Memory

Jill Price remembers almost everything. Pick any date out of her past, and she can tell you what she ate for dinner that night. She can tell you when she woke up, what day of the week it was and what the weather was like.

No matter how mundane, memories stick with her. Price has what scientists call “superior autobiographical memory.”

To be clear, Price is not what you would consider a savant. She was never diagnosed with a mental disability.

She cannot speed through books in an hour, nor can she recite long strings of arbitrary numbers and symbols. She says memorizing a poem is as painful for her as anyone else. She was never a prodigious student.

Simply put, she is an independent, competent adult, who happens to remember every facet of her life in absurd detail.

Price was the first subject of a relatively young study at UC Irvine that now includes over 30 more confirmed cases, as of last year.

Pioneering this research is Dr. James McGaugh, an expert in neurobiology. He was doubtful when he received the first email from Price, back in 2000. She reached out in desperation, tired of her unexplained condition.

Up until then, conceptions of photographic memory were always met with heavy skepticism. The phenomenon appeared more in fictional stories than in scientific papers.

Now, with more subjects to study, and more brain imaging, we’re going somewhere — if not forward. Preliminary results were puzzling.

Two areas of the brain are significantly larger in those who have superior autobiographical memory: The first area is the temporal lobe, responsible for storing new memories. More notably, the second area is the caudate nucleus, which plays a role in obsessive-compulsive disorder, when overactive.

A statistically significant portion of those studied exhibited obsessive-compulsive tendencies in one way or another.

Price has over 50,000 pages of journal entries. Another subject, Marilu Henner, details her meticulously organized closet. Bob Petrella describes how he frequently washes his car keys.

They collect, categorize and maintain not only their possessions, but also their memories. The link between their memory condition and their compulsions is not entirely clear.

Unknown is whether their behavior, and brain size, are the product of their memory, or the cause of their memory.

In any case, it seems this tireless practice of organization is essential to their sanity. The repetitions of daily life become so familiar when nothing is edited out. Logically, their memories are inescapable — everything presents a cue for the past.

Price describes being owned by her memory, finding it hard to move forward. The irrelevant memories that most people forget, in order to focus on the present, are indelible to her.

Remarkably, though, the other five subjects who gave interviews insist the past does not snarl their thoughts. Memories are deliberately packed away, ready for access when they see fit. They seem genuinely happy in their abilities, even if they are bothersome at times.

The insight these subjects provide could have profound effects on the treatment of Alzheimer’s and other brain diseases, according to McGaugh and the rest of his team.

Similarly, these exceptional people can alter our understanding of how we interact with our memories, and how they shape our identity.

Despite their seemingly inhuman qualities, I don’t think Price and her peers are all that different from the rest of us. We can see a great deal of the past, even without their absolute memories.

It’s not hard to think of our phones, our computers, our online profiles — their memory capacities increasing all the time — as extensions of ourselves.

Further, there are more than a few of us who restlessly document life, right down to the smallest details. It would not take long to find someone who posted a picture of dinner on Instagram. I plead guilty.

Perhaps we are creating for each other a more concrete form of photographic memory, one that can be shared more readily.

Knowing the compulsive organizational routines of those with total recall, each irresistible visit to Facebook seems more purposeful — more a necessary maintenance than a frivolous waste of time.

Ultimately, though, we have the delete button. There is always some convenience in forgetting.

If you found this column memorable, tell SEAN LENEHAN at splenehan@ucdavis.edu. If you didn’t, just forget it.

To every hot-shot that wants to be a doctor but complains about having to take introductory chemistry, congratulations! You are many things: smart, ambitious and compassionate to name a few.

Another thing you’ve got going for you is that you have the fortune to be learning basic scientific proficiencies from one of the best universities in the world. This is a university at which research is being conducted not only to improve the efficacy of procedures within your practice, but in many cases, to reshape the way the academic and professional communities around the world view the human body.

I’ll be honest, I’m not the perfect student. I enjoy my recreational time a little too much and my books a bit too little, and I always find a way to spend an extra hour or two more than I should watching internet television instead of doing practice problems. Fortunately for anybody who may need medical care in the future, I have no definite plans of becoming a professional with a license to practice medicine.

If I’m being perfectly honest again, there’s a troubling trend in students who are a lot like me except for an important distinction. They don’t plan on being journalists. Walking around campus, I love to eavesdrop. When I pass through the opening corridor for Shields Library, I’ll see students crowded around desks with computers and textbooks open but they’ll have their eyes trained on the one that brings up funny pictures of cats. There’s also usually something along the lines of, “Why am I even taking this class?” asked rhetorically.

And it’s not really the distractions that are the problem. It’s perfectly fine, and it’s encouraged to take a few minutes’ intellectual rest to let study materials sink in, but the break is just that … a brief respite from the actually important work. The lessons come with a point, and while the knowledge that some of the first camera flashes used magnesium because it burned particularly bright might not save anyone’s life, it is important to realize that understanding something like Nuclear Magnetic Resonance (NMR) spectroscopy could actually help save a life.

Being a physician is a career contingent upon trust. Doctors aren’t just entrusted with prestige, a fancy coat and a big paycheck. People’s lives are literally in the hands of our many competent — and sometimes less competent — doctors, nurses, therapists, pharmacists and many other kinds of -ists. It would be difficult to imagine trusting a doctor who lacks a basic understanding of cell division. It would be seemingly absurd to trust a pharmacist who was unsure of what a lone pair was.

(For all you non-scientists: Cell division is the very controlled and structured means by which one cell in the body becomes two. A failure to regulate cell division is sometimes known as cancer. Furthermore, lone pairs are particularly important in activities like determining the shape of a molecule and how that molecule plays with others. A great deal of a pharmacist’s body of knowledge depends on what molecules look like and what they do around other molecules. I’m not poking fun and don’t mean to be rude, I’m just highlighting examples of things I’d expect people in charge of my physical well-being to know).

So even if it’s elementary and basic, the body of knowledge presented in introductory classes still serves as essential and everybody needs to start off on the same page. And though I’m as guilty as the next hot-shot who would complain that I had to study what an adiabatic reaction was for a midterm, it’s necessary to learn this stuff.

Introductory and organic chemistry are hard. Cell biology is hard. UWP 142F: Writing in Professions: Health is also hard. So what? Diagnosing a patient presenting chest pain is hard too; so is telling someone with ALS that their nervous system is deteriorating. Careers in health are hard. This is what thousands of students sign up for every year.

And even if it’s difficult, take pride in what you’re doing. Remember that you’re learning from leading professionals in their fields. Be proud that you’re getting the best. And maybe if it’s not what you’re looking for, what better time than now to think about what you really want?

This isn’t to discourage any budding scientists either. Much of the best science has a hearty and full history in failure. The point is: Love what you do and do it well. If you don’t know what you’re doing yet, don’t worry; there’s still time. But there’s no reason to make things worse than they have to be. Nobody’s asking anybody to force somebody to do something they’re not meant to.

ALAN LIN once thought of being a doctor, but can now be reached at
science@theaggie.org.

Some shake

Sometimes the universe develops this nasty sense of humor and does everything possible to keep you from getting high.

The other night some friends and I were craving a little privacy so we decided to head out to the middle of nowhere for a smoke. After driving around for about 15 minutes, we finally settled into a secluded little spot in the corner of some almond fields.

It was dark and eerily quiet, and the whole situation reminded me of those immature high school days before any of us had our own place and had to wander around town to keep from getting caught.

We were parked in the dark and while one of my friends was rolling up a blunt, the rest of us continued an argument we’d been having all day about whether there was any major, noticeable difference between sativas and indicas. We were all surprisingly passionate and political about the subject, but in the end we reached a typical stoner compromise and decided that weed in general, regardless of the type, was delicious.

At that point, my friend finished rolling. He turned and asked us one of the most annoying questions possible, “Did anybody bring a lighter?”

The weather was perfect and there was a fat blunt in front of us, but we couldn’t do anything about it because we had all been too busy arguing about pointless shit to remember to pack the essentials.

We all just sat there for a while, feeling lost and heartbroken. We tried to make fire, but eventually quit after a couple failed experiments with the car’s broken cigarette lighter. Defeated, we decided we should drive back into town to buy a lighter from the closest gas station.

A couple of miles later, I got off and walked into a Shell station with a pocket full of coins that we had found scattered throughout the car. I picked the ugliest lighter in the rack, handed it to the cashier and dropped all my change on the countertop.

But right as he was about to scan it, some cops walked in and got in line behind me. I could tell the cashier immediately got a little nervous, and in an effort to seem professional and law-abiding he asked me another one of the most annoying questions possible, “Do you have your ID?”

I didn’t even know you have to be 18 to legally to buy a lighter, and it was silly because the cashier was obviously younger than me.

I had neither my ID nor the balls to start an argument in front of a bunch of cops, so I lied and told him I had left it in the car and that I would be right back.

I knew he knew I was lying, and I knew the cops had heard the whole thing. I could feel them all staring at me as I slowly picked up all my nickels and dimes. In my rush I dropped a bunch of noisy coins, and as suspicious as it probably made me look, I didn’t bother to pick them up. I pretty much ran out without looking back.

I was pissed off and tired and I was sure no one else would want to go back inside the store, which meant we would have to drive back home or to some other gas station. This whole thing was taking too damn long.

But as I was reflecting on everything that had gone wrong that night, I noticed a little book of matches hanging out on top of a rusty pay phone.

There were three matches left, and they were a little moist, but they were literally our only chance so I took them anyway.

Back inside the car everyone else was as frustrated as I was. We all agreed that enough had been enough, and that we should spark up and hotbox then and there.

I tore out a match and struck it against the matchbook, but nothing happened. It was too wet.

I tore out another match, but it was just as wet as the first and it ended up falling apart.

I tore out the last match, and unbelievably, this one actually turned on.

But no one had expected it to work so we weren’t prepared. While we were shuffling around trying to remember where we had stashed the blunt, the match burnt my thumb and the flame went out and we were all left in the dark.

Please teach LEO OCAMPO how to start a fire at gocampo@ucdavis.edu.

Super Bowl Sunday … a gastronomically challenging day filled with hot wings, pizza, endless BBQ chicken, burgers, beer, beer pong, beer hockey … you get the idea. In reality, the actual game seems to take a backseat to all the fun that a group of friends can create. That should be enough of a draw for anyone even if they can’t stand watching grown men in tights tackle each other every 10 seconds.

As one of these individuals, I came up with a list of rules tailored specifically for watching sports for the non-sports fan. I’m a science person; I find the ritual of watching sports to be rather silly. Whoever wins or loses, it has literally zero effect on my life … unless a riot shuts down the freeway. I’d rather play a sport, be active, burn the calories, get fit.

So rule number one, NEVER pretend to know what is actually going on. You may be king of your friends when it comes to understanding mitosis, naming constellations and describing the reproductive organs of an orchid, but when it comes to a two-point conversion, its all Greek. Which brings me to my second rule.

Ask questions. When someone asks you questions about something you know a lot about, it’s often hard to know when to stop talking about it. Same goes for football fans. Granted, I still have no idea what a two-point conversion is, but at least the people trying to explain it to me no longer think I’m uncultured for being ignorant of the subject. The third rule is somewhat of a combination of rules one and two.

Don’t argue. If you know nothing about player stats, season injuries, pass yards or the like, don’t try to argue that Manning is a better quarterback than Roethlisberger, or vice versa, because you will just look stupid. Trust me … I know. You are better off finding another lonely non-sports fan somewhere at the party and talking about stamp collecting. This brings me to rule four.

Once you find someone who will actually take the time to peel their eyes off the screen to talk to you, don’t waste the time talking about heavy topics like your girlfriend moving to Europe, how hard your classes are or family problems. It’s better to just find an empty spot on the couch, share a knowing look with your non-sports-oriented friend, shut up and enjoy the time with your friends. Speaking of friends, rule number five.

The Super Bowl is a very emotional time for your male friends who often exude excessive levels of manliness. They may shotgun beers on the regular and talk about hunting, big-wheeled trucks and cheerleaders with fake tits, but when it comes to the fourth quarter and their team is down by just a field goal, guaranteed they will be close to tears. It will be more than half a year until the next season, and some may compare it to the season finale of “The Bachelor.” And the final rule …

Stop preaching about how stupid sports are, and just enjoy the day with your friends. Seriously, any half-decent tailgate party will have great food, great drinks, games, music and tons of friends and will be just an overall great time. Stop thinking about it so much, stuff your face with Diablo hot wings, wash it down with a good lager from the keg and have a great time.

HUDSON LOFCHIE doesn’t like watching sports, but he loves spending Super Bowl Sunday with his best friends. He can be reached at science@theaggie.org.