Cootieology

When I was in first grade, my class divided into three clubs during recess. The most elite of these clubs was the Cool Club, which, as near as I can tell, was dedicated to swaggering and avoiding anyone not cool enough to be in the Cool Club. Then, there was the Cootie Club, which was dedicated to avoiding anyone with cooties. The least prestigious organization was the Bat Club, which was dedicated to hanging upside down on the jungle gym.

I was in the Bat Club, until I got kicked out when it was discovered that I had cooties.

For the rest of the school year, I would wander around the schoolyard alone, gathering crabapples. That is, I was alone until Sarah joined our class--she, also, evidently, was infected. We sat under a tree and talked about how baleen is made out of keratin.

Last fall, I went to the reception for new Ph.D. candidates, of whom I was one. We were each given a mini-diploma, proving our candidacy. Provost Arthur T. Johnston made us promise to go to a quiet place and think about our accomplishments. We all said, "I promise." Some guy near me asked, "Can my quiet place be a bar?"

As I was packing to travel to the American Physical Society Division of Fluid Dynamics conference, I wasn't sure whether I could take my Silly Putty on the plane. I realized that, since it deforms continually under shear stress, it is a fluid, so I put it in the one quart zip-loc bag with my toothpaste and mouthwash. Then I realized that fluid dynamicists could be quite cruel to TSA workers by attempting to transport aerogels, shear-thickening fluids, viscoelastic polymers, and Jell-o. 

So far, this trip, I have seen two children on monkey leashes.

Only certain fruits can be eaten defiantly. For example, if a banana were to be eaten defiantly, it would result in choking. There are free green apples given out in the lobby of the La Quinta Inn where I'm staying. A man with a beard just grabbed an apple off of the tray in front of me and took a very defiant bite out of it.

As soon as I got to the conference center, I knew that I was in the company of real scientists because of how everyone is dressed. I can't quite explain it, but everyone looks just a little off. It's not as if there is anyone dressed like they're going to a sock hop, or wearing a jacket with leather patches on the elbows. Dad's theory is that most scientists only own one suit, and the old ones are still wearing the suits they got when they were grad students.

I have defined The Szatmary Interval to be the amount of time it takes for me to decide that a given talk is less comprehensible than French absurdism, and resume reading Voltaire.

I'm not sure why we need nametags. The people here aren't friendly enough to have a real conversation with a stranger. Not only that, but it's clear to everyone else in San Antonio that we're participating in a scientific conference, and not only because of how we're dressed.

I've been to Otakon, an anime convention. (I have since repented.) The people there talked about anime less than the people here talk about science.

Included in our swag bags were laser pointers. I immediately pulled mine out and flashed it around; I blinded a security camera. Then, I noticed that I was the only person in the lobby playing with a laser pointer.

Is it okay to email the people who don't show up to give their presentations, and let them know that I was offended that they didn't let anyone know they couldn't make it?

Yesterday, I saw something amazing. During the question time of one guy's talk, he was asked a question that he, evidently, didn't want to answer. He made eye contact with the one asking the question, waited a beat, and then looked away. Another person raised his hand, and asked another question, which the speaker answered. 

This was notable because only I and another person noticed that the speaker had just refused to answer a question. Everyone else was hypnotized.

Who would buy an APS t-shirt? I have only counted two people here wearing t-shirts, besides myself.

In the bathroom this morning, I saw the man at the sink next to me rinse his hands but not use soap. Fluid dynamicists, of all people, ought to know the effects of surfactants on surface tension!

I have started grading the presentations that I watch, docking points for staring at the screen, mumbling, using six colors on a single slide, having complete sentences on slides, and reading them aloud. Also, please, never end a presentation with a slide just saying "Questions?" or "Thank you."

I know that no one is going to go home and do their work any differently after having seen my presentation; I've not seen any presentation on something related enough to my work for it to affect what I do, either. All that we can do is convey a rough sense of the sort of problems we're looking at.

In the hotel, there are three elevators. If there are others waiting for an elevator with me, I ask people to guess which elevator will come first. Whoever picks the right elevator wins!

Beards in Space

Astronauts have to be cleanshaven. Although I had worn a full, thick beard for the past few years, I shaved it off to enter the Federation Space Program. Beards would keep our helmets from sealing properly with our spacesuits. Facial hair in space has killed many astronauts. Now, I am in a space pod with my fellow crewmen, McGursky and Savillo. We left earth several months ago, and are on our way to Mars, to join the colony.

"McGursky, did you ever try growing a beard?" I ask.
"I was more a mustache person. I had a pencil mustache, like John Waters, from back in the 21st century. I shaved it, because I looked like a pedophile, even though I could have kept it while in the FSP."
"I had a pudding ring," says Savillo.
"Ah, the McBeard," I say.
Looking out the porthole, McGursky exclaims "What's that?"
I look, and see a metal ring, miles in diameter, straight ahead of us. In the center is a blue energy field. "I hate blue energy fields. Buckle up, boys!"

***

I hate the inside of my mouth in the morning. I was always bothered by people who brush their teeth before breakfast--I tried it once, but the toothpaste made my orange juice taste untoward. I fail to comprehend how others can find brushing their teeth right before breakfast to be a pleasurable experience. I can't trust these people.

Instead, I drink very dark coffee to overwhelm the bad morning taste in my mouth--it's so acidic and bitter that it turns my stomach, but feeling queasy in the morning is better than having to taste that bad taste in my mouth.

I smack my lips, I am very thirsty. I try to get up to make coffee, and fall back down. My legs are crushed under a collapsed bulkhead. I groan.

***

I wake up again; all I can see are bright fluorescent lights. McGursky helps me sit up. I am in the sickbay. McGursky tells me that my legs had to be amputated, but I have been fitted with prosthetic robot legs. They're pretty kickin'.

***

We don our spacesuits, and step out of the space pod. We have crash landed on a planet covered in thick vegetation. We trudge through the vines and fronds; that is, McGursky and Savillo trudge, I more tromp. I'm surprised at how agile my new robot legs are.

Our sensors indicate that the atmosphere is safe for us to breathe. It's rather hot and muggy. We take off our helmets.

Climbing to the top of a hill, we find a large stone structure--perhaps it is some alien temple? A bit rashly, Savillo runs up to the entrance. McGursky and I try to stop him--he could be rushing into a trap. Instead, as we grab Savillo by his shoulders, we are now close enough to peer inside the building, and, sensing no obvious danger, we continue in.

The great hall feels cozy, it is lit by orange paper lanterns. The room is full of tables and chairs. On top of the tables are napkin dispensers and unfamiliar condiments. The wall opposite the entrance is covered in what look to be hundreds of windows, arranged in a neat grid. Drawing closer, we see that this is an automat. In one window, I see a goatee, in another, a handlebar moustache. I see a pencil mustache. And then, I gasp, as I see a beard that looks identical to the one I had before entering the FSP.

The machines take quarters, but all I have is cash.

The Shady Side of Wisdom

In a previous post, I mentioned the article The Shady Side of Wisdom by George Mendenhall. In this article, Mendenhall uses linguistic evidence to demonstrate a late date of authorship for the first few chapters of Genesis, and exegetes the text in that cultural context. The major conclusion of this paper, that I was referring to, is not just that Genesis 1-3 can be read figuratively, but that reading them literally does injustice to the text, because a literal reading was not intended. If you want a copy of the article, let me know.

Why arguing intelligent design is unproductive

I grew up reading many books on how to argue creationism, to defend the faith from the evolutionists. When I got to college, I saw that arguing creationism wasn't working at all. This was very strange, because I knew all the arguments. What I didn't realize for a very long time is that science interprets itself. Science is a communal endeavor, and it grows through discussions, not arguments. The standard of truth in science is now basically postmodern.

Science is very different now than it was a hundred years ago; it is staggering under its own weight. Science has become a community of specialists. About a half a dozen people in the world understand what it is that I'm doing for my research right now, and why it's important. If anyone outside of that very small group wanted to double-check my work, it would probably take him weeks of reading old journal articles, doodling on marker boards, asking questions, and messing about with computer simulations written in Fortran.

When articles that I write go up for peer review, the validity of my work is considered by some of the few people who can actually understand it. The confidence that scientists outside that circle can place on my work rests on the trustworthiness of my reviewers. In short, scientific truth is determined by the community. This is a postmodern standard of truth.

We scientists would like it if everything we knew in science could be reasoned from first principles, or tested quickly and easily in a lab setting. We don't want to have to use a postmodern standard of truth, but we have little choice. It's not quite so bad as it sounds; because science is based on experimentation, observation, and reason, it doesn't become unhinged from reality nearly as quickly as disciplines which are based more on opinion and ideology. And science works; we've sent astronauts to the moon, our life expectancies are much improved over what they were a hundred years ago, and I can buy a pizza for a dollar and cook it in four minutes.

If I, as an individual, were to argue against the consensus of the entire scientific community, I would be presumptuous. Thomas had the luxury of being able to touch the holes in Jesus' hands and feet, and the wound in his side; then he could believe. The scientific community is composed of people who are as skeptical as Thomas, but, when it comes to theory of origin, the evidence is not as plain to us as it was to Thomas. No one person can understand biochemistry in sufficient detail to be able to consider whether it is probable that even a single cell came about by chance. When it comes to problems that require such a high degree of specialization, it is unreasonable to expect a scientist to take my word over that of the community.