The hills are shadows

One of the reasons I became a speculative fiction novelist is because I love to think about how the world would be if the rules were different.  What if we could pick up from inanimate objects the emotional impressions of the last person who held them?  What if time travel into the past were possible?  What if the force of people's belief caused mythological creatures to come to life?

The difficulty is that this dreaminess about altering the laws of the universe runs headlong into my desire to understand what the actual rules are, and which ultimately led me to dedicate my life to science.  After an unfortunate time in my teenage years when I worked really, really hard to convince myself that all the weird paranormal shit I'd immersed myself in was the truth, I was forced by the modicum of intellectual honesty I had back then to admit that the evidence for all of it was nil, and to give the whole thing up as a bad job.

So I ended up teaching science and critical thinking, and simultaneously writing paranormal fiction.  Seemed like a good compromise.

But this push to explore the fringes still shows up.  I'm most attracted to the areas of science that are strange and counterintuitive.  Regular readers of Skeptophilia will attest to this, given my near obsession with things like quantum physics and the behavior of black holes.  And there's one other realm of science that allows me to do what journalist Kathryn Schulz calls "seeing the world as it isn't" -- and that's paleontology.

Because after all, things in the distant past were very, very different than they are now.  We're so used to looking around us and seeing The World As It Is that we don't often consider that this brief point in time is part of a continuum of geological and biological change, and is framed on both sides -- past and future -- by worlds that were and will be wildly different from the one we live in.

As an example, consider the paper published last week in the journal ZooKeys, which is about the fauna of the Sahara.  Immediately I said that name, I'm guessing you pictured sand dunes, perfectly clear blue skies, no plant life (maybe a palm tree or two, if there was an oasis in your imagination), and perhaps a camel or a white-robed Bedouin.

Turn the chronometer back a hundred million years, though, and you wouldn't even know it was the same place.

At that point, the Sahara was a tropical forest, with a huge bay of the Tethys Ocean (the remnant of which we now call the Indian Ocean) right in the middle.  The Atlantic Ocean had only recently opened up, and western Africa was separated from South America by a narrow strait.  What is now an unbroken swath of desert was a large island in the west, a smaller island in the middle of the central bay, and a big chunk of land to the east that is now the remainder of the continent of Africa.

A map of the continents during the late Cretaceous Period [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Mannion, P. D. (2013). "The latitudinal biodiversity gradient through deep time". Trends in Ecology and Evolution 29 (1). DOI:10.1016/j.tree.2013.09.012., LateCretaceousMap, CC BY-SA 3.0]

But that just scratches the surface.  The paper I referenced above, "Geology and Paleontology of the Upper Cretaceous Kem Kem Group of Eastern Morocco," by a team led by Nizar Ibrahim of the University of Detroit, describes the fossil finds in the Kem Kem Group, a dazzlingly rich fossil bed that is only now beginning to be investigated thoroughly.

What this fossil bed shows us is a world that's not only drastically different from how we picture the Sahara today, it's drastically different from anything currently on Earth.  "This was arguably the most dangerous place in the history of planet Earth," Ibrahim said in an interview in Science Daily, "a place where a human time-traveller would not last very long."

Such a time-traveller, in their short remaining life expectancy, would meet up with such beasts as Carcharodontosaurus -- the name means "jagged-toothed lizard" -- which averaged eight meters from tip to tail, just shy of the length of an average school bus.  Its signature teeth were twenty centimeters long and serrated like steak knives.  There were twenty-meter-long crocodilians such as Aegisuchus, which were big enough to turn your average modern saltwater crocodile into saltwater taffy.  There was the fifteen-meter-long, twenty-ton Spinosaurus, another carnivore.  The skies were no safer -- there was a variety of pterodactyloids, including the flying hunter Apatorhamphus, which had a long, needle-toothed snout and a wingspan of five meters.

And that's just a sampler.

"Many of the predators were relying on an abundant supply of fish," said study co-author Professor David Martill from the University of Portsmouth.  "This place was filled with absolutely enormous fish, including giant coelacanths and lungfish.  The coelacanth, for example, is probably four or even five times larger than today's coelacanth [which averages two meters in length].  There is an enormous freshwater saw shark called Onchopristis with the most fearsome of rostral teeth, they are like barbed daggers, but beautifully shiny."

So if you went for a swim, at least you'd have something pretty to look at while you were being messily devoured.

But the vagaries of plate tectonics and climate eventually widened the Atlantic and closed off the bay in the mid-Sahara, and the place started to dry out.  It was green for a lot longer than you'd think, however.  There's evidence that as little as seven thousand years ago, the Sahara got a great deal more rain and was much more verdant than it is today, but a shift in the path of the African monsoon turned off the tap and converted the whole area into a vast, mostly-uninhabitable desert.

I'd like to close with the beautiful and poignant words Alfred, Lord Tennyson wrote in his poem "In Memoriam."  I've quoted them here before, but they are so apposite there's really no fitter way to end.  Read this, and think about the Sahara -- and what your own homeland might look like in a hundred million years' time.

There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O Earth, what changes hast thou seen?
There where the long road roars has been
The stillness of the central sea.
The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands,
They melt like mists, the solid lands,
Like clouds, they shape themselves, and go.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is an important read for any of you who, like me, (1) like running, cycling, and weight lifting, and (2) have had repeated injuries.

Christie Aschwanden's new book Good to Go: What the Athlete in All of Us Can Learn from the Strange Science of Recovery goes through all the recommendations -- good and bad, sensible and bizarre -- that world-class athletes have made to help us less-elite types recover from the injuries we incur.  As you might expect, some of them work, and some of them are worse than useless -- and Aschwanden will help you to sort the wheat from the chaff.

The fun part of this is that Aschwanden not only looked at the serious scientific research, she tried some of these "cures" on herself.  You'll find out the results, described in detail brought to life by her lucid writing, and maybe it'll help you find some good ways of handling your own aches and pains -- and avoid the ones that are worthless.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Spirals and ice ages

New from the One Thing Leads To Another department, a loyal reader of Skeptophilia recently sent me a link that spells out why we're headed to another ice age, which precipitated my vanishing down the rabbit hole for almost two hours.

The gist of the first website I looked at is that we're headed for an ice age despite everything we're currently doing to send us into the climate change hothouse, because the current model of the Solar System is "not only boring, but incorrect."  This follows the well-known scientific law that if you're bored by a theory, that's evidence that it's wrong.

This startling revelation came from a post on the r/Conspiracy subreddit that could be used as an advertisement about why it's critical to take high school physics.  It starts with a video on YouTube called "The Helical Model: Our Solar System is a Vortex," wherein we find out that because the Sun is traveling in a (more-or-less) circular path around the center of the galaxy, the planets aren't traveling in circles, they travel instead in a "vortex."  "The Sun is like a comet," the video tells us, "dragging planets in its wake."

Because apparently comets do that.  Who knew?

"Rotational motion" and "vortex motion" are, we are told, "completely different things."  Then we're shown all sorts of pretty pictures of spiral stuff like ammonite shells and fern fiddleheads.

But so far, what we've been shown is hardly startling, if you know any physics at all.  Of course the motion of the planets looks different if you're viewing it from a different perspective.  Physicists call this a reference frame, and they know all about them -- the idea of reference frames is what gave Einstein the idea for the Theories of Relativity.  So it's not some kind of earthshattering idea to point out that if you're traveling with the Sun, the planets move in ellipses, and if you're not -- if you're at a fixed point above the center of the Milky Way, watching the stars zoom around in circles -- the planets will travel in a spiral-ish fashion.  The motion isn't different; what has changed is your reference frame.

But that's only the beginning.  We're then shown two drawings of "energy fields," one around a human and one around... um, something.  I'm not sure what.  The first one is marked "copyrighted," so out of respect for intellectual property rights (although this may be stretching the definition of the word "intellectual"), I'll just post a link to it.  The second, though, I'll reproduce here:

The original poster on r/Conspiracy called these "Taurus fields."  And I sat there for some time, wondering, "Why Taurus?  Why not Scorpio or Aquarius, or, for that matter, Camelopardalis?"  And then it came to me: he means "torus."  As in, a donut-shaped thing.  Although I do think that "Taurus" is correct in one sense, in that this seems to me to be a lot of bull.

In any case, this sets us up for the punch line, which I present here in toto:

...we are just on the outside of the Iron Age (the shaded in cone), and entering the Bronze Age.  Being we are still in the cone, this is causing us to travel in a spiral, but the spiral is widening.  This is causing us to gain speed, like a sling. 

This gain in speed is causing our sun to produce longer solar flares.  This will cause our planet to rise in temperature, causing our polar caps to melt.  This, of course, will cause major flooding.  We've yet to see the worst, and the worst will last about a month to a month and a half.  This will flood most of the world. 

And the sun progresses to increase, the planets will pull away (think of gravity like a bungee cord), and this will then cause global cooling, which will introduce us into a new ice age. 

The ice age will take about 300 years to fully manifest, but it will last between 12,000 - 16,000 years. 

This explains all the black projects costing trillions of dollars.  This explains all the underground bunkers being built.  This explains all the camps, all the militarization of police, all the crack down on rights.  This explains why people that seem to have all the money they need seem to need more money.

Wowza.  This may be one of the most concentrated samples of bullshit I've ever seen.  We have: a total lack of understanding of basic physics, apocalyptic stuff, "global cooling," government conspiracy theories, and underground bunkers, all in the space of just five short paragraphs.

We are then directed to two websites for further information.  The first is Half Past Human, which seems to be some kind of conspiracy site (although I did see references to "swirlies in the sky" and "spacegoat farts" as I scrolled down the entries, both of which I would prefer not to investigate, rabbit hole notwithstanding).  The second is DJSadhu.com, which is a blog with lots of videos and articles about how everything we know about physics is wrong.  Oh, and chemtrails and Cliven Bundy and music and pyramids.

It's a general rule of thumb that whenever some n00b comes down the pike, without any scientific training whatsoever, and claims to have discovered a Grand Theory of Life, the Universe, and Everything, (s)he is (1) probably insane, and (2) definitely wrong.  Scientists do make mistakes; as British science historian James Burke put it, in the episode "Worlds Without End" from his amazing series The Day the Universe Changed, "The so-called voyage of discovery has, as often as not, made landfall for reasons little to do with the search for knowledge."  Science sometimes backtracks, makes missteps, pursues what ultimately turn out to be dead ends.

But scientists do understand the method by which you achieve understanding, and because of that, the overall body of science becomes better refined, and closer to grasping the actual truth, as time goes on.  The bottom line: we may not understand everything, but we have a pretty good idea of how to explain a lot of what we see.  The likelihood of anyone finding anything that completely overturns our understanding of any branch of science is slim indeed.

And that includes vortex motion, Taurus fields and "spacegoat farts."

*****************************

Finding a person who is both an expert in an arcane field like quantum physics, and is also able to write lucidly about it for the interested layperson, is rare indeed.  Such a person is Sean Carroll, whose books From Eternity to Here, The Particle at the End of the Universe, and The Big Picture explore such ideas as the Big Bang, the Higgs boson, and what exactly time is -- and why it seems to flow in only one direction.

In his latest book, Something Deeply Hidden, Carroll looks not only at the non-intuitive world of quantum physics, but at the problem at the heart of it -- the "collapse of the wave function," how a reality that is a field of probabilities (experimental data agrees with quantum theory to an astonishing degree on this point) somehow converts to a reality with definitive outcomes when it's observed.  None of the solutions thus proposed, Carroll claims, are really satisfying -- so physicists are left with a dilemma, a theory that has been experimentally verified to a fare-thee-well but still has a giant gaping unexplained hole at its center.

Something Deeply Hidden is an amazing read, and will fascinate you from page 1 until you close the back cover.  It will also repeatedly blow your mind in its description of a universe that doesn't behave at all like what common sense says it should.  And Sean Carroll is exactly the author to navigate these shark-infested waters.  This is a book you don't want to miss.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Wretched hives of scum and villainy

Being a fiction writer, I think about villains a lot.

Of course, the proper word is "antagonist," but "villain" is a lot more evocative, bringing to mind such characters as the the dastardly Snidely Whiplash from the brilliant Adventures of Dudley Doright of the Canadian Mounties.

Left to right: Snidely Whiplash, Dudley Doright, Fair Nell Fenwick, and Dudley's horse, who is named... Horse.  They just don't write comedy like that any more.

One of the things that I've always tried to do with the villains in my own novels is to make them three-dimensional.  I don't like stories where the villains are just evil because they're evil (unless it's for comedic effect, like Mr. Whiplash).  My college creative writing teacher, Dr. Bernice Webb (one of the formative influences on my writing) told us, "Every villain is the hero of his own story," and that has stuck with me.

Of course, that doesn't mean you need to sympathize with the motivation the villain has, whether it be money, sex, power, revenge, or whatever.  For example, I find this villain one of the most deeply repulsive characters ever invented, because what motivates her is pure sadism:

But it works because we've all known people like her, who use their power to hurt people simply because they can, who take pleasure in making their subordinates' lives miserable -- and because of that twist in their personality, a frightening number of them become bosses, teachers, and political leaders.

The reason this whole villainous topic comes up is because of a study published in the journal Psychological Science this week called "Can Bad Be Good?  The Attraction of a Darker Self," by Rebecca Krause and Derek Rucker, both of Northwestern University.  In a fascinating study of the responses of over 235,000 test subjects to fictional characters, Krause and Rucker found that people are sometimes attracted to villains -- and the attraction is stronger if the villain contains positive characteristics they share.

For example, Lord Voldemort was ruthless and cruel, but he also was intelligent and ambitious -- character traits that in a better person are considered virtuous.  The Joker is an essentially amoral character who has no problem killing people, but his daring, his spontaneity, his quirkiness, and his sense of humor are all attractive characteristics.  Professor Moriarty is an out-and-out lunatic -- especially as played by Andrew Scott in the series Sherlock -- but he's brilliant, clever, inventive, and fearless.

And what Krause and Rucker found was that spontaneous and quirky people (as measured by personality assessments) tended to like characters like The Joker, but not characters like the humorless Lord Voldemort.  Despite his being essentially evil, Moriarty appealed to people who like puzzles and intellectual games -- but those same people weren't so taken with the more ham-handed approach of a character like Darth Vader.

"Given the common finding that people are uncomfortable with and tend to avoid people who are similar to them and bad in some way, the fact that people actually prefer similar villains over dissimilar villains was surprising to us," said study co-author Rucker, in an interview in the Bulletin for the Association of Psychological Science.  "Honestly, going into the research, we both were aware of the possibility that we might find the opposite."

What seems to be going on here is that we can admire or appreciate a villain who is similar to us in positive ways -- but since the character is fictional, it doesn't damage our own self-image as it would if the villain was a real person harming other real people, or (worse) if we shared the villain's negative traits as well.

"Our research suggests that stories and fictional worlds can offer a ‘safe haven’ for comparison to a villainous character that reminds us of ourselves," said study lead author Rebecca Krause.  "When people feel protected by the veil of fiction, they may show greater interest in learning about dark and sinister characters who resemble them."

Which makes me wonder about myself, because my all-time favorite villain is Missy from Doctor Who.  

Okay, she does some really awful things, is erratic and unpredictable and has very little concern about human life -- but she's brilliant, and has a wild sense of humor, deep curiosity about all the craziness that she's immersed in, and poignant grief over the loss of her home on Gallifrey.  Played by the stupendous Michelle Gomez, Missy is a complex and compelling character I just love to hate.

What that says about me, I'll leave as an exercise for the reader.

On the other hand, I still fucking loathe Dolores Umbridge.  That woman deserved to get eaten, one bite at a time, by Hagrid's hippogriff Buckbeak.  Being sent to Azkaban at the end of the last movie was too good a fate for her.

*****************************

Finding a person who is both an expert in an arcane field like quantum physics, and is also able to write lucidly about it for the interested layperson, is rare indeed.  Such a person is Sean Carroll, whose books From Eternity to Here, The Particle at the End of the Universe, and The Big Picture explore such ideas as the Big Bang, the Higgs boson, and what exactly time is -- and why it seems to flow in only one direction.

In his latest book, Something Deeply Hidden, Carroll looks not only at the non-intuitive world of quantum physics, but at the problem at the heart of it -- the "collapse of the wave function," how a reality that is a field of probabilities (experimental data agrees with quantum theory to an astonishing degree on this point) somehow converts to a reality with definitive outcomes when it's observed.  None of the solutions thus proposed, Carroll claims, are really satisfying -- so physicists are left with a dilemma, a theory that has been experimentally verified to a fare-thee-well but still has a giant gaping unexplained hole at its center.

Something Deeply Hidden is an amazing read, and will fascinate you from page 1 until you close the back cover.  It will also repeatedly blow your mind in its description of a universe that doesn't behave at all like what common sense says it should.  And Sean Carroll is exactly the author to navigate these shark-infested waters.  This is a book you don't want to miss.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Pseudohistory of the world

I have wondered for some time what starts a person down the path of inventing some crazy crackpot theory.  When I was a teenager, I went through a wishful-thinking, proto-woo-woo stage myself, during which I desperately wanted stuff like Tarot cards to work.  But after I messed around a little with them, I figured out pretty quickly that (1) the card patterns were entirely random, and (2) any meaning that emerged consisted of what I, or the person for whom the reading was being done, was imposing upon them.

I.e., Tarot cards don't work.  Another cool idea smashed to smithereens upon the shores of reality.

But for some folks, apparently that fact-checking protocol never kicks in.  So what starts out as a minor glitch in thinking grows, and grows, and eventually becomes this enormous counterfactual ball of bullshit, and all the while its inventor sits there thinking (s)he has revolutionized human knowledge.

Take, for example, Anatoly Fomenko, a Russian mathematician who for some reason left his chosen field of study and decided to become a historian.  But he didn't do what most historians do, to wit, examining primary documents and reading scholarly papers on historical research; he set out to revise history.

Because evidently, we've been doing history wrong.

Passage from a 10th century manuscript of Thucydides's The Peloponnesian War, even though it apparently never happened [Image is in the Public Domain]

He invented something that he calls the New Chronology.  And when he calls it "new," he's not just whistlin' Dixie.

Here are a few features of his "New Chronology:"

• None of the dating methods we use are accurate.  I mean, none.  This includes archaeological stratigraphy, dendrochronology, proxy records, and radioisotope dating.
• Pretty much nothing that occurred before the Early Middle Ages (8th century C. E.) actually occurred.  What we think we know about those times comes from Renaissance-era forgeries, hoaxes, and lies.
• This includes the entire Roman Empire, the city-states of the Ancient Greeks, and the pharaonic period of Egypt.
• Jesus never existed.  The biblical story of Jesus is a mythologized account of the life of Byzantine emperor Andronikos I Komnenos.
• The 2nd century Almagest of Ptolemy, one of the most famous mathematical treatises of the ancient world, was written in the 17th century.
• The Tatar and Mongol invasions never happened.  Russia has pretty much always been inhabited by Russians.  And lemme tell you, the Russians are awesome.  They are pretty much the awesomest people ever.
• The Old Testament Jerusalem is the same place as Constantinople.  Why then, you might ask, do we have a city that is now called "Jerusalem" which is in a completely different location?   Stop asking questions.
• The Anglo-Saxon King Egbert of Wessex is the same person as Byzantine Emperor Justinian the Great.
• Because the name "England" is a cognate to the Byzantine imperial dynasty, the "Angeli."
• Yes, I know that England and Byzantium are on opposite sides of Europe.  I believe I've already told you once to stop asking questions.

And so on and so forth. Jason Colavito, writing for Skeptic magazine, did a blistering takedown of Fomenko's theory (if I can dignify it with that name), which you would think would be unnecessary, given that a better name for "New Chronology" would be "My First Big Book of Batshit Insane Ad Hoc Assumptions."

Now, the fact that some crank has written some crazy books (seven of them, in fact) isn't an indicator of anything particularly odd, except that it still doesn't answer my original question of how someone wouldn't realize pretty quickly that what they were proposing made no sense whatsoever (with luck, before (s)he'd written seven books about it).  But what I find more surprising is that there are people who believe Fomenko.  And they include Russian chess grand master Garry Kasparov.

Yes, I realize that being a chess grand master doesn't necessarily mean that you're sane in other respects.  But Kasparov seems to be a pretty reasonable guy, all things considered -- he's a political activist and has been articulate in his criticism of Vladimir Putin, and currently is on the board of directors of the Human Rights Foundation.

And yet, somehow, he thinks that Anatoly Fomenko's "New Chronology" makes sense.

All of which hammers home the point that I don't really understand human thought processes all that well.  Because however good you are at chess or mathematics, you're not going to convince me that the ancient Greeks didn't exist.

*****************************

Finding a person who is both an expert in an arcane field like quantum physics, and is also able to write lucidly about it for the interested layperson, is rare indeed.  Such a person is Sean Carroll, whose books From Eternity to Here, The Particle at the End of the Universe, and The Big Picture explore such ideas as the Big Bang, the Higgs boson, and what exactly time is -- and why it seems to flow in only one direction.

In his latest book, Something Deeply Hidden, Carroll looks not only at the non-intuitive world of quantum physics, but at the problem at the heart of it -- the "collapse of the wave function," how a reality that is a field of probabilities (experimental data agrees with quantum theory to an astonishing degree on this point) somehow converts to a reality with definitive outcomes when it's observed.  None of the solutions thus proposed, Carroll claims, are really satisfying -- so physicists are left with a dilemma, a theory that has been experimentally verified to a fare-thee-well but still has a giant gaping unexplained hole at its center.

Something Deeply Hidden is an amazing read, and will fascinate you from page 1 until you close the back cover.  It will also repeatedly blow your mind in its description of a universe that doesn't behave at all like what common sense says it should.  And Sean Carroll is exactly the author to navigate these shark-infested waters.  This is a book you don't want to miss.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Lonely wanderer

The phrase "the vastness of interstellar space" gets thrown around a lot, but it's hard for a lot of us even to wrap our brains around how vast it is.

Here's an analogy that will give you a feeling for it.  Imagine that the Sun (which is about 1.4 million kilometers in diameter) is shrunk down to the size of a marble, with a diameter of about 1.5 centimeters.

The Earth would be about the size of a grain of fine sand, and would be roughly a meter and a half away.  Jupiter would be eleven times larger in diameter, and over five times farther away.

You ready?  The closest star to the Sun, Proxima Centauri, would be a somewhat smaller marble, over four hundred kilometers away.  So if the marble-Sun was located in my living room, here in upstate New York, the marble-Proxima-Centauri would be somewhere around Baltimore, Maryland.

Everything in between is empty space.

I remember when I first watched the brilliant short video Powers of Ten (which, if you haven't seen it, take ten minutes and watch -- you won't be sorry) when I was perhaps seventeen years old, and I recall vividly being blown away by the magnitude of it all -- and how once you're even in the outer reaches of our own Solar System, the Sun has diminished in brightness until it looks like nothing more impressive than an unusually bright point of light.  You get very much farther out, and the Sun itself is seen to be a rather dim and ordinary star, swallowed up in the diamonds-on-black-velvet of the perpetually dark interstellar sky.

This whole mind-boggling topic comes up because of an analysis of a comet that zipped through the Solar System late last year.  Comet 2I/Borisov, which never got closer than the orbit of Mars nor bright enough to see without a telescope, didn't make much of an impact on the layperson -- if they heard about it at all, it was on the level of "hey, there's a comet out there," but the less-than-spectacular show it put on from Earth meant that most people probably never even heard about it.

But 2I/Borisov was hiding something pretty spectacular, something that was the subject of two papers in the journal Nature Astronomy this week.  The comet had a chemistry so peculiar that it seems as if it was formed in another star system -- then made its way across interstellar space to make one and only one slingshot path around our Sun, never to be seen again.

Comet 2I/Borisov [Image is in the Public Domain courtesy of NASA and the European Space Agency]

The tipoff was that the comet had an unusually high amount of carbon monoxide -- three times higher than had ever been observed in a "local" comet.  Here's what the first paper, by Martin A Cordiner (astrochemist at NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center) et al., had to say:

Comets spend most of their lives at large distances from any star, during which time their interior compositions remain relatively unaltered.  Cometary observations can therefore provide direct insight into the chemistry that occurred during their birth at the time of planet formation.  To date, there have been no confirmed observations of parent volatiles (gases released directly from the nucleus) of a comet from any planetary system other than our own...  2I/Borisov must have formed in a relatively CO-rich environment—probably beyond the CO ice-line in the very cold, outer regions of a distant protoplanetary accretion disk, as part of a population of small icy bodies analogous to our Solar System’s own proto-Kuiper belt.

For what it's worth, the CO ice-line -- the boundary between where carbon monoxide can exist as a solid and where it volatilizes into a gas -- occurs at a temperature of about 25 degrees above absolute zero.  So "very cold" doesn't begin to describe it.

The second paper, by Dennis Bodowitz (planetary scientist at Auburn University) et al., describes what was so unusual about it:

Interstellar comets offer direct samples of volatiles from distant protoplanetary disks.  2I/Borisov is the first notably active interstellar comet discovered in our Solar System.  Comets are condensed samples of the gas, ice and dust that were in a star’s protoplanetary disk during the formation of its planets, and inform our understanding on how chemical compositions and abundances vary with distance from the central star.  Their orbital migration distributes volatiles, organic material and prebiotic chemicals around their host system.  In our Solar System, hundreds of comets have been observed remotely, and a few have been studied up close by space missions.  However, knowledge of extrasolar comets has been limited to what could be gleaned from distant, unresolved observations of cometary regions around other stars, with only one detection of carbon monoxide.  Here we report that the coma of 2I/Borisov contains substantially more CO than H2O gas, with abundances of at least 173%, more than three times higher than previously measured for any comet in the inner (<2.5 au) Solar System.  Our ultraviolet Hubble Space Telescope observations of 2I/Borisov provide the first glimpse into the ice content and chemical composition of the protoplanetary disk of another star that is substantially different from our own.

Apparently, the trajectory of the comet tracks its origin back to a point somewhere in the constellation Cassiopeia -- but which star, and how far away it formed, is impossible to tell.

But it makes me picture that chunk of ice starting millions, possibly billions, of years ago in a disc of debris around a far-distant star, then being ejected and wandering for eons in the dark cold of interstellar space before having a single chance encounter with our Sun -- and afterwards, launching off in a different direction to wander in the voids once more, perhaps forever.

The whole thing makes me feel kind of sorry for it.

While anthropomorphizing a comet is probably ridiculous, it does bring home how huge the universe is, and how (comparatively) insignificant we are.  Which is always a good thing to keep in mind.  Humans tend toward hubris, and being reminded every so often that we're not actually All That And A Bag Of Potato Chips is worth it.

*****************************

Finding a person who is both an expert in an arcane field like quantum physics, and is also able to write lucidly about it for the interested layperson, is rare indeed.  Such a person is Sean Carroll, whose books From Eternity to Here, The Particle at the End of the Universe, and The Big Picture explore such ideas as the Big Bang, the Higgs boson, and what exactly time is -- and why it seems to flow in only one direction.

In his latest book, Something Deeply Hidden, Carroll looks not only at the non-intuitive world of quantum physics, but at the problem at the heart of it -- the "collapse of the wave function," how a reality that is a field of probabilities (experimental data agrees with quantum theory to an astonishing degree on this point) somehow converts to a reality with definitive outcomes when it's observed.  None of the solutions thus proposed, Carroll claims, are really satisfying -- so physicists are left with a dilemma, a theory that has been experimentally verified to a fare-thee-well but still has a giant gaping unexplained hole at its center.

Something Deeply Hidden is an amazing read, and will fascinate you from page 1 until you close the back cover.  It will also repeatedly blow your mind in its description of a universe that doesn't behave at all like what common sense says it should.  And Sean Carroll is exactly the author to navigate these shark-infested waters.  This is a book you don't want to miss.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

An apple a day

Some years ago I was chatting with a geneticist friend of mine about apples.

At that point she worked for Cornell University's Apple Genomics Project, which had as its goal studying the diversity of apple varieties out there, not only for the sake of preserving biodiversity, but also for its utility in breeding better varieties.  Toward that end, they funded a project to go to the homeland of the apple tree -- the Caucasus, Turkey, southern Russia, northern Iran, then eastward into Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan -- and collect germ line.  In biology-speak, germ line is anything that can be used to reproduce a species.  In plants, this would be seeds (obviously), and for species that have the ability to be reproduced vegetatively, stem or root cuttings, bulbs, tubers, and so on.  In animals, fertilized eggs, or eggs and semen.  These then can be preserved (as with the astonishing Svalbard Seed Vault, hosted by Norway, now containing over twenty million seeds, including over one-third of the world's most important crop varieties), or else used to generate new individuals for crossbreeding or genetic extraction.

In the case of the apples, it was a project that was fascinating, not to mention intense.  The team went all over the apple homeland, bringing along a translator so they could speak to the people they ran into, and in each village they asked the same questions: do you have any apple trees?  If so, what do you use them for -- eating fresh, baking, cider, fermenting into an alcoholic beverage?

They returned home with hundreds of cuttings of apple trees no one in the United States had seen before.  Each had its own special qualities, whether it be taste, usefulness, or (in some cases) disease or insect resistance.  These were then sprouted or else grafted onto sapling apple trees of other varieties, and the flowers they produced cross-pollinated to other varieties to generate a new variety which -- with luck -- would have the best of the characteristics of both parents.

It was this technique that was used to develop what is clearly the best-tasting apple variety out there, the Honeycrisp.  (I know, in matters of taste, who can say what is better or worse?  The answer is: I can.  Honeycrisps are amazing, and I'm not accepting any commentary to the contrary.)  The Honeycrisp was developed at the University of Minnesota, and from genetic studies was found to be a cross between the variety "Keepsake" and an unnamed variety, MN1627, which was itself a cross between the heirloom apple variety "Duchess of Oldenburg" and the more familiar Golden Delicious.

So apple growers are always on the lookout for the Next Big Thing, and are always eager to find more varieties that might have characteristics lacking in the ones currently available.  This is why a recent study by the Washington State-based Lost Apple Project generated a lot of stir with the announcement that they had rediscovered ten different heirloom apple varieties in the United States that were thought to be extinct.

[Image courtesy of the U.S. Department of Agriculture Pomological Watercolor Collection / Rare and Special Collections, National Agricultural Library]

Using old nursery sales records, information about county fairs, property records, and newspaper clippings, volunteers identified abandoned orchards in Idaho and Washington, then spoke to current landowners for both information and permission.  Once the latter was granted, the team took germ line and fruit samples from every variety they could find, and were astonished to find that ten of them represented varieties growers hadn't seen for years.  "It was just one heck of a season," said Lost Apple Project volunteer E. J. Brandt.  "It was almost unbelievable.  If we had found one apple or two apples a year in the past, we thought we were doing good.  But we were getting one after another after another... I don’t know how we’re going to keep up with that."

So now we have living samples of the Gold Ridge and Butter Sweet apples, the Sary Sinap (native to Turkey), and the Streaked Pippin, which was recorded in New York as early as 1744, among others.

Me, I'm just curious as to what they all taste like.  The diversity of apple varieties is astonishing, and we're still discovering new ones (or, in this case, rediscovering old ones).  And that's despite the fact that apples aren't even native to North America, despite what "American as apple pie" would have you believe.  It makes me wonder what else is out there, not just in apples but in other fruits, flowers, trees, domestic animals...

Truly, what we have around us is exactly what Darwin's evocative words described -- "endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful."

*****************************

Finding a person who is both an expert in an arcane field like quantum physics, and is also able to write lucidly about it for the interested layperson, is rare indeed.  Such a person is Sean Carroll, whose books From Eternity to Here, The Particle at the End of the Universe, and The Big Picture explore such ideas as the Big Bang, the Higgs boson, and what exactly time is -- and why it seems to flow in only one direction.

In his latest book, Something Deeply Hidden, Carroll looks not only at the non-intuitive world of quantum physics, but at the problem at the heart of it -- the "collapse of the wave function," how a reality that is a field of probabilities (experimental data agrees with quantum theory to an astonishing degree on this point) somehow converts to a reality with definitive outcomes when it's observed.  None of the solutions thus proposed, Carroll claims, are really satisfying -- so physicists are left with a dilemma, a theory that has been experimentally verified to a fare-thee-well but still has a giant gaping unexplained hole at its center.

Something Deeply Hidden is an amazing read, and will fascinate you from page 1 until you close the back cover.  It will also repeatedly blow your mind in its description of a universe that doesn't behave at all like what common sense says it should.  And Sean Carroll is exactly the author to navigate these shark-infested waters.  This is a book you don't want to miss.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

To dye for

The history of dyes is actually way more interesting than it sounds.

People have been coloring cloth (and pottery, and cave walls, and their own bodies) for a very long time, but all colors don't turn out to be equally accessible to the palette.  Red, for example, is fairly easy, especially if you don't care if it's not screaming scarlet and has a slight brownish tint (what we'd call "brick red"), because that's the color of iron oxide, better known as rust.  Iron oxide is plentiful, and I know from messing around with pottery glazes that it's got two properties: (1) mixed with other minerals and/or heated in the absence of oxygen, it can give you a variety of other colors, from black to dark blue to green; and (2) it sticks to everything.  I have brushes I use in the glazing process that I used once or twice to apply an iron-based glaze, and now they're permanently stained red.

Other colors, however, aren't so easy.  Some of the more notoriously difficult ones are true blues and purples; our appending the word "royal" to royal blue and royal purple is an indicator of the fact that back then, only the really rich could afford blue or purple-dyed cloth.  Blue can be achieved using small amounts of cobalt, or finely powdered lapis lazuli, but neither is common and although they have other uses (cobalt in pottery pigments, lapis in paints) neither works well for dyeing cloth.  Lapis, in fact, was used to produce the finest rich blue pigment for oil paints, which got named ultramarine because the mineral was imported from what is now Afghanistan -- a place that was ultramarinus ("beyond the sea") to the people in Italy and France who were using it.

But dyeing cloth was another matter.  One solution was, bizarrely enough, a secretion of a sea snail of the genus Murex.  These snails' hypobranchial glands produce a gunk that when purified produces a rich purple dye that is "color fast" on cloth.

How anyone thought of doing this is an open question.  Maybe they just smeared slime from various animals on cloth until they found one that worked, I dunno.

Be that as it may, the color of the dye was called φοῖνιξ (phoinix) by the ancient Greeks, and the sea traders who cornered the market on producing and selling the dye were called the Φοίνικες (Phoinikhes).  We anglicized the word to Phoenicians -- so Phoenician means, literally, "people of the purple."

The reason all of this colorful stuff comes up is a paper in Science Advances last week that a group of chemists in Portugal have successfully determined the origin of a purple to blue (depending on how it's prepared) watercolor pigment called folium that was used in medieval watercolors.  It is a gorgeous color, but all previous attempts either to replicate it or to determine its source had been unsuccessful.  The difficulty with trying to figure out things like this is that there was no standardized naming system for plants (or anything else) back then, so the name in one place could (and probably did) vary from the name in another place.  Reading manuscripts about natural dyes from that time period, about all we can figure out is "it's made by boiling this plant we found" or "it's made from special snail slime," which doesn't really tell us much in the way of details.

Samples of medieval folium on cloth [Image courtesy of Paula Nabais/NOVA University]

In the case of folium, it was known that it came from a weedy plant of some sort, but there was no certainty about which plant it was or where it grew.  But now some Portuguese chemists have identified the source of folium as the seedpods of a roadside weed in the genus Chrozophora, a little unassuming plant in the Euphorbia family that likes dry, sunny, rocky hillsides, and when you grind up the seedpods, creates a knock-your-socks-off purple dye.  The dye was then applied to cloth, and you took small bits of the cloth and soaked them in water when you were ready to use them to make a natural watercolor paint.

The scientists were able to determine the chemical structure of the dye itself, which is pretty astonishing.  But even finding the plant was a remarkable accomplishment.  "We found it, guided by biologist Adelaide Clemente, in a very beautiful territory in Portugal [called] Granja, near a very beautiful small town Monsaraz -- a magical place, still preserved in time," said study co-author Maria João Melo, in an interview with CNN.  "Nobody in the small village of Granja knew [anything] about this little plant.  It may look like a weed, yet it is so elegant with its silvery stellate hairs that combine so well with the greyish green, and what a story there is behind it."

I'm always impressed with how intrepid our forebears were at using the resources around them to their fullest, but as with the snail slime, I'm mystified as to how some of it came about.  Some of it was probably by happy accident -- I think fermented milk products like yogurt and cheese probably were discovered because of milk that spoiled in just the right way, for example.  But bread has always mystified me.  Who first thought, "Let's take these seeds, and grind 'em up, and add this fungus powder to it with water until it gets all bubbly and smells funny, then stick it in the fire!  That'll be delicious with jam spread on it!"

And here -- grinding up the seedpods of a random weed ended up producing one of the rarest and prettiest dyes ever discovered.  Undoubtedly the brainstorm of some medieval artist or botanist (or both) who happened to get lucky.  Makes you wonder what other plants are out there that could have odd artistic, medicinal, or culinary uses -- especially in places of enormous biodiversity like the Amazonian rainforest, where there are probably as many plant species that have not been identified as there are ones that have been.

So if you needed another good reason to preserve biodiversity, there it is.

*****************************

Finding a person who is both an expert in an arcane field like quantum physics, and is also able to write lucidly about it for the interested layperson, is rare indeed.  Such a person is Sean Carroll, whose books From Eternity to Here, The Particle at the End of the Universe, and The Big Picture explore such ideas as the Big Bang, the Higgs boson, and what exactly time is -- and why it seems to flow in only one direction.

In his latest book, Something Deeply Hidden, Carroll looks not only at the non-intuitive world of quantum physics, but at the problem at the heart of it -- the "collapse of the wave function," how a reality that is a field of probabilities (experimental data agrees with quantum theory to an astonishing degree on this point) somehow converts to a reality with definitive outcomes when it's observed.  None of the solutions thus proposed, Carroll claims, are really satisfying -- so physicists are left with a dilemma, a theory that has been experimentally verified to a fare-thee-well but still has a giant gaping unexplained hole at its center.

Something Deeply Hidden is an amazing read, and will fascinate you from page 1 until you close the back cover.  It will also repeatedly blow your mind in its description of a universe that doesn't behave at all like what common sense says it should.  And Sean Carroll is exactly the author to navigate these shark-infested waters.  This is a book you don't want to miss.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]