Last night I read Robin Marantz Henig’s beautiful story about Peggy Battin, a bioethicist and advocate for patients who wish to end their lives, and her husband, Brooke Hopkins. A bike accident in 2008 left Brooke paralyzed from the shoulders down and in need of almost constant care. Some days Brooke wants to live; other days he wants to die. And that puts Peggy in a difficult position: “Suffering, suicide, euthanasia, a dignified death — these were subjects she had thought and written about for years, and now, suddenly, they turned unbearably personal. Alongside her physically ravaged husband, she would watch lofty ideas be trumped by reality — and would discover just how messy, raw and muddled the end of life can be,” Marantz Henig writes. Still, Brooke has the ability to make a choice and to communicate that choice. Not everyone has that option. The story made me think of an example from my own life that was both simpler and more complex. Continue reading
When you live in Mexico, you get used to people in other countries thinking you are in a war-zone sort of apocalypse state. If it’s not narcos, it’s earthquakes, kidnappers, or chupacabras. These days, the thing for Americans to fear in Mexico is the volcano Popocatepetl, lovingly called Popo, which is chucking ash all over the place. Notice that many reports find it necessary to give Mexico City’s population alongside reports that it’s active. As if that number might drop significantly very soon.
Now, for those who live here it all seems silly. I didn’t even notice the ash – though some of these reports make you think it is piling up on the sidewalks. I have noticed the air quality is a little off for the middle of rainy season (when afternoon showers clean the skies). But all in all, the rumblings of our hulking neighbor hasn’t affected me. Far more annoying is the whole since-you-live-in-Mexico-you’ll-probably-be-dead-tomorrow attitude from friends and family.
Time again to reach into the “Ask Mr. Cosmology” mailbag and see what readers want to know about . . . The Wonders of the Universe! First up, some questions from the comments portion of the previous installment of “Ask Mr. Cosmology.”
Q: Is protest against God morally acceptable?
Mr. Cosmology: Unlike Richard, Mr. Cosmology knows better than to venture into questions about God.
Q: I heard that in certain cases when light is traveling through a medium that slows it down, e.g. water, neutrinos are not so impeded and in these cases they can exceed the speed of light “in that medium.” Is this wrong?
Mr. Cosmology: Yes. Unlike with questions concerning God, Mr. Cosmology is willing to pronounce judgment on neutrinos exceeding the speed of light: not morally acceptable.
Q: I’m really upset about a vicious rumor I heard that Mr. Cosmology’s mailbag is really a big black hole and that questions go into it and never again cross the event horizon! Please, Mr. Cosmology, say it ain’t so.
Mr. Cosmology: Your question went into Mr. Cosmology’s mailbag, yet here it is. So either the mailbag isn’t a black hole, or your question is evidence that Hawking radiation exists. In which case, Mr. Cosmology will find a phone call from the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences to be morally acceptable.
And now . . . some new questions from the “Ask Mr. Cosmology” mailbag!
July 15 – 19
I got all irate on Twitter, as did a number of other folks, and nothing good came of it — the argument looked like it was made of fireflies.
Why did mankind take so long to come up with this? the Erik Vance Restaurant Guide to Saving the Oceans.
Guest Robin Mejia on the counter-intuitive message from a sad branch of biostatistics: sometimes counts of bodies are less accurate than estimates of the numbers of dead.
Cameron actually writes a post on pool poop. For which we’re all grateful, if still squeamish, because it turns out the real problem, Crypto, is rare.
In which we never learn whether Christie her own self — unlike the secretive experts who get addicted to it — knows how to sex chicks.
One of my hens recently hatched a couple chicks. The one that survived is now a few weeks old, and I have no idea if it’s female or male. It’s not that I don’t want to know. It’s just that it’s surprisingly difficult to distinguish the two sexes when they’re young.
There are two ways to sex a hatchling: by flipping it upside down to examine its cloaca — the vent where its genitals and anus open — or by examining its wing feathers. The second method is more straightforward, but it only works on a select number of chicken breeds, so the cloaca method remains the standard.
The Japanese famously perfected the art of chicken sexing. While pressing the chick just so, the sexer looks for a tiny bump at its vent. If it’s there, the chick is most likely male. But chicken genitals are variable, and distinguishing male from female takes hours and hours of practice.
During the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s, second-generation Japanese Americans (called Nisei) became renowned for their chicken sexing skills. Their expertise was in high demand, because commercial poultry operations separate out the sexes early on to ensure that future laying hens receive different feed and care from cockerels.
A professional chicken sexer might sort 800 to 1200 chicks per day, with more than 98 percent accuracy. How do they do it? The technique is such a mystifying art that even the world’s best chicken sexers can’t explain precisely how they do it. Continue reading
This summer it’s happened three times so far. Once, I got an urgent email from the backyard pool where they have baby swim lessons. Another time, my older son’s swim teacher pulled the class out of the high school pool and taught the kids “safety skills” on the deck. And when we were at camp, on the hottest day of the week, we peered through the chain link fence at a pool that was blue, inviting, and—because of recent events–empty.
Call it whatever you want: a floater, a Baby Ruth, an “incident,” or just plain old poop in the pool. By any name, it’s probably there much more often than we think. Continue reading
Last month, the UN announced that the conflict in Syria has killed at least 92,901 people. The number has been widely picked up. Yet many reports miss how crucial the “at least” really is. 92,901 is the number of confirmed deaths – that is, a count. Mostly likely, considerably more people have died. Soon, the statisticians who came up with the count will announce the war’s total death toll. That number will be an estimate.
At first this may seem counter-intuitive. What can an estimate add when you already have a count? Shouldn’t we expect that between human rights groups, government agencies, and the media, most of the deaths during a war would get recorded? History has shown that the answer to that question is a clear no.
Patrick Ball and Megan Price, the statisticians who did the Syria count for the UN, are specialists in the quantification of violence. Their organization, the San Francisco-based Human Rights Data Analysis Group, has estimated death tolls in Peru, Guatemala, Kosovo and many other conflicts. In two of those examples — the civil conflicts in Peru and Guatemala — the researchers’ statistical analysis showed that more than half the killings were undocumented. That is, more than twice as many people were killed as had made it onto an official list. Continue reading
I am that guy.
You know the one. When the waiter comes to the table to give the specials, I’m the one who needs to know where the snapper’s from, how the swordfish was caught, and whether the salmon is farm-raised. My brother generally starts apologizing for me as soon as I open my mouth to see if the Chilean seabass is from the Marion Islands or the McDonald Islands. The answer better be the McDonalds or I lose my shit.
I am aware that there are lots of things on the menu. And that if we freaked out over every food injustice we’d quickly become this classic Portlandia sketch: Continue reading
