Here's what I'd like to see in the ideal ArbCom candidate:
Active participation in addressing and resolving difficult content- and conduct-related disputes. It's easy to get out of touch with the community's ever-changing needs and concerns, so I'd like to see strong evidence of on-wiki participation in these areas.
A clear understanding of the project's overriding goal: to create a serious, respectable reference work. A Utopian, egalitarian online community may be a means to that end, but it's not an end unto itself. Activity which moves us closer to being a serious, respected reference work is good. Activity which moves us away from that goal is bad. Everything else follows.
An understanding of the distance between letter and spirit of policy, and an appreciation for how Wikipedia's policies operate in practice, not just in theory.
A clear comprehension of the stresses on editors and admins who try to move controversial articles toward seriousness and respectability.
Maturity and good judgement.
Notes to self
Wikipedia offers a plethora of entertaining sideshows. It's OK to be entertained by them, as long as you remember that they're sideshows.
Just because I have an opinion on something doesn't mean I need to share that opinion with the world.
You don't want to know what I really think. It's better this way.
IQ
This user's Intelligence Quotient is high enough to realize that people who obsess about IQ are insecure. Or maybe it's low enough that he's compensating by creating this userbox.
But why the pride in these doctor children (why not shame, why not incredulous dread?): intimates of bacilli and trichinae, of trauma and mortification, with their disgusting vocabulary and their disgusting furniture... they are life's gatekeepers. And why would anyone want to be that?
Life is short and the art is long; opportunity fleeting; experience is deceptive, and judgment difficult. The physician must not only be prepared to do what is right himself, but also to make the patient, the attendants, and externals cooperate.
Reassure herself as she might—she knew that these accidents, combined with cases of mistaken diagnosis and of measures taken too late or erroneously, comprised no more than perhaps 2 percent of her activity, while those she had healed, the young and the old, the men and the women, were now walking through plowed fields, over the grass, along the asphalt, flying through the air, climbing telegraph poles, picking cotton, cleaning streets, standing behind counters, sitting in offices or teahouses, serving in the army and the navy; there were thousands of them, not all of whom had forgotten her or would forget her—and yet she knew that she would sooner forget them all, her best cases, hardest-won victories, but until the day she died she would always remember the handful of poor devils who had fallen under the wheels.
Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor? Doctor: Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest. Macbeth: Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart? Doctor: Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
This disease men call "sacred", but to me it appears no more divine or supernatural than any other disease; it must have a natural cause like all afflictions. Men regard its nature as divine from ignorance and wonder... They who first ascribed this malady to the gods seem to me to have been conjurors, mountebanks, and charlatans, who invoked the supernatural to conceal their own inability to afford any assistance.
If what you're doing isn't working, stop doing it.
If you don't know what to do, don't do anything.
Never let a surgeon manage your patient.
—Variant; usually attributed to Robert F. Loeb, as Loeb's Laws
Languebam: sed tu comitatus protinus ad me
Venisti centum, Symmache, discipulis.
Centum me tetigere manus aquilone gelatae:
Non habui febrem, Symmache, nunc habeo.
He could feel quite tangibly the difference in weight between the fragile human body and the colossus of the State. He could feel the State's bright eyes gazing into his face; any moment now the State would crash down on him; there would be a crack, a squeal—and he would be gone.
Everybody knows that the dice are loaded.
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed.
Everybody knows that the war is over.
Everybody knows that the good guys lost.
Everybody knows the fight is fixed.
The poor stay poor and the rich get rich.
That's how it goes.
And everybody knows.
There once was a bastard named Lenin,
Who did two or three million men in.
That's a lot to have done in,
But where he did one in
That old bastard Stalin did ten in.
Some men look at constitutions with sanctimonious reverence, and deem them like the ark of the covenant, too sacred to be touched. They ascribe to the preceding age a wisdom more than human, and suppose what they did to be beyond amendment.
I knew that age well; I belonged to it and labored with it. It deserved well of its country. It was very like the present, but without the experience of the present; and forty years of experience in government is worth a century of book-reading; and this they would say themselves, were they to rise from the dead.
I am certainly not an advocate for frequent and untried changes in laws and institutions... but I know also, that laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths disclosed, and manners and opinions change with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also, and keep pace with the times. We might as well require a man to wear still the coat which fitted him when a boy, as civilized society to remain ever under the regime of their barbarous ancestors.
They say I'm all about murder, murder and kill, kill...
But what about Grindhouse and Kill Bill?
What about Cheney and Halliburton? The back door deals on oil fields?
How is Nas the most violent person?
...
I'm dealing with the higher form;
Fuck if you care how I write a poem.
The only fox that I love was the Redd one;
The only black man that Fox loves is in jail or a dead one.
"Why, exactly, do you people intend to have me shot?"
Ivanov let a few seconds go by. He smoked and drew figures with his pencil on the blotting-paper. He seemed to be searching for the exact words.
"Listen, Rubashov," he said finally. "There is one thing I would like to point out to you. You have now repeatedly said 'You' - meaning State and Party - as distinct from 'I' - that is, Nikolai Salmanovich Rubashov. For the public, one needs, of course, a trial and legal justification. For us, what I have just said should be enough."
Rubashov thought this over; he was somewhat taken aback. For a moment it was as if Ivanov had hit a tuning fork, to which his mind responded of its own accord. All he had believed in, fought for and preached over the last forty years swept over his mind in an irresistable wave. The individual was nothing, the Party was all; the branch which broke from the tree must wither... Rubashov rubbed his pince-nez on his sleeve.
Ivan Ilych saw that he was dying, and he was in continual despair.
In the depth of his heart he knew he was dying, but not only was he not accustomed to the thought, he simply did not and could not grasp it.
The syllogism he had learnt from Kiesewetter's Logic: "Caius is a man, men are mortal, therefore Caius is mortal," had always seemed to him correct as applied to Caius, but certainly not as applied to himself. That Caius — man in the abstract — was mortal, was perfectly correct, but he was not Caius, not an abstract man, but a creature quite, quite separate from all others. He had been little Vanya, with a mamma and a papa, with Mitya and Volodya, with the toys, a coachman and a nurse, afterwards with Katenka and with all the joys, griefs, and delights of childhood, boyhood, and youth. What did Caius know of the smell of that striped leather ball Vanya had been so fond of? Had Caius kissed his mother's hand like that, and did the silk of her dress rustle so for Caius? Had he rioted like that at school when the pastry was bad? Had Caius been in love like that? Could Caius preside at a session as he did? "Caius really was mortal, and it was right for him to die; but for me, little Vanya, Ivan Ilych, with all my thoughts and emotions, it's altogether a different matter. It cannot be that I ought to die. That would be too terrible."
Michael Williams: But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry all, "We died at such a place;" some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left.
"Why, of course, the people don't want war," Goering shrugged. "Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally, the common people don't want war; neither in Russia nor in England nor in America, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy or a fascist dictatorship or a Parliament or a Communist dictatorship."
"There is one difference," I pointed out. "In a democracy the people have some say in the matter through their elected representatives, and in the United States only Congress can declare wars."
"Oh, that is all well and good, but, voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country."
It makes no difference what men think of war, said the judge. War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone. War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.
Wonderful meal in T[aranto]. Steak—eggs—cherries—white wine—macaroni—and Marsala. We should never have fought these people.
From the diary of Oliver Carpenter, a British soldier in occupied Italy, June 1944
The imagination and spiritual strength of Shakespeare's evildoers stopped short at a dozen corpses. Because they had no ideology.
Ideology—that is what gives evildoing its long-sought justification and gives the evildoer the necessary steadfastness and determination... That was how the agents of the Inquisition fortified their wills: by invoking Christianity; the conquerors of foreign lands, by extolling the grandeur of their Motherland; the colonizers, by civilization; the Nazis, by race; and the Jacobins (early and late), by equality, brotherhood, and the happiness of future generations.
When I was running about this town a very poor fellow, I was a great arguer for the advantages of poverty; but I was, at the same time, very sorry to be poor.
The Templars have something to do with everything
What follows is not true
Jesus was crucified under Pontius Pilate
The sage Omus found the Rosy Cross in Egypt
There are cabalists in Provence
Who was married at the feast of Cana?
Minnie Mouse is Mickey's fiancée
It follows logically that
If
The Druids venerated black virgins
Then
Simon Magus identifies Sophia as a prostitute of Tyre
Who was married at the feast of Cana?
The Merovingians proclaim themselves kings by divine right
The Templars have something to do with everything
Now, Stuart, if you look at the soil around any large US city where there's a big underground homosexual population—Des Moines, Iowa—perfect example. Look at the soil around Des Moines, Stuart. You can't build on it; you can't grow anything on it. The government says it's due to poor farming. But I know what's really going on, Stuart. I know it's the queers. They're in it with the aliens. They're building landing strips... for gay Martians.
You know what, Stuart? I like you. You're not like the other people here in the trailer park.
The recipe for authorship in this line of business [the social sciences] is as simple as it is rewarding: just get hold of a textbook of mathematics, copy the less complicated parts, put in some references to the literature in one or two branches of the social studies without worrying unduly about whether the formulae which you wrote down have any bearing on the real human actions, and give your product a good-sounding title, which suggests that you have found a key to an exact science of collective behaviour.
Stanislav Andreski, Social Sciences as Sorcery (1972; ISBN 978-0233962269)
The only thing wrong with literature in our time is that it lacks... malice, envy, and hate.
I thought I'd give you this Barnstar of Diligence for your combination of extraordinary scrutiny, precision and community service in numerous articles. Wikidudeman(talk) 05:38, 19 June 2007 (UTC)
The Working Man's Barnstar
I, Durova award The Working Man's Barnstar to MastCell for diligent efforts countering sockpuppeteers and long term vandals. Keep up the good work! DurovaCharge! 20:27, 2 July 2007 (UTC)
The Defender of the Wiki Barnstar
I award MastCell this barnstar for quick and decisive action at the Community sanction noticeboard, thereby sparing all those articles on smoking from so much obstructive and pointless POV-pushing. PeterIsotalo 12:47, 18 October 2007 (UTC)
The Tireless Contributor Barnstar
For your tireless contributions to controversial articles and effort to strengthen the NPOV in Wikipedia. миражinred (speak, my child...) 03:32, 6 January 2008 (UTC)
The Defender of the Wiki Barnstar
To MastCell, for maintaining the neutral viewpoint. Axl (talk) 10:38, 16 January 2008 (UTC)
The Wiki Wiffle Bat
Your courage is contagious, your reasoning is infectious, and your patience is the kind of communicable bug we should all be so lucky to catch. Thanks for just being. -- Levine2112discuss 09:02, 9 February 2008 (UTC)
For all your good work. I associate you with intelligent and insightful views, and I respect your thoughtfulness. John (talk) 07:41, 8 July 2008 (UTC)
The Barnstar of Good Humor
I'm stumbled across User:MastCell/UBX-CIV and it completely caught me off-guard. I laughed long and hard enough to cause the knitting broken bones in my face to hurt. Despite the resulting discomfort, I needed a good hearty laugh and I thank you for it. Vassyana (talk) 03:54, 18 July 2008 (UTC)
The Barnstar of Diligence
For being an administrator who is willing to look into the complex yet very important problems that show up at WP:ANI which most other administrators don't get into for lack of diligence. Bravo, and keep up the good work (though don't grow too big a head). The Evil Spartan (talk) 23:25, 22 July 2008 (UTC)
For MastCell, this award was meant for you. It is for those who seem to do everything right on Wikipedia, and go beyond that to show excellence and be respected in every aspect. You have the uncanny and never-ending patience to control your words in even the most intense and controversial situations. You are special. I hereby award MastCell with the “Cool Award.” -- Dēmatt(chat) 15:25, 3 August 2008 (UTC)
The Writer's Barnstar
What a nice article on an important book, Autism's False Prophets. I wish I could write articles so effortlessly. (At least, you make it seem so effortless.) Thanks. Eubulides (talk) 20:19, 14 November 2008 (UTC)
Thought for the day
Serious and respected encyclopedias and reference works are generally expected to provide overviews of scientific topics that are in line with respected scientific thought. Wikipedia aspires to be such a respected work.[1]
Treating angry lunatics as if they are worthy discussants devalues people who really are worthy. Allowing vicious insults and/or rants from lunatics to stand, as if they need to be responded to on an equal footing with thoughtful objections, makes Wikipedia a less noble place.[1]
... Professor Brindley, still in his blue track suit, was introduced as a psychiatrist with broad research interests. He began his lecture without aplomb. He had, he indicated, hypothesized that injection with vasoactive agents into the corporal bodies of the penis might induce an erection. Lacking ready access to an appropriate animal model, and cognisant of the long medical tradition of using oneself as a research subject, he began a series of experiments on self-injection of his penis with various vasoactive agents, including papaverine, phentolamine, and several others. (While this is now commonplace, at the time it was unheard of). His slide-based talk consisted of a large series of photographs of his penis in various states of tumescence after injection with a variety of doses of phentolamine and papaverine. After viewing about 30 of these slides, there was no doubt in my mind that, at least in Professor Brindley's case, the therapy was effective. Of course, one could not exclude the possibility that erotic stimulation had played a role in acquiring these erections, and Professor Brindley acknowledged this.
The Professor wanted to make his case in the most convincing style possible. He indicated that, in his view, no normal person would find the experience of giving a lecture to a large
audience to be erotically stimulating or erection-inducing. He had, he said, therefore injected himself with papaverine in his hotel room before coming to give the lecture, and deliberately wore loose clothes (hence the track suit) to make it possible to exhibit the results. He stepped around the podium, and pulled his loose pants tight up around his genitalia in an attempt to demonstrate his erection.
At this point, I, and I believe everyone else in the room, was agog. I could scarcely believe what was occurring on stage. But Prof. Brindley was not satisfied. He looked down sceptically at his pants and shook his head with dismay. "Unfortunately, this doesn't display the results clearly enough." He then summarily dropped his trousers and shorts, revealing a long, thin, clearly erect penis. There was not a sound in the room. Everyone had stopped breathing.
But the mere public showing of his erection from the podium was not sufficient. He paused, and seemed to ponder his next move. The sense of drama in the room was palpable. He then said, with gravity, "I'd like to give some of the audience the opportunity to confirm the degree of tumescence." With his pants at his knees, he waddled down the stairs, approaching (to their horror) the urologists and their partners in the front row. As he approached them, erection waggling before him, four or five of the women in the front rows threw their arms up in the air, seemingly in unison, and screamed loudly. The scientific merits of the presentation had been overwhelmed, for them, by the novel and unusual mode of demonstrating the results.
The screams seemed to shock Professor Brindley, who rapidly pulled up his trousers, returned to the podium, and terminated the lecture. The crowd dispersed in a state of flabbergasted disarray. I imagine that the urologists who attended with their partners had a lot of explaining to do. The rest is history. Prof. Brindley's single-author paper reporting these results was published about 6 months later. (See [2])
—From Klotz L (2005). "How (not) to communicate new scientific information: a memoir of the famous Brindley lecture". BJU international. 96 (7): 956–7. doi:10.1111/j.1464-410X.2005.05797.x. PMID16225508. {{cite journal}}: Unknown parameter |month= ignored (help)
^Offer subject to restrictions. I will be the sole arbiter of whether or not you enjoyed the songs, and my decision will be non-transparent, binding, and non-reviewable.
^Brindley GS (1983). "Cavernosal alpha-blockade: a new technique for investigating and treating erectile impotence". British Journal of Psychiatry. 143: 332–7. PMID6626852. {{cite journal}}: Unknown parameter |month= ignored (help)
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