Dancing

Now that I've got "The Worm" under my belt, the next step is to learn to dance like these guys:

Smelling Healthy

My dog isn’t much of a retriever. He isn’t particularly interested in fetching a ball or Frisbee. There is one exception to the rule, however. If we’re in the woods, he’ll gladly bring back a stick that I throw deep into the woods. What’s interesting is the way he finds it. He doesn’t appear to watch where the stick lands, as I do. Instead, he tries to find the trail of scent the stick left as it flew through the air. On the down side, it often takes him awhile to find the stick. On the upshot, he’d be no worse off if we played the game at night, when my eyesight would largely fail me. In that respect, his nose is less efficient but more reliable than my eyes.

The human eye is very sensitive. We have about 125 million receptors on the retina. The great majority of these receptors (120 million) are called rods, which allow you to distinguish between shades of grey in low light. The remaining receptors (5 million) are called cones, which allow perception of color in bright light. A dog’s eye is generally less sensitive. While a normal human’s vision is said to be 20/20, a normal dog’s vision is 20/75, which is to say that a dog would have to be 20 feet away to see the same object that a human could see from 75 feet away. Also, a dog has relatively poor color vision. Their biggest problem, it would appear, is the fact that they’re only two feet tall. If you were two feet tall and relied exclusively on sensory data from your eyes, you can imagine how much you’d miss.

As sensitive as the human eye is, a dog’s nose is even more sensitive. Compared to the 125 million receptors in the human eye, a dog’s nose carries over 200 million receptors. The human nose, in contrast, only has about 5 million receptors, some of which are re-dedicated for taste and temperature – think of the “smell” of menthol or wine. Basically, what I’m trying to get at is that humans smell badly, and men smell worse than women.

This is why I found it particularly troubling to hear that olfaction may play a large factor in mate selection. The other day a friend mentioned a study she had read a few days prior. The gist of the study was that a group of men were asked to wear a t-shirt to bed for a couple of nights. These shirts were taken, placed in marked bags, and given to single women to rate in terms of their pleasantness. Their responses were recorded. Some days later, the men and women were brought together for a party and the women were asked to rate the men in terms of attractiveness. Women tended to give high ratings of attractiveness to the same men whose t-shirts they found pleasant-smelling days earlier. (Unfortunately, I was not able to find this study anywhere, so I cannot provide a link.)

In another study, it was suggested that women are particularly sensitive to the smell associated with the molecule that enables the immune system to recognize foreign bodies (MHC – major histocompatibility complex). Women tend to prefer the smell of men that are immunologically similar to their biological fathers. This makes evolutionary sense. You’d want your kids to be able to combat the same antigens as you, because they are likely to be in the same environment. However, given the choice between immunologically similar and immunologically identical, women prefer similar. This may be a check against the ills of inbreeding. Interestingly, women do not prefer the smell of men that have antibodies similar to their mother nor to their non-biological father, in the case of adoption or re-marriage. The preference, it appears, is not about familiarity, but biology. Indeed, most women are unable to identify preferred smells as being familiar, nor are they more likely to correctly identify these smells as being of human origin, as distinguished from other household smells.

After encountering these studies, I can’t help but ask: if so much is riding on the way we smell, then how come we’re so bad at smelling? Would there be less divorce if we had 200 million olfactory receptors, instead of our paltry 5 million? Do people with more acute senses of smell stay together longer? Is using axe body spray going to screw up your kid’s chances of leading a long, healthy life? Was love potion number 9 just glorified antibiotics? Should personal ads read: SWM seeking SWF with good sense of humor and desire to combat like antigens?

Much like my dog trying to find a stick with his nose, trying to find a husband using your nose may not be the most efficient method, but it may prove to be the most reliable, evolutionarily speaking. We all know that it's quite easy to fool the eye. Language also can be manipulated with ease. Meanwhile, the failure of various pheromone colognes that have hit the market over the years attests to the discernability of the human nose. Maybe cereal box superhero Tucan Sam was dispensing sage relationship advice when he remarked, “Just follow your nose!”

Reincarnation

You are what your deep, driving desire is.
As your desire is, so is your will. As your will is,
so is your deed. As your deed is, so is your destiny.
-Brihadaranyaka, IV. 5

**

Over the past few weeks, some friends and I have started practicing yoga with some regularity. I decided to do some background research on the practice and found my way to the local bookstore and a collection of ancient Hindu texts called The Upanishads. One of the basic tenets of Hinduism is the notion of reincarnation, which has found its way, in one form or another, into many other worldviews. The basic idea is that if you live a good life, you come back as a higher life form, until you eventually attain harmony with god. If, on the other hand, you lead a bad life, you’d come back as a lower life form, setting yourself back on the path to harmony. Simple enough.

When I first heard the notion of reincarnation way back when, it sounded pretty hokey. However, as I learn more and more about how the universe operates, reincarnation sounds a little less absurd. Either through digestion or decay, dead things regain life among the living, don’t they? That’s elementary science.

Biologist Richard Dawkins gave a lecture on the queerness of the universe in which he retold anecdotes originally given by Louis Walcott and Steve Grand, both of which speak to the point above, I think.

Louis Walcott once remarked, “Every time you drink a glass of water, the odds are that you will imbibe at least one molecule that had passed through the bladder of Oliver Cromwell.” It’s true. It’s simple probability, I’m told. There are just far more molecules in a glass of water than there are glasses of water or bladders in history. Of course, this point isn’t particular to Oliver Cromwell of glasses of water. It is also quite probable that the last breath you took shared an atom with John the Baptist’s fig tree or Ghengis Khan’s first bowel movement, for instance. From this perspective, the inter-connectivity of all life forms, living or dead, seems all the more probable. Of course, the fact that this information was explained to me by very credible scientists does not do anything to make it any less mind-blowingly-absurd.

In another thought experiment, Steve Grand asks you to remember an event from our childhood that you distinctly remember. Maybe you can see, smell, touch, and taste whatever it is that you are thinking about. You may even feel like you are really there. Of course, you aren’t really there. Here’s the kicker – you were NEVER really there, atomically speaking. Not a single atom that is presently in your body today was also in your body at the time of the memory. Not ONE SINGLE ATOM! The “you” at the present, just like the “you” from the past, is more like a point on a wave, in which matter comes together only for a brief instant before moving on to something else. Amazing, no? Perhaps, like me, you were moved to ask, well who has my atoms now? Or, to whom did my atoms once belong?

As these and other ideas are swimming around my head, I purchase the book and head outside. As I’m crossing the street to the parking lot, I notice that a couple about 20 feet over to my left is looking down at the ground and pointing. They are having a conversation about something that is on the ground. As they walk away, I grow interested to find out what they were looking at. Right at that moment, a voice comes from behind me to ask, “Is that a turtle crossing the road?” In an effort to save the turtle from getting run over, I walk over to pick it up and help it across the road. Of course, it’s beyond me where the turtle may have come from: there’s no water anywhere near here and it’s a miracle that it’s made it all the way across this enormous parking lot without getting run over already. Only, when I make it over to my new turtle friend, I discover, to my shock and amazement, that it’s not a turtle at all, but, get this, a lobster! So, here I am, standing in the middle of the road, a book on reincarnation under my arm, fending off traffic, trying to help a crustacean make it up the curb, unable to fathom the sequence of events that may have led to our lives intersecting in this manner. By this point, a crowd has gathered and people are calling people on their cell phones and taking pictures, which only adds to the absurdity of it all. Meanwhile, I can only wonder what the heck this guy must have done in his past life to end up a tiny lobster in a Barnes and Nobles parking lot. Talk about drawing the short straw in the game of reincarnation!

The story ends with some fellow good Samaritans getting a cup of water and another volunteering to take him to a nearby creek. With a little help from strangers, unity and order was restored among all of god’s little creatures. However you want to look at it, scientifically or religiously, we’re all made of the same stuff:

As the same fire assume different shapes
When it consumes objects differing in shape,
So does the one Self take the shape
Of every creature in whom he is present.

Point is, be nice. Even to lobsters. Because, if there’s one thing we can learn from science, it's this: chances are, you're already a lobster (to some degree), and even if you're not, you'll be one soon enough.

Remember, Remember the Eleventh of September

I wouldn’t be able to tell you what I did on the 10th of September or the 12th of September, 2001. The eleventh day, however, the one five years ago to the day, is seared in memory. At the time, I lived in a small studio apartment on the first floor of a building on Lothian Road, which was an old, winding one way street in the section of Boston referred to as Brighton. There was lead in the paint and asbestos in the walls. Human engineering was seemingly reaching from all directions and trying to kill me.

It was an absolutely gorgeous late-summer-almost-autumn morning in Boston, Massachusetts. I was 21 years old and enjoying my senior year of college. At 8:50 a.m., I turned on the television, while getting dressed for class, and Matt Lauer told me that a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center Towers some 8 minutes prior. There was a small fire, but no one seemed particularly alarmed. It was apparently an accident. By this time, they had gotten up a live feed of the first tower burning. All of a sudden, another plane streaks across the screen and into the second tower, at which point we extinguish any thought that accident played any role in these happenings. Two fires.

I immediately picked up the phone to call my dad, who was working on the upper west side of Manhattan. When I told him what was happening on TV, it was news to him. He told me that it was business as usual on his end of the island and that it was nothing to worry about. Relieved, I hung up the phone.

Speculation began about terrorists and news soon came over the wire about the Pentagon. Three fires. Matt Lauer told me that our country was under attack. If a terrorist organization was involved, not a single one was stepping up to claim responsibility. This fact would fuel speculation in the forthcoming days and in years to come.

September 11, 2001 is our generation’s flash-bulb memory. Everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing. For the generation before, it was the day John F. Kennedy was shot. As was the case after the JFK shooting, there is growing conspiracy theorizing surrounding the tragic events. The feature film “V for Vendetta” and the internet production “Loose Change 911” suggest and allege, respectively, government knowledge and/or involvement in the attacks. The validity of their claims is beyond the scope of this post, but retrospect has certainly taught us the pitfalls of fervent, unreflective patriotism which always seems to commingle with terror.

No one played baseball for a week. People were still trying to pull bodies out of the steel and recreation of any kind would have seemed trite. But after awhile, someone realized that we – and the city in particular – needed distraction. On the 21st of September, the New York Mets returned to their city and donned their home whites for the first time in three weeks. They welcomed home the hated Atlanta Braves, who sat a nearly insurmountable 5 ½ games ahead in first place. My favorite players traded in their standard “NY” hats for caps that read “NYPD” or “FDNY” in homage to the city’s fallen heroes.

The game was tied 1-1 heading into the eighth inning. Mets’ pitcher Armando Benitez gave up an RBI double to Brian Jordan and the Braves jumped ahead 2-1. In the Mets’ half of the eighth inning, Edgardo Alfonso worked a walk, meaning that one of the greatest Mets of all time – Mike Piazza – would approach the plate as the potential go-ahead run. Right on cue, Piazza launched a ball deep into the night sky for a home run, bringing home the tying and winning runs.

Why am I talking about baseball? The 9/11 Commission Report says that of the 600 people trapped at or above the impact on the South Tower, only 18 managed to escape. In the North Tower, 1,366 people were trapped at or above impact. All of them were killed. Of the 2,700 bodies found at the site, only 1,600 could be identified. 400 rescue workers died trying to save people from the burning towers. For weeks afterwards, volunteers were sifting through the rubble unable to find any signs of life. This was the atmosphere in New York in the weeks following 9/11. When Piazza hit that ball in front of 41,235 people in Queens, it was the first time that post-9/11 New Yorkers were able to jump up and down and cheer for anything. For a brief moment, we were all just kids watching a baseball game and everything else faded into the background. The people of New York took momentary respite from all they had been dealing with and thus began the healing. Strange as it may sound, I believe that it was with that swing and the ensuing cheers that New Yorker reclaimed their city. It was the stubborn, tough, funny-sounding New Yorkers letting the world know that life would go on.

On the eleventh, I sat in my apartment a long way from home and watched on TV as the buildings which had cast a long shadow on my suburban childhood folded themselves into a heap of molten rubble. Tomorrow would be a lot like the day before in many respects: politicians of every persuasion would scheme to gain power; media people would resume selling their speculation; the hawks would clamor for retribution, while the doves would envision a world with more hugs; business men would seek financial advantage; commercials would return to the airways and we would transition back to consuming all kinds of things we didn’t need; people would once again honk their car horns and gossip about one another; people would ask their gods to take their side in the fight. But, on this, the eleventh day of September, 2001, everything was different. Everything. For one perfect New England morning, everything was still. There was a haunting quiet. As I watched that small window into the world, some 36” inches tall and luminous, I couldn’t help but marvel at the very depths to which a human can stoop; these depths which were, before my very eyes, doused in jet fuel and engulfed in flame. And here’s the poetry. On that same television screen, in juxtaposition to the fires, I beheld the very heights to which the human spirit can ascend, his arms carrying his brother, both covered in cinder.

And in that very moment, more so than any other in my life to date, I felt intimately connected to humanity’s collective consciousness. I was acutely aware of the part of our nature responsible for the commission of such acts of violence, but also the part of our psyche which openly defies them. We were human beings. And, despite all illusion to the contrary, we were in this together: each of us profoundly and irrevocably human, shrouded, even five years later, in fire and ash.

Postalgia

I was listening to my friends over at A Way with Words again and this guy called up with a word he’d like to add to our lexicon – postalgia. He proposed that it would mean nostalgia for the future that never came to pass. Think about scenes from The Jetsons and Back to the Future II and consider how far off that reality still is. Disappointed? That’s postalgia!

Interestingly enough, the idea of postalgia was fresh in my mind, because I had recently heard a piece by Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes wherein he unearthed a CBS Evening News five part story back from 1986 predicting what life would look like in 2001. Here’s what CBS predicted.

By 2001, the Russians will have landed on Mars. Never happened. Domestically, Los Angeles will be the largest US city, with phoenix the fastest growing. Again, they’re wrong. New York, New York is still our largest city, with LA and Vegas the largest growing. Worldwide, Mexico City was to be the largest city with 35 million populates. Mexico City only has 8.5 million people (9th place). If you include the surrounding urban areas, it jumps to 2nd place with 18.7 million people, but well behind 1st place Tokyo with, you guessed it, 35 million. Right number, wrong city, I suppose.

Technology was supposed to produce “cows the size of elephants” and “pigs 5 feet tall!” I, for one, am glad this never came to fruition. Cars were to be voice activated and bathrooms were to serve as a home’s entertainment center. Huh? The pharmaceutical industry would provide miracle cures for cancer, heart disease, baldness, alcoholism, and phobias. Higher efficiency machines and computers would result in a 6 hour work day, 30 hours a week. Nope. Lives would be longer, with 108,000 people over the age of 100 years old. Actually, there are only about half that many Centurions – 55,000.

I decided to research the issue a little further. I read in the news that Google has come up with this new feature which allows you to search newspaper articles back to the 18th century. You can then use the timeline feature to see how ideas have evolved on a given topic over time. While it’s a great idea, I quickly found that you had to pay to access most of the articles. Bummer. Time magazine, however, allows you to access their archives for free. I found an article back from 1966 in which “The Futurists” predicted what the world would look like in 2000. Ready to feel postalgic? Here goes.

According to the experts interviewed by Time Magazine in 1966, by the year 2000, the US would have 330 million people with 90% living in or around cities. Population was “only” 280 million in 2000, and it’s not expected to break 330 million until 2020. Only about 60% of people lived in metropolitan areas at the turn of the millennium. Interestingly, the article stated that only the “gloomiest forecasts” have population reaching 6 billion by 2000. The 6 billion persons mark was surpassed a year earlier in 1999. The pessimists were spot on.

Back in ’66, they expected huge advanced in transportation by now. Planes would carry 1,000 people and travel just short of the speed of sound. Ballistic rockets would transport people anywhere on Earth in under 40 minutes. These days, it takes twice that time just to get through airport security! Also, men never made it to Mars, as expected. We’re all still waiting for Kia to introduce an affordable hovercraft.

Did they predict the internet? Maybe. They thought that cities would be able to decentralize because of the advent of instant communication. Indeed, this “countrywide telecommunication network” will allow people to work from home. That’s pretty close, only instead of a country wide network, we use the more descriptive and alliterate moniker World Wide Web. In addition, they discussed “electronic "information retrieval," meaning that “the contents of libraries and other forms of information or education will be stored in a computer and will be instantly obtainable at home by dialing a code.” That’s pretty much how it works, isn’t it? Wild.

They also missed the mark a time or two. For instance, they predicted that “frogmen farmers” will grow protein-rich kelp and seaweed, while living underwater for months at a time. The sea-produce will be ground into flavorless cereal which will be chemically flavored to taste like steak or bourbon. They may have missed the mark on frogmen farmers, but technology is presently being used to make soybeans taste like just about anything.

They predicted that advances in medicine will make artificial hearts, lungs, and stomachs “commonly available.” Hand held devices will effectively allow the blind to “see” and the deaf to “hear.” Computerized limbs will be linked to the brain to aid amputees. Human tissue was supposed to be grown on demand. Additionally, fetuses were to be grown outside the uterus for the woman’s convenience. Bacterial and viral diseases were to be wiped out, along with heart disease, cancer, memory loss associated with old age, and birth defects. Drugs for personality shaping will be common, such as “anti-grouch” pills a wife may slip into her husband’s coffee.

We were to gain control of DNA to the extent that “man will become the only animal that can direct his own evolution”

At home, our meals would be prepared by robots. Still, the role of the house wife, they predicted, was safe, because, while grocery shopping from home will be possible via video phone, it will flop “because women like to get out of the house, like to handle the merchandise, and like to be able to change their minds.” Wow. Well, if nothing else, at least they were right that no measure of technological advance will stop a woman from changing her mind.

On the job, they foresaw that most workers will be replaced by computers, with only 10% of the population working, while the rest is paid to be idle. In ’66, 40% of the population was working with the remaining 60% students or housewives. By 1984, they predicted, one would spend 25 years in school, 25 years working, and 25 years retired. I don’t know about you, but I graduated school at the age of 25 and I’m planning on going back for another 3-5 years. Of this much they were right - a high school diploma isn’t good enough for most jobs. Indeed, most people find they need post graduate or professional degrees.

Some closing predictions: “amid general plenty, politics will simply fade away”; we were share an “increasingly homogenized world culture”; “My hunch, is that man may have finally expiated his original sin, and might now aspire to bliss.” Religiosity has undergone a renaissance, especially in our post-9/11 culture. And, as the saying goes, it’s politics as usual...

What’s to be concluded from the distinctly human proclivity to overestimate the future? How long have the Jews been waiting for their savior? How much longer will the Christians wait for the second coming? Is the same thing at play when we dream of flying cars and robots serving us the perfect crème brulee? Look how we long for that perfect husband! Look at how we wait for the perfect moment to leave that crummy job! Look at how we procrastinate even with that which is so important to us. Maybe postalgia could serve as a check against these tendencies. Maybe if we remember our past failure in putting all of our stock in tomorrows, then we will be allowed to live more fully in our todays. The first step will be to have our language make this concept part of our everyday parlance. Postalgia is the reminder that tomorrow will look a lot like today. The question then becomes, as it should, what’s one to do with today?