Two weeks ago, my living room was home to a miraculous transformation.
In truth, this transformation was utterly mundane: An insect entered the last stage of its development. It just happened to do it on my dining room table. And it was beautiful. Continue reading
Since I wrote this post one year ago, “The Donald” has only grown in the public consciousness and is now the GOP frontrunner. I can’t understand why the rest of the media ignores the obvious fact that he never existed.
“For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who don’t believe, no proof is possible.” – Stuart Chase
Over the past few months, I’ve vaguely been aware that Donald Trump has been stirring up ideas that vaccinating children causes autism. Trump points out that many kids who get vaccinated also get autism. This is true, in the same way that many people who drink tequila get Alzheimer’s and many people with brown hair are serial killers.
Like most of my colleagues in the science writing community, I was exasperated by this ignorant babble from our nation’s greatest ignorant babbler. It’s hard enough to cover the sciences under normal circumstances but it’s doubly hard when public figures spread pseudoscience.
But then I looked closely at a couple photos of “The Donald” and in a split second, everything changed. All this time, people have seen him as this evil clown on whom we hang our frustrations about the world’s selfishness and greed. Well the joke is on us. Because Donald Trump is not actually Donald Trump at all.
He’s Andy Kaufman in disguise. Continue reading
Lately, I’ve been writing about how we think of science, and so I’ve been remembering my own experiences as a researcher. This is a redux of a post that first appeared July 12, 2012.
When I was a biology researcher, the strangers I met at parties and on airplanes were always impressed when I told them how I made my living. Evidently, they envisioned my work as something out of Jurassic Park—a thrilling journey packed with breakthroughs and adventures. Few suspected the truth: doing science is mostly about performing mundane, repetitive tasks.
My last research job was in a human genetics lab. For two years, I labored on a map of human chromosome 18. I did experiment after experiment to decipher the order of DNA along the 18th largest chromosome in the human genome. My job title was Professional Research Associate, but I gave myself a more fitting title, which I hung above my lab bench–Liquid Transfer Specialist. Continue reading
September 7-11, 2015
In the way that miniature zeitgeists sometimes appear here at LWON, it was a week that centered around birds and flight.
Renewable energy is great until it massacres all your eagles. Cameron follows the newest developments in wind farming.
Boobies are unfaithful, fratricidal maniacs, says Eric. But it’s not their fault, and the same tendencies lurk within us.
Oh, yeah? Well, hummingbirds are deadbeat dads with delusions of grandeur, counters Ann. And they just ride on their looks.
Jenny learned the true art of the hug from her mom, and now she passes it on to those less fortunate in love, melding bodies and making troubles take flight.
Learning a second language bears no resemblance to what occurs in language classrooms, say I. Hop on a plane and subject yourself to the discomfort and utter thrill of true immersion.
Image: Shutterstock
I’ve always enjoyed the code-breaking aspect of reading in a foreign language. If I can’t justify the time to read something vapid but appealing, I tend to pick up the French version and keep Google translate handy for the new words. Still, what I’m really managing is my own challenge level – I have no illusions about how improving the whole exercise is.
When I actually get out there in a French- or Japanese-speaking environment, in my case – put on the spot with actual questions posed by people who expect me to respond in real time – I come home from the day exhilarated and exhausted, having deeply learned. True language competence comes only through the merciless forge of conversation. Continue reading
There are hugs, and then there are hugs. Am I right?
Hugging is not one-size-fits-all. It’s a skill, partly innate, and not everyone has it. We all know people who are huggers, and people who just aren’t. There are also people who like to be hugged and people who curl away as a hugger approaches, even flinching a little at their touch.
The best huggers hug with their insides as much as their arms and bodies. Love and kindness and empathy pour from them into you. You feel calm in their embrace, for that few moments. Non-huggers leave a cushion of air between you. They’re all arms; the hugger tries to avoid full contact. It’s like an air kiss, but bodily. An air hug, let’s call it.
My mom was an expert hugger. Continue reading
The two of us, my husband and I, took our breakfast toast, melon, and coffee out to the porch last Sunday morning, with late summer hanging on by its teeth. It was early, so the neighbors’ ACs were still off, and nobody was out yet. “It’s so quiet,” my husband said.
Traffic out on Charles Street was a quiet hum; the lady across the street, sounding like a Marine commander trying to be polite, called to her kids, “Are we doing this? Or not?”; the late-summer’s heat bugs were sawing up and down; the goldfinches asked each other questions and answered with more questions; and a catbird was squalling at the sparrows in its wholly-owned lilac bush. “It’s so noisy,” my husband said.
Mainly it was the hummingbirds. They make little cherk noises, they roar around, they vroom. They hover in the light, their wings backlit and translucent, like tiny angels.
We’d hung a hummingbird feeder across the porch from the goldfinch feeder. Goldfinches fly to and from the feeder in looping catenaries. Hummingbirds don’t fly in, they apparently have warp drive – they simply appear out of thin air, feed, and disappear. Sometimes one changes places on the feeder by lifting straight up, backing up, moving sideways, landing, feeding again, lifting straight up again and then plinking right out of space-time. They’re just so enchanting. Continue reading
In my last post I made the case for why we are not, in fact, slaves to nature and our genes. Today allow me to do the opposite.
First let me set the stage. You are on a tiny island – maybe the size of a few city blocks – looking out to sea. You could almost see the west coast of Mexico from the rocky shores, were it just a few miles closer. The only people here are a few fishermen and the occasional Mexican navy boat passing by. But you are not alone, not by a long shot.
Around you are thousands of terns, frigate birds, and every seabird you can imagine. It’s a cacophony of posturing, bickering, and breeding. Life, death, and the struggle for survival, laid bare for all to see. And at the center of it all are the boobies. No, not that kind of booby (Jesus, people, what kind of a blog do you think this is?), the ones with blue feet and freakishly long wings.
A few months ago, I published a story for Hakai magazine about a researcher in Mexico named Hugh Drummond, who has dedicated his entire life to studying booby behavior. Normally, the angle for such a story would be a sloppy version of “hey, look at this crazy guy who studies this crazy thing that will never be of use to anyone!” But that wasn’t my angle because it’s not true.
In fact, Drummond’s work is some of the most profound and enlightening science I have ever come across. And in this post I’ll attempt to show you a glimpse of why that is. Continue reading
