Tax return of the Beast

Well, it's happened again.  Another person has refused to handle a piece of official paper because it was stamped with the number 666.

In November 2011 we had the story about Georgia factory worker Billy E. Hyatt, who refused to wear a badge that said "666 Days Without An Accident."  He was fired, but basically claimed that his soul was more important than his job -- apparently he really, truly thought that if he pinned the badge on, then Satan would have burst upward though the floor, spurting flame and laughing maniacally, and dragged him off to hell.  (You have to wonder how he explained that this didn't happen to all of the hundreds of other workers who were cheerfully wearing the Mark of the Beast for the day.)

Hyatt, incidentally, was eventually rehired with back pay, after a court found that the company he worked for had infringed upon his religious freedom.

Now, though, we have federal law involved, and you have to wonder how this will play out.

Just last week, Clarksville (Tennessee) maintenance worker Walter Slonopas quit his job and is saying he will refuse to file his taxes after receiving a W-2 form stamped with the number 666.  [Source]  Slonopas, a born-again Christian (as if I even needed to mention that), said that the choice was go to work, or go to hell.

"If you accept that number, you sell your soul to the devil," he said in an interview with The Tennessean.

Interestingly, this isn't Slonopas' first encounter with the Number Of Evil.  When he was hired in April 2011, and was given a number to use to clock in, he was supposed to be given the number 668, but the human resources department at his company (Contech Casting, Inc.) miswrote it as 666.  Slonopas complained, and was reissued a new number.

Man, Satan must really want this guy.

Unlike in the Hyatt case, Slonopas says that he doesn't want his job back, because if he took it it would appear that he valued his job more than his faith.  "God is more important than money," he said, and added that he was sure that god would take care of him and his wife until he could find a new job.

As usual, I'm of two minds as to how to respond to all of this.  On the one hand, I'm all for the basic rule of "don't be an asshole."  Don't go out of your way to upset people, just on principle; respect others' rights to think differently than you do.

But there comes a time, I think, that people have to stop caving in to the crazy demands of zealots that everyone has to handle their Bronze Age mythology with kid gloves, that we all have to act as if it were true.  When will we start simply demanding that people act rationally?  "I'm sorry, Mr. Slonopas, if you don't file your taxes, you will be fined, just like any other American -- just because your W-2 was stamped with a number that gives you the heebie-jeebies doesn't mean that superstition trumps US tax law."

But my fear is that we, as a society, are still too afraid of religion to let that happen.  Courts, although designed to be as fair as possible, are run by humans and are subject to cultural and societal pressures.  If I were a betting man, I'd bet that any challenge to Mr. Slonopas' stance in the legal system will be found in his favor, on the basis of "religious freedom."

Which, despite my general "don't be an asshole" philosophy, leaves me feeling like this:

The Loch Ness crocodile

At the risk of repeating myself, popular media makes me crazy sometimes.

Yes, I know that its primary function is to sell subscriptions, and thereby to make money for the stockholders.  Yes, I know that it is under no obligation to avoid sensationalism.  Yes, I know that readers should be smart enough to tease apart fact from fiction for themselves.

Still.

My most recent bout of media-fueled facepalming happened because of an article in Scotsman, entitled "Loch Ness Monster: New Species Linked to Sightings."  Being an aficionado of all things cryptozoological, I checked it out eagerly, and at the beginning I found the obligatory famous Nessie photograph:

This was followed up by a description of a newly-named fossil animal, Tyrannoneustes lythrodectikos, whose remains were found a hundred years ago in a clay pit near Peterborough.  Instead of telling us much about the fossils, the article's author, Will Cooper, immediately leaps off a cliff into WooWooLand:

Edinburgh University’s recent discovery of a new blood-biting super predator species could shine new light on the Loch Ness monster say Loch Ness experts...  Adrian Shine from the Loch Ness Centre and Exhibition has spent around forty years studying the Loch, and believes that the newly discovered prehistoric predator could fit in with sightings of the famed Loch Ness monster.

We then see a reconstruction of the "blood-biting super predator," which I include below:

Well, this put me on notice right away; is it just me, or does this look nothing like the Loch Ness Monster?

Even Cooper seems to realize that he's gone a little off the beam, but he waits until the very end of the article to admit it:

However, suggestions of a link between this new blood-biting predator to Loch Ness have been discounted by a leading authority on dinosaurs... Angela Milner is a retired research associate with the Natural History Museum, she said: "Crocodiles do not like our climate. We’re talking about things that have been perhaps seen in Loch Ness — no way could a crocodile survive."

Oh, really?  That's the strongest objection you could think of?  How about the fact that the Nessie photo that opened the article was proven to be a fake in 1993?  How about the fact that Tyrannoneustes lived 163 million years ago, and has about as much relevance to whatever might be living in Loch Ness today as brachiosaurus has to the deer eating your vegetable garden?  How about some mention of the fact that Scotland was completely covered by a big freakin' glacier 1.5 million years ago, so any surviving pleisiosaurs would have been converted to pleisiosaur popsicles?

So, basically, we have what could have been an interesting news story -- scientists figuring out how a prehistoric animal fits with our understanding of vertebrate evolution -- and it turns into a ridiculous hash about the Loch Ness Monster.  (For a much better look at the story, and an example of popular media actually doing something right, go here.)

Being a science teacher, the whole thing makes me especially frustrated, because (unfortunately) kids are the most susceptible to the "I read it in the newspaper, it must be true" mentality.  I try to combat this in my Critical Thinking class -- almost the very first thing we talk about is that there is no such thing as unbiased media, and so any time you read, listen, or watch, you should keep your brain engaged.  But many, many children in this world reach adulthood without ever being taught to question what they're exposed to.

So I know that you can't take what you read in an online news source as gospel.  I also know that I shouldn't take this stuff so seriously.  I just wish that the people who write this tripe would try a little harder to represent science correctly.

But if any of my students come in and tell me today, "Hey, did you hear that they found fossils in Scotland that prove that the Loch Ness Monster is real?" I'm gonna want to find Will Cooper and shake him till his teeth rattle.

A wing and a prayer

Like many biologically-minded types, I love dinosaurs and other strange, extinct animals.  My particular favorite group are the pterosaurs, which in my opinion are a level of awesome that has no parallel in any modern animal group.  (Well, seals and the big cats are close.  But my point stands.)  They varied in size from the tiny, furry Sordes pilosus, which was only 60 cm from wingtip to wingtip, to the impossibly huge Quetzalcoatlus, with a wingspan of over ten meters -- as big as a light plane.

Imagine what it'd be like if one of those glided past as you were mowing the lawn.

Unfortunately, none of us will ever have that experience, because the last of the pterosaurs died in the Cretaceous Extinction, 65 million years ago.  Apparently the group had been diminishing ever since Jurassic times, when they reached the peak of their diversity, but the asteroid collision that occurred at the "K-T Boundary" effectivevly knocked out the remaining species.

Well, that's what the paleontologists think, anyway.  If you ask young-Earth creationists, you get a different answer.

Take, for example, ObjectiveMinistries.org.  On an unintentionally hilarious page called "Pterosaurs: An Introduction," we find out that pterosaurs actually survived until the late Middle Ages, and were one of the species that gave rise to the idea of dragons:

Pterosaurs (ter’ə·sôrs) are flying reptiles with leathery or membranous wings attached to the sides of their bodies and supported by an elongated fourth digit on their forelimbs. They were created by the Lord on the fifth day of His Creation Week (Genesis 1:20-22) and were a constant presence in the skies over Eden, where they peacefully ate fruit and plants. After the Fall, many of their descendants degenerated to a carnivorous diet and became feared by man, although non-wicked specimens preserved on the Ark helped to temper this degenerative tendency after the Flood. Various Pterosaur kinds were common throughout Eurasia and Northern Africa up until the early Middle Ages and interacted extensively with Man. Today, although Evolutionists falsely insist that they are extinct, pterosaurs can still be found, hidden away in the unexplored wilds of our world.

We then are treated to a drawing that I guffawed over for about ten minutes:

 This picture has so many wonderful features that it's hard to pick out my favorite, but I think that the winner would have to be the way that the pterosaur's snout and wing fortuitously cover up Adam and Eve's naughty bits.  Also, is it my imagination, or does Adam look a little too much like Justin Bieber?

Anyhow, amongst the other fun things I learned on this website was that the creationists have dreamed up a new approach to making their mythology "scientific," which is called "baraminology."  Never heard of it?  Neither had I, until today.  It turns out that it hearkens back to the biblical idea of a biological "type" -- a "baramin," in their terminology -- and is a sneaky way of getting around the fact that there are now dozens of known, explained examples of one species becoming another (by the canonical definition of species as "a population of mutually interfertile organisms").  They explain away these scientifically-verified instances of evolution, several of which I looked at in greater detail in last year's post "Grass, gulls, mosquitoes, and mice," as somehow not counting because you don't have one "baramin" evolving into another.  "Unlike the incorrect Evolutionist model that supposes that life forms a continuous lineage from Mushroom to Monkey to Man," the ObjectiveMinistries website explains, "the Creation model -- supported by science and the Bible -- shows that the pattern of life is marked first and foremost by discontinuity.  When we step back and look at all the life on the planet, it is clear that we can group the various species into distinct baramins, and that the spaces between these baramins are discontinuities that no amount of Evolutionist fantasizing can bring together.  Humans (one baramin) do not form a continuity with apes (another baramin)."

So, it's the whole "microevolution but not macroevolution" foolishness again, not to mention the usual mischaracterization of what the evolutionary model actually says ("mushroom to monkey to man," my ass), with the added spice of claiming that the creationist model is "supported by science."

This last bit is especially humorous given a paper that just came out last week in Paleontologia Electronica, written by Phil Senter and Pondanesa D. Wilkins.  Senter and Wilkins, unlike the nimrods who write for ObjectiveMinistries.org, are actual scientists, and their paper -- "Late-surviving Pterosaur?" -- is a gem.

Apparently one of the creationists' pieces of "evidence" that pterosaurs didn't all die in the biblical Great Flood is a skeleton of a "dragon" that was studied, and drawn in detail, by 17th century Dutch engineer Cornelius Meyer.  Meyer's drawings of the skeleton were followed up by a reconstruction of what he thought the living beast had looked like:

So, of course, this has added fuel to the fire regarding pterosaurs surviving into modern times -- although why the survival of a prehistoric animal would support creationism is a bit of a mystery.  But since their arguments all basically boil down to stating a fact and claiming that god did it ("Pterosaurs!  Therefore god!  The human eye!  Therefore god!  Bananas!  Therefore god!  Ha ha!  We win!"), I guess that's not to be wondered at.

Be that as it may, it still did my heart good to find out that Senter and Wilkins did an intensive analysis of Meyer's drawings -- which, fortunately, were greatly detailed and scientifically accurate, even if his conclusions weren't -- and their conclusion is, unsurprisingly, that the "dragon skeleton" is a hoax.

The skull is from a dog.  The mandible is from a different dog.  The hindlimb is actually the forelimb of a bear.  The ribs are from a large fish.  The tail and wings are sculpted fakes, and do not match what is known from fossils about the morphology of pterosaur tails and wings.  In Senter and Wilkins' eloquent words:

The solving of the mystery of the zoological composition of Meyer's dragon puts to rest the notion that Italians encountered live pterosaurs in the seventeenth century. It also sheds light on a strange and little-remembered episode in Italian history.  The case involves superstition, rumor, political intrigue, shady dealings, mighty feats of engineering, the impressive talent of an artisan savvy enough to combine two dogs and a bear and a fish and make it work, and the sagacity of an engineer who risked his career to turn a potentially job-wrecking superstition to his advantage.  Such an episode deserves to be counted among one of the greatest zoological hoaxes of Renaissance Europe...  This piece of young-Earth creationist "evidence" therefore now joins the ranks of other discredited "evidence" for human-pterosaur coexistence and against the existence of the passage of millions of years.

To which I can only add:  Ha.  Take that.

I sometimes get asked, usually by science-minded laypersons, why I spend so much time fighting with the creationists.  What does it really matter if these people believe their Bronze-Age mythology instead of science?  And if that was all it was, I probably wouldn't be fighting them (laughing at them, maybe, but not fighting).  But this particular worldview comes with a desperate need to foist their view upon others, and (especially) to indoctrinate children with their anti-science, evidence-free way of explaining the world.  They're not content to believe what they want to, and discuss their silly beliefs in their churches; they want those beliefs taught in public schools, they want them written into biology textbooks, they want them respected (by mandate from state law) as somehow being on equal footing as reputable science.

And that's where I stop laughing, and put my fists up.

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p.s.  If you haven't yet voted for Skeptophilia as the best skeptical blog of 2012, there's still time!  If you've enjoyed reading this blog, please go to Skeptic.org, scroll down to the "Best Blog" category, and put in Skeptophilia.blogspot.com.  I'd really appreciate it!

Globe-trotting with the gods

Despite my fairly persistent railing against people who make outlandish, unverifiable claims, I find it even more perplexing when people make outlandish, demonstrably false claims.  I mean, it's one thing to claim that last night you had a dream in which your late Aunt Gertrude told you her secret recipe for making her Extra-Zesty Bean Dip.  I couldn't disprove that even if I wanted to, which I don't, because I actually kind of like bean dip.

But when someone makes a statement that is (1) falsifiable, and (2) clearly incorrect, and yet stands by it as if it made complete sense... that I find baffling.  "I'm sorry," they seem to be saying, "I know you've demonstrated that gravity pulls things toward the Earth, but I believe that in reality, it works the opposite way, so I'm going to wear velcro shoes so I don't fall upward."

And for once I am not talking about young-Earth creationism.

This all comes up because of an article that appeared on Unexplained-Mysteries.com yesterday.  Entitled "Easter Island Heads -- They Speak At Last," it was written by L. M. Leteane.  If that name sounds familiar to regular readers of this blog, it's because Leteane has appeared here before, most recently for claiming that the Central American god Quetzalcoatl and the Egyptian god Thoth were actually the same person, despite one being a feathered snake and the other being a shirtless dude with the head of an ibis, which last I checked hardly look alike at all.  Be that as it may, Leteane concludes that this is why the Earth is going to end when a comet hits it in the year 3369.

So I suppose that given his past attempts, we should not expect L. M. Leteane to exactly knock us dead in the logic department.

But even starting out with low expectations, I have to say that he has outdone himself this time.

Here's the basic outline of his most recent argument, if I can dignify it by calling it that.  Fasten your seatbelts, it's gonna be a bit of a bumpy ride.

1)  The Bantu people of south-central Africa came originally from Egypt, which in their language they called Khama-Roggo.  This name translates in Tswana as "Black-and-Red Land."

2)  Charles Berlitz, of The Mystery of Atlantis fame, says that Quetzalcoatl also comes from "Black-and-Red Land."  Berlitz, allow me to remind you, is the writer about whose credibility the skeptical researcher Larry Kusche said, "If Berlitz were to report that a ship was red, the chances of it being some other color is almost a certainty."

3)  The Olmecs were originally from Africa, but then they accompanied the god Thoth to Central America.  In a quote that I swear I am not making up, "That is evidently why their gigantic sculptured heads are always shown helmeted."

4)  The Babylonian goddess Ishtar was also a real person, who ruled in the Indus Valley for a while (yes, I know that India and Babylonia aren't the same place; just play along, okay?) until she got fed up and also moved to Central America.  She took some people with her called the Kassites.  This was because she was heavily interested in tin mining.

5)   Well, three gods in one place are just too many (three too many, in my opinion), and this started a war.  Hot words were spoken.  Nuclear weapons were detonated.  Devastation was wreaked.  Passive voice was used repeatedly for dramatic effect.

6)  After the dust settled, the Olmecs, who were somehow also apparently the Kassites and the Bantu, found themselves mysteriously deposited on Easter Island.  A couple of more similarities between words in various languages and Pascuanese (the language of the natives of Easter Island) are given, the best one being "Rapa Nui" (the Pascuanese name for the island) meaning "black giant" because "Rapa" is a little like the Hebrew "repha" (giant) and "Nui" sounds like the French "nuit" (night).  This proves that the island was settled by dark-skinned giant people from Africa.  Or somewhere.

7)  The Olmecs decided to name it "Easter Island" because "Easter" sounds like "Ishtar."

8)  So they built a bunch of stone heads.  q. e. d.

Well.  I think we can all agree that that's a pretty persuasive logical chain, can't we?

Okay, maybe not.  Let's start with the linguistic funny business.  Unfortunately for L. M. Leteane, linguistics is something I know a bit about; I have an M. A. in Historical Linguistics (yes, I know, I teach biology.  It's a long story) and I can say with some authority that I understand how language evolution works.  I also know you can't base language relationships on one or two words -- chance correspondences are all too common.  So just because "roggo" means "red" in Tswana (which I'm taking on faith because Leteane himself is from Botswana, and my expertise is not in African languages), and "rouge" is French for "red," doesn't mean a damn thing.  "Rouge" goes back to the Latin "ruber," then to Ancient Greek "erythros," and finally to a reconstructed Proto-Indo-European root "reudr."  Any resemblance to the Tswana word for "red" is coincidental.  And as for "Rapa Nui" meaning "black giant," that's ridiculous; Pascuanese is a Polynesian language, which isn't Indo-European in the first place, and has no underlying similarity to either French or Hebrew other than all of them being languages spoken by people somewhere.

And as far as "Easter Island" being named after Ishtar... well, let's just say it'll take me a while to recover from the headdesk I did when I read that.  Easter Island was so named by the Dutch explorer Jacob Roggeveen, because he first spotted it on Easter Sunday in 1722.  He called it Paasch-Eyland, Dutch for "Easter Island;" its official name is Isla de Pascua, which means the same thing in Spanish.  Neither one sounds anything like "Ishtar."

And as for the rest of it... well, it sounds like the plot of a hyper-convoluted science fiction story to me.  Gods globe-trotting all over the world, bringing along slave labor, and having major wars, and conveniently leaving behind no hard evidence whatsoever.

The thing I find maddening about all of this is that Leteane mixes some facts (his information about Tswana) with speculation (he says that the name of the tin ore cassiterite comes from the Kassites, which my etymological dictionary says is "possible," but gives two other equally plausible hypotheses) with outright falsehood (that Polynesian, Bantu, and Indo-European languages share lots of common roots) with wild fantasy (all of the stuff about the gods).  And people believe it.  His story had, last I checked, been tweeted and Facebook-liked dozens of times, and amongst the comments I saw was, "Brilliant piece of research connecting all the history you don't learn about in school!  Thank you for drawing together the pieces of the puzzle!"

So, anyway.  I suppose I shouldn't get so annoyed by all of this.  Actually, on the spectrum of woo-woo beliefs, this one is pretty harmless.  No one ever blew himself up in a crowded market because he thought that the Olmecs came from Botswana.  My frustration is that there are seemingly so many people who lack the ability to think critically -- to look at the facts of an argument, and how the evidence is laid out, and to see if the conclusion is justified.  The problem, of course, is that learning the principles of scientific induction is hard work.  Much easier, apparently, to blather on about feathered serpents and goddesses who are seriously into tin.

Beyoncé of the Illuminati

Well, Superbowl XLVII is history, and the Baltimore Ravens have taken it despite a second-half rally by the 49ers that had Baltimore fans chewing their nails off.

The Superbowl attracts watchers for a variety of reasons.  Some root for particular teams, and if their favorite doesn't make it, they don't bother watching (I know one person who refuses to discuss the event if it doesn't involve the New Orleans Saints).  Others watch for the commercials, or the enjoyment of a wild, lavish spectacle, or the sheer love of football.

This year, of course, there was the added attraction of seeing how Beyoncé was going to use her magical powers and connections with the Illuminati to spread her evil message about the New World Order.

You think I'm making this up, but conspiracy theory websites have been hopping ever since the halftime show.  Take a look, for example, at this one, written by Sarah Wilson, who given the title must work for the Department of Redundancy Department: "What's the Verdict on Beyoncé's Illuminati Performance?  Illuminati-Fueled or Not?"

If you are understandably reluctant to read the original, let me sum it up as follows:

1)  Beyoncé has Illuminati connections.  Her husband Jay-Z's record company, Roc-a-Fella Records, has as its symbol a letter R with a circle and a triangle.  This obviously has nothing to do with the name of the company starting with "R," and circles and triangles being common geometrical shapes.
2)  During the performance, Beyoncé made a triangle with her hands. 
3)  The halftime show involved mirrors, which have secret symbolism.
4)  There was a red circular light used during part of the show.  Obviously the "Eye of Horus."
5)  At one point, her legs made a shape that has "black sun symbolism."

And if that's not enough to convince you doubters out there: during the second half, there was a 35-minute power outage that stopped the game dead in its tracks.  "Interestingly," writes Sarah Wilson, "following Beyoncé's performance, the Superdome suffered an outage that affected lights within the stadium, some cameras, and various pieces of audio equipment.  Power was lost for about 35 minutes before it was gradually restored to affected parts of the stadium.  The power company denied responsibility...  Social media outlets were alive with theories as to why part of the Superdome went dark, which ranged from 'doubting the power of Beyoncé' to her halftime show draining all of the power to her suspected Illuminati connections playing a role in creating darkness."

Oh, yeah, that's got to be it.  Because every time someone makes a special sign with their hands, it activates magical Illuminati Connections and causes a major power outage.  I have only one question to ask, to wit: did you learn logic from watching Mighty Morphin Power Rangers?  Or what?

It is a continual source of mystification for me how this kind of thinking can make sense to anyone.  That a performer might use edgy symbolism in his/her music, to deliberately up the hype, I can believe; if that's what Beyoncé was doing last night, it wouldn't be the first time.  Look at Madonna (not directly!  Use protective eyewear!).  She's worked so much arcane symbolism into her performances that she could be a walking illustration for the Malleus Maleficarum.  Nicki Minaj, Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, and Kanye West have also capitalized on the game of tweaking the fundamentalists and conspiracy theorists to get attention.

The thing is, does it mean anything?  Anything real?  There are those, of course, who would say yes; symbols have power, and that power can be invoked even if the people using them are doing so without awareness of what's really going on.  Predictably, I think the people who believe this are wingnuts.  Myself, I think the whole thing is just a publicity stunt, and any deliberate use of occult symbolism by pop music stars is just a callous attempt to get more attention.  As Brendan Behan once famously said, "There is no such thing as bad publicity."

So I doubt very much whether there was any connection between Beyoncé's use of the "Eye of Horus" -- deliberate or not -- and the power outage that followed.  If circular red lights caused power outages, then stoplights would be kind of problematic, you know?

In any case, if you watched the game, I hope you enjoyed it, and my condolences to any 49ers fans who are still weeping into their empty trays of chicken wings.  There's always next year.  That is, if Beyoncé doesn't wiggle her fingers at her next performance and somehow cause the collapse of major world governments.  You know how that goes.

Sea changes

As a science teacher, I am frequently asked about the evidence for climate change.  It's a more difficult question than it seems at first.  Teasing apart anomalous weather events from overall trends in the climate, determining if any changes we see are natural fluctuations or human-induced, and (if the latter) determining what could be done to ameliorate the situation -- none are trivial matters.  Add in the political spin, bias, and wishful thinking, and what you have is a recipe for fuzzy thinking and specious conclusions.

Nevertheless, the vast bulk of the data supports the contention that anthropogenic climate change is, in fact, occurring.  The best analysis of this position is from science writer James Lawrence Powell, who was an appointee to the National Science Board by both President Reagan and the first President Bush, and is available here.  Powell's angle was that if climate change denial is actually a scientifically supportable position, then it should be reflected in the peer-reviewed papers on the subject -- there should be approximately equal numbers of papers that show that the Earth is warming as ones that show that it is not.  In fact, here's what he found:

Which, as astronomer Phil Plait (of the wonderful blog Bad Astronomy) said, is a "slam dunk."

That hasn't stopped the controversy.  Peer review, deniers say, is skewed toward buying the party line.  The data is flawed, or outright fabricated.  Scientists have an agenda that they, in their surreptitious and evil manner, are foisting upon the unwitting public, as if somehow scientists want an environmental catastrophe to occur.  (I wonder if the ease with which some people accept this hearkens back to the "mad scientist" trope from 1950s-era horror movies.)

Of course, as the data keeps pouring in, deniers have to work harder to explain it away, and the explanations become more and more convoluted.  The best one I've seen yet I ran across just yesterday, in the accurately (and ironically) named website Aircrap.  Aircrap derives its moniker from its focus on the government's role in deliberate manipulation of the Earth's systems -- they just love chemtrails, HAARP, and DARPA, and blame everything from Hurricane Katrina to the Japanese tsunami on the American government.

Well, now that the evidence for climate change is becoming incontrovertible, they can't just accept that it's anything as routine as anthropogenic carbon dioxide and methane to blame.  So they took one piece of the climate change puzzle -- sea level rise -- and came up with a novel way to explain it.  (And by "novel" I mean "so crazy that even Rush Limbaugh wouldn't believe it.")

In an article you can read here, they inform us that the sea level isn't rising; the land is sinking.

Yes, you read that right.  The oceans aren't getting any higher; that would be ridiculous.  What's really happening is that humans are extracting ground water, causing the ground to subside in the fashion of a sponge drying up.  The solution:  get the government to stop spraying cloud-seeding agents into the air, so that more rain falls, so that the water being pumped out of the ground gets replaced.

I find it interesting that the chemtrails crowd is anti-climate-change.  You'd think they'd love this idea, as it gives fertile ground for conspiracy theories involving the US government and Big Oil covering up evidence.  But in a scan through chemtrails websites, at the cost of millions of innocent cells in my prefrontal cortex who died in agony, I didn't find a single one that accepted climate change.  The whole thing is a conspiracy of a different sort -- a conspiracy by the evil scientists who want to deflect your attention from what the government is actually up to.  In their skewed worldview, the scientists are complicit in the coverup and are fabricating data on Antarctic ice melt in order to keep you from finding out that the government is putting secret weather-altering chemicals into jet fuel.

Now, don't get me wrong; I know enough geology to realize that extraction of groundwater can cause subsidence.  It's called "sinkhole formation."  But the idea that the continental landmasses everywhere are somehow settling downward as water is pumped out is, to put not too fine a point on it, moronic.  It reminds me of the amazingly wonderful science textbook spoof Science Made Stupid (available online, for free, here!  WARNING: Once you start reading it, you will read the whole thing in one sitting), wherein we find the following explanation of tides:

We sometimes speak of the tides causing the oceans to rise or fall. Of course, this is a fallacy. Actually, it is the land that rises and falls.

As the Earth rotates, the moon's gravitational attraction is greatest first on one side, then the other. Land masses, being rigid, are pulled up or down accordingly. Oceans, being liquid, are free to flow back to their normal level.

You have to wonder if the folks over at Aircrap stumbled on a copy of Science Made Stupid at a used book sale, and thought it was serious.

It would explain a lot.

Anyhow, it's interesting to see how people approach the whole thing, and as more evidence for climate change amasses (which it will) how long it will take for the last few deniers finally to cave.  Well, not the last few; as we've seen over and over in this blog, you can never convince everyone, not with mountains of evidence.  But at least, enough people that we finally have the global will to try to do something about it.

I can only hope that that sea change doesn't come too late.

For sale: one wine cabinet. Comes with an evil spirit.

Coming on the heels of yesterday's post about a study that showed that once our brains are primed to notice paranormal occurrences, we will, and in fact, will proceed to notice more and more as time goes on -- today we have the story of the haunted wine cabinet.

This one is courtesy of a friend, who asked me if I'd ever heard of the "Dybbuk Box," and said she had a co-worker who found the story terrifying.  I told her I hadn't.  But anything that scares someone is bound to be interesting to me, so I looked into it, and lo and behold, it has its own Wikipedia page and a website devoted to the legend.

The basic story goes something like this.

In 2003, a writer named Kevin Mannis bought a wooden wine cabinet at an estate sale.  The box had belonged to a Holocaust survivor named Havela, and Mannis found out from Havela's granddaughter that the box was a family heirloom.  At that point Mannis offered to sell, or even give, the box back to the family, feeling that given the family's history they should probably have it.  The granddaughter didn't want it; she said, in fact, that no one ever used it, because a dybbuk lived inside it.  "Actually," she told Mannis, "I don't advise you to open it."

*cue scary music*

A dybbuk is, according to Jewish folklore, the disembodied spirit of a dead person -- usually not a nice dead person, but someone who made people miserable while (s)he was alive and whom you can well imagine wanting to continue to do the same after kicking the bucket.  The difference is that the dybbuk, now that it is freed from its mortal body, can latch on to another one (the Jewish answer to demonic possession) or -- as in this case -- attach itself to an object.

So, of course, Mannis did exactly what you would do, if you were the stupid character in a horror movie who is the bold one and (not coincidentally) the first one to die: he opened the box.  And inside, he found an odd collection of items.  There were two pennies from the 1920s, a lock of blond hair bound with cord, a lock of dark hair bound with cord, a small statue engraved with the Hebrew word "shalom," a small wine goblet made of solid gold, one dried rose bud, and a candle holder with legs shaped like octopus tentacles.

Pretty atmospheric stuff, isn't it?  Suggestive.  And suggesting something is apparently exactly what it did.  Mannis proceeded to have a series of horrific nightmares of a terrifying old hag, and started getting terrible headaches.  The box, obviously, was to blame.  He realized that he had to somehow get rid of it, that the story of its being haunted was real and was clearly responsible for his experiences.  So he thought, "Here I have this box which is infested with a horrifying spirit of the damned, and which is making me miserable.  Hmm, what should I do with it?"  And he found the perfect solution.

He gave it to his mother as a birthday present.

And mom proceeded immediately to have a stroke.

After that, Mannis had second thoughts.  So he sold it on eBay.  Once you've given True Evil to your mother, and nearly killed her in the process, the next step is to sell it to an unwitting victim for profit, right?   The box was bought by Iosef Neitzke, a student at Truman State University in Kirksville, Missouri, who reported that the box smelled either like "cat urine or jasmine flowers" (which is kind of an odd pairing), and that after he bought the box the light bulbs in his house started to burn out, and he started losing his hair.  So he sold it to Jason Haxton, who had been following Neitzke's experiences on a blog, and when Neitzke wrote that he had enough of cat piss, dead light bulbs, and hair loss, and was ready to get rid of the box, Haxton jumped at it.

Haxton proceeded to start coughing up blood, developed "head-to-toe welts," and had strange dreams.  So he thought that it was time to get the experts involved.  He got a hold of a couple of rabbis, who successfully locked the dybbuk back in the box, and then he hid the box in a secret location.

And no, he won't tell anyone where it is.

It's an interesting story; and significant, I think, that the first person who brought the box to light was a writer.  I'm speaking purely from personal experience, here, but fiction writers are pretty good at making weird shit up.  (See the sidebar for examples.)  And, as we saw yesterday, once you're looking for strange occurrences, you will find them -- or take perfectly normal things (like hair loss and bad dreams) and attribute them to the paranormal explanation you had already decided was true.  As far as the welts -- hives are known to be a common psychosomatic symptom, triggered not only by allergens but by emotional stress.  As skeptic Chris French of Goldsmiths College said of the dybbuk box, "(all of the owners were) already primed to be looking out for bad stuff.  If you believe you have been cursed, then inevitably you explain the bad stuff that happens in terms of what you perceive to be the cause.  Put it like this: I would be happy to own this object."

Still, that hasn't stopped the woo-woo crowd from capitalizing on the whole thing.  The dybbuk box story has been featured on Paranormal Witness, Mysterious Universe, and Paranormal State, and was the basis of the movie The Possession...

... which, of course, used the tag line "Based on a true story."

Interesting, given my fascination with weird claims, and all of the coverage it's gotten, that the whole thing was completely new to me.  So I give my friend some props for throwing it my way.  It's a fun story, even if I don't buy the supernatural explanation, which you pretty much knew I wouldn't in any case.  And like French, I'd love to own the box, not that that's likely.  I think I would be pretty resistant to its ill effects.  I'm firmly in possession of all of my hair, am not prone to welts, and given the fact that I own two aging cats there's already enough of a pervasive cat-piss smell in my den that it probably wouldn't make much difference if I stored it there.  And I'm already prone to insomnia and bad dreams.

Of course, there's the whole coughing-up-blood thing.  That would kind of suck, and I am sort of susceptible to bronchitis, especially in the winter.  So maybe I'm better off without it, after all.