Penman for Monday, August 6, 2007
Butch Dalisay
IT COULD be that I’m just getting old, but lately I’ve been dismayed and depressed by the state of manners on the Internet. I help moderate a message board (www.philmug.ph) that now has over 9,000 members, and I’m a member myself of several more such virtual hangouts devoted to everything from electronic gadgets like iPods and Palm PDAs to fountain pens and heritage conservation. (The one thing I avoid, perhaps surprisingly, is any public forum made up of writers and wannabe writers, for reasons you’ll find shortly.)
Our Apple users and fans club (that’s basically what it is) has been a generally pleasant and helpful group, ever ready to dispense free and quick advice about everything from the difference between SATA and PATA drives and between FireWire 400 and USB 2.0 (and, of course, between Mac OS X and Windows Whatever). But some weeks on the board can be more vexatious than others, and last week was one of those, with an inordinate number of people, it seemed to me, venting their assorted resentments, rages, and anxieties, caring little if their rants produced or provoked similarly negative vibes in others.
Never mind what those specific issues were; they matter little to anyone but geeks. It wasn’t the questions or issues that disturbed me so much as the way they were raised and pursued—often with undisguised meanness, if not malice aforethought, and with no concessions to diplomacy, compromise, and good-natured humor. Indeed, what used to be the domain and the art of ironic humor has been taken over by sarcasm and verbal viciousness.
It isn’t just on this message board I moderate, either; it’s all over the Internet, this creeping outbreak of ill will and gutter behavior that ironically seems to afflict those with the money and the education to buy computers and get DSL service. Over at another forum I frequent—devoted to the arcane pursuit of fountain pen collecting—two grown men were bashing each other a couple of weeks ago over, believe it or not, the exact configuration of solid-gold 1940s Sheaffer pens. Here’s how part of that discussion went:
“I would be most interested in your assertion that in general, a sample size of 0.1% of the subject population cannot produce a statistically significant result. Merely characterizing a survey's characteristics as ‘lunacy’ without providing a shred of supporting math is, to put it mildly, uncompelling, and your embedded assertion that the ratio of sample size to population is the determinant of statistical significance calls into question your grasp of statistical theory.”
That, at least, was an intelligent and even illuminating if occasionally pungent debate. (The other side responded: “Your penchant for avoiding the issue being discussed and branching off on some tangent is pretty typical of your discourse. Try and stay focused.&rdquo
Most “flame wars”—as these long-distance quarrels are called—employ considerably blunter language, chiefly because, I suspect, the antagonists possess the linguistic skills of ten-year-olds, and in many cases are just a bit older. Endearments like “Moron!” routinely get exchanged in these flame wars, which erupt with the spontaneity of a scuffle in the schoolyard during recess, usually between boys trying to sound like men, and also usually over the presumption of some exotic expertise, although I’ve yet to witness a flame war over prescriptions to end global hunger.
It’s in the nature of the Internet, of course, to host these brutal and often unrefereed skirmishes. Some surfers see the Internet as an open and wide frontier where no rules obtain and manners don’t matter. The Web’s anonymity encourages boorishness, recklessness, and other behavior that might land you in court, in jail, or in the hospital in the real world. (You might say that, on the Web, anonymity breeds contempt.) People tend to shoot their mouths off and say the cruelest things online because there’s no sense of public accountability. Slinging mud from behind an alias, you can’t get sued, you can’t get slugged, and your mother won’t even know.
Some people mistakenly presume that what’s said on the Internet will stay there. (Well, here’s proof that it won’t; there’s no such thing as an online whisper—and, surprise, print still matters.) I’ll bet anything that the people in my forum who feel alluded to in this piece will be caterwauling again tomorrow, to screech that I dragged their private plaints and torments out into the open—as if posting a message that could reach 9,000 members weren’t public enough.
Now, we didn’t need the Internet to realize that the world is full of idiots and bigots, and that most of us, yours truly included, will occasionally be a bit of both, given the right astral configuration and the way we wake up in the morning. One thing I happen to be openly and proudly biased about is Apple and nearly anything that rolls out of its Cupertino, CA plant. (And yes, friends, I’ll be first in line for the iPhone when they release it here next year.) But when Apple drops the ball—as, like any other big company, it will from time to time—there will be no louder complainers than we the faithful, who should justly feel abandoned and betrayed. So admittedly we’re not immune to these seizures of what will seem to others a silly passion, and now and then we might even raise our voices in defense of a block of plastic.
But that’s entertainment, and it has little to do with the witless vitriol that I’ve been catching around the Web—again, not only here, and not only now. Years ago, almost when the Internet was just beginning to take root in this country, I joined an online group of Filipino writers based here and in the US, and for a time that exchange proved useful and cordial. But as the group grew in size and variety, the chemistry changed; one day I found myself being savaged by a fellow I’d never met and never heard of, for some strange reason I couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t worth the aggravation; I had better things to do than to explain or defend my writing and myself to complete strangers, and I swore from then on to limit my Web time to things I could enjoy as a respite from literature, which I reserved to my private practice.
But even in literature—and especially in its newest form, the blog—it seems that ranting has taken over prose and poetry. Many blogs are amusing, a few are highly informative and thought-provoking, but a vast multitude barely get beyond retching, whining, venting, cursing, and putting everybody else down.
Aside from the pervasive meanness, I’ve been bothered by another recurrent note in the message traffic: the brazen sense of entitlement that many young people seem to possess and brandish, almost like a weapon. Over at PhilMUG, we’ve had an 18-year-old brashly demanding that someone give him/her (on the Web, where people use pseudonymous nicknames or “handles”, you never know) a free computer. “Gimme a Mac!” cried this newbie in his/her very first post. “I damn need one!”
In this “gimme, gimme, gimme” culture, the world owes everyone a Lamborghini, and people don’t need to work or suffer for the things they want. All they have to do is scream like they did for their baby food, and the object of their desire should appear at their feet and make mewling sounds. If it doesn’t, then that’s good enough reason for another rant.
Forgive me if I suspect that these are people—many of them in their surly mid-twenties—who’ve never been truly whacked by life over the head, who’ve never laid their lives on the line for a cause larger than themselves, who’ve never stared into the barrel of a gun, who’ve never spent a day in jail, and whose daily crises consist of having to choose between the mocha latte and the cappuccino.
Thankfully, some of them grow up. I once had a student who kept loudly complaining that the Palanca Awards for Literature were rigged, because he joined them year after year and never won a thing. Surely there was some grand conspiracy to deny him his due. When I could no longer stand his whining, I lost my temper in public (think of it as doing a Pinatubo after 600 years of dormancy) and suggested to him, perhaps a bit too sharply, that the simpler reason for his spectacular string of losses was to be found in himself. (I could’ve added—meaning no offense to the generous Palancas—that with the number of prize categories open at that time, any fool and his dog was bound to win one sooner or later, if you just submitted enough entries with the consistency of a parking-ticket dispenser.) Well, either my sermon challenged his spirit or his number was up, but he soon won a Palanca, and I was truly happy for him; I doubt that he’ll be thinking the same sullen thoughts now.
A few weeks ago, I had occasion to discuss the poetry of Anne Sexton in class, and if you know anything about her—apart from her plaintively powerful poetry—it would be the inescapable fact that she committed suicide, in 1974. A beautiful and brilliant woman, Sexton had grappled with her demons all her life, and took to poetry as a means of taming them. She would even write that “Poetry, after all, is the opposite of suicide.” That she ultimately took her own life doesn’t detract from the quality and the legacy of her poetry. (In “Wanting to Die,” she would say that “… Suicides have a special language. / Like carpenters they want to know which tools. / They never ask why build.&rdquo This leads me to think that those who can write poetry, do; those who can’t, rant.
Can’t the world use a little kvetching, however inartistic? Sure, it can—it had better, or otherwise we’ll end up wallowing in treacly (and very possibly shallow) good feelings. But there’s a difference between the ranter who just rants, and the ranter who disses the world then picks up a chisel or a compass to change it—or a pen, to write beautifully and even blissfully of one’s pain, ultimately to transform it into something more valuable and enduring than this season’s hemline or tomorrow’s gadget.
August 30th, 2007
I met Piolo Pascual and other things POSTED AT 08:01 PM So yeah, I met Piolo Pascual ladies and gentlemen. Grasped his lovely, strong hands and looked him in the eye and told him it was nice to meet him. Gah, his smile! Gah, his face! Gah, his body! Gah, he’s so fucking hot. I actually told him that, to his face. Everyone had finished dinner and he came from a photoshoot and his friend (fully aware of my fandom) asked him is he had met me and we both responded in the affirmative. Then I straight up looked at him and said, “you’re hot.” Haha, he laughed and looked down and kinda choked on his food a bit. Did aw sha prepared. I hope I didn’t make it awkward but I didn’t care. I got to make hirit a couple of times to him and he addressed me once cause I commented on how everyone in that table was so successfully (excluding me of course. What have I done? Pass school? Yeah. WOW.). He said, “gusto mo maging successful? May catch.” He looked at his friends and they kinda laughed at an inside joke and stupid me said stupid things after he said, “walang love life.” I had the perfect answer of course… “lonely ka? Andito ako.” But instead, I said, “Ah, sanay na ako jan. Yun lang pala eh. You can be alone but not lonely. Basta may pera ayos na.” Which I don’t mean, obviously, me who perennially gripes about not being involved with anyone. So we never really address each other after that because he probably thinks I’m a money-monger, then he had to leave cause he had work the next day and my aunt asks him I we could take a picture cause I’m a fan and he cordially assents. One of their friends get the camera, and expensive ass Canon, and I mumble something about how real he is to him and we get the shots and he exits after I thank him, everyone says goodbye etc. etc. Truth be told, I wasn’t as excited as I thought I would be. I mean, I thought I’d faint or whatever… but he truly is a good looking man. A highly attractive, yet unassuming and even soft-spoke I would say… that’s the impression I got from the hour or so I got to me in the same breathing space as him. He put his arm around me!! And me around his!! Whee. And cut. Its mostly bragging rights now, which kinda sucks. My aunt has yet to email me the pics but when she does, that shit ain’t gonna be hidden for long, you best believe. Listening to: Metropolis on KCRW Online 1 actually called?
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August 28th, 2007
penny lane POSTED AT 04:39 PM Listening to: Drum and Bass Arena Feeling: pretty tight |
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August 28th, 2007
a better life lies in wait POSTED AT 04:39 PM I couldn’t sleep much last night. I’ve been drunk since Thursday (Wednesday I drank, but not enough) and I decided to take a break tonight. A lot of things happened last weekend… and a lot of things are still happening, although things have taken a turn for the worse. Thursday I went to this DJ event at Embassy and downed like 3 shots of Jaeger in what, four minutes? Then had some weng-weng then decided to call it a night cause the scene was lame even though the DJs were good. Rather shit-faced, granted that I drank all that in under a half-hour. Friday night was dinner at Superbowl of China with the barx, cheap beer… some drama ensued, shockingly involving me and I haven’t stopped talking about it. I should, but hell. That’s how hurt I was. Friday doesn’t end there of course, some of us head back to Edsa Shang Hotel and post-up in the room armed with huge bottles of Red Horse. The nad-sucking bottle opener they gave us wasn’t worthy of its name but I eventually got it to unlock the drink of good times, albeit in an unorthodox manner (i.e. I used the pointed end to poke a hole in the bottle cap and opened the bottle that way). Ran around the twelfth floor in my underwear just to get ice and we stayed up til past 4 in the morning, and no, it wasn’t inspired by that new Gwen Stefani track. Daddy Chino even graced us with his presence for awhile, which was great of course. Mabuhay ang ama! Mother calls me at 8 AM on Saturday saying she’ll be by the room to drop off some stuff and I wake up pissed the hell off because I’m hung over and I barely slept. So I leave my friends in the room and mosey on over to the Cervarix™ launch going on downstairs, promptly at 9 AM. Attend the medical plenary in the morning and passed the fuck out after the morning snack. Downed three tuna and cheese croissants enough to instigate a fairly peaceful slumber. Wake up a little before noon, with the medical session still going on so I decide to got to the press conference, which is where I’m supposed to be anyway. Stand around, help out, meet people, watch the thing, eat… When all is said and done I make a beeline for the hotel room and try to sleep, to no avail. End up watching a feature on Indian weddings. Now I want one. Ha. Watched Sukob and nearly peed my pants if the bathroom wasn’t just five feet away. Went to cocktail hour and had about five glasses of Asti, dinner and a Vodka Seven at the launch’s group dinner. There was a bit of dancing which I of course participated in, waiting to get picked up by Nic. She calls me a little past 9PM and so one of the funnest Saturday nights I’ve ever had begins. But more on that in another entry. That deserves its own damn title. I get home at around 6AM Sunday morning, try to sneak upstairs but my mother is packing for Greece. I reeked of cigarettes and alcohol and I’m beat. She starts to freak out in fear, that my behaviour is but a manifestation of how I am in the States. I feign incredulity and mightily deny it. Said, “I’m only making up for it cause I can’t do it there.” Oh and besides, “I’m not drunk”. And I really wasn’t! Alcohol stopped having any effect at around 3. So I drag my ass to bed… anything Mum said afterwards I’ve forgotten and sleep til noon. Have breakfast with dad, go to my dentist appointment for tooth bleaching and utterly fail at avoiding staining foods and smoking because after the mass and family dinner, I go to Dom’s house for the Sundates including Ian. I actually didn’t want to go anymore, but because Sir Ian’s presence is so rare these days, I hauled a bottle of Chardonnay in and drank… again. Laughter, stories and some Caluag drama. I hit up the rum they were drinking and lose my mind. I pass out in the car. Don’t even know what happened to Cheek, Mela and Ian who rode with me. I found myself home and crashed into unconsciousness. Some notes on the afternoon: I sat next to the most annoying woman in Church—she sang way too loud and did the responses in an equally vexing volume. In terms of Roman Catholicism or Christianity in general, I’m quite the heathen. I sit there and don’t pay attention… and if I do, I do so to mock dogma. I don’t respond, don’t sing and keep on talking to my brother about the most random things just to pass the time. I sensed the overzealous church pew neighbour was aware of this, and I felt like her actions were somehow directed to me. She even put her hands up when everyone did the traditional applause after the service is over. What, now the priest is something like Bono? I wanted to smack her ass down and berate her histrionics for the appalling and detestable pretension. But I didn’t. Too tired. I ate a crapload of sea food at The Red Crab instead. So Monday rolls along, I have an appointment at 11 for a fucking root canal. I have been to the dentist so many times the past few weeks its ridiculous. I’m making up for the whole two years I avoided the dentist chair like the plague. Ixy and Pao and I meet when I’m done and go to Powerplant to check out the Team Manila stall. Funny tee prints are a godsend… Probably from Loki. That place (Powerplant) is ritzy as fuck. Absolutely ridiculous. We follow Mela and Cheek who were already posted up at Metrowalk and on the way I get news that my grandma got a mini-stroke. I said, fine I’ll go home early. But one thing let to another and you could get eight beers for less than two hundred bucks, so I got sold. I leave around 9PM and head to the hospital cause they finally admitted her and I insist on a mad dash to a drive-thru cause I’m tipsy enough to lose respect. Who visits their grandmother in the hospital drunk? I think we’ve answered that question. She’s fine… I think… I hope. She’s an institution in our family. She’s gonna go down with guns blazing and it won’t be anytime soon. People around me drop like flies when I go home. Last year, it was my Dad’s mom. This year it was Ixy’s grandmother. Now my last grandmother is in peril. If your love yours, stay away from me. My aura is a silent assassin of grandmothers everywhere. Now I’m at my internship and this entry is now absurdly long. Sweet. My head hurts, I’m so worried about school and money and being purposeless. I am not happy today… I am anxious but not stressed cause I have no reason to be. I feel fat and bloated and I don’t know how to tell my boss that I won’t come in on Friday AND that I’ll miss half of Thursday, despite the fact that this is my last week. I feel so unprepared for life and that I’m going nowhere. So unorganized… all over the place. I am SO not going anywhere tonight. Listening to: humming climate control Feeling: hungry |
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August 22nd, 2007
do machines really think? POSTED AT 03:41 PM Do machines really think, or do they just perform a bunch of commands that respond to particular inputs? Initially, it seems to me a degradation of the cognition skills of humans... If machines can think, and their thinking entails no reasoning, then are we just nodes of matter following pre-programmed instructions in our own organic mainframes? I have a huge issue with words and definitions, which is why I should probably take a course in linguistic epistemology or the history of language. Anyway! The defintions go: think1 –verb (used without object) 1. to have a conscious mind, to some extent of reasoning, remembering experiences, making rational decisions, etc. 2. to employ one's mind rationally and objectively in evaluating or dealing with a given situation: Think carefully before you begin. and it goes on until... 10. (of a device or machine, esp. a computer) to use artificial intelligence to perform an activity analogous to human thought. I think there has to be a difference for the words used for human thinking and machine thinking... at least until the day machines actually become sentient. There is something qualitatively unique about human thought, I mean, would you actually consider the output of a machine a "thought"? Machine thinking is all simulation, analogy (according to the dictionary defn) and following logical steps that have been outlined in language. Of course scientists have been using information processing machines for years to understand human thought and vice versa, a mutual exchange of sorts, and that’s great and dandy but that line “…build machines that think” for me equated the Homo sapien mental activity with that of a sack of bolts. But I must stop myself, for if for some reason, androids, like Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation, are developed during my lifetime, this entry might bite me in the ass and condemn me for being a conservative hardliner with very narrow definitions of civil rights. I can’t really say why, but I suddenly thought that by acknowledging machine thought, doesn’t that lead to eventually acknowledging that they are alive (machine rights anyone?)? Bender from Futurama, Data again, those robots in Bladerunner, Will Smith’s I, Robot… I don’t think it’s farfetched to suppose that man’s ingenuity might someday reach that point where collected scraps of metal will cross the boundary from being nothing but programmed robots to self-regulating, autonomous beings. These aren’t just the paranoid musings of a science-fiction aficionado! I’m just saying… as of now at least, I have a problem with saying that there are ‘thinking machines’ because I believe thinking requires more than a sequential repetition of instructions, no matter how complex, in a silicon chip. Of course, I’m not a computer scientist nor am I neurologist so take this with a whole sea-load of salt. My feeling is reminiscent to the sentiments of that Supreme Court judge that said he couldn’t tell you what pornography was exactly but he’d know it when he saw it. There is this line that is crossed, but your vision is blurry in that area where the divide lies, between art and pornography, or between actual thinking and merely following a program. References: American Psychological Association (APA):think. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Retrieved August 21, 2007, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/thinkChicago Manual Style (CMS):think. Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/think (accessed: August 21, 2007).Modern Language Association (MLA):"think." Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. 21 Aug. 2007. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/think>.Gessler, Nicholas. "Evolving Cultural Things-That-Think". American Association for Artificial Intelligence. (2003) Reading: Perspective, Business Mirror Listening to: Dallas Does Indie Feeling: on speed |
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August 16th, 2007
snowballing on a good yesterday POSTED AT 02:04 PM I just have to comment on the ubiquity of the "Quentin Tarantino in a pedicab while Gloria Macapagal Arroyo was stuck in traffic" article, and I think the BusinessMirror headline hit the spot-- "The great leveller: GMA stuck, Tarantino in pedicab". Ah, what an accurate reflection of Filipinos today. Those Pinoys who have wealth/power are too good to do it Filipino style, even though it is their own, while the foreigners, even esteemed ones like a Hollywood director don't think twice about getting in a pedicab and 'roughing it' to get to where you need to go. Of course this rule doesn't alwaysapply, and I can think of several exceptions for both cases, however! I intuitively know that the above appraisal of the current situation holds true more times out of not. I admit, I was a car brat... I wouldn't leave the house if there wasn't a driver, but it wasn't because I was snooty or anything. I just didn't know how to commute. Come high school and my circle of friends expanded and my view of the world was wholly enlarged, I learned how to take taxis, the MRT/LRT, pedicabs, jeepneys, FXs and even a bus! There's nothing shameful in riding mass transportation along with everyone else. I guess it's a legitimate excuse to be the Chief Executive of the country, but it never fails to arrest me when I notice the discrepancies of Filipinos turning their nose up on processes, products and traditions that are at the very heart of what it is to be Filipino. I took an introductory diving course in Palawan this weekend and my dive instructor was a German, 11 years long here in the Philippines. I asked him about what was being done to preserve the place because the waters were so clean and pure, animal life so rich and the reefs just drop-dead gorgeous and he went on a long tirade about how there was no big improvement, overfishing was a sadly increasing problem and tourism wasn't being promoted as much as it should (he said Palawan wasn't the best, although some claim it to be, but he does say its great but could be better. Of course, he qualified it as "best is depending on what you're looking for" Buti na lang naagapan agad, bago lumala. Salamat Chua! Reading: Business Mirror Listening to: NPR Feeling: patriotic/ thoughtful |
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August 8th, 2007
POSTED AT 06:15 PM Seeing as all I'm capable of right now is finding very interesting/intelligent things I wish I had thought of/written... Here goes another one! from: http://www.penmanila.net/ The Anti-Rant RantFeeling: thoughtful |
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August 6th, 2007
oh GATTACA POSTED AT 06:46 PM I love genetics--only reason I loved the otherwise hellish year of sophomore Biology was because it had a pretty lengthy genetics module. Gregor Mendel is my hero (along with Ben Howland, go Bruins!) and guanine, adenine, cytosine and thymine are my Earth, Water, Wind and Fire. 'Nuff said? Anyway, I came across this lovely little piece, reprinted in the NY Times insert of Manila Bulletin and it just brought one of the most unnerving issues brought up in my freshman year (college) Biotechnology and Society class. The superficial question is, "how far should we take genetic engineering?', an inquiry that very easily leads to questions of nature and the natural, our rights on this earth, even questions about God because the religious sure as hell aren't going to be quiet about this. Personally, the jury is still out on this one, however, the following article did bring up some important stimuli for thought (a great date-killer if you will. Look out for me to use this in the near future).I'm a big believer of "just because we can, doesn't mean we should" and I think that designer babies are an affront to the whole culture of baby-making. But then again, we must ask, why is it? I hate to sound traditional and conservative, but procreation is one of the most intimate, almost magical acts human beings are capable of. It is one of the last few biological events that truly fascinate-- it is making LIFE. There has to be something sacred in that which allows us to continue having families, culture, art etc. My reasons are, at the bottomline sentimental. Playing the progressive would have me saying: well if our species primal drive is to procreate, then genetic engineering is only the next step in assuring the superiority of our progeny, i.e. advanced evolution. Why allow for misses when you can provide for all hits, all the time? It seems all very logical and, dare I say, correct, however, it doesn't sit well with my stomach. An early 90s movie, GATTACA explored this question, and in the end, I believe, made an argument for natural procreation, because despite the fallibility of physical characteristics, it is the intangible gestalt of our, let us say, spirit that will make us great. Geez, that sounded like absolute fluff, ready to be the conclusion of an inspirational speech. Whatever. Doesn't customizing human beings make us into another one of our products? Not exactly a commodity but definitely something marred by the intrustion of technology. Point! But is being modified by technology something to disdain or acclaim? At least in the current state of things it is not entirely desirable... There's so much weight on authenticity in this day and age (good band, by the way). I started writing this yesterday, when I had my full dose of caffeine, a respectable amount of shut-eye and an entire afternoon of knowledge consumption. Today, I've had three hours of sleep, no coffee and an alcohol-heavy head to boot. Suffice it to say, I am in no condition to carry further the attempts at issuing intelligent thought at this time. I am barely articulate. So, without much ado... the article!Birth Without the Bother?Published: July 23, 2007 New York Times Earlier this year in Gujarat, India, I came across a most unusual kind of outsourcing: womb-rental.Americans looking for a surrogate mother to bear a child can save a fortune and avoid regulations by paying an Indian woman $4,000 or $5,000 to carry their fetus. An embryo that has been created in vitro by the American parents is implanted in the Indian woman’s uterus and she goes through the pregnancy and delivers the baby — and then hands it over to the Americans. Ultimately, that kind of surrogacy could be mixed with genetic screening of embryos — to weed out babies of the “wrong” gender or with the “wrong” characteristics — to save busy couples the bother of pregnancy or the nuisance of chance.Yes, all this gives me the willies, too. So some of the most monumental decisions we will face in the coming years will involve where we draw the line making some genetic tinkering legal and some illegal. One of the crucial evolving technologies is P.G.D., or preimplantation genetic diagnosis. This allows a couple to test embryos that have been created in vitro when they are roughly three days old.P.G.D. is now used principally to test for serious genetic diseases, including Down syndrome and Tay-Sachs. But it could equally be used to test for milder risks. Five years ago, I tested my own DNA for 130 common genetic markers (a perk of journalism is the chance to test new technologies) and found that I have markers that give me slightly increased risk of blood clots, schizophrenia, Type 2 diabetes and Alzheimer’s. On the other hand, I didn’t have many other common genetic risk factors, including those associated with colon cancer, melanoma or breast cancer.Everybody has some of these troublesome genetic predispositions. But in the future we could use P.G.D. to screen out these kinds of genetic risks. Nonmedical screening would also be possible. Dr. Dean Hamer, a prominent geneticist, believes that the VMAT2 gene is the “God gene,” associated with spirituality. What if religious families prefer embryos with a genetic disposition for faith?Michael Sandel, the Harvard philosopher, begins his new book on genetics, “The Case Against Perfection,” with the story of a deaf couple who sought a child who would be deaf as well. “Is it wrong to make a child deaf by design?” he asks, then refining the question: “Is there still something wrong with parents picking and choosing the kind of child they will have?” Yes, there is.Like Professor Sandel, I worry that our scientific capabilities may surpass our wisdom. Look at the dog kingdom. All of today’s dogs descended from wolves, and in less than 15,000 years we ended up with Chihuahuas and Great Danes. We may do the same to our own descendants. As Liza Mundy notes in her fascinating new book, “Everything Conceivable: How Assisted Reproduction is Changing Men, Women and the World,” the main driving force in the new technologies is simply the profit motive.“What is at work in assisted reproduction,” she writes, “is often not science but business.” So where do we regulate and draw the line? My vote is to allow genetic technologies aimed at combating disease or infertility, but to bar any effort that goes beyond the curative to enhance the germ line DNA of our offspring.International womb-rental troubles me but in the end would pass muster. It helps infertile American couples who might not otherwise be able to afford a baby, and the Indian women are thrilled with the chance to earn what for them are substantial sums, at less risk than with their other options. Likewise, I would tolerate egg trafficking, a booming industry that offers women money to have their eggs extracted. Infertile couples need eggs — and why shouldn’t the donors be paid?As for genetic screening, I would accept P.G.D. to cull embryos at risk for medical problems, even those that strike only in old age like Alzheimer’s. And my vote is to allow parents to use P.G.D. to choose the sex of a child in the U.S., although I would feel differently in countries like China or India where the son preference could create a huge shortage of girls. What should cross the line into illegality is fiddling with the heritable DNA of humans to make them smarter, faster or more pious — or more deaf. That is playing God not just with a particular embryo but with our species, and we should ban it.
Listening to: Freemasons!!! ang galing galing! Feeling: hung-the-fuck-over |
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June 11th, 2007
i've officially driven myself academically insane POSTED AT 02:45 PM i've seen Sunset Blvd. (1950) so many times, have invested so much thought and time into the damn movie that last night, i had a crazy dream that i was messing around with William Holden, the guy that plays Joe Gillis in the movie. when your REM is invaded by movie characters related to school, you know you're in trouble. i should've gotten over it by now, but that awesome grade probably upped its position in my brain's options for possible dream subjects. how deprived am i to be fucking William Holden... really? i just finished my last paper... now all i got to do is memorize 50 baroque paintings. i spent five solid hours writing a six page paper, smoked about ten cigarettes while writing it (kinda felt like i was a writer in the fifties or something, chainsmoking up a creative storm!) and took a shower to rid myself of another intense immersion in the televisual medium... this time it was the Colbert Report, though I doubt I'd be fucking him anytime soon. he's too funny. damn i'm so pumped from finishing this paper it's a little absurd. it's probably crap, though i keep imagining my professor telling me its brilliant. i hope she does, though i highly doubt it cause i kinda blather on but i really don't want to change anything anymore. Surf's Up is SOOOOOOOOOO fun to watch. that shia le beouf guy from disturbia/ transformers is all over the fucking place. geez. what an agent! umm... i probably should get to studying now, but fuck it... i don't really want to. gah. Listening to: nighttime traffic on the street Feeling: accomplished, victorious! |
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May 26th, 2007
fun fun fun POSTED AT 08:37 PM just like the beach boys' song... fun fun fun... being neck up in alcohol while sitting safely on a familiar couch is the best feeling in the world. no drunken day in bora compares to this. i am with people i unconditionally love and i am pretty hammered... the feeling is enhanced to the nth degreee. i just took a swig of corona. an ex crush got some one pregnant. there are couple all around me. randomly got hit on at a bar, without putting myself out there twice last week (both were uninteresting by the way... am i destined for that sort of crap?!) i love my family. i just want to express how much i love that mom, dad, tita ruby, tito mark, toni and AJ are here in LA right now. i love going home. i feel so genuine and and sincere in everything. first time in my whole time in the US that i felt comfortable that they're here. i am my own person, less self-conscious and i just carry on for fuck's sake and nothing else. stilll have half a corona to go agter three glassses of pinot noir and maybe 5 bottles of beer. shit. Feeling: DRUUUUUUUNK |
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