This incredible woman is spearheading an effort to develop genetically modified plants that fix and store more carbon from the atmosphere for a longer period of time than ordinary plants. Theoretically, these “Ideal Plants” (as the institute calls them) would eventually replace most of our current, non-modified crops so every farm would double as a carbon-sequestration operation.
Other means of non-biological carbon sequestration have already been developed, but at this point they are largely cost prohibitive (especially on a large scale).
While this won’t fix climate change, it will slow the rate of carbon dioxide accumulation and could buy us time. This is also a really great example of how GMOs can be used for tremendous good.
“Look at me, I’m 64 years old. I’m not going to be around to see this project go to fruition…I don’t know if we can do it, but I want to be part of the solution. I don’t just want to sit around and complain.” -Dr. Joanne Chory
Although I would hate for this to happen, part of me is anticipating Rowling to take the Anne Rice route and ban fanfiction of her work. With how Joanne liberally changes the HP series after it’s ended, it’s probably not a far stretch to imagine she’ll change her mind on fanfiction in general.
Ciel was confused. He could have sworn they’d just come from
the second corridor on the left, but now where there was once a doorway there
was only a sheer, dizzying drop.
“Ah, the staircases must have changed!” cried
Joanne, clutching his books tighter and looking frantic. “We’ll be late at
this rate…. wait, I think there’s an alternative route behind the portrait of
that flying bear.”
“How the bloody hell do you know that?” McMillan
“Because I, unlike some people, have read ‘Hogwarts: a
History’,” Joanne shot back, locating said painting and pushing it aside
with a smug smile.
Ciel listened to his two friends bicker as they made their
way down the stone steps towards the dungeons but his mind was elsewhere. His
thoughts whirred as they got closer, and he tried to surreptitiously wipe his clammy palms on his
robes right before they pushed open the door.
“You’re late,” came the deep voice from the front.
In reality, it had hardly been a minute since the rest of
the class had filed in.
“We’re terribly sorry Professor; we were forced to find
an alternative route due to the staircases changing location between -”
“Enough, Harcourt,” the teacher interrupted.
“If I’d wanted an essay I would have asked for one. Ten points from
The class groaned, and Ciel was unable to keep in an
“Oh? It seems that Phantomhive has something to
Ciel’s single blue eye met that deep ruby gaze, drawing him
in and causing his face to heat up.
“Not at all,” he retorted.
“Not at all ’sir’.”
“You don’t have to call me sir, Professor.”
There was a long silence that stretched out, neither of them
looking away before the teacher’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Detention,
Phantomhive. I’ll see you at 9 o clock this evening.”
Ciel took his seat, his heart pounding in his throat as he
tried not to let the victory show on his face. “Yes, Professor