Do Vaccines Cause Autism?
Reproduced with permission from the neOnbubble Know You Some Science series of student learning guides. What Is A Vaccine? The name "vaccine" comes from the latin word vacca meaning "cow". A vaccine is a microscopic, biological crib note written on leather that includes diagrams of a disease along with suggestions for defeating it in glorious intracorpus battle. The vaccine is introduced to the body in any of a number of ways (orally, by injection, osmosis, gentle persuasion, etc.) and the body files the information on the crib note away for later use. Are Vaccines Good? Good is a subjective term. Vaccines help your body cheat death or crippling illnesses. If you would rather be alive than dead then you should conclude that they are good. If you would rather that more people – possibly yourself included – spent their lives in pain, defecating themselves, drooling, and being pushed around in wheelchairs then you should conclude that they are bad. Antivaxxers think that vaccines are bad. What Is An Antivaxxer? There are two types of people who can properly be labelled "antivaxxers". The first type is those who harbour a grudge against the manufacturers of a particular type of carpet cleaner, quite likely as the result of misuse and subsequent trips to hospital emergency rooms. These people, despite their fondness for air pressure-related sexual shenanigans, are at least somewhat scientifically-minded, embracing the use of technology and experimentation in order to facilitate personal pleasure. The second type of people are not scientifically-minded. These people associate vaccinations with infant death or disability through the tried-and-tested (-and-rejected by fans of the brain) method of putting two and two together and getting three. Do Vaccinations Cause Autism? A vaccination caused me to take a day off school once but I can assure you after an extensive search of Wikipedia that a throbbing arm and nausea are not symptoms of autism. Why Do Some People Associate Vaccinations With Autism? The brain is very good at pattern-matching, predicting future events based on experience – touch fire, fire make hand go ouch, not touch fire again because fire is ouchy – and this process of observation and deduction is the cornerstone of good science. But it’s not all of good science. Good science involves repeated tests and predictions to corroborate findings or rule theories out in order that the scientific finding is not one borne of bad luck, good luck, or improper test conditions. Antivaxxers engage in bad, amateur, scientificish science ("New Improved Sciencique™") which makes sweeping declarations of assurety based on – occasionally – one observation, but more often far fewer than that. These same people,...
Cat Crossing
It’s a cat crossing the road with a kitten in its mouth. And if that doesn’t warm the cockles of your heart then you’re not human.
Northwest Tour, Part 3: Blackpool
"We’ll be visiting Blackpool," we told relatives. "Oh, we went to Blackpool," they said. "You’ll either love it or you’ll hate it." Great, I thought, picturing Blackpool as the Marmite of cities. I detest Marmite. "We’re stopping in Blackpool on our way back," we told the woman at the hotel in Scotland before we left. "Oh, I love Blackpool!" she enthused enthusiastically. We smiled. "Some people hate it though." Ah. Okay. Blackpool Tower Ballroom. It’s like stepping back in time to when Blackpool wasn’t dreadful. Back in time and across to a parallel dimension too, I imagine. So we went to Blackpool with a smidgeon of trepidation. You see, we’d heard things about the place. Our relatives had mentioned the people and the nightlife, both of which were interesting. Interesting – especially when said in italics – is widely understood to mean different, also in italics, and that’s universally known to mean bizarre with a hint of odd. But I’d been looking forward to interesting Blackpool. I’ve been accused of being interesting myself on occassions. Blackpool: Speed Cameras The first thing we noticed about Blackpool was that speed cameras are very much the fashion. Every street appears to have one. I have been unable to decide whether this is due to the prevailing air of "we must take your money!" present throughout the city (the cynical look) or whether this is really out of sense of protecting the tottering old biddies from too severe a car-impact-related hip injury that it prevents them from coming back and spending their pensions on tat (the alternative cynical look). Blackpool: Guesthouses And Tat Guesthouses and shops selling tat make up approximately 105% of all businesses in Blackpool (margin of error: 1% (percentage comprehension of percentages: three fifths)). The general rule of thumb for any business premise in Blackpool is: if it’s not a guesthouse then it’s a shop selling tat or a guesthouse selling tat or a tatty guesthouse. It’s quite often a tatty guesthouse. And it’s quite often selling tat. The proliferation of guesthouses and shops selling tat does mean that market forces come into play. Do you know the Klingon proverb "guesthouses are a dish that are best eaten cheaply?" It is very cheap in Blackpool. You may also have heard of the non Star Trek universe-related saying "you get what you pay for" (although I wouldn’t rule out a Ferengi Rule of Acquisition here). This applies to Blackpool like you wouldn’t believe. The guesthouses are not great. The tat is not even good quality tat priced competitively. Blackpool Tower We enjoyed Blackpool Tower. In a city that otherwise excelled in...
Northwest Tour, Part 2: Scotland
We left Liverpool sans fishcakes and headed further north (insert scary music here), destination: Scotland! That’s, like, a whole other country man! The Lake District And Environs Before we reached Scotland I decided to give my wife a rest from my swearing at truck drivers who think overtaking manoeuvres can only be performed uphill at a fraction under one percent greater speed than the vehicle they’re trying to pass in order to maximise the amount of time they’re blocking motorway lanes and so we took a left and went for a leisurely bimble through England’s Lake District. If you like hills and valleys and winding roads and rocks and lakes then you’ll like the Lake District. We do like those things so we did. The Lake District offered up its chance to wander along the edge of Lake Windermere and its Grasmere gingerbread and we gratefully took them. Maryport. Not in Scotland. But you can see Scotland from it. So that’s something. Afterwards I drove straight on towards Maryport in order that we should continue on to Scotland via the scenic coastal route rather than the mothertrucking motorway route. We were only in Maryport briefly; just long enough to realise pebbledashing of houses was probably invented in the place and to be taken in by the desolate beauty of its windswept beach and view across the Solway Firth to Scotland. Not taken in enough to want to live there though. Carlisle The last city before Scotland is Carlisle, a city with history apparently. Hadrian’s Wall is there, apparently. And an isle of Carls, possibly. We had planned to stop there and check out the apparent history until we actually reached it and glanced out of the windows. Then we carried straight on and across the border. Look! Loch! Galloway Our base for the two days we were to spend in England’s subjugated northern neighbour was the smallest Royal Burgh in Scotland, New Galloway in Dumfries and Galloway (probably in the Galloway bit, although I’ve not checked). The decision wasn’t completely random – we’re not part of that crazy random location holidaying cult you’ve read about on toilet walls any more – as we currently live in a city that permits a grand total of seven stars to be seen with the naked eye on the darkest night (light pollution smothering anything beyond that) and wished to experience a little more of what the universe had to display. New Galloway sits at the eastern edge of the Galloway National Forest Park which was recently awarded Dark Sky status. This means its sky is dark. This is good for stargazing. Scotland:...
Northwest Tour, Part 1: Liverpool
We recently took a week off and went on a tour of the northwest of England and Scotland. Our primary intention was to go to Galloway in Scotland to look at the dark skies but since that’s a long trip it was decided – an executive decision by me, the driver – to break it up by going to Liverpool on the way up and Blackpool on the way back. Now, if the title doesn’t make things obvious let me clarify: this is part one and it’s about Liverpool. The Albert Dock. It’s a dock. Named Albert. Why Liverpool? In the early 1990s I went to university at Liverpool and studied computer science. Part of the reason for going back was to check out a few of the old haunts and show them off to the wife who had suffered enough tales of my far-distant youth and deserved some visual aid to the vivid, crisp descriptions I had painted from my photographic memory of the city and its denizens. The main reason, however, was to show her fishcakes. Liverpool: Quest For Fishcakes Fishcakes – such as those you might buy in a fish and chips shop when asking for "two fishcakes and a portion of chips please" or such as those you might buy in a supermarket in a packet in the freezer section marked "Fishcakes" – down here in the mighty south of the country are universally disc-shaped, about two-thirds of an inch deep, and coated in orange breadcrumbs. Fishcakes in Liverpool – such as those I recall buying in Liverpool in the early 1990s when entering a fish and chips shop and asking for "two fishcakes and a portion of chips please" – were also disc-shaped but were thicker (an inch and a quarter or even more) and battered. They also tasted lighter, fluffier, different. In a good way. My wife… well, I’m not convinced she ever believed me about the fishcakes. I had to show her the fishcakes. The Cavern Club. You don’t want to use the toilets. Trust me. Liverpool: Kensington When I lived in Liverpool during my second year at university I shared a house with three other students in the Kensington area of Liverpool. There’s a Kensington in London that is rather up-market, appealing to the well-off. The people dress well. The people smell well (I imagine (assuming the all-pervasive atmospheric tar of London hasn’t clogged your nasal passages with its gunk)). It all just feels a little bit better than you. The Kensington in Liverpool is just like the one in London except for everything. We drove through Kensington on the way...
It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
It was a dark and stormy night… No, wait… it was a dark and stormy day… Actually, come to think of it… it was a dark day with perhaps the promise of a storm a little later… That’s a bit wordy… it was a dark day… To be honest it wasn’t that dark… it was a dull and overcast day, neither that bright nor overly gloomy… Again, a bit wordy… it was a dull and overcast day… That’s it… it was a dull and overcast day and I started effing about with Photoshop....
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