You get this, right? that light travels at a certain fixed rate so TV programs (yup, light) leaving Earth in, say, 2010 would have gotten 4 light-years away and any star 4 light-years away would just be getting the program now. I’ve understood this idea for decades and I still get confused by it.
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Go ahead and celebrate today’s holiday with a grill and a swill or a trip to some big box store to buy discounted appliances. Unless you’re part of the other one percent — the tiny fraction of Americans who served in the military during the long wars fought since September 11, 2001 — Memorial Day may not feel personal to you.
But if you’re an American, it should. The 6,809 service members killed and 52,010 wounded in nearly thirteen years of war made these sacrifices on your behalf. They gave their lives so that you could go about your way. A growing gap between military and civilian populations has created an easy out for those looking for a reason not to engage in issues of foreign policy and military action. “People say, ‘You volunteered. You knew what you were signing up for,’” one veteran told me recently. That may be true.
Yet there’s a population of innocents who shoulder the burden of military service without ever having made the choice — military kids. These children must accept that their parents’ lives belong to the military first. No matter how dedicated and engaged the parent is, family obligations will always come after military ones. Deployed fathers can’t make it home for their children’s births, mothers or fathers miss a child’s first day of school or graduation. Continue reading
May 19-23, 2014
You might think a week that begins with an essay about the chessboard and then another about White Alice would have a Lewis Carroll theme. You’d be wrong.
Cameron puzzles over how the knight moves. Craig can see Russia from his muskox, sort of. Guest DeLene Beeland sings the postpartum blues. Speaking of beeland…is what Stephen Ornes spends his own guest post doing. And then you’ve got your bees-and-birds: Cassie sits her husband down for the talk, or at least the science journalists’ version–how to make climate change sexy. (Spoiler alert: You probably can’t.)
As for those of you who now need a fix of Lewis Carroll: Drink me.
According to ancient historians, Archimedes spent the last moments of his life drawing figures in the dirt, so deeply entranced with the pleasures of geometry that he failed to notice the bloody pillage of Syracuse right outside his door. Aloofness, it’s tempting to conjecture, was his fatal flaw. By many accounts, he paid scant attention when a Roman soldier barged in and demanded that the old, prolific genius identify himself. Archimedes didn’t state his name or plea for his life. Instead, he responded with some version of, “Please, don’t disturb my circles.” At which point the Roman soldier ran him through with a sword. (Valerius Maximus adds a dramatic flourish to his account of those last seconds: “… and with his blood he confused the lines of his art.”)
So ended Archimedes.
I can’t help but see Archimedes’ ghost—his circles, his aloofness—in a violent, natural drama that plays out every year in my backyard. (Anthropomorphism should probably be reserved for children’s books and special occasions. I claim the latter in this case.)
The drama begins with the return of the carpenter bees. These slow and steady creatures resemble obese bumblebees with bulbous, shiny abdomens. They’re big and big-eyed, and they can do something almost no
human can do without tools: Make a perfect circle.
The most recent report from the International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) doesn’t pull any punches. The globe continues to warm, ice continues to melt at an alarming pace, and the seas continue to rise. Climate change isn’t some distant dilemma. It’s already happening. The science is solid, and the problem is urgent. “Nobody on this planet is going to be untouched by the impacts of climate change,” said IPCC chairman Rajendra Pachauri at a news conference in March.
Yet most Americans don’t seem to be all that concerned. According to a 2013 survey by the Pew Research Center, only 40% cited climate change as a major threat to the US. And even fewer — roughly a third — listed global warming as a top priority for Congress and the White House.
So what gives? Why aren’t people getting the message? Are we* — the science journalists –delivering it wrong? Perhaps we need more stories, and better storytellers.
“Why don’t you do something about climate change?” I asked my husband, Soren Wheeler. He’s the senior producer of Radiolab, a crazy popular science program that tells some of the most compelling stories on the airwaves.
“Because,” he said, “climate change is the anti-story.”
Naturally, I asked him to explain. Here is an edited version of the conversation that ensued over burgers and beers**.
The moment of my son’s birth is seared into my brain, but fogginess reigns in the aftermath. Our hospital stay is a series of blurry memories: broken sleep, a jaundiced and hungry newborn, and me crying while scarfing down a few forkfuls of food in my spare moments alone. Once home, I didn’t immediately feel the deep bond that most mothers develop with their infants. He was so fragile, I felt unequipped to care for him — but what kind of mom feels that lack?
I judged myself against other mothers. It seemed everyone cared for their babies better than did I. They had secret ways to jiggle a baby asleep and entire repertories of nursery songs at the ready. I cared for my son, but something was off. Where was my satisfaction? Where was our joy?
The jokers in the house are starting to learn the game of kings. The set they play with is piecemeal, with a wooden toy horse for a white knight and a lump of rainbow-colored glass for one of the pawns. The board is metal, designed for playing checkers on the road. But still the jokers learn.
Until now, chess has always seemed like a burden, something I should have learned but never really did–like shorthand, or how to fold a fitted sheet. I don’t think I enjoyed, let alone finished, the few games I played as a kid.
Yet decades later, I’ve now checked out a kids’ book about chess to find something that makes the game seem less daunting. This is it: there are games that you don’t need all the pieces to play. Continue reading
May 12-16, 2014
This week’s stories covered nostalgia, the physics of scrubbing, the physics of space, the physics of candied orange peels, and earthquakes.
It has been three decades since Richard left Chicago. So why is he still dreaming of Wrigley Field? “I suppose it has something to do with the 1969 season.”
Guest Poster Hannah Hoag explored the physics behind the awesomeness of Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser and its predecessors. “There is an entire arm of physics devoted to the science of rubbing and scrubbing–and which has slipped into all aspects of life, including my kitchen.”
Helen took us “amongst spacecraft” to give us a sneak peek of a little-known NASA mission. The goal? “Study the physics where the Earth’s magnetic field and the Sun’s magnetic field meet.” Cool.
All Ann wants is candied orange peel. But sugar — that tricksy, shape-shifting siren — won’t let her have it. “Instead I get this lethal complexity, this intricate villainy.” (Ann is being charming again).
Erik thought he knew exactly where to hide to survive an earthquake, until his father-in-law set him straight. “When it hits, just try to get under something and cover your head. And if you’re not getting tossed like a rag doll, don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Enjoy the ride.”
photo of candied orange peel by Jocelyn McAuley
