Heart In A Jar (More Science Valentines)

It’s made the news a couple of years ago–researchers at the University of Minnesota “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. Since it is February, 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…
[Read more…]

Reading Asparagus

We’ll fathom what becomes of us
By tossing some asparagus;
Examine it; determine, thus,
The path we’re bound to take.
A path we know; we need no scouts!
We know it well; we have no doubts!
We heard it from the Brussels sprouts,
The choices we must make.

The cabbages and collard greens,
The lettuces and lima beans,
They all know what “cold reading” means
And swear it isn’t so!
The spinach, sprouts, and Russian kale
Have told us it’s to no avail
There is no future that’s for sale
In plants that you might grow!

The vegetable predictions fly—
Though roots and fruits won’t tell me why,
While tasty tubers try and try
To tell us what they know—
They want me, though, to part with gold
For goods that might be bought or sold
And all the while it all grows old
With science as our foe.

Kylie reports on a psychic with a brand new hook–she reads asparagus.

Which makes sense, actually. Well, as much sense as any other psychic schtick. And I’ll take the word of a vegetable over John Edward any day. But I don’t think I need the psychic to help me interpret. If I get my hands on some nice fresh asparagus, I can be pretty certain about at least one aspect of my near future.

Nom, nom.

What Do Women Want? (Another Biology Valentine)

Because it’s February, another from the old blog:

In this past Sunday’s [note–this is from late January 2009] New York Times Magazine, Daniel Bergner reports on a number of modern sexologists who have set out to explore what Freud once termed the “dark continent” of female sexuality. This is no brief article, but a detailed picture of the research, motivations, and findings of a handful of leading researchers, centered on Meredith Chivers at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. The article includes forays into other researchers’ work, so that we get a nice picture of the variety of approaches.

Some is familiar–the reports of the systematic differences between measures of arousal (when arousal is measured via genital plethysmographs, woman are seen to be much more strongly and easily aroused to a variety of stimuli than men are; when arousal is measured via self-report, women reported less arousal to some stimuli and more to others, than the plethysmograph readings would predict) I remember from some of the early research in reactions to pornography. Other research is less familiar to me (fMRI readings during orgasm, for instance). The history of this line of research is explored a bit–from Freudian psychoanalytic approaches to physiological studies, to the impact of AIDS on sex research, to the potential of a female Viagra.

I was saddened a bit, but not terribly surprised, by the reductionist views so many researchers were taking. It is understandable that one might focus on just one part of a phenomenon in order to bring scientific rigor and control, but sexual arousal is something that happens to whole organisms, to people, not merely to genitals, and not merely to “minds”. Bergner does tell us of the researchers’ attempts to extrapolate their findings back to whole people, and whole relationships, but to my thinking the Times Magazine article itself was the better “big picture”, with each researcher contributing a part of a mosaic. It is well worth the read (when you find the time); then, to thoroughly dash your best hopes for humanity to the dust, take a look at the comments. *sigh*

Anyway, there is sufficient grist in this article for any number of new Valentine’s Day verses. For today, the inspiration comes from Marta Meana, a professor at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. In her research, one answer to the question “what do women want?” is “to be wanted”:

For women, “being desired is the orgasm,” Meana said somewhat metaphorically — it is, in her vision, at once the thing craved and the spark of craving […] She recalled a patient whose lover was thoroughly empathetic and asked frequently during lovemaking, “ ‘Is this O.K.?’ Which was very unarousing to her. It was loving, but there was no oomph” — no urgency emanating from the man, no sign that his craving of the patient was beyond control.

I’ve got so much to say on this Valentine’s day
With you, Muse, my sole inspiration;
I’ll unburden my heart, pluck out Cupid’s dart
For my pen, and begin my notation:

I could train a white dove to deliver my love
In the form of a perfect red rose
Or else write in the sky, in great letters so high
That I guarantee everyone knows.
I could gather wild flowers, and listen for hours,
To whatever you have on your mind
I could gaze in your eyes with appreciative sighs,
Though they tell us, of course, love is blind.
For you, I could bake the world’s best chocolate cake
With a frosted “I love you” upon it,
Or for something with taste that won’t go to your waist
I could write a Shakespearean sonnet.
I could write you a tune, by the light of the moon,
Played on harpsichord, zither, and oboes,
Or choose some other fashion to show you my passion:
Let’s fuck like a pair of Bonobos.

His Frothiness, On Gay Marriage

He’s famous for his piety
His name has notoriety
You know him and you love him, Rick Santorum
Because of his propriety
He benefits society
While gays do not, he told a public forum
We do not need additional
(Beyond our known, traditional)
New marriages—it’s best we just ignore ‘em.
Of course, a politician ‘ll
Have love that’s unconditional
Or else we’d have no reason to deplore ‘em.

Blind rage, after the jump: [Read more…]

Super Bowl

You can cheer for New England
You can cheer for New York
You can tailgate with hot dogs
Whether kosher or pork
It’s a clash of the titans
And it can’t be denied
One team or the other
Will have god on their side

You can watch from the sidelines
You can watch on TV
Or ignore it completely
Doesn’t matter to me
There are hundreds of millions
Who are watching world-wide
To find out which franchise
Has god on their side

An airplane is flying
It’s towing a sign
Saying “Football beats church”
It’s a lovely design
And it sends quite a message
To the people who tried
To pretend they were playing
With god on their side

And we’ll watch the commercials
And we might watch the game
One team or the other
Well, it works out the same
There’s no real advantage
I’m forced to confide
Cos the banner says neither
Has god on their side

Some day, in the future,
Whether distant or near
On some Super Bowl Sunday
It’ll all be so clear
Though there won’t be a tactic
Or a prayer left untried
Still, neither team ends up
With god on their side.

Is It Sacrilegious To Believe In The Big Bang And Evolution?

Oh, the question was exquisite
(if a bit annoying): “Is it
Sacrilegious to believe a thing that evidence supports?”
While that wasn’t quite the phrasing
Still, the query was amazing,
Like accepting evolution is a mystery of sorts!

If a claim like resurrection
Is presented for inspection,
You accept it without question, cos the bible says you must
Is it really worth defending?
Could be yes or no, depending
If your view is all or nothing; if it’s literal or bust

But then, what of evolution?
Would you make some substitution?
Would you throw out settled science for an ancient holy book?
And existence’s beginning—
Is the Big Bang really sinning?
If they offer you the evidence, please tell me, will you look?

If a deep religious yearning
Is an obstacle to learning—
If the certainty of “gospel truth” leaves little room for doubt
You hear two conflicting voices
And you’ve got to make some choices
One’s religion, one’s reality; it’s time to throw one out.

First jump, then rant: [Read more…]

The Saddest Thing About Cranston…

Dear Joseph G. Murray,
I tell you, I worry;
I think something’s wrong with your eyes.
That you see what you see
Is a marvel to me,
And I write to express my surprise:

The saddest part, it seems to you
Is Jessica’s outdated view
Of what a god’s supposed to do,
Like answering one’s prayer;
Instead of wanting mother healed
You want, instead, the girl to yield
To love, which was in Christ revealed—
He taught us all to care.

You saw this as the saddest part
You felt it, deep within your heart—
I urge you, sir; I urge you, start
To simply look around
The Cranston Christians also prayed
The lawsuit would be turned, or stayed,
That Jessie’s feelings would be swayed
And compromise be found

And finding none, with no regrets
Began to issue taunts and threats,
And urged themselves to action: “Let’s
Make Jessica regret!
We pray that God His will compel,
We’ll use the press to mock as well,
And hope she wants to burn in hell
Cos that is what she’ll get!”

God will not bend to our request
It is enough that we are blessed
Through us, God’s love may be expressed;
It is a Christian’s job!
If Christ is, as you say, enough—
There is no need to ask for stuff—
Then, Mr. Murray, please rebuff
The Cranston Christian mob!

Bit of a rant, after the jump: [Read more…]

A Scientific Valentine

…Because, despite everything I try, it remains February.

I write today of human love
Not as some gift from god above,
But scientific views thereof
From many different fields.
Each science may have different tools,
And so the scientific schools,
Although they may agree on rules,
Have very different yields.

The chemists say it’s chemistry;
Biologists, biology;
Astronomers say “Can’t you see?
It’s written in the stars!”
In physics there’s a certain view
Psychology can claim one too
(And one with naught at all to do
With Venus or with Mars)

I’ve read a scientist who writes
That mating pairs scale passion’s heights
To outmaneuver parasites—
That could, of course, be it.
I’ve also read, we may respond
To those to whom we’ve grown quite fond
Because a stable mating bond
Makes offspring much more fit.

They may (or may not) all connect,
As scientists may well expect.
If one of them is more correct
Then I am not aware
But I am yours, if you’ll be mine,
My scientific valentine,
Through random chance or will divine
I frankly do not care.

Projection, Much?

I want to live where this guy lives.

(I saved a screen shot, in case the site corrects the misspellings.)

Every house without a steeple, every hill without a cross
Every airplane, every car, and every boat
Every lack of iconography just leaves me at a loss
As the godless shove their world-view down my throat.

There’s a steeple at St. Mary’s and the church just down the block;
From the hill, there’s twenty crosses you can note
But the larger space between them leaves me shuddering in shock
As the godless shove their world-view down my throat.

They won’t let me keep the banner
They won’t let me lead school prayer
They won’t let me build a crèche at City Hall
They won’t let me say that marriage
Doesn’t mean a same-sex pair
They won’t let me do most anything at all!

Though there’s god upon my money, and there’s god inside the pledge
Which the little kids recite each day by rote
In their art, or math, or science class, an atheistic wedge
As the godless shove their world-view down my throat

For the record, what he’s feeling is the tiniest reeling in of massive Christian Privilege.