We start off confused and end up confused on a higher level

Hmmm.... Got that title off our new Philosphy of Science book, "What is This Thing Called Science?" by A. F. Chalmers. Quite a charming book.

Back to the title, it's true isn't it? It always gets worse. It's surprising how we managed to stay sane all this while.

By the way, another 2 mid term exams to go. Must... stay... sane..... XD

I accidentally found the halal journal magazine during when I was book hunting at Muda Osman tonight. Mind you, it's the launch issue and I bought it at my hometown. Don't you think Allah's plan is so perfect and out of our human intellectual reach? Alhamdulillah ala kulli hal.

This is the website. and if anyone is thinking to take a glimpse on the real The Halal Journal issue, hunt me! ;p

Business Science

I came across this article. Someone, anyone might be interested. *wink*

Help Wanted: Science Manager
Kirsten A. Hubbard

Abbreviations: PSM, professional science master's; S&E, science and engineering

Kirsten A. Hubbard is a writer based in Newton, Massachusetts, United States of America. E-mail: motherhubbard@erols.com

Published January 18, 2005

DOI: 10.1371/journal.pbio.0030032

Copyright: © 2005 Kirsten A. Hubbard. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited.

Citation: Hubbard KA (2005) Help Wanted: Science Manager. PLoS Biol 3(1): e32.

“I didn't want to be just another MBA,” says Pascal Herzer, one of the first recipients of a new graduate credential known as the professional science master's, or PSM. “Not many people have the ability to understand science and business, and [the PSM] program was designed for that very purpose.”

PSMs are two-year American master's degrees financed in large part by the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation to cultivate science managers. Sloan's ultimate goal is to make science careers more attractive to talented young people like Herzer, a 2003 PSM graduate in Applied Biosciences from the University of Arizona, who believes his PSM makes him more marketable to science-based businesses. “I am at the true junction of science and business,” he says.

The Missing Degree

Fortunately for Herzer, the business of science is booming. Jobs for scientists and engineers grew four times faster than the United States national average since 1980, and should outpace the market until at least 2010. Surprisingly to many academics, most of these jobs are in industry. In 1999, the last year with complete data, two out of three employed science and engineering (S&E) graduates worked in industry, including the great majority of bachelor's and master's degree holders, and 40% of doctorates. In other words, industry, not academe, now drives American S&E employment, and will for the near future.

Like academia, industry needs scientifically literate personnel; unlike academia, industry wants employees with business savvy as well. However, in the past, graduate students received either science or business instruction, not both. “Industry simply hired regular master's-degreed people, or MBAs, or more likely PhDs, and just expected them to learn their weaknesses on the job,” says Eleanor L. Babco, Executive Director of the Commission on Professionals in Science and Technology, a nonprofit corporation with funding from the Sloan Foundation to assess PSM graduates.

For science-based businesses, then, the American S&E doctorate—viewed by many as the worldwide gold standard for science education—is too specialized for their needs (see Box 1). But a master's degree may be just right.

more

Till then, I have exams coming. And I have studied none!

Appetizing Thought 1

I got this excerpt from the New Scientist newsletter they sent me. Maybe we'll have something to say about it?

Beer battles cancer
It sounds like the perfect excuse to quaff more beer. New research with mice shows the beverage protects against the effects of some cancer-causing chemicals. But there's a catch: it was non-alcoholic beer. Nonetheless, if the scientists can pinpoint the protective compounds involved, brewers may be able to produce beer particularly rich in them. While drinking too much alcohol increases the risk of cancer, for now it remains a mystery whether moderate tippling of alcoholic beer has any anti-cancer benefits...MORE

(Mind you, this entry is only a trial to see the outcome of the blog design I just changed. I'm thinking of writing here, but soon.)

Ramadhan's Surprise; A Tribute

I’ve never experienced losing something I really love. However, the thought of being left or being the one who leave never seemed to cease coming to my mind. When will it comes? Who’s next? Will I be ready? Though I cannot feel it, it’s like the death was coming towards me creeping slowly through people I know.

It is this time.

The death is waiting for me when I came home for Ramadan this year. The death was for waiting me, to take away my close friend.

Tompok.

I would love to think, Tompok was actually waiting for me to come home. She has been sick for nearly a week, as mak told me. She didn’t eat, frequently laid herself down every day. When I first met her yesterday, she was so thin. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me. I took her and hugged her hard, as never to let go.

Deep down inside, I thought of becoming ready, for me to be left.

After Maghrib, Tompok climb on my bed, as she usually does. I sat with her, yet she didn’t say a word. Not even a voice. Suddenly, Tompok’s body went stiff, and shaking. Her eyes wide open. At first I ran out of my room, I didn’t know what to do, and mostly because I was afraid to see her being sick.

I never see her suffer. She was beautiful before, always being meticulous of herself. Tompok has always carried with her a sense of pride and content.

But then, I rushed to her, took her into my arms and stroked her softly. I want to make it best, if these were our last time together.

The next morning after Fajr, Tompok went down to the kitchen. I gave her bowl of water. I put her on the sofa, one of her favorite spots and sat down with her. We put our head together and she pushed her nose towards mine. At about 9 a.m, as I was watching Harry Potter with Tompok in my arms, she went stiff and shaking again.
It was worse that time. Tompok pushed her hands and legs around, struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes wide open, locking my stare.

It hurt me.

It hurt me so because she couldn’t talk. She couldn’t tell me how painful it was. And I couldn’t do better but to stroke her hair and soothe her.

Tompok.

My Tompok.

My One and Only Tompok.

Then I noticed blood. I rush to mak. Soon after, abah and I were in the car on our way to the vets. We put Tompok on pile of clothes in the box. She didn’t move, only her eyes were blinking.

Even if there was least hope, that’s the best thing we could do.

Tompok got two injections. We were given a syringe and her medicine of antibiotics. I was beginning to hope that Tompok could be better, that I would be able to see her playing around again.

At home, Tompok seemed to be improving. She stayed put and from time to time adjusting her posture, trying to be comfortable. I sat with her, stroking her face and head. She pushed her nose into my hand.

It was just a few minutes. I browsed through some web pages. As mak called me to help her with the cookies, I looked at Tompok and both mak and I agreed that she was sleeping.

No.

As I was stroking her face, and trying to slightly put her bent head right, I sensed something was wrong. She was heavy, and cold. And there are no breaths. I straight away knew Tompok has left me.

I sat in front of her for a few minutes, trying to see if there could be some movement. I was actually hoping that there could be some movement.

No.

Its 7th Ramadan and Tompok now gone.

In that box, she seems to be lost in her sleep, so peaceful, so calm. And I missed her already.

She would wake up surprised and shocked when she hears the vacuum hums, but she didn’t. She would run straight to me whenever I open the door each evening looking for her, but she didn’t. She would open her eyes small every time I stroke her hair when she is in deep sleep, but she didn’t.

Tompok.

My Tompok.

My one and only Tompok.

It’s still like having Tompok around. I still see her coming down from upstairs with her sleepy eyes. I still feel her trailing me in the kitchen, waiting me finish my chores. I still hear her voices, angry when I continuously teasing her.

Ah, yes. That’s really does sounds like Tompok.

I really want to know what happen to cats when they died. Where is Tompok now? Does she miss me as much as I miss her? Although it’s just a few hours since she left. Is she happy now? Is she somewhere near, looking at me? Or when she dies, she just gone? Just like that?

I really want to know.

I just want to know, whether she loves me as much as I love her for our time spent together since last six years? Was she happy living with me and my family? Did she know how much she meant to me?

I know, you think I’m crazy, but no. I am not.

Tompok is more than just a cat. We are like friends. We are like sisters. She knows me. I know her.

Both of us are happy being single, and we were proud about that. We both have the same ability of scaring away our male counterparts. And that’s why, Tompok never had a kitten.

She is the one who would wake me up each morning, with all means possible from pushing my leg with her head, walking over my body, licking my face and nose and even, urinating on my pillow (well, that was just once).

We even fight, like every normal sister does. The different is that, I got some permanent scar on my hand.

I talk to her. I cry in front of her. I watch movies with her. We even eat on the same plate sometimes.

Without me realizing, Tompok is the best thing ever happened in my life.

Its 7th Ramadan and Tompok now gone.

Links

• Biotechnologist
• Rouxified
• Lutfi's
• Fauzan