90% True

.: You do remember him, right? It was only two posts ago, so it should be fresh in your memory. Well, he said a few more silly things today.

.: Today (the last day of class) we covered various court cases on religious expression in public places, which eventually segued into court cases about teaching evolution and creation science in classrooms. You can guess which side our dear friend The Jester took. His character asked a typically clueless creationist question, in pitch perfect tone, “Why can’t we just teach both theories in the classroom?”

.: Initially I wasn’t going to respond to his hilariously moronic statements, but fearing that someone would actually take his stultiloquence seriously I raised my hand:

“Because it isn’t science.”

.: It was a simple response, and though I did feel a tad bit silly for engaging with an obvious parody, I still felt I did the right thing. Would you believe me if I told you that was it and the lecture quickly moved on? If you would, then you clearly have little faith in our dear friend’s comedic abilities, for he shot back with a classic creationist ripost:

“Yes it is. And besides, 80% of our taxpayers believe in God, and only 40% believe in evolution, so why not teach both?”

.: I was nervous, and I was also thankful I was sitting in the backrow where people couldn’t see my leg bouncing up and down.

.: Should I really continue with this clown? Would I be advancing an understanding of science if other people couldn’t see he was clearly not being serious? He really wasn’t being serious, right? Was I wrong in my original assessment?

.: By then other students were chiming in with their own thoughts, so I told myself, “Fuck it. You can’t tell a creationist from a parody anyway, might as well treat them both the same way.”

.: And on it went, for the rest of the period. After about five minutes, some people would ignore the professor and ask questions their questions directly to me instead. After about ten minutes, if a student happened to ask the professor a question, she would simply direct them to me. It’s an odd feeling you get whenever an entire class of students is deeply skeptical of everything you say.

.: I tried to focus the discussion on the legal aspect of teaching evolution and creationism, but in any situation like this it always comes down to “Where are the transitional fossils, HMM?!” For every pertinent point I could bring up (”Look up the ‘Wedge Document’ and you’ll see a clear case of religious motivation”) they would always counter with something from the asinine (”For some, science is just as much of a religion as Christianity, so if you’re not going to teach creationism then shouldn’t you not teach science as well?). I was reminded of a passage I read from a new blog I discovered this morning:

We don’t argue with cranks. Part of understanding denialism is knowing that it’s futile to argue with them, and giving them yet another forum is unnecessary. They also have the advantage of just being able to make things up and it takes forever to knock down each argument as they’re only limited by their imagination while we’re limited by things like logic and data. - denialism blog

.: And here I was, arguing with people who thought differently from me. I wouldn’t consider them cranks (save for Mr. Jester), just mistaken people. I did my best to keep my tone civil and measured. I didn’t interrupt anybody when they were talking, I didn’t belittle anyone’s deeply held beliefs, and I even pointed inquiring minds to Baylor’s very own biology department for further information.

.: When I recommended the writings of Ken Miller, Jester responded, “And I would recommend the writings of MOSES!” People laughed at that, which made me think, “Good, they don’t take him seriously.” He did say he was a religion major, so for all intents and purposes — Jester or not — he probably did mean it. I really can’t tell at this point.

.: All in all, it was a fun period. I got to talk for half an hour on a subject I find interesting, and I got to experience the thrill and entertainment of That Guy In My Political Science Class for one last time.

.: I just returned from a lecture given by Simon Conway Morris called, “Darwin’s Compass: How Evolution Discovers the Song of Creation.” I read about it in today’s Lariat, and the fliers in the science building certainly piqued my interest:

ABSTRACT: Is evolution a random, open-ended process without inherent predictability? “Rerun the tape of life,” claimed Stephen J. Gould and the outcome will be entirely different: no humans, for example. I will argue the exact reverse. Evolution is far more predictable than generally thought, whether we are talking about molecules or societies. This means human-like intelligence is very probable, perhaps inevitable. So this not only indicates a deep structure to evolution, but also reopens the question posed by Fermi: where are the extraterrestrials?

.: I was skeptical about his conclusions before going, and I remain so, but the talk was certainly interesting, and I appreciate some of the things he said.

.: Before the lecture started, I made a little bet with some friends:

Me: I’m going to keep a tally for every mention of Stephen Jay Gould and Richard Dawkins; who do you think he’ll mention more?

Friend 1: I’m thinking Gould. He’s mentioned right there in the abstract, and it’s mainly his science that Conway Morris disagrees with.

Friend 2: Me too. Gould seems far more likely.

Me: Ah yes, but keep in mind we’re at Baylor. He might tailor his talk to fit the audience, and mentioning Dawkins in a negative fashion will surely work to his favor.

.: From what little research I did beforehand, I know that Conway Morris is a theistic evolutionist who latest book, Life’s Solution: Inevitable Humans in a Lonely Universe, argues against both Gould’s and Dawkins’s views of evolution. For Gould, evolution is all about contingency and expansive diversity with no possible chance for predictability of outcomes. For Dawkins, modern evolutionary theory undercuts the most powerful arguments for the existence of a creator God. Throughout the talk, Gould’s views were more often critiqued than Dawkins’s, who was barely mentioned. (The final tally, by the way, was two for Dawkins and six for Gould.)

.: The whole of his lecture consists almost exclusively of one fascinating topic: evolutionary convergence. That is, two different lineages independently evolving similar traits. Birds evolved from a wingless ancestor, as did Bats. Of course, bats did not get their wings from birds; they simply evolved on their own. Conway Morris argues that convergence is a predictable consequence of certain constraints inherent in evolution. For example, the vast majority of possible configurations of a certain trait or pathway simply won’t work. He gave one example of trying to reach a certain protein sequence where there are 120 possible mutation pathways. Of the 120, only 18 are viable. The other 102 are non-possibilities. If that protein served a basic life function, such as capturing a stray election for energy or breaking down a common molecule, then, he argues, you would expect to see it over and over again in distinct lineages.

.: As for running the tape of life backwards, Conway Morris concedes that if certain historical events were changed — say, a stray asteroid didn’t hit the earth 65 million years ago — then of course we’d see something different today. But he argues what we would see would have several similarities with what we have today. A few of the features he covered in depth were the following:

Eyes. Both fish and cephalopods have camera-like eyes, which superficially resemble each other a great deal. Both types of eye have transparent lenses and retinas, and both evolved independently — another remarkable example of convergence. Yet he was also quick to point out some major differences. The cephalopod eye has the photoreceptors on top of its blood vessels, while the vertebrate eye has it backwards (a somewhat clumsy arrangement, actually — imagine having thin red lines painted all over your car’s windshield). Also, in vertebrate eyes, the nerves all converge into one stalk (the optic nerve) as they travel to the brain; in cephalopod eyes the nerves are more like roots, which consequently restricts eye movement.

.: Conway Morris seems to be willing to ignore these differences and suggests that evolution approaches a more idealistic, “platonic” form of the eye. Never mind the small differences, he argues, it’s the big picture that’s important. The basic scheme of the camera eye is incredibly effective and therefore it’s unsurprising to see it appear in nature more than once. It’s certainly true that the camera-like eyes create a more detailed picture of surrounding environments than the compound eyes of insects and other such creatures, but there are many independently evolved compound eyes as well, and species with such eyes seem to be doing perfectly fine here on Earth.

Limbs. He showed a slide of octopus tentacles and a human arm, noting that they “couldn’t be more different” in appearance. But in terms of behavior, one can easily see convergence: octopuses, by means of special electric signals, create an artificial three-sectioned arm comparable to that of a human arm. Why does it do this? Because it turns out the three-sectioned limb is the more efficient setup, mechanically speaking. To me, this really stretches the concept of convergence. (You’ll thank me for avoiding any “out on a limb” puns here.) In a sense, evolutionary processes certainly can find idealized forms for mechanical structures. An example that immediately springs to mind is the structure of blood vessels, which Richard Dawkins mentions in this clip from The Blind Watchmaker (fast forward to about 4:10).

.: But tentacles and arms are still very different things, despite this one mechanical similarity. I think it’s safe to conclude that, in another world, the three-sectioned limb will surely show up here and there, but if something as distinct as an octopus’s tentacle is considered convergent with a human arm, then Conway Morris’s “inevitable humans” are an amorphous lot indeed.

Teeth. Two different lineages of mammals evolved saber-teeth: one was a placental mammal, the other was a marsupial. Eutheria and Metatheria diverged quite a bit ago, but these particular saber-toothed species closely resemble each other to an uncanny degree. This one isn’t as impressive as the the camera eye example; it’s actually quite mundane. These are just two animals whose ancestors walked around on all fours biting other animals to death. Those same ancestors also independently evolved larger teeth so they could more easily bite other animals. Okay. And other animals didn’t evolve crazy-large teeth.

.: Conway Morris wants to argue against the idea that humans are mere flukes of evolutionary history — my guess because he doesn’t like the implicit denigration of our species as “nothing special” — and he does so by pointing out several motifs in life’s history, then concludes that human-like creatures must result from an evolutionary process. After all, certain features of humans appear in other animals, so it’s inevitable that if the tape of life were run again all those features would coalesce into a roughly humanoid figure. But at the same time, compound eyes, segmented bodies, and wings all independently evolved in other lineages. Why bother singling out humans? His book might as well be subtitled Inevitable Dragonflies in a Lonely Universe.

.: All of that said, I really did enjoy most of the talk. Simon Conway Morris is an engaging speaker, and he’s really quite funny to boot. He was also careful to point out directionality and predictability in evolution need not at all imply teleology. We’re in the natural world; things are going to operate by natural law, so he reasoned. This was significant, I thought, because there was a special guest visitor in the audience which made the quote all the more appropriate: William Dembski.

.: I was actually quite impressed by Dembski’s appearance: not once during the entire presentation did he make a single fart noise. He even got to ask a question, too! It was something about the convergence in the pre-biotic world, and how Conway Morris was overstating the case on abiogenesis and blah blah blah western science has abandoned God blah blah blah I don’t work at this university anymore blah blah blah why do I claim to be a mathematician when I don’t publish anything mathematical? blah blah blah my God I’ve wasted my life blah blah blah. I was hoping for more fun from Dembski, but he left before the Q&A session was over.

.: All in all, tonight was really quite a treat. Not only did I get to attend a lecture by a distinguished member of the Royal Society, but I also got to sit a mere three aisles behind one of today’s biggest intellectual losers. I wish I brought my camera.

Dear Guy in my Political Science Class,

.: I understand you’re a conservative; you made that perfectly clear on the first day of class. Your blog even boasts proudly of this fact in its title, Too Conservative. I understand that you have disagreements with our professor. I also understand how odd it feels to come to a predominantly conservative and Baptist campus only to find out your political science professor is a liberal Jewish woman.

.: I used to enjoy your little interruptions. I thought they were quaint. They provided me a glimpse into the past of how men of previous generations viewed the way society ought to be, and I’ve enjoyed that, at least on an anthropological level. You’ve even corrected the professor on some non-trivial points, and that’s always appreciated. You’re certainly more enjoyable than that other guy. You know the one I’m talking about: the anarcho-capitalist whose muddled thoughts match perfectly his muffled speech.

.: But the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced you’ve become a parody. It’s an interesting phenomenon among conservatives, so don’t feel too embarrassed if my conclusion is incorrect and you do indeed believe the things you say. I’m claiming that you’re a clever parody because, on balance, it’s the most charitable thing I can do. I also think you’re hilarious, in a Stephen Colbert kind of way.

.: I found it funny — and the rest of the class did as well — when you said Ann Coulter was a scholar. And the reason your statement was funny is that implicit in your description of Miss Coulter lies a hilarious denigration of the most literate group of people in our society. But I’m sure you’re well aware of that; you made the joke, after all. When asked by our professor what the peer-reviewed scholarly literature’s consensus was on Miss Coulter’s book, Treason, you jokingly referred to George W. Bush’s enthusiastic endorsement. Again — highly amusing. When she asked if anyone had seen Good Night, and Good Luck, you mimicked perfectly the stereotypical conservative response: “You mean that agenda-pushing movie by Hollywood liberal George Clooney?”

.: I don’t know why or when you decided to become a parody — I could have sworn you were sincere in your beliefs at the beginning of the semester. Now that I think about it, your earlier statements were even more brilliant than the ones you made today. “What if the little brat was lying?” I remember you say during the discussion on child testimony. Your character’s invariable distrust of all things that weren’t adult, white, straight, or male worked towards a subtle sort of charm. I fell for it, too. You made me believe that other people could seriously think that way.

.: But maybe you really are a conservative; maybe you’re just annoyed by the soft-thinking, jingoistic philosophy that modern conservatism has become, and you’re trying to change that with humor. It is possible to be an intelligent conservative and to criticize the lazy thinkers within your ranks. Even Jon Stewart makes fun of democrats sometimes.

.: But now that you’ve made it obvious that you’re just a parody, I think the magic is gone. You were more effective when your comments were merely ill-informed and only subtly unreasoned. Making outrageous statements like “If you’re friends with a commie, then you’re a commie” will blow your cover, and people won’t fall for it anymore.

Yours Truly,
That Other Guy in Class

.: “Is the longer cord for the fan or the light?”

.: “Is reduction the gaining of electrons or the loss?”

.: “Is the gas cap on the left side or the right?”

.: “Do I add the acid first or the water?”

.: “i.e. or e.g.?”

.: “Does the presence of a strong base favor SN2 or E2?”

.: “Is normal body temperature 96.8 degrees or 98.6?”

.: “Is her name Laura or Lauren?”

.: I drove down to Houston for this Easter break. I didn’t want to stay with my dad or my grandparents, so I called up Amy and invited myself to her place. I felt comfortable doing this because she semi-promised that she would consider visiting me in Waco only to later inform me of a vital term paper she had to finish writing instead.

.: But just in case Amy wouldn’t let me stay at her place, I packed a tent and two sleeping bags before I left. I also remembered to bring a hammer for the tent stakes and a pillow for my head. Three uneventful hours later, I arrived at Amy’s house.

.: Amy, clearly focused and eager to do well on her history paper, suggested we go see a movie. Every film in the theaters looked absolutely dreadful — to be honest, I’d rather watch television. But I remember reading about Grindhouse yesterday, so I figured I’d give that a shot. Amy agreed enthusiastically.

.: The movie was a hoot in every sense of the word except for the one involving owls. The zombies get blown up, the actors get drenched in blood, and several unexpected things happen which make you question what it means to be human as well as if this a good time to go to the bathroom or not.

.: All throughout the feature, Amy sent several text-messages to some guy named Micah, which as an anal-rententive movie-goer I found insensible and cruel, and I will be petitioning the Geneva convention in the near future to include new articles regulating disruptive lights in movie theaters.

.: After the movie ended, Amy and I strolled outside to my car. She called the friend she had texted all throughout the movie, and he invited us to come watch him play video games as he smoked illicit plants. I parked my car far away from the theater, following my simple parking philosphy (which annoys just about everyone who rides with me): in a large parking lot, I’ll save more time parking far away because 1.) it takes too much time to find a good spot and 2.) it takes much less time trying to find my car when it’s all by itself on the periphery of the lot.

.: For some strange reason, the weather gods decided winter shall continue, and it was a good 40 degrees outside. So I was not surprised when I started my car and saw a little thermometer light turn on.

“Huh. It might be because of the weird cold,” I confidently told Amy.

.: It was the obvious solution, and it made perfect sense for about three seconds. Thing is, my car’s been in much colder weather than this, and when it does get cold, another light turns on: a cute little snowflake lights up whenever it drops below 40. So this thermometer light meant trouble. Then I remembered that I had just had $1,600+ of work done on this car last month, and one of the replaced items was the radiator. I popped the hood and took a look, and I saw my radiator was almost completely out of fluid.

.: Hmm. A leaky radiator. Doesn’t this sound familiar?

.: It was around 2:00 in the morning, and I was pretty sure not a single O’Reilly’s or PEP Boys would be open, so I called AAA. I’m completely inept when it comes to cars, and I could hear the call rep on the other end of the line independently generating that same assessment.

.: Funny thing: under my limited coverage plan, AAA wouldn’t show up with a simple canister of antifreeze, but I was covered for up to 100 miles of towing. So, $6 of antifreeze is out of the question, but I could have conceivably shouted, “To Galveston!” and they would’ve had to complied.

.: I figured they could tow me to a 24 hour walmart across town and I’d buy some antifreeze there, so I had them send a tow-truck anyway. They said the tow-truck would take no more than 45 minutes to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, they called to say the tow-truck would take no more than 45 minutes to arrive.

.: In the meantime, Amy and I were sitting in my car, in a virtually empty parking lot, smack in the middle of a rather sketch part of town, with the heater off and the temperature bizarrely low. Lucky for us, I had my sleeping bags in the trunk.

.: Keep in mind, we just saw a zombie movie, and it’s a proven fact that, for up to 3 hours after viewing such a movie, a real-life zombie invasion has a non-zero possibility of occuring in the minds of the viewers. So you can imagine our concern when we heard what sounded like a crowbar being dragged across concrete. I grabbed my hammer zombie-smasher from the backseat and looked around: it was a crushed beer can rolling in the wind. After convincing myself it wasn’t an invisible zombie playing kick the can with his invisible zombie pal, I retired to my seat and placed the zombie-smasher on the armrest for easy access.

.: When the tow-truck finally arrived, we were greeted by two immigrants of indeterminate enthnicity. Were they Italian? Persian? Sicilian? Greek? Turkish? Spanish? We couldn’t tell. But they sure did talk all funny-like.

“Why not you just go to Texaco, eh? Just down the block. Have coolant for you. We take you. Hop in.”

.: I studied their truck carefully.

“Is there room in there for Amy?”

“Of course there is. She sit on your lap.”

.: We all squeezed in to their car seat, which was just a long bench. The drive had a good foot of space to his left, and the other guy had at least a foot between the driver and himself. It was quite clear that, if they bothered to adjust themselves, there would’ve been enough space for me and Amy to sit side-by-side. Instead, she was on top of my lap, and we drove down a back road with several pot holes.

“Hello Amy.”

“Hi Cody.”

.: We got to the 24-hour Texaco, and I perused their coolant section. They only offered two varieties: 50/50 green, and 100% green. I remember quite distinctly my radiator having a peculiarly purple color to it, and I also remember quite distinctly being told that, if I mix two different colors of antifreeze in my radiator, my car would explode and kill several innocent passersby as well.

[Sidenote: antifreeze, also known as ethylene glycol, is highly toxic for an interesting reason. Ethyl alcohol, an active ingredient in Ben's lifestyle, is a similar molecule. The difference is the addition of another hydroxyl group (-OH) to ethyl alchohol to make it ethylene glycol (OH-CH₂-CH₂-OH). When ingested, ethylene glycol is oxidized to glycolic acid, where one of the carbons attached to a hydroxyl group is converted to a carboxyl group (-(C=O)OH). In addition, glycolic acid is further oxidized to glyoxylic acid, where the carbon attached to the remaining hydroxyl group is converted to an aldehyde (-(C=O)H). Finally, glyoxylic acid is oxidized to oxalic acid, which is simply two carboxyl groups attached to each other (HO-(O=C)-(C=O)-OH). Those two hydrogens (H) are capable of leaving, turning the molecule into oxalate, or ^-O-(O=C)-(C=O)-O^-, where the ^- represents a negative charge. Calcium ions, represented by Ca²⁺, can bind readily to oxalate in your kidneys, where they form nasty little crystals which cause kidney failure. Don't drink antifreeze.]

“You can-a put the different colors together, you know. It-a won’t do any no harm.”

.: The guy drove a tow-truck, so I figured he was as reliable a source on car maintenance as, oh, wikipedia. I bought the green stuff and we drove back to my car in the AMC parking lot.

“Hello again, Amy.”

“Hi, Cody.”

.: He pored the stuff in my radiator, checked my AAA card, and drove away. Our long nightmare of low coolant and unexpectedly cold weather was finally over. And to think, we could have gone to see Amy’s friend play video games and smoke pot.

.: Now I just have to go see someone about this radiator thing.

.: Normally I don’t like simply linking to something without offering even a smattering of commentary, but this headline from reddit was just too good to pass up:

Birds do it; bees do it; even {trans-1,4-Bis[(4-pyridyl)ethenyl]benzene}(2,2′-bipyridine)ruthenium(II) Complexes and β-Cyclodextrin do it.

*Okay, it was published in Inorganic Chemistry, so it’s not exactly biochemistry. Whatever. I like the alliteration.