Some Nerd Girl

Some Like It Nerdy



The Life and Times of Being a Professional Nerd

I’m a professional nerd. I get paid to be a nerd, to be the nerdiest one in the room, and to be the most knowledgeable nerd in the room.

Okay, who am I kidding? I’m a science teacher. That’s even better than being a professional nerd. My job is to get 7th graders interested in science. Well, not exactly. 7th graders are naturally interested in science. My job is to teach them critical thinking, reading, and writing skills without ruining their innate middle school love of science.

The first step, as I teach my students, is to ask questions. Always ask questions. Where does electricity come from? Can a woman get pregnant while she is pregnant? Why don’t they put all of the money currently in fossil fuels towards researching more efficient ways to collect, store, and distribute energy from renewable sources? Why can’t I make a clone army?

You can never have enough of them!

The second step is to learn how to answer those questions. Depending on the type of question, the answer can be found with a simple Google or Wikipedia search. When they reach high school and college, finding the answers will require more refined skills in internet searching, including the ability to determine the accuracy and validity of various sources. They will also learn to ask librarians, read textbooks, and eventually, seek out journal articles. They will read about past experiments and determine whether the scientist had a controlled study and a large enough sample size. They will understand the limitations in funding and participants, and the limitations in designing a perfect experiment. This doesn’t mean they will discount the experiments; rather, they will use their experience and education to determine how these limitations may have affected the data and how the experiment can be improved for next time.

Hopefully, they will reach the level at which they can no longer search for previously-discovered answers, and they will have to find the answers themselves. They will have to meticulously study all previous research and determine the best testable hypotheses to answer their questions. They will have to write grant proposals and design the best experiments possible with their limited resources.

Paperwork is a necessary evil to achieve greatness!

When they have reached the last of their time or funding, they will collect the data, run statistical analysis, put it through Matlab, or find another way to create magical graphical and tabular representations of their work. They will realize that all the lab reports they wrote in middle school and high school (about which they complained, and complained, and complained) have prepared them for this moment, to finally put the finishing touches on their Masters theses and PhD dissertations and journal articles to submit for peer review.

I wear a lab coat every Friday. At first, it was an opportunity for me to reminisce about my years in the lab and to finish my last classes of the week strong. When students and colleagues smiled at me on that first Lab Coat Friday, thought about how nerdy I looked, it made me smile back, and I taught my classes with enthusiasm that I thought was lost earlier in the week. Since then, Lab Coat Friday has become an opportunity to show my pride in my nerdiness and to tell students about all the wonderful and lucrative science careers they can pursue after college, from volcanologist to field ecologist.


In the meantime, I prepare them for internal and statewide assessments, because it is important that they have a foundation of science content knowledge so that they can be, well, functional human beings. They need to know how the human body systems work together, so that they know how to make better decisions about their health and know what questions to ask a doctor. They need to know how to understand a weather report, and when to stock up on supplies in anticipation of a major hurricane (or when it’s just media hype, and they should be ready for work or school the next day).

It is also important that they walk away from middle school science with good test scores. And so I read and reread state standards, write my own tests, and work backwards into lesson plans for over 180 days of school, over 180 individual lessons, each lesson building upon the last. Each lesson bridges the gap between what they know and what they should know, and then pushes them even further. I analyze test scores and student response data and make sure that when state testing comes, they are ready to go, #2 pencils in hand, still filled with the curiosity and enthusiasm for science that they had on the first day of school.

I want them to have good assessment scores so that people don’t see our students and think, Oh, they’re from that city. I want people to see the scores and say, Wow, those students are smart, and are outperforming students in much wealthier school districts. Wow, those students are opening up opportunities for themselves that they may not have had otherwise. Wow, those students are going places.

But at the end of the day, we show our students their state assessment scores on bar graphs and talk about percentages. We analyze our data together, because at the end of the day we’re all nerds, and we love to get our analytics on.

At the end of the day, knowing that I set the foundation for countless children to go on to think critically, make discoveries and contribute in meaningful ways makes being a professional nerd all that much sweeter!


Robin has been a professional nerd since 2011; that is, she is a 7th grade science teacher. She loves reading and watching science fiction and is working on creating her own young adult fantasy series. She prefers Star Trek to Star Wars because she enjoys the plot-driven social commentary, rather than fast-paced action sequences. She enjoys video games, but only those with graphic technology prior to 2003 because anything newer makes her dizzy.

I Hunt Aliens for a Living

When people find out that I’m an astrobiologist – that is, my work concerns the search for life on other planets, amongst other things- invariably, the first question is, “Have you found any yet?”

So, to start, I’d like to say for the record, that no, I haven’t (believe me, you would have heard about it if I had). But while that goal remains unattained, astrobiologists have still made astounding discoveries about life in the universe – and the finding of truly alien life may not be that far off.

I think the reason people find my field of research so fascinating is because it tackles some very foundational questions. How did life originate? Under what conditions can it survive? Where else might we find it? And what might it look like when we do? Because of the scale of these questions, astrobiology isn’t really a single field, per se – but rather a collections of many different disciplines (including, but not limited to, astronomy, geology, chemistry, biology, and planetary science), all trying to come up with answers.

Strap in for a good ol’ fashion existential crisis!

In order to determine the likelihood of finding life elsewhere in the universe, we first must know how easy or difficult it is for life to emerge in the first place. This is the realm of the prebiotic chemists, who focus on how living systems can develop from simple chemistry (sometimes poetically referred to as abiogenesis). There are different theories as to how this happened – some scientists suggest that RNA, a molecule similar to DNA that has the capability to reproduce itself may have been the forerunner to life as we know it; others suggest that metabolic processes, or the creation of simple bubble-like “protocells” set the stage for life. It should be noted that these theories are not necessarily mutually exclusive – it has been suggested that life may have originated independently multiple times on Earth, competed and merged with each other, and finally gave rise to the biosphere we know today.


I should note that a general assumption about life in the universe is that it’ll most likely be similar to us, biochemically speaking. The foundations of Earth biochemistry are carbon (due to the fact that it can easily form complex molecules) and water (which is particularly good at dissolving molecules, and appears to be abundant through the universe). The latter was considered so key to life as we know it that, for a period of time, the motto of NASA’s astrobiology program was “Follow the Water” (this is also why there’s so much buzz whenever NASA announces the detection of liquid water elsewhere in our solar system). With that said, more exotic biochemistries – using silicon instead of carbon, for example, or using ammonia or methane instead of water – have also been proposed.

In addition to how life comes into being, we also must know how many places are available for it to live. One approach to this question is studying the abundance of habitable planets in the universe. Exoplanets – planets found around stars other than our sun- have been discovered to be staggeringly common. The Kepler space telescope mission, in particular, has found dozens of potentially Earth-like worlds, many located in the “Goldilocks zone” of their main star (where the temperature is “just right” for liquid water to exist on the surface).


We don’t know necessarily know if these planets are actually inhabitable or not (though we hope to answer that with future missions, such as the James Webb Space Telescope and Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite; I’m particularly fond of the latter since it shares my name), but these early findings are certainly promising.

Another angle on the question of habitability is studying the conditions on which life can survive – especially in environments that seem extreme and inhospitable to us. As it turns out, life is extraordinarily hardy, with organisms, known as extremophiles, making their homes in even incredibly harsh surroundings. From microbes living in the superheated water of hydrothermal systems to radiation-eating fungi discovered in the ruins of Chernobyl , it appears that life is amazingly adaptable. While most extremophiles are microbes, there are some more complex organisms that hold this distinction as well – my particular favorite being the iceworm, a glacier-dwelling invertebrate that is so well adapted to the cold that it will literally melt if its temperature is raised too high above freezing.


So, having established how life might originate and where it might survive, the next question is how might we detect it? This brings us to one of the primary areas of research in astrobiology – the identification and detection of biosignatures. Biosignatures are simply the chemical and physical traces left by living systems on their environment. A classic example is the presence of both methane and oxygen in the Earth’s atmosphere – since methane isn’t chemically stable in those conditions, some process must actively be producing it (incidentally, methane isn’t stable on Mars, either – which is why there was such excitement when very low levels of it were detected by the Curiosity mission). Biosignatures can also include microfossils or other geological traces left by microbes, and spectral lines in the light reflected off a planet indicating the presence of chlorophyll.

I am still waiting for my engineering counterparts to hook me up with one of these.

Related to biosignatures is probably the most famous aspect of astrobiology – the search for technosignatures. As the name suggests, these are indicators of the presence of a technological civilization. SETI, the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, is the most well known effort to locate signs of an advanced aliens, but it is not the only one- there also astrobiologists keeping their eyes peeled for everything from signs of astroengineering (constructions the size of stars) to potentially looking for the lights of alien cities in the spectral signatures of planets. A find of this sort is the holy grail of astrobiology – after all, as exciting as an alien microbe might be, we’rd really prefer something we could talk to.   It’s worth noting, though, it is statistically unlikely that any other alien civilization is at the same technology level as us, and may be much further advanced on the Kardashev scale, so they may not be as interested in what we have to say.

Are we alone? Where did we come from? These are just some of the questions astrobiologists hope to answer. And, even better, you can help the astrobiology community answer them, too! The field has been a pioneer in the use of citizen science – recruiting assistance from everyday people.   Projects include SETI@Home (a screensaver that uses your computer’s idle processing power to search for signals in SETI radio data) and Planet Hunters (a website where users can help detect planets around other stars).

Be part of the search!

So, if you find the search for life in the universe as thrilling and fascinating as I do, then feel free to join in the fun! Who knows- you might just find help us find something.

And I’d finally have a good answer for “Have you found any yet?”


Tessa is a 28 year old PhD student, and perhaps the world’s only queer trans astrobiologist. A nerd going way back, her interests include science fiction, space exploration, sustainability, science communication, and feminism and gender. Her hobbies also include horseback riding, playing the flute, social dancing, knitting, and occasional attempts at writing fiction. She currently resides in Tempe, AZ with her even nerdier fiancee and a mastiff mix who thinks he’s a lapdog. She tweets occasionally @spacermase.

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