13. biopunks forever!
I was catching up with an old friend recently, telling her about my grand parasitic adventure and the good news about the relief I’ve been feeling from it. She was fascinated and said, “You’re a biopunk!”
“Is that good?” I asked, kind of liking the sound of that.
She said, “Biopunks are doing biology in their basements, taking science into their own hands. It’s very exciting!” She giggled.
To be frank, I find the ideal of being a biopunk much more romantically alluring than the reality of kneeling over my Reptibator with a spray bottle dutifully moistening my own shit three times a day, but thems the breaks.
In point of fact, even if I AM a biopunk (and shouldn’t I get some aviator goggles and a lab coat–or would that just make me Dr. Horrible?) I must confess that I am not a very good one. Actually, I suck at it pretty hard.
Last week Lisa and I harvested our first dose–or attempted to. On Tuesday morning, as per instructions, I packed the container containing my sample (LOVELY euphemism for a hopefully-parasite-riddled turd in a plastic champagne cup) with sandbox sand and moistened it thoroughly. A couple of hours later, I put two layers of silk on top of the sand, and moistened those as well.
About twelve hours later, discovered that I had not kept them moist enough. I drew off the top layer–which was mostly dry, unfortunately–and put it into a cup with distilled water.
We tipped the cup to allow gravity to do its thing, the drew out the water near the bottom with a plastic pipette and placed it onto a microscope slide. Lisa peered into the “My Little Microscope” we got from amazon, and reported that she saw LOTS of structures–god knows what they were. We only know that none of them were alive.
Lisa, looking awfully sexy with her latex-gloved hands, peering into the microscope (hm…I may have uncovered a latent “scientist” fetish–who knew?), scoured one slide after another for evidence of life….to no avail.
We re-wet the silk and tried again the next morning. Still nothing. I sank into a depression, and wondered if I would have to contract with another company in order to get the precious worms I need. I felt like a biopunk failure.
Lisa, ever the bubbly optimist, said, “No problem. We learned a lot from this. Let’s try again. Can you poop on command?”
It appears that I can.