How To Think Like a Psychologist: A Free Online Course from Stanford

free-course-how-to-think-like-a-psychologist-In ear­ly Jan­u­ary, we brought you a set of 15 tips to help you stick to your New Year’s res­o­lu­tions, straight from The Willpow­er Instincta best­selling book by Dr. Kel­ly McGo­ni­gal. Today, we’re high­light­ing a course that McGo­ni­gal orga­nized for Stanford’s Con­tin­u­ing Stud­ies Pro­gram, enti­tled How To Think Like a Psy­chol­o­gist. The premise is sim­ple: McGo­ni­gal intro­duces promi­nent Stan­ford psy­chol­o­gists, who pro­ceed to dis­cuss their research and explain pre­cise­ly why their field hap­pens to be so fas­ci­nat­ing, after which McGo­ni­gal leads a short dis­cus­sion with the guest. An audi­ence Q&A ses­sion fol­lows.

Each of the course’s six lec­tures is a neat­ly pack­aged primer on a researcher’s area of exper­tise: Greg Wal­ton gives a detailed talk about his work on aca­d­e­m­ic stig­ma, and the role it plays in the achieve­ment gap so evi­dent in Amer­i­can edu­ca­tion, while in lat­er lec­tures, James Gross dis­cuss­es his research on emo­tion­al reg­u­la­tion, and Brid­get Mar­tin Hard explains the ben­e­fits of study­ing ani­mals to bet­ter under­stand humans. The strength of the course lies both in its acces­si­bil­i­ty, and its lev­el of depth: one does not need a back­ground in sci­ence to learn some­thing tan­gi­ble about cur­rent psy­cho­log­i­cal research. What’s more, one gets a sense of how rel­e­vant psy­chol­o­gy is as a prac­ti­cal sci­ence, gov­ern­ing every fleet­ing thought and social inter­ac­tion.

How To Think Like a Psy­chol­o­gist is cur­rent­ly avail­able on iTune­sU. You can find it list­ed in our col­lec­tion of Free Online Psy­chol­o­gy Cours­es, part of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Pow­er of Empa­thy: A Quick Ani­mat­ed Les­son That Can Make You a Bet­ter Per­son

Carl Gus­tav Jung Explains His Ground­break­ing The­o­ries About Psy­chol­o­gy in Rare Inter­view (1957)

Jacques Lacan’s Con­fronta­tion with a Young Rebel: Clas­sic Moment, 1972

New Ani­ma­tion Explains Sher­ry Turkle’s The­o­ries on Why Social Media Makes Us Lone­ly

Raymond Chandler’s Ten Commandments for Writing a Detective Novel

chandler10rules

Pro­mo por­trait pho­to of author Ray­mond Chan­dler, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Ray­mond Chan­dler – along with his hard­boiled brethren like Dashiell Ham­mett and James M. Cain – sand­blast­ed the detec­tive nov­el of its deco­rous­ness and instilled it with a sweaty vital­i­ty. Chan­dler, through the eyes of his most famous char­ac­ter Philip Mar­lowe, nav­i­gat­ed a thin­ly veiled Los Ange­les through the des­per­a­tion of those on the low end of society’s totem pole and through the greed and venal­i­ty of those at the top.

Instead of cre­at­ing self-con­tained locked room mys­ter­ies, Chan­dler cre­at­ed sto­ries that looked out­ward, strug­gling to make sense of a moral­ly ambigu­ous world. He ded­i­cat­ed his career to the genre, influ­enc­ing gen­er­a­tions of writ­ers after him. His very name became syn­ony­mous with his terse, pun­gent style.

So it isn’t ter­ri­bly sur­pris­ing that Chan­dler had some very strong opin­ions about crime fic­tion. Below are his ten com­mand­ments for writ­ing a detec­tive nov­el:

1) It must be cred­i­bly moti­vat­ed, both as to the orig­i­nal sit­u­a­tion and the dénoue­ment.

2) It must be tech­ni­cal­ly sound as to the meth­ods of mur­der and detec­tion.

3) It must be real­is­tic in char­ac­ter, set­ting and atmos­phere. It must be about real peo­ple in a real world.

4) It must have a sound sto­ry val­ue apart from the mys­tery ele­ment: i.e., the inves­ti­ga­tion itself must be an adven­ture worth read­ing.

5) It must have enough essen­tial sim­plic­i­ty to be explained eas­i­ly when the time comes.

6) It must baf­fle a rea­son­ably intel­li­gent read­er.

7) The solu­tion must seem inevitable once revealed.

8) It must not try to do every­thing at once. If it is a puz­zle sto­ry oper­at­ing in a rather cool, rea­son­able atmos­phere, it can­not also be a vio­lent adven­ture or a pas­sion­ate romance.

9) It must pun­ish the crim­i­nal in one way or anoth­er, not nec­es­sar­i­ly by oper­a­tion of the law.… If the detec­tive fails to resolve the con­se­quences of the crime, the sto­ry is an unre­solved chord and leaves irri­ta­tion behind it.

10) It must be hon­est with the read­er.

These com­mand­ments are oblique jabs at the locked room who­dunits pop­u­lar dur­ing the Gold­en Age of the detec­tive nov­el dur­ing the 1920s and 30s. Chan­dler deliv­ers a much more point­ed crit­i­cism of these works in his sem­i­nal essay about crime fic­tion, The Sim­ple Art of Mur­der.

After tak­ing thor­ough­ly apart the mur­der mys­tery The Red House by A. A. Milne (yes, the writer of Win­nie the Pooh), Chan­dler rails against detec­tive sto­ries where the machi­na­tions of plot out­strip any sem­blance of real­i­ty. “If the sit­u­a­tion is false, you can­not even accept it as a light nov­el, for there is no sto­ry for the light nov­el to be about.”

He goes on to trash oth­er British mys­tery writ­ers like Agatha Christie and par­tic­u­lar­ly Dorothy L. Say­ers, who Chan­dler paints not only as a hyp­o­crit­i­cal snob but also as bor­ing. “The Eng­lish may not always be the best writ­ers in the world, but they are incom­pa­ra­bly the best dull writ­ers,” he quips.

Chan­dler then offers praise to his hard­boiled col­league Dashiell Ham­mett who infus­es his sto­ries with a sense of real­ism. “Ham­mett gave mur­der back to the kind of peo­ple that com­mit it for rea­sons, not just to pro­vide a corpse; and with the means at hand, not with hand-wrought duelling pis­tols, curare, and trop­i­cal fish….He was spare, fru­gal, hard­boiled, but he did over and over again what only the best writ­ers can ever do at all. He wrote scenes that seemed nev­er to have been writ­ten before.”

Whether con­scious or not, this pas­sage is a fair descrip­tion of Chan­dler as well.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ray­mond Chan­dler Denounces Strangers on a Train in Sharply-Word­ed Let­ter to Alfred Hitch­cock

Ray­mond Chan­dler & Ian Flem­ing in Con­ver­sa­tion (1958)

Watch Ray­mond Chandler’s Long-Unno­ticed Cameo in Dou­ble Indem­ni­ty

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

Beat the Devil: Watch John Huston’s Campy Noir Film with Humphrey Bogart & Gina Lollobrigida (1953)

Beat the Devil (1953) poster

What came out when John Hus­ton, Humphrey Bog­a­rt, Gina Lol­lo­b­rigi­da, Jen­nifer Jones, Peter Lorre, and Tru­man Capote col­lab­o­rat­ed? You would­n’t expect a far­ci­cal, near­ly impro­vised study in eccen­tric­i­ty, but here we have it. Beat the Dev­il, which you can watch above, sim­ply con­fused audi­ences when it opened in 1953, but human­i­ty has since — with, for bet­ter or for worse, the thor­ough­go­ing sens­es of unse­ri­ous­ness and irony we’ve cul­ti­vat­ed — come to appre­ci­ate it. This sto­ry of would-be ura­ni­um pirates strand­ed in an Ital­ian port on their way to Kenya began, like Stan­ley Kubrick­’s Dr. Strangelove, as an adap­ta­tion of a high-mind­ed, stone-faced nov­el, in this case an epony­mous one by Claud Cock­burn (father of the late Alexan­der Cock­burn, author of, yes, The Nation’s “Beat the Dev­il” col­umn). Also like Dr. Strangelove, it took a dose of absur­di­ty some­where in pre-pro­duc­tion, turn­ing from dra­ma into com­e­dy.

Bog­a­rt, not just one of the film’s stars but one of its major investors, thought he’d signed up for a Gra­ham Greene-ish thriller but wound up in what many con­sid­er the first “camp” film. He must sure­ly have come to under­stand the scope of his mis­ap­pre­hen­sion by the time Tru­man Capote turned up on set, rewrit­ing a whole new script — if the proud mid­cen­tu­ry film indus­try would have dig­ni­fied it with that term — on the fly, throw­ing togeth­er new and more ridicu­lous scenes each day. This and oth­er uncon­ven­tion­al pro­duc­tion strate­gies have all become part of the body of Beat the Dev­il lore, which Roger Ebert exam­ines in (speak­ing of ulti­mate val­i­da­tion) his “Great Movies” essay on the pic­ture. He includes a telling quote from Hus­ton, who sup­pos­ed­ly told Jones, “Jen­nifer, they’ll remem­ber you longer for Beat the Dev­il than for Song of Bernadette.” Adds Ebert: “True, but could Hus­ton have guessed that they would remem­ber him more for Beat the Dev­il than for Moby Dick?”

Beat the Dev­il has been added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More. It also appears in our list of Free Noir Films.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jean-Paul Sartre Writes a Script for John Huston’s Film on Freud (1958)

How Ray Brad­bury “Became” Her­man Melville and Wrote the Script for John Huston’s Moby-Dick (1956)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, aes­thet­ics, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear Italo Calvino Read Selections From Invisible Cities, Mr. Palomar & Other Enchanting Fictions

The Trav­els of Mar­co Polo—tales told by the Venet­ian explor­er to Ital­ian romance writer Rus­tichel­lo da Pisa—purportedly describes in great detail Polo’s encounter with “The East,” a place in the medieval Euro­pean mind as alien and fan­tas­ti­cal as the inter­stel­lar realms of sci­ence fic­tion. Like oth­er trav­el nar­ra­tives of the peri­od (notably the spu­ri­ous Trav­els of Sir John Man­dev­ille), Polo’s sto­ries mixed accu­rate geo­graph­i­cal and cul­tur­al infor­ma­tion with folk­lore, myth, and Ori­en­tal­ist mis­ap­pre­hen­sion. While the appear­ance of mon­sters and mar­vels seems capri­cious to the mod­ern read­er, these ele­ments may have felt almost mun­dane to Polo’s con­tem­po­raries. Or maybe not. After all, the Ital­ian title of Polo’s trav­el­ogue—Il Mil­ione—may refer to Polo’s rep­u­ta­tion as the teller of “a mil­lion” lies.

But let us leave the puz­zles of authen­tic­i­ty to his­to­ri­ans. As read­ers, we get lost in these fas­ci­nat­ing romances because the worlds they describe are both so strange yet so unset­tling­ly famil­iar. Medieval trav­el­ogues like Polo’s open up the pos­si­bil­i­ty of fairy king­doms with out­landish cus­toms thriv­ing almost with­in reach. These tales of strange and unknown lands were, after all, promi­nent inspi­ra­tion for C.S. Lewis’s Nar­nia books. (Lis­ten to the Chron­i­cles of Nar­nia in a free audio for­mat here).

For grown-up read­ers, no author bet­ter evokes the uncan­ny geopol­i­tics of the medieval imag­i­na­tion than Ita­lo Calvi­no, whose Invis­i­ble Cities imag­ines Polo’s sup­posed jour­ney to the impe­r­i­al seat of Mon­gol ruler Kublai Khan. In Calvino’s novel—more a col­lec­tion of prose-poems—Polo regales Khan with his accounts of 55 exot­ic cities, while the busy emperor’s func­tionar­ies come and go. “At some point,” says author Eric Wein­er, “you real­ize that Calvi­no is not talk­ing about cities at all, not in the way we nor­mal­ly think of the word. Calvino’s cities—like all cities, really—are con­struct­ed not of steel and con­crete but of ideas. Each city rep­re­sents a thought exper­i­ment.”

Sim­i­lar obser­va­tions can be made of any of the author’s odd­ly enchant­i­ng alle­gor­i­cal fic­tions—Sea­mus Heaney called Calvi­no’s sto­ries â€śfan­tas­tic dis­plays” inspired by “sym­me­tries and arith­metics.” In the audio above, you can hear the author read selec­tions from sev­er­al of his works, includ­ing Invis­i­ble Cities and Mr. Palo­mar, a work of “even more arch­ness and archi­tec­tur­al inven­tion.” Do not be daunt­ed by Calvino’s Ital­ian. I find it very pleas­ing to lis­ten to, even if I do not under­stand it all. But if you’d rather skip ahead to the Eng­lish por­tion of his reading—recorded at the 92nd St. Y on March 31st, 1983—it begins at 8:40 where Calvi­no reads from a sec­tion of Invis­i­ble Cities called “Thin Cities.” In this excerpt, Polo tells Khan of a place called “Armil­la”:

Whether Armil­la is like this because it is unfin­ished or because it has been demol­ished, whether the cause is some enchant­ment or only a whim, I do not know. The fact remains that it has no walls, no ceil­ings, no floors: it has noth­ing that makes it seem a city except the water pipes that rise ver­ti­cal­ly where the hous­es should be and spread out hor­i­zon­tal­ly where the floors should be: a for­est of pipes that end in taps, show­ers, spouts, over­flows […]

 You can read the remain­der of the “Armil­la” sec­tion here, along with oth­er selec­tions from Invis­i­ble Cities. A por­tion of the text of Mr. Palo­mar is avail­able here. Calvino’s read­ing is long—nearly an hour and a half—and very reward­ing, both for the rich musi­cal­i­ty of his accent­ed Eng­lish and the spell­bind­ing charms of his philo­soph­i­cal fic­tions. And if you are so inspired, you may wish to read Calvi­no’s short essay “Why Read the Clas­sics?” to which I often turn for a fuller grasp his wide-rang­ing lit­er­ary inher­i­tance.

via The Paris Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Expe­ri­ence Invis­i­ble Cities, an Inno­v­a­tive, Ita­lo Calvi­no-Inspired Opera Staged in LA’s Union Sta­tion

Watch a Whim­si­cal Ani­ma­tion of Ita­lo Calvino’s Short Sto­ry “The Dis­tance of the Moon”

John Tur­tur­ro Reads Ita­lo Calvino’s Ani­mat­ed Fairy Tale

550 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Get 50% Off Criterion Films on Blu-ray & DVD for the Next 24 Hours

flash-sale-fb-image

Heads up: For the next 24 hours, all Blu-rays and DVDs are 50% off at Criterion.com with pro­mo code MADFOX! Includes films by Wes Ander­son, Truf­faut, Hitch­cock, Kuro­sawa and many more. Don’t dil­ly dal­ly. It looks like some of the films are sell­ing out fast.

PS Speak­ing of Wes Ander­son, Pitch­fork is now stream­ing the sound­track to his upcom­ing movie The Grand Budapest Hotel.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Restor­ing Clas­sic Films: Cri­te­ri­on Shows You How It Refreshed Two Hitch­cock Movies

635 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc.

200 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online

 

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A Playlist of Music Scientifically-Proven to Increase Cows’ Milk Production: REM, Lou Reed & More

cow-music-milking

Image by Daniel Schwen via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Let’s test our agri­cul­ture math skills with a lit­tle dairy indus­try sto­ry prob­lem:

If an 8‑ounce glass of whole milk pro­vides 149 calo­ries, 8 grams of pro­tein, 276 mil­ligrams of cal­ci­um, 8 grams of fat, 4.5 grams of sat­u­rat­ed fat and 24 mil­ligrams of cho­les­terol, and a cup of two-per­cent milk has 120 calo­ries, 5 grams of fat, 3 grams of sat­u­rat­ed fat and 20 mil­ligrams of cho­les­terol, what kind of music will result in an over­all milk pro­duc­tion increase of 3%?

Accord­ing to a study at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Leices­ter School of Psy­chol­o­gy, the answer is slow jams and easy lis­ten­ing.

Huh. Based on the con­cert tees of the boys I grew up around in Indi­ana, I would have guessed Rush or Guns N’ Ros­es. (Maybe there was some Bar­ry Manilow going on behind closed barn doors?)

Actu­al­ly, research shows that bovine musi­cal pref­er­ence, like that of aer­o­bics instruc­tors, hinges less on any spe­cif­ic artist than on beats per minute.

…I hope they did­n’t spend too much on this study. Upon reflec­tion, isn’t it just com­mon sense that noise-sen­si­tive herd ani­mals attached to machines via their udders would choose a mel­low groove over death met­al or psy­chobil­ly?

(Poor Bana­nara­ma. It must’ve stung when the Uni­ver­si­ty of Leices­ter’s team told the world that 1,000 Hol­stein Friesian cat­tle liked lis­ten­ing to noth­ing at all bet­ter than their 1986 Bill­board Hot 100 #1 hit, “Venus.”)

To para­phrase anoth­er 80’s fave, I know what cows like, thanks to a pan­el of five Hol­steins who got to pick the win­ner of the British Colum­bia Dairy Asso­ci­a­tion’s 2012 “Music Makes More Milk” con­test. Brace your­self:

Did any­one else just imag­ine a thou­sand cows with phones to their ears, chew­ing their cuds and swish­ing their tails, con­tent to remain on hold indef­i­nite­ly?

Should the above tune ever grow old (doubt­ful) there’s always Shake­speare. Accord­ing to NPR, a the­atri­cal read­ing of “The Mer­ry Wives of Wind­sor” proved pop­u­lar, milk-wise, with an audi­ence of UK cows. And Mod­ern Farmer has hon­ored Lou Reed by includ­ing one of his com­po­si­tions (no, not “Met­al Machine Music, Part 1”) in their recent Playlist To Milk By:

“Every­body Hurts,” REM

“What a Dif­fer­ence A Day Makes,” Aretha Franklin

“Bridge Over Trou­bled Water,” Simon & Gar­funkel

“Moon Riv­er,” Dan­ny Williams

“Orinoco Flow,” Celtic Woman

“Per­fect Day,” Lou Reed (The Lit­tle Willie’s Lou Reed cow-tip­ping song aside, can you pic­ture him milk­ing one?)

via Grist

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jazz for Cows

Sir Patrick Stew­art Demon­strates How Cows Moo in Dif­fer­ent Eng­lish Accents

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, zine pub­lish­er, and recent con­vert to almond milk. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

The Chemistry of Sriracha & What Sets Your Mouth Aflame

If you head over to the Huy Fong Foods web site, they’ll tell you that Sriracha, their ever-pop­u­lar Thai condi­ment, is “made from sun ripen chilies which are ground into a smooth paste along with gar­lic and pack­aged in a con­ve­nient squeeze bot­tle.” It’s the chilies that make your mouth burn when you pour that Sriracha onto your eggs or burg­ers, or in your soup and, yes, cock­tails. But if you want to get sci­en­tif­ic about things, it’s actu­al­ly the cap­saicin and dihy­dro­cap­saicin â€” the two com­pounds inside the hot pep­pers — that set your mouth aflame.  All of this, and more, gets cov­ered by this new video, The Chem­istry of Sriracha, from the Amer­i­can Chem­i­cal Soci­ety. It’s part of their video series, Reac­tions, that exam­ines the chem­istry of every­day things.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Chem­istry Cours­es

The Fas­ci­nat­ing Sci­ence of Snow

“The Peri­od­ic Table Table” — All The Ele­ments in Hand-Carved Wood

The Ele­ments: Tom Lehrer Recites Chem­i­cal Ele­ments to the Tune of Gilbert & Sul­li­van

Alice Herz-Sommer, the Oldest Holocaust Survivor (Thanks to the Power of Music), Dies at 110

On Sun­day, 23 Feb­ru­ary 2014, Alice Herz-Som­mer, thought to be the old­est Holo­caust sur­vivor, died in Lon­don. She has been an inspi­ra­tion to many peo­ple as the sto­ry of her life is shown in the Oscar-nom­i­nat­ed doc­u­men­tary called “The Lady in Num­ber 6″ (the video above is the offi­cial trail­er).

Alice was born in Prague – then part of the Aus­tro-Hun­gar­i­an Empire – in 1903. She start­ed play­ing the piano as a child and took lessons with Con­rad Ansorge, a stu­dent of Liszt. At 16, she attend­ed the mas­ter class at Prague’s pres­ti­gious Ger­man musi­cal acad­e­my. Lat­er, Alice became a respect­ed con­cert pianist in Prague. Through her fam­i­ly, she also knew Franz Kaf­ka. All of this changed when the Nazis occu­pied Czecho­slo­va­kia in March 1939. Along with oth­er Jews liv­ing in Prague, Alice was ini­tial­ly forced to live in Prague’s ghet­to before being deport­ed to the There­sien­stadt con­cen­tra­tion camp in 1943, along with her five-year-old son Raphael. Even­tu­al­ly her whole fam­i­ly, includ­ing her hus­band, cel­list Leopold Som­mer, and her moth­er, was sent to Auschwitz, Tre­blin­ka and Dachau, where they were killed.

Alice and her son sur­vived There­sien­stadt because the Nazis used this par­tic­u­lar con­cen­tra­tion camp to show the world how “well” the inmates were treat­ed. A pro­pa­gan­da film by the Nazis was shot and a del­e­ga­tion from the Dan­ish and Inter­na­tion­al Red Cross was shown around in 1943. To boost morale, Alice and many oth­er impris­oned musi­cians reg­u­lar­ly per­formed for the inmates. Despite the unimag­in­able liv­ing con­di­tions, Alice and her son sur­vived. They moved to Israel after the war, where she taught music. In 1986, she moved to Lon­don. Her son died in 2001 (obit­u­ary here).

The way Alice dealt with those hor­ri­ble times is par­tic­u­lar­ly inspir­ing. She says about the role of music: “I felt that this is the only thing which helps me to have hope … it’s a sort of reli­gion actu­al­ly. Music is … is God. In dif­fi­cult times you feel it, espe­cial­ly when you are suf­fer­ing.” When asked by Ger­man jour­nal­ists if she hat­ed Ger­mans, she replied: “I nev­er hate, and I will nev­er hate. Hatred brings only hatred.”

Extra mate­r­i­al:

By pro­fes­sion, Matthias Rasch­er teach­es Eng­lish and His­to­ry at a High School in north­ern Bavaria, Ger­many. In his free time he scours the web for good links and posts the best finds on Twit­ter.

 

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