society claims to uphold liberty as a core value. There are some practices that a just, peaceful, and free society cannot condone; abandoning all sense of empathy and treating humans as bags of meat is one of them.

But what about serious matters of national security? What if that extreme situation really does happen someday? Well, as I said above, if an individual finds himself in that type of scenario, I’m pretty confident that he’ll go “Jack Bauer” on whoever he has to in order to get the information he needs. The key word there is  “individual.” Consider two cases: 1) an interrogator from a military with a pro-torture policy, and 2) an interrogator from an anti-torture military. In the same set of extreme, thousands-will-die circumstances, there isn’t much practical difference between the two: the accused gets tortured either way, and thousands of people are saved (or not, if the accused really didn’t have any credible information). Morally though, the difference is huge. In the first case, the state, the elected officials, and implicitly, the people condoned/endorsed torture; in the second, one individual had to make a tough choice. The first case results in the rest of the world being pissed at all of us, while the second results in you and I not being held responsible for the torture of a human being.

In my humble opinion, a world where individuals are left to make tough choices is vastly preferable to one where people’s choices are made for them and called “policy.” (Oh snap, I think I just outed myself as a libertarian.)

*For the record, I’m sure Lynndie England et. al. were just really, really nasty people who were unqualified to be in charge of prisoners, so to be clear, I’m not referencing any real acts of torture that the U.S. has carried out.

I saw G.I. Joe: Rise of the Cobra this week.

That’s right, I happily paid my $8.00 to see this testosterone-fueled, explosion-packed, army-glorifying, SFX-heavy, mind-numbing, adrenaline-pumping tribute to boyhood. Well, at least I knew what I was getting into beforehand.

I have no comments about the movie’s plot, actors, or effects – my expectations were low, and I left the theater feeling like I’d been somewhat entertained (and to its credit, the film clocks in at just under two hours). However, there was one aspect of the movie that I can’t resist from ranting about: the generic, one-dimensional, dubiously-underdressed, tough-cookie female warrior, a.k.a. “Baroness.”

Here is a list of  strong, fleshed-out, femme fatales, with varying degrees of sexiness, hand-to-hand combat training, and knowledge of lethal weapons:

What makes these women enthralling characters? Personality. Rather than than running around in stilettos and alternating between “cruel” and “sexy” facial experssions, these women kick ass without taking any names. Many of them have intriguing backstories, or flawed personalities. They’re more than flat, generic place-holders for teenage fanboys’ spank fantasies.

[SPOILER ALERT]

“Baroness” (played by Sienna Miller) is a former civilian who gets brainwashed and turns evil. Somehow over the span of four years, she becomes a master of hand-to-hand combat and works her way to the top ranks of an evil, conspiratorial weapons manufacturing corporation. During that time she also meets and seduces one of Europe’s most promient physicists (who lives in a much nicer home than any researcher would ever be able to afford), a man so devoted to his research that fails to notice (until it’s too late) that she’s a key executive in a start-up global terror organization. Baroness eschews full-body armor and instead marches straight into the battle zone in a vinyl catsuit. She’s a complete bitch to her ex-boyfriend throughout the entire movie, never missing an opportunity to bust his balls, but she undergoes a convenient psychological breakthrough at the last possible second, has a sudden change of heart, and rescues him from being fed to the Big Baddie’s evil human experiments (which seriously pissed me off, because I was looking forward to her comeuppance). Miller flexes her acting muscle in this role, portraying a whole three emotions throughout the entire movie; through 80% of the film she plays  “smug bitch, ” and then elegantly switches to “not-nearly-remorseful-enough,” plus a few moments of “catatonic.”

“Baroness” is boring, one-dimensional, predictable, and unreasonably dressed, to boot. And it’s not as if any of the other characters are very well-developed, either. I can forgive “Scarlett” for being equally boring (but more smartly dressed), or Channing Tatum as the middle-America everyman, or even Marlon Wayans as… Marlon Wayans.   With “Baroness,” I’m annoyed that I’m supposed to accept this noncharacter as the “sexy antagonist” AND “sexy protagonist/love interest.” It just doesn’t work – there’s not enough material there for her to play two roles in the story! Give her fewer lines and make her a sexy, reticent assassin! Give her a bigger role and more personality! Give her a stunt double so she can do extra-cool fight sequences! Argh, just do SOMETHING!

Paramount, you f*cking suck.

Ever since my adolescense, I’ve seemed to end up with more male friends than females. Although my closest friends have nearly always been female, I usually find myself running with a pack of boys. They weren’t always kind to me: I recall one sunny, early-childhood afternoon when a neighborhood boy – now one of my oldest and dearest male friends – along with his buddies, pushed me down, sat on me, and teased me until my mom came outside and yelled at them (I’ve yet to fully forgive him for that). But ever since the girls-against-boys spirit of childhood gave way to awkward adolescence, I’ve had no shortage of guys to hang out with. Most of my XY friends I’ve met through jobs, or in school as an econ major, where there were very few women in the upper-level econ classes. In an article from Salon last week, Mary Elizabeth Williams extolled the virtues of guy pals:

When I look at the rampant success of Greg Behrendt’s “He’s Just Not That Into You” or Steve Harvey’s “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man” — two advice books that have spent roughly a bajillion years on the bestseller lists — I have to wonder what’s behind it. Could it be that too many women don’t have a regular straight guy in their lives to give them a male perspective? That women and gay men, while expert at offering comfort and support, are less willing to call someone on their bullshit? If you want to get a sense of how guys think, you can actually ask some who don’t tell one-liners for a living. They’ll tell you. Talk to a straight guy for a while; let him tell you about his crazy exes and his heartbreaks and his career insecurities and how much he loves his kids. Though he’ll never know what it’s like to walk in your high heels, he’ll remind you when you’re burned out on the day’s latest misogynist outrage that you don’t have to be a woman to be a feminist.

I can’t imagine life without any guy friends. Sure, there’d be less sports-talk and more shopping trips (I’m a girly-girl at heart), but also more Sex and the City and less Adult Swim. As quirky and funny as Sarah Jessica Parker may be, she’s no match for the creators of “Aqua Teen Hunger Force.” I’d probably spend more on foofy, fruity, $7 cocktails rather than $2 Grainbelts. I’d have nobody with whom to discuss my nerdy and definitely unfeminine interests, things like Star Trek or zombie movies. And I’m not alone in thinking this way: many of the women I’ve been closest to have had their own social circles that were dominated by men.

But what about the conventional 80s-movie wisdom that “sex always gets in the way” of male-female friendships? Hell, sex gets in the way of lots of male-female relationships! It’s a fact of life. Why do you think attractive people earn more? Almost all of us will develop crushes on unattainable people: bosses, professors/TAs, coworkers, married people, our friends’ significant others, etc. Platonic friends are in the same category, only without the immediate external rule or consequences that keeps the two mutually-attracted people in question from jumping in the sack together (also, buddies are more likely to wind up drunk and uninhibited together at the end of the night). So how do men and women deal with the sexual tension between two friends? Well, I guess we just grow up and deal with it. Reasonable adults can set boundaries for themselves. If you screw up and get a little too close one night, you deal with the consequences and the fallout (and, of course, the gossip). And who knows? The best lovers are always, without question, the best of friends as well, so who could blame anyone for daring to put the horse before the cart once in a while?

Anyway, to put the When Harry Met Sally conversation aside, I’ve compiled a quick list of the advantages and annoyances that come along with being The Girl who runs with the boys.

Pros:

• In my opinion, men trump women when it comes to humor, and I can prove this with two words: dick jokes.
• Who better to ask for advice on men than a group of men?
• Having a date for any social function.
• A sense of adventure! A group of women would never, for example, throw mortars and M-80s in a microwave, “just to see what happens.”
• Being a wingwoman can be fun!
• Low maintanence. They don’t give a damn what I wear to go out, so I don’t need to spend two hours primping (though I often do anyway).
• An odd mix of chivalry and fending for myself. They’ll help me get home if I drink too much, but the hell if they’re going to hold any doors for me.

Cons:

• They make fun of me for taking too long in the bathroom. Ahem, female plumbing doesn’t work that way.
• They can usually drink more than me. A LOT more. I’ve learned (the hard way, natch) to not even try keeping pace with them.
• The non-mutual crush is always a threat. It can put a serious strain on a friendship, if not blow it up completely. (Yes, yes, Ladder Theory, I know.)
• PMS, emotional meltdowns, relationship problems, etc. I need some estrogen in my social life.
• “You know what I mean, Libby. Like, a GIRL girl.” Ouch.
• It can be difficult integrating a new boyfriend into a group of guys. Territoriality, male competition, etc. often makes this a no-win situation.
• Insecure or domineering girlfriends who won’t let their boy come out and play with his (platonic) friends.

For all the pitfalls (and they’re mostly pretty minor), male friends rock.

It’s recently been brought to my attention that supermodel Heidi Klum, often touted as one of the world’s most beautiful women, has a flat butt. That’s right: Heidi Klum has no ass.

Compare an image of the smokin’ hot Victoria Secret model taken from the front with one taken from the side view:

See what I mean?

Remember when everyone wet their collective pants over Heidi losing her “baby weight” in only 4 weeks, just in time for the VS fashion show? Look at this woman’s frame: there’s no way she gained as much baby weight as your typical endomorphic woman. Her metabolism is likely much higher than average, and her body weight probably naturally settles towards the lower end of the scale (for a six-foot woman, that is).

Let’s pause for a moment, and celebrate the fact that you can have an ass that’s as flat as a man’s, and still be one of the world’s most coveted women.

Cue Rant:

I mention Heidi Klum and her invisible derriere in order to talk about something more serious. I’ve grown tired of the complaint that the fashion industry and the mainstream media are decimating women’s self-esteem with their skinny, beautiful models. The “unachievable beauty standards” placed on women by the media  (and often times by women, or at least, gay men in the fashion industry) can be easily mitigated by doing one simple action: turn off your goddamn television.

Really, it’s that easy.

In my own experience, I’ve attained higher levels of self-esteem and comfort with my looks after limiting my time with the idiot-box, particularly since outgrowing the trashy Vh1 and MTV neworks (yeah, like ANY of the girls from “Rock of Love” intimidate me? Please). Granted, I still have moments when I think I’d like to be a boyish, eastern-European, doe-eyed femme fatale with 4-foot-long legs and a BMI of 17 (think Milla Jovovich – rrrrrawwrrrr), but for the most part, I’m pretty satisfied with myself these days, and far less critical of other women. The feminazi movement would do well to stop castigating the fashion industry, and instead encourage women and girls to drop the remote and take up a friggin’ hobby.

Not only has turning off the television done wonders for my self-image, but so has simply observing the dating habits of my peers. Most of my male friends aren’t dating 6-foot bombshells, but rather, relatively in-shape women who just look after their appearances. I’ve never heard a man say that he only dates skinny women who look like adolescent boys – or women with the looks of the typical runway model. It’s not as if straight men are setting impossibly high standards for women. As far as I can tell, there’s plenty of copulation still going on,  and it’s certainly not limited to the most beautiful people. And there’s no glut of committed, monogamous relationships out there either. The lesson to be learned from this is that you don’t have to be in the upper echelons of physical beauty in order to be desirable, or for people to love you and care about you. (It seems so obvious…)

That’s the end of my mini-rant today. I leave you with some words on eating disorders from that wisest of old sages, George Carlin: