Thank God the music's better.

So, the stock market's crashing, oil prices are soaring, our president believes in trickle down theory, and we have knight rider and 90210 on TV. I'm fine with history going in cycles, but can't we skip the 80's?

As a liberal New Yorker, I've been reading the NYT since about age 12, and intensely since age 17. As a biologist, I've always found Oliva Judson's column, "the Wild Side" to be a very pleasant read, as her facts are usually dead-on, her commentary imaginative, and her wit scintillating. I've also always browsed the comments sections for little tidbits to meditate on, and usually there isn't much beyond agreement from the scientifically inclined crowd, and the occasional fundie-troll dropping by to decry evolution as a conspiracy to destroy God, Country and Apple Pie.

In her most recent article however (http://judson.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/09/16/a-commitment-pill/?apage=2), the consternation was not originating from the usual suspects, but rather from two groups, one representing themselves as proponents of free will, while the other saw this as a matter of increasing happiness. Both of these positions I found to be a bit shallow, as in this case, I saw such a hypothetical technology as increasing happiness as well as augmenting free will.

In fact, what Olivia's was describing would be similar to having the afterglow of a honeymoon in pill form. It would be perfect for middle-aged men who felt conflicted over their flagging commitment to their wives, just like Viagra helps men with ED get over the emotional impact of reduced potency.

If the husband wished to leave his wife, then the option of divorce would certainly be open, but if he didn't want to leave her, then he would have more - and possibly more effective - options available to him then just marriage counseling.

The true danger, just as with all technology, would come from how our society would use such a pill. If we treat it as a way of enabling a person to make a choice, then I don't see a problem with such technology being developed. Of course it’s true that, if we use it to restrict the individual's ability to make choices on their own (i.e. a chemically-assisted shotgun wedding) then it would be an atrocity. But the responsibility for the atrocity will be on our own society, and not the fault of the technology.

Furthermore, arguing against such a pill because it's "unnatural compared to 95% of mammals" is innately flawed, and not just on a biological level (how many mammals domesticate other organisms?); sometimes people don't want to be restricted by their genes. If we could create a pill that cured Trisomy 21, or allowed transgender people to actually switch genders, or for people with early-onset diabetes to stop killing their own insulin-producing cells, would we decry it as wrong? If a man wishes to remain committed to his wife, to “get the spark back”, then why should anyone restrict his ability to do so?

Genetic engineering, pharmacology and biochemistry, like all of science, increases the choices available to us, and thereby can be a tool for enhancing individual freedom. The only way to make sure that we avoid the nightmare scenarios is to understand the science behind them, and thus become capable of recognizing the signs of encroaching authoritarianism before it has a chance to dominate us. Restricting the science just makes sure we can’t recognize it when it’s used by those with ambitions of control and domination.

9/11

Happy 9/11. We'll never see anything worse.

So... 9/11's tomorrow. It's kind of surprising how time flies, and how our perception of it changes. In New York, we have Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year's Thanksgiving. Each Holiday is marked by it's own trappings. The regular holidays get their miniature parades of students - free on what should normally be a school day - escorting the larger processions of family-filled cars, heading to the bridges and highways for a long weekend.

The winter holidays get a much more formal atmosphere, with communities stringing up emblems of their faith and those of their neighbors. Icicle lights above menorahs, shopping bags and red faces, everyone eager to live their own holiday dream, be it receiving or bestowing the perfect gift, or spending the cold, hard night before Christmas with someone warm and soft.
New Years is kind of the same way, except much more raucous: After all, we're one of the 10 or so cities whose parties are broadcast around the globe. Appearances must be kept, girls must be kissed, and the streets must smell vaguely of alcohol, vomit, and good times had by all.

Thanksgiving is of course Macy's Day, but at this point, the non-New Yorker is getting the drift. The city is a living thing, and it's moods are very obvious. We all participate, and we are all part of the show we hold for ourselves. It's what makes the city, The City. But we have one holiday that we haven't internalized yet.

It's the day that everyone who works in a tall office building looks south, and kinda zones out for a bit. It's the day you wonder if the train delays aren't due to the MTA. It's the day you wish the fucking politicians weren't among the usual crowds of tourists. It's the day that we look at clouds and remember that the only cloud we remember from That Day was the one coming from lower Manhattan, and heading out over the river.

One thing I'm glad about is that my memories from that day are getting confused. Parts are still vivid. I remember very, very clearly where I was when I first heard that something had happened. apparently, some plane had crashed. Probably a Cessna, everyone agreed. It had hit one of the towers at the World Trade Center (back when it was the World Trade Center, and not the WTC) and that was all I knew. I remember someone saying, or myself thinking, "Wow, poor bastard, at least the Towers won't be damaged." or something to that effect. I was in the basement of my high school, and I think that I'll be forever glad that I was. After all, it gave me an extra half-hour or so before I left the building, looked across the river, and realized that a part of city I grew up in was gone.

Another thing I'm grateful for is that I didn't directly know anyone who died. I knew relatives of neighbors, parents of people I knew, but everyone I could remember the face of, lived. I guess, more then anything I mourn two things. The first is the Towers themselves. They were, I think, one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. They were the compass by which New York oriented herself, and thus the axis upon which the world turned. When you stood underneath them, you could see them curve over you, as if they grew to fill the sky only they could reach. When you were inside them, you were either Seeing Something Cool, or Doing Something Important. The flags hanging in the atrium were a sign of New York's pull, the urge of everyone to interact, build, make money, become greater, and to do so in the Greatest City On Earth.

And so, now that they're gone, no one can become as great as they could have when the Towers were still in the sky. New York can't heal until our skyline is healed. We can't illuminate the world until we have our lighthouses back.

The other thing I mourn is how our city felt afterwards. If you hadn't lost someone, it was like being a child at a funeral. You knew that everything was wrong. That someone was missing, and you couldn't be sure who. Everyone else was around, but something was deeply wrong, something was missing; and you couldn't remember who it was, until your parents led you up to the casket, and you realized that everyone was in attendance, but one of the guests wasn't in the pews.

As I said, in New York, we have a day that we wish we didn't.