The Ballad of Sally Kern

Via Dispatches From the Culture Wars, a video making the rounds. Oklahoma legislator Sally Kern missed the politician’s lesson about the combination of microphones and internet, and unwisely revealed her true feelings to a small gathering. If you have not seen it yet, it is worth viewing:

Sweet, isn’t she, to be so concerned for us? Anyway, I wrote her a little poem. I must point out, in case she wants to try to sue me later, that the words I have put into her mouth are not hers. At least, not from this particular speech. It is poetic license, hyperbole, and a very low Godwin number.

A legislator, Sally Kern,
Was simply voicing her concern,
But Sally Kern was unaware,
Or if she knew, she did not care,
That someone had a microphone
So Sally Kern was not alone.
“Oh, I’m not anti-gay” said Sally,
To the fifty-person rally;
“But there are things you have to learn”
And who will teach us? Sally Kern.
Sally Kern, she knows the answer—
Knows how gays are like a cancer,
Knows they’re worse than terrorists
If Sally Kern can keep the lists.
So Sally Kern must raise her voice
Against unhealthy lifestyle choice;
The cost of life against God’s Word
Is clear, the people gathered heard:
Disease and death, and then you burn
In Hell, or so says Sally Kern.
Then Sally Kern, in pure effrontery,
Tells us gays will harm our country:
If we embrace these sinful ways,
Says Sally Kern, allowing gays
To join the City Council ranks
Or work in schools, or stores, or banks,
Our country would be tempting fate,
And all too soon would be too late.
Now, such a stance may seem too stern
But heed the words of Sally Kern;
If we let gays live right among us,
Soon, like mold, or creeping fungus,
Even straights will be infected—
Sally Kern wants us protected.
The path to safety is God’s Grace:
We must protect the human race.
Sally Kern just wants us purer…
Right. Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer.

Wonderful News! A Potential Cure For Diabetes!

A news release from Novocell today
Reports a major step to find a cure
For diabetes. They have found a way,
From embryonic stem cells, to make pure
And uncontaminated strains, in mice,
Of insulin-producing pancreas cells.
For human diabetics, this is nice
Of course, because this news potentially spells
The end to constant testing and injections,
Daily hassles, both the large and small,
Relief from greater risks of bad infections,
And generally a better life for all.
It’s time to end the ethical debate;
There’s too much cost in making people wait.

That’s right–The news outlets are all reporting on Novocell’s new discovery.

WASHINGTON (Reuters) – Human stem cells transformed into nearly normal insulin-producing cells when implanted into mice, possibly offering a way to treat diabetes long-term, researchers at a U.S. company reported on Wednesday.

The researchers used human embryonic stem cells — the most powerful but the most controversial source of stem cells.

Writing in the journal Nature Biotechnology, the team at San Diego, California-based Novocell Inc said their work showed that human embryonic stem cells might fulfill the promise of treating or perhaps even curing diabetes.

“Our data provide the first compelling evidence that human embryonic stem cells can serve as a renewable source of functional insulin-producing cells for diabetes cell replacement therapies,” said Emmanuel Baetge, chief scientific officer of Novocell.

The actual report is in the journal Nature Biotechnology (abstract here)

Oh… some of you know already… my son has Type 1 Diabetes. So yeah, I’m happy.

(just noticed….I beat the science blogs to this, and I did it in verse!)

Stop The Presses!

Randall tells me, as does “The Loom” over on science blogs, that there is a wonderful article about me in the New York Times! Ok, it’s not about me. It is, however, about some other cuttlefish–some at the Woods Hole lab, some in Australia, but all wonderful cuttlefish, the most remarkable quick-change artists in the world! The Times site also has video of some of the experiments that Dr. Hanlon has been performing with these adorable creatures.

The New York Times, I rather think,
Could hardly be a waste of ink;
It’s good to see a thoughtful story,
Showing us in all our glory!
A walking (swimming) work of art,
The skin we wear is really smart!
Chameleons can only wish
To emulate the cuttlefish;
A master of the craft indeed,
With changing hues at lightning speed,
Resulting in a really slick
Near-magic disappearing trick!
Now Dr. Hanlon can surmise
A simple trick to our disguise:
Instead of thousands, only three
Designs account for what you see,
To help us disappear from view;
The doctor says here’s what we do:
We keep our color uniform,
When solid backgrounds are the norm;
If busy patterns come, we will
Turn mottled—that will fill the bill;
Our outlines disappear from sight
With our disruptive dark and light.
Discovering this rule of threes
Is one of many mysteries;
But many more are still unknown
To those who lack a cuttlebone.


This picture shows the three basic skin patterns: from left, Uniform, Mottled, and Disruptive. 

Picture credit: Roger Hanlon… I grabbed it from The Loom.

Now, That’s A Lot Of Bull!

“Indian brokers at the Bombay Stock Exchange are calling on the authorities to bring in religious experts to change the direction of a bronze bull statue.

They say the posterior of the bull, placed at the footsteps of the exchange building, points towards the traders which makes it inauspicious.” Source.

Our observations of the world
We may distill and write as “laws”
These shape our understanding, thus
We see effects, and look for cause.

The tools of science guide our search:
We vary, systematically,
Alleged cause–does output change?
Or simply sit there statically?

We put our theories to the test
And really try to prove them wrong.
(Unless we do, how can we know
An explanation’s weak or strong?)

The power of coincidence
To make us see what isn’t real
Is just one thing we’re up against,
As stories in the news reveal:

On January 12th this year,
A statue of a bull was placed
Outside the Bombay Stock Exchange–
The steps, behind; the street, it faced.

The sculpture is a work of art
Expressing movement, form, and mass,
But brokers in the building want
To relocate the statue’s ass.

The bull’s hind end is magic, see,
And has the strange ability
To influence the world, and cause
The market’s volatility!

That’s right–it’s not the sub-prime stuff,
It’s not the housing market bubble,
But a bronze bull’s butt in Old Bombay
That must have caused the market’s trouble.

Don’t fret about your stocks and bonds
Investments now are clearly sound;
Just get the Mumbai analysts
To turn their magic bull around.

And once you do, please be assured,
The market will again be steady,
And we can deal with other things–
There’s far, far too much bull already.

Matters Of The Heart (… in a jar)

It’s all over the news–researchers at the University of Minnesota have “created a beating heart in the laboratory“. Basically, they used the protein fiber matrix from one heart, stripped of muscle cells, as a scaffold upon which to grow a new heart, using a solution of cells from another rat. Yeah. I know, all this talk about hearts is so romantic. So, in a bit of a reversal from my previous position, I return to the romantic view of the heart as the foundation of love, with a trio of little verses inspired by the heart in the jar. I can see it now… the picture above, on the front of the Hallmark card, with one of the following verses inside…

I’m new at this game,

And I don’t know your name,

But I love you, whoever you are;

My heart may be true

But it’s also brand new

I grew it myself, in a jar!

I can feel my heart grow,

So I love you, you know, 

And not like a cousin or brother;

I will give you my heart–

Every bit, every part;

If you break it, I’ll grow me another.

My heart is yours; it’s in a jar
That sits upon your shelf;
It’s happy being where you are
And not all by itself.
You asked me for a souvenir
To keep while we’re apart;
I thought a bit, and it was clear—
It had to be my heart.
And now, although my heart may soar,
It is no longer mine;
A message that forevermore
I’ll be your valentine.

A rat cadaver’s donor heart
Is stripped of every cell
The protein fiber matrix left
Looks like a ghostly shell;
This matrix, in a sterile flask,
Is bathed in rat-heart goo
With both adult and baby cells,
And starts to grow anew.
In only days, the growing heart
May beat, or merely twitch,
Then work, at roughly two percent…

Like yours, you heartless bitch.

Tuber magnatum Pico

I’d like to report, for the gluttons among us,
A story about a remarkable fungus;
An auction today caused a giant kerfuffle
And set a new record—the costliest truffle.
A truffle dog found it near Pisa last week
(although hunting with pigs is another technique);
Weighing 1.5 kilos (or 3.3 pounds),
It’s the largest discovered by pigs or by hounds.
An artist was bidding, and so was a Sheik
But neither had what it would finally take;
The winner, from Macau, is named Stanley Ho—
He owns a casino; I guess he has dough.
A third of a million is what he will pay
For the privilege of taking that truffle today
A price unexpected, though truffles are rarities,
But proceeds, today, were donated to charities.
The price for this truffle, reporters were told
Is nine times (by weight) more expensive than gold!
So if your back yard contains Tuber magnatum,
It’s time to call Christie’s, and tell them you’ve got ‘em.

Thousands protest Teacher’s 15-day sentence

But perhaps not for the reasons you might suspect.

The continuing saga of Gillian Gibbons
(I predict, in a day, they’ll have magnetic ribbons
To “show your support for the naming of bears”)
Has reached a new peak—don’t be caught unawares.
When the teacher was sentenced to prison this week
Some protesters gathered in Khartoum to speak;
Thought I, “they must see that this sentence is wrong,
And they’re all coming out, in a mass, thousands strong,
To rail at an outcome they see as too strict,
And move that the Judge, right away, interdict!
But no. I was wrong. All the protesting masses
Had gathered together to prove themselves asses;
A fifteen day sentence? Why, that isn’t squat—
These protesters demand that Ms. Gibbons be shot!
They demand execution by firing squad;
It’s the right thing to do, and the True Will Of God.

sigh

Islam is, they say, a religion of peace;
Our attacks on their honor are wrong, and should cease.
To probe this mob’s sanity surely is slander,
We all must admit, if we’re speaking with candor.
To call them extremists, or radical nuts,
Is simply insulting—no ifs, ands, or buts.
It seems when these rioters look in the mirror
They only see goodness—it couldn’t be clearer.
To call for the death of this teacher is brave;
It’s the way that the Prophet, himself, would behave.
So you see, this is peaceful, they calmly explain.
And it makes perfect sense.*

*if you’re bat-shit insane.

Losing the Name Game

I mentioned the name game in a previous post. The bad news, of course, is that Gillian Gibbons played the Name Game… and lost. She has been sentenced to 15 days in jail. And this is considered lenient–she could have received 40 lashes. Yes, 40 lashes. Yes, in 2007.

Now, I’m not the sort that bashes
a religion “just because”.
But the sentence “Forty Lashes”
Gives the average person pause.

When a teacher names a Teddy
Bear “Muhammad”, and is jailed,
Then the Cuttlefish stands ready
To declare “Your system’s failed.”

If the naming of a Teddy Bear
Means this (or any) length
Of prison term, just be aware:
I doubt Muhammad’s strength.

If Allah’s Greatest Prophet
Finds this teacher in the wrong,
We’re justified to scoff at
Him–in poetry or song.

Muhammad’s weakness is a flaw–
Sudan cannot be trusted–
I don’t feel worship, trust, or awe,
I simply feel disgusted.

They had the chance to do it right
To let this teacher go;
From where I sit, Sudan tonight
Is lowest of the low.

My little voice will not be heard
They’ll stick with what they’re doing;
The rules have changed, though–mark my word–
The whole world, now, is viewing.

The Name Game

Ok, maybe you want to be a bit more careful when you are naming your stuffed animals. I’m sure you have heard by this point about Gillian Gibbons, the British teacher who was arrested after her class voted to name their teddy bear Muhammad.

BBC News is discussing the rules about what can and cannot be named after whom.

The issue has been a vexed one for Muslims through the ages. Some believe that the name can only be given to boys – to give it to an object is idolatry. Others say that pets and toys can bear the name.

…

Dilwar Hussain, of the Islamic Foundation, has no problem with a teddy bear called Muhammad. For some years, the Islamic Society sold a soft toy made for British Muslim children named Adam the Prayer Bear. “Adam is also the name of a Prophet.”

They named their bear Muhammad,
And their teacher was arrested;
Religious views around the world
Are sorely being tested.

It’s cool to name a pit-bull
After Odin, Zeus, or Thor;
A fuzzy little kitten
Aphrodite–and what’s more,

If you search the pets in lands
From Argentina to Moldova
I suspect you’ll find a turtle
That’s called Yahweh or Jehovah.

An octopus named Kali?
I’m sure someone’s been enticed;
And the lizard called the Basilisk
Is nicknamed Jesus Christ.

There is one that’s so ubiquitous
It’s overlooked–how odd.
Imaginary friends, across
The planet, are called “God”.

Life’s a Bitch (and then you marry one)

From the BBC, a story about a man’s marriage to a female dog. (There is a brief video of the ceremony, too.)

An Indian man has “married” a female dog, hoping the move will help atone for stoning two other dogs to death.
P Selvakumar, 33, said he had been cursed since the killings, suffering paralysis and a loss of hearing.

The wedding took place at a Hindu temple in Tamil Nadu state. The “bride” wore an orange sari with a flower garland and was fed a bun to celebrate.

Superstitious people in rural India sometimes organise weddings to animals in the hope of warding off curses.

I offer the happy couple a toast:

Though it’s baseless superstition that has led to your position,
I sincerely hope the two of you are happy as can be.
Yes, the way is sometimes stony on the path of matrimony
You consulted an astrologer–how dare I disagree?

No I will not choose to quibble–let your bride wolf down her kibble
With the absolute support of all your family and friends.
And I hope you’re feeling better, and that every time you pet her
You’ll remember why you did this–you are making your amends.

I wish multitudes of smiles, in both Man and Doggy styles
Let the others wag their tongues–the two of you can wag your tails.
It was beautiful, not kitschy, though the bride was rather bitchy
In a world of mass conformity, it’s nice when love prevails.