Archive for the 'Number 1 Science Information' Category

Science dude states obvious, gets news and blog media coverage

Stephen Hawking has announced that “the afterlife,” that mythical spirit-world so beloved of godbags, is a “fairy story for people who are afraid of the dark.” At last, a certified smart dude validates my lunatic determination to base my afterlife views on the overwhelming non-evidence for the existence of an omnipotent cosmic concierge with a fetish for human blastocysts! It’s about time he cleared up that nonsense in A Brief History of Time about “knowing” the “mind of God.” What a boner that was.

The above-quoted Guardian interview approaches Hawking like he’s some kinda seer, or oracle, or holy guy. “Why are we here? What should we do with our lives?” is the cry. Apparently, now that No. 1 Science Information has made the contingency of Jesus loving you forever appear ever more remote, people are demanding that science (and Hawking = Science) step into the void to confirm our special purpose in the universe. But Hawking, it turns out, isn’t God2K. He remarks that human existence is a totally random happenstance. “Do your best,” he says (I paraphrase), something your Mom might say.

It had to be a dude physicist saying this fucking obvious stuff, by the way, not because there aren’t any women physicists, because there aren’t any women physicists who are famous and revered enough to give interviews to the Guardian wherein they would be permitted to get away with stating that God is a buttload of bullshit. There aren’t any such women physicists because academia is seriously fucked-up-sexist, the media are seriously fucked-up-sexist, and the entire world order is seriously fucked-up-sexist.

via Pharyngula

Spinster aunt continues to be irked by Dove soap ads

The brilliant Sarah Haskins vanished from the infoMANIA television show in January 2010, and has somehow managed to elude Google on the subject of her current professional status. This is sad news for rabid fans like me, who would much prefer that, regardless of the personal costs to her, Haskins keep cranking out quality feminist entertainment that I can consume for free on the internet anytime I want. Fortunately, Haskins’ legacy — like that of all minor pop culture figures whose body of work can be downloaded in chunks measuring 480 x 390 pixels — lives on, on YouTube.

For those unfamiliar with Haskins’ erstwhile “Target Women” gig on Current TV, her recurring segment entailed 3 satisfying minutes of comedy jokes satirizing femininity marketing. Laundry products. Cleaning products. Chick flicks. Vampires. Beauty products.

I got to thinking about “Target Women” today when, laid up in front of the tube with a fucking sprained ankle, another one of those Dove soap commercials savaged my optic nerves. Dove’s got a new science ingredient. The ingredient is called Nutrium Moisture. Nutrium Moisture is a science molecule composed of blue and orange Skittles. It looks like this.

If you think you can get away without using Nutrium Moisture, think again, old fruit. “Cleansing” can really fuck you up if you don’t do it right. I took Dove’s Skin IQ Test and was amazed to discover how low my Skin IQ is! Did you know that using a towel can be dangerous? And this question was certainly a toughie:

Healthy skin is, by universal decree, illustrated by a scantily clad young woman caressing herself.

Incidentally, does anybody except a soap company use the word “cleanse”?

“Great pâté, Mom, but I gotta biff off to cleanse.”

Here’s what cleansing looks like on a scientific level:

This science picture shows how the surface of your skin is actually a miniature Chuck E Cheese foam ball sinkhole

Not surprisingly, this shit is just so annoying I decided to give Dove another Ditwuss Award. A Lifetime Achievement Ditwuss.*

Dove, a brand of femininity products manufactured by global conglomerate Unilever, has already earned a couple of Ditwuss Awards for its adroitness in preying on women even as it pretends to give a crap about them, most notably with its supremely bogus “Campaign for Real Beauty.” Apparently the concept is working like a charm; like a race of maniacal overlords, they keep spewing the same poisonous self-esteemy propaganda year after year.

I complain about this company’s stupid ads all the time, not because they are the most outrageous (which they’re not), but because they are the most insidious. Insidious because Dove sells butt cream by telling an increasingly funfeminist audience what they want to hear. Dove knows that beauty standards are impossible, Dove is the first to admit that models are all fotoshopped, Dove agrees that being super-thin isn’t good for you. So, for you “real” ladies out there, Dove piously continues to take a stand against all this phony beauty nonsense, by gum. Beauty is now healthy and clinically therapeutic and desirable and attainable (through Dove products) by regular women.

This confidential-yet-authoritative “we’re on your side” tone is so transparently calculated to erode consumers’ defenses against the actual message, it makes me want to pull my own head off. This actual message, which has remained unchanged since the dawn of time, is the same for all purveyors of femininity swag:

“Beauty is your sacred duty.”

No matter how the beauty industrial complex defines it, as a member of the sex class you are obligated to concern yourself inordinately with the pursuit of it. Of course, by universal decree, you’ll always be a day late and a jar of carcinogenic, ecotoxic butt cream short.

Fortunately, looking at Dove’s improbable beauty molecules was a great excuse to revisit the Sarah Haskins video.

_________________
* Ditwuss = “DTWS” = “degrades the whole species”. Winners of the Ditwuss Award embody those misogynist, heteronormative, dudeliocentric attributes that most make Savage Death Islanders wanna puke

Spinster aunt reads interesting email

Despite the dire predictions saturating yesterday’s news, last night’s “supermoon” didn’t precipitate too many cosmic cataclysms or harmonic convergences here in Cottonmouth County. The toilets still flush clockwise and my internet connection remains intact. Sometimes intact internet connections bum me out, but today I was pleased to discover among the emails a communiqué from Athena Andreadis, molecular neurobiologist, author, and my new idol.

In her email Ms Andreadis expressed general solidarity, curled a lip at “the Tarzanism of the self-labeled progressive intellectuals” (the Dawkinses of which group I pooh-poohed in yesterday’s post), then turned me on to her blog, Astrogator’s Logs.

As superintendent of the Savage Death Island Spinstitute for No. 1 Science Information, I am delighted, in turn, to turn you on to her blog. Her essays have titles like “Girl Cooties Menace the Singularity!” and do not disappoint. Behold an excerpt from “Blastocysts Feel No Pain,” a recent piece bursting with No. 1 Science Information, on the misogyny of blastocyst-worship, the handiness of stem cells, the crappiness of the “Protect Life” Act, and the redoubtable power of politicians to enslave women as fetusbags.

Despite fulminations to the contrary, women never make reproductive decisions lightly since their repercussions are irreversible, life-long and often determine their fate. Becoming a human is a process that is incomplete even at birth, since most brain wiring happens postnatally. Demagoguery may be useful to lawyers, politicians and control-obsessed fanatics. But in the end, two things are true: actual humans are (should be) much more important than potential ones – and this includes women, not just the children they bear and rear; and embryonic stem cells, because of their unique properties, may be the only path to alleviating enormous amounts of suffering for actual humans.

Ms Andreadis avers that, loosely speaking, blastocyst : human :: acorn : oak. Imagine (and this lumpen speculation is purely my invention; don’t go blaming it on Athena) if the Oak People were as loony over acorns as godbag humans are over clumps of cells. My horses hang around under oak trees all day waiting for acorns to fall, so they can eat them with some fava beans and a nice chianti.* If they didn’t get eaten, the zillions of acorns that happened to land in hospitable spots would become irksome, ankle-shredding shrubs, eventually choking the life out of each other in a slo-mo battle royale over water, sun, and nutrients. Providing sustenance to furry woodland creatures is what the vast majority of acorns do. Everybody (except the people who have to rake them up) accepts the happy outcome of this reasonable arrangement with grace and dignity, which is why you won’t see gangs of sapped-up timber from the Society for Compulsory Arborosity running around like mad trying to force all these acorns into seedlings; this would kill the adult trees and starve the forest critters. Also, timber can’t run.

Nobody needs every flippin’ embryo to turn into a baby, either, but stem cells can actually improve the circumstances of persons who are already humans.

If you catch my drift.

_____________________
* Yes, I am aware that acorns are toxic to horses. Fastidious raking keeps them (the horses) alive, but the equine aptitude for acorn-spotting is remarkable for animals with brains the size of plums.

Spinster aunt has a cow, man

Longhorn

For our next riveting installment of Heartwarming Nature Crap, I present the heartwarming Texas longhorn heifer (or calf — what am I, some kinda cattle sexpert?) who lives across the creek from El Rancho Deluxe with a herd of much, much bigger longhorns. This longhorn herd greatly interests my dogs, to the extent that they — the dogs — will squeeze under barbed wire fences to encroach on their — the cattle’s — personal space to sniff their — the cattle’s — apparently irresistible cow-pies. Although longhorns are comparatively docile for organisms that weigh 2000 pounds and have sharp 6-foot prongs jutting out of their heads, an unpleasant outcome may eventually ensue, since my dumb dogs don’t know from adult cattle with giant horns who may or may not perceive them — the dogs — as a threat to their feckless offspring.

A spinster aunt and/or gentleman farmer’s animal husbandry worries never cease.

Texas longhorns are, like those bug-eyed Chihuahua dogs, primarily decorative animals. Some people butcher and eat them, and sometimes rockabilly types affix their — the cattle’s — horns to the grills of their — the rockabilly types’ — vintage Cadillacs, but mostly they — the cattle — just stand around in pastures as props in the personal narratives of dude ranchers, emitting methane. A hundred kilos per year per cow.

Fittingly, the Texas State Legislature has chosen the greenhouse-gas-producing longhorn as the Texas State Large Mammal (the Texas State Small Mammal is the nine-banded armadillo. This is fitting too, since between 5 and 10 percent of nine-banded armadillos have leprosy.)

Spinster aunt conducts junk study of dogs and restrooms

Yesterday the Spinster Junk Studies Department promised its own junk study, and here it is! You can view the original raw data here.

Blamers and Dogs

63% of responding blamers don’t know how their dog feels about them, either because they don’t have a dog, or they lack sufficient data to determine their dog’s views, or they are extremely unobservant.

18% say their dog loves them.

Of the respondents who say their dogs love them, 13% nevertheless “sort of agree” that it is wrong to keep pets. We conclude that this group is conflicted, has facets, is a little dippy, and therefore would be interesting to have a marg with.

100% of blamers who are loved by dogs are all for transwomen using the ladies room. Thus we conclude that people who think their dogs love them are nice.

Blamers and Public Cans

81% of responding blamers think that anyone should feel free to transition to whatever gender they please without fear of social repercussions. Yet only 73% think that transwomen should be able to use the ladies room. Thus we conclude that, mysteriously, 8% of blamers apparently feel that denial of public can access doesn’t count as a social repercussion.

Of the 8 respondents who strongly disagree that transwomen should be able to use the ladies room, 4 “strongly” and 4 “sort of” agree that “many scientific theories are suspect because they proceed from within a patriarchal framework.” 6 of the science-is-suspect respondents are willing, nevertheless, to concede that the science demonstrating a correlation between cigs and cancer is accurate. Thus we conclude that the science-is-suspect crowd doesn’t really know what science is.

None of the 8 thinks their dog loves them. Thus we conclude that blamers who don’t want transwomen in the ladies room are suspicious of science and dogs. From which we further infer that they are unhappy paranoids.

Method

Our junk study was based on the responses of 100 self-selected blamers submitted via the internet to a 3rd-party app called Polldaddy, with the integrity of which we have no direct experience. The survey was designed subsequent to the ingestion of a glass of wine and 15 minutes of intense contemplation. The data were coagulated by me, a world-renowned expert in internet survey analysis. Thanks to Nails for suggesting the project. A more better questionnaire suggesting more meaningless correlations is in the works.

WTF is with that survey, anyway?

You might have noticed that we snuck in a little survey dealio over there on the sidebar. It consists of 10 statements followed by multiple choice responses, all of which are the product of the Spinster Sociology Lab. It is a test survey, to try out the software, but I think it might reveal stuff anyway. Sadly, it’s only a free version of the software, so it cuts off responses after 100. And of course, respondents are a self-selected sample.

Don’t worry, though; the tinyness and flawedness of the data will not prevent me from making some sweeping generalizations after I have analyzed it, which generalizations I will be pleased to share with the Islanders. Meanwhile, here are the responses. Thanks to the participants. A realer survey may follow shortly. Cheeri-o.

My dog loves me
Answers
126

COUNT PERCENT
I either don’t have a dog, or don’t know how my dog feels about me
79 63%
Strongly agree
24 19%
I share a bond with my dog, but I hesitate to call it “love”
9 7%
My dog thinks I’m OK, I guess
8 6%
Dogs are incapable of human emotion and only hang around people because of the free food
6 5%

Anyone should feel free to transition to whatever gender they please without fear of social repercussions
Answers
127

COUNT PERCENT
Strongly agree
102 80%
Sort of agree
10 8%
I have no opinion on transgenderosity
8 6%
Sort of disagree
5 4%
Strongly disagree
2 2%

It is wrong to keep pets
Answers
127

COUNT PERCENT
Strongly disagree
60 47%
Sort of disagree
40 32%
Sort of agree
16 13%
I have no opinion on pets
11 9%
Strongly agree
0 0%

Many scientific theories are suspect because they proceed from within a patriarchal framework
Answers
127

COUNT PERCENT
Sort of agree
46 36%
Strongly agree
40 32%
Sort of disagree
25 20%
Strongly disagree
11 9%
I have no opinion on science
5 4%

Smoking causes cancer
Answers
127

COUNT PERCENT
Strongly agree
91 72%
Sort of agree
26 20%
I don’t know anything about smoking
8 6%
Strongly disagree
1 1%
Sort of disagree
1 1%

The kind of car I drive reflects the subculture with which I identify
Answers
127

COUNT PERCENT
I either don’t have a car or don’t give a crap about cars and subcultures
91 72%
No, but I wish it did
18 14%
Strongly disagree
10 8%
Strongly agree
8 6%

I have had one or more experiences that I attribute to unseen cosmic forces
Answers
126

COUNT PERCENT
No, that stuff is a crock
84 67%
No, but I have had a “spiritual” experience — does that count?
26 21%
Yes
16 13%

Transwomen should be allowed access to public restrooms marked “Women”
Answers
127

COUNT PERCENT
Strongly agree
92 72%
I have no opinion on public restrooms
15 12%
Sort of agree
12 9%
Strongly disagree
4 3%
Sort of disagree
4 3%

I have read (check all that apply)

COUNT PERCENT
Anything by Andrea Dworkin
85 23%
Moby-Dick
54 15%
Stranger in a Strange Land
50 14%
The Wife of Bath’s Tale
49 13%
Anything by Jessica Valenti
48 13%
The Female Eunuch
43 12%
Sewall’s biography of Dickinson
12 3%
Ellman’s biography of Wilde
11 3%
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
10 3%
This month’s “Harper’s”
7 2%

I live in
Answers
127

COUNT PERCENT
North America
96 76%
UK/Europe
21 17%
Australia/NZ
4 3%
An island
3 2%
Middle Earth
2 2%
Copenhagen
1 1%
Asian subcontinent
0 0%
South America
0 0%
Middle East
0 0%

Pop psych mag cites evolutionary evidence for female fickleness

Few pseudo-entities spook the spinster butt-boils like pseudoscience, and few pseudosciences are as a hot spork in a spinster’s obstreperal lobe like evolutionary psychology.

Evolutionary psychology rests on the shaky (often enpornulated) hypothesis that modern human social behaviors are actually species-preserving adaptations. Because evolutionary psychology, like all psuedoscience, is administered by jackasses who are heavily invested in patriarchy, the behaviors in question just happen to be the very same behaviors commonly observed to be beloved of patriarchyists. And also of sexists, misogynists, horndogs, militarists, straight people, politicians, consumers of pornography, consumers of “beauty,” racists, godbags, liberal men, Hollywoodists, homophobes, matrimonialists, and other cogs in the megatheocorporatocratic machine. Everybody who loves the current world order loves the romantic myth that it is the result of the random interaction of mindless genes, or biological “design.” Sadly, the world order is actually the result of something way more sinister: the completely arbitrary social construct of the culture of domination and submission.

Here are some of the modern human social behaviors explained by evolutionary psychology as the result of natural impulses that apparently evolved around the ancestral campfire: rape, heterosexuality, shooting innocent Texas Hill Country deer with crossbows and consuming the meat at tailgate parties conducted in parking lots at football games, femininity, etc.

By invoking no less an indomitable and popular force of nature than evolution itself, evolutionary psychology confers upon itself the gravitas of scientific holy writ. And for sheer gravitas, you can’t beat the American periodical Psychology Today.* Check out this illustration accompanying a Psychology Today article on the effects of women’s menstrual cycles on their hotness:

Nothing says “take this research seriously” like photos of pornulated women gettin it on with giant plushies.

Like many articles in popular magazines, the aforementioned “The Double Life of Women” by Annie Murphy Paul** unlocks for the pornsick psychology buff the sexy mysteries of those ineffable bizarros, women. Annie Murphy Paul uses revelations facilitated by evolutionary psychology to make the (tired old) case that women are pretty much prisoners of biology, or, more specifically, of the menstrual cycle. Her apparent thesis: ovulating women are constrained by biological impulse to go to bars, wear tight dresses, and emit musical, magical laughter, whereupon they become attracted to male lantern-jawed superheroes. Non-ovulating women, on the other hand, are practically a different species. They are drab and dull and fail to effervesce or mate, and prefer pansy-ass dudes.***

Paul cites research conducted, unfortunately, by psychologists and “dating advisers,” since who else would know from this shit? One researcher dude juxtaposed menstrual cycle data with the nightly revenues of (a whopping) 18 lap dancers. Awesome.

Research dude: Hmm. I wonder where we could conduct some research on ovulating women?

Grad student dude: How about a strip club? We can totally multitask by working and abusing the sex class at the same time.

Research dude: It’s pure genius! I’ll take full credit.

In this case research dude concluded that not only do strip club clientele discern whether lap dancers are ovulating, but that pervs lavish more cash on ovulating lap dancers than they do on dull old non-ovulating ones. Paul calls this “one of the most arresting studies of male responses to female fertility cues.”

Female fertility cues! Apparently women who work in strip clubs are not, contrary to what spinster aunts have maintained through the ages, just trying to make the best of their fucked-up sex class status by working themselves through law school or a drug habit or a musician boyfriend. These hotsy-totsy babes are in fact sending their slavering clients “female fertility cues.” Furthermore, strippers who take birth control pills are “’shooting [themselves] in the foot,’ since [they'll] miss out on the bountiful tips garnered by women in estrus.” That’s right. Sexploitation isn’t about male domination, it’s about human reproduction. Human reproduction is natural. Natural is good. Therefore sexploitation is good.

And that, young onions, is how ev-psych shills for patriarchy.

Meanwhile, so strong is the ovulating human female’s instinct for total sexiness, it turns out, that its expression is involuntary and entirely automated by evolutionary design. Even if she does not wish to advertise her ovulational status, apparently the truth will out. Ovulating women sparkle, they physically morph into hotter versions of themselves, and they take “social risks.”

“It’s difficult for women to fully conceal all signs of fertility — some of them inevitably leak out. [...] We call this ‘leaky cues hypothesis’.”

Ovulating women are not in control of their cues! They simply cannot resist the primal urge to exude pornulated dudefantasy. They are hardwired for hustling! That’s why you see so many drunk women in bars, their fertility cues puddling up at their feet.

“With her tight clothes, alluring scent, and seductive waist-hip ratio, a woman in estrus is sending out a signal not unlike the chimp or the cat in heat.”

It will amuse the patriarchy blamer to note that Paul here reprises one of her earlier remarks, wherein she alluded to the “genitalia of female chimps” which “swell and turn a dramatic shade of pink”. It is a fact — documented by the Spinstitute for the Study of EvPsych Clichés — that no author contriving an antifeminist paean to evolutionary psychology can ever resist comparing sexxed-up women to the dramatically pink butts of chimpanzees. The yowling feline trope, tired and moldy though it is, is a pure bonus track.

So, to recap: women are completely at the mercy of the menstrual cycle, which makes them awesome sexbots one day, and spineless mice the next.

But isn’t this just a reiteration of the hysterical women stereotype? Not at all, says one of the kindly dude researchers.

“The traditional and rather patronizing male view was that women are fickle, that their preferences are random and arbitrary. Now it turns out that what looks like fickleness is actually deeply adaptive and is shared with the females of most animal species.”

OK, let’s get this out of the way first: does Dude even realize that ‘most animal species’ are either arthropods or nematodes, depending on which geek you’re talking to? Together they number in the millions. As in, millions of species. Here at Spinster HQ we were unable to locate any research on, for example, the fickleness of female flatworms. Maybe they like to sport around in spandex when it’s that time of the month, but published studies omit to mention it. So this guy, in his attempt to science-ize an enormously detrimental sexist stereotype, grossly mischaracterizes the scope of the planet’s animalian diversity to further his own anthrocentric worldview.

And also, do not speak to me, dude, of “the rather patronizing male view.” How fucking patronizing is it to argue that ‘fickleness’ is a fucking adaptation shared by all females everywhere? That women’s behavior is, in fact, irrational, only now this irrationality has scientifically proven reasons? This dude is killin’ me!

Oh, and you’ll love this: the helpful suggestion that women can keep themselves out of harm’s way by not “drinking too much at a bar or party at that time of the month.” I’m not even kidding. Dudes cannot resist violating fertile females, so lock yourself away from life’s rich pageant when you’re ovulating or you’re just askin’ for it.

Thus we see that evolutionary psychology attempts to rationalize the worst aspects of humanity by asserting, essentially, this:

Boys will be boys.

______________________
* I found my copy of Psychology Today in the checkout lane at Whole Foods. Pop psychology is apparently a good fit with $27 apples and biohealthy yeast-o-matic colon-cleansing pills. The instances of heteronormative dudecentricity exhibited by this magazine cover are too numerous to list. Help me out!

** Paul, Annie Murphy. “The Double Life of Women.” Psychology Today Dec. 2010: 72-79. Print.

***Naturally, because evolutionary psychology cannot satisfactorily explain homosexuality, no mention is made of the randy double lives of ovulating lesbians, even though they are women. After a fashion.

Photo: Miller, Greg. “The Double Life of Women.” Psychology Today Dec. 2010: 77. Detail. Print.

Mantid of the week

Praying mantid

Greetings from Spinster HQ, O ye commenters and readers of comments! The “Latest Blamer Invective” sidebar function upon which you have come to dote so warmly has experienced a warp core breach. Two female characters with names are discussing it, and should have it back online before the third act. Meanwhile, please bask in the awesomeness that is the praying mantis. But not before taking a moment to contemplate the anti-female implications of an old bit of dudescience.

The lore related to female mantids eating the heads of males in order for them to successfully copulate has more recently been questioned. Apparently, the original research was conducted with starved specimens.” – Drees & Jackman, A Field Guide to Common Texas Insects

In other words, the storied stone-cold bloodthirstiness of oversexed killer mantid females has turned out to be bogus.

“In nature, mating usually takes place under cover, so rather than leaning over the tank studying their every move, we left them alone and videotaped what happened. We were amazed at what we saw. Out of thirty matings, we didn’t record one instance of cannibalism, and instead we saw an elaborate courtship display, with both sexes performing a ritual dance, stroking each other with their antennae before finally mating. It really was a lovely display”.[cite]

Stressed by unnatural laboratory conditions, mantid females go into survival mode and may eat the odd male or two. Who wouldn’t? Yet mantid researchers of yore obtained the result they wanted (female mantids are super-kinky brain-eating zombie bitches) by manipulating the subjects (starving them) until they exhibited the desired aberrant behavior (encephalophagia) that they could then characterize as abnormal compared to the default (male) subject. Thus was the time-honored Pyschotic Sexual Predator Sexpot narrative transubstantiated by dudescience into Mantistown. Where it’s become the bug world equivalent of “Snapped.”

Undoubtedly a capillary-wave or two of disappointment will ripple across Lake Savage Death when it becomes more widely known that unstarved female mantids don’t, as a rule, eat the heads off males during copulation. This disappointment is understandable. Because let’s face it, it tickles a feminist’s fancy, however fleetingly, whenever a female socks it to the Man, especially when she (the female) deploys grisly, antisocial methods likely to produce copious amounts of blood, even if she (the female) is an insect. But after the initial frisson of excitement dissipates, the feminist recalls that, as pleasant as it is to contemplate a world in which all men are dead, such a utopia could not be realized without violence, and that violence — i.e. domination — equals patriarchy.

What have we learned? That the dominant culture will unfairly characterize females as villains whenever possible, and that men are just going to have to figure how not to be fucking asshole schoolgirl rapist barbarians on their own. Their unwillingness to do this is the root of all human, and quite a lot of non-human, suffering.

__________________
Praying mantis, Cottonmouth County, TX. October 2010.

At Last! The End of Science Week

Quoth blamer Nails,

“I am sick of science vs intuition and the deep questions that it brings forth.

Alas, deep questions that make people sick are the bread and butter of a patriarchy-blaming blog. I have to admit, though, that this particular science vs intuition flap gave me a brain-wedgie. While I fully expect advanced blamers to join in the Fuck the Establishment Chorus, it sort of blew my lobe to contemplate that so many blamers would take it to the extent that they openly live hunch-based lives.

Ah well, chacun à son goût, as American bloggers who took high school French say.

Meanwhile, it appears that my position on Science needs clarifying, so that people will know whether or not to revile me as a turncoat brown-nosing patriarchy sympathizer. Here goes.

This spinster aunt continues to advocate feminist revolt, which revolt would necessarily include a total annihilation of the dude-based science industrial complex. I postulate that science, when performed outside of a paradigm of dominance and submission, could do nothing but enbiggen human enlightenment.

Once liberated from the obligation of proving the legitimacy of oppression (homosexuality is a disease, lobotomy cures mental illness, males are hardwired to require porn) and of improving methods of enforcing oppression (spyware, offshore drilling, mind-control brain-eating nanobots) science will exist only to advance the cause of human contentment and taco enjoyment.

But I vigorously agree that putting any faith whatsoever in current dude-dominated science cabals is not the path to feminist triumph.

I mean, cheeses, speaking of science justifiying oppression, just today, at Pharyngula, I read about some predatory butcher MD who roams the countryside surgically sculpting toddler clitorises according to their parents’ whim, and then, in the follow-up, he pervs out on’em with vibrators! Holy motherfucking shit! As one commenter remarked,

This went through the fucking peer review process, and in all of that no one who encountered it thought it was wrong. No one who reviewed it, edited it, printed it, or read it for the last three years stopped and thought about the fact that what those “sensitivity studies” [the vibrator sessions] amounted to was sexual assault on elementary school-aged girls year after year after year.

Despite the reasonableness of their response to female genital mutilation, if the gang over at PZ’s may be said to represent a self-selected sample of progressive science-thought, things do not necessarily bode well for the revolution. The other day over there I broached one of my pet subjects, the good old cyborg fetus incubator, and the response was bafflement. “Why would I want to do away with the one thing women are good for?” was more or less the theme. “Reproduction is women’s essence.” It apparently hadn’t occurred to anyone that freedom from the tyranny of reproduction is essential to women’s liberation.

In closing, I reiterate:

Fuck the establishment.

Spinster aunt beats dead horse

Stinkhorn
This lone stinkhorn mushroom is the only entity anywhere in Cottonmouth County that doesn’t have a katydid stuck to it.

Unsurprisingly, my award-nominated (I personally nominate all my work for awards, to compensate for the fact that, incomprehensibly, I am so often overlooked by committees) vid lampooning the anti-science lifestyle choice, has generated some jaundice.

It occurs to some of us here at Spinster HQ that the only way to avoid hurting anybody’s feelings ever is to shut down the entire obstreperal lobe and become a pillow.

Not that empillowment is without its own controversies, because what do you stuff the pillow with? Not feathers, surely, or wool, or silk, but aren’t synthetics their own special sort of politically incorrect scourge? Which leaves grass clippings, but what with all the katydid poop and raccoon dander lying around, questions of hygiene are raised.

Anyway, you’re all good sports, especially those of you who joked that I drive away my loyal “followers” with elitism. Unless — hey, wait, what? Were you serious? Because that hurts my feelings.

Mang, this science vs intuition “debate” has gotten completely ridic. Awesome! I will speak of nothing else for the foreseeable future!

I think we can all agree that when you define science as a method for acquiring knowledge, and intuition as the spark of intelligence that ignites inquiry (although maybe a better word would be genius), we’re all pretty much on the same page.

Is there a magical form of feminine insta-knowledge what spontaneously erupts on unicorn rays in the unseen 5th dimension of the human metaspirit? Why not? Just show me the data and we’ll be cool.

See? We’re getting along great now.

But oy, elitism. It’s always the way when knowledge becomes specialized. Subcultures bubble out of the general magma, standards and practices become codified, skills get required, expertise becomes venerated, a canon is established, as well as a hierarchy, practitioners become eccentric egomaniacs, gatekeepers show up to protect them from the rabble, and the subculture becomes more and more detached from the teeming throng from which it spranged even as its influence spreads like I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter on a frozen toaster waffle. And then someone from the throng says, “Hey, bite me you elitist asswipes, we don’t need you, we’re going back to the way we were before your delusions turned you into a megalomaniac, because those were the good old days.” And then some spinster aunt says, “Hey, yerself! As the world’s leading expert on expertise, I think you’re throwing the baby out with the other babies!”

What am I saying? Just this:

You don’t have to be Martina Navratilova to play a game of tennis.

And I should know, because I’m not Martina Navratilova.

There are other things you don’t have to be in order to do things. You don’t have to be a professional 70’s pop star-cum-tragic figure to crank up “Close To You” and go “wah-ah-ah-ah-ah, close to yew!” after the tacet interlude. You don’t have to have ironed Jean-Paul Sartre’s shirts to nod in vigorous agreement when you read in The Second Sex that all oppression creates a state of war. You don’t have to be the Weatherman to blow up the Pentagon. And you don’t have to be a tenured science knob to appreciate the process of scientific inquiry.

As VinaigretteGirl points out, you can (and should) do experiments in your closet for fun. I’m doing one right now where I’m testing the structural integrity of a typical household wicker laundry basket, primarily by never unloading it into the washing machine. What a gas! More complicated endeavors, like collecting soil samples from Pluto’s surface to analyze for Crystalline Entity droppings, can be admired from afar as a spectator sport.

The purpose of scientifical pursuit, in the pure form most admired by middle-aged spinster aunts, has less to do with being published in Nature, or using jargon on dude science blogs to shut up the people who didn’t go to college, or advancing the megatheocorporatocratic agenda, than it does with simply enbiggening human enlightenment. The enbiggenment of human enlightenment is always conducted on the individual level. Whenever a glob of comprehension supplants a glob of incomprehension in a human brain, the Dark Side (or the Tyranny of Ignorance, if you like, or the Black Thing) gets bent. Whenever that happens, the whole species is collectively that much better off. Consult any 6-year-old for further information; globs of knowledge supplant globs of ignorance in their brains on an hourly basis, and they really seem to dig it.

Anyway, am I saying “Yay Big Pharma! Keep inventing cancer drugs and charging $40,000 a year for’em!”? No. Am I saying, “Yay, the Women’s Oppression League has just endowed a foundation for the advancement of evolutionary psychology!”? No. Am I saying “When a thing does a thing and you don’t know why, would it kill you to find out?” Yes. And it doesn’t even matter if somebody has already answered the question you’re asking. Check out this inspirational personal anecdote:

The other day I realized that I’m 50 years old already and I still don’t know how katydids make that deafening racket like unto 876,932 small pulsating dentist drills that keeps me awake all night. So I hoisted my ass up out of the lime green recliner and nabbed a specimen for the lab.

Minuscule katydid

It wasn’t hard. All I had to do was stick my hand out the window, since there is no square inch of El Rancho Deluxe that is not populated by a katydid. Every tree, shrub, cactus, rock, tractor, and blade of grass is literally crawling with katydids. The bunkhouse itself appears to have been dipped in a vat of katydids. A lady from another planet, upon observing the tableau, would conclude that a large, fleshy pink entity is being held captive in a limestone nest by a race of screaming green rattly leaves.

But I digress.

Back in the lab, I inspected my katydid with a magnifying glass and poked it with the eraser of my Ticonderoga #2 pencil, whereupon I was able to determine that my specimen had no intention of making any noise of any kind whatsoever. Several katydids later, I finally figured out how they make the racket. It was pretty satisfying. Now I’m telling everyone I know about the katydids. Nobody cares, unfortunately.

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Katydid nymph photo [above] taken May 2009. Adult katydids (the ones around here, at least) look like leaves:

Katydid