Adjusting to pandemic rules is going to wreck me this term

It wasn’t a good night. It’s not a particularly good morning either. I’m teaching the first in-person lab of the semester today, and in addition to anxiety about mingling with potential flesh-incubators of a virus that could kill me, I’m sweating over the major changes to the lab.

Under normal circumstances this first 3 hour Drosophila lab would be casual: here are the flies, here’s how to grow them, take your time setting up this first cross, take a little while to get familiar with fly morphology, and all the while I’d wander the lab, helping people out and answering questions and showing them things on the microscope. You know, the normal way of doing things.

Not this year.

The lab has been split up into 3 one-hour sections, with a third of the enrolled students assigned to each. I have to prep the lab so everything is at hand right there at their bench: no wandering over to that shelf to pick up fly bottles, then to that sink for medium, then to the incubator for flies. Nope, the ideal is that they come in, sit down, and don’t get up until their tasks are done. I have to run around and set up 8 stations with all supplies, including anesthetized flies of the right genotypes. I have to have it all set up before lab, and then I have to replenish everything 15 minutes before the next hour long section comes in.

The tasks have been greatly pared down, too. Make medium. Learn to distinguish male from female flies sleeping in a petri dish. Sort them into the bottles of medium. Put them in the incubator. You’re done, get out, I have another batch of students coming in. I’ve tried to trim every non-essential thing out of the process so that if I had to do it myself, I’d be done in 5 minutes, because I know that it takes a lot longer to navigate the unfamiliar.

I feel like a choreographer who has carefully laid out all the steps, and then I’m expecting the students to do a full performance without rehearsal…and if they mess up (which will be all my fault, not theirs), it’s going to delay or ruin the next 6 weeks of crosses, and will block the next hour’s worth of students from getting in and getting their job done. I had anxiety dreams about forgetting some little thing, and waves of students getting progressively more and more slowed down, and hundreds (my class isn’t that big) of students accumulating in a socially-distanced mob outside my door, waving signs and chanting about how I’m an incompetent teacher.

So yeah, everything’s going just fine. The sad thing is that even if everything goes off flawlessly, I’m going to go mad trying to juggle everything for three hours this afternoon, and I’m going to stagger out lathered in sweat at the end of it. After I clean up the chaos, that is, because I’m doing it again on Thursday. I hope I don’t have to be coherent or conscious for anything tonight.

Oh, and yesterday I had to run out to the local plague pit grocery store for last minute supplies, and encountered two mouth-breathing a-holes who couldn’t even be bothered to wear a mask. I am beginning to hate about half the residents of this town.

Do you like to play games?

A few news items:

  • I sometimes play on Sitosis, a free public Minecraft server. It’s totally vanilla, with a mature user base, and has been wonderfully free of drama and griefing — I strongly recommend it, if you’re into that game.
    But did I say “free”? Someone has to pay for the server, and that requires voluntary donations. If you play there, and you can afford it, it’s time to pay for the hosting, and they’re looking for a little bit of money to keep it going.
  • Lately I’ve been playing a little bit of No Man’s Sky, a space exploration game with a bit of minecraft-style creative construction thrown in. I live-streamed it last week, and I’ll be up to mischief again on Friday night.

    I’ve also been thinking a bit about that Netflix show, Alien Worlds, and that it has a lot in common, both strengths and weaknesses, with NMS. I’ll probably babble a bit about that while I build a primitive shack on a strange planet.
    By the way, there is some obnoxious interaction between NMS and Linux that I haven’t been able to track down that does funny things to the sound. I’ll probably sound like I’m inhaling helium the whole time, for extra fun.

I hate that zombie movies are now more plausible

Not zombies themselves, which are still physiologically impossible, but the way characters deal with them in zombie movies. Horror movies in general are often driven by characters doing absurdly stupid things, and we all say to ourselves “Don’t split up! Don’t go in the basement! Don’t have sex at camp!” and we think the citizenry would never be that idiotic, but nope, they would be.

Probably a bad idea

Classes start tomorrow, so I’ve got a great big calendar filling the screen on my second monitor. This is causing me some anxiety — as of Tuesday, it turns into a solid wad of appointments until May. The one bright spot is that I arranged my schedule so that I have no classes on Friday. Three day weekends every week! Except of course that free day is going to be used to catch up on everything that I’m falling behind on.

Today is Martin Luther King Day with no obligations, except I’m going in to do some preliminary work for next week’s genetics lab. There will be no rest for a while.

I am READY!

I have my first week of classes all set up: lectures ready to go, assignments posted, the first lab exercise all laid out. I am prepared! It’ll all disintegrate into a shambles the second week, but I’ll start out well.

I do have a lot of bottles to wash, still, but my excuse is that it’s lightly blizzarding today, so I have to stay home.

Minnesota is doing things right

I’m a little surprised: Minnesota is the best state for coronavirus testing. There are good reasons for that.

Minnesota isn’t the biggest state or the wealthiest. But it has a progressive governor, a budget surplus that’s allowed it to supplement federal funding and spend about $150 million on testing so far, and a well-functioning pandemic task force. It’s home to the Mayo Clinic and the University of Minnesota, one of the nation’s best public research institutions. All those advantages may explain why it’s one of the few states to implement a testing strategy that the federal government should have adopted, one that helped Hong Kong, South Korea, and Taiwan avoid the worst of the pandemic’s ruin, and that doesn’t require dramatic scientific advances or carry any potential health risks. “I love what Minnesota is doing,” says Ashish Jha, dean of the Brown University School of Public Health. “We need a lot more of that.”

One of the points the article makes is that this is also a long term investment opportunity. The state made a deal with a biotech company to put together a testing center, which is going to be a part of a biotech hub with the equipment and trained employees left behind after the pandemic is over. This is something I wish more people would recognize: building an infrastructure to deal with the current crisis gives you the tools to fight other problems. This is true of global climate change — building alternative energy sources isn’t just an expense right now, it’s an opportunity for the future.

The state leased the space for the lab and paid for the equipment—$4.7 million in total. Infinity BiologiX set it up in eight weeks. When the day comes that Minnesota no longer needs it, Infinity BiologiX will keep the equipment—the Chemagic 360 machines named Shelly, Randy, Timmy, and Jimmy, after characters from South Park; and the QuantStudio 5s named Morticia and Gomez, after The Addams Family. In the meantime, Minnesota receives discounted prices on the tests themselves and a promise from the companies to process as many as 30,000 a day and make results available within 48 hours after the samples arrive at the lab. Minnesota has set aside at least $30 million for the program. Feldman says Michigan, New Mexico, and Wyoming also want Infinity BiologiX labs, but this winter, with federal funding uncertain, they haven’t had the budget.

One more thing that explains our situation here in Morris — the big testing place here in town is the National Guard Armory, although you can also get tested at the local clinic. I thought it was weird to see the recommendations in the paper to go to the Armory for your medical test. It makes sense, though.

Minnesotans swarmed the 10 community testing sites as soon as they began saliva collection in late October, “tailgating for testing in the parking lot before we opened,” says Vadis. Vault brought in people from Walt Disney Co. with experience in line management. It trained members of the National Guard to oversee the collection process. Many of them are medical practitioners of some sort, says Feldman, though they don’t have to be. It takes about 30 minutes to learn how to supervise the spitting and package the specimen. There’s also cultural training. “We’re teaching the guards to be super approachable, so no one is intimidated,” Feldman says. Minnesota is home to sizable populations of Somalis and Hmong, and finding enough staff who can translate medical terms in their languages has proved challenging.

Also, otherwise my only association with the armory is that’s where the traveling circus is held when they come to town. The Armory has this cavernous huge space (I have no idea what it’s used for at other times) with bleachers where events like that can be held.