Blather

It's The Most Deadliest Time of the Year, or: Have Yourself a Deadly Little Christmas, or:Really, Really Silent Night

Researchers at Duke (led by a cardiologist actually named Dr. Trip Meine, according to Reuters) say you're more likely to die if admitted to a hospital during the winter holidays than at any other time of the year. According to Dr. Trip, " ...heart attack patients admitted during this holiday period were less likely to receive angioplasty to open clogged arteries (12.5 percent versus 15.3 percent for those admitted the rest of the year), and had an increased mortality rate (22.5 percent versus 20.5 percent)." The implication seems to be that medical personnel are somewhat less attentive during the holidays, a hypothesis already proven conclusively in the hospital scenes of both "The Godfather" and "The Godfather Pt. II." Two questions that the study apparently fails to answer: What did Dr. Meine do as a pre-med to earn the nickname "Trip," and is this really the best possible background for a guy who's going to crack your chest open?

No, RoboDebbie, NO!

The news that Carnegie Mellon University now has a robotic receptionist is less impressive than the sad, dull pain behind the eyes one gets when considering the dreary inevitability of its name: "Roboceptionist." There's also some fairly horrifying information in the wire story about the backstory given the creature by four writers (and man, look how well that worked on "Viva Rock Vegas"): "Valerie... a drum-shaped contraption with a digitally animated face that appears on a computer display," wastes your time nattering on about "her boss, her psychiatrist and her dream of being a lounge star." The air of humanoid authenticity the designers were presumably going for actually breaks down right about there, because when was the last time you met a receptionist who was interested enough in you to do anything but stare vacantly at a point just off your left shoulder? I have met a few who are drum-shaped, but that's another story. Valerie seems to be intended for permanent installation at the university's computer science hall, but given the unpredictable nature of office staffing, I'd look for her to be replaced by an even more disengaged robotemp sometime this fall.

Your Call Is Impor--AAAAUUUGGGHHHH!^&(*^&**$@%&%%@!, ya BASTARD!!!!!!!Transferring You Now.

Wired News offers, at least indirectly, a new strategy for dealing with voicemail hell: As soon as the system takes your call, scream a hysterical string of profanities into the phone as loud as you can.

Mmm.... Clot-Free

It's vivid but not entirely accurate of New Scientist to refer to a potentially life-saving medical device -- a kind of stent that's placed in the carotid arteries to block the passage of blood clots to the brain -- as a "tea strainer." At least, cripes, I hope it's inaccurate. I'd hate to think my prospects for a stroke-free future rest on something you can get at Bed Bath & Beyond. Besides, what happens if I get some British intern who's so lonesome for a taste of home that he filters a quick cup of Earl Gray through the thing in the five minutes before my emergency surgery?

Surgeon: How do you feel, Mr. Barol?
Me: Better, doctor, thanks. What's more, I have a refreshing hint of bergamot in my brain.

(Thanks, I'll be here all week.)

Don't Kick Me There

Scientists at the University of Leeds ("Synthesizing Vital Organs Out of 90% Post-Consumer Content Since 1967") are working on an artificial liver made of glass. "If it works it would be fantastic, so jolly good luck to them," Professor Humphrey Hodgson of the Royal Free Hospital, London, told BBC News Online. He then raised the artificial organ to his lips and tried to drink from it, apparently under the impression that it was a decanter of claret.

He's Back... And He's Popular!

This item, from the invaluable New Scientist via artist and Blather reader Jessi Buchanan, couldn't possibly be improved on by any half-assed wisecrack I could possibly make up. (Same could be said, now that I think of it, for this piece by The Gate's Mark Morford, whose capacity for creative malice continues to impress me. Hey, maybe that's what I should do with this blog -- use it to point mutely to writers who are funnier than I am.)

Earworms

University of Cincinnati professor James Kellaris has given a name to the tunes that get stuck in our heads, and even found out the ones most likely to do so: "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," "Who Let The Dogs Out" and Chili's "I Want My Baby Back" jingle. (His highly unscientific study surveyed 500 students, faculty and staff on the U of C campus.) Other findings: Women are bothered more by earworms than men, and people who are around music suffer them more frequently.

I Always Wake Up Grumpy (Especially During Surgery)

100 people a day wake up during surgery, paralyzed and unable to call out for help, according to a new study. The chairman of anesthesia and critical care medicine at the University of Chicago issues a pointed harrumph at the research, which was sponsored by makers of a system that monitors levels of operative sedation: "These studies have not been vetted through the peer-reviewed process," says Dr. Jeffrey Apfelbaum. "We are all anxious to find a way to minimize the incidence of this problem, but we need to do it through sound science." Ummm... Hey, doc? You know what I need to do? Not wake up during surgery with a freakin' tube down my throat. And with all due respect, you know what you need to do? Make sure I don't wake up during surgery with a freakin' tube down my throat. Why don't you make that your first priority -- you know, in your capacity as a professional anesthesiologist and all -- and worry about the niceties of peer review later, mmmkay? Thanks a bunch.

No, Peepers, No!

Reader Jessi Buchanan passes along this story about a new advance in monkey-brain technology, which is fascinating for both its content and the weird poetry of its headline: "Monkey mind moves robotic arm". (I also like it because it allows me to use the phrase "monkey-brain technology.") I'm no scientist, but if I were I'd stuff this research deep into the same drawer where I hide the data on wireless underwear. Call me a Luddite -- I'm just not sure monkeys should have the power to control anything with their minds, let alone powerful gripping instruments.

Is That a False Positive Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Gizmodo reports today on wireless underwear that monitors a user's heart rate and can automatically call an ambulance in the event of a heart attack. Putting aside for a moment the insane, mind-bending greatness of the phrase "wireless underwear," we should pause to consider other potential uses of this technology. Why, for example, should the things be hardwired to dial an ambulance? Is there any reason they couldn't be coded to call, say, "Larry King Live," 1-800-DENTIST, or an old girlfriend from college? What if they just want to call other underwear? Is there a variety of truss that can be programmed to call Domino's when telltale stomach-rumbling is detected? I wonder these things. Then I look again at the phrase "wireless underwear" and laugh uncontrollably.

Science!

Researchers at UCLA report that the social "pain" of being snubbed or passed over affects precisely the same areas of the brain as visceral pain, like the pain of being punched in the stomach. Continuing research is expected to prove a similar connection between social pain and so-called "comedy pain," which results from being hit in the groin with a medicine ball or stepping on a rake and having it spring upward and whap you across the nose, and also "cartoon pain" (e.g., being driven deep into a silhouette-shaped hole in the sidewalk by a falling piano).

Annals of Elective Medicine

Psychology Today reports that breast-augmentation surgery is generally held to be safe, if by "safe" you mean "more likely to result in suicide."

No, Roboto, No!

Today's New York Times reports on a Houston neurosurgeon who has invented a robot that can implant hair plugs 50% faster than a human. One piece of advice: Don't get on the robot's bad side.