Category: fun things

Thirty years ago today—February 24, 1989—is the date on which, according to Twin Peaks, Laura Palmer was murdered (just after 1 A.M.). Now, those who watched 2017’s Twin Peaks: The Return (which was effectively season 3 of the series) will know that some temporal shenanigans occurred, but I think it’s safe to say that from the point of view of Cooper’s personal timeline, February 24 will always be that day.

It so happened—and I promise, it was just a coincidence—that nine years later, on February 24, 1998, Morgen and I went on our first date. That means our relationship is officially old enough to drink today! So we’re celebrating with cherry pie and coffee, as one does. Let’s rock!

Throwing stones for fun and profit

With apologies and all due respect to my Canadian friends and relatives, I have never had the remotest interest in hockey. I’ve tried to watch it a few times, but always found it tedious and hard to follow. Even though the pace of the game is often frantic, there is typically a lot of time between goals, during which I can rarely tell where the puck actually is. Where confrontations between players seem to be the most exciting part of the game for many fans, I don’t enjoy watching people knock each other around. There is, however, another popular Canadian sport that involves sliding objects around on ice: curling. Unlike hockey, curling moves at a fairly slow pace and doesn’t require protective gear.

Stones Without Sticks

When I first heard a description of curling, it sounded too weird and dull to attract my interest. But the first time I saw curling on TV, I had a revelation. “Oh,” I thought, “it’s just like boules on ice.” There is a class of games, including lawn bowling, bocce, boules (or pétanque), shuffleboard, and (in some cases) marbles, that all have the same basic idea in common. Taking turns, competitors launch (throw, roll, or slide) a projectile (ball or puck) toward a target. After several rounds, the player or team with the projectile closest to the target wins; a large part of the strategy is displacing your opponent’s projectiles while protecting your own. I don’t have a name for this general type of game, but once I realized curling fit into this familiar category, I warmed to it considerably.

Although curling is, at a high level, similar to these other games, it is nevertheless unique in several ways. For starters, it’s the only one played on ice. A curling rink may have one or more playing surfaces, which are sheets of ice 146 feet (44.5m) long by 14 feet 2 inches (4.3m) wide. At the end of each sheet is a circular bull’s–eye-like target painted under the ice, consisting of a ring 12 feet (3.7m) in diameter with two smaller concentric rings and an inner circle called the button, which is the ultimate objective. The projectiles are granite stones (sometimes called rocks) about 12 inches (30.5cm) in diameter and weighing up to 44 pounds (20kg). Handles on the tops of the stones enable the players to control them. Each team consists of four players, and each player has two stones. Starting at one end of the ice, a player “throws” (slides) the stone toward the target. Teams alternate until all the stones have been thrown, at which point the score is counted. Only stones partially or completely within the outer ring of the target can be scored. The team with the stone closest to the tee—the center point of the button—wins that end (or round), collecting one point for each of their stones that’s closer to the center than any of the opposing team’s stones. After eight or ten ends, the team with the highest score wins.

(Note: The exact rules of curling, including the dimensions of the playing surface, vary somewhat from country to country and depending on the level of play. The information here is based on standard Canadian rules.)

Throwing a Curve

Whence the name curling? The stones have a tendency to curve, or curl, as they slide down the ice, a phenomenon familiar to anyone who has gone bowling. Because of imperfections in the surface of the stone and the ice, some amount of curl is inevitable, but by putting a deliberate spin on the stone as it’s thrown, players can control the direction and extent of the curl and use it to their advantage. But the stone’s fate is not sealed as soon as it’s thrown. As the stone slides toward the target, one or two players slide in front of it, sweeping the ice vigorously with small brooms or brushes. To a casual observer this may appear goofy or even pointless, but it’s a crucial part of the game. By brushing the ice, the sweepers are actually polishing it, giving the stone a smoother surface to slide on and thus extending its range. Sweeping can also influence the direction of the stone somewhat. So by skillful sweeping, players can aim a stone with great precision, making the competition much more complex.

The origin of curling is lost in the mists of time, but some form of the sport has been around since at least the mid-1500s; versions of curling have been known for centuries in Scotland, the Netherlands, and elsewhere in northern Europe. In any case, it was Scotland where the game matured and achieved popularity, and where you can still find the highest number of curlers per capita. Curling is extremely popular in Canada and parts of the United States, too, as well as in Australia, New Zealand, and a number of European countries. As early as 1924, curling made an appearance at the Olympics as a demonstration sport, but it did not achieve status as an official, medal event until 1998. I noticed that it got a lot more attention during the 2018 games than it had previously, even in mainstream U.S. sports coverage, so perhaps it’s starting to enter the wider public consciousness.

Curling Culture

Curling is not just a game; there’s an entire culture built up around the sport. For one thing, it’s a highly social event, and in areas where curling is popular, it is often seen as a focal point of community life. Curling clubs have much the same feel as bowling leagues; most people play not to become international stars but for the sheer fun of friendly competition. (Another inevitable comparison to bowling: special shoes. Curlers usually have one slippery shoe to glide on, and one with traction for control.) At local and regional levels, curling is ordinarily not refereed; decisions on scoring and penalties are made between the two teams on the basis of fairness and good sportsmanship. After a game, opposing teams typically join in a social gathering known as “broomsticking.”

Curlers play to win, of course, but the spirit of curling puts honor and relationships above winning and losing. Naturally there are exceptions, but curling is about as far as you can get from the ruthless competition of highly commercial sports. For better or worse, curling is not the most engaging spectator sport; it has been compared to watching a chess match. But like chess, underneath the simple rules is a subtle and deeply strategic game. Its main piece of equipment tells the whole story: curling rocks.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on August 6, 2003, and again in a slightly revised form on June 30, 2004.

Image credit: Pixabay

Curling is the least dangerous ice-based sport I can think of. Unlike hockey, it involves no fast-moving projectiles or expectations of physical violence, and unlike, say, figure skating, it requires no blades, spinning, or jumping. And, OK, it’s not super exciting to watch, but it has its moments. If you want to try your hand at curling, well, let’s hope you live in one of the few parts of the world where curling rinks are common; if not, you’re pretty much out of luck. But when the next Winter Olympics roll around, just remember: this weird little sport is worth your attention! It’s cool both literally and figuratively.

Image credit: jon oropeza [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

A tale of two organisms

There are some things in the natural world I tend to take for granted, but that reveal true surprises when I look at them more closely. Such is the case with lichens. I’ve known about lichens since childhood, but it turns out I never really knew anything about them at all. I always assumed they were like mosses, vegetable-like things that grew on the ground, rocks, and trees. In fact, lichens are not even one organism; they are a delicate balance of fungi and algae (and in some cases, cyanobacteria) that coexist in the form of what we see as a lichen growth.

More than this astonishing fact, a study of lichens reveals many other surprises, including examples of their extreme hardiness, the myriad of uses to which they are often put, and the fascination they once inspired in a beloved literary figure. I’ve learned that there is much more to lichens than meets the eye.

One is the Hungriest Number

On the most basic level, lichens exist to fill a need for certain types of fungus. Because fungi are unable to produce food for themselves, they have adapted to take advantage of whatever opportunities they find to gather it, either becoming parasites on other organisms or gaining nutrients from decomposing matter. In the case of lichens, fungi use the photosynthesis abilities of algae and/or cyanobacteria to access nourishment. The fungus makes up most of the bulk of a lichen, with the algae or cyanobacteria cells interspersed amongst so-called “fungal filaments.” Because these cells contain chlorophyll, they are able to convert water and carbon dioxide into fuel for the lichen. In return, the fungus acts as a protective covering for the algae and cyanobacteria. In this way, the two (or more) organisms have a symbiotic relationship.

Various sources estimate that lichens cover 6–8% of the world’s land, and can be found pretty much everywhere there is a stable surface and adequate sunlight. They often grow on surfaces that other organisms would find inhospitable, such as desert sand, bare rock, and arctic tundra. Their four basic forms are: crustose (flat, scaly growths); squamulose (pebble-like growths); foliose (resembling leaves); and fructicose (tube-like branches). Lichens grow extremely slowly, sometimes less than one millimeter per year, and for this reason are helpful to scientists trying to date glacial retreats and other disturbances in the geological record.

Lichens serve as a major food source for many types of animals, including deer, caribou, and reindeer (hence the lichen that’s misleadingly called “reindeer moss”). In addition, some bird and squirrel species use lichens not only as material for building their nests and burrows, but also as food (handy in the winter when nothing else is available). Lichens have sometimes been eaten or brewed as tea in some cultures, but the use of lichens for their decorative and medicinal purposes has been much more common in human history. Their unique usefulness is a result of their adaptive abilities; in response to environmental challenges or to deter predators, lichens of different kinds have created more than 500 biochemical compounds. Dyes made from lichens were once commonly used in coloring textiles and continue to be used for preparing litmus paper. Some lichens have been found to have antibiotic properties, and are used as medicinal remedies in various parts of the world. Since they can be extremely sensitive to environmental conditions, lichens have even been used to detect levels of air pollution in Europe and North America.

A Perfect Licheness

An interesting footnote in the story is the involvement of the famous children’s author and illustrator Beatrix Potter in the early study of lichens. Best known for beloved works such as Peter Rabbit and The Tale of Two Bad Mice, earlier on in her career Potter was commissioned to create scientific drawings of biological specimens, including fungi and lichens. She became so interested in these organisms that she wrote her own scientific treatises on them, and in fact was one of the first to propose that lichens function as a symbiosis between fungi and algae cells. While she enjoyed her study of lichens, the success of her literary works eventually overshadowed this pursuit.

Lichen Strikes Again

Out of all the interesting facts about lichens, I think the most impressive is their extreme hardiness in harsh conditions. For example, lichens can dry out entirely, but then be restored to their original condition once they take on water again. This ability has served them well in regions where water can be scarce, such as deserts and polar regions.

Putting lichens to the ultimate test, the European Space Agency ran an experiment in 2005 that was mind-boggling in its implications. Researchers directly exposed specimens of two different species of lichen to open space for 14.6 days before returning them to Earth (the lichens were shielded during re-entry). Despite their exposure to the vacuum of space, cosmic radiation, full-spectrum UV light, and intense temperatures, the lichens survived and were able to undergo photosynthesis as before. Further experiments on the International Space Station have tested the endurance of lichen, including exposing it to space conditions for a year and a half. A team of scientists in Crete has also explored how lichens would fare in the environment of Mars, leading them to believe that lichens’ ability to survive the harsh climate, coupled with their hydrogen-producing capability, could make them a valuable source of fuel for long-range space exploration.

Lichens truly are amazing; with their incredible adaptive abilities, they have managed to thrive in the most barren of settings on Earth, and can even endure the severe conditions of outer space. The unique partnership of fungus with algae (or cyanobacteria) has benefited both organisms; in the case of lichens, two really is better than one.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on April 30 2007.

Image credit: Alex Proimos from Sydney, Australia [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

There are some of these food- and drink-related daily observations for which I can work up considerable enthusiasm. Wine, dark chocolate, cherry pie—bring it on. Margaritas, well…they’re just OK. They’re not among my top 20 favorite cocktails, and I won’t go out of my way to obtain one today. But if I happened to trip and accidentally knock over a bottle of tequila, some Cointreau (or other orange liqueur), and a bit of lime juice into an iced glass, maybe one that randomly had some salt on the rim for some reason, well, I would feel disinclined to let it go to waste. On account of the vitamin C and antioxidants and whatnot. I’m thrifty that way.

Image credit: Jon Sullivan [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Taking scuba to new depths

If I end up completing all the tasks on my Life’s To Do List, I’ll live to be a very old man indeed. So many places to visit, books to read, foods to try, experiences to have—and the list is perpetually growing. “Learn scuba diving” is on the list, but like “visit Machu Picchu” or “have sushi at Sukiyabashi Jiro,” it’s something that requires a greater investment of time and money than I am able to make at the moment. Still, it’s something I’d like to do if the opportunity ever presents itself. Yes, there’s a lot of fascinating stuff underwater—the marine life, the shipwrecks, and all—but equally appealing is the geek factor. Scuba diving requires lots of cool, specialized equipment, and just think of the entirely new range of dive-enhancing gadgets I could justify buying!

Then perhaps one day, if I become sufficiently advanced and still have some money to spare, I’ll invest in the ultimate piece of scuba gear: a rebreather. This fabulous piece of kit could set me back as much as US$20,000, not to mention the extensive additional training and certification I’d need to use it. But a rebreather does for scuba diving something like what a hybrid engine does for a car: it provides much greater fuel efficiency while reducing noise and pollution. These things may not seem like a big deal on the road, but underwater, they can make all the difference in the world. (Rebreathers are also used in spacesuits and gear for mountaineering and firefighting, among other applications, but I’ll focus on the underwater use here.)

Heavy Breathing

In ordinary scuba diving, you have one or more tanks of air—or, depending on what sort of dive you’re undertaking, a mixture of oxygen with nitrogen, helium, or other gases in carefully measured proportions. Regulators deliver just the quantity of air you need, at an appropriate pressure, through a mouthpiece; when you exhale, a valve releases the used air into the water. Each time you take a breath, though, your lungs absorb only about a quarter of the oxygen in the air; the rest is exhaled along with the carbon dioxide you produce. So a lot of the oxygen divers take with them is essentially wasted. The deeper you dive, the more rapidly you use up air, so a dive’s maximum duration is determined by its depth and the number of tanks a diver carries. Even though air tanks don’t feel heavy underwater, there are practical limits to how much a diver can carry, and thus limits on the duration of a dive.

Rebreathers change this equation by recirculating the unused oxygen from every exhaled breath. Instead of being expelled into the water, the used air is channeled into a “scrubber,” an assembly that uses a chemical such as a soda-lime mixture (sodium hydroxide and calcium hydroxide) to absorb the carbon dioxide. That leaves a good bit of usable oxygen, which is recirculated into the system and supplemented, as needed, with more oxygen from a tank. In this way, a rebreather can provide dramatically longer dive times with a much smaller and less cumbersome apparatus. In addition, because air isn’t discharged into the water when you exhale, there are no bubbles (or at least very few). As a result, a diver wearing a rebreather can swim almost silently and invisibly—handy if you’re photographing bashful fish or, you know, sneaking up on the enemy spy who’s trying to sabotage your submarine.

In the Loop

Conventional scuba apparatus is “open-loop” (or “open-circuit”), meaning the air goes out of the system when it’s been used. Most rebreathers, by contrast, fall into one of three major categories:

• Oxygen rebreathers are the simplest variety. They use a single tank of pure oxygen, but because of the danger of oxygen toxicity (a situation where pressure forces too much oxygen into the blood), they can be used only at shallow depths of about 6 meters (20 feet) or less.
• Semi-closed circuit rebreathers replace the oxygen tank with a tank of mixed gases, allowing deeper dives. But their design also requires that a portion of the used air be vented into the water to maintain the proper levels of oxygen and other gases.
• Closed-circuit rebreathers are the most complex design. They use two gas tanks: one for air (or at least an oxygen-nitrogen or oxygen-helium mixture) and one for pure oxygen. Oxygen sensors feed data to a microprocessor that regulates the oxygen pressure in such a way that no gas needs to be expelled. Closed-circuit rebreathers also enable the diver to maintain very low levels of nitrogen (or other non-oxygen gases) in the blood, which reduces the need for slow decompression when ascending from deep water.

As great as rebreathers are for certain applications, they have some disadvantages compared to conventional scuba gear. For one thing, because rebreathers are so complex, more things can (and do) go wrong. They must be carefully maintained—and even then, they are far more prone to failure than a simple tank-and-regulator setup. (Failure of one’s breathing apparatus deep underwater, of course, is a rather serious problem.) In addition, it’s surprisingly difficult to regulate oxygen pressure precisely so that it falls into the narrow range between too little (which can result in a potentially deadly condition known as hypoxia) and too much (which can result in the potentially deadly condition of oxygen toxicity). If a rebreather fails to deliver just the right mix of gases, the diver is in trouble.

And of course there’s the price, which is not a big deal for the military, but problematic for many recreational divers. Note to self: Put “become fabulously wealthy” higher on Life’s To Do List than “learn to use a rebreather.”

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on February 17, 2005.

Image credit: Peter Southwood [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Years ago I ran across a job listing at Apple, and although I don’t recall the specifics, I remember one of the job requirements being the ability to “multitask while multitasking.” And I thought: Ha ha ha ha hard pass. Multitasking is a thing that computers can (sort of) do; it’s not something that humans can do. There are people who think they can multitask, but study after study has shown that when we try to switch rapidly among tasks (which is what multitasking really means, after all), our overall efficiency decreases quite a bit because of the extra cognitive load involved in getting the brain back up to speed where it left off on a previous task. In other words: it’s an illusion, and people who try to do it are not just fooling themselves; they’re actually decreasing their productivity. So just cut it out, already! Today is Single Tasking Day, and you celebrate it like this: Do one thing at a time. That’s it. Finish the thing, or get as much done as circumstances permit, then do the next thing. Repeat indefinitely.

While we’re on the topic…who decided that “single tasking” is the term for the opposite of “multitasking”? It should be “unitasking,” which is what I call it and what I (try to) do!

Image credit: John LeMasney [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Flickr

Shooting game

One day Morgen and I were having a brainstorming session about interesting things related to the theme “hit or miss.” As we began talking about things that involve hits and misses. Morgen said, “Do you know what the national sport in Bhutan is?” I was embarrassed to admit I did not even know exactly where Bhutan is located; it’s simply not a place I’ve ever spent much time thinking about. Morgen told me that Bhutan is between China and India. Although this didn’t give me any strong clues, I made what I thought was a safe guess: soccer. That turned out to be a particularly bad guess, because Bhutan’s national soccer team is nearly always among the lowest-ranked in the world. In 2002, it was ranked 202 out of 203 worldwide; FIFA sanctioned a special match that year, at the same time as the World Cup finals, between Bhutan and 203rd-ranked Montserrat; the match was covered in a documentary film called The Other Final. (Bhutan’s soccer ranking has since risen all the way to 186—go, team!)

In fact, Bhutan’s national sport is archery. That fact alone, I think, qualifies as an Interesting Thing, but there’s more to the story.

Weapons of Play

Bhutan is a Buddhist nation, and one of the central precepts of Buddhism is a reverence for all life. So it seems somewhat incongruous that the nation’s favorite game involves a hunting instrument (or, depending on how you look at it, a weapon of war). But in Bhutan, the bow and arrow can be used only for play. In fact, when making arrows, one can use only feathers that were found on the ground; killing a bird to obtain its feathers would be considered wrong.

Each village has its own archery range, making them as common as curling rinks in Canada. (That is to say, extremely common.) Although modern, high-tech equipment is making some headway, most competitors use traditional, hand-carved bamboo bows and arrows. Village teams compete against each other in rowdy, elaborate, alcohol-fueled, multi-day tournaments that are as much about spectacle as they are about hitting a target. Archers can use almost any means at their disposal to distract or demoralize their opponents, including dancing in front of the targets. A major part of the sport goes on behind the scenes, as teams conspire to throw off their opponents’ game. It is this, rather than what I typically think of as team interaction, that gives Bhutanese archery such popularity.

The Wide World of Archery

You might imagine that since archery is the national pastime, Bhutanese archers would be world-renowned for their skills. So far, however, the country has not distinguished itself in international competition beyond Asia. Until 2012, archery was the only Olympic sport in which Bhutan participated (now they also compete in the women’s 10m air-rifle event), and they have been sending their best archers to the Olympics since 1984. But the country has never received a single Olympic medal. This is largely due to the fact that traditional Bhutanese archery is much different in both equipment and style from Olympic archery—insulting your opponent during Olympic competition is, shall we say, bad form. But Bhutan remains optimistic that their athletes will eventually earn recognition as the world’s finest archers.

I’ve tried archery only a couple of times, and I found it a lot harder than I’d imagined. And in America, at least, I would consider it rather unsafe to taunt someone who’s pointing a deadly weapon in my general direction. All the same, I think I could get behind a national sport that is as much about fun and mischief as about skill.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on December 25, 2004.

Image credit: Göran Höglund (Kartläsarn) Hoffman [CC BY-ND 2.0], via Flickr

I’ll gladly consume almost any type of pie (well, not key lime), but I have a special fondness for cherry pie, that quintessentially American dessert with a delightful mix of sweet and tart flavors. I don’t think I fully realized the superiority of cherry pie until I watched Twin Peaks, after which it seemed obvious. (I have, by the way, met Pat Cokewell, the woman who baked the amazing cherry pie that inspired David Lynch to make it a Thing in Twin Peaks—and I’ve tried her pie too. He wasn’t wrong about that.) It’s National Cherry Pie Day today, and I should probably get myself a nice large pie—big enough that there will still be leftovers on February 24, which will be Twin Peaks Day. Hmmmm. I don’t know if they make pies that big.

Image credit: Sam Howzit [CC BY 2.0], via Flickr

Snow-eating winds of the Rockies

For those who live in wintry climates, it can sometimes seem like spring will never arrive. Around the beginning of March in the upper Northern Hemisphere there is a palpable restlessness, an eagerness to shed winter clothing and begin planting spring gardens. At the northern latitude in which I grew up, winter would often linger into April, if not longer, and the sight of snow, which once seemed so novel in the fall, became unbearable.

Amongst these wintry places, however, there are regions where spring can arrive suddenly in the middle of January, but retreat just as suddenly. One such region, an area encompassing the southern half of the Canadian province of Alberta, along with parts of Montana and the Dakotas, is subject to a unique meteorological process that can cause this type of extreme variation in temperature. Known as the Chinook wind, or simply chinooks, this phenomenon is responsible for record-breaking fluctuations of temperature and humidity, as well as bringing relief to a winter-weary population.

Chinook of the North

Named for the Chinookan people of Oregon and Washington, where the wind was believed to originate, there are actually two species of chinooks. The term is used to describe both a warm, wet southwesterly wind that blows into Puget Sound and the coastal areas of British Columbia, and also the dry, warm wind that crosses the Rockies into Alberta and the northern states. In actuality, it is the same wind, but with very different effects. Chinooks in the west (usually pronounced “chin-ook”) bring heavy precipitation into coastal areas, and then move over the mountains, losing moisture as they go, before descending to the plains as the warm, dry Chinook (“shin-ook”).

This transformation takes place when the moisture-laden wind, driven up the western slopes of the Rockies, cools and expands, releasing water vapor as rain or snow. This drier wind then flows down the eastern side of the range, gaining heat as it loses elevation at a greater rate than it would have with the extra moisture. This phenomenon, called a Föhn wind, occurs in other parts of the world where wind moves over mountain ranges, such as in the Alps, the Pyrenees, and the Andes (for examples of Föhn winds, go to 11 Famous Winds at SenseList).

Blowin’ in the Wind

The effects of the eastern chinooks can be truly startling, as in the case of a chinook that blew into Loma, Montana, on January 15, 1972. The temperature in Loma before the wind arrived was –54°F (–48°C), and eventually rose to 49°F (9°C), a change of 103°F (57°C), making it the most extreme change in temperature ever recorded in a 24-hour period. Another record-setting chinook, this time affecting the Black Hills city of Spearfish, South Dakota on January 22, 1943, raised the local temperature 49° F (27° C) in two minutes (from –4°F/–20°C to 45°F/7°C), the fastest rise ever recorded. The city of Calgary, Alberta has also seen record-breaking changes in temperature and humidity caused by chinooks, and experiences chinook-influenced weather for about 30 to 35 days every year.

Besides creating warmer weather (and often leading to rapid snow melt), chinooks have other effects that are not so welcome. The swift change in temperature and moisture can wreak havoc with soil conditions and the health of trees, plants, livestock, and humans. Some people report increased headaches, anxiety, and irritability when chinooks arrive, although there are many whose moods are elevated by the unseasonably warm weather. Unfortunately, this respite is usually only temporary, and winter conditions can set in once again, leaving locals to resume their restless pining for spring.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on March 7, 2007.

Image credit: Surrealplaces at the English language Wikipedia [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons