- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

THEORY

A public job listing for an animal euthanist will go over poorly.

SCIENTIFIC STUDY

1:17 PM – The following is posted in the Jobs section of Craigslist:
Seeking Experienced Euthanist for Animal Facility

New Jersey animal science facility seeks an experienced Euthanist. You should be skilled in euthanizing not only standard test dogs and cats, but also horses, pigs, rabbits, monkeys and various rodentia, some birds. If you do not have this experience we will be willing to provide training to an individual with the right qualifications.

This is a full-time job with health benefits. You should be prepared to euthanize 50-250 animals per week, depending on current testing conditions. Please be prepared for this – our last three euthanists have been unable to perform to our standards.

Please send resume and salary requirements. Thank you.

1:45 PM – Email Received:
Greetings….
Could you please consider me for ‘ANY’ job on full time/part time/project basis.

I have been working as a data entry/bookeeping clerk and a website developer for over five years.

If I am not fit for the job posted by you then kindly consider me for any other opening.

My rates are:

$5.00/hour for contract job
$120/week for part time service and
$259/week for full time service (8 hrs)

I can only telecommute, as I am physically disabled and is located “FAR AWAY” from your place.

I am equipped with a Pentium IV PC and 24 hours net connection.

If you have a computer microphone then you can give me dictation to type.

2:02 PM – Someone posts the listing in the “Pets” forum.
“Did you SEE THIS???”

3:03 PM – Email Received
YOUR FAMILIES SHOULD BE EUTHANIZED!

You disgusting excuse for a human being.

3:10 PM – Someone posts the listing in the “Pets” forum.
“Attention all animal lovers…”

3:11 PM – Email Received
how horrific. please stop this animal testing. be kind.

3:19 PM – Email Received
what are the qualifications, ice water for blood?

3:26 PM – Email Received
This ad is very upsetting for any animal lovers. I would remove it if I were you. It makes me sick just thinking about it.

3:44 PM – Email Received
I am very interested in this job. I have many years of experience as a med tech taking blood from humans in a human hospital and am sure that I can perform the necessary work needed to facilitate your research regarding the proper humane discard of animals.

5:00 PM – Email Received
Good Afternoon

I just came across your ad on Criagslist seeking an experienced euthanist for animals for your company. I am experienced in working in an animal hospital where I assisted in euthanasia procedures on a constant level. I was employed there for over 2 years. I enjoyed my work immensely and wish to return to this line of work. Many may call me morbid for enjoying euthanasia procedures, but I explain it like this. An animal in pain or suffering should be given the mercy of peace by euthanasia. I would truly like to be considered for this position and would like very much to be trained to properly perform up to your company’s standards.

5:29 PM – Email Received
You’re disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourselves

5:38 PM – Post “flagged and removed” by users of Craigslist.

RESULTS OF STUDY

Lifespan of job posting: 4 hours 21 minutes

Summary: There is sufficient reason to believe that job listings for Animal Euthanists are not popular, and most likely will not be productive.

However, even a nauseating job listing will attract some interest from Indian guys offering to work for $5 an hour or job-seeking Sodium Penobarbitol enthusiasts.

Furthermore, it is apparent that the Craigslist community is somewhat censorious, and will vote to remove a job listing for a job they do not agree with, even though it may be a legitimate listing.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

“Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate”

Ockham’s razor, states that the simplest explanation tends to be the right one. While the definition is straightforward, application of Ockham’s Razor requires some development.

In this paper we are going to investigate the question, “How is simplicity to be determined?” Some philosophers and scientists have suggested that simplicity is determined by a certain kind of elegance or in other cases a level of coherence combined with explanatory power. We suggest that such models are nonsense.

We will start off by taking examples from the fields of Psychology and Linguistics before drawing some general conclusions about the nature of knowledge.

Psychology

Consider this statement which was posted on the blog of a member of my house hold staff. This person writes, “Justin suffers a kind of delusion in which he believes that he dating that girl from Amelie, Audrey Tautou. It is really creepy.”

In examining this statement we can consider two alternative situations:

Possible Explanation #1
1) Justin has a delusion
2) This delusion includes the belief that he is dating Audrey Tautou.
3) (Implied) Justin is not actually dating Audrey Tautou.
4) Some aspect of this situation is ‘creepy.’

Or Possible Explanation #2
1) Justin is dating Audrey Tautou.

Well, it should seem obvious that Option #2 is considerably simpler. This can be verified by either counting the words or counting the lines. Either way you see that I am one lucky guy.

Audrey is a private girl. I can’t help it that she wants to keep things quiet.

Linguistics

Let’s consider a question posed by my good friend Molly who was looking over my shoulder as I was trying to write. “Why did you include a Latin phrase at the top of the essay when you don’t speak Latin?”

Possible Explanation # 1: Justin thought it was cool when modernist poets like Ezra Pound did it, even though Justin in no way condones Pound’s anti-Semitism.

Possible Explanation #2: Justin knew the phrase had something to do with Ockham, but didn’t know how to translate it, and Google Translate doesn’t translate Latin.

Possible Explanation # 3: Molly didn’t have to bring up my use of Latin. She is just jealous.

Implications for a Theory of Knowledge

My friend Steve recently took me aside. He said that a number of people were concerned about my being so stubborn in clinging to certain beliefs. He brought up the Audrey thing (which I have already conclusively demonstrated I am right about.) He asked me to consider two possible explanations for my increasing alienation from others.

Possible Explanation #1 Everyone, but Justin, is Crazy.
Possible Explanation # 2 Justin is the only person who is crazy.

Well, this is a no-brainer. “Everyone, but Justin, is crazy” is obviously the simpler belief. This is a tricky one, because you can only demonstrate simplicity by counting the words, and not simply counting the lines.

What is interesting about this case is that “Everyone, but Justin, is Crazy” succeeds not only because it is the simpler of the explanations but it also has considerably greater explanatory power. Not only does it explain the present situation but it explains a great deal of unrelated events, including those of contemporary education, politics, religion, and television.

The second possible explanation is not only more complex, but would explain relatively little. Maybe Justin’s sense of fashion.

It is a sad conclusion, but one which explains why so few people put Ockham’s Razor to sensible and reasonable use.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

Elementary School Level:

1st Place: “My Uncle Is A Man Named Steve (Not A Monkey)”
Cassidy Turnbull (grade five) presented her uncle, Steve. She also showed photographs of monkeys and invited fairgoers to note the differences between her uncle and the monkeys. She tried to feed her uncle bananas, but he declined to eat them. Cassidy has conclusively shown that her uncle is no monkey.

2nd Place: “Pine Cones Are Complicated”
David Block and Trevor Murry (grades four) showed how specifically complicated pine cones are and how they reveal God’s design in nature.

Middle School Level:

1st Place: “Life Doesn’t Come From Non-Life”
Patricia Lewis (grade eight) did an experiment to see if life can evolve from non-life. Patricia placed all the non-living ingredients of life – carbon (a charcoal briquet), purified water, and assorted minerals (a multi-vitamin) – into a sealed glass jar. The jar was left undisturbed, being exposed only to sunlight, for three weeks. (Patricia also prayed to God not to do anything miraculous during the course of the experiment, so as not to disqualify the findings.) No life evolved. This shows that life cannot come from non-life through natural processes.

2nd Place: “Women Were Designed For Homemaking”
Jonathan Goode (grade seven) applied findings from many fields of science to support his conclusion that God designed women for homemaking: physics shows that women have a lower center of gravity than men, making them more suited to carrying groceries and laundry baskets; biology shows that women were designed to carry un-born babies in their wombs and to feed born babies milk, making them the natural choice for child rearing; social sciences show that the wages for women workers are lower than for normal workers, meaning that they are unable to work as well and thus earn equal pay; and exegetics shows that God created Eve as a companion for Adam, not as a co-worker.

High School Level:

1st Place: “Using Prayer To Microevolve Latent Antibiotic Resistance In Bacteria”
Eileen Hyde and Lynda Morgan (grades ten & eleven) did a project showing how the power of prayer can unlock the latent genes in bacteria, allowing them to microevolve antibiotic resistance. Escherichia coli bacteria cultured in agar filled petri dishes were subjected to the antibiotics tetracycline and chlorotetracycline. The bacteria cultures were divided into two groups, one group (A) received prayer while the other (B) didn’t. The prayer was as follows: “Dear Lord, please allow the bacteria in Group A to unlock the antibiotic-resistant genes that You saw fit to give them at the time of Creation. Amen.” The process was repeated for five generations, with the prayer being given at the start of each generation. In the end, Group A was significantly more resistant than Group B to both antibiotics.

2nd Place: “Maximal Packing Of Rodentia Kinds: A Feasibility Study”
Jason Spinter’s (grade twelve) project was to show the feasibility of Noah’s Ark using a Rodentia research model (made of a mixture of hamsters and gerbils) as a representative of diluvian life forms. The Rodentia were placed in a cage with dimensions proportional to a section of the Ark. The number of Rodentia used (58) was calculated using available Creation Science research and was based on the median animal size and their volumetric distribution in the Ark. The cage was also fitted with wooden dowels inserted at regular intervals through the cage walls, forming platforms which provided support for the Rodentia. Although there was little room left in the cage, all Rodentia were able to move just enough to ward off muscle atrophy. Food pellets and water were delivered to sub-surface Rodentia via plastic drinking straws inserted into the Rodentia-mass, which also served to allow internal air flow. Once a day, the cage was sprayed with water to cleanse any built-up waste. Additionally, the cage was suspended on bungee cords to simulate the rocking motion of a ship. The study lasted 30 days and 30 nights, with all Rodentia surviving at least long enough afterwards to allow for reproduction. These findings strongly suggest that Noah’s Ark could hold and support representatives of all antediluvian animal kinds for the duration of the Flood and subsequent repopulation of the Earth.

Honorable Mention:
“Geocentrism: Politically Incorrect” – Richard Cody (grade nine)
“Young Earth, Old Lies” – Melvin Knuth & Glenna Reher (grade eleven)
“Thermodynamics Of Hell Fire” – Tom Williamson (grade twelve)

- FROM THE ARCHIVES -

1
Went to the mall today. Bought some boxer briefs and an Icee. Stopped into the arcade and lost to some punk kid at Street Fighter II. It’s hard for me to push the buttons at the right time. Shuttle Remote Manipulator Prostheses (SRMP) destroyed Street Fighter machine.

2
Saw a friend’s band play, alone. I wish someone else would have come with me. People don’t always want to talk to the guy with nine hundred pounds of space steel strapped to his body.

Broke the arm of the lead singer when I gave him a high-five.

3
Laid around with my dog and read while it was raining. Flipped through an H.P. Lovecraft collection. He really isn’t so scary, but his characters have a certain lovable horror that makes them endearing. I like that.

Crushed dog with SRMP.

4
Jenny’s pool party was almost fun. Massive robotic prostheses scare most women and children. Accidentally pulled power lines into pool. Three dead.

5
Dropped my coffee mug at the coffee shop. Spilt coffee on SRMP, and short circuited it, starting a small twenty-four hour rampage. Destroyed a city block and beat up old ladies. Also, I set the local orphanage on fire.

6
Finally passed out at the bar watching VH1 around three in the afternoon. Woke-up with half of a burrito lodged between my robotic tendons, and a face full of dry beer. People were around. It was dark outside.

I reached over and put a quarter in the jukebox, forty-five feet away.

(Note that a semblance of this piece was first concieved by Gene over at Utterwonder)

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

The galaxy is a very, very large place. And there’s a lot less stuff in it than you might think. The late Douglas Adams was right to point out that, once stranded in it, the chances of someone offering you a ride in their roomy vehicle are vanishingly small.

Previous editions of this book have attempted to quell this sense of hopelessness through the use of an apt, if rather limited, piece of advice: “Don’t Panic.” And though the advice itself is useful (because panicking is almost never a good idea) that’s its very weakness: too general. With this edition of the Guide, I’d like to apply a radically new approach to the problem of getting where you want to go – or at least getting to somewhere with an oxygen-rich atmosphere.

Most people, upon finding themselves riding the curb in a vast inky blackness, tend to solve the problem by seeking a vehicle. Call it the “not enough rocketships” approach. But these people, in their final moments, are ignoring a second key insight: the “plenty of space” angle. Typical of the imprisoned thought processes that all too often dominate our brains, the not-enough-rocketships approach focuses only on vehicular solutions. By contrast, people who perceive an abundance of space rarely attempt to remedy the situation. They don’t even see it as a problem.

In the late 1980s a team of psychologists from Virginia Polyamorous Institute conducted a fascinating experiment. They dropped study subjects at random in deserted parking lots. Half of the subjects were from Richmond (they were city folk) while the other half were members of the A’capa’capa tribe of the Central Amazonian Republic.

The results were startling. Urban subjects responded uniformly, slapping their sides in frustration, rummaging in their pockets for cell phones, and eventually returning – via taxi – to their townhouses and condominiums to slurp take-out chow mein and vent their frustrations by posting venomous music reviews on Amazon.com.

And the A’capa’capa? By nightfall, they had erected makeshift shelters constructed from free weekly newspapers and had begun trading jewelry made from carved pigeon bones. By daybreak they had been listed by Fortune 500 and by noon their supple-limbed leader was eating sushi with James Cameron in L.A., discussing the movie rights to his ordeal.

The lesson that emerges is that as long as we agree to live in a “not enough rocketships” world, we are likely to evaluate our problems as being spread out, unrelated, and intractable. But most problems – including finding ourselves marooned on the outskirts of a solar system known only by an 8-character alphanumeric code – turn out to be of the “plenty of space” variety. That is, most problems are more complicated and interrelated than we at first appreciate.

Take the A’capa’capa example. Whereas the tribe’s ingenuity and craftsmanship delivered them from the abandoned parking lot, when they returned to their home turf in the Central Amazonian Republic, they suddenly started fretting about things like the lack of good sushi. Within the month it got worse: a weekly free newspaper started up. A Chevy dealership appeared within six months, and recently the entire tiny country was paved over so the tribe members would have someplace to park their trucks while going to the movie theater to watch the exploits of their supple-limbed leader in their previously forested homeland.

So, as you rotate amid the stars, wondering what to do with your final seconds, let me supplement the “Don’t Panic” on the cover of this book with an additional piece of advice. Get comfortable, and dive right in to the rest of the Guide. Your problems are only just beginning. James Cameron should be along any moment.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

The galaxy is a very, very large place. And there’s a lot less stuff in it than you might think. The late Douglas Adams was right to point out that, once stranded in it, the chances of someone offering you a ride in their roomy vehicle are vanishingly small.

Previous editions of this book have attempted to quell this sense of hopelessness through the use of an apt, if rather limited, piece of advice: “Don’t Panic.” And though the advice itself is useful (because panicking is almost never a good idea) that’s its very weakness: too general. With this edition of the Guide, I’d like to apply a radically new approach to the problem of getting where you want to go – or at least getting to somewhere with an oxygen-rich atmosphere.

Most people, upon finding themselves riding the curb in a vast inky blackness, tend to solve the problem by seeking a vehicle. Call it the “not enough rocketships” approach. But these people, in their final moments, are ignoring a second key insight: the “plenty of space” angle. Typical of the imprisoned thought processes that all too often dominate our brains, the not-enough-rocketships approach focuses only on vehicular solutions. By contrast, people who perceive an abundance of space rarely attempt to remedy the situation. They don’t even see it as a problem.

In the late 1980s a team of psychologists from Virginia Polyamorous Institute conducted a fascinating experiment. They dropped study subjects at random in deserted parking lots. Half of the subjects were from Richmond (they were city folk) while the other half were members of the A’capa’capa tribe of the Central Amazonian Republic.

The results were startling. Urban subjects responded uniformly, slapping their sides in frustration, rummaging in their pockets for cell phones, and eventually returning – via taxi – to their townhouses and condominiums to slurp take-out chow mein and vent their frustrations by posting venomous music reviews on Amazon.com.

And the A’capa’capa? By nightfall, they had erected makeshift shelters constructed from free weekly newspapers and had begun trading jewelry made from carved pigeon bones. By daybreak they had been listed by Fortune 500 and by noon their supple-limbed leader was eating sushi with James Cameron in L.A., discussing the movie rights to his ordeal.

The lesson that emerges is that as long as we agree to live in a “not enough rocketships” world, we are likely to evaluate our problems as being spread out, unrelated, and intractable. But most problems – including finding ourselves marooned on the outskirts of a solar system known only by an 8-character alphanumeric code – turn out to be of the “plenty of space” variety. That is, most problems are more complicated and interrelated than we at first appreciate.

Take the A’capa’capa example. Whereas the tribe’s ingenuity and craftsmanship delivered them from the abandoned parking lot, when they returned to their home turf in the Central Amazonian Republic, they suddenly started fretting about things like the lack of good sushi. Within the month it got worse: a weekly free newspaper started up. A Chevy dealership appeared within six months, and recently the entire tiny country was paved over so the tribe members would have someplace to park their trucks while going to the movie theater to watch the exploits of their supple-limbed leader in their previously forested homeland.

So, as you rotate amid the stars, wondering what to do with your final seconds, let me supplement the “Don’t Panic” on the cover of this book with an additional piece of advice. Get comfortable, and dive right in to the rest of the Guide. Your problems are only just beginning. James Cameron should be along any moment.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

Dark Matter
En route to Daphne’s uncle’s seaside cabin, Scooby Doo and the rest of the Mystery Inc. gang are waylaid at an abandoned amusement park – which, according to the kindly local innkeeper, is haunted by matter that cannot be detected from the light which it emits. So mysterious is this ‘dark matter’ that its presence can only be indirectly inferred from motions of astronomical objects. Unclear as to how this would constitute the type of adventure the gang is usually involved with, Freddie remains in the Mystery Machine while the rest of the team begin to investigate. Whilst Shaggy and Scooby get involved in some hi jinx involving the local fauna, Velma discovers that, indeed, if it weren’t for this dark matter and its associated gravity, most galaxies would fly apart due to their own velocity. Undaunted by Freddie’s petulant horn honking, Daphne’s general uselessness and Shaggy and Scooby’s cowardly antics, Velma carefully plans and executes a scheme whereby she successfully captures the dark matter. When the authorities show up Velma confidently lifts the mask off the dark matter revealing none other than Lou, the kindly innkeeper, whose motives remain unclear although they seem to involve treasure.

- – -
The Origins of the Universe
Having just returned from yet another battle with the Decepticons, Optimus Prime wearily examines one of the monitors in the communications room deep within Autobot City. He lets out a deep sigh as Jazz enters in a jubilant mood “That was some battle. We sure showed those bastards. High five?” Optimus is clearly in no mood and leaves Jazz hanging. It is awkward. “What’s wrong?” Jazz asks his beloved leader as he makes a move to suggest his hand had been raised in order brush back his hair.
“Do you ever wonder where we all come from?” the autobot leader is clearly in one of his moods.
“Cybertron,” replies Jazz confusedly.
“No no, I mean from where did the universe arise?”
“Well, extrapolating back from the known expansion of the universe we can imply that at the beginning of time all matter and energy were at an immense temperature and density.”
“Sure, but what happened prior to the big bang.”
Jazz has no immediate answer. Instead the two transformers stand silently. Optimus Prime gazes thoughtfully into space. Jazz brushes some dust off his shoulder and does some stretches.
“Maybe our universe’s initial hot, dense state arose from the collapse of a similar universe and there have been an infinite number of past bangs and crunches,” continues Optimus.
Jazz seems unconvinced and merely nods his head in an effort to convey his ambivalence.
“Of course I don’t want to preclude the existence of a creator God, we are after all giant robots, someone must have built us. Do you think that’s it?” Optimus asks.
“I’m a nihilist,” responds Jazz.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Oh yeah, huge nihilist.”
“So you don’t believe in anything?”
“Well there are different schools of thought. First you can believe that nothing exists. Or you can think that the reality as we experience it does not exist. Personally I like to think that as reality is unknowable, pursuit of understanding is pointless.”
Again the two twenty foot robots stand in silence for some moments before Optimus breaks the stillness, “Good talk.” Deciding that the conversation has come to an end, Jazz transforms, with the accompanying beeps, into a Martini Porsche 935 Turbo and drives out of the communications room. Optimus Prime turns back to the monitor he had been examining.

- – -
Grand Unified Theory
The two scientists couldn’t help but feel vaguely disappointed. Finding this man had not been easy. They had been buoyed on their long journey by all the passer-bys who had said the one they sought would no doubt be able to help them to unify hypercharge, the weak force, and quantum chromodynamics. The imposing woman who lived in that castle had been especially convincing. Sure she seemed to be half falcon, but she had made some excellent points. And the large anthropomorphic bee they met had called him, “the most powerful man in the universe.” It was those kinds of endorsements that had kept the men going on their search. And now they had found him and he wasn’t what they were expecting. Firstly he was wearing a loincloth. It seemed unlikely that anyone wearing a loincloth would be intimately familiar with the vagaries of quantum mechanics. Also, he was sitting astride a panther.

“He man?” the first scientist timidly asked. “What can I do for you?” the large, half naked man, replied. The scientists then launched into a detailed description of their problem but soon trailed off as He-man went from being politely interested to manifestly confused before losing all interest and beginning to play with the giant sword he had strapped to his back. The talking skeleton had been right; this He-man character hadn’t been worth all the effort. The two scientists thanked He-man for his time and headed off dejectedly. They had heard some wonderful stuff about a woman named She-Ra, maybe they’d check that out.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

I am an avid reader of The Onion. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about please be rest assured that I’m not some sort of weirdo who looks for messages in tea leaves and the like. Perhaps the name of a vegetable is a rather unusual choice for a satirical periodical, although I would have to disagree with anyone who felt that any prior publications of this genre had set lasting precedents. The more absurd the name is the better, and as we all know, absurdity is inherent to human existence. To clarify this thought I will kindly refer you to Scientologist actors with the surname of Cruise and to pop stars who don’t know when to call it a day with the plastic surgery. Thankfully, such selfless individuals provide us with an abundance of high quality entertainment. If we feel like having a good laugh at their expense, might as well do so while reading an oddly named, hilarious publication. The Onion it is.

Because I read The Onion so frequently and with such enthusiasm, I can quote many of the memorable phrases with some degree of accuracy…maybe not with the same familiarity the Republican Supreme Court Justices display with the Ten Commandments, but then again, that would be a difficult task indeed. My obsession with The Onion rather alarms my mother who wishes I paid similar attention to the Bible of her Mennonite heritage. Unfortunately, another lifelong love of mine, the Simpsons, has ruined any hope of me ever rising before noon on Sundays. Sorry Mom. You see, humour isn’t necessarily appreciated in all church settings (recall that Mennonites don’t drink or dance), and I happen to find Our Saviour’s name humorous. Yes, blame it on Homer. Some of you may recall the episode where he is sent away by the Good Reverend Lovejoy to do missionary work (which he botches horribly I might add). As he flies away on a plane (to avoid the wrath of the fabulous PBS tag team of Big Bird and the Teletubbies) Homer repeatedly shouts out, “Save me Jebus!” Apparently he really was dreaming of dancing bears during the sermons. Anyways, enough about cartoons, religion, and my lame excuse for not going to church – let’s get back to the story. Like any other newspaper, The Onion has headlines, feature articles, editorials, and yes, even horoscopes for those who require extra assistance. When I was asked to write a piece on climate change, I immediately thought, “Ha!” (not “Eureka!” as will be explained later). I’m sure you will be very surprised to hear that a headline from the May 30, 2002 Onion issue popped into my head. Atop of a photograph of a large floating sheet of ice was the headline, “Ross Ice Shelf Embarks on World Tour.” The first time I read this I was confounded (‘real confused like’ for those Republicans). Rising global temperatures, melting glaciers, inanimate objects giving concerts…I didn’t quite know how to feel. Should I be depressed or doubled-over?

Before deciding on an answer, I thought a little research might be in order. First off, I needed to determine what an ice shelf was. A little Google action quickly took care of that problem. According to our good friends at Wikipedia, an ice shelf is a “thick floating platform of ice that forms where a glacier or ice sheet flows down to a coastline and onto an ocean’s surface.” The key message I took from this definition was that an ice shelf is a floater; even before parts of it begin to circumnavigate the globe. With this in mind, a number of seemingly legitimate questions came to mind. Why are ice shelves breaking up? What are the consequences of melting ice shelves? Who will open for U2 if the Ross Ice Shelf melts? In response to the first of these queries, you will be relieved to know that ice shelves are continually undergoing calving, a process that causes them to release icebergs into the ocean [1]. Calving allows an ice shelf to achieve a sort of mass equilibrium that is necessitated by continual snow build-up and subsequent ice formation. I think we can be fairly certain that the headline in The Onion is referring to the fact that rising global temperatures are speeding up calving, and that the overall mass of the Ross Ice Shelf is slowing being degraded as a result. Thankfully, only a small fraction of the Ross Ice Shelf is on tour for the time being.

One of the major fears of the seers of drastic climate change is that melting glaciers will cause ocean levels to rise dramatically; up to 69 meters by some accounts [Houghton et al., 2001]. To tackle the second question posed in the previous paragraph, what we really need to do is determine the effect, if any, of a melting ice shelf on sea level. For a thorough analysis of this situation, let’s do the logical thing and go back to ancient Greece.

In 275 BC, a military leader seized control of the independent city-state of Syracuse; no doubt inspiring future US foreign policy in Latin America. To commemorate his proclamation as king ten years later, Hiero II paid a prominent Syracusan craftsman to fashion an ornate crown out of a quantity of gold. Sometime after receiving the finished product, Hiero became suspicious of the craftsman’s integrity. Fearing that he may have been tricked, Hiero asked a scholarly relative by the name of Archimedes to determine if the crown was indeed constructed entirely of gold. In his account some two hundred years later, the Roman architect (part-time historian?) Vitruvius noted that Archimedes figured out the problem while bathing himself in a tub one day. He observed that a greater volume of bath water was displaced when he submerged a larger fraction of his body. By this same logic, Archimedes reasoned that if identical masses of silver and gold were submerged in water, the silver would displace more water because it has a larger volume (i.e. lower density). By comparing the amount of water displaced by the crown and by an equivalent mass of gold, the king would be able to determine if the craftsman had replaced some of the gold with a cheaper metal! Vitruvius goes on to state that Archimedes jumped out of the tub excitedly shouting “Eureka!” and ran home naked. No word on whether he was arrested for public exposure.

So why have I included a Greek history lesson in an article that claims to deal with climate change? Well, Archimedes is the father of hydrostatics: an “interesting” scientific field that discusses floating objects, submerged objects, and buoyant forces. As hydrostatics can be used to explain the effects of melting icebergs on sea levels, it is rather relevant to our discussion of climate change. To start off with, let’s state the obvious: frozen water floats in liquid water. If you don’t believe me, refer to my all-time most hated movie: Titanic. The problem with icebergs is that unless you are a sea-dwelling creature or a submarine, you can’t really see a whole lot of them. As has been repeatedly rediscovered over the years by lousy nautical pilots, floating ice is almost entirely submerged (89.5% to be exact).

Like any floating object, ice displaces a quantity of the liquid it is immersed in. To verify this idea of ‘displacement’ please perform the following experiment: put your Speedos on, place a dry towel by the edge of a full pool, and cannonball away! If everything goes according to plan you will have a damp towel, indicating that you ‘displaced’ water from the pool onto the pool deck. The question of the day is: How much? From earlier discussion we know that a fully submerged object will cause an equal volume of water to be displaced. This is a seemingly trivial result. Where the object is located, the water cannot be. Thus, 500 cubic centimeters of sunken pirate treasure (or a Syracusan crown for that matter) will displace exactly 500 cubic centimeters of water. The same is not true for floating objects as they displace a weight of fluid equal to their own weight. To fully understand this statement, let’s start with a few basics. Pretend you’ve just stepped onto a bathroom scale and the scale spits back some politically correct number in politically correct units (kilograms NOT pounds). One might be tempted to say, “Keep me away from that chocolate cake. I weigh too much.” In reality, you do not ‘weigh’ 60 kilograms. You have a MASS of 60 kilograms. If you know any physics nerds, engineers will do, please mention this conundrum to them and they will be more than happy to explain (if you happen to meet one at a party, it can also be a good way to avoid any potential Star Trek conversation). As I happen to have studied some physics, I will briefly discuss weight and hydrostatics – and yes, I promise not to write it in Klingon. However, if you find yourself reading this next passage and saying, “Turn down the suck,” please appreciate that while science can be very entertaining, Fubar (which you’ve probably seen far too many times by the way) has set the bar pretty high. Anyways, here we go…

Weight is a measurement of force. The strength of Earth’s gravitational field is approximately 9.8m/s² at sea level. This means that a television thrown out of a 9th floor Gage tower window on the day of Arts County Fair will accelerate towards innocent bystanders in such a fashion that it’s vertical velocity increases by 9.8m/s during each second it is in flight (ignoring air resistance of course). I’m thinking that a direct hit from a large meteor might be a slightly more dignified way to go…although neither a TV nor a chunk of alien-encrusted space rock is likely to result in the awarding of a prestigious (and posthumous) Darwin award. Anyways, with our newfound understanding of gravity we are now in a position to quantify weight. By referring back to our 60 kg person we can determine that they exert a gravitational force of 588 Newtons (60 kg x 9.8 m/s²) on the ground. Another way of stating this same information is to say that the person has a weight of 588 N. Thus, if this person were of a floatable body composition, they would displace exactly 588 N of water if lying in a pool (face up is always preferable). Believe it or not, this seemingly trivial piece of information will allow us to determine the effect on sea level if an iceberg or ice shelf melts.

Let’s pretend we have a large tub of water, into which we drop a block of ice weighing 30 N. For simplicity, we will assume that the ice and the water are of the same elemental composition (pure H₂O with no chlorine, metal ions or other troublesome contaminants). For all of you budding thermodynamicists out there, understand that the ice will be liquefied as it has been placed into contact with heat reservoirs (i.e. air and water). Logic tells us that thermal energy will flow from the heat reservoirs to the ice, increasing both the temperature of the ice and the entropy of the universe in the process! Upon melting, the 30 N block of ice will become 30 N of water. As this water has the same volume as the water that was originally displaced, the level of the water in the tub will not change after the ice melts! In reality, the situation for ice shelves is slightly more complicated. Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner provides us with some valuable insight as to the composition of seawater: “Water, water, every where/ Nor any drop to drink.” As you are well aware and have no doubt guessed, the glittery-eyed Mariner is alluding to the fact that seawater contains salt, which makes it bad for drinking but good for curing Albatross. The Ross Ice Shelf, on the other hand, is comprised of pure water with little to no salt content (ice crystals like to arrange themselves in regular formations – any salt crystals present are gradually pushed out). So unlike the example previously discussed, ice shelves and the water in which they float have different compositions. This will require us to perform some additional analysis to determine if a change in sea level occurs when the floating ice melts.

If a 30 N block of ice floats in a tub of seawater, 30 N of seawater will be displaced. When the block melts, 30 N of freshwater (just over 3 litres) will be mixed in with the seawater, displacing an equivalent volume. The freshwater is essentially ‘replacing’ the seawater that was displaced by the ice. To determine whether or not the water level in the tub will rise or fall, all we need to do is compare the volume of 30 N of seawater with the volume of 30 N of freshwater (note that any weight of 30 N at the Earth’s surface corresponds to a mass of 3.06 kg). If the seawater has a larger volume, the water level in the tub will drop after the ice melts; the converse statement is also true. As seawater is denser than freshwater due to its salt content, 3.06 kg of seawater will occupy a smaller volume than 3.06 kg of freshwater. Thus, the water level in the tub will rise when the block of ice melts because the smaller volume of seawater is ‘replaced’ by a larger volume of freshwater! If we assume that the tub used in this example has a surface area of one square meter, the actual increase in the water level will only be a fraction of a millimeter. This leads us to the rather mundane conclusion that a floating block of ice such as an ice shelf or an iceberg won’t exactly cause a flood of Biblical proportion when it melts.

Let’s recap…I told you that there is enough water stored in all of the glaciers on Earth to raise the sea level by up to 69 meters if they were to melt. We then went on to prove that of this 69 meters, the maximum contribution of floating ice shelves and icebergs would be a few millimeters. With this in mind, a logical question might be, “Then what is causing the estimated sea level rise to be so large?” The answer is quite simple: land ice. Antarctica and Greenland are covered in massive ice sheets. If these glaciers were to melt, all of the runoff would directly increase the volume of water held in the world’s oceans, accounting for over 99% of the predicted increase [Houghton et al., 2001]. As the volume of ice held in mountainous glaciers and ice caps is so much smaller than that held in the ice sheets, the predicted rise due to their melting would account for the remainder (about 0.5 meters) [Houghton et al., 2001].

So what is the take-home message?

Even if all of the icebergs and ice shelves in the world were to melt, the direct impact on sea level would be an increase of a few millimeters at most. There are even some who believe that we would see a drop in sea level if this were to occur. Water is densest at 4oC and by liberating molecules of water from ice through the melting of floating glaciers, the total population of molecules at this temperature is bound to increase, leading to denser, more compact oceans. This might even be true, but by arguing about whether the sea will rise or fall by 5 or 6 millimeters, we are really missing the point. The fact of the matter is that while the slow destruction of the Ross Ice Shelf isn’t going to kill us, it is ultimately a sign of things to come. I ended up laughing at the ‘World Tour’ headline, but I probably shouldn’t have; climate change is happening around us and there is really nothing all that humorous about it. Today we are dealing with melting icebergs and ice shelves that aren’t causing significant changes in global ocean levels. But what about tomorrow? If we don’t act now to develop a more sustainable approach to life, the land-bound ice sheets in Greenland and Antarctica will eventually melt due to rising global temperatures and the consequences will be severe; nations will be flooded, disease will be spread, and countless lives will be claimed. At this time, we cannot afford to apathetically hide in the shadows like T.S. Eliot’s Hollow Men. We need action, and all of the global community would be wise to ratify and implement the Kyoto protocol immediately. Maybe it doesn’t contain all of the answers, and maybe it doesn’t go far enough, but it is a start that we can build on. Oh, and by the way, I still haven’t heard from Bono; it appears as though he is rather annoyed with Canadians at the moment.

References:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ice_shelf

2. Houghton, J.T. et al. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change Report. Climate Change 2001: The Scientific Basis. Cambridge University Press, 2001.

3. The story of Archimedes and the Golden Crown can be found at this website

* * *

(REPRINTED FROM ISSUE TWO, JULY 25th, 2005)

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

Lieserl – age 18, dark, serious girl. Dressed for today’s weather, but her clothes are dark and reminiscent of late 19th century style.

Setting: Today, somewhere nearby. A simple over-head projector nearby.

NOTES: The public first became aware of Einstein’s first illegitimate daughter, Lieserl, in 1987 when the first volume of his collected papers was published. Lieserl was born to Albert Einstein and Mileva Maric in 1902, two years before they officially married. She was born in Mileva’s home-town in Serbia and was given to members of Mileva’s family to raise. Albert was not there at the birth, nor did he ever, as far as we know, see his first daughter as he was scraping a living tutoring and working at a Swiss patent office. Know one knows what happened to their baby girl.

-The Play-

LIESERL:
Time is the unfolding of statistics. A catalog of outcomes delighted in their out-coming. Chance chanced. There is a chance that most things could happen. A ball might penetrate a steel wall if I threw it enough times. My perfume might gather itself back in its bottle if I waited long enough. I might… fly.

I was born. That I know.

My mother screamed. So, I did too. She cried. I gathered this was the way. She looked at me so sadly. And I stared back at her, confident I was learning. She held me. Tightly. I bit her breast, sharing this pressure. We were communicating. A harsh thing when one person knows something the other doesn’t. She wouldn’t tell me something. Something she was certain of but couldn’t articulate to a child. A baby girl. A thing as I was, that asked so much but never quite advised.

She sat with me. In the quiet of a basement secret, the stillness of a new idea.

Soon, seeping into my room I heard Mozart coming from her past. A violin playing Mozart; and quite well. A confidant player. Apt but somewhat… aimless. He played for passion, not just to impress. Though he did. Impress. He must have squinted when he played.

He. I heard a man playing, not a woman. Who. He. This music was not my mother’s, though she memorized it. Who was this music. This Mozart. Who played her. For her. Who did she memorize?

My father. Girls have fathers and mine was… absent. Fascinated. This man who played music and shared this woman. This woman I hurt. This large woman that I woke at night and pinched and bit. Who shares this woman. Why is he not pained like she. Where is this man who tricks and plays and promises answers, larger questions. Who.

She left me. I believed her when she said we would meet again. So I let her go. Believing in memory as a tangible promise, a solid thing that she could see and taste. I left her my memory and took from her a promise. She had given me, given, given away to family or friends or… nothing. But I was too smart to be given anything without a return offer. She left me in a cold part of the world and went to find this music, this man. So I took, stole a piece of her for me. She wasn’t looking. She wouldn’t notice. Promise me.

I waited til I could stand. Which I did holding on to a chair. I waited again til I could walk. A tour around the kitchen. I learned to run. Then to fly. Then I found my mother’s promise in the bed I used to sleep in when I was a baby. It glowed. And played Mozart.

I ran. I flew. Chasing this music. I hurried through the air, slept with the wind, and gained speed and time as I approached the sound of this… this promise. I reached for this noise, rising as I got close. And finally sailing side by side I caught it
and it stopped.
The fury soaring sound I chased for all that time silenced when I finally touched it.

My mother’s sad face came back but only made me go faster. My father must live beyond this music, past this speed. Starting in my toes, I ran on a force and left that sound behind. I saw it ache to be the fastest thing but I out-flew it by miles. Then years. The acceleration was a heart-soar, a hunt I’d accidentally committed to, a love I’d accidentally committed to.

And love is massive. So when it ceases to be it is not a whisper that passes but a rush of energy that forces me at such speeds that I see things bend that should not bend. Time and light and hope.

Light bends when you’re looking so hard for something so large as a promise. I saw it bend as I came upon it, faster and faster approaching some speed I only recognized as instinct. I was disappearing from being born. From being born in a town to a mother that cries to a father that distance made weak.

And then I rode with it. Side by side. I met. Light.

Let me explain.

(she turns on the projector draws)

the music came first, then me. After I passed the sound, here, I was past any convincing so I sped up to light, here. I sat next to it, here. Then here became here as I realized that it was always out there in front of me. I saw it and when I did –

(she turns off the projector)

I stared at it like my mother taught, saw the pause that overtakes when one shares speed with such a thing. The pause that never arrests such a thing. There is only forever in such a thing even when you sit with it, together, calm, asking it questions. I knew I would never be so bold as such a thing; going forever checked not by company or memory or promise.

So. I turned around. My father was not out here in this pantheon. He had already left out here. And it was colder here than Serbia. I went home.

But. I was late. A hundred years. I chased my father’s music, passed it for his light, and missed him all in all. I heard he was a genius. My mother was brilliant, too. My brothers were kind. And I was… lost. A mystery. A baby. A story with no ending. Because I flew. No ending.

Time is a flexible thing. A progressive statistic proving that things, in fact, happen. Today. I came home and things had happened. His music, I found, had happened. Anyone could play it with some practice. Anyone could explain him to me, with some tutoring. Anyone could tell me what he looked like, what he wore, where he lived.

I would like to tell him what I saw. What really happened. There is a chance I could… a chance I could catch up with his history. Fly away again in time to meet him. To meet him and my mother. To not be created or destroyed but simply happen… to each other.

There is a chance that most things could happen. And I suppose I must live in what could happen. For I was too much for did happen, and not enough for what should have happened.

For a man who apparently re-arranged the world, let it breathe like it wanted to, attracted both mystery and definition… I am left confused. Lost. In love with an idea of what was not mine. I can’t help it.

(She turns on the projector, a new sheet for drawing)

I slide down the wall of my space made steep by the mass of his. See? I fall into his company made obvious but still invisible. A ghostly thing. I wish Newton had been right, and things attracted each other, perhaps not equally but at least consistently. There should be a pull between things, there should be a corporate influence, something instead of one thing denting this fabric, and everyone left to skim and skate within someone else’s dimensions.

But Newton was not wholly right. And there are smaller things inside of smaller things that move in their own directions. That play games you can’t see with rules you can’t judge. And in times like these you must do what you can with what you can’t see. A special kind of faith. Not the god kind. The earth kind.

I’ve seen. With my father’s eyes. I have speed. Relative to everything he had, yes, but it is mine. Not his. It’s sort of sad. Because I know he would have loved it. My speed. That makes me fly. That makes me sleep with light, and disappear, and be born, and call this mine, and call this home, and be all daughter, and passion, and memory and secret.

(She places each sheet back on the projector. It forms a caricature of Einstein.)

References:

Kaku, Michio. Einstein’s Cosmos: How Albert Einstein’s Vision Transformed Our Understanding of Space and Time, April, 2004. W. W. Norton & Company; NY, NY

Overbye, Dennis. Einstein in Love. October 1, 2000; International Thompson Publishing

Zackheim, Michele. Einstein’s Daughter: The Search for Lieserl, Nov. 1, 2000. Riverhead Trade

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

You are fine, what did you say your name is again? Mm. You got a way aboutcha, no lie. I like the way you cuuuuuuuurve so seductively around massive objects, baby, and I am dying to see how much you curve around this. You give me different looks, I like that, always something new to discover about you. I feel I can dig pretty deep into your mysteries and oh lordy do you have mysteries. You’re charming but you’ve also got depth, underneath the surface there’s something so consistent about you. Dependable. You’re not a flake is what I’m saying, you’ve got character. How old did you say you are? Baby you don’t look it, no joke. I wouldn’t put you a day over 5 billion years, tops. Hell no I’m not kidding! Expanding? I don’t know about that, baby, all I know is you look damn good from where I’m sitting. It’s cute how you blush. You’re so modest and so real sweetie, I love how you’re finite but unbounded. I love that about you. Where the hell did you come from anyway? No wait, don’t answer that. I kinda like not knowing.

Oh honey, I could spend my whole life exploring you. I wanna send my unmanned probe into your darkest reaches, sugar. Where you been all my life, hot thing? What? Ohhhhh honey, don’t tell me that, not now when I’m all worked up. You don’t need to collapse, we can make another big bang right here. Damn, and you’re still shaking a little from the last one too. No no, leave the lights on.