It is close to a closed system of food and wars and pigs and other stuff, but as you can see, there are a lot of little red arrows [connections and influences].
It is a neat little system and a neat little picture from a neat little program called Stella. But that is not the point of this post.
Around the time I heard Keith refer to himself as a generalist, I heard Steven [Goldsmith, you may have heard of him] talk about the specialization, or siloing, of our society. Basically, the ideas are at the opposite end of the spectrum from eachother. The generalist sees context and relationships, the siloist sees a single track.
It is a dichotomy which can be seen everywhere. Family practitioners make a fraction of what specialists make. People go to school to be traffic engineers and focus on a road as a closed system, the don't learn about urban design, or the way roads function as a part of the greater area. It even feels like artists forsake every other medium besides their own.
In bygone days it was not unusual to see musicians work on side projects and branch out from their main band - we have Crosby, Stills and Nash [and Young], and the Traveling Willburys because of it. You have Eric Clapton wailing on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" [then writing "Layla" to steal George Harrison's wife]. Now musicians [to some degree, and in some genres] focus on their band to the exclusion of making good music.
So that is the introduction. The point of this post is to say that this specialization is getting out of hand.
I went into the restroom on the cafeteria level of the Union the other day. I had not visited that particular restroom this semester, so I was surprised to see it completly remodled. The thing that struck me was the apparent lack of sinks. It took me a few minutes to realize that the holes in the wall with a small half bowl protrusion were sinks. I was not quite sure how to go about washing my hands. Forunately, a small sign told me to put my hands in the hole. So I did. Soap and water came out at the same time, and the second I was done, and automatic dryer turned on. All I had to do was rub my hands, the water soap and air all came from the same hole. I put dirty hands in and pulled clean, dry hands out.
My first thought was "awesome." I even called my little brother [that makes me sound like hill-billy]. But then I thought that the siloing of duties had extended to the sink. I couldn't splash water on my face, I couldn't fill up a water bottle, I couldn't brush my teeth. I couldn't put anything in there unless I was ok with getting soap on it. I couldn't put my comb in there so I could reshape my pompadour [I don't have a pompadour, but woe to the unfourtunate rock-a-billy kids].
This sink was now to be used for the sole purpose of washing hands. Who knew you used a sink for so many other tasks.
1 comment:
Those of us who spill something on themselves at each restaurant outing would have trouble with this. I'm not sure I can see myself shoving a wad of my blouse into the hole.
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