Seasonal Thoughts for 2019
The Genome Gene-He's Out of the Bottle
We’ve struggled through another year
Most rogue genes still intact:
Since CRISPR’s siege upon them
Is still more wish than fact,
So genomes moan as they still yield
To tireless attack.
Yet if the truth is that we fear,
The mutants' sullen ways,
Thinking that they'll yet elude
The numb'ring of their days,
The posse's full with strong intent
Their evil to way-lay.
When Grey Gives into Grin
I grumbly gaze at grey.
December drears my day,
When, pleasèd, I plan play!
Give Santa the Credit He Deserves
Santa gets the credit
For all our Christmas joys,
The stockings filled with candy
For children, Moms, and Dads.
This seems to Santa's credit
And all to do with toys.
But first you must make handy
One of your credit cards!
One of your credit cards!
The Pied Piper of 'Omicsland: a Satire (or is it?)
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there were universities in
which a number of original thinkers pondered the nature of the universe, and
all that is in it. They did research to
unlock secrets of Nature to gain glimpses never seen before. They strove for knowledge, pure knowledge, for
the satisfaction of understanding, and then to use that understanding to
relieve some of the ills of the world around them. The search for this knowledge was called science,
and the searchers scientists.
Scientists were few, but were highly respected. They may have looked rather disheveled and
ragged, or acted a bit oddly, perhaps dribbling food at the dinner-table; and
most of them were not rich or privileged--except for the privilege of being
able to probe Nature’s nature. They were
rather disinterested in the material things of the world, because their minds
were preoccupied with the quest for understanding and knowledge.
But then things changed.
It became necessary for their jobs--their survival--for them to
join the choruses, chanting safe slogans du jour, because they had to sing for their
very supper: universities realized they could ‘hire’ them without promising a salary, but only an office--like a storefront--from which they could
hustle their daily bread, using the purported prestige of their job titles as
leverage.
And so, chanting “Me too!
Me too!” the scientists followed a Piper into the ‘Omical Forest. Only a scraggly few were ever heard from
again. Reports circulated that they had
been unable to get enough grants to keep from being sucked deeper into the
forest, while the Piper and a few friends reveled in endless gilded
feasts.
When this mass disappearance of scientists was reported,
investigators wanted to find out how such presumably intelligent people could have been lured into the
darkness. The idea was to publish an analysis of the reasons, so future
scientists would not also be lured away.
The analysis would, of course, have to involve many tables and charts,
lists and citations (of work written by anyone who might actually read it or
make related funding decisions affecting the authors). And, of course, this was not just a public service: it would be published as a ‘meta-analysis’
of science, and listed prominently on the authors’ own CVs.
In any case, one day along came a Proper Piper. “Let’s stop just feeding our own career-kitty, and
think about those who are providing the feed!” Huh? They looked at each other in wonder:
“If we did this, we might help people in need, rather than spending so much effort on
what we need (or, at least, want)!" And a
small number of these scientists, mainly who were young and still had unsullied minds, dared try to reform the system in this way. They came to be called Thinkers, an odd cult, one might say.
Now, whether or not it's true, rumor has it that a few Thinkers did, in fact, separate from the herd. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you who or where they are, because they remain hidden, knowing that by defying the prevailing System, they would not be well-tolerated. Posses of Deans, Chairs, and other administrators, journalists, PR-spinners and bureaucrats hunt these Thinkers, their collective enemies, down wherever they can be found.
Meanwhile, as a substitute source of income, the universities admitted far more students than will be able to get jobs, but could ably serve as an additional source of revenue (or, as serfs, to do the lab work that the professors are too busy hustling more grants to do themselves). This generates what I think Marx and Engels viewed as the exploited army of the unemployed. I've heard that 'Omicsland is heavily populated with these societal discards.
Of course, all tales of this sort may be fanciful, but there's nothing fancy about them if they're true. So, if they dared, someone should investigate!
Now, whether or not it's true, rumor has it that a few Thinkers did, in fact, separate from the herd. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you who or where they are, because they remain hidden, knowing that by defying the prevailing System, they would not be well-tolerated. Posses of Deans, Chairs, and other administrators, journalists, PR-spinners and bureaucrats hunt these Thinkers, their collective enemies, down wherever they can be found.
Meanwhile, as a substitute source of income, the universities admitted far more students than will be able to get jobs, but could ably serve as an additional source of revenue (or, as serfs, to do the lab work that the professors are too busy hustling more grants to do themselves). This generates what I think Marx and Engels viewed as the exploited army of the unemployed. I've heard that 'Omicsland is heavily populated with these societal discards.
Of course, all tales of this sort may be fanciful, but there's nothing fancy about them if they're true. So, if they dared, someone should investigate!
I’m not averse to Christmas
I’m not averse to Christmas
The yearly winter's bash
I only wish that this was
Not mainly about cash!
The world needs an oasis
Away from anger’s clash
But mostly Santa’s gift is
But mostly Santa’s gift is
A time when prices slash!!
So I pen a verse to Christmas:
To bird and taters mashed
To cheer and loving wishes--
And shopping frenzies passed!