MANY of us make stern resolves at midnight on 31 December, often to abstain from substances associated with celebrations. Sadly, many of these resolutions will be forgotten by the morning, and most of the rest wonāt be fulfilled. So begins yet another year plagued by guilt and a sense of failure.
But Feedback is here to help you succeed. Our research suggests the resolutions that arenāt kept are those made on the spur of the moment, often at the last minute on New Yearās Eve. Another big mistake is negative absolutism: āI will never do X againā is, it seems, a route to failure.
So our seasonal competition asks for your resolutions in good time. What offbeat project, described in a sentence or two, would make life more fun in interesting or exciting ways? One of Feedbackās colleagues, for example, is resolving to discover how fellow commuters judge food safety, in the hope of educating them in the basics of probability. Another will save a language by learning Tariana (31 January, p 44).
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You may submit up to two entries per person by letter, fax or email: please put āFeedback competitionā in the subject line or above the postal address. Thanks to the generosity of Penguin, 10 lucky winners will receive a copy of So Shall We Reap, Colin Tudgeās look at the future of food. And we resolve to get a bottle of something pleasant to accompany it.
The winning entries will be chosen for their wit and originality. All entries must reach Feedback by Monday 13 December. The winners will be announced in the 8 January issue. The editorās decision is final.
WHO HANDS out names? We have prions that are infectious proteins, prions that are birds with a particularly acute sense of smell, and preons that are subatomic particles. Steve Hibbert suspects that the common factor is simply that these are āsciency-soundingā words. Priddlepuck and nandoofler are not. Do scientists have an innate predilection for such names, he asks, or are they nurtured to follow naming conventions?
And he has a challenge for readers. You must be able to dredge up particularly non-sciency names that egg-heads have squinked into the scientific lexicon by the backdoor. He provides an example from his work in electronic broking. A programmer writing a core application asked the business mandarins what it should be called. They replied āWe donāt care, so long as it worksā. So now Hibbertās colleagues have to deal with problems with spongler overload and the occasional spongler failure, always maintaining po-faced seriousness.
LAST week we featured a ātasteless press release of the weekā about AIDS. This week we bring you the most cringe-making press release of the week. Itās about heart disease, and it comes from the University of Michigan: āListen ā do you want to know a secret?ā it begins breathlessly: āDo you promise not to tell?
āThe Fab Four are back, and theyāre heading straight for the hearts of millions. Itās enough to make you want to āTwist and Shoutā! No, itās not the Beatles. This Fab Four is a combination of four kinds of medicines that can protect the heart ā and maybe save the life ā of almost anyone who has ever had a heart attack or chest pain. Although each one of them is great as a solo artist, the Fab Four are even better in concert as a group, say University of Michigan doctors. They āCome Togetherā to lower cholesterol and blood pressure, slow the heartbeat and keep blood flowingā¦But many of those who could benefit from this drug combo havenāt heard the news. Thatās why a University of Michigan Cardiovascular Center leader is working āEight Days a Weekā to spread the word about the Fab Four.ā
Weāll spare you too much more of this and go to the punchline from this paperback writer: āJust who are the Fab Four, anyway? Well, the groupās members have names that arenāt quite as catchy as John, Paul, George and Ringo. Instead, they go by the names of aspirin, beta blockers, ACE inhibitors and cholesterol-lowering drugs.ā
AT LAST, a new (to us) technological game that doesnāt involve a search engine. Meg Kingston introduces us to the textonym. Thatāll be the set of words generated by a particular sequence of key presses on a mobile phone, when the phoneās software is predicting what word you want. For example, keys 2-2-4-3 can signify ache, acid or cage. Press 7-4-6-6-3-7 for phones, simmer and sinner.
The random nature of the groupings produces some eerie resonances when you consider the words together. What about apron arson, for example? Can a barge be described as acrid? Has an anode ever cooed? Can you debug death? Does the study of maths result in oaths? If the bane of the band was acne, would they be cured if a cane came?
The largest set she knows of is nine words for keys 2-6-9: Amy, any, bow, box, boy, cow, cox, coy, coz. If anyone can beat it, weād like to know.
WE BEMOANED the lack of a unit for units (13 November). Andrew Fry reckons that we have touched on āone of the few genuinely self-referential concepts that come to mindā ā like the set of sets, which naturally includes itself as a member. āThe unit for units,ā he proposes, is the āunitā ā which is in turn a unit.
But, he adds, āIām having trouble with the concept of 200 milliunits.ā
āCrunch time for Europe moon probeā ā the BBC website fails to express its confidence in the SMART-1 mission
