Abuse for Knowledge

I am reading a scholarly, scientific article, “Mapping From Motor Cortex to Biceps and Triceps Altered by Elbow Angle,” by Graziano et. al. It’s for a paper I am writing that will count for 70% of my Sensory and Motor Perception grade. I am researching what has been found to be anatomically different in the brain between reaching and withdrawal behavior, particularly concerning these areas’ visual and tactile receptive fields.

Unfortunately, this particular article has disrupted my research, today. I was happily (or at least diligently) plodding along, deciphering what was meant by “We hypothesized that the effect of cortical stimulation would vary depending on joint angle in a manner consistent with pulling the joint toward a goal angle” (395)—which means that they thought by zapping some neurons in the brain, a monkey would either flex or extend its elbow depending upon how the elbow was initially angled—when I started stumbling over the experimental procedures. And by stumbling, I mean became increasingly horrified.

• “The monkey sat in a Lexan primate chair with the head restrained by the head bolt…. An acrylic skull cap was fixed to the skull with bone screws…. A steel guide cannulus (18-gauge syringe needle) was lowered through the hole in the skull.” (396)
  
• “During the experimental session, the monkey was given an injection of ketamine (10 mg/kg im). Within 10 min of injection the animal was fully sedated, that is, no longer emitting spontaneous behavior and no longer reactive to touch…. On five testing days, the monkey was allowed to awaken from the initial ketamine dosage during the following 4- to 5-h experimental session, such that the effects of stimulation could be tested in the awake condition.” (396)
  
• “One monkey was killed with an overdose of sodium pentobarbitol and perfused through the heart with 4% paraformaldehyde…. The second monkey is still in use in experiments.” (398)
  

This article was published in 2004. That was only three short years ago, not back in the dark ages, when animal torture was perfectly acceptable for scientific advancement. I have never read about this sort of treatment of animals for scientific research before. It truly makes me want to write about this, and not reaching or withdrawal or receptive fields, at all. How can I care what part of the brain scientists think I use to pick up my glass of water when they are drilling into the skulls of monkeys and forcing them to sit, sedated, for hours a day with metal helmets on just to find that information out? Monkeys are living creatures. No one would dream of drilling a metal skullcap onto a human baby. Behaviorally, there isn’t much difference between a monkey and a baby; in fact, a monkey is probably more advanced. You might even argue that it is more cognitively advanced, as well. So where lies the justification?

Culture, Actually

I met a Japanese boy who lives on the second floor last night. He, Fluf, Eddie, and I all watched Love Actually in Fluf’s room. While I did remember that the movie was set around Christmas time, I hadn’t remembered that Love Actually was a British movie. It is, however, completely British—set in London and everything—and once again, Americans are completely unfairly portrayed. There are three American characters in the movie, only one of whom I would qualify as even partially “normal.” The other two are the President of the United States—who is portrayed as an arrogant, pushy, bigoted prick who tries to steal the Prime Minister’s “girl”—and an eleven-year-old African-American girl—who is depicted as being able to sing like the next American Idol and puts on a performance complete with gospel choir and participatory audience. Poor Americans. We are either cut down by stereotypes or expected to live up to them.

After the movie, the four of us began a discussion that ranged from voting practices in our countries to cultural differences between US, Japan, and the UK. I was shocked that, of the four of us, I (who was the youngest in the room; the others were 23, 26, and 30) seemed to have the best understanding of overall political systems and parties. I spent at least fifteen minutes explaining the US voting system, of which the others had absolutely no knowledge. Fluf was convinced that our people voted for our President—which is different from how the UK elects its Prime Minister, since each political party elects its own candidate—and I had to explain to him not only the intricacies of primary elections, but also the workings of the Electoral College. All that for a non-political science major…I must give thanks to St. Robert Bellermine, St. Maurice, and Woodland Hills for my grand American education.

After the political discussion, the Japanese boy (whose name I cannot pronounce, much less attempt to spell) wanted to know if there was a great difference between America and the UK. I replied that there was, but it was comprised of many many small things. If someone from the US were just plopped down in Britain, they wouldn’t immediately say that it is tremendously different here. I attribute that to our shared language and the fact that the two cultures exchange so much in terms of fashion, entertainment, etc. Still, when you encounter all of the little things affecting daily life, the US is pretty different from the UK. It starts with language (“trousers” for “pants,” “jelly” for “Jell-O,” “cheers” and “mate”—words we would never say in the US) and works its way up to trends in lifestyles. Here, people walk their dogs without leashes, and they walk them as a form of recreation, not just in order to prevent the dog from peeing on their dining room floor. They walk their children, too, and the styles and designs of baby carriages I have seen probably outnumber the different models of cars they sell here. Also, as I have mentioned before, things are generally smaller here: the stores are smaller, the number of choices are smaller, even the toilet seats are smaller. America is a country of opulence and options: you can have your pretzel in a mini twist, a jumbo twist, a rod, a mini rid, ultra-thin, ultra-thick, sourdough, with salt, without salt, cheese-covered, cinnamon-and-sugar, soft, hard, and in any size portion imaginable. Here in Brighton, there are two varieties: Penn State brand mini twists, 175g bag, salted or sour cream and chive.

If I had covered all of the differences, I would have been going all night. So I mentioned the words and the pretzels. He said Japan and the UK offer about the same number of grocery store brands and varieties. Then he wanted to know if the people were different—their attitudes or personalities. This is a harder trend to explain. The answer is “yes, they are different” but even more subtly so than the “cultures.” The best way I have of explaining the general difference in people comes from observing interactions between students in Holland House. The Americans aren’t afraid to come out and say what they think. They will start conversations with the Europeans and with each other, argue over issues, and send food back in restaurants because damn it, they’re entitled to good service. British people are generally more reserved. They’re perfectly willing to talk to you…if you initiate the conversation. They also have less of the fight-for-my-rights spirit. If something is substandard, they are far less likely to complain. Their mentality isn’t, “Hey, I paid for this,” it’s, “Well, at least I got something.” I take this difference in personality to account for the country’s lagging technology and the shoddy state of public facilities in general (particularly the gyms). Still, I would say that British people are, on the whole, friendlier than American people. They are less self-centered, perhaps because they are less “driven;” they don’t seem so focused on the goal of “getting ahead” all the time. This works to their disadvantage—in sports, most obviously—but it also makes my task, as the American, to initiate conversations here easier than in America!

According to the Japanese boy, the difference between British people and Japanese people is that the Japanese are more reserved. Thank goodness I didn’t study in Japan. Initiating conversations with the British is hard enough.

For the Curious

We found out that it was a heroin overdose. No one knows whether it was intentional or not. I feel sorriest for his former roommate, a French guy who moved out at the beginning of this term because of “differences.” Apparently he was a pretty antisocial guy: treated the people on his floor rudely, didn’t wash his dishes, that sort of thing. I talked to a German girl on the bus this morning who lived on his floor, and she said he must have been pretty lonely, but always looked perfectly healthy, no like a junkie at all. Appearances can be deceiving.

Death is such a strange thing. I have seen so much of it, yet I have felt far more affected by the living than by the dead. Even when my old dance teacher Jean died, I only cried a little when her daughter (and my more immediate dance instructor) Darcy told me that she had read and enjoyed the letters I sent everyone from college. I wasn’t crying over her death; I was crying over the fact that I had actually impacted her life, and someone else knew about it. I can cry for people I love who are living, but somehow, I cannot cry for them once they are dead. Or perhaps the most important people to me just have not died yet. Maybe I am that lucky.

Death Knocking

It's "now," not "know." And the fifth paragraph cannot be its own sentence.

He was "discovered" in his room? What the heck does that mean? And when did he die? Last night? Of "natural causes?" I doubt Sue will be very willing to answer those questions.

He was American.

English Major Celebration

I’m living amongst English majors, and I love it.

My Singaporean friend Angela is an English major concentrating in Linguistics major, and when I found that out yesterday, we had a little rant about the under appreciation of good grammar. Then, our conversation progressed to writing styles, good writing, “good” reading, guilty pleasure reading, and, finally, to the books we had read growing up. I have never met anyone else who admits to having read and enjoyed the Sweet Valley Twins series, much less any of the other books I devoured in my youth: Nancy Drew, R.L. Stein, Christopher Pike. I just rattled off the authors, and she had read and loved their books, too! Moreover, neither of us ever liked the Babysitters’ Club, and today, neither of us are pursuing English Literature degrees, despite our love of literature, because of the seemingly useless regimes of ISMS imposed upon reading interpretation: structuralism, colonialism, post colonialism, modernism, postmodernism, existentialism, transcendentalism—and the list goes on. I probably don’t even have those in the right chronological order, but that is because I never properly learned about them. If I never do, I will only feel at a loss when discussing literature with other English majors; Carl and Jamir, for instance. They just sound so much more educated than me when we talk about what we’ve read. Then again, I took a class that studied Cinderella and Little Red Riding Hood, while they were learning about the theory of sexual inversion (which, as I learned from Carl, is what people in the romantic period believed was the reason men were homosexual: they were really women trapped inside men’s bodies) and goodness knows what else. But except for the occasional “What? You don’t know that?” look and a bit of ridicule here and there (quote: “God, what do you learn at your school?”), I don’t mind not knowing the nitty gritty academic theory behind everything I read. As Angela put it, “Don’t tell me how to read my book.”