A team of scientists based at the Carnegie Institution for Science, based in Washington DC, found “reduced carbon” in the meteorites and says it was created by volcanic activity on Mars.
Reduced carbon is carbon that is chemically bonded to hydrogen or itself.
They argue this is evidence “that Mars has been undertaking organic chemistry for most of its history.”
We still don’t know if Mars has fostered life or whether it ever got that far, but we do know it has one fundamental element to do so.
Thinking about life beyond our world is intoxicating, because we don’t know enough. Finding answers in the cosmos will only bring back more questions, and where would we be if our innate curiosity wasn’t endlessly spurred on?
We didn’t find life in the Martian meteorites, we found possibility. The bounty of questions that the finding holds will be enough to keep us busy until we discover more about what lies outside our event horizon.
We don’t always have to look to the sky to learn about our universe, though.
When Rajon Rondo is on the floor, the Boston Celtics play in “random”, an abstract, structureless offensive game plan that relies on the maddening genius of Rajon Rondo to open up the court on the fly. It’s a style of play that functions and collapses on Rondo’s whim. On a team of aging veterans, Rondo is the director, the architect, and the salesman. But what makes Rondo so maddening is how often it seems his mind is lost in another dimension. From his unique perspective, everything is open and possible. But he’s prone to lofting the ball into traffic, which is when his brilliant vision fails him. Rondo saunters on the line between possibility and probability. It’s often only a matter of possessions before he lands on the wrong side.
It’s what we saw from Rondo for most of Game 7 against the Philadelphia 76ers. He was listless, throwing passes without conviction and missing open layups like he so often does. I wish there was a simple explanation for the bunnies he misses. At 10:17 in the first quarter, Rondo splits two defenders on a fast break with one of his patented ball fakes and flips the ball right off of the backboard. At first, I wanted to believe he thought Kevin Garnett, who had trailed the play, was going to follow it up. But when you’re that open and you’re already at the rim, that shouldn’t be anywhere close to your thoughts. Evidently from the botched possession Garnett figured the play was a done deal, but assumptions don’t mesh well with Rondo. The detachment that Rondo often plays with is the worst kind of confounding.
But then this happened:
In the final four minutes of the game, Rondo was pitch perfect. He embodied everything he is and isn’t at the same damn time. We can talk about how his nationally televised performances have constructed an interesting perception of his season as a whole. Or we can talk about how, for four minutes, statistical probability melted into meaningless garble.
We don’t have to talk about either.
The game was awful. As close as it was at times, the momentum generated by the Sixers was intent on devouring itself before any sustainable lead could occur. What we got from Rondo to seal the game was a special display, one that should be celebrated precisely because it was so peculiar. Celebrating anomalies is what got us into basketball in the first place, no?
We still don’t know if there is, or ever was, life on Mars, but now we know there is a possibility. That’s enough for our world’s scientists to work with, and it’s enough for Rondo to work with. The mystery of Rajon Rondo is endless. The more we try to piece together, the more he confounds. The mystery has become mythology, but is it mythology or cosmography? Whatever it is, Rondo’s Game 7 performance is proof that the universe is as it should be: operating in “random.”