The How and the Why

Sarah Treem’s The How and the Why explores some interesting topics in the way that science is practiced today, most notably, the apparent lack of interest in aspects of human biology that are specific to females: why does menopause occur? what function does menstruation serve towards the perpetuation of the species? But the piece suffers from a severe case of theatrical compression that compromises its believability.

Zelda Kahn (played by Liz Pierotti), a senior professor of evolutionary biology, meets for the first time a young unpublished researcher (graduate student? post-doc? the text isn’t clear) named Rachel Hardeman (with whom she shares a past that will come as little surprise). After some awkward moments that owe something to Oleanna, Rachel is invited to explain the gist of her research, which she does in a spirited monologue (played well by the passionate Nora Achrati). Although Rachel doesn’t yet have the data to back up her hypothesis, after one or two gently probing questions Zelda becomes a champion of her work and arranges for Rachel to present at an imminent conference—an slot has opened up unexpectedly. Look to plays such as David Auburn’s Proof for a more nuanced look at how minds are won in math and science; aha! moments like this don’t happen.

There’s also some confusion in language. The characters toss around the word “abstract” to refer to Rachel’s work, as if it comprised all the methods, evidence, reasoning, and citations. Anyone who’s ever cracked a journal understands that an abstract is no more than a précis of one paper: 150 words that tell you why you want to read the whole article.

The second act takes place after the conference, where the two scientists meet in a seedy bar (well designed by Richard Montgomery: nothing says underground rock club better than a row of 12×12 columns plastered with old show posters). Rachel’s youthful reaction to the Q&A after her presentation is plausible—she feels personally attacked, and is considering abandoning her research—whereas Zelda’s exhortation to buck up and continue working is undermined by Pierotti’s tentativeness in her role. Zelda needs to show more starch. On the other hand, her wisdom is an effective foil to Rachel’s fresh inventiveness.

  • The How and the Why, by Sarah Treem, directed by Lee Mikeska Gardner, 1st Stage Theatre, Tysons Corner, Virginia

RGVBF 2011: 2

various stageslooking upWe rolled down Texas 511 south of Brownsville, past the port, through the checkerboard of residential properties, scrapyards, auto repair shops, and trucking establishments; crossed the red palings that comprise a section of the incomplete barrier between the two countries; and entered the Sabal Palm Sanctuary. The 500-acre property includes one the last vestiges of original Rio Grande Palmetto (Sabal mexicanus), also known variously as Sabal Palm or Mexican Cabbage Palm. Our guide David Benn pointed out a key ID characteristic: the edges of the petiole on most palms you see in Texas (most of them introduced) is toothed, but in the Sabal Palm it’s smooth. As the tree grows taller, eventually the dead leaves along the trunk (the “boots”) drop off.

see the ducksOh, and the birding was good, too. The day started wet and chilly, so we hunkered down in a semi-blind at the edge of an artificially-maintained resaca, an oxbow lake that was once a loop of the rio. Lots of ducks to look at, and I got my first good view (of many to come) of Great Kiskadee (Pitangus sulphuratus).

on the boardwalkIn the uplands, Black-crested Titmice (Baeolophus atricristatus) made our acquaintance, and we found more of that gluey Texas mud; back at the visitor center where a feeder is set up, an Olive Sparrow (Arremonops rufivirgatus) broke out of its skulk to become identifiably visible.

RGVBF 2011: 1

My first field trip at last week’s Rio Grande Valley Birding Festival was led by Bill Clark, and our targets were raptors of the valley. Bill did not disappoint, and I checked off fourteen raptor and scavenger species that day, including four lifers and several good +1 sightings.

rakedWe began at the Cannon Road tract in Hidalgo County, where we found sugarcane fields prepared for harvesting. A firebreak is raked into the road surrounding the field, and then the chaff is burned off the field before the cane is cut. Burning the field flushes small rodents and lizards, and the local raptors tuck in like they’re at Golden Corral when a new tray of meatballs has just arrived.

Looking at this image, you can also get a feel for the consistency of south Texas soils. The hardpan is locally known as caliche; when it gets the least bit of moisture (a line of rain had blown through on Tuesday evening) it turns into some of the stickiest gumbo I’ve ever encountered. (On my last morning in town, I blundered into a wettish patch; I left a track of dried mud through the airport, into the aircraft, and finally left most of it at the curb at BWI.)

looking north to MexicoWe got back on the road, and stopped at a recently burned cane field along U.S. 281 to watch the bird life on display. We moved on to Anzalduas Park, located on the Rio Grande River. There is a small companion park in Tamaulipas state across the border. Due to the river’s meanders, this is one of the places where you can look due north into Mexico.

do notAt Anzalduas and every other venue along the river, the apparatus of the Border Patrol was in blatant evidence. We got to know the green-striped white SUVs quite well.

Fortunately, the birding was quite good. Although we missed our target Gray Hawks, I saw my first Green Jays (Cyanocroax yncas)—first of quite a few for the trip.

We then bolted southwest down the highway into Cameron County for a couple of spots that Bill knew to be reliable for Aplomado Falcon (Falco femoralis), the lead-colored falcon. Extirpated in the northern part of its breeding range, the bird is being reintroduced into south Texas via captive breeding.

Up and down Texas 100, we passed Bobz World, the Lone Star’s answer to South of the Border. Like the web site says, you gotta see it to believe it.

Gone

Demented is different to drunk. I think people get demented the same way they get annoying. The thing you don’t like about them just gets worse, until one day you find that’s all there is left of them — the fuss and the show of it — the actual person has snuck out the back and gone home.

—Anne Enright, The Forgotten Waltz, “Save the Last Dance for Me,” p. 194

Stand and deliver

Michael Grabell, reporting for ProPublica, recaps the shameful railroading process that has placed hundreds of X-ray machines of doubtful safety in U.S. airports, in a misguided attempt to improve security. The depleted Food and Drug Administration chose not to regulate these nasty boxes.

The government used to have 500 people examining the safety of electronic products emitting radiation. It now has about 20 people. In fact, the FDA has not set a mandatory safety standard for an electronic product since 1985.

The Transportation Security Administration has no peer-reviewed research to back up its claims that the X-ray-based body scanners are safe, Grabell reports. On the contrary,

Research suggests that anywhere from six to 100 U.S. airline passengers each year could get cancer from the machines. Still, the TSA has repeatedly defined the scanners as “safe,” glossing over the accepted scientific view that even low doses of ionizing radiation — the kind beamed directly at the body by the X-ray scanners — increase the risk of cancer.

Mind you, the TSA and its contractors have rolled out two different body-scanning technologies, one using potentially harmful ionizing radiation, the other employing (perhaps relatively harmless) millimeter-length electromagnetic waves. But how is the flustered traveler to understand which machine the bored functionary is directing him to, and the concomitant health risks?

Little Bennett Regional Park: botany foray

sidetrackanother fordYesterday’s unexpected snow and ice caused trip leader Carole Bergman to simplify this morning’s field trip to Little Bennett Regional Park, lest we go slip-sliding away. We ended up following the track of the old Hyattstown Mill Road, from Clarksburg Road along Little Bennett Creek as far as the creek ford. I have visited the park a couple times last year, but this is the first time I’ve spent an appreciable amount of daylight time north of the creek.

Bird activity was surprisingly lively. We found a few Eastern Bluebirds at the woodcock clearing, and a Ruby-crowned Kinglet (Regulus calendula) farther down the trail.

oldieBut the main objective of this trip was fall/winter trees. As the sky cleared and the snow melted, the canopy dropped slush bombs on the group, but we soldiered on. Carole pointed out generous examples of Post Oak (Quercus stellata), some huge old Black Willows (Salix nigra) in a creek bottom, Carpinus caroliniana in fruit (nuts protected by involucral bracts), Witch-hazel in flower.

Carole and fringefit for bearsSpecial trees for the trip: Fringetree (Chionanthus virginicus), in the image at left, with Carole in the foreground, and a solitary shrub of Bear Oak (Q. ilicifolia), in the image at right. Harlow writes, “Seton [The Forester’s Manual, 1912] says it was called bear oak because this animal was about the only one that would eat its intensely bitter acorns.”

hanging on, barelyOn the way back to the rendezvous point, we took a side trip to the Burnt Hill parking area in the extreme northeast edge of the park to find a small patch of American Chestnut (Castanea dentata). The trees are protected with exclosures, lest hungry deer munch every last bit of green sprout from these desperately regenerating trees. One of the three we looked at had a limb bearing leaves (now yellow) and a few fruits. But the real value of these trees is in their genetics. American Chestnut Foundation breeders have collected pollen from these individuals, in their attempts to raise strains that are resistant to blight.

“Is this an innovative approach?”

Virginia Gewin provides some pointers for rookie reviewers of papers submitted to technical journals. With career-hungry postdocs doing much of the refereeing, there’s little room for the purported conspiracies that cover up inconvenient research results.

Astronomy journals are generally comfortable with papers being revised several times, says Chris Sneden, an astronomer at the University of Texas at Austin and editor of The Astrophysical Journal Letters. “It’s rare, but a paper can go through five or six review rounds if it starts out as a disaster,” he says. “But the sociology of the field is happy with a lot of back and forth with the author during the process.”

A Bright New Boise

The opening image of A Bright New Boise is a powerful one: Michael Russotto’s Will stands under a highway overpass, shouting for the end of the world. Will, like all of us, is a seeker of truth, a man trying to find meaning in his life; however, the particulars of his journey are out of the theatrical ordinary, for Will has recently parted company with a millenarian congregation in northern Idaho, and perhaps has left his religious faith behind as well.

When the apocalypse comes, who’s to say it won’t come to the break room of a chain store specializing in arts and crafts?—a chain whose labor practices (enforced by Pauline, the excellent Emily Townley) would make many an HR professional’s hair stand on end. For it is there that Will tries to put his economic house in order, and maybe build some bridges to the past. A standout among his misfit coworkers is the limp-haired Anna (Kimberly Gilbert), a woman with an unmodulated voice and limited social skills.

In the end, Will remains a curiosity for us, despite an honest performance by Russotto. The barriers he has raised against the emotional and financial shocks of the world leave him isolated, and it’s difficult for his to feel empathy for him.

  • A Bright New Boise, by Samuel D. Hunter, directed by John Vreeke, Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company, Washington