Tag Archives: Daniel Loxton

Newly Nerfed has a birthday

One year ago today, I launched this blog. I’d just been through six months of wondering “What the hell do I do now?” I was paralyzed, demoralized, and utterly frustrated by having had to give in to my disability and quit working. It didn’t help that the job I quit was the best I ever had, but it also didn’t matter. A really big, heavy door had just slammed shut on a really big part of my life, and I was forced to examine my new situation and my new identity.

While beginning to work this out, I dove headlong into the waters I’d only been treading up till then for lack of time and energy. Skeptical blogs and podcasts began to fill my day, and my Twitter stream became more and more populated by other skeptics. I revamped my Facebook page so that I could keep up with the discussions happening there. At first, my appetite was modest, but the more I consumed, the more ravenous I became. (Skepticism as subtraction soup.) I put myself through a serious skeptical bootcamp that was nothing but fascinating, educational, and exciting.

I love to learn, and although I couldn’t work, I could still do that. The skeptical community offered a place for me to do grad-school amounts of reading and synthesizing information, not to mention daily interacting with intimidatingly smart people who wanted to use critical thinking to make the world a better place. It was inspirational, revelatory, and ultimately showed me an alternative to my feelings of helplessness and, worse, uselessness.

I didn’t intend Newly Nerfed to be a skeptical blog. I thought it would focus more on the things I do still write about a lot, disability and chronic illness and nerdy stuff like games and movies. But it proved to be impossible to leave the powerful new focus in my life out of this blog. I connected so strongly to skepticism that I wanted to write about it, even as a neophyte. And the rest can be read in my posts.

When I started this blog, people were talking about TAM 7. Fascinating, I thought, but I couldn’t see myself at that kind of conference. Surely it was for the professors and physicians and scientists I’d been reading, and not for someone like me. And then a year later I was discussing the effects of James Randi’s public and vehement support of science-based medicine during his cancer treatments…with James Randi.

I can’t even begin to express how much TAM 8 meant to me. I had every kind of experience you hear about: meeting “old” friends for the first time, meeting new friends for the first time, having practical discussions, having meta discussions, learning things that are directly applicable to my interests, having my mind blown open by new ideas, meeting heroes and having actual discourse with them, and laying the groundwork for future projects. I came away from TAM wonderfully energized with plans and schemes for the coming year (and with gratitude for the luminaries who kindly allowed me to ambush them with an idea, and for their support of that idea).

A year ago I didn’t know what to do. I held on to my passion for learning, for making a difference, and for writing, none of which got hit by the nerf bat. And then I found myself in a community of people who shared those passions, and I’ve started to find my way. I am so grateful for this year and the incredible people I’ve met and worked with (and will work with in the future). I thank all of you so much, skeptics and believers, friends and strangers, for helping, teaching, and of course entertaining me so damn much this year. I especially want to thank “Surly” Amy Davis Roth and Desiree Schell for their early encouragement of an avid but nervous noob, and Daniel Loxton for being a role model of skeptical communication to which I continue to aspire.

Most importantly, I thank my husband Paul. Not a single step on this wonderful journey would have been possible without his love, care, and support. Throughout everything from health woes to skeptical successes, he has been unswervingly by my side, which I assure you is not always an easy place to be. None of what I’ve experienced, learned, or accomplished this year means anything without the joy I take in having my best friend and twu wuv to share it with. He challenges me to be better, and accepts me when I fail. And I mean, he’s a skeptical atheist gamer geek who can kick serious ass in meatspace — did I win the lottery or what?

Here’s to sticking around for year two. I appreciate it.

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Atheist symbols, part one

When I finally realized I was an atheist, it was a relief. For years I had tried to figure out what my position was on God, in which I assumed I believed but could never quite accept how or why. As I began reading more about skepticism, the overlap with atheism started me considering whether in fact I simply didn’t believe in a god at all, and the more I thought about it, the more right it felt. Instead of finding a way to make my belief feel natural, I found it more natural to admit to myself that I didn’t believe at all.

I wanted to begin this blog with a certain expression of who I am, especially on subjects I planned to talk about a lot. So when I learned about The Out Campaign, I thought it was an interesting and useful way to shorthand that aspect that informs my worldview and this blog. At the time I didn’t know anything about “the new atheists” or any controversies involving Richard Dawkins; I placed the A on the blog for about the same reason that there’s cats playing videogames on the banner.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’d be considered an accommodationist by many who identify as atheist. There are situations where I don’t have a problem with the existence of religion. A lot of this has to do with my hesitancy to judge religious people who use their faith as a lifeline. For example, many chronically ill people who have nothing else in their lives hang on to their belief in Jesus as a way to cope. Some atheists would want those people to let go of that delusion and live only in reality. But unless they’re undergoing religious treatments for a real illness, or something like that, I’m apt to be happy that they have something to keep them going. Similarly, many people complained when priests were sent to Haiti after the devastating earthquake. As long as those priests came along with food, medical supplies and doctors, I didn’t have an argument with it. The people of Haiti are very religious; who am I to sit back all comfy in my first-world house and declare that their spiritual needs are irrelevant?

Some atheists are defensive because of prejudice against us. Maybe it’s 36 years of being a Jew, but I can’t manage to get overly worked up over any but the most galling instances of that. For example, when atheism keeps people from being able to be Boy Scouts, I lose all interest in that organization until they change that shit. But I do that with groups that don’t allow LGBTQ members either (again, hello, Boy Scouts!); it’s a protest against exclusion, even if I don’t happen to belong to the group being excluded. So some closed-minded believers think atheism and secularism are going to ruin this great nation of ours. Have you heard what a lot of those same people say about the Jews? Understand I’m not saying this isn’t a legitimate cause for outrage. By all means it is, when religious lunacy invades our school boards and our laws. Just for myself, I’ve been leery of organized religion for as long as I can remember, as well as learning about and watching Jewish people face homicidal bigotry; becoming an atheist simply didn’t spark any new impetus.

The Surly A, by Amy Davis Roth

I’d like to explore what it means to live my life without religion and without belief in a higher power. Am I a secular Jew? A humanist? Something else? But in the end, I’m much more fascinated by the realm of skepticism, and if I’m going to be an activist about anything, it’ll be about that. Skepticism opens debates that I find interesting, whereas I don’t really find the question of whether there’s a God to be interesting. To me, there isn’t one, so I’d rather move on to what’s happening in pseudoscience.

Richard Dawkins and/or his followers (it seems to depend entirely on your point of view) have become well known for a style of atheism some people ridiculously call “fundamentalist,” but what is simply, unapologetically, rational. It’s the in-your-face part that grates on some, and again, it’s the part that I’m less interested in pursuing, personally. (And of course to many people, something as innocuous as a “Don’t believe in God? You’re not alone” bus sign is offensive to the point of apoplexy, so “in-your-face” is highly subjective.) For a while I debated whether to keep the scarlet A, a symbol of activism that I don’t identify with, on this blog. I really questioned it when I was reading comments about the brief religious statement in Daniel Loxton’s Evolution. There was so much animosity towards that mild passage that I felt really alienated from my fellow atheists.

But the truth is, I’m thankful that there are atheist activists who are making religious people uncomfortable. I’m glad that Greta Christina, PZ Myers, and other people are waging unrelenting war on the anti-secularists and the religious lunatics. My style may never be theirs, but they and people like them will hopefully be the ones effecting change for the better. So in the end, I went back to my original reason for keeping the A, plus a little more: my respect for Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens and every single atheist tweeter and blogger who is doing the work for a cause I believe in.

There is an atheist symbol that I’ve come to identify with, which I will talk about next time in part two.

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Weekend sendoff: E is for “evolution”

When I was a little kid, I had a lot of science books. Some of them were aimed at kids. Another, my big hardback encyclopedia of the universe, I spent a few years just admiring the gorgeous photographs of planets and galaxies until I was old enough to learn what they were. I was also incredibly lucky enough to have had, starting way back in first grade, teachers who were excited about science and communicated that excitement to their students. This is why even though most of my life has been spent working and playing in the humanities and performing arts, I have never lost that first fascination with sciences of all kinds, and a desire to learn more.

Evolution: How We and All Living Things Came to Be is by Daniel Loxton, editor of Skeptic magazine’s awesome Junior Skeptic insert. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to communicating the wonder and coolness of the natural world to kids, as well as explaining what seem like — and are too often described as — miracles or magic. Did I say kids? I know for a fact I’m not alone in turning to Junior Skeptic before I read the rest of the magazine.

I don’t know how many kids today are as fortunate as I was to go through a public school experience that not only encouraged and rewarded critical and scientific thinking, but made them seem both important and fun. If you have kids, or know people with kids, and want to help them discover how fascinating are the natural processes that shape life on this planet, do them a favor and get them this book. And although it says “ages 8-13,” don’t be afraid to give it to a younger child. She can always look at the pictures until she’s old enough to want to know more about our world.

Speaking of great science for kids and grown-ups alike, I send you off with They Might Be Giants, who are doing a fantastic job on the musical side of things with their album Here Comes Science.

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