Stem Cell Angst

Don't be fooled. The current bill in Congress to expand stem cell research has nothing to do with catching up to the South Koreans or opening up a back door for reproductive cloning. All it would do is expand the availability of embryonic stem cells to already created embryos that have been set to be discarded by fertility clinics.

Some say this is about ethics and that we should err on the side of caution when it comes to using federal money for something that certain people find morally objectionable. Morality aside, the president's initial ban and veto is a real danger to the autonomy of science. It would be a more consistent position (and safer for government science in the long run) for ESC research to be considered outright illegal. The reality of the situation is that the NIH is by far the major funder of American medical research, as well as employing many of the top scientists in the country. Congress and the president should not be able to micromanage what can and cannot get funded. If, as some say, no American taxpayer should be required to fund from her own dollars what she regards as a moral outrage, what is to stop the public from pushing to pull all federal research in HIV? Or other STDs? Or genetic disorders that primarily affect Jews like Tay-Sachs disease? Or to stop funding on individual, peer-reviewed grants that they deem morally repugnant, like Congress attempted to do a few years ago on certain AIDS and transgendered studies? I am a huge supporter of federalism, but states and private companies cannot and shouldn't have to pick up the slack in this arena of national interest (even though they seem to be doing a good job of it). If the American people feel that it is important to fund medical research with federal tax dollars, they should accept what the scientists deem promising enough to fund and not second-guess the peer-review process.

Yet if its ethics you are concerned with, consider this: when Bush limited the stem cell lines government scientists were allowed to use, ESC research was about 3 years old. That's worse than saying it was in its infancy as a science. In those days, the only way they could get ESCs to proliferate was to grow them on a layer of mouse "feeder" cells, which we have recently discovered have contaminated the approved cell lines so that they are probably unusable. In fact, it is quite possible that to attempt to use these lines for any therapeutic treatment would be unethical, given their state. In other words, the ban itself is probably unethical, since the president is more or less saying that he gives scientists permission to continue to pursue therapeutic uses of ESCs as long as they continue to use cell lines that would be unethical to actual use therapeutically.

But of course this never comes up. Nor does the fact that it was politicians and pundits in the 80s that started using the term "embryo" for any stage past a fertilized egg; to an embryologist you have to progress considerably farther. Nor is mentioned that fertilization and conception are functionally two different stages; that women have eggs that are fertilized much more frequently than they conceive.

Of course ethics is about peoples opinions, but they need to have informed opinions. And for anyone to conflate the current debate over the expansion of ESC research with the advent of human cloning is particularly uninformed.

The Worst Week Ever

My friend, Phatiwe, passed away last Thursday after a grueling year with cancer. She was 27. I spent the next five days in Boston, mourning with my friends, all of whom came rushing up as soon as they heard. It was extraordinarily unpleasant. As were the numerous phone calls to people I hadn't spoken too since after graduation, having to hear the elation in their voices because I'd called quickly fade when they were told why. It's not something anyone should have to do. Ever.

We did send her off proper, though. She left explicit instructions on what bars we had to crawl to and made sure we wound up in Chinatown when we were done, gorging on crab rangoon and roast duck. Typical; even after she was dead she managed to tell us what to do. And after we settled up the bill at one of her favorite hangouts, the bartender told us that the first round was on Phatiwe; I think it's the first time I've ever cried in public.

She was loved by many, many people; the funeral home couldn't hold everyone who came. She had a few dozen high school friends and co-workers, as well as us. But aside from her parents, the ol' college gang was the most visibly broken up, especially Jen who had been the only one left in Boston to take care of this miserable experience for the past year.

I realized throughout this whole crapfest that you really do form something important during those late night runs to Denny's in West Lebanon. When you live together at such a young age, you get very close. You grow up together. Phatiwe, Sandra and I spent the first snowstorm of our freshman year making snow angels in front of Baker Tower. We spent the last snowstorm of senior year making snow angels in front of the New Dorms. The only difference is that, in the latter case, I had drunken a whole bottle of gin and was only wearing a T-shirt. See, we grew up.

No one deserves to die, but if they did Phatiwe should have been the last in line. She was a beautiful, compassionate person, even to the end when she didn't want anyone to have to see her losing. Which isn't surprising when you consider that she would grow her nails out specifically so she could attain maximum maiming during a game of Egyptian Rat Screw, guaranteeing that you would never have a chance to win ever again.

And yet for all the suckiness, I've come to appreciate how special my friends truly are and how goddamn lucky I am to have them. Really, really lucky. For all the growing up we were supposed to do in college, it was those stupid, childish antics that really bound us together. Well, Mom, I think I finally grew up.

And it fucking sucks.

May: When Everyday Is The Third of the Month!

With all this wonderful weather and my brawls with lit tobacco products, I nearly forgot that May is a very, very special month. Every May the rest of the world recognizes the mission of the Third of the Month, the importance of loving yourself to your truest and fullest capacity. While you're convincing yourself of how wonderful you are, you might want to think of one of the numerous ways that your time and effort can benefit others. And don't worry if you're new to the joys and wonders of the Third of the Month; help is available for all those who need it. And don't be shy. Don't be embarrassed by the fact that you love and cherish your uniqueness. You're not the only one. And there's absolutely nothing wrong about treating yourself right. Unless you're doing it wrong.

Where Does The Time Go?...

I have told myself that I will have the discussion to my paper written by Friday, when my advisor returns from a meeting. This morning I wrote the word "Discussion". This afternoon I decided it needed to be underlined.

I think I'm off to a good start.

Embarrassing Celebrity Crushes

We all have them. We don't want to admit it, but we do. That celebrity that gives you that little tingle whenever you see them but you don't want to tell anyone for fear of being mocked? Yeah, that one. Sure, we all have those crushes that no one bats an eye at; the crushes that everyone else has so it's universally ok. Like my unbearable crush on Orlando Bloom and my unnatural attraction to Nicole Kidman (or maybe it's the other way around). Or more recently, Seth Meyer, who's both cute and relatively funny.

But then there's the uncool ones. Like a close personal friend of mine has always had a thing for Diedrich Bader, the guy who plays Osgood on "The Drew Carey Show". Or yet another friend has a thing for Rachael Ray. These are unnatural, unwarranted obsessions and should remain undisclosed.

Yet as a cleansing ritual of sorts, I am going to confess to the whole world my embarassing celebrity crush: Donovan Patton. Yes, that's right, the guy who replaced that Steve guy on Blue's Clues. Got that? Blue's Clues. It's really disturbing. I sometimes can't leave my apartment in the morning because I have to watch the whole show just in case that today is the day he takes his shirt off at the end. It's sick. I am a sick, twisted individual. I need to put out of my misery.

Fatty Acid Head

I have learned, much to my dismay, that the first witness called in the Kansas "kangaroo court" on Intelligent Design was William Harris, a leading authority on the importance of fish oils to human health.

My heart weeps.

Cinco de Que?

I've never been a huge fan of Cinco de Mayo, probably because I dislike tequila and Mexican food usually gives me gas. But I thought I should say something today because it does have a pretty cool date this year, 05-05-05.

But really, why the heck do we even care about this holiday? It's not like it's Mexican independence day; it's not like anything really important happened. So the Mexicans defeated the French at Puebla during the Napoleonic Wars. Big whoop. I mean, I guess by some stretch of the imagination you could say that that little tiny Mexican army kept the French from aiding the Confederate Army which subsequently allowed the Union to win the War of Northern Aggression. But by that same stretch of the imagination you could say that I have long, flowing hair or that the Cubs have a chance of winning the penant this year.

And yet, for some reason we still celebrate this stupid holiday. Oh well. Viva la Mexico.

Massaging the Data

I feel it is my job, as a scientist and a sane human being, to point out everything that is wrong with Maggie Gallagher. She has an article in the NRO this week calling for more money to help "protect" marriage. Pretty much it's the same old crap. But I'd like to point out two small issues I have. One is with statistics. She says:

The most striking (and underreported) results are those of the 2004

UCLA freshman poll released earlier this year, which surveys 290,000

college freshman. Between 2003 and 2004 the proportion of college

freshman who support gay marriage dropped almost three percentage

points, from 59.4 percent to 56.7 percent. This is the first recorded

drop in support for same-sex marriage among college freshman since the

question was first asked in 1997.

Well, aside from the fact that I am completely unable to find this poll on the internet, we should look carefully at those numbers. I'm no mathematician, but even with 290,000 people surveyed, I know of no drop of 3% that can be considered statistically significant; the margin of error doesn't improve that dramatically with a greater sample size. So maybe the reason it's underreported is that it isn't terribly striking. Even all of the other polls she cites as showing that Americans are increasingly opposed to gay marriage aren't that dramatic.

The Pew poll, which asks “Do you strongly favor, favor, oppose, or

strongly oppose allowing gays and lesbians to marry legally?,” showed

Americans’ opposition to SSM climbing from 53 percent v. 38 percent in

July 2003, to 60 percent v. 29 percent in the latest August of 2004

survey.

Notice how the question specifically asks for one of four choices and yet she lumps them into two. It be interesting and important to know how committed the citizenry is to their opposition. These are minor points, but it's the subversive ways that people use numbers and facts to support their positions or make small changes seem significant, that are subtly manipulative.

And then there's an interesting omission at the end of the article:

Two years from now, one-third of the country is likely to be living

with gay marriage. Pending court decisions in California, Washington

state, New Jersey (along with Massachusetts) are likely to produce a

fragmented marriage system despite overwhelming public opposition. And

other states, like New York, are taking a different route: forbidding

the performance of gay marriages in-state, but recognizing gay

marriages performed in nearby Massachusetts or Canada.

Where is Connecticut, which just approved civil unions that are significantly close to gay marriage, and did so legislatively? I'm hard-pressed to believe that Maggie Gallagher missed that little development. No, the reason that Connecticut isn't mentioned is because it doesn't fit into her nice little model of judical tyranny and forced acceptance. It doesn't matter that some of the country might actually want to be living with gay marriage. Nor does it matter that public opposition to gay marriage in Massachusetts is waning and that the citizens there are not punishing gay marriage-backing legislators but rather rewarding them. Because for people like Maggie Gallagher, the voice of the people is sacred and absolute, but only as long as the people are agreeing with your position.

Happy Belated Third of the Month!

If you're like me, your Third of the Month breezed by in flurry of self-indulgence and treating yourself like a god among gods. And like all good Thirds of the Month, it should have had its ups and downs, its pleasures and pains, its climaxes and denouements.

Yesterday was the 25th annual Vincent DuVigneaud student symposium. I gave a talk. I failed to win. Again. I am, however, not bitter. There were too many other more egregious injustices in the judging process to take the blow personally. And even though I did a kick-ass job of bringing it down to a plebeian level, nobody really appreciates biophysics.

So, I decided that, rather than drown my sorrows with a plethora of alcohol, I was going to celebrate my wonderfulness with a plethora of alcohol. And celebrate I did. It was just like old-times; free booze at Griffis, followed by a crowded TJs, polished off with Red Bull at the Banshee. Got into a fight with the lit end of a cigarette (my second loss of the day). Hung out with some cool people from Ithaca, one of whom was painfully cute. Pretty much how the Third of the Month should be. Only with cash prizes coming my way.

That said, wear plaid; it's good for your soul. Use moist towelettes; they're good for your health. And try to eat fatty fish several times a week. It's good for your ion channels.

It's Been Awhile...

... and I've been busy. But much has happened to me since in the past month; let's see...

Went to San Diego.
Got lost in Mexico.
Got overheard.
Saw Cher.
Believed.
Pissed off the Jersey trash behind me for dancing.
Was strong enough to take them in a battle of wills.
Left happy.
Saw some stand-up.
Laughed.
Saw more stand-up.
Laughed more.
Got accosted by a drunk vet from Korea.
He was a strong kid.
Got very depressed.
Wrote a talk.
Went to Double Happiness.
Got two happinesses.
Wrote blog entry.

What's Wrong With Kansas? Part Deux

The Board of Education in Kansas has been flip-flopping over evolution since 1999, when they voted to teach creationism alongside modern evolution. That decision was reversed a few years ago when certain fundamentalist board members were replaced. Well it's back. The Panda's Thumb has great coverage of all things evolution. This is the latest from Kansas. Apparently there is going to be a hearing next month in which the Kansas Board of Education plans to fly in dozens of pseudo-scientists to testify on behalf of Intelligent Design. Can't they be doing something better with their tax dollars? Like actually teach actual students actual science?

Sometimes I want to kill.

What's Wrong With Kansas?

Or Connecticut, depending on the way you lean. As I right this, the CT State Senate is discussion the much hyped civil union bill. They've already rejected an amendment to the bill that would include language defining marriage as between a man and a woman. I know because I've been stalking them.

This is monumental because Connecticut, my blessed home state, would become the first state to enact civil union legislation without court intervention. No one can complain that the process was usurped from the elected representatives. (Well, I guess they can still complain...)

This comes on the heels of Kansas becoming the 18th state to ban same-sex marriage in a state constitution. It's interesting to see the way both processes are working. One is brave, the other cowardly. Not because of what each state is trying to do, but how they are trying to do it.

See, voting is private. You go into a little booth and make a decision and don't have to tell anyone what you decided. Legislative voting, however, is public. People can go into a little booth and vote to treat gays as less than equal citizens and no one needs to know. But if everyone had to wear little buttons on their lapels with how they voted, they'd be singing a different tune. Because no one wants to be accused of being intolerant. But with secret ballots, there's no danger of that. They don't have to back up their convictions.

Why didn't the Massachusetts legislature tackle the gay marriage issue sooner? The court gave them ample time to get the constitutional ban wagon rolling, but they sat on their asses because no one wanted to be accused of being intolerant. Every voter in Kansas who voted for this amendment should be forced to go up to a gay person, look them in the eye, and tell them that they voted to keep him or her from marrying the person that they love.

Because if you feel that strongly about marriage, you should tell the people you're affecting to their faces, and not hide anonymously behind a curtain. That's something a coward does.

UPDATE: Well the bill passed the Senate 27-9. That's fairly definitive. It should pass the House next week.

I Cannot Sit On My Heels

This morning on the bus, I was sitting behind a woman of Asian descent who was apparently studying English. The piece of paper she was reading had two columns, the first with a sentence in English, the second with a sentence in what appeared to be Chinese or Japanese. This is not all that unusual. What was unusual, however, were the sentences she was learning how to say. The first four on the list were:

That is so humiliating!
This law violates the First Amendment.
Her back was turned when she was shot.
I cannot sit on my heels.

Say what? I cannot sit on my heels? What does that even mean? And why would this woman need to learn how to say it? She might as just run around saying "I can eat glass."

Happy Third of the Month!

Time to pull out that plaid and treat yourself right. No titty bars or crap like that. No binging neither. Nope, that's not for a day like today. Today is when step back, take that deep breath, no matter what we're doing, and appreciate what God gave us. Today is the day to use the expensive facewash and walk to the store instead of taking the bus. Today is the day that you crack open that good bottle of wine you've been saving for a special occasion. Because today is the day that is the occasion that doesn't need an occasion. We shouldn't need an excuse to love ourselves but we often forget.

But not the Third of the Month. We should never forget about ourselves on the Third of the Month.

This Third of the Month, I'm going to share with you a little thought I had yesterday. As we all know, the Pope has died. I feel sad and I don't know why. I think he was a pretty good Pope. He poped during some hard times and had the purest of intentions. But I really have nothing to compare to. And that was my thought. That part of the Catholic mass where we pray "for John Paul our Pope, Edward our bishop..." etc? Well, I've gone through a bunch of bishops but I've never heard anything else there beacause I've never known any Pope other than JPII. And in a week or two, I'll never hear it again. And I thought, wow, that's weird, especially since it was the first thought that popped into my head.

Anywho. Love yourself. Because that's what the Pope wants.

Oh, and he wants us to always use moist towelettes because cleanliness is next to popeliness.

A Night With The Boys

So the ball-n-chain is away for the weekend, so last night, being Friday and all, I decided to have a night out with the boys. You know, engage in despicable debauchery and wake up the next morning in shame and disgust. This was after an afternoon of trying to find my house from space, so I felt that I deserved some sort of unencumbered fun. Of course, as luck would have it I was miserably hungover from the night before so I remained sleepy the whole evening.

Suffice it to say, the evening in question began by meeting up with Stan and Mick (their names have been changed to protect them from possible Internet scandal) at a wine shop in Gramercy to taste Chianti Classicos, so right off the bat our evening is shaping up to be, um, semi-debaucherous? We did give the snooty sommelier a nasty look when he was being petulant.

We then traveled a few blocks downtown to go to Ye Olde Bar or something like that, one of the oldest bars in the city, where we had burgers and beer and talked about the Pope. We were also the youngest people there. After my meal, I just felt sleepier. So we went to the Flatiron Lounge and drank fruity, overpriced, turn-of-the-century cocktails in a classic 20s New York atmosphere. I spent the entire time ogling one of the waiters without my partners in crime noticing (I think) while we talked about how fruity our drinks were and what a pussy Stan was for not finishing his because it was too strong.

We then cabbed it down to the Lower East side to just miss a band playing at Arlene's Grocery. I felt a little hipper, even though I was wearing a fuchsia gingham shirt. I guess it's OK, because Stan was dressed like a bank teller and Mick looked like he'd been run over by a Kenneth Cole outlet store truck (sorry, dude, I just never liked that sweater; I think it's the collar). We talked about sex while listening to the current band make up for lack of talent and profundity with sound level and guitar rape.

It was then that it began to rain. Physically and metaphorically. That was when Stan decided we needed to go to a strip club. I'm always up for a little whoring with my drinking, but I wasn't about to pay $40 to get into Scores so I could be snubbed by a bunch of strippers I couldn't give a shit about looking at anyway. But I hadn't seen a breast since San Antonio so, of course, I was game. We decided to tourist out and go to where Seventh Avenue meets Broadway.

We told the cabby to take us to "Times Square". Around 43rd St. we told him that was fine. He politely explained to us that Times Square went from 42nd St. up to 47th. "We know," I said indignantly, "we live here."

So the three of us wandered around Times Square for a bit, trying to find the right place to go, while making up our personalities. We were from Dayton, Ohio, in for work. Stan was a QA manager, Mick was a marketing associate (I think) and I was a project manager. I was the married one looking for a good time.

Not sure of where to go, we chose a small gentleman's lounge right off Broadway. (If by "gentleman's lounge you mean "bordello", then yes). It cost us ten bucks apiece to get in. When Mick ordered a whiskey, we were told they only had light beer, juice and soda. Uh-huh. We were three of five men in this place, to about a dozen women. All of whom where aggressive saleswomen as well as aggressive pole dancers, which was amazing because the music was vaguely minimalistic hip-hop and not very danceable. Although I guess straddling a pole and swinging around it with your panties halfway towards your ankles doesn't really require that much rhythm.

I would have gladly taken a lap dance, if only for old times sake (oh Crazy Horse II, how I miss thee!) except they didn't do that. They did, however, give private shows. $100 for 20 minutes. 40% tip to the girl. Unless you wanted full service. Mick told me the word "happy ending" was used when he was being given the gritty details. Well, I don't know about that but I do know that I felt dirty. Very very very dirty. And I've done some dirty things. Hell, a good chunk of the country thinks I do dirty things every day. But this, oh this was new levels of dirty. I didn't even do anything and I felt dirty. And slightly nauseous. When we fled, Stan tried to cover for us saying that I was getting nervous about my wife. Like the hook-- I mean strippers -- cared. Oh Stan. So lovable with his perfect synergy of shame and shamelessness.

We couldn't go home after being that dirty; we had to clean off, physically and metaphorically. So we went to Tonic on Times Square, the saddest bar in the world. It could very well have been smack in the middle of Dayton, OH, thinking it was a trendy New York City bar. We drank watery G&Ts and watched clueless tourists taking pictures of each other wearing last year's guido shirts with disposable cameras. Let me put it this way, the second floor was closed for a private party for the auto show.

I was in bed by 2. After a very hot, very anti-bacterial soapy shower. I haven't had a proper confession in over 5 years but I think it's time to do some penance. Lots and lots of penance.

Questioning Darwin

I've been thinking a lot about science education recently, having just given a two-day lab on bacterial transformation to a group of high school freshmen in the Bronx. It's really a great lesson; the kids get to transform bacterial with GFP and make them glow green. It shows them, first hand, the concepts of cloning, antibiotic resistance, and the link between DNA and protein expression. It really piques their curiosity. Which is what science is supposed to do. And why I was both pleased and dismayed by an article in the WaPo today.

The author goes on for a bit about some old high school history teacher that made him question everything and made history fun for him, whereas his science classes were boring and rote memorization. And if it's one thing the IDers have done for him was show him that biology can be questioned in the same, exciting way.

And it can. But not the way that IDers do it. He writes:

The intelligent-design folks say theirs is not a religious doctrine.
They may be lying, and are just softening up the teaching of evolution
for an eventual pro-Genesis assault. But they passed one of my tests.
They answered Gould's favorite question: If you are real scientists,
then what evidence would disprove your hypothesis? West indicated that
any discovery of precursors of the animal body plans that appeared in
the Cambrian period 500 million years ago would cast doubt on the
thesis that those plans, in defiance of Darwin, evolved without a
universal common ancestor.

See, that's all fine and good. That is a great way to disprove Darwin's hypothesis. Only such an ancestor has yet to be found. And until it has, evolution has not been disproved. Now, this author must turn around and ask the IDers how to disprove their hypothesis. What? They can't do it?

See the difference? Not questioning the facts of Darwinism in a science class is bad teaching. Bad teaching is a problem that is entirely exclusive from whether or not evidences for intelligent design or theories of irreducible complexity should be presented to students. If students aren't being forced to ask tough questions in their science classes, they aren't being educated properly.

But to introduce ID, specifically, alongside evolution and proffer it as another possible explanation is like teaching medical students that mental illnesses can be diagnosed by phrenology. Sure, there are probably a few doctors out there who may think that that is an alternative method, but any curriculum that gave phrenology any semblance of credence would be laughed out of accreditation. Saying that our current methods of diagnosis are incomplete, however, is a whole other story...

Don't Piss Off a Scientist

Earlier this week, P.Z. Myers lambasted some recent idiotic ID claims by David Berlinski of the dreaded Discovery Institute, which actually does more than just attack science (who knew?). Honestly, he's more restrained than he should be. When I was working on an Evolution v. ID workshop a few months ago, I spent many a day fuming at my computer (or the boy) and when I heard William Dembski speak to a bunch of Christian fundamentalists I nearly curled up under my seat and cried. Which is presicely how Myers (and other scientists) feel:

So what should I do in a debate with some sleaze like Berlinski, who
pulls this kind of dishonest crap? Spend 20 minutes teaching the
audience about Hardy-Weinberg, pull up the results of a half dozen
studies, and get all technical and detailed? Or walk across the room,
beat him unconscious with any one of hundreds of readily available
books that demonstrate his dishonesty, and kick him until he pukes?

And better yet, when Berlinski's essay had devolved into random babbling:

What the hell…?

This doesn't even make sense; all I can imagine is that Berlinski,
sitting in his little fantasy bubble, imagining how biology works
without ever consulting reality, has drifted off into some bizarre
alien plane where he is now warring with his own misconceptions.

Check out the article...

Bad Store Layouts

It's a well-known grocery store trick-o-da-trade to design your aisle layouts to maximize sales. The tricks are many and varied. For example, items that you want the shopper to focus on are usually on a shelf that's about 5'2" from the floor, because that is the average eye-level of a middle-aged woman which is your average supermarket shopper.

Apparently the shelf-stockers at Rite Aid didn't get the memo. This weekend I injured my back (or re-injured as it's a recurring injury from my more youthful, collegiate days) and so I hobbled to the drug store to look for some nifty product marketed especially for and yet not necessarily designed especially for back pain, like Doan's or something. And maybe some sort of insto-heating pad or other nifty contraption to make me feel better. And they had a plethora of back pain specific products, since this is America and we must be given 534,297 choices for everything.

And the were all on the bottom shelf. The shelf I couldn't reach because I couldn't bend over due to the back pain I was trying to alleviate by purchasing a back pain specific products that Rite Aid had convenient put on the bottom shelf.

I ended up purchasing plain old generic ibuprofen because a) it was cheaper and b) I could reach it.

Thoughts On My Commute and Stuff

There are a few things that are nice about not living two blocks from where you work. First, I get to ride the bus. Now many people probably think that that is a horrible thing, but I take it shortly after rush hour now so it's pretty empty. And I get to see new faces. The same new faces. I have bus buddies. And my own special seat. And I now know which buses are the good ones and which buses are the bad ones. I'd never stopped to think before about how relatively few buses were on one single line.

But maybe one of the best things about commuting is the advancements I've made towards entering the 21st century, technology-wise. First, I thought it was cool that I was the first kid on my block with DVR. TV watching becomes a whole new experience with it. But better than that, now I have an iPod. And all of a sudden I see the world through different eyes. The world has a soundtrack now. And I notice more and more people with those white earphones in their ears. It's like an Apple cult. See, there are bus buddies and there are iPod bus buddies.

And to even one-up myself, yesterday Amazon delivered my iTrip, so I can play my iPod through my receiver which is attached to my kick-ass surround sound system. Just think, less than two years ago I was stuck watching network television in real time and only able to listen to a Sublime compilation CD which was stuck in the broken CD drive of my five-year-old iMac in my apartment with only one floor.

More Shameless Self-Promotion

Often in my free time I get into long, heated discussions on other people's blogs. But sometimes I write letters to the editor. Rarely do I do so because it's harder to be short and concise than blustery and long-winded. So, ladies and gentlemen, yours truly has just had a letter to the editor published. Granted, it was for the Cornell Daily Sun up in Ithaca, so I had a better chance of getting in than the general public, but it's still a letter and it's still print and I have officially defended evolution in a more public arena.

Go me.

It's also interesting to see the editorial process in work. The letter was not edited for content or clarity, however they chose to emphasize in the title what I would have considered the minor point (that ID isn't a testable hypothesis) rather than the major point which was evolution is not a theory of origin.

Oh well. Go me anyway.