Nostalgic Reverie

My Friend Flugel: An Ode to an American Kestrel

bushwells — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 10:26:36 +0000

My Friend Flugel: An Ode to an American Kestrel

A conversation with a fellow raptor fan and Kevin's recent entry pertaining to the injured bald eagle congealed and triggered a few of my geriatric neurons, prompting the following nostalgic reverie about a former pet: an American kestrel.

I think I have mentioned that I grew up on a farm in east central Illinois, not far from Champaign-Urbana. Our yard consisted of an acre of land with a variety of mature trees - sugar, Norway and silver maples, American basswood, shingle oak, flowering crab apples, sweetgum and a few specimen trees - plus open areas where we set up the croquet set, the site of the infamous Attack of the Wolf Spider. A large grove (~ 2 acres) of black walnut trees abutted the western boundary of the yard. Southwest of the house was an orchard of apples and cherry trees. A pasture with two old barns lay to the east/southeast and an extensive vegetable garden was located immediately south of the house and bordered in part by a large aluminum sided building which housed my father's combines, tractors, trucks and the family car. All that was surrounded by corn and soybean fields on flat-as-a-pancake topography.

Our yard, the walnut grove, and the pastures and barns served as a fairly rich habitat for many birds, including crows and raptors. Red-tailed hawks were the most predominant raptor species on our farm. I imitated their whistle to get our chickens to drop down from the Golden Delicious apple tree in their yard and go into the hen house for the night. Screech owls were common, too. I loved hearing them at night.

One spring afternoon in 1967 or thereabouts, my mother noticed a commotion by the old garage - a separate small building with a dirt floor which we no longer used for the car. Our troop (pride?) of farm cats was entranced with something inside, but the cats were also reluctant to venture too close to whatever it was. So she went out to investigate, expecting to see a king snake since the reptiles liked the cool dirt floor during warm weather. Instead, she found a young sparrow hawk a.k.a. American kestrel. It had apparently swooped out of its nest in the big silver maple at the corner of the yard,but could not yet fly. I was in school (13 years old, I think) when this happened so I don't recall how she managed to get the little falcon in our old bird cage which once housed a parakeet, but she did it. When I got home, there was the falcon in our dining room!

Of course, I was entranced. The slate-gray feathers on his wings and the bar across his tail feathers identified the little falcon as a male. He loved raw chicken livers which he happily accepted from me. He was very calm and didn't freak out at all. My brother, when he was home that weekend (in grad school at that time), quickly constructed a large cage with a wood frame and enclosed with chicken wire. We moved the bird into that so he could be in a larger space outside but protected from the cats, especially the feral tom.

We named him Flugel (German for "wing" or "flight," I believe; that should be a "u" with an umlaut, but I've never been successful using the appropriate HTML on Movable Type). Out of a succession of from-the-wild-pets (at various times, I had two raccoons, a fox squirrel, a cottontail rabbit, and a crow as temporary pets), he was hands-down the coolest. He became very tame and learned quickly to "step up" on our hands. Once it was apparent that he could fly, he moved out of the cage and we gave him his freedom to come and go, but he remained semi-domesticated until he departed that autumn.

Flugel was a real "people bird." As noted in the Wikipedia entry on the American kestrel, these birds are popular for new falconers since they are easily tamed. That certainly proved to be the case for Flugel. As soon as I stepped outside, he plummeted from the top of the big maple near our back porch and would alight on my hand. I encouraged this by rewarding him with his very favorite treat - the aforementioned raw chicken liver. My father welded a high perch for him which we placed near our vegetable garden. Flugel dove to his perch whenever he saw us outside. He also was savvy about the cats. Even with the availability of chicken liver, he learned to hunt. He hovered like a feathered helicopter, looking for bugs and such in the grass. He caught monstrous grasshoppers and munched away on them while on his perch.

He had a thing for one of my friends or at least her hair. Becky had long bronzy-brown hair which she kept pulled back in a ponytail. Whenever she visited, Flugel swooped down and landed on her head. Of course, this freaked her out. I expect those little falcon talons didn't feel too good as they dug into her scalp. To dissuade the bird from landing on my friend's head, I had to come out pre-armed with chicken liver in hopes of luring him away. Sometimes that worked.

When fall rolled around that year, Flugel took off (American kestrels are migratory). However, the next spring, he came back with a mate. Although he no longer landed on our hands or came down to his perch, we knew it was him since he positioned himself in that big silver maple and called out "Feed me, feed me!" in kestrelese when he saw us. He and his mate returned for two or three years after that then no more. Presumably he met his demise or found another territory.

I had always liked hawks and owls as a kid - and still do - but Flugel really won my heart. Here's a photo of him. This is a digitally enhanced image of a very faded and out-of-focus original. I probably took the picture with a basic little Kodak camera since my father was none too keen on my using his monster of a Canon. Many thanks to ST, fellow raptor enthusiast and friend of a beautiful Harris hawk, for tarting up the photo of Flugel.

bushwells Thu, 03/06/2008 - 05:26

Tags

Habitats and Humanity

Nostalgic Reverie

We have an Osprey that almost every day (rain usually the only impedance) sits at the very top of a tree in front of my house overlooking a lake in the neighborhood. It is there on the same branch nearly every day when I get home from work or soon after. It's gotten to the point that when I arrive home I check the tree and usually if it is there I'll get a small screech (or chirp if you want). Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure it's been screeching away all day and I just happen to catch it during one of those times, but it is still pretty cool. I've become pretty attached to this bird.

Pics here

Holothuria-matic

bushwells — Tue, 23 Oct 2007 12:35:50 +0000

Holothuria-matic

I'll hop on the sea cucumbers bandwagon along with Sheril of The Intersection, Coturnix on Blog Around the Clock, and Benny of Zooillogix (be sure to check out the boffo cartoon in Benny's article).

In that netherworld between undergrad and graduate school, I thought to become a marine natural products chemist. One of the faculty of my undergrad alma mater's organic chemistry department had a keen interest in compounds from marine critters and plants. To this end, he and his coterie of post-docs and grad students (at least those with scuba diving certifications) traveled to locales like the Sea of Cortez (Baja California) and cruised on the western Caribbean (Belize and such) in search of samples. They carried along a trusty, near-indestructible gas chromatograph (not on their backs, but in a van or on the boat) to analyze specimens on the spot. It was my job, back in the lab on the land-locked prairie, to screen extracts of the collections against in vitro RNA and DNA polymerase activity as well as protein biosynthesis - a real bugger, that, if the RNA template wasn't perfect.

Among the specimens were sea cucumbers. Not only do sea cucumbers harbor the ability to regenerate, but they also make compounds called triterpene glycosides as chemical defense against predation and bacterial colonization. Triterpene glycosides have cytotoxic properties and might have utility against cancer. Not only did I test the extracts, I made them, too. I ground up up frozen sea cucumber along with organic solvents in an industrial strength blender. Let me tell you, those sea cucumbers were tough fuckers. Rovco's Super Bass-o-Matic '76 would never have survived the onslaught of a frozen Holothuria cocktail.

We did see some activity from the extracts, but with more interesting and active compounds from tunicates, the sea cuke extracts fell by the wayside. Additionally, like many natural products with a gazillion chiral centers (1), the triterpene glycosides are quite complex (see below), and perhaps not so amenable to scale-up in a pharma-industrial setting.

The image above is from Sea Cucumber:Food and Medicine by S. Dharmananda of the Institute for Traditional Medicine, Portland, Oregon.

(1) Here's the Wiki entry for chiral centers. A goodly number of these in a molecule make for a synthetic challenge since racemates (a mix of optical isomers) are often formed.

bushwells Tue, 10/23/2007 - 08:35

Tags

Nostalgic Reverie

I'm so glad these fascinating critters are finally getting the attention they deserve!

Interesting to point out their chemical defenses. Like many echinoderms, sea cucumbers secrete a toxin that I became sensitized to over time. I only had rashes before I changed my research environment, but workers involved in processing plants eventually suffered from respiratory problems.

Adult cukes do not have natural predators for the most part, so their toxicity likely evolved as a means to protect this otherwise sessile, slow moving animal.

"Adult cukes do not have natural predators for the most part, so their toxicity likely evolved as a means to protect this otherwise sessile, slow moving animal."

Makes sense, especially as a means to keep bacteria from colonizing the critters.

thanks..

Name That Orb Weaver!

bushwells — Tue, 04 Sep 2007 10:50:09 +0000

Name That Orb Weaver!

Since Labor Day weekend has passed, it's time to put away those white shoes and to take note of the late summer orb weaver spiders.

Orb Weaver spiders are members of the Araneidae family. These include the ubiquitous yellow and black garden spider and familiar genera such as Mangora spp. and Araneus spp. When my kids were little, they referred to the more common Araneidae as "Charlottes" after E.B. White's Charlotte's Web.

Chimp Refuge field observers, Dawn & Bobby, recently shared a photo of an Araneidae arachnid that has set up her shop behind their house:

This is a pretty spider to be sure, but what genus and species is she? A Mangora? An Araneus? She's darker than the Mangora in Tom Murray's most excellent photo gallery of orb weavers and looks a little more like the barn spider. I'm no spider expert. The biochemist in me might be inclined to grind up and extract tissues to identify the critter by DNA analysis rather than check out pedipalps. But that's not a kind and gentle approach. So, any feedback from the arachnophiles out there would be appreciated.

I can't leave this subject without a burst of nostalgic reverie. When I was a pre-adolescent, one of my jobs was to mow the lawn. Our rural yard encompassed an acre of tall maples, lindens, ornamental trees, shrubs and open spaces which made mowing something of an obstacle course. Fortunately, the topography was flat - very flat as in Central Illinois flat. I tore around on an Allis-Chalmers riding mower among those trees and shrubs. This was a chore I truly enjoyed since driving the mower offered a minor prelude to my driver's license. Yee haw!

As previously noted in Do I Get a Badge For This, I am a tad uneasy around spiders. So when I guided the mower between two Spirea bushes and smacked right into an orb weaver's web, to say that I freaked out is an understatement. I maintained a death grip with one hand on the steering wheel of the mower as I frantically tried to get the web off my face and extract it from my hair. Then out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the waving front legs of the spider on my left shoulder! I shrieked, released the steering wheel entirely and flailed away, hoping to dislodge the orb weaver that may or may not have been riding along on my T-shirt.. The mower promptly ran into our heavy gauge swing set, its wheels digging 6 inch plus deep divots in the lawn, before the mower stalled.

No spider was to be found on my person. My father was none too happy about those mower-tire divots and was not particularly sympathetic to my irrational response to an imagined (probably) spider while operating farm machinery. Much to my father's relief, no spiders emerged on my shoulder after I acquired my driver's license at age 16 and tooled around in "The White Whale," a.k.a. the parents' 1970 Plymouth Fury III.

bushwells Tue, 09/04/2007 - 06:50

Tags

Arachnophobia

Doc Bushwell

Nostalgic Reverie

it looks like an araneus diadematus aka european garden spider.

Seems reasonable. The spider in the photo does bear a resemblance to Araneus diadematus and lives within its range along the East Coast.

I took a few pictures of a diadematus under a microscope in the recent past. They are gorgeous, and quite hairy, close up:

http://www.enzymind.com/drupal/index.php?q=gallery&g2_itemId=30519

Not precisely on topic, but this is a terrific little clip about the mating dance of the jumping spider. It's just mesmerizing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D92AUXhYZ0M&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetv…

My best friend growing up was required to mow the lawn before being allowed to get her driver's license. Your story is too funny ... though I doubt you felt that way at the time. I used to like to play in the woods behind my parents' house as a kid, and I remember on one occasion merrily skipping down the path and stopping with my nose about an inch from a Dawn-sized orb web with its architect front and center. That quelled my enthusiasm for that part of the woods for a while. I spent the first ten years of my life passionately certain that I would one day study entomology, yet despite my ease around insects, spiders still gave me the creepy-crawlies and still do, embarrassingly enough, although I'm working on this. Getting close enough to take pictures like the one here are part of that.

I acquired my driver's license at age 16 and tooled around in "The White Whale," a.k.a. the parents' 1970 Plymouth Fury III.

Wouldn't you love to tool around in that today. A classic. You should feel so honored.

Those European garden spiders are everywhere in the Kitsap (that's the scrawny little peninsula between Puget Sound and the Olympic) . The other day I walked up to a bus stop, an I thought I had run into a piece of fishing line stretched between the post and the blackberry bushes ... no! it was the (still intact) web of a big European garden spider. Plenty of other spiders around here too - you can hardly walk between two trees without encountering a web.

OH HAI MISC!!!

Orgasmic sparklers and single cask malt Scotch: a winning combination!

bushwells — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 07:50:47 +0000

Orgasmic sparklers and single cask malt Scotch: a winning combination!

An e-droog recently waxed poetic about a single malt Scotch that she gave to a friend on the occasion of his thirtieth birthday. If I recall correctly, this was an especially rugged Islay beast, and stronger than the infamous Laphroaig. The subject of single malts triggered an avalanche of nostalgic reverie, not uncommon for us geriatrics, so I will inflict you with my aged yammering...and photos... here.

A British friend, then a post-doc in the lab next door and now a chemoinformatics guru, introduced single malts to me back in my grad school days. My previous experiences with Scotch had been as mediocre blends over ice, and I thought these were nothing short of wretched. As I discovered, single malts, sipped in their pure, room temperature form, were an entirely different species. Most often, we partook of these at our Brit friend's apartment on Friday or Saturday evenings. I was amazed by the liquors' complexity, which was every bit as elaborate as cognac, my favorite liquor and a rare treat during the salad days of grad school. The single malt Scotch was pricey, but we pooled our funds and bought a bottle to share amongst our little clan of students and post-docs.

Flash forward about a decade or so.

When my husband, kids and I moved to Cambridge MA in early 1998, we rented an old Victorian mansard from a retired Harvard professor and his wife. They were spending six months in Rome so they needed someone to house-sit. The three story, five bedroom house had beautiful "bones:" high ceilings, detailed plaster moldngs, elegant woodwork, and a fabulous six-foot grand piano but it was all, how do I put it, shabbily elegant. The place needed at least $200K of renovation. The kitchen was dilapidated, the house was heated by an ancient oil-burning furnace, and only one of the three large bathrooms had a shower and decent plumbing. The electrical wiring was downright scary. The second floor landing exuded the odor of an incontinent cat. Still, it was a neat place to live for a time while we waited for our new townhouse in another Cambridge 'hood to be completed.

The whole neighborhood was fascinating. The houses were similar to the one that we rented: big old Victorian era homes. The trees were all tall and mature. A murder of crows roosted every evening in one of these trees across the street. I have always liked crows, and this group was entertaining. I didn't need an alarm clock since their morning ritual woke me up. One bird would grumble, and the rest would begin to murmur as the sun rose. Unfortunately, they bombarded the neighbor's Volvo that was parked beneath their tree.

Our immediate neighbors, a physics professor at MIT and his wife, an artist, hosted a "welcome to the neighborhood" party on our behalf. Scientists, writers, activists and artists surrounded us on all sides. One couple lived in Al Capp's (cartoonist who drew "Lil Abner") former home. We discovered that most of the adults in the neighborhood had been on Nixon's Enemies List. They don't call it "The People's Republic of Cambridge" for nothing.

Our landlords were interesting people, too. He had a hell of a library in the large second floor study, and I often perused his books. He was friendly with John Updike, and taught him to play the viola. She was a therapist, and a little on the New Agey side. She had recently commissioned the installation of a labyrinth in their backyard (a good sized one for crowded urban Cambridge) and regretted that she was going to miss the blossoms of all the forget-me-nots planted among the stones. I assured her that I would take photos.

Not long after our landlords departed for Rome, and we were settled into the house, a woman of decidedly earth-mother countenance rang the doorbell. She sported very long greying hair, an ankle-length loose flowing dress, and was quite obviously sans brassiere. She was one of the women who had installed the labyrinth. I invited her in, of course, and dug up some herbal tea which I figured would be appropriate. We chatted for a while and before she left, she gave me a package of sparklers for the "initiation" of the labyrinth. She advised that my kids should not be allowed to use them because they were "orgasmic sparklers." I agreed to her conditions, struggling to keep my face solemn and reverent. I set the sparklers aside in a drawer, figuring I'd find some excuse to light them.

A few weeks later, on a fine, mild spring evening, two close friends came over for dinner. These fellows have been dear friends since we all met in grad school, and we have worked on and off with each other over the years. So here we were reunited in Cambridge. S. arrived with a couple of bottles of wine that were consumed with dinner. R had called earlier, and said he'd arrive late since his wife had succumbed to a nasty cold. He wanted to be sure she was comfortable before he came over so he arrived a bit later in the evening. In addition to a bottle of wine, he brought a single cask malt Scotch.

My kids were tucked into their beds and deep in sleep by the time we opened the Scotch. I cannot remember the distillery, but I do recall how good it was. Oh, yes, it was very good: rich, complex with an underlying dark mysterious subtle sweetness. I swear, my old Scots' genetic memory started dancing a jig. All of us, regardless of ethnicity, were feeling pretty lively near midnight, what with the prelude of wine then the Scotch.

I recounted the story of the earth mother's visitation to my pals, and as one, we knew what we had to do. I retrieved the orgasmic sparklers from the drawer, and off we went to the labyrinth. My husband lit the suckers, They were large fiery things that ejaculated copious sparks. R, S and I ran around the labyrinth like crazed monkeys. My husband, a more reserved Type B kind of guy, indulgently watched us. I'm not sure that this was the initiation that the earth mother had in mind for the labyrinth: three inebriated rationalists, about as far removed from New Age archetypes as one can get, awkwardly spinning around on the stones, gleefully waving the spurting sparklers and giggling uncontrollably.

The guys stayed overnight, since driving at this point was completely out of the question. We all nursed hangovers the next day, and I felt a bit guilty seeing as how I was supposed to be A Responsible Parent. But well, the kids were asleep...she rationalized.

Anyway, it makes for a fun memory, and one which R, S and I often recall fondly.

Here are a few photos taken around that time.

You can see the side of the house here on the right of the photo. Somewhat to the left is a huge copper beech. Beeches are among my favorite trees. and this was a lovely specimen.

So that's me, Doc Bushwell, In the middle of the labyrinth. I believe we initiated it a few days after this photo was taken. The plants interspesed between the stones are forget-me-nots. Our neighbor behind the fence was Alexander Rich, the discoverer of the Z-form of DNA. Rich often puttered around in his back yard, always wearing the same cap. Our physicist neighbor told us that the cap once belonged to Linus Pauling and that Rich always wore it while gardening.

Here I am providing a distinctive contrast to a cherub.

bushwells Fri, 06/08/2007 - 03:50

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Doc Bushwell

Nostalgic Reverie

Self-Indulgent Wankery

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Physical Sciences

Ah, Islay single malts - true uisge beatha, the water of life!

I can highly recommend Caol Ila, if you can find it. Or Port Ellen, if you can find it and have money to burn. Ardbeg is fearsome. But they're all good. :)

My post-doctoral mentor collects multi-year sequences of single-cask malts.

Ardbeg is fearsome. - Dunc

Oh, my, yes it is! After drinking it, I feel like I should paint my face blue and scream a Gaelic war cry. That might raise some eyebrows at the genteel watering hole I frequent.

Thanks so much for the recommendations! I'll keep my eyes open for them, esp. the Caol Ila.

My post-doctoral mentor collects multi-year sequences of single-cask malts. - PhysioProf

Sure beats Hummel figurines or Thomas Kinkade collector plates!

ok, I didn't read the whole post--interesting pictures, though--but "e-droog" is my new favorite word.

Wasn't it Bob Khayam who wrote about a Fagus sylvatica, a single cask malt scotch, a sparkler and thou?

Are there laws in Cambridge requiring monkeys to be clothed? Just painting a mental image.

You really need to learn how to finish a story, Doc.

Did the sparklers result in orgasm or not?

I feel honoured for having inspired such a wonderful post. Orgasmic sparklers and scotch - OTP, huh? That reminds me of a wondrous drunken night a few years ago when a friend and I went for a walk way past midnight and ended up on a swingset in the moonlight and making angel figures in the snow ...

Oh, and the whisky was an Ardbeg - "Still Young", something that amused the recipient greatly. *g*

The Dark Ages

jfiore — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 14:50:14 +0000

The Dark Ages

With all of the recent content ragarding the DI and other purveyors of hokum, I thought it would be an appropriate time to post an entry from a pre-scienceblogs version of the Refuge.

...and pretty soon there won't be no streets
for dummies to jog on and doggies to dog on
religious fanatics can make it be all gone
I mean it won't blow up and disappear
it'll just look ugly for a thousand years

-Frank Zappa

Did you ever wonder what the world would be like today if Western culture had never suffered through the Dark Ages? What if, given the controls to some omnipotent time machine, we could shuttle The Enlightenment back several hundred years, oh let's say to the ninth or tenth century? And further, that The Enlightenment ideals of discovery and rational thought continued from that time forward? What would our everyday lives be like? On this time scale, we'd have landed on the Moon and created the Internet well before the 14th century (versus the real 14th century which saw widespread wars, plague and misery). I don't think it would take a great leap of imagination to expect that we'd have cured cancer, produced clean and inexpensive forms of energy, moved everyone out of "third world" status, colonized the inner planets, uncovered more about the Universe than Stephen Hawking's best wet-dream, created stunning new forms of art, and in general, made the lives of humans much, much better. Heck, we might even have encountered intelligent extraterrestrial life. Sounds pretty cool.

But what happened? Why did we have a Dark Ages in the first place and what kept us there? Why did we have to have an Enlightenment to pull us out of this historical dung heap? If there is one defining characteristic of the Dark Ages, it is the oppressive control over governments and people at all levels through a rigid ideology, an ideology that claimed perfect knowledge for itself and that required the persecution of those who might consider the exercise of free inquiry. In those days, the Church was number one and all governments answered to it. Ultimately, the Dark Ages can be thought of as The Golden Age of Western Theocracy. You see, the Dark Ages is the sort of thing that happens when people who place blind faith and adherence to rigid rules above free thinking and rational inquiry get into positions of power. We're talking about Ugliness on a grand scale.

Now aren't you a little pissed off that this Dark Ages thing happened? Aren't you a little pissed off that your friend or relative suffered and died from a disease that, under a better timeline, we'd have a found a cure for centuries ago? Aren't you a little pissed off that so many people on this planet suffer without proper medical attention, food, energy, housing, etc., problems we could have licked by now with more advanced technology and a rational, thoughtful approach? Don't you just want to hop in that time machine and knock some sense into the church leaders of a millennium ago? Doesn't it make you just a little crazy that people could be so blind to the reality around them, so antagonistic toward basic logic? Aren't you glad we don't live in those times, a time when you could be burned at the stake or stretched on a rack until every joint in your body dislocated for professing that the Earth was a planet which revolved around the Sun?

Funny, but there are those today who would fit right into the 14th century. While they might admit that the Earth is a planet which revolves around the Sun, they might also claim that the Earth is a mere 6000 years old, that a pair of every species of life on the planet managed to be sequestered in a wooden boat a few hundred feet long for months during a global flood which covered even the highest mountains, or that ancient humans threw saddles on dinosaurs and rode them like horses. Why would they think such things? Do they have geological evidence? Radioisotope data? The results of DNA or biology experiments? Cosmological observations? The insights of anthropology or paleontology? Mathematical models? No. They have none of these. They claim they have something better. They have a book.

Yes, a book. And the book tells all. And the book is inerrant. How do we know this? Because the book says it is, that's how. There's no need to investigate, or even think for that matter, if you believe you are in possession of The Big Book With All The Answers. It's all there.

Now, what happens when this person shows up at an institution where free inquiry and rational thought are prized? Well, things like this. Yes, a group of Christian Conservatives are all a-fluster that the University of California is calling them on their bass-ackwards "Christian fundamentalist coursework" and have decided to sue on a claim of discrimination. All I can say is hooray for the University of California! The last thing I want to see is anti-rationalists get science credit for a course in blind-faithism. This is not a matter of plurality or diversity. "What's that Johnny? You believe that the early Earth was made out of Roquefort dressing and that Tyrannosaurus Rex invented pantyhose? My, but that's charmingly diverse of you! Here, take a seat next Sarah. Her parents told her that trees are the work of the devil and that mushrooms are fairy umbrellas! I'm sure you'll have lots to talk about in Biology 101!"

Is the University of California discriminating against these kids? Yes, and rightly so. Consider the word "discrimination". The basic definition is "to make a distinction between". The school has to make a distinction between students for admission and credit purposes. But, is the school guilty of "'viewpoint discrimination' and unfair admission standards that violate the free speech and religious rights of evangelical Christians", as charged by the Association of Christian Schools International? Put another way, is it unfair for the University to tell a group that their teachings do not meet the University's standards? This is ludicrous. It makes no difference that the teachings stem from a religious versus secular source. Suppose Johnny went to a school that denied the existence of irrational numbers or the microbial theory of disease based on historical texts. Should Johnny's "viewpoint" be discriminated against? You bet your ass. Does that constitute "unfair admission standards"? It would if his viewpoint was accepted, in which case it would be unfair to those students who learned what the scientific method offered. It is important to note that University of California doesn't simply throw out an applicant because they attended a Christian fundamentalist school. They accept a number of courses from these schools (at least 43 according to their representative). What they don't accept are courses which place blind faith before appropriate scientific rigor. The fundie schools are claiming that this amounts to being told what to teach. No, it doesn't. It simply tells them that certain courses will not count at that University. "Teach these courses all you want folks, but we're not going to accept them. Maybe some other fine institution like Bob Jones University will give your kids credit for them."

Free speech is a separate issue here. Does Johnny have the right to claim that the Earth is 6000 years old in the face of evidence across myriad fields of study that show it to be nearly a million times older? Sure he does! He has the right to claim that and a host of other things, and his fellow citizens have the right to show through evidence to the contrary that Johnny is a crackpot. Johnny has the right to say whatever he wants but that doesn't mean that he should get college admission credit for it just because it's part of his so-called "faith". I like to believe that colleges and universities are still halls of learning where the pursuit of knowledge and truth remains the top priority. While all opinions may be equal in terms of their right to be heard, they are not necessarily equal in terms of objective truth. It amazes me how the Christian fundies will be the first ones to cry that they are being discriminated against, how their ideas are not taken seriously, when they are the ones who, by definition, will not even consider arguments contrary to The Book. They reject the scientific method and free inquiry when it points out the flaws in their own world view, yet they don't seem to mind so much if it helps them (for example, by pointing out that the creation myths of many other religions are not plausible, or by producing vaccines, cars, the Internet, and lots of other useful things). Fundies like to gripe about others' "moral relativism" versus their objective truth when it comes to the fundie brand of morality, but they clam up pretty fast when it comes to the objective "truth" of their claims in the natural sciences. In fact, what the fundies are really bitching about is that they're not being given special treatment, a treatment they feel they are entitled to because of their special brand of "faith".

Newton said that if he had seen farther than other men, it was because he had stood on the shoulders of giants. I look back at the giants of The Enlightenment and am thankful that their work and sacrifice made my day to day life possible. My worst nightmare is that all of that work would be lost in a modern rendition of the Dark Ages; a retreat into superstition and the stifling of free inquiry and creative thought in order to assuage the demands of an emerging American theocracy. Ugliness redux.

What's the ugliest part of your body?
I say it's your mind

-Frank Zappa

jfiore Thu, 04/05/2007 - 10:50

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Nostalgic Reverie

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Technology

Why did we have a Dark Ages in the first place and what kept us there? Why did we have to have an Enlightenment to pull us out of this historical dung heap?

I'm no historian, but from what I've read about the period, this is pretty wide of the mark. I don't even think that the term "Dark Ages" is much used any more among those who study the period.

And there's a stretch approaching 700 years between the generally-accepted end of the "Dark Ages" and the Enlightenment.

I suggest that much of what follows is badly reasoned because of the serious flaws in the "facts" on which you build your argument.

While I'll admit the usage of the term "Dark Ages" is one of convenience (and connection for the average reader), the underlaying concept of a theologically driven society stagnating in the areas of science stands, as does the idea that it took Enlightenment ideals to pull humankind forward to what we have today. Technically, while the high or late middle ages may not be referred to as "The Dark Ages", they have a hell of a lot more in common with the 10th century than the 18th.

But thanks for picking that nit.

And where are these rationalist ancient societies that gave no truck to the supernatural and where freedom of speech and religion was upheld?

Could it be that religion was a neccessary component in creating a successful pre-modern civilization, creating allegiance outside of immediate kin groups and forging legitimacy for political institutions?

If there had been no Christendom perhaps there would have been no enlightenment, just warring ethnic groups with their own individual superstitions. Perhaps by banning most forms of superstition Christianity actually helped spur the creation of science.

Oh, com'on, the Dark Ages are when Camelot was ascendant. It's also when those dirty Islamofascists saved European civilization's sorry ass.

European trade had a lot to do with breaking with the church and nobility. You know, "free trade". But the point of the post is well taken. There had to be a break from authoritarian religion and government for science to develop and get shared across borders.
The struggle continues.
Good post.
Griff

I don't think Christianity made the enlightenment possible. Wars continued after the "Christianization" of Europe.

Most of the pre-Christian pagan religions were polytheistic, consequently people in in those times had little trouble tolerating other peoples gods. If you had ten gods yourself it wasn't hard to believe that your neighbor had seven or eight of his own. There were plenty of wars, but very few of them seem to have been religious in nature. Whenever the Romans conquered another people, they pretty much absorbed their religions into Roman society. Their main problem with the Christians (and the Jews) was that they wouldn't sacrifice to the Roman state gods, which was pretty much the Roman equivalent to the pledge of allegiance.

"Their main problem with the Christians (and the Jews) was that they wouldn't sacrifice to the Roman state gods, which was pretty much the Roman equivalent to the pledge of allegiance."

But the same thing could be said about the inquisition (which historians now hold to be a victim of protestant propaganda and was actually an enlightened court for the time). Heresy was treason against the state.

While I whole heartedly agree with the gist of what you say, I think of the enlightenment as having sparked what I would refer to as "scientific and technological breakout". It is interesting that a few other societies reached a fairly advanced stage in the past, but no breakout occurred.

Among these civilizations I'd include China, Greece, Rome, 11th century Islam, and possibly ancient Eqypt. Something about these societies at the time inhibited the breakout from occurring. Some of it probably had to do with the relative lack of a meritocracy. Religion, and especially
if Religion and power were entertwined, and threatened is probably another factor. For some reason the waning religiostity of the reformation period, had just the right combination.

And where are these rationalist ancient societies that gave no truck to the supernatural and where freedom of speech and religion was upheld?

Athens came pretty damn close. Shame how they executed Socrates, though.

Jim, can you mention anyone burned or stretched on a rack for clamining the Earth revolved around the sun? Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa wasn't for discussing the possibility. Copernicus wasn't for putting it on a firmer footing. Galileo did get involved in some church infighting, but in a world where torture and death were common penalties Galileo got house arrest!

To a considerable extent "the Dark Ages" are an invention of later historians, the most obvious example being the claims that people back then thought the Earth was flat. You should not compare the deliberate ignorance, or rather denial of reality, of modern day Christian fundamentalists with the genuine ignorance of those days.

I agree that willful ignorance is far worse, and I am not "making fun of" people who lived in the 9th or 14th centuries for not knowing some of the things we know today. The gist of my argument is that the combination of blind religiosity and political power make for a retarding force on the advancement of society in general. That's a real effect which following generations feel. Had the people of Europe embraced Enlightenment ideals 1000 years earlier, where would we be today? Certainly, there is no way to go back and alter the situation, but I bring it up as a cautionary tale. As I tell my students: There's nothing that says that there can't be another Dark Ages. (And I'll add here that I mean "dark ages" in the metaphorical sense.)

An interesting thought experiment but oh so flawed. As pointed out, there was no Dark Age. While much of what you're talking about in Europe stagnated, in the Middle East the Muslim world carried on with all sorts of scientific reasearch. And the Far East never had anything resembling a Dark Age at all. Why weren't they on the moon in the 1400's?

You really need to look at why the Renaissance and the Enlightenment came about. Why it happened in Europe and not in those places where there was no "Dark Age". The Renaissance and Enlightenment saw a great leap forward in technology because of the horrors of the post-Roman Europe, not in spite of them. I'm very serious about this. Without the misery of unstable governments, subsistence living and the Black Death, there would be no Renaissance. And it really comes down to the famines of the early 14th Century and the Black Death in the mid 14th Century.

In the middle and far east, you had a steady progression of knowledge and population growth. As fast and as efficiently as they could produce food, their population grew. The great majority of labor was directed towards keeping people fed, the great majority of science research was focused on agriculture.

In Western Europe, after Rome collapsed the political and social structure had to begin anew. It slowly built itself up, always focused on keeping people fed. And it continued until the early 14th Century, when the population of Europe was at an all time high, crop yields were maxed out and the labor focus was around keeping people fed. Then the famine hit, followed by the Black Death. Suddenly, there was a HUGE surplus of food. Agricultural technology was able to support a population much larger than the one that existed. The labor force no longer had to be focused on keeping people fed, the science research didn't have to be agriculturally driven. And that is why you suddenly had a bunch of people who were able to get rich by filling voids left in the market, people who could pay other people to sit around and make great works of art and explore science for the sake of science. No where else in the world did you have this happen, because there just wasn't time for it.

So if the "Dark Ages" never happened, there would also have been no Renaissance or Enlightenment, and the World would probably be more backwards than it currently is, not more advanced.

"a HUGE surplus of food" in the 14th century?? I suggest that you read Barabara Tuchman's "A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century". With half the population gone, vast tracts went untended as there was no one to plant, no one to harvest, no one to create or maintain the implements, and so on. The 14th century was far from some idyllic agrarian paradise.

It seems that some folk are suggesting that in order for there to have been an Enlightenment we had to have coarse church and state oppression so that peasants would say "Gee, things are so bad that we need to do something else." Sure. Let all captives thank their jailers for motivating them. That's a twist.

Another suggestion for how the plague may have been important is that for a long time people in Europe looked back on Greek and Roman thinkers, believing them to have discovered most that was worth discovering. Then came the plague, something far worse than anything seen in the ancient texts, and people found the need to do something about it so they had to go outside the ancient texts. And it seemed to work, while the plague returned each time it was easier to defeat. This probably had more to do with the survivors having better resistance than any medical advance, but the *impression* was that doctors were becoming much better, surpassing the Greeks. The plague also created lots of vacancies, giving people a better chance of advancing in society. This created an optimism that other problems could be solved as well.

As always anything that tries to explain a complex historical event by a single cause is to simplified, but there may be a grain of truth to it.

"lots of vacancies" to "advanc(e) in society"? Are you suggesting that 14th century Europe was a meritocracy? It's been a few years since I read Tuchman's book, but please, my memory ain't that bad.

Here, allow me to simplify by swapping this around. Is anyone willing to suggest that the work of science and rational, naturalistic thought was advanced by the church-state system of the time, or that at the worst, it was a non-player?

Thanks, I have Tuchman's book. Good reference.
"With half the population gone, vast tracts went untended as there was no one to plant, no one to harvest, no one to create or maintain the implements, and so on. The 14th century was far from some idyllic agrarian paradise."

And they didn't NEED to tend all that land - agricultural technology had advanced to the point that the number of farmers per capita needed to support the population had dropped. But when the population was at a peak, they needed all the land and all they could get out of it.

When the population plummeted, it was no longer necessary to farm all the land. And those that did farm produced far more food than centuries earlier when the population was at similar levels.

And there were vacancies to advance in society. Because of the gaps in the social structure, a true middle/upper middle class could emerge, one based on money made through commerce and entrepeneurism instead of hereditary titles and land rights. The number one example of this is the Medici family, built after the Black Death on banking. Instead of the rich having access to cheap labor due to overpopulation, suddenly labor became very valuable. Wages rose. The reshuffling of the entire social structure in Western Europe, which allowed for the Renaissance, was precipitated by the famines and the Black Death. The closest analogue to look at is Eastern Europe. The plague didn't hit them as hard, didn't cause a vast restructuring of the social system, and as such, no Renaissance developed there - what did lagged far behind Western Europe.

It wasn't a meritocracy, but the rigid structure had to change because of the loss of cheap labor and the increased power of the lower classes.

The church-state system rapidly became a non-issue. The Reformation permanently weakened the power of the Catholic Church.

In the middle ages, the church absolutely fostered scientific research. The basis of western astronomy is rooted in the church's need to properly set holy dates like Easter. Mathematics were needed for this. The clergy was the only group actively pursuing study of the natural world. One of the most important "scientists" of the High Middle Ages was Thomas Aquinas - a church dude. The move to experimental science was pushed by William of Occam - a Franciscan friar.

All major middle ages science study was done under the wing of the Church - not in spite of it. By the time of the Reformation, the Church had weakened and scientific research was driven by universities, governments and money.

"All major middle ages science study was done under the wing of the Church - not in spite of it. By the time of the Reformation, the Church had weakened and scientific research was driven by universities, governments and money."

And under which system did we see the greatest advancement? You can have "science study...under the wing of the church" but that doesn't mean that it will be efficient or effective. For a modern example, just look at the "results" of the ID community (not a classical church, but inquiry driven by theological demands).

The fact that the church was weakened is what made the difference. That was the whole point of the piece, so in the end, thanks for agreeing with me.

How Green Was My Slimy or My Brief Yet Torrid Affair With Phycology

bushwells — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 06:00:25 +0000

How Green Was My Slimy or My Brief Yet Torrid Affair With Phycology

I took a pretty circuitous path to becoming a biochemist.

When I was six, I wanted to be a paleontologist, influenced by the "dinosaurs are cool" factor and my older (much older) sister's college textbooks which I attempted to read, trying to get a grasp of evolution. Then, I wanted to be a zoologist, specializing in mammology. Next, I imagined that I would be an astrophysicist (my brother's a physicist...not an astro- kind but a solid state physicist), and by the time I was in high school, I thought I'd be a good psychiatrist what with all my angst-ridden teenaged friends coming to me for counsel with their problematic lives (jeez, now that's just scary) and the fact that I thought drugs' effects on the brain were fascinating. Don't ask.

I enrolled in pre-med as an undergrad and hated it. I mean, hated it, although I loved the labs in chemistry and biology. Now I happen to be able to draw and paint reasonably well, and as a seventh grader, I was considered to be a veritable pre-adolescent van Gogh, no, Monet, strike that...maybe more of a mediocre illustrator of cut-rate children's books. I mean, Mrs. H., my jurnio high art instructor, thought I had talent! The high school art teacher desperately tried to recruit me into his classes, but the schedule conflicted with band, and the alluring promise of an associated trip to Washington DC during my senior year was just too much to pass up. So I told Mr. S. that I couldn't enroll in his art classes, and thus I became the worst flautist ever, and even went so far as to torture others by my attempts at the piccolo and (shudder) the oboe. The stupid high school canceled the trip when I reached my senior year.

With this modicum of artistic talent, I decided to change majors from pre-med bio to architecture, a field of study to which I was exposed by some boyfriend or other during my freshman year. I fared well in the design studios and art classes (A's and B's), but truly rogered the Rottweiler when it came to statics and dynamics and CALCOMP, a primeval drafting program that used punch cards, yes, punch cards, which, when fed into a card reader, sent data to a Bronze Age plotter located about 103 miles away from the architecture studios.

With only twelve credits left to get to my bachelors in architecture, I bolted back to liberal arts and sciences. I knew I wanted to be some sort of biology major, but for whatever reason, I found myself with a binary choice between zoology and botany. As I sat on the ratty sofa, covered with a faded Indian bedspread pitted with roach burns, I tried to decide: "Plants or animals? Animals or plants?" My roommate's cute as the dickens, but spoiled rotten, slate-grey kitty cat then hopped up onto the table by the window which held a collection of coleus plants. A cherished ex-swain had given the coleus to me, and I was moodily keeping them alive as some sort of weird memento. The cat gnawed on them. I shooed the cat away, and checked off "Botany" as my major.

One of my favorite classes as a botany major was phycology, the study of algae. I loved that green slime. Our classes and lab were in a nineteenth centry era natural history museum with old oak floors and the distinctive odor of old preserved things, including some of the greying tattered professors. I imagined myself as a phycologist on the faculty of a small liberal arts college, gallivanting about collecting Volvox, Spyrogyra and other such green lovelies which are actually quite attractive under the microscope.

That wasn't how things turned out. My keen interest in small molecules that have big effects on receptors and enzymes eventually won out. A few advanced organic and physical chem. classes later, and I was in grad school focusing on pharmaceutical biochemistry.

I still fantasize about the naturalist's life, and likely have romanticized it to something resembling unicorns in hip waders with magnifying glasses, and grant money pouring effortlessly into shiny pots at the end of the academic rainbow. I expect my salary, garnered by separating little old blue-haired ladies from their Medicare Rx drug bucks, is better able to pay the bills in the precious little 'burg where I live currently.. But still...

I kept my phycology notebook, and dragged it out recently. I was still making the transition from architect back to biologist, and it shows. I used a Rapidograph pen to take notes and draw, and I affected an artsy block print. They're not remotely of the quality of the bioartiste, zeladoniac, whose blog, Drawing the Motmot, is linked in Pharyngula (see Science illustrators have so much fun). Still, I had fun drawing the specimens. Here are a few that I scanned. There are a few marine algal specimens, a dilettantish interest which eventually took me to the Marine Biology Labs in Woods Hole, MA, but that's another story on my broken arrow path to biochemistry.

bushwells Wed, 02/14/2007 - 01:00

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Botanical Pornography

More Art, Then Science

Nostalgic Reverie

This may well be my favorite SciBling post of the week. The title alone... :)

Lovely, lovely drawings. Art and science should always go hand in hand. Both are all about observation and finding patterns. Great post!

I took a pretty circuitous path to becoming a biochemist.

What the heck took you so long? I could have told you from the beginning that biochemistry is the best science! :-)

Jennifer & zeladoniac, thanks so much. I'm a dedicated fan of Cocktail Party Physics, and Drawing the Motmot is one of the best blog discoveries I've encountered for a while.

Larry, perhaps if I had dated a biochem. student when I was a frosh instead of an architecture major, I would have followed the straight and true path to biochemistry!

Larry, perhaps if I had dated a biochem. student when I was a frosh instead of an architecture major, I would have followed the straight and true path to biochemistry!

Well, silly you! What were you thinking? All the buff guys are in biochemistry. :-)

What's Bred in the Bones

bushwells — Thu, 18 Jan 2007 07:35:59 +0000

What's Bred in the Bones

Last Sunday, my son, who is home for his rapidly waning semester break, and I met a couple of friends in New York City where we enjoyed breakfast at good enough to eat followed by a visit to the nearby American Museum of Natural History. We dedicated ourselves to the fossil halls on the fourth floor of the museum. The halls were teeming with families. While we stopped in front of one of the big cladograms, we overheard a young father matter-of-factly telling his young children that "birds evolved from dinosaurs" as he gestured toward the dino family tree. Even if the museum was crowded (last Sunday was dreary and perfect for indoor excursions), we didn't mind jostling shoulders with so many for whom evolution is a fact, not a controversy. We remarked that it was refreshing to see so many kids there, and that "evolution" was not a dirty word in their parents' vocabulary.

The fossil collections at the AMNH are impressive, and among my favorite tidbits were the placards describing "Personalities in Paleontology." These guys, like Barnum Brown, were the great fossil hunters of the early 20th century. Although not as flamboyant, my great-great uncle, Oliver Perry Hay, was a paleontologist of the same era and was an associate curator for a few years at the AMNH. At some point, I plan on populating the his Wikipedia entry, but in the meantime, here's an excerpt from my old blog (published 10/2005 and edited somewhat).

Diplodocus
This illustration of Diplodocus was prepared by the artist Mary Mason Mitchell in 1910 under the direction of Oliver Perry Hay (1846-1930). Hay was not an employee of the Smithsonian Institution, but he held the title Research Associate, and had office space at the National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Publication:
Hay, Oliver P. 1910. On the Manner of Locomotion of the Dinosaurs, Especially Diplodocus, with Remarks on the Origin of the Birds. Proceedings of the Washington Academy of Sciences, vol. 12, pp. 1-25.

from the Historical Art Gallery, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution

******************************************************
This summer marked the 100th anniversary of my maternal grandfather's excursion through France via bicycle. In June 1905, at the age of 21, he, along with two college classmates, boardedThe City of Glasgow, a cattle boat, in Baltimore, Maryland, to work their way across the Atlantic to England. After traveling through the United Kingdom for several days, he and his chums crossed the English Channel and disembarked at Calais, France. From there, they journeyed to Marseilles in southern France by "wheel," then traveled by train from Arles to Bordeaux then on to Paris where the little band had a few adventures. They left France by way of Le Havre, crossed the channel to England, then returned home by steamer to New York City then back to Illinois.

My grandfather kept a journal of his travels. This diary provides a glimpse at a time past and into the thoughts of a man whose familial legacy was known to me, but whom I never really knew because he died before I was born. Based on recollections of my mother, aunts and uncles, I knew my grandfather was a pillar of the community and attended the local Presbyterian church-goer. However, my grandfather as a young man offered decidedly jaundiced observations on religion. This makes me wonder if he practiced his faith in its benign form as described by Richard Dawkins' article, Opiate of the Masses, published in Prospect,

As with many drugs, refined Gerin oil in low doses is largely harmless, and can even serve as a social lubricant on occasions such as marriages, funerals and ceremonies of state. Experts differ over whether such social use, though harmless in itself, is a risk factor for upgrading to harder and more addictive forms of the drug.

Religion was not viewed as any kind of all consuming occupation of thought on either the maternal or paternal side of the family even as it served as a social lubricant in our community. My maternal grandfather vehemently believed that tolerance of others' creeds was not enough, but that acceptance was the ideal. He eschewed dogma, and thus had no use for fundamentalism of any stripe. His stance carried over to his children and might explain why I was quickly yanked out of a Sunday school class after telling my mother and father that I had a heated argument with a Sunday school teacher over the question of "Does God hear the prayers of the Jews?" The instructor stuck to his surprisingly fundie-for-a-Methodist assertion that ol' Jehovah did not hear the prayers of his chosen people. Not long after the incident, the Sunday school teacher was no longer instructing 10 and 11 year old students. This experience left an indelible imprint on my young mind: religion could be pretty f*cked up and set me on the path of atheism.

My grandfather mentioned "Uncle Perry" in his diary. Oliver Perry Hay was my grandfather's father's brother, and thus my great-great uncle. When I was a kid with paleontological aspirations, I remember my mother saying that her father's uncle was a paleontologist. As an undergraduate in the days before the Internet, I looked up Uncle Perry in Who's Who of American Scientists in the college biology library and learned a little more about him. I learned even more about my relative this past summer, when my mother gave me the old monograph, Descriptions of Some Pleistocene Vertebrates Found in the United States, 1920, Proc. United States National Museum, 58: 83-146,written by Uncle Perry and his memorial biography, written by his son, William P. Hay. She believed I, among all the family, would most appreciate these old papers, and she was right.

Uncle Perry's primary interest was vertebrate paleontology. He published numerous monographs, including articles on evidence for early man in North America. His most significant contribution to the field was an authoritative two volume bibliography and catalogue of Pleistocence vertebrates. This remains an important reference in the field. Uncle Perry's chronology follows:

born in Saluda, Indiana, on 22 May 1846.
moved with family to farm near Bradford, Illinois
1870: A.B., Eureka College, Illinois
1870-1872: professor of natural sciences, Eureka College
1873: A.M., Eureka College
1874-1876: professor of natural sciences, Oskaloosa College, Iowa
1876-1877: graduate student at Yale University
1879-1892: professor of biology and geology, Butler College
1884: Ph.D., Indiana University
1884-1888: assistant, Arkansas Geological Survey
1890-1891: president, Indiana Academy of Science
1891-1894: assistant, Indiana Geological Survey
1895-1897: assistant curator of zoology, Field Museum of Natural History
1901-1907: assistant, then associate, curator of vertebrate paleontology, American Museum of Natural History, NYC
1902-1905: associate editor, American Geologist
1902: publishes his Bibliography and Catalogue of the Fossil Vertebrata of North America
1907-1911: returns to Washington; pursues private investigations in paleontology
1908: publishes his The Fossil Turtles of North America
1912-1917: research associate, Carnegie Institution, Washington, D.C.
1917-1926: associate, Carnegie Institution
1923-1927: publishes his The Pleistocene of North American, in three volumes
dies at Washington, D.C., on 2 November 1930.

As noted in the time line, Uncle Perry attended Eureka College. It was convenient for him and moreover, according to his biography:

He was probably influenced in this selection by the fact that he had united with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) and looked forward to entering the ministry of that demonination.

However, he was not to join the ministry:

Toward the end of his college course, his dreams of the ministry had faded away, and he had applied himself more and more to science.He supplemented the meager courses of the college by reading such scientific books as he could buy or borrow, and before he graduated had impressed his professors with his ability and promise in this field of work.

As outlined above, Uncle Perry's graduate training was somewhat prolonged, but he became a professor of geology and biology at Butler University. In addition to courses in his specialties, he also taught chemistry and physics. However, he did not remain at Butler:

In 1892, his position at Butler having become untenable because of his views on evolution, (italics, Doc Bushwell), he resigned and removed to Chicago.

Apparently, Uncle Perry's advocacy of Darwin's Theory of Evolution was more than Butler University of that time could bear, and so, he moved on. All in all, his departure was probably for the best, given the path his career took. Here was a boy who grew up on a central Illinois farm, and knew no other educational outcome than the ministry. Apparently, little Eureka College opened his eyes. That he embraced the concept of evolution in the late 19th century and pursued his interests so tenaciously is a testament to a man of rational thought, someone whom I am honored to call a relative.

bushwells Thu, 01/18/2007 - 02:35

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But First...Roo-Roo!

bushwells — Mon, 18 Dec 2006 05:45:09 +0000

But First...Roo-Roo!

Re: Ask a Science Blogger - Harsh Criticism, Did It Help or Hinder? Warning. My response contains offensive material. Oh, you're not surprised? Well, OK, this is the Chimp Refuge. You already know that there are piles of bonobo scat everywhere. So let's get to steppin' and squishin'...

During my first "real" job out of my post-doc, one of my colleagues told me this joke, repeated here with my embellishments:

Two explorers stumble into a wild unknown land, and are captured in the bush by the fearsome indigenous inhabitants. They are brought before the tribal chief, who conveniently speaks the Queen's English with a plummy Eton accent. The chief informs them that the penalty for trespassing into the tribe's territory is death or roo-roo, and that the captives must choose between the two fates. The first explorer blurts out, "By Jove, I do not wish to die. I will take roo-roo!" With that, a dozen burly tribesmen push aside their loincloths and rattle their tumescent "spears." They proceed to bugger the hapless explorer in all orifices available. The second explorer looks on in horror as his comrade is systematically reamed to a whimpering mass of protoplasm. Then, the chief asks, "So. What shall it be? Death or roo-roo?" The wide-eyed explorer bleats, "Death! I choose death!" "Death it is," says the chief, "But first, roo-roo!"

Martin Mull in "The Aristocrats" tells this joke with far more skill, but hey, that why he gets paid to do comedy: he can deliver. Plus he's a man.

I have repeated the joke many times since then, and my cynical scientist colleagues latched onto the punch line immediately. They applied it to project reviews and the like in the workplace:

Picture a large conference room or a small auditorium with a number of senior level scientists, vice-presidents of various research functions and the like in the audience. A lone scientist stands before them ready to present his or her work. The chief scientific officer says, "We are here today to review progress in the area of [insert your project here] which will be presented by Dr. So and So. But first, roo-roo!"

It's difficult for me to pinpoint the harshest criticism I have received in my career. There have been many times when, after a graduate seminar in my youth or a major project review as a "grown-up," that I have been roo-roo'ed through and through. And this was when my results and the interpretation of my data were sound. Walking out of these grilling sessions with gelled brain matter and wobbly legs was routine.

As a second year grad student, my advisor lit into me when I presented an admittedly poorly prepared seminar on isotope effects in a particular enzyme catalyzed reaction. It didn't help that my advisor was an expert in the field and the author of the paper was another expert with whom my advisor often disagreed. These guys "anonymously" reviewed each other's manuscripts, and their correcting pens alternately caught fire and dripped bile. So my advisor was worked up not only because he disagreed with the authors' interpretation of the data, but also because I had not critically evaluated the paper. His harsh criticism was fair. He didn't humiliate me by calling me a f*cking idiot or any similar pejorative. His tone and body language told me how incredibly frustrated he was, and at the same time, that he expected much more of me. Lesson learned. I never gave a seminar again without knowing the material cold, and not until I sliced and diced potential problems with the research, including my own. Later, the author of that disagreeable isotope effects paper visited my advisor during one of his frequent pilgrimages from his lofty ivory tower in Cambridge MA to our biochemical cow college. My advisor joked about giving me a hard time over the paper. Lofty Ivory Tower Professor and I became acquainted on a first name basis as the result of our mutual empathy.

The graduate student seminars as a whole were gruesome but very useful experiences. The faculty in attendance made up a formidable group, and left bodies in their wake. Alas for the unprepared or somewhat dim student. No name calling or yelling ever occurred. The subject would be peeled layer by layer like an onion by our razor sharp professors. These seminars were tough, but they prepared me beautifully for presentation and subsequent criticism of my own research. I learned how to look for the potential holes in my work, to anticipate critique, and how to hold up under pressure.

Vigorous criticism has continued well into my professional career as it should. The head of research for my first gig was an old NIH hand, and he could be brutal during our monthly PhD seminars in which our research projects were reviewed. Again, if you were prepared and had done your job, i.e., produced good science, the problems were minimal. I could spar with him, and we respected each other in the morning.

Some of the fiercest altercations occurred at the second company of my employment. This company was small, and had a reputation for being voracious and arrogant. We partnered with a large, conservative pharma company on an especially difficult enzyme target which required "thinking outside the box." This was the kind of stuff the small company thrived on, but well out of the large company's comfort zone. All in all, our company cultures clashed in a major way, and at some of our meetings, we all stopped short of calling one another blithering idiots. My counterpart at the larger company was flat out wrong on a number of issues, and even with the data on my side, I had to browbeat the individual. Here I was on the other side of "harsh criticism."

Within the confines of the aforementioned small voracious company, I had to engage in internecine warfare with a haughty dude in another department when an issue of assay connectivity arose. We spat and snarled, then retreated. I came back with the results, which explained the whole shebang and proved him wrong, presented my work, and got a "Wow. That's really nice!" in return from my nemesis. So these confrontations can bear fruit.

I still get roo-roo'ed, but now I have calluses.

bushwells Mon, 12/18/2006 - 00:45

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Nostalgic Reverie

Self-Indulgent Wankery

Hey! Roo-roo my ass! It's Kee-kee!

I'm not sure I understand the gist of the original question? What field or occupation is immune from criticism that one couldn't learn from experientially?

If criticism helps or hinders, doesn't the answer say more about your self perception and ability (or not) to constructively use criticism?

What's a time in your career when you were criticized extremely harshly by someone you respect? Did it help you or set your career back?

What kind of person would shrivel under criticism, run to the nearest clocktower and start picking off hapless ants in the distance? Certainly not overly brainy science types! Endless memorization and recitation in academia prepares one for a firm rooted world outlook. I find it impossible to believe that fragile egos would flourish there, what with the daily competitive regimen of massive intellect.

I find it impossible to believe that fragile egos would flourish there, what with the daily competitive regimen of massive intellect.

Emoticons like :-) and banal LOL's are forbidden on the Refuge, but I'll give myself a pass here:

:-) & LOL!

Ha ha ha, I know the company in your last blind item, but your secret is safe with me.

We could use more confrontations like that in the IT world. Most IT conflict are religious warfare or people going on about stuff they barely understand themselves, sounding like Tony Soprano mangling something Dr. Melfi told him.

Hitchens: Men are from Comedy Central, Women are from Dourland

bushwells — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 13:20:28 +0000

Hitchens: Men are from Comedy Central, Women are from Dourland

Ever the provocateur, Christopher Hitchens tells us Why Women Aren't Funny in the January 2007 Vanity Fair.

Mr. Hitchens believes that humor in men serves as an attractant to women, sort of a laff riot version of the male peacock's tail:

Why are men, taken on average and as a whole, funnier than women? Well, for one thing, they had damn well better be. The chief task in life that a man has to perform is that of impressing the opposite sex, and Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her) is not so kind to men. In fact, she equips many fellows with very little armament for the struggle. An average man has just one, outside chance: he had better be able to make the lady laugh. Making them laugh has been one of the crucial preoccupations of my life. If you can stimulate her to laughter--I am talking about that real, out-loud, head-back, mouth-open-to-expose-the-full-horseshoe-of-lovely-teeth, involuntary, full, and deep-throated mirth; the kind that is accompanied by a shocked surprise and a slight (no, make that a loud) peal of delight--well, then, you have at least caused her to loosen up and to change her expression. I shall not elaborate further.

Hitchens continues:

Women have no corresponding need to appeal to men in this way. They already appeal to men, if you catch my drift. Indeed, we now have all the joy of a scientific study, which illuminates the difference. At the Stanford University School of Medicine (a place, as it happens, where I once underwent an absolutely hilarious procedure with a sigmoidoscope), the grim-faced researchers showed 10 men and 10 women a sample of 70 black-and-white cartoons and got them to rate the gags on a "funniness scale." To annex for a moment the fall-about language of the report as it was summarized in Biotech Week. (The original study is reported by E. Azim et al. (2005) Proc. Natl Acad. Sci. 202 (45) 16496-16501 - Doc Bushwell):

The researchers found that men and women share much of the same humor-response system; both use to a similar degree the part of the brain responsible for semantic knowledge and juxtaposition and the part involved in language processing. But they also found that some brain regions were activated more in women. These included the left prefrontal cortex, suggesting a greater emphasis on language and executive processing in women, and the nucleus accumbens ... which is part of the mesolimbic reward center.

This has all the charm and address of the learned Professor Scully's attempt to define a smile, as cited by Richard Usborne in his treatise on P. G. Wodehouse: "the drawing back and slight lifting of the corners of the mouth, which partially uncover the teeth; the curving of the naso-labial furrows ... " But have no fear--it gets worse:

"Women appeared to have less expectation of a reward, which in this case was the punch line of the cartoon," said the report's author, Dr. Allan Reiss. "So when they got to the joke's punch line, they were more pleased about it." The report also found that "women were quicker at identifying material they considered unfunny."

Slower to get it, more pleased when they do, and swift to locate the unfunny--for this we need the Stanford University School of Medicine? And remember, this is women when confronted with humor. Is it any wonder that they are backward in generating it?

It's bad enough to be cast as a dour dowager, but "grim faced researchers?" "Grim-faced researchers!?" Are scientists perceived as a uniformly humorless group? Hopefully not, although the rank nerdsomeness emanating from the latest Ig Nobel Awards ceremony caused me to cringe in embarrasment as I listened to its Podcast from Science Friday. Maybe scientists revel in their own brand of humor. According to ol' Hitchie's metric, women scientists should be even worse with the funny bone.

I don't know. I like to think I've had my moments, but then I can be delusional. As a woman of average looks, "plain" if you will, and admittedly above average intelligence, I couldn't flaunt beauty as a draw for the denizens of dudedom. As a kid and teenager, I was influenced by my wickedly sardonic brother, Mad Magazine, and later, The National Lampoon, and many hours of listening to Bill Cosby. I resorted to humor now and then to impress guys. I mean, I'm no Sarah Silverman nor Paula Poundstone nor Phyllis Diller (my comedienne idol), but I could get the guys going back in the day. This vaguely pertained to science and yes, often at the expense of men.

Like the time a group of us grad students and post-docs were listening to a reknowned NMR expert. There was something uncannily familiar about this guy's appearance (short, balding, rather large head) and his accompanying mild speech impediment. I jotted a note on a scrap of paper: "Dr. ___ sounds like Elmer Fudd" and passed it over to the classmate on my right. Shortly thereafter, I heard poorly stifled snorts as the note made its way along the row of guys. It was awkward since we had a difficult time getting ourselves under control. As soon as we settled down, Dr. ___'s Fuddish cadence would send us over the edge. Sure, it was mean and puerile, but that little note hit paydirt. We still hoot over this.

Some years later but some years ago, I gave a seminar at a local American Chemical Society conference. The subject was kinetics of a steroidogenic enzyme involved with prostate disease. Back then, we didn't have recombinant protein so I relied on human tissue samples for my enzyme, most of which I got from a major university cancer research institute. I was thrilled when our academic collaborators sent a flash frozen chunk of human prostate, practically a whole lobe, since this served as a rich reservoir of enzyme. Anyway, when I described the enzyme source in my ACS seminar, I offhandedly remarked that after seeing a frozen human prostate lobe, I stopped eating boiled shrimp in the company cafeteria. (The frozen lobe looked just like a cocktail shrimp.) The auditorium, filled with men and a scant sprinkling of women, erupted in laughter. Like Hitchens notes in his article, guys joke about their nether regions and junk, er, stuff, ah, whatever it's called. Hitchens addresses this phenomenon in his article, "Men have prostate glands, hysterically enough..." One of my colleagues told me that he overheard a big time sr. researcher (the kind to whom you genuflect) chuckle and say, "She's quite the comedienne!" Ba-da-bing! Sign me up for Vegas, baby!

Hitchens attributes women's lack of humor with our ability to bear children:

Humor, if we are to be serious about it, arises from the ineluctable fact that we are all born into a losing struggle. Those who risk agony and death to bring children into this fiasco simply can't afford to be too frivolous. (And there just aren't that many episiotomy jokes, even in the male repertoire.)

Wait a minute, Chrissie. I had the LaLeche League meeting in stitches when I noted my "episiotomy like the Grand Canyon" and that my perineal area smacked of a scene at the Star Lite Drive-In, or more precisely, "My c*nt was like a drive-in movie," with all the OB docs clustered around viewing and repairing it after the difficult birth of my son. OK, maybe the LLL fathers, had they heard this, would have turned green at the ripped asunder pudendum quips, but my fellow breastfeeders thought it was funny " 'cause it's true."

To be fair, Hitchens allows for plenty of exceptions among women and even says he does not think we are uniformly humorless nor capable of wit, but that we're different. "Men will laugh at almost anything, often precisely because it is--or they are--extremely stupid." For example, look at what I live with here at the Chimp Refuge:

Hitchens' "beloved said to (him), when (he) told her (he) was going to have to address this melancholy topic, that (he) should cheer up because 'women get funnier as they get older.' " Sorry. Wrong. You're out of the game, beloved of Hitchens. According to J.Uekermann, S. Channon, and I. Daum in the J. Int. Neuropsychol. Soc. (2006), 12 (2): 184-191, men's and women's ability to "get the joke" deteriorates as we age:

Recent investigations have emphasized the importance of the prefrontal cortex for humor processing. Although the prefrontal cortex is thought to be affected by normal aging, relatively little work has been carried out to investigate the effects of aging on humor processing. In the present investigation participants in three age groups were assessed on a humor comprehension task. They then answered mentalistic and nonmentalistic questions. Executive tasks were also administered. The older group selected significantly fewer correct punchlines from alternatives than the other groups. They were also poorer at answering mentalistic questions, but did not differ significantly for nonmentalistic questions. The findings of the present investigation showed altered in humor processing in normal aging, and this appeared to be related to mentalizing ability.

It looks like senescence is the great humorous equalizer. As we, men and women, grow old together, we lose our edge, or at least we are content to repeatedly say, "Remember the time you passed us that note about Herr Doktor Professor Fudd," then laugh so hard that we spit our dentures out and soak our Depends.

bushwells Wed, 12/13/2006 - 08:20

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My Bent Brain

Nostalgic Reverie

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Social Sciences

I believe men also use humor to gain status among fellow men.

You can certainly take some solace in the fact that Hitchens is a pompous ass. If you need to.

As usual, what Hitchens writes tells me nothing about the topic, but everything about him (and in this case, how women feel about him). He REALLY needs to get out more.

Hitchens is from Pluto.......no, wait. Pluto has taken more than its share of insults lately. Quick, someone give me the name of a nearby black hole!

I'm glad Hitchens exists, but I wouldn't want to take him seriously.

Yep, no need for me to take solace. Hitchens is really, really trying to be provocative in that fluff piece. With a nod to csrter, if CH didn't exist, we'd have to invent him.

But I'm still chapped raw over grim faced researchers.

I've thought a bit about this whole men-are-funnier thing, since I used to do improv comedy. We were always astounded when a woman came in to audition for us and actually made us laugh.

I guess I'm speculating that the humor gap is a function of the audience and not the comedian, so to speak: women will laugh at men's jokes because they are, on the whole, more submissive and eager to please than men are. Men are far less likely to laugh at women's jokes because, well... aren't men supposed to be the funny ones?

I mean, I'm being a little tongue-in-cheek here, and loose with my definition of what a "joke" is. But still--and I am not one who leans towards radical feminism--I think that the humor gap is a symptom of the audience maintaining its appropriate status relative to the performer.

Disagree with me if you think this is dumb.

Perhaps there is some overthinking going on. I thought Lucille Ball was pretty funny until people told me it wasn't hip to go that way.

I agree that it mainly reflects the core audience, but I think men make up the core audiences even of sitcom TV where you'll see still more pandering to male humor because of the purchasing power.

What I find funny is not the unbelievable but that what I can believe if I was observant at all about my own behavior. Shows like the Simpsons and Futurama are effective because they place us all as subjects of character study but they mainly use the women as straight and somewhat humorless. Society expects Bart and Homer and Frye to act the way they do. If Lisa or Marge behaved the way that males do, the show wouldn't have lasted at all, so TV (the great cultural reflector) just reinforces our behavior.

The best live action on TV comes from Jerry Stiller as Frank Costanza and Arthur Spooner. I'm going to miss him when he kicks the bucket.

Sarah, you did improv? Really? I am not worthy, I am not worthy! Honestly, I am impressed by those who can perform comedy on the fly. The cultural expectations angle has merit, I think.

JKB, I loved Lucille Ball, and often watched "I love Lucy: as a kid. Hipness be fucked. I agree that Lisa and Marge play the straight foils in "The Simpsons" but Leela has her moments.

Ah, the Jerry Lewis theory! ("Lucille Ball wasn't funny...women are just baby machines...blah")

Hitchie has obviously never met me! *Strikes pose (and post)* Here's a sampling:

Kristine cheers up God after bad Katherine Harris blowout.

Here's what I have to say about fundy sex toys. (Ah-hem! Also note later male commenter making reference to heightened "blog crush"!)

Here I make funny about dinosaurs as creationist pets. (Note I snare another later commenter!) *Makes notch on lipstick case*

Finally, I hold my own against those cowboys at OverwhelmingEvidence.com eating baked memes around the campfire upon which they are burning Judge Jones.

Women have no corresponding need to appeal to men in this way. They already appeal to men, if you catch my drift. Oh yeah! Check it. Yeah, appealing. If you think Frau Blucher has no [whinny!] sense of humor, I can't argue with that, Hitch.

But I can hum it!

I guess I'm speculating that the humor gap is a function of the audience and not the comedian

IMO there's another social factor at work. It's not that women are naturally any less funny; it's that (historically, at any rate) we get the message from an early age that being funny is somehow inapropriate for us, that it's OK on stage or TV, but in real life - never! That would be calling attention to ourselves, and in addition there have always been certain subjects and modes of expression that were considered off-limits.

Maybe I'm showing my 50+ years here, but I've had trouble all my life with my oddball sense of humor coming out and someone taking offense not because anything I said was particularly bad, but because it was me who said it. (My former in-laws in particular were practically scandalized.)

The upshot of it all is that I've realized that I can't really be friends with anyone who isn't comfortable with my wackiness. My best friend these days is a guy with whom I can fling puns, non-sequiturs, etc. back and forth for an hour or more at a time and occasionally drive the rest of our friends out of the room screaming.

On other fronts:

I've always hated Lucy for playing such an absolute flake all the time, and I detest most live-action sitcoms in general because they're based on wall-to-wall dysfunctionality within supposedly "close" relationships.

OTOH, I can watch The Simpsons, Family Guy, American Dad, and South Park for hours. I figure it must be because in cartoons, it's dysfunctionality once removed. Go figure........

IMO there's another social factor at work. It's not that women are naturally any less funny; it's that (historically, at any rate) we get the message from an early age that being funny is somehow inapropriate for us, that it's OK on stage or TV, but in real life - never!

anomalous4, that's another good observation which plays into the cultural expections piece. Granted, an n=1 does not represent mindboggling statistical significance, but from personal experience, I think you're on to something there. After firing off a preadolescent smart-alecky remark which I thought was funny, my beleaguered, and thus humor-challenged, mother, retorted that "all that Mad Magazine and Bill Cosby" were bad influences. Yet, she never forbade me from indulging in these. So the message was that it was OK to listen to and read about humor, but not to use it. I ignored the message.

Kristine, my apologies for the delay in the appearance of your fabulous comment. Movable Type has a number of befuckled quirks, and capricious "hold this comment for approval" binning is one of them. Anyway...

Okay, whatever. I'll take one Testament Tickler, a Res-erection Rabbit, and some Jehovah Jelly. Who's my Other Daddy? Va-va-va-voom!

I gotta go with the Right Reverend Bigdumbchimp here. That is gold, Kristine, pure gold! My laptop's screen is now Jackson Pollocked with breakfast crumbs and coffee thanks to your quips.

I gotta go with the Right Reverend Bigdumbchimp here. That is gold, Kristine, pure gold!

Thank you, Doc Bushwell, and no apologies necessary. I'm always glad to spread joy. *Beams* If I have laughed last, it's because I've cried on the shoulders of giants. (Awww...)

I've started a [shameless plug] new blog about science and women and have snared another male victim with my (he said it!) "sense of humor." Since I am not a scientist I welcome others to contribute, or at least to tell me when I'm going astray. I hope the anti-flapdoodle superheroines (and heroes) of scienceblogs will visit!

Hmm, must be nice to interpret a basic pilot study and make sweeping generalizations about male vs. female capacity for humor, while making a ton of money from Vanity Fair. How about some observational studies of behavior and perceived attractiveness. What do men and women say to each other in different contexts. Who indeed does say more funny stuff? Hard to quantify, but that would be better than the study cited by Hitchins.

Anyway Doc, you're Very funny.

"IN TODAYS BIG FRICKIN' NEWS"...

20 people solve the humor paradox for the rest of us....

10 men and 10 women; thats statistically important, I'll tell ya.

10 men and 10 women; thats statistically important, I'll tell ya.

You know, that's probably the biggest knee slapper of this whole raging teapot of a tempest.

Well, I would stop eating shrimp in the cafeteria after reading this. If our cafeteria served shrimp, I mean.

Thorazine for some and Quaaludes for all your patients!

bushwells — Tue, 28 Nov 2006 12:26:32 +0000

Thorazine for some and Quaaludes for all your patients!

Over at Terra Sigillata, Abel Pharmboy dissects the deeper meaning of the Rozarem ad which features Abe Lincoln, a beaver and a scuba diver telling an insomniac how much they miss him. The ad is hawking Takeda Pharm's latest little sleeping pill. The Rozarem campaign is a departure from the usual direct-to-consumer drug advertising. It's certainly edgier and more surreal than Mandy Patinkin looking sincerely into the camera and urging you to "ask your doctor about Crestor."

I am not a fan (to say the least) of pharma's DTC advertising, but I'll leave my frothing rant on that subject for another time. When I first started in the Biz 18 years ago this month, ads for prescription drugs were confined to JAMA, The Lancet, or speciality journals. These were the days before e-journals and pdf's. There were some pretty intriguing ones to be found as glossy color prints or more subdued black and white tones. When I worked on targets for prostate cancer, I often read, appropriately enough, The Prostate, and also the Journal of Urology. Some of the ads in the latter were eyebrow-raising. Who knew there were, uh, gadgets like that for male plumbing? Honestly, the impact of phosphodiesterase-5 inhibitors cannot be underestimated. Then there was the article on cosmetic surgery to reverse circumcision, complete with figures and diagrams.

In addition to articles on "I never would have thought about that" urological surgery, I sometimes got sidetracked by the drug ads, particularly as I hunted for older articles. I expect that this collection of vintage drug ads has been noted in Science Blogs before my momentous arrival, but heck, it deserves a reprise now that Abel is discussing beavers and dead presidents. I mean, what well-meaning doc could resist writing a 'scrip for this marvelous sleep aid?

And for Kevin's pals over at the Stop the ACLU site, I think a bit of chlorpromazine is in order.

Check out the link for many more. I think only two of the companies, Abbott and Lilly, who sold those old-timey drugs, remain intact and as yet unacquired and unmerged.

bushwells Tue, 11/28/2006 - 07:26

Tags

Nostalgic Reverie

The View from Pharma-dur

Thorazine for some and Quaaludes for all your patients!

A riff on Kang and Kodos appealing to the masses?

If you're into explaining ads, what's with this one?

They've got every need underlined, an elixir, a kid with dilated pupils and gentleness indicated. This could explain much...

Hee. "Agitated senile." Hee!

Ah, the good old days when a lot of psychotropic drugs were advertised precisely for what they REALLY are - chemical restraint. And thank the FSM for them.

Dr. Bushwell is the queen of subtle Simpson's allusions as her title here shows! "Abortions for some, little American flags for all." - Kang (or Kodos) from The Simpsons. You have one fellow Simpson's fan out there.
This was from the great episode where Kang and Kodos attempt to co-opt the US poltical system and disguise themselves as Clinton and Dole.

double-soup & Brian, yes, indeed that is a riff on Kang's and Kodos' political machinations: Season 8, episode 1: Treehouse of Horror VII, Citizen Kang.

A couple of my favorite quotes from that episode (besides the one which I reference in the title of this blog piece):

Kent Brockman: Senator Dole, why should people vote for you instead of President Clinton?

Kang: It makes no difference which one of us you vote for. Either way, your planet is doomed. DOOMED!

Kent: Well, a refreshingly frank response there from senator Bob Dole.
-----------------------------------------------------
George Stephanopoulos: Uh, Mr. President, Sir. People are becoming a bit... confused by the way your and your opponent are, well, constantly holding hands.

Kang: We are merely exchanging long protein strings. If you can think of a simpler way, I'd like to hear it.

Yeah, the sub-text of the Nembutal ad is, er, disturbing. I suppose that Nembutal represented an advance in chemical babysitting over good ol' laudanum (tincture of opium).

Sue, I often think that the administrative assitants for executives in Korporate Amerika would be well advised to replace the hard candies in the little dishes by their desks (for visitors to the executive suite and the exectuive him- or herself) with Thorazine and Haldol.

I had to do a double-take because I thought you called me Abe Pharmboy (which brings to me odd visions of appearing in the Rozerem ad myself).

I love these old adverts and must admit having to learn about older pharmacology through various media, including old cultural drug references such as The Clash's ode to Montgomery Clift in "The Right Profile":

Nembutal numbs it all,
But I prefer alcohol

Ah, the fodder that led to me pursuing graduate school in the pharmaceutical sciences....

Of all the drugs I've loved before,
I couldn't have loved my 714s more.