Giant Amoebae on (Extremely Slow) Rampage

by Jennifer Frazer on March 10, 2010

This is so cool. I totally missed it when it came out in November 2008. If you did too, here’s your second chance.

In Russia, amoeba study YOU.

OK, giant deep-sea amoebae that roll around like possessed dust bunnies? AWESOME. The 411. Though this group had just been discovered in the Arabian Sea in 2000, it seems it was still a surprise to find them *leaving tracks* (although I should emphasize no one can actually see them move in real time. This sounds like a job for the BBC’s magic time-lapse camera). They are testate amoebae, or ameobae that make shells called tests (a few other deep sea protists like foraminifera also make shells called tests, and I just discovered that Chris Taylor over at Catalogue of Organisms just happens to have coincidentally published on the foram version yesterday.). This species, Gromia sphaerica, fits into the Gromiidea on this tree. Just look at all the uncharted territory and things you’ve never heard of. Space is not the final frontier. . . not by a long shot. Not yet.

The bigger, non-motile existing deep-sea protozoans Matz refers to in the video are probably xenophyophores, an outrageously bizarre group alluded to here before. You’ll just have to wait on a post about those another day. And there’s probably lots more giant deep sea protists I don’t know about yet. Readers?

The big take-home message of Matz’s discovery (or at least what they’d like us to take home) seems to be that we could really be misinterpreting Pre-Cambrian fossil trackwaves — that is, the fossil tracks of organisms that predate the blossoming of most modern animal groups in an event called the Cambrian Explosion, ca. 550 million years ago. These tracks can be found in fossils as old as 1.8 billion years (yes, that’s billion with a pinkie to the corner of the mouth). These tracks were for many years interpreted as early modern animals for whom we just didn’t happen to have fossils. But what if they were giant protists? Or something else? Possible, and probably not surprising given the fossils we do have of Ediacaran creatures, they bizarre early animal(?) forms that predate the Cambrian explosion and are the first fossils of complex multicellular organisms we have. They all seem to be soft and, for lack of a better term, pillowy. Yes, like Charmin.

Will we ever know? Probably not. But you never know. A fossil of a recognizable ancestor of a modern animal keeled over at the end of one of these tracks might settle things. On the other hand, simple tracks do tend to look alike. And with hundreds of millions of years on hand, there’s plenty of time for lots of really weird things we’ll never know about to have made them.

You know what this video reminds me of, of course . . .

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Bacterially Tye-Dyed Caves

by Jennifer Frazer on March 5, 2010

Lichens(?) and bacteria coat the interior of a lava tube in Hawaii. http://www.flickr.com/photos/lrargerich/ / CC BY 2.0

Life on Earth is everywhere, from pores in rocks miles beneath the surface to tiny cloud particles floating high above. Here’s another example of life turning up in a spot we’d not previously suspected: cave mineral deposits. Turns out the colorful encrustations are sometimes raw bacterial sewage. Pretty sewage, though!

Cave bacteria are often actinomycetes, which were so named because they actually branch (yes, some bacteria can branch!) and make spores similar to fungi. They’re also part of the crowd responsible for that wonderful earthy/cavey smell I mentioned a few posts ago. Actinomycetes are great at making competing-bacteria repellent, aka antibiotics. You might have heard of a few: actinomycin and streptomycin.

This came out in November but I’d been saving this slide show for a fun Friday eye-candy treat. Enjoy!

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The Oceanic X Prize: Deep Sea for the Rest of Us?

by Jennifer Frazer on March 3, 2010

“This here’s a bottomless pit, baby. Two and a half miles, straight down.” — Catfish De Vries, The Abyss

One of my many dreams is to travel to the bottom of the ocean to see hydrothermal vent communities, bizarre abyssal creatures and methane seeps with my own eyes. I can’t believe I missed this when it came out, but that dream took one giant leap forward in January: The X Prize people (of first private spaceflight fame) have announced a prize for the first company to return humans twice to Challenger Deep, the deepest point on Earth — 35,761 feet down. That’s over six and a half miles. In that crushing water, the pressure is 15,750 pounds per square inch: over 1,000 times atmospheric pressure at sea level. The announcement was made 50 years to the day after the first — and still only — two people reached that spot and returned alive.

Above you see the Bathyscaphe Trieste, the first vessel to reach this spot, manned by Jacques Piccard and U.S. Navy Lieutenant Don Walsh on Jan. 23, 1960. An article in The Times of London announcing the X-Prize news describes the tense descent that, unlike Neil Armstrong’s famous approach, has gone largely unheralded by history.

On a test dive off the island of Guam two months before the dive, the glue holding the hull together failed after the Trieste had just set a new record at 5.4km. Metal bands were used to strengthen it, and dives continued. On the big day, water began dripping into the cabin, but Jacques Piccard and Captain Walsh carried on and the leak stopped. Then, at 9.5 km, a crash shook the bathyscaphe.

“In the past we had some very small external components fail and those events produced sharper sounds of implosions. This noise was much lower in pitch, as if something big had broken,” Captain Walsh told The Times this week.

The two men checked their instruments. All seemed fine, so they continued. But a porthole on one of the tubes used to access the cabin had cracked. They were not in immediate danger, but if the tiny window gave way they would die instantly. “We could see it bulging, being pushed inwards by the pressure of the sea,” Captain Walsh said.

You can read the rest over at The Times.

Though few people can recite the details of this dive or where they were when it happened the way most people know exactly what they did on July 20, 1969, the event and place have still crept into our culture. Auguste Piccard, father of Jacques and designer of the Bathyscaphe, and/or his brother Jean Felix inspired Gene Roddenberry to name his new starship captain Jean-Luc Picard. Challenger Deep itself is named after HMS Challenger, a sailing ship that led the first true oceanographic cruise of the world’s waters from 1872-76 that is still renowned in scientific circles, cataloguing 4,700 new species and taking the first soundings of the Deep that bears its name. The expedition also inspired the naming of one other landmark exploratory vehicle — the Space Shuttle Challenger.

Yet in spite of the significance of this step, people have never returned to Challenger Deep. According to the Times, Piccard and Walsh fully expected it to happen in a few years with a better-designed sub. Instead, 50 years have passed. Only two remotely operated vehicles have returned. The X-Prize people, with any luck, will soon fix that.

The Times expects ocean nuts and kajillionaires James Cameron of The Abyss, Titanic, and (I cringe to mention it) Avatar fame and Paul Allen of Microsoft to be contenders for the prize. And though they go with exploration and science on their mind, worthy ends by any measure, it bodes very well for me and any of you who’ve ever dreamed of exploring life in the deep.

Right now, reaching the deep ocean in person is excruciatingly expensive and limited to a few lucky scientists and an occasionally extremely lucky member of the press. Even if the immediate aim is research and exploration, a successful design could be developed commercially by one of these guys to take the rest of us to the ocean floor much as X-Prize-Winner SpaceShip Two (aka Richard Branson’s sexy new ride) will soon open the heavens to mere mortals. Well, mere mortals with 200 Large to spare. They say that fare might eventually come down to $10,000. I’d pay that to see any of this. Sir Richard thinks everyone should be able to experience space; I think everyone should be able to experience the ocean deep. I hope I’m not the only one.

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A Moment of Zen: The Clark’s Grebes’ Romantic Weekend

by Jennifer Frazer on February 28, 2010

I’ve been at an awesome wedding out of town this weekend, so here is a sweet treat that fits with that theme from the latest in our Pre-Life trailer series.

“. . . And they lost some points for under-rotation on the feather preen and a bit too much splash on the takeoff, but still a solid 8.5 for the liquid ice dancing pair from the US!”
Ooops. Seem to have gotten themes mixed up.

Also, the Fresh Prince called. He wants his haircut back.

Grebes are interesting taxonomically. Originally, in the old system of classifying life whereby scientists squinted at creatures and lumped them with whoever they seemed to look most similar too (more or less), grebes were classifed with the similarly aquatic and water-dancing (and awesome-voicedloons. However, there were doubters, including some wild-eyed crazies who, when they took a closer look at the details of grebe anatomy, determined they shared many unique characteristics (scientists would call them synapomorphies, which are the gold standard for modern evolution-based classification) with . . . are you ready for this? . . . flamingoes. Lo and behold, DNA comparisons bear this out. If that wasn’t enough to convince you, it turns out that flamingo lice are actually closely related to grebe lice, seemingly having diverged only when the two lineages of bird split.

So it seems the hypothetical grebe-loon connection was yet another case of convergent evolution, whereby unrelated organisms evolve to look similar when they set up shop in similar environments. This happens all the time and really messed with taxonomists until DNA sequencing came along.  Here’s a nice tree to give you a sense of who fits where; click “Podicipediformes” to take a closer look at the grebe family itself.

Life is coming in March, my American friends with cable! Get excited!

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Tolkien the Botanist and the Tale of the Larch

by Jennifer Frazer on February 25, 2010

Tolkien during World War I

I am rereading The Lord of the Rings, as I do every four years. You only get to read it so many times before you die, and I have determined four years is the ideal interval for me. As always, I am struck by what a fine botanist Tolkien was for a man with a Ph.D. in linguistics.

South and west [Ithilien] looked towards the warm lower vales of Anduin, shielded from the east by the Ephel Duath and yet not under the mountain-shadow, protected from the north by the Emyn Muil, open to the southern airs and the moist winds from the Sea far away. Many great trees grew there, planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a riot of careless descendants; and groves and thickets there were of tamarisk* and pungent terebinth, of olive and of bay; and there were junipers and myrtles; and thymes that grew in bushes, or with their woody creeping stems mantled in deep tapestries the hidden stones; sages of many kinds putting forth blue flowers, or red, or pale green; and marjorams and new-sprouting parsleys, and many herbs of forms and scents beyond the garden-lore of Sam. The grots and rocky walls were already starred with saxifrages and stonecrops. Primeroles and anemones were awake in the filbert-brakes; and asphodel and many lily-flowers nodded their half-opened heads in the grass: deep green grass beside the pools, where falling streams halted in cool hollows on their journey down to Anduin.

Wow. Say it aloud: “deep green grass beside the pools, where falling streams halted in cool hollows on their journey down to Anduin.”

Tolkien spent lots of time exploring bog and field in his childhood, and his mother Mabel taught him botany,

and awakened in him the enjoyment of the look and feel of plants.

I, too, spent many long hours as a three-, four- and five-year-old exploring the hills, fields, and streams around my birthplace in southeast Tennessee, where wild blueberries grew next to waterfall-fed pools and the iron-oxide dirt stained my socks pink to the eternal chagrin of my mother. Take-home lesson: If you have children, don’t be a paranoid helicopter parent. To the extent possible, live near natural areas, and let your children build their imagination and love of nature by exploring them on their own.

In any case, I want to take a closer look at one plant Tolkien mentions. Here’s another excerpt from the text just before the last passage:

The long journey from Rivendell had brought them far south of their own land, but not until now in this more sheltered region had the hobbits felt the change of clime. Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.

Observe: “larches were green-fingered.” You may be tempted to think larches are some sort of broadleaf shrub or tree. You’d be wrong. Larches (genus Larix) are a very unusual thing: a deciduous conifer. That’s right — though they are firmly ensconced in the ancient and aristocratic Pine Family, their needles turn gold or brown and drop every autumn, and new green needles take their place every spring.

Browning larch trees in autumn near the Dolomites in Italy. http://www.flickr.com/photos/krossbow/ / CC BY 2.0

Another interesting thing about larches is their needles grow in whorls. Observe:

Male cones of the larch near needle-whorls.

For those of you who may be wondering how to recognize this tree from quite a long way away, here’s a helpful instructional film:

Alas. None of the American larches — Tamarack, Western, or Subalpine — grow in Colorado, so I will not be recognizing them from near or far anytime soon.

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*A plant’s “goodness” or “badness” depends on the context. Tamarisk, which Tolkien mentions in the first passage in a scene intended to evoke beauty and goodness, is also called salt cedar in the United States, and is an imported cone-bearing shrub that has caused endless migraines for land managers across the west. Planted for erosion control by the millions during the Great Depression, it has proceeded to invade the banks of most waterways, siphoning billions of gallons of precious western water out through the tiny openings, or stomata, of its leaves to be wasted in the air and crowding native plants like willows and cottonwoods out of their habitats. In Eurasia, it’s a natural part of the landscape.

Salt cedar, by the way, is not actually a cedar but a flowering plant. It just looks like a cedar. Pesky common names!

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Extreme (Plankton) Closeup!

by Jennifer Frazer on February 22, 2010

Punk rockers are clearly dinoflagellate posers. Is it just me or does (a) appear to be a member of the House Harkonnen? Dinoflagellate micro-plankton of Atlantic tropical waters. P. 75. In: "Aus den Tiefen des Weltmeeres" by Carl Chun, 1903. NOAA Photo Library.

Most people have only seen plankton in crappy, fuzzy photos in college textbooks, if they’ve seen it at all. If you have heard of it, it’s probably in the context of the stuff baleen whales eat, and that’s about it. I personally was lucky enough to see an entire jar of the delicacy when I visited the Smithsonian’s Sant Ocean Hall last fall. It looked a lot like the larvae of the neural parasites that took over the brains of the Federation’s top brass in the first season of Star Trek: TNG. Mmmm, mmmm good!

Plankton is not a taxonomic/phylogenetic group like most of the things I write about on this blog. Plankton instead refers to any sea creatures that drift. That can include things as large as jellyfish, but typically plankton are much smaller and include things as small as the bacteria, archaea, and viruses with which the oceans teem. The phytoplankton, or photosynthesizing component, are responsible for half of the oxygen you breathe.

Well, someone’s finally taken some skillful, beautiful pictures of the plankton and they’ve gone on display at the London Zoo in honor of the Royal Society’s 350th Anniversary (Dang! That Society’s been around over 100 years longer than my country!). Over at the BBC there is a don’t-miss slide show of the exhibit, narrated by the scientist photographer, Dr. Richard Kirby. Let me repeat that: DON’T MISS THIS SLIDE SHOW.

You’ll get to see how evolution has taken body plans on some interesting trips, as larvae that retain ancestral forms metamorphose into sea creatures you are more likely to recognize. The squid-like larval origin of starfish, in particular, is a fascinating thing.

One final note — Dr. Kirby mentions that plankton are responsible for the characteristic smell of the sea. That is not surprising to me. When I was a grad student in plant pathology at Cornell, I was startled one day to discover that dirt doesn’t smell like dirt. Dirt smells like the bacteria that are living in dirt. In one lab we were allowed to sniff (I believe “waft” is the preferred term) a pure culture of soil bacteria. It was a clear agar dish with opaque colonies of bacteria. But it smelled just like fresh topsoil or a cave — dirty, earthy, wonderful.

Discovered thanks to the fine staff of Deep Sea News.

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The Mushroom that Sleeps with the Fishes

by Jennifer Frazer on February 19, 2010

Psathyrella aquatica, an aquatic mushroom

NOTE: Correction below.

Well, this brings new meaning to the concept of gilled mushrooms. Scientists have stumbled upon the first mushroom that fruits underwater, as proudly displayed on the cover of this month’s Mycologia. Notice the little bubbles on the outside of the mushroom. On aquatic plants (like the moss to the left), bubbles form because the plant is producing oxygen via photosynthesis. On the mushroom, the bubbles are probably the product of respiration, which means they are filled with CO2, not O2, as the mushroom “breathes”.Yes, fungi burn sugar with oxygen to produce energy and CO2 just like we do, but you can see it here because the fungus is underwater*. Way cool! (CORRECTION: HeyPK points out in the comments that CO2 is highly soluble in water (true — at 20C in freshwater, the solubility limits are 1.45 g/L for CO2 vs. 9 mg/L for O2) so the bubbles are more likely more oxygen bubbling out of the supersaturated stream using the mushroom as a substrate much the way the CO2 in carbonated beverages comes out of solution on ice in glasses. Oops! Sorry for the mistake readers — I’m still learning too. I’m sure I’ll make more from time to time despite my best efforts so please do help me fix them when you see them and I will post a prompt correction. : ) )

According to the good folk over at MycoRant, where I discovered this, scientists had never looked for mushrooms underwater before, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Brit Bunyard, editor of Fungi, speculates there may be a whole world of aquatic mushrooms out there we didn’t know about because we never really looked. If so, he noted at MycoRant, it would not be the first time that happened.

The mycologist Cecil Terence Ingold (who as of last year was still alive at the age of 104) stumbled upon an entire world of virtually undescribed fungi living in ephemeral forest pools and trickling streams:

In 1937 Ingold moved to University College, Leicester, where he “became excited by the chytrids attacking planktonic algae”.  It was his discovery of one particularly beautiful such chytrid (Endocoenobium eudorinae) that reportedly caused him to specialize thereafter in mycology rather than plant physiology; and the next year, while searching for chytrids in a small brook near his home, he found in the stream scum an “abundance [of] many kinds of most extraordinary fungal spores”, most of which were large and tetraradiate in shape.  For several months he continued to find such spores in scum, and he finally discovered their source to be fungi living on submerged alder leaves in the stream bed.  He later learned that a few such fungi had been described earlier, but, he thought, “rather inadequately”; and so he undertook to classify those aquatic hyphomycetes into eight new genera, all of which remain valid today.

They are sometimes called the “Ingoldian Fungi” in his honor. The incredibly beautiful spores of these fungi (often called amphibious or aero-aquatic fungi or aquatic hyphomycetes), in addition to being star-shaped, whorled, knobbed, or otherwise tricked out in the most wonderful fashion, are hollow when found in still pools — so they can float and get first crack at the ecosystem’s power source: leaves that have just dropped to the water’s surface.

Dear readers, there’s a whole crazy world of living things out there, often invisible to the naked eye but fabulous beyond belief, even in an otherwise unexciting-looking puddle in the forest outside your door. All we have to do is look.

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*And by the way, the gills in mushrooms are for maximizing the spore-making surface area, not for maximizing the gas-exchange surface. Most mushrooms are small enough the CO2 just diffuses out passively (giant puffballs notwithstanding).

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The Seafaring Killer Bacterium

by Jennifer Frazer on February 14, 2010

Vibrio cholerae

Still Life with Vienna Sausages with Tails: A Choleric Work in the Style of Pollack. Photo courtesy CDC Public Health Image Library, Image #1034.

Vibrio cholerae is a bacterium of surprising adaptability, tenacity, and Olympic-class swimming ability. Cholera bacteria can swim in both freshwater and saltwater (a feat most fish cannot manage), and somehow also manage to do the backstroke through stomach acid without kicking the bucket. The historic killer has just popped up again in Papua New Guinea for the first time in 50 years, killing 40. Officials are worried that it may once again become endemic there, taking up residence in the locals’ water supply.

And this is despite our knowing exactly how to prevent the disease for well over 150 years, ever since British physician John Snow famously helped halt a London cholera epidemic by persuading the authorities to abscond with the handle to the Broad Street Pump, preventing people from drawing its lethal waters. There’s only so much science can do. Money and competency are also required.

King Cholera

Cholera is a disease you have probably at least read about if you did any of the required 19th-century high-school lit reading. That’s because it was a newly famous and successful killer that century, decimating millions globally and hundreds of thousands in the United States, as the bacteria spread along coasts and up and down rivers. It was a swift death, too, and until mid-century, no one knew the cause.

A few years ago I visited some old graves out on the lonely prairie of Nebraska near the inland-sea-sized Lake McConaughy at Ash Hollow State Park. Buried there was Rachel Warren Pattison, a young woman who traveled the Oregon Trail in perfect health one day and was dead of cholera the next. Her party, including her 23-year-old husband of two months, Nathan, had only a few hours to carve a marker for her before the wagons moved on, and miraculously, in an uneven but serviceable hand on a rough stone, they did. I stared at that marker a long time. Sometimes I think modern, first-world citizens greatly take for granted the fact that most of us will not randomly keel over tomorrow from some fatal and unpreventable disease. Before the 20th century, people everywhere lived with that fear (and reality). Imagine how your life would be different if you lived with that reality now.

Cholera, Bringer of Death

In any case, Rachel was but one of the 6,000-12,000 killed along the Oregon, California, and Mormon Trails between 1849, the year of the gold rush, when cholera was spread along the trail by prospectors and settlers, and 1855, when the pandemic ended. And that epidemic was just one tiny sliver of the half dozen major pandemics that covered the world that century, a product of globalization and colonialism. Before 1816, cholera seems to have been a local disease restricted to India. But with people increasingly traveling between east and west, it swiftly leached into waterways around the globe. In the UK, where the disease claimed tens of thousands of lives in the first wave in 1831-32 alone, it began to be called “King Cholera”.

What made and still makes cholera such a frightening disease was the speed with which it could (and can) kill. Death can come as quickly as 3 hours after the onset of symptoms, but more commonly within 24 hours. Its most famous symptom — thin diarrhea descriptively called “rice-water” stool — accurately indicates the cause of death. You die from lack of fluids. That’s it.

Cholera bacteria use their tails (flagella) to propel themselves into the walls of your intestinal cells, where they secrete a toxin that causes cells to expel chloride ions. This, in turn, creates ionic pressure that keeps sodium from entering cells. That causes osmotic pressure to build on the outside of the cell, drawing massive amounts of fluid into the intestine. Building reliable sewage and water treatment plants prevents deaths, as does simply keeping cholera victims hydrated with a simple electrolyte solution. That we can’t manage even that that in many parts of the world is as discouraging as it is laughable.

Ancestors in the Deep

But here’s the really interesting thing about cholera, at least from my perspective: scientists are discovering that cholera seems to be an inherently aquatic and previously deep-sea bacterium that evolved to peacefully colonize copepod shells and mollusc interiors, and only accidentally turned out to be good at violently colonizing human small intestines. Wow!

In 1999, the submersibles Alvin and Nautile visited hydrothermal vents at the East Pacific Rise and sampled sulfide chimneys there. Vibrio species were identified there with “significant similarity” to V. cholerae, according to past NSF-director Rita Colwell, who has studied cholera since the beginning of her career.

Modern V. cholerae colonize the outside of copepod shells (Remember copepods from here and here?) and the insides of shellfish and must compete for space there in the life-sustaining biofilm. It turns out that those that are best at attaching to copoped shells also happen to be most pathogenic in humans. And a mucinase (enzyme that breaks down intestinal mucus) that helps them attach your intestines is greatly aided in its work by the addition of an extract made from mussels. That is, eating shellfish contaminated with cholera make make matters way worse than simply drinking the bacteria.

Vibrio cholerae

Deadly cheetohs: cholera bacteria en masse. One micrometer scale bar is below at left. Courtesy Dartmouth Electron Microscope Facility.

Living with Vibrio

Cholera is probably not an eradicable disease, according to Colwell, since we seem to be only accidental victims, while copepods and cholera are the real story. Since they’re ubiquitious and may be providing some important ecological function, we must instead rely on ingenuity and engineering to keep us safe. Basic sewage and clean water systems for all people of Earth does not seem like an unreasonable demand.

Two interesting human genetic notes regarding cholera: you may already know that Sickle Cell Anemia is widely considered to be a by-product of the genetic advantage that having one copy of the harmful gene provides during malaria infection. With one copy, you get malaria protection; with two copies, you get sickle cell anemia. Some have speculated that cystic fibrosis is a two-copy gene problem produced by a single copy that confers resistance to cholera. As well, blood types seem to confer various protections (though not immunities) from cholera: AB blood is most resistant, followed by A, then B, then O.

Vibrio is in the gamma-proteobacteria, a group you can find on the tree of life here (click on Proteobacteria to drill it down a bit). Gamma-proteobacteria contain many human pathogens, including Yersinia pestis (the cause of plague), Salmonella, Escherichia coli, and Pseudomonas aeruginosa, a cause of lung infections in (ironically) cystic fibrosis patients and other ill people.

But don’t get the idea that gamma-proteobacteria are mostly human pathogens. My gut(!) tells me they’re probably the exception, rather than the rule. We just happen to know more about them because there’s money to study human pathogens. The rest of the (probably amazingly interesting) group languish in obscurity. Don’t believe me? Look at all the families here.

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Can there be too many jellyfish at one biology blog? No. No, there can’t. This is the famous Jellyfish Lake on the island of Palau, where jellyfish cut off from the sea 12,000 years ago have evolved into docile migratory creatures that live off the food produced by their symbiotic algae. That shot downward into the depths is my favorite.

I post it here to celebrate the fact your blogger has decided to take the plunge and become a certified diver. Though I live in landlocked Colorado, life is too short not to experience ocean life the way I experience land life — particularly for a person with a passion for biodiversity. If I’m ever going to achieve my dream of swimming with whales, it’s a fairly necessary step. Plus I found out about an incredible dive in Hawaii where they take you out at night in 7,000 feet of water, drop you down on a tether 40 feet, and let you watch the nightly ascent of the crazy-cool pelagic (deep ocean) bioluminescent organisms — jellies, ctenophores, crustaceans, etc. Something about the thought of floating out in the Pacific Ocean in the dark with 7,000 feet of water below and glowing organisms all around sends shivers up my spine. It’s the best possible sort of ocean documentary — the one you’re starring in.  As soon as I discovered it, I knew I must do it before I die, and the only way to get there is to get SCUBA certified. Q.E.D. (although we’ll see if I’m still singing that tune when I get my credit card bill this month. : ) )

In other news, I have just re-upped on the web address for this site and purchased a few more for good measure. Hence theartfulmaoeba.com has now divided into artfulamoeba.com, theartfulamoeba.net, theartfulamoeba.org, and theartfulamoeba.info. You can reach me by any one you choose. Knock yourself out.

At some point I will also move this blog to my own host service. You may have noticed it is currently hosted at frazer.northerncoloradogrotto.com. That is because the webmasters at my caving club and kindly agreed to lend me some of their unused space. But it would be nice for the domain names for this site to be consistent, so one day soon I’ll move it over and all the frazer.northerncolorado.com links will break. I want to tell you now (and will remind you frequently) so anyone who has linked here has plenty of warning. If you are linking to the blog as a whole, theartfulamoeba.com will always work.

Happy Friday!

Jen

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Upupa, Oprah. Oprah, Upupa.

by Jennifer Frazer on February 8, 2010

Good news, everyone! No, really! The approximate U.S. release date for BBC’s new nature-glam documentary “Life” has been set. It will be sometime this March on the Discovery Channel, according to wikipedia, but sadly, BBC has willfully ignored my helpful suggestion *not* to replace David Attenborough’s narration with a pedestrian American track by Sigourney Weaver, Morgan Freeman, Tom Cruise (the horror!) or the like. Instead, they have chosen . . . . Oprah. Sigh. This is a woman who, though I greatly respect her talent and success, has showcased some pretty anti-scientific views. BBC! Next time . . . [Makes phone sign while mouthing words "call me"] Anytime. Any place. This melodious American voice is all yours — and I even have voice-over experience.

Here’s a further taste of the delights that await us (with the correct Attenborough narration):

Life – Venus Flytraps: Jaws of Death – BBC One from Paulo Martins on Vimeo.

Is it just me or do those hairs remind you of the time-delayed booby traps laid for Indiana-Jones style adventurers in gold-laden caves? You know, the kind where you rest your arm on a stone projecting from the wall, and 10 seconds later it starts moving into the wall as the ceiling sprouts spikes and assumes skewering speed? Yeah. I really did feel bad for the little flies after they got trapped, though. Although their slurping of nectar with that repulsive labellum-tipped proboscis really was revolting (where has that been?) and I have no qualms about mercilessly swatting them around my home, they are living creatures too, and their little cries of despair were truly pitiful. Perhaps I’d make a good Jain after all.

Venus flytraps are in the Droseraceae, the Sundew Family, along with the sundews and a curious little package called the waterwheel plant, which is essentially an aquatic flytrap, but sadly does not occur in the western hemisphere. This family is in the Caryophyllales, a group of related plants that have evolved many ways of living in nutrient-poor and/or hot, dry soils. These include clever heat-beating photosynthetic adaptations (C4 and CAM for you biogeeks in the know), salt-secreting glands, and insect carnivory. See here for an idea of their place on the tree of life (click on the arrow to the left to back out and get a bigger picture).

In case you’re wondering, the title of this post is both a reference to the infamous “Uma, Oprah” David Letterman debacle at the 1995 Oscars and to the bird Upupa epops, the hoopoe (pronounced hupu), which happens to have the favorite scientific name of my friend and birdsong enthusiast Nathan Pieplow, who blogs over at earbirding.com.

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