I don't think that word means what you think it means.

From nytimes.com

Before Democrats decided to take a direct vote on the Senate health care bill, Representative Joe L. Barton, Republican of Texas, described the plans to approve it without a direct vote as “a sleight-of-hand subterfuge” that would allow lawmakers to avoid accountability.

“This process corrupts and prostitutes the system” and could “unleash a cultural war” over the legislation, Mr. Barton said.

Apparently, Glenn Beck spending the last 8 months telling us that giving poor people medicine is the first step on the slippery slope towards Auschwitz doesn't constitute "cultural war." Who knew?

and finally...

The only Catholic leaders with actual uteruses have decided that healing people is more important than dickering about abortions.

One of the side benefits of passing this bill is that you'll get to stop hearing me complain about those who oppose it.

What is past is also sometimes future.

(You know it's bad when I start quoting Minbari aphorisms in my post titles, but here goes.)

There's a pretty awesome op-ed in the Washington Post (shout out to Timothy Noah: I got there via Slate) about why passing health care reform, with or without a ban on Federal subsidies for the remote possibility of an abortion, would probably decrease the number of actual abortions taking place in America. There is no indication that this fact means anything to team Stupak and their resolve to kill any health care bill that doesn't include their specific anti-abortion language. In another example of cosmological overreach, I can't help but wonder what this says about American Christianity. Is it about building the world that Jesus would have wanted (what with the curing of the lepers and all) or, 300 years later, is it still about proving that YOU are one of the saved ("people may be dying of curable diseases left and right, but I'll be damned - literally - if one penny of my tax dollars goes towards a totally legal medical procedure that I find morally questionable;" as my friend Charles pointed out, that's how a lot of us felt about invading Iraq or, for that matter, the death penalty)?

Put another way: are we still just a bunch of Calvinists trying to get back at Europe for kicking us out, because I'm pretty sure that Europe stopped caring.

errata:

From today's nytimes.com:

Mr. Stupak has said he will vote against the Senate bill because he sees the restrictions on abortion as inadequate. But Mr. Kildee said he was satisfied that the provisions in the Senate bill would prevent the use of federal money for coverage of abortions.

“I have always respected and cherished the sanctity of human life,” Mr. Kildee said. “I spent six years studying to be a priest and was willing to devote my life to God.”

“I have listened carefully to both sides, sought counsel from my priest, advice from family, friends and constituents, and I have read the Senate abortion language more than a dozen times,” Mr. Kildee said. “I am convinced that the Senate language maintains the Hyde Amendment, which states that no federal money can be used for abortion.”

Only in this country would "I have always respected and cherished the sanctity of human life" be a reason that you almost voted against a bill that would give medicine to 30 million sick people who can't afford it. That being said, props to Representative Kildee (and, by the way , Dennis Kucinich) for demonstrating that he is a decent human being capable of empathy.

watering the wine; making up the weight

Wandering into the student union building this morning, I encountered a sign I'd never seen before. It featured a lot of Korean characters, two words in French, and an arrow pointing to the left. The words in French were "Les" and "Miserables." Those of you who don't appreciate the magnitude of this statement should refer back to the URL of this website. There is nothing moderate or dignified about my love for this play. You can imagine my chagrin, then, when I purchased my ticket, walked into the theatre, and found two acoustic guitars and one microphone on an otherwise empty stage (there was other instrumentation behind strategically placed screens; there was, however, no collapsible barricade). Turns out (in what is the best argument for trademark laws I have yet heard) "Les Miserables" not only refers to the Hugo novel and all of its adaptations. It also refers to a heartthrob Korean singer-songwriter and his band (today was "White Day," the Korean answer to Valentine's Day; based on the music, I'm pretty sure that the only other testosterone in the audience was romantically attached to the estrogen sitting next to it). There were, of course, indications beforehand. None of the signs pointing me towards the theatre featured the iconic Cosette-is-the-flag logo of the Boublil-Schonberg adaptation. All of the signs pointing me towards the theatre were colored pastel blue and purple. But, if I have one fatal flaw (and I probably have several) it's that I believe words have a meaning that can be known, so, as soon as I saw the name, I was going to throw down the $55, fait accompli. A fool and his money....

(In my defense, just two days earlier I encountered a poster in that selfsame student union building advertising the May run of "Miss Saigon" on campus. This one featured the stylized helicopter logo and a clear shot of Chris and Kim making out, so I remain confident.)

are belong to them

Something about being in Korea prevents me from posting comments on my own blog (or, for that matter, on E street Stats).... Weird.

Anyway: they spread the frosting for you. I passed a waffle stall today (in a university cafeteria) where the frosting (all three varieties: white, strawberry, and chocolate) existed pre-waffle as cubes just sitting there on the counter. It seemed to be holding its shape pretty well.

Probably not dippable.

all your base

My new favorite questionably-translated English eatery name:

"Waffle It Up: Belgian Waffle of Majesty"

(in case I haven't mentioned this, Seoulites seem to love waffles; there are several street carts outside of campus where you can buy waffles with frosting as a snack)

a mighty gift

Finally, biologists are stepping up, delivering us a weapon that might actually improve our chances in the coming Robot War. No, I'm not talking about semi-intelligent cephalopods with telekinetic eye lasers (though it bears noting that all of the giant squid landings in the last decade have been in the southern hemisphere; perhaps nature realized the danger inherent in placing the largest animal resembling Great Chthulhu in close proximity to a readily available supply of polar bear livers...). I just listened to an episode of my favorite podcast, NPR's "Speaking of Faith," in which Krista Tippett interviewed a Minnesota biologist who reanimated a dead rat's heart. As I understand it, she and her team took said heart, washed it (literally with soap) to remove the dead cells (apparently that leaves a gelatinous superstructure behind; who knew? the biologists), then pumped it full of rat stem cells which proceeded to move in, reproduce... and beat. Now, I'm strongly considering ending this post with some witty reference to "Frankenstein," but, honestly, this is probably one of those things that's cool enough to be its own exclamation point, so here goes: in case you missed it, she reanimated a dead rat's heart.

in case you thought I was joking

For those of you who wonder how I can let a mere lay-science book turn my head so, consider the following sentence:

To study a Hubble Telescope image of [a spiral galaxy], typically (for the closer ones) seen from 10 or 20 million light-years, is to enter a world of sight so rich in possibility, so deep in separation from life on Earth, so complex in structure, that the unprepared mind may reel, or may provide a defense by reminding its owner that none of this can thin the thighs or heal the fractured bone.

I'm omitting a citation as a favor to the author.

not about health care or Democratic impotence

Okay, this is a little eerie. I'm about to attempt to achieve something useful with this blog. I can only imagine that Locutus will be knocking at my door very shortly.

I'm back in Seoul now. More about that later. Maybe.

Winter term just started here and I'm co-teaching a "cosmology for non-scientists" course with Eric (my adviser) and Professor Smoot (previously mentioned for winning the Nobel prize and co-guest-starring in an episode of "the Big Bang Theory" with Summer Glau; you can judge for yourself which is the more laudable achievement). Since I am one of three (dammit! stupid Borg...), I'm actually not onstage until April. Reading the textbook, however, I'm already confused. Nothing in the book is wrong, but it tends to gloss over (what are to me) important details about why it isn't wrong. None of this should be a surprise -- Eric flat-out said when he recommended this book: "I don't actually like it, but it's the best we've got" (or something to that effect) -- but that doesn't change the fact that I don't know what the point of this class is supposed to be. Should I be trying to give the students a laundry-list of things that we know, or a handful of bullet points accompanied by a deep understanding of why we know them? You should be able to tell my bias from the way I phrased that. When you're teaching to scientists, the latter is by far more important than the former (since, presumably, once they know the latter, they can figure out the former on their own) but that approach tends to rely heavily on math. Conventional wisdom counsels against math in courses of this sort. Which brings me to my question:

If you are a scientist: have you ever taught a course for non-majors before? What tack did you take? How much did the students benefit from it? In what way did they benefit from it?

If you are not a scientist: have you ever taken a course about science? What did you want going into the course? What did you take away from it? Are you glad you took it? Why?

Thanks for the help.