Sproing

A reader writes:

If you take a spring - a metal one I suppose (I know nothing about springs other than they're fun to play with) - and hang it by one end, with no weights or anything attached to the other end, and just leave it hanging there, will it eventually (like really eventually) become completely straight? Or what will happen? Does it matter what kind of spring it is? Will it's own weight straighten it out, or is there something about its structure that would prevent that from happening? And the follow-up, if the answer is yes, is, let's say it's a Slinky; about how long would it take?

I wish I could say I had a beer riding on this, but the truth is I'm just geeky and thought you might know.

Michael

No, a hanging spiral spring won't straighten.

The key concepts here are elasticity and plasticity. The whole idea of a spring is that it's elastic - you can stretch and/or compress it, and when you let go, it returns to its original shape. If the force applied to an elastic object exceeds the limits of its elasticity then the object will be permanently deformed (or just break), but you'd need a pretty darn long, but skinny, spring for that to happen just from the spring's own weight.

Slinkies are an extreme case, here, because they're a quite unusual kind of spring, with peculiar dimensions compared with most spiral springs. Dangling a brand new Slinky may actually give it a slight permanent stretch, but it clearly doesn't stretch it very much, and you can leave it hanging as long as you like without getting any more stretch than happens in the first few minutes.

It's actually normal for a new spring to distort somewhat when put to use. This is called "taking a set", and has to be accounted for in the design of devices that use springs, from the huge ones in heavy vehicle suspensions to the incredibly delicate ones in mechanical wristwatches. It's unusual for a spring to take a set just from its own weight, though.

If you made a spring out of, say, tin/lead electronics solder, then it wouldn't need to be very long in order to straighten out under its own weight. It'd probably continue to straighten for some time, too - meaning hours, though, not years. Tin/lead alloy is of course a terrible material for springs, since it's highly plastic and hardly elastic at all.

Apropos of this, there's a really neat guide to making your own springs here. Home handypersons usually regard spring-making as a black art and just end up with a parts box full of springs cannibalised from other items, but you really can make them yourself without being a master metalworker.

(Oh, and I know I sound like a broken record, but J.E. Gordon's "The New Science of Strong Materials, or Why You Don't Fall through the Floor" and "Structures, Or Why Things Don't Fall Down" both have a lot to say about the springiness of actual springs and of many other objects, and about the foundational concepts of stress and strain.)


Psycho Science is a regular feature here. Ask me your science questions, and I'll answer them. Probably.

And then commenters will, I hope, correct at least the most obvious flaws in my answer.

This sensor for sure, Rocky!

A reader writes:

Nokia 808

"Nokia announces 808 PureView ... 41-megapixel camera(!)"

HAHAHAHAHAHA, HAHA, HAHAHAHA, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

*choke* *gasp* *groan*

When I read that I immediately thought of your "enough already with the megapixels" page. I figured I'd send you the link so you can knock yourself out. :D

And now, back to frantic laughter...

Lucio

This thing may actually be less ridiculous than it looks.

The sensor in the Nokia 808 is much larger than normal phone-cam sensors - much larger, in fact, than the sensors in almost all point-and-shoot compact digital cameras (not counting expensive oddballs like the new PowerShot G1 X).

In the inscrutable jargon of camera sensor sizes, the 808's sensor is "1/1.2 inches". This means a diagonal size of around 13 to 14 millimetres.

The "APS-C"-sized sensors in mainstream DSLRs have a diagonal around the 27 to 28mm range, and thus four times the area of the 808 sensor. "Full frame" DSLR sensors are way bigger again, but they're also way more expensive.

For comparison, the (surprisingly good) "1/3.2 inch" sensor in the iPhone 4S has a diagonal of less than six millimetres. Consumer point-and-shoots these days usually seem to have 1/2.3" sensors, giving a diagonal of less than eight millimetres. (I haven't researched this in detail, but the eight Canon consumer compacts and five cheap Nikons I just checked out were all 1/2.3.)

Fancier point-and-shoots, like Canon's PowerShot G12 and Nikon's Coolpix p7100, have somewhat larger sensors; those two both have 1/1.7", giving diagonals in the neighbourhood of nine to ten millimetres.

(The abovementioned PowerShot G1 X has a "1.5 inch" sensor, which after compensation for endowment-overstating jargon is a 23-point-something millimetre diagonal. That's very nearly mass-market-DSLR size, but you'd bleeding want it to be for a street price of $US799. You can get an entry-level DSLR with two unexciting but functional zoom lenses for that price. If you want something more compact, you can even get a mirrorless camera - a Nikon 1 J1, say - and a couple of lenses, for $US799.)

So the 808's 13-to-14-millimetre sensor isn't impressive by interchangeable-lens-camera standards, but it's pretty darn huge compared with compact cameras, and huger still by phone-cam standards. But it apparently has the same immense photosite density as the tiny sensors. So it really does have about 41 million photosites.

The 808 sensor is meant, however, to operate by "pixel binning" lots of adjacent photosites together, creating an image with a more sane resolution (apparently as little as three megapixels), but of higher quality than the same image from a tiny sensor with that same resolution.

Pixel binning is not a cheat like interpolating a low-res sensor's output up to a higher resolution. Done properly, binning really can make lots of super-small, noisy photosites into a lower number of bigger, less noisy ones.

I hope the 808 sensor actually does work better than it would if it were the same size but with bigger photosites in the first place. It seems a long darn way to go just to get a big megapixel number to impress the rubes, but stranger things have happened.

(The hyper-resolution also apparently lets the 808 use the much-maligned "digital zoom", a.k.a. just cropping out the middle of the image, without hurting image quality. Though, of course, the more you "zoom", the less pixel-binning the sensor can do. On the plus side, it's much easier to make a super-high-quality lens if it doesn't have to have any proper, "optical" zoom, and the minuscule lenses that phone-cams have to use need all the help they can get.)

The principal shortcoming of the small super-high-res sensors in phonecams and compact digicams is low-light performance. And "low light" can mean just "daytime with a heavy overcast", not even normal indoor night-time lighting.

The best solution to this problem is to avoid it in the first place by not being so damn crazy about megapixels, but that seems to be a commercial impossibility, largely thanks to my favourite people.

The next-best solution is to use a lens that lets in more light. But large-aperture lenses are much more expensive to make than small-aperture ones, and also tend to be unmanageably physically large for slimline-camera purposes. Oh, and the larger the aperture, the smaller the depth of field, which is bad news for snapshot cameras that often end up focussed on the end of a subject's nose.

Another low-light option is to use slow shutter speeds, but that'll make everything blurry unless your camera's on a tripod and the thing you're photographing is not moving.

Or you can wind up the sensitivity, and turn the photo into a noise-storm.

Or, if your subject is close enough, you can use the on-camera flash, which will iron everybody's face out flat.

(Approximately one person in the history of the world has managed to become a famous photographer by using direct flash all the time. Here's his often-NSFW photo-diary site. Half the world's photographers hate him.)

Some of the better compact digicams have a flash hotshoe on top. Bouncing the light from an add-on flash off the ceiling is a standard way to take good indoor photographs. A compact camera plus an add-on flash isn't really compact any more, though. It might be possible to work some kind of hinged flash into a phone-cam, but nobody's managed that yet.

My suspicions about the Nokia 808's low-light performance were increased by Nokia's three gigantic sample images (32Mb Zip archive)...

Nokia 808 sample image

Nokia 808 sample image

Nokia 808 sample image

...all of which look pretty fantastic, as demo pics always do.

If you look closely, the blue sky is noticeably noisy, shadow detail is a little bit noisy and a little bit watercolour-ed out by noise reduction, and at 100% magnification none of the demo shots are what you'd call razor sharp, especially around the edges of the image.

But the full-sized versions of these pictures are 33.6 and 38.4 megapixels. If you scale them down to the ten-to-twenty-megapixel resolution of a current DSLR, it'd be hard to tell the difference between the 808 shots and DSLR ones.

But not one of the demo pics was taken in low light.

Nokia have, however, just added several more demo images on the 808 press-pictures page here. The new images include some lower-light shots. In every case, the lower the light, the lower the image resolution, as a result of that pixel-binning trick. But those lower-res images look good.

Nokia 808 sample image

I'm not sure what the light source is for this one - possibly a floodlight pointing upwards at the climber - but it's 33.6 megapixels, and looks pretty good, except for some watercolour-y noise reduction on the far rock wall. Presumably the light source is pretty strong.

Nokia 808 sample image

This seems to be an actual night-time shot, possibly taken with the on-camera flash but suspiciously nicely lit for that. It's a mere 5.3 megapixels, but not very noisy at all.

Nokia 808 sample image

This dusk shot is the same resolution but with a 4:3-aspect-ratio crop, taking it to only five megapixels. Noise is noticeable, but not obnoxious.

Nokia 808 sample image

Nokia 808 sample image

These two shots are both overcast daylight and are the low five-ish-megapixel size too. Their noise isn't a big deal either.

Nokia 808 sample image

And then there's this sunset picture, which sticks to the lower-light-equals-lower-resolution rule; it's back up at 33.6 megapixels, because it's exposed for the sunset, with everything else in silhouette.

Time, and independent review sites, will tell whether these pictures are representative of what the 808 can do. But it looks good, and plausible, so far.

Which is unusual, because odd sensor designs that're alleged to have great advantages do not have a good reputation.

Fuji's Super CCD did close to nothing in the first generation, and has developed to give modest, but oversold, increases in resolution and dynamic range.

Sony's "RGB+E" filter design didn't seem to do much of anything, and was used in two cameras and then quietly retired.

Foveon's X3 sensor genuinely does give colour resolution considerably higher than that from conventional Bayer-pattern sensors.

But, one, the human eye's colour resolution is lower than its brightness resolution (a fact that pretty much all lossy image and video formats, both analogue and digital, rely on), so higher colour resolution is something of a solution looking for a problem.

And, two, Foveon and Sigma (the only maker of consumer cameras that use the Foveon sensor, if you don't count the Polaroid x530, which was mysteriously recalled) insist on pretending that three colours times X megapixels per colour makes an X-megapixel Foveon sensor as good as am X-times-three-megapixel ordinary sensor. That claim has now been failing to pass the giggle test for ten years.

The Nokia 808 sensor, on the other hand, may actually have something to it. We've only got the manufacturer's handout pictures to go by so far, and any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from a rigged demo. But this actually could be a way out of the miserable march of the megapixels, without which we actually probably would have had, by now, cheap compact cameras that're good in low light.

Or it could turn out to just be more marketing mumbo-jumbo.

But I really hope it isn't.

Pretty, but smelly

A reader writes:

Why is "cloudy ammonia" cloudy?

I've used household ammonia for decades now, for cleaning windows and floors and so on, and never really questioned why it has that swirling cloudy look. But the other day I realised that this stuff is just a solution of ammonia (NH3) in water, and I don't think there's any reason why that shouldn't be clear, like a solution of many other simple chemicals in water.

Where do the clouds come from?

Jennifer

Some readers may be confused at this point, because different parts of the world have different kinds of supermarket ammonia-water. I think cloudy ammonia is the standard kind in the Commonwealth, with the non-cloudy version being normal in the USA, but don't quote me on that.

For those who haven't seen the cloudy kind...

Cloudy ammonia

...here some is. It's really quite pretty; you can see a similar pearlescent swirling effect in various shampoos that're trying to persuade you they're not just detergent.

Jennifer's right, though: There's no reason why ammonia in water should look like this. Bubble ammonia into water and you get a solution of ammonium hydroxide, which is clear.

The reason why cloudy ammonia is cloudy is simple enough: The manufacturers put soap in it. I've also read that there can be some oil or other instead of, or in addition to, the soap. In any case, the additive makes the substance look interesting, and may also make it a better cleaner. Probably not a better window cleaner, though, since straight ammonia-plus-water will evaporate to nothing and not leave marks, while ammonia-plus-water-plus-soap can leave streaks.

The ammonia in the above picture had been sitting undisturbed for some time, so it wasn't actually very cloudy at first...

Bottom of ammonia bottle

...because a lot of its "clouds" had settled out. I took this photo first, then shook the bottle up and took the other one.

While we're on this pungent subject, I have recently accidentally created an ammonia-water generator.

We have, you see, four indoor cats. They use cat litter fast enough to make "flushable" litter a pretty quick ticket to a drain blockage, if you're dumb enough to actually flush it, which, at one point, I was.

Now, next to the phalanx of litter trays, there's a flip-top rubbish bin that I shovel the nasty stuff into for later, non-plumbing disposal.

Urine, left to sit, generates ammonia from the breakdown of urea.

(If your surname is "Fuller", then someone in your ancestry was probably rather familiar with this phenomenon.)

All that ammoniacal goodness is contained very effectively by the bin's fitted lid. It only comes out to say hello to my sinuses when I've got the bin open. It's less gross than you'd think, too; it doesn't really smell like wee and poo at all, because the wall of harsh ammonia-smell covers everything else.

When the litter stays there a bit longer than usual, it warms up a bit from its own slow decomposition. When the ambient temperature was about 20°C, I measured the temperature in the middle of the litter at around 26°C.

When this has happened and I open the bin, the ammonia-smell is really strong, and the underside of the lid is covered with droplets of quite clear, clean-looking liquid. Which is ammonium hydroxide; a solution of ammonia in water. It's probably got a high enough pH to be pretty much sterile, too; if I were more dedicated to perversity, I could bottle it and use it as a cleaner.

Oh, and while we're on the subject of well-aged urine, if you're unhinged enough to boil down aged urine, you can isolate phosphorus.

Or possibly not.


Psycho Science is a regular feature here. Ask me your science questions, and I'll answer them. Probably.

And then commenters will, I hope, correct at least the most obvious flaws in my answer.

Entrée: Two ice cubes. Main Course: Oxygen.

A reader writes:

Is there such a thing as food with less than no calories?

You're supposed to be able to eat lettuce or celery or something, and the energy your body uses to digest it is more than you get out of it.

(Well, I don't really know if you're "supposed" to be able to or not, but I've certainly heard people say this.)

What about eating ice? Obviously you get no nutrition at all from that, but I've never seen a Get Thin By Eating Snow diet book, so I figure it's not practical.

Nat

There are foodstuffs that have very little "food energy". They're pretty much what you'd expect, and do include a lot of green vegetables.

But digestion is good at sucking energy out of food. Your body does better than break even, even when you're eating celery. It's not easy to gain weight eating nothing but undressed salads and vitamin supplements, but it's possible.

The eating-ice thing, in contrast, sounds like a great idea. But only if you make a particular mistake, having to do with the term "calorie".

There are 540 calories in a Big Mac. But the enthalpy of fusion of water is about 80 calories per gram. And then you need another calorie to heat one gram of water by 1°C; if your ice starts out a few degrees below zero and ends up at body temperature, that adds up. And the only place this energy can come from is your body's own reserves.

So you can more than offset the entire nutritional value of your hamburger by crunching up one lousy ice cube! Right?

Sorry, no. Because the "physics" calorie, the one being used on the melting-ice side of the equation, is one thousandth of the "dietary" calorie, on the food side of the equation.

(This is noticeable when the dietary calorie is clearly indicated, as "kcal", for instance. The modern metric alternative to the two kinds of calorie is the joule and kilojoule; fortunately, there's no colloquial tendency to call both of these units "joules".)

A hundred grams of celery is about 14 kcal. To offset only that much energy value, you'd need to eat more than a hundred grams of ice. A whole tray of ice cubes would probably do it; the ice-cube trays in my fridge hold about 160 grams.

So as few as 35 trays of ice cubes might compensate for a Big Mac!

Presuming, of course, that you actually can Freeze Yourself Thin at all.

The human body runs warm as a matter of course. If the ambient temperature is below body temperature, which it is for most humans most of the time, then the body's leaking heat all the time anyway, and eating cold stuff may change where the heat goes, more than it changes how much heat is lost.

This page at livestrong.com gives a ballpark figure of only one dietary calorie burned per ounce of ice eaten. 80 small calories of enthalpy of fusion per gram of ice, plus 40 small calories of heat to take the water from a bit below freezing to body temperature, times about 28 grams to the ounce, gives 3360 small calories or 3.36 dietary ones of raw heating power. If that only adds up to one extra dietary calorie burned, the tooth wear and ice-cream headaches don't seem like much of a trade-off. Especially since you don't actually get any ice-cream.

(If you really apply yourself to slimming via low temperatures, I would not put it past your body to decide that all this shivering indicates you're now living in a cold climate, so more incoming food should be directed towards creating a nice insulating layer of fat.)

Your natural basal metabolic rate is probably closer to 2000 kcal per day than it is to 1000. Adding a couple of dozen kilocalories to that by ice-eating may actually hurt more than doing an energy-equivalent amount of exercise.

(Exercise is not really a great way of burning calories. Run ten kilometres, burn 700 kcal. As a general rule, if you're not some sort of athlete or heavy manual labourer, exercise will make you fitter and stronger, but not thinner.)

Needless to say, Wikipedia has a page about negative-calorie food. And a funnier one about the "Negative Calorie Illusion".


Psycho Science is a regular feature here. Ask me your science questions, and I'll answer them. Probably.

And then commenters will, I hope, correct at least the most obvious flaws in my answer.

Fire from, or at least near, ice

A reader writes:

Got a science question of sorts.

WTF is actually going on here?

Chris

The ice cube is not glowing. The induction coil is.

Induction heaters are interesting things. You make a coil out of a sturdy conductor - usually copper bar stock - and you put a whole lot of current through it at, usually, a pretty high AC frequency. The alternating current then induces current in any conductive object you put inside the coil, and the resistance of the object turns the current into heat, which heats the object. It's the same principle that heats up a wire, or an actual heating element, when you put current through it. The source of the current in an induction heater is just less obvious, and the electricity in the heated object isn't going round and round in a circuit; it's just jiggling eddy currents.

(Magnetic braking relies on induced eddy currents as well, and also heats up the object the eddy currents are being induced in.)

The induction coil was actually the first, and worst, kind of transformer. It was the worst because the purpose of a transformer is to turn one voltage of AC into another (or keep the same voltage but isolate two circuits). The more energy a transformer wastes as heat, the less useful it is. Modern transformers have laminated cores made from "electrical steel", specifically to minimise unproductive transformer-heating eddy currents.

A powerful enough induction heater can do all sorts of neat tricks, like heat-treating part of a piece of metal - all the way to glowing hot - so fast that the heat won't have managed to conduct through the metal to other parts of the object before the bit you're heating gets to the right temperature and can be quenched. You can also use an induction heater to melt metal in a crucible without a flame.

Or even to levitate a light enough metal, while it melts!

Induction cooktops work this way too. That's why they'll heat a metal pot, but not glass cookware. If it's conductive, they heat it; if it isn't, they don't.

[UPDATE: As commenters have pointed out, only ferromagnetic cookware actually works on an induction cooktop. I'll fix this properly when I have a moment.]

Ice is very slightly conductive (as I have proved to my own satisfaction), but can generally be considered an insulator, and won't be significantly warmed by an induction heater. So the induction coil in the ice-cube video is essentially being run "empty", and just rapidly heating itself up, and in due course glowing, in a simple resistive way. That ice cube will actually melt pretty quickly, because of radiant heat and air convection from the coil. But it'll last as long as you'd expect it to if it were sitting next to a similarly glowing plain resistive heating element.

(The glow probably isn't really as impressive as it looks, either, because digital cameras of all sorts are sensitive to infrared light. Most digital image sensors have an IR-blocking filter on them to minimise this effect, but the filters aren't completely effective, and so very hot things like this coil or the aftermath of certain pyrotechnic entertainments look hotter than they are. The human eye may see some glowing metal as orange, but most digital cameras will think it's white.)


Psycho Science is a regular feature here. Ask me your science questions, and I'll answer them. Probably.

And then commenters will, I hope, correct at least the most obvious flaws in my answer.

More people who are better at Lego than you

Herewith, some more shameless regurgitation of fantastic Lego creations I found on the excellent TechnicBricks.

Hybrid pneumatic/electric robotic arm:


(TechnicBricks post)

Another feature-packed car (unfortunately, Lego do not make little rubber cones that'd make the suspension authentic):


(TechnicBricks post)

Combination-lock safe:


(TechnicBricks post)

And my favourite - a brick-sorter, which can only detect four sizes of brick, but which does it entirely mechanically, using a single motor!


(TechnicBricks post)

My Crackpot Theory of Dental Care

I'm going to let you in on a little secret, here.

I don't use toothpaste.

Ever.

I was turned off the stuff by the dental-health people who came to my school when I was a wee 'un. They told me to brush my teeth with the ghastly gritty super-minty high-fluoride toothpaste they always brought with them, I begged them not to, they made me anyway, I vomited copiously, and that was the end of toothpaste for me.

Heck, for many years I didn't brush my teeth at all.

You may, at this juncture, be imagining the plausible results of this refusal, on my part, to allow society's frivolous protocols to take precedence over my personal values.

My mouth, you will be surmising, must be a steaming, mangrove-covered bayou, occasionally punctuated by by plopping mud-bubbles and shattered, gravestone-like, lichen-encrusted teeth.

I do not blame you for jumping to this conclusion, for it is perfectly reasonable. That was certainly the response of the dentist I visited, for the first time in at least ten years, a while ago.

But, as the dentist and her similarly terrified assistant immediately discovered, my teeth are actually just a bit yellower than the average.

Every one of 'em was there, not a one had a hole in it.

And my breath didn't, and doesn't, smell.

This is because, as that dentist cheerfully confirmed for me after she regained her composure, brushing your teeth is the least effective way of cleaning your mouth.

Brushing your teeth isn't useless, especially if you're thorough about it and do use fluoride toothpaste. But the danger spots in your mouth are between the teeth, where food particles accumulate and feed colonies of bacteria. And if you want sweet breath but only clean your teeth to get it, the similarly-flourishing colonies of bacteria on your tongue will start stinking up your exhalations again as soon as the masking smell of the toothpaste dissipates.

So what dark rituals was I performing, to escape what countless jaunty animated toothbrush mascots have insisted is the inevitable consequence of not scrubbing your teeth with minty froth?

Well, I floss pretty regularly, and also clean properly between my teeth very regularly. I do that now with Piksters "interdental brushes", which are, essentially, tiny tough pipe-cleaners for the gaps between your teeth.

And to avoid smelly breath, I clean the top surface of my tongue, every morning. There are many purpose-made doodads for scraping your tongue; plastic ones cost almost nothing, so you might as well give them a go. I've always found a straight scraper blade to be perfectly adequate, though; I use a little six-inch steel ruler.

Apparently if you use a tiny little scraper it can take three minutes to clean your tongue. My manly metal scraper would have pretty much removed my lower jaw by then. Yes, my taste-buds still work.

(When I stay the night at someone else's house, I have been known to use a butter knife. Not known by them, though, obviously.)

And... that's it. Keep the in-betweens clean, scrape the tongue, job done.

Not one filling, for 35 years.

I didn't avoid dentists because I had good reason to be terrified of them. I just didn't see the need.

And then I started taking a medication that reduces saliva production. And less than a year later...

Busted tooth

...stuff was falling apart.

(That was my lower left first molar. I took the picture with the little USB endoscope which I reviewed some time ago, and which provided a surprising amount of later entertainment. Also, vaguely apropos of this, every kid who's starting to lose their baby teeth should be made aware of what a terrifying monster they now look like under the skin.)

Loss of saliva production is dangerous for teeth. Saliva actively protects teeth, and decay can progress much faster when you run out of spit.

This is part of the recipe for the "meth mouth" phenomenon, which can occur if you use any drug, like marijuana or the far-less-interesting medication that I'm on, which inhibits saliva production. All you have to do is habitually take such a drug, then treat your uncomfortable cotton-mouth with sugary and/or acidic fizzy drinks instead of something like milk or water (sugar-free chewing gum can also be helpful). Your teeth will then be rotting out of your head surprisingly soon. Especially if you also grind your teeth in classic tweaker style, and can think of a million very energetic things to do that are not cleaning said teeth.

Anyway, now it's a few years later again, and I've got a couple of fillings. But only a couple, touch wood.

I brush my teeth now, with one of those fancy super-fast circle-jiggling electric toothbrushes, but I still don't use toothpaste. Everything seems to be going pretty well.

But wait, there's more.

My previous interaction with a dentist, before the mysterious alien-implant thing, had been many years before, when my wisdom teeth were coming through. A bridge of gum-flesh remained over the middle, from the back to the front, of at least of one of them.

This is an absolutely prime spot for gunk to accumulate and start destroying the "new" tooth before it's even finished erupting. The bridge will normally separate on one end as the tooth emerges, if like me you're lucky enough to have a jaw that in clear violation of God's plan actually has room for wisdom teeth. But you'll be left with a little flap of flesh over part of the tooth, and probably also a pocket down the side, which is almost as bad. It's basically impossible to keep these areas constantly clear of nasty-smelling... gunk.

So I'd been making damn sure the rotten-ness didn't have a chance to take hold, by digging and flicking and poking at the area with whatever small pointy object came to hand. The wire in the middle of twist-ties did a dandy job of getting some nice cleansing blood flowing.

I was, and still am, delighted to say that this dentist, also, endorsed and encouraged my bizarre oral-hygiene activities.

("Oh," I hear some of you ask, "on the subject of your hatred of the taste of toothpaste - do you, in far-off Australia, have in addition to your bizarre pink candies the things which we foreigners call 'Spearmint Leaves'?" Why yes, gentle reader, we do. "And do they taste exactly like numerous dental concoctions described as having a 'pleasant mint flavour', which statement is just as much of a... it can't be a lie, it's more of a cruel joke, really... as the similar statements made on cough-medicine bottles?" Yes, they do. "And do Spearmint Leaves, also, make you want to heave?" Yes, indeed they, also, do.)

Marble-ous photography

2012 Blue Marble picture

A reader writes:

I love NASA's new "Blue Marble" images. I was a kid in the early 70s when they took the first Blue Marble picture, but now the young whippersnappers all have their Google Earths and such and can all pretend to be looking out the window of a UFO whenever they want to. The magic hasn't died for me though, and now there are newer, better, brighter Blue Marbles! Three of them, from different directions!

Except in the "Western Hemisphere" one (which I found on Astronomy Picture of the Day), the USA is HUGE! It looks almost as big as the whole of Europe, Russia and China. The one that shows Australia and a lot of clouds makes it look as if Australia's the only land mass in one whole hemisphere. Africa's way too big in the "Eastern Hemisphere" one, too.

You've written about map projections before; is this something related to that? But that can't be it, there's no "projection" at all when the map of the globe is still a globe, right?

Ulricke

1972 Blue Marble picture

The original 1972 Blue Marble, above (the Wikipedia article has information about the 2012 version too), is what it looks like. It's a single photo, taken from a spacecraft - Apollo 17, to be exact. The famous photo was taken from a distance of about 45,000 kilometres, which is a bit higher than geostationary-orbit-distance, but well under a tenth of the distance to the moon.

(There are a lot more Apollo 17 images; they're archived here.)

The distance is important, because the earth is about 12,750 kilometres in diameter.

If you're looking at the earth from an altitude of 45,000 kilometres, you're only three and a half earth-diameters away from the surface of the planet. (If you're 45,000km from the centre of the planet, the nearest point on the planet is less than 39,000km, about three diameters, away. Keep this in mind when reading about orbits; it's not always clear whether a given distance indicates how far it is from the centre of one object to the centre of another, or the distance between objects' surfaces, or even the distance between an orbiting object and the barycentre of the orbital system.)

Shrink everything until the earth is the size of a tennis ball, and the original Blue Marble viewpoint would only be about 23.6cm (9.3 inches) away from the surface of the ball.

When you're looking at a sphere, you can never see a whole half of it at once. If you're very close to the sphere - an ant on the tennis ball - you can see a quite small circle around you, before the curvature of the sphere cuts off your view. (Actually, the fluff on the tennis ball would block your ant's-eye view much closer, but let's presume someone has shaved these balls.)

Go a bit higher up from the surface, and you can see a bigger circle. Higher, bigger, higher, bigger; eventually you're so far away that you can see 99.9999% of one half of the sphere, but you'll never quite make it to seeing a whole half.

(See also, the previously discussed optical geometry of eclipses. Shadows cast by spherical bodies are conical, and more or less blurred around the edges, depending on the size of the light source.)

If you're eight inches away from a tennis ball, you can see pretty close to a half of it, and if you're 45,000 kilometres from the earth, you can see pretty close to a half of the planet. Which is why, in the original Blue Marble, Africa looks pretty darn big, but not disproportionately so.

2012 Blue Marble picture

Now let's look at the 2012 Blue Marble.

(Note that there's also, confusingly, an unrelated other NASA thing called "Blue Marble Next Generation"; that's a series of composite pictures of the earth covering every month of 2004.)

The 2012 Blue Marble was stitched together from pictures taken over four orbits by the satellite Suomi NPP, previously known as "National Polar-orbiting Operational Environmental Satellite System Preparatory Project", which was just begging for that Daily Show acronym joke.

Suomi NPP is in a sun-synchronous orbit (which, just to keep things confusing, is a type of orbit that can only exist around a planet that is not quite spherical...), only 824 kilometres up. So Suomi NPP can't see very much of the globe at any one time. But if you're compositing pictures of a planet together, you can use your composite to render an image apparently taken from any altitude you like. Provided you've got enough patchwork photos to cover the whole planet, you just have to warp and stitch them until you've covered the whole sphere. Then, you can render that sphere however you like.

For the 2012 Blue Marble images, NASA chose to render the sphere from a much closer viewpoint than the 1972 image was taken from - they say the altitude is 7,918 miles (about 12,743 kilometers). That distance is, no doubt not accidentally, about the diameter of the planet - so the virtual "camera" for the new pictures is only one tennis-ball diameter away from the surface of the tennis ball it's "photographing".

As a result, Blue Marble 2012 shows rather less than half of the sphere. But this is not immediately apparent. At first glance, it just looks as if whatever you can see is bigger than it should be.

You can experiment with this in Google Earth or any other virtual globe, or of course with one of those actual physical globes that people used to use in the 1950s or during the Assyrian Empire or something before we had computers.

Anyway, look at the real or on-screen globe from a long distance and a given feature, like for instance Australia or North America, looks as if it takes up as much space as it ought to. Zoom in and whatever's in the middle of your view takes up proportionally more of the face of the planet, as things on the edges creep away over the horizon.

So the close viewpoint of the 2012 Blue Marbles doesn't give them away as "synthetic", stitched-together images. Something else does, though.

The feature image of the new Blue Marbles - the one that showed up on APOD, and countless other sites - is the one that shows the USA. I think NASA may not have chosen that one just for patriotic reasons, though. Rather, I think it may be because the America image is the only one of the three that doesn't have noticeable parallel pale stripes on the ocean.

The stripes - most visible in the Eastern Hemisphere image of Africa (4000-pixel-square version) - are from sunlight reflecting off the water, which the Suomi NPP satellite saw on each of its orbits, and which therefore show up multiple times in the composited image. A real observer sitting in the location of the virtual camera of the new Blue Marble would only see sun-reflection on one spot on the earth, if the appropriate spot was on the water.

The 1972 Blue Marble photo was taken with the sun pretty much behind the spacecraft, so it has this one reflective highlight in the middle of the image, off the coast of Mozambique.


Psycho Science is a regular feature here. Ask me your science questions, and I'll answer them. Probably.

And then commenters will, I hope, correct at least the most obvious flaws in my answer.