Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Real Science

While I still had my auto repair shop my nephew Dan worked for me awhile.
One day, while working on someone's radiator, he managed to aquire three long and fairly deep scratches on his forearm. Two of the scratches were exactly the same length and depth. The third was short and superficial. We ignored that one
Regarding this as an opportunity to actually test something about the world we live in, we decided to do a scientific experiment.
Seeing as how he would be treating the scratches identically (unlikely he would wash only half an arm, even accidentally)we had a chance to compare results.
If you think about it this is a rare opportunity.
So we decided to treat only one of the scratches with some over the counter medication known as (whatchacallit)sporin. The stuff that kills bacteria and promotes healing.
You can see it coming, Cant'cha?
That's right it took the treated wound longer to heal.
Most of the bacteria on your skin is beneficial, you are in a symbiotic relationship with it.
When you kill all of it, you lose.
Medicine, after all these years, is still the art of making money by making people sick.

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3 Comments:

Blogger butch said...

PALMER AUTOMOTIVE: The Duke of Oil --ah yes, those memories are etched so deeply into my mind. Having to cross busy Roosevelt to go kitty corner up to the store, struggling to find parking within walking distance of the shop on those narrow residential streets perpendicular to the main drag, sitting around in your "foyer" lobby, waiting on you to finish up some job, sometimes on my car, and being unable to find reading material, and then snooping through all the crap you had piled up on the main counter and the desk, being elated by the "cleaniness" of the shop's restroom, the lovely oder of car grease and barrols of cleanser and stove oil, and the acrid tinge of raw gasoline, in puddles and in cans everywhere, and the putty dust near the Alfa Romeo where you had a few minutes to sand on it, and the pure comfort of the overstuffed furniture you had in the lobby, of marveling at the ten cars crammed into a lot big enough for five of them, and six of those vehicles were usually yours; the Volkswagon Van, one of the Fiat 500's, sometimes the Bristol, and others. I never saw Gokwiis there, but probably it made an appearance at some point. Customer's cars that they had dumped on you, or that you had fixed and they decided it was too expensive, so they just signed over the pink slip to you, and cars you felt sorry for people and bought them, and were trying to fix them up and possibly sell them. Christ, no wonder you did not become wealthy being your own boss --you were not a big enough crook and asshole. Didn't they teach you that in Mechanics School or the Army? All those years you worked for Flannigan, or at the Ferrari garage, you never had to worry about the plumbing or the rent; you just buzzed through jobs every day, beating the time book, scooped up your cash, and then headed home to work another 8 hours on Gokwiis, or one of the other three cars you designed and built and mostly sold, or the Bristol, or others. I remember you had one of the first home computers I had ever seen like over 30 years ago. You played Pong in it, and made synthetic strange sounds akin to music on it. You tried to explain what a word processor was, and what the "internet" everyone was talking about might be like. As to the "real science" you made reference to --that is some frightening data, sir. The AMA spends trillions trying to convince America that it could not survive without their drugs, and you postulate that this is a heap of horseshit. Of course your arguement regarding healthy skin bacteria was the self same one that hippies used to use when they only bathed monthly, and you could not be upwind of them at any time. Nothing smells more foul than a dirty human being; a 100 dead rats on a gut wagon spell better.
Glenn

12:01 PM  
Blogger butch said...

Always in a hurry, damn. That last sentence should read, "a 100 dead rats on a gut wagon "smell" better." But actually they might spell better too, secondary to some to the screwballs and dickwads we bumped into during the 60's. You did you military service in the early 60's, before Southeast Asia become an undeclared war, and I did mine from 1966-68. There was something called the VietNam War going on at the time I was saluting and pressing creases in my skivvies, and putting my belongings in a foot locker and a duffel bag. Some weekends I would take a bus from San Diego to LA, remembering those great stories that you used to tell from when you lived there, during the LA riots, when Watts burned down. I remember getting into a taxi in downtown LA and asking the driver to,"Take me to Hollywood." I can still here that sucker laughing. What a star struck bozo I really was. It took ten years as an actor to shake that out of my system. By that point I just wanted a job that could give me a medical plan, and a paycheck every week. Blind Rehabilitation reared up its beautiful head, wrapped its strong arms around me, allowed me to make something useful out of myself and life --and in 1977 I walked away from theatre, from film and TV, and I never looked back. Now I can just be a consumer and a critic, right?

Wow, I just flashed on a new graphics comic called LANE SAVANT, the Don Quixote of La Rainier Beach. This common man, call him Douglas Palmer, is a struggling composer, writer, and brilliant craftsman --but life is always conspiring against him. Good intentions turn to shit, people go postal when he is near, dogs pee themselves, and cats go insane. One day while near Benaroya Hall he hears a loud terrible screetch like a banshee or gargoyle. He turns and looks at the Hall, and there are monsters on the loose all over it. He rushes home and creates his "armor" and his Lance of Liberty; lashed together in 4 pieces so that it will reach over ten feet. He returns to the street in front of the Hall and he challenges the monsters to combat, like the monster that the Robin Williams character could see, and no one else could, in Terry Gilliam's film,THE FISHER KING. Graphic novels and comics are littered with those monsters in the city that only the chosen few can see. One day on the way to a college class, he really did see a sow bear, a hoary hairy she-bitch slink off the city bus. No one seemed to notice her but him. What the hell was wrong with people? Are they desensitized to reality? Savant could carry a back pack, and in it is his Quixote armor, and his folded up lance. He ducks behind a dumpster and suits up to confront the she bear bitch, but she has disappeared into some cave or cafe or store. But by this time he is wild eyed, and the sow's scent is in his nostrils. To be continued.....
Now how did I get there? Just another flight of fancy I suspect.
Glenn

12:26 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Seriously, a VERY important contribution to medical research!!
This is something we need to know: Nature is often better than the chemicals the capitalist profit-seeking pharmaceutical industry tries to con us into buying!!!

2:34 AM  

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