Derridean Eugenics

I have not had time to do any research yet, but I keep thinking about eugenics and the case against it.  The problem, of course, lies in valuation.  Good and Bad.  The problem always comes about there.  But a descriptive eugenics. . . you know, the Harvard Project as measurement and observation. . . well, that seems pretty benign.  I think of a Derridean eugenics, the eugenics of Foucault.  What could go wrong?  They would do nothing with the raw data, probably, but after things were interpreted and hierarchies established--let the fun begin.

I'm sure you all have practiced eugenics in the bad way, though, trying to pick out the traits you most want to mate with.  What is wrong with you?  Some of you may even have considered buying "genius" sperm.  But the less ideological of you probably have gone for dreamy guys and gals.  I could write this in a formal way, but I'd be more susceptible to repudiation, so I'll keep it tongue-in-cheek.  Somehow, though, we accept personal eugenics and reject any public study of it.  I mean the measuring part, not the designer babies part.  But did you try to make a designer baby?  How'd that work out for you?

Part of my graduate studies was in physical anthropology.  I worked on a project that measured body fat with ultrasound which was an emerging use of the technology then. We did all sorts of measurements then.  It was science.  But as soon as you begin measuring people, you know you are entering dangerous territory, and your language changes.  You become a Victorian not discussing sex.  You speak in the highest of tonalities, all above board, you know, and you skate over all the potentialities on thin ice.  Meanwhile, my professor, a middle-aged woman with a large libido, was hitting on me all the time.  I was young and better looking then, so I assume she was practicing her own form of eugenics.

I know I am irreverent, but we must look these things straight in the eye.  I am fascinated by the variants of body types, and with a stored wealth of experience tucked away in some unconscious fold of the brain or heart, I act on my accumulated knowledge of what they mean.  No scientific study.  It is what we often refer to as intuition.

Because of my background in science, I had learned to ignore it for much of my life.  I needed objective data to make a decision.  And boy how that got me into jams.  Later on, I learned to listen to that little voice inside my head when it whispered, "there lies danger--run away, run away!"  I don't give people the benefit of the doubt any more.  I'll act like it, but my guard is up.

And I'm often wrong just as I was before I listened to the little voice.  But, I think, I am happier and safer.

O.K.  This is a lot of confused mumbo jumbo, I know.  As I say, I haven't had time to do any research into this.  But the Factory must be fed.  It has a big, ugly cartoon face with a giant and hideous mouth (let's give it a Fu Manchu mustache) that cries out, "More, more," just like the character who explodes in Monty Pythons "The Meaning of Life."  It must be fed.

One final note.  I talked to John Minnich last night, and Frankencamera is under construction.  There are just the inevitable delays, you know.  Inevitable.  It is the last camera of the year.  #13.  Just my luck.