Monthly Archive for April, 2009

BioLogos Doppleganger Issue #2

In light of the recent discovery of my evil Doppleganger, I’ve had to divert precious resources from science writing, book reviewing, and geeky shenanigans to counteract a disturbance in the blogiverse and restore a balance to the intertubes. In other words, every time my BioLogos says something stupid and false, I’m duty-bound to point and mock.

Francis Collins has a Ph.D. in Physical Chemistry.

Francis Collins made the following argument in an interview:

There is a law of physics called the Second Law of Thermodynamics that states an isolated system’s entropy can never decrease, it can only increase or stay the same. In other words, all changes in isolated systems lead to states of higher disorder. Therefore, the same must be true of our entire universe. However, it is also known that the formation of stars and galaxies, essential for the development of life on Earth, requires a high degree of order. This implies that the universe was once much more ordered than it is now, and therefore it began with a very low entropy.

From the BioLogos website:

To claim that evolution violates the Second Law of Thermodynamics is also grounded in a misunderstanding of where the law applies.  Nobody has ever figured out how to apply the second law to living creatures. There is no meaning to the entropy of a frog. The kinds of systems that can be analyzed with the second law are much simpler.

Much simpler like the Universe?!

It’s as if the man latched on to the word “order” in some definition of Thermodynamics and instead of further inquiry and learning said “Ahhhhhhh. Phew, there’s my God.” As it turn out, life is hard, but it’s harder if you don’t know how the material world works.

Is it possible to understand the Second Law of Thermodynamics without all the “orders?” Yes, yes it is.

Energy spontaneously tends to flow from being concentrated in one place to becoming diffuse or dispersed and spread out.

So the Second Law of Thermodynamics is not about an “ordering” of the Universe in the sense Collins means. Here, Collins uses “order” in place of complexity as a weasel word to bolster his argument for a Cosmological Designer God.

Considering that the former head of NHGRI aptly shreds creationist attempts to hijack the Second Law of Thermodynamics to deny evolution and genetics–a field he might know something about–what are we to make of his very creationist attempt to do precisely the same thing when it comes to denying a materialistic Universe? I would like to know at what point he went from arguing against creationists to agreeing with them that his brain fell out and confusion set in.

Biolog vs BioLogos

Meet BioLogos–Biologs evil doppleganger:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/3/36/Spiderdoppelganger.png

The history of the doppleganger reads like any random story from the Bible. Consider the Book of Genesis:

[In the beginning there was darkness. Then God created the Doppelganger.] The Doppelganger began life as a living fractal, a geometric pattern in the Dimension of Manifestations, able to assume the forms and attributes of any being, real or abstract. When a mysterious Magus sets out to obtain the vast power of the Infinity Gauntlet, he contracts the ruling fractal, Prime Manifester Anthropomorpho, to transform several young fractals into monstrous versions of Earth’s super heroes; the Doppleganger is such a creation…

Wiki goes on to tell us how the Doppleganger fights the good guys in a so-called Infinity War. And then!

Following the battle, the Doppelganger is retrieved by the demonic Demogoblin, who infuses it with supernatural energy, enabling it to remain in the Earth dimension following Magus’ defeat. Demogoblin directs the Doppelganger in a grudge against Hobgoblin, whom the altruistic Spider-Man protects. The foursome’s fight joins another battle where the supernatural Ghost Rider and Blaze are fighting a group of demonic Deathspawn and Spider-Man’s murderous nemesis Venom. Both the Doppelganger and Demogoblin are subsequently pulled underground by the Deathspawn, with two Deathspawn briefly taking up silent residence within the Doppelganger’s body.

It’s clear BioLogos was created to defeat the magnanimous Biolog with the laughable use of Christian Apologetics and Jesus-slathered web graphics.

In a moment of whimsy, I read Collins’ Language of God with its astounding conversion experience. Not only did it managed to enlarge the god-shaped hole in my heart, but I realized that faith poisons even great minds. For example, Collins, speaking as a scientist, spends pages rationalizing ways in which, if you don’t think about it too hard, science and religion are actually compatible.

First there’s denial that incompatibility exist. This takes the form of “Hey, I’m a famous biologist, and I believe in bronze-age sky-fairies, walking on water, and watered-down creationism. If I can hold conflicting ideas in my head at the same time, so can you!”

Next, no matter if it’s Polkinghorne or Collins or Giberson or any God-fearing scientist who’s written a book, there comes a point in their apologetics when the thoughtful Christian talks about different ways of knowing the world…the scientific one and the make-believe spiritual one. Of course these ways are separate because one is grounded in reality and the other is whatever you want it to be. A tried and true non-explanation meant to divert the pesky skeptic into a protracted and irrelevant debate on metaphysical truth. However, when Collins addresses this topic in his book, he does one better; he boldly, brazenly and bodaciously contradicts himself. Apparently none of his friends have taken him aside and kindly explained this logical misstep because all these years later he repeates it almost word for word on his website.

Question 4. What is the proper relationship between science and religion?

Science and religion are sometimes thought to offer entirely separate bodies of knowledge. However, science is not the only source of factual statements, and religion does reach beyond the realm of values and morals.

Scrolling down

Oddly enough, some people argue that God’s existence is actually a scientific claim and should be tested like any other. However, God’s existence is not something that can be tested by the scientific method in the same way the existence of postulated new elementary particles are tested in supercolliders.

http://i186.photobucket.com/albums/x259/alastair_hm/facepalmbq8dj7.jpg

The Lonliness of the Long-distance Runner

Cartoonist employed by Nike to make jogger video complete with snot-rocket


Onwards from akqa on Vimeo.

Ann Patchett?s Rules of Engagement

Most novels today are just over three-hundred pages. Are three-hundred pages of words and sentences a golden mean, a naturally occurring length any given work of fiction requires to complete itself? Is this only true in my lingua franca? The alternative is less romantic. To paraphrase Wood, the generous length of the average 300 page novel enables the author to accumulate quiddity gradually and persistently, so that we gather a real sense of each of the characters. Another function or aspect of the novel is patterning: repetition on a theme spread across many chapters, sometimes as an extended metaphor, but not necessarily. Patchett patterns the transcending power of love. In Bel Canto, we’re told that love is blind to culture, specifically that of race, age, nationality, social class and especially language. Dear lord, if not love, then what is immune to the effects of globalization?

Bel Canto, a languishing memesis on music, and to a lesser extent food and sex, fails to account for the realities of its own plot. It was as if the author of Eat, Pray, Love liberated herself further from the only rule of the memoir and wrote a consumer-friendly fictional sequel about her trip to a South American backwater. That is to say more intellectual sophistication for the glossily literate. So why didn’t I like it? Put another way, what made me put down my New Yorker, turn off PBS, and dish out cash for this novel? It is because I bought it at a used book store, and used book stores have a lord of the manor effect on me. I can, for once, relax, floating from rack to isle to bin to pile in easy certitude that whatever catches my fancy will be affordable. I’m guilty of judging a book by its cover. In this case, I spotted the shiny gold Faulkner Award seal on the front.

At the outset, Bel Canto has all the trappings and urgency of a le Carre book, economical writing, a revolutionary setting in an undeveloped country, the ruling class and destitute put in chiarascuro, an exotic countryside, and a worldly casting worthy of a UN summit. The Russians smoke and play cards; the French cook and complain about the local vin; the Japanese are softspoken, gentle and intelligent; the American is a famous Opera singer as vain as any American celebrity; the Swiss of all things is employed by the Red Cross; and the generic natives are either incompetent leaders or destitute terrorists. These terrorists in name only quickly befriend their captors, some falling in love. Only those on the outside, the government and media, call them terrorists. However, Patchett tells us nothing about these outsiders save for the disgruntled Red Cross worker who makes for an impotent mediator but effective errand boy for the American celebrity.

There is one significant distinction between what Patchett wrote and what le Carre writes. It’s the same distinction that separates so-called literary fiction from genre fiction: a gaping plot-shaped hole in the middle of the story. (to normalize this deficiency, genre fiction is labeled “plot driven,” and marginalized while Pynchonesque rants, Wallacesque meanderings, and other selfaware struggles with authenticity provide backfill) Over at Books and Bicycles, it was said “What strikes me most about [Bel Canto] is the way a description of its plot captures absolutely nothing of the feeling of reading it.  It’s a book that has hostages and terrorists, and yet that’s not what it’s about at all.” Indeed, Patchett’s plot-staging is like a movie trailer that has little in common with the film it’s designed to sell: a marketing device that goes like this:

In an unnamed Central American country, that is most certainly Lima, a group of elite international businessmen and bureaucrats gather in the vice presidents mansion ostensibly to celebrate the birthday of a Japanese mogul, take in some opera, champagne and caviar. A merry band of underage terrorists, in this case, a completely undeserved title, crash the party after the Soprano’s encore, of course, without killing a single guard, all of whom are outside, by squeezing through ventilation ducts, as any western will surely have a ready-made, hollywood-inspired visulization of this exact scene. That’s it until the last five ten pages. As a side note, let this be a lesson to the have and have-mores the world over: that invitation-only black-tie event in a remote jungle manor belonging to an unpopular vice president of an oppressed country is a crisis-in-waiting not an enchanted evening.

I was drinking liberally from the internet fire hose a few weeks ago and came across a curious post at Critical Mass: A blog of the National Book Critics Circle Board of Directors . Someone on the circular board of directors was chatting with her favorite overburdened author mom over tea and crumpets in New York.

When I noted that Groff’s first novel, The Monsters of Templeton, was a finalist for the Orange Prize for New Writers, she pointed out that the Orange Prize is specifically for women, and that sent us off on a riff about the gender gap in literature. Typically, she observed with a certain poetic license, awards go to fiction that is written from the point of view of a man, concerns war, and has very short sentences—Hemingwayesque, as it were. In Groff’s view, this means women will automatically get the short stick in terms of their literary stature. Stature is a hard thing to measure, of course. But consider John Updike and the prominence of his obituary in print and on television when he died. Clearly, Updike was a big gun of the written word to anyone who was halfway paying attention. Would any woman wordsmith (Morrison? Didion?) merit equal media firepower?

By the way, I don’t think she could have found a worse example of Hemingwayeque writing than Updike’s. Also, obviously when Didion reaches the end of her tether there will be much fanfare. For those of us who weren’t around in 1968, Slouching Toward Bethlehem is as close as we get to what Hunter Thompson described as “riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave.” But what to make of her larger point–the idea that subject matter, well, matters?

But there are other reasons, too, and Groff’s mention of subject matter may have something to do with it: Fiction that deals with the big topics of the day, not the domestic sphere, is more readily imbued with the gravitas of great literature—pace War and Peace, not to mention Don DeLillo. Sometimes the formula works, just not always.

Ahh yes, lamenting the paucity and low status of the Romance novel, a novel women are “internally wired” to write, no doubt. Forgetting the misogyny and begging the question, does tackling those big-as-Russia topics of the day make your novel somehow more worthy? Is this another way of saying plot matters? I can’t imagine this thought not going through Patchett’s mind at some point in the writing process. Her story was removed from time and place and so are her characters.

Other than being populated with poor brown people, there was no historical or cultural background in her unamed South American country. The majority of the rebel force were children. Even the adults, the generals, had childish half-baked ideas followed by half-assed implementation and a nievete that was largely a matter of inexperience. Their plan reminded me of the Iraq War: We’re here, now what? Let’s not think abou it.

At the same time, however, as a reader investing in this book you make an attempt to empathize with their plight. That brings us to the issue of narrative viewpoint. Patchett chooses 3rd person limited. More typical is 3rd person omniscient, but you can’t call it omniscient when a character’s inner workings are not aired. Additionally, when their action or lack of action deviates from readers’ expectations, we’ll eventually expect justification. To somewhat compensate Patchett has characters play-off one another with natural, well-executed dialogue. However, her limiting access to the psyche of a good many of her characters left them frustratingly enigmatic. I suppose one could understand this has Patchett’s attempt at alienating her readers in the same way her characters were alienated: from celebrity and Fortune 500 status to lumpen spectacles trapped in an ornate Victorian fish bowl.

Her list of characters, all failing in their own way to reckon their plight, are like the musicians on the Titanic, more absurd than tragic. Despite having their world flipped upside-down, the kidnapees are unable to shake free of the trite responsibilities of job and social status. The translator who is loyal to his boss despite compensation, and the opera singer smuggling song-sheets instead of weapons. Noteble is their remarkable failure to even conceive of, much less attempt, an escape.

It doesn’t take too much to see the secluded mansion enlisted as a metaphor for entitlement-induced ennui, a mental gated-community, acting as both fortress and prison. None of the captors come to terms with the danger they’re in, even after it’s too late, as if being kept against their will was not a far remove from the walls already in place. The kidnappers seem to suffer the same naivete, as if they were lulled to complacency by the sound of the Sopranos voice. But I don’t buy it. I don’t buy that this is what Patchett set-out to do, to create undeserving characters who eventually gain freedom not because they fought and suffered for it, but for the mundane fact that they were white and wealthy. That would be a subversive novel, and Bel Canto is a love-prevails-against-all-odds novel, and I still shudder over what has to be the most glarlingly pasted-on happing ending I’ve ever come across in a book.

This is Bel Canto, an unlikely love story–the stuff of the domestic sphere–that flirts with war and terror–the stuff of great literature.

Up next: Roberto BolaÑo’s The Savage Detectives

Bench Jockey

My PI says I need to always keep in mind a narrative when writing-up a research manuscript.

So here goes:

The plan was simple and would make mincemeat of the problem overnight: Cure cancer. No, but in the ballpark of what friends and family anticipate at some point before thoughtful nods shift to metronomic ones. So, if not simple, then linear: develop a zebrafish model for t-cell leukemia. No quasi-evil N-ethyl-N-nitrosourea baths or bombarding gamma rays, just pure, organic, transgenic mutagenesis. To paraphrase Snapple, creating flavors Mother Nature never intended but should have. We had our not-fully-understood-but-we-know-it-works lymphocyte-specific, t-cell-signaling, stimulus-converting, protein-encoding gene with the tried and true capacity–and great homology–to express in primitive blood cell lines. With that as our construct backbone, we cloned in the bosses signature mutation-inducing insert. We cloned a few more of these constructs using different mutagenetic inserts for good measure…and why not? You see, injecting fish embryos at the one-cell stage with fragments of nucleotides that go by the names Stem-cell Leukemia (Scl), Leukemia-myloid oncogene 1 (Lmo1), and my personal favorite, Simian virus large-cell Tumor Antigen (TAg), set our fated fish on the longterm path to a tumor with fins. And what more significant way to give meaning to life than by predetermining not only its quality but course. And if I didn’t have my injected brood, population zero, then I’d still claim a clear Mendeallian half of their progeny. I’m able to think about these things and yet lose no sleep. Just to make sure I was dotting my “i”s and crossing my “t”s, I swapped a tumor gene for a jellyfish one and watched a seven day-old thymus light up like a uranium rod.

My ducks were in a row and everything was set, but then something unexpected happened. Well, at first, and for some time, nothing happened. Then something. Teleost thymus makes t-cells–the cell type in humans where a variety of leukemias form. Naturally, I would expect to see tumors blossom from my tiny fishes even tinier thymus. From our previous GFP experiments, we knew exactly where to look for the tumors because we knew the thymus. As we were waiting, we noticed one male after another started looking preggers. If I had instigated a mutation event in an autosomal sex-determining region in zebrafish then that would be something. Perhaps Sox9a, the gene in humans that inhibits the enzyme that converts androgens to estrogen. Clownfish, for example, are all born female. Through an as-yet-uncharacterized epigenetic event one will grow a set of testes, typically the smaller one in a pair. So there’s that. However, the general asymetry of these abdominal protrusions suggested tumor, not laden with eggs. As it turned out on closer, grosser, fatal examination, a sizeable tumor is what I did extract. Sometimes these tumor were so grotesquely out of proportion with the rest of their wetworks, they were the only identifiable mass in sight. Shoved to the corners and recesses were the intestines and liver. The thymus is nowhere near the abdomen. It resides up north between the gills, and posterior to a zebrafishes main congregation of ganglia–a few morphological leaps shy from an actual brain. Rationalizations and alternative explanations ensued.

Eureka! It must be the kidney, I thought. They’re in that region. Maybe the pre-kidney structure, the pronephros and its progenitor cells, proliferated out of control. Fish kidneys are above the intestines, between swimbladder and spinal cord. T-cell precursor cells originate in the kidney and later migrate to the thymus for further differentiation. In fact, endogenous Scl expression starts way back in the tail and winds-up in the kidney before turning-off.

Histologically, things were fuzzier. From sectioned tumor tissue slides we noticed unbroken cobblestone-like expanses of large blast cells (good) that didn’t look anything like mouse or human myloid cells (bad). Though there was this vascularizaiton that resembled a kidney in structure. More puzzling, however, was a preponderance of tiny cells with visibly little cytoplasm. When I say tiny, I mean they were pea stones next to the cobblestones, small enough to pass for a parasite, or maybe bacteria. My wild hypothesis, after scouring obscene pathology textbooks, was necrobodies: the corpses of fallen cells strewn about on my slide, the collateral damage from a tumor’s all-consuming single-mindedness. This notion lasted just as long as the time it took to convince the resident pathologist to put down his mouse slides and have a look at my fish.

Spermatids, not necrobodies?

But I know even less about spermatogenesis than I do about leukemogenesis. I’ve generated testicular cancer in these fish? It was like throwing darts at the bulls eye and hitting the ceiling. And so seminoma was the tentative name I arrived at for these tumors. I late found there to be a dirth of knowledge on the subject, but among those who discuss such things, the more general testicular germ cell tumor (TGCT) is the preferred nomenclature for what remains a largely uncharacterized zebrafish tumor. Some of the literature suggested that male zebrafish are particularly prone to developing TGCTs around two years of age. Out of sheer laziness I neglected to genotype most of the offspring from those parents who had my gene of interest integrated into their gonads. Only when a fish developed a tumor, did I screen it for the transgene of its parent. Fortuitously, this blinded me from selection bias against paying extra, special attention to the positive offspring and ignoring any naturally occurring tumors in the negative ones. I plotted a tumor incidence curve and there was a significant rise in tumors from the transgenic fish. I have to admit here that incidence curves where the rates is a percent on the y axis usually proceed in a downward curve. In other words, trenches not spikes. I stand by my decision to use the former because (a) it’s more visually stimulating (b) I define progress, generally an upward motion, as more tumors, not less.

I had a model for malignancy. However, zebrafish testicular tumors are a wide expanse of uncharted waters, made more difficult to navigate not only because I was the sole researcher in my lab studying zebrafish, but suddenly the only one not studying leukemias. While the zebrafish provides a superior transgenic model there are practical differences at the cellular level. For instance, teleosts, unlike mammals, have nucleated red blood cells and no hemoglobin. Basic molecular techniques were one thing–genetic homology is a humbling thing–but the histology of a cold-blooded, scaley, lungless, piscavore, a few billion years removed from humans, presents special challenges. For instance, fish cells are smaller and have a slightly lower specific gravity than human cells. This affects everything from flow cytometry to buffer solutions and transplants. Also, mouse researchers have their immuno-deficient stable mouse lines made-to-order. To immunocomprimise a fish, you need to either zap it (more specifically, it’s sperm) with radiation or soak larva in a gluccocordicoid. These are precarious measures, relying on toxic substances at minute doses for specific periods. Troubleshooting flawed experiments with mouse researchers proved at times difficult.

However, once the protocols were optimized–or worked most of the time–we sought to test the malignancy power of our designer tumors. When we spotted a pregnant-looking male swimming amongst friends and family, we often dissected him on the spot, harvested his bulge, mashed, filtered, counted and washed it, then backloaded it into a small-gauge insulin syringe. I raised a few wildtype fish for the express purpose of injecting them with these tumor cells. I aim for a major vascular region for maximum dispersal. A few of these cells, in a few of the fish, would hone to the testes and grow their own tumors, expressing my transgene all the while. This wasn’t enough, though. Most of the fish, most of the time should grow tumors from these cells. While the fish were indeed as inbred as English Royalty, apparently their innate immune systems detected enough foreign antibodies to kill-off most of the invaders. This would not do. As mentioned earlier, if I was a mouse researcher I’d be working with a model that had virtually no immune system to start with, and we wouldn’t be having this issue. Still, fish rule. Instead, I had to chemically ablate the thymus in my recipient fish. Unfortunately, the chemicals I was using don’t absorb well into adult fish. I needed to start with five day-old fish, soak them in dexamethasone for a few days, then inject their little bodies with adult tumor cells from a borosilicate needle I custom made for the occassion. Mortality was great, survivors few. But, with luck, a few grew up sporting tumors.

On these and their donors, we looked for genes common in human testicular tumors. There’s that homology again. We were interested in developmental genes, the ones promoting growth and regulating differentiation. These tissue-making workhorses are often highly conserved across the animal kingdom. Naturally at some stage in the animals growth and development, these genes need to be regulated and eventually halted. Sometimes, and the reasons are legion, they are brought back online or their regulators are taken out of commission, the results of which are what we recognize as tumors. That’s why it’s helpful to view cancer as an evolutionary disease.

Some of these genes have catchy names like Kit, ras, Oct-4, Sox9a, Nanog, vas, and some not so catchy names like MCFD2, and Wt1. If I can find a study that says Proml1, for instance, is a germ cell marker gene found in undifferentiated embryonic stem cells, specifically plasma membrane stem cell markers for neural and hematopoietic cells in humans, I have to compare its nucleotide sequence against the zebrafish genome for homologies sake. I like to see around 90% similarity. Sometimes, I’ll come across a gene charactertized to a specific cell type, as is the case with MCFD2 and sertoli cells. Great. Does this hold as true for fish as it does for humans? To find out we looked for expression of this gene in a host of zebrafish tissue: kidney, gill, intestine, liver, testes, and of course tumor tissue. Confoundingly, sox9a was expressed in everything except the gills and one out of three tumors. When I looked at the tumor under the microscope, it was one of the rare ones with a monolayer of spermatocytes and hardly any other cell type. Perhaps this is significant, since spermatogonia, like sertoli cells, are more primitive than spermatocytes and are known to express germ cell marker genes in humans. A tumor without these cells we could suppose might express MCFD2 very minimally if at all. Maybe, MCFD2 is a good genetic marker for spermatogonia in zebrafish. Still, its expression in other tissue is troublesome. We can’t rule out false positives, contamination of some sort or, since my samples were small, annoying randomness. And this has been the case with all the genetics markers: interesting but far from difinitive. Actually, this is the case for much of what’s published. Which is why I think I’m ready to finally write my manuscript!

PS. In 2002 hipsters co-opted the redneck trucker hat and wore it ironically. After that came mom jeans, granny glasses, track suits, Cosby sweaters, pregnant lady drop pants. What could possibly be next? What yet untouched mainstream style could ever outdo all that? Discuss

Science is?

AC Grayling:

Science is the greatest achievement of human history so far. I say that as a huge admirer of the Renaissance and Renaissance art, music and literature, but the world-transforming power of science and the tremendous insights that we’ve gained show that this is an enterprise, a wonderful collective enterprise, that is a great achievement of humanity.

Watch the video here:
http://www.edge.org/3rd_culture/grayling09/grayling09_index.html

Great blog posts

There are a bunch of science bloggers out there, most of the time they’re writing in a more general way about things, but I just thought I’d like to highlight some great posts about recent scientific papers. I keep meaning to write some posts like this, but I just haven’t gotten around to it.

These are some great ones I’ve recently come across recently that actually concern papers I happened to have already read. It’s pretty wonderful to read something like these. Posts that improve your understanding of a paper:

dechronization: When We Fail MrBayes…

Evolutionary Novelties: Two Animal Nervous Systems?

I feel like there should be more cutting edge discussions of science on the blogs, but it doesn’t seem like this kind of thing gets started very often in biology/evolution circles. I wonder why that is. Probably there just isn’t the critical mass of bloggers/blog-readers.