Category: Nerdity

Nerdy science stuff not directly affiliated with any particular category

The Unbearable Limeness of Being

I awaken. Am I alive? The temperature is neither extremely hot nor extremely cold, so I’m apparently not in some punishment-afterlife. And there’s no beer volcano or stripper-factory, so this obviously isn’t heaven. On the other hand, I am experiencing the usual persistent discomfort involved with waking up early in the morning. On the assumption that Catholic “purgatory” would be more dull, I will assume I am still alive, and had better get up and get to class.

Since my previous experiment, I have obviously had to revise my original hypothesis. Since the last caused me no ill effects, I had to abandon the notion that expired gelatin products become a deadly poison. Instead, as I consume this batch of official, non-sugarless Jell-O®-brand Gelatin (Lime flavored), I operate on a new hypothesis:

“Expired instant gelatin products from intact packaging will not harm me if I eat it.”

My precious stock of expired JellO® is depleted by one more box, the packet ripped from its cardboard sarcophagus, the contents prepared according to the standard instructions, and consumed hastily last night (the animation from the previous post is the actual container of prepared Lime JellO® made from digital photographs taken between helpings.). You can see the old-style date code on the box. According to Carolyn Wyman’s “JELL-O: A Biography”, the code indicates that it was packaged in 2003 (the “3” at the beginning of the code), on the 343rd day of the year, in the San Leandro (California) packaging facility. Although there is no official “expiration date” shown, given the “expected shelf life” of 24 months, this package is approximately 2 years out of date. And I ate it. I appear to have suffered no ill effects. Not even a decent sugar-rush: the entire box contains 320 calories, barely equivalent to a package of Twinkies®. The flavor even appeared to be perfectly normal. Mmmmmm, Lime JellO…

When I took it out to eat it, I did spot a beautiful if alarming sight, though:

The crystalline-appearing sheets of growth from the edge of the bowl into the gelatin was slightly disturbing. Was I crystallizing something odd out of the gelatin/sugar/flavor solution? The growth resembled infiltration of mold into the gelatin medium enough to slightly worry me. But only slightly.

In fact, as I had most suspected, these turned out to be ice crystals. Quite pretty, but they started slowly melting away after the bowl was allowed to sit at room temperature for fifteen minutes or so – plus, they crunched when I ate them just like ice. Thus encouraged, I ate the gelatin and went to bed. And here I am (sitting in the student lounge between “History of Western Art” and “Introduction to Philosophy”) happily blogging away, apparently unharmed.

Does this prove that expired instant gelatin is harmless? Well, no, not exactly. Scientists never really “prove” anything. Instead, we attempt to “falsify” our hypotheses and theories as best we can. This is where the concept of the “null hypothesis” comes in.

The “Null Hypothesis” here is the situation that, if true, falsifies my hypothesis. In this case, it would be “Expired instant gelatin products from intact packaging will harm me if I eat it.”. However, I did eat expired gelatin products from an intact package and was NOT harmed. Therefore I must “reject the Null Hypothesis”…and therefore my experimental evidence does not fail to support my hypothesis! SUCCESS!

If we are unable to find a condition which renders our hypothesis or theory incorrect after many and varied tests, ideally by several different researchers, then we can be confident that our hypothesis or theory is correct, but we don’t necessarily KNOW that there isn’t some odd undiscovered exception that we don’t know about.

Two samples (this one and the previous sugarless-orange one) is hardly a large number of trials. This doesn’t prove that expired JellO® is always safe, but since I know of no plausible way by which an intact package of instant gelatin could become hazardous I feel pretty comfortable that expired gelatin from intact packaging won’t harm me.

If the package is not intact and contains a fuzzy green lump instead of the usual powder, then it’s a whole other situation, obviously…

I do still have three or four more boxes of the sugarless generic expired gelatin – perhaps I can come up with some more tests. Meanwhile, I do hope that my incredibly brave, life-threatening experiments here will relax nervous expired-JellO eaters everywhere…

If I Win It…

One topic that I have hoped to emphasize much more on this blog is amateur science, and in particular (given my educational background) amateur Microbiology.

Don’t be dissuaded by my use of the word “amateur” here. I don’t mean “not really” science (i.e. the microbiological equivalent of the “baking soda volcano”). Rather, here I’m using “amateur” in its proper etymological sense – science done for the love of it. I don’t just mean my brief series of experiments on the toxicology of expired JellO®. I mean actual microbiology with potential practical application as well as educational value. Unfortunately, there are a few bits of equipment for this that I can’t reasonably cobble together out of spare parts or repurposed household appliances. A microscope, for instance. Or a dry-ice maker.

Being a full-time college student, I’m poor, and can’t afford a microscope. A decent ordinary “brightfield” microscope appears to cost about $400. Bonus materials like a “darkfield” condensor are extra, unless I think I can rig up an equivalent on my own. A nicer digital camera to take pictures with to share with you, my loyal reader(s) would add some more to the cost. Even in the case of equipment and supplies improvised from more ordinary and readily-available materials (pressure-cooker=”autoclave”), there is still a cost. Woe unto me, what shall I do?!?!?

For the moment, I shall revert to the time-honored traditions of “begging” and “hoping”…

You see, there appears to be a scholarship available for bloggers who are full-time college students. Why, what a coincidence! I blog…and I’m a full-time college student! What luck!

There appears to be a US$10,000 (that’s almost 10000 CANADIAN dollars!). It’s not explicitly stated but last year they also had $1,000 “runner-up” awards as well. Here, then, is my pledge to you all.

Should I be selected as a finalist for this scholarship competition, I will eat 2-year-old JellO! Furthermore, if I were to actually be selected to win a $1000 scholarship, I will buy a real microscope and be able to blog my microbiology experiments and studies much more vividly. I will also blog the design and construction of my own amateur microbiology lab, to the extent that I can afford. (Well, I was ALSO going to do this anyway, but with a scholarship I’d actually be able to start doing it…)

Were I to be selected to win the full $10,000 scholarship I propose to go absolutely Nucking Futs, with a microscope, a nice new digital camera, dry-ice maker and plenty of CO2, perhaps some dedicated hosting for this blog, and a complete collection of useful microbiology equipment (mostly improvised still, but that’s half of the education right there…). Furthermore, should my readers demand it, I might even be persuaded to drink a cup of fresh Lysogeny Broth!

Come on, who needs this money and attention more – me, or some wealthy (compared to me) graduate student over on scienceblogs.com? I bet none of them would eat 2-year-old JellO or drink E.coli Chow for it, would they?

10 Finalists are to be announced October 7th, from what I understand…wish me [good] luck…
UPDATE: I made the finals, though my fame doesn’t seem to be carrying along a rose-petal-strewn path to victory yet…

Art historians – do they minor in Purple Prose?

Let us read from the Book of “Art Across Time”, chapter one, page 36:

“This particular painting seems to represent either a ritual or a supernatural event. In contrast to the animals, which are nearly always in profile, this creature turns and stares out of the rock. His pricked-up ears and alert expression suggest that he is aware of an alien presence.”

Wow, that must be one exceptionally detailed and well-preserved cave-painting, to convey all of that. Let’s have a look:

Okay…to me the “head” looks like an indistinct smear, with spots that a human mind – tuned to recognize patterns, especially faces, even if the patterns don’t actually exist – might interpret as some kind of face. To me, it looks kind of like a crudely-drawn cartoon-animal face, with overwhelmed-Charlie-Brown-style bugeyes, a button nose, and the tongue hanging out of one side of its mouth. Yet, somehow, I don’t feel inclined to suggest that this is what is actually there. Personally, I’d be more inclined to suspect that the artist (estimated to have lived 13000-15000 years ago) had trouble finishing the drawing and gave up. Yet if you poke around for information about this image, you find all kinds of breathless prose about it. So, where does all the poetic language about the possible “meaning” and interpretation of the Trois-Frčres “Sorcerer” come from?

I suspect it all comes not from the seemingly rare photographs of the original cave-painting, but from the famous and heavily-embellished sketch made by Henri Breuil:

Yeah, that’s not what I see in the photograph of the original, either.

Apparently, this cave-painting is about 13 feet off of the floor. Monsieur Breuil described having to stand with one foot on a small projecting rock, then half-turn and sit up against the cave wall while trying to juggle his light and drawing implements to make hist sketch.  Sounds to me like the cave-painting is in a hard-to-reach spot, perhaps supporting my “artist had trouble drawing there” hypothesis? I also can’t tell from the original if all of the figure was painted at the same time, or if perhaps someone started out drawing a deer or something of the sort (the hind legs look about right for that proportionally, prior to the ‘human-lower-leg’ part), and hundreds of years later some wiseguy came along and drew human-type lower legs and feet on the end of the deer’s legs as a joke, for that matter.

The Art History class is interesting, but the amount of speculative-sounding interpretation of the art and architecture without supporting citations is something of a culture-shock to me after the last couple of years for more “hard-science” classes.

Anybody see anything there in that original painting that I’m missing? Or for that matter, know where to find a GOOD photograph of it?

Why I blog, and the Office of Technology Assessment

Via a post over on the Aetiology blog (and Retrospectacle) I happened upon a survey being taking about science blogging. It got me thinking a bit about why I’m doing this – aside from the masses of screaming groupies I have.

Aside from just being fun (I like to write), I set up this particular blog as a platform to practice communicating scientific topics. It’s a skill that really isn’t emphasized much in science education as far as I can tell, and regardless of where my career may go post-graduation I’m sure the ability to articulate scientific and technical topics will be beneficial to me.

In fact, I can see two different ways I could go with a career either during or after graduate school. Obviously, I could end up employed in a capacity where I’m officially “doing” science, which could be anything from “brewmeister” to curating a culture collection to academic research to being a lab grunt. I could also see myself pursuing a policy or science communication angle as well, though. This could be anything from Public Relations for a scientific or technical company to science writing to scientific advising…which brings me to the Office of Technology Assessment.

A post over on the “Denialism Blog” at Scienceblogs.com started a stream of “Bring Back the Office of Technology Assessment” posts around the net. Now, there’s a dream job. I would personally love to have a job like that. Make an enjoyable and comfortable living from whatever talent I have at explaining scientific and technical topics, and directly and substantially benefit my country in the process? Sign me up! Of course, even when the OTA existed, it only had a small number of employees, and presumably they were all Ph.D.’s with backgrounds in science and public policy, so the odds of me getting hired there (specifically) would probably be comparatively slim. Still, I can dream, and perhaps if we luck out and my wife (a Ph.D. Geologist with a background in borehole geophysics, petroleum geology, nuclear technology, and a variety of other areas – anybody out on the East coast in the general vicinity of Washington D.C. need anybody like that?…) and I have the opportunity to move somewhere with a good “science and public policy” graduate program I may have a chance.

My personal desires aside, though, if there’s one thing the people who are supposed to be running the country seem to really need, it’s rational science and technology information. Since the disbanding of the OTA we’ve had the DMCA and the costly and predictable abuses it brought (such as DMCA lawsuits over printer ink refills and replacement garage door openers), minimally-rational ideological fights over things like stem cell research and global climate change, panic and “security theater” over technically improbable-to-impossible “terrorist” threats (like the possibility that a terrorist will blow up a plane with a “liquid bomb” made of 4 ounces of baby food and shampoo, or “blow up” the fuel depot at JFK airport) (Mayor Bloomberg’s “STFU and GBTW” style of response to the panic was a glimmer of hope to me that there was some rationality left among my fellow human beings). I will refrain from picking on Ted “Series of Tubes” Stevens other than bringing this up as another example of lack of good information for policy-setting congresspeople. All this disruptive fuss, largely over ignorance and misunderstanding, which seems to be what the Office of Technology Assessment was intended to address. I would definitely agree that the OTA or something like it appears to be an urgent need – either that or Congress should quit playing around and just formally declare a science-boosting ‘War on Science’.

There are one or two things I’d like to figure out before I start mailing letters to congresspeople and presidential candidates though. For one thing – what would be the difference between the Congressional Research Service’s Resources, Science, and Industry division? Would one group be more focussed on specific policy implications while the other deals with “just the facts”? Also, the one legitimate-sounding complaint that I’ve seen in some of the newspaper articles on the subject is that it would often take longer to come out with a report on a subject than congress had (that is, congress would end up having to assemble a law and vote on it before the reports were completed). Should whatever takes the place of the OTA be re-designed to focus more on getting quicker answers? Like, maybe, hiring a bunch more people? Including, say, eager and capable grad-students…Okay, I’ll stop begging…

More to follow on this and related topics. Oh, and advice on successfully pursuing this type of career would be welcome.

Expired JellO®! Flee! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!

Expired JellO®! Deadly Poison, or Merely Debilitating? Can a human being withstand the toxic load of an *entire box* of it? Would he suffer embarassingly loud and messy gastrointestinal distress, or would immediate organ failure set in before this could take place? STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT!…

Yes, loyal readers, as I type this I have subjected my own body to unthinkable risks to answer these very questions. That, dear readers, is how much I care about your health and welfare. You can thank me later…

…If I survive!

What does it mean to be an “Applied Empirical Naturalist”, anyway? As a naturalist, I look for natural explanations for natural observations. If I survive this ordeal, I will not explain it as being due to protection by supernatural forces, and conversely if I end up confined to an intensive care unit, my body ravaged by Expired-Gelatin-Syndrome, I will not seek to explain it as divine punishment for violating Kosher. As an Empirical naturalist, I investigate things by actual observation and direct testing wherever possible, rather than purely philosophical means. And – particularly important to me – Applied Empirical Naturalism is intended to convey that I am primarily interested in investigations with practical uses. Discovering the “Pineapple-Upside-Down Quark” with an umpty-brazillion-dollar particle accelerator and six months of supercomputer time to crunch the data wouldn’t do me, personally, much good. Knowing whether expired JellO® is safe to eat or not, however, has obvious practical application. Especially considering that I seem to have about 5 more boxes of the stuff in the pantry.

So, here I sit, perhaps writing my very last words ever before Expired-Gelatin-Shock causes my brains to swell up and explode messily and fatally from my ears like the popping of two superintelligent zits, in the service of Science. Here, then, is my story.

I begin by building my dire experiment around the following excessively-formal Valid Argument:

Upon expiration, JellO® becomes a deadly poison which causes great harm to those who dare ingest it
I prepare and consume an entire box of expired JellO®
Therefore, I suffer great harm due to its ingestion.

Last night, I plucked from the depths of my pantry an expired-2˝-years-ago box of sugarless orange-flavored gelatin with which to begin this investigation. I blew the layer of dust off of the box, and carefully opened it, half-expecting to find some strange mutant gelatin-beast had developed in it over the years since expiration. One hand poised to protect myself should the creature leap from the box to eat my face in anger of being disturbed, I was both relieved and slightly disappointed to find nothing more than a foil packet containing what sounded like perfectly ordinary gelatin-powder. The packet proved to be intact, and the happy orange powder poured into a freshly-cleaned dish in a manner perfectly imitating that of wholesome non-expired gelatin. I dismissed the faint demonic snickering sound I seemed to hear as a figment of my fevered imagination and prepared the gelatin powder in the usual manner.

I took up my electric kettle, containing distilled water, and threw the switch. Seconds passed into minutes. Minutes passed into more minutes. Then, the water began boiling vigorously, and I applied one cup (8 fluid ounces) of this to the dish of powder, stirring it with a tablespoon. It seemed to take at least two minutes of continuous stirring, but the deceptively innocent-looking powder finally dissolved without the slightest scent of brimstone. As prescribed by the instructions on the box, I added a further 8 fluid ounces of cold water (from the tap of my kitchen sink), stirred briefly to mix, and placed the dish in the refrigerator to gel overnight.

I lay awake in bed for hours, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Was I insane? Did I not remember the tales of Jeckyll and Hyde? Of Doctor Frankenstein? Of Pons and Fleischman? What horrible fate was I setting myself up for? Finally, I dropped into a fitful slumber, disturbed only by dreams of amorphous orange demons stalking me to feast upon my soul…

Day broke, and this very afternoon I took the now solidified mass from the refrigerator. This was it. My last chance to avoid whatever hellish abuses this disturbingly orange substance had planned for me. But no…it was far too late to turn back now. I took up my spoon, and devoured every last bit of happy orange jiggliness.

This was approximately seven hours ago. In the intervening time, I have experienced the following symptoms: Occasional thirst, mild generalized anxiety about the near future, hunger, and an urge to write this blog post in a hyperbolic language more suited to an H.P. Lovecraft story than a scientific report. In other words…I appear to have been entirely unaffected, despite consuming an entire box of expired gelatin.

I’ve been taught that when hypothesis-testing, one considers the “null hypothesis”. That is, the hypothesis that would falsify the one that I’m starting with. In this case, it would be something to the effect of “I will suffer no harm whatsoever from eating expired JellO®”. Given the results in this experiment I must – in the tortured language of philosophical science – “fail to reject the null hypothesis”, because my results show no evidence whatsoever that I have suffered harm from eating expired gelatin. In other words, I cannot rationally cling to my original hypothesis as written, and must confess that perhaps expired instant gelatin still in intact packaging may, in fact, be harmless.

Ah, but I know what happens now. “Cad!”, you cry! “Fraud! Sham! This experiment is, like, totally bogus! This is not normal JellO® but a sugar-free impostor! And furthermore, this isn’t even JellO®-brand gelatin, but a cheap knock-off brand! How dare you, sir, feed us this crap, which proves nothing!”

I answer in two parts: Firstly, ladies and gentlemen who are my readers, I assure you that the contents of the less-famous brand and the official Kraft® Foods brand are essentially identical, and indeed, might conceivably have come from the same source. It’s common practice for one factory’s product to be shipped to multiple sellers who each offer it under their own label, as the wide variety of affected brands during the recent “salmonella peanut butter” scare demonstrated. And secondly: as it happens, I also have in my possession a box of JellO®-brand lime-flavored gelatin, WITH sugar, which although it lists no obvious “expiration date”, has a code stamped on the box indicating that it was originally packaged in late 2003, and therefore should have exceeded the expected 24-month shelf-life about the same time as today’s test subject did. I swear to you, dear readers, that I will repeat my experiment with this sample next.

Stay tuned: “Expired JellO II: Lime’s Revenge”, coming soon to a blog near you!

UPDATE: The Expired JellO® Saga continues here!

Okay, this is completely bogus…

The folks over at BBspot are callously spreading microbiological misinformation (click for full-size):

This is just plain irresponsible and utterly wrong. Surely everyone can see the obvious problem here, right?

When this happens, the flame is blue, not orange.

Uh, or so I’ve heard.

(If it isn’t obvious – what you do in this situation is calmly take the spreader out and set it on your nice, flameproof benchtop, and set something non-fragile and non-flammable on top of the flaming jar of alcohol, which will then go out quickly as the oxygen gets used up. All the labs I’ve been in lately use “canning” jars for the alcohol in this application, complete with lids which can be set on top to extinguish the flame.)

What I Learned In School Today: Mortals have Limits, and Socrates was a jerk…

…Or at least, Plato’s accounts of him make him seem that way.

We’ve been reading (as English translations) accounts of Socrates’ trial and related occurrences as written by Plato. It started off with a possibly fictional dialog before Socrates’ trial, between Socrates and some guy named Euthyphro, who is some kind of priest.

In short, they get to talking about why they are there at the court, and it turns out Euthyphro is there to accuse his own father, who has apparently committed what we in the modern U.S. would call “manslaughter”. Euthyphro’s father had caught a murderer, then tied him up and thrown him in a ditch while he sent somebody to ask the authorities what to do with the murderer. While waiting for the messenger to return with the answer, the murderer in the ditch had evidently died. Euthyphro says “piety” demands that his father be tried for the death of the murderer but complains that everybody seems to think that hauling his own father to court for this is “impious”. And now you have the backstory for a long, involved, and ultimately unsettled discussion of just what the heck “piety” is supposed to be.

That’s where you notice that Socrates is a sarcastic butthead who thinks he’s on a mission from The Gods™ to prove that everybody is an ignorant fool. He puts on a snide show, pretending that he expects Euthyphro will reveal The Secret Of What Piety Really Is (Socrates claims that the knowledge will be useful for his own defense at his trial later) all the while busily demonstrating that Euthyphro really can’t answer the question.

The argument dances around various definitions. They more or less settle on the notion that “piety” is something that pleases all of the Gods (and impiety, by definition, displeases all of the gods), and that The Gods™ love an action because it is pious rather than something being pious because it is loved by The Gods™. (There’s a bit of virtually Dickensian pedantry there involving whether something is “being carried” because someone is carrying it or whether people carry things because they are “being carried” objects.) I guess that means nobody would have to worry that they’d wake up one morning and discover that The Gods had decided on a whim that “piety” would mean raping puppies and eating babies for the next few days. They manage to reach agreement that “piety” has something to do with being like a servant to the gods, but are completely unable to come up with a definitive test by which they could define any particular act as “pious” or “impious”.

Euthyphro finally says (more or less) that hey, he’d love to stay and go around and around and around and around with this annoying little brain-teaser but he’s got places to be and things to do, and the dialog ends with one last bit of Socratic Sarcasm as Socrates wails about how he was hoping to show up at his trial and tell everyone he’d learned the divine secret of Piety from Euthyphro and therefore wouldn’t be accidentally corrupting the youth with his lack of wisdom any more…

I have to wonder if Plato wrote this dialog so that readers would understand why so many Athenians wanted to get rid of him…

Of course, as an (self-proclaimed) Applied Empirical Naturalist, I think they’re whole problem is that the knowledge they were seeking was defined as something that would only necessarily exist in the minds of Supernatural entities – since “piety” and “impiety” are entirely defined in terms of what The Gods thought, it’s not clear that “piety” can be known outside of the Invisible Giant People Up On Mount Olympus. Of course for Euthyphro, being a professional priest, admitting that he doesn’t – and maybe can’t – know what “piety” actually is and that he really has no clue what’s going on in the minds of The Gods would be a definite Career-Limiting Move, and Socrates doesn’t seem (to me) to actually care what it means so long as he gets to prove that Euthyphro doesn’t know either, so it’s no wonder that this point doesn’t come up.

I wasn’t kidding about the “thinks he’s on a mission from The Gods™ to prove that everybody is an ignorant fool” comment, either. In his “Apologia” (defense speech during his trial), as reported by Plato, Socrates describes how someone once went to the Oracle at Delphi and asked if anyone was wiser than Socrates, and was told that, no, nobody was wiser than Socrates. Socrates says he interprets this to mean that nobody is really wise and that this answer from the Oracle (who is just passing on messages from the Gods, after all) means that he has a sacred duty to go around demonstrating this fact – which is the basis of the famous “Nobody knows anything, but I know I don’t know anything, so I know more than anybody else” flippant description of this argument.

Oh, and one unrelated odd fact – the introduction to the translation says that Socrates is about 70 years old during this trial, but at one point during Socrates’ rambling defense speech he explains that he wouldn’t want to be like other people who show up in court and have their kids plead with the jury for mercy in order to avoid punishment. Socrates says he had three kids – one adolescent and two who are “children”. So, wait, he’s wandering around Athens unmarried, when suddenly he runs into some woman willing to shack up with a penniless, irritating old guy who’s almost sixty and they have three kids who survive childhood? What?

This isn’t discussed at all, really, it just struck me as a really odd circumstance…

The Oldest Microbiology Book (that I own)

There’s this thing that some people do sometimes when they’ve been getting stressed out in one place for a while. I hadn’t done it in so long I can’t remember what it’s called. You know, where you Leave the area and then avoid it for a while. Oh, yes, that was it, a vacate-shun. Anyway, leaving the barren desert wastelands of the West, we headed east, and spent a few days admiring the area around the midpoint of the Appalachian Trail: Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. (Incidentally, I can recommend the “Angler’s Inn” Bed and Breakfast there, and the whole time there was incredibly delightful to me. I think I’d love to move to the area.).

I was delighted to note that there was an Old Book store in downtown Harpers Ferry. One thing about the Eastern US is that it’s been settled by book-using folks for somewhat longer than the West, so it would seem it’s easier to find really good Old Books. I found a publication of a 110-year-old microbiology book. In decent condition, for just over $20, no less! Not counting the (relatively modern) reprint of Micrographia that I picked up from a library sale, this makes it by far the oldest microbiology book I own now.

Oh, yes, did I mention I collect (casually) old books, especially old scientific and technical books?

The book in question, published in 1897, is “Story of Germ Life”, by Herbert William Conn. Not to be confused with Harold Joel Conn of “Conn’s Biological Stains” fame…who happens to be Herbert William Conn’s son. To be fair, the book *I* got was actually a republication from 1904, so only 103 years old…back when copyright was more rational (7 years, plus an OPTIONAL 7 more years. Thus explaining why my republication came out 7 years after the original.) It appears to have been part of a series called “Library of Valuable Knowledge”. The bookstore actually had another one of them, but I don’t remember what its topic was.

“Story of Germ Life” isn’t really a textbook so much as an overview of the subject of “Bacteriology” (as understood in 1897) for otherwise well-educated people – the kind of book I don’t think there are enough of these days. The Gutenbook project actually has a plain-text-only version of the book online here. Of course, then you miss out on the incredibly useful illustrations:

I always find it interesting to go back and see the earlier stages of scientific endeavors – especially as relates to my own interests. There always seem to be things that have since been forgotten, abandoned, or glossed over in them.

H.W. Conn seems to have been most interested in dairy microbiology, so there is a substantial amount of space devoted to it. I’ve heard of “blue milk” before (Yummy!….Pseudomonas?), but not Red or Yellow milk. He also devotes space to discussing the affect of “good” (and “bad”) bacterial cultures on butter, cream, and cheeses. I’m not even sure if butter is cultured these days, or if they just churn it up fresh and cold with minimal growth. Dangit, one of these days we’re just going to have to move somewhere we can keep a miniature dairy cow so I can do some experimentation with real unpasteurized fresh milk.

Bacterial phylogeny was so quaint back then. “Bacillus acidi lacti.” Ha! I love it. Interestingly, the term “Schizomycete” doesn’t appear anywhere in the text, though that may or may not be because it was considered unnecessarily technical for the intended audience. There’s actually very little about microbiological methods, too, which is the one major disappointment for me. Oh well, still interesting stuff. Conn actually mentions various “industrial” uses of bacteria including retting (soaking fibrous plants like flax or hemp so that bacteria eat the softer plant material to free the fibers), the roles of different bacterial cultures in curing tobacco, and even a fermentation in the production of opium (which Conn says is fungal rather than bacterial).

Also, much to my approval, the first 2/3 of the book is not about diseases. Only the last third of the book discusses “parasitic bacteria” and related topics. I leave you with this quote from the book’s 1897 Preface, which I think is still relevant today:

“Few people who read could be found to-day who have not some little idea of these organisms and their relation to disease. It is, however, unfortunately a fact that it is only their relation to disease which has been impressed upon the public. The very word bacteria, or microbe, conveys to most people an idea of evil. The last few years have above all things emphasized the importance of these organisms in many relations entirely independent of disease, but this side of the subject has not yet attracted very general attention, nor does it yet appeal to the reader with any special force. It is the purpose of the following pages to give a brief outline of our knowledge of bacteria and their importance in the world, including not only their well-known agency in causing disease, but their even greater importance as agents in other natural phenomena. It is hoped that the result may be to show that these organisms are to be regarded not primarily in the light of enemies, but as friends, and thus to correct some of the very general but erroneous idea concerning their relation to our life.” — April 1, 1897

What I Learned In School: “Valid” arguments

The new semester has begun on this, my last schedules semester as a mere old Undergraduate. This semester’s primary purpose is to fill in the two vitally important “general education” goals for my current Institute of higher learning: Art Appreciation and Philosophy.

I added a “What I Learned in School Today” category to the blog just because of this semester. My loyal readers (all 2-4 of you…) can look forward to occasional posts on other aspects of my Higher Education as the semester goes along, besides microbiology. On the metaphorical menu over the next 16 weeks: “Introduction to Philosophy” (today’s topic), “History of Western Art“, Applied Calculus, and finally I have a chance to take Environmental Chemistry.

Prior to reading some Plato for next week, we started out “Philosophy 101” with a discussion of “Valid” arguments. In Philosophy, this has a very specific meaning. If you make an argument in the general form of “This, and that, therefore something”, the argument is “valid” when if “This” and “that” are both true, then “something” must also be true.

The thing that most of the class seemed to have trouble with is that being “valid” has nothing to do with whether or not the argument is “sound“, or whether the statements in the argument are true.

An example from the class:

All mammals have lungs.
Whales have lungs.
(Therefore) all whales are mammals.

This is an invalid argument, despite the fact that every statement is actually true. The reason is simply that the fact that whales are mammals does not automatically follow from the fact that they have lungs. (Chickens have lungs, too. Does this mean chickens are mammals?…)

It took two class sessions before most of the class seemed to “get” this. I felt as though I was in Junior High again…though I think this had more to do with watching the freshman girls in front of me passing notes during the class. Come on, kids, grow up! We adults are using IM for that now! Sheesh. Kids today…

On the other hand:

You’ve got to be some kind of genius to attend college and blog at the same time.
I attend college and I blog at the same time.
I am, therefore, a genius.

is a valid argument. As written, if both of the first two statements are true, then the third statement must be true. This is where the value of valid arguments come in – if it turns out that the conclusion is false, then one of the premises must also be false. If anyone were to discover that I am, in fact, not a genius, then either it’s unnecessary to be a genius to blog and go to college at the same time, or perhaps I’m paying someone else to write this stuff for me.

Who cares, I’m a science major, not a philosophy major, right? Except: a properly designed scientific hypothesis should be a premise in a “valid argument”, and an experiment is merely a test to see if the argument is unsound. For example:

All lactic acid bacteria, grown in otherwise sterile milk, will make yogurt.(the underlying hypothesis being tested)
I inoculate sterile milk with a culture of Pediococcus damnosus(the test performed by the experiment)
(Therefore) I obtain yogurt. (Expected results and conclusion of the experiment)

This is (as far as I can tell) a completely valid argument. Now, I haven’t actually done this experiment, but let’s pretend I did, and the end result was a smelly mass that kind of looked like yogurt except it turned out to be slimy rather than firm. I cannot in fairness call it “yogurt”, so my conclusion in the argument is false. Thanks to the magic of Valid Arguments™, I know that either my assumption is wrong (maybe not all lactic acid bacteria turn sterile milk into yogurt after all), or there was a problem with the experiment (perhaps the milk was contaminated with something and wasn’t really sterile, or I grabbed a culture of something other than P.damnosus by mistake.)

Assuming I carefully recheck the materials and repeat the experiment to confirm that I really am inoculating actually-sterile milk with a definitely clean culture of P.damnosus and continue to get the same results, then my hypothesis – the first premise in the argument – must be false. I have to then go back and revise my hypothesis and test again, until I have a hypothesis that seems to consistently generate true conclusions. Thus, the “valid argument” is the basic tool which allows hypotheses to grow up and become theories.

Incidentally, some Pediococcus damnosus strains are a cause of “ropy” wine, which is why I chose that example. I don’t actually know what, if anything, it would do to pure, sterilized milk, though.

Coming up next: I picked up a 100-year-old microbiology book while on vacation!