(no subject)
November 1 issue of Rolling Stone had a rather interesting article about James Lovelock. It didn’t portray him as a New Age kook but took him at face value and treated his ideas as seriously as anyone’s in this crazy, degrading world. In my opinion, he a scientist (chemist) with a poet’s heart (that has gotten him in trouble in the past, for certain). He has done work independently and for various institutions. He’s taught. He’s written. He’s done what he’s had to keep body and soul together, not to mention feed a family with four kids. He invented a device that has been dubbed the electron capture detector (ECD) an incredibly sensitive device that could detect pesticide residue in various organisms all over the earth. This is the device that rocked the world with the discovery that nursing mothers in the West had pesticide residue in their breastmilk. That was long enough ago that folks would only sit up and listen if it was affecting the Western world. I’m old enough to remember all that.
The ECD also detected the hole in the ozone layer back in the day. Others made the connection to environmental degradation and potential harm, but he brought along the hardware and showed people how useful it could be.
He’s just a guy. Like any of us. Smarter in many ways and not in others. Very innovative. Does what he thinks needs to be done and keeps at it relentlessly. Creative. He freely acknowledges when he’s blundered (oh, if only a few more could do that!).
Here’s the one thing that hit me hard, and I don’t recall reading about it before. (I probably did - I have some of his books, but had to dig them out this weekend - it’s been so long since I’ve looked at them) He did some of his work at home on his kitchen table. Oh boy, that one will sound familiar to my family. It’s become a family joke.
That thing about being a scientist with a poet’s heart. That has gotten me into trouble everywhere but among faculty in grad school and fellow grad students. It has gotten me into trouble among my colleagues out here. Not my students, just certain colleagues. It’s understandable in some way, I suppose. I call myself a processualist (yes, still) as far as archaeology goes. It’s where the rubber meets the road for me in the field and in the lab. But. Some of my colleagues chastise me for being a bit too much of a postmodernist. Usually it’s in jest, but sometimes it’s a warning. My graduate advisor teased me but was open. He liked my treatment of feminist/gender archaeology and that’s something for a guy like him - very extremely committed to the scientific method. “Gender doesn’t fossilize.” The thing about him was that he could recognize the value in plenty of the critique of processualism and he’s taken it all to heart. He’s a good scientist - open to change.
If James Lovelock can work out of his kitchen when he needs to, so can I. I cannot say how encouraged I was to read those few brief sentences. I’ve done it before; I can do it again. We can’t all possibly have access to big, highly funded labs. We can’t all get tenured at bigass research universities (although, more power to those who are doing it). We can all do our best to follow the research where it leads. I’m ready. I will need to get a hold of a centrifuge (two would be better) that hits at least 3000 RPM. They are less pricey than I thought and well worth the effort to save for one (or two).
Off to crop off some branches of what’s blooming in the fall in the Mojave. I won’t take many, I promise those of you who are twitching at the thought. But the work shall go on.
The ECD also detected the hole in the ozone layer back in the day. Others made the connection to environmental degradation and potential harm, but he brought along the hardware and showed people how useful it could be.
He’s just a guy. Like any of us. Smarter in many ways and not in others. Very innovative. Does what he thinks needs to be done and keeps at it relentlessly. Creative. He freely acknowledges when he’s blundered (oh, if only a few more could do that!).
Here’s the one thing that hit me hard, and I don’t recall reading about it before. (I probably did - I have some of his books, but had to dig them out this weekend - it’s been so long since I’ve looked at them) He did some of his work at home on his kitchen table. Oh boy, that one will sound familiar to my family. It’s become a family joke.
That thing about being a scientist with a poet’s heart. That has gotten me into trouble everywhere but among faculty in grad school and fellow grad students. It has gotten me into trouble among my colleagues out here. Not my students, just certain colleagues. It’s understandable in some way, I suppose. I call myself a processualist (yes, still) as far as archaeology goes. It’s where the rubber meets the road for me in the field and in the lab. But. Some of my colleagues chastise me for being a bit too much of a postmodernist. Usually it’s in jest, but sometimes it’s a warning. My graduate advisor teased me but was open. He liked my treatment of feminist/gender archaeology and that’s something for a guy like him - very extremely committed to the scientific method. “Gender doesn’t fossilize.” The thing about him was that he could recognize the value in plenty of the critique of processualism and he’s taken it all to heart. He’s a good scientist - open to change.
If James Lovelock can work out of his kitchen when he needs to, so can I. I cannot say how encouraged I was to read those few brief sentences. I’ve done it before; I can do it again. We can’t all possibly have access to big, highly funded labs. We can’t all get tenured at bigass research universities (although, more power to those who are doing it). We can all do our best to follow the research where it leads. I’m ready. I will need to get a hold of a centrifuge (two would be better) that hits at least 3000 RPM. They are less pricey than I thought and well worth the effort to save for one (or two).
Off to crop off some branches of what’s blooming in the fall in the Mojave. I won’t take many, I promise those of you who are twitching at the thought. But the work shall go on.