Three boys

Don and me as toddlers, from this video

By luck, my mother and my aunts gave birth to three boys of roughly the same age: me and my cousins, Kelly and Don. Furthermore, they had second children who were all boys, my brother Jim to run with me, Matt to go with Kelly, and Tim with Don. When we got together as a family, that meant we had a built-in gang of 6 boys, and the adults could get us out of their hair by telling us to run off and do boy things. Catch garter snakes and frogs. Curl up and read a ragged box full of comic books. Go for a hike. Gather sticks to use as swords. Climb trees. Boys are predictable and controllable, to a point, and we were happy to run wild.

We weren’t all the same, though. I was the weakest of the bunch, a nerd who preferred the comic book option. Kelly was the wild child, the one who always had a pocket knife, who wanted to set things on fire, who sneered at the wimpy egghead, and who’d usually end up wrestling me to the ground to prove that he was the most macho. He was a piece of barbed wire with a leather handle. Don, on the other hand, was the actual big guy among us — Kelly didn’t pick fights with him — and was solid, secure, and reliably peaceable, an oak tree supporting his friends and family.

An anecdote told to me by my Uncle Ed:

Ed: “One of the cousins carved your name into the furniture in my room.”

Me: “It wasn’t me!”

Ed: “I know. You aren’t dumb enough to sign your vandalism, and Don would never try to get someone in trouble that way, so I know exactly who was responsible.”

Later, when I actually saw the carving, I discovered that they had misspelled my first name. It’s only four letters long!

Only ten years old, and we already had the personalities that would shape the rest of our lives. As you know, I grew up to be a teacher and biologist. Sadly, Kelly became even more of a trouble-maker, had a few run-ins with the law, and ended up dying of a heart attack, alone in an isolated house in Eastern Washington. Don became a Mormon, married a good Mormon woman, raised a family on a farm in Oregon, and was a pillar of his church and his community. He retired to Arizona, and lately was working to move his elderly mother to live near him so he could better take care of her. All of that was typical Don.

Yesterday I got a phone call to let me know that Don had abruptly died of a heart attack.

Now I don’t know what his mother, my Aunt Sally, is going to do. The reliable anchor of his family is no more. I’m waiting for a phone call with more news.

The gang of 6 boys is over (two of our brothers have also died), not that we were getting together regularly to cause trouble. It was reassuring to know that Don was was still solid and reliable, and now that is gone.

An almost day

I hobbled into the lab this morning, anticipating a lot of spiderlings that would need to be sorted out. I’ve got several egg sacs dancing on the edge of maturity, and I’d noticed on Friday that one of the Steatoda borealis sacs was really close — maturing spiders were darkening and moving about just below the surface of the sac, so I expected to come in today and find an explosion of spiderlings scurrying about looking for something to kill.

I was disappointed. They haven’t quite emerged.

See the dark mottled blob on the top left? The dark things are spiderlings clinging together in a ball, with the bounds of the disintegrating sphere of the sac. The white things are the final molt, that leaves behind a crumpled bit of cuticle. But they aren’t out yet!

Also in view is a second egg sac which isn’t quite as far along. I can tell by the somewhat granular appearance of the contents that the embryos are developing just fine, maybe a week or two behind their older siblings.

Mom is also there, a bit out of focus. These spiders are very good mothers, hovering over the egg sac and fighting anything that comes along to disturb her babies. Also, they do the greatest kindest action — they do not eat their own children when they emerge, no matter how juicy and tasty they look. I expect there has to be a swarm either tomorrow or Tuesday.

Also I got a little treat: my tarantula, Blue, usually hunkers down in her hidey hole, but every once in a while she emerges to explore her big cage. Here she is, just before I rewarded her with a mealworm.

I can do arachnomancy, too

Everybody and their mother has been sending me links to this story, Spider divination. In Cameroon, they have a practice of cluttering up a spider’s burrow with leaves and sticks and stones, and then interpreting the future from how it tidies up the garbage.

Questioning a spider involves first clearing the area around its burrow. Then a large, open pot that has had its base removed is placed over the hole, with a piece of tin used as a lid. The pot and tin keep the spider in a contained space. A stick and stone are left inside, with special marked leaves (which I think of as ‘cards’) placed over the hole. The diviner then asks a question in a yes/no (or either/or) format – with each response corresponding to either the stick or stone – while tapping the enclosure to encourage the spider to emerge from their hole. The stick and stone represent possible answers, while the leaf cards offer the possibility of further clarification.

My tarantula, Blue, likes to hide in a silk covered tent she has constructed — when I look in, all I usually see is a dark hole with maybe a couple of legs visible in the shadows. I leave her meals in a space in front of the opening, and she will dart out and the prey disappears. She is very tidy, keeping her silk-lined floor clean, so could see using standard spider behavior as an indicator of the state of the universe.

Blue is back in the lab, but I have an oracle right here in my home. She lives in the corner by our internet router, and has strung silk around all the various cables. I trust that she has far more access to information than a spider in a hole in a remote Cameroon village. Here she is:

She is very pretty, so you know you can trust her. I asked her whether these spiders are a good source of information.

“Of course,” she told me, “this is a historic, traditional mode for getting input from spiders, a variation of the technique you are using to communicate with me — I’m just a bit more articulate. However, you have to read deeper into the article to see the truth. Read this paragraph.”

In many forms of divination, randomness is important. Examples include bibliomancy (opening a holy text and picking a verse at random), tarot and other sorts of cartomancy (shuffling the cards and picking some at random), Yijing and Ifá (throwing coins or chains; picking up odd or even numbers of sticks or nuts), or African basket divination in which objects placed in a basket are repeatedly tossed in the air (those that settle on top are then interpreted to answer a question). The point of this randomness is that the diviner cannot influence the result, so the message from beyond can be heard without the risk of human manipulation and interference.

She continued, “They are using the spider as a random pattern generator. The author fails to understand the key to the author’s misunderstanding, though, is that final sentence, ‘The point of this randomness is that the diviner cannot influence the result,’ which is false, and gives the game away. The diviner has all the power here as the interpreter of the pattern. The spider can be howling that the answer is X, but the interpreter can then declare that the answer is Y. The author is an unreliable source if they are able to ignore the power of the human manipulator of information.”

“By the way, PZ, I expect you to report my explanation accurately and completely, or my children will build nests in all of your orifices while you sleep.”

She really didn’t have to threaten me — of course I would avoid manipulating or interfering with her truth — but I could tell that she was annoyed by this story about humans stealing the authority of spider-kind for their own selfish ends.

Kent-Meridian High School Class of 1975 50th Reunion!

One of the lesser phenomena of the summer is the blossoming of high school reunions. Remember high school? Or are you trying to forget it? I’ve been contacted by one of these companies that hosts online sentimentality about being 18 years old, and tries to organize these events where old classmates get together awkwardly to shuffle their feet and try to have conversation with people they used to be forced to share a room with lots of desks with, and try to reconnect and figure out what the heck everyone is up to now. That could be fun, I’m sure my peers have gone off in all kinds of interesting directions and I wouldn’t mind catching up.

The pressure is particularly high this year because it’s been 50 years. I graduated from Kent-Meridian High School, out there in western Washington state, in 1975, and that’s a nice round number, so of course we have to have a party. Unfortunately, I’m not motivated enough to fly 1500 miles to meet with people I’ve grown away from for so long. Why are we even doing in-person meetings for this purpose when we have technology that would allow us to have those conversations online?

Then I saw that there are two separate reunion events for my class this week. I realized that there are no central organizing principles behind these events — it’s just people stepping forward to host little parties called “reunions”. Hey! I can do that! So I’m creating an online event (like they ought to be) to talk about high school. Everyone is invited!

There are a few obstacles to doing this. I live 1500 miles away from my old high school, and I have no ongoing connections to my former peers. Also, to be fair, I was never one of the popular kids, and I suspect that most of my ex-classmates would say “who?” if my name were mentioned to them. It’s rather bold for one of the uncool, most forgettable students in the class of ’75 to have the affrontery to host a reunion event. I’m doing it anyway. I’m opening the virtual door to anyone who wants to show up and say, “you haven’t changed a bit, man” to some old guy and tell him about your used car lot/insurance business and hand out business cards.

I don’t care if you are a Kent-Meridian alumnus, or when you graduated, or even if you graduated at all. We can have a conversation about standards of public education, or popular ’70s music (we can be sad together about Ozzie Osbourne), or reminisce about antiquity, or whatever. Pester me about anything.

I don’t expect anyone from my high school to show up, and that’s OK.

(It’s really an excuse for a live stream.)

I’m not mad at Sydney Sweeney. I’m just disappointed that this is the only genetics education most people will get

Sydney Sweeney has an ad for American Eagle, in which she simply buttons up a pair of genes in, I guess, a sultry way, while delivering a genetics lesson. It’s kind of a half-assed lesson.

Genes are passed down from parents to offspring, often determining traits like hair color, personality and even eye color.

OK, but it implies a simplistic pattern of inheritance, and worse, uses the word “determining”. “Affects,” or “modulates,” or “contributes to” would be better — there are at least 16 critical genes behind eye color, with maybe 150 genes that can effect the expression of color. Eugenicists a century ago tried to claim that that it was regulated by a simple Mendelian dominant/recessive relationship of a few alleles, but that idea fell apart pretty fast. All you have to do is look at the range of colors in the human population to see it can’t be that simple. Anyone who has a basic understanding of genetics is going to see the flaws in that line.

I’m not going to try to guess how many genes are involved in “personality.” All of them? With a huge contribution from environment and experience.

But then the ad company makes it even worse.

“My jeans are blue,” Sweeney concludes, with the ad delivering the now-infamous line, “Sydney Sweeney has ‘good jeans.’”

Oh god, are they like 12? Conflating ‘jeans’ with ‘genes’ is one of the oldest ‘jokes’ around — I teach genetics, and that word game is so tired and weak, especially since there aren’t even any good jokes built around it (if you know of any, tell me in the comments and I’ll judge the quality of your humor.) I groaned when I heard it. It doesn’t even rise to the level of a dad joke.

This, I thought, is the level of understanding the American public has of genetics.

I guess when I teach genetics this Spring I’m going to have to flop down on the floor with my shirt unbuttoned and slowly fasten up my pants. That’ll get their attention.

The Nazis loved kitsch, too

The Department of Homeland Security is now trying to brighten our mornings by posting their vision of America: small towns full of white people, with a church across the street from a little one room schoolhouse, and children gathering around the flagpole to pledge their allegiance.

“Protect the homeland,” it says. But only if a cheesy painting by Thomas Kincade(!) is your idea of a homeland. Turn back time to your imagined glory days of pale schmalz and pastoral pablum.

Unfortunately, the estate of Thomas Kincade (he’s dead, you know — drug abuse and alcoholism did him in) is unhappy that his art was used without authorization. Or without payment, I thought uncharitably, given Kincade’s notorious greed…but no, this is actually a very good statement.

“At The Kinkade Family Foundation, we strongly condemn the sentiment expressed in the post and the deplorable actions that DHS continues to carry out,” the foundation wrote in the statement.

“Like many of you, we were deeply troubled to see this image used to promote division and xenophobia associated with the ideals of DHS, as this is antithetical to our mission,” the statement continued. “We stand firmly with our communities who have been threatened and targeted by DHS, especially our immigrant, BIPOC, undocumented, LGBTQ+, and disabled relatives and neighbors.”

I’m mildly surprised that the heirs of that drunken, selfish sot seem to have turned out to be decent people.

The DHS responded to this rebuke, naturally.

DHS spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told the Post that the agency is highlighting artwork that celebrates America’s heritage and history.

If the media needs a history lesson on the brave men and women who blazed the trails and forged this republic from the sweat of their brow, we are happy to send them a history textbook, she said in the statement to the Post. This administration is unapologetically proud of American history and American heritage.

What history book would that be? Some sloppy propaganda composed by PragerU?

It’s a cult

That Tesla Diner in LA is rousing some controversy. There’s an apartment building right next door, and as this article describes there was a long period of loud construction, and even now there’s traffic noise. It has movie screens set up around the restaurant, which are actually gigantic electronic screens with loud fans whooshing noise at the building. It’s so unpleasant that residents have moved out, which is good evidence that the diner is not a good neighbor.

Except the article found one guy who is pleased to have a garish loud business next door.

“We see these people at 10 p.m. at night,” he said, “just happy, having their burger, putting some light show on in their Tesla and seeing some old school film. I mean, how can you not like that? This is the pinnacle of happiness and excitement.”

How can you not like a business next to your home that is open 24/7? I’m kinda doubting the honesty of this one guy. But you know what really bothered him? The protesters picketing the place.

The construction hadn’t bothered him either. “It was peaceful before until they showed up,” he said, indicating to the protesters, “I cannot sleep with this. And luckily, this is just for a short time.” He hopes the diner will bring more tourism to the neighborhood. “I’ve never seen so many happy kids and so many happy families,” he said. “I’m actually closer to buying a Tesla than I was before… Not because of Elon, but I saw the joy over here.”

What kind of clown wants more tourism to a residential neighborhood?

Think someone is sucking up to Elon hoping for a Cybertruck discount.

I’m off the leash!

Good news for us atheists — we can now deny god publicly in the classroom!

Civil servants can seek to “persuade others of the correctness of their own religious views,” the Office of Personnel Management said in the memorandum to federal agencies, adding employees must ensure their efforts are “not harassing in nature.” OPM issued the guidance to restore constitutional freedoms and enable feds to practice their religious practices without fear of retaliation, the agency said.

“Federal employees should never have to choose between their faith and their career,” OPM Director Scott Kupor said. “This guidance ensures the federal workplace is not just compliant with the law but welcoming to Americans of all faiths.”

I know, if you’re a “glass half-empty” kind of person, you might think this is another step in the erosion of secularism and the separation of church and state, but I’m an optimistic “glass half-full” kind of guy. I’ve always been careful to not introduce my anti-religious sentiments in the classroom, or to make dismissive comments about gods to my colleagues, and when students tell me about their religious holidays, I make accommodations for them. But no more! I don’t have to conceal my fervent secular beliefs any more!

I get to be the kind of stereotypical atheist asshole portrayed in the God’s Not Dead movies. First day of class, the lecture is on why Jesus is stupid. First exam will have a question, “50 points: God exists, true or false” and the only answer I’ll accept is “false!” Religious students will be told they fail the class unless they can prove the existence of their god in a public debate in the classroom. Creationists in my evolution class? Not on my watch, they aren’t.

It’ll be such a relief to not have to throttle myself anymore.

I wonder if it will be a distraction from the scientific subject matter of my courses to bring up contentious issues like that? Nah. If probing the private, personal beliefs of their coworkers is considered a protected behavior in the federal government, why shouldn’t I poke deeply into these wacky ideas that some people at the university hold? It’s only fair.

Anyone want to take bets on whether the author(s) of that memorandum were atheists, or even considered the existence of atheist employees?