Blessed by the Potato

So I was out at a conference in Victoria, and while I’ve been to a lot of conferences before, it was the first physician-oriented scientific conference I’ve been to. I must say that the quality of the presentations is vastly different than that seen at a typical conference for scientists. The clinicians were much more confident, articulate speakers, like smooth salesmen, which stands in stark contrast to the introverted scientist reading his slides. Unfortunately, they also tended to present fairly shaky data as facts and guidance for future treatments.

For example, there were some presentations on the use of botox and acupuncture to treat chronic pain. The presentations were basically “this worked for these patients, everyone should try it.” Now, here’s the thing about research in medicine: you really need double-blind placebo-controlled studies before you can really say anything with a great deal of confidence, before you really have proof of a treatment working. When this was pointed out to one of the presenters, he countered by saying “Well, the proof is that these people keep coming back and paying for more treatments; these aren’t covered by provincial medicare. If it wasn’t working, they wouldn’t keep coming back.” A bit later in response to another question, another of these practitioners said that about 30% of the people he tried his alternative treatments on returned for more.

The thing is, there’s what’s known as the placebo effect: even if you give someone something that shouldn’t do anything to or for them, some portion of people will find some measure of effect from that treatment. The size of the placebo effect varies greatly depending on how the placebo is presented and what the placebo is acting on. The placebo effect is hard to understand, but we believe that it’s largely “mind over matter” and as such, it seems to work best on ailments that are largely in your head to begin with. If you’re sad, and a respectable looking fellow in a white lab coat hands you a pill and promises that it will make you feel less sad, you’re likely to feel less sad even if that pill is just gelatin-encased starch. Likewise with pain: from a number of studies, it seems that about 30% of people find that their pain gets about 30% better when damned near anything is tried. Pain is a complex phenomenon, but it is at least partly sensation and partly emotional, so it’s something that is easy prey for the placebo effect. Contrarily, something much more objective like a broken bone or open wound is less susceptible to the placebo effect.

So I found it rather disingenuous that when a self-selected sample of people (those who come in to a doctor’s office ready to pay for acupuncture must already believe it may work) has some measure of pain relief, that a doctor can extrapolate from that to suggest that acupuncture is a generally effective therapy for pain.

The double-blind part means that the subjects in a study must not know whether they have the real or placebo treatment: if they knew, it would really eliminate the point of the placebo. That’s blinding. Double-blinding is when the experimenter also does not know, since unconscious clues might be passed to the subjects. All important stuff in research, but let me get back to the placebo effect.

What’s interesting is that placebos are almost as effective as some FDA-approved treatments, and often with less severe side effects (though perhaps somewhat unsurprisingly, placebos also have side-effects; mind over matter cuts both ways). However, it’s generally considered unethical for a doctor to prescribe a placebo because it involves deceiving the patient.

Along with the placebo effect is the tendency for patients to lie and pretend they’re all better when a treatment is noxious. Take, for example, trepanation. Whether or not your chronic pain was cured by the medicine man drilling a hole in your head, you sure as hell were going to shut up about it or else he’d go and drill another one. I haven’t seen it reported, but I also have to wonder if there might be an under-reporting of effectiveness for some addictive treatments: could patients over-report their pain if they’re hooked on morphine, saying it isn’t working when it is in order to get an extra dose?

There was a good article about the placebo effect in Wired recently, even touching on the subtle aspects of pill design that can enhance the placebo effect.

Permalink.

There was something of a movement afoot in the previous decade towards people having their heads (or for the very wealthy, their whole bodies) cryogenically frozen after their deaths. Partly in the hopes that someday, in the distant future, science (or advanced voodoo) may find ways to conquer death, and cure whatever it was that killed (or for those frozen just before their deaths, would have killed) them.

The concept always seemed just a little half-baked: after all, what use would the immortal demigods of the future have with the head of a frozen neanderthal such as yourself? Odds were good that if you were thawed, it would be purely at their whim, and you would have to spend the rest of eternity doing parlour tricks for them and their dinner guests, or spend mere hours running in terror through the last remaining forest preserves on an otherwise entirely urbanized planet as you serve as human prey in their safaris. Or perhaps they’d launch you deep into space, for future generations of explorers to defrost and gain valuable insight into what life was like in the barbaric 20th century.

Some of these real-world tangled issues of waking up a thousand years in the future were highlighted in the near-documentary series Futurama, which largely contributed to the downturn in the fad.

However, what if you still want to have your head frozen for posterity? Well, then it’s important to consider a number of issues, many of them scientific, such as what temperature will the service keep your head at, and how soon after death can it be frozen? Will there be an antifreeze/cryoprotectant solution of some sort to prevent crystallization, and what wards and charms will be placed on the cryotank to prevent zombiism (both rising as a zombie yourself, and also to prevent your bodiless brain from becoming zombie junk food)?

Just as important as how your head will be cared for is a consideration of how long it will be cared for. What is the financial health of your cryopreservation provider? Do they have a long-term plan? Is your one-time payment enough to provide an income stream that will see to your care in perpetuity, or is it set up like a Ponzi scheme, relying on money from new clients to keep the old ones frozen?

This last point has implications beyond just cryogenic head freezing: for anything that you will depend on for years into the future, especially something you pay for up front, what is the robustness of the organization behind it? Whether it’s a car that you might need warranty work on (though there is an implicit government guarantee behind most troubled automakers), or something without an explicit warranty, like a life insurance company or house, will what you’re buying stand up to the test of time?

The recession and financial crisis has served as a sort of shaking-out process for some of these companies. In the cryonic freezing space, I went back to an old article on it, and of 3 companies mentioned, 2 of them still have active websites (the 3rd hasn’t been updated since 2007, and even then many of the features have been “coming soon” since 2003, so they may have been a marginal player wiped out by the recession). According to the Wikipedia page on Cryonics, a number of smaller players have failed over the years, showing that it’s tough to find good help, especially after you’re dead.

Permalink.

“It sure was nice of everyone to pull over so they could drive through all the wreckage.”

“That’s just apocalyptic courtesy.”

Just so you don’t forget, here are some main points of courtesy that you should follow in the event of the apocalypse (whether that’s zombies, plague, nuclear holocaust, or sentient machine overlords).

1. Pull your car over. Should you find yourself on the highway or otherwise commuting when the end of days comes — and if there is any kind of advanced notice, this is likely as would-be survivors flee the cities — be sure to pull your car over to the side of the road. Emergency crews and plucky, hardened survivors alike will need to scream between rows of wrecked cars as fast as possible, and if your vehicle is still rusting away in the centre of the lane, then nobody is going to be happy.
2. Lock the doors, but leave the key. Nobody fleeing from zombies wants to have to sleep in a tree, so do the kind thing and give them access to your house or flat by leaving the key in an obvious place, such as above the doorframe or beneath the welcome mat. Be sure to lock up however, as mindless hordes may find their way inside, turning your potential end-of-days-inn into a nightmarish trap. Even moderately intelligent fiends will have trouble working the locks, let alone finding the key. And that’s assuming the zombies haven’t eaten their own hands out of boredom. Intelligent hunter-killer robots, aliens, werewolves, and vampires (who are not otherwise forbidden from entering homes uninvited) won’t be stopped by such a ploy, but then, they won’t find an easily smashed or vapourized locked door much of a barrier either. Round doorknobs are best able to foil the maldextrous, including zombies and velociraptors, but can also trip up survivors coated in sticky blood or who are losing hand grip due to cold or spreading paralysis. And please, don’t be clever with the fingerprint readers or retina-scanners — even in the absence of the apocalypse, someone always figures out a way around those, and it often isn’t pretty (and when it is pretty, it’s nearly trivially easy, like stealing your wine glass).
3. Leave the gun, loaded. In nearly all end-of-the-world scenarios, survivors will need guns to battle zombies, demons, giant irradiated ants, aliens, terminators, or rival bands of insane, hungry raiders. So do the polite thing and pick yourself up a gun, even if it’s just a humble shotgun, and leave it in an obvious, easy-to-reach place, such as above the front door or over the fireplace mantle. The more ammo the better, but at the very least leave it fully loaded: the horrors that await are not always patient.
4. Stock some food. My mom learned this at an early age, since growing up on PEI you could never be too sure when a snowstorm or zombie cow invasion would strike, and how many days you’d be trapped for when it happened. My mom’s rule-of-thumb is to keep enough canned or dried food on hand to last each normal member of the household 8 months (I’ve never heard of the plows taking quite that long to clear the roads, even on PEI, but maybe things were different then). This might not be enough food should the sun be blotted from the sky and crops fail, but the important point is that it will last long enough that whoever sets up a temporary fortress in your house will probably have to move because the hordes have found them, and not because they ran out of a local supply of food. More selfishly, that’s probably enough food to let you hole up and wait for the fools that only stocked 6 months worth of food to start eating each other, significantly thinning the competition for resources before you have to resort to scavenging yourself.
5. Post clear warning signs for haunted, cursed, or otherwise dangerous areas. If your vacation retreat just happens to lie overtop a fissure to hell, be sure to make a large warning sign to that effect, and post it at all entrances to your property. You would feel really bad if trespassing, fornicating teenagers accidentally let a drop of blood (or eww, other bodily fluids) touch the unholy ground and free the evil contained within. They would likewise be super-pissed if they were reading through your private journal later to find that you knew about it all along, which could leave you open to serious legal liability should any remnants of civilization remain.
6. Fire. Fire is almost always a bonus, whether as a source of heat and light for survivors to cook by and tell stories, or to throw at relatively flammable plagues of insects or zombies. Always keep multiple sets of lighters and/or matches handy, as well as fuel. Wood is always a popular choice for a stationary fire, but something liquid or an aerosol will be needed if you find yourself in need of giving fire away, like a pretty orange present. Be careful though! You don’t want to accidentally drop a Molotov cocktail and burn down your only refuge against the darkness.
7. Books. You may be amazed at the amount of data you can put on a hard drive, and you might love the interaction of a blog, but when the power’s gone, and an EMP has killed all the electronics, nothing beats a good book. You can do yourself and those that might take up residence in your house a huge favour by creating a small library of your own — books on how to serve man, make gunpowder from stuff you might find around the house, and how to rebuild society from the ground up will be in particular demand, as will first aid guides and human-alien translation dictionaries. It never hurts to have too many: those you don’t read you can always burn!
8. A Shovel. We survived the dinosaurs by being small and living underground, and damnit, that’s the same strategy that will see us through the dragons and/or machine empires too. If you can build your existing house with several sub-surface levels, that’s probably the preferred solution, as you may also be able to pre-arrange for electricity and clean water with the right kind of infrastructure. Failing that, it’s always handy to keep a few shovels around. Be sure to call the gas company and mark out any nearby buried mains in advance, as they’re unlikely to answer the phone when the apocalypse comes. Even if you don’t take to subterranean life, the ability to dig holes is always handy for burying corpses, hiding treasure, and planting mines.
9. Die a good death.Let’s face facts, folks: assuming the end times are not too horrific, we all want to be rugged survivalists. But by its very definition, the apocalypse is going to kill most of us off, one way or another. The odds overwhelmingly suggest that you are going to be one of the ones to die in the first massive wave signaling the end of human civilization. In the event of nuclear fire, natural disasters, or an alien invasion, it isn’t likely that you’ll have much say in how you find your death, nor is it likely to matter much. But if a plague of zombies strikes, do be sure to find a way to die without joining the ranks of the undead. Trust me, the last thing your friends want to do is bash in your brains and set your corpse on fire so you won’t eat them. I can’t say I’d follow my own advice if faced with the situation, but if you find yourself captured by killer robots, don’t spend the last few miserable weeks of your existence slaving away in their factories building more killer robots to finish off humanity — find a quicker, nobler death. Nobody, but nobody, wants to wake up moments before their own death to find they’ve been cocooned and an alien monstrosity is eating them from the inside out. Three words: self-destruct device. A switch you can activate with your tongue and a small amount of explosives either in your pockets or surgically implanted can give you the merciful death you’re probably moaning for right now without even knowing it, and also take a few of those sumbitches down with you.
10. Stay sane. Seeing everyone and everything you ever loved vanish in a cloud of smoke or puddle of green ooze is extremely traumatizing, and it’s bound to play on the psyches of even the most grounded people. It’s ok if you go a little off the rails — some crying and screaming is par for the course. However, a group of people all losing their shit at once is never a pretty thing, and trust me, human sacrifice never makes it all better. While painting cryptic, taunting messages on the walls with your own blood (or ugh, other bodily fluids) can help relieve cabin fever when going outside means certain death, it’s not going to help the fragile psyches of the survivors that come across your decrepit lair. Even if the cake really is a lie.
11. Alcohol ain’t for drinkin. I’m just saying, alcohol is far too valuable as a disinfectant and flammable liquid to go just drinking your cares away in the first few nights after the apocalypse arrives. Pip up there lad, it’s only the end of the world! A hard night of boozing won’t change the fact, and you could deprive yourself of dozens of good homemade bombs in the process! That goes doubly for those of you that will, of course, perish — the survivors care little for your temporary numbness, and your selfish attitude might cost them the war, whatever it happens to be against!

These are all points of common apocalyptic courtesy, but not many people are aware of them — after all, you really only ever get to live through one apocalypse. Even if you don’t survive, which is likely, you owe it to the remnants of humanity to make their job repopulating the planet as easy as possible.

Along with these rules are the common-sense ways to avoid the apocalypse in the first place, such as not building labs that study highly infectious alien zombie agents near (which includes under!) large population centres. It’s always important to have failsafes and backups: for instance, why not build two world-saving asteroid-smashing rockets? Or heck, ten — consider it an economic stimulus! Avoid single points of failure, especially where such a failure could destroy the world. Think: if your demon prison is powered by the moon, what’s your backup in the event of an eclipse? If only one man knows the call-back codes to your nuclear bombers that are already in the air, what happens if he has a stroke or goes totally batshit loco? If your invincible army of unstoppable sentient and ill-tempered robots only have one weak spot on their backs, why not do everyone a favour and paint it bright orange or make it flash?

Permalink.

There was a horrible, rotten stench in my parents’ basement the last day or two. I noticed it when running down there to grab a drink from the downstairs fridge. I thought it was a turnip that had gone rotten — it was looking a little wrinkly, but my brother said he noticed it too, before, when the fridge door was closed. We were afraid that the smell from all the garbage that’s been rotting in the garage had seeped into the basement, and unsure of what we could do to get the smell out if that was the case. I envisioned that liquid rot, garbage run-off, what we used to call “tracks” as kids, seeping into the drywall or the very foundation, impossible to get out short of a semi-major renovation.

Tracks, of course, being what the garbage trucks left behind, especially after running the compressor — pressed, pure, liquid, stench. It was always way worse than the garbage itself, and lingered sometimes for days after garbage day, visible as tracks down the road…

Anyhow. It turns out the union isn’t to blame for this unholy smell. The freezer in the basement stopped working, weeks ago by the look of things, and my dad’s collection of over 150 lbs of meat rotted in situ. That amount of meat was supposed to help us last through the zombie apocalypse; ironically, I fear it may start one. The meat dripped, and the formerly frozen berries were fuzzy, so things had got on for a while there.

The freezer is less than 4 years old, so I’m mighty unimpressed that it died so soon. What’s weird is that first off, it does still have power — the interior lights come on when the door is opened, and the weird status light I’ve never understood on the bottom is on too. There’s a huge block of ice on the bottom (not enough to keep anything except one or two things that were touching it cold; they’ve been thrown out to be safe of course), which is all the more curious. I don’t know if it’s a symptom, or perhaps even the cause (if it iced up so much it stopped the air circulation somehow).

My brother says that something similar happened once before with that freezer, when the door was left ajar for a few days: it wasn’t powerful enough to keep the food frozen with the door open. That I think speaks to the wisdom of the design of the old-fashioned chest freezers, with the doors on top, or even of freezers with drawers.

It’s possible that even if the compressor was working, with the door ajar the humidity from the outside air would continually condense where the cold air came out, forming a large ice dam before any of the food could be chilled; the defrost cycle might have added insult to injury by baking the rest of the food… It’s so disgusting though that I’m not really going to spend much effort in playing freezer forensics.

As I sit here, trying to clean the watermelon juice off my keyboard while it’s dripping down my arms to the elbows, I realize that watermelon is a very descriptive name for a fruit.

It’s a very wet melon. I don’t think I could have come up with a better name for that particular fruit.

It makes me think of oranges, which sound like they have a descriptive name, but it’s actually not. After all, if you’re thinking of a fruit you want to eat, the colour it happens to be is probably not high on your list of criteria, so it’s not a very useful attribute to describe the fruit or name it after. And of course there’s the added confusion that not all oranges are orange (with the sudden popularity of blood oranges driving that home).