On losing things, and hopefully finding them again

One of the (many) things that annoy me is people, on finding something they’d lost, saying “It was in the last place I looked!”. Because you’ve found it, you’re going to stop looking, yes? So the last place you look, even if it’s the first place you look, is always going to be where you find it. When Kate lost the key to the mailbox this morning I approached the situation with characteristic sang froid (which admittedly involved a screwdriver, a hammer, and a trip to the hardware store, although sadly not to buy rawlplugs): it was only the comment “it’ll be in the last place I look” that annoyed me.

People don’t think about what they’re saying.

Now, that’s a bit of fun. But what’s more interesting is my observation that things tend to be found in the last possible place they could be. The last place you look—obviously—but in the last place ever. In other words, if you search your house for an item, starting at the most probable place and working down a list, the item will be in the least probable place. But conversely, if you look in the least likely place and end up in the most likely, guess where it will be? And sometimes you can look everywhere and still not find it, until you start over and find it in the first place you looked.

What the world is crying out for is a full mathematical treatment of this phenomenon. Ideally the mechanics of the search process could be understood so that we can find whatever we lose with consummate ease (perhaps iFind for the iPhone? Apple, are you listening?).

Apart from the mailbox key, I’ve lost a letter from Doc Beckett (with his email address on it, dammit) and a small camera tripod (and the old trick of buying a new one didn’t make the latter turn up. Puzzling). With Pickfords going through the house today I did, however, find a set of camera -> TV cables and a marble or two (but not the full complement), and a host of other inconsequentia that weren’t actually ‘lost’ as such, but nonetheless resulted in ‘oh, so that’s where it got to’ moments. (Including, as I write this, a cold cup of coffee.)

Nearly all my material possessions are now in boxes, and I won’t see any of it for a couple of months. But ultimately, it’s only stuff0, and I’m now far more excited about getting to the UK and facing the new opportunities and challenges in London.

What will I find there?

Continue reading

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On the passing of reprints

Some time ago I mentioned that I’d found a pile of reprints and didn’t know what to do with them. There were various suggestions, but eventually I recycled the lot (and I’m reminded that Jenny wants to know the rest of the Tap/UBA story. I need another life, please. Thanks).

The lot, except for a sub-pile of individual reprints—that is, single copies of papers—off-loaded onto me by my then-boss as I left Cambridge. Today, in clearing out my study in preparation for Pickfords coming on Thursday, I found them again. I was on the verge of recycling them en masse, again, when a couple caught my eye.

The paper is Structure and Assembly Properties of the Intermediate Filament Protein Vimentin: The Role of its Head, Rod and Tail domains and was published in 1996, when I was half-way through my first post-doc, counting BHK cells and making a poor man’s version of the Quik-Change mutagenesis kit. The inscription reads

_Hoping you’ll like the story, best wishes
Harald_

That’s Harald Hermann, still working with Ueli Aebi on vimentin and IF assembly.

There were more. This one, for example, from the grad student of the father of SDS-PAGE:

is addressed directly to my ex-boss.

Not only is the entire reprint ritual itself now lost for ever, but we’ve also lost this humanity, I feel. When clearing out my office last week I handed a book I’d edited to my office-mate of three years. Then I took it back and wrote inside the cover, before returning it to him. I still keep textbooks—long past their useful shelf life—just because they bear the magic runes Margery Ord.

An email saying OMG WTF We pwnd ur 1Å dataset LOL11! doesn’t quite do it for me, somehow.

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On precision

One of the great things about clearing out an office, or a lab, is re-discovering the stuff you rescued from when someone else was clearing out a lab. I found these in my box this morning:

very precise pipettes

They’re glass pipettes, graduated in 1 µl increments.

Not only are they incredibly neat — at least to a geek like me — but they are also incredibly precise. Slightly more precise, even, than Jenny’s ultra-modern “Gilson”:http://network.nature.com/people/UE19877E8/blog/2009/01/15/in-which-i-remain-precise-–-to-two-decimal-places.

Here’s the proof:

cerified

0.006 µl. That’s… not a lot of microlitres.

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On the last day

It’s Friday in some parts of the world.

Which means it’s my last day in the lab. Strangely, my biggest pang this morning is saying goodbye to Sid — he’s served me well and in a way I owe him for finding me a new job, a new career.

When I get back to the UK, I’ll be working at the Faculty of 1000. If you see me wandering the streets of London, looking a little lost, a little forlorn, perhaps you could take pity on me and let me come and look at your cells ? I might even offer to look after them while you’re on holiday.

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On the last days

(the title refers not to this —although you might be forgiven for thinking so—but to this. In case you wondered.)

If you follow the instructions,
washing instructions

you might get decent status.

upwardly mobile status

Even if you don’t, yesterday I split my HEKs for the last time.

That’s these guys. Can you see them?

Course not. They’re not in there yet. Let’s have a look through the square window:

And today I performed my last (ever, probably) transfection.

Tomorrow, or maybe Thursday, I’ll fix them in 3% paraformaldehyde (made fresh, in PBS: with 2% sucrose) and look at them under the fluorescent microscope. If it’s working.

Hopefully that will make Liza happy.

sniff. Now I’m going to cry.

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On the Nature of faith: Part 1

h2. This is not a theology weblog.

I thought I’d put that up there, just in case it wasn’t obvious. Generally I write about science–or scientists, at least–but Dr Isis reminds me that I’ve been thinking about the relationship of faith with science for a little while now. When I first started science-blogging I vowed not to enter the whole science versus religion debate, but it’s Sunday Monday night, I’m avoiding the vodka in the freezer and when you break promises you should do it good and proper; so I’m taking a deep breath and diving right in. Be warned. I might mention the ‘E’ word. I’m not deceiving myself by thinking that I might change any minds, and I don’t pretend to have any new or incisive insights. Put simply, there have been a few things knocking around my head and I think they need saying, so I’m going to write them down.

A false dichotomy

One of the problems with the science:faith dichotomy is that it isn’t, in fact, a dichotomy. Science is a way of understanding the natural world; a way of trying to understand what goes on around us. We observe something interesting, we think of a explanation for the observation, and we design an experiment to test that explanation. It works pretty well, and has given us all sorts of cool stuff such as antibiotics, computers, global warming and iPhones (yes: these are ‘technology’, which is the appliance of science, as the old ad used to say).

Faith, on the other hand, and I might get into a lot of trouble here, isn’t primarily a way of understanding the world. Certainly not the natural one. It is (and I’m concentrating particularly on the Christian faith, so your mileage may vary. I’m also being very careful to talk about ‘faith’ and not ‘religion’) a response to revelation. What you might do when someone says to you, ‘Uh, there’s something you should know’ (and anyone who says ‘religion has caused more wars’ or anything equally fatuous is going to get slapped, right? Let’s keep the tone a little higher than that, please).

Now, the full working out of that faith, in time, does lead to what we might call a worldview, but it’s not necessary nor sufficient. The beauty of faith is that it’s not an intellectual exercise. Anyone can join in, at whatever level they like. It doesn’t require you to be clever–or rich, or middle-class, or college-educated. But it doesn’t have to stop there–faith can expand according to your ability. Indeed, as someone’s faith grows they will find that it permeates more and more of their life and outlook. In fact, they will probably find themselves becoming a sceptic.

A sceptic, despite what the internets tell you, isn’t necessarily an unbeliever. A sceptic is one who questions, one who doesn’t take anything on faith (and I must piss off my friends mightily because it’s naturally difficult for me to take what anyone says without wanting to verify it myself). Someone who, in fact, might make a reasonable scientist. Now, you might say that my definition negates the possibility of a sceptic having faith: but that would be because you misunderstand the nature of ‘faith’.

The old joke goes that the definition of faith is believing something you know not to be true. Yes Victoria, it’s a joke–but you can understand why people think it. A lot of the faithful do seem, sometimes, to believe stuff that appears crazy or just plain wrong. But the writer of the letter to the Hebrews says that faith is ‘being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see’. Not, you’ll notice, ‘being sure of something I just made up’. It presupposes a reason to be hopeful, to be certain. Faith does not exist in a vacuum: I might hope for a million bucks in my final pay cheque on Thursday, but I actually have no reason to expect it might happen. On the other hand, if someone I had reason to trust told me to look out for a huge bonus, then not expecting anything wouldn’t be sceptical–it’d be irrational.

To put it another way, people don’t have faith, or believe in something they can’t see, for no reason. In fact, if you talk to them you might find that they have very good reason (although not proof, and they’d happily admit as much) to have faith: on balance, given their experiences and the evidence they have seen, faith is a perfectly rational position. Faith is about weighing evidence, and then making a decision based on what you know so far. We have the phrase ‘a leap of faith’ for a reason. And perfectly sane, rational, sceptical people will make that leap because they think the evidence justifies that decision.

These are obvious (to me) points, but given some of the fights that happen in less ‘accessible’ parts of the internet I think they bear making; because there seems to be an implicit assumption among a lot of otherwise reasonably educated people that science and faith are two ways of looking at the same thing, i.e. the natural world; and furthermore that no rational person could ever have faith in anything supernatural.

And that leads us to all sorts of problems because we get the faithful qua faithful making claims about science and the natural world; and scientists qua scientists making claims about faith.

I’m going to think about that a little more in Part 2.

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On blogging

network.nature.com/blogs

A collection of blogs on the science journal Nature’s site. The writing can be prone to that whimsy and jollity to which scientists often resort when trying to be “accessible”. But, otherwise, a fantastically informative site. Where else could you read Cloud Computing: A New Standard Platform?

Thank you

HT: Bryan.

(Of course, it’d help if they got the damn URL correct)

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On cultural differences

It’s still Friday somewhere in the world.

I was taken back to my school days in the lab last week. We have a visiting post-doc, originally Geordie but attenuated by years of living in Leeds. He referred to someone as a spacker, which, along with terms such as ‘spaz’ and ‘div’, you probably really had to grow up with to appreciate. ‘Spacker’ is probably more offensive than ‘spaz’ — one of my teachers used to call us that when we were being particularly stupid (or ten years old: sometimes difficult to tell the difference) and when we called him on it he claimed it was short for ‘spasmodic’.

I thought no more of it, until I saw that Kate had bought this:

spakfiller

whereupon I had a silent fit of giggles.

Here, the equivalent but reasonably non-offensive term (unless you’re from Newcastle) is Bogan. Jenny tells me that in the US, Polyfilla is generically called spackle (although wikipedia fails to mention that Polyfilla is cellulose-based and hence superior to the original spackle-based Spackle, which is now also cellulose-based and therefore the same. Or something).

The other thing that Australians do different is cheese.

tasty coon cheese

I can’t bring myself to say it, let alone buy it.

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On passive aggression

˙ǝɹǝɥ ɟo ʇsɐǝ sǝuoz ǝɯıʇ oʍʇ ǝʞıl s,ʇı ʇɐɥʍ ǝǝs plnoɥs noʎ ‘pɐq s,ʇɐɥʇ ʞuıɥʇ noʎ ɟı ˙puǝʞǝǝʍ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ ʇıɐʍ ʇ,uɐɔ puɐ sɹǝƃƃnq ʎzɐl ǝɹɐ suɐılɐɹʇsnɐ ǝsnɐɔǝq sı sıɥʇ ˙sɹnoɥ ɟo ɹǝqɯnu ʇıƃıp-ǝlqnop ɐ ɹoɟ uǝǝq sɐɥ puɐ ‘ʎɐpıɹɟ ʎpɐǝɹlɐ s,ʇı plɹoʍ ǝɥʇ ɟo sʇɹɐd pǝdolǝʌǝp ssǝl uı

Anyway, far be it from me to criticize mine hosts. Especially seeing as I’m leaving the country in 18 days. Instead, I will join in the Friday afternoon silliness and share with you this photograph, snapped two days ago in the lab downstairs as I stalked my way back after a particularly frustrating time on the Zeiss.

Passive aggression by Pommiebastards, on Flickr

Now, I know that passive aggression is a bit of an art form: getting the precise tone in your notes to your fellow labrats — just enough snark, a touch of self-pity — but this takes the game to a whole new level.

Happy Friday.

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On ethical conundrums

I took some advice this morning and …

didn’t do an experiment.

I decided my very young apprentices should take up the slack, and I’ve given them instructions. This is hard for me — I feel guilty because I’m getting someone else to do my work and having to trust people to get things right. That’s not a comment on the abilities of the people involved, it merely reflects my innate control freakishness.

I’ve given one student some agar plates so that he can prepare DNA stocks of four constructs I made (and sequence them), and tomorrow I’m going to give him some HEKs to cross-link. My other slave student is harvesting the knockdown I set up on Tuesday and will do the RT-PCR and Western blots. I did, however, agree to repeat a transfection experiment for one of the other post-docs next week. Maybe that tells you something about the sort of experiments I like.

So there’s a little bit of an ethical thing there: should I be letting/telling other folk to do these rather than do them myself, and spend my time making sure the projects can be picked up, or should I actually be doing them myself?

Another question suddenly presented itself just now. I paid for some software and installed it on this (lab-owned) iMac (iWork and Snapz Pro off the top of my head: there might be more). Should I go through and find out what is registered to me and de-register it; just uninstall it (_and_ delete the registration details); or just forget about it all?

And if I go for option one, where is the license information actually stored?

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