This Week in Science!!!

Here's the occasional wrap-up of anything noteworthy in the world of science.

Starting off with:  .


story one:  Power! Merciless power!!!

You've been dominated!

There's a reason that marketers anthropomorphize inanimate objects, and it's not just because you're easily entertained by bright-eyed cartoon characters.

A study out of Johns Hopkins University's Carey Business School suggests that people who are materialists--those who believe they find happiness in the ownership of "stuff"--view anthropomorphic products as servants instead of partners. It's like the worst marriage ever on a very special episode of Dr. Phil.

It's not just cartoon advertisements, as it can also just be an allusion to a brand, like retail giant Lowe's, who's tagline is "Let's Build Something Together." Materialists view that as more along the lines of, "Bow down and build me a castle, Lowe's!"

Associate Professor Hyeongmin Kim, who led the study, detailed the truck load of crazy at hand here. "[D]ifferent consumers respond differently to the signals," said Kim in an interview. "When materialists encounter an anthropomorphized servant brand, they sense an opportunity to fulfill their need to dominate something. They would rather dominate other people, but socially that's not an easy thing to accomplish. So, for this type of consumer, the next best thing is to dominate a servant brand."

You hear that, Michelin Man? Your roly-poly charm and huggable ways won't work on everyone!

No wonder he's smiling.

story two:  More bad news for materialists!!!

It's a bad week for wealthy people who want to make it rain in a department store. The results of six studies covering 4,600 people showed that while roughly half the participants valued time and half valued money, those who valued time tend to share one characteristic much more in abundance than those who favor a fattened bank account.

They're just plain happier.

According to research from the Society for Personality and Social Psychology (my bible), it didn't matter what the gender or income level was (outside of poverty, that is--because simply surviving might skew how you truly feel), the individual who valued the simple ability to have personal time was just a happier individual. And they probably enjoy chamomile tea and cowl-neck sweaters, too, I assume.

There's no explanation which side of the debate you fall on if you want to spend your personal time buying a clock in the shape of a dollar bill though. (Think about it.)













story three:  Astronauts kind of suck at gardening!!!

He just drowned his potatoes! Woo!!

The International Space Station (ISS) is currently whizzing around the Earth with three astronauts and hoards of plants on board. It's all part of the loosely-titled "Veggie Project" to observe a miniature garden growing in space, which is like any garden on Earth, just weightless.

One small problem has arisen though--and you'll be shocked, stunned, and blown away by the developing news--but astronauts and engineers don't have green thumbs. Please, try to stifle your gasps. I know--I know. My worldview has been altered, too.

Scott Kelly, an astronaut currently on the ISS, recently reported that a collection of zinnias growing on board looked like they were dead or dying, potentially from mold. After some investigating (because it's NASA, so everything obvious involves intense investigating), it turns out that NASA was ordering the zinnias to be watered too much. In essence, they were drowning the zinnias. Drowning in space. Think about that. So NASA decided to cut back. Shockingly, the surviving zinnias have responded favorably.

And we're supposed to believe Matt Damon knew how to properly water potatoes on Mars.




story four:  Mysterious space balls land in Vietnam!!!

Possibly General Vo's reaction at meeting our alien overlords.

You know when something lands from outer space, it's safe, right? The government never lies!

"Before and after these objects were discovered, the Vietnamese Army was not conducting any military activity in the region," Lieutenant General Vo Van Tuan, the Vietnamese Army spokesman, told AFP news source.

Well, thanks for the update on your day-to-day operations. Sounds like a Vietnamese version of Roswell, doesn't it? Stop the straw man explanation, General Vo! Why the cover-up?! 

Three metallic balls plummeted down upon Vietnam, with the heaviest weighing 100 pounds. The Ministry of Defense says that they have no idea what the balls are or what sort of origin they hold, but that they aren't dangerous--or so we're told.

That's right. When mysterious, unidentifiable space orbs land from sky, I think we all know it's safe. Hell, bring the kids! Sounds like a field trip. C'mon, boys and girls!

Gene, We Hardly Knew Ya

Memorial Day. Hallmark holiday #6 for the year if you count Patriot's Day. Negotiating traffic through a parade route in Cambridge on my way to the beach, I accidentally drove past your old address on Concord Avenue. Of course, the rickety old piss-yellow three decker you shared with a couple of other Vietnam Vets burned down about twenty years ago, but no matter.

It's been twelve years since you shot yourself in the head at Marblehead Light with your marine service revolver. I still think of you almost every day. And I wonder, like the rest of us who knew and cared about you, what exactly made you give up the good fight. We made sure the marines gave you a military funeral because, even though you were convinced you deserved no honors, those who were soldiers with you, as well as your civilian friends, knew that you did.

You once told me that you performed acts of obscenity in 'Nam. I did not believe you and you angrily pulled out a battered old photo of you and a couple of buddies standing around, armed to the teeth, festooned with scalp necklaces of people you had killed. You pointed to one and exclaimed, "This was a four year old girl. If that isn't obscene, I don't know what is!" I was shocked into a silence unusual for a 26 year old alleged woman of the world.

But Gene, you gave me/us a lot. You taught your friends the wondrous art of skinny dipping in the Fresh Pond Reservoir at 2 AM. You taught me how to shoot that marine service revolver at a target of the boss you hated in the Concord Avenue back yard. You were loyal to a fault. When my marriage broke up, you appeared unannounced in Philadelphia with a U-Haul and moved me home to Boston without judgement.

Sadly, none of us, including you could heal your pain. None of the girls you loved, loved you back enough to commit to fighting your demons. The job you had as a therapist laid you off and you could not find another. Nowadays, we call it PTSD of returning vets and it is worth a Dateline-like special once a week. Back then, you took your silent place among soldiers who came back from the unspeakable, drank heavily, and finally started building arsenals in their houses to either do damage to themselves or others.

Was it the silence that killed you? The guilt over what you had seen and done? The lack of respect returning soldiers suffered back then? Or just the fact that the World was not like 'Nam and the bottom line was that you did not fit in either place anymore?

We, your friends and your family still miss you, Gene. The truth is that you showed each of us a small part of you. Even if we put it all together, we would still end up with a fragmented Picasso-like mosaic.

Gene, it's Memorial Day. I write this in your memory and hope in death you've found the peace you never knew in life.

And like many soldiers who come back to the World each day from today's wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Gene, we hardly knew ya.