It's a story that we've all heard a million times before. A young boy, excited about the fringe research of his parents, climbs aboard an experimental aircraft and careens towards the stratosphere.
Or so we think.
Turns out the kid, perhaps terrified at the impending punishment that comes from unmooring your dad's UFO, was hiding in the attic all along. Whoops.
And you know what? A moderate dose of science could have saved everyone a lot of embarrassment.
About an hour into the incident, one of Colorado's news agencies reported that the "disc" of the UFO had a diameter of 20 feet. Well, a 20 foot diameter helium balloon (905 internal cubic feet) would have more than enough lift to hoist a 40-50 pound 6-year-old.
But the balloon wasn't even close to spherical.
A 20 foot diameter paraboloid (you know, UFO-shaped) that's ten feet tall (which is a huge assumption - the news gave it as only five feet tall) has an internal volume of only 314 cubic feet! This would give it just enough lift to hoist the family cat (~17 pounds) assuming he hadn't been at the friskies too often.
Which Dad should have known, since he designed the damn balloon.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
At long last!
After toiling in the mines of science for what feels like an eternity, I finally have my academic bonafides. My first paper has gone live on the Royal Society of Chemistry's site. Huzzah!
The abstract is free, but you have to be a subscriber to read the full paper. Sorry, taxpayers! The RSC has your research now!
You can, however, see the supplementary information for free. There's some nice crystal pictures! And... er... Flack parameters! Yeah, gotta love those Flack parameters.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Dumpster Fruit
I was not happy.
Would you be happy? Put yourself in my shoes, coming home from a long day slaving over a hot Erlenmeyer to a house that smells like rotting garbage.
Where the hell is that awful smell coming from?
Is it the trash can? No. Did one of the fuzzy bastards decide that the couch lacked eau de cat piss? No, thank goodness.
I was getting desperate. Did an orange roll under the couch? Did I leave chicken skin in the sink? Did I contract with Waste Management for an auxiliary landfill site in my sleep? No, no, and no.
Let's back up a little bit, here.
My fiance has been in China for the past six months, and before she went, she asked if there was any unusual food that I wanted mailed back.
"Well," I said, "I've always wanted to try some durian."
Let's see how the internet describes the durian.
Quoth Wikipedia:
Typical Wikipedia - a wishy-washy, useless description. Some call it fragrant, some call it disgusting. I'm sure that the odor is just delightful, evoking both the deep appreciation of scores of Wikipedians and an official banishment by governments of some Asian nations.
Let's turn to youtube for a less sanitized reaction to the odor of the durian.
Let's turn to bizarre food expert, Andrew Zimmerman. For those of you without cable, this is a man whose job it is sit down to a refreshing bowl of sheep brains.
The British perspective on the fruit is similar.
Imagine my glee when I received a package from China no more than three days ago.
What's that in the back there?
Durian biscuits!
Upon opening the package, I could practically feel the aroma of the durian slowly enveloping my head.
The rich and unmistakable aroma of damp, aged garbage. If this is how the biscuits smell, I can only imagine how terrible the fresh fruit would be.
Yep, wet garbage. Similar, in fact, to the odor which has my living room in its stranglehold.
But... I put those in a plastic bag.
A bag which is now on the floor.
Torn open.
Stupid cats.
Would you be happy? Put yourself in my shoes, coming home from a long day slaving over a hot Erlenmeyer to a house that smells like rotting garbage.
Where the hell is that awful smell coming from?
Is it the trash can? No. Did one of the fuzzy bastards decide that the couch lacked eau de cat piss? No, thank goodness.
I was getting desperate. Did an orange roll under the couch? Did I leave chicken skin in the sink? Did I contract with Waste Management for an auxiliary landfill site in my sleep? No, no, and no.
Let's back up a little bit, here.
My fiance has been in China for the past six months, and before she went, she asked if there was any unusual food that I wanted mailed back.
"Well," I said, "I've always wanted to try some durian."
Let's see how the internet describes the durian.
Quoth Wikipedia:
The edible flesh emits a distinctive odour, strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and offensive. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust. The odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in southeast Asia.
Typical Wikipedia - a wishy-washy, useless description. Some call it fragrant, some call it disgusting. I'm sure that the odor is just delightful, evoking both the deep appreciation of scores of Wikipedians and an official banishment by governments of some Asian nations.
Let's turn to youtube for a less sanitized reaction to the odor of the durian.
Let's turn to bizarre food expert, Andrew Zimmerman. For those of you without cable, this is a man whose job it is sit down to a refreshing bowl of sheep brains.
The British perspective on the fruit is similar.
Imagine my glee when I received a package from China no more than three days ago.
What's that in the back there?
Durian biscuits!
Upon opening the package, I could practically feel the aroma of the durian slowly enveloping my head.
The rich and unmistakable aroma of damp, aged garbage. If this is how the biscuits smell, I can only imagine how terrible the fresh fruit would be.
Yep, wet garbage. Similar, in fact, to the odor which has my living room in its stranglehold.
But... I put those in a plastic bag.
A bag which is now on the floor.
Torn open.
Stupid cats.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
More crystals!
Once again, the real world intrudes on my internet business. So, here's some more crystals.
See? I do work sometimes!
See? I do work sometimes!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Crystals!
People occasionally ask me what I do, and the easiest answer is "grow crystals."
Today, for your enjoyment, some nice crystal pictures.
Today, for your enjoyment, some nice crystal pictures.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Always read the label
So, I was pumping some primo hooch from the stockroom's private reserve when I took the time to thoroughly read the label, something that I have neglected to do for a long time. Here, I took a picture so you can read along with me.
Well, all of the normal stuff is there. A smooth curve between 235 and 340 nanometers, less than 1 ppm benzene, greater than 100 tequila equivalent gallons.
Then I spotted this.
Kosher booze! God would not be upset were you to break into the stockroom at night and pump this stuff straight into your eager gullet.
The paramedics that would need to revive you, however, would probably be less than impressed by your life choices.
This does give a tantalizing look at the production method of this alcohol, which must have started its life as some sort of grain byproduct in order to be Passover-negative.
And then there's this.
Expiration date?! I'd really like to meet the bacteria that can gain a foothold in 200 proof alcohol.
Well, all of the normal stuff is there. A smooth curve between 235 and 340 nanometers, less than 1 ppm benzene, greater than 100 tequila equivalent gallons.
Then I spotted this.
Kosher booze! God would not be upset were you to break into the stockroom at night and pump this stuff straight into your eager gullet.
The paramedics that would need to revive you, however, would probably be less than impressed by your life choices.
This does give a tantalizing look at the production method of this alcohol, which must have started its life as some sort of grain byproduct in order to be Passover-negative.
And then there's this.
Expiration date?! I'd really like to meet the bacteria that can gain a foothold in 200 proof alcohol.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
It Begins
One of the things I've missed most about teaching is blogfodder. Frankly, things that usually happen to me aren't nearly interesting enough to write about.
Well, I could probably wax poetic about my cats, but then I'd be in danger of turning into one of "those" bloggers. I can has actual content, plz?
Look! It's a cat! Inside pants! Knitted pants! Love me, Internets!
As you hopefully inferred, I have the pleasure of teaching again this semester. So far, everything's going smoothly as butter.
What's that? The professor's office, undergraduate labs, and classrooms have all been sealed off because of asbestos contamination? And nobody can find the professor I'm teaching for?
Well, shoot.
The classroom I had to teach in was one of those quarantined because of asbestos. I, and all of my class, got a free day off. Those folks have been pretty lucky, missing one week because of asbestos, and another because of the MLK holiday. I wondered briefly if they'd go for the hat trick and not show up after the class is shuffled off to a random building in the nethers of campus.
My wondering was for naught; the next day, the classroom was open! Turns out that the air quality people had mistakenly identified some fibers caught in their filters as asbestos. Monday may have been out of luck, but Tuesday's class caught both barrels of organic chemistry straight to the torso. The labs were open so that they could be prepped for the teeming hordes that would soon pass through them, and all was well with the world.
All was well. Until I went to teach again - in the same classroom I had been in the previous day - and found the hallway again sealed up. An e-mail was waiting.
"Whoops," it said, "turns out those fibers were asbestos after all."
Of course, I'm paraphrasing. I think the original language was closer to "by reading this e-mail you are hereby releasing the university from any liability pertaining to our inadvertently exposing you to airborne asbestos."
Until the police tape and sealing plastic are removed, my class is taking place in the criminal justice building. I had no idea where it is, because as a grad student, the only three buildings that matter are my building, the undergrad science building, and the dining hall.
Apparently, I shouldn't have felt bad about my abysmal knowledge of the campus geography, because half of my students didn't know where the building was, either. I suppose I should give them the benefit of the doubt; it's not like the time and location of the class were clearly announced by the professor during his lecture or anything, right?
Right?
In a peculiar twist, however, a fair number of students from the other TA's section knew where the building was, showing up even though their classroom had not been changed. I applaud their enthusiasm!
And, as a gift, I present you with this chemistry joke.
Well, I could probably wax poetic about my cats, but then I'd be in danger of turning into one of "those" bloggers. I can has actual content, plz?
Look! It's a cat! Inside pants! Knitted pants! Love me, Internets!
As you hopefully inferred, I have the pleasure of teaching again this semester. So far, everything's going smoothly as butter.
What's that? The professor's office, undergraduate labs, and classrooms have all been sealed off because of asbestos contamination? And nobody can find the professor I'm teaching for?
Well, shoot.
The classroom I had to teach in was one of those quarantined because of asbestos. I, and all of my class, got a free day off. Those folks have been pretty lucky, missing one week because of asbestos, and another because of the MLK holiday. I wondered briefly if they'd go for the hat trick and not show up after the class is shuffled off to a random building in the nethers of campus.
My wondering was for naught; the next day, the classroom was open! Turns out that the air quality people had mistakenly identified some fibers caught in their filters as asbestos. Monday may have been out of luck, but Tuesday's class caught both barrels of organic chemistry straight to the torso. The labs were open so that they could be prepped for the teeming hordes that would soon pass through them, and all was well with the world.
All was well. Until I went to teach again - in the same classroom I had been in the previous day - and found the hallway again sealed up. An e-mail was waiting.
"Whoops," it said, "turns out those fibers were asbestos after all."
Of course, I'm paraphrasing. I think the original language was closer to "by reading this e-mail you are hereby releasing the university from any liability pertaining to our inadvertently exposing you to airborne asbestos."
Until the police tape and sealing plastic are removed, my class is taking place in the criminal justice building. I had no idea where it is, because as a grad student, the only three buildings that matter are my building, the undergrad science building, and the dining hall.
Apparently, I shouldn't have felt bad about my abysmal knowledge of the campus geography, because half of my students didn't know where the building was, either. I suppose I should give them the benefit of the doubt; it's not like the time and location of the class were clearly announced by the professor during his lecture or anything, right?
Right?
In a peculiar twist, however, a fair number of students from the other TA's section knew where the building was, showing up even though their classroom had not been changed. I applaud their enthusiasm!
And, as a gift, I present you with this chemistry joke.
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