Image: John Murphy via Flickr

A few weeks ago, I admitted that I didn’t trust the company that made 23andMe due to the terms and conditions attached to their product.  It was a gut decision that I revisited this week when I read about the patent they applied for that they insist they have no plans to use.  Right… because often companies go through lengthy, expensive legal processes for intellectual property they have no desire to put into use.  They write on their site:

At the time 23andMe filed the patent, there was consideration that the technology could have potential applications for fertility clinics so language specific to the fertility treatment process was included in the patent. But much has evolved in that time, including 23andMe’s strategic focus. The company never pursued the concepts discussed in the patent beyond our Family Traits Inheritance Calculator, nor do we have any plans to do so.

I would totally believe them, that they have no plans to use the patent in the way they say they will use the patent, if they didn’t complete the patent process.  But according to the USPTO, a patent is granted after many steps have been completed, including the final step: a payment of the issue fee and publication fee.

• Step 11, USPTO – If objections and rejection of the examiner are overcome, USPTO sends Notice of Allowance and Fee(s) due
• Step 12, Applicant – Applicant pays the issue fee and the publication fee
  • USPTO Grants Patent

In other words, at the end of this long, expensive process, they just invested more money into something they have no intention of using as an asset to make money as a company beyond its current use?  Doesn’t ring true to me.

I actually would have been fine with 23andMe if they had been honest, saying that they have every intention of having fertility clinics use the technology to screen donors.  Then my post would be focusing on the fertility clinics and not the company itself.  But, sorry 23andMe, you now get the ethical weight on YOUR shoulders.

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The patent in question, being debated across a multitude of sites and making the sensitive people of the world crawl into the comment section to write about how all people who use fertility treatments want “designer babies,” gives potential parents (or in this case, donors) information on which physical traits or medical conditions they may pass along to a child.

What the hell do people mean when they throw out the term “designer baby”?  Designer clothing is called as such because it carries the name of a designer.  Who is the designer in the case of the designer baby since there is no person on earth who can fashion a human being from scratch?  And why is it said with such contempt?  A friend used PGD to ensure that her child wasn’t passed a fatal illness; how does that create an uber-baby, somehow different from all other babies who are born without said disease?

I guess I’m not really sure how being able to create more favourable odds for a certain trait to make an appearance or to keep a disease from being passed along to the next generation in a family makes a child “designer.”  I guess I’d like Lydia O’Connor from Huffington Post to explain exactly what she means by a “designer” baby since it isn’t clear from her article, yet she uses it for her opening: “We may be one step closer to designer babies.”

So, Ms. O’Connor, care to explain?

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As 23andMe points out, genetic selection is something that one can do on a small scale simply by using their eyes.  Two tall parents are likely going to produce a tall child.  It’s not a guarantee, but it’s likely.

So we come to our first ethical question: (1) is it okay for a tall woman to purposefully marry a tall man (sorry, a lot of these questions are going to be hetero-focused since we’re talking about unassisted conception) because she wants tall children?

Then we have to take the question a step further: (2) is it okay for a tall woman to purposefully use the sperm of a tall man in creating a donor-assisted child because she wants tall children?

Then we go further still: (3) is it okay for a reproductive endocrinologist to test embryos before transferring them, only putting in ones that have strong potential for height?

Set aside potential height (remember: not guaranteed height) for a moment.  Some people choose their perspective partner because of their family medical history or reject a person due to their family medical history.  While I think we’d like to believe that love conquers all, we also know that many people engage in genetic testing prior to or after marriage, even before they hit the genetic testing that takes place during a pregnancy.  So (4) is that ethical — choosing a partner because they don’t have a history of a genetic illness that runs in your family?

And taking that a step further: (5) is it okay for a couple to use a donor to possibly skirt the passing on of a genetic condition?

And then going further still: (6) is it okay for a reproductive endocrinologist to test embryos before transferring them, and only putting in ones that do not have the increased risk for a genetic illness?

Generally when we talk about this, people say that it’s totally fine to do it in the second case because it’s a matter of life-or-death, imagining the disease at hand to be deadly, such as Tay-Sachs.

But what about something else that has strong genetic ties but isn’t fatal?  Such as an increased cancer risk, when the cancer itself is treatable?  Or mental illnesss?  No one wants their child to suffer, especially if there are ways to circumvent the possibility.  But there’s a reason why this question is such great fodder for ethics classes.  There is no easy answer on where to draw the line.

It’s okay to have a different standard for genetic traits such as height as opposed to life-threatening illnesses, but what we do need to do is define why.  Why are we okay doing everything in our power to avoid an increased risk of cancer, but not doing everything in our power to help the odds of a child being a certain physical trait?  Especially when parents are not asking for the same physical trait; the desired trait is personal to the parent; vs. being imposed by a governmental plan.

Thoughtful family building usually isn’t a crap shoot.  We’ve subconsciously or consciously chosen a partner we believe will be good to procreate with, both for nature as well as nurture.  When we imagine a future child, we super-impose the traits we believe they may inherit, including the ones we’re fearful of them receiving.  So it’s interesting to see the strong reaction and the screams of “designer baby” when we take it a single step further and actually do testing to have stronger proof of the chances.

And I do think that feelings about fertility treatments — especially who the general public believes engages in assisted conception — comes into play in the larger discussion of 23andMe’s patent.

It’s an interesting topic to debate in a mindful manner. (Yes, that was a hint!)

So where are boundaries for you on the ethical questions above?

Everyone who reads this blog regularly knows how I feel about Candy Crush.  It is a passionate love affair that knows few limits.  I am not above calling friends and whispering into the telephone, “pretty please, I’ll cook dinner for you for the rest of the week.  Just give me a ticket to the next level.”  I have reset the clock on the phone to get more lives, paused the game on timed levels in order to think through my moves, and begged for advice.  But now, I am really and truly cheating on Candy Crush.

I’ve started seeing Dots.*

I love it so so much.

Dots is a game very similar to Candy Crush except there is only one level.  And you never need to ask anyone for anything.  And you never run out of lives.  And you can remove dots by connecting just two of them (instead of needing three to clear out the pieces).  The dots cascade down like the candy in Candy Crush, making a square clears all of that colour temporarily off the board, and the game makes a happy noise as you get rid of the dots.  Plus, it doesn’t have that creepy man who oversees Candyville who gives me nightmares.  And you can turn the sound off easily so no one knows that you are obsessively playing Dots.

See? It’s the perfect game.

The game is the electronic equivalent to consuming Doritos.  In the same way that you may look down at the bag and realize that you mindlessly ate 3000 calories worth of artificially-flavoured corn chips, you may end up playing Dots for several hours before you realize that you just missed the entire episode of Saturday Night Live because you were too busy trying to best your score of 206.

But I’m strangely okay with that.

So there are two ways you can play Dots.  You can set a personal goal and keep playing until you reach it, such as “I will best my score” or “I will get over 150 dots.”  You get cute badges for completing certain tasks on the screen, so I’m currently working my way through the badge system and will sometimes tell myself that I can continue playing until I earn a new badge.

Or you can challenge someone else in the room and pass-and-play the same board.  Meaning, you begin with the exact same dots in the exact same order, and from there, each move creates a different path. I am constantly challenging everyone in our house to games of Dots.  For instance, Josh and I played each other this weekend to see who would have to go downstairs and get dessert (I did… I lost big time).

Plus, because you can always play and you don’t need to wait for lives to regenerate, I tend to stay on it much longer than Candy Crush.  It works the exact same part of my brain, searching for moves that will cause the dot I need to cascade into place so I can wipe out a long row of dots or form a square.  It is so relaxing.  Like popping mental bubble wrap.

So I’m cheating on Candy Crush.  It’s not that the Crush is going anywhere; I’m now on Level 241. Believe me, I’m still going strong with the Crush.  But sometimes I need a game that is a little less complicated.  That doesn’t make me jump through hoops.  That keeps the same difficulty for every board, and it’s up to me to find the good moves.  Sometimes I just want a clean white screen, neat rows of dots, and a little less noise.  You know?

* It seems to be for iTunes, Kindle, or Android.  I haven’t seen a place you can play online.

 Image: Compudemano via Flickr

This post will be most amusing to those who have followed the Wolvog’s repulsion of the new operating system.  I wrote the post right before he upgraded.  He is coming around to the new Siri, though he sees her as a completely different electronic friend from the old Siri.  He’s learned that he’s not going to love everything his favourite company creates.  I’m glad he’s keeping his own taste.  It will serve him well when he starts his own electronics and software company.  Yes, he’s already picked out a name, designed his headquarters, and has given me a small amount of stock.

But until then…

I watched the livestream of the last Apple event while the kids were at school, jotting down the details on the new iPhone 5S and C just as much for the Wolvog as for the article I wrote on the new phones.  It was the first thing he asked when he got in the car at school pickup: what was the processing chip, did the new phones have the retina display, how many megapixels in the camera?  He wanted to know everything about iOS7, and he moaned when he found out he had to wait about two weeks before he’d be able to swing by a store and hold these devices in his sweaty little palm.  “Are we getting one?” he asked hopefully.

“Are you kidding me?  Our phones are a year old,” I answered.

“But… they’re not an iPhone 5S.”

He’s right.  Our phones, cutting edge only a year ago are now two generations behind.  Our iPad is pre-Siri.

And to that end, they haven’t just outgrown games; they’ve outgrown gaming systems.

There is always a newer, shinier gadget on the horizon, especially at this time of year when manufacturers want to get your Christmas dollars.  As an adult, it’s hard not to get swept up in believing that you need a new iPhone 5S (or even an iPhone 5C… in blue… since it’s pretty) when you hear all the cool things it can do that your current phone cannot.  As a kid, it’s impossible not to believe that life will be magically different, as wonderful as those adults at Apple make it sound.

For those with a replenishing money tree in their backyard, obtaining every new phone, tablet, computer, and gaming system isn’t a big deal.  For the rest of us, we need to pick and choose what will truly make our life easier and better and weigh that against cost and waste.  And then explain to our kids why we’re not getting a gadget that promises to make them smarter while simultaneously making life happier, brighter, and more fun.

We get new phones when our current phones are on their last legs.  When the battery no longer holds a charge for a whole day.  When the operating system can no longer accept new updates.  When it’s missing more than a few of the time-saving tasks that each new generation of phone brings to its user.  The same goes for our computers: they’re replaced when our old computers cease to work effectively enough to perform the simple tasks we need them to do.  Our iPad will be around until it burns out and dies a painless, gadget death.  And that Wii is going to have to be good enough until it no longer allows us to jog around Wuhu Island.

This isn’t a new phenomenon; kids always wanting the next big thing.  But the next big thing when I was growing up was a new set of Garbage Pail Kids or a new She-Ra action figure.  The items we coveted the most were mostly reasonably priced (with the exception of those Cabbage Patch Kid dolls) and the technology moved at a snail’s pace.  The same gaming system could carry you for years and years without any itch to replace it.  Our telephones were just… telephones.  And while we had a computer growing up, I certainly didn’t know about each incarnation of Apple computer, which came about every few years. (The Apple II sold for 16 straight years with very few changes!)  Beyond that, even if I did know about a new piece of technology, I never expected us to get it.  My parents either brought it home, or they didn’t.  I certainly didn’t care what sort of technology they had.

I think the twins have accepted that we’re not getting the iPhone 5S, nor will we probably get the iPhone 6 whenever that is released.  We may even be able to stretch past the iPhone 7 if the models keep coming in quick succession.  I have relented and said we could go to the Apple store to gawk at the new devices.  I’m sure there will be a lot of coveting and even more hinting (and outright statements) of how much an iPhone 5S could enhance our lives.  And part of me believes the hype too.  Part of me believes that I would be a more organized, more creative, happier person with the latest tool in my hand.

Luckily the part of me that believes that doesn’t have access to my wallet.

Do you covet each new gadget?  How do you decide when to upgrade when the models come at you fast and furious?

cross-posted with GeekDad

The calendar has flipped over to October… at least we still have one of those paper, flippable calendars on our wall.  It’s a freebie from a funeral home, which feels a little macabre (remember that time is passing, people!) but their squares are so big and empty.  Anyway, back to the original thought: October.

October is traditionally the kick-off for the annual Creme de la Creme list.  This will be the eighth list in existence.  (You can peruse old lists: such as 2006 or 2007 or 2008 or 2009 or 2010 or 2011, or last year’s, 2012.)  As always, I like to give people a heads up that I’m going to open the list on October 15th because I know there are those who like to get high up on the list.  The list is posted in the order in which the entries are received.  In other words, if you want your post to be the first one everyone reads, make sure you submit it right as the list opens on October 15th.

Submission collection will end again on December 15th.  Which means you have two months to choose a post.

Can I get a show of hands to gauge how many people plan to submit this year?  Want to make sure we have a critical mass before I plow ahead with plans.

In other words, now would be a good time to speak up and say hells yeah to an 8th year.  A simple “yes” or “me” is enough to let me know that you’re planning to submit.  A “reading but not submitting” is enough to let me know that there are additionally those out there who will read/support the list if I put in the work.

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Thank you to all who suggested the friendship pin as a good alternative.  Don’t get me wrong; we’re mastering that rubber band loom since I shelled out the money for it.  But I also dug out my old seed beads and some safety pins.

Want to be my friend?  I’ll trade you…

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And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “On Scars and Healing by Kathy Benson” (Exhale Literary Magazine)
• “The Dining Room Table” (Mrs. Spit… Still Spouting Off)
• “Faith and Fertility Treatments” (Genuine Greavu)

Okay, now my choices this week.

Tales of a Batty Nurse has a post about being a homebody that struck home for me (pun intended).  I could have written this line: “as much as there are places I’d like to see, I’m also very content to spend the majority of my time at home.”  I also just like being at home.  Which is a problem for someone who also likes to travel.  But there is something so nice about being in my own space.  I related to this post a lot.

The Maybe Baby (Babies) has a gorgeous post about a friend who has aged with her over the years, and they shared a “can you believe this really happened” moment bringing together their children.  Perhaps it’s knowing how long in the making this moment took.  Perhaps it was just the happiness the post contained.  It’s knowing that the next generation is finally here to carry on the troublemaking.

Lastly, From IF to When has a post about becoming unstuck.  It’s about that adult tendency to worry about change rather than embracing it.  It’s about the safety in the monotony of everyday life.  She’s pushing herself outside her comfort zone at least once per day.  Safety is in numbers, so if you want to join her in shaking things up, raise your hand in her comment section.

The roundup to the Roundup: Eighth Creme de la Creme is starting soon… right?  Bring back the friendship pin.  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between September 27th and October 4th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

Let’s get the ChickieNob a rainbow loom.  Every freakin’ kid has one, and they all are wearing enormous quantities of rubber band bracelets made on said loom.  If she doesn’t learn how to make said bracelets, she won’t be able to reciprocate and give her friends bracelets in return.  That will upend the delicate balance in the elementary school universe.  World peace depends on the rainbow loom.

That was the thought that brought Josh and I to a craft store over the weekend to purchase said loom.  We looked at the price tag.  Are they serious?  $17 for a piece of clear plastic with spikes and what amounts to a crochet hook?  Another $4 for each set of rubber bands?  In my day, we had gum wrapper bracelets.  You know what we made them out of?  Trash.  You know how much trash costs?  Nothing.

But just as we were debating the worth of the rainbow loom, a little boy showed up at my elbow and informed me that rainbow looms are so cool and so easy to use.  Why was he telling me this?  I have no clue because never before has a random child walked up to me in a craft store and tried to convince me to make a purchase.  Which means that this child was probably employed by rainbow loom*.

But instead of realizing how odd it was that this beaming, clean-cut blond boy was telling a mother that he doesn’t know to purchase a rainbow loom, I instead chose to focus on the fact that even this random elementary-school aged child could master the loom.  If that boy could do it, my intelligent, creative, fun-loving daughter could certainly churn out dozens of knotted rubber bands.

We brought home said loom and waited a few days to give it to her.  I then slyly dropped into a conversation that I owned a rainbow loom.

“No, you don’t,” the ChickieNob scoffed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then show it to me.”

The Wolvog followed along to see the outcome of said boasting, and the ChickieNob fell apart with happiness when I reached into my desk and pulled out her very own loom.

“Please, will you teach me how to do it tomorrow after school?”

Sure, sweetie, though the random child at the store could make them all by himself, so I’m sure you’ll be able to grasp the technique within minutes.  And then you’ll blissfully weave rubber bands together while I make dinner.  Easy peasy lemon squeezy.  In fact, I think I’ll make something really complicated with dinner such as homemade pita that requires me to time out each step perfectly.  That’s how much confidence I have in your ability to master this project.

Fast forward to the two girls, kicking back at the kitchen table, sorting the rubber bands into colours.  Just two intelligent ladies: one with a masters degree and the other in a high reading group**.  Two women who should under normal circumstances be able to follow simple directions.  Did I mention that on the other side of the kitchen, I was making pita bread?  As in, I was taking raw ingredients and churning out bread where moments earlier, there was no bread.  So I wasn’t that phased over the 16-steps that created one “easy” bracelet.

We did step one.  All was well.  We moved onto step two.  Again, everything was trucking along.  We got to the part where you have to start looping the bands with the crochet hook and all fell apart.  They would pop off the little plastic spikes.  We would try to slip them back into place.  We’d forget if they were supposed to be above or below the band next to it.  We would rip off all the bands and start over again.

We did this a few times.  We finally decided that the ChickieNob would do the first part, and I would do the second part, since she couldn’t wiggle the bands out without popping off the ones next to it.  I finally got the whole thing off the loom, and the ChickieNob slipped the enormous rubber band bracelet onto her tiny wrist.  So proud of herself that it would break your heart.  Our bread somewhat underbaked since I had to take it out early so I could get back to the freakin’ loom.

Will we get better at it?  I’m sure we will.  I’m sure I’ll be shelling out $4 for bags of colourful rubber bands for the rest of my life.  Or, at least, until this fad dies.

Did I mention, kids, that we used trash to make our friendship bracelets?  Inexpensive trash.  And we got to chew the gum to boot.

* Now upon reflection, the boy’s arm was in a sling.  This was probably an undisclosed rainbow loom injury.  Rainbow loom elbow.

** I will concede that despite the advance degree, I did once forget to pack pants.  So your experience with the loom may vary from mine.