Sex on the brain
From the truly excellent New Scientist:
Women's orgasms are a turn-off for the brain
For women, it seems, sex is a big turn-off. A scanning study has revealed that many areas of the brain switch off during orgasm – including those involved in emotion.
"At the moment of orgasm, women do not have any emotional feelings," says Gert Holstege of the University of Groningen in the Netherlands. His team recruited 13 healthy heterosexual women and their partners. The women were asked to lie with their heads in a PET scanner while the team compared their brain activity in four states: resting, faking an orgasm, having their clitoris stimulated by their partner, and clitoral stimulation to the point of orgasm.
As the women were stimulated, activity rose in one sensory part of the brain but fell in the amygdala and hippocampus, areas involved in alertness and anxiety. During orgasm, activity decreased in many more areas of the brain, Holstege told a meeting of the European Society for Human Reproduction and Embryology in Copenhagen this week. Only one part of the brain, in the cerebellum, was more active in women during orgasm. The cerebellum is generally associated with coordinating movement.
The findings appear to confirm what we already know: that women cannot enjoy sex unless they are relaxed and free from worries and distractions. Looked at from an evolutionary point of view, it could be that the brain switches off the emotions during sex because at such times reproduction and survival of the species become more important than survival of the individual.
The team has already done a similar study with 11 men, which revealed far less deactivation during orgasm than in women. However, Holstege says the results are probably unreliable because PET scanners measure activity over 2 minutes – and in men it's all over in a few seconds.
From issue 2505 of New Scientist magazine, 25 June 2005, page 14
And….
Brain scans find the penis at last
At last we know where the penis is represented in the male brain.
The genitalia's location on the "homunculus", the brain's map of body parts, has been in dispute since the 1920s. Now Christian Kell at the University of Frankfurt in Germany has put eight men into an MRI scanner to help settle the question. Using a soft brush, Kell stroked parts of each volunteer's body while recording brain activity.
Each man's penis was represented in the same place – flanked by the areas for the toes and abdomen – Kell told the Organisation of Human Brain Mapping annual meeting in Toronto. "The only depressing thing," he says, "is that the representation is very small."
From issue 2505 of New Scientist magazine, 25 June 2005, page 22
One day, I'll either figure it out for myself, or I'll pluck up enough courage to ask someone how to categorise my posts on here, and this one is likely to be put under Sex; Science; and possibly Obviously! Oh, and Really Lazy Posts.
The Non-Rolling Stones
I quite like Megaliths. They tend to inspire a sense of awe and amazement in pagans or historians. Some folk see them as a bloody inconvenience in their field. Some think that standing atop them is fun; others would quite like to twat them for doing so.
I now present for your enjoyment, or as a very good reason to find something infinity more compelling to do, a story involving these ponderous lumps of rock. Note: I was big on the witchy thing back when these events took place, not that it matters to the story. Or to you. Or even to me now.
I think I've mentioned Moosh before. She's done some interesting things, considerably and frequently more so than I, and she really should have her own blog. Especially for all those Russian goings-on.
A couple of years back she invited me along to watch the sun rising on the summer solstice at Stonehenge, and then drive all the way to London to sort out her visa to get into Russia. Except I didn't quite gasp this. I understood the Stonehenge bit, but didn't take in the London bit. I thought was happening another day. In retrospect, not fully understanding the situation was probably for the best.
My memory hasn't held out too well on some of the finer points of this story, but I'll try to make as coherent as possible. In fact, this happened back in 2002, So I'm very surprised I've remembered as much as I have!
Off we toddled (oh, by we I mean: me, Moosh and Tossface™, as he shall be known, I refuse to utter his name; her boyf at the time) from somewhere around here, to Avebury first off. I seem to remember it being quite a long journey, for some reason. We may or may not have gotten lost, or I was a bit bored.
Having got to Avebury, we parked, stretched, collected our particulars including a sheet of blue tarpaulin (watch out for the tarp later!) and a large bottle of cider and a few cans of lager, which later become Snakebite in the bottle. The first – and most definitely the very last – time I've ever consumed that combination. Then we did some walking, to the stones. Walking or standing still features a lot in my memory with regards to this story.
On the walk up to the stones, one passes a pub. I would have loved to have gone in that pub, simply because I like going in pubs. In fact, Moosh and quaffing of alcoholic beverages is a nice little mental parcel for me. With the odd game of pool or darts (dodgy when drunk!) thrown in. But we didn’t do any of that. We walked on past. I wept, on the inside.
To say it was a slight anti-climax once we'd reached the site, would be downplaying the disappointment I felt at the time. If I'd been younger I would almost certainly sulked. I think in part I felt this because there is no immediate wow factor, unlike Stonehenge, which is probably why Avebury isn’t as famous or popular. It's a huge site, you only really notice how big when you walk around it, which we did, doing our best to avoid the masses of sheep poo. And trying not to break our ankles when descending the banks of the ditches. You also notice that it's hardly complete, thanks to the Christians of the 14thC trying to eradicate the pesky pagan ways of the local population. I think it’s likely that landowners of the 17th and 18th centuries are also responsible for removing and breaking up stones, but don’t hit or sue me if I’m wrong.
After our wandering about we decided to park ourselves for a bit inside the circle. Which meant more avoidance of sheep crap, which was difficult as it was everywhere. We sat, and chilled, drank a bit more snakebite and not a lot else. The entire site wasn’t heaving with people, and everyone was quite relaxed. There was some poi action, which excited Moosh. I was ambivalent about poi at Avebury, at Stonehenge and at Ashton Court and I still am.
After a while, I think it’s possible we were bored. So we left for Stonehenge. But one or two of us needed the loo and it was thought best to go now. Except we couldn’t find any toilets. And then we got lost around some barns. I don’t think anyone peed beside the one of the barns, it was still light and there were folk about, but I can’t remember how the problem was resolved.
The ‘Henge was a very different kettle of fish. Masses of people caused a rather long queue, just to park. We left Moosh’s little white Nova alone amongst the thousands of other cars, trying to memorise roughly where it’s position was, without the aid of GPS. Another little trek followed, but with an opportunity to purchase incense and other sundry items en route. Word filtered down through the casual ensemble that the local plod were checking how much alcohol peeps were planning on taking in to the enclosure, and that any glass items would be removed from your possession, which is entirely reasonable, on reflection. Some crusty looking souls were trying to manoeuvre wheelbarrows in; truly the least sensible and selfish idea they had had that day. It was at this point that Tossface™ got a little concerned. For he was carrying the probably tiny amount of pot that had been, *cough* somehow acquired. It was highly unlikely that the police would have been conducting full body searches on everyone there, but still Tossface™ felt it wise to hide the stash in the safest place he knew. His pants. Well, I would have never looked there. We were shooed through the police check point with no problems, the quantity of alcohol we were carrying was within acceptable limits.
I don’t think I’d ever been surrounded by that many of my fellow members of humanity before (I’ve lived a sheltered life, ok?). It was awash, brimming, chock-full, crammed, jam-packed, overflowing, stuffed, swarming, teeming, thronged, wall-to-wall with people. (Don’t you just love thesaurus.com?)
Surrounded by bodies as we were, we decided that the best course of action would be to circle the stones. I don’t think was directly because we wanted to piss large of numbers of people off, it was simply a consequence. The fact that we were carrying a rolled up hefty bit of tarp with us may not have helped in making any new friends. Although there was a tarp fight with someone, all very amicable. And a few heads were tapped lightly with said tarp. This activity become known as tarping and it was agreed (by Moosh and I, if no one else) that tarping was a good thing.
I believe it was during this walk around that Tossface™ quietly announced that he’d lost the pot. Remarkably, neither Moosh nor I lost the plot with him. He may have received a severe tarping, I can’t remember though.
For most of the night we were stood on one spot, there wasn’t a huge amount of choice in the matter. We’d somehow managed to position ourselves directly next to the Hare Krishnas. Boy, does that chanting get into your brain and cause you to think nasty, horrible, evil thoughts, or what?! Or is that just me?
As there wasn’t a huge amount to see or do overnight, after a while the tarp went down on the ground and we plonked ourselves down on it. This is where the tarp became very useful for the second time that night. The police and volunteers weren’t allowing any candles to be lit, which is sensible thinking back, but it would have been nice to have some heat. My, it was chilly, even amongst the throng. There were a few pillocks who thought climbing atop of the stones was a jolly good laugh, or maybe they thought they were getting in touch with they spiritual side. Who knows, I can say that I for one wasn’t impressed by their antics, and was a little concerned for the poor lichen.
The night seemed to, frankly, go on forever. That was possibly one of the longest nights I have ever known. Moosh and Tossface™ seemed to be snoozing at one point, right about the same time a couple were wandering near us selling special truffles. I would’ve bought one, if I had my money, but my cash was in a sleepy someone’s bag. I’m not one to deprive others of their slumber time.
Eventually, daylight started appearing. Oh, and it was cloudy. Yes, no one saw the sun rise that year, for it was overcast. How depressing. And then, just to add to the joyous nature of the event, it started raining. We had tarp though, and thus, it became extremely useful once again. Who needs an umbrella when you have tarp, a tarp that can attract many to shelter under it? We were, for a while, a blue human-caterpillar-type-thingy. Someone did try to get the crowd to join in with some singing, but the mood had been lost. I believe we did dance under the tarp.
Overall, my memories of that night are, in no particular order: tarp, rain, cloud, cramped, freezing bloody cold, no loo roll, trying not to sit in piss (the portaloos) and poo (sheep), disappointment, tiredness. And this man. For more photo's, the type of a far higher quality than I've shared, see this. (I don't remember it being that green!)
I may have probably moaned like a good ‘un. I quite good at moaning, ask anyone who knows me. But I had even greater reason to moan later….
Jealously is a terrible thing
I’m not the kind of girl to get jealous of other taller, thinner, more beautiful women with higher intelligence, greater common sense, style and class1, but I am the sort of person who regularly encounters the green eyed monster, with horrifying consequences. Mostly inflicted upon my bank account.
I’m all-to-often possessed with thoughts of malice towards those who have understanding of the world of Information Technology and Gadgetry.
But it's more probable that I'd stomp off, declaring it to be "not fair!" before dropping into a corner someplace, arms crossed and with a frown on my face.
PCs, laptops, pocket pcs, PDAs, ipods, (or other portable digital music players) digital cameras, Sky+, flat screen tvs, LCD monitors, wireless networking, mobiles that can do more than make phone calls, anything to do with the inner working of computers, HTML, CSS, XML, Technorati, Python, or any code, computer games, ad infinitum.
To name a tiny number of things that are highly mysterious to me or completely out of my financial reach.
For a number of years I was the geekiest member of my family, being the only one who could successfully operate the video recorder. But it seems I was simply brought up in a house that didn't read the instruction manual. Now, thanks to the internet, I'm, once again, a dunce.
My leisurely enjoyment of reading other peeps blogs and websites is marred by my near constant muttering of "what's that?" or "Eh??" This does require regular C & P'ing of words and/or phrases into Google or some such. Which means I could spend the entire day lurking around sites I would have never have gone to, or searching eBay to find if I could, for once, get one of those.
Now, I'm going to look for something that will explain quantum theory to me it terms I can understand.
1Could well be one big fat lie.
Bugger off with that book Carol Vorderman
Source: BBC NEWS | Health | 'No proof' detoxing diets work
'Extraordinary systems'
Roger Clemens, professor of molecular pharmacology and toxicology at the University of Southern California and Dr Peter Pressman, an endocrinologist at private medical firm Geller, Rudnick, Bush and Bamberger say many have reported detoxing worked for them.
They write: "There are thousands of testimonials that describe experience of less bloating (actually the result of eating less food), clearer skin (improved hydration) and decreased headaches (reduced alcohol and caffeine)."
But they say the benefits people feel are not due to their body getting rid of excessive toxins.
"The suggestion that elimination of noxious agents is enhanced because of this regimen is categorically unsubstantiated and runs counter to our understanding about human physiology and biochemistry."
They say the improvements detoxers see are instead due to changing from what is likely to have been a "poor" diet.
But is anyone likely to listen? The diet industry certainly won't want anyone to take heed. They have far too much to loose should the general public ever wake up to the fact that they are being royally ripped off.
It seems to me, regardless of the subject that: believers believe and the rest are, at the very least, skeptical. So trying to persuade folk to think differently about their illogical convictions is often a completely pointless exercise, unless raising your blood-pressure is a favourite past-time of yours. But the producers of shows like Jerry Springer and Big Brother would be out of a job if people stopped the arguing.
The world communicates more than ever, but is anyone actually listening to what's being said?
Pub Review
Café Rene
Near to the old Greyfriars Friary, off Southgate Street, next door to a church.
This pub (& restaurant) used to be known as Greyfriars, a few years back. One of my more gothy friends frequented it back then. She wasn’t disappointed when we wandered into there a couple of summers back, despite it being different.
I never paid the place any visits back in those days mostly because I never knew it existed.
Today, it’s a great pub to while away the hours. It’s very dark inside, which could mean you walk in a bit blind if it’s a particularly sunny day, I have on a few occasions. But there is the option to sit outside during the nicer days in a courtyard area, and sup your ale. Although it’s not a courtyard, it’s an alley way, but nevermind.
The establishment is next to a graveyard, long disused. Don’t let that put you off though. It’s a nicely cool place amongst the trees in hot weather, when that happens. (Where is the summer this year?)
They serve real ales, decent ciders (as well as the dreaded Strongbow), there’s a wine list that isn’t all Blossom Hill or Jacob’s Creek. The friendly, helpful staff could probably mix any cocktail that took your fancy, although I haven’t tested them.
Oh, the food! It’s fantastic. Tasty, interesting and homemade, what more could ask for? Oh, free as well. Ah well, sorry. But lunch or dinner here won’t break the bank. The last meal I had there was a cheese and ham ploughman’s – nice crusty rolls, granary and white, homemade dressing to go on the salad, the customer gets to dress their own salad. My friend, being a vegetarian had the just cheese ploughman’s, brie, cheddar and a blue. I really must try one of their burgers some day.
You can play games there, no not darts or Shove Ha'penny (sadly), but Connect 4! There are a small stack of board games in one corner. As I was on my own when I spied this, I didn’t investigate fully. I’m a terrible reporter, I know.
On the whole, Café Rene is chilled, not too trendy or trying too hard nor filled with chav types. Just my kind of pub. I should spend far more time and money there. Would anyone care to join me?
