Gray matter the dubious science of online dating black and dating
Mine, depicted in a freshly acquired MRI scan, is startlingly intricate, compact - and baffling.
This is as much of a portrait of my own mind as I am ever likely to see.
The validity of Marcott-Shakun re-dating will be discussed below, but first, to show that the re-dating “matters” (TM-climate science), here is a graph showing reconstructions using alkenones (31 of 73 proxies) in Marcott style, comparing the results with published dates (red) to results with Marcott-Shakun dates (black).
As you see, there is a persistent decline in the alkenone reconstruction in the 20th century using published dates, but a 20th century increase using Marcott-Shakun dates.
But to my ignorant eyes (which, by way of an eerie bonus, are now looking at their own cross-sections) it looks pretty much like any other brain. "Whilst all my participants get very excited about seeing their brain for the first time after being scanned, and I frequently get asked 'What can you tell me about my brain?
', the reality is that the brain will for a long time yet remain a mysterious mass," says the neuroscientist who scanned my brain, for research purposes.
He looks at the plot, characterisation, and historical context, and uses various other tools of literary analysis to extract insights from- and perceive meaning in the text. She examines the type of paper that the book was printed on, and then looks at the ink used, employing gas chromatography to elucidate the chemical makeup of its ingredients.
After also measuring the ink’s viscosity and the magnetic properties of semi-glossy paper, Paula tells Tom that the book can be fully understood only through this latter, scientific methodology, and that The Grapes is nothing more than the sum of its parts – the molecular interactions between ink droplets and the cellulose in the paper.
Imagine that Tom is analysing a work of literature – The Grapes of Wrath, say.
Then came the shooters: for the men, Jack Daniel’s; for the women—three leggy brunettes and a statuesque blonde—Smirnoff with Red Bull.
Soon enough, off came Willms’s shirt, as often happened on festive occasions.
The bill came to just under three hundred dollars, and they’d just had one drink each. First day out, at one of the shops on the ship, Plotnik bought her a Coach bag, four hundred bucks. He didn’t dance, complained about the food, was untidy in all sorts of small but infuriating ways, talked endlessly about his problems with his children.
Plotnik talked mostly about himself, his children; he mentioned his psychotherapist twice. “A schlub, a loser,” said Maddy, “but at least I got a winter holiday and a Coach bag out of the deal.”Laurie knew she was less tough than Maddy Levine, more vulnerable.
(It is taking all my will power not to make an obvious comment at this point.) …