Instincts

I should learn to follow my instincts more often. If my gut tells me to avoid a situation, then I should probably just heed the advice of my innards and avoid that situation. Unfortunately I ignored my instincts last night, and I paid the price. I wound up in a very uncomfortable place, just squirming to get out. Next time, I will pay greater heed to my all-powerful, all-seeing, all-knowing gut.

Fortunately today has been much better. Having left work early yesterday because of my back -- yet again -- I was nervous that my back was getting worse instead of improving. However, from the time I got out of bed this morning I have felt as close to well as I've felt in 10 days. I noticed hardly a twinge of pain all day, and walked about 8 blocks going to and from work, which is approximately 1 mile. I think I'll be hitting the gym tomorrow for a light cardio workout. Having been without my comforting workouts for over a week I'm really jonesing for a good sweat session.

Tonight I had a lovely dinner with my choir buddy Brian and his partner Joe. They live on the northwest side of the city, an area I am not altogether familiar with. Unfortunately, because I was gabbing on the phone with my friend Joel, I turned two blocks too early and got completely turned around! I was already running late, which always annoys me, so the extra 10 minutes I spent driving around West Rogers Park just did wonders for my mood.

Brian and Joe were magnanimous hosts and accepted me, despite my tardiness, with grace and charm. They had cooked up a wonderful spinach and cheese soufflé, braised squash and a delectable New York cheesecake for dessert! I picked out a nice Chardonnay -- Maryville Starmont 2004, as recommended in this review. I was quite pleased with the wine, and it complemented the menu beautifully.

Now I'm home; I wasn't sleepy when I started this entry, but I find my eyelids are getting heavier with each passing minute. I think my new 400 thread count sheets are calling me . . .
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15.088

Just Cut the Fat

I turned on my analytical pathways as I was reading the Science Times section of Tuesday's New York Times when I saw this article. In her piece on a recently published set of studies from the Women's Health Initiative, Gina Kolata provides a synopsis of the findings, interviews the investigators and their critics, and gives some historical tidbits about the "you are what you eat," better health through diet movement that started in earnest in the Western world in the 19th century.

In a series of articles published in the Feb. 8 edition of the Journal of the American Medical Association, the investigators of the Women's Health Initiative report a surprising finding that has already drawn extensive criticism. In short, the investigators find that reducing dietary fat intake to currently recommended levels (approximately 30% of daily caloric intake) offers no protection against breast cancer, colorectal cancer or heart disease.

This study looked at a large population of older women and asked whether dietary changes could prevent them from developing specific diseases that in prior studies had been linked to dietary fat intake. To me, the nature of these diseases -- cardiovascular disease and cancer -- makes them somewhat unsuitable for such an analysis. These are diseases that often develop over many years, so even a relatively long-term study (average 8.1 years in the study) may be unable to show any benefit. Instead of looking at these data and concluding that fat intake is unimportant, I would instead hypothesize that changing dietary fat intake at a younger age, or more drastically reducing fat intake in later years, is imperative for improving health.

Colorectal cancer, breast cancer and heart disease have a much higher incidence in Western cultures. This could be explained by environmental factors like diet and sedentary lifestyle. It could also be the result of pollutants. Genetic factors may also be involved. Even in the Western world, certain racial groups are more likely to be afflicted with heart disease. Of course, these racial groups also tend to be disadvantaged and less likely to seek out (or be able to afford) preventative care. There's environment rearing its head again. So what is the right answer? Can we eat ourselves healthy? Or should we just eat what we want and let the chips fall where they may based on our genetic makeup?

It's important to remember that science is an evolutionary process. We chip away at the data, trying to excavate the truth lying underneath. Sometimes we hit veins of pure gold; more often we hit pyrite. Can we stay alive forever by eliminating fat from our diets? Unlikely. Are there centegenarians who have eaten and continue to eat bacon and eggs every morning of their lives? Probably. Not knowing the absolute truth, however, is no excuse to ignore our own common sense. The best any of us can do is eat sensibly, get some exercise a few days a week, and face up to the fact that we're all mortals and will one day face the grim reaper.

But now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run to McDonald's to pick up an Egg McMuffin and some Hash Browns. Oh, and maybe I should grab some Krispy Kremes on the way . . .

Is My Black Outfit at the Cleaners?

Every year on February 14th I wear black to protest Valentine's Day; that, and, black is slimming. I have found it a difficult proposition to be opposed to Valentine's Day without coming across as bitter or jaded. This is made all the more difficult for me since I am unabashedly both bitter and jaded. But neither my bitterness nor my jadedness explains my absolute disdain for Valentine's Day. Why, then, should I be so opposed to such an innocent little holiday? To find out, let's take a little stroll through the dark catacombs of my mind. Oh, but could you take off your shoes first? I've just mopped in here.

Picture adorable little me as a senior in high school. I have my first real girlfriend (if you just fainted, then I heard you hit the ground, and I will find you and smack you across the face.) I'm in a tizzy because, being new to this whole girlfriend thing, I haven't even given the first thought to buying her a Valentine's Day gift. For one thing, Valentine's Day in 1991 was on a Thursday (I didn't remember that; I looked it up) so it should be close enough to the weekend that I get a bye until Friday night, right? Wrong.

Cut to me going out during lunch period to buy a crappy single rose for my girlfriend, and then interrupting her English class -- which was, coincidentally, taught by my English teacher, who was not thrilled that I interrupted her class -- to give my girlfriend said rose. Awkward hug, "Ahhs" and snickers emanating from classmates, etc., etc. At the end of the day, a fairly humiliating experience.

Is this pitiful but otherwise pedestrian little story from my adolesence the real reason I hate Valentine's Day? No. That would be just pathetic. So what's the skinny on why I hate Valentine's Day? You want the truth, the honest, unabashed truth? Well, here it is.

Valentine's Day is hogwash.

Valentine's Day is yet another stolen holiday, meant to lure the pagans away from their polytheistic roots and into the monotheistic Christian fold. (See also: Christmas, Halloween). In Roman times the feast of Lupercalia was celebrated on the ides of February (February 15th). It was a lottery where the boys would draw the name of a girl who would be their "sexual companion" for the next year. In an attempt to rescue the newly minted Christians from this temptation away from chastity, the powers that be decided to celebrate St. Valentinus by turning this misogynistic expression of Roman paternalism into a joyous romantic festival where good little Christians could draw the name of a saint whom they would emulate for the next year, and perhaps, if there was enough time between self-flagellation sessions, make admissions of romantic yet purely asexual love towards other good little Christians (of the opposite sex, of course).

What a crock.

The only purpose that Valentine's Day serves now is to help greeting card retailers, florists and jewelers get into the black a little earlier in the fiscal year. It's not even a Catholic feast day anymore, so I won't even dignify the day with the title of "St. Valentine's Day."

I have experienced (and hated) Valentine's Days with and without romantic partners, so this is not sour grapes about being alone. That being said, Valentine's Day is yet another holiday that places coupled persons on a pedestal and makes it seem even less socially acceptable to be single, although, in fairness, most major holidays do that. One could argue that, unlike other major holidays, the entire premise of Valentine's Day rests on this notion of the supremacy of couplehood, but that is not the thesis I wish to extoll.

At the end of the day, my major vexation with Valentine's Day is that it is all shine and no substance. It has no intrinsic value, and extols no higher value than lustfulness. Don't get me wrong -- a little lust can be a good thing, but I don't think we need a national holiday for it.

So, for everyone who is rushing around buying flowers and jewelry, and who will be waiting for inordinate lengths of time to eat at restaurants that would be half-empty on any other Tuesday evening, I can only say, be thankful that you have been blessed with someone to share this day with. Be sure that February 14th is not the only day out of the year that you do something to show that person how much you care.

Because Sweetest Day is coming up on October 21st, and you'll want to be getting those romantic plans taken care of as soon as possible.

Too Twisted for Color TV

SPOILER WARNING: Avert your eyes if you don't want to know information about last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy!

Thank you, Shonda Rhimes and the writers of Grey's Anatomy for causing me nearly to have a heart attack during last night's episode, As We Know It. This was the second of a pair of episodes that first aired last week, the earlier episode appropriately titled It's the End of the World. If you missed either episode, let me direct you to the recaps on the Television Without Pity website.

First off, I find it amazing how good writing can cause us to suspend our disbelief. That mortar round in the guy's chest? We all knew it was gonna go boom. But did anyone seriously think it would go off while Meredith was touching it? Come on! If she (conservatively) only lost her hand, what do you think that would do to her chances of becoming a surgeon? Lose a hand, lose the show. And of course, since the show is named after her character, I doubt she's gonna get offed any time soon. Burke is too important to the story line, so he's not going anywhere. This left only one possibility, and I saw it coming about 20 minutes into the show.

Kyle Chandler had to die.

It was fate. He may as well have put on a red shirt sporting an ensign's insignia and beamed down to a hostile planet with Captain Kirk, Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy. When I saw him walking out of that OR carrying that live round, I thought, Oh, boy, I hope as a responsible member of the bomb squad you have all of your affairs in order. (I also sort of wondered why they didn't have some sort of containment apparatus a little closer to the site of the bomb extraction. I guess for dramatic purposes one must take the mountain to Mohammed.)

I cried so much during last night's episode I don't even remember when I started blubbering. When George confronted Dr. Bailey, nearly shaming her into giving birth to that baby, and then climbed up onto her bed to help her with the birth? Tears. When Meredith was looking at Kyle Chandler and thinking of McDreamy? Tears. When Kyle Chandler became "pink mist"? I got up to get a sandwich and a beer. WHAT, ARE YOU CRAZY?? TEARS LIKE CRAZY, MAN, TEARS LIKE CRAZY!

I missed the previous episode because I was at a dinner party with some friends, and heard about it second-hand from co-workers. I therefore read the recap on Television Without Pity as I was watching last night's episode, and I'm glad I did. I think I would have otherwise missed the significance of the Dr. Burke/Dr. Shepherd exchanges. I can't wait to see the re-broadcast of this episode this summer.

If you're not watching Grey's Anatomy, shame on you. Fortunately, I think there's only 10 people in this country who aren't (It's the End of the World was fourth in the Nielsen ratings). This is the best written show on TV since -- wait for it, wait for it -- Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Oh that's right. I went there.

A Reminder

There comes a point in all of our lives when we realize that we are mortal, that we are susceptible to the arrow of death and are limited by the fragile nature of our imperfect human bodies. It's a rite of passage, really.

That moment came for me when I was 28-years-old, in early 2002. A pain in my right leg that made my sleep progressively more uncomfortable gave way to such an extreme claudication that I could no longer go to work. In the ensuing nine months I would submit to three epidural steroid injections, weeks of often painful physical therapy and two discectomies. I became one of the millions of individuals in this country who succumb to radiculopathy secondary to lumbar disc herniation. In layman's terms, I had a slipped disc; two, really.

Other than a few isolated incidents, I had led a relatively pain-free life prior to my back surgeries. In 2002 pain became a daily part of my life. It was always with me, like a shadow in daylight. I could sit down to partially alleviate the symptoms of my underlying orthopedic pathology, but even that was uncomfortable. Sleeping in a supine position was practically impossible; walking was torturous.

Since my surgeries I've recovered a lot of my mobility, although I doubt I will ever return to my pre-2002 self. I must always be vigilant against re-injuring my back. I no longer move my own furniture, I limit the amount of time I spend in any one position and I avoid activities that require me to keep my back bent for prolonged periods of time.

On Wednesday I noticed that my back was bothering me as I got ready for work. I laid down for a while, actually falling back asleep (something I rarely do). When I awoke, I found it difficult to get up. I spent all day in bed. The next morning my situation had little changed. By the evening, I could get up and down from the chair in my living room with some difficulty. I was better the next day, but walking and standing were still difficult and painful. Several mega-doses of naproxen later, I have greater mobility and was able to go to church today. I will go to work tomorrow, and hopefully will be able to stay the entire day.

These episodes of debilitating back pain are rare, thankfully, but they serve as a reminder that I am a fragile human being, despite my tall and powerful-looking frame. They are reminders I could -- and would much prefer to -- do without. Wishing away my infirmities is a fool's errand. Instead I am learning to live with pain, the actuality of pain and the constant threat of pain. Unfortunately, no one can live like this without changing, and I know that living under the constant threat of pain has fundamentally changed me.

What can one person do?

I was walking from my lab to a dinner and presentation at Brent House, the Episcopal center on the U of C campus. As I strolled through campus I was overwhelmed with a multitude of thoughts, mostly about me and my life. I felt completely disconnected from the world around me. In all honesty, I've felt rather disconnected for a couple of weeks now, this being one reason for the relative paucity of new posts. But tonight it was particularly acute.

The presentation was by the Rev'd. Michael Kinman, the director of an organization called Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation. Their main interest is in alleviating global poverty, and they are very interested in the fulfillment of the Millenium Development Goals. The facts that the Rev'd. Kinman presented were astounding. For instance, for $10 billion we could provide education to every child on the planet. That's half of the amount this nation spent on ice cream last year.

Let me say that again. We could educate every child on earth for half our nation's ice cream budget.

It's really astounding how little it would take to bring people out of poverty. It's even more astounding how unwilling society is to make even the smallest sacrifices to make the dream of alleviating poverty a reality.

Please visit the website for the Millenium Development Goals to see what you can do. Contact your elected representatives and ask them to support the United States' commitment to the Millenium Development Goals. If you want to give money, consider giving 0.7% of your income to Episcopal Relief and Development. For every dollar you give ERD more than 90 cents goes to the beneficiaries. Most importantly, learn about the problem of global poverty. It's a huge problem that's easy to shrug off, but everyone has the power to do something.

Science Sux

sciencesux
Originally uploaded by ho73classic@sbcglobal.net.

After 6 weeks, I finally got a decent DIG-labeled riboprobe yield. Hallelujah!
The quote from my lab notebook page is, "I have soundly pummeled the bitch goddess Science today. . ."

The secret? Keep your reagents at room temperature. Here's the math:

Spermidine + DNA + cold = precipitated DNA = lousy riboprobe = upset postdoc