Mc-Write?

When Jen "BlagHag" McReight wrote, asking if I'd help spread the word about her annual blogathon, I only had one question:

"Does McCreight rhyme with “right” or “wait”... Or something else?"


This Saturday, I think it might
Be quite a slog for Jen McReight
Throughout the day, throughout the night
She’ll write, write, write, through dark and light

What will she write? I cannot say;
You’ll have to wait and see that day
She’s doing good—this is her way—
And you can help, so go and pay!

So grab your wallet, or your purse
And find some funds to thus disburse
Remembering, it could be worse—
At least she doesn’t write in verse!

So, yeah, go help her smash her previous record!

Dog Almighty

The biggest Dog had always been
The biggest Dog He’d known
He always barked the loudest
And He gnawed the biggest bone
He’d been the highest jumper, too;
He’d been the deepest digger.
He’d always been the biggest Dog…
And then He met one bigger.

A Brief History Of Religion

The gods have taken many guises;
Fathers, mothers, monsters, friends,
Tricksters bent on their surprises
Schemers bent on selfish ends
That’s how we’ve known ‘em.

We’ve done our best to try to please ,
To understand as best we could;
For eons we had bent our knees;
Then questioned gods, then boldly stood,
And now, outgrown ‘em.

Words, Words, Words

Each step we take; each word we speak;
Each course we chart; each trail we tread
Each tender phrase or sad refrain,
And each unspoken

Each path we take; each love we seek;
Each faulty start; each sunset sped;
Each wide-eyed gaze or cry of pain
And each heart broken

We cannot take a backward step
We cannot choose to not have seen
We cannot wish another chance
We cannot sigh what might have been

Another step might be more sure
Another word might hold more sway
Another end, this choice might bring,
And I might miss one.

A different word might sound more pure
A different step, a different way
A million ways to say one thing
And I chose this one.



Over at NPR, http://www.npr.org/blogs/krulwich/2011/07/19/138473791/words-hurt-the-world-poet-says, an interesting bit on an argument at a poetry conference (I doubt I'll ever be invited to a poetry contest; they look down on those of us who rhyme), which Robert Krulwich introduces with a lovely bit of video. The topic under discussion is whether using words helps our planet or hurts.

One view (held by Yusef Komunyakaa) was that language distances us from experience; it names things as not-us, and allows--perhaps forces--us to separate ourselves from a world we would otherwise be imbedded in. We may harm the earth, then, without harming ourselves.

Another view (Mark Doty's) is that "the more we can name what we're seeing, the more language we have for it, the less likely we are to destroy it." Naming each plant in a meadow, each star in the sky, each organism in an ecosystem, makes it more known to us, and more missed if it is gone.

Krulwich states that "obviously both sides are right", but ultimately comes down in favor of words. I don't think it is so obvious. I think Komunyakaa's assumption is faulty; I think if we remove the words, we do not remove the distance, but rather remove the thought.

It is true that choosing one word over another will bend the ideas of the reader or listener; politics gives us "spin", psychology gives us "framing", and used car salesweasels give us "certified pre-owned vehicles". It is as if there is a huge possible landscape, and these word-smiths are trying to show us one small corner of it, by focusing their flashlight beam very closely. The rest of the world is black.

Komunyakaa's view, if I have it, is similar to that of the night hiker. A flashlight, for such an explorer, is a limiting tool. The world closes around you, and ends where the beam of light ends. Turn off the light, and in a few minutes the world is vast again, and if the stars are out then you can see much farther than you could possibly see by day.

But that's the wrong metaphor. I was once in Mammoth Cave when the guide turned off the lights. I could have stayed there for hours, but would never have been able to see my hand in front of my face. Words are the light we see by; without them, we don't get the night-time sky, we get the utter blindness of the cave.

Yes, each word may act as a focused beam. Fortunately, we have more than one word. In science (which, really, is where the debate about "helps our planet or hurts" can actually be answered, and not merely argued), we may have different schools of thought which use different operational definitions and different measurements for very similar concepts (I would say "the same concept", but either choice leads you on a particular path; now, of course, you have two views). A scientific community does not (especially at first) need to agree on one definition, but may explore several before finding one or more to be more useful. A verbal community, likewise, will toy around with words--many shades of meaning for one word, or a spectrum of words for one concept.

This is why I think everyone should write poetry. (Except for me; I should write verse.) Being forced, on a regular basis, to spend time searching for just the right word, rather than using the first one that comes to mind, has got to be good exercise for the brain. If we want to see the whole world (and more), we have to be willing to try different lights and different lenses, and not just search where it is easy, where somebody else already shines a light and says it is trustworthy, or has low mileage, or is fair and balanced.

Words can separate us from our world, but the remedy is more words, not fewer. And certainly not none.

Parthenogenesis

"Dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal desire"
(attributed to Robert Frost, George Bernard Shaw, and others)

Birds do it; Bees do it
Nematodes and water fleas do it

But if it’s all the same
I think it’s quite a shame
Cos dancing is more fun with two

Komodo chicks, without dicks, do it
Now we find Timema Sticks do it

But what a menace is
Parthenogenesis
Cos dancing is more fun with two

To hold you close is such a treat
And when we let our gametes meet
That’s when I know you make my world complete
And life is sweet… life is sweet.

But if you find you have no need
You’re fine without a single seed
You’ve found a different way that you can breed
I must concede… indeed.

It’s been observed, boa snakes do it
Electric ants, for goodness sakes, do it

But if it’s all the same
I think it’s quite a shame
Cos dancing is more fun with two



Via the Beeb, a story of Timema stick insects and genetic research, a confirmation of perhaps a million years of asexual reproduction in this ancient species. This confirms that asexual reproduction is not just an emergency strategy, an artificially induced anomaly, or confined to social insects. Now comes the fun part; looking to see how this strategy has succeeded, while other species (including closely related stick insects) have found success in sexual reproduction. As the BBC story puts it,

The discovery could help researchers understand how life without sex is possible.

A line which I am so not going to touch.

Lizard!

A gecko walks up panes of glass
And even on the ceiling
But eating powdered gecko’s ass
I would not find appealing.

The ancient healers’ art, alas,
Needs gecko parts for healing
Among the superstitious class
With whom these folks are dealing.

Although I hear my views are crass,
I get a funny feeling
That watching where the dollars pass
Would likely be revealing.

And seeing how the funds amass…
It’s little more than stealing.


Ok, actually, it's quite a bit more than stealing. Stealing would be taking people's money for nothing. This is also lying, and killing lizards for no good reason.

NPR reports on a brisk, though illegal, trade in traditional gecko-based cures--significant enough that health officials in the Phillipines are actually issuing warnings. People are being told that gecko remedies can relieve asthma, or even AIDS.

I like geckos. Mind you, I would throw geckos under the bus if they actually did cure AIDS, for such time as it would take to identify the active compounds... but. There is no evidence that it does.

If any of my readers A)can read Chinese (Mandarin, I am assuming), and B) have PubMed access, please take a look at the NPR article--they link to a journal article that I would love to be able to read, but I am (alas!) American, and thus speak barely one language.

Oh, and I was going to post the picture of the gecko from the article, except that it is dead, dried, and mounted on heavy-duty paper clips. I prefer my geckos alive and eating bugs.

If traditional healers are to be respected, we must assume they are motivated by a desire to heal (thus the title), and not to profit without healing (they can profit while healing, of course). Healers who prefer getting paid to healing are known by other terms. If geckos can cure X, then let it be shown in trials, so that we can synthesize X as quickly as possible. If not, then dammit, true healers would look elsewhere. Those who foist snake gecko oil on their trusting patients are no healers. They are charlatans, and worse. They do not deserve respect.

The Bornean Rainbow

Why are there so many
Species endangered?
For decades, they haven’t been spied
Some may be hanging on
But others departed
Despite how the scientists tried

So we’d been told
And we mostly believed it
Hoping we’re wrong, but we’ll see
And sometimes it happens
And everyone’s happy—
The Bornean Rainbow and me

Who said amphibians
Could go into hiding
And why should we go and look?
Someone in Borneo
Had someone believe them
And somehow that’s all that it took

It’s so amazing—successful toad-gazing
Without knowing what we might see
But sometimes it happens
And everyone’s happy—
The Bornean Rainbow and me

All of us wishing it well
To lose it again would be tragic

Had it been half-extinct?
Because of our choices?
I think it’s more than a shame
Is this the warning-bell
We finally notice?
Or will we point fingers and blame?

I’ve watched it too many times to be hopeful—
The odds are, we never will see…
But sometimes it happens
And everyone’s happy—
The Bornean Rainbow and me

Via MSNBC's Cosmic Log, we hear that an endangered toad, not seen since 1924, has been rediscovered--and photographed for the first time! Check out the photos at the link; this is one beautiful toad, the Bornean Rainbow Toad (aka the Sambas Stream Toad), the second of the "top ten most wanted" missing toad species.


(oh, yeah, for those of you who are still wondering, the verse is a parody of Kermit The Frog's "Rainbow Connection")

R.I.P. Methuselah The Galapagos Tortoise

One person’s report is
“Galapagos tortoise
Is truly a creature of God”
It’s made, or created
By God, armor-plated,
With shell-shapes distinct, which was odd

Why God’s work might vary
Made ministers wary—
Perfection is what was expected!
But with close observation
Of type and location,
Particular trends were detected

The shells of some creatures
Have saddle-back features
Where cactus to forage grow taller
Where food’s near the ground
Different features are found
Like a domed shell that’s quite a bit smaller

What these features disclosed
Is what Darwin proposed—
That selection means shell shapes evolved!
Though a biblical search
Left the church in a lurch
Thanks to Darwin, the mystery’s solved!


A sad report, on a few levels; NPR's "The Two-Way" blog reports that a 130-year old tortoise, a favorite at a South Dakota zoo, has died. Even for tortoises, this critter was old; grandparents showed it to their grandchildren, and told them of seeing it themselves at that age (Methuselah the tortoise was a respectable 73 when he arrived at the zoo).

But that's not really why I'm writing. I'm writing because the very first comment at the NPR blog closes with "They are awesome creatures. A great God created them." Which, frankly, is amusing given the tortoise's role in providing Darwin with the evidence of evolution. Fifteen different subspecies of tortoise, each on a different island--my, what a capricious god must have created them! Oh, wait--the tortoises have saddle-shaped shells where the food grows higher, and round shells where it grows lower; perhaps characteristics vary, and those that offer an advantage are selected for by the environment!

So, NPR commenter, you get an irony award. Not redeemable for cash, but you may wear it proudly.

Is There "Ex-Liar" Therapy?

To heal yourself from being gay
The clinic’s here—so call today
We’ll blame your mom, and pray and pray;
It’s therapy, the Bachmann way.

Of course, when asked, we’ll just deny
We care if folks are gay or bi;
There is one simple reason why:
A Bachmann cannot help but lie.


So it turns out that Marcus Bachmann's clinic does, after all, practice "ex-gay" therapy, which is far more religious than psychological. The full story is here at Truth Wins Out; a brief synopsis can be read here at Dispatches.

Hey, You! Hang Up The Car Keys!

It’s six in the morning, the start of your day,
But you’re all out of coffee, and just want a cup
It’s a ten-minute walk to the nearest café—
Oh, quit fucking whining, and just suck it up

You’ve got errands to run; you’ve got places to go
We’ve heard the excuses; we’ve heard all the talk
The store isn’t far—just a mile or so
So hang up the car keys and just fucking walk!

You’ve got classes this morning—that’s two towns away
The drive is annoying; the parking’s a fuss
The answer is simple, I really must say:
Leave the car in the driveway and take the damn bus!

You’ll be taking the car, and you always complain
The buses aren’t perfectly synched to your classes
Now cars will be backed up for miles, on Main,
So your peers can collectively sit on your asses

It’s not like I’m asking you too fucking much,
Like to live in a house that’s as dark as a tomb
Making way around furniture purely by touch—
Just turn off the light when you leave the damn room

There are so many things you could do, but you don’t,
That could cut your expenses, conserve you some power
They’re easy to think of, so how come you won’t?
Do you shut off your brain in your long fucking shower?

This isn’t too much to be asked, for fuck’s sake;
There are hundreds, or thousands, of things we can do
If you can’t look around and see changes to make
Then the world’s got a problem, and the problem is you.


Sharon, at Casaubon's Book, might just as well have waved a red flag at a bull, or red meat in front of a hungry dog. Fortunately, she already did it the hard way, with the repeated final rhyme, so I could just write this one.

Atheist For A Month

It’s good, sometimes, to see the world
Through someone else’s eyes;
To take another’s point of view
And try it on for size.

“Be Muslim for a month,” perhaps,
Be Sufi, or be Sikh;
Try walking in their footsteps—
You could start for just a week.

You could try to be a Muslim
Or a Christian, or a Jew
But I’d like to see more people
Trying atheism, too.

Just try it for a month, or two,
Or maybe for a year—
Pretend there’s no use praying
Cos there’s no one there to hear

Pretend there is no god above
To save us from ourselves
Pretend there are no holy books—
Just leave them on the shelves

Pretend there is no heaven
And pretend there is no Hell;
Pretend we only get one life,
And try to live it well

And maybe, if you try it out,
You’ll like the you you find
Not member of a single tribe
But all of humankind

And maybe if enough of us
Can wear each other’s skins
We’ll understand our differences...
And everybody wins.


Via the Beeb (same link as above), an interesting piece on walking a mile (well, a month) in someone else's shoes. In this case, it's a bit like church camp, except that it is in Turkey, and the church is a mosque, and participants basically live life as temporary Muslims.

Given the ignorance about other faiths, and the animosity toward Muslims in particular, I think the "Muslim for a month" idea has some serious potential for good. Yes, it could be a worthless exercise, but it can't possibly be as futile as simply praying for peace.

Of course, after the 2006 University of Minnesota study, I personally think we could use this concept on a group that is distrusted even more than Muslims. Atheists are distrusted; atheists are misunderstood; atheists are demonized.

But it would be so easy to try to be an atheist for a month. You wouldn't even have to leave home. Wouldn't need to fly to Turkey, or to Israel, or Rome, or anywhere. I think (if memory serves) that Julia Sweeney's atheism began this way--just as a brief experiment, that proved successful.

It's actually easier than not being an atheist. No rituals, no hymns, no call-and-response, no nothing. Well, you do have to do one thing. You do have to think.

For yourself.

Pluralistic Ignorance

When the whole debate began, it
Was one people, on one planet,
Looking up into the night-time at the stars
Whether proximal or distal
Whether fiery gas or crystal
All they knew beyond a doubt was, it was ours
There were greater lights and lesser,
They were beautiful, but yes Sir,
It was evident they all belonged to us
Both the lesser and the greater
And of course, the stars’ creator,
Who’d decided we were worthy of the fuss.

Then it changed; the observation
Of a moving constellation
Showed a different sort of neighbor in the night
There’s a planet that’s between us
And the sun—we call it Venus,
And another planet, Mars, as well in flight.
Now our neighborhood’s gone plural
More suburbanite than rural
So we contemplate the details of God’s plan:
Did He give these planets Jesus?
Are they only there to please us?
Either way, we know His favorite is Man.

Tip of the cuttlecap to PZ, here.

(and no, this isn't technically an instance of pluralistic ignorance; that's when everyone in a group thinks that every other member of the group understands something, and each individual doesn't want to look like a fool admitting to being the only one who doesn't get it... Happens all the time. No, this is a rumination on the ignorance of pluralism.)

Terrapin Runway

Fertile-ly, turtle-ly
Diamondback Terrapins
Took to the runways, in
Order to mate;

Flights were delayed, due to
Testudinoidea—
Love conquers all, so they
Just had to wait


It's happened before, and it happened again yesterday; around 150 turtles (terrapins, really) halted landings at one JFK runway. This year, the JFK turtles are even on Twitter.

But really, I just posted this so I could quote one of my favorite Ogden Nash poems, "The Turtle" (actually, I have heard that Nash's estate has had a great deal of trouble with people stealing his work and posting it without permission, so I'll just let you follow the link. It's very brief--4 lines--and charming, if you don't already know).

And yes, the title of this post is a Grateful Dead reference.

Jury Duty

I cannot help but think it odd
To swear an oath “so help me god”


Yeah, well... I've been on jury duty this month. Found someone not guilty, and decided on a load of compensation for an accident. It was, overall, a very worthwhile, though extremely frustrating experience. Trying to get 12 people to agree on X, where the two opposing sides had suggested values of X ranging by over an order of magnitude. Long, boring story.

At the end, though (indeed, after we delivered our decision, before we were dismissed, while we were talking), I found at least 2 other jurors (only 4-5 of us were talking in this group) who, like me, raised their right hand but remained silent during the "do you swear or affirm yadda yadda yadda so help you god?" rigamarole. One of the others in this small conversational group had never considered the oath as discriminatory--I couldn't tell for certain, but it seemed to me that he was quite sympathetic.

I guess I'm not quite used to the idea of a significant number of godless around. Here, at least a quarter of the jury was (no idea about others, other than one christian minister).

Maybe I'm projecting, but it seemed like each of us was glad to find the other two. I know I was; it felt like they were as well.

Maybe there are more of us than we imagine; if we just show ourselves, we may already be in good company.