Chutzpah

As always, Yiddish has a word for it, and the word is chutzpah.

Chutzpah means extreme self-confidence and audacity, but there's more to it than that.  There's a cheekiness to it, an in-your face, scornful sense of "I dare you even to try to do something about this."  As writer Leo Rosten put it, "Chutzpah is the guy who killed both of his parents and then appealed to the judge for mercy because he's an orphan."

The reason this comes up is, unsurprisingly, Mark Zuckerberg, who raises chutzpah to the level of performance art.  This time it's because of his interview last week with The Verge, which looked at his company Meta's embrace of AI -- and his sneering attitude toward the creative people whose work is being stolen to train it, and without which the entire enterprise wouldn't even get off the ground.  When asked about whether this was fair or ethical, Zuckerberg basically said that the question was irrelevant, because if someone objected, their work was of little worth anyhow.

"I think individual creators or publishers tend to overestimate the value of their specific content in the grand scheme of this," Zuckerberg said.  "My guess is that there are going to be certain partnerships that get made when content is really important and valuable.  But if creators are concerned or object, when push comes to shove, if they demanded that we don’t use their content, then we just wouldn’t use their content.  It’s not like that’s going to change the outcome of this stuff that much...  I think that in any new medium in technology, there are the concepts around fair use and where the boundary is between what you have control over.  When you put something out in the world, to what degree do you still get to control it and own it and license it?"

In other words: if you ask Meta not to use your intellectual property, they'll comply.  But not because it's the right thing to do.  It's because there are tens of thousands of other artists, photographers, and writers out there to fuck over.  Anything accessible on the internet is fair game -- once again, not because it's legal or ethical, but because (1) most of the time the creator doesn't know their material is being used for free, and (2) even if they find out, few creative people have the resources to sue Mark Zuckerberg.

He can just shrug his shoulders and say "fine, then," because there's a ton of other people out there to exploit.

Chutzpah.

Add to this an article that also appeared last week, this time over at CNN, and which adds insult to injury.  This one is about how Zuckerberg is now the fourth-richest person in the world, with a net worth of around two hundred billion dollars.

Let me put that in perspective for you.  Assuming no further increase in his net worth, if Mark Zuckerberg gave away a million dollars every single day, he would finally run out in 548 years.

Because of all this, it's only with deep reluctance that I still participate in Meta-owned social media sites like Facebook and Instagram.  Removing myself from them would cut me off completely, not only from opportunities to market my work, but from friends I seldom get a chance to see in person.  What are my other options?  The Elon Musk-owned far-right-wing cesspool formerly known as Twitter?  TikTok, which stands a fair chance of being shut down in the United States because of allegations of data mining by China?  I'm on Bluesky, but I'm damned if I can figure out how to get any traction there -- most of my posts get ignored completely.

You gotta give Zuckerberg one thing; he knows how to back people into a corner.

I know some of my bitterness over all this is how hard I've worked as a writer, and how little recompense I've ever gotten.  I've written Skeptophilia for twelve years, have over five and a half million lifetime hits on the site, and other than some kind donations (for which I will always be grateful) haven't made a damn thing from it.  I have twenty-odd novels in print, through two different traditional publishers and a handful that are self-published, and have never netted more than five hundred dollars a year from them.  I'll own some of this; I absolutely suck at marketing and self-promotion, largely because it was hammered into me as a child that being proud of, or even talking about, my accomplishments was "conceit," an attitude I've never really recovered from.  And fine, I'm willing even to accept that maybe I have an over-inflated sense of my own skill as a writer and how much I should expect to make.

So fair enough: I should admit the possibility that I haven't succeeded as a writer because I'm not good enough to deserve success.

And I could leave it there, except for the fact that I'm not alone.  As part of the writing community, I can name without even trying hard two dozen exceptionally talented, hard-working writers who struggle to sell enough books to make it worth their time.  They keep going only because they love storytelling and are really good at it.  Just about all of them have day jobs so they can pay the mortgage and buy food.

Maybe I can't be unbiased about my own writing, but I'll be damned if I'll accept that all of us are creating work that isn't "important or valuable."

So the fact is, AI will continue to steal the work of people like me, who can ill afford to lose the income, and assholes like Mark Zuckerberg will continue to accrue wealth at levels somewhere way beyond astronomical, all the while thumbing their noses at us simply because they can.  The only solution is one I've proposed before; stop using AI.  Completely.  Yes, there are undoubtedly ways it could be used ethically, but at the moment, it's not, and it won't be until the techbros see enough people opting out that the message will get hammered home.

But until then, my personal message to Mark Zuckerberg is a resounding "fuck you, you obnoxious, arrogant putz."  The last word of which, by the way, is also Yiddish.  If you don't know it, I'll leave it to you to research its meaning.

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Hit by the firehose

An impending astronomical event has brought to the general attention a phenomenon called a nova.  Misleadingly named after the Latin word for "new," a nova isn't a new star at all -- it's an old star (some of them very old) that suddenly flares up and becomes visible to the naked eye.  The nova in question is T Coronae Borealis, a star that is ordinarily around an apparent magnitude of +10 (making it far too faint to see without a telescope), but every eighty or so years flares up to a magnitude of around +2, becoming easily visible for a short time before fading to its original unimpressive luminosity.

Novas of this type are double star systems.  One member of the pair is a white dwarf -- the white-hot core of a Sun-like star at the end of its life -- and the other one is usually a giant.  What happens is that the super-dense white dwarf gradually siphons off gas from its larger but less dense partner, and as the gas falls onto the white dwarf's surface it heats and compresses, finally becoming hot enough to fuse into helium.  This releases more heat energy still, and causes a runaway chain reaction, resulting in the flare-up.  But the total amount of hydrogen available isn't really that great -- it's only a shell of material on the surface -- so the reaction runs out of steam, and the pair settles down again until enough more gas is siphoned off to trigger another flash.

T Coronae Borealis is due -- overdue, according to some astrophysicists -- for a blaze-up.  So those of you in the Northern Hemisphere, watch for this "new star" -- it's something you'll likely never get another chance to see.

The reason the topic comes up is some new data from the Hubble Space Telescope about novas in another galaxy -- M87, a supergiant elliptical galaxy in the constellation Virgo.  

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Ngc1535, M87 Galaxy from the Mount Lemmon SkyCenter Schulman Telescope courtesy Adam Block, CC BY-SA 4.0]

M87 became famous because it was the galaxy whose massive central black hole became the first ever to be photographed.  Since then, it's been studied extensively, and the most recent information we've learned about it is downright puzzling.

Most black holes are surrounded by an accretion disk -- a violent whirlpool of gas spiraling down toward the event horizon.  As it spins, the ionized atoms release energy in the form of x-rays; some of them are accelerated enough to escape completely.  The result is a narrow jet of plasma and electromagnetic radiation, aligned with the poles of the black hole's magnetic field.

Especially with a supermassive black hole like the ones at the center of galaxies, having the jet aimed at you personally would be a very bad thing.  Anything less than a thousand light years away would be deep fried.  Even farther away, the effects of the plasma stream would be devastating.

And what the recent study found is that stars that are hit by this blast of radiation are much more likely to go nova -- and no one is really sure why.

"There's something that the jet is doing to the star systems that wander into the surrounding neighborhood. Maybe the jet somehow snowplows hydrogen fuel onto the white dwarfs, causing them to erupt more frequently," said astrophysicist Alec Lessing of Stanford University, who co-authored the study, in an interview with Science Daily.  "But it's not clear that it's a physical pushing.  It could be the effect of the pressure of the light emanating from the jet.  When you deliver hydrogen faster, you get eruptions faster.  Something might be doubling the mass transfer rate onto the white dwarfs near the jet."

The bottom line is, the astrophysicists are not sure why it's happening, but some interaction between the jet and the stars caught in it is making candidate stars "pop off like camera flashes."

I guess it's not surprising that when you put two of the most violent astronomical phenomena together -- the massive hydrogen bomb of novas, and the giant firehose of plasma from a supermassive black hole -- they behave in surprising ways.  The astrophysicists will be working their models trying to figure out just what exactly is going on here.

And for those of you who are worriers, M87 and its accompanying jets of radiation are a comfortable 53 million light years away.  Even our own galactic core is 26,000 light years away, and its radiation jets are aimed in a direction almost exactly ninety degrees away from us; the Solar System lies in one of the outer spiral arms, which are arrayed pretty much in a flat plane perpendicular to the rotational and magnetic axis of the galaxy.

So this phenomenon is certainly awe-inspiring, but it's not dangerous.  At least not to us.  As far as any inhabited planets caught in the outflow, well... good luck to them.

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The rules of the game

There's a lot of human behavior that, looked at from a perspective as if you were studying us from the outside -- say, as an alien anthropologist -- is mighty weird.

One example is our fondness for playing games.  We make up lists of often arbitrary rules, then individuals or groups compete against each other while following those rules to achieve some sort of goal -- which almost always is itself symbolic (other than professional sports and gambling, most games don't actually involve winning some sort of tangible reward).  Despite the fact that there's every reason to care very little about the outcome, from a very early age we learn to care deeply.  Many of us have the attitude imbued in me by my high school track coach -- "Second place is first loser" -- and that applies to everything from the Olympics to a game of Monopoly.

This drive is so strong that a lot of us become seriously invested in vicariously playing games by watching other people play them -- i.e., sports.  There have been fan riots when the home team doesn't win; people are willing to go on the rampage, destroying property and risking injuring others or themselves, because they're so angry that "their team" lost.  (A guy who's a friend of a friend once actually went outside and smashed a chair when the Buffalo Bills lost.)

And as I've written about before, the tendency to take sports extremely seriously isn't limited to the industrialized world.  The Mesoamerican ball games of the Classical Mayan civilization were deadly serious, and I mean that quite literally.

The losers were sacrificed to the gods.

Game-playing is one of those ubiquitous behaviors that's so common it's taken for granted, and is odd only when you think about it too hard -- but once you do, it seems so weird you have to wonder why it's nearly universal in all human cultures.  Sociologist Jonathan Haidt speculates that it's what psychologists call sublimation -- that it's a way of processing aggression harmlessly.  "Sports is to war as pornography is to sex," Haidt says.  "We get to exercise some ancient drives."

Whatever the explanation, there's no doubt that game-playing is not only widespread, it's very, very old.  A paper this week in the European Journal of Archaeology describes the discovery of what appears to be one of the oldest known examples of a board game, painted onto rock surfaces in what is now Azerbaijan.  The pattern is very similar to a game known from Ancient Egypt they called "Hounds and Jackals" (from the shapes of the game pieces).  The rules aren't known, but it appears to be a chase game, with potentials for pieces to jump ahead or get set back -- so perhaps a little similar to the familiar games of backgammon, parcheesi, and "Snakes and Ladders" (more commonly known in the United States as "Chutes and Ladders").

Two of the Azerbaijani game boards [Image credit: W. Crist and R. Abdullayev]

The archaeologists who authored the paper, Walter Crist of Leiden University and Rahman Abdullayev of the Minnesota Historical Society,  found six game boards (if that's what they turn out to be) at sites in Azerbaijan --  three at Ağdaşdüzü, and one each at Çapmalı, Yenı Türkan, and Dübəndi.  It's difficult to date stone artifacts accurately, but carbon dating of organic remains in the area suggests that they're about four thousand years old.  The similarity between all six strongly suggests that playing this particular game was widespread at the time -- and that the pattern would have been as as familiar and instantly recognizable to them as a Scrabble board is to us.

"Whatever the origin of the game of [Hounds and Jackals], it was quickly adopted and played by a wide variety of people, from the nobility of Middle Kingdom Egypt to the cattle herders of the Caucasus, and from the Old Assyrian traders in Anatolia to the workers who built Middle Kingdom pyramids," the researchers write.  "The fast spread of this game attests to the ability of games to act as social lubricants, facilitating interactions across social boundaries."

So board games have a very long history.  Gaming in general is certainly even older than that; artifacts that appear to be dice made of bone were found at Skara Brae in Scotland, and dated to around 3000 B.C.E.  So whatever drive it is that induces us to invent new ways to compete against each other, it goes back into our very distant past.

I'm not immune.  Whenever I'm in a competition, I get ridiculously invested in it.  I'm a runner, and have participated in various 5K and 10K races, and even though I know going in I'm not nearly good enough to come in first (or even first in my age category), I still get wicked frustrated when I have to run my finger halfway down the page of standings to find out where I finished.  And although I'm not a sports fan, all you have to do is get me involved in a game of Scattergories to find out how competitive I am.

Yes, I know the outcome doesn't matter.  But hey, if the people four millennia ago were that invested in playing Hounds and Jackals, at least I come by the tendency honorably.

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The mystery of the third man

In the episode of Star Trek: Enterprise called "Doctor's Orders," the ship is passing through a region of space suffused with a field that interferes with (and could be dangerous to) most humanoid brain function.  The ship's doctor, Phlox, is from a species thought to be immune to its effects, so the captain agrees to have the entire crew (other than Phlox) put into induced comas and place the ship on what amounts to auto-pilot, leaving Phlox to re-awaken the crew once they've traversed the hazardous region.

It soon becomes obvious, though, that Phlox isn't entirely immune himself.  He begins to hear knocking noises, as if someone or something is trapped in the walls of the ship.  He sees shadows and illusory movement -- at one point, nearly killing Captain Archer's dog, Porthos, who had escaped from the captain's quarters, thinking it's an intruder who is stalking him.  After a period of becoming increasingly nervous and paranoid, he encounters the Vulcan crew member T'Pol, who was not sedated, and she not only helps him run the ship but keeps him company, significantly reducing his emotional stress.

Things take a frightening turn when both of them begin to hallucinate -- and they find that the dangerous region has expanded, turning what would have been a two-week crossing into ten weeks.  Phlox and T'Pol confer, and after weighing the options, conclude that the only possibility is to go into warp, initially thought to be too risky because of the possible interactions between the field and the ship's warp drive.  In the end, they decide that there's no way either of them will survive another eight weeks of what amounts to progressive psychosis.  They engage the engines, and successfully cross the region and back into normal space.

But when Phlox goes around to re-awaken the captain and crew, he finds T'Pol asleep in her quarters.  She has, in fact, been in an induced coma the entire time -- his interactions with her, and the help and companionship he received, were also hallucinations.

What Phlox experienced is a strange, but well-known, phenomenon called the third man illusion.  This occurs when someone in a life-threatening situation has the overwhelming sensation of being accompanied by a supportive or comforting presence, often of a particular person.  The most famous example is Ernest Shackleton, who during his harrowing crossing of South Georgia Island with two others, was frequently convinced that there was a fourth there with them, someone who was a protector and would see them to safety (which, eventually, they accomplished).  Poet T. S. Eliot referenced Shackleton's experience in his poem "The Waste Land" -- in fact, it's Eliot's lines that gave the third man illusion its name:

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
— But who is that on the other side of you?

Unlike yesterday's post, where hallucinations during cataplexy were often disturbing or downright horrifying, the third man illusion is comforting, sometimes even giving the person in extremis information or encouragement that leads to their ultimate survival.

It probably should go without saying that I don't think the third man illusion is because there is an actual disembodied presence there with you, any more than the poor woman in my previous post who saw a "greenish-pale, abnormally tall man" shouting random numbers at her was seeing something real.  It's much more likely that like Phlox in "Doctor's Orders," our brains have created the sensation of something comforting or helpful as a coping mechanism to alleviate extreme stress.  But you have to wonder if this is where the whole Guardian Angel idea comes from -- that there is a being out there who is looking out for us, and helps us come safely through dangers.

But there's no doubt that it can seem one hundred percent real, and many of the people who have experienced it come away true believers.  Mountain climber Joe Simpson, in his 1988 book Touching the Void, describes falling into a crevasse in the Peruvian Andes and suffering a horrific leg injury, and that a "voice" encouraged him to keep trying and guided him to safety -- a voice that came from outside him, and without which, he says, he would have certainly died.

So who knows?  I've never experienced anything of the kind myself, so perhaps it's easy for me to sit here in my comfy chair and disbelieve.  It's hard, sometimes, to balance hard-nosed rational skepticism with "there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."  We certainly don't have explanations for everything.  As journalist Kathryn Schulz put it, "This is life.  For good and for ill, we generate these incredible stories about the world around us, and then the world turns around and astonishes us."

And... sometimes... may actually save our lives.

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Reality, nightmares, and the paranormal

I was giving some thought this morning to why I've turned into such a diehard doubter of paranormal occurrences.  And I think one of the main reasons is because I know enough neuroscience to have very little faith in my own brain and sensory organs.

I'm not an expert on the topic, mind you.  I'm a raving generalist, what some people describe as "interested in everything" and more critical sorts label as a shallow dilettante.  But I know enough about the nervous system to have taught a semester-long elective in introductory neuroscience for years, and that plus my native curiosity has always kept me reading about new developments.

This is what prompted a friend of mine to hand me the late Oliver Sacks's book Hallucinations.  I love Sacks's writing -- The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Musicophilia are tours de force -- but this one I hadn't heard of.

And let me tell you, if you are the type who is prone to say, "I know it happened, I saw it with my own eyes!", you might want to give this book a read.

The whole book is a devastating blow to our confidence that what we see, hear, and remember is reality.  But the especially damning part began with his description of hypnopompic hallucinations -- visions that occur immediately upon waking.  Unlike the more common hypnagogic experiences, which are dreamlike states in light sleep, hypnopompic experiences have the additional characteristic that when you are in one, you are (1) convinced that you are completely awake, and (2) certain that what you're seeing is real.

Sacks describes one of his own patients who suffered from frequent hypnopompic hallucinations. Amongst the things the man saw were:

• a huge figure of an angel
• a rotting corpse lying next to him in bed
• a dead child on the floor, covered in blood
• hideous faces laughing at him
• giant spiders
• a huge hand suspended over his face
• an image of himself as an older man, standing by the foot of the bed
• an ugly-looking primitive man lying on the floor, with tufted orange hair

Fortunately for him, Sacks's patient was a rational man and knew that what he was experiencing was hallucination, i.e., not real.  But you can see how if you were even slightly inclined to believe in the paranormal, this would put you over the edge (possibly in more than one way).

But it gets worse.  There's cataplexy, which is a sudden and total loss of muscular strength, resulting in the sufferer falling to the ground while remaining completely conscious.  Victims of cataplexy often also experience sleep paralysis, which is another phenomenon that occurs upon waking, and in which the system that is supposed to re-sync the voluntary muscles with the conscious mental faculties fails to occur, resulting in a terrifying inability to move.  As if this weren't bad enough, cataplexy and sleep paralysis are often accompanied by hallucinations -- one woman Sacks worked with experienced an episode of sleep paralysis in which she saw "an abnormally tall man in a black suit...  He was greenish-pale, sick-looking, with a shock-ridden look in the eyes.  I tried to scream, but was unable to move my lips or make any sounds at all.  He kept staring at me with his eyes almost popping out when all of a sudden he started shouting out random numbers, like FIVE-ELEVEN-EIGHT-ONE-THREE-TWO-FOUR-NINE-TWENTY, then laughed hysterically."

After this the paralysis resolved, and the image of the man "became more and more blurry until he was gone."

Johann Heinrich Füssli, The Nightmare (1790) [Image is in the Public Domain]

Then there are grief-induced hallucinations, an apparently well-documented phenomenon which I had never heard of before.  A doctor in Wales, W. D. Rees, interviewed three hundred people who had recently lost loved ones, and found that nearly half of them had at least fleeting hallucinations of seeing the deceased.  Some of these hallucinations persisted for months or years.

Given all this, is it any wonder that every culture on Earth has legends of ghosts, demons, and spirits?

Of course, the True Believers in the studio audience (hey, there have to be some, right?) are probably saying, "Sacks only calls them hallucinations because that's what he already believed to be true -- he's as guilty of confirmation bias as the people who believe in ghosts."  But the problem with this is, Sacks also tells us that there are certain medications which make such hallucinations dramatically worse, and others that make them diminish or go away entirely.  Hard to explain why, if the ghosts, spirits, et al. have an external reality, taking a drug can make them go away.

But the psychics probably will just respond by saying that the medication is making people "less attuned to the frequencies of the spirit world," or some such.  You can't win.

Nota bene: I'm not saying ghosts, or spirits, or the afterlife, don't exist or, even more, can't exist.  Just that there's an alternate plausible explanation for these experiences that relies on nothing but known science.  As skeptic Robert Carroll put it, "Before you accept a paranormal or supernatural account of the world, you had better make sure that you've ruled out all the normal and natural ones first."

In any case, I highly recommend Sacks's book.  (The link to the Amazon page is posted above, if you'd like to buy a copy.)  It will, however, have the effect of making you doubt everything you're looking at.  Not that that's necessarily a bad thing; a little less certainty, and a little more acknowledgement of doubt, would certainly make my job a hell of a lot easier.

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Foxes in charge

The hunger for power is never satiated.  This unfortunate dark side of the human psyche has been illustrated in countless myths and folk legends; it was described succinctly in the episode of Doctor Who called "The Face of Evil," wherein the Fourth Doctor says, "You know, the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common.  They don't alter their views to fit the facts, they alter the facts to fit their views.  Which can be uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that needs altering."

It's the danger with voting in leaders who are motivated solely by power.  They may start out seeming to have your best interests in mind, but there's no guarantee that things will stay that way.  The fact is, they owe no allegiance to you at all.  As history has shown over and over again, their only allegiance is to their sole guiding star, which is the acquisition of more power.

The people in Afghanistan are finding that out about the Taliban.  And I'm not talking about women and non-Muslims and dissidents, who were already being persecuted; I'm talking about observant, law-abiding Muslim men, who are still running afoul of the Taliban leaders' desperate desire to control every last detail of everyone's lives:

[N]ewly empowered religious morality officers, known for their white robes, have been knocking over the past four weeks on the doors of men in some parts of Kabul who haven’t recently attended mosque, according to residents.  Government employees said they fear they’ll be let go for having failed to grow their beards, and some barbers now refuse to trim them.  Increasingly, male taxi drivers are being stopped for violating gender segregation rules, by having unaccompanied female riders in their cars, or for playing music.  The new laws give the morality police authority to detain suspects for up to three days.  In severe cases, such as repeated failure to pray in the mosque, suspects can be handed over to courts for trial and sentencing based on their interpretation of Islamic sharia law.  Violations of the new rules are expected to be punished by fines or prison terms.  But people found guilty of some infractions, for example adultery, could be sentenced to flogging or death by stoning.  Amir, a resident who lives in eastern Afghanistan, said he supported the Taliban up until the latest restrictions.  But he now feels bullied into submission by their morality police.  "We all are practicing Muslims and know what is mandatory or not.  But it’s unacceptable to use force on us," he said.  He added, "Even people who have supported the Taliban are now trying to leave the country."

Which immediately made me think of this:

The parallels with Donald Trump and the MAGA movement are obvious.  How anyone, at this point, can think that Donald Trump is interested in anything besides the continuing glorification of Donald Trump is beyond me.  He has made it clear that his agenda is to destroy anyone who won't buy into the DJT-worship cult, by whatever means necessary.

If you think this is all bluster, all you have to do is read the manifesto of Project 2025, which explicitly mandates a reformulation of America into a straight, white, Christian, conservative, male-dominated oligarchy.  (Or simply listen to one of J. D. Vance's speeches -- there's no soft-pedaling there.  He brings "saying the quiet part out loud" to new heights.)  They've even recommended "head-of-household voting" -- giving a single vote per household, where the husband casts the vote, effectively disenfranchising women completely.  (Although they graciously say they'll allow single women to vote.)  And yet there are still women who support this candidate and this party, which baffles the absolute hell out of me.

The problem is, once you give people like this power, they seldom stop where you think they will.  Okay, so maybe you're a devout Christian, and you think having a theocratic government based on Christian ideals is a nifty idea.  What happens when it turns out that the people you elected think you're not the right kind of Christian?  Or that you're not Christian enough?  The Puritans found that out the hard way.  They started out as a movement against corruption and laxity in the church at the time (which were not undeserved criticisms), but found themselves on the receiving end of the attentions of people who made it their life's work to punish everything and everyone that didn't fit their harsh, narrow views of morality and religion.  (Witness the law in colonial America requiring people to attend church twice a day.  The penalty for breaking that one was a public whipping.  Around the same time, one Captain Kemble was sentenced to the stocks for kissing his wife in public -- after being away at sea for three years.)

If you think the architects of Project 2025, and the MAGA movement in general, have the least concern for your own personal well-being, you're fooling yourself.  Maybe at the moment your beliefs and behaviors are in line with their vision for the country, but don't count on that lasting.  Give these people power, and that vision will constrict further and further.  Anyone left outside the circle will find themselves unexpectedly becoming targets -- as Amir and his friends in Afghanistan have discovered.

But by that time, there's nothing that can be done about it.  Through their own free choice, people put foxes in charge of the henhouse, then they wonder at the slaughter that follows.

This is the heart of the famous quote by Pastor Martin Niemöller.  Niemöller was a Lutheran minister, and initially supported Adolf Hitler and the rise of Nazism.  He only began to wise up when he saw that the Nazis, once in power, weren't content with what they had, but moved to take over every institution and every facet of public life, including the churches.  At that point, he began to object, but it was far too late.  During the war years he was imprisoned in various concentration camps (he was one of the lucky survivors), and afterward, spent the rest of his life working to atone for the mistakes he'd made.  After the war, he wrote the lines that have since become deservedly famous:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and by then, there was no one left to speak for me.

In our case, it's not too late.  Make no mistake; the people behind Project 2025 are deadly serious, and given the opportunity, they will no more put the brakes on their power grab than the Taliban have.  And once in charge, they will be equally hard to dislodge.  This goes way beyond liberal versus conservative, or even religious versus non-religious.

Just as the people in Germany found out eighty years ago, and the people in Afghanistan are finding out today, this is about the destruction of democracy and its replacement by an authoritarian dictatorship.

Make the right choice when you vote in November.  It's the only chance we have.

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A remedy against pseudoscience

I've got a medication for you to take.  Here are the ingredients:

• nux vomica -- the seed of the plant Strychnos nux-vomica, the natural source of strychnine.
• belladonna -- Atropa belladonna, also called deadly nightshade.
• hydrastis -- another toxic plant, Hydrastis canadensis, better known as goldenseal.
• kali bichromicum -- chemists call it potassium dichromate, and it's carcinogenic and causes contact dermatitis.
• ephedra vulgaris -- an extract of the plant of the same name, which contains the dangerous stimulant ephedrine.
• histaminum hydrochloricum -- the organic compound produced by the human body in response to an allergic reaction, which is responsible for much of the misery of allergies and colds.  (Thus -- antihistamines.)

If by this point you're getting worried that anyone would suggest ingesting any of these, much less a combination of all six, fear not: the manufacturer takes them, dissolves them in water, then dilutes the combined solution by a factor of ten, six times in a row.  By this time, what's left has one millionth the concentration of the original.  And in fact, the advertisement for this "remedy" reassuringly tells prospective customers that it "contains no ephedrine, pseudoephedrine, or alkaloids."

So, for twenty-five bucks, you too can purchase a spray bottle filled with a liquid containing no active ingredients whatsoever.

Oh, and I didn't tell you what it's supposed to cure; snoring.  It's called "SnoreStop," and you're supposed to squirt it up your nose.

People in the know (and certainly regular readers of Skeptophilia) will recognize this as a prime example of the pseudoscientific horseshit known as homeopathy, which -- for some reason -- is still a lucrative business.  You can find homeopathic "remedies" on pharmacy shelves pretty much everywhere; they come in liquid and tablet form, and are recognizable by the presence of a number like "10x" on the label (that's the dilution factor; 10x would be diluted to one part in ten billion).

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Dr. Moumita Sahana, Homeopathy globules, CC BY-SA 4.0]

But what sets apart SnoreStop from even the common run of homeopathic "remedies" -- which aren't going to cure anything, but at least won't make you sicker -- is that SnoreStop nasal spray has been found to contain potentially dangerous numbers of pathogens, including yeasts, molds, and bacteria like Providencia rettgeri, which can cause pneumonia and bacterial meningitis.

The company that produces SnoreStop, Green Pharmaceuticals, was notified of this back in 2022, but did nothing to fix the problem; in fact, why this comes up now is it just came to light that instead of destroying the contaminated lots, they simply relabeled, repackaged, and sold them.  They've also been charged by the FDA for selling an unlicensed and unregulated drug designed to treat a specific disorder, without going through the approval process.  (I guess they forgot to put the "This product is not intended to treat or cure any disorder, disease, or ailment" disclaimer on the package, which seems to be some kind of Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card for these charlatans.)

The problem is, even if SnoreStop is taken off the market -- even if Green Pharmaceuticals goes out of business -- it's only the tip of the iceberg.  Homeopathy scams people for millions of dollars yearly.  And despite my previous statement that at least most of these "remedies" don't make you sicker, there is real harm done, when people refuse conventional (i.e. effective) medical treatment for illnesses in favor of homeopathy and magical thinking.  (There's good evidence that computer entrepreneur Steve Jobs significantly hastened his death from cancer by foregoing medical treatment for "alternative medicine.")

I know, caveat emptor and all that sort of thing.  People are gonna make ill-informed decisions, and you can't legislate away stupidity.  But what the producers of homeopathic remedies are doing -- as well as homeopathic "doctors" -- is deliberately misleading sick people into risking their health by taking a thoroughly discredited pseudoscientific concoction that relies on nonsense like water molecules having a "memory."

The only remedy against pseudoscience is science.  Learn some -- preferably before you need to make decisions regarding your health.

Just remember what the inimitable Tim Minchin said, in his wonderful diatribe against alternative medicine called Storm: "There's a name for alternative medicine that works.  It's called... medicine."

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Looking down the gun barrel

As regular readers of Skeptophilia know all too well, I have a fascination with things that are big and powerful and can kill you.

I've read book after book on earthquakes, tornadoes, and hurricanes.  I always told my students that if I hadn't become a mild-mannered science teacher, I'd have been a storm chaser, thus combining two of my favorite things -- meteorology, and things that are big and powerful and can kill you.

I suspect I am not alone in this.  Look at the common little-kid fascination with dinosaurs, and which ones tend to be the favorites -- not the peaceful herbivorous dinosaurs, but creatures like the T. rex and the Velociraptor and the Deinonychus, which would happily tear you limb from limb.  Look at disaster movies, stretching all the way back to such flicks as The Poseidon Adventure.  Look at Twister(s) and The Day After Tomorrow and Armageddon and The Perfect Storm.  Look, if you dare, at Sharknado.  What are they now up to, Sharknado 7 or something?

If not, they should be.

I think this is why there was an article in The Daily Mail called, "Death Rays From Space: Bursts of Energy From Black Holes Could Wipe Out Life on Earth WITHOUT Warning."  Which brings up a number of questions, the most important of which is, what kind of warning would you expect a black hole to give?  Do you think that a few hours before giving off a Burst of Energy, the black hole is going to post something on Twitter that says, "Beware!  I am about to wipe out all life on Earth!  #DeathRaysFTW  #SorryNotSorry"?

Be that as it may, it turns out that The Daily Mail actually got something right, an eventuality that ranks right up there with the fabled monkeys typing out the script to Hamlet.  There are stars which are capable of giving forth incredible amounts of energy in a very short amount of time.  They're called gamma-ray bursters, and are every bit as scary as they sound.  These things give off as much energy in a few seconds as the Sun will release in its entire ten billion year lifespan.  That, my friends, is what the astrophysicists refer to as "a shitload of energy."

And there's one only 7,500 light years away.  I say "only" not because that's an insignificant amount of distance, but because that's close enough that if the thing was aimed toward Earth and went off, we'd be fucked sideways.  Called Wolf-Rayet 104 (or WR-104 for short), it's a good candidate for a core-collapse supernova followed by a long-duration gamma-ray burst.

Of course, there's no particular reason to get all bent out of shape about it.  WR-104 is thought to stand a good chance of doing its thing not day after tomorrow, but some time in the next hundred thousand years.  And even then, it's pretty certain that the gamma-ray burst would be emitted in narrow jets from the magnetic poles of the star -- thus, it would only be a problem if we were literally looking right down the gun barrel, which most astronomers think we aren't.

WR-104 [Image is in the Public Domain courtesy of the Keck Telescope and NASA]

That, of course, doesn't stop The Daily Mail from waxing rhapsodic about how we're all gonna die, or at least get converted into the Incredible Hulk or something.  It's happened before, they say -- some scientists apparently think a gamma-ray burst is what caused the Ordovician extinction, 440 million years ago, that wiped out 85% of all marine life (although as we saw only a few days ago, there's another equally plausible claim that it was caused by a near pass by an asteroid).  It's only later in the article that they admit that the connection between the Ordovician extinction and a gamma ray burster is "impossible to prove," and even more reluctantly mention that "in a galaxy like ours, a gamma ray burst will happen once every million years, and it would need to be pointing in the right general direction to hit us...  So, are they going to kill us?  Probably not."

Is it just me, or do they sound... disappointed by this?  I would think that the idea that the Earth is unlikely to get fried by high-intensity gamma rays would be good news.  But I guess this goes back to what I started with; there's something about dangerous stuff that is inherently attractive.  The idea that the universe is big and scary makes us appreciate even more living in our safe houses, where we are very unlikely to be eaten by velociraptors.

Myself, I think it's the raw power that these kinds of things wield that is the source of the fascination.  I remember, as a kid growing up in southern Louisiana, there was something pretty exciting about being in the bullseye of a hurricane.  I distinctly recall standing in my parents' garage during the approach of Hurricane Carmen in 1974.   Just before closing the garage door and retreating inside, my dad and I watched in awe as tree branches and garbage cans flew through the air, rain fell sideways, and lightning struck every ten seconds.  It was scary but thrilling.  (The aftermath -- being without electricity for over a week, losing everything in the fridge and freezer, and cleaning up all of the damage -- was distinctly non-thrilling, but the storm itself was pretty exciting, at least to a kid.)

So there's some strange attraction to the dangerous things in the universe.  Even if for most of them, we'd like to observe from a safe distance.  Like gamma-ray bursters.

Not to mention sharknadoes.

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Going to the dogs

Well, the Rapture happened again, and just like every other damn time, I got left behind.

At this point, I've kind of given up.  There's been, what?  Like two dozen Raptures in the past five years?  I beginning to think I'm not invited to the party.

Of course, it shouldn't be a shock, given my history.  I doubt I'll be headed to heaven unless I can somehow get there under cover of darkness via helicopter.  And even then, there's a 50/50 chance that God will smite the crap out of the chopper before we can land at the Holy Heliport.

So since I'm still stuck here on Earth and likely to be for a while, I suppose I should proceed on to looking at today's topic, which is: Dogman.

In one of those funny coincidences that would make some people think there's a Glitch in the Matrix, a couple of days ago a friend of mine (who is also a cryptid enthusiast) asked me if I'd ever heard of Dogman, and I said I had -- a long time ago -- but didn't know much of anything about him, and then the following day a post showed up on the delightfully weird JAMZA Online Forum talking about recent Dogman sightings in California.  The writer, Paul Dale Roberts, says he's an "Esoteric Detective" with Halo Paranormal Investigations, which is certainly an impressive job title.

Roberts explains that Dogman isn't a werewolf, because of the obvious dog vs. wolf distinction, but also because werewolves transform back into ordinary humans when the Moon isn't full, but Dogman is kinda stuck that way.  He talks as if Dogman is pretty terrifying, but the problem for me is, my experience of dogs is this:

This is Jethro, and the only things that would be justifiably afraid of Jethro are squeaky toys.  In his presence, squeaky toys labeled "Completely Indestructible!" last about three minutes, because that fuzzy little muzzle conceals the Jaws of Death.  But other than that, he's about as dangerous as a plush toy.  A cryptid with a human body and Jethro's head would elicit more laughter than fear.

Plus, Roberts also says that "all you have to do is clap, and Dogman runs away," which doesn't sound very threatening to me.

Still, a seven-foot-tall human/dog hybrid could be kind of alarming to run across unexpectedly.  Some of them, he says, have "glowing red eyes."  This phenomenon of glowing eyes is a pretty common trait in cryptids, which is something I've never understood.  I mean, reflective eyes, sure; a lot of animals have a tapetum, which is a reflective membrane at the back of the eyeball that is why deer's eyes shine in headlights.  But actually glowing?  Eyes receive light, they don't emit it.  What, are there little guys with flashlights in there, shining the beams out through the pupils whenever anyone comes close?

Be that as it may, Roberts proceeds to relate a number of incidents where people have seen Dogman.  Here's his own encounter:

I once saw a strange hunched-back dark green bi-pedal figure in Elk Grove [California, where several other sightings have taken place].  From the distance from where I was observing this strange sight, I was unable to make out what I was seeing.  I had to drive up closer, so I can identify this mysterious figure.  I discovered I was looking at a homeless person that was covered in a blanket.

Who, he admits rather reluctantly, had an ordinary human head. 

But other people have insisted they saw a giant guy with a dog's shaggy head, and from the sound of it they weren't anywhere near a convention of Furries at the time.  Apparently Dogman isn't a recent invention, either; the legend seems to have started in Wexford County, Michigan, where a report in 1887 describes a sighting by two lumberjacks.  This Dogman apparently had blue eyes, so that's kind of cool.

Because forewarned is forearmed, it's important to have a plan for if you ever run into Dogman.  (I mean, you can try clapping, but my guess is that won't work.)  So here's what you should do:

• Stare straight into his eyes, to establish dominance.
• Say, "Whoozagoodboy?"
• When Dogman, not knowing who the Good Boy is, looks confused, say, "YOU are!"
• Dogman will be so elated by this unexpected revelation that he will wag his tail excitedly.
• Reward him for being a Good Boy with ear skritches, and if you have any, a puppy biscuit.
• Dogman will then be your friend for life.

At least this technique works with Jethro.

Anyhow, that's our excursion into the World of the Weird for today.  On the other hand, the word "weird" describes the world as a whole pretty well, given the news lately, and Dogman is no more peculiar than, for example, Donald Trump claiming that the reason California has droughts is that people in Canada were incosiderate enough to turn off a giant faucet.  ("It's so big it takes a whole day to turn once!" he said.  And no, I didn't make any of that up.)  May as well have a look around the place, since I (and, I presume, you) missed the Rapture and are stuck here for the time being. 

At least until the next helicopter leaves for heaven.

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