The Body Politic

And what, do you suppose, is one supposed to wear to a science fair? There are no rules for this, at least none that my eight-year-old brain could figure out. I couldn’t wear shorts and a t-shirt. I knew that much. But since my school uniform was nice pants, white or blue button down oxford shirt, what was I to wear that would look MORE dressed up than that? Answer: the necktie.

I’m not a big fan of the necktie. I had to wear one for four years throughout high school (those crazy parochial schools), every Sunday throughout college (fraternity meetings are formal) and for three years after that (apparently it helps you edit when you work in a newsroom. Who knew?). When I left the TV station it was decided, by me, that I was done with ties. Having acquired a large amount throughout the years though (being part of my dress code made them an easy gift for my mother to get me), I took my thirty favorites and shoved them into my backpack to keep me covered for any upcoming interviews, weddings and funerals.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure that was close to my first tie. I may’ve worn one for church at Christmas time, though my mom was fond of the matching sweaters for me and my brother; two of my grandparents had died by that point, but I hadn’t gone to their funerals; and I did wear a tuxedo for my aunt’s wedding (brown and orange with ruffles!) but that came with a bowtie. The science fair, I’m pretty sure was my first time.

I could be wrong. It’s happened once or twice before, but at this point, let’s just run with it.

I’m not even sure why I had a tie. But I did. And when I told my mom that I had to show my project at the science fair that Saturday, I insisted I be wearing my tie. I was nothing if not a little professional. I was still a few years away from the Windsor knot, but it didn’t really matter, a clip on wasn’t hard to figure out for this kid.

This kid had a project at the science fair.

I remember a couple different science fairs when I was a kid. One of them I did nothing more than put together the Visible Man. That see through body that shows you how your organs work. Well, all the big ones at least. I think the point of it was to show digestion but I still haven’t figured out what the hell the duodenum is. I thought that was the system the library used to catalog books.

(Rimshot!)

The other project I remember doing was a study of our solar system using variously sized balls, mangled hangers and a lot of paint. That’s the one for which I won. And since then I’ve always enjoyed science – you know, the study of’things. It’s hard to really break it down into such a broad category, but I liked space, I was fascinated by chemistry, and physics was just chemistry with math.

Biology and me had a falling out, but that was the result of an unfortunate one-two punch my freshman year in high school when I a) passed out during the figuring out your blood type experiment and b) had a lab partner who cut off the leg of the pig we were supposed to be dissecting, put it in the microwave at school, and got me suspended for three days.

In college I watched my friend Tom have three different procedures – appendix out, removing glass from his knuckles after he got in a fight with a mirror, and watched him have a bunion removed. Fascinating. Science was even my best category in Trivial Pursuit, well, after Entertainment at least.

But then I kind of fell out of my love affair with science. It was fairly recent: right around the time I started having shaking spells and I was in and out of hospitals for a year until they finally told they had no idea what was wrong with me. It got annoying after that to see them discover new ways to fix that bone and new procedures to study cow flatulence.

Uh, guys? Over here. I’m still doing my impersonation of the Rabbit UltraVibe 3000. Think you can help me out?
Okay, so I wasn’t that dramatic about severing my ties. I just kind of lost my wanderlust. I was focused on other things. We just grew apart, me and science. No big deal.

So, this weekend I visited the California Science Center where they had, unironically enough, a science exhibit: Gunther von Hagens’ BODY WORLDS, the anatomical exhibition of real human bodies. What is was, basically, was a study of the human body, using a lot of real dead human bodies.

And it was utterly fascinating. In some it was just the skeleton. Other’s had the muscles in various states of dissection. Some bodies were cut lengthwise down the middle. Others had the internal organs pulled out. Some highlighted the nervous system. One body was playing basketball. One dude was holding his own skin in the air as if he were a waiter bringing out a platter.

They also had cases of individual organs: hearts, livers, even a black lung or three. It was such an intriguing study. It’s not like it was new information, but here you were seeing, plain as day and it was real. The reality of it didn’t click right away. It happened about an hour into the exhibit when I was looking at one unfortunate fellow who had no internal organs. This particular dude’s claim to fame was his eyeballs – there was one encased by the skin, the other not – so you could compare. And as I looked at his eyes, his dark Jean Claude Van Damme looking eyes that were fixated on a point just above me, I saw something that actually gave me chills. I saw his eyelashes. Real fibrous eyelashes. That’s when it hit me. This was a real person.

This was an actual guy. He lived. He smoked (his black lungs hadn’t been removed). He probably loved someone and was loved by someone. He may’ve cooked dinner for his mom on Sundays or perhaps he beat his child or went to prison for grand theft auto. Whatever, he had lived.

It gave me kind of a creepy feeling as I finished the exhibit. Nothing much, just a weird, sort of voyeuristic kind of guilt. Some of the bodies were dissected in slices every few inches so you could get a different perspective.

They highlighted tumors, more black lungs, melanomas and heart disease. A lot of stuff to see that was as dynamic as it was didactic.

There was never any question in my mind about the validity of the display. Yeah, there was the guilt, but I was raised Catholic – I feel guilt when sun comes up wrong. But apparently there had been protests in other cities about whether the exhibit was morally or ethically appropriate.

They had given us a questionnaire when we finished about our feelings on the subject and there were several multiple choice questions on whether or not you thought the exhibit went against “god’s plan” or was ethically questionable according to your religious beliefs. Eventually there was a spot where I could check the atheist box and be done with it.

I don’t see the problem with the display, personally. I mean, granted, I don’t think I would be remotely comfortable if my mom was on display with her breasts highlighted to show where the cancer hit or having my cousin sliced up to show her enlarged heart or even myself.

But I can see the educational value of taking apart the body and putting it back together to see how it works. That’s how I figured out how to fix my VCR. And maybe one of these days they can learn something new and when I have another shaking spell I won’t have to hear “Sorry, not sure, have a lollipop.”

Honestly, though, they’ve never offered me a lollipop.
And if it’s not my thing, hell, there’s an assload of people out there just dying to know what makes them tick.

Maybe I won’t sign up to have my body on display in a museum (here’s the enlarged part of the subject’s brain to show from where his enormous since of paranoia emanated), but I’ve got the organ donor box check marked on the back of my license.

Hey, we all do our part to help the study of, you know, things.