Apropos of this morning's post on the existence of an intelligent proofreader, as well as our earlier posts on the importance of proofreading in baseball and near school buses, it now appears that former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney may be running for President of Amercia[sic].
Just one sentence was deleted, the last sentence of an appendix-of-sorts at the end of a brief (three-page) article. And that deletion appeared to me to be a proof of the existence of an intelligent (if not loving) proofreader.
The professional society that publishes this magazine (and many journals) requests (insists) that every author supply a brief professional biographical sketch (the usual stuff: training, appointments, research interests), to appear at the end of the article. So I did.
Only, when I got the page proofs back (in PDF form), I found that the final sentence of my biographical sketch was gone!
I didn't mind. I certainly wasn't offended, nor did I think that this editing reflected poorly on the journal or its publisher. Indeed, I took the deletion of the final sentence of my draft biosketch to be a sign of the existence of an intelligent proofreader. As in "hey, someone is really reading this stuff!"
And that sentence? It was:
A son of the Garden State, Dr. Pekar is especially grateful to have worked with so many international scientists, who tend to lack the irrational prejudice against New Jersey so prevalent among his own countrymen.
Good science is more like Proust than Mr. Popper’s Penguins; its
stories startle us with their strangeness, but they intrigue us by their
originality, and end by rewarding us with the truth, after an effort.
It is the shock good stories offer to our expectations, not some sop
they offer to our pieties, that makes tales tally, and makes comtes
count. The story that tells us only that we like all kinds of stories
lacks that excitement, that exclusionary power, which is the only thing
that makes us want to hear stories at all.
"All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame, Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees..."
"Window facing an ill-kept front yard Plums on the tree heavy with nectar Prayers to summon the destroying angel Moon stuttering in the sky like film stuck in a projector..."
Were you wondering, about Pope's trees, about just what kind of trees were they?
1. Take the Washington D.C. Metro to National Airport (DCA).
2. Fly from DCA to Los Angeles (LAX).
3. Fly from LAX to Sydney (SYD).
4. Fly from SYD to Melbourne (MEL).
5. Take a bus or taxi downtown.
6. Go to Naked Espresso at 390 Little Bourke Street, and order an espresso.
"Ten ironic rules for non-statistical reviewers" ("... written for reviewers who may not have sufficient statistical expertise to provide an informed critique during the peer-reviewed process, but would like to recommend rejection on the basis of inappropriate or invalid statistical analysis") by Prof. Karl Friston will appear in the journal NeuroImage.
The Mountain Goats rocking Melbourne's Toff, 9 May 2012 (iPhone photo).
Last week I was in Melbourne, Australia, for the 20th annual meeting of the International Society for Magnetic Resonance in Medicine. Melbourne is a great place for live music, and, as it happened, I found out in advance that the Mountain Goats would be in town! So, when I travelled Down Under I did so with a ticket for what was to be a sold-out show at Melbourne's The Toff in Town.
Max Savage and the False Idols at the Toff, 8 May 2012 (camera: Ricoh GX-100).
However, dear NeuroCooking friends, my topic today may not be singer-songwriters, or rock-n-roll, or intimate venues for live music, or fantastic audiences who shout out the choruses to early Mountain Goats songs, allowing Mr. John Darnielle to sing just the verses, or even the persistent paradox of how listening to songs about self-destructive persons engaged in abusive relationships can be uplifting. No, my topic today may be beer.
I like hoppy beers, like India Pale Ales. When I visit someplace with unfamiliar offerings on tap, especially overseas, I will ask the bartender to recommend a beer. So, that Tuesday night at the Toff, I asked the bartender:
"What's hoppy? Like an IPA?"
And he replied:
"Yes. Would you like a taste?"
I did a double-take, and looked at the taps, and yes, they had a beer on tap called "Hoppy."
And yes, it was.
This "hoppy" vs. "Hoppy" reminded me, instantly, of the old "Who's on first" routine:
It's too late to see Abbott and Costello live, but, thankfully, it's not too late to see the Mountain Goats, which I recommend that you do, wherever and whenever you can!
"We love you, John!" The Mountain Goats at the Toff, 9 May 2012 (iPhone photo).
Thaler Pekar communicates in Hoboken; her brother Jim shoots beavers in Kensington & brains in Baltimore. NeuroCooking is where they talk about brains, science, & brain science, & how each of those influence human behavior, communications, & cooking – or not.
