Strawman

There is a strange interdependence between
thoughtlessness and evil.

— Hannah Arendt

I'm tired of Conservatives' relentless use of the strawman.

A "strawman" is an argument that substitutes an opponent's statement with a distortion thereof, in order to "disprove" it.

A strawman is fallacious. It takes its form in this manner:

Liberal: Black lives matter.

Conservative: My opponent says Black lives matter, but White lives don't. I'm sorry, all lives matter. He's dead wrong.

The Conservative in this case has distorted the Liberal's claim by assuming (1) it excludes all lives but Blacks' and (2) that to "matter" means to "prevail."

To prevent use of a strawman, you need to present a steelman.

A "steelman" is an iron-clad argument. It makes the strongest possible case for a claim and prevents your opponent from distorting your position.

It might take this form:

Liberal: Blacks suffer from systemic racism in this country. Our entire way of life devalues Black lives, and puts Blacks at a material disadvantage—socially, economically, and politically. Without conscious effort, we thwart Blacks' attempts to live peacefully and well, and treat them as if their God-given lives didn't matter. But, in their own eyes at least, they do matter.

Conservative: So, you're saying the system is rigged?

Liberal: Bingo!

A steelman grants the opponent the benefit of the doubt and assumes his intentions aren't evil.

Sadly, that's not always the case. And so you often hear debates like this:

Liberal: Blacks suffer from systemic racism.

Conservative: Blacks don't suffer racism—that's ancient history. They just want preferential treatment. The whole idea that there's systemic racism is Marxist hogwash.

Telegraphic counterarguments like the one above betray both the evil intentions and shallow-mindedness of their makers, two common qualities of Conservatives today; qualities that put persuasion out of reach.

As philosopher John Stuart Mill said, "He who knows only his own side of the case knows little of it."

If he only had a brain!

Chips on Their Shoulders

If there is one thing I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when I wish to air mine.

— P. G. Wodehouse

"Modern" families can stand down.

Mr. Potato Head is no longer a mister, according to the AP.

Toymaker Hasbro announced yesterday that its spud-shaped figure will now be referred to by the gender-neutral name "Potato Head." 

The company's Potato Head kits, moreover, will now include enough parts to allow kids to create same-sex potato couples.

Whether Hasbro's move anticipated passage of the Equality Act the same day is unknown, but its choice to stand on the right side of history did not escape company spokespeople.

"Hasbro is making sure all feel welcome in the Potato Head world," the company announced on its website.

Those spokespeople did not announce whether the toymaker will remove "bro" from its name, however.

A spokesperson for the National Potato Council (NPC) applauded Hasbro's decision, pointing out that potatoes, in fact, are genderless.

"Let me explain what happens when one potato loves another," NPC's spokesman told Goodly. 

"The parts of their flowers, which do have genders, become, if you will, 'intimate.' Pollen from the male part migrates to the female part. The female part then grows into a potato, but that potato is neither male nor female. So, scientifically speaking, Hasbro's decision to remove 'Mr.' was absolutely the correct one."

But Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, newly elected Republican from Georgia, criticized Hasbro and challenged the National Potato Council. 

"This is fake botany," Greene told Goodly. 

"Everybody knows God made two sexes when He created potatoes. Hasbro and the Council are just kowtowing to you-know-who: libtards from the land of fruits and nuts."

Unlike Greene, the majority of gendered trade characters, including Mr. Clean, Mr. Bubble, Mrs. Butterworth and Lille Miss Sunbeam, support Hasbro.

Although unavailable for interview, Mr. Peanut told Goodly through a publicist, "I'm a 'nut' for LGBTQ rights and salute Hasbro for its bold decision."

Best Explanation

In order to learn you must desire to learn, and not be satisfied with what you're already inclined to think.

― Charles S. Peirce

Victimhood and illogic drive many American tragedies, as they drove Nashville Bomber Anthony Quinn Warner to target AT&T on Christmas Day.

Films like "Silkwood," "Erin Brockovich" and "Radium Girls" teach us that all industrialists are avaricious and amoral victimizers, and that to stand up to them—as the Nashville Bomber did—is heroic. 

And conspiracy theorists, knowing illogic is our tragic flaw, teach us that to believe is to know, when it's not.

One conspiracy theory afflicting us now—the one that consumed the Nashville Bomber—holds that the industrialists behind 5G are killing us. Cigarette-makers killed their customers, after all, so why wouldn't AT&T?

Proponents of the theory claim that all wireless radiation is deadly, but that the research which proves it has been willfully ignored. 5G, proponents of the theory say, is the deadliest of all. Once deployed, it will expose people for the first time in history to a steady shower of super-fast millimeter waves, and cause hair-loss, memory-loss, sterility, cancer, neurological disorders, genetic damage, and even structural changes to the human body.

But physicists know a lot about wireless radiation, including millimeter waves. 

Millimeter waves—like all radio waves—carry little energy compared to other forms of radiation, and cannot damage genes or upset metabolisms. Millimeter waves are for all purposes inert, and will travel uninterrupted through human bodies—as well as the rest of the universe. If you want to worry about possible damage to yourself, you're better off worrying about your exposure to light: a single visible-light photon has a trillion times more energy than a millimeter-wave photon.

If the proponents of the 5G conspiracy theory don't strike you as paranoid, consider that some believe 5G, besides causing cancer, is a "Chinese plot" against America; that 5G is of a piece with vaccines, fluoridation, genetically engineered food, and fracking; and that 5G, designed by Bill Gates to reduce the world's population, transmits Covid-19.

The 5G conspiracy theory is an example of flouting what philosophers call inference to the best explanation. 

According to that principle, when faced with a question, you choose the theory that best explains the available data. You don't choose a theory that ignores the data, presupposes other data, adds a bunch of data, or invents data out of whole cloth.

If you're rational, when your kitchen appliances all stop working at once, you infer that a fuse blew in the basement. 

You don't infer—although it's possible—that a secret cabal of Chinese manufacturers has coordinated, to the precise second, the mass failure of your appliances; that the cabal seeks only to victimize American customers; that it's covering up its ability to plan mass, simultaneous product failures from the West; and that Bill Gates must be on the payroll.

Neologisms

Writers like words, and speculative fiction writers in particular
like to make them up.

― Zara Poghosyan

Children of the '60s will be happy to learn The Historical Dictionary of Science Fiction, published this week, includes the word grok.

   

Grok—meaning "to perceive or understand fully"—was coined by sci-fi novelist Robert A. Heinlein. His Hugo-winning Stranger in a Strange Land was a staple among readers in the '60s—even among those who, like me, didn't much care for science fiction. 

Along with The Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird and Catch-22, the Library of Congress has named Stranger in a Strange Land one of the "Books That Shaped America."

The novel recounts the adventures of Valentine Michael Smith, a super-cool Martian who can't comprehend why Earthlings act so desperately. 

Despite enjoying a psychic's abilities, Smith is a naïf—no match for the cunning creatures he meets during his brief visit to Earth. 

But Smith does manage to leave one lesson behind: he teaches Earthlings to grok, to know and love all beings, the way God does. Literally (in Martian) to "drink in" all creatures great and small.

Sci-fi writers like Heinlein seem gifted in their ability to mint neologisms. 

And while not all sci-fi writers' verbal concoctions come into vogue, plenty do.

Among the latter are these gems—all coined by sci-fi novelists, playwrights and screenwriters, and all in common use today: outer space, deep space, cyberspace, hyperspace, warp speed, zero gravity, blastoff, spacesuit, time machine, scanner, transporter, ray gun, robot, genetic engineer, alien, extraterrestrial, replicant, computer virus, computer worm, fanzine, flash mob, unperson, thought police, Big Brother and Frankenstein.

Time to Abridge Bullshit

The people shall not be deprived of their right to speak, write or publish their sentiments.

— James Madison

Although the Senate rewrote Madison's draft of the First Amendment before its ratification, no one questioned that free speech is a natural right in 1789.

Six decades earlier, a young Philadelphia printer, Ben Franklin, had said as much. "When men differ in opinion, both sides ought equally to have the advantage of being heard," he wrote.

Franklin didn't worry that some opinions are wrong, because "when truth and error have fair play, the former is always an overmatch for the latter."

Free speech is a bedrock principle, as American as apple pie. Or is it?

The Founding Fathers never watched reality TV, where falsehoods trump the truth. Had they, the First Amendment might read: 

Congress shall abridge the freedom to bullshit.

I hate to say it, but our reality TV-star president has forced America to abridge bullshit. As we've seen—like raw milk, angel dust, and flammable pajamas—bullshit is bad for you. It ought to be outlawed.

Liberals will flinch at this suggestion, I know; perhaps some conservatives, as well. Tough. We're neck deep in a national emergency, brought on Trump and his despotic stooges and abetted by the traditional and new media's addiction to fair play.

It's time Trump's league of bullshit artists were muzzled.

And not only muzzled. 

It's time—lest we forget—they were tarred for their chronic bullshit.

If they're not branded as liars and propagandists, they'll resort to "communicative silence" (kommunikatives Beschweigen)—the convenient path closet Nazis took after World War II, when these German "patriots" permitted Hitler's narrative to persist, albeit in the shadows.

To Trump, Pence, Pompeo, Navarro, McEnany, Limbaugh, Hannity, Carlson, Graham, McConnell, Jordan, Cruz, Gaetz, Johnson, Hawley and the rest of your ruthless, insurrectionary gang: It's time to shut up, time to fade away. 

Before we're trampled by your herd of incels, we will repress you and tar you, because you pollute public discourse with your unrelenting bullshit.

Vaccine against Fake-Believe

Typically, conservatives stand in the way of economic recoveries. 

This time round, antivaxxers do.

Unless at least 85% of Americans are vaccinated against Covid-19, a rebound remains out of reach, according to Anthony Fauci.

But most Americans will never get the jab, if antivaxxers have their way.

Like those of the QAnon followers, antivaxxers' kooky beliefs rest on conspiracy theories: Covid-19 is a Democrat hoax; a Chinese weapon; a 5G side effect; a "plandemic" hatched by Bill Gates; a Commie plot to insert tracking devices in our arms; an evil inventor's dastardly scheme to control our thoughts.

Fortunately such nonsense is assailable, says Cambridge psychologist Sander van der Linden, through a method he calls prebunking.

Prebunking works like a vaccine against disinformation.

Because it's so "sticky"—able to overshadow real news—disinformation can't be debunked, van der Linden says; the only cure is to prebunk it with a strong dose of reality.

Van der Linden's fake-believe "vaccine" comes in the form of a warning. 

Through behavioral studies, the psychologist found that when believers of disinformation are informed they're being manipulated, they tend to question, if not reject, false claims, and become less willing to share them.

Much like a stop light, van der Linden's vaccine works because the warning ("You're being manipulated!") interrupts our processing of news—which is unconscious—and forces us to slow down. 

At slower speeds, we no longer accept news at face value. Our brainwaves, as it were, become disinformation-resistant.

An effective way to warn conspiracy-theory believers they're being manipulated, van der Linden adds, is to acknowledge actual conspiracies in history.

Reminding or informing them, for example, that Richard Nixon once duped the whole country suggests that they, too, can be deceived by wrong-doers.

Fishy

Holocaust deniers love a red herring.

A red herring is a statement meant to divert our attention from evidence. For example:

All Jews weren't exterminated. So there was no Holocaust.

The Holocaust-denier's favorite, this red herring ignores the fact that victims have survived genocides throughout history.

Right now, Rudi Giuliani is peddling red herrings. He employed one in a federal court this week:

Republicans weren't present for every ballot-count.
So Trump won the election in Pennsylvania.

Rudi's red herring ignores the fact that the election results in Pennsylvania were carefully audited by state and county election workers. Republican poll watchers, although they should have, failed to visit every election-return warehouse in the state. But Republicans' laziness doesn't reverse the outcome.

The noun phrase red herring dates to the early 13th century, when, to compensate for the lack of refrigeration, fish peddlers would salt and smoke fresh herring. A red herring was smoked so long—usually 10 days—it would turn from white to red. Poor people and British sailors lived on the tangy treats; so did Catholics throughout Lent. Red herrings were—and are—known as kippers, a favorite British breakfast food.

Two centuries later, writer Gerland Langbaine noted in The Hunter that you could train your hounds to follow the game's scent by trailing a kipper on the ground.

A century after Langbaine's handbook appeared, newspaper journalist William Cobbett related a fable about a boy who used a kipper to distract a pack of hounds from their prey. Cobbett compared the hounds to sloppy journalists who chased after "false leads."

Cobbett cemented the metaphor in English speakers' minds when he wrote that a false lead is a "red herring," because "its scent goes cold" in a day.

In Nonsense, grammarian Robert Gula defines a red herring as "a detail inserted into a discussion that sidetracks the discussion." It's purely and simply a logical fallacy.

Red herrings are bull—and bad for you. 

And, frankly, Rudi's are giving me a haddock.

Repudiation

This summer, I volunteered to help a primary-election challenger to one of Delaware's two Democratic senators. 

The experience reminded me why I don't fit into the unworldly organizations run by progressives. The longer I had a view into the candidate's, the faster darkened my view of her chances of winning. 

No sucker for lost causes, four weeks out from the primary, I quit.

The trouble with the campaign, as I saw it, was two-fold:

• The candidate. Cast in the image of AOC, she was a bright, brassy outsider who championed progressive talk. But she had no strategy for getting elected and put most of her efforts into landing endorsements from disgruntled community organizers and sketchy, far-left websites.
  
  
• The staff. All twenty-somethings, the campaign staffers were sincere, but overbearing, and lacked all understanding of Delaware's centrist electorate. 

Neither the candidate's nor her staff's enthusiasm contributed much in the end. 

She captured only 27 percent of Democrats' votes in the primary—a measurably worse showing than that of the progressive candidate for the Senate in the 2018 primary. Her campaign was deemed by the media to be a flop and a death toll for the progressive movement in Delaware.

Democrats everywhere should heed the lesson: lean center.

Despite Biden's victory, last week's election was another consummate flop, failing to capture the US Senate for Democrats and dramatically thinning the party's majority in the US House of Representatives. It also left statehouses around the country in GOP hands.

Prudently, House leaders are warning fellow Democrats to shun leftist messages. “If we are going to run on Medicare for All, defund the police, and socialized medicine, we’re not going to win,” Rep. Jim Clyburn said on a phone call Thursday.

And so are pundits. "This election for the most part was an absolute repudiation of the Democratic Party as a brand," MSNBC's Joe Scarborough told Fox News yesterday.

How Can They Believe This Crap? Episode II

Second in a series wondering why Trump still has adherents

In Episode I, I suggested Trump's supporters have been brainwashed by their betters.

But another theory occurs to me: Trump's supporters think he's funny.

With the cancellation of The Apprentice, the Reality TV star has taken on a new role—that of the clownish "know nothing" Sergeant Shultz, the laugh-a-minute prison guard in CBS-TV's Hogan's Heroes.

Harold Livera, a high-school classmate of mine, once told me a story about his dad, who'd been a POW in a German stalag during WWII.

It seems the guards in the prison camp amused themselves one morning by knocking Harold's dad to the ground and kicking him in the stomach repeatedly. 

The beating caused such damage to his body that Harold's dad still suffered from his injuries in 1967.

Harold's dad was outraged that Hogan's Heroes was on the air. By turning a blind eye to Nazism, fans of the show gave permission to CBS to turn atrocity into comedy.

Trump gives his fans that same permission. His antics distract them from evil.

While his henchmen perpetrate crimes that result in thefts of the Treasury, destruction of the environment, the imprisonment of children, and the deaths of 400,000 Americans, his followers forgive Trump—because he's hilarious.

Trump can act with impunity because he's so freakin' funny.

What's the matter? You're not laughing?

NOTE: If you notice a physical resemblance between Shultz and Trump, just tell yourself, "I see nothing. Nothing!"

Don't miss Episode III.

How Can They Believe This Crap?

Propaganda is to a democracy what violence is to a dictatorship.

— William Blum

The Trumpian twaddle that pollutes my social-media streams is deadening.

The obvious question I always return to is: How can so many Americans believe this crap? 

Are they all stupid? 

Or are some stupid and others venal? 

Or are they neither, but brainwashed instead?

Flash back 160 years for the answer.

The Civil War, the greatest trauma to wrack our democracy, was waged because wealthy cotton planters—20% of the South's population—needed cheap labor. 

Those 20% convinced the 80%—one million Southern men altogether—to fight to the death to defend slavery. 

How in the hell did they do that?

Through three cadres of influencers, says Civil War historian Gordon Rhea.

In "Why Non-Slaveholding Southerners Fought," Rhea asks you to "travel back with me to the South of 1860." If you do so, you learn:

• Southerners had no problem enslaving four million Blacks. They weren't real Americans, after all, but "immigrants," as Ben Carson says.
  
  
• Southerners were terrified Blacks would rebel. They'd not just "destroy the suburbs," as it were, but organize and form their own states. John Brown's 1859 Harper's Ferry Raid looked to them a lot like the BLM disturbances this summer.
  
  
• Southerners felt beleaguered by Abolitionists, the critical, cranky "Libtards" of their day.

Rhea says three loud-mouthed groups swayed the 80% of Southerners who owned no slaves to die, if need be, to perpetuate slavery:

• Clergymen. Before there was Fox News, clergymen were the South's broadcasters. Insisting the Bible was infallible, week after week they told churchgoers that slavery had the "sanction of Jehovah" and that Abolitionists were infidels who insulted God's word. One clergyman labeled the Abolitionists "atheists, socialists, communists, red republicans, and Jacobins." (AOC, are you wincing?)

• Politicos. In late 1860, five states—Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, and Louisiana—sent traveling envoys throughout the South to speak in public, hand out brochures, and place op-eds in local newspapers. Their message was one-track: Lincoln craved not merely emancipation, but equality for Blacks, which meant "the marriage of your daughters to black husbands.” Like today's Critical Race Theorists, Lincoln wanted to destroy the "American way of life."
  
  
• Local leaders. Local Southern leaders—who tended to be planters—told their communities that Abolitionists were "haters" and the enemies of "law and order." Abolition meant releasing "more than four million of a very poor and ignorant population to ramble in idleness over the country until their wants should drive most of them, first to petty thefts, and afterwards to the bolder crimes of robbery and murder.” Defeating Lincoln, they claimed, was the only way to ensure the "heaven-ordained superiority of the White over the Black."

Don't miss Episode II.

Civil Wars

It is possible for highly intelligent people to have a useful but mistaken theory, and we don't have to pretend otherwise to show respect for these people.

— Daniel Dennett

I've given up arguing with reactionaries; I can hardly anymore argue with liberals.

Mistaken theories abound nowadays. 

If you're struggling like me to stay civil, take the advice of Tufts University philosopher Daniel Dennett.

"Just how charitable are you supposed to be when criticizing the views of an opponent?" he asks in Intuition Pumps.

Dennett offers four rules, based on research in behavioral psychology:

1. Restate your opponent's position clearly, vividly, and fairly—so much so, your opponent thanks you.
   
   
2. List any points of agreement, unless they're points of widespread agreement (such as, "Politicians aren't always candid").
   
   
3. Describe what you've learned from your opponent.
   
   
4. Rebut you opponent only after you've taken Steps 1, 2 and 3.

This four-step process warms your opponent, so she listens to you. You might actually advance your discussion.

And if she doesn't warm to you, remember what Oscar Wilde said: "In all matters of opinion, our adversaries are insane."

All These Condemned

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

 

― George Santayana

When I was a kid, it was routine to see people toss trash from the windows of their moving cars. Bottles, cans, cups, cartons, wrappers, bags, napkins, tissues, you name it.

It took a full-court mass media campaign—led by the packaging industry—to put an end to Americans' loutish behavior. The now-quaint Keep America Beautiful campaign sang out "Don't be a Litterbug," and we bought it (fines introduced by local governments helped).

Thirty years earlier, another mass media campaign—led by the Red Cross—was rolled out nationwide as the Spanish Flu decimated American cities. The even quainter Wear a Mask campaign spouted "Don't be a Mask Slacker." Americans bought it.

Our Executioner-in-Chief has resisted, mocked and politicized mask-wearing—and continues overtly to do so—with the result that he's condemned to death 183,000 Americans, with an additional 134,000—or more—soon to follow.

Now the Department of Health and Human Services is poised to spend $250 million of taxpayers' money on a new mass media campaign that urges America to Reopen Now, despite virologists' warnings that Covid-19 thrives on crowds.

The better use of the $250 million would be to fund a campaign preaching "Don't be a Maskhole."

But, hey, what's a few thousand more Americans' lives, when an election's at stake?

Event Shock

Brace yourself for Event Shock.

Working with event organizers, as my business partner and I do, I feel their anxiety.

They're constantly worried there's a glut of events. ("With so many events competing for audiences' time, will they pick ours?")

But we've entered uncharted territory.

Organizers once had to contend only with competing organizers.

Now they have to compete with every marketer.

This thought struck me when I received an email today from my neighborhood hardware store promoting an in-store educational event.

Marketers—even the one who works for my local hardware store—have learned that, if they want to seduce customers, sales pitches and discounts are no longer enough. 

They have to deliver educational content.

And their efforts are increasing the volume of events—exponentially.

You thought there was a surplus of events before?

That was nothing compared to the innumerable iterations we're going to experience at marketers' hands in the coming years.

Event marketing has become the new content marketing. 

The event-flood may not rise to the same water-level, because marketers can't outsource events to India, like they can content; but it will feel like it.

The sheer volume of events will be unprecedented.

And overwhelming.

Event Shock is here.

HAT TIP to Mark Schaefer, who coined Content Shock to describe the "tremor" felt when content supply overwhelms content demand.

Artificial Intelligence: Now It's Personal

As the result of a podcast by consultant Mark Scheafer, The New Marketing Career, I'm inspired to deep-dive into the subject of Artificial Intelligence.

You might consider doing so, too.

AI is marketing's next big thing.

Experts insist AI won't make every marketing professional obsolete—not soon, anyway.

But my brief look into AI has already persuaded me otherwise.

London startup Phrasee, for example, is harnessing AI "to write better email marketing language than humans."

If accurate, that's bad news for copywriters.

Phrasee uses algorithms to generate "human-sounding, machine-optimized email marketing language that gets you more opens, clicks and conversions," the company's website claims.

Phrasee's software outperforms human copywriters because it evaluates "hundreds of emotions, sentiments and phrases" before recommending a line.

Human copywriters, if they could wade through hundreds of emotions, sentiments and phrases without soon falling asleep, couldn't assess them—unless they were wizards at Bayesian statistics (the algorithms' secret sauce). 

I don't know any who are.

If Phrasee's algorithms indeed outperform the human copywriters—and I have no reason to doubt they do—it's due to a computer's capacity to scrutinize vast piles of data.

There's at least some consolation in that for an obsolete copywriter. 

Scrutinize stems from the Latin scrutor, meaning "to search through trash."

I'd rather practice old-fashioned wordsmithery and leave the trash-sorting to the computers.

Square Pegs

Corporate cultures, by definition, restrict behavior. 

A few lucky workers find a corporate culture they can willingly conform to. The rest check their real selves at the door. 

But sooner or later (usually sooner) these misfits get detected and are forced out.

Severance is particularly grave for workers over 40, who are cursed by their age with experience.

Employers prefer inexperienced 20-year-old workers over 40-60 year-old ones, not only because they're less costly, but because they're more malleable.

Experience shapes you, robbing employers of the opportunity to do so.

Is Silence Golden?

Under attack, corporations used to hunker down.

Herbert Schmertz changed that.

Schmertz, who died last week at 87, as head of PR at Mobil in the 1970s pioneered use of the "advertorial” to confront critics of the company.

He bought space on the op-ed page of major dailies like The New York Times and used it to publish essays expressing his company's viewpoint.

Many of his peers said Schmertz took unnecessary risks by combating critics. 

Critics, they insisted, are best ignored; eventually, they go away; and, in the meantime, media reporting of their positions can be influenced privately.

But is silence golden?

No company wants to go on record at the risk of losing business. A slip can tarnish a reputation in an instant; customers sympathetic with critics' views can be alienated; and arguing in public can make management look callous.

But the lessons of PR failures today are plentiful. They teach that “no comment,” while a company's knee-jerk response to critics, isn't always the safe course.

Beat the Clock

If you don't think your performance is sharply rhythmic throughout the day—or that timing matters—consider the results of 26,000 corporate earnings calls.

Regardless of earnings and management's outlook—rosy or bleak—when CEOs conducted the calls in the early morning, their tone was positive; but as morning progressed, their tone grew less so. Calls held around noon were again upbeat; but as the afternoon unwound, until the market's closing bell, the tone went steadily downhill.

The time of the earnings calls and the CEOs' tone affected investors' reactions and companies' share prices. CEOs who held earnings calls late in the day saw shares in their companies underpriced—at least temporarily.

It appears CEOs are "morning people." About seven of 10 people are.

Managing your internal clock for performance is the point of Dan Pink's new book, When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing.

In When, Pink parses nearly 300 scientific studies (like the one about the earnings calls) and distills the findings into a long list of action items. He lists the items after each successive chapter in a "Time Hacker's Handbook" meant "to help put the insights into action." 

You can skip the science and only read the handbook, if you just want to improve performance. 

But that would take all the fun out of it. 

Pink is a delight to read (I like to read his books twice, because there's so much good stuff packed into them). He can popularize dreary science findings better than most business writers, and generally finds a practical lesson for the layperson in even the obscurest of research papers.

Safety in a Box

Customers' values have changed, and so has their definition of "quality," according to the travel and hospitality journal Skift.

Skift asked 5,000 people in five countries to describe three attributes of the word.

Authentic headed customers' lists. Products and services need not be opulent or expensive to be high-quality; it's more important they're "innovative" and "tell a good story." Customers crave relationships with "brands that deliver goods and experiences that help customers fulfill their desires to become higher quality people." To meet that need, brands must communicate a purpose beyond existing just to sell something.

Safety came next. In an age of anxiety, customers crave psychologically safe spaces. Comfort no longer comes only from stylish design and rich materials, but from knowing you'll receive "care and feeding" by a provider with meticulous standards. Brands that want to capitalize on customers' anxiety may find they cannot avoid taking an openly political stand on some issues.

Ease rounded out the list. Customers want to experience the world without seams. Where that once meant they craved superior craftsmanship, it now means they want simplicity, sincerity, and serenity. "Quality" now denotes "a state within ourselves, the actualization of our idealized self, which is both poised and productive, composed but committed, enjoying while excelling."

Americans and the Media: Disappointment and Distrust

Most Americans expect the media to inform them, but a majority (58%) think it's harder than ever to rely on the media for objective news, says a new study by Gallup and the Knight Foundation.

TV programs remain Americans' primary news source, relied on by two-thirds of the adult population. Websites are the next most-popular source.

Equal proportions of Americans (41%) rely on social media sites as rely on newspapers to stay informed, according to the study. Reliance on newspapers is most common among older Americans and Americans with graduate degrees.

Only a quarter of Americans are confident they can distinguish facts from opinions. Age, education and party affiliation affect that confidence. And a quarter of Americans admit they get their news only from sources with a clear political bent.

Ad Nauseam

The oblique paradox of propaganda is that the lie in the throat
becomes, by repetition, the truth in the heart. 

— John Grierson

Not only is Obama's birth certificate fake, but Geico saves you 15%.

The statements exemplify the fallacy known as argumentum ad nauseam—proof by repeated assertion.

As advertisers and birthers believe, by endlessly repeating a statement, you can drive audiences beyond the brink of caring to challenge it. They're too sick to contradict.

And when the challenges cease, hearts become vulnerable.

The argumentum ad nauseam becomes evidence of its own truth.