June
16, 2003
Today is the day to wear sunblock, you poor Irish bastard.
Yes, Dr. Hot Pants has been on hiatus. That's because she just finished taking the boards and is enjoying herself but hopefully, if I ask her nicely enough, she'll be back next week.
But never fear! Today we have an honorary Dr. Hot Pants, in stereo no less!.
Honorary Dr. Hot Pants: Steve Delahoyde
Zulkey.com Readers,
I have had a long and varying relationship with the process of dissection.
It began at an early age upon hearing that there would be the cutting up of
frogs and/or worms in the seventh grade, still some five or so years away.
It was then and there, at whatever age I might have been, that I was fervently
against dissection. "I will NEVER, EVER dissect ANYTHING! I don't care
if they flunk me! I ABSOLUTELY will be a part of this!" I'm certain I
said on more than two dozen occasions. My parents, strong supporters of my
beliefs, particularly those that had some semi-rational bearing to them, liked
that I was so staunch in my opinions and they, even if it was just to soothe
my young and idealistically worried brow, claimed that they would stick with
me to the bitter end and battle the public school system, if it came to that.
When seventh grade arrived, and biology class was in full swing, my passion
had dwindled. Maybe I had just reached that point where one has been introduced
to the world. And in seeing what a rotten place it can be sometimes, the life
of several dead frogs and/or worms seems petty and insignificant. So there
I was, scalpel in hand, cutting into the rubbery coverings of this deceased
amphibian.
In truth, while some of the resistance to the activity was probably still
lingering, I found myself actually tolerating this mandatory poking and prodding
of frog innards. It was fascinating, yet disgusting, interesting, yet school-related.
And what's more, I actually laughed when the hi jinks began and my lab partners
removed all four limbs of our assigned frog with said scalpel. And then when
our instructor, a fun first-year teacher who probably didn't know any better,
came by and handed us another dead creature, instructing that we "take
the legs off of this one and sew them onto our original one," I laughed
at that too. I even laughed when I wrapped up this new, fully-limbed frog
in a gigantic roll of paper towels, stuffed it into my jacket pocket and proceeded
to smuggle it out of the classroom, through my next six class periods, and
taking it on the bus ride home. I even enjoyed myself when I repeatedly stuck
the frog's mouth on an air compressor hose, inflated it, then pushed the air
back out forcing it to exert a little "hhhbbbbbbbbbb" noise. And
I'm still laughing that my father kept the frog hidden in the garage, where
it quickly dried out. And even more so in waiting for every December when
we would sneak the frog out and stealthily hang it on the Christmas tree (thanks
to its one perfectly crooked leg), where my mom would inevitable find it a
week later and scream, "Aaaah! I thought I told you guys to get rid of
that disgusting thing?! Why do you do that to me?!?" In short: compassion
and tenderness as I knew it were pretty much gone.
Now, some ten or fifteen years later, after several more not-too-unbearable
dissections required in high school, I was forced back into this old situation
this weekend. In searching for something I thought might keep me occupied
for the summer, and because I'm sick of not knowing the answer when people
stop me in the street and ask me to explain the similarities and differences
of diatoms and dinoglagellates, I decided to enroll in an online marine biology
course.
Two weeks in and I was faced with a lab assignment: dissect a squid. This,
I thought, must be the creature in tightly sealed shrink-wrap that arrived
in my lab kit, the one I'd disgusted my girlfriend and her roommates with
when it was discovered and shown. Before opening it, I observed that it was
most certainly gooey, would smell very fishy (puns!), and probably wouldn't
be a delightful experience all around. The questions came back swiftly: Would
I be able to dissect this squid? Would I fall back into my youthful resistance?
To answer these questions in their fullest, please click on one of the following:
QuickTime (recommended)
Real Player
Sincerely,
Dr. D., Squid Expert