Anyone who dared to question the One True Way of making tea, read this and repent:
“Tea drinking habits and oesophageal cancer in a high risk area in northern Iran: population based case-control study” by Farhad Islami et al., BMJ 2009;338:b929.
Alternative title: “Adding milk to your tea like a normal person prevents cancer”. You heard it here first eventually.
(H/T Mermaid)
I arrived at the gym this morning sopping wet and dishevelled after cycling through a downpour1, and already slightly out of breath after climbing the stairs.
I scanned my membership badge – kept on the same lanyard as my work ID – and was preparing to move into the main area when the usually silent desk staff asked me if I’d heard of their new special offer.
No, I hadn’t, so they immediately launched into a detailed explanation of how much money I’d save by bundling 12 sessions “just in time for Spring!”.
“Sessions of what?”, though? I asked, while a puddle of rain water formed around my feet.
“Tanning!” With a smile and a nod towards the window, silently challenging me to think of something that could possibly be better on such a miserable morning.
Before I could stop myself, I replied “no thanks, I work at the Cancer Agency”, and waved my work ID badge at them.
After a stunned silence, they decided to find it funny, although they cast a nervous glance or two towards the manager’s office…
Is there any way to stifle this kind of impulse?
1 The sun came out a few minutes later and it’s been a beautiful day ever since. Karma?
…well, you know, we all wanna change the world
Act I
A group of young(ish) female colleagues gathers in a pub on a Friday evening for a refreshing beverage or two. Grad students, postdocs, technicians, junior faculty, and grant writers are represented. Cue much character development and witty dialogue over the first drink.
————————————–
You say you got a real solution…
well, you know, we’d all love to see the plan
Act II
The conversation turns to the leaky pipeline and the lack of women at the highest levels of academic science. General outrage is expressed; even those members of the group who have never knowingly suffered from gender-based discrimination in the workplace acknowledge that society in general, and therefore science as a subset of society, is inherently biased against women.
The tension ramps up as voices are raised and one lone, clear voice breaks through the babble to declare that we must act at the grass roots level, at the earliest stages of the pipeline; we must organise, we must fight the system, we must…
————————————–
You tell me it’s the institution…
…well, you know, you better free your mind instead
Act III
Another woman – a stranger to everyone in the first group – arrives at the next table, pushing a stroller containing a smiling, pudgy baby girl of unusual cuteness. The ranting revolutionaries dissolve into a chorus of “awwwwwwww!”s, and coo, smile and wave at the baby, before looking at each other and bursting into laughter.
————————————–
So much for the revolution…
Please, don’t anyone say “You tell me that it’s evolution…”. I think it was actually the beer. And anyway, I’d much rather hear “Don’t you know it’s gonna be, all right, all right, all right”.
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I wish that this little footnote was not necessary, but this is the internet, so here goes. I think (hope) that regular readers will recognise this post for what it is, which is to say, an amusing anecdote. I have no wish to enter into a flame war about how women should not be telling such stories because they are detrimental to the feminist cause. If your revolution precludes irony and self-deprecating humour, don’t you know that you can count me out (in).
“PCR” is not a verb. Neither is “PCR up”. “Amplify up” is closer, but still wrong.
You’re looking for “amplify”.
Just “amplify”.
That is all.
This is the Little Mountain public housing complex in East Vancouver.
See? By the park, mountain view, lots of trees and green spaces, places for kids to play, boarded up windows…
Wait, what?
It happened almost overnight. From lively community with children playing, parents barbequeing, and people tending their gardens and otherwise living their lives, to deserted ghost-town, the quiet disturbed only by joggers and geese.
I searched for a news story that day, telling me what had happened – but found nothing. Not that day, and not that week. About a month later I happened to pick up one of Vancouver’s free papers, the Metro, and finally found an article about Little Mountain.
With a sinking feeling of inevitability, I learned that the city plans to tear the houses down and build a new condo complex. BUT – not for another two or three years. Even assuming that the development still goes ahead (the Vancouver condo market has taken a big hit recently), why move families out of what are apparently completely structurally sound homes? The former residents allege that they were pressured to move out, and understandably, they are not happy.
The city’s policy is just plain crazy. Despite recent dips in the market, buying property here is still way beyond the reach of most people. On two decent salaries, Mr E Man and I could barely afford our own home, a small stucco box in a wee bit of a rough neighbourhood. And the vacancy rate for rentals is ridiculously low. Vancouver has a massive homeless population already, due to being one of the few places in Canada where people can survive a winter on the streets. Addiction and mental health problems run rampant. Why add to the problem?
I hope all the families of Little Mountain found somewhere else to live. And I hope our new mayor, Gregor Robertson, lives up to his campaign promises on tackling homelessness.
——————-
Some people have created generalised illustrations of the concept we call “home”;
while others have opted for a more personal touch;
and I’ve noticed more political statements creeping in recently.
It’s so beautiful in there, so peaceful, and so heartbreakingly sad.
——————-
ETA: I found a website for a group called Community Advocates for Little Mountain, and signed their online petition. Just FYI.
I met Dr. J this week!
It wasn’t a planned meet-up, but in this relatively small life sciences community, not exactly random either! I shouldn’t even be all that surprised that we know some of the same people…
Anyway, it was awesome. We had some beer and a nice chat about science, cycling, Vancouver, and of course blogging. We’ll definitely do it again some time – after all, he owes me a pint.
Anyone else living in or visiting Vancouver, and wanting to meet up, let me know! My two experiences so far have both been great!
Last week’s issue (what can I say, I’m slow) featured a review of The Watchmen. The review was written by Michael White, an associate editor of everyone’s favourite journal.
An interesting decision… why The Watchmen? It has less scientific content than many other recent releases. The reviewer is obviously a fan of the graphic novel, but is that the only reason? Have I missed any other movie reviews in Nature? Jurassic Park, anything like that?
After the initial suprise, I’ve decided that I quite like the idea. Are there any plans for a regular feature? If so, I suggest approaching Josh Witten, whose highly entertaining post on the genetics of the X-Men franchise was featured in the latest Mendel’s Garden blog carnival.
For the record, I enjoyed The Watchmen (I thought the neon signs in the street scenes looked particularly stunning), but then I’ve never read the book. Perhaps someone who has read the book can explain what the hell the deal is with the big cat towards the end?
I just ran into my former PI’s grad student, who I supervised during his first year in the lab. His loud and hearty greeting was as follows:
“Hey, CA Dunn et al, 2003, how are you?”
Yup, the thesis writing stage has begun!
(Dunn was my maiden name, for those that didn’t know)
No, seriously, will someone please stone the bloody crows?
Now, I’ll be the first to express a grudging admiration for our corvid friends. They’re immensely successful and indeed valuable in a changing urban environment, and their intelligence has been extensively documented. The sight of literally tens of thousands of crows on their daily commute from Vancouver to the adjacent city of Burnaby is quite spectacular; you’ll find photos of this local phenomenon here and here. (I meant to get some of my own photos last night, but it was raining).
However.
Was there ever a more annoying creature?
At my old shared house, dozens of them would congregate in the trees in the back garden. They started making their dreadful racket at first light, which in the summer is around 4 am. Why can’t they sound more like their relatives? We’ve often been woken by the pleasant throaty sound of a massive raven while camping, and the two experiences are like night and day.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The nesting crows in the tree in the front garden decided that the house was actually theirs, and that any human daring to use the path from street to door should be instantly attacked. Everyone had their own technique for getting in and out of the house; I would put a heavy object into a cheap rustly plastic bag and start whizzing it around above my head when I left the safety of the front door, and keep it up until they stopped dive-bombing me about ten metres from the front gate. My flatmate preferred swinging a tennis racquet, although he did say that he felt guilty when he actually hit one of the attacking crows and sent it flying. He felt somewhat responsible for the crow infestation, as his attempts to stop them claiming the territory in the first place had been thwarted; he’d invested in a catapult, and used to shower the tree with handfuls of dried peas from the front balcony as the nest was being built, but to no avail.
I no longer live in that house, but the fear of being dive-bombed by angry crows still haunts me. It’s not entirely unusual to see a pedestrian or cyclist being chased down the street, and with that in mind, the angry noises from above scare me every. single. day.
It starts in the morning, when I head into the back garden to get my bike, to angry disapproval from the crows who hang out on the wires in the back alley, and who fascinate and terrify my cats in equal measure. If the raccoons are out there too, the outraged caws reach cacophony levels.
It continues as I follow the bike route into the cemetery. The path is lined with perfect nesting trees, and at this time of year, I apparently represent a clear and present danger to every crow couple’s territory claim.
Pulling clear from the trees, I usually have a clear run for a couple of kilometres. But, what’s this – they’ve spread fresh grass seed on the soil outside the newly completed Olympic curling venue, and my commute suddenly resembles a Hitchcock movie. And then, oh good, more trees overhead as I turn West towards work. Caw blimey, I’m glad I’m wearing a helmet.
You’d really think they’d be used to us by now. Aren’t they supposed to be smart?
This is one of the funniest things I’ve seen on TV since Tina Fey was Sarah Palin.
