"Why do you think that happened?" my research mentor probed. His disheveled waist-length hair rustled as he nudged me to respond. Round, purple glasses tinted his vision, yet I felt he was staring deeply into my soul. His fingers tapped to the jazzy beat of the psychedelic Sly and the Family Stone song streaming from the vintage loudspeakers on his desk. The laboratory room was a cacophony of funk rock, humming thermo cyclers, swirling flask shakers, and beeping PCR machines....