10,000 hours

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If you want to shine, put in 10,000 hours
A new book by the Tories’ favourite sociologist claims practice is the secret of success in sport, business, art and science
Steven Swinford


The search for success has spawned a motivational industry worth millions of pounds and libraries full of self-improvement books.

It is practice, however, that makes perfect, according to the sociologist whose books have become required reading within the Conservative party. The best way to achieve international stardom is to spend 10,000 hours honing your skills, says the new book by Malcolm Gladwell, author of the best-selling The Tipping Point.

The greatest athletes, entrepreneurs, musicians and scientists emerge only after spending at least three hours a day for a decade mastering their chosen field.

Ability, according to Gladwell, is just one factor in success. Work ethic, luck, a strong support base and even being born in the right year play a far larger role.

Just as the Beatles rose to fame with the explosion of pop culture in the 1960s, so Bill Gates’s fascination with the ASR-33 Teletype that he used at school in 1968 placed a shy boy on track to become one of the world’s richest men.

“No one – not rock stars, not professional athletes, not software billionaires and not even geniuses – ever makes it alone,” writes Gladwell in Outliers: The Story of Success.

Gladwell became one of the world’s most influential sociologists with the publication of The Tipping Point in 2000, which described how small actions could trigger social epidemics.

His new book argues that there is no such thing as a “self-made man”. Instead, the years spent intensively focused on their area of expertise place the world’s most successful people above their peers.

“What’s really interesting about this 10,000-hour rule is that it applies virtually everywhere,” Gladwell told a conference held by The New Yorker magazine. “You can’t become a chess grand master unless you spend 10,000 hours on practice.

“The tennis prodigy who starts playing at six is playing in Wimbledon at 16 or 17 [like] Boris Becker. The classical musician who starts playing the violin at four is debuting at Carnegie Hall at 15 or so.”

The obsessive approach is particularly evident in sporting icons. Jonny Wilkinson, the rugby player, Tiger Woods, the golfer, and the Williams sisters in tennis have all trained relentlessly since they were children.

Much of Britain’s Olympic success is down to a combination of natural ability and sheer dedication. Victoria Pendleton’s emphatic gold in the women’s sprint cycling in Beijing came only after humiliating defeat in Athens four years ago. After training for four hours a day, six days a week the 27-year-old finally reaped the rewards. Rebecca Adlington, the 19-year-old swimmer who won two gold medals at the Beijing Games, has put in an estimated 8,840 hours of training since the age of 12.

Bill Furniss, her coach, said: “When I first saw her, what stood out was the fact that she was so willing to take the pain and make sacrifices.”

Such dedication is also apparent in musicians. Maxim Vengerov, 34, is one of the world’s greatest violinists. He was born in the Siberian city of Novosibirsk and, after being given a miniature fiddle at the age of four, displayed outstanding aptitude.

His talent was matched by an immense work ethic. He practised seven hours a day, giving his first recital at the age of five and winning his first international prize at 15. Vengerov said: “My mother would get home at 8pm, cook dinner and then teach me the violin until four in the morning. As a four-year-old boy it was torture. But I became a violinist within two years.”

On a wider scale, Gladwell says that Asians excel at mathematics because their culture demands it. If other countries schooled their children as rigorously, they would produce similar results.

Being in the right time and place is also crucial, as the possibility of success comes from “the particular opportunities that our place in history presents us with”.

Such “demographic luck” can be critical in business. According to Gladwell, being born in the 1830s or 1930s benefited future entrepreneurs.

In those decades, a combination of an economic boom and low birth rates led to smaller class sizes and companies on the lookout for talent.

Frank Furedi, professor of sociology at the University of Kent, said those who put in many hours of practice effectively make their own luck: “They work relentlessly hard, which means when their luck comes they are ready for it.”

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article4969415.ece
 
Hollywood loves a good success story
Malcolm Gladwell's nonfiction book citing a '10,000 hour' rule strikes a starry chord.
December 23, 2008|Rachel Abramowitz


Why is everyone in Hollywood talking about 10,000 hours?

That's the amount of time that author Malcolm Gladwell says it takes for a talented person to master a cognitively complex skill -- like becoming a world-class pianist or an Olympic athlete -- in his new book, "Outliers: The Story of Success."

According to Gladwell, it's the number of hours that separates the merely good from the really great, and it's easy to see why the "10,000 hour" idea has caught fire in an industry like Hollywood, which is only partly a meritocracy, where riches rain down just as often on the lucky and the well-connected as on the talented. For many who have found success in the entertainment industry, Gladwell's theory offers a nifty, concrete explanation to the question of "Why me? Why have I climbed to the top of my field when so many others have failed?"

"Outliers" is the No. 1 New York Times bestseller at the moment, but still, reading books that can't be made into movies isn't Hollywood's usual pastime. Yet the book seems to have become the topic of conversation around town, during holiday parties and Oscar soirees. "Revolutionary Road" director Sam Mendes recently mentioned it during an interview. Will Smith, currently starring in "Seven Pounds," didn't mention "Outliers" by name during a recent chat with the Los Angeles Times, but he described a small movie he'd seen as featuring thespians who "I could tell . . . weren't world-class actors with 10,000 hours of experience."

And then there was a long conversation earlier this month with Dustin Hoffman over a burger at the Casa del Mar hotel in Santa Monica. Hoffman, in the midst of promoting his upcoming movie "Last Chance Harvey," brought up the book because his wife was reading it and giving him the summary.

Many will agree that the 71-year-old Hoffman is one of the greatest living actors, with two Oscars and seven nominations and memorable performances in films including "The Graduate," "Midnight Cowboy," "Kramer vs. Kramer" and "Rain Man."

He's an acting obsessive, cheerfully admitting that his neurotic character in "Tootsie" (who needs to know the precise variety of the tomato he's supposed to be in a commercial) is a satire of his own proclivities.

Hoffman famously did not land his career-making role in "The Graduate" until he was almost 30 years old. He spent the previous 10 years (the amount of time Gladwell says it takes to accumulate the 10,000 hours) struggling to make it in theater and film in New York City, but most of that period he actually wasn't working as an actor. "I know I've said it a million times, but it's not the worst thing in the world to be unemployed, because a writer can write, a painter can paint, but an actor can't act without a job. That's what's painful, you've got to have the job," says Hoffman.

When asked if 10 years primarily waiting tables or doing temp jobs counts in the quest for 10,000 hours, Gladwell, reached by phone, explains: "The question is not at what point you're capable of doing your job. The question is at what point you've mastered it."

Gladwell notes that "there is a raging debate among psychologists whether there is such a thing as innate talent. I'm on the side that says there really isn't. If it does exist, it plays a small role. I'm much more convinced of the contribution of practice and effort to make excellence." Before making "The Graduate," "Dustin may not have been acting, but he was thinking about acting. He was studying. He was engaging mentally, emotionally, psychologically in the difficult art of assuming a character."

Gladwell isn't suggesting that after 10,000 hours of practice, any contestant on "American Idol" can be Kelly Clarkson. "You have to have a threshold level of aptitude," he says. "What is that aptitude? Is it just the desire to want to be a musician? Or is it some separate thing called physical ability? I don't know the answer to that question."

Gladwell also is a strong believer in success lining up with being at the right place in the right time. Hoffman (as well as his peers and his close friends from the time Gene Hackman and Robert Duvall) arrived in the movie business at the moment the studio system was imploding. Hollywood was finally willing to accept a certain measure of nontraditional casting, and the gritty naturalism of the '70s played to Hoffman's strengths as an actor.

Hoffman certainly possessed an almost maniacal desire to act. He describes the 10 lean years at the beginning of his career as "very desperate, very desperate, very desperate," full of jobs like directing community theater in Fargo, N.D., and escapades like trying to rent out his vacationing roommate's room for the night to a passel of drunken sailors. And there were almost daily doses of rejection and humiliation, of auditions gone to naught. "There is so much talent that can't survive that," says Hoffman. "They quit. It's just a candle that burns out."

http://articles.latimes.com/2008/dec/23/entertainment/et-gladwell23
 
The 10,000-Hour Lie: Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers
By Chris Anthony


Here's a lie you've probably heard recently: Being great at something takes 10,000 hours of practice.

This was recently popularized by Malcolm Gladwell in Outliers, and first proposed in the early 1990s by Dr. K. Anders Ericsson, a psychology professor at Florida State University, and his colleagues. (Here's an excerpt from his Expert Performance and Deliberate Practice that showcases the number.) I admit that I haven't read Gladwell's newest book and don't have access to Ericsson's original article, but the theory has been further distributed around the web by pretty much everyone with a productivity or personal-development blog, and so it's hardly escaped my notice.

Ericsson approached musicians (accounts vary as to which; most bloggers just say "musicians", a few say "violinists" - which is what I assume Gladwell says - and Ericsson himself uses "pianists" in the excerpt above), whom he placed into three categories - greater experts, lesser experts, and serious amateurs. Greater experts, he and his colleagues found, had amassed 10,000 hours of deliberate practice by age 20; lesser experts had amassed 5,000 hours; and serious amateurs had amassed 2,000 hours. The excerpt above implies that the categorization of the musicians was done before the hours worked were counted, so that the numbers correlate with the categories, rather than defining them.

There are two catches here. The first, which is, at least to me, self-evident, is that these numbers are arbitrary (as is the definition of "greater expert"!). 10,000 hours isn't a magic number; it's an arbitrary marking-point. As such, it's also not a bottom limit, and we don't know what the bottom limit is. Think about it this way: running a mile in three minutes will certainly make you the fastest runner in the world, but it's far beyond the time you need to be a world-class runner (the current record, set by Hicham El Guerrouj almost 10 years ago, is 3:43.13).

The second, which is less evident - and, naturally, completely ignored both by Gladwell and by the bloggers who want a both nice round number to draw in readers (according to recent studies which I don't have available to link, readers are more likely to read articles with numbers in the title) and a nicely large number to complement the current vogue of "you can only be good at one thing, ever" - is that just because you're an "expert" doesn't mean you're actually better than laypeople at what you do! I'll let Ericsson himself tell you (from the excerpt linked above):

"However, recent studies show that there are, at least, some domains where "experts" perform no better then less trained individuals (cf. outcomes of therapy by clinical psychologists, Dawes, 1994) and that sometimes experts' decisions are no more accurate than beginners' decisions and simple decision aids (Camerer & Johnson, 1991; Bolger & Wright, 1992). ...

Hence, continued improvements (changes) in achievement are not automatic consequences of more experience and in those domains where performance consistently increases aspiring experts seek out particular kinds of experience, that is deliberate practice (Ericsson, Krampe & Tesch-Römer, 1993)-activities designed, typically by a teacher, for the sole purpose of effectively improving specific aspects of an individual's performance."

In fact, the "10,000 hours = expert" "rule" is a cheat. It's designed to make you feel better about getting good at what you want to get good at - or about dropping it like a hot potato. We look at the thousands (there really are - go check sometime) of blog posts talking about how 10,000 hours of Deliberate Practice will make you an expert, and we get the idea that there's a concrete goal that we can aim for, that we can count down the hours until we're Experts, that until then we can procrastinate about doing something because, well, we only have 9500 hours, and we need those last 500 to be a real expert. It's also great for the "put all your eggs in one basket" model of development that's in vogue right now; it's easy to say "you can't possibly get Deliberate Practice in on so many things at the same time, whittle it down to just one and set aside the rest because you'll never be able to get those hours in".

(Be wary of that business model, by the way: you keep reading these blogs because they're full of stuff that makes you feel motivated, but they're also full of the generally-unnoticed implication that you'll never be good enough. So you keep coming back for more motivation, and get a secret helping of demotivation, which makes you want more motivation...)

Here's the real truth: Yes, excellence takes hard work. No, there's no magic number.

The "10,000 hours" theory is much better when it's taken as a parable. Person 1 is the best at what she does. Person 2 works half as hard or long and is half as good. Person 3 works half as hard as that and is a quarter as good as person 1. That's all. The more you work - the harder you work - the better you'll be. Moreover (following Ericsson's other postulate above, about Deliberate Practice), it has to be the right kind of work. In the words of Cornelius Robinson, keep moving forward. If you're an artist, set aside the watercolors and start using acrylics. If you're a fiction writer, try a magazine article instead. Keep doing things that advance your craft instead of just doing the same thing over and over again, and slowly but surely, you'll get better.

And please - do as much as you can in the time that you have without exhausting yourself. Don't just limit yourself to one thing. Just like there's a reason for expressions like "spreading yourself too thin", there's also a reason for expressions like "one-trick pony". Diversify. It might take you a little longer to get excellent at everything you want to, but having the breadth of expertise will be worth it in the end.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1425881/the_10000hour_lie_malcolm_gladwells.html
 
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bgol creating future porn stars 10k hours of watching porn for a lot on hear

where is the audio for the book
I will catch up then
 
Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior
Can a regimen of no playdates, no TV, no computer games and hours of music practice create happy kids? And what happens when they fight back?
By AMY CHUA


A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereotypically successful kids. They wonder what these parents do to produce so many math whizzes and music prodigies, what it's like inside the family, and whether they could do it too. Well, I can tell them, because I've done it. Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:

• attend a sleepover

• have a playdate

• be in a school play

• complain about not being in a school play

• watch TV or play computer games

• choose their own extracurricular activities

• get any grade less than an A

• not be the No. 1 student in every subject except gym and drama

• play any instrument other than the piano or violin

• not play the piano or violin.

I'm using the term "Chinese mother" loosely. I know some Korean, Indian, Jamaican, Irish and Ghanaian parents who qualify too. Conversely, I know some mothers of Chinese heritage, almost always born in the West, who are not Chinese mothers, by choice or otherwise. I'm also using the term "Western parents" loosely. Western parents come in all varieties.

All the same, even when Western parents think they're being strict, they usually don't come close to being Chinese mothers. For example, my Western friends who consider themselves strict make their children practice their instruments 30 minutes every day. An hour at most. For a Chinese mother, the first hour is the easy part. It's hours two and three that get tough.

Despite our squeamishness about cultural stereotypes, there are tons of studies out there showing marked and quantifiable differences between Chinese and Westerners when it comes to parenting. In one study of 50 Western American mothers and 48 Chinese immigrant mothers, almost 70% of the Western mothers said either that "stressing academic success is not good for children" or that "parents need to foster the idea that learning is fun." By contrast, roughly 0% of the Chinese mothers felt the same way. Instead, the vast majority of the Chinese mothers said that they believe their children can be "the best" students, that "academic achievement reflects successful parenting," and that if children did not excel at school then there was "a problem" and parents "were not doing their job." Other studies indicate that compared to Western parents, Chinese parents spend approximately 10 times as long every day drilling academic activities with their children. By contrast, Western kids are more likely to participate in sports teams.

What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up. But if done properly, the Chinese strategy produces a virtuous circle. Tenacious practice, practice, practice is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated in America. Once a child starts to excel at something—whether it's math, piano, pitching or ballet—he or she gets praise, admiration and satisfaction. This builds confidence and makes the once not-fun activity fun. This in turn makes it easier for the parent to get the child to work even more.

Chinese parents can get away with things that Western parents can't. Once when I was young—maybe more than once—when I was extremely disrespectful to my mother, my father angrily called me "garbage" in our native Hokkien dialect. It worked really well. I felt terrible and deeply ashamed of what I had done. But it didn't damage my self-esteem or anything like that. I knew exactly how highly he thought of me. I didn't actually think I was worthless or feel like a piece of garbage.

As an adult, I once did the same thing to Sophia, calling her garbage in English when she acted extremely disrespectfully toward me. When I mentioned that I had done this at a dinner party, I was immediately ostracized. One guest named Marcy got so upset she broke down in tears and had to leave early. My friend Susan, the host, tried to rehabilitate me with the remaining guests.

The fact is that Chinese parents can do things that would seem unimaginable—even legally actionable—to Westerners. Chinese mothers can say to their daughters, "Hey fatty—lose some weight." By contrast, Western parents have to tiptoe around the issue, talking in terms of "health" and never ever mentioning the f-word, and their kids still end up in therapy for eating disorders and negative self-image. (I also once heard a Western father toast his adult daughter by calling her "beautiful and incredibly competent." She later told me that made her feel like garbage.)

Chinese parents can order their kids to get straight As. Western parents can only ask their kids to try their best. Chinese parents can say, "You're lazy. All your classmates are getting ahead of you." By contrast, Western parents have to struggle with their own conflicted feelings about achievement, and try to persuade themselves that they're not disappointed about how their kids turned out.

I've thought long and hard about how Chinese parents can get away with what they do. I think there are three big differences between the Chinese and Western parental mind-sets.

First, I've noticed that Western parents are extremely anxious about their children's self-esteem. They worry about how their children will feel if they fail at something, and they constantly try to reassure their children about how good they are notwithstanding a mediocre performance on a test or at a recital. In other words, Western parents are concerned about their children's psyches. Chinese parents aren't. They assume strength, not fragility, and as a result they behave very differently.

For example, if a child comes home with an A-minus on a test, a Western parent will most likely praise the child. The Chinese mother will gasp in horror and ask what went wrong. If the child comes home with a B on the test, some Western parents will still praise the child. Other Western parents will sit their child down and express disapproval, but they will be careful not to make their child feel inadequate or insecure, and they will not call their child "stupid," "worthless" or "a disgrace." Privately, the Western parents may worry that their child does not test well or have aptitude in the subject or that there is something wrong with the curriculum and possibly the whole school. If the child's grades do not improve, they may eventually schedule a meeting with the school principal to challenge the way the subject is being taught or to call into question the teacher's credentials.

If a Chinese child gets a B—which would never happen—there would first be a screaming, hair-tearing explosion. The devastated Chinese mother would then get dozens, maybe hundreds of practice tests and work through them with her child for as long as it takes to get the grade up to an A.

Chinese parents demand perfect grades because they believe that their child can get them. If their child doesn't get them, the Chinese parent assumes it's because the child didn't work hard enough. That's why the solution to substandard performance is always to excoriate, punish and shame the child. The Chinese parent believes that their child will be strong enough to take the shaming and to improve from it. (And when Chinese kids do excel, there is plenty of ego-inflating parental praise lavished in the privacy of the home.)

Second, Chinese parents believe that their kids owe them everything. The reason for this is a little unclear, but it's probably a combination of Confucian filial piety and the fact that the parents have sacrificed and done so much for their children. (And it's true that Chinese mothers get in the trenches, putting in long grueling hours personally tutoring, training, interrogating and spying on their kids.) Anyway, the understanding is that Chinese children must spend their lives repaying their parents by obeying them and making them proud.

By contrast, I don't think most Westerners have the same view of children being permanently indebted to their parents. My husband, Jed, actually has the opposite view. "Children don't choose their parents," he once said to me. "They don't even choose to be born. It's parents who foist life on their kids, so it's the parents' responsibility to provide for them. Kids don't owe their parents anything. Their duty will be to their own kids." This strikes me as a terrible deal for the Western parent.

Third, Chinese parents believe that they know what is best for their children and therefore override all of their children's own desires and preferences. That's why Chinese daughters can't have boyfriends in high school and why Chinese kids can't go to sleepaway camp. It's also why no Chinese kid would ever dare say to their mother, "I got a part in the school play! I'm Villager Number Six. I'll have to stay after school for rehearsal every day from 3:00 to 7:00, and I'll also need a ride on weekends." God help any Chinese kid who tried that one.

Don't get me wrong: It's not that Chinese parents don't care about their children. Just the opposite. They would give up anything for their children. It's just an entirely different parenting model.

Here's a story in favor of coercion, Chinese-style. Lulu was about 7, still playing two instruments, and working on a piano piece called "The Little White Donkey" by the French composer Jacques Ibert. The piece is really cute—you can just imagine a little donkey ambling along a country road with its master—but it's also incredibly difficult for young players because the two hands have to keep schizophrenically different rhythms.

Lulu couldn't do it. We worked on it nonstop for a week, drilling each of her hands separately, over and over. But whenever we tried putting the hands together, one always morphed into the other, and everything fell apart. Finally, the day before her lesson, Lulu announced in exasperation that she was giving up and stomped off.

"Get back to the piano now," I ordered.

"You can't make me."

"Oh yes, I can."

Back at the piano, Lulu made me pay. She punched, thrashed and kicked. She grabbed the music score and tore it to shreds. I taped the score back together and encased it in a plastic shield so that it could never be destroyed again. Then I hauled Lulu's dollhouse to the car and told her I'd donate it to the Salvation Army piece by piece if she didn't have "The Little White Donkey" perfect by the next day. When Lulu said, "I thought you were going to the Salvation Army, why are you still here?" I threatened her with no lunch, no dinner, no Christmas or Hanukkah presents, no birthday parties for two, three, four years. When she still kept playing it wrong, I told her she was purposely working herself into a frenzy because she was secretly afraid she couldn't do it. I told her to stop being lazy, cowardly, self-indulgent and pathetic.

Jed took me aside. He told me to stop insulting Lulu—which I wasn't even doing, I was just motivating her—and that he didn't think threatening Lulu was helpful. Also, he said, maybe Lulu really just couldn't do the technique—perhaps she didn't have the coordination yet—had I considered that possibility?

"You just don't believe in her," I accused.

"That's ridiculous," Jed said scornfully. "Of course I do."

"Sophia could play the piece when she was this age."

"But Lulu and Sophia are different people," Jed pointed out.

"Oh no, not this," I said, rolling my eyes. "Everyone is special in their special own way," I mimicked sarcastically. "Even losers are special in their own special way. Well don't worry, you don't have to lift a finger. I'm willing to put in as long as it takes, and I'm happy to be the one hated. And you can be the one they adore because you make them pancakes and take them to Yankees games."

I rolled up my sleeves and went back to Lulu. I used every weapon and tactic I could think of. We worked right through dinner into the night, and I wouldn't let Lulu get up, not for water, not even to go to the bathroom. The house became a war zone, and I lost my voice yelling, but still there seemed to be only negative progress, and even I began to have doubts.

Then, out of the blue, Lulu did it. Her hands suddenly came together—her right and left hands each doing their own imperturbable thing—just like that.

Lulu realized it the same time I did. I held my breath. She tried it tentatively again. Then she played it more confidently and faster, and still the rhythm held. A moment later, she was beaming.

"Mommy, look—it's easy!" After that, she wanted to play the piece over and over and wouldn't leave the piano. That night, she came to sleep in my bed, and we snuggled and hugged, cracking each other up. When she performed "The Little White Donkey" at a recital a few weeks later, parents came up to me and said, "What a perfect piece for Lulu—it's so spunky and so her."

Even Jed gave me credit for that one. Western parents worry a lot about their children's self-esteem. But as a parent, one of the worst things you can do for your child's self-esteem is to let them give up. On the flip side, there's nothing better for building confidence than learning you can do something you thought you couldn't.

There are all these new books out there portraying Asian mothers as scheming, callous, overdriven people indifferent to their kids' true interests. For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it's a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what's best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that.

Western parents try to respect their children's individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they're capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits and inner confidence that no one can ever take away.

—Amy Chua is a professor at Yale Law School and author of "Day of Empire" and "World on Fire: How Exporting Free Market Democracy Breeds Ethnic Hatred and Global Instability." This essay is excerpted from "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" by Amy Chua, to be published Tuesday by the Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Copyright © 2011 by Amy Chua.

http://www.bgol.us/board/showthread.php?p=9355956
 
How to become a television expert in less than four years?

The TV set vs. black families: African Americans must quit their terrible 7-hour-a-day diet
By Thomas Chatterton Williams
Thursday, April 21, 2011



African-American television consumption adds up to more than 50 hours of television each week.

In the 1960 essay, "Fifth Avenue, Uptown," James Baldwin noted a form of greeting he would often hear in Harlem: "'How're you making it?' one may ask," he wrote. " 'Oh, I'm TV-ing it,'" would be the reply.

At that time, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was still a dream, educational and work opportunities were often pitiful, racism was rampant, and for a significant number of black youth and unemployed adults, television was about the best and safest method of escape available to them - the alternatives being, all too often, the corner, the bottle, the needle, the prison or the grave.

Fast-forward 50 years and a whole lot of socioeconomic progress in black America. Nielsen, the ratings agency, has released its latest State of the Media report showing national television-watching trends in the year 2010. The numbers are alarming. Blacks ages 18 to 49, the data show, have been TV-ing it at a record-setting pace - on average clocking in a whopping 7 hours and 12 minutes a day.

That's more than two hours per day above the national rate of 5 hours and 11 minutes, and just shy of four hours per day more than the amount of TV watched by Asian-Americans, who clock in a relatively meager 3 hours and 14 minutes a day.

Do the math, and African-American television consumption adds up to more than 50 hours of television every single week and more than 200 hours each month. To put that kind of TV-watching investment in perspective, in order to make bonus, corporate attorneys are expected to bill a measly 170 hours in a month. That means that the typical African-American is on partner track . . . in television time!

You hear lots of talk about the vital importance of black moms and dads taking more responsibility for bringing their kids up right. I cannot imagine a better place to start.

To be sure, television watching is far too high across the board in this country. We are, as the media theorist Neil Postman pointed out in 1985, "amusing ourselves to death." The ability to think critically and with nuance and sophistication, Postman argues, is grossly undermined by the passive nature that is part and parcel of the television-viewing experience. Reading, by way of contrast, is inherently interactive and dialectical, requiring an intense amount of mental engagement.

What is even more decisive, though, is the nature of what's on the tube: Because television is programmed according to ratings, its content is dictated overwhelmingly by its commercial appeal, and not by the quality of the ideas it presents. That's why for Postman, television, as we consume it, does not and cannot "satisfy the conditions for honest intellectual involvement."

This isn't trivial. While so many of us in the black community decry the state of our still-separate-and-unequal public educational system, which doubtless needs improving, and while we blame overcrowded classrooms or uninspired teachers for failing to prepare a large quantity of our children for competitive college careers, we tend to overlook the reality that there are very simple - and painfully obvious - things we can do in our own homes to improve our children's chances for success.

The national African-American high school graduation rate hovers somewhere around 50%. What if for two of those seven hours of daily television consumption, more black parents chose to read stories to their children at night? What if for two of those seven hours per day, more African-American students chose to study vocabulary or work through extra arithmetic problems?

That would only be bringing black America's television viewing habits in line with the national average. What if the number were chiseled down to rival that of the typical Asian household? Is that so terribly far-fetched a goal?

It is an issue of national importance when a significant amount of the population - and not just blacks - squanders this much of its waking day. There ought to be a nationwide public awareness campaign on a par with New York City's bold recent effort against sugary drinks to bring awareness to the problem. For the black community, this ought to be matter of pressing concern - especially since it is wholly within our own control.

First Lady Michelle Obama's "Let's Move" campaign, directed at fighting childhood obesity, is a good start. But this is about mental aptitude and long-term fulfillment, not only physical health.

As Baldwin knew too well, "People who cling to their illusions find it difficult if not impossible to learn anything worth learning: A people under the necessity of creating themselves must examine everything, and soak up learning the way the roots of a tree soak up water."

Let's keep it all the way real - we can't afford to be TV-ing it in 2011.

Williams is the author of "Losing My Cool: Love, Literature and a Black Man's Escape from the Crowd," to be published in paperback next Tuesday.

http://www.bgol.us/board/showthread.php?t=582283
 
i like the 10,000 hr. rule because it keeps you practicing over a long term which is what really matters..it gives you something to aim for
 
I guess they sleep with the tv on
I know many people who watch 7 hours of TV in a day, especially in the groups I named. Plus every person who watches, say, 5 hours is offset by someone who watches nine. I have no idea why it's so unfathomable to you. There's not really much more I can say. :dunno:
 
This is true, work with a guy from India that is using this method, he will probably become one of the Largest IT companies in the US in about 2 years!!!!!!
 
Ditch the 10,000 hour rule!
Why Malcolm Gladwell’s famous advice falls short

Contrary to what the bestselling author would tell you, obsessive practice isn't the key to success. Here's why
PETER C. BROWN, HENRY L. ROEDIGER III AND MARK A. MCDANIEL
SUNDAY, APR 20, 2014


Excerpted from "Make It Stick: The Science of Successful Learning"

Here’s a study that may surprise you. A group of eight-year-olds practiced tossing beanbags into buckets in gym class. Half of the kids tossed into a bucket three feet away. The other half mixed it up by tossing into buckets two feet and four feet away. After twelve weeks of this they were all tested on tossing into a three-foot bucket. The kids who did the best by far were those who’d practiced on two- and four-foot buckets but never on three-foot buckets.

Why is this? We will come back to the beanbags, but first a little insight into a widely held myth about how we learn.

The Myth of Massed Practice​
Most of us believe that learning is better when you go at something with single-minded purpose: the practice-practice-practice that’s supposed to burn a skill into memory. Faith in focused, repetitive practice of one thing at a time until we’ve got it nailed is pervasive among classroom teachers, athletes, corporate trainers, and students. Researchers call this kind of practice “massed,” and our faith rests in large part on the simple fact that when we do it, we can see it making a difference. Nevertheless, despite what our eyes tell us, this faith is misplaced.

If learning can be defined as picking up new knowledge or skills and being able to apply them later, then how quickly you pick something up is only part of the story. Is it still there when you need to use it out in the everyday world? While practicing is vital to learning and memory, studies have shown that practice is far more effective when it’s broken into separate periods of training that are spaced out. The rapid gains produced by massed practice are often evident, but the rapid forgetting that follows is not. Practice that’s spaced out, interleaved with other learning, and varied produces better mastery, longer retention, and more versatility. But these benefits come at a price: when practice is spaced, interleaved, and varied, it requires more effort. You feel the increased effort, but not the benefits the effort produces. Learning feels slower from this kind of practice, and you don’t get the rapid improvements and affirmations you’re accustomed to seeing from massed practice. Even in studies where the participants have shown superior results from spaced learning, they don’t perceive the improvement; they believe they learned better on the material where practice was massed.

Almost everywhere you look, you find examples of massed practice: colleges that offer concentration in a single subject with the promise of fast learning, continuing education seminars for professionals where training is condensed into a single weekend. Cramming for exams is a form of massed practice. It feels like a productive strategy, and it may get you through the next day’s midterm, but most of the material will be long forgotten by the time you sit down for the final. Spacing out your practice feels less productive for the very reason that some forgetting has set in and you’ve got to work harder to recall the concepts. It doesn’t feel like you’re on top of it. What you don’t sense in the moment is that this added effort is making the learning stronger.

Spaced Practice​
The benefits of spacing out practice sessions are long established, but for a vivid example consider this study of thirty-eight surgical residents. They took a series of four short lessons in microsurgery: how to reattach tiny vessels. Each lesson included some instruction followed by some practice. Half the docs completed all four lessons in a single day, which is the normal in-service schedule. The others completed the same four lessons but with a week’s interval between them.

In a test given a month after their last session, those whose lessons had been spaced a week apart outperformed their colleagues in all areas—elapsed time to complete a surgery, number of hand movements, and success at reattaching the severed, pulsating aortas of live rats. The difference in performance between the two groups was impressive. The residents who had taken all four sessions in a single day not only scored lower on all measures, but 16 percent of them damaged the rats’ vessels beyond repair and were unable to complete their surgeries.

Why is spaced practice more effective than massed practice? It appears that embedding new learning in long-term memory requires a process of consolidation, in which memory traces (the brain’s representations of the new learning) are strengthened, given meaning, and connected to prior knowledge—a pro cess that unfolds over hours and may take several days. Rapid fire practice leans on short-term memory. Durable learning, however, requires time for mental rehearsal and the other processes of consolidation. Hence, spaced practice works better. The increased effort required to retrieve the learning after a little forgetting has the effect of retriggering consolidation, further strengthening memory.

Interleaved Practice​
Interleaving the practice of two or more subjects or skills is also a more potent alternative to massed practice, and here’s a quick example of that. Two groups of college students were taught how to find the volumes of four obscure geometric solids (wedge, spheroid, spherical cone, and half cone). One group then worked a set of practice problems that were clustered by problem type (practice four problems for computing the volume of a wedge, then four problems for a spheroid, etc.). The other group worked the same practice problems, but the sequence was mixed (interleaved) rather than clustered by type of problem. Given what we’ve already presented, the results may not surprise you. During practice, the students who worked the problems in clusters (that is, massed) averaged 89 percent correct, compared to only 60 percent for those who worked the problems in a mixed sequence. But in the final test a week later, the students who had practiced solving problems clustered by type averaged only 20 percent correct, while the students whose practice was interleaved averaged 63 percent. The mixing of problem types, which boosted final test per for mance by a remarkable 215 percent, actually impeded performance during initial learning.

Now, suppose you’re a trainer in a company trying to teach employees a complicated new process that involves ten procedures. The typical way of doing this is to train up in procedure 1, repeating it many times until the trainees really seem to have it down cold. Then you go to procedure 2, you do many repetitions of 2, you get that down, and so on. That appears to produce fast learning. What would interleaved practice look like? You practice procedure 1 just a few times, then switch to procedure 4, then switch to 3, then to 7, and so on.

The learning from interleaved practice feels slower than learning from massed practice. Teachers and students sense the difference. They can see that their grasp of each element is coming more slowly, and the compensating long-term advantage is not apparent to them. As a result, interleaving is unpopular and seldom used. Teachers dislike it because it feels sluggish. Students find it confusing: they’re just starting to get a handle on new material and don’t feel on top of it yet when they are forced to switch. But the research shows unequivocally that mastery and long-term retention are much better if you interleave practice than if you mass it.

Varied Practice​
Okay, what about the beanbag study where the kids who did best had never practiced the three-foot toss that the other kids had only practiced?

The beanbag study focused on mastery of motor skills, but much evidence has shown that the underlying principle applies to cognitive learning as well. The basic idea is that varied practice—like tossing your beanbags into baskets at mixed distances—improves your ability to transfer learning from one situation and apply it successfully to another. You develop a broader understanding of the relationships between different conditions and the movements required to succeed in them; you discern context better and develop a more flexible “movement vocabulary”—different movements for different situations. Whether the scope of variable training (e.g., the two- and four-foot tosses) must encompass the particular task (the three-foot toss) is subject for further study.

The evidence favoring variable training has been supported by recent neuroimaging studies that suggest that different kinds of practice engage different parts of the brain. The learning of motor skills from varied practice, which is more cognitively challenging than massed practice, appears to be consolidated in an area of the brain associated with the more difficult process of learning higher-order motor skills. The learning of motor skills from massed practice, on the other hand, appears to be consolidated in a different area of the brain that is used for learning more cognitively simple and less challenging motor skills. The inference is that learning gained through the less challenging, massed form of practice is encoded in a simpler or comparatively impoverished representation than the learning gained from the varied and more challenging practice which demands more brain power and encodes the learning in a more flexible representation that can be applied more broadly.

These Principles Are Broadly Applicable​
College football might seem an incongruous place to look for a learning model, but a conversation with Coach Vince Dooley about the University of Georgia’s practice regime provides an intriguing case.

Dooley is authoritative on the subject. As head coach of Bulldogs football from 1964–1988, he piled up an astonishing 201 wins with only 77 losses and 10 tied games, winning six conference titles and a national championship. He went on to serve as the university’s athletic director, where he built one of the most impressive athletics programs in the country.

We asked Coach Dooley how players go about mastering all the complexities of the game. His theories of coaching and training revolve around the weekly cycle of one Saturday game to the next. In that short period there’s a lot to learn: studying the opposition’s type of game in the classroom, discussing offensive and defensive strategies for opposing it, taking the discussion onto the playing field, breaking the strategies down to the movements of individual positions and trying them out, knitting the parts into a whole, and then repeating the moves until they run like clockwork.

While all this is going on, the players must also keep their fundamental skills in top form: blocking, tackling, catching the ball, bringing the ball in, carrying the ball. Dooley believes that (1) you have to keep practicing the fundamentals from time to time, forever, so you keep them sharp, otherwise you’re cooked, but (2) you need to change it up in practice because too much repetition is boring. The position coaches work with players individually on specific skills and then on how they’re playing their positions during team practice.

What else? There’s practicing the kicking game. There’s the matter of each player’s mastery of the playbook. And there are the special plays from the team’s repertoire that often make the difference between winning and losing. In Dooley’s narrative, the special plays stand as exemplars of spaced learning: they’re practiced only on Thursdays, so there’s always a week between sessions, and the plays are run in a varied sequence.

With all this to be done, it’s not surprising that a critical aspect of the team’s success is a very specific daily and weekly schedule that interleaves the elements of individual and team practice. The start of every day’s practice is strictly focused on the fundamentals of each player’s position. Next, players practice in small groups, working on maneuvers involving several positions. These parts are gradually brought together and run as a team. Play is speeded up and slowed down, rehearsed mentally as well as physically. By midweek the team is running the plays in real time, full speed.

“You’re coming at it fast, and you’ve got to react fast,” Dooley said. “But as you get closer to game time, you slow it down again. Now it’s a kind of rehearsal without physical contact. The play basically starts out the same each time, but then what the opponent does changes it. So you’ve got to be able to adjust to that. You start into the motion and say, ‘If they react like this, then this is what you would do.’ You practice adjustments. If you do it enough times in different situations, then you’re able to do it pretty well in whatever comes up on the field.”

How does a player get on top of his playbook? He takes it home and goes over the plays in his mind. He may walk through them. Everything in practice can’t be physically strenuous, Dooley said, or you’d wear yourself out, “so if the play calls for you to step this way and then go the other way, you can rehearse that in your mind, maybe just lean your body as if to go that way. And then if something happens where you have to adjust, you can do that mentally. By reading the playbook, rehearsing it in your mind, maybe taking a step or two to walk through it, you simulate something happening. So that kind of rehearsal is added to what you get in the classroom and on the field.”

The final quarterback meetings are held on Saturday morning, reviewing the game plan and running through it mentally. The offensive coaches can make all the plans they want to about the hypothetical game, but once play gets under way, the execution rests in the hands of the quarterback.

For Coach Dooley’s team, mastery arrives from a disciplined regimen of spaced, interleaved, and varied practice. The seasoned quarterback going into Saturday’s game— mentally running through the plays, the reactions, the adjustments— is doing the same thing as the seasoned cop preparing to make a traffic stop and the neurosurgeon who’s rehearsing what’s about to unfold in the operating room.
 
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it was about 3:30 AM. I lay in bed, slowly fading away when I hear my cell ring. It was Kobe. I nervously picked up.

"Hey, uhh Rob, I hope I'm not disturbing anything right?"

"Uhh no, what's up Kob?"

"Just wondering if you could just help me out with some conditioning work, that's all."

I checked my clock. 4:15 AM.

"Yeah sure, I'll see you in the facility in a bit."

It took me about twenty minutes to get my gear and out of the hotel. When I arrived and opened the room to the main practice floor I saw Kobe. Alone. He was drenched in sweat as if he had just taken a swim. It wasn't even 5AM.

...

This next part I remember very vividly. All the Team USA players were there, feeling good for the first scrimmage. LeBron was talking to Carmelo if I remember correctly and Coach Krzyzewski was trying to explain something to Kevin Durant. On the right side of the practice facility was Kobe by himself shooting jumpers. And this is how our next conversation went -- I went over to him, patted him on the back and said, "Good work this morning."

"Huh?"

"Like, the conditioning. Good work."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks Rob. I really appreciate it."

"So when did you finish?"

"Finish what?"

"Getting your shots up. What time did you leave the facility?"

"Oh just now. I wanted 800 makes so yeah, just now."
 
It's just a permission slip. Your giving yourself permission to be successful based on a linear mindset. You can know it without the 10000 hours but your conscious beliefs get in the way. This is how idiot savants get so good so fast they don't have all the conscious hang ups us "normal" people have.
 
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