True Facts: How A Species Gets A Name!

A while back I received an email with the subject, do you like taxonomy? I know what you're thinking, spam, or what a sarcastic way for the IRS to start an audit. But no, it was from the curator of molexes, molexes, at the Senckenberg Museum, and it said they would be honored to have me on a new advisory board. Now they spelled honored with a U, fancy, so I said yes. It turns out that this museum is in Frankfurt, Germany, which is very close to the Rhine River Valley, where you can unironically take a fart to Assmannshausen. The Senckenberg is a top-rate natural history museum, but it is also connected to a serious research institution. Look at how tall that bathroom is, made for a German man. You could imagine a Frenchman or an Italian being humbled at the threshold of that job. The project that I was asked to advisory to is called the Senckenberg Ocean Species Alliance, located with typical German hubris in a city that's about 600 kilometers from the nearest ocean. They will bring the oceans to us. And that's not even a joke. If you've ever been on a beach and had trouble finding a shell, I know where they went. Frankfurt. Because they've got a whole bunch of them, and they're stored in a place that's about as different from their natural habitat as you can get. It's the Matrix, but for snails. The Ocean Species Alliance, which is honored to have me, is focused on naming and describing new species of marine invertebrates. Most likely, you haven't come across most of these. They can be a bit shy. You know, they lack spine. It's possibly the nerdiest thing I've ever said. Now, of course, in this room, you're looking at shells and other hard bits, stop it, that were left behind. The soft living parts, they're long gone. And you might be thinking, well, that's like studying country music by looking at a collection of Dolly Parton's hats. And you wouldn't be wrong. But they have a room for the soft bits, too. It's the kind of room that looks like what science is supposed to look like. The specimens here are preserved in things like alcohol, which is why most of them look like they've had a rough night out. The clam's got the tongue sticking out. Since a lot of these liquids are flammable, they've got a system to make sure that the room doesn't turn into a bomb. They told me if I set off a fire, I'd have seconds to get out of the room before it was pumped full of argon. Apparently, one crayon's worth. And by the looks of it, not only would I die, I'd have to sit there and think about what I did. But not everyone has a spot on those fancy shelves. See this right here? This is where the new species go when they don't have a name yet. Right next to the half-eaten Haagen-Dazs. You see, what happens is science hippies go out on these boats, like this one called the Meteor Hamburger. Oh, that's clever. Oh, no, Hamburg. Anyway, they drag those boxes there on the deep ocean floor and fill them up with, well, floor dirt. They bring it back up and then play a game of rock, paper, scissors. In German, it's schnick, schnack, schnuck. And the loser has to do this. I think that's a pile of schnuck right there. But when they're done, they often find things and they don't know what they are. Bunch of little tiny creatures some of them might have dreamed of seeing the world. And then they end up here. And they're gonna be here for a while. On average, it takes over a decade before a new species gets its name. I know what you're thinking. Steve, there, just saved you nine years, 364 days. Irene, there's another one. But no, first you have to describe them and say how you can tell them apart. It's easiest if there's something you can just point to, Like if I were to describe Henry here, I might start with his mustache. Just laid across his upper lip. Like a welcome mat for anyone that might have occasion to exit his nostril. But this is what Henry does. He looks at his tiny little new species. See it right there? No, you can't. It's that tiny. And then he looks for things that you can use to identify it. He's old school, though. A mustache was a giveaway. He draws them to simplify things so you don't get distracted by the detail. You know, if your parents didn't let you go to art school because there was no money in it, Still no money in it. However, there are some species where this artsy approach doesn't work. Chitons, for example, can be tricky. Chitons are a sort of mollusk that nature uses to bedazzle things like rocks and shells. The issue is that two different chiton species will sometimes look identical, even under a microscope. Or within a single species, there's a huge variation in how they're packaged. Like these three are all the same species. Julia here knows a ton about chitons. Chitons, on the other hand, have never heard of her. I know, it's like the definition of a stalker. But in science, they call it foremost expert. Anyway, Julia and her team use this what looks like a child's DJ booth to look inside the chitons. It uses penetrating waves. I mean, not like how an alien would probe you. It's like non-invasive. Anyway, you can look inside to see if there's differences there. Like, for example, their little plates of armor have these networks of sensory pores. Come on, nobody wants their pores looked at this close. Zinger! But if you don't have the coin for one of those fancy machines, there's another option. Sequence the DNA. I know what you're thinking. Oh, that's the boring one. Well, you're wrong. You know why? Because they get to play with the things that jiggle. Not getting into the details here, but the whole thing's basically like an interrogation. You get that DNA and grab it by the lapels and shake it. Tell me your secrets, DNA. Then you got to use the pipettes. It's like science 101. And right when it's starting to get soft, you hook it up to the electricity machine. Better talk now, DNA. And then you get something that looks like a complicated version of a COVID test. Whatever way you do it, you basically end up with a user guide on how to identify your species. But before you publish it, you got to give it a name. The one described in this paper, for example, was called Macrostylus metallicola. And that's the standard to use descriptive Latin or Greek. So everyone's equally confused. But this one was actually named after the band Metallica. They even made a shirt, which I own. There's perks to being on a board. But the vast majority of marine species like these don't have a name. And that's a problem. Because without a description and a name, a species is very hard to protect from extinction. You can't start a campaign called Save the... Well, it's like, looks like a demon shrimp that just lost his glasses. You know the one. So this is why the Ocean Species Alliance is on a mission to name as many species as possible. And then work with conservation groups like the Red List. And it's estimated that over 90% of marine species haven't even been discovered. And things like deep sea mining can wipe a bunch out before we even find them. If you need a more self-interested reason to care about microscopic marine life, consider that these species are assemblies of molecules that have been honed for hundreds of millions of years. They can synthesize things and break things down in ways that we don't understand yet. But understanding how they survive could be the key to how we survive. Hopefully here, on this planet. If you're interested in learning more about the Ocean Species Alliance, sign up for their mailing list. I've put the link in the description, like a good advisor would. And maybe, one of these days, you'll get a chance to help name a species. After me!