Kent-Meridian High School Class of 1975 50th Reunion!

One of the lesser phenomena of the summer is the blossoming of high school reunions. Remember high school? Or are you trying to forget it? I’ve been contacted by one of these companies that hosts online sentimentality about being 18 years old, and tries to organize these events where old classmates get together awkwardly to shuffle their feet and try to have conversation with people they used to be forced to share a room with lots of desks with, and try to reconnect and figure out what the heck everyone is up to now. That could be fun, I’m sure my peers have gone off in all kinds of interesting directions and I wouldn’t mind catching up.

The pressure is particularly high this year because it’s been 50 years. I graduated from Kent-Meridian High School, out there in western Washington state, in 1975, and that’s a nice round number, so of course we have to have a party. Unfortunately, I’m not motivated enough to fly 1500 miles to meet with people I’ve grown away from for so long. Why are we even doing in-person meetings for this purpose when we have technology that would allow us to have those conversations online?

Then I saw that there are two separate reunion events for my class this week. I realized that there are no central organizing principles behind these events — it’s just people stepping forward to host little parties called “reunions”. Hey! I can do that! So I’m creating an online event (like they ought to be) to talk about high school. Everyone is invited!

There are a few obstacles to doing this. I live 1500 miles away from my old high school, and I have no ongoing connections to my former peers. Also, to be fair, I was never one of the popular kids, and I suspect that most of my ex-classmates would say “who?” if my name were mentioned to them. It’s rather bold for one of the uncool, most forgettable students in the class of ’75 to have the affrontery to host a reunion event. I’m doing it anyway. I’m opening the virtual door to anyone who wants to show up and say, “you haven’t changed a bit, man” to some old guy and tell him about your used car lot/insurance business and hand out business cards.

I don’t care if you are a Kent-Meridian alumnus, or when you graduated, or even if you graduated at all. We can have a conversation about standards of public education, or popular ’70s music (we can be sad together about Ozzie Osbourne), or reminisce about antiquity, or whatever. Pester me about anything.

I don’t expect anyone from my high school to show up, and that’s OK.

(It’s really an excuse for a live stream.)

I’m not mad at Sydney Sweeney. I’m just disappointed that this is the only genetics education most people will get

Sydney Sweeney has an ad for American Eagle, in which she simply buttons up a pair of genes in, I guess, a sultry way, while delivering a genetics lesson. It’s kind of a half-assed lesson.

Genes are passed down from parents to offspring, often determining traits like hair color, personality and even eye color.

OK, but it implies a simplistic pattern of inheritance, and worse, uses the word “determining”. “Affects,” or “modulates,” or “contributes to” would be better — there are at least 16 critical genes behind eye color, with maybe 150 genes that can effect the expression of color. Eugenicists a century ago tried to claim that that it was regulated by a simple Mendelian dominant/recessive relationship of a few alleles, but that idea fell apart pretty fast. All you have to do is look at the range of colors in the human population to see it can’t be that simple. Anyone who has a basic understanding of genetics is going to see the flaws in that line.

I’m not going to try to guess how many genes are involved in “personality.” All of them? With a huge contribution from environment and experience.

But then the ad company makes it even worse.

“My jeans are blue,” Sweeney concludes, with the ad delivering the now-infamous line, “Sydney Sweeney has ‘good jeans.’”

Oh god, are they like 12? Conflating ‘jeans’ with ‘genes’ is one of the oldest ‘jokes’ around — I teach genetics, and that word game is so tired and weak, especially since there aren’t even any good jokes built around it (if you know of any, tell me in the comments and I’ll judge the quality of your humor.) I groaned when I heard it. It doesn’t even rise to the level of a dad joke.

This, I thought, is the level of understanding the American public has of genetics.

I guess when I teach genetics this Spring I’m going to have to flop down on the floor with my shirt unbuttoned and slowly fasten up my pants. That’ll get their attention.

The Nazis loved kitsch, too

The Department of Homeland Security is now trying to brighten our mornings by posting their vision of America: small towns full of white people, with a church across the street from a little one room schoolhouse, and children gathering around the flagpole to pledge their allegiance.

“Protect the homeland,” it says. But only if a cheesy painting by Thomas Kincade(!) is your idea of a homeland. Turn back time to your imagined glory days of pale schmalz and pastoral pablum.

Unfortunately, the estate of Thomas Kincade (he’s dead, you know — drug abuse and alcoholism did him in) is unhappy that his art was used without authorization. Or without payment, I thought uncharitably, given Kincade’s notorious greed…but no, this is actually a very good statement.

“At The Kinkade Family Foundation, we strongly condemn the sentiment expressed in the post and the deplorable actions that DHS continues to carry out,” the foundation wrote in the statement.

“Like many of you, we were deeply troubled to see this image used to promote division and xenophobia associated with the ideals of DHS, as this is antithetical to our mission,” the statement continued. “We stand firmly with our communities who have been threatened and targeted by DHS, especially our immigrant, BIPOC, undocumented, LGBTQ+, and disabled relatives and neighbors.”

I’m mildly surprised that the heirs of that drunken, selfish sot seem to have turned out to be decent people.

The DHS responded to this rebuke, naturally.

DHS spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told the Post that the agency is highlighting artwork that celebrates America’s heritage and history.

If the media needs a history lesson on the brave men and women who blazed the trails and forged this republic from the sweat of their brow, we are happy to send them a history textbook, she said in the statement to the Post. This administration is unapologetically proud of American history and American heritage.

What history book would that be? Some sloppy propaganda composed by PragerU?

It’s a cult

That Tesla Diner in LA is rousing some controversy. There’s an apartment building right next door, and as this article describes there was a long period of loud construction, and even now there’s traffic noise. It has movie screens set up around the restaurant, which are actually gigantic electronic screens with loud fans whooshing noise at the building. It’s so unpleasant that residents have moved out, which is good evidence that the diner is not a good neighbor.

Except the article found one guy who is pleased to have a garish loud business next door.

“We see these people at 10 p.m. at night,” he said, “just happy, having their burger, putting some light show on in their Tesla and seeing some old school film. I mean, how can you not like that? This is the pinnacle of happiness and excitement.”

How can you not like a business next to your home that is open 24/7? I’m kinda doubting the honesty of this one guy. But you know what really bothered him? The protesters picketing the place.

The construction hadn’t bothered him either. “It was peaceful before until they showed up,” he said, indicating to the protesters, “I cannot sleep with this. And luckily, this is just for a short time.” He hopes the diner will bring more tourism to the neighborhood. “I’ve never seen so many happy kids and so many happy families,” he said. “I’m actually closer to buying a Tesla than I was before… Not because of Elon, but I saw the joy over here.”

What kind of clown wants more tourism to a residential neighborhood?

Think someone is sucking up to Elon hoping for a Cybertruck discount.

I’m off the leash!

Good news for us atheists — we can now deny god publicly in the classroom!

Civil servants can seek to “persuade others of the correctness of their own religious views,” the Office of Personnel Management said in the memorandum to federal agencies, adding employees must ensure their efforts are “not harassing in nature.” OPM issued the guidance to restore constitutional freedoms and enable feds to practice their religious practices without fear of retaliation, the agency said.

“Federal employees should never have to choose between their faith and their career,” OPM Director Scott Kupor said. “This guidance ensures the federal workplace is not just compliant with the law but welcoming to Americans of all faiths.”

I know, if you’re a “glass half-empty” kind of person, you might think this is another step in the erosion of secularism and the separation of church and state, but I’m an optimistic “glass half-full” kind of guy. I’ve always been careful to not introduce my anti-religious sentiments in the classroom, or to make dismissive comments about gods to my colleagues, and when students tell me about their religious holidays, I make accommodations for them. But no more! I don’t have to conceal my fervent secular beliefs any more!

I get to be the kind of stereotypical atheist asshole portrayed in the God’s Not Dead movies. First day of class, the lecture is on why Jesus is stupid. First exam will have a question, “50 points: God exists, true or false” and the only answer I’ll accept is “false!” Religious students will be told they fail the class unless they can prove the existence of their god in a public debate in the classroom. Creationists in my evolution class? Not on my watch, they aren’t.

It’ll be such a relief to not have to throttle myself anymore.

I wonder if it will be a distraction from the scientific subject matter of my courses to bring up contentious issues like that? Nah. If probing the private, personal beliefs of their coworkers is considered a protected behavior in the federal government, why shouldn’t I poke deeply into these wacky ideas that some people at the university hold? It’s only fair.

Anyone want to take bets on whether the author(s) of that memorandum were atheists, or even considered the existence of atheist employees?

Happy day?

We had another storm blow through last night, and our basement is soaked. We might get some more thunderstorms today, but I think the worst is over.

But I think it’s going to be a good day because my role as the executor of my late mother’s estate is nearly done — all accounts and goods have been liquidated and turned into money in a bank account, and got the final distribution of that money to all of the heirs, so I’m about to sit down and do the final steps: accounting. It’s the final chore, so that’s good.

Today I just have to write a lot of checks — Mom had too many kids, and they had too many grandkids — double-checking sums and making sure everything is correctly put into a ledger. Then that stack of checks gets bundled up and mailed to our lawyer in the Pacific Northwest, who will then create a Declaration of Reasonable Diligence and the Declaration of Completion that will need my signature, and then he sends a statement to all of the heirs that I have done everything correctly, which the heirs must then formally approve, and then, finally, the lawyer will send them the money. Then I am done!

That’ll be a relief, getting that burden off my shoulders. Sadly, it feels a bit like my mother’s legacy has been turned into a few numbers that will be dispersed to her descendants, and will then fade away.

Time to turn into an accountant for a day. This is about the last thing I would ever choose to do.

My first recipe from a Neandertal cookbook

I’ve taught human physiology, so I already knew about the limits of protein consumption: if you rely too much on consuming lean protein, you reach a point where your body can’t cope with all the nitrogen. Here’s a good, succinct explanation of the phenomenon of “rabbit starvation.”

Fat, especially within-bone lipids, is a crucial resource for hunter-gatherers in most environments, becoming increasingly vital among foragers whose diet is based heavily on animal foods, whether seasonally or throughout the year. When subsisting largely on animal foods, a forager’s total daily protein intake is limited to not more than about 5 g/kg of body weight by the capacity of liver enzymes to deaminize the protein and excrete the excess nitrogen. For hunter-gatherers (including Neanderthals), with body weights typically falling between 50 and 80 kg, the upper dietary protein limit is about 300 g/day or just 1200 kcal, a food intake far short of a forager’s daily energy needs. The remaining calories must come from a nonprotein source, either fat or carbohydrate. Sustained protein intakes above ~300 g can lead to a debilitating, even lethal, condition known to early explorers as “rabbit starvation.” For mobile foragers, obtaining fat can become a life-sustaining necessity during periods when carbohydrates are scarce or unavailable, such as during the winter and spring.

I’d never thought about that, outside of an academic consideration, since a) I don’t live lifestyle that requires such an energy rich diet, and b) I’m a vegetarian, so I’m not going to sit down to consume over 1200 kcal of meat (I feel queasy even imagining such a feast). But when I stop to think about it, yeah, my hunter-gatherer ancestors must have been well aware of this limitation, which makes the “gatherer” part of the lifestyle even more important, and must have greatly affected their preferred choices from the kill.

There is very little fat in most ungulate muscle tissues, especially the “steaks” and “roasts” of the thighs and shoulders, regardless of season, or an animal’s age, sex, or reproductive state. Mid- and northern-latitude foragers commonly fed these meat cuts to their dogs or abandoned them at the kill. The most critical fat deposits are concentrated in the brain, tongue, brisket, and rib cage; in the adipose tissue; around the intestines and internal organs; in the marrow; and in the cancellous (spongy) tissue of the bones (i.e., bone grease). With the notable exception of the brain, tongue, and very likely the cancellous tissue of bones, the other fat deposits often become mobilized and depleted when an animal is undernourished, pregnant, nursing, or in rut.

So a steak is dog food; the favored cuts are ribs and brisket and organ meats. This article, though is mainly focused on bone grease and its production by Neandertal hunters. I didn’t even know what bone grease is until the article explained it to me. Oh boy, it’s my first Neandertal recipe!

Exploitation of fat-rich marrow from the hollow cavities of skeletal elements, especially the long bones, is fairly easy and well documented in the archaeological record of Neanderthals. On the basis of ethnohistoric accounts, as well as on experimental studies, the production of bone grease, an activity commonly carried out by women, requires considerable time, effort, and fuel. Bones, especially long-bone epiphyses (joints) and vertebrae, are broken into small fragments with a stone hammer and then boiled for several hours to extract the grease, which floats to the surface and is skimmed off upon cooling. For foragers heavily dependent on animal foods, bone grease provides a calorie-dense nonprotein food source that can play a critical role in staving off rabbit starvation.

Skimming off boiled fats does not sound at all appetizing…but then I thought of pho, which is made with a stock created by boiling bones for hours, or my grandmother’s stew, which had bones boiled in the mix, which you wouldn’t eat, but made an essential contribution to the flavor. Those we don’t cool to extract the congealed fats, but they were there. Then there’s pemmican, made by pounding nuts, grains, and berries in an animal fat matrix, which now sounds like the perfect food for someone hunting for game for long hours in the cold. It’s one of those things which seems superfluous when you’re living in a world filled with easy-to-reach calories, but it makes sense. I’m going to have to think about that when I’m prepping for the Trump-induced apocalypse.

Examples of hammerstone-induced impact damage on long bones from NN2/2B.
(A) B. primigenius, Tibia dex., impacts from posteromedial (no. 4892). (B) B. primigenius, Humerus sin., impacts from posteromedial (no. 4283). (C) B. primigenius, Tibia dex., impact from anterolateral (no. 8437). (D) Equus sp., Humerus sin., impacts from posterolateral (no. 21758).

The main point of the article, though, is that they’re finding evidence of cooperative behavior in Neandertals. It analyzes a site where Neandertals had set up a bone grease processing ‘factory’ where hunters brought in their prey to be cut up, the bones broken apart, and then everything was boiled for hours along a lakeside. The place was strewn with shattered bone fragments! They also found bits of charcoal, vestiges of ancient fires. There was no evidence of anything like pottery, but they speculate that “experiments recently demonstrated that organic perishable containers, e.g., made out of deer skin or birch bark, placed directly on a fire, are capable of heating water sufficiently to process food”.

Not only do I have a recipe, I have a description of the technology used to produce the food. Anyone want to get together and make Bone Grease ala Neandertal? I’ll have to beg off on actually tasting it — vegetarian, you know — so y’all can eat it for yourselves.