As a kid, I said "I don't know" when I didn't know the answer to a question, or when someone asked me to make a poorly defined prediction. Or I'd give a long answer full of qualifications. I quickly learned that although these answers were true, they really irritated people.
"I want to say true things, but apparently other people want to hear lies," I thought to myself. But I now know that it's more nuanced than that. Typical people ("non-geeks") do care about truth when it directly relates to what they're interested in: usually social status and mating, and if they're unfortunate, survival. Generally, they're not interested in more abstract subjects.
I interpreted people way too literally. If they talked or asked about X, I assumed they were curious about X. I didn't grasp that small talk is about entertainment and insecurity: the speakers reassure each other of their companionship; gauge each other's abilities, motivations, and desires; signal tribal affiliation; share gossip; and determine their places in the pecking order. It has nothing to do with X. X is just a pretence.
Even as I became conscious of this, I often acted the same way out of principle. Alas.
I now know that it's more nuanced than that.... X is just a pretence. [sic]
I think that it is even more nuanced than you propose. Often non-geeks are interested in the subject, but may not have sufficient interest or mental energy required for significant, structured thought into the subject. That is the kind of thought that geeks are accustomed to, but to non-geeks, that's what they do at work, not for pleasure (exceptions abound, though. For example, "non-geeks" often put careful thought into sports. Maybe they should be called "sports-geeks").
I regularly am asked questions about technical matters outside of my expertise. I try to draw some logic into the matter, break it down, and come up with a simple, reasonable, and probably accurate answer. If required, the asker is often intelligent enough to come up with a similar answer - or at least an equally plausible one. But they don't want to, so they ask me. And that's okay. If I don't want to think about, I'll tell them I don't know.
Yes, I was being imprecise by talking about "lack of interest". It's not only lack of interest per se; there are many reasons why someone might not think deeply about a subject. Lack of mental energy due to daily responsibilities is, I'm sure, quite common -- even for geeks.
And it's even more nuanced than that. Someone might be very interested, on an absolute scale, in some subject. But as long as he's even more interested in social reassurance, gossip, networking, status, and so on, he will prefer conversations that revolve around those instead. It's a matter of priority. Yeah, there's a latent physics geek in his brain, but when he asks you about next week's weather, his goal is imprecise small talk, not a discussion of turbulence models.
Economic realism would do more than just satisfy the nitpicking nerds, too. It would have real artistic value in the form of more verisimilitude in the setting and social atmosphere. I suspect it would affect even economically illiterate readers/viewers, if only on a subconscious level.
For example, something that bugged me about the re-imagined "Battlestar Galatica" series was that a group of only 38,000 survivors, apparently with no more automation technology than the real world, and under constant military threat, have a humming specialized economy. It includes arms manufacturing, ore processing, and even illegal niche industries like child prostitution. It can do these things in addition to maintaining and operating a fleet of sophisticated spacecraft, running intensive military operations, and feeding, clothing, and sheltering everyone. It usually feels more like a population of half a million than 38,000.
But some of the episodes feature shortages of labor or resources, and I like it when this happens. It seems more real. It's easier to empathize with the characters because I can better feel the bleakness of their situation and their challenges seem less contrived.
Those sorts of constraints are what sets hard sci-fi apart from space opera. And in the hands of a skilled writer, economic and technological constraints are powerful tools for storytelling. In Star Trek how does Starfleet know how many starships it can build!?
I second that. As I recall, it's a very enjoyable 700-page brain dump by someone who's really into his subject. The writing has a personal voice; there are lots of asides, dry wit, and typos that suggest restrained editing. The discussion is intelligent and often theoretical (and Bartle is not scared to use mathematical metaphors), but the tone is not academic.
Also, weapons on merchant ships can be taken by the pirates and used in future attacks. So unless the weapons allow the crew to consistently prevent hijackings, they're just increasing the pirates' revenue.
Yeah, and Wyoming spends more per capita on healthcare than New York. That doesn't necessarily mean it's better.
Higher-population states can better take advantage of economies of scale. Overhead costs can be spread across a larger number of taxpayers, and for this reason alone, higher-population states will often have lower per-capita costs.
Sorry, I wasn't denying that Texas spends more money per capita on textbooks. As you point out, it certainly does, according to the article.
I was worried that someone might read that Texas's per-capita spending is higher than California's and draw the conclusion that this is a big reason for why California's schools suck. I've heard a lot of people make arguments like that. "Small Country X spends so much more per capita on Y! (Implied: That must be why Y sucks for us, and our lives would be better if our country would spend more on it.)"
So I gave one reason why the returns California and Texas get from their respective textbook purchases are probably not proportional to their per-capita budgets.
