GFAJ-1 and Capella

This is Mono Lake. It lies in the middle of a barren expanse of desert near the California-Nevada border. It has a salinity that shifts back and forth between two and three times higher than the average salinity of the ocean. The primary life that exists in this extreme environment is brine shrimp and alkali flies; migratory birds also frequent the lake, providing a vital resting stop on their trip down south.

This lake has become one of the most important bodies of water in the world because of something that is nanometers in size that breaks one of the key rules of life on Earth. Until now, as we understood it, life was thought to center around six key elements: hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, sulfur and phosphorous. A bacteria discovered in oxygen absent mud, named GFAJ-1, was found to use arsenic, which is chemically similar to phosphorus, in the backbone of it's DNA rather than phosphorous. Arsenic is poisonous to life because of its ability to mimic phosphorous leads to disruption of metabolic pathways.

I know--this is very sciencey. But this bacteria has just changed our definition of life. Take a moment to appreciate this by thinking about everything you know about math, such as two plus two equals four, and try to convince yourself that there will ever be a time when it doesn't.

I know, right? Kinda mind boggling. This little bacteria is breaking all the rules...those rules may never have existed in the first place. GFAJ-1 has taught us that life outside our planet may be different from us in ways we can't even conceive of yet. This microbe just opened the door to the very real possibility of life on another world.

In honor of GFAJ-1 and all the knowledge its discovery has bestowed upon us, I have written a brief story. I'll probably do more with it in the future, but right now I'm too busy panicking about finals to focus on too much.

Capella

The lights of the planet faded into the distance as the rocket climb higher and higher into the deep. The haze of the atmosphere began to dissolve and it too faded to blackness. Before Capella's eyes lay the boundless elegance of the universe. Stars twinkled like smiles thousands of light years away, as though they were welcoming back home.

She pressed her face closer to the viewing window of their craft, hoping that if she got close enough to the wonders of the outside she would understand them, be able to shape them with her hands. "We are passing your constellation, Capella," Einath called to her from the pilot's chair.

She cocked her head to see past him. In the distance she could see the golden glow Auriga the Charioteer. "I believe you are the northern most one?" he said, gesturing to the most brilliant in the system. "Yes," she said, smiling. "And you are the southern."

Many minutes passed as they both gazed at the stars they had been named for; how appropriate it seemed now as they rushed past them at speeds only light ever exceeded that they were picked for this voyage. Eventually, the glow of their stars was consumed by the darkness and new ones took their place in front of their eyes: Taurus, Orion, Monoceros, Hydra and finally came Libra, the scales--the place they had been sent to.

In the distance loomed a massive glowing red orb named Gliese 581. The red dwarf was only two thirds the mass of her home star and was significantly dimmer, but it was a marvel to her. Little flair jumped off its surface and twirled in the air like dancers before drifting back to the surface. "We are here," Einath said as the craft slung shot past the star and head toward a large, blue planet. "Gliese 581g."

"They are so similar, aren't they?" Capella pondered. "More so than we had even hoped. What do you think it is like down there?" She had to restrain herself from pressing her nose to the glass.

"The same as the pictures," Einath said dryly.

"Of course," she answered, perhaps a little sharper than she had intended. "But what do you think it's like? Do you think it will feel like home?"

"No."

"That's it? Just plain 'No'? I swear sometimes you can be so dull."

Einath considered this for a moment, "I wasn't aware I was expected to elaborate on my answer."

She sighed. "That is how conversation works. I talk then you talk and then I comment on what you said and so on."

She was met with silence.

"You are hopeless."

He sighed. "I do hate to interrupt your philosophical ponderings about the planet we're about to land on, but I would appreciate a few minutes of silence as I try to land this multi-billion dollar space craft without killing all of us."

This literally ends where I started falling asleep last night, I hope you enjoyed it and, like I said before, I'll probably work more on it in the coming weeks.

Holly Jolly Insanity

It's that lovely time of year again. Inside your house, your family is gathered around the TV for Rudolph and his bioluminescent nose. The radio insists on playing a hideously outdated or, even worse, a horrible "updated" christmas song about sleighs and bells and baby animals until you have to turn it off for fear of vomitting due to cuteness or before you develop diabetes. Stores have "the hottest gifts" for that "special someone" at "super low prices." Your credit card company has to hire extra goons for those post season collection calls--remember, every time you exceed your limit and then are forced to take out another credit card, that band dressed like pirates from TV writes a song about your credit score (I like to imagine they do anyway. The song I play in my head drowns out the sound of my finanaces' death rattle).

Thanksgiving passed just like any other one before it at my house--lots of small children running like mad things, crying (thankfully from an actual baby this time rather than a metaphoric one), too much eating, and my eventual energy crash as soon as all the sharks--I mean, the rest of my family--went home as soon as they had deavoured every last morsel of flesh that clung to the carcass in our kitchen that was at one point in time called "turkey." The only holiday I actually wanted to celebrate was Black Friday; not because I care about buying people presents, but because I wanted to buy ME a present. But, unfortunately, poor people are not allowed to shop (death rattle). Besides, who actually wants to get Lion Kinged at Wall-Mart just to get some toys which will likely give your children lead poisioning?

Hauntingly similar, no?

Consumerism is frightening during December and the end of Novemeber. Everyone loses their minds when they see those big "SALE" signs. Something about getting bargains brings out the base instincts of people. Suddenly, we are all starving and that sale is a big, juicy steak at a "reasonable" price.

I think it is best to remember in these crazy times that the best gifts you get during the holidays are free or home made.

Everyone already knows what to get you anyway (Well, your guy friends do anyway). I have heard it's appropriate for every single holiday.

Allie Gonzales and the Part 1 Finale

If you didn't know, I love Harry Potter.

I first read Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone when I was nine years old. My mom took me to the Lake County Library for the first time (at least the first time I remember having ever gone to that smelly place). I discovered they had a room full of books for kids--a whole room! I walked around in there for a long time (probably about half an hour) until I stumbled upon a brightly colored book with an odd pastel drawn cover. It had big golden shiny letters reading "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" emblazoned over the picture of a boy riding on a flying broomstick trying to catch a little yellow ball with wings. In the back ground there was a forest, a unicorn, a castle and a three headed dog. If you're still having a hard time picturing the cover here it is:

What child would have the ability to resist this kind of fantasy? I can't remember a time I didn't (and still don't) long for magic to be real. Needless to say, I took an instant liking to the book. It was the story of an orphaned child who lived in a closet under the stairs, suffering the cruel whims of his elephantine cousin Dudley. When he turned eleven, he got a letter (delivered by owl, of course) that informed him he was in fact a wizard and had been admitted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A dear friend of mine once admitted that when she turned eleven, she stayed up at night waiting for her letter from Hogwarts; when it didn't come, she wasn't sad because she thought that it all might still be real--she was just a muggle.

I read every Harry Potter book from the time they came out. Eventually, the books were released in such a way that the age Harry was in the book I was in real life. I know, it sounds silly, but it made me feel that much more connected to that world. It was impossible for me to not imagine my friends playing the role of Harry's and the people I didn't like as the psuedo-villains and real villains in the stories. My friends and I read the books together; we'd call each other up and discuss for long hours what was going to happen next. We'd share our outrage together when a character we loved got killed (Why, Sirius? WHY FRED!!?).

I grew up with Harry Potter and he grew up with me. I think I will always love the story and the characters. I actually look forward to my children reading them and being able to pass down my love of literature and Harry Potterness with them.

SO, yes, I was one of those weird people outside the theater at midnight Thursday, dressed all in Death Eater black and trying to stave off frostbite in my nose and toes, with my mom. When I looked up at the poster:

It reminded me of being in the library all those years ago and how much I've changed in all that time. I used to be a happy, carefree little kids. Now, I am a sleep deprived college student who spends the majority of my free time doing derivatives and writing papers--no more time for fantasy and magic. When I read The Deathly Hallows, I cried when it was over because it was like putting a period on the end of my childhood (also Hedwig died. That was a low blow). I graduated that year. I moved away that year. I fell in love (and got my heart broken). I "grew up."

When I watched The Deathly Hallows Part 1, it was like being a kid again. I didn't feel silly for shedding a tear for a dead owl I didn't know--it's Hedwig, after all. It was like stepping back in time to that magical state of childhood where all this could be real--I'm just a muggle.

You may call me nerdy and over sentimental. Well, I do not care. I will always love Harry Potter because, to me, it represents the most magical kingdom of them all--childhood.

Lazy

If you haven't noticed, I've been a bit of a slacker the last few weeks. Life just seems to get more chaotic as the end of the semester approaches. I used to have time to be creative and relax, but lately all I have time to do is calculus homework (and I'm barely keeping up with that). This is an account of a field trip I took in my Biology class in October.

I was required to meander into Montgomery Woods Tuesday to "observe nature" as part of my Bio class. An acorn nearly murdered me as I climbed up the gentle incline of the one hill in the park. It went a little something like this:

1. I get out of the car and am immediately sorry as the temperature is around negative 63 and I have (foolishly) only worn a hoodie and neglected to bring my Nike's (Coach sneakers are cool for hiking, right?)
2. Learned some terribly interesting things about redwoods (well, I would have, if I hadn't been focusing on sending blood to my toes to keep from developing frostbite.)
   
3. Coach sneakers are not cool for hiking. Especially not canvas sneakers that absorb all the free moisture from the forest the day after a rain storm (we got eight whole inches) and which is currently enshrouded in fog, which apparently is like a rain storm in the redwoods. Lovely.
   
4. Walking in moist air uphill makes me breath as loud as an angry walrus. Everyone asks me if I am okay. I would have answered them, but my tertiary bronchioles were busy trying not to explode.
   
5. I need to look at the ground when I walk because, get this, oak trees like to grow around redwoods. Oak trees drop slippery leaves. And acorns. Acorns are round; round things roll. Round things roll better when they are on a moist incline. I am clumsy at the best of times.
6. I am heaving along, my socks now completely saturated and making a delightful "squish" sound with every step I take, when I am distracted by one of my darling classmates talking. I take my eyes off the ground for a moment to respond so I don't look like I dislike eye contact. As I step forward, I feel my right foot slipping.
   
7. I am in some sort of half-split position, trying to sort out why this is happening. Several people are laughing at me. Awesome.
   
8. I fall over to escape going into a deeper split and realize I am on a hill, so I roll about ten feet down the it before being stopped by a large rock in the road. More people are laughing.
   
9. Properly humiliated, I pop to feet and squish my way back up the hill, my face aglow with the redness of retardedness.
   

What did I learn from this experience? Chiefly, Coach shoes are not meant for hiking. Secondly, Mother Nature is a crazy bitch who wants to kill me with acorns.

Saturday Disk Purging

I was going through some old files I had on a flash drive from forever ago (something I hate doing because most of my files are mediocre at best) and I happened upon this short story thingy I never finished. I'm posting all I wrote on here. Let me know what you think of it (I plan to keep writing it now that I found it).

Untitled

It was a sunny day; nothing more remarkable could be said of that Wednesday for is was average and dull in every other way. There was no particular zest to it—after all, it was a Wednesday. There was no wind to speak of or clouds to streak the sky; there was just the unbearable pounding of the sun upon the already parched earth.

It was on this day that Haven ventured out of her house for the first time in nearly two years. She hesitated at the threshold of the door to her single wide trailer. She placed one ashen white foot on the sandy ground. A shriek stuck in her throat with a profound “Uheau!” It had been so long since she felt the unsettling sensation of sand between her toes that she didn’t know if she could continue forward.

She drew in a deep breath; all of the muscles in her body tensed up as she planted her second foot firmly on the shale. It took all of her power to keep from jumping back inside, but she was determined to conquer her long standing fear. With an olympian sigh, she propelled her whole body forward; for the first time in nearly twenty-four months she was exposed to the sun.

Her body seemed alien to her in this light; indoors she saw herself as healthy, with rosy skin and vibrant blue eyes. Now she saw herself as others did—drained, almost cyanotic, with brittle skin; her eyes were watery and washed out, no longer even a shade of blue; they were instead a disconcerting and stark grey. All that remained the same was her hair; even in this harsh light it was the same unmistakable raven tone.

As she stood in the sun, she wondered how she had let things get so far out of her control.

She was twenty-five when she had moved into darkness (the day after the incident). She had forgotten how bright the sun could truly shine, how her body could glisten like it was faceted with a thousand precious gems. The only dark spots on her were the sickly purple scars on the palms of her hands.

It was the day of the winter solstice; the air was still and heavy with the scent of fresh rain on city pavement. Haven sat in her usual table at El Teatro, her favorite bistro. For her table she could see all the people passing on the sidewalk huddle together, hoping to escape the biting chill of the atmosphere. She cast a tentative glance at her wrist watch and realized that she was running late.

She gathered up her equipment--her purse, her laptop, and a tattered brown leather brief case--and dashed out to hail a taxi. Everything had come down to this one day, this final testing. Could the cure really be so close? She shook her head in disbelief as she slid into the damp and putrid smelling back seat of the cab.

"J and S Pharmaceuticals," she commanded.

As they pulled away from the curb, it began raining again. She watched, with a high degree of amusement, as people scurried and squealed as they became saturated with big drops of water. The ride seemed to take less time than usual today, which she found odd for time always seemed to snail buy on Wednesdays.

She ran into the large entrance hall of her company. She flashed her security pass to the receptionist and, practically sliding on the marble floor, hit the stairs. She couldn't stand the cramped feeling of the elevator. The stairs were much better decorated anyway; she delighted in the carved sickle moons on the steps. They seemed so odd to be found in a drug company.

She reached the fifth basement floor--the main laboratory--before anyone else had arrived. Carefully and methodically, she set up the experiment; first, she picked out three infected mice and put them inside a new cage. They scampered around blindly, bumping into each other and sometimes the cage itself. One had resigned itself to the lying in its food tray. She withdrew on of seven sterile large bore needles and began to hang the IV bag she had stashed in the cooler the night before. There was no indicative markings on the bag other than a single word--"White."

13:30 to Mars

So, I like the band 30 Seconds to Mars.

And, no it's not just because Jared Leto is gorgeous (it doesn't hurt though).

As I was trying to reinvigorate my ancient iPod (the first one ever made with color, btw, that weighs like 20 times as much as my iTouch), I found all my super old downloads from their original album ("30 Seconds to Mars"). It has a lot of good songs, but my favorite will always be "Buddha for Mary." If you haven't heard this song, I'm putting up a video of it below. Don't be weirded out by the first little bit; it changes a lot around 1:05.

I know, it's a little creepy, but I love the way it sounds. I can still remember the first time I listened to it in high school.

As I was scanning youtube for 30 Seconds to Mars musics videoes, I stumbled upon the video for "From Yesterday." I remember thinking, "Hm, this is...interesting," when I watched it a loooooong time ago. Then I noticed that they had "the full length" version of the video, which is a staggering 13 minutes and 30 seconds long (oh, how clever).

If you have the spare time and mental fortitude to watch this video, it's below. Following it will be everything that popped into my head at the corresponding time of the video. Compare notes with me (and try not to pee your pants).

So here's what I thought of this "short film."

1. :10--Wow, that is a seriously irritating flute sound
2. :23--OMG, that is a scarrrry dragon (or do I mean sound effect?)
3. :43--what the hell is wrong with that guy's voice? Srsly, calm down.
4. 1:03-1:10--I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYINGGGG.
   
5. 1:12--For real, is the understandable portion of this video going to have Chinese subtitles?
   
6. 1:25--Oh, I see, they are in a mental institution for stylish bands.
   
7. 3:30--I didn't know time travel changed what clothes you were wearing.
   
8. 3:50--Oh, hey the actual song is starting.
   
9. 4:16--Oh man! Somebody forgot to tell Jared that his guyliner isn't waterproof.
10. 4:49--You're being way too cavalier about seeing death.
    
11. 5:16--Ugh, really, more Chinese? I hope bizarro voice isn't in it.
    
12. 5:45--He is.
    
13. 6:00--How does that little kid from like 600BC know 30 Seconds to Mars? Does Jared Leto really have that much money that little kids just wanna be his friend? Also, why are grown men friends with a little kid?
14. 6:38--Two subtitle types in one scene? Say whhhhhat.
15. 7:11--Oh, yeah. This is a music video. I almost forgot.
    
16. 7:34--I do love a good spin.
    
17. 7:39--Don't feel bad; sleeves are hard. You'll get it next time.
    
18. 7:46--This video suddenly is more interesting to me.
    
19. 7:50--Now it is not.
    
20. 8:26--I can't describe how hard I am lol'ing right now.
    
21. 9:08--Does money make you a ninja?
22. 9:19--Laughing so hard, my stomach hurts.
    
23. 9:24--Oh, stop, please! I can't breath.
    
24. 9:29--Is 30 Seconds to Mars killing people? Is that legal?
25. 9:35--God, this song really gets in the way, man.
    
26. 9:41--Oh, look. It's "Eyes Wide Shut."
27. 9:56--Now my stomach hurts for a different reason.
    
28. 10:09--The green goblin has been hard up for work after Spider Man.
    
29. 10:58--"You guys wanna go get milkshakes now we're done battling to the death?"
30. 11:14--WTF? That's where it ends?
31. 11:15--13:30--Credits. :(

End take on this "film"--This is a good song, but seriously--how much money did you spend on this video? China. Costumes. Make-up. Extras. Stunt people. Camera people. Sound people. I mean, okay, yeah, it is a kinda a cool concept and I guess they get points for creativity, and I can respect that. I also like most of the costumes and sets and all the visual symbolism. But it comes off a little jokey in some places, rather than like cool and mysterious. I still like 30 Seconds to Mars a lot (even if they're sound has changed a bit over time), but I think that this video tries way too hard. The shorter version is much better.

Ones and Zeroes

SO, I know it has been a ridiculously long time since I've posted any fiction on here. I've been so busy with doing homework for my English class, writing has become a bit of bother. But, today I found some time in between coloring pictures of photosynthesis and doing calculus homework to sit down at the computer and crank out some writing. 3 hours later, I realized I had wrote 50 pages about a rather small event in the plot of this story (Halcyon). After some editing, I got it down to about 20, so about a whole "chapter" or episode.

I'm posting about the first four or five pages of the section titled "Ones and Ceroes". It's told from the perspective of my favorite character, Cero, so I hope you enjoy it.

Ones and Ceroes

Cero

He stands before me shaking like a leaf. Even in his own imagination he is pale and scrawny, like some fragile creature who's just been exposed to the light for the first time. His hands are balled up into fists at his sides, as though they might be of some use against me here.

“Child,” I say, bored of watching him squirm like an bug pinned to a board, “just take my hand. This is all very tedious.”

His eyes flash with some emotion I can no longer discern; Halcyian emotions have always been difficult for me to read. He relaxes his hands and lets his shoulders slump; he is defeated. He reaches for me hesitantly, as though I may turn back into the snake. Finally, the last of his resolve dissipates, and he places his hand in mine.

I have to steady myself with a deep breath as his essence envelopes me; it is an empty comfort because I haven't a body to make respirate. He gives a small shudder when he inhales without his body's consent. How many times has my breath been his? I can not help but roll my eyes. “What makes you think I want to pull the strings on that meat puppet?” Then leave. “And wander bodiless with the wind for another millennium? No, thank you. You're body suits me just fine...for now. Even if it does smell like the pier at low tide.”

His muscles around his temples tense and some small veins pulsate in his neck. I seem to remember that this means he is angry with me. His body wheezes out a laugh he tries to stifle. When I laugh through him he hits the s's too hard, a habit I had adopted for my manifested state, which he finds particularly repulsive. I force another through his lips, despite his many efforts to keep it suppressed. It is like scraping metal against metal to make his voice mine; I forgot how hard using vocal chords could be, especially when the vessel rejects me.

His face twists in a strangely familiar pattern of muscle contractions. Ah, here is a face I know! Hatred. I cannot help but smile as I feel his hostility seep out of him. The more adrenaline that hits his blood stream, the stronger the enjoyment becomes for me. I can feel myself fortified. His emotion, however, makes him perspire something fierce. I wince as I am once more assaulted by his scent. Low tide isn't quite the accurate description for it; it's more like a dank cave full of creeping moss and fungi, yet there is the smell of brine. It's rather nauseating, to be honest, but it is a call to me. I can feel it pulling at me the moment it hits the air, as though it is permeating my skin.

“Come on,” I say, trying to quell the hunger rising in my stomach, “I want to take you somewhere.” I stride forward confidently, dragging him behind me like an anchor. He is still in the stupor of this place. Off in the distance, I can hear Aramia laughing loudly with her consort. They make a truly dreadful pair, but if any two beings have ever deserved each other it is them.

My load seems to have gotten significantly heavier. I turn around to see that Hylen is now being dragged on his stomach, his tongue lolling out like a moron, his eyes glazed over like a corpse. A trail of spit drips down his face; as the droplets slide off, he turns them to butterflies and his eyes focus briefly, flashing with some childish feeling I care not to interpret. I pull him harder, but he seems only to become heavier. He is now making grass grow in a circle around him and when I tug him he lets out this sad little wail and grips the grass with an iron resolve.

“Oh, yes, it's all so delightful,” I say mockingly. “Sadly, as entertaining as it is to stand around watching you dribble on yourself, we've other matters to attend to.”

He puckers his lips and makes this hideous gurgle, like a pack of angry screeching birds. He is doing something I think is called whining. I do not have time for sympathies; the close proximity of my own kind in my space makes me unusually uncomfortable, as though I am naked. Perhaps it is because the invader is Aramia. I hope she doesn't think that time has healed my wounds.

“You are going to be very angry with me for this, but I am afraid it is unavoidable.”

He looks up at me, his eyes still a tangle of warm feelings. He has now made several small, phosphorescent flowers in his patch of grass. He pokes at them hesitantly and delights when he discovers that his touch makes complicated patterns in their light. I crouch down next to him and in one fluid motion, pull him up over my shoulder, like a bag of grain. As soon as he leaves the ground, his garden turns black and shrivels. He kicks his feet at me and strains out toward them as I walk forward, cursing as they crumple and turn back into the whiteness.

“Why?...Making life!”

“You weren't creating anything, moron. This is your imagination. Nothing you make in here will ever be tangible.”

“Real.”

“No, it's not.”

“You.”

“Yes, I am real. This is just where I've been hiding out while the vermin have been scurrying around in our head.”

“Mine.”

“Not any longer. Come on, we're here.”

As we reached the end of the vast whiteness, in the distance a polished copper door appeared on the horizon. As soon as it became visible, it slid forward to meet us. I dropped my guest on the ground and he gave a soft wheeze.

“I am always stealing your breath, aren't I?” I mused, grasping him by the collar of his ratty shirt and pulling him to his feet. “Pity I cannot share with you in this sensation. If you allowed me to, I probably would treat you a little better.”

“Fuck you.”

“O-ho-ho! Someone has found his backbone at last.”

The trance of this place still lingered in him, but he was trying to force his arms to swing at me. Instead, he staggered around doing a wonderful impersonation of an inebriated half-wit, complete with drool and slurred profanities.

“Come now, Hylen, it was a compliment. You mustn't get so worked up. It's not good for our body. I plan on living a long life in it.”

“You are a parasite, just like Rory said.”

I felt the muscles around our jaw tighten. “Do not quote petulant children to me. I have my own to deal with. Enough of this foolishness; let us journey on.” I gestured toward the door. “You have to open it.”

“Why?” He fell to the ground, his legs twitching wildly beneath him.

“Because it is taboo for one of my kind to go beyond this point without permission. I have to be led in by my vessel.”

I wondered if he could hear the resentment in my voice or see it flash in my eyes, as I felt it did. The idea od being led anywhere by someone like him was repulsive.

“Where are we going?” he asked cautiously as he tried to rise to his feet. I extended my hand to him once again. He grasped it solidly this time, without any hesitation or doubt. I knew regardless of my answer, he was going to take me.

“We are going to time travel.”