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Daniel Dunaief

Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Finally, two years later, we were going to see Billy Joel. We had bought tickets to a concert in April of 2020, which was canceled because of the pandemic. The rescheduled event last year was also delayed.

An anticipation had been building that reminded me of the seemingly endless three years between the end of the Star Wars film “The Empire Strikes Back” and “Return of the Jedi.”

Within a few blocks of the stadium, we ran into the heaviest traffic we’d experienced in Charlotte, North Carolina since we arrived four years ago. My wife asked if I wanted her to park the car so I could make sure I was in our seats on time. I declined, knowing I didn’t want to experience any part of the evening without her.

While we sat in our car, waiting for the slow line to move, we watched as many of the people heading to the stadium were our age or older. We were either being nostalgic or hoping Billy Joel’s music could be our musical time machine.

We arrived at the stadium well before the 8 pm start time, where every seat gradually filled. When Joel started the concert at 8:30 with “My Life,” the packed crowd roared its heartfelt approval.

The weight of time — the two years anticipating this concert and the decades that passed since I first enjoyed the song’s lyrics and melody — quickly slipped off my shoulders.

Flashing lights from the stage and enlarged images of Billy Joel’s 72-year old fingers dancing across the piano keys created a visual spectacle. Accompanied by saxophone and trumpet players who would have blown the roof off the building if there were one, Joel thanked the crowd for coming after a long delay.

With songs from several albums through the 70s and 80s, Joel shared some of his biggest hits. People in the crowd played their own version of the show “Name that tune,” shouting out the song’s title as quickly as possible.

Thanks to Linda Ronstadt, who Joel said encouraged him to play “Just the Way You Are,” he included that love song. Joel said he and his wife, for whom he wrote that song, got divorced, so people shouldn’t listen to him.

But listen to him and his music we did. When the lights were off, the packed crowd swayed back and forth, holding up cell phones with lit camera lights, the way previous generations of concertgoers held up their lighters.

As he’s done at other concerts I attended, Joel stopped singing and the band stopped playing during “Piano Man” while the audience sang the chorus, “Sing us a song you’re the piano man. Sing us a song tonight. Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody and you’ve got us feeling alright.” I’m sure I wasn’t the only one with a smirk and goosebumps.

Swaying and singing in our seats, we were active participants in this long-awaited evening out, allowing ourselves to enjoy moments of unity.

Not as spry as he’d been decades ago, Joel moved more gingerly. He still shared his storytelling and lyrical voice, captivating an appreciative crowd. In between tunes, he noodled at the piano, as if he weren’t in an enormous football stadium in North Carolina below the image of a ferocious panther but was, rather, in a piano bar somewhere in New York City. He said the “key” to his longevity was “not dying.”

When the nighttime air got too hot for us, a light wind, which is uncharacteristic for Charlotte, washed over our skin. Leaning in, my wife smiled and whispered, “cue the breeze.”

The music itself reached much deeper than the wind, refreshing our souls and allowing us to revisit people like Sergeant O’Leary, the old man making love to his tonic and gin, and the “Big Shot.”

Kevin Reed. Photo courtesy of Stony Brook University

By Daniel Dunaief

Rain, rain go away, come again some other day.

The days of wishing rain away have long since passed, amid the reality of a wetter world, particularly during hurricanes in the North Atlantic.

In a recent study published in the journal Nature Communications, Kevin Reed, Associate Professor and Associate Dean of Research at the School of Marine and Atmospheric Sciences at Stony Brook University, compared how wet the hurricanes that tore through the North Atlantic in 2020 would have been prior to the Industrial Revolution and global warming.

Reed determined that these storms had 10 percent more rain than they would have if they occurred in 1850, before the release of fossil fuels and greenhouse gases that have increased the average temperature on the planet by one degree Celsius.

The study is a “wake up call to the fact that hurricane seasons have changed and will continue to change,” said Reed. More warming means more rainfall. That, he added, is important when planners consider making improvements to infrastructure and providing natural barriers to flooding.

While 10 percent may not seem like an enormous amount of rain on a day of light drizzle and small puddles, it represents significant rain amid torrential downpours. That much additional rain can be half an inch or more of rain, said Reed. Much of the year, Long Island may not get half an inch a day, on top of an already extreme event, he added.

“It could be the difference between certain infrastructure failing, a basement flooding” and other water-generated problems, he said. The range of increased rain during hurricanes in 2020 due to global warming were as low as 5 percent and as high as 15 percent.

While policy makers have been urging countries to reach the Paris Climate Accord’s goal of limiting global warming to 2 degrees Celsius above the temperature from 1850, the pre-Industrial Revolution, studies like this suggest that the world such as it is today has already experienced the effects of warming.

“This is another data point for understanding that climate change is a not only a challenge for the future,” Reed said. It’s not this “end of the century problem that we have time to figure out. The Earth has already warmed by over 1 degrees” which is changing the hurricane season and is also impacting other severe weather events, like the heatwave in the Pacific Northwest in 2021. That heatwave killed over 100 people in the state of Washington.

Even being successful in limiting the increase to 2 degrees will create further increases in rainfall from hurricanes, Reed added. As with any global warming research, this study may also get pushback from groups skeptical of the impact of fossil fuel use and more carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.

Reed contends that this research is one of numerous studies that have come to similar conclusions about the impact of climate change on weather patterns, including hurricanes.

“Researchers from around the world are finding similar signals,” Reed said. “This is one example that is consistent with dozens of other work that has found similar results.”

Amid more warming, hurricane seasons have already changed, which is a trend that will continue, he predicted.

Even on a shorter-term scale, Hurricane Sandy, which devastated the Northeast with heavy rain, wind and flooding, would likely have had more rainfall if the same conditions existed just eight years later, Reed added.

Reed was pleased that Nature Communications shared the paper with its diverse scientific and public policy audience.

“The general community feels like this type of research is important enough to a broad set of [society]” to appear in a high-profile journal, he said. “This shows, to some extent, the fact that the community and society at large [appreciates] that trying to understand the impact of climate change on our weather is important well beyond the domain of scientists like myself, who focus on hurricanes.”

Indeed, this kind of analysis and modeling could and should inform public policy that affects planning for the growth and resilience of infrastructure.

Study origins

The researchers involved in this study decided to compare how the 2020 season would have looked during cooler temperatures fairly quickly after the season ended.

The 2020 season was the most active on record, with 30 named storms generating heavy rains, storm surges and winds. The total damage from those storms was estimated at about $40 billion.

While the global surface temperature has increased 1 degree Celsius since 1850, sea surface temperatures in the North Atlantic basin have risen 0.4 to 0.9 degrees Celsius during the 2020 season.

Reed and his co-authors took some time to discuss the best analysis to use. It took them about four months to put the data together and run over 2,500 model simulations.

“This is a much more computationally intensive project than previous work,” Reed said. The most important variables that the scientists altered were temperature and moisture.

As for the next steps, Reed said he would continue to refine the methodology to explore other impacts of climate change on the intensity of storms, their trajectory, and their speed.

Reed suggested considering the 10 percent increase in rain caused by global warming during hurricanes through another perspective. “If you walked into your boss’s office tomorrow and your boss said, ‘I want to give you a 10 percent raise,’ you’d be ecstatic,” he said. “That’s a significant amount.”

Ecstatic, however, isn’t how commuters, homeowners, and business leaders feel when more even more rain comes amid a soaking storm.

Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We all try, more or less, to say the right thing in the moment.

“Wow, so nice to see you again. You look wonderful.”

“How are your children?”

“How’s work? How many days a week are you back in person?”

But after cutting up turkeys, ham and other food, the real carving occurs in the hours and days after gatherings, when we separate into smaller groups and snicker, judge and let loose the parts of our sinister souls for which we seek atonement during religious and other holidays.

Now that family gatherings have restarted in earnest, despite the COVID clouds still hovering over us, we have a chance to turn moments of discomfort into a collage of complaints.

While I’m sure there might be a few people who don’t practice the fine art of conducting post-gathering analysis about friends, family members and loved ones, I have yet to meet them.

We ought to break the process, lighthearted ideally though it may, into various categories.

Clothing: Wardrobe choices are often the subject of discussion. We sometimes marvel at how revealing or tight an outfit was or how casually someone dressed for a larger gathering.

Defensive guests: Sometimes, what people say, or hear, has nothing to do with a question they were asked or even a conversation in which they participated. While I was recently cleaning dishes, another guest walked in and told me everything he had contributed to the confab. His need to share his contribution, or to allay any guilt he might have felt, was revealing.

Conversation interrupters: While many families have long-winded storytellers, some gatherings include a conversation interrupter. They are the people for whom any dialog that doesn’t revolve around them or their opinions is unwelcome and unworthy. They interrupt other people’s stories to interject their views on a topic or, perhaps, on something completely unrelated to the discussion.

Exacerbaters: These are the people for whom conflict is nearly as delicious as the homemade apple pie or fruit cobbler that awaits after dinner. Sensing conflict in a marriage or between siblings, they will figure out how to help build any tension in the moment. When challenged for their role as instigators, they will frequently play the victim card, claiming that making people angry at each other or at them wasn’t their intention and that everyone doesn’t understand how they were really only trying to help and to resolve the conflict.

Welcome to Narnia guests: No party is complete without at least one person who needs to bring everyone into their perspective or their world. These people often see everything through one perspective, whether it’s about saving stray dogs, the challenges of having difficult neighbors, or the difficulty of finding good Thai food in their neighborhood. The discussion could be about the challenges educators faced during the pandemic and, they will say, “Oh yeah? Well, that reminds me of the challenges of finding good Thai food.”

The revisionist historians: Often, some, or even many, of the people in a room spent considerable time with each other. Stories have a way of evolving over time, either because they sound better one way or because the storyteller’s memory has altered some of the facts to suit a better narrative. No, you didn’t invent the yo-yo, no, you didn’t predict the year the Cubs would finally win the World Series, and, no, you didn’t always use the phrase “just do it” before Nike added it to their ad campaign.

Mehdi Damaghi. Photo from Stony Brook Hospital

By Daniel Dunaief

Do the birds on the Galapagos Islands, with their unique coloration, differently shaped beaks and specific nesting places, have anything to do with the cancer cells that alter the course of human lives?

For Mehdi Damaghi, Assistant Professor in the Department of Pathology at the Renaissance School of Medicine at Stony Brook University, the answer is a resounding, “Yes.”

Damaghi uses the same principles of evolutionary biology to understand how cancer, which resides within human genes, works to adapt, as it tries to win the battle to survive.

“What we try to understand is the Darwinian principals of cancer,” said Damaghi. Cancer “adapts and reprograms themselves” to their environment to survive.

Damaghi, who arrived at Stony Brook four months ago from Moffitt Cancer Center, plans to address numerous questions related to cancer. He recently received a $4 million grant from the Physical Science in Oncology program (PSON) through the National Institutes of Health/ National Cancer Institute. Working with cancer biologists, clinicians, and computational scientists, he plans to define and understand cancer’s fitness.

“We are trying to study the core evolution of cancer cells and the normal stroma around them,” said Damaghi. “We are looking at the evolution of the tumor and some of the host cells.”

Cancer biologists are trying to build mathematical and theoretical models to explore the playbook cancer uses when confronted with threats, either in the form of a body’s natural defenses against it or from therapies against which it can, and often does, develop resistance.

Treating cancer could involve using adaptive therapy, which could enable people to control and live with cancer longer, Damaghi suggested.

In studying cancer’s phenotype, or the way the disease is expressed and survives, he hopes to understand factors in the microenvironment. Many cancers, he reasons, become more problematic as people age. Indeed, centuries ago, cancer wasn’t as prevalent as it is today in part because life expectancy was shorter.

Damaghi also has an evolutionary model to explore metastasis, in which cancer spreads from one organ or system to other parts of the body. He is looking at the earliest stages of breast cancer, to see what factors some of these cancers need or take from the environment that enables them not only to develop into breast cancer, but also to spread to other systems.

Through the microenvironment, he is looking for biomarkers that might signal a potential tumor development and metastasis long before a person shows signs of an aggressive form of the disease.

“We look at the tumor as a part of a whole ecosystem that can have different niches and habitats,” he said. “Some can be hypoxic and oxidative, and others can be like a desert on Earth, where not much grows and then cancer evolves.”

Damaghi challenges cells in a culture or organoids, which are miniature, three-dimensional live models of human cells, with different microenvironmental conditions to see how they respond. He exposes them to hormones, immune cells, and hypoxic conditions.

“We try to understand what is the adaptation mechanism of cancer to this new microenvironment and how can we push them back to the normal phenotype,” he said.

Like other scientists, Damaghi has demonstrated that many of these cancer cells use sugar. Removing sugar caused some of the cancer to die.

Increasing the survival for patients could involve knowing what kinds of micro-environments cancer uses and in what order. Deprived of sugars, some cancers might turn to amino acids, dairy or other sources of food and energy.

Damaghi thinks researchers and, eventually, doctors, will have to approach cancer as a system, which might have a patient-specific fingerprint that can indicate the resources the disease is using and the progression through its various diseased stages.

Choosing Stony Brook

Damaghi appreciates the depth of talent in cancer sciences at Stony Brook University. He cited the work of Laufer Center Director Ken Dill and Cancer Center Director Yusuf Hannun. He also suggested that the Pathology Department, headed by Ken Shroyer, was “very strong.”

For their part, leaders at Stony Brook were pleased to welcome, and collaborate with, Damaghi. Hannun suggested Stony Brook recruited Damaghi because his research “bridges what we do in breast cancer and informatics.”

Shroyer, meanwhile, has already started collaborating with Damaghi and wrote that his new colleague’s focus on breast cancer “overlaps with my focus on pancreatic cancer.”

To conduct his research, Damaghi plans to look at cells in combination by using digital pathology, which can help reveal tumor ecosystems and niches.

He also appreciated the work of Joel Saltz, the Founding Chair in the Department of Biomedical Informatics. “In the fight against cancer, we all need to unite against this nasty disease,” Damaghi said. “From looking at it at different angles, we can understand it first and then design a plan to defeat it.”

Originally from Tehran, Iran, Damaghi is the oldest of five brothers. He said his parents encouraged them to explore their curiosity.

Damaghi, whose wife Narges and two daughters Elissa and Emilia are still in Tampa and hope to join him before long, has hit the ground running at Stony Brook, where he has hired three postdoctoral researchers, a lab manager, four PhD students, two master’s candidates, and three undergraduates.

Damaghi is inspired to conduct cancer research in part because of losses in his family. Two grandparents died from cancer, his aunt has breast cancer, and his cousin, who had cancer when he was 16, fought through the disease and is a survivor for 20 years.

Damaghi bicycles and plays sports including soccer. He also enjoys cooking and said his guests appreciate his Persian kebobs.

As for his arrival in Stony Brook, he said it was “the best option for me. It’s a great package and has everything I need.”

Commack resident Theodore Wawryk, above, recently received shockwave intravenous lithotripsy at Huntington Hospital. Photo from Wawryk

Theodore Wawryk, a resident of Commack who performs maintenance work at the Bronx Gardens nursing home, had six stents placed in his heart in 2005.

One of the doctors performing the procedure was Dr. Gaurav Rao. Photo from Rao

This past February, Wawryk, 52, had a buildup of calcium behind some stents at their edges, which could lead to restenosis, or a narrowing of the arteries again.

The patient came to Huntington Hospital, where his cardiologist, Dr. Raj Patcha, director of the Cardiac Catheterization Laboratory, couldn’t initially get through the blockage.

Patcha reached out to Dr. Gaurav Rao, director of Interventional Cardiology at Huntington Hospital, to see if Wawryk might be a candidate to become the first Huntington Hospital patient to receive shockwave intravascular lithotripsy, also known as IVL.

Rao had used the shockwave treatment, which uses pressure waves to create fractures in the calcium, for over a year at other hospitals and was prepared to introduce the procedure at Huntington Hospital.

Other options for breaking through the calcium, such as orbital or rotational atherectomies, which act more like miniature jackhammers breaking up the calcium in the arteries, are off label when a stent is nearby because it can shave off the metal in the stent, leading to other complications, Rao said.

Additionally, placing another stent in the area without modifying the calcium leads to stent failure.

Rao and Patcha performed the procedure in early February.

“This is a much safer” approach, Rao said. “It’s revolutionary in the way we deliver classic cardiac care.”

Shockwave IVL enables the placement of stents by creating fractures in the calcium that allow doctors to put in functional and durable stents, Rao explained.

Other area hospitals have used shockwave IVL for circulatory issues as well. Stony Brook Hospital, for example, uses shockwaves for peripheral arteries. Huntington Hospital also uses shockwaves to treat peripheral vascular disease.

While every surgical procedure includes risks, Rao cited studies that indicate that the possibility of a dissection, or a tear in the wall of the aorta, for heart-focused IVL is 0.3% for shockwave IVL, which is substantially lower than the 3.4% rate for orbital atherectomy and 3% for rotational atherectomy.

Rao said about 70% of patients who are coming in for stents are eligible for IVL, while the remainder are still candidates for atherectomy.

Extremely long lesions or lesions where the entry point is small so that doctors can’t deliver an IVL balloon make atherectomies, with their front cutting abilities, the preferred approach, he said.

So far at Huntington Hospital, the growing number of patients eligible for shockwave IVL have chosen to have this approach.

“No one has shied away from shockwave therapy,” Rao said.

Patient experience

As for the patient experience, Wawryk recalled how the operation, felt “a little weird.”

Wawryk described how the doctors told him he’d feel a “little zap” inside his body.

Indeed, Rao said the procedure uses an electrical pulse that can cause the heart rate, particularly for someone with a resting pulse below 60 per minute, to accelerate for about 10 seconds.

Intravenous lithotripsy, which uses a low energy pressure wave of about 8 to 10 nanojoules and involves inserting a tube through the arm or leg, is generally “well-tolerated” Rao said. Many patients don’t feel the effect of the procedure.

Even with the slight shockwave, Wawryk said he would recommend the procedure to other patients considering it.

Wawryk, whose father died of a heart attack at the age of 46, is grateful for the cardiac care he received. He appreciates the time he gets to spend with his wife Nydia and his 19-year-old son Michael.

The Commack resident spent a day at the hospital, as the procedure started at 7 a.m. and he was heading home by 7 p.m. that night. He said he felt like the staff treated him as if he were at a “five-star resort.”

Rao is pleased to offer this interventional cardiac approach at Huntington Hospital, which makes it possible for residents nearby to receive the treatment and head home, without a longer ride back from a hospital further away.

Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

When our children were young, we tried the Ferber method to encourage them to put themselves to sleep.

No, we didn’t abandon them in their room and return six hours later with a smile and a wink. We walked out of the room, told them to go to bed, and slowly extended the time before we returned.

It worked, although the complaints sometimes frayed our nerves to the point where we would argue about who drank the last of the milk, and I can’t even drink milk.

When the children got sick, all bets were off. Walking out of the room when they couldn’t breathe, when they had toxic sludge coming out of one or both ends, and when they had a fever was not an option for us, no matter how little sleep we’d had the night, week, or month before.

Once they recovered from their illness, however, we had to go back to the gradual Ferber method again, as they seemed to have forgotten that they might not need anything from us and that they should just close their eyes and go to sleep.

Parenting in the wake of the pandemic is a little like trying to figure out what role to play after the world has been sick for a few years and when we had to adapt whatever parenting rules we had established.

Do we tell them to “suck it up,” to “fend for themselves,” and to “tough it out,” or do we continue to offer support after they, and we, endured a new set of rules designed to keep us safe in the long term, but that caused all kinds of frustration in the shorter term?

Parenting always seems to have more questions than answers, but the number of questions and the frequency with which we ask them seems to have increased.

Indeed, even as our children have reached the age when we no longer have to strain our backs to make sure they don’t walk too close to the edge of a pool or to a rough surf, we still wonder what role, and how aggressively and consistently, we should play after the pandemic.

How many times have we wanted to agree with them in the last few years when they complained that “this isn’t fair?” Offering the reply, “who said life was fair,” didn’t seem appropriate, sympathetic or understanding. That response would only reinforce the reality that a year without graduation, proms, or downtime that didn’t involve a phone or a Monopoly board was definitely not fair.

Recently, I chatted with a parent in my neighborhood whom I haven’t seen in months. Within seconds, she shared her son’s recent tale of woe. Returning to the soccer field, he injured his leg badly enough that he’ll likely be out of action for soccer and several other sports for the next six months.

That, she said, is heartbreaking on top of all the time he missed on the field.

Amid all the concern for his physical well-being, she shared her worry about his mental health. She reached out to psychiatrist and psychologist friends, hoping to find someone with whom he might talk about yet another interruption in his plans to enjoy participating in a team sport.

To her dismay, she found that the mental health care system is as overburdened as the physical one was during the worst of the pandemic. Concerned about the context for her son’s life, she has dialed back her urge to encourage him to return to school on crutches, standing at the ready to bring him home whenever he feels physically and emotionally overwhelmed.

I completely understand that. At the same time, I wonder if and when we might deploy a safe Ferber-style approach after all the disruption of the last few years.

Above, from left, CSHL Associate Professor Steven Shea, Yunyao Xie, a former postdoctoral researcher in Shea’s lab, and Roman Dvorkin at work. Photo from CSHL

By Daniel Dunaief

The black box has a blue spot.

Often considered so mysterious that it has been called “the black box,” the brain has a small cluster of cells called the locus coeruleus (LC), or blue spot because it appears blue.

The LC is the predominant source of the neurotransmitter noradrenaline, which plays numerous roles, including triggering the “fight or flight” response, sleep/wake regulation and memory.

Recently, Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Associate Professor Stephen Shea and his post doctoral researcher Roman Dvorkin demonstrated that the LC was involved in normal maternal social behavior. In the publication Journal of Neuroscience, they demonstrated that surrogate mothers had a spike in this neurotransmitter just at the time when they retrieved young pups that had rolled out of the nest.

“Most of the research on noradrenaline and the LC has been involved in non-social behavior,” said Shea. Researchers have recorded it extensively during “cognitive tasks and memory formation.”

The evidence for its involvement in social behaviors has been more indirect. With the exception of a study 35 years ago that made a few recordings in cats, the current research is the “first time anyone has recorded” the LC during a more normal social behavior, Shea said.

Research on this blue spot could prove valuable in connection with understanding and treating a wide range of diseases and disorders. Noradrenaline (NA) is “one of the systems that is disturbed in anxiety and depression,” Dvorkin said. It also may be involved in other diseases, like autism. Scientists have conducted research on the LC and ADHD, Parkinson’s disease and Alzheimer’s disease, Dvorkin explained.

Some studies have also linked Rett syndrome, for example, which is a rare inherited genetic disorder that affects mostly girls and can alter the ability to speak, walk and eat, to lower levels of noradrenaline.

“There’s evidence that the LC has pathology in Mecp2 mice,” said Shea, referring to a gene traced to Rett. “We are working on that directly.”

Researchers believe studying the structure of the LC could lead to diagnostics and therapeutics for some of these diseases. Dvorkin suggested that this kind of research is “important to see how it works under normal, awake conditions.”

Monitoring the release of this neurotransmitter during a typical social behavior among female mice provides a context-connected understanding of its potential role.

“When people are studying this, they often use investigator-contrived tasks,” Shea said. “This is the system that preexisted for mice to use for other purposes.”

Shea has done earlier work with the LC, particularly as the sense of smell is so prominent in social interactions for mice. He demonstrated that anesthetized mice exposed to the scent of an unfamiliar mouse react as if they have a familiarity with the mouse. 

She believes the LC initiates sensory plasticity or sensory learning. NA can affect the sensory responses in parts of the brain that carry information, creating a stored memory. While his extensive work offers some clues about the role of the LC in mice, all vertebrates have the LC in their brain stems, including humans.

Shea said other research has demonstrated the involvement of the LC in cognitive tasks and memory formation, including during periods of sleep and wakefulness.

Blocking the release of noradrenaline is challenging in part because it is compact and the cells in the brain interact with so many of their neighbors, which makes turning on or off a specific signal from one region especially challenging.

At the University of Washington, Richard D. Palmiter and S.A. Thomas published a visible and definitive paper in 1997 in the journal Cell that brought the LC to other researcher’s attention.

These researchers created complete knockout mice, where they found that rodents lacking noradrenaline were “really bad mothers,” according to Shea.

In their research, Dvorkin and Shea used optogenetics and chemogenetics to inactivate the LC and the release of noradrenaline.

Future experiments

Below, a mouse retrieving a pup that has rolled out of its nest. Photo by Roman Dvorkin

The next step in this research could involve understanding the relative importance of the signal from the LC and noradrenaline.

In typical life settings, mice and other vertebrates confront competing signals, in which a pup rolls out of the nest at the same time that one of their many predators, like a hawk or other bird is circling overhead.

“That could be a next step” in this research, said Dvorkin.

Dvorkin believes it is possible to increase or decrease the threat level for mice gradually, in part because mice learn quickly when the threat is not real or what to avoid if the threat is too risky.

Shea is also looking more closely at courtship behavior.

The LC could be involved in sexual selection and in dominance hierarchies, enhancing the aggressive behavior of alpha males towards less dominant males. 

“We see big signals associated with events in courtship, including when the female and male begin to mate,” said Shea.

A resident of East Northport, Dvorkin lives with his wife Paolina and their nine year-old son Adam, who is in third grade at Pulaski Road School.

Originally from Afula in northern Israel, Dvorkin has been working in Shea’s lab for over five years. Outside the lab, he enjoys spending time with his family, taking pictures, and swimming at the JCC.

Dvorkin has enjoyed his work at CSHL, which he described as a “great experience in a beautiful place,” where he can appreciate the quiet and where he has received considerable support.

In the future, he’d like to apply his expertise in working on neuronal cell cultures and behaving animals to address translative questions, such as neurodegeneration.

Female Cowbird. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

A huge fan of our avian neighbors, I have collected numerous anecdotes during my travels on Long Island and around the world. As we delve deeper into the spring, I’d like to share a few.

The brood parasite: Many years ago, OK, decades, I did some research on the brown-headed cowbird. This bird, whose scientific name is Molothrus ater, which means “black vagabond,” shares a lifestyle with the cuckoo. You see, the cowbird, which spends considerable time eating food near farms or settled lands, doesn’t build nests. It lays its eggs in the nests of other birds and contributes nothing to the parenting of its young.

When I was in college, I wondered how these birds knew they were cowbirds and didn’t form attachments to the numerous other species who unwittingly contribute to its success. Their hosts raise these aggressive young that sometimes outcompete their own chicks for food. Speaking with people who lived in Mammoth Lakes, California, where I performed my research, I met several people who were in their early 20s, who listened attentively to the story of my research. When I finished, one of them smiled and said, “Wow, what terrible parents. They must only live in California, right?”

The beak smackers: When I attended Gelinas Junior High School, I learned about the Galapagos Islands. I couldn’t wait to visit a place where sea lions barely budged when people walked near them. I finally traveled to these wonderful islands, made famous by Charles Darwin’s trip where he posited the theory of evolution. As I hiked with my family on a tour, our guide stopped and told us to listen. Smacking sounds, as if people were sword fighting with whiffle ball bats, came from just over a ridge. When we reached the top, we saw albatrosses engaged in extended beak smacking.

Once pairs of these white birds finished their ritualistic and individualized pattern, they started again. Closing my eyes, I could imagine the rhythm of several of these courtship routines becoming the percussion section of a song.

Seeing red: When I studied birds in college, I recalled hearing about the dominance hierarchies of the red-winged blackbird, which occupies marshy areas all around Long Island. With red stripes on their shoulders, these birds are also distinctive for their loud and extended squeaks. The size of the red color reflects the dominance of the birds. Without the bright red indicating the equivalent of a social rank, even the most dominant bird loses his status and preferred spot in a habitat.

Foul play: The black cormorants, which sit low in the water, are excellent divers. They are not, however, particularly well-suited for their watery lifestyle. Their feathers are not waterproof, the way a duck’s are. After they get sufficiently waterlogged, they stand on docks or pilings with their wings outstretched, as if they were holding their feathers on a drying line. They use the wind to dry themselves out. It seems especially cruel and maladaptive for a bird that lives in the water to endure extended periods of being waterlogged.

You want a coke with that? My family was enjoying a meal in Miami after a morning in the sun. Sitting outside, where we had an unobstructed view of the beach and where the wind provided welcome relief from the hot sun, we ordered burgers and fries. I picked up a French fry and lifted it near my head to make a point. Accustomed to human patterns, a seagull saw the opening, grabbed the fry without touching my hand, and flew off to consume his prize.

METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I’ve tried to dodge the question for years.

For some reason, it comes up despite an eagerness on my part to point to the sky and shout, “Look, it’s a flying turtle,” or to ask, “Wait, aren’t Derek Jeter, Halle Berry and Eva Mendes all sitting together over there?”

You see, I have a dairy allergy. When I first noticed over three decades ago that I couldn’t eat or drink milk products, the world wasn’t as prepared, accustomed and, most of all, accommodating toward allergies.

I’d go in a restaurant, even a fancy one, and tell the waiter or waitress that I was allergic to dairy. I’d get this dubious look like she thought she was on candid camera or that I wanted the fancy French chef to make me a Big Mac.

I tried to order quietly while everyone was looking at their menus or diving for the gold coins I’d thrown across the room as a distraction while I whispered about my allergy to a waitress, begging for a chance to order without facing the inevitable food inquiry.

Alas, more often than not, my distraction techniques and whispering rarely worked.

“I’m allergic to dairy,” I’d mumble.

“Say what?” she’d say.

The restaurant would go silent as if EF Hutton were telling people how to invest.

“I can’t eat anything made with milk, cheese, butter or cream,” I’d say.

“So, what do you want to eat? The chef can’t redo the entire kitchen just for you,” she’d reply, while snarling, blowing the bangs off her forehead and rolling her eyes.

Typically, I’d come up with something creative like a plate of lettuce, an unbuttered bagel, a hard-boiled egg or a Chinese meal. Asian restaurants rarely use milk or butter, which makes Chinese, Japanese and Thai food among my favorites.

Once I’d finally placed the order and was ready to engage in a non-food-related conversation, someone would look me in the eye and ask.

“So, what happens to you if you eat dairy?”

And there it is. I’m not sure what to say. Going into graphic detail forces me to relive unpleasant experiences.

Over the years, I’ve looked at my wife for help. She’s tried to point out the scar from the IV she got when she gave birth to our daughter, shared some exciting anecdote from work, or offered a story from her childhood.

The more we try to redirect the question, the more likely it is to persist.

“No, really, what happens? Would you die?” people have asked eagerly. Sometimes, their tone is so matter of fact that I wonder if they’d like popcorn, with plenty of butter, to watch the death by dairy event.

Do I carry an EpiPen? Would my throat close? Would I need immediate medical attention?

While the answer to all three questions is “No,” I prefer not to think about, and relive, the consequences of a few mouthfuls of key lime pie.

Describing the discomfort that starts in my mouth and continues all the way to my, well, other exit point, requires me to share unpleasant details.

I try to shorten the interaction by suggesting, in general terms, that I’m in intense digestive discomfort.

“How long does it last?” someone asks.

“Long enough that I haven’t had ice cream for over three decades.”

While the question is unpleasant, the modern reality is not. Waiters and waitresses often arrive at the table and ask about food allergies.

Then again, out of habit, some of them ask at the end of my order if I’d like cheese in my omelet or on my burger.

I smile, waiting for them to look me in the eye.

“Right, right,” they eventually grin. “No dairy. I knew that.”

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We’ve only visited The Fly, a grassy area behind Audubon Park in New Orleans that sits along the edge of the Mississippi River, four times, and yet we can’t possibly travel to the Crescent City without stopping there.

A wide open space that draws students from nearby Tulane and Loyola universities, residents of all ages, screeching seagulls and supersized cormorants that look like genetically altered cousins of Long Island’s water foul, The Fly has hosted some of our most enjoyable visits to see our freshman son in college.

The first time we walked to The Fly, our son was in that miserable, confusing, bees-buzzing-around-his-overlong-hair state when he wasn’t sure where he wanted to attend college and when everything, particularly enthusiastic parents, was irritating.

We had to wait what seemed like forever in searing heat for a freight train with endless cars to cross in front of us to climb over a small hill and reach The Fly. The endless train took so long to pass at a snail’s pace that my son and I sat down on dry grass, while my wife took a few pictures. We tried to keep the moment light, even though our son felt the weight of college uncertainty on his broad shoulders.

When the gates finally went up and we crossed the tracks, the first thing I noticed was the relief the refreshing gusts of wind that came off the river provided.

As we approached the water, we passed young families sitting on blankets and eating picnic lunches, college students playing “never have I ever” games and birds lifting off and circling the shoreline of the river, using their bodies as kites in the swirling winds.

The open green space between the back of the zoo at Audubon Park and the river energized my son and me, calling to us to play.

As we inched closer to the pathway near the river, we stared into the active water, which looked as busy as a bustling city. The main current in the middle traveled one way, while swirling eddies circled near the shore.

Sitting on a sturdy wooden bench, we soaked in the scene and could see our son’s shoulders lower and his breathing slow. The water show helped allay any anxiety he had about class assignments, making friends, learning about a new place, or living far from home.

An ocean going cargo ship passed within 100 feet of us. These enormous ships, sometimes pulled by muscular tugboats, seemed impossibly close, acting like an outdoor theater with an oversized screen.

During several other visits to The Fly, we have delighted in the unexpected. Once, we brought a football and ran patterns in a heavy but warm rain while my wife watched comfortably from the car. Playing on an empty, soggy field with my son made me feel as if I were jogging through the fountain of youth.

While the Fly has become one of my favorite places to visit, I have increasingly come to see settings as much more than backdrops for life and action: they have become like characters, encouraging, inspiring, challenging and reviving us. Like the salty smell of West Meadow Beach, they can also give us the chance to travel through time in our minds, reminding us of earlier visits and the people who traveled with us through life to these locations.

Our son has visited The Fly several times over the last few months. He has taken short videos of the moving water, the frolicking birds, and that first wooden bench where we shared a respite from the college process. The videos he sends are a short visit with him and our friend The Fly.