Spooky sun sizes

A reader writes:

The Oatmeal recommends sites get more traffic and Facebook likes by writing an epic love story involving cage-fighting nuns and tanks, or if that is not possible, explaining why the sun and the moon appear to be the same size in the sky.

Both of these seem right up your alley, but frankly I for some reason find the second one more interesting. Why ARE the sun and moon the same size? Is it just a bizarre coincidence, or is there some astronomical orbit reason for it?

Lucas

I'm afraid it is indeed just a fluke. Which, furthermore, starts to look less amazing when you discover that the sun and moon don't actually have a particularly spooky similarity in size.

I remember reading some flaky book when I was a kid, possibly some von Däniken claptrap or other, that made much of the extraordinarily precise apparent-size match between the 0.55-Earth-diameter moon and the 109-Earth-diameters sun. Surely this cannot be mere coincidence, hence ancient astronauts and Nazi moon bases and the various Stargate series are all documentaries et cetera.

Unfortunately for these otherwise-very-plausible speculations, the sun and moon are not actually the same size in the sky. They can be, but they usually aren't.

The earth's orbit around the sun is not perfectly circular, but it's close. On average it's one astronomical unit (oddly enough), but we're closest, 0.983 AU, in early January, and furthest, 1.017 AU, in early July. The actual sun stays the same size, so from our point of view it ranges from 31.6 to 32.7 minutes of arc.

For visual learners, that's about this much of a range:

Apparent change in size of the sun

(I made this from this NASA picture depicting a gigantic magnetic filament erupting from the surface of the sun. The same filament would not, of course, be there in both January and July.)

The moon's orbit around us is more eccentric than the earth's orbit around the sun, so the moon changes in apparent size much more dramatically than the sun does. It ranges from 29.3 to 34.1 arc-minutes or, to the same scale as the above sun picture...

Apparent change in size of the sun

...this much.

(I took that moon picture myself. Residents of the northern hemisphere are invited to stand on their heads to make it look more familiar.)

(UPDATE: I forgot to mention the moon illusion when I first put this post up. Yes, the moon, and the sun too for that matter, seems bigger when it's near the horizon. No, it actually isn't. If anything, it's smaller!)

Moon and sun size range comparison

Here's the two ranges compared.

The only time when ordinary people really compare the size of the sun and moon is, of course, when there's a total solar eclipse. Then it really does look as if the moon neatly covers the entire sun, helpfully giving us a nice view of the corona, which is normally washed out by the much greater brightness of the body of the sun. (You can actually view the corona from the surface of the earth at other times, but you need special equipment to block out sky-glare.)

At this point, you may be wondering whether the roughly-month-long lunar size cycle and the year-long solar size cycle can coincide with an eclipse in such a way as to put a minimum-size moon in front of a maximum-size sun (well, any size of sun, really, there's not that much difference), so that the moon fails to completely obscure the sun.

Yes, it can; it's called an annular eclipse, and there's one coming shortly, though I won't be able to see it from here in Australia.

Here is a lot more information about all of this.


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.

Electrochemical Spuds Of Death

A reader writes:

Hello there Mr. Dan. I stumbled across your site whilst googling "can you get hurt making a potato battery". Yep, I googled that.

I (clearly) know little about the electronics/cathode/anode world... but could answer lots of questions about other things non electrical. :)

In planning my son's birthday party, I am considering a potato battery station (sounds odd for a party, but trust me, it fits with the theme).

I have seen several Youtube videos with instructions and examples, some done by children. My main question before I go buy a bag o potatoes and seek out the copper wiring aisle of Walmart is: Can children be hurt doing this? Yes, us grown-up types will be there too, but is there anything I should be concerned about?

Partying Mom

It is theoretically possible to kill yourself with potato batteries, but the chance of a kid managing to achieve this is much, much lower than the chance that one of them will fall over and crack his/her skull in your bathroom, and you probably won't lie awake at night worrying about that.

I could just leave it at that, but of course I won't. This is because I think an understanding of the basics of electrochemistry, which is what potato batteries are all about, is something that all modern humans should have, even if they never put it to use.

You should know why it's warmer in the summer (it's surprising how many people incorrectly say "because then we're closer to the sun", which, even if it were true, would make summer happen at the same time for both the northern and southern hemispheres...), you should know how tax brackets work, and you should also know the basics of the technology that envelops modern humans so completely that we hardly notice it at all.

Sorry, didn't mean to lecture you. This is just something I'm rather passionate about.

Getting back to potato batteries: The power output of an individual potato, or lemon, or what-have-you, "battery" is extremely low, which is why there are few-to-no things you can power from one spud with two pieces of dissimilar metal in it.

"Battery" is in quotes up there because one tuber and two bits of metal are a single electrochemical "cell"; technically, it's not a "battery" unless it has more than one cell in it. (So, of the things sold in the supermarket as "batteries", AAs and Cs and Ds are cells, but 9V or 6V batteries, composed of six and four 1.5-volt internal cells respectively, really are batteries.)

The open-circuit voltage of any electrochemical cell is determined by the electrode potential of the materials you use for the electrodes. If you build the usual kind of potato battery with copper and zinc electrodes (like, a copper or copper-plated coin, and a zinc-plated galvanised nail), each cell will have an open-circuit voltage of 1.1V, but a current capacity into a short circuit of less than a milliamp.

The larger the surface area of the electrodes, the higher the current capacity will be. But even with really big electrodes you'll probably only get half a milliamp into a short circuit - and the more of the cell's current capacity you use, the lower its output voltage will be.

(For comparison, I just grabbed a rather old but unused off-brand "super heavy duty" - meaning, carbon-zinc, not even alkaline - AA cell out of my Drawer Of Many Batteries, and it still reads more than 1.6 volts open circuit, with a short-circuit current capacity of more than 1.5 amps. Here's a PDF datasheet for an Energizer carbon-zinc AA; they've got a sub-site devoted to these things.)

If you make multiple potato batteries and put them in series and/or parallel, you can increase the voltage and/or current capacity of the whole battery, respectively. Two cells in series (both of which can be stabbed into the same potato; just connect the copper of one cell to the zinc of the next) and you get 2.2 volts open circuit and the same miserably tiny current capacity. Two cells in parallel, and you get 1.1 volts but double the current capacity. Six cells, wired up as series strings of three with the two strings in parallel with each other, and you get 3.3 volts and double current capacity. And so on.

(Many people seem to find the concept of series and parallel circuits tricky to grasp. It's another of those bedrock pieces of information about the world that I urge everyone to learn, though, because it explains a great deal of everyday electrical things. Why does one bulb dying in a string of old Christmas lights kill the whole string? Because they're ten or twenty 12V bulbs {depending on your local mains voltage} wired in series to connect directly to the mains. Why, in contrast, can you have a couple of things turned on and a couple of things turned off all plugged into the same powerboard and have everything work? Because the powerboard's outputs are in parallel!)

Getting back to your actual question, this is how you could, if you tried very hard, kill yourself with a potato battery. 30 milliamps across the heart has a pretty good chance of stopping it, and even lower currents have upon occasion been fatal. Kids might be more susceptible, too; I don't know.

Even sweaty skin is a good enough insulator that sundry low-voltage current sources aren't dangerous - grab the terminals of a 12V car battery with bare wet hands and you probably won't even feel a tingle, though a tiny current really will be flowing through your arms and across your chest. But if you stab probes into yourself, into your hands or preferably into your chest right on either side of the heart, then an array of potato batteries big enough to deliver tens of milliamps really could, if connected to the electrodes, kill you.

(One reason why high voltage can be especially dangerous is that it can spark a hole right through the skin, giving it access to your wet salty conductive innards.)

Given, of course, that this particular means of death starts out with stabbing yourself, you could simplify the process by just stabbing your heart directly.

Hence: Not worth worrying about.

(There's also an outside chance that you could poison yourself by eating a potato or lemon or whatever that's been used as a battery for a while, because it'll now be contaminated with various metallic salts. It probably wouldn't do more than make even a small child slightly ill, though, presuming he or she somehow managed to choke the vile-tasting thing down. This situation is even less likely to happen than chest-stabbing, unless you use some particularly delicious fruit instead of a potato or lemon.)

The great problem with potato-battery demonstrations in the past was not, of course, kids somehow killing themselves, but that it was very difficult to do anything with the extremely feeble output of such a battery. Turning even a tiny motor, or lighting even a grain-of-wheat incandescent bulb, was impossible without a ridiculous number of cells. Getting a feeble glow from a grain-of-wheat bulb rated for 12 volts and 80 milliamps could perhaps be done with as few as 50 potato cells, though I suspect you'd need a hundred or more.

So potato batteries usually ended up doing something lame like powering a pocket transistor radio with a piezoelectric earpiece, which is a feat that you can more impressively achieve with no battery at all.

Today, you could similarly fail to impress the youngsters by potato-powering one of those little LCD clocks and kitchen timers that're meant to run from a couple of button cells. Two or three potato cells in series might, at a stretch, be able to run one of those. A far better target, though, is lighting a light-emitting diode (LED).

A modern high-intensity red or amber LED will only want about two volts and a couple of milliamps to light dimly, and will be quite impressively bright at only 10mA. Ten parallel strings each containing two potato cells ought to be enough to give a pretty bright light, and each two-cell "string" could be only one potato.

Here's a red LED...

LED and lemon battery
(image source Flickr user trvance)

...just barely glowing from only three copper/zinc lemon cells in series...

Multi-cell lemon battery
(image source Flickr user s8)

...and here's an excellent example of multiple cells in one lemon...

Joule Thief lemon battery lighting LED
(image source Flickr user s8)

...which works extremely well because it's cheating, and using a simple four-component circuit (counting the LED) called a "Joule Thief", which I learned about years ago on the excellent Web site of the inimitable Big Clive.

I recommend you provide sufficient spuds and/or lemons, electrodes and alligator-clip leads to make lots of cells, and also provide a grab-bag of water-clear high-intensity LEDs so the kids don't know what colour they've got until they get it to light up.

A lot of LEDs will not cost you a lot of money. I find it mind-blowing that the going price on eBay for a pack of a hundred mixed waterclear high-intensity LEDs has, for some time now, been under five US bucks, delivered. I suggest you get 5mm LEDs, not the 3mm ones that're the absolute cheapest, because the smaller ones are a bit fiddly even for kids' hands.

(I don't actually need any more LEDs, but I just felt morally obliged to buy this hundred-5mm-LED pack, from this seller, for $US2.99 delivered. At this price you could use these things, which were a miracle of the age in the 1970s and have for years now been revolutionising a significant portion of the lighting industry, as notice-board pins. They are literally cheaper than thumbtacks. Even the ones with three different-coloured dies and an invisibly minuscule controller chip built in cost damn close to nothing.)

You should play with this stuff yourself before the party, so you can introduce the kids to the series/parallel idea, and help them if they don't know to chain the cells nose-to-tail (copper to zinc or zinc to copper, not copper to copper or zinc to zinc), and also see which way round you have to connect the LEDs to make them work. (They're light-emitting diodes; they only work one way around. Long leg positive.)

It would also be a really good idea to get the finest, cheapest digital multimeter eBay has to offer, so you don't have to rely on licking the ends of wires to estimate how many volts your potatoes have managed to make. Every home should have a crappy ten-buck yellow plastic multimeter; you may not use it often, but it can be very handy at times. (Put it in the kitchen drawer with the screwdriver, the hammer, the random screws and washers and the polycaprolactone.)

Depending on age and disposition, the kids may figure this all out for themselves, of course. LEDs only work one way round, a battery setup that'll light a 1.8V red LED probably won't light a 3.6V blue or white one, a setup that'll light a blue LED may very satisfyingly turn a red one into...

Dead LED

...a friode, you can series- and parallel-wire LEDs as well as batteries...

While you're shopping for quantum-physics miracles on eBay for three cents each, you could add a couple more things that used to be super-tech and are now super-cheap: Lithium coin cells, and rare-earth magnets.

2016 (20mm diameter, 1.6mm thickness) and 2032 (3.2mm thick) coin cells aren't as cheap as LEDs; if you buy them in a supermarket or pharmacy you can pay dollars for one. Again, though, just hit eBay and you can find fifty for less than 15 US cents each.

Rare-earth magnets can be even cheaper. If you restrict this search to Buy It Now items more suited to the impatient, you can get twenty 8mm-diameter 1mm-thickness neodymium-iron-boron disks for less than ten cents each; hundred-packs drop it to about seven cents apiece.

Why am I suggesting you buy these items?

Because you can light an LED by just pressing its legs to either side of a coin cell...

LEDs on a coin cell
(image source Flickr user spike55151)

...and if you put LEDs (preferably diffused 10mm ones, but any with legs will work), coin cells and magnets together, you get...

LED throwie production line
(image source Flickr user c3o)

..."LED throwies".

LED throwies
(image source Flickr user chopsueyphoto)

Which are easy to make, and awesome.


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.

All I do is drink and wee, I'm gonna live forever!

A reader writes:

Seeing lrwiman's comment on your post about how you can't lose weight by eating ice reminded me: Do you really need to drink eight glasses of water a day?

I guess it actually depends on who "you" are, how big or small, and how much you sweat and so on. Is eight 8-oz glasses just a one-size-fits-most amount for everyday urban humans?

Lana

There is no scientific basis for the "eight glasses a day" idea.

Eight eight-fluid-ounce glasses add up to, of course, 64 fluid ounces, or about 1.9 litres. That is rather a lot. If you're an office worker, you are very unlikely to need that much water (or equivalent other liquids, though the people who support the eight-glasses thing often say that no beverage other than water counts at all) to be perfectly hydrated. If you're a labourer in a hot climate, though, you're going to need a lot more than eight glasses.

(See also, people hiking in the desert who don't realise that you need to drink a lot more water, and keep your electrolytes up, when you're exercising in high temperatures and low humidity.)

Unless you drink a really amazingly large amount, it won't do you any harm to drink more water than you need, if you're not concerned about the amount of time you spend in the bathroom. 1.9 litres over several hours is well below the level needed to cause water intoxication in an adult, unless your kidneys are in bad shape.

Note that your total water intake can very easily be three or four litres a day, because other beverages, and water contained in food, count towards it as well. The eight-glasses people usually warn against consuming water when it's mixed with other substances that reduce its net hydrating effect, like caffeine or alcohol, which are both diuretics.

As usual, though, the dose makes the poison, or in this case the diuretic. A doppio ristretto or shot of Polish Pure Spirit is, like drinking seawater, going to have a net negative effect on your hydration. But if ordinary black tea didn't hydrate you, the entire British Empire would have died of thirst in about 1750. You can also remain well hydrated if all you drink is beer or weak wine; beer and diluted wine used to be staple beverages for whole cultures before the invention of sewer systems, when the available water was commonly contaminated with organisms that couldn't survive a few per cent of ethanol.

Drinking lots of water, often but not always this particular figure of eight glasses a day, pops up quite often as part of odd diet regimes.

The "Stillman diet", for instance, was an early low-carbohydrate diet which prescribed eight glasses of water a day in addition to any other fluid intake. And it sure did seem to pare away the pounds; it made a significant contribution to Karen Carpenter's downward trajectory of both weight and health.

Lorraine Day includes a lot of water-drinking in her list of things you can do to, immensely plausibly, cure yourself of cancer (unless of course you are Jewish, in which case she'd probably prefer that you die).

Back here on planet Earth, drinking water when you feel peckish can be a good dieting trick. Go ahead and throw in some ice cubes too, if you want something to (carefully...) chew on.

But apart from this, and from a few diseases for which drinking a lot of water is a treatment, there's no reason to drink water when you're not thirsty.


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.

Save on cigarettes: Let someone do the smoking for you!

A reader writes:

How dangerous is second-hand smoke, really?

The bans on indoor smoking that've taken over the Western world suggest that it's REALLY dangerous. Here in Australia you can no longer smoke even in a pub, so apparently second-hand smoke is worse for you than alcohol.

But it stands to reason that second-hand smoke is much more dilute than the smoke sucked out of the actual cigarette. I can believe it'd be a big health hazard if you were in some 1925 basement speakeasy jazz club with no ventilation and everyone smoking like crazy until you could barely see your hand in front of your face, but the thickness of smoke in a pub before the ban wasn't anything like that. It still made your clothes and hair smell like an ashtray, but that's just disgusting, not dangerous. Was it really that bad?

Richelle

Nobody knows exactly how dangerous second-hand smoke, or "passive smoking", is.

This is partly because of the, well, smoke screens, produced by astroturf organisations with the usual hilarious Decent People Opposed to the Decapitation of Adorable Ducklings names and the similarly usual giant piles of funding from the tobacco companies.

But it's also partly because there is, as you say, such a wide range of possible exposure levels.

And, I think, it's mainly because this is principally an epidemiological question, and epidemiology is a slippery area of study.

Given all these caveats, though, it's still clear, from numerous studies, that chronic exposure to second-hand smoke, even at relatively low levels, does significantly increase the chance of a non-smoker getting lung cancer and/or heart disease, plus a laundry list of other ailments that result from the inhalation of bad stuff.

If you're just waiting for a bus next to someone smoking and you get the occasional whiff of their Marlboro, nothing quantifiable will result. But being a child in a house with indoor-smoking parents, or regularly visiting a smoky pub as an adult, raises your lung cancer risk. Working in a smoky pub raises it more.

The important detail to remember here, though, is that the incidence of lung cancer in non-smokers is low. Only about 15% of all lung cancers are found in non-smokers, and most of those seem, once again within the statistical limits of what epidemiology can tell us, to have been caused by something other than second-hand smoke.

Chronic exposure to highly polluted air, for instance, will do it. A traffic policeman in Beijing, Mexico City or Ahwaz, Iran really ought to wear a gas mask, or possibly SCUBA gear, to work.

Numerous other kinds of smoke are also carcinogenic. If you work in a commercial kitchen with woks full of smoking overheated oil all over the place, that's bad. So is wood smoke; it may smell nice, but it's definitely carcinogenic. Incense is bad for you, too.

And then there's radon, a well-known danger in the USA, but almost completely unknown here in Australia, where very few houses have basements. You'll probably only have much exposure to radon if you're a miner, of if you spend a lot of time in a basement or other poorly-ventilated underground room dug into high-radon ground.

Sundry inhaled particulate matter is also bad news. This is another problem for miners, and various other industrial workers.

And there are lung-cancer-causing viruses, too.

And then there's asbestos inhalation, of course. But that's much more likely to cause the horrible-but-not-cancerous disease asbestosis than it is to cause mesothelioma.

Or you could just be fortunate enough to be genetically predisposed to develop lung cancer.

If you're a non-smoker and you can avoid all of these risk factors, then the chance that you'll get lung cancer - or, at least, that you'll get it a long enough before some other disease kills you of "old age" for the lung cancer to become an actual problem - is very small. Second-hand smoke exposure that doubles your risk of cancer sounds scary, but if there's only a one in ten thousand chance that you'll get it in the first place, then the doubling only raises it to a chance of one in five thousand, which probably won't keep you awake at night.

And the risk from different causes isn't necessarily cumulative, either. If you're a non-smoker who works without breathing protection in the Acme Smoke, Flame and Asbestos Dust Factory in the Land Occupational Health and Safety Forgot, and as a result have a 50% chance of getting lung cancer in the next ten years, then heavy exposure to second-hand smoke while you drink your way to amnesia on the weekends may only raise your cancer probability to 51 per cent.

Or it may do more. Again, epidemiology. Pick a hundred coloured marbles from the barrel of a million, try to figure out what colour the rest of them are.

Some scientists have argued that there's a somewhat unexpected public-health benefit from indoor smoking bans. Not only do they keep second-hand smoke out of the lungs of non-smokers, but the nuisance of having to go and stand outside with the rest of the Tobacco Lepers causes smokers to smoke less, and become healthier. The evidence presented for this is generally a reduction of hospital visits for smoking-related heart and pulmonary disorders after indoor-smoking bans go into effect, but this is yet more epidemiology, so it's eminently possible that the effect is from an entirely different cause, or smaller than it seems, or even nonexistent.

(Workers who hate having to go out into miserable weather to get their fix could easily, for instance, use their ten-minute break to suck down as much smoke as they possibly can in that time, to "stock up" and make sure that they can make it to the end of the day without cravings. They could, thereby, get a lot more crap in their lungs than if they were still allowed to have a leisurely cigarette or two at their desk.)


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.

Point-and-shoot infrared random number generator

A reader writes:

The last time I used an infrared thermometer it was in a lab at university, and the thing was the size of a shoebox and cost thousands of dollars. I don't know why it took me so long to discover that now they cost fifty dollars, but I did, so obviously I bought one because at that price why not.

I've been having a lot of fun seeing what temperature my walls and ceilings and floors and computers and pets are at, but some things confuse me. The sky, for instance, reads around 5°C when it's overcast (ambient ground-level temp about 15°C), but when it's clear the sky reads about -50°C, day or night. Thanks to the University of Wikipedia I know that the thermosphere is very sparse but can be very hot, and the mesosphere below it is around -90°C; is the minus 50 just averaging those out?

Also, when I shoot the side of a saucepan with boiling water in it, I get a reading of only maybe 50 or 60°C, even if I'm shooting a part that's above the water line and clearly above 100°C because if I slosh the water around it hisses when it touches the inside of that part. What's up with that?

Pablo

The non-contact infrared thermometer is, indeed, a fantastic tool, and toy. Cheap ones usually aren't pinpoint accurate and may be quite severely inaccurate outside their specified temperature range; a -35-to-230°C cheapie, for instance, may still give numbers well outside that range, but shouldn't be trusted.

But as you say, point-and-shoot temperature measurement for under $100 is pretty darn fantastic, even with caveats.

Actually, the absolute lowball price for IR thermometers on eBay these days is less than ten US dollars, including delivery. (The same search on eBay Australia, for any Aussies for whom the "geotargeting" for the other search doesn't work.) You've got to wonder how accurate a $7.50 thermometer can possibly be, and the cheapest ones also run from little button batteries that may not last very long, but I still think a sub-$10 IR thermometer you can put on your keyring qualifies as Living In The Future.

(Most non-contact thermometers have a laser sight, too, allowing you to entertain your cat while you measure its temperature.)

What these thermometers actually measure is lower-frequency thermal radiation. Thermal radiation is light, and can be of high enough frequency to be visible to the human eye - red-hot metal, tungsten light-bulb filaments, et cetera. What people usually mean when they refer to thermal radiation, though, is invisible long-wavelength infrared light. Cheap non-contact thermometers all measure medium-to-long-wave IR, with wavelengths in the neighbourhood of ten micrometers (µm, often written as "um" to avoid the hard-to-type Greek letter Mu).

I think the most common wavelength specification is "8-14um", which includes, according to a common definition, the very bottom of the mid-wavelength band and almost all of the long-wavelength band.

(Medium-infrared is a few octaves below the 700-to-800-nanometre near-infrared that human eyes can actually detect, if it's bright enough. I've made both versions of those IR goggles, by the way; they work great!)

There are three factors that can throw off this sort of temperature reading.

The first is the emissivity of whatever you're pointing the thermometer at. There's no such thing as a pure black-body radiator outside Physics Experiment Land; for this reason, no real substance emits as much IR at a given temperature as it should, though many substances are pretty close. Consumer IR thermometers just make a guess about emissivity; I think most of them are calibrated for an emissivity of 0.95.

Fancier IR thermometers, like this $AU189 one for instance, not only have a wider temperature range and higher accuracy, but also let you correct for emissivity and even the distance to the target, which is the second factor that's affecting your temperature readings. The distance-to-target matters because air emits IR like everything else does; it doesn't emit much of it, because of its low density, but the more air there is between your thermometer and its target, the more the temperature of that air will skew the reading.

(The cheapest eBay thermometer I've found that claims to offer emissivity adjustment is the one found by this search, for £29.99 delivered, which is about $US48 or $AU46, as I write this.)

Emissivity is a much bigger factor than distance to target for most readings, though. Look, for instance, at the emissivity list here, or the bigger one in this PDF. Some things - unfinished wood, clay, human skin - have emissivity well above 0.9. Other things - polished metals, in particular - have extremely low emissivity, of 0.1 or less. Even rough-finished and/or oxidised metal commonly has an emissivity of less than 0.7.

What this means is that it's very difficult to get an accurate reading if you point an IR thermometer at metal cookware. Even if it's black cast iron you'll get too-low readings from a cheap IR thermometer that assumes an emissivity of 0.95, and if your cookware is shiny stainless steel, you'll have no chance.

The third confounding factor is that when you're not reading the temperature of the actual object - and if you're pointing your thermometer at a shiny stainless saucepan with an emissivity of 0.1, you're pretty close to not measuring the saucepan's temperature at all - you can easily be mainly reading the temperature of something else whose mid-IR emissions are reflecting off the actual object. Essentially, you have to treat all metal objects, in particular, as if they're plated with mirror-polished chrome, and think of what you'd see reflected in them if that were the case.

You can minimise this problem by always keeping the thermometer's line of sight as close as possible to perpendicular to the surface of any low-emissivity objects, but even this won't help much if the object is curved, like the side of a saucepan. For reflective low-emissivity targets, a perpendicular shot will mainly tell you the temperature of the thermometer itself.

(If you want to use your IR thermometer to find hot spots around your car engine, or help you tune a tiny model engine with better thermal resolution than you can get from the spit test, you're not going to get good numbers by shooting the bare metal. A spot of matte-black paint or chalk on the head ought to give you decent results; high-temperature tape made from Kapton or Mylar won't curl up or melt at model-engine temperatures, but it has very low emissivity with most backing materials. Fibreglass tape might perhaps work, since glass generally has quite high emissivity.)

Water and ice have an emissivity above 0.9 and are opaque to medium- and longer-wave IR, so you'll get accurate temperature numbers if you point your thermometer into a pan of water, even if you can clearly see the bottom of the shiny pan in the visible spectrum. This goes for the water in clouds, too; there's a lot of air with invisible but high-IR-emissivity water vapour in it between you and the cloud, but if you point your thermometer at a cloud and get a reading of 5°C, that's probably pretty accurate.

(Clouds themselves can be seen because they're made of tiny liquid water droplets, not water vapour.)

When you shoot your thermometer at the empty sky, especially at night, you'll probably get the lowest reading that your thermometer can manage - commonly -50 or -60°C (-58 or -76°F). As I've mentioned before, all that's between you and the near-absolute-zero temperature of deep space, when the sky is clear, is air, and whatever dust and water vapour it happens to be carrying. The result is very little mid-IR light, and very low IR-thermometer readings. Even with the whole thickness of the atmosphere between you and space - or, if you're not shooting straight up, considerably more than the vertical thickness of the atmosphere - you'll still probably get as low a reading as your thermometer can deliver.

Digital cameras, by the way, can see near-infrared very well; their sensors are actually more sensitive to it than they are to visible light. (Film cameras are different; film tends to be more sensitive to ultraviolet than visible light.)

For this reason, all normal digicams have an IR-blocking filter in front of the sensor, to stop infrared, generally detected in counterintuitive ways by the differently-filtered photosites on the sensor, from giving all of your pictures weird colour casts.


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.

Without any warning at all, you're suddenly a fat bastard.

A reader writes:

How does muscle turn to fat?

Aren't muscle cells and fat... cells... (is there even such a thing as a fat cell?) different? But boxers and bricklayers and weightlifters and other huge muscly men, when they retire, are famous for turning into giant lardasses and then maybe putting their name on a fat-free grilling machine. How does this occur, biologically?

Reijo

Muscle doesn't turn into fat. As you say, they're different kinds of tissue; muscle is one kind of cells (subdivided into further categories), whereas fat, or adipose adipose, tissue is composed of quite different cells, chiefly adipocytes.

Also as you say, though, there's a common phenomenon in which big strong men, and the somewhat less common big strong women, turn into big fat men or women as soon as they, for whatever reason, stop exercising all day. Their muscles give up, they wave a little white flag, and without any warning at all they're suddenly a fat bastard.

The reason for this is simple enough: They've stopped exercising, but they haven't changed their eating habits. Or, at least, they haven't changed them enough.

As I mentioned in the ice-cube diet post, it's quite difficult to burn enough calories in exercise to make up for a rich diet. It's possible, though. Fairly strenuous work can easily burn about 500 calories, or about 2100 kilojoules, per hour. Very strenuous exercise can double that, but even if your job involves digging ditches, carrying couches or running after teenagers while waving rusty gardening tools you're unlikely to actually manage a thousand calories an hour for very long.

Even 500 calories an hour, though, means you can eat one standard meat pie, or one Big Mac or large fries (but not both!) per hour, and more or less break even.

If you suddenly transition to a fairly sedentary life, though, you'll now be burning far less energy. An average desk job, for instance, uses only about a hundred calories an hour. So even if the retired boxer halves his food intake, he'll still end up with a big energy surplus, which will in due course make itself visible as fat, even as his muscles atrophy from lack of exercise.

(The quote from the title.)


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.

OK, but does Grandpa's knee ache, too?

A reader writes:

This page (via this page via this page via this page...) says that if it's going to rain, the surface of a parallel-walled cup of strong coffee will be slightly convex, with the bubbles in the middle. If it's not going to rain, the bubbles will be around the edge. Apparently this has something to do with atmospheric pressure. I am skeptical.

Matthew

I'm skeptical, too. I can't imagine how this is supposed to work.

Any ordinary liquid (which is to say, not liquid helium, supercritical carbon dioxide or other such substances not easy to find at the supermarket) has surface tension, which causes it to form a meniscus, a curved surface, when put in a container.

If the molecules of the liquid stick to each other better than they stick to the material the container is made from, the meniscus will be convex, higher in the middle. If the liquid molecules stick to the container material better than to each other, the meniscus will be concave, lower in the middle and higher around the edge.

Water in most kinds of household cup or glass forms a concave meniscus; water in a silicone cup forms a convex one. Coffee behaves much the same, as far as I can tell; foam or crema or whatever could be piled up in different ways, and really strong coffee might be oily enough to give a concave meniscus in almost any container, but that's the extent of the differences as far as I can tell.

Weather is definitely related to atmospheric pressure, and to relative humidity, for that matter. Falling pressure and rising humidity generally indicate a higher probability of rain. But pressure and humidity won't have any effect on the behaviour of a liquid in an open container, unless the pressure is so low that the liquid starts to boil at the ambient temperature. If the liquid is water then it'll evaporate faster when the humidity is low and not at all if the humidity is 100% (or higher).

One thing definitely does affect the distribution of bubbles on top of a cup of coffee, though; it's called a teaspoon. If you stir your coffee round and round, the bubbles will pile up in the middle. If you don't, they'll probably stick to the edges.

I think the bubbles ending up in the middle when the liquid is spinning is analogous to the behaviour of similarly spun flames. If you make an apparatus that can spin candles on a platter or arm while shielding them from the wind of their movement...

MIT Tech TV

...their flames bend inwards. Centrifugal force makes them bend in, not out, for the same reason the undisturbed flames go up, not down; the hot flames are lighter than the air surrounding them. Helium balloons behave the same way, but the rig to demonstrate it is more cumbersome.

(The above is an unusual version of this classic physics demonstration, which is usually done with a two-candle apparatus that looks more like this.)

If the weather-predicting coffee is meant to operate by mystic unknown forces, like the much weirder "storm glass", then of course observing that normal atmospheric pressure variations have no effect on coffee is irrelevant. The burden of proof is on the claimant, though, and this is a pretty extraordinary claim; I'd like to see someone actually test this peculiar alleged phenomenon.


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.

Horniness

A reader writes:

Why do horns make things louder?

I mean, I accept that they do, on gramophones and megaphones and PA speakers at the train station and brass instruments and so on, but what's actually going on there? Why does the sound of your voice get louder just because you're holding a conical thing in front of your mouth? Is it just making it more... directional?

Dennis

The great problem of audio production, and audio reproduction too, is coupling the sound-producing thing to the sound-transmitting medium, which is usually air.

Air is very light. Most things that make sound are, in comparison, very heavy. The moving parts of loudspeaker drivers, the strings of a violin or piano, the lips of a trumpet-player who's blowing a sort of highly controlled raspberry into the mouthpiece of the instrument; all very very heavy, compared with air. All not good at moving lots of air, which is what you want your sound-making thing to do. Wave a brick around in the air and you'll invest a lot more energy in accelerating and decelerating the brick than you manage to impart to the air.

One way of solving this problem is to make your speaker driver very light too. Electrostatic speakers use a big flat sheet of super-thin plastic as a driver; the sound-producing element in a plasma speaker is made out of ionised air (or other gases, if you're a big wuss who doesn't want ozone poisoning).

Horns are a simpler way of solving, or at least reducing, the coupling problem. When you put a heavy-compared-with-air vibrating object at the small end of a horn, the only air it can move is the air right in front of it at the small end. Moving this air is still pretty easy, but the restricted air's mechanical "impedance" is nonetheless quite a bit higher than it'd be if it were unconfined.

As sound pressure waves move down the horn, the gradually widening shape of the horn (for loudest results, an exponential curve) allows the small amount of higher-pressure air next to the driver to transfer its energy to a large amount of lower-pressure air. The end result is that more of the energy of the driver ends up as sound waves.

A sealed-box loudspeaker has an acoustic efficiency - the amount of the input electrical energy that comes out as sound energy - of about one per cent, at best. Horn speakers can manage thirty per cent without much trouble, and quite a bit more if you design them for loudness rather than fidelity. Take the horn off a phonograph and you'll have to put your ear right next to the diaphragm to hear much of anything, but with a big horn on it, a wind-up phonograph making sound by scraping a needle over a disc of shellac can legitimately be described as quite loud.

(Some phonographs let you remove the horn, or never had a horn in the first place, and allowed you to listen through one or more rubber tubes that went to a headset of some sort - essentially, primordial headphones. This allowed you to listen to your records in privacy, albeit with weird stethoscope-y sound colouration on top of the lousy fidelity of the phonograph system in the first place.)

Outside of Physics Experiment Land, acoustic horn design and implementation has many engineering tricks. For instance, modern horn loudspeakers usually have a horn throat that starts out much smaller than the diaphragm of the actual driver, which may be in its own actual rectangular speaker box stuck on the small end of the horn. There are also horn loudspeakers, like the legendary Klipschorn, that use various workarounds to fold something that acts somewhat like a horn into a speaker that can be mainly built out of flat wooden panels.

Also, the lowest bass frequency a horn can reproduce is determined by the size of the mouth of the horn; that's why public-address and hand-held megaphone speakers always sound tinny. Speakers like the Klipschorn have their horn mouth on the back of the enclosure, and are meant to be shoved into the corner of a room, so the walls behind them can provide a bit more effective horn size. Horn loudspeakers are also deliberately designed to be further away from an ideal horn shape than is strictly necessary, to balance the efficiency of the horn with the hard bass cut-off that a "pure" horn, with a mouth small enough to fit in a room, has at low frequencies.

The old phonograph horns have been reborn, too, as "amplifiers" for MP3 players and cellphones. The phone, MP3 player or ear-bud headphones plug into the small end of a horn, and suddenly the tsss-tsss-tsss of someone else listening to their iPod on the bus turns into actual music.

Some of these devices are very fancy and very expensive, but if you search eBay for "amplifiers" for MP3 players you'll find lots of cheerful-coloured horn doodads among the actual electrical amplifiers. The going rate for a combination iPhone stand and horn "amplifier" now seems to be about two bucks delivered.


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.