Late night variety pak
It's late, I'm tired, and this is all ya get. Helen Wheels left one looooong response to my Sunday blog on the rise of fascism in America. I thought about reprinting it here, but it turns out Helen posted the more detailed version on her blog, yesterday. She quotes Lawrence W. Britt's article on fascism at length, to chilling effect. Here it is. Consider that a mighty shout.
***Many thanks to Kate and her hubs for turning me on to Campbell & Reece Biology, Seventh Edition. Looks like this is going to be a great experience for my home schooler AND his dad. This beautiful textbook includes a CD with useful material (how rare is that?), and the online resources rock. Tests! They have tests! They sure know how to make home schooling easy. Jake dove into it with both feet. Right away, the book stimulated a useful discussion on embryogenesis, haploidy, diploidy, gastrulation, and neurulation. We had to backtrack a bit to talk about gametogenesis and fertilization, but I didn't mind. Damn it, if there's one thing I'm qualified to teach, it's biology. No, really, I have a PhD in this stuff (didn't know that, did ya?) I warmed to the discussion, eager to share my knowledge of meiosis and mitosis, spermatogenesis and seminal vesicles, ovulation and the menstrual cycle. Then, suitably enlightened, I guided Jake back towards the subjects of fertilization, implantation, and early embryonic development: initial cell divisions, morula (what the Germans call zellballen, IIRC), blastula, morula, gastrula, neurula, embyro. Me: Any questions? Jake: I still don't get how the sperm get up there. Me: Their tails spin round and round, like little motorboat propellers. They swim up there. Jake: But how do they get up there? Me: Well, during orgasm, muscular contractions in the uterus help draw the sperm upward. Jake: But how do they get up there? This clearly called for a visual aid. Moral of the story*: never take anything for granted. D. *That part of the story is false. Of course my ten-year-old already knows the basic mechanics of intercourse. He's my son, for heaven's sake. Moral of the story: never discount my willingness to pounce on a cheap visual joke.