Special Guest Blogger: Ivan Pavlov

I never intended to be a psychologist. In my day, psychology was seen as a bunch of people sitting in velvet chairs talking about their dreams of flying sausages. I was a physiologist. I cared about the guts! The juices! The magnificent, sloshing machinery of the gastric system!
I spent years studying the digestive glands of dogs. I wanted to know how the stomach knows food is coming. I was the King of Saliva. I was the Sultan of Secretions. I had perfected the art of the gastric fistula which is a fancy way of saying I put a little window in a dog’s stomach so I could watch the soup happen in real-time or severing the dog's esophagus and created a hole in the neck, meaning food would fall out instead of reaching the stomach.
But then, the dogs started being difficult. In a perfect world, a dog should only salivate when you put a nice, juicy piece of dried meat on its tongue. That is basic biology. It’s honest. It’s predictable.
But my dogs, bless their furry, misguided hearts, started cheating. They began drooling the moment my laboratory assistants walked into the room. The assistants weren't food. (Well, maybe to a very hungry wolf, but not to my lab pups.) I realised that the dogs weren't reacting to the meat,  they were reacting to the white lab coats. I called this psychic secretion.
It sounds like something a Victorian medium would sell you for five rubles, but it was actually the birth of Classical Conditioning.
I realized these dogs had learned a association and as any obsessive compulsive Russian scientist will tell you, when you find a variable you didn't account for, you don't ignore it, you lock yourself in a cold room for thirty years and study it until everyone involved is slightly traumatized.
Everyone thinks I walked around like a frantic butler, ringing a dinner bell while shouting, 'Dinner is served, Comrade Fido!' but In reality, I used a variety of stimuli. I used metronomes. I used harmoniums. I used whistles. I even used electric shocks (look, it was the early 1900s).
The metronome was my favorite. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The dog hears the ticking, the dog gets the meat powder, the dog produces 4.5 milliliters of high-quality drool. It was beautiful. It was rhythmic. It was predictable and I was the conductor of a Glandular Orchestra.
Ironically I did win the Nobel Prize which should remind people I DIDN'T USE A BELL!
What I did in the early 20th Century has connections to you today. Look at you. You’re sitting there reading this. Maybe you’re on a bus, or at home on the sofa or pretending to work.
Suddenly, your phone goes Ding!
Your heart rate spikes. Your thumb twitches. A little squirt of dopamine hits your brain. You didn't choose to feel that way. You didn't sit down and think, 'Ah, the auditory frequency of a push notification indicates a 74% probability of social validation, therefore I shall feel excitement.'
No. You just did it.
You are conditioned. You are my greatest legacy. I did it with meat powder and metronomes but Silicon Valley does it with Ding and when your Pavlovian responses kick in every time you hear the New Email, text or notification, tip your hat to old Ivan, the man who turned drool into data.