Further shiny things

Crystalline silicon carbide

This extraordinary object looks as if it came from outer space.

Silicon carbide crystals

It's around 11 centimetres long (4.3 inches). It weighs a bit more than 170 grams (six ounces). Its overall colour is a sort of greenish black. But it's entirely composed of darkly reflective crystalline facets, ranging in size from microscopic to about 8mm (5/16ths of an inch) in length.

Close-up of silicon carbide crystals

On close inspection, the mass of crystals comes in a dark rainbow of different colours; yellows, blues, purples and reds.

Extreme close-up of silicon carbide crystals

Just like solid chromium, this stuff doesn't look real. Like the chromium, it looks more like some sort of movie prop. But my chromium lumps look like rocks spray-painted silver for an Original Series Star Trek episode in which those silver rocks were the most valuable object to appear. This stuff isn't nearly as shiny, but is much flashier, if you get my meaning. It's detailed. It's high-definition. It looks like a prop from a sci-fi movie we won't have the technology to make for another ten years.

You know what it looks like? It looks like black kryptonite, that's what it looks like.

(If you ask me, it looks better than the actual black kryptonite prop from Smallville. I presume you all share my incredulity that it took them until 2004, the 66th year of Superman's existence, to add the seemingly obvious black to the host of other kryptonite colours. Oh, and this Flickr user had the same thought, about what looks to me like the same material.)

Or possibly this stuff is what was left over after Gus Gorman boiled some home-made kryptonite in ammonia and ether and then smoked it.

This mass of black crystals is actually a chunk of crystalline silicon carbide (SiC), which I purchased quite cheaply on eBay (see below. There's video, too!).

This means it must be man-made, because natural, "native", silicon carbide does exist, but it's fantastically rare. It takes a lot of energy to persuade silicon and carbon to form a molecule.

Native silicon carbide is known as "moissanite", and so are simulated diamonds made from high-purity SiC. Far, far more SiC is made for use as an industrial abrasive or super-hard coating for tools, though, and some such process probably made this lump of the stuff.

Silicon carbide is so widely used as an abrasive because its Mohs hardness is as high as 9.5, between corundum (sapphire, ruby, and a component of emery) at 9, and diamond at 10.

Those numbers are misleading, because the Mohs scale is ordinal; it tells you what's harder than what, but not by how much. There are different ways of measuring the hardness of a material - compare and contrast the Knoop, Vickers and Rockwell tests, for instance. Whatever method you use, if you do a relative-hardness test, pretty much everything looks sick compared with diamond.

Assign a relative-hardness score of 10 to diamond and, depending on what test you use, corundum may score as high as 2.63 or as low as 2.2, and silicon carbide may score as high as 4.63 or as low as 2.5. For further comparison, quartz, generally regarded as a pretty hard material, scores down around one, if diamond is 10.

(In view of this, the fact that humans are now finally more-or-less managing to make exotic materials that are actually harder than diamond is quite amazing. The most widely used new super-hard material is diamond-like carbon, which as the name suggests isn't actually "better" than diamond, and two of the other candidates are actually just novel forms of diamond. Only minuscule amounts of the best non-diamond candidate have been made to date - with some debate over whether any of it has actually been made at all. But one way or another, we're doing it, and the achievement is a lot more impressive than a mere Mohs hardness of "11" would suggest.)

I don't know exactly how my lump of SiC was made, but I suspect it was an unwanted byproduct of some industrial process, perhaps one or another kind of vapour deposition. The carbide is meant to coat drills or saws or something, but it deposits elsewhere on the equipment too. When some lucky duck gets to clean out the machinery, stuff like this crystal mass ends up in their bucket.

Most industrial waste is not particularly decorative, but every now and then, something extraordinary comes along.

I also don't know how pure this carbide is. High-purity silicon carbide can be black, just like this material, but there may be various impurities in there too.

The surface is definitely not pure SiC; the rainbow reflections are created by a very thin layer of silicon dioxide on the surface. This interacts with light in the same way as various other super-thin coatings, like the surface of anodised titanium, the "rainbow of temper" on steel, or a soap bubble, for that matter.

Silicon carbide is very hard, but rather brittle. If you buy a chunk mail order like I did, you're going to get a few broken-off crumbs in the box along with the main piece, unless the seller packed the carbide in thick cotton wool. And if they did pack it in cotton wool, you're going to spend forever picking cotton shreds off the pointy crystals. Just hitting the thing with a blowtorch might be a faster solution. Or it might heat-shatter.

You don't really have to treat SiC like the egg of a tiny bird, though. When I deliberately broke off a little crystal stuck to the main mass by a couple of millimetres of hair-thin filament, I was surprised to see the filament bend a good five degrees before it snapped. And tiny crumbs coming off even a small SiC lump won't make any obvious difference to its appearance.

One thing you probably don't need to worry about your silicon carbide doing is melting. The melting point of pure silicon carbide is 2730°C, 3003K, or 4946°F in the old money. So you may be able to melt it with an oxy-acetylene torch; the theoretical perfect-combustion temperature for that is around 3500°C. Oxy-hydrogen might manage it, too. MAPP-gas and oxygen probably won't cut it, though, and no cheap butane torch will come within a hundred miles.

Silicon carbide was the material used for the very first light-emitting diode, way back in 1907, though this discovery was largely ignored at the time. That could be why nobody managed to make an LED bright enough to be useful for anything until the Sixties. Henry Round's original discovery was still scientifically important, though, and I swear I managed to get a tiny spot of my chunk of SiC to light up under a pin connected to minus 12 volts. But once I set my camera up, it refused to do it again, no matter what I poked with the pin or where I attached the positive cable's alligator clip.

I think having an alligator clip as the positive terminal, rather than for instance sitting your SiC chunk on aluminium foil that's connected to positive, is important - you need pressure on the SiC to get a decent contact, and the positive connector needs to be close to the point you're poking with the negative pin, or the semiconducting SiC won't let any current flow. With the clip close to the pin (less than a centimetre), something above 20 volts always persuades my SiC to allow current to flow, but that doesn't give the LED effect, just little blue sparks. You're looking for something greenish-yellow, as in this Wikipedia picture:

Silicon carbide LED effect

(The picture is from this page, which contains further instructions on how to try this experiment yourself. And then there's this dude, whose carbide lump seems happy to light up all over, damn his eyes.)

Trying, and failing, to make my own carbide-LED picture was quite frustrating. I can see why people in the early days of radio were so happy when they could buy machine-made vacuum-tube diodes so they didn't have to fool around with super-fine wires and lumps of galena any more, poking around all over the crystal like a tiny pirate seeking one buried treasure chest on the whole island of Barbados.

Aaaaanyway, you may be pleased to know that I am now finally going to tell you where I got this stuff, and what it costs.

Getting some

I bought a little chunk of crystalline silicon carbide on eBay a few years ago, from this seller, but they don't have any SiC for sale at the moment. This new bigger chunk was another eBay purchase, for $US28.17 including delivery to me here in Australia, from this seller (who's here on eBay Australia, here on eBay Canada, and here on eBay UK).

As I write this, they've got one more lump of the stuff, closer to spherical than mine and weighing 210 grams.

The inimitable Theodore Gray has a chunk of this stuff too; he bought it on eBay as well, but from a seller who called it "native bismuth". Dark SiC crystals resemble bismuth hopper crystals (see here) in colour, but that's as far as the resemblance goes.

(Theo also has this different-looking SiC sample, which was also sold as bismuth. And then there are these high-purity crystals, transparent green with no oxide layer. Oh, and on the subject, if you get a solid block of carbide but your plutonium hasn't arrived yet, you can pass the time with some microwave metal melting!)

Nobody on eBay seems to be selling silicon-carbide "bismuth" at the moment; there's plenty of "native bismuth" crystals that're obviously actually purified bismuth crystallised by the standard stovetop method, but at least those actually are bismuth, so by eBay fake-minerals standards no great crime is being committed.

And now: Twinkling!

Behold, the silicon carbide lump, and the chromium, and a couple of large oval-cut cubic zirconias ("CZs") into the bargain. They all look impressive in sunlight.

(These videos don't have sound. Feel free to add your own vocal "ting" sound effects to synchronise with the reflections and refractions.)

The smaller CZ is, at about 36 by 29 by 22 millimetres (1.4 by 1.1 by 0.9 inches), comfortably in the Crown Jewels size range. If it were a diamond, it'd be around 155 carats (as a CZ, it's 255 carats - CZ is about 1.6 to 1.7 times as dense as diamond). This is a bit less than the original cut of the Koh-i-Noor, but about 1.5 times the Koh-i-Noor's current size.

The larger CZ is about 52 by 38 by 28 millimetres (2 by 1.5 by 1.1 inches), and weighs 132.5 grams; a diamond the same size would be about 400 carats, far larger than any of the world's famous colourless diamonds, and a little less than the total weight of all of the multicoloured diamonds in the two "Aurora" displays.

I bought both CZs in 2009 from this eBay seller; the smaller one cost me $US19.95 delivered, and the bigger one was $US37.95.

That seller doesn't seem to have a lot of huge CZs on offer today, but if you use the always-entertaining "highest price first" sorting option but set a price ceiling at, say, $100, then in among the eBay listings for bags containing many small CZs, there are plenty of monster white and coloured stones.

(Here's that search on eBay Australia; it's here on eBay UK, and here on eBay Canada. I strongly recommend you buy at least a pocketful of small CZs; they make novel presents, and you can also wrap them in black felt, go to a cafe with a friend, wait for people to look, and then make everyone think some serious state secrets are being sold.)

"I'm not an ageist, but..."

A reader writes:

Something has been bugging me for a while, but I didn't want to ask anyone in case it sounded racist, which it isn't, because some of my best friends are members of the inferior races which Asians like me will soon enslave.

Internet anonymity lets me ask YOU, though:

Why do old black people so often not look as old as identically old white people?

I'm asking now because I've seen a few excellent examples in just the last few days.

I was watching Joe Morton in Eureka, and he looks EXACTLY THE SAME as he did in Terminator 2, 20 years earlier.

And look at this guy! He just died at age 75, but in the picture of him performing a year ago he could be 50, or 40 even.

And then I watched a recent Daily Show where George Clinton did a walk-on, he's 70 but looked 50, tops.

And the flipside: Just now Reddit brings me a young basketballer who only needed some fake white hair and beard and bang, plausible old black man!

(OK, there was some latex work there too. But you can't see that clearly even in HD, and he still looks old.)

I know black people don't actually LIVE any longer, quite the opposite here in the States, but looking young your whole life has to be some consolation. How/why does it happen?!

Z

I have heard this phenomenon described as "black don't crack", but I, like you, don't know whether it's safe for non-black people to call it that in company.

(This whole situation, especially in the USA, seems to have taken a terribly wrong turn at some point after Blazing Saddles.)

In the case of people in TV and movies this phenomenon is, of course, at least partially the result of makeup, lighting and plastic surgery. But you're right when you say that it happens in "real life" too.

The reason is actually quite simple.

When you get older, your skin loses elasticity and you get more wrinkly. The principal factor in the visibility of wrinkles is light, or more precisely shadow. Wrinkle-hills cast shadows in wrinkle-valleys, and those shadows play a big part in making a face look old.

If you've got pale skin, wrinkle-shadows show up very clearly. But the darker your skin is, the closer to the shadow shade it all is naturally, and the less obvious are the wrinkle-shadows, and the less old you look. That's really all there is to it.

Rub your face with lampblack and, no matter what colour your skin was before, it'll now be so dark that wrinkle-shadows will be almost invisible. Do the same thing with titanium dioxide powder and every tiny line will stand out clearly, unless you're only illuminated by a light right next to the viewer.

(This is why the built-in flash of a compact camera tends to make everybody's face look flat and weird - but not wrinkly! A photographer may use a "beauty dish" to add a controlled amount of this effect to a portrait.)

This same phenomenon can be seen in some peculiar places. Take the moon, for instance.

A full moon is much more than twice as bright as a half moon, because of what's called the "opposition effect". The effect is partly caused by the retroreflective qualities of lunar regolith - it tends to reflect light back the way it came. There may be some quantum weirdness involved too. But the opposition effect occurs mainly because the lunar surface is very uneven, thanks to meteorite impacts and no erosive forces. So there are lots and lots of shadows when the moon is illuminated from the side from our point of view, making it half-full, but there are almost no shadows at all when it's full, and illuminated by the sun looking over the earth's shoulder, as it were.

(The albedo of the moon is surprisingly low - it's about as dark as an asphalt road. It seems so brilliant in the night sky because it's illuminated by direct sunlight, not because it's actually the pale grey it seems to be when compared with the surrounding dark sky.)

The "black don't crack" phenomenon is one small part of numerous more-or-less-racist theories that explain one or another kind of physical advantage that dark people are supposed to have over pale people.

One of the more popular of these theories is that black slaves were literally bred to be stronger and healthier, since there wasn't much of a market for longsighted asthmatic cotton-pickers. Whether the claim is that this breeding was forced by slave-owners, or was just a result of brutal natural selection that caused weak slaves to often die before reproducing, though, it's pretty clear from genetics and genealogy that it actually didn't happen.

There is evidence for something like this in some situations. It's hardly surprising, for instance, that a number of successful very-long-distance runners have come from cultures where, for centuries or even millennia, being good at cursorial or persistence hunting has been a way to get more wives and offspring.

Even in these situations, though, there are many confounding factors. Running is something almost anybody can do, almost anywhere. It requires no expensive equipment or special facilities. So poor countries, regardless of culture, produce more runners than they do, say, golf or polo players. (And every now and then along comes a little white guy who's accustomed to spending days on end rounding up sheep, on foot.) For the same reason, you don't see many bobsled teams from countries where it doesn't snow.

(While I'm digressing, here's a note even less relevant to the original question: Because I'm in Australia, thedailyshow.com doesn't want to show me that George Clinton video. I just get a "Sorry, this video is unavailable from your location" error. If you have the same problem, you can solve it with the Modify Headers Firefox extension, which lets your browser say it's asking for the page on behalf of a US IP address. Find instructions on how to do this here.)


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.

Giant watery balls

A reader writes:

I recently saw a news article that linked to this government page:
http://ga.water.usgs.gov/edu/earthhowmuch.html
...which says if all Earth's water (liquid, ice, freshwater, saline) was put into a sphere it would be about 860 miles in diameter.

Now I understand an 860-mile sphere is massive, so even though that sounded small I could accept it, until they state the estimated volume of water on earth at 332.5 million cubic miles.

So how do you cram 332,500,000 cubic miles into a 860 mile sphere?

Matthew

Quite easily, actually!

The volume of a sphere is four-thirds pi times the radius squared cubed [Sorry I left that error there for so long, commenters!]. So if the radius is 1 unit, the volume is 4.19 cubic units.

The radius of an 860-mile sphere is 430 miles. 430 cubed is 79,507,000. Four-thirds pi is about 4.1888. Multiply that by 79,507,000 and you get about 333,038,143, a number less than 0.2% larger than 332,500,000. The difference is accounted for by variations in precision in working out the number, since this is really only a ballpark figure and taking it to nine significant digits is silly.

To "sanity check" this if, like me, you always feel mildly nervous about the order of operations for a calculation like 4/3Πr^3, consider the volume of a cube 860 miles on a side.

The volume of a cube is of course just its edge-length cubed, and an edge length of 860 miles gives a volume of 636,056,000, a nice sane-sounding 1.91 times the volume of the sphere that'd neatly fit in that cube.

My own second-favourite way-to-visualise-the-quantity-of-something is that all the gold in the world (not including gold we have yet to dig up or somehow extract from seawater) would make a cube only 20 to 22 metres on a side, depending on who you ask. To help visualise the size of the cube, 21-ish-metres is about the length of two city buses parked nose to tail.

Because gold weighs 19.3 grams per cubic centimetre, though (11.16 ounces, or 10.16 troy ounces, per cubic inch), a 21-metre-on-a-side cube of gold would weigh 178,737 tonnes. So I suppose you wouldn't have to worry too much about someone stealing it.

(Unless you are very wealthy, you probably can't buy a large enough lump of gold - especially at today's outrageous prices - to really appreciate its density. At current prices, one kilogram of gold would cost you more than $US51,000. Tungsten, however, is 99.7% as dense as gold - I'm sure counterfeiters have gilded tungsten for profit many times - and it's much more affordable, though still expensive. The good people of RGB Research {here on eBay US, here on eBay UK, here on eBay Australia} have their one-kilo tungsten cylinders on sale again for a mere $US220 plus rather pricey delivery. If you can afford one, and have the slightest interest in science toys, I urge you to buy one; my own tungsten cylinder is one of my most treasured possessions. And one of the most durable, too; if the house burns down the tungsten cylinder, like my Bathsheba Grossman Metatrino, will be sitting intact in the ashes.)

My most-favourite way-to-visualise-the-quantity-of-something is that if you breathe on an ordinary marble, the thickness of the layer of condensation from your breath on the marble is approximately to scale with the thickness of the atmosphere on the earth.

(And another one, that doesn't really make anything much easier to understand but is prime stoned-party-talk, is that a human is about as much bigger than an atom as a galaxy is bigger than a human.)


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.

Tag! What is it?

A reader writes:

How do the little rectangular anti-theft tags work?

I get how the big anti-theft stickers work. They've got an obvious square spiral antenna that I presume collects enough microwatts from an incoming signal to run a little transmitter that sends another signal out.

But the little tags don't have any circuitry inside. I cut one open, and there are just some tabs of springy metal in there - two pieces next to each other, and a smaller piece separated from the other two by a clear plastic membrane.

The metal sticks to a magnet, but that's the end of my ability to figure out what it does.

Is there invisible nanotechnology in these things, or something? Hey, maybe they're a placebo!

Kim

Magneto-acoustic security tag innards

If they're a placebo, the alarm systems in shops seem to really believe that it works.

What you're looking at there (here's a more elegant cutaway picture on Wikipedia) is called a magneto-acoustic, or acousto-magnetic, tag. Which is one of those things that doesn't really sound as if it ought to work, but does.

The first two of the three tabs inside are, I think, a couple of pieces of amorphous metal - which is quite an exotic material to be stuck to commonplace consumer items just to stop people stealing them. Amorphous metal is, in a way, the opposite of nanotechnology; it's metallic glass, special because it lacks the microscopic crystal structure of normal metals.

The third tab is a piece of less exotic, medium-coercivity metal. When that third piece is magnetised, the two other strips, which are sitting loose in their little plastic coffin, become quite easily moved by external magnetic fields. (They're amorphous metal because that's already unusually easy for external fields to move.)

The security gateways as you leave the store emit a pulsed magnetic field up in the tens of kilohertz, at the resonant frequency of the amorphous-metal strips. When next to their mildly-magnetised buddy, this quite tiny field causes the amorphous-metal tags to buzz, and to continue to buzz for a very brief moment after each pulse of the external field. This very brief "ringing" period causes a tiny change in the magnetic field of the third strip, which an antenna in the security gateway, very implausibly, detects. And off go the sirens.

The thingy at the checkout that deactivates the tags is a degaussing coil. It more-or-less demagnetises the third strip, which both reduces the magnetic sensitivity of the other two strips, and removes the field which the other two strips modulate. So now the sirens don't go off.

I am entirely unable to think about any security system without immediately trying to figure out ways to defeat it. (I try to avoid airports nowadays. They make me feel like Jackie Chan in a deckchair factory.)

One obvious but impractical way to defeat magneto-acoustic tags would be to degauss them yourself; I don't know how strong the degausser needs to be to achieve this, though. You might be able to pinch stuff if you just smuggled a CRT-screen degaussing wand into the shop, and found somewhere to plug it in.

Swiping your own rare-earth magnet across the tag would, if anything, probably make it work better (by more strongly magnetising the third strip), but I wonder if leaving a magnet or three stuck to the tag, in a Halbach array if you're fancy, might silence it. Just chopping it bodily off with a potato peeler would probably do the job too, of course, but where's the fun in that?

(If you can magnetise tags yourself with a ten-cent eBay magnet, then you could pry them off things you've bought, reactivate them, and attach them inconspicuously to things which other people may innocently carry into shops. You could, is all I'm saying.)

The square-antenna type of tag, by the way, is also pretty simple. It doesn't actually have anything fairly describable as a transmitter in it, but is rather a tuned circuit that resonates somewhere in the low megahertz. This makes it detectable, if a nearby transmitter/receiver combo rapidly sweeps its output through the relevant frequency range and looks to see if something is managing to suck up some energy at the appropriate frequency.

This kind of tag is deactivated by, essentially, blowing out the capacitor essential to their resonance with a higher-powered signal. I think a shoplifter could probably defeat these tags by just dragging a knife across them a couple of times, though, breaking the circuit. I haven't actually tried this, though, because it'd mean missing out on all of the fun of a good old-fashioned armed robbery.

Perhaps someone who's worked in retail since fancy security tags came into vogue will enlighten us in the comments.

I would also like to hear from anybody who's successfully used the "just lob the item high over the security gate and into the hands of your partner in crime" technique.

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.

Hey presto, an old fuel saver is new again!

Remember the Moletech, or possibly MTECH, Fuel Saver?

Pretty much your standard magical catalyst-or-something, it got pimped by the Sydney Morning Herald, and those guys who say every hokey fuel saver in the world works said it works too. And then the Herald article disappeared in a way that basically said THIS ARTICLE HAS DISAPPEARED IN A SUSPICIOUS WAY, even as the Australian Government department that was alleged to be testing the device told me they'd never heard of it.

And then the Herald covered their tracks with the professionalism of a small child attempting to rearrange eight cupcakes to conceal the fact that there used to be twelve cupcakes.

(If Asher Moses wants me to ever forget he wrote that piece, and more importantly that he or one of his Herald workmates then stumbled around incompetently trying to pretend the article never existed instead of just saying "whoops, sorry" like a sensible person, he's going to have to kill me. It would appear that Twitter and the SMH actually are a bit similar, dude.)

Aaaaanyway, rejoice, for the Moletech-or-whatever fuel saver still stands ready to relieve you of a few hundred bucks while for-a-certainty paying for itself really really soon with amazing mileage gains. Entirely according to the usual script for BS molecular-magic fuel savers, the Moletech people have opened new marketing vistas and evaded any disappointing online commentary from clearly crazy people who suggest their product might not work by changing the product's name, to "Greentech".

Any doubts you may have about this clearly-unassociated-with-that-Moletech-thing-that-didn't-work product are sure to be dispelled by the new Greentech Web site, whose FAQ page currently contains the following hard evidence:

Q: How does it work?
A: Immediately effect will be observed as soon as the contact between the fuel and Greentech Molecule Enhancer was established.

The Greentech doodad comes in two parts, too, one for the fuel and one for the air intake. I think the Moletech gadget only had one. This makes all the difference, I'm sure.

On the somewhat less... slender... "Main Functions" page, the Greentech people explain that their product does all of the things that magic quantum magnetic moonbeam fuel-saving devices are always claimed to do (plus, oddly, apparently the magical removal of pollen and tobacco smoke and other such things that human beings do not like breathing from the air going into the engine, even though an engine doesn't give two slim shits about whether a bit of pollen made it through the air filter).

How is the Greentech thingy meant to do this?

Why, by reducing Van der Waals forces between fuel molecules, of course! A Canadian distributor rabbits on about this at greater length.

This, as usual, would be either study-of-physics-revolutionising instant-Nobel-prize material, or cause a slow but inevitably apocalyptic unravelling of the very fabric of the planet, depending on whether your view of fuel-saver-company quantum flapdoodle tends more towards the Larry Niven/Iain M. Banks or Peter Watts/J. G. Ballard ends of the sci-fi spectrum.

If it didn't kill us all by next year and actually did what they claim - more power, less fuel consumption, lower exhaust emissions, just like all the rest - then the Greentech doodad would, yet again, be a zillion-dollar product for sale to every maker of internal combustion engines, not something sold to end-users on the Internet.

The Greentech people are proud that they've been selling this thing for more than a decade now, but in all that time they've neither inked monster contracts with Toyota and General Motors, nor been erased by the conspiracy that's the only thing that could possibly have stopped them from doing so.

The abovementioned Canadian distributor hoped for a Sydney-Morning-Herald-like response to their product from Wheels.ca.

They didn't get it.

Those poor lemurs

A reader writes:

Thought you'd get a laugh out of this one:

http://www.ascendedhealth.com/brown-recluse/bite-treatment.htm

The best part:

Healing Frequency Resonation: These oils have been imprinted with the
universal healing frequency of 728 Hz using a modified Lakhovsky/Tesla
multi-wave generator embedded with oscillators made from large
double-tipped lemurian crystal mined from Minas Gerais, Brazil.

Eric

Dear god, the "Ascended Health" site seems to be genuine. Well, if you click on their "Buy Now" links you do at least get a PayPal page, not a "Ha! We fooled you!" message.

The danger here is subtly greater than that usually posed by using holistic universal healing frequencies, which is to say a placebo, to treat illness. The Ascended Health people claim to be able to treat the usual long list of diseases, but this one page, about treating brown recluse spider bites, is subtly pernicious in an unusual way.

It is generally known that brown recluse bites are Bad News. Especially among Internet-comic fans who know that the exceedingly grody picture on the Wikipedia article for loxoscelism - the results of a decent dose of brown-recluse venom in humans - is of the leg of Jeffrey Rowland, the Wigu/Overcompensating/TopatoCo guy. His depiction of himself in his comics has had a leg-scar for as long as he has.

(Rowland's story was, of course, recently severely beaten by what happened to Peter Watts. Oh, and anybody who at this point is thinking about complaining about links to scary spiders and nasty medical pictures should bear in mind the way in which I have responded to such complaints in the past. I got a million of 'em, kids.)

The thing is, though, that the brown recluse is not actually very dangerous, and even if one bites you, placebo treatment is likely to be effective. And it's an excellent ailment for sellers of useless woo-woo treatments in other ways, too.

Brown recluse bites, you see, often hardly hurt at all at first. It's actually quite difficult to persuade a brown recluse to bite you at all; about the only way for it to happen unless you are a lunatic doing it on purpose is if you put on clothes with a spider inside and thus press it up against your skin. Some spiders are aggressive (including a few of those for which my country, Australia, is so famous), but brown recluses really aren't.

(The Australian version of the forcing-the-spider-to-bite-you situation is redbacks in your boots, or, classically, lurking under the seat in the outside dunny. Redbacks aren't tremendously aggressive, but they're still likely to become quite cross if you sit on them.)

Even if you are bitten by a brown recluse, though, most bites inject little to no venom and do little to no harm. Treatment of such a bite with prayer or reiki or homeopathic antimatter will be entirely successful.

If a brown recluse manages to envenomate you only slightly, the bite will over days develop into a nasty sore that'll take forever to heal, but will heal. Unless you were already rather frail, or the sore gets badly infected, or some other complication develops, you'll once again be fine in due course no matter what treatment, genuine or woo-woo, you get.

If a brown recluse manages to envenomate you really effectively, though, you're in trouble. But the symptoms will still take days to develop.

So what we've got here is a bite that's hard to receive and detect, which may or may not do you any harm at all, and which will be separated from the actual illness it causes, if it causes any, by a significant amount of time.

This is immensely fertile ground for people to fail to correctly figure out what's going on, in both illness and treatment. A given "brown recluse bite" may actually be a bite from some other, less dangerous spider or insect. Or it may be an infected wound, or it may be some random mosquito bite or pimple that's grown in the worried mind of the patient into a terrifying situation, on account of how they're pretty sure they saw a spider yesterday and it may have been brown.

And even if you do have a real and highly envenomated recluse bite, it's not going to eat your entire body in an afternoon like necrotising fasciitis (which, again, is what Peter Watts was lucky enough to get). Hospital treatment for recluse-bite loxoscelism is basically supportive medicine to keep the patient as healthy and happy as possible, and removal of any particularly distasteful dead flesh. If the necrosis is serious enough to threaten a whole limb then the whole necrotising area will be surgically removed, but this is seldom necessary. Basically, you just keep the wound clean and wait for it to go away.

OK, so now let's suppose you've got genuine loxoscelism and you decide to treat it with mental telepathy and the singing of hymns.

Well, if you've got the rare kind that'll take a limb, you'll lose a limb, and possibly your life, because having your arm rot off is not good for you.

If you've got the much more common, much less dangerous form of loxoscelism, though, you'll just be in a lot more pain than if you were doped up in the hospital, and you'll probably wind up with a worse scar. You may manage to get blood poisoning or something, but most likely the disease will follow its natural course, and you'll recover. And believe that you were cured, unpleasant though the process was, by whatever pointless placebo treatment it was that you tried.

(There's also the possibility that woo-woo alternative-medicine treatment will actually be bad for you in and of itself. A significant subset of folk medicines are actively poisonous in one way or another. The Ascended Health "powerful synergistic mixture of special natural magnetic minerals and oils" doesn't sound very likely to be toxic if you're only rubbing it on a wound, but who knows.)

This is the great problem with unscientific medicine, which was all medicine up until the late 19th century. You don't know what the disease is, you don't know how it works, you don't know what the treatment does, you don't know what the confounding factors are, and in the end you may by pure chance actually manage to do some good, but that's not the way to bet.

This is why homeopathy was such a success when Hahnemann invented it in 1796. "Conventional medicine" at the time was likely to involve almost nothing that actually stood a chance of making the patient better, and several things that could kill people who weren't even sick. Compared to that, harmless homeopathic placebos were a giant leap forward.

Today, though, we've got treatments for a vast array of diseases that're much better than placebo. Even when you've got something like a recluse bite for which there is no direct treatment (antivenoms for recluse toxins do exist, but they have to be administered very soon after the bite, which almost never happens when the bite is hardly noticeable), there are still numerous evidence-based things you can do which are proved to make the disease less severe, or at least less unpleasant.

It is, once again, vitally important to take pains to avoid fooling yourself, because you are the easiest person to fool.

(I am aware, by the way, that Lemuria does not really have anything to do with lemurs. Lemuria, hypothesised to be the homeland of the lemurs which Philip Sclater knew of in Madagascar and India but not places logically in between, is yet another new-age trope for which the world can thank the regrettably-not-inimitable-at-all Madame Blavatsky.)

Development of mutant healing factor not guaranteed

A reader writes:

I was wondering if you'd heard of the appearance of some pseudosciencey Power Balance-esque magnetic bracelets in the new Avengers movie - and that the bracelets are actually for sale for $200 (!), endorsed by Paramount and Marvel Comics.

I first read about this on a Hijinks Ensue comment post. As a fellow skeptic and longtime reader of your blog, I thought I'd alert you to this scummy product placement.

n

Magtitan wristband

Yep, the Limited Edition Colantotte Magtitan Neo Legend really does seem to combine five forms of pseudoscience, doesn't it?

It's not at all like the admittedly worthless Power Balance wristband, though. Power Balance and similar "hologram" or "ionised" bracelets don't have any identifiable physical properties, or effect on users, that a non-"energy"-enhancing silicone rubber wristband doesn't have, as long of course as the user believes their bracelet is special.

But the Magtitan Whatever Edition has magnets in it. And, as we all know, magnets can do anything.

This is sort of like the problem with debunking psychics, where the true believers say "OK, Mr A proved to be a fake, but Ms B must be genuine!", and then move on to Mr C, Ms D and so on as each new prospect is debunked until the skeptics run out of un-wristband-enhanced energy. Nobody can ever prove that every single "quantum" talisman, psychotronic money magnet, mobile-phone antenna-booster sticker, ultrasonic mosquito repeller, magic electricity saver or miraculous fuel additive is a scam, so chronic credophiles always have a new thing to believe in. And finding a new thing to believe in takes a lot less time than proving the thing doesn't work.

I agree that this product placement is weird, though. You'd think it'd be counterproductive.

"Do you find it entirely plausible that part of the Hulk's transformation invariably includes the manifestation of a pair of indestructible purple pants? Have you never wondered how Tony Stark can pull hundreds of gees and take hits like Superman without ever being turned to red chunky salsa inside his armour? Then do we have a health product for you!"