This week I’ve learnt about Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, ALS and Huntington’s. Then there was autism, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I’ve blogged on suicide and child abuse. So it’s some relief to end the conference blog with a poster that has the excellent title of “No disease in the brain of a 115-year-old woman”.
This week I’ve learnt about Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, ALS and Huntington’s. Then there was autism, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I’ve blogged on suicide and child abuse. So it’s some relief to end the conference blog with a poster that has the excellent title of “No disease in the brain of a 115-year-old woman”.
There are lots of papers on sleep at this year’s meeting, which is appropriate for a conference that always features a lot of socializing — and a lot of caffeine to compensate for that socializing. Many of the papers expand on messages we’ve heard before about the cognitive penalty we pay for not sleeping properly. But one paper today contained a more unusual result: sleep sometimes helps us make more mistakes, but in a creative way.
There are lots of papers on sleep at this year’s meeting, which is appropriate for a conference that always features a lot of socializing — and a lot of caffeine to compensate for that socializing. Many of the papers expand on messages we’ve heard before about the cognitive penalty we pay for not sleeping properly. But one paper today contained a more unusual result: sleep sometimes helps us make more mistakes, but in a creative way.
There are lots of shiny high-tech stands here selling equipment that can track the movement of lab animals or peer into their brains. Sitting a little oddly amongst them is John Gach’s stand. He’s selling old scientific textbooks, and is doing a very nice trade.
My favourite was his copy of the 1794 Zoonomia, in which Erasmus Darwin discusses ideas about evolution that later influenced his grandson’s theory. It’s yours for $1,750. Pricey, but there were others that would set you back more. A copy of a monograph by Sigmund Freud on child neurology, signed by the author, is listed at $5,000.
There are lots of shiny high-tech stands here selling equipment that can track the movement of lab animals or peer into their brains. Sitting a little oddly amongst them is John Gach’s stand. He’s selling old scientific textbooks, and is doing a very nice trade.
My favourite was his copy of the 1794 Zoonomia, in which Erasmus Darwin discusses ideas about evolution that later influenced his grandson’s theory. It’s yours for $1,750. Pricey, but there were others that would set you back more. A copy of a monograph by Sigmund Freud on child neurology, signed by the author, is listed at $5,000.
Mice don’t like to booze. That’s a problem, since it means that it’s hard to use them to study alcohol dependence. But maybe not a problem for much longer, since researchers were describing today how they managed to persuade mice to properly sloshed. The answer? Given them the liquour when the lights go down.
Mice don’t like to booze. That’s a problem, since it means that it’s hard to use them to study alcohol dependence. But maybe not a problem for much longer, since researchers were describing today how they managed to persuade mice to properly sloshed. The answer? Given them the liquour when the lights go down.
Synesthesia is one of those weird brain conditions that fascinates researchers and the public alike. For the uninitiated, synesthetes are people of sound mind and regular intelligence who, for reasons unknown, get their senses mixed up. They hear sounds when they read words, or see colours when they hear sounds. Or experience a change in temperature when they touch things. And so on: just about every possible combination of mixed-up senses has been reported by researchers who study synesthetes. But something about this work has always bugged me: how do the researchers know their subjects aren’t just making it up?
Synesthesia is one of those weird brain conditions that fascinates researchers and the public alike. For the uninitiated, synesthetes are people of sound mind and regular intelligence who, for reasons unknown, get their senses mixed up. They hear sounds when they read words, or see colours when they hear sounds. Or experience a change in temperature when they touch things. And so on: just about every possible combination of mixed-up senses has been reported by researchers who study synesthetes. But something about this work has always bugged me: how do the researchers know their subjects aren’t just making it up?