Wednesday, 2 April 2025

Lasso them microdogies

My correspondent G continues to scour through the interwebs looking for Blobocopy. I tell 'er she should start 'er own effin' blog but she's too busy scouring the interwebs. She did though submit The Blob's one-and-only guest blog [cw: asthma] in 2019. The latest alert concerned the discovery of a novel source of potent antibiotics in a Canadian soil sample. This happens occasionally as in the discovery of Eleftheria terrae ten years ago or more to the point discovery of Teixobactin - a chemical from that novel microbe that kills pathogens like MRSA. Back in my 2015 report, I bet that Teixobactin would give its discoverers a Nobel gong within ten years. But they haven't even got a production schedule sorted [there are technical hurdles] let alone FDA approval. Science is Hard.

Gerry Wright [L,L] has been on this line of research for at least ten years but Manoj Jangra [L.R] only came to the lab as a post-doc a tuthree years ago. He is holding [yea! 3-D printers!] a model of their novel antibiotic. If you squint, the molecule looks like a lasso = lariat hence "lariocidin". Their discovery is important because lariocidin nobbles other bacteria in a novel way - by interfering with the bacterial ribosome and preventing protein synthesis. 

When bacteria become resistant to antibiotics, researchers tend to modify [add a bell, drop a whistle] the antibiotic chemically, so that the bacteria no longer recognise the cause of their own demise. But that tends to buy only a few years until the bacteria develop their own modification in the arms-race. It is hoped that, by presenting a completely new method of attack, the effective life of lariocidin (and its inevitable derivatives) will be longer. And lariocidin's structure is radically different from existing antibiotics, so that will pose an extra challenge for the target pathogens. On the safety-side, bacterial ribosomes are functionally equivalent [make proteins] but structurally different from mammalian ribosomes; so there is not going to be cross-toxicity to both pathogen and patient.

Seems that the soil sample from which the lariocidin-producing Paenibacillus was isolated came from the garden of one of the lab techs in Wright's lab at McMasters U. But that's the easy bit, it only needs a trowel. I assured G that her garden was full of bacteria killing each other but even the a silver plated trowel isn't going to get her a Nobel. Wright sensibly enlisted the help of a team from University of Illinois Chicago UIC, who provided complementary expertise.

Wright seems to have a thing about Paenibacillus: in 2016 he was scrabbling about in the bowels of the New Mexico earth to find an ecosystem uncontaminated by humans. There they uncovered Paenibacillus sp LC321whose genome held a number of potential target antibiotics. One of the nice threads in that tale is that Wright heard about these New Mexico caves by going to a lecture by Hazel Barton, an Akron U spelunking microbiologist.  Note to self: always go to lunchtime seminars! Like me at Aled Edwards' giving side-eye to same-old same-old research funding.

Microdogies? It's a Rawhide reference. Dogie: an orphan calf.

1 comment:

  1. If the bacteria in my garden are killing each other it saves me from having to do for them. If I were to write a blog this would have been one of my entries on the pleasures of gardening.

    August 2023
    I've been doing a bit of weeding and bit of pleasure painting, not that it is a pleasure. The stress of what to paint and what colours to use! Too much, too little. It all looks stupid. I can understand Van Gogh ripping his ear off.

    And then the weeding...it's brutal. I hate pulling up growing things. I hate having to make life or death decisions on what stays and what goes. I hate the teeming woodlice that inhabit the rockery along with the earwigs, shellacapookies. I feel like they're crawling up my legs and arms. The worms. slugs, grubs, pupae and the other millions of insects turn my stomach and shudder my spine. I hate them. I hate uprooting them, I hate destroying their habitat and I hate dismembering the little frackers with my trowel and knife, and it's all just to make my garden tidy-looking for other people. Gardening for me is entering an insectarium where the inmates roam free. My head fills with sorries, excuse mes and don't mind mes. It's so violent. No amount of apology can make up for the pandemonium I'm causing. One uprooted Dandelion causes so much chaos down in the Underground. Every movement I make in the garden deals death and violence to the growing and living things. The simple act of gardening turns me into a marauding berserker desperately trying to wreak as much havoc as possible in as short a span of time as possible. And then my back aches, and the rose bushes intrigue to ensnare me. Yesterday, one managed to grab my entire arm and I knew if I tried to extricate myself it would rip my arm off. I had to sneakily cut myself free from it. With each crunch of the secateurs there were tears from the roses while the thorns continued to mount a valiant defence. The prince who macheted his way through the hundred year old bramble hedge in order to sexually assault/rescue Briar Rose had to be utterly desperate for a legover in order to challenge the hedge. In real life, he'd have been claimed by the hawthorn, ripped apart by the blackberry brambles and provided fertiliser for a whole season.


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