Superior work, Krissy. Your brushstroke is improving with each day of strenuous, disciplined practice. Do not slacken! Do you want to be the best in this classroom or not? Up, down, left, right! More wrist, less forearm! I am hard on you only because I see great promise; you must place total trust in my methods. Yes, yes … Better, girl.

Jonas, what do you have for me today … Hmm, a lone snowcapped mountain. Let me ask you, Jonas: Are you a sketcher or a painter? An amateur sketcher has the energy and drive merely for one mountain; a serious painter, two or more. Oh, really—the single peak symbolizes the majestic loneliness of the human condition? While we’re at it, why don’t we regress to a rudimentary Hudson River School style of shallow transcendentalism? Destroy it, and do not show your face again until you are ready to depict multiple summits. Wrong, that’s the recycling bin. The garbage is on the left. My left.

more from McSweeney’s here.

A poem by Mahmoud Darwish in The New Yorker (via Amitava Kumar):

If I were told:
By evening you will die,
so what will you do until then?
I would look at my wristwatch,
I’d drink a glass of juice,
bite an apple,
contemplate at length an ant that has found its food,
then look at my wristwatch.
There’d be time left to shave my beard
and dive in a bath, obsess:
“There must be an adornment for writing,
so let it be a blue garment.”
I’d sit until noon alive at my desk
but wouldn’t see the trace of color in the words,
white, white, white . . .
I’d prepare my last lunch,
pour wine in two glasses: one for me
and one for the one who will come without appointment,
then I’d take a nap between two dreams.
But my snoring would wake me . . .
so I’d look at my wristwatch:
and there’d be time left for reading.
I’d read a chapter in Dante and half of a mu’allaqah
and see how my life goes from me
to the others, but I wouldn’t ask who
would fill what’s missing in it.
That’s it, then?
That’s it, that’s it.
Then what?
Then I’d comb my hair and throw away the poem . . .
this poem, in the trash,
and put on the latest fashion in Italian shirts,
parade myself in an entourage of Spanish violins,
and walk to the grave!

(Translated, from the Arabic, by Fady Joudah.)

This is from part one of Sid Schwab’s nine-part series in Surgeonsblog:

With as much detail as is useful, and as descriptively as I can manage, I’d like to relate what it’s like to do an operation, from before laying knife on skin to after placing the bandage. I’m a general surgeon, so I choose sigmoid colectomy as my prototype; it’s always been one of my favorites, although the particular operation isn’t the point. The idea is to let the reader into the operating room as much as possible. I figure it’ll be several parts. Let’s see how it goes.

First stop: the pre-op holding area, where my patient — and most often family — and I exchange greetings minutes before the operation. If I’ve done my office-job well, the patient is likely to be relatively calm and optimistic. I touch a hand, a knee, a belly, say something like “Seems like a great day for a colon resection.” To the oft-said “Hope you’re not hung over, Doc,” I respond with a raised hand, deliberately shaking, saying “Steady as a rock.” Laughs all around. Then more seriously, “Any questions since we talked, anything you want to go over again?” And a reminder of the plan: “You’ll meet the anesthesia person any minute. You’ll be sound asleep for the operation; we’ll be making the incision right here. I’ll numb it up with local before we’re done so when you wake up there should be little or no pain. It does wear off, though, in a few hours, and we’ll hook you up to a little push-button device so you can give yourself pain medicine whenever you want it. I expect you’ll be up walking in the halls tonight. (“Tonight?! Really??” “Yep! It’s the best thing there is for you. Gets the circulation going, gets those lungs working.”) [To the family:] OK, I figure the operation will be give or take an hour, little screwing around before and after, I’ll come out and talk to you soon as we’re done — probably an hour and a half. Don’t get worried if it’s a little longer. [To the patient:] See you in the OR.” Exit, stage left.

More here. The next eight parts can be found here.  [Thanks to Beajerry.]

Purnima Mankekar in Ms. Magazine:

As women gain more seats in public office, why is the world not a safer place for women (or, for that matter, for children and men), Zillah Eisenstein asks in Sexual Decoys. She suggests this is because some of these women, as well as some people of color, are sexual and racial decoys: They mask the damage caused by sexism, racism and avaricious forms of capitalism while also contributing to it. Pointing to the (in)famous examples of Condoleezza Rice and Colin Powell, she describes how the appointment of women and people of color to positions of power neither reflects a just social order nor results in one. Instead, as decoys, these individuals participate in the reinforcement or aggravation of the unequal and violent treatment of women and people of color.

Gender decoys, for instance, were central to the scandalous abuse of prisoners in Abu Ghraib. The different roles performed by women — ranging from Lynndie England, an inmate-processing clerk, to Janis Karpinski, the brigadier general in charge of the prison — raise complicated questions about culpability and accountability. Karpinski was one of the few senior officers punished for the abuses. And, as Eisenstein points out, England and some of the other low-ranking women who perpetrated the abuses were pawns who supported “disgusting practices that they should have refused to perform.” As decoys, these women covered up the “misogyny of building empire, while also actually building it.”

More here.

David Smith in The Observer:

Two students are sunbathing in bikinis. A man picks his nose in San Francisco. In Miami, a group of protesters carry signs outside an abortion clinic. Men slip into pornographic bookshops or shuffle out of strip clubs. There is even a burglar apparently caught in the act.

Has Google gone too far? That was the fear being expressed online yesterday after the internet giant launched Street View, which can zoom in so closely that individual lives are captured and offered up to a global audience. The innovation has done nothing to allay fears of a surveillance society, nor concerns that Google is becoming too intrusive.

Street View was introduced on Google maps for the San Francisco Bay area, New York, Las Vegas, Denver and Miami last week, and there are plans to expand the service to other US cities and other countries, likely to include Britain.

The high-resolution images were taken from vans driving along public streets during the past year and will be periodically updated, but the company has not specified a timetable.

The backlash against Street View began after Mary Kalin-Casey, from Oakland, California, looked up her own street and saw her pet cat, Monty, sitting on a perch in the window of her second-floor flat.

She complained on the blog website boingboing: ‘I’m all for mapping, but this feature literally gives me the shakes. I feel like I need to close all my curtains now. Dang, it’s so detailed, I can even see he’s a tabby!’

More here.

Photo from Slipperybrick article here.

Steve Mirsky in Scientific American:

On a chilly, late March day I was happily sipping a Starbucks half-caf when I caught a glimpse of a friend’s cup and narrowly avoided performing a Danny Thomas-style spit take. On the side of the paper cup was printed:

The Way I See It #224 “Darwinism’s impact on traditional social values has not been as benign as its advocates would like us to believe. Despite the efforts of its modern defenders to distance themselves from its baleful social consequences, Darwinism’s connection with eugenics, abortion and racism is a matter of historical record. And the record is not pretty.”–Dr. Jonathan Wells, biologist and author of The Politically Incorrect Guide to Darwinism and Intelligent Design.

I knew that Starbucks roasted the hell out of their beans, but I didn’t realize they published half-baked ideas. A visit to the Starbucks Web site turned up an explanation: “To get people talking, ‘The Way I See It’ is a collection of thoughts, opinions and expressions provided by notable figures that now appear on our widely shared cups.” Further, the cups are supposed to extend “the coffeehouse culture–a way to promote open, respectful conversation among a wide variety of individuals.” Fair enough, although an open, respectful conversation initiated by a closed, disrespectful assertion is going to be a challenge, especially without any context. Nevertheless, I’d like to suggest some other quotes for Starbucks cups in the hopes that they, too, may stimulate piping-hot conversations.

The Way I See It #Too “Popular, palatable views of the world and how it came to be do not constitute science or truth. But decent science education requires that we share the truth we find–whether or not we like it.”–Lynn Margulis, Distinguished Professor, University of Massachusetts Amherst

More here.

Jody Rosen at Slate:

For rockers and rappers of a certain stripe, a hard-bitten back story is an indispensable part of their mystique and a bold-face item in their press releases. What would 50 Cent be without the gun battle that left a bullet shard lodged in his tongue? (Answer: about $50 million poorer.) Of course, there’s hard-bitten and there’s hard-bitten. These self-styled rebels and gangstas would do well to consider the case of Tinariwen, a rock group, of sorts, from the swath of the Sahara that stretches northeast of Timbuktu. Tinariwen is made up of Tuareg, Berber nomads who waged a decades-long separatist struggle against the Malian government that disposed them of their traditional territories. The band was formed in the early 1980s by three teenagers, Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, Hassan Ag Touhami, and Inteyeden Ag Ableline, living in exile in southern Algeria. The musicians were typical of the Tuareg youth of their generation—adrift and nearly destitute, hungry for self-determination and revenge—and they poured their emotions into confessional songs sung in Tamashek and French, and laced with rough-hewn guitar work. Eventually, the three friends found themselves in Muammar Qaddafi’s’s Tuareg training camps in Libya, and then back in Mali, fighting in a brief, bloody guerilla war. They were rock ‘n’ roll rebels whose rebellion, for once, wasn’t just metaphorical.

A lesser band could build a following on the strength of that colorful past alone. But Tinariwen, now featuring eight members, happens to make extraordinary music. The songs are modal vamps, with gruff call-and-response vocals, congas, handclaps, and layered guitar riffs, which build to trancelike fugues.

More here.

Youtube samples here.

In the NYT:

Gay and lesbian prisoners in California will be allowed overnight visits with their partners under a new prison policy, believed to be the first time a state has allowed same-sex conjugal stays.

The policy comes more than two years after a 2003 California law provided equal rights for registered domestic partners in California, including those of the same sex and non-married heterosexuals. Gay and civil rights groups had threatened to sue to permit the conjugal visits in prisons, which they say have been slow to enact changes promised by the law.

“It’s a little troubling that a state agency had to be threatened with legal action to obey state law,” said Geoff Kors, the executive director of Equality California, a gay rights organization. “There was no justifiable excuse for not complying.”

Terry Thornton, a spokeswoman for the state Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, said the slow pace of change was due, in part, to considerations of whether allowing the visits would expose gay inmates to danger inside the prison, where they are sometimes singled out for attack. “We had to thoroughly evaluate all the security concerns,” Ms. Thornton said.

Doree Shafrir in Slate:

The pun-laden signs you see outside churches have always intrigued me. “Seven days without prayer makes one weak.” “Forbidden fruit creates many jams.” “We have a prophet-sharing plan.” They’re funny and a little bit alien, if you’re not a regular churchgoer. And it’s hard to tell whether they’re intended primarily to amuse regular congregants, or to attract soul-searching passers-by.

Whatever the intent, such signs have certainly gained the notice of the secular world at large. There are Web sites devoted to the phenomenon—including one where you can generate your own church sign and another that envisions an amusing “church sign smackdown.” And in March, Overlook Press published a book called Church Signs Across America that’s being sold in, among other places, the housewares department of hipster-pop emporium Urban Outfitters. The book, by photographers Pam and Steve Paulson, features images from nearly 50 states and shows just how ubiquitous these signs have become. But where did they get their start?

More including slide show here.

Hammad Siddiqi in The Science Creative Quarterly:

The issue of whether the toilet seat should be left up or down after use seemingly generates a lot of passion among the parties concerned, however, scientific inquiries into the matter are almost non-existent. Notable exceptions are Choi (2002) and Harter (2005). Choi (2002) argues that the rule of leaving the toilet seat down after use is inefficient in the sense that there is at least one other rule that outperform this rule. The unit of analysis in Choi (2002) is the household and the efficient rule is defined as one that minimizes the total cost of toilet seat operations per household. Choi (2002) does not model the issue as a situation of conflict, hence ignores the game theoretic aspects of the problem. Harter (2005) models the situation as a cooperative game and proposes a contract that splits the costs of toilet seat operations evenly among the parties. Both papers agree that the social norm of leaving the toilet seat down in inefficient in the sense that it does not minimize the total cost of toilet seat operations per household. However, both papers fail to address an important concern: If a female finds the toilet seat in a wrong position then she will most probably yell at the male involved. This yelling inflicts a cost on the male. Based on this omission, women may argue that the analysis in these papers is suspect.

In this paper, we internalize the cost of yelling and model the conflict as a non-cooperative game between two species, males and females.We find that the social norm of leaving the toilet seat down is inefficient. However, to our dismay, we also find that the social norm of always leaving the toilet seat down after use is not only a Nash equilibrium in pure strategies but is also trembling-hand perfect. So, we can complain all we like, but this norm is not likely to go away.

All hope is not lost though. An important issue regarding social norms is whether they are created to increase welfare. Are they society’s response to market failures?

More here.

After playing a New Haven gig in October 1974, Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman was approached by an inventor. Would he be interested in a machine that was cheaper, lighter, and easier to play than the Mellotron?

Behold: the Birotron.

It was an amazing sight. Dave Biro, upon hearing that he’d get to meet Rick after the concert, had run up ten flights of stairs in the parking garage to his car, and dragged down a pile of automotive 8-track players rigged to the middle three octaves of an old piano. Biro had even recorded his own tapes by cracking open a bunch of 8-track cassettes and relooping them with his own samples. Why 8-tracks? Well, 8-track cartridges never needed rewinding. You could set them on an endless loop for notes with infinite sustain. Biro had painstakingly cross-faded and spliced, doubled it up in stereo and patiently sorted technical bugbears like phase cancellation, and then—all this in his father’s garage—he had something the world had never heard before.

An endless cello note.

more from The Believer here.

Rauch has titled the entire show “Para.” The curator, Gary Tinterow, the Met’s chief of modern and contemporary art, writes in the catalogue that he believes the artist “hopes to set in motion a string of associations with the prefix: paranormal, parallel, paradox, and so on.” “Paradox” seems wrong, for want of any apparent doxa to contradict, and so does the idea of a response “set in motion.” Rauch’s stories don’t come from or go anywhere, as far as I can tell. Every association—in the painting “Para,” to hunting, music, theatre, and magic—is a cul-de-sac: arriving at it, you must return by the route you took. Rauch’s hermeticism is most daunting when his scenes are most nearly naturalistic. Four figures with crossbows inhabit “Jagdzimmer” (“Hunter’s Room”). One young man lights another’s cigarette; a bearded man gestures strangely; and a woman pokes at a dead bird on a table. Their poses have the charged solemnity of Balthus, without the erotic crackle. Nothing seems to be at issue for them. (The bird is beyond caring.) But masterly areas of the painting, astonishingly varied in style, captivate. Rauch tends to use oils as if they were poster paints, flatly—often scumbling, rather than glazing or blending, to modulate tones and colors. The result is a surreptitious richness. The rhetorical potency of oils—sensuous texture, light-drinking color, infinite suggestiveness—strains at a short, taut leash. The constrictive effect strikes me as perverse, but it is certainly original. It also anchors Rauch’s importance as an artist of and for the historical imbroglio of art today.

more from the New Yorker here.

Few “underground” cartoonists deserve that subterranean title so fully as Kim Deitch. He was there at the beginning of the movement, drawing for The East Village Other in 1967, and his work retains much of that psychedelic, R. Crumb-like earthiness.

But also: He’s constantly digging, churning the inky soil of American pop culture and marveling over the fossils he turns up.

In “The Boulevard of Broken Dreams” (2002), he constructed a fake but convincing history of early American funny-animal cartoons via the many iterations of Waldo the Cat, the white-gloved, foulmouthed feline muse who has graced (or invaded) his work for 40 years.

more from the NY Times Book Review here.

From Edge, (adapted from the introduction in Gino Segre’s book):

In April 1932 seven physicists, six men and one woman, attended a small annual gathering in Copenhagen. To be honest, only six of them were actually there. The seventh, Wolfgang Pauli, had originally intended to go, as he had in earlier years and would do so again, but he decided that spring instead to take a vacation. He was there in spirit, as you will see.

Four of the seven—Niels Bohr, Paul Dirac, Werner Heisenberg, and Wolfgang Pauli—would be placed in most physicists’ selection of the century’s top ten physicists. Lise Meitner, the only woman in the group, ranks high on anyone’s list of the century’s most important experimentalists. Another of the seven, Max Delbrück, changed fields soon after the meeting, though he never stopped defining himself as a physicist. He went on to become one of the founding fathers of modern molecular biology and ranks as one of that discipline’s top ten. All of them taught and mentored a generation of future scientists. The last of the seven, Paul Ehrenfest, was perhaps the greatest teacher of them all.

…The contrast between the two [Bohr & Pauli], the affection felt for both of them, and the affection they felt for each other, is manifest in a skit put on by the young physicists at the April 1932 Copenhagen meeting. That year was the hundredth anniversary of the death of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the passing of the man, both humanist and scientist, widely regarded as the last true universal genius. As commemorations marking the occasion took place all over Europe, this small band of physicists at the annual informal gathering decided to have a celebration of their own. It took the form of a sketch, a tongue-in-cheek adaptation to the world of physics of Faust, Goethe’s great drama. In the script, written primarily by Delbrück, noble Bohr was identified as the Lord, sardonic Pauli as Mephistopheles, and troubled Ehrenfest as Faust. As in Goethe’s version Mephistopheles has the wittiest lines, but that was of course true of Pauli’s real-life speech as well.

More here.

From Blueprint:

What’s the Greatest Innovation of all time?

Only the hardest Luddite would fail to acknowledge that ‘Innovation’ is a key term for almost anybody involved in a creative industry; the seminal, life-changing idea is surely an ultimate goal. But what does innovation really mean? What example would you cite to define the spirit of the word? This is the subject of a survey launched by online magazine spiked, in collaboration with Pfizer, and several architectural and design luminaries including Sunand Prasad, Jack Pringle and Austin Williams feature among the thinkers, writers and scientists who have participated in answering “What’s the Greatest Innovation?” More than a hundred experts and authorities have responded already, including half-a-dozen Nobel laureates.

The responses range from the cutting edge of technology, to the most mundane object – from highly sophisticated software to the humble brick. Dr. Chris Goodier, from the Department of Civil and Building Engineering at Loughborough University, suggests concrete as the greatest innovation in the history of building and construction, ‘which is now the second most used resource in the world (after water)’, whereas architect Bernhard Blauel believes the greatest innovation in the field was ‘man’s ability to reach places where gravity is reduced to imperceptible levels’ because this enables the realisation of architectural dreams.

While the question remains pretty impossible to answer, it is certainly humbling to consider the hundreds of pioneering triumphs of human ingenuity. The survey will roll through May and June, and the discussion will go live at an event in central London on Wednesday 6 June – book tickets here, but until then, why not join the debate here.

More here and here.

From The New York Times:

They were young, educated, and both virgins on this, their wedding night, and they lived in a time when a conversation about sexual difficulties was plainly impossible. But it is never easy. The geographical distinction that marks Chesil Beach in England is the grading of the shingle — the pebbles, that is — that forms its 18 miles: the pebbles are arranged, by wind and rain, in a spectrum of sizes and textures, so that the beach forms a spatial map of time. Each stone confesses a part of its relation to the whole. Local fishermen brag of the ability to make a blind identification of the original placement, on Chesil Beach, of a given stone.

… young, educated … virgins … wedding night … sexual difficulties. The first stone on McEwan’s new beach indulges his radical efficiency with a hook. If McEwan’s first chapters generally ought to be sent, like Albert Pujols’s bats, to the Hall of Fame, then we may agree that in this instance his first sentence is a first chapter of its own, as well as doing extra duty as its host book’s perfect piece of ad copy. Then comes a second thought: But it is never easy. With startling ease these five words deepen and complicate the book. Who speaks, and from what historical vantage? The sentence entrenches the facts that precede it — and the facts to follow — in the oceanic retrospect of a ruminative mind, even as they claim to universalize the lovers’ predicament, to forgive them their place in the history of sexual discomfort.

More here.

From Nature:

Nobel laureate James D. Watson peered deep into his genome yesterday. Scientists in Houston presented Watson with a DVD of his genome sequence, which they said was the “first individual genome to be sequenced for less than $1 million”. The carefully worded claim may be an acknowledgement that another personal genome project has already been completed: J. Craig Venter has deposited his genome sequence into the public GenBank database, he told Nature two weeks ago.

And genetic self-knowledge does not necessarily help a person: the only deliberate omission from Watson’s sequence is that of a gene linked to Alzheimer’s disease, which Watson, who is now 79, asked not to know about because it is incurable and claimed one of his grandmothers. Scientists said yesterday that Watson’s genes showed some predisposition to cancer. Watson — who, working with Francis Crick, deduced DNA’s structure in 1953 — has had skin cancer, and a sister had breast cancer, he said yesterday. But it’s unlikely that reading Watson’s genome would have allowed doctors to predict what type of cancer he might have suffered before it was diagnosed.

More here.

In the Boston Globe, a story about an old friend Jocelyn Monroe and her research on the sterile neutrino.

For the young post doctoral physicist, it was a moment of high drama.

Jocelyn Monroe, just eight years out of college, stood in a lecture hall in MIT’s Building 35 before more than 50 people in her field. Those scientists, who had anticipated the results for a decade, were waiting to hear whether she and her colleagues had punched a hole in the basic theory of the universe’s ingredients.

If Monroe announced that the research team she’d worked on had confirmed the existence of a tiny piece of matter known as a sterile neutrino, scientists might be compelled to re-think the standard model of physics, a deeply logical arrangement of the 12 known sub atomic particles (including neutrinos) and the forces governing them.

What had been clear and orderly about the universe could become more hazy and messy.

If no evidence for the sterile neutrino existed, however, scientists could continue their work without having to account for any strange, new paradigm-disturbing particle.

“Remember this moment,” MIT physicist Peter Fisher told Monroe, “because you may only have one chance in your career to tear down the standard model.”

At richarddawkins.net:

Juan Cole in Salon:

NBC’s hit series “Heroes” was the most-watched new show on network television this year despite its demanding plot lines and stretches of subtitled Japanese. Its season finale, which aired May 21, dominated the 9 p.m. time slot. What explains the show’s popularity, especially with younger viewers? I think it is that, like the Fox thriller “24,” “Heroes” is a response to Sept. 11 and the rise of international terrorism. But while “24” skews to the right politically, “Heroes” seems like a left-wing response to those events. In fact, it functions as a thoughtful critique of Vice President Dick Cheney’s doctrine on counterterrorism.

In Bush and Cheney’s “war on terror,” the evildoers are external and are clearly discernible. In “Heroes,” each person agonizes over the evil within, a point of view more common on the political left than on the right. Each of the flawed characters is capable of both nobility and iniquity. In Bush’s vision, the main threat remains rival states (Saddam’s Iraq, Ahmadinejad’s Iran). States are absent from “Heroes,” as though irrelevant. “Heroes” makes terrorism a universal and psychological issue rather than one attached to a clash of civilizations or to a particular race.

In its commentary on terror, “Heroes” thus avoids the caffeinated Islamophobia of “24.” And at a time when “24,” a favorite of older Republicans, is fading in the ratings, “Heroes” may also be a better guide to where the thinking of the young, post-Bush generation is heading when it comes to terror.

[H/t Roop Roy]