David Erik Nelson's Blog, page 38

THIS WEEK'S RESEARCH HOLE: Whale Meat (Which Should Probably Be Considered Kosher)

I'm not gonna explain how this happened, but I fell down the research hole last week and ended up reading a bunch of stuff on eating whale meat. This piece was pretty good--and interestingly calls into question our visceral, and generally irrational, American reaction to the notion of eating whale meat[*]--but the real gem is this 1918 New York Times article about a whale-meat luncheon held in the American Museum of Natural History in an attempt to boost public demand for humpback meat (and thus free up pork and beef for soldiers). Even more fascinating than the intended content of the article is all of the side-channel details it accidentally offers, an imagination-galvanizing glimpse at what store shelves must have looked like in 1918 America. Just one e.g. (emphasis mine):

[Admiral Perry said] "There will be an intense practical advantage to this movement if we can ever get the American people to substitute whale meat for beef, mutton, and pork. It can be kept indefinitely in tin cans the way they are now putting it up for market. . . ."

. . . there are at present on the Pacific Coast of America seven whaling stations. Only three of these are equipped to handle whale meat for food. Most of the whale production on the Coast is utilized for the manufacture of fertilizer. About 1,000 whales are captured annually on the coasts of America.

Simply mind-boggling. When my granddad was a boy--when *either* of them was a boy--canned humpback whale meat was on store shelves, and was evidently regarded as a SPAM-caliber grocery item. I've also heard that during WWII flavored whale-oil spread replaced both butter and margarine in the UK (due to rationing). Whale butter, because, you know, renewable cow butter was too precious. Spock would weep.

Incidentally, whale meat is not kosher largely because the authors of Deuteronomy didn't have the benefit of our current understanding of evolution. Note:

The passage in Deuteronomy (14:4-5) gives a list of the animals that chew the cud and have cloven hooves and are thus kosher: oxen, sheep, goats, deer, gazelles, roebuck, wild goats, ibex, ante­lopes, and mountain sheep. It is interesting to note that whale meat and whale oil are forbid­den not because the whale is a forbidden fish but because the whale is a mammal that, obviously, does not have cloven hooves and does not chew the cud.

We learned at the tail end of the 20th C that whales not only are ungulates, but are more closely related to cows than to pigs. Their common ancestors--which looked like big-headed bear-dogs--even had tiny cloven hooves at the end of their long toes (you can check these out yourself on the mesonychid skeleton at the University of Michigan Natural History museum). And whales have retained their multi-chamber stomachs. They don't *tend* to chew their cud, but evidently could if push came to shove.

FYI, there likewise still seems to be debate as to whether whale is halal, although it I guess the Prophet (who seems like a basically OK guy) ate some sperm whale one time--although it's unclear if that makes whale generally OK to eat, or if this was a special situation because it G_d special-delivered these faithful a sperm whale to nosh.

[*] e.g., some Buddhist sects consider all souls to be equally, uniquely valuable. Ergo, in their estimation, eating a whale is *more* ethical than eating shrimp, as in the former case one instance of suffering feeds tons of folks, while in the latter many instances of suffering constitute little more than a Chili's Extreme Popcorn Shrimp Slammer Cocktail!™ appetizer. Most meat-eating Americans, in my experience, have a complex metric for determining what's ethical to eat, largely based on cuteness, testable intelligence, and child rearing practices--all of which favor whales and dogs over benthic insects and anything mechanically separated it an easily fried paste.

These really are quite endearing: Jerry Seinfeld's "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee"

Basically just Jerry Seinfeld cold chilling with famous-ass funny folk. I, for one, was never much a Jerry Seinfeld guy, but these are very sweet little vignettes about humans. It's sorta like what This American Life would be if it was condemned to exist in a universe entirely bounded by the constraints of People magazine.

I Want Sandwiches, I Want Chicken - Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks - Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee

We're mostly miserable because we make bunky comparisons

I don't know how I feel about TED talks in general--some are outright scams, many just sorta lame--but this one is very interesting, and plausibly sort of cognitively world-changing.

Shortest version: We make ourselves miserable by making decisions based on invalid comparisons. Do you want to be happy? Then make each Right Now decision by imagining you're a year or so in the future looking back at that decision.

See also: The Two-Thousand-Dollar Popsicle : The New Yorker

FYI, at around the 29-minute mark, during the Q&A, the speaker (Harvard psychologist Dan Gilbert) gets wonderfully zinged by a sociologist in the audience--which, for my money, is part of what makes this TED talk a solid winner (although I dispute the sociologists claim that one *cannot* get any pleasure from simply destroying a dollar).

"Chicken of the Sea" EXPLAINED!

Likely much, much more than you think you need to know about tuna and the evolving protein-eating habits of 20th C Americans, but nonetheless fascinating. FYI the real takeaway is in the lede: Evidently your kid shouldn't eat tuna more than *once per month* because of mercury content! Damn!

Mercury in Tuna: Why do Americans eat so much tuna? - Slate Magazine

Canned tuna also owes its early success to El Niño. The California Fish Company, which popularized canned tuna in America, originally specialized in sardines. A change in the weather in 1903, however, pushed the tiny fish out of San Pedro Bay, forcing the company to experiment with substitutes like halibut and rock cod, eventually settling on albacore.
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The novel product faced a serious marketing challenge. The only Americans who had ever heard of albacore were West Coast sport fishermen. The California Fish Company decided to label albacore as tuna, even though scientists of the day considered the two fish taxonomically distinct. While scientifically questionable at the time, the gambit worked, and Americans came to think of albacore, and not the better established bluefin and yellowfin, as the definitive tuna fish. The company was vindicated decades later, when scientists reclassified albacore as a tuna.

That wasn’t the last taxonomic controversy in the commercial tuna industry. When albacore became scarce near U.S. coastlines in the mid-20th century from overfishing, canneries sought to sell the skipjack as a substitute. Skipjack belongs to the same taxonomic tribe (Thunnini) as albacore, but not to the same genus (Thunnus). The government ultimately decided to let the industry market skipjack as “light tuna,” arguing that scientific and commercial names don’t always have to agree.

FYI, there's some useful research on trauma recovery buried in this movie review

(The review also features a really odd use of the phrase "fudge factory"--could *this* be journalism's new "as though by some occult hand"?)

Head Games documentary: Steve James’ new movie about concussions overstates the evidence on head injuries in sports. - Slate Magazine

Should people with concussions rest until their symptoms disappear, as the film repeatedly suggests? That's been the standard advice since the 1940s, but there's very little evidence to show it's more than superstition. The only real work to support the notion came out in June, with equivocal results. (Researchers found that a week of rest taken right after getting hit did as much good as a week taken several months later.)

Let's stick to this last point, since the idea that players should be barred from competition after getting dinged is seen as gospel by nearly everyone who appears in the film. It's the closest thing we have to a solid fact about concussion. It's also the central point of Concussions and Our Kids, the new book (out this week) from one of the major subjects of Head Games, BU professor and concussion expert Robert Cantu. "Rest is the hallmark of concussion therapy," Cantu writes.He advises parents and doctors to keep young athletes away from school for weeks or months, if necessary, after a nasty head injury. They should avoid all physical exertion and also mental overload—the kind associated with taking tests and reading books. They should also be prevented from using Facebook, sending text messages, and watching movies.

All that resting could be hurting more than it helps, however. A review published in the Journal of Head Trauma Rehabilitation this June points out that extended inactivity can cause depression, anxiety, headache, insomnia, and even balance problems, even in the absence of any head injury whatsoever. In other words, too much rest could itself produce the scary symptoms of "post-concussive syndrome." The authors of the review point out that "being sedentary after an injury or illness is one of the most consistent risk factors for chronic disability," and that the lasting symptoms of concussion (which affect a modest percentage of its sufferers) happen to overlap very neatly with the symptoms of depression. Could taking kids out of school or pro athletes off the field worsen their sadness and frustration?

This is almost certainly the most terrible thing you will read today

I'm not excerpting anything, because it's all pretty bad. The first paragraph is chilling. Later grafs read like something that a deranged adolescent might write in a "horror" story that would land him in psychological counseling. The Catholic Church and Penn State are evoked, but the situation at Spirit Lake is possibly worse, as it's implied that there *isn't* exactly an effort at a "cover-up", per se, because the town is so neglected by society that there's no *need* to conceal what's happening there, what has been happening there for generations.

The header/link title--U.S. Is Taking Over Spirit Lake Sioux’s Social Services - NYTimes.com-- is oddly benign. The title of the online article itself is "A Tribe’s Epidemic of Child Sex Abuse, Minimized for Years," and in the print edition the even more foreboding "Seeking to Stem Endless Abuse of Tribe's Children."

If you *don't* want to be sad and angry this morning, just let this one pass you by. For reals.

CORRECTION: "Romney/Bain Capital Didn't Rely on a $10 million Bailout" -or- "Reality Makes for Boring Infographics"

Astute Mojonaut (and Obama supporter) Jeannie points out that the ThinkProgress infographic we featured the other day is both inaccurate and misleading. She pointed us to a September 5 piece from FactCheck.org, covering claims made at the DNC in Charlotte. It's a long and interesting piece, but the pertinent bit is here:

First of all, it wasn’t Romney’s company that was troubled; it was the consulting firm he had left — Bain & Co. — in order to form Bain Capital. And while Romney did negotiate a favorable debt settlement with banking regulators for Bain & Co’s partners, they did not receive taxpayer dollars.

. . .

Our fact-checking colleagues at the Washington Post and ABC News vetted similar claims made by Democrats.

Based on their reporting, here’s what happened:

Romney had left Bain & Co. in 1984 to form the spin-off private equity firm Bain Capital. But Romney came back in the early 1990s when Bain & Co. was on the brink of bankruptcy. The company’s founders — Romney wasn’t one of them — had taken $200 million of borrowed money out of the firm for themselves, which led to the firm’s financial problems.

The company owed $38 million to a failed bank, which had been taken over by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, an independent federal agency that insures bank deposits. Romney negotiated with the FDIC a reduction of $10 million in debt, and the FDIC forgave $4 million in interest.

The agreement didn’t amount to a loss for taxpayers. The FDIC is funded by bank insurance premiums and treasury security investments — not congressional appropriations.

In fact, as the Post points out, these kinds of agreements are typical and recover more of the outstanding loan. The FDIC’s own handbook said that restructuring a loan is more productive than spending money on litigation to recover the money.

But that obviously would make a crummy and not-very-inflammatory infographic: "Romney Negotiated a By-the-Books FDIC Settlement that Didn't Hurt Taxpayers!"--what the hell picture goes with that? A bunch of middle class workers shrugging? A dog looking quizzically at a copy of Vogue floating in an otherwise vacant aquarium tank? An AK-47 forgotten in a broom closet?

I've written about infographic rhetoric briefly before, and am increasingly skeptical of *anything* I see presented in infographic format. It's becoming the go-to method for hucksters with photoshop chops looking to manipulate the busy.

The triumphant return of the Sweet Obama stickers!

Obama Sticker > I like my coffee like I like my OBAMA

I found another short stack of these while cleaning out my office; get 'em while they're hot! Just 48 days until these are either visual white noise or super-depressing souvenirs (in either case, I'm adding zeros to the price on November 7; it ain't like these ferkakta schemes pay for themselves, folks).

I printed the first batch of these stickers four years ago, because I loved this crazy, nrrrdcore, quad-racial Chicago-Hawaiian law professor with the whackest name in all of American politics. I sold a few stickers to defray the cost of giving away a bunch so we could Awesome the Vote on November 4, 2008—MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

Since then, I've printed up a few more batches, because I continue to believe that we have a sweet-ass president. So, maybe you and everyone you know could use a few dozen stickers each? Just sayin': There's worse ways to spread the love.

Thanks!

Randy Newman pens a wry new anthem for many quiet Americans: "I'm Dreaming (of a White President)"

Man, I love Randy Newman, 'cause he's really good at taking everything I'm afraid of and making it into a catchy show tune:

Just in case folks are unfamiliar with Randy Newman's work outside of soundtracks, I'll include this lil chunk from an interview with Slate:

Slate: You’re releasing “I’m Dreaming” free of charge, but you’re encouraging listeners to donate to the United Negro College Fund. Why that particular cause?

Newman: I have some concern that kids will hear this and think, “What is he talking about?” If you have a kid and you try irony out on them, they don’t get it at 7, 8 years old. “What do you mean, you’re dreaming of a white president?” It’s a problem. You can’t really hide the Internet from kids. It worries me some particularly because I’ve done Disney and Pixar stuff. In Toy Story, there’s my voice saying, “You’ve Got a Friend in Me.” And then here’s my voice singing that I want “A real live white man / Who knows the score.” I’d like it to be clearer which side I’m on. Of course, it comes a little late.

Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #141 (published July 3, 2003): "Deconstructing the construction workers."

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Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #141 (published July 3, 2003)

Deconstructing the construction workers.

Giant Squid: Notes From The Giant Squid: A Tour of the Lab (part 1)

by the Giant Squid . . .

The Lab Proper:

The lab itself takes up the entirety of the 74th (i.e. topmost) floor of the majestic Renaissance Center in Detroit, Michigan. This amounts to something upwards of 15,000 square feet of relatively open space, punctuated by the occasional concrete column (the building having a reinforced concrete superstructure) with standard eight foot ceilings throughout. The perimeter wall is entirely composed of floor-to-ceiling windows and, frankly, the view in the lab would be of sweeping majesty, were it not haphazardly cordoned off with sliding curtains, cubicle walls and highly-suspect extruded-steel/dry-wall construction, much of it either initially installed or since maintained by Rob. Owing to the height of the building, there is a distinct sway to the lab during high winds.

The Aquarium:

The squid's aquarium seems to take up roughly one-quarter of the floor space of our floor of the Ren Cen, although it is difficulty to exactly reckon this, owing to the curved front of the tank. This arced wall, running several hundred feet, curves out from the outer perimeter on the eastern side of the building. I am fairly convinced the tank pierces the floor, going down into the 73rd floor, although this is also fairly difficult to determine, owing to the strong refraction of the immense, curved volume of water. It could go several floors deeper. I am told that there is access to the interior of the tank from the roof, but am confused as to how this could be managed with a pressurized salt-water tank of this size. In any case, I have yet to find a stairway allowing roof access and don't have a pass-key for the freight elevator (which smells like an escaping cocker spaniel, by-the-way).

"You know, if you're here, like, at six in the morning, it's totally awesome when the sun rises, and Lord Archeteuthis is there, and the light is coming in over Windsor and the River and through the pollution and then the windows and then all the little bits of floaty gunk in the tank, all around him. It's totally fucking awesome. It's like— like—"

This is Rob, the janitor, who I shudder to reflect, has something of a crush on me, despite our disparate ages. Also, he appears to believe that the giant squid— who is nonetheless a magnificent and curious specimen of his kind— is some manner of space-alien royalty.

"It just fucking rules."

. . .

Fiction: Inch Lak Flinch by Jerry VilhottiNo matter how old she would become nor how deformed her body would get enhanced with a large waist, the father would see her as the fourteen year old girl - whose looks rivaled actresses strutting themselves across silver screen above upturned heads trying to escape the realities of the Great Depression - he had fondled cleanly, as if she were still the six year old squirming on his lap reaching for real and imaginary objects, the fifteen year old that made actresses look like her baby sister he had touched un-cleanly which his wife saw calling him an animal - a visitor of sheep's pens touching the asses of animals - and finally the sixteen year old who had become "the knockout" of the whole The Bronx being pursed by men of all ages; charging the old ones twenty five cents a peek. . . .

Poetry: Birch Bark Creel by Marcy JarvisMy one, true find.

I didn't appreciate you enough

at the time. . . .

Rant: Wacky Iraqi Pinochle by Alan C. BairdAs a culture, America has become extremely adept at distilling international conflict into collectible items, widely touted via spam e-mail. For example, everybody realized our latest war had the potential to be far more entertaining than Vietnam when one Central Command briefing featured Brigadier General Vincent Brooks, holding up a sample of what is now known as "The Iraqi Deck of Death" and explaining that each playing card depicted a character on the Army's Most Wanted list. . . .