Archive for the ‘Evolution’ Category
Moises Velasquez-Manoff writes in the NY Times:
Every year, at least 30,000 people — and possibly 10 times that — are infected with the bacterium that causes Lyme disease, most in the Northeast and upper Midwest. Symptoms can include fatigue, joint pain, memory problems and even temporary paralysis. In a small minority of cases, the malaise can persist for many months.
So it’s worrisome that in recent decades, Lyme cases have surged, nearly quadrupling in Michigan and increasing more than tenfold in Virginia. It’s now the “single greatest vector-borne disease in the United States,” Danielle Buttke, an epidemiologist with the National Park Service in Fort Collins, Colo., told me, and it’s “expanding on a really epic scale.”
What’s behind the rise of Lyme? Many wildlife biologists suspect that it is partly driven by an out-of-whack ecosystem.
Lyme disease is transmitted by bites from ticks that carry the Lyme-causing bacterium, Borrelia burgdorferi. Ticks get it from the animals they feed on, primarily mice and chipmunks. And rodents thrive in the fragmented, disturbed landscapes that, thanks to human activity, now characterize large sections of the Northeast.
If humans have inadvertently increased the chances of contracting Lyme disease, the good news is that there’s a potential fix: allow large predators, particularly wolves and cougars, to return.
They would help keep down the number of deer, which, although they don’t carry the Lyme-causing bacterium, probably encourage its transmission.
A largely unsung conservation triumph in the Northeast is the regrowth of its forests. New England has more trees than at any time since the Colonial period. But the forests should have a robust understory — grasses, shrubs and other plants. In the Northeast, abundant deer have depleted this ground cover. Taal Levi, a biologist at Oregon State University, speculates that the diminished understory has limited the recovery of some small predators from the weasel family that hunt rodents. Dr. Levi suspects that more deer may have meant fewer rodent hunters, and more rodents.
Wolves and cougars may also control one predator that has settled in the Northeast over the past century — and that counterintuitively may have worsened the Lyme problem. . .
It’s the randomness, which leads to exploring every possible niche and inhabiting those for which an adaptation is possible—and inevitable, given enough time. Melissa Healy reports in the LA Times:
ew way to measure how humans age suggests that Latinos withstand life’s wear and tear better than non-Latino Caucasians, and that they may have their Native American ancestors to thank for their longer lives.
The new findings offer some insight into a longstanding demographic mystery: that despite having higher rates of inflammation and such chronic diseases as obesity and diabetes, Latinos in the United States have a longer average lifespan than do non-Latino whites.
Those findings emerge from an intriguing effort to devise a biological clock — a standard measure of age more revealing than birthdays, walking speed, wrinkled skin or twinkly eyes. By doing so, researchers hope to glean why some people die young while others live long, to understand what chronic diseases have to do with aging, and to predict and increase patients’ lifespans. A reliable measure of biological age could also set a standard by which to judge the effectiveness of anti-aging therapies.
At UCLA, bioinformatician Steve Horvath has devised a measure of aging that reflects the activity level of the epigenome, the set of signals that prompts an individual’s genes to change their function across the lifespan in response to new demands.
Horvath’s “epigenetic clock” captures a key feature of aging: that as we grow older, there are complex but predictable changes in the rate at which our genes are switched on and off by a chemical process called DNA methylation. To arrive at a single measure of a person’s biological age and then compute his or her speed of aging, Horvath has proposed to measure epigenetic activity at 353 sites in a person’s genome.
Earlier efforts to devise an epigenetic clock suggested that biological age, and the speed of aging, not only differ among populations and from person to person: the tissues in each of us may age at different rates. That may explain, for instance, why some organs and tissues are more vulnerable than others to such age-related diseases as cancer.
The new study, published this week in the journal Genome Biology, set out to refine and test that clock. To do so, Horvath and his colleagues analyzed blood, saliva and lymphoblastoid samples collected from 5,162 participants in a wide range of studies.
Those participants included not only black, white and Latino Americans but also Han Chinese, members of the Tsimane Amerindian tribe in South America, and two separate groups of Central Africans: rain-forest-dwelling hunter-gatherers and agrarians living in grasslands and open savannas.
The Tsimane, an indigenous people who forage and cultivate crops in the lowlands of Bolivia, offer an especially good test of the epigenetic clock: constantly bombarded with bacterial, viral and parasitic infections, the Tsimane typically experience high rates of inflammation, which has widely been seen as a marker for aging. But they rarely show risk factors for heart disease or develop type 2 diabetes as they age, and obesity, high blood pressure and problematic cholesterol are virtually nonexistent.
The epigenetic clock found that the Tsimane aged even more slowly than Latinos. The biological clock calculated the age of their blood as two years younger than Latinos and four years younger than Caucasians.
But that finding was despite strong evidence that, over the age of 35, a Tsimane’s immune system was close to exhausted and his inflammation levels “make him look like a 90 year-old,” said Horvath.
“This result sheds light on what is frequently called the Hispanic paradox,” said Horvath. “It suggests that what gives Hispanics their advantage is really their Native American ancestry, because they share ancestry with these indigenous Americans.”
Horvath emphasized that Latinos’ slower aging rate cannot be explained by lifestyle factors such as diet, socioeconomic status, education or obesity, because researchers adjusted such factors.
The study may also shed light on a different demographic oddity: that once African Americans have reached the age of 85, . . .
Fascinating article by Natalie Wolchover in Quanta:
Seven years ago, Joe Corbo stared into the eye of a chicken and saw something astonishing. The color-sensitive cone cells that carpeted the retina (detached from the fowl, and mounted under a microscope) appeared as polka dots of five different colors and sizes. But Corbo observed that, unlike the randomly dispersed cones in human eyes, or the neat rows of cones in the eyes of many fish, the chicken’s cones had a haphazard and yet remarkably uniform distribution. The dots’ locations followed no discernible rule, and yet dots never appeared too close together or too far apart. Each of the five interspersed sets of cones, and all of them together, exhibited this same arresting mix of randomness and regularity. Corbo, who runs a biology lab at Washington University in St. Louis, was hooked.
“It’s extremely beautiful just to look at these patterns,” he said. “We were kind of captured by the beauty, and had, purely out of curiosity, the desire to understand the patterns better.” He and his collaborators also hoped to figure out the patterns’ function, and how they were generated. He didn’t know then that these same questions were being asked in numerous other contexts, or that he had found the first biological manifestation of a type of hidden order that has also turned up all over mathematics and physics.
Corbo did know that whatever bird retinas are doing is probably the thing to do. Avian vision works spectacularly well (enabling eagles, for instance, to spot mice from a mile high), and his lab studies the evolutionary adaptations that make this so. Many of these attributes are believed to have been passed down to birds from a lizardlike creature that, 300 million years ago, gave rise to both dinosaurs and proto-mammals. While birds’ ancestors, the dinos, ruled the planetary roost, our mammalian kin scurried around in the dark, fearfully nocturnal and gradually losing color discrimination. Mammals’ cone types dropped to two — a nadir from which we are still clambering back. About 30 million years ago, one of our primate ancestors’ cones split into two — red- and green-detecting — which, together with the existing blue-detecting cone, give us trichromatic vision. But our cones, particularly the newer red and green ones, have a clumpy, scattershot distribution and sample light unevenly.
Bird eyes have had eons longer to optimize. Along with their higher cone count, they achieve a far more regular spacing of the cells. But why, Corbo and colleagues wondered, had evolution not opted for the perfect regularity of a grid or “lattice” distribution of cones? The strange, uncategorizable pattern they observed in the retinas was, in all likelihood, optimizing some unknown set of constraints. What these were, what the pattern was, and how the avian visual system achieved it remained unclear. The biologists did their best to quantify the regularity in the retinas, but this was unfamiliar terrain, and they needed help. In 2012, Corbo contacted Salvatore Torquato, a professor of theoretical chemistry at Princeton University and a renowned expert in a discipline known as “packing.” Packing problems ask about the densest way to pack objects (such as cone cells of five different sizes) in a given number of dimensions (in the case of a retina, two). “I wanted to get at this question of whether such a system was optimally packed,” Corbo said. Intrigued, Torquato ran some algorithms on digital images of the retinal patterns and “was astounded,” Corbo recalled, “to see the same phenomenon occurring in these systems as they’d seen in a lot of inorganic or physical systems.”
Torquato had been studying this hidden order since the early 2000s, when he dubbed it “hyperuniformity.” (This term has largely won out over “superhomogeneity,” coined around the same time by Joel Lebowitz of Rutgers University.) Since then, it has turned up in a rapidly expanding family of systems. Beyond bird eyes, hyperuniformity is found in materials called quasicrystals, as well as in mathematical matrices full of random numbers, the large-scale structure of the universe, quantum ensembles, and soft-matter systems like emulsions and colloids.
Scientists are nearly always taken by surprise when it pops up in new places, as if playing whack-a-mole with the universe. They are still searching for a unifying concept underlying these occurrences. In the process, they’ve uncovered novel properties of hyperuniform materials that could prove technologically useful.
From a mathematical standpoint, “the more you study it, the more elegant and conceptually compelling it seems,” said Henry Cohn, a mathematician and packing expert at Microsoft Research New England, referring to hyperuniformity. “On the other hand, what surprises me about it is the potential breadth of its applications.”
A Secret Order
Torquato and a colleague launched the study of hyperuniformity 13 years ago, describing it theoretically and identifying a simple yet surprising example: “You take marbles, you put them in a container, you shake them up until they jam,” Torquato said in his Princeton office this spring. “That system is hyperuniform.” . . .
Very interesting. And the opening paragraph is classic:
For a dinosaur whose scientific name literally translates to tyrant lizard king,Tyrannosaurus rex gets a whole lot of shit for its hilariously puny arms. From the safety of their computer screens, and with the confidence that can come only from 66 million years of evolutionary separation, online artists have documented, time and again, all the things that this vicious predator probably couldn’t do—high five, apply sunscreen, put on a cardigan, do push-ups, etc.
By Alex Kasprak (and I’m going to be looking for that name) at Motherboard.
And, BTW, in the skeletal reconstruction of Gualicho shinyae, you can sort of see how that could become a chicken.
Today the cleaning ladies are coming, and the preparatory signs are evident (e.g., beds stripped, sheets washed), so Molly knows that this is a Scary Day, though she may be hazy on the details of why.
And she has been unusually persistent and demanding for a lap—she pretty much pushed my computer out of the way— and has curled up and stuck firmly to my lap, even going to sleep, and completely unresponsive to my “I’m getting up” feints.
I’m aware that the obvious explanation is that a lap is a warm place, but the coincidence of her unusually strong lap demand/need (one drives the other) and the fact of the signs of the imminent arrival of the cleaning ladies (whom Molly does not like: she retreats to her hidey-hole in the closet—her version of a safe room—when they arrive and stays there until they leave) make it hard to ignore the possibility that, beyond warmth, Molly is motivated by a demand/need for the comfort of feeling safe.
One doesn’t want to anthropomorphize unnecessarily, of course, so my immediate thought was, “Do cats have feelings?—that is, in general, not just specifically a feeling of being ‘safe’?”
My immediate follow-on thought was that in lifeform evolution, the ability to distinguish “safe” and “not safe” would offer a decided survival advantage, so I would imagine that being able to make that distinction dates way back and is common to many (most? all?) lifeforms, certainly once some level of awareness is achieved. Being able to recognize safety offers a terrific survival advantage over being totally clueless about safety, and of course even better is actually deriving pleasure (an immediate reward that encourages behavior that has significant long-term benefits) from the feeling of being safe.
All organisms must, willy-nilly, be exposed to risks. Those that have a sense of “safety,” and in particular those that derive pleasure from the “safe” side of the menu, will automatically choose the safest course possible—i.e., they will minimize risk. On the whole, organisms that minimize risk will do better than organisms that don’t, pretty much by definition of “risk.” Thus the significant survival advantage that ensures that the ability to recognize safety, once acquired, is passed along.
Thus I would argue that Molly does derive pleasure from feeling safe, and thus her behavior is to some extent guided by feelings. Feelings arise early in evolution, pre-cognitive in origin and even now non-cognitive in operation. Feelings work at a deeper level than cognition, and surely evolution, having found a good device—the reward of immediate pleasure to encourage behavior with long-term evolutionary advantage—we would expect to see it in other contexts. Sex, for example, is important from the gene’s point of view, so it would follow that the pleasure reward would be substantial.
Another example: Consider the feeling of pleasure that one has after a good night’s rest: it’s a definite pleasure, and I think most have experienced it (and have experienced the displeasure of a poor night’s rest). The pleasure, though real, is certainly not so intense as sexual pleasure, but it’s in the same sort of ballpark as the pleasure from feeling safe: it’s better to have the pleasure than not, so one’s choices are pushed in a general direction. In one case, minimizing risk; in the other, being as well-rested as possible under the circumstances, which, along with the similar sort of pleasure that comes from having a substantial and nutritious meal, is known as “taking care of yourself,” which clearly improves chances of survival, so that’s another feeling that goes deep. And presumably Molly would have such feeliings, and indeed evidence shows that Molly seems motivated to be well-rested and thus, presumably, derives pleasure from it.
So I would say that it’s obvious that animals have feelings if not thoughts, and that some of the feelings that a cat, say, experiences are quite similar, as feelings, to those you and I feel. That sort of feeling is basic to the mechanism. And I think that is why some people do not want to eat animals that have such feelings. We’ve read about how pigs show absolute terror in the slaughterhouse. (For some reason, the meat industry wants to make it illegal to reveal (through video, for example—see link) what the industry does: the day-in, day-out routine: nothing special, just their regular work. That’s what they want to hide soe much that they seek to make it a felony to let people know. And such laws have been passed in some states, states in which business interests are more important than free-speech rights.)
I have to say, that took an unexpected direction. I need to think on this.
Meme lovers will note the absence of the meme, but feelings arrive in the organism’s evolution long before the ability to imitate behaviors and thus play host to memes. Feelings have meme-independent pathways, though I imagine memes can co-opt feelings (“… moon, … June”).
Mene, mene, tekel, upharsim: Mosquitoes Have Developed Resistance to Every One of Our Malaria-Fighting Tools
Note that the article, foreboding as it is, is one of a series. And truly, take the impact of climate change (in spreading this mosquito that has evolved to resist all our tools by expanding the mosquito’s habitat, northward into the U.S., not to mention the upcoming famines) and add to that the growing list of systemic failure in our most fundamental institutions (about which I earlier blogged), the warning does seem not totally off the wall, as it were.
We unfortunately live in interesting times.
Kate Lunau has an interesting article in Motherboard. The lede:
Lizard scales and feathers seem like they’re a long way from human hair. But it turns out that fur, feathers, and scales all evolved from one common ancestor, no matter how different these adornments seem: they can all be traced back to a lizardlike creature that roamed the Earth some 310 million years ago. . .