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Cell Phone Study Mixes Up Brains

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It feels like Technology week. Yesterday we talked about blogging being “over” as discouraged writers tire of nobody reading their carefully crafted words and they switch to the rapid fire expression of Facebook and Twitter.

Today we discover a new study that shows the transmitters in cell phones are jangling our brains. Results were published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, but the meaning of it all is entirely up for grabs.

Of course it drew the attention of marketing visionary and dealmaker Spin Williams, who sent this newsletter from The Meeting That Never Ends:

Great news about cellphones!

Researchers found out there IS an effect on the brain when you hold a cell phone up to the side of your head! That’s amazing!

Researchers had subjects undergo PET scans – one of those claustrophobic medical nightmares where they put you inside a massive, humming tube that’s so close you feel like you’re a Kentucky farmer stranded in a cave with spiders all around and the water rising from an overnight storm.

And then they tell you to relax.

The people who went into these tubes had two cell phones fixed to their heads – one on the right and one on the left. The phones had to be fixed there because there’s no way you can put your arm up alongside your head when you’re in one of those crazy-making PET scanners.

Then they had the machine look at the brain’s chemistry. They did it with no phones on, and with one phone on. Why they didn’t do it with BOTH phones on is a mystery to me, because that’s how I spend the bulk of my day!

Anyway, they found out when one cell phone was on, it was doing SOMETHING in the area closest to the phone’s antenna. Was it a spike in the “why-did-I-agree-to-be-in-this-stupid-study” lobe? We don’t know, but for some people, any undefined increase in activity anywhere in their brain is a huge step forward!

The brain tumor worrywarts have started in with their “I told you so’s”, but here’s the biggest news I take away from this landmark study.

We can make stuff happen inside people’s brains without having to cut a hatchway!

From a marketing perspective, that’s huge, because we already know at least two things about Americans and the quest for knowledge:

We hate book learning and smug smartypants professors.
We like feeling more intelligent than everyone else.
We love doing things with remote control.

OK, three things. Which leads to the next question:

How can we get smarter without any effort? No idea. But maybe this study reveals one way to start. Since we don’t know what cell phone radiation does to the brain, it’s still possible that it makes you brilliant!

Why not assume the best? If we can talk our way past the Chinese, education-wise, let’s trash the school system and buy unlimited weekday minutes for everyone!

Maybe someday we’ll be able to use cell phone transmitters to pipe information directly into the brain with no need to go through the ear mechanism, which is unreliable and prone to waxy build up! And once we can transmit information, why not secret instructions targeted to specific areas? I predict Behavior Modification Hats! And there’s a commercial side, of course. As a marketer, I want to know how I can use a radio wave gun hidden above a convenience store ceiling to tickle that one section of the brain that controls cheese ball cravings.

Brain science was always interesting, but it just got better! I can’t wait to add “Harvard Business School Phd” to my cell phone plan!

Leave it to Spin to jump a few lengths down the track on this, though so much of marketing is about trying to get inside people’s heads, how can I blame him for wanting to rush through a freshly opened doorway?

Which of your brain functions could use an electro magnetic boost?

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Behind Every Curve

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Dear Dr. Babooner,

I am a middle-aged person who used to feel very special and “with it”, but in recent years it has become obvious to me that I’m not anyone’s 21st century poster boy.

And yet I feel I still have something to offer!

So I started a blog. It helped me feel like I was at the forefront of technology – doing things the modern way, not stuck in routines that are considered “old school.” I’ve been at it for over two years now, and while no one would call me a “successful” blogger (on the Ariana Huffington scale of success), I do feel like I’m making progress.

My reader seems pleased, anyway. At least that’s what she says on those days when she has time to stop by.

Writing a decent blog requires some discipline. You have to spend time sorting through your ideas. You consider your opinions and try to give some shape and structure to these thoughts before posting them online. In an ideal world, you’ll even proofread your blog once before offering it to the world.

But just yesterday I learned that things have changed again, and blogs are over. Only the clueless and the lame continue with it. Blogging is simply too time consuming and the payoff is virtually nil – like setting up your lemonade stand on a street with no traffic. In winter. During a blizzard.

The new thing is to constantly rain your short, random thoughts on the universe using multiple bursts of text delivered through Facebook and Twitter. Communicating with only pictures, videos or emoticons is even better. Blogs are too writer-y.

Dr. Babooner, how can I start over AGAIN? I feel like I can’t keep up and time is running out. Am I just meant to be behind every curve?

And should I blog about this, post it on my Facebook page, or Tweet it?

Sincerely,
Increasingly Irrelevant In Indianapolis

Here’s what I told Four I’s: “Just stay open to new ideas without expressing automatic disdain for things that are old. When young people abandon a thing, that’s no reflection on the thing itself. Young people abandon everything eventually, including being young. Draw some comfort from the fact that they will someday feel as useless and out-of-step as you. So do what feels right and consider using the full range of options, including “old school” communication. So what if ‘blogging is SO 2004’? As for your next carefully considered post, I suggest you scrawl it on a scrap of paper, stuff it in a bottle and throw it into the sea. You can’t call it a mass audience, but there are people stranded on a desert island somewhere who are desperate for something to read.”

But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?

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Leader of the Free* World

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* Financing charges may apply.

Happy President’s Day!

With all the snow PLUS a postal holiday, I’ve had extra time to read through the junk mail, including this dispatch from Wally’s Intimida.

Your New Sherpa – Parked Out Back

Don’t miss the President’s Day Sale this year – we’ll have awesome deals on incredible cars of course, including the one-of-a-kind Intimida Sherpa, the largest car on the planet! It’s a mountain of an automobile that’s so massive, it makes its own weather! Come see the car environmentalists call “obscene” and mapping satellites say is “terrain”. That’s right – your new Sherpa could appear in the next World Atlas!

Wally’s Intimida is committed to providing a great car buying experience to everyone who comes in the door. We believe in freedom and equality for all! We totally buy into the time-honored sales slogan “The customer is always right”. And if you shop in February, we make this pledge – The Customer is Always President!

Face it – you’ve always wanted to be Commander in Chief, and you know you’d be a great one.

When you come to Wally’s, our sales staff will meet you at the door with applause, just for being there! We’ll play “Hail to the Chief” and we’ll sit and listen with rapt attention as you lay out your ideas for how everything needs to be. We’ll agree, totally. You’ll get lots of ovations. There’ll be confetti and you’ll have the chance to kiss a few babies.

When we take you out to the lot for your test drive, we’ll have a camera crew following you and a reporter shouting questions that you don’t have to answer. And of course there will be a cloud of security, complete with snipers on the rooftops watching out for low flying airplanes. The manhole covers along your route will be welded shut. After all, you’re President!

Once you get back to the dealership – a press conference. The sales consultant, the sales manager, the financing guy, the woman who wants to sell you nitrogen filled tires and extra rust proofing and the dude who pushes the extended warranty will pepper you with questions. It’s all in good fun and what a great experience – bring your family so they can see how you handle the pressure with confidence. Ultimately we’ll do whatever you say, mostly. This whole thing is part of your legacy and you’re in charge!

And because Every Customer is President during February at Wally’s Intimida, we’ll do some talking behind your back. You can watch on closed-circuit TV as our staff of commentators and bloviators dissects your every move and gesture. We’ll chew the fat about how realistic your goals are. We’ll list your strengths and weaknesses and wonder out loud about your true motives. We’ll develop a plan to get you to compromise. We might even decide to stonewall you. Fun! Do we give anything away by letting you in on it? Of course not – you’re the President! So much of high-level politics is obvious. The players know what’s coming and it always boils down to a power struggle over numbers. We’ll consider shutting down the whole dealership if it looks like, by doing so, we can get you to budge on that paint sealant package. Stare us down. Test your mettle. And bring lots of extra change for the vending machine – we could be here all night!

And when the great struggle is finally over, there’ll be a signing ceremony in the sales manager’s office. It may be years before any of us know who got the better end of the deal. Historians will pick through the remains, and we’ll send you on your way with enough paperwork to start your own Presidential Library!

Here’s the point – when you are Commander in Chief, you are always the most important person in the room. If you want to feel significant, like your actions and opinions matter, then come car shopping at Wally’s in February when Every Customer is President. It’ll be the greatest opportunity you’ve ever had, and the toughest job you’ve ever loved.

I have to admit this letter got to me – I would like to feel like I’m as important as the President, but I don’t know if I have the stamina. And one thing Wally didn’t mention – when it’s all over you’ll still have to manage a crushing amount of debt!

Ever had a great experience buying something big?

Songs

Bubby Fakes a Stand

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Today’s entry comes from our perennial sophomore at Wendell Wilkie High School, the one and only Bubby Spamden.

Hey Mr. C.,

I’m wondering if we can get some labor unrest stirred up here in Minnesota just like they have it in Wisconsin. I’d really like my teachers to go AWOL for a few protest days at the state capitol.

What a great deal for those students next door – they’ve already had two days off with the promise of more to come! PLUS, after a day of playing video games in your PJ’s you can turn on the TV news to see your English teacher freezing on the steps of a state office building, waving a hand lettered sign and screaming for the Governor’s head. I’ll bet when that teacher gets back to the classroom she’ll be too hoarse to do anything but have hours and hours of quiet reading time – which is my favorite kind of in-class assignment. I love opening a big, soft book and then putting my head right down on it so the words can soak into my brain.

And speaking of going AWOL, how about those Wisconsin democrats who got to go on a road trip to Illinois? They’re hiding in a hotel somewhere, but nobody knows which one. And now Wisconsin’s State Troopers are looking for them! If I were on the lam in northern Illinois, I’d pick a hotel with a water park and hot waffle machines in the breakfast bar. I had no idea being a member of the state legislature was so cool! I thought it was just boring meetings all day long – kind of like going to class, but with voting.

What a great learning experience. I demand equal treatment with the students in Wisconsin! Please, make it happen here!

In our Life Choices class on Friday, I told Mr. Boozenporn that I would have really, really respected him more if he had gone to Wisconsin to show solidarity with the public employees there. It looked like he was actually considering it for a moment, but then he switched the lesson plan and spent the whole hour talking about labor history and he made us watch videos of Pete Seeger! And he says he’ll bring in his Weavers records on Tuesday!

Not what I had in mind.

Your friend,
Bubby

I told Bubby I was impressed that he was following the news so closely, but distressed to discover that he only sees these monumental policy struggles as another possible way to skip a few days of school. I like Mr. Boozenporn’s approach. Subjecting helpless high school students to skinny banjo players doing pro-union songs is more subversive and possibly more effective than marching on the capitol.

I have it on good authority that these are two of the You Tube videos Mr. Boozenporn showed yesterday.

What’s your favorite song about work?

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Gravity Slows the Pace

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This past Tuesday I grabbed a shovel and headed into the back yard to address some of the difficult issues dog owners face when the thaw begins and it becomes horribly evident that Fido has not been telling the whole truth about his business dealings. I should have suspected that story about desperate, out-of-work squirrels acting as personal valets was a mere fantasy. I chose to believe it because it made my life easier. Temporarily.

Walking with grim determination down a south-facing hill that the sun had cleared of snow, I stepped on a patch of brown grass that turned out to be covered with ice. As gravity took over I felt a tearing sensation in one of the major muscles of my left leg. I’ll spare you the spluttering and thrashing around and the Biblical oaths that followed. The result is that I can’t drive my car because I can’t lift up the foot that operates the clutch. I am suddenly impaired, but feeling lucky. I might have hit my head or fallen on the shovel, or toppled into the area that the dog has been decorating for the past three months with … well, let’s just say it could have been worse.

Yesterday my dear wife was kind enough to give me a ride to the doctor, but then she had to go to work and I undertook my errands by hobbling from one city bus to the next. It opened my eyes to part of a public transportation system that I had overlooked – namely, the part where I climb on and use it. I went from Shoreview to Rosedale to the University of Minnesota’s St. Paul Campus, then to the Minneapolis campus, downtown Minneapolis and back to the northern suburbs. It all went smoothly and just as the Metro Transit website had predicted. The only drawback was my sudden inability to hurry from one thing to the next.

It was a pleasant surprise to be forced to take things very slowly. The weather was fine. There was plenty to watch. At one point I had to kill 40 minutes at the central library in downtown Minneapolis. Was that a problem? Yes, the bus came too soon. Next time I’ll try to arrange it so I have to waste a couple of hours. And then there was the U of M stop where I felt compelled to fill the interlude with a cup of coffee and an apple fritter. The wait was no problem but the fritter was about 30% too big. I should have shared the extra chunk with the campus squirrels, but a misunderstanding about squirrels and chunks had gotten me into this situation in the first place.

In between rides I got from place to place the way Marty Feldman did when he played Igor in Young Frankenstein. Remember when he said “Walk this way”? That was me, minus the hump.

When have circumstances forced you to slow it down?

Songs

A Spot of Sun

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I haven’t heard any complaints about warmer temperatures over the past week, as the sun shows its power and begins to melt our winter’s snow (to make room for our spring snow).

Now comes word that the sun is also spitting out increased amounts of charged electromagnetic particles (a Coronal Mass Ejection) in keeping with a predicted rise in turbulent solar weather that is expected to peak in 2012.

Over time, this could cause some disruption in our systems. Communications failures are possible. Navigation might be affected. There may even be power outages.

Great. Now we have to think about solar weather on top of our existing obsession over the more immediate and understandable local weather. Eventually there will be songs.

Oh the weather up there is spotty
Yeah, the Sun is one hot toddy.
And your eyes will melt if you stare.
Let it flare, let it flare, let it flare!

Oh the scientists are detecting
some Coronal Mass Ejecting.
Let’s put on our lead-lined underwear,
Let it flare, let it flare, let it flare!

When it finally settles down
2013 or 14 or so,
If enough of us are around,
we can re-fixate on snow!

Oh it doesn’t show signs of slowing.
Should the northern sky be glowing?
With charged particles in our hair!
Let it flare, let it flare, let it flare!

This is just a start, of course. Can you picture Gene Kelley dancing to “Singing in the Flame”?

And for those who enjoy a good informational science song, they don’t get any better than this one from They Might Be Giants.

The sun is our friend. A really, really volatile and intense friend who will burn you if you’re not careful.

How do you manage your exposure to the sun?

Poems

Let’s Not See All The Same Hands …

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Supreme Court observers have noted that Justice Clarence Thomas is about to reach the five-year anniversary of the last time he asked a question during oral arguments before the court. No other justice has gone that long without raising his hand.

What does this mean? It means that Supreme Court observers are desperate people who need hobbies.

I was a kid who didn’t ask questions in class, in part because all the other kids were so gabby. I thought I was doing a public service by keeping mum. Somehow I got it in my head that we’d get to go to lunch before Mr. Sinclair’s room if we got done with algebra first. Maybe that’s what Justice Thomas is doing.

Oh, and I also didn’t want to get laughed at. I never bought the line about their being ‘no dumb questions,’ because I knew my head was full of them.

For some unexplainable reason, the odd notion of a consistently mum member of the black robed Supreme Court made me think of Edgar Allen Poe.

Once into a court Supremely strode a man some call unseemly
Whether he is that or something else I cannot say for sure.
As he sat among his brethren, criticism he’d been weatherin’
Harsh words, like balloons untetherin’, floated upwards from the floor.
“I’ve no questions,” Thomas muttered. “Like so many times before.”
Any questions? “Nevermore.”

“Surely some things make you wonder as you sit, be-robed, to ponder,”
said a counselor whose well-wrought argument had been a bore.
Thomas gazed up at the ceiling, noticed that the paint was peeling
Feeling an un-curious feeling. A feeling he had felt before.
And for years and years and years and years and years before and more.
Any questions? “Nevermore.”

All the others on the panel – all three women and each man’ll
have at least one query every session, say those who keep score.
Roberts. Kennedy. Scalia. Each of them, in turn, will be a
questioner. Some repeat. Scalia. Scalia. And, of course, Sotomayor.
Only Thomas remains silent as the Sphinx of ancient lore.
Listening, and nothing more.

In they come, their black gowns sweeping. One of them is, maybe, sleeping.
Justices, like angry birds, are poised to pounce on those before.
All their intellect is pooling with each new, successive ruling.
Reasoned judgments come unspooling out the giant courtroom door.
Only one is known for what we know he does not have in store –
Questions, Clarence? Nevermore!

Did you participate in the class discussion?

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… And One Giant Lie for Mankind

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Former legit radio reporter Bud Buck has been sending breathless, fact-free, over-the-top dispatches for the past two years as he tries to find his place in the new world of digital journalism. Few have taken notice. I know he has been disappointed that none of his reports have “gone viral”. He can’t even get sued. In his latest act of desperation, he’s abandoning the pretense of reporting a story, and is hoping to gain our attention as a commentator.

“Fake” Mars Landing is Clearly Fake
by Bud Buck

What would you do if you were leading a government project that couldn’t be kept secret, that needed plenty of time and an incredible amount of luck to succeed? Something so dangerous it could easily fail and cause widespread embarrassment? Something so provocative and unsettling to the rest of the world that it’s completion could upset the balance of power?

You would lower expectations, of course. You would tell the story of your project in such a way that people would feel sorry for you. You would frame the discussion so that it centered around all the ways your efforts are probably inadequate. In short, you would perpetrate the biggest ruse in history with the most shocking surprise ending since they opened the Trojan Horse and all those soldiers tumbled out.

That’s why I believe yesterday’s “fake” Marswalk, staged by the European Space Agency and Moscow’s Institute of Biomedical Problems is, in fact, real.

Yes, they’re up there. And of course they’re saying it’s simulated. That takes the pressure off, and managing pressure differentials is crucial in all space travel. Had word gone out that this effort was an actual mission, every step would be covered live on global television. That would set the stage for a possible humiliation. Nobody wants to be the guy whose space suit springs a leak with three billion watching in prime time. And nobody wants to have to explain to people whose blood is boiling why they let a guy’s blood actually boil.

Better to pretend that it’s just six guys playing “space house” in a Moscow suburb.

Nothing is more attractive to the world’s press than an obvious effort to hide something, and that’s why the genius stroke in all this was the decision to invite coverage of the mission as a “simulation”. As soon as it appeared the scientists were desperate for our attention, interest from the world’s press faded to almost nothing.

Meanwhile, these space pioneers, masquerading as test subjects, climbed into what is obviously a child’s version of a rocket set up in some Russian warehouse, and immediately went out a secret exit in back, where they were piled into a waiting van and driven to a launch pad in Siberia where they began the real mission in utter secrecy.

Do I have proof? Of course not! The mere existence of proof would prove that there is not a highly competent and vast conspiracy to cloak the diabolical nature of this effort.

Look carefully at the photos they claim were made as part of the “test”. Check out the soil. That color red is not found anywhere on Earth. Not even in Russia!

Officials claim the crew for this 520 day “experiment” is made up of six “men”. But I’ve seen photos of the “Marswalkers” in their space suits, and I don’t think there’s any way you could get a European man to wear something so roomy, or to look so soft and adorable. Of course they’re saying all the guys are men. That keeps us from thinking about the real purpose of the trip, which is to populate Mars with aggressive Russians and haughty Europeans so they can look down their noses at us from even farther away.

When the first Mars baby is born, that’s when we’ll start to get the actual story.

The timing of this thing is perfect. America has just faced a “Sputnik Moment” with regard to school test scores, and other “Sputnik Moments” in foreign manufacturing, green technology, and telemarketing. We have “Sputnik Moment” fatigue. And we’re also running low on quotation marks to indicate something is “phony”.

All I’m saying is that we need to prepare for a shocker. Mark my words. The fake mission is REAL!

This is Bud Buck!

Bud is safe here in assuming that his commentary will have very few readers and almost nobody will “mark his words”. But if the impossible happens and his wild imaginings turn out to be true, he’ll be lauded as one of the world’s leading investigative journalists, and perhaps even a prophet!

Are you any good at keeping a secret?

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A Valentine for Mom

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Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.

Many thanks to those who sent kind words and condolences on the death of my mother, who passed away on February 2nd. She was a good person who enjoyed simple things. My mom loved to laugh, and she was a bit unconventional. She anchored our little family, cared for her friends and did her best to create some fun in the world.

The daughter of a New York stockbroker, there was a bit of money and status in her family. Her grandfather was a preacher who died young. Her great-grandfather was an officer and gatekeeper for a society of Mayflower Descendants. There was a moral code and a distinguished lineage to uphold. For women born into such families in the late 1920’s, the expectation was that they would marry well and play their role.

Mom came of age just as WWII ended. A friend at work had a brother who had dropped out of high school and had just completed an uncomfortable stint in the Navy – a character clearly from the other side of the tracks. Mom’s parents were not thrilled, but she married him anyway. Her mother’s disapproval faded as she discovered this polite new son-in-law folded his handkerchief carefully and was very, very handy around the house. Stuff got fixed, and small things like that matter.

Mom stayed at home while my brother and I were growing. She dyed her hair blonde and smoked, like a lot of women did in the 1950’s. We accompanied her and watched while she did all the Eisenhower era housewife/mother tasks – laundry; cleaning; feeding us meat loaf and mashed potatoes; being the chaperone on school trips; doing funny, silly, crafty things.

She became a scavenger. We would make the rounds of local bowling alleys to gather up discards from the piles of debris in back. With paint and cloth and patience, she could turn a cracked bowling pin into a wacky character – a debutante in her frilly dress or a mustachioed singer in a barbershop quartet. Kitschy? Without a doubt. But there was no embarrassment. It was inexpensive, creative fun. My mom was the sort of person who did uncomplicated things like that. She loved plants and gardens and feeding the birds and sitting outside.

She went into an extended stuffed animal phase and produced a large number of plush critters to sell at craft fairs for not quite enough money to make a profit. In between fairs she was always ready to sew a bear for a new baby. Many of these teddies (and dogs and rabbits) were handmade and embroidered with the child’s name and birth date. It makes me happy to think that these are still out in the world, even if they’ve been placed under beds or pushed to the back of closets. It’s the memories they made along the way that matter most.

In the ‘70’s she worked in the cashier window at Sears, at a time when department stores had a separate, secure place where you could go to pay your bills. Because the job involved handling a lot of money, she worked behind a daunting pane of glass in a fairly humorless setting. To inject a little levity, she and her cashier friends would dress up for holidays and Halloween – poodles, fairies, firecrackers. Nothing was too dumb.

Mom with my brother, Lee

Day-to-day she wore sweatshirts and blue jeans. If an activity required getting more dressed up than that, you had to ask yourself if it was worth the trouble. A fun outing was climbing on the lawn tractor to mow the side yard.

Mom was an animal lover who made room in her home for numerous pets, including two gigantic St. Bernards. The door was always open for neglected and desperate wanderers. She and my father welcomed several abandoned dogs and far too many stray cats. There was no question about this. It was simply what they did.

For the past three decades we lived 500 miles apart. She relished using the visiting grandmother’s prerogative to do whatever came into her head without regard for house rules or discipline. When Grandma Barbara came to visit, one of the first activities would be a festival of misbehavior called “The Sock Game.” It involved letting her grandson jump on the bed while both of them ate M&M’s and threw socks into the spinning ceiling fan. Nancy and I knew the ritual had begun when the crazy laughter started and an occasional sock would come sailing out the door.

Like I say, she was a fun-maker.

One of my earliest memories of my mother is a trip we took to an upstate New York lake in summer. I was very young and couldn’t swim, so the only way to get out to the area over my head was to hang on to her neck. As her feet bounced across the lake bottom, we moved towards the middle of the lake and I sensed the dangerous chill of the colder, deeper water all around. I was excited but not scared because I knew I was safe in her arms and felt completely surrounded by her warmth. “I’ve got you,” she said. And I knew she did.

My mom meant love and home and acceptance to me. That’s what every parent hopes to be for their child, which makes it no less of an achievement. It is common as a sweatshirt and as goofy as a bowling pin character, and it constitutes everything that is most important in the world. It’s a gift I was very lucky to receive.

Love you, mom!

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Acoustic Resurgence

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I don’t really think acoustic music is about to have a resurgence in the popular culture, but it is nice to see that Bob Dylan, The Avett Brothers and Mumford & Sons will do a special “salute to acoustic music” as part of Sunday night’s Grammy broadcast.

21st century Folk Scare, anyone?

Here’s Bob using his unplugged guitar to do a familiar and uncomplicated version of one of his most resonant songs.

But why is his face so blue? Sunburn medication, perhaps? He looks like a love child of Woody Guthrie and one of the Na’vi from the film Avatar.

What does it mean to be “Tangled Up In Blue?”