Julie.hochgesang

Photo Credit: Julie Hochgesang Cameron

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Though past studies have found little evidence that women are opting out of the workforce in general, first-of-its-kind research by a professor of law and economics shows that female graduates of elite undergraduate universities are working much fewer hours than their counterparts from less selective institutions.

Download Arthustler Podcast 003: Taking the MBTI Personality Test

(RSS & iTunes subscription options coming soon)

Description:

Keith, Jon and Oz take the Myers Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), and then discuss what the MBTI is about and how it gives us an educated insight into ourselves and how we interact with the world

Hosts: Oz Cameron & Keith Kelly, with guest Jon Calvert (@orion_quotient)

 

Show notes

As I was cleaning out the refrigerator the other day, I was reminded of Arlie Hochschild’s The Second Shift, which describes the extra burden of work that falls to women once they are at home. Then, it occurred to me that, because I was cleaning out the office refrigerator (who leaves vanilla frosting and a stick of margarine in a communal refrigerator anyway?), this work was a part of my first shift, even though it appears nowhere in my job description. This made me wonder whether women face not only extra work at home but also hidden tasks throughout their workday.

A combination of clearing skies, falling temperatures, and lingering ground moisture from yesterday's rain set the stage for a blanket of fog early this morning.

What do you do if you drop your sandwich on the floor? Pick it up within five seconds and just continue eating? You’re not the only one. It’s a very convenient socially accepted code of behavior, but does it also make sense?...

Dawson, P., Han, I., Cox, M., Black, C., & Simmons, L. (2006) Residence time and food contact time effects on transfer of Salmonella Typhimurium from tile, wood and carpet: testing the five-second rule. Journal of Applied Microbiology, 2147483647. DOI: 10.1111/j.1365-2672.2006.03171.x  

Residence time and food contact time effects on transfer of Salmonella Typhimurium from tile, wood and carpet: testing the five-second rule

A letter from a reader of Motherhood:

Your book “Motherhood – the elephant in the laboratory” was recommended to me by a another woman who is a Mother and a Scientist. I read it cover-to-cover and ran through a whole range of different emotions. Like the women in the book, we all have our own stories to tell of the difficulties and triumphs of being a Mother and a Scientist. I’ve told my daughters that being a Mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and absolutely the best. Despite all the difficulties, having kids has really kept me centered.

I saw bits and pieces of my story in several of the stories of the women in the book. Problems of being a female – and being a scientist, as well as being a Mother. When each of my daughters was born, I was a bit sad as I knew that they, too, would face challenges that would not be there if they had been boys. But I was certain that by the time they grew up and were off to have their careers, that most of the glass ceiling and female issues in employment would be resolved. I think that was the hardest part of reading this book – the last couple of chapters where young women still working towards their PhDs are even now facing discrimination for being (or wanting to be) Mothers. I know that all the fights that I fought HAVE helped to make a difference – but sometimes I despair and wonder why our daughters still have to fight some of those same ones over again.

And I was very sad when I read your note about attending a SETAC meeting and feeling like you were not respected because you were an independent scientist (not affiliated with an institution). I have been on the SETAC governing Council and maybe was even President at that time. Frankly, I thought better of our members. That respect was engendered by what you did, not what label you have. Although maybe I should have known better as my own integrity has been challenged simply on the basis of my affiliation. I worked for EPA for the first 8 years of my career, and then left to take a job in consulting (it’s a complicated story, but suffice it to say that opportunities at the EPA lab where I was working were limited). Many of my colleagues thought that I had gone over to the Dark Side. I was hurt and insulted that people whom I thought were friends thought that little of me. I did, eventually, win back their respect through continuing to practice good and unbiased science (“they will know you by your deeds”). And then did another tour at EPA and now am back in consulting; go figure!

But I really do want to Thank You for helping to bring the elephant out of the laboratory. To point out the difficulties and hurdles and frustrations that woman still face. Many men (well-meaning though they are) don’t believe this to be the case anymore – that we’ve achieved parity and that such stories of difficulties are of our own making. This denial is something that needs to be overcome through broadcasting the stories of women like those in your book.

I’ve already passed on my copy of your book to another Scientist, Wife, Mother…. I hope she passes it on, too – such stories need to be shared.

Our children grow up and move on all too soon – sometimes, it pays to be in the moment and simply reflect on the wonder of it all.

Best regards,

Anne, D.V.M., Ph.D.

Students perform better when their instructors use hand gestures -- a simple teaching tool that could yield benefits in higher-level math such as algebra.

Atheist Shoes ("a cadre of shoemakers and artists in Berlin who hand-make ridiculously comfortable, Bauhaus-inspired shoes for people who don't believe in god(s)") noticed that a disproportionate number of their shipments to the USA were delayed or lost. A customer suggested this may be because USPS workers were taking offense at the ATHEIST packing tape they used to seal the boxes. So the company tried an A/B split, and found that boxes emblazoned with ATHEIST tape were 10 times more likely to go missing in the USPS and took an average of three days longer than their generic equivalents. They've stopped using the ATHEIST packing tape.

ATHEIST / USPS Discrimination Against Atheism? (Thanks, Alice!)

Seventeen percent of people are inhumane demon-spawns who pick cherry blossoms off of trees. Don't be one of them. [ more › ]

By Zak Stone

Doing research in the field on hookworm, a parasite that effects about 2 billion people, a doctor needed to find a way to look at the anemia-causing bugs without a microscope. [More]

To say that the party was off the chain doesn’t even begin to describe; this party broke the chain in half. This party melted the chain down and using precious metals made an even crazier chain. It started at 2PM, unheard of in the toddler world where events are usually either pre or post-nap. But the chosen time was intentional. The host wanted to send a message: No lightweights.

I walked in at 2:30 and knew right away this wasn’t an ordinary birthday party. No Minute Maid from concentrate, no High-C in this heezy just bottles of Pom.

A Raffi CD was blaring Baby Beluga and these toddlers were leaving it all on the dance floor. After a few minute of clinging I found my crew in the living room playing with blocks. Wooden blocks from Denmark. I picked up a cube and examined it; the buttery wood was nothing like my dollar store trinkets. I brought it to my nose; the scent transported me to the shores of the Baltic sea, to a place dense with Linden trees, Viking legacies, and children who willingly and stupidly wear pants made of sheep’s wool. No lead. These people went all out.

Two minutes into parallel play I felt a familiar anger rise in my solar plexus. Hunger. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for. The spread was impressive: whole packages of fruit snacks, four types of crackers including a bowl overflowing with intact Goldfish, and recognizable cheese.

“Whattryou having?” a drowsy two-year hanging onto a nearby chair slurred. I made my selections. I don’t know if it was the atmosphere or 100% juice drink making me brave but holding the plate as I walked across the room to show mommy my spoils felt right at the time. Once the mess was cleaned up and more food secured I feasted hungrily.

The party was in full swing now. A remixed version of The Farmer in the Dell laid over a track from The Fresh Beats Band was bringing out the wild in errybody. “One, here comes to the two to the three to the four,” a 3-year old girl who clearly knew her numbers spun crazily almost taking out a few people in her vicinity.

“WHAT’S SHE ON?” I shouted over the music to the kid on my right.

“THE SIZZURP!”

“WHAT?”

“THE SIZZURP!”

“WHAAAT?”

“THE HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SIZZURP! ONE PART ORANGE SODA, TWO PIXY STICKS AND SPRINKLES!”

He had me at the orange soda. Before I could go in search of the sizzurp I was swooped up for a forced bathroom break. I didn’t go quietly- all this environmental stimulation was leaving me feeling somewhat belligerent- but I did go. A lot. Some on my shoe.

Later as I was trying to hide a home furnishing I’d damaged behind some drapes I saw mommy sitting on the couch talking to someone. He couldn’t have been more than 16-months old. Overalls made out of khaki material, white collared short-sleeved Circo. I was fine until I saw her laugh her beautiful sparkly laugh and pat him on the head. Like lightning I headed over there prepared to say something casual like, “What are you guys taking about?” but it came out, “NO!”

The big infant acted like he didn’t even see me and kept the conversation going.

“I two trucks. Two trucks. Gween. Two gween trucks.”

“Cool story, bro,” I stepped between him and my mom, “Did you come here with someone?”

He continued to ignore me and tried to regain eye contact with m’lady whose lap I had now managed to climb on to.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out two Hot Wheels and would given them to her if I hadn’t hit them both out of his hand. He laughed like we were playing.

“Broseph. You need to move along.” He kept staring at me and it wasn’t until I finally knocked him off balance with my foot that he backed away. I turned to my mom. Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I? She whispered something about gentle feet.

Out of nowhere the music calmed, the lights dimmed, and a woman carrying the cake of all cakes on a crystal platter appeared singing, “Happy Birthday.” I was touched. A wave of appreciative embarrassment washed over me as I made my way toward this kind stranger. How did she know chocolate is my favorite?

In what can only be described as the rudest awakening of of my life my mom pulled me back by the hood of my sweatshirt and said, “Not for you.”

Even if I’d wanted to fight back the tears I would have been powerless against the oceans upon oceans of acute pain. If this celebratory confection and song were not for me, then who? The birthday melody that just a few moments ago sounded so sweet was now jarring and each note increased my restless fury. As the cake was placed in front of a lanky toddler I foggily recognized from the park I felt the world come out from under my feet: she picked me up, and just moments after I’d internally decided to rush the birthday boy and smash his cake into a sugar and flour puree.

The next several minutes were spent in spiritual solitude. The cotton fibers of the right shoulder corner of my mother’s shirt may have muffled my sobs and absorbed my tears, but as I peeled my face away from her body my broken disposition was apparent to anyone who cared to glance upon me. “Go ahead and look,” I said to myself.

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks, a slice of cake appeared. The traitor/stranger lady waved a piece like a white flag timidly under my nose causing me to smile involuntarily.

I don’t remember when I took my pants off. Actually, I can’t remember anything after the cake. I woke up in my carseat with a party bag in my hand and someone else’s shoes on my feet. To whoever has my red Pedipeds, keep them. They smell like pee.