If you attended my lab meeting a few weeks ago, you will remember that I tried to physically interpret a three-dimensional graph using some yoga-esque poses. I’m still having trouble figuring out the best way to visually represent that interaction, as well as what it truly means. Along with my public speaking and presentation skills, visual representation of data is one of the skills that I feel I need to practice in terms of presenting my work to my colleagues and the public.

Could you successfully represent six different variables in a two-dimensional graph with two colors? May I draw your attention to the best graph in human history:

This graphic represents the invasion (and subsequent retreat and defeat) of Russia by Napoleon’s army in 1812. I could go on and on about typhus, nasty wounds, and the age-old advice of never waging war against Russians on their home turf, but I just want you to focus on how incredibly clean and understandable this graphic is (see the legend). Six separate variables are represented; the line width represents the size of the army (on original drawing, 1mm=10k men), the line positioning shows latitude and longitude of troops’ positioning, and their direction corresponds with direction of invasion and retreat, in addition to temperature and date.

My goal with this blog was merely to gush about this map/graphic and how brilliant I think it is. One of my odd hobbies aside from eating cake and watching horror movies is looking at maps that show data and how those data are distributed, so perhaps I can learn something from it, and strive to incorporate more elegance into the 20 pages of SPSS graphs I hand to Matt when I want to debrief him on my latest experiment.

Also, as an aside, despite the clarity of this graphic, it was clearly ignored by the Germans from 1942-1943 at Stalingrad.

Recently, Courtney blogged about decision making, mentioning the (in)famous “coin-flip method” of decision making.  For anyone unfamiliar with the method, the basic idea is that if you are faced with a decision and you are ambivalent, all you need to do to make your decision is flip a coin.  While the coin is spinning in the air, you will undoubtedly start rooting for one outcome over the other, making that decision the correct one.

I’ve used this method in the past; I don’t anymore.  There isn’t a story, it’s just that I thought about it and decided that it was a bad decision making tool.  My reasoning is that the method is based on the faulty premise that the correct answer is already known.  But answers often aren’t known in advance.  If they were, we wouldn’t need to do experiments to learn about nature; we would start experiments and halfway through learn that we knew the truth all along.  Alternatively, we could finish our experiments but instead of properly analyzing the data, we would go with our gut interpretation of them.  Making tough decisions, answering questions, these are necessarily slow processes.  Forcing a decision in the time it takes to flip a coin seems foolish.  A decision would be made, but it might not be the best one given the available information.

That said, Courtney, I know that you’ll do great at a research-based institution, but I didn’t flip a coin to figure it out.

I agree with Monica that scientists should consider a broad audience when they explain their work, but I would argue that anthropomorphized language and dry, precise language are equally incomprehensible to someone lacking an introduction to evolution by natural selection. The notion that selection is short-sighted, that survival of the fittest can lead a population into extinction is not an easy one, and it deserves more explanation than can be given in any particular example, no matter how cunningly written.

Two ectothermic species?

But I’ll go further to argue that cold language can also serve to distance us from the object of our study, and that carries its own risks.  It can be misleading to ascribe human motives to birds, but dry langauge could also let us overlook instances when humans act a lot like birds (mafia behavior, anyone?). Organisms have to resolve the same basic problems and the solutions aren’t always as different as their divergent appearance would lead us to believe. For example, we might be tempted to think that ectotherms–organisms that have to rely on behavior to maintain their internal temperature–are very different from endotherms like ourselves that can keep a consistent body temperature. I’ve been told that I’m a poor specimen of an endotherm, but I definitely think better at warmer temperatures than are found in most offices and labs.  Katey has informed me that I’m not alone in this, that in fact S. Young (1988) suggests that people can solve logic puzzles faster if they are just a little bit warmer. Perhaps by not distancing ourselves from the organisms we study, we can understand our own biology a little bit better. In any case, next time someone asks me how I could become a better scientist, I might reply that heat lamps would be a good start.

Image from PNAS Vignolini et al 2012

The photo above depicts the fruit of Pollia condensata, a plant native to Mozambique, Tanzania and Ethiopia. What you might find surprising is that the fruit pictured is actually a recent image taken from a specimen collected in 1974. What allows for the fruit to retain its brilliant color? While a great deal of organisms derive their color from pigments, structural pigmentation is another form by which color can be produced. Instead of the absorption and reflection of specific wavelengths of light by pigments, fruit of Pollia condensata appears blue to us due to the layered helicoidal arrangement of thin fibers within the outer skin of the fruit. The positioning and distance between the fibers as well as regional variation in the number of layers, produces what the authors call a pointillist-like resemblance.

A small blurb came out in Science’s “News of the Week” describing the finding published in a PNAS article. An author of the paper was quoted as saying “The fruit’s dazzling display may have evolved to capitalize on birds’ attraction to sparkly objects…or to trick them into eating something that looks like a blueberry without going to the trouble of making juicy flesh”. A separate short commentary was published in Science shortly after titled “Evolution’s Misleading Language” which, in effect, issued a reprimand for scientists and their tendency to humanize evolutionary mechanisms and for the use of language that implies intentional functional acquisitions during evolutionary processes. Burdett argues that instead of saying “going to the trouble of”, it would have been more appropriate to say that allocation of energy into structural pigmentation would have been less energetically costly than producing nutrient-rich fruit.

We often speak “evolution’s misleading language” in our lab meetings, informal conversations etc, but with the realization that the actual processes that are occurring are not guided by any sort of premeditated function. What Burdett argues is that using such language is actually a disservice to the public who are not trained in evolutionary biology. Anthropomorphizing phenomena often seems like a simple form of explanation, and is often effective in creating a “sexier” story, but maybe if we want people to think more evolutionarily (which we do and could offer many important benefits and solutions to current global issues), we should be careful about using phrases like “the parasite might like the host to do this” outside of our small lab groups. There’s probably a trade-off (haha) hidden in there somewhere.

We travel a lot for work. Some of us complain a lot about that travel. We’ve had our flights cancelled, delayed, or rerouted because of hurricanes, snowstorms, strikes, and volcanoes.

Last week, like so many others, the weather gods sent a snow storm on the day I was heading out to Florida to spend some time with my parents. I had a long day of travel ahead of me, flying to Fort Myers, via Philly, then Charlotte. Naturally, my first flight was delayed, so my connections were hopeless. In the end, I got on a direct Philly to Fort Myers flight, and — despite a 3 hour delay in State College — I got to Florida 15 minutes earlier than originally scheduled.

I thought I ought to reflect on my good fortune and keep a record of a time when air travel worked out better than planned. It seems to happen so rarely.

Also, I got to see a pretty cool sunset from 15000′ (to which this picture does NOT do justice.)

“Now your life as a scientist is ruined”, those were the words Andrew told me when the first paper I ever submitted went through the review process fairly easily and at its first attempt. Perhaps he was right. At least it didn’t prepare me for the chain of scientific disappointments I faced in the past couple of months.

From the start of my PhD, now already 6.5 years ago, Andrew and I have been working on our aggressive treatment hypothesis: Is aggressive treatment really the best way to manage resistance? This finally resulted in the synthesis of a very nice (if I may say so myself) manuscript that I feel very proud of, kind of like my science baby, with an incubation period of six years. So, August 2012, I nervously pressed the ‘submit’ button on the Science website. That same week, I would also submit a fellowship proposal to the Marie Curie and one to the EMBO. I was on a science high! What a productive week it had been, and based on my previous experience, I would leave the Read group proudly with a Science paper in the pocket and venture onward to exciting new projects with my awarded fellowships.

It is now half a year, five journal rejections and both fellowship rejections later. How does one deal with these disappointments? I don’t know. I am generally a very optimistic person, but even I started thinking doom and gloom. But the good thing about being a scientist is that deep inside of us, we are all snobs. We all think our science and our papers are the best, so if we get rejected, it is because the reviewers didn’t understand or appreciate the importance of our work. At least this way it hurts a little less.

Our manuscript is now at its 30^th version and 6^th submission. Another fellowship is currently under review and new ideas are under development. One day both missions will succeed. The best mantra that helped me to deal with these disappointments came from our very own Nicole Mideo with her comment to one of the blogs here: ‘To improve your success rate, you just need to double your failure rate’. And I am working very hard at the latter.

Back to whether my life was ruined with my initial success. I don’t think it was. Quite the opposite, it got me excited about being a scientist. I sniffed success and it feels great. If my PhD would have started with a long chain of rejections, I’m not sure whether I would have found the motivation to finish my PhD and most importantly see the joy that doing science really is.

Only a small proportion of PhDs in science end up working in science. This is at least in part due to the Ph.D Job Crisis. When University of California system postdocs were asked if they wanted a academic research position at the beginning and the end of their postdoctoral training. Positive responses in men fell from 59% to 45%, in women this response fell from 46% to a terrible 11% (Goulden et al 2011). As a female post-doc (and wife of a post-doc) I’m flooded with messages about how ridiculously competitive my life is going to be, how I’m extra challenged as a woman, and desperately little information about how to come out on top.

People have been circling dangerously close to my blog-post topic for weeks now. Lillian posted on artistic expression artistic expression and the mark was narrowly missed by Adam Frank of NPR. Eleanore had mentioned a similar topic, but to my delight wrote about bilingual birds (my delight was due to the topic…not that it was not my topic). Not only is practicing science remarkably similar to practicing art, pursuing a career in science is remarkably similar to pursuing a career in the arts. In order to continue in academia and not become a complete emotional and mental wreck, I’m going to need to become a little more of a rock star.

So is it arena rock you are after or a gig a steady paying gig at the local coffee house?

There are several attributes I would consider key for rock star success. Obviously, there is talent. Either you got it or you don’t. However, many extremely talented rock musicians (Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobaine, Bradley Nowell, the sad list could go on forever) were unable to cope with life in rock. There is probably another sad list somewhere else of brilliant scientist who left science because it was too much or stayed in and cracked up. Successful longevity is clearly only partially based on raw talent.

While I’m on emotional fitness, confidence is clearly key. I think there is a thin line between confidence and arrogance. Confidence includes fighting for your point when you are correct and owning the stage when you are on, but also realizing that it is ok to be wrong and respecting your audience.

In both careers there must be a certain amount of luck. In addition to the occasional rumored deal with the devil to achieve stardom, a lot of rock musicians are simply at the right place at the right time. I have heard similar things said of jobs, grants, and collaborations. However, one of my favorite quotes comes from the rapper Ice-T, “Luck is when opportunity meets preparation”. Unlike god-given talent you are in control of skills. I can work hard and push myself to read, to write, and to think. Just like a professional musician, no one can tell me how much I need to practice to achieve my own definition of excellence.

I think that personally defining excellence is the most important thing you can do. What precisely do you value? What would make you feel like a science rock super star? Is it is the craft? The songmanship? The fans? Do you care if anyone notices your work or are you happy to make music or science for the pure gratification of the act? Will you measure your worth in questions answered, students trained, lives saved, or grant monies awarded? There is not correct answer to these questions. Both Carly Rae Jepsen and Eva Cassidy could be described as successful.

These sorts of decisions come to the heart of the matter. Your goals will dictate the skills you must practice and the confidence you must build. I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently and when I think of the musicians and scientists I respect most they have remained true to themselves and by doing so have become successful. By my count that is 3.5 out of 5 things that I can control. It is time to focus on those and tell everyone and everything else, “Sorry you aren’t on the backstage list. VIP passes are by artist’s invitation only.”

I’ve wanted to write about this topic for a while, and it was just by chance that the older gentleman ringing me out at the grocery store the other day asked me if I was an artist (I think the nose ring and tattoos throw people for a loop). I told him that I love art, and that painting is my hobby, but that I am actually a research scientist.

As I drove home that night, I began thinking more about my experiences – and bear with me, this entry is totally data free and largely anecdotal – with biologists who moonlight as artists. Even at my tiny liberal arts alma mater, I was one of many biology majors who regularly participated, and excelled, in studio art classes. My major advisor in my baccalaureate years had spent much of his free time (well, what little he had) during his PhD and post-doc illustrating taxonomy textbooks and dichotomous keys. Even within our own lab, there is a rich representation of talented artists, both classically trained and self-taught.

If we take a look at the history of biology, however, it makes sense that to be a good naturalist of any sort – whether working in the field of anatomy and medicine or taxonomy and evolution, one would need to have a talent for capturing images down on parchment. But even after the advent of photography and digital imaging, the trend of an instinct for both artistic aesthetic and scientific prowess seems to flourish.

This “phenomenon” – if it is one at all, once again, this is a purely anecdotal piece – may in fact be based on my own bias as a moonlighting artist, and perhaps I’m more likely to notice this dual skillset in others simply because I identify with them. However, I truly think that there is some sort of psychological relationship between biology and art and being skilled in both. After all, to be a good biologist, one must see the “big picture” of a research project, and why the project is important and where it fits into the world at large. But one must also be fastidious and detail oriented in order to carry out excellent research. You have to see the forest AND the trees. And it’s not much different for a watercolorist; to translate the image you see before you onto canvas, you of course have to capture the subject itself in order to communicate it to viewers. But a truly excellent piece seeks to capture the “essence” of the subject, a subtle combination of shapes, pigments, and light. I think these two processes may be inherently related.

I may just be speaking from personal experience, but I welcome your comments; and, even if I’m wrong, I wrote my statement of intent to come to Penn State about the interface of watercolor and conservation biology, so there must be something to this!

Spring break has pluses and minuses.  I went to the gym the other day and there were only 20 or so other people there, meaning that I could use whatever equipment I wanted whenever I wanted.  But then I went to the Starbucks in the HUB and it was closed.  I must be a caffeine addict because I think I prefer when the undergrads are around.

I feel that part of my role as an evolutionary biologist is to be critical of other species’ life-history decisions. It’s not as judgmental as it sounds–if a species is still around it probably is or recently was adapted to its environment. Malaria parasites make a lot of questionable life-history decisions (taking a really long time to mature inside the mosquito, synchronizing their life cycles within the host), but they appear to be extremely successful so their strategy can’t be all bad. I have some theories about malaria, but I can’t figure this one out:

Welwitschia mirabilis is not like other plants. Instead of growing an indefinite number of leaves that each have a characteristic size and shape, it produces only two leaves over its considerable lifespan (1500 years?!). These two leaves grow out like hair for the lifetime of the plant, showing truly impressive split ends. I think of modularity as a major point in favor of the plant lifestyle–if leaves get damaged by insect herbivores or careless mammals, just drop those and grow new ones.  Why would a plant benefit from giving up modular growth? And yet these plants continue to grow in the desert, in no imminent danger of extinction.