I went and saw 'Inception' on the weekend and really enjoyed the layers and complexity to their dream worlds, although they could have gone further with the weirdness of dreams. What really stuck out for me was the use of an old-fashioned elevator in the main character's own dream. This elevator took him between memories, one floor a day at the beach, another one a hotel room. It wasn't implicitly stated, but I got the impression that the lower the elevator went the more intense emotionally the memory was.
An elevator as a means to move between dream worlds resonates with me. I've often had my own versions of an elevator in my dreams, the same type of old-fashioned one with push button controls and mesh doors one has to pull shut before the elevator will move. Even the yellowish, dim, flickering lighting was the same. I guess my use of an elevator isn't unique, so I wonder how often an elevator of some form pops up in people's dreams? (I also wonder if its use will increase for people who have watched the movie.)
Thinking about dream worlds connected by elevators has lead me to thinking about dreams themselves. Like many people, I've always had full colour, vivid and bizarre dreams. Why do we dream? The answer is that we really don't know, but there are many theories. For me, I like the idea that dreams are a mechanism to sort and file random thoughts, fleeting impressions and half-formed emotions. This theory was first put forward in 1886 by a physician from Hamburg named Robert (a quick internet search didn't bring up any detailed info on him). Later this theory was built on by others including Freud.
I don't think there is deep meaning hiding in my dreams from somewhere beyond my own waking world. I've had ideas come forward in my dreams, but they were on things I was already thinking about. For example, I was looking for a SCUBA octopus (regulator, buoyancy compensator regulator, instrument panel etc all connected together with air hoses). One had gone missing after a group dive. We looked all over for it and spent a long time thinking about where it could be. That night, I dreamed it was hanging up on my dive partner's bedroom door under his bathrobe. The next day we looked and there it was. I didn't get any new information in that dream, although it would be easy to interpret it that way if I was so inclined. Instead, my mind just sorted through the information I already had.
Another point I've been pondering: are dreams continuous? By that I mean, are dreams like movies with a continuous flow from beginning to end? I don't think so or at least I don't think mine are. What I suspect is my mind takes the disjointed ideas and emotions and forces them together into the story I remember. Our vision functions like this – our eyes pick up small chunks of the world around around us and our mind puts them all together into a continuous environment. So why can't our mind take the pieces of a dream and put them together?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
What do blue jays and the sky have in common?
I've only ever caught a glimpse of a blue jay out of the corner of my eye as a flash of blue. I have, however, had plenty of opportunity to watch Steller's jays. Instead of the blue and white of a blue jay, a Steller's jay is black and blue and every bit as pretty. The blue made in these jays' feathers uses the same principle as the blue sky.
In 1810 Goethe explained blue skies as follows: “If the darkness of infinite space is seen through atmospheric vapours illuminated by the day-light the blue colour appears.” So, the colour comes from some mechanism within the atmosphere during the light of day. (I really like the phrase 'darkness of infinite space.')
Fast forward a few years to John William Strutt (1842-1919), also known as Lord Rayleigh, who was the first to describe the actual mechanism that makes the sky appear blue. He also studied the dynamics of seabird flight, so I'm assuming he often looked off into the sky. Anyway, the effect is called Rayleigh Scattering.
Absolutely tiny particles, like water drops and dust, can be so small they reach a point (about a tenth of the wavelength of light) where light will bend around the particle. The bent light is then scattered differently than it would be for larger particles, in that shorter wavelengths (like blue) are more strongly scattered than longer ones (like red) so we end up seeing the blue. So why not violet, as its wavelength is shorter than blue? It turns out our eyes are just more sensitive to the blue.
Blue feathered birds like blue jays also use Raleigh scattering to get their blueness. Within the structure of their feathers are transparent cells full of tiny particles and pigments. The pigments absorb the longer wavelength colours while the particles scatter efficiently scatter the blue light. To out eyes, these birds look blue.
If you find a blue jay's feather, take care with it because this structure is fragile. If it got crushed the blue colouring would vanish.
Update 26 November 2010 - I didn't quite get this one right, check out here for the start of a better explanation.
In 1810 Goethe explained blue skies as follows: “If the darkness of infinite space is seen through atmospheric vapours illuminated by the day-light the blue colour appears.” So, the colour comes from some mechanism within the atmosphere during the light of day. (I really like the phrase 'darkness of infinite space.')
Fast forward a few years to John William Strutt (1842-1919), also known as Lord Rayleigh, who was the first to describe the actual mechanism that makes the sky appear blue. He also studied the dynamics of seabird flight, so I'm assuming he often looked off into the sky. Anyway, the effect is called Rayleigh Scattering.
Absolutely tiny particles, like water drops and dust, can be so small they reach a point (about a tenth of the wavelength of light) where light will bend around the particle. The bent light is then scattered differently than it would be for larger particles, in that shorter wavelengths (like blue) are more strongly scattered than longer ones (like red) so we end up seeing the blue. So why not violet, as its wavelength is shorter than blue? It turns out our eyes are just more sensitive to the blue.
Blue feathered birds like blue jays also use Raleigh scattering to get their blueness. Within the structure of their feathers are transparent cells full of tiny particles and pigments. The pigments absorb the longer wavelength colours while the particles scatter efficiently scatter the blue light. To out eyes, these birds look blue.
If you find a blue jay's feather, take care with it because this structure is fragile. If it got crushed the blue colouring would vanish.
Update 26 November 2010 - I didn't quite get this one right, check out here for the start of a better explanation.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Looking closer to home
Way back in grade eight, each of us in my science class was to make a poster depicting interesting aspects of a planet or moon in the solar system (this was before Pluto was demoted from full planet status and the category of dwarf planets was added). The project was right up my alley, so I spent a fair amount of time thinking about which planet I should choose. In the end I chose earth, what could be more interesting than our home?
Other planets have their fascinating aspects: how exotic are clouds of sulfuric acid? Or the possibility of a planetary ocean beneath a thick layer of permanent ice? Fascinating for sure, but everywhere I look on this world we live on I see something spectacular (albeit not aways on a huge scale) and I can often interact with it directly.
I have witnessed sea ice extending to the horizon in every direction in the arctic, the folded rock that juts up as the Rocky Mountains and, a volcano that spewed into the sky glowing boulders the size of cars that broke apart as they tumbled down the mountain side in Costa Rica. Often, little things are just as captivating. Such as changing patterns in the surface of a stream as the water makes it way around rocks or the hum of bees harvesting the pollen from my bachelor buttons. I could go on. There is no shortage of fascinating things that I've read about, seen in pictures or don't even know about yet. I don't there are fascinating things at all scales on the other planets – and if they are looking for volunteers to go look, sign me up! Until then, I'll stick to the world around me.
The day our posters went up, I realized I was the only one who choose earth. Unfortunately, my eight grade science teacher didn't think Earth was exotic enough, so I did poorly on the assignment. I have to admit he didn't influence me much and don't even remember his name – the only other project that we did that I can remember was dissecting a sheep's eye. I just continued to go outside and explore the world around me.
The bee in the photo is from my backyard
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Nylon
Way back when I took first year chemistry I found the labs to be great fun. In one lab we made our own nylon. Now, actually wearing nylons is something I despise, one step down the slippery slope to high-heels (I'm 5'10”, I don't need to be taller) and caking my face with excessive make-up, not to mention an exponential requirement for more hairspray. It's probably obvious I'm not a girly-girl, nor ever plan on becoming one (if you are a girly-girl, go ahead and be girly, I'm not judging, it's just not my thing). But, making nylon intrigues me as I'm always interested in how things are made.
The invention of Nylon is credited to Wallace Carothers in 1935 at the DuPont Experimental Station. In 1930, Carothers with the folks at DuPont had their first success with what would be eventually called neoprene – the first synthetic rubber. Carothers and his team went on to tackle the creation what would become nylon. Unfortunately, Carothers tended to bouts of depression and alcoholism, and his actual contribution to the development of nylon probably wasn't significant. Instead his coworkers did the work and credited him. In 1937, Carothers committed suicide.
Nylon was the first synthetic fiber, in a 22 September 1938 New York Times article nylon was touted to be 'stronger than steel, fine as a spider's web, more elastic than any of the common natural fibers'. Once it was announced nylon could be knitted in to stockings that were better than silk people got excited. Ironically, the first commercial application turned out to be a nylon-bristled toothbrush. Nylon stockings were said to be indestructible (I've worn nylons enough times to know that isn't true). Today nylon fibers are the second most used synthetic fiber and can be found in all sorts of things like: fabrics, carpets, musical instrument strings and ropes. The down side to nylon is that in a fire it breaks down into nasty stuff like hazardous smoke and toxic fumes. Most nylon ends slowly decaying in landfill as recycling for it isn't widely implemented.
According to Wikipedia to make nylon, molecules with an acid group on each end are reacted with molecules containing an amine group on each end. They react and form long polymer chains – and that's is what nylon is, just a trade name for a synthetic polymers.
On to how we made nylon fiber in my first year lab. I poured one liquid very carefully over a the back of a metal spoon into a glass jug so it sat on top of another liquid without excess mixing. I had forgotten what the chemicals were, but a quick internet search gave me hexanedioxyl dichloride and diaminohexane. After a minute or so a layer formed between the two chemicals. With some tongs, I pulled out the interface, which had changed to nylon. As I pulled the two liquids would form new nylon when ever they came in contact with each other and I ended up with a long string of nylon. So, from the boundary between two liquids came a length of nylon thread.
The invention of Nylon is credited to Wallace Carothers in 1935 at the DuPont Experimental Station. In 1930, Carothers with the folks at DuPont had their first success with what would be eventually called neoprene – the first synthetic rubber. Carothers and his team went on to tackle the creation what would become nylon. Unfortunately, Carothers tended to bouts of depression and alcoholism, and his actual contribution to the development of nylon probably wasn't significant. Instead his coworkers did the work and credited him. In 1937, Carothers committed suicide.
Nylon was the first synthetic fiber, in a 22 September 1938 New York Times article nylon was touted to be 'stronger than steel, fine as a spider's web, more elastic than any of the common natural fibers'. Once it was announced nylon could be knitted in to stockings that were better than silk people got excited. Ironically, the first commercial application turned out to be a nylon-bristled toothbrush. Nylon stockings were said to be indestructible (I've worn nylons enough times to know that isn't true). Today nylon fibers are the second most used synthetic fiber and can be found in all sorts of things like: fabrics, carpets, musical instrument strings and ropes. The down side to nylon is that in a fire it breaks down into nasty stuff like hazardous smoke and toxic fumes. Most nylon ends slowly decaying in landfill as recycling for it isn't widely implemented.
According to Wikipedia to make nylon, molecules with an acid group on each end are reacted with molecules containing an amine group on each end. They react and form long polymer chains – and that's is what nylon is, just a trade name for a synthetic polymers.
On to how we made nylon fiber in my first year lab. I poured one liquid very carefully over a the back of a metal spoon into a glass jug so it sat on top of another liquid without excess mixing. I had forgotten what the chemicals were, but a quick internet search gave me hexanedioxyl dichloride and diaminohexane. After a minute or so a layer formed between the two chemicals. With some tongs, I pulled out the interface, which had changed to nylon. As I pulled the two liquids would form new nylon when ever they came in contact with each other and I ended up with a long string of nylon. So, from the boundary between two liquids came a length of nylon thread.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Bumps in the Road
I just got back from a rather long road trip. We drove from my island in the Pacific half-way across North America to attend a wedding. The trip there we did in two very very long days (we took a more civilized three days to drive back with a day off in the middle). Once we hit the prairies on the second day there was nothing but flat farm lands as far as I could see and I was bored of being in a car. So I set my mind to pondering my surroundings which mostly consisted of sky, prairie and the road we were on.
We were barreling down a major highway that was also a thoroughfare for convoys of tractor-trailers. Since these trucks haul heavy loads, when they brake all that momentum from their load goes into the highway surface, slightly pushing down the highway beneath the tires and creating a bump in front like a really hard version of a cushion. If one was to push down on the cushion with your hand, the cushion would depress beneath the hand and raise up around it. On the highway, this effect builds up over time creating dips and bumps, and since the trucks don't break all that the same place, a wash board effect can develop along the highway surface. Cars contribute to the same effect, but since they weigh a fractions of a fully loaded tractor-trailer their effect is minimal. I've done a lot of long distance highway driving and experienced this effect of driving on a what feels like a wash board many times.
What we noticed this time was dark splotches on the highway just after each bump – the larger the bump the darker and larger the splotch. I'm guessing the dark splotches are oil, the cumulation of little drips shaken loose by the bump from thousands of passing cars. In the July 2010 Scientific American, I found the statistic that the average annual spillage of oil from natural seams and human activities such as transportation is 380 million gallons globally – I wonder how much of that comes from oil drips released by bumps in the road?
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