Rainstorms, Stone Circles, and "Brave"

This has been the second afternoon all week I have been absolutely drenched by a sudden rainstorm. This time, however, I knew what I was getting into… but if only my meek Minnesota raingear were even somewhat effective against this unpredictably proliferating precipitation! What they say is true: everything is bigger in Texas… including the raindrops.

Yesterday’s storm, I’ll admit, caught me completely off-guard. One minute I was waiting for the bus in the burning sun, flicking ants off my jeans and reading poetry, all the while looking wistfully at the cloudless sky. Suddenly there was a blinding crack of lightning followed by a heavy rain soaking both Keats and I to the bone (or, in his case, to the binding). It was well worth it to me, though: I was going to see Brave for the second time.

Aside from the deplorably cliché magical bear, Brave is an incredible film – and I do not say just that as a fellow beneficiary of the recessive alleles bestowing perfect, pulchritudinous vermilion tresses. Merida, an audacious, untamed young princess who prefers archery to decorum, makes watching this film a spirited adventure in itself. After rambling through ancient stone circles and fantastic Celtic lore eclipsed by fog-filled forests and castle ruins, you’ll find yourself looking up airfare soon after leaving the theatre. But before you leave for the Scottish highlands, leave the bear spray at home – these fierce mammals have been extinct in Britain for hundreds of years.

Merida of Disney/Pixar's Brave.

I picked up some Chinese takeout on my way back from the movie theatre (unfortunately my clothes were still drying off from the storm earlier) and returned to my abode, instantly putting on The Secret of Kells. Even though Kells is a fictitious rendition about the genesis of the Book of Kells (which currently can be found in the library at Trinity College in Dublin… a library I foolishly did not visit when I had the chance), it easily outperforms Brave due to its existential legitimacy (the movie is a French/Irish collaboration). While Kells lacks some of the visual charm and magic of flashier films, the story is full of impressive meaning and brilliance.

Learning Russian and Finding Nessie (but not at the same time)

One morning back when I was living in British Columbia I happened to take a good look at myself in the mirror. Amongst the other thoughts in my mind at the time (such as “devilishly handsome”), one thing stood out in particular: now there’s someone who should be able to speak Russian. So I, being the ambitious person that I am, took it upon myself to breath life into this reflection. However, one confusing dictionary, a Rosetta Stone tutorial, and several intensive phrasebooks later I was saying, “до свидания to that dream.

Whether I’ll end up scuba diving around underwater volcanoes, spending the night lost in a rainforest, or simply enjoying a good elephant hunt on the African savannah, I’m confident some part of my whimsically itinerant personality will always ensure my life is free from dull moments. Even for me, though, the odds of finding a magical genie lamp are still quite slim – or are they?

I was reading a paper earlier today on cryptozoology (the study of mythical animals) and quickly became fascinated by the differing reception of “cryptids” historically compared to the present day. Generally, contemporary people treat folklore with a greater degree of wild skepticism than their predecessors did (although even Pliny rejected the legitimacy of werewolves). Culturally, though, cryptozoology represents a quest to restore mystique in a world without magic and charm. For me, spending my afternoon writing in a dimly lit room on this torn-up 1940s sofa next to a wall of old books at the local coffee shop lends itself perfectly to my own sense of wonderment and enchantment with the world around me.

Looking sharp in the lab. Learning to tie
a bow-tie is an accomplishment in itself!

Forget Grandpa’s rejuvenating potion made from newt tails and locust venom – a new paper examining honeybee behavior and dementia interestingly found that brain cell deterioration and memory loss was reversed in old pollen foragers when they would return to nursing roles inside the hive. Nevertheless, since parents would probably prefer to forget the irresponsible things their children have done, this concept may not translate well from honeybee to human. 

Mesozoic Park

I was in bed with an agonizing toothache this weekend. Initially I thought I should wrap my head and mouth with a bandage as if it wereEngland circa 1843; but, since leeches were about the extent of medicinal technology in the Victorian era (in reality, they also had this tool called a “tooth key” that wrenched out molars), I ultimately decided to make an appointment with a modern dentist.

In the meantime I got to watch movies and eat chicken noodle soup (well, I’ve actually been eating cheese, graham crackers, and salami while mindlessly surfing Netflix). One of my all-time favorite flicks (apart from Raiders of the Lost Ark) is Steven Spielberg’s sacrosanct Jurassic Park.

This film is so incredible that I can look past the multimillion-year anachronism hurling Velociraptors and Tyrannosaurs backwards in time from the Cretaceous period. I can also turn a blind eye to the anomalous use of amphibian DNA to complete an extinct reptilian genome. (And for you computer types out there – yes, I can ignore the whole UNIX part at the end, too.)

However, if Spielberg plans to re-release this magnum opus of Mesozoic moving pictures with any shred of James Cameron-like perfectionism, he’d better consult with the paleoentomologists out there first – I would like to hear some historically accurate cricket mating calls this time.

Laboratory Hitchhikers

When most people have a job that requires “taking their work home with them,” it usually involves preparing for a presentation on the company finances or finishing a coversheet for their TPS report. This week, my work hitchhiked home with me—several of my “lab rat” fruit flies made a peregrination to establish a colony in the case of blackberries sitting by my window.

Now, the easy definition of peregrination is “a travel or journey,” but for everyone interested I have assembled a flowchart elaborating some of the etymology and related background.

Click for enlarged image. This is a prime example of how our brains work.

This weekend, I have the wonderful task of reading a 100-page dissertation that will inevitably lead to me sitting in a field getting stung by bees. Conversely, earlier this week found me simultaneously taking notes with a fountain pen, doing chemistry, and listening to classical music… now why on earth is it so hard to buy a bow tie these days?

Katydids and Strawberries

This week I went on my first real field collection. After transferring several huge demon-like wasps from my net to smaller vials, I am proud to say I was not as lily-livered as I thought I would be. Apart from being enthralled by a dung beetle – complete with dung! – and a katydid with astonishing crypsis, I coolly avoided walking into a fire ant mound and a giant orb-weaver’s tree-spanning web (the June bugs did not fare as well as I did).

Katydid with cryptic leaf-like camouflage.

My life isn’t all edible rainbows and unicorns, though. Regardless of the numerous Chinese takeout containers clearly marking my gumption for cooking (or lack thereof), I’m enjoying my daily repast of fresh blackberries and strawberries along with Spiderman Pop-tarts and blueberry muffins. My parents would be so proud.

Now, I know my dad is a trustworthy, honorable man, so I believe him when he says he invented the question mark… but I’m not so sure about these “movie reviews” he claims to write. I think it might just be a way for Pops to rationalize all the TV he watches.

And me? If I’m not spending my free time studying biology or searching Expedia for inexpensive plane tickets to Dublin or Moscow, I can be found watching a few episodes of King of the Hill or Pawn Stars—although I’ll leave the eight-hour Dragnet marathons to my dad. 

With jazz on the radio, an almost empty cup of espresso in my hand, and napkins (haphazardly inscribed with graphs and formulas) scattered about, the atmosphere here certainly seems transcendent of Texas. Thank the gods for Starbucks.

The Beast and the Bug: Welcome to Texas

The old agricultural building (early 1900s).

As people may or may not know, I am spending the summer doing entomological research at Texas A&M University. In short, I will be studying the effects of different foods on fruit fly larvae. So who is going to be cooking for the little maggots? Me. I spent last summer cooking for humans; this time I will be preparing dishes for Drosophila melanogaster.

Over this past year I have found an unexpected love with the Hymenoptera. While that word may inspire you to chant “Imhotep” in a crazed monotone (anybody else enjoy Brendan Fraser’s performance in The Mummy?), it is actually a group of insects including ants, wasps, and bees.

Working with these insects is both interesting and useful. Here in Texas, red imported fire ants are problematic (or alternatively check out raspberry crazy ants). Studying certain wasps provides ways of eliminating those feisty critters, improving the quality of life. But it’s not just about pest control; bees are incredible pollinators and need to be studied as well. While honeybees visit many diverse plant species, some crops would benefit from other types of bees specializing only on a particular plant. 

When touring the ecology labs earlier this week, several of my fellow researchers and I found a large spider running through the hallway. We weren’t sure whether it was an escaped experiment or simply an intruder to step on. A professor picked it up, mumbled something about Lycosidae (an esoteric way of saying it was a wolf spider), and left it to continue roaming the corridors as we exited the building. Even though we will never know for sure, I’d like to think it was a rogue… maybe, perhaps, someone is trying to recreate the origin of Spiderman?

Now, to me, heaven is a herd of wildebeest (minus the constant running from predators). Does that make The Lion King some sort of sacred text? Probably not. But it does explain why I spend so much time reading National Geographic.