No Dinosaurs on a Farm

2009-05-16T19:22:00.000-04:00

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O, Remember!

2006-08-29T10:30:00.000-04:00

Here's a tee shirt I'm planning to make. What do you think?

Get Yourself a Bioreactor

2006-05-08T21:26:00.000-04:00

Here’s some trivia you can recite next time (i.e. in five minutes) you want to sound really cool:

Q. How many eukaryotic membrane proteins have been crystallized from bacteria?

A. Zero.

After those in your audience have recovered from that staggering statistic, they will undoubtedly be so amazed by your ostensibly infinite knowledge that they will be ready to listen to anything you say. And that’s the best time to treat them to another morsel:

Q. How many high-resolution structures of G protein-coupled receptors (GPCRs) have been solved?

A. One: rhodopsin.

Depending on your delivery, your listeners will be
- A) stunned speechless (again)
- B) enraged
- C) contacting their Congressmen within the hour
And regardless of your delivery, they will want more. So you will give them more:

Q. Where does rhodopsin come off being so structurally solvable?

A. Because the rod cells in your eye make like a ton of it so it’s really easy to purify.

Then one of your newly won acolytes is bound to complain:

C. But that’s not fair to the other GPCRs: they’re all expressed in such low concentrations.

To which you will reply:

R. Exactly, it’s not fair, Little One, but there is hope.

And then you will read to them the graphic novel you prepared for this occasion, where you show how Li Zhang from Novasite Pharmaceuticals developed a method to make rod cells generate any GPCR in just as high a concentration as rhodopsin–GPCR bioreactors!

(At this point, I recommended you give them some time to take it all in. They’ll sleep well knowing that somewhere there’s a mouse with eyes jam-packed with human GPCRs.)

The American Red (double)Cross

2006-04-25T23:18:00.000-04:00

If you have ever given blood, then I have some very unsettling information. I recommend that you call a loved one to your side--now, before reading further--so that you will have some emotional support as you read.

The information you are about to read could be very upsetting.

I gave blood a few days ago. I have several reasons for doing this on a regular basis, all of which essentially fall into two categories:

The Minor Reasons: I love the brownies they serve, I love that they just keep putting them in front of me, and I especially love that the more I eat the more pleased they seem to be.

The Major Reasons: I love to help others, especially those that are in such dire need. Giving my time or money is one thing, but giving my actual blood is literally giving of myself; I leave some of me behind for someone else, and it becomes part of them. That's a powerful emotion--and motivation.

Which is why I am so furious with what the American Red Cross actually does with my blood. All this time, I thought that when they said it was going to "people in need," they meant that it was going to America's top athletes in order to boost performance to beyond-peak levels. An extra unit of red blood cells can increase endurance significantly, so I thought this was my way of preserving American dominance in sport.

When I watch the Olympics, for example, I like trying to guess which of America's hopefuls is sprinting along with a little of me in his veins. When they win, I feel like I am there, part of the Olympic moment, part of history, part of something real. We call them "heroes," and when I give blood, they call me a "hero" too.

As it turns out, the American Red Cross doesn't give the blood to sports stars at all. Instead, they give it to sick people--often people who have never even been in a race or on tv. So if you are thinking of giving blood, consider this: Rather than use the blood for something glorious like sports, it only gets used for people who need it to stay alive.

Feeling Alone

2006-04-13T19:51:00.000-04:00

My wife and two daughters left a few days ago to visit my wife's sister. They will be gone for two weeks.

I dropped them off at the airport, then went to work. When I got home, I didn't yet feel lonely--diddn't miss them. You may think this is callous, but consider this: I spend the bulk of almost every day away from them, so I am used to it. Occasionally, I will come home from work and they will be out shopping or at the playground, so an empty house doesn't phase me.

But there was something that night that made me feel very alone. What was it?

Was it eating alone? No big deal.

Was it having no one to talk to? Naw.

Was it my daughter's empty room at bedtime? No.

Was it climbing into a bed by myself, no wife by my side? Nope.

Okay, what was it?

It was my toothbrush, sitting all by itself in the family toothbrush cup. Not very sentimental, I know, but it looked like a symbol of me. I couldn't see myself eating alone, I couldn't see myself sleeping alone, but I could see my toothbrush alone, without the other three that typically sit with it. I looked at it and thought to myself, "That's what you are: a fancy blue toothbrush sitting all alone in a big, empty cup."

What's in a Name?

2006-03-15T13:59:00.000-05:00

My blogging interests have expanded and so I decided to start up an additional blog . In its creation, the new blog got to steal the name "Cold & Calculating", hence the name change for the blog you are currently reading. This blog will still function as an online journal, outlet for creative writing, and place where I can be flippant with the things you hold dear. Please continue to visit!

The Illuminated Coelom

2006-03-13T22:03:00.000-05:00

We had a solid rain today which let up just as I was getting home. The sun had not quite set, but it was low in the sky, shining sideways across the ground.

As I followed the walkway from the bus stop to my front door, I noticed some things I thought my daughters would like to come outside and see, and determined to ask them when I arrived home.

When I entered the door, I was greeted with the usual enthusiastic, “Daddy!” I responded with an atypical but just as enthusiastic, “Who wants to look at worms?” There was no hesitation: Ann and Sara dropped their toys and ran to put on their flip-flops.

We started by looking for worms and teaching Sara how to take care not to step on them. The former was not hard at all; there were hundreds of them. (The later was much more difficult, especially due to the former.) We looked for the biggest—about eight inches—and for the smallest—less than two inches. We looked for fast movers and slow movers.

We came to one spot where the sun was shining broadside on several medium-sized worms. I have never seen the sun shine on an earthworm before, which is not surprising, given that the critters are most often found during rain or at night. Their skin is actually fairly thin, and the light passing through revealed the partially convoluted intestine inside—the classic tube-within-a-tube arrangement. Now my daughters know the word “intestine,” what one looks like, and that they share some anatomical similarity with earthworms.

Half-way around the courtyard, I used a blade of grass to poke a worm to show how they react. My daughters were impressed by the response: a sudden retraction, coiling, and flipping. They each took blades of grass so they could do it themselves. I asked them to see if there was a different response to poking in the “head” or poking in the “bum.” There was no noticeable difference. I asked what happened if we poked in the middle: the result was a retraction but no coiling or flipping. We observed this in several worms, each being poked in only one location. Perhaps we will publish our results.

One last note: Ann (5) was thrilled by the feel of the worms when she touched them with her finger. Sara (2), on the other hand, refused to use her finger but enjoyed using the grass.

Mis-Manners

2006-02-09T23:39:00.000-05:00

I expect that everyone has witnessed a scenario like this: A child is given something; the child’s parent is there and prompts, “What do you say?”; the child responds—dutifully, correctly—“Thank you.”

This is a common occurrence, even to the point of being mundane. Nonetheless, it is just this type of situation that I have been pondering lately.

What are manners? Why do parents try to teach them? Do manners serve a purpose, and do parents have that purpose in mind when manners are taught? Can manners even be taught? Do manners come with a cost? What are “Bad Manners” and how do they differ from “Good Manners”? How is that distinction decided? How is that distinction made known?

Consider what is taught (or forced) when one child has wronged another. “Say you’re sorry,” the offender’s parent demands. Why? What outcome does the parent want or expect? At the simplest level, the parent may believe that an apology will mend the rift that has formed between her child and his “victim”—and any rift between parents as well. Going deeper, the parent may hope by this exercise to teach consideration for others or accountability for one’s actions.

Now, what is required of the injured child? Is the wrongdoer’s apology sufficient to repair any damage or ill-will? Let’s continue with the example in the preceding paragraph, and for simplicity and to highlight the issue let’s say that the children are siblings. There is often variation in what comes before the apology, such as some kind of punishment, but what is at issue here is what happens after the “I’m sorry.” In almost every case I have witnessed, once the apology is given the parent leaves the children to “carry on,” clearly showing that the parent believes that a goal has been reached. What is that goal? What has been achieved? What have the children—both offender and victim—learned?

I would say that the children have learned that: when you do something wrong you should say that you’re sorry. And I would also say that that is a meaningless lesson. Demanding that the offender do more, such as acts of restitution, moves beyond “Manners” and into something substantial, but I think it still falls short of the mark. The focus shifts to how the victim responds, and I think that here parents are neglectful in their teaching.

It should be obvious from what I have written that I think there is a correct response to an apology and that I require it from my daughters and myself. What do you think is the right response? Do you require a response from your child when she has been offered an apology? What is it?

Prioritized Spending

2005-12-28T13:11:00.000-05:00

As you gather together your year-end financial statements, I thought you might like to know where some of your money will be going next year. As a scientist, I am particular interested in seeing how the US government will fund research and education. Here is a sampling of budgets, by department, for 2006:

DEPARTMENT: $$ (up or down from 2005)
1. Department of Defense: $419.3 billion (up 5%, does not include Veterans Affairs)
2. Department of Education: $56 billion (down 1%)
3. Department of Interior (includes National Park Service and BLM): $10.6 billion (down 1%)
4. Environmental Protection Agency: $7.6 billion (down 6%)
5. NASA: $16.5 billion (up 2%)
6. National Science Foundation: $5.6 billion (up 2%, but with new mandatory non-research costs that eat up that increase)
7. Social Security Administration: $9.5 billion (up 8%)
8. Health and Human Services: $67.2 billion (down 1%)
8b. The National Institutes of Health (part of Health and Human Services): $28.6 billion (down 0.5%, the first decrease in NIH budget since 1970)

(all figures taken from http://www.whitehouse.gov/omb/budget/fy2006/budget.html)

In order for the budgets above to keep up with inflation, they would need to increase by 2.4% (according to CIA factbook).

What is particularly troubling to me, of course, is the drop in funding to the NIH at a time when bio-medical research costs are increasing much faster than inflation. This means that only about 1 in 8 research project grants are being funded (as compared to five years ago when it was 1 in 4).

As long as we're counting beans:

War in Iraq: $175 billion (the figure approved by Congress) or $230 billion (the figure calculated by CostOfWar.com)

Happy Spending Everyone!

10 Feet from the Edge

2005-12-11T13:19:00.000-05:00

Before you read this blog, I suggest you go measure 10 feet. I would not want you to think that 10 feet is a large distance, because it is not.

Friday, December 9th, my wife and I went to Buffalo, NY to see U2. We had General Admission Floor tickets. As they scanned my wife's ticket, she was randomly selected for a spot in the inner "ellipse" of the stage! Yes, I got to accompany her.

We were some of the first to arrive so we got a place right up by the railing and to the side where the Edge plays. Remember how far 10 feet is? Well, that is how far the Edge was from us for 2 1/2 hours! Okay, so occasionally he would walk closer--about 3 feet away--and occasionally it was Bono or Adam Clayton who would come up close. What an amazing experience!

The concert was superb and the music was right on. There were a lot of Beatles/John Lennon tribute songs because it was the 25th anniversary of John Lennon's murder. I was disappointed that they did not play all of the songs from the newest album. Those left out were some of the best: "All Because of You" and "Man and a Woman." One song left out had a big U2-like message: "Crumbs from Your Table" so I was very surprised they didn't sing it, especially when Bono talked a lot that night about Africa and the One Campaign. The last two songs left out: "Miracle Drug" and "One Step Closer". So out of the 11 songs on the album How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, they played only six.

I was extremely happy to hear "Miss Sarajevo" that night. It is one of my favorite U2 songs and I think it is by far the most moving.

There are only a few dates left--and I know some of you who read this are in Utah (2nd to the last stop). Get tickets and GO TO THIS CONCERT!

Blogger's Block

2005-11-11T20:08:00.000-05:00

When I started blogging, I thought I would never go so many days without entering a post. Yet, here it has been some time, and I wanted some kind of explanation. So I analyzed the situation and discovered something very interesting--or at least as interesting as anything else on this blog: all of my previous blogs were composed while riding my bicycle.

Does that explain the gap in blogging? Certainly, because I have not been riding my bike recently due to poor weather conditions. Nor will I be riding again for quite some time. So this leaves me wondering whether I will only blog during warm months.

Nevertheless, I would hate to create a blog containing only speculation. I take the bus now instead of biking, and that means that I can read on my way to work. (Incidentally, I have perfected the skill of reading while walking--even descending stairs--but I haven't the guts to try it on a bike.)

Here is what I have been reading the last two weeks:

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving
Various Stories, by Edgar Alan Poe (Tell-Tale Heart is my favorite)
The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell

What have you been reading?

Infinity is Short

2005-10-27T23:46:00.000-04:00

Are there some things that you could do indefinitely? You'd never grow too tired, get full, become bored? Things you stop doing not because you must but because you should? Here are some things that I could do forever:

1. Tinker around, building things while listening to music. Things like picture frames, fleece mittens, insect collections, painted figurines.

2. Play video games. I used to rent Nintendo games from Blockbuster and play them for three days straight (the length of time for rental). Shelley helped out by running to Subway to get me a sandwich to eat while playing.

3. Listen to Wendy laugh. Not that I'm that funny, not by a long shot.

4. Eat Mint Milanos from Pepperidge Farms. I once asserted that I could eat an entire bag in one sitting and Laura said I would fail. Let me tell you, 15 Milanos in one sitting is a wonderful thing.

5. Talk with Shelley. She is very interesting and funny and smart. She is also responsible for a lot of lost sleep.

6. Play soccer or Ultimate Frisbee. Saturdays in college, I would show up on the field around 8 am, just as the first game was starting, and I would go home when the last game ended, sometimes around 1 pm.

7. Listen to President Hinckley. He has a way of saying what I already know but that I am unwilling to admit.

8. Snuggle with my daughters. This is a very rare treat for me, so my world stops when they get cuddly.

9. Eat salsa. If Wendy ever starts buying more than one bottle at a time, then I would suggest that you all buy stock in Herdez.

10. Read history. Any history.

Enrichment Night

2005-10-22T22:09:00.000-04:00

I know that many men wonder: What goes on at Enrichment? But I wonder if the women know what goes on at home while they are gone. This entry is for those who want—and dare—to know. What follows is a recap of how my daughters and I spent the most recent Enrichment Night while Mom was away.

6:00 PM Mom runs out the door; she has to get to the church to help set up.

6:05 PM Time to start dinner. It should be something healthy.

6:30 PM Time to clean up the kitchen. How about some nice music?

6:35 PM Cleaning can wait. Let’s rock! Ann immediately gets down with all-original moves. Sara seems reluctant. “Loud. Loud,” she complains.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried that this is the end of Rocktober Night. “Is the music too loud?”

“Loud.” Sara replies. “I like it!”

And then she joins in the wild rumpus for the next 15 minutes.

6:45 PM Someone calls on the phone:

"Sorry Paul," I say, "I’m hangin’ with my girls. Call back later."

6:50 PM After rocking and cleaning, we need and deserve a treat.

7:05 PM I wonder what’s going on in the backyard?

Nothing out of the ordinary. Oh well.

7:10 PM How about more great music? Turn it up so we can share with the neighbors.

7:45 PM Get ready for bed.

So there you have it: the typical Enrichment Night at home.

Living on Borrowed Music

2005-10-17T22:54:00.000-04:00

I am the sixth of eight children. Never mind the down side to that; it is insignificant compared to the positive. My older brothers and sisters had good taste in music, so while my peers in elementary school were bopping to Captain Kangaroo, I was rocking to The Clash, Queen, Billy Idol, Bob Marley, and the Cure.

My dad also listened to good music: one of my life’s most unforgettable moments is when on a church outing (I was maybe 13 at the time), my dad taxed the factory speakers in our mini van with Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”.

Don’t think for a moment that any of this made me cool: I never was. But I was musically rich, and so it is no wonder that I spurned trite pop bands in my youth in favor of groups with talent and depth.

And yet, there was a disadvantage: growing up listening to my dad’s music and my siblings’ music meant I never owned any good music. So as my siblings left home, my music selections dwindled until finally I found myself listening to—think no less of me—the radio.

For years I languished in the FM airwaves, a slave to the deejays and the banality of the masses. My senses progressively dulled until—thankfully—I made the sudden, sickening realization.

Sure, now that I have come to recognize my error, I should be able to buy my own CDs. But building a music library takes time and discretionary income. All those years I could have been building my library, I was living on borrowed music!

Got A Devil's Haircut

2005-10-09T22:42:00.000-04:00

A few days ago I got my hair cut, and I realized an intriguing fact: Every person who has ever cut my hair has a name ending with a long E sound. Lest you doubt this mystery, I present the hairdressers:

Mommy: my first haircut and many more.
Shelley: also known as the “Hard Hat, Peanut Butter, and Mayonnaise Incident” or “The Girl with a Buzz.”
Marci: my sister, who while did not cut my hair, feathered my bangs one day for church. I think that is worth mentioning.
Me: that’s right; I cut my own hair several times. These were often the only times I ever got compliments on my cut—and with my genes, I think I should get praise just for having hair.
Nikki: a red-headed woman at Haircuts Plus who was the first hairdresser I ever requested on return visits. She was meticulous and fast, but best of all she did the shampoo after the haircut. Alas, she moved on to a fancy salon.
Mandy: the replacement to Nikki, and almost as good. (I mean no offense.)
Wendy: that’s right; my wife cut my hair for a few months. She stopped when she could no longer bear being associated with the tragedy that is my hair (you haven’t seen it? Find a picture of David Letterman.)
Lindsay: a fantastic hairstylist that used to cut hair in her own home. I say ‘used to’ because after cutting my hair once she quit the cut-at-home business forever.
Suzie: one of the more recent walk-in cuts here in Rochester.
Jenny Mahoney: a double-'ee' sound…amazing! And it was she that cut my hair most recently.

And this list does not include the occasional Candy, Kristi, Mindy, or Cindy. Is there a hidden message in all this?

When Kids Really Get It

2005-10-03T23:24:00.000-04:00

As a father, I hope my daughters can really understand the reasons for the rules we have. When they do, it means we don't have to address the same or similar problems repeatedly. Instead, they make good decisions based on correct principles. A story will illustrate what I mean:

My four year-old, Ann, was playing with a friend, Jasmina, on the playground. According to Ann, another girl came up to them and started saying mean things to them. Ann and Jasmina responded by saying mean things back. The girl ran away crying and I had to have a discussion with Ann. The point I tried to make was this:

When you do mean things, no matter what the reason, you lose the Spirit in your heart. So it is always better to be nice to others--even when they are being mean--because at least you will know in your heart that you are doing what is right.

A few weeks later Ann came crying to me from the playground. Two girls--her friends--were saying mean things to her:

Me (concerned): What did you do?
Ann: I told them I just wanted to be their friend.
Me: And what did they do?
Ann (sadly): They kept saying the mean things, but I didn't say them back because I wanted the Spirit in my heart.
Me (proudly): That is right, Ann.
Ann (with brows scrunched and one fist clenched): But I wanted so bad to say something mean back!

My First Jim

2005-09-29T00:07:00.000-04:00

Never mind that I am 31 years old: I had my first Slim Jim today. I had often seen the commercials (I prefer the ones featuring Randy Savage to those with the Jim Carrey-ish mascot) and had of course seen them on every convenience store counter. I admit that part of the reason I had never tried one is out of embarrassment; they seemed like such a disgusting, sleazy food. After trying one, I can say they no longer only seem that way.

What a horrible, vile, greasy snack! The taste of death. While the ingredients are clearly listed, the method of manufacture is not, but I expect it involves slow-drying kielbasa in the sun at high humidity. I cannot imagine a more frightening flavor short of those concocted on Fear Factor.

At the same time, I can't wait for my next Slim Jim. The texture was unique, the flavor complex, and the sound strangely pleasing. I plan to work my way up to the larger version (I don't know that I need training, but it seems prudent). I even have plans to make a mini hot dog bun so I can put a Slim Jim inside, although I'm not sure what I will gain from doing that. Well, as someone new to this field, that's all of my ideas: if you have any Slim Jim recipes, please share.

Dive In

2005-09-24T20:15:00.000-04:00

After Cary forced a fortunate turnover just as the opposing team was poised to score, we were in perfect position to counterattack. The man I was marking hadn't turned around quickly enough to catch up with me so I crossed the half line unguarded and called for Cary to send me the disc. Cary saw me and he saw Suzy, who was even further up the field and was being guarded by my wife. Another member of our team was coming up the other side of the field from me.

Cary tossed the disc which went high and then curved away from me and toward Suzy. I ran strong toward it, then noticed Suzy was vying for it too, so I pulled off. Just then Suzy pulled off too, apparently deciding it was beyond her reach.

So I did what had to be done: Kicking myself into a quick sprint I closed the gap as best as I could, sprinting slightly to the side of Suzy, and then leaped and dove for the disc. I was fully extended and caught the disc with only the tips of two fingers and the thumb of my right hand. The landing was exquisite--at least a few feet of slide without even a hint of tumble--and was even better with my wife watching just a few yards away. Quickly rising to my feet, I saw my other teammate in the end zone for a short pass and the score.

Never mind that it was just one play, that was The Zone, Perfection, Lion's Share, Special Feature, Something to Write Home About.

So my question to you is, What makes you feel "spot on"?

Google this

2005-09-23T03:03:00.000-04:00

Little known fact: there are actually FIVE Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Yes, War gets a lot of publicity, and Pestilence has a neat name, but the most dangerous horsemen is one most people don't seem to fear at all: it is Google.

Yes, I despise Google. I am disgusted by what is has done to me. I used to have a memory--you know, that thing you use when you want to remember a fact or detail. In high school, I must have memorized thousands of dates, names, bone processes, proteins, equations, events, numbers, etc. When I covered the same topics in college, it was easy because I readily remembered the information I had learned years before. My memory was like a giant filing cabinet--thousands of documents all right there were I left them.

But now--no more! Google comes along and suddenly my memory is useless. I'm sure the files are still there, but it's as if with Google around to do the searching, my brain outsourced the search function and laid off all my cerebral file searchers. Here's a scenario:

Some Guy: I wonder how ants mate....
Me thinking: Hey, I know this.... To brain: Yo, what's the answer?
My Brain: Ask someone else; I'm too busy thinking about Survivor.

So I go ahead and Google it and then relate the answer. And then everyone (Some Guy in this case) says, "Oh, you are soooo smart. You know everything." And for a moment a think, "Yeah, I am amazing."

But, of course, I know it's all a lie. And Google knows it's a lie, too. And everytime I turn on the computer Google is sitting there with that look on it's face saying "I'm the master!"

I've tried other search programs, but they're useless! Jeeves makes you ask a question and then answers something else, MSN thinks the only reason anyone uses the Internet is to buy something, and Yahoo!...well, Yahoo! returns nothing but dating, crazy fan, and 'those' sites for every search.

Sometimes I get angry and try to take back my life. I fight the urge to Google. "I can do this," I say to myself. "Just get the brain going again." But all the time I see Google over there laughing at me. "Go ahead," it cackles. "While you're over there trying to start a rusted engine I'll be working on yet another way to dominate your life."

I resist, I struggle, then I admit defeat and enter my query. Google quickly--you could even say kindly--displays the answer as though we hadn't fought at all. Sheepishly, I scold myself, "You called Google all sorts of bad names and then it goes and helps you out. What a forgiving program it is and what an ingrate are you."

Then I see Google rubbing my face in it: "Results 1 - 10 of about 1,280,000 for blah blah blah." What a jerk. It's like it's saying, "You couldn't come up with a single answer and I came up with over a million. 'Higher life form', hmfph!" I am belittled. And that's the best case scenario, when I don't misspell my search terms. When I do, Google snidely asks, "Did you mean: blah blah" as though it really thinks I meant to write "Nwe York" instead of "New York". To top it off, Google rubs salt in my wounded ego by showing just how fast it is: ".08 seconds," it proudly displays--but I'm sure what it's really saying is "Beat that, pinhead!"

Semi-Pro Cycling

2005-09-22T21:10:00.000-04:00

I'm just starting my fourth year as a semi-pro cyclist. On average I race twice a day. Today was typical: my chief competition had a 65 sec lead at the start of the race, which I overcame at the half-mark to bring home yet another victory.

It's a short track I ride, about 1.5 miles, between my house and work, then the evening race from work to my house, where my wife is waiting at the finish line. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to understand the scale of my achievement. "Did the guy even know you were racing?" I decline to answer; ignore the skepticism and maintain focus.

That's right: it's about focus. So let my competition try to copy that tactic. Mr Chinese Guy with the oversized backpack could use more focus. He was all over the place today! And Mr. Forty-Something with the huge calves--riding against traffick is going to cost you every time. And while I'm naming names, Mr Fancy Dual-Suspension, it's the rider, not the machine. You know what I mean.

2005-09-16T10:29:00.000-04:00