Higgledy-Pigglety
Rochester’s Officers
Got themselves blessed
For enforcing the laws;

Didn’t much care that it’s
Unconstitutional–
Nobody likes the
Establishment clause.

The other day, PZ ran a photo of a Sheriff’s vehicle with a “one nation under god” bumper sticker. I suppose the silver lining is, it was probably a decision made by an individual–the Sheriff or another–and not an official position.

In the Live Free or Die state, where they take constitutional protection of liberties seriously, it’s a different story. The second annual blessing of the police force and its fleet, specifically.

Chaplain Ron Lachapelle carried out the service, in which he emphasized the importance of the department’s ability to work as a team for the betterment of the community.

Lachapelle, it seems, was previously a police commissioner, a 30-year veteran. I would imagine that members of the force couldn’t possible have felt pressure to go along with the magic spell-chanting. After all, they’re probably all good christian boys, wouldn’t you think?

When Jen “BlagHag” McReight wrote, asking if I’d help spread the word about her annual blogathon, I only had one question:

“Does McCreight rhyme with “right” or “wait”… Or something else?”

This Saturday, I think it might
Be quite a slog for Jen McReight
Throughout the day, throughout the night
She’ll write, write, write, through dark and light

What will she write? I cannot say;
You’ll have to wait and see that day
She’s doing good—this is her way—
And you can help, so go and pay!

So grab your wallet, or your purse
And find some funds to thus disburse
Remembering, it could be worse—
At least she doesn’t write in verse!

So, yeah, go help her smash her previous record!

The biggest Dog had always been
The biggest Dog He’d known
He always barked the loudest
And He gnawed the biggest bone
He’d been the highest jumper, too;
He’d been the deepest digger.
He’d always been the biggest Dog…
And then He met one bigger.

The gods have taken many guises;
Fathers, mothers, monsters, friends,
Tricksters bent on their surprises
Schemers bent on selfish ends
That’s how we’ve known ‘em.

We’ve done our best to try to please ,
To understand as best we could;
For eons we had bent our knees;
Then questioned gods, then boldly stood,
And now, outgrown ‘em.

Each step we take; each word we speak;
Each course we chart; each trail we tread
Each tender phrase or sad refrain,
And each unspoken

Each path we take; each love we seek;
Each faulty start; each sunset sped;
Each wide-eyed gaze or cry of pain
And each heart broken

We cannot take a backward step
We cannot choose to not have seen
We cannot wish another chance
We cannot sigh what might have been

Another step might be more sure
Another word might hold more sway
Another end, this choice might bring,
And I might miss one.

A different word might sound more pure
A different step, a different way
A million ways to say one thing
And I chose this one.

Over at NPR, http://www.npr.org/blogs/krulwich/2011/07/19/138473791/words-hurt-the-world-poet-says, an interesting bit on an argument at a poetry conference (I doubt I’ll ever be invited to a poetry contest; they look down on those of us who rhyme), which Robert Krulwich introduces with a lovely bit of video. The topic under discussion is whether using words helps our planet or hurts.

One view (held by Yusef Komunyakaa) was that language distances us from experience; it names things as not-us, and allows–perhaps forces–us to separate ourselves from a world we would otherwise be imbedded in. We may harm the earth, then, without harming ourselves.

Another view (Mark Doty’s) is that “the more we can name what we’re seeing, the more language we have for it, the less likely we are to destroy it.” Naming each plant in a meadow, each star in the sky, each organism in an ecosystem, makes it more known to us, and more missed if it is gone.

Krulwich states that “obviously both sides are right”, but ultimately comes down in favor of words. I don’t think it is so obvious. I think Komunyakaa’s assumption is faulty; I think if we remove the words, we do not remove the distance, but rather remove the thought.

It is true that choosing one word over another will bend the ideas of the reader or listener; politics gives us “spin”, psychology gives us “framing”, and used car salesweasels give us “certified pre-owned vehicles”. It is as if there is a huge possible landscape, and these word-smiths are trying to show us one small corner of it, by focusing their flashlight beam very closely. The rest of the world is black.

Komunyakaa’s view, if I have it, is similar to that of the night hiker. A flashlight, for such an explorer, is a limiting tool. The world closes around you, and ends where the beam of light ends. Turn off the light, and in a few minutes the world is vast again, and if the stars are out then you can see much farther than you could possibly see by day.

But that’s the wrong metaphor. I was once in Mammoth Cave when the guide turned off the lights. I could have stayed there for hours, but would never have been able to see my hand in front of my face. Words are the light we see by; without them, we don’t get the night-time sky, we get the utter blindness of the cave.

Yes, each word may act as a focused beam. Fortunately, we have more than one word. In science (which, really, is where the debate about “helps our planet or hurts” can actually be answered, and not merely argued), we may have different schools of thought which use different operational definitions and different measurements for very similar concepts (I would say “the same concept”, but either choice leads you on a particular path; now, of course, you have two views). A scientific community does not (especially at first) need to agree on one definition, but may explore several before finding one or more to be more useful. A verbal community, likewise, will toy around with words–many shades of meaning for one word, or a spectrum of words for one concept.

This is why I think everyone should write poetry. (Except for me; I should write verse.) Being forced, on a regular basis, to spend time searching for just the right word, rather than using the first one that comes to mind, has got to be good exercise for the brain. If we want to see the whole world (and more), we have to be willing to try different lights and different lenses, and not just search where it is easy, where somebody else already shines a light and says it is trustworthy, or has low mileage, or is fair and balanced.

Words can separate us from our world, but the remedy is more words, not fewer. And certainly not none.

“Dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal desire”
(attributed to Robert Frost, George Bernard Shaw, and others)

Birds do it; Bees do it
Nematodes and water fleas do it

But if it’s all the same
I think it’s quite a shame
Cos dancing is more fun with two

Komodo chicks, without dicks, do it
Now we find Timema Sticks do it

But what a menace is
Parthenogenesis
Cos dancing is more fun with two

To hold you close is such a treat
And when we let our gametes meet
That’s when I know you make my world complete
And life is sweet… life is sweet.

But if you find you have no need
You’re fine without a single seed
You’ve found a different way that you can breed
I must concede… indeed.

It’s been observed, boa snakes do it
Electric ants, for goodness sakes, do it

But if it’s all the same
I think it’s quite a shame
Cos dancing is more fun with two

Via the Beeb, a story of Timema stick insects and genetic research, a confirmation of perhaps a million years of asexual reproduction in this ancient species. This confirms that asexual reproduction is not just an emergency strategy, an artificially induced anomaly, or confined to social insects. Now comes the fun part; looking to see how this strategy has succeeded, while other species (including closely related stick insects) have found success in sexual reproduction. As the BBC story puts it,

The discovery could help researchers understand how life without sex is possible.

A line which I am so not going to touch.

A gecko walks up panes of glass
And even on the ceiling
But eating powdered gecko’s ass
I would not find appealing.

The ancient healers’ art, alas,
Needs gecko parts for healing
Among the superstitious class
With whom these folks are dealing.

Although I hear my views are crass,
I get a funny feeling
That watching where the dollars pass
Would likely be revealing.

And seeing how the funds amass…
It’s little more than stealing.

Ok, actually, it’s quite a bit more than stealing. Stealing would be taking people’s money for nothing. This is also lying, and killing lizards for no good reason.

NPR reports on a brisk, though illegal, trade in traditional gecko-based cures–significant enough that health officials in the Phillipines are actually issuing warnings. People are being told that gecko remedies can relieve asthma, or even AIDS.

I like geckos. Mind you, I would throw geckos under the bus if they actually did cure AIDS, for such time as it would take to identify the active compounds… but. There is no evidence that it does.

If any of my readers A)can read Chinese (Mandarin, I am assuming), and B) have PubMed access, please take a look at the NPR article–they link to a journal article that I would love to be able to read, but I am (alas!) American, and thus speak barely one language.

Oh, and I was going to post the picture of the gecko from the article, except that it is dead, dried, and mounted on heavy-duty paper clips. I prefer my geckos alive and eating bugs.

If traditional healers are to be respected, we must assume they are motivated by a desire to heal (thus the title), and not to profit without healing (they can profit while healing, of course). Healers who prefer getting paid to healing are known by other terms. If geckos can cure X, then let it be shown in trials, so that we can synthesize X as quickly as possible. If not, then dammit, true healers would look elsewhere. Those who foist snake gecko oil on their trusting patients are no healers. They are charlatans, and worse. They do not deserve respect.

Why are there so many
Species endangered?
For decades, they haven’t been spied
Some may be hanging on
But others departed
Despite how the scientists tried

So we’d been told
And we mostly believed it
Hoping we’re wrong, but we’ll see
And sometimes it happens
And everyone’s happy—
The Bornean Rainbow and me

Who said amphibians
Could go into hiding
And why should we go and look?
Someone in Borneo
Had someone believe them
And somehow that’s all that it took

It’s so amazing—successful toad-gazing
Without knowing what we might see
But sometimes it happens
And everyone’s happy—
The Bornean Rainbow and me

All of us wishing it well
To lose it again would be tragic

Had it been half-extinct?
Because of our choices?
I think it’s more than a shame
Is this the warning-bell
We finally notice?
Or will we point fingers and blame?

I’ve watched it too many times to be hopeful—
The odds are, we never will see…
But sometimes it happens
And everyone’s happy—
The Bornean Rainbow and me

Via MSNBC’s Cosmic Log, we hear that an endangered toad, not seen since 1924, has been rediscovered–and photographed for the first time! Check out the photos at the link; this is one beautiful toad, the Bornean Rainbow Toad (aka the Sambas Stream Toad), the second of the “top ten most wanted” missing toad species.

(oh, yeah, for those of you who are still wondering, the verse is a parody of Kermit The Frog’s “Rainbow Connection”)

One person’s report is
“Galapagos tortoise
Is truly a creature of God”
It’s made, or created
By God, armor-plated,
With shell-shapes distinct, which was odd

Why God’s work might vary
Made ministers wary—
Perfection is what was expected!
But with close observation
Of type and location,
Particular trends were detected

The shells of some creatures
Have saddle-back features
Where cactus to forage grow taller
Where food’s near the ground
Different features are found
Like a domed shell that’s quite a bit smaller

What these features disclosed
Is what Darwin proposed—
That selection means shell shapes evolved!
Though a biblical search
Left the church in a lurch
Thanks to Darwin, the mystery’s solved!

A sad report, on a few levels; NPR’s “The Two-Way” blog reports that a 130-year old tortoise, a favorite at a South Dakota zoo, has died. Even for tortoises, this critter was old; grandparents showed it to their grandchildren, and told them of seeing it themselves at that age (Methuselah the tortoise was a respectable 73 when he arrived at the zoo).

But that’s not really why I’m writing. I’m writing because the very first comment at the NPR blog closes with “They are awesome creatures. A great God created them.” Which, frankly, is amusing given the tortoise’s role in providing Darwin with the evidence of evolution. Fifteen different subspecies of tortoise, each on a different island–my, what a capricious god must have created them! Oh, wait–the tortoises have saddle-shaped shells where the food grows higher, and round shells where it grows lower; perhaps characteristics vary, and those that offer an advantage are selected for by the environment!

So, NPR commenter, you get an irony award. Not redeemable for cash, but you may wear it proudly.

To heal yourself from being gay
The clinic’s here—so call today
We’ll blame your mom, and pray and pray;
It’s therapy, the Bachmann way.

Of course, when asked, we’ll just deny
We care if folks are gay or bi;
There is one simple reason why:
A Bachmann cannot help but lie.

So it turns out that Marcus Bachmann’s clinic does, after all, practice “ex-gay” therapy, which is far more religious than psychological. The full story is here at Truth Wins Out; a brief synopsis can be read here at Dispatches.