I plan to spend the fourth discussing communism.
Not that I’m a communist. I’m of the opinion that it is a worse evil than American imperialism. I do though, advocate change of an extreme kind (i.e. no government whatsoever).
Am I unpatriotic? Perhaps. My lineage has spilled enough blood for America, and it’s present government, to more than make up for my radicalism.
Afterward, the bus will transport my broke ass back to Lake City where I hope to spend the night in peace.
Perusing the UW School of Medicine bookstore this morning, I discovered this helpful study aid intended for aspiring doctors (the “real” kind, not the fake variety that I hope to become). I could not pass this up. Plus, I do not fear or recognize copyright laws.
P.S. I especially like the color-scheme.
What follows is a brief except from Explaining Science, Ronald N. Giere, University of Chicago Press, Chicago 1988, pg 4.
Versions of this subheading now appear regularly on the covers of books in the sociology, or the sociological history, of science (Latour and Woolgar 1979; MacKenzie 1981). Science, like the law, is pictured as a thoroughly social construct. Experimental data, in this view, are just one resourse among many used in social negotiations over what the content of acceptable theory will be. So are the traditional scientific virtues like simplicity. In place of the philosopher’s principles of rationality one finds only the clash of competing social and profesional interests.
The philosopher’s charge that any such view leads to reletivism is welcomed with open arms. Our scientific beliefs about the world are held to be no different in principle from Azande beliefs about witches. There is said to be no basis other than ethnocentric prejudice for our claims that we are right and the Azande are wrong. Indeed, the science of the paranormal could, in different social circumstances, be normal science (Collins and Pinch 1982).
The sociological picture of science at least has the virtue of explaining the almost universal existence of disagreement at the research frontier. Disagreement in science is as natural as disagreement in the halls of Parliament; in this view, the nature of local disagreements, and background agreement, is fundamentally the same in both science and politics.
The section goes on to refute the above claim. The author argues that science is obviously more substantial than a mere social construction simply because it works–modern technology provides overwhelming evidence. He continues “no amount of social organizing…could produce insulin in the laboratory or send instrument-packed rockets to photograph Uranus.”
I agree with both the “science is a social construct” claim and the author’s refutation. Though, the more I mature as a scientist, the more I realize that success in science depends more on rank, reputation and flash than it does integrity, ingenuity and substance of one’s findings as they contribute to new knowledge. It has become clear to me that pursuing a career as a scientific researcher will leave me bitter and unfulfilled.
Sad as I should be about this, I feel, oddly, free.
Uh, actually, it’s truly amazing scientists’ were able to design an experiment that demonstrates monkeys can “categorize images by their ordinal number”…and what a bargain to boot! All
of HUMANITY WILL BENEFIT FROM NOW TO ITS END from his (and the other three monkey’s)
NON-SUFFERING, BEHAVIORALLY-ENRICHING, efforts. Not to mention those of the selfless humans (who willingly risked likely persecution from animal rights extremists) to generate knowledge of how OUR PRIMATE BRAINS process and evaluate visual information — probing into the very nature of cognition itself.
Obvious inflammatory LIES:
No ventilation!?! This “expose” depicted both monkeys and investigators quite awake and cogent to me. Their asses would have been asleep or dead otherwise.
Insufficient anesthesia!?! If even the best neurosurgeon in the world replaced a part of my skull with a translucent caste of dental acrylic, I, an intelligent human being would WIG OUT HARDCORE if I weren’t anesthetized. Given the opportunity, I would surely bash heads and stomp in rib-cages. Now, did the subject, A MONKEY, seem all that crazed to you? The “insiders” chose to film the monkey while he was RECOVERING from anesthesia. How “with it” did you look after the oral surgeon extracted your wisdom teeth? As my dad will testify, I spoke in tongues and confessed things that he dare never repeat.
The makers of this video should realize, unless they have lived in some Israeli cave for their entire existence (hidden camera?) they have undoubtedly benefited from modern medicine and psychology. Their condemnation of neurobiology experiments in primates brands them THE BIGGEST HYPOCRITES our species has ever known.
I’m not one of his chosen people or anything, but from my admittedly limited
“goyish” understanding of things…Yahweh does not look all that favorably on
hypocrisy.
Truths are neccessarily quantifiable.
I’m a Criterion Collection junkie; I have been for the past three months or so. Sticking with directors Bergman, Godard and Kurosawa I almost always find a film I enjoy. Following this policy, I exploit my prediction of likely reward. Occasionally though, I’ve explored. Had I not, the works of Leigh, Lee, Shinoda and Kobayashi would remain unknown to me.
Random dude at Cafe Vita: “You mind if I sneak in here and get a little plug-in action?”
An’ I thinks: “Yes I mind! Not on your life.”
Then I says [suddenly realizing he means the electrical outlet beside me]: “Uh… oh, no problem.”
Then random dude says: “…can you handle this three-prong?”
An’ I says: “…”
My great, great aunt Nell (or maybe it was my great, great aunt Bess) purchased a turquoise 1969 Chevrolet Malibu (4-door) under the dutiful guidance of my grandfather and his brother, “Pep”. All accounts paint Nell/Bess as a complete hazard of a driver–no roadside ditch went untreaded when she was behind the wheel. The nephews were more than a bit concerned that over-application of the car’s power brakes (a novelty in pre-1970s autos according to my dad), would send Nell/Bess through the windshield as seatbelts were not commonly worn.
Nell/Bess hardly ever drove the car, but in the interest of keeping it nice, she put on aftermarket seat covers. The one for the back seat fit too loosely. To keep it taut, she weighed it down with four twenty-pound cobbles positioned under the rear window, directly behind the heads of backseat passengers. So, in addition to all of the dangers that lay ahead when she would slam the power brakes, riders should have also worried about the skull-crushing projectiles that would come from behind.
Years past and the cobbles were discovered and removed–much to our family’s amusement. Pep inherited the ’69 Malibu, who then promptly smashed the front of it on a motorcyclist. In accordance with Eaton doctrine, the car was repaired as cheaply and shittily as possible.
More years past, the car resided in an airport hanger in Salinas. Every half decade or so, when it would actually start, it transported drilling crews between job sites and motels. As my sixteenth birthday approached, my dad, tired of transporting my whiny ass around, thought the old Malibu would be a satisfactory first car for me.
On the car’s retrieval, we noticed necrotic weather stripping no longer sealing out the coastal moisture. The interior reeked of mildew, the ceiling interior hung low, and to our surprise, we discovered a cornstalk sprouting out of the backseat foam-rubber.
“Oh, this isn’t all that bad; you’ll just have to fix it up a little.”
1) One must always blog The Truth (being that there is no absolute criterion of Truth, one must report his/her version of The Truth as accurately as he/she is able).
2) One must never blog drunk, as the state heavily distorts one’s portrayal of The Truth. Not to mention, inebriation can obfuscate one’s appraisal of The Aesthetic/Interesting.
In unabashed violation of rule two, I am presently drunk… and I’m blogging that way now. I just spent $15 in happy hour Martini-froofiness to achieve this state (plus another $10 in food to try to dilute the effect) and I’m not about to let it go to waste.
My apologies.
Being that it’s a rare/beautiful spring day here in Seattle, I find myself on Capital Hill, my focus frequently diverted onto nether-regions of attractive female Seattlites. And I am not disappointed.
I chose to celebrate tonight because I achieved something this afternoon. Though my achievement will likely never show up on anyone else’s radar, I can’t help but beam–it was a puzzle that I solved through sheer ingenuity and tenacity.
I am proud of myself.
