CDB

The bees are dying: one quarter of the US commercial colonies collapsed last year, and news accounts indicate that Europe has the same problem.

Initial speculation centered on cell phones—supposedly the radiation is at just the right frequency to disrupt the bees’ navigation. That hypothesis seems to have few adherents now. So what is it? Pesticides? Genetically modified crops? Climate change (or just the vicissitudes of weather)?

While the experts try to figure this out, try to find the busy bee in the strange flower:

A bee

You may need to look at the big version.

[C D B by way of William Steig]

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Watched

Who said it?

I’m struggling with seeing the deployment of cameras in our local villages as being a benefit to policing. If it’s in our villages—are we really moving towards an Orwellian situation with cameras on every street corner? I really don’t think that’s the kind of country that I want to live in.

If it weren’t for his use of the term villages,* you might think it’s some “card-carrying member of the ACLU.” No, the speaker is Ian Readhead, the Deputy Chief Constable of Hampshire—the original, not the New one. He’s also the chairman of the Association of Chief Police Officers’ data protection group. In other words, he’s a cop, and he’s worried about the surveillance society being created in Great Britain.

According to the Wall Street Journal, there are at least 500,000 surveillance cameras in London, and the paper cited a study saying that “in a single day a person could expect to be filmed 300 times.”

Video surveillance in public places has not reached this level in the United States (as far as we know**) and its effectiveness has been convincingly disputed. Yet despite the obvious potential for mischief and misuse, there is no shortage of politicians and government officials pushing surveillance of law-abiding citizens as a tool in the so-called global war on terror.

We need more Ian Readheads.
__________
*I don’t think we have “villages” in the United States anymore, do we? I mean, if we do (if it’s part of a municipality’s official name— “The Village of Lombard,” or some such), we don’t actually call them villages—at least I don’t. We call them towns. A “village” in 21st century America is more likely to be a shopping experience, I’m sorry to say.
**Are there really only 15 surveillance cameras in public places in the District of Columbia? (Those would belong to the DC Metropolitan Police. We have a few other law enforcement agencies operating here, to put it mildly.)

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Intruder

An intruder

And now—you be the photo editor (click to enlarge):

An intruder - bird's eye view An intruder - another view An intruder - yet another view

Yes, it’s pathetic. I take pictures of a dandelion instead of commenting on Virginia Tech, Alberto Gonzales, or Iraq. So it goes. Adios, KV.

Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies — “God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” (God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater)

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KV:RIP

Three weeks after I mention him here in the Basement, Kurt Vonnegut dies. I don’t think there’s a correlation. I mentioned Gore Vidal a while back, and he’s still kicking.

From the New York Times obit:

To Mr. Vonnegut, the only possible redemption for the madness and apparent meaninglessness of existence was human kindness. The title character in his 1965 novel, “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater,” summed up his philosophy:

“Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies — ‘God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.'”

Which reminds me—I miss Molly Ivins.

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Strel

It should become a new verb: to strel something. To achieve through sheer force of will and bullheaded determination. You know, to do it the Slovenian way. Just throw your body at it.* It may be an act of the purest idealism, but you must take pleasure in the horrendous work involved; not masochism—rather, a sort of spiritual pleasure in the physical stress of wrestling with gargantuan forces, all the while fully conscious and loving your “opponent,” which is not an opponent at all but a part of you.

Martin Strel, the man behind the verb, completed his swim down the length of the Amazon. He wasn’t in the best shape by the time he arrived at Belem, but not only had he achieved what he set out to do, he’s thinking of his next big swim.

Here’s an excerpt from the last installment of Martin’s weekly diary posted at BBC News:

I feel like a kid when dreams come true. I am very happy. I think I haven’t quite got into my head what I have achieved.

My swim is done, 5268km in 66 days, but today I am swimming to the city of Belem where there will be a big reception.

I think the Amazon took me, allowed me to be part of it, the river accepted me, protected me and allowed me to swim it, and now I am at the end and I am still alive.

Many times I talked to myself and to the river. I said: “I am a good man with a good intention. I’ve been talking with the Amazon river for 66 days now. The animals have been swimming with me for weeks, I think Nature allowed me to do this.”

People still ask me, why I did this.

I am a regular man, a regular common guy who just has higher goals than usual. I want to show everybody around the world that if you set a goal that is a little bit unusual or higher, you have to try to achieve it. If you keep working and don’t quit right away, you will come to the end. This could be whatever. I chose to swim the Amazon.

I also want to promote a message of clean rivers, clean water and friendship, because these rivers and water have to stay clean, otherwise the world will collapse. The Amazon river is still very clean, local people use it as a natural resource and I think the Amazon should stay clean forever.

I have seen some deforestation, but it is not going to be good if we keep expanding the limit. I want to pass this message to everybody: “Do not look only for business and for money when you come closer to nature.”

One of my missions is to protect the rainforest.

Physically, I have sores and pains in my whole body. I still have problems with my head, it feels like a bomb about to explode, I do not have a temperature but if feels like there is a big pressure—like fire in my head—I need to cool down a little bit.

Pain has been part of my daily progress for the last couple of weeks. But I do not complain about it—it has just been part of my life.

My arms and legs feel as if I am carrying a big iron bar, they feel very heavy. I have problems eating, to move a spoon or fork, or to drink, I have problems to dress.

I was also tired at the end of other swims, but here on the Amazon the pain has lasted much longer.

__________

*[Appended years later—Ed.] Now, before any Slovenian out there, their dander up and in high lather, fires off a comment and tells me to go to hell in a hand basket: “Slovenians are the most rational, even-keeled, clever, at times even wily, people on God’s green earth,” I will, of course, agree in advance. “And hard-working!” Granted. “But not stupid or obsessed, like this guy might be.” Yes and yes. But I think there’s a little crazy streak in a lot of us Slovenians. Like this guy. Still don’t agree? That’s okay.

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Early

Robins in the April snow

Robin No. 1: What day is it?
Robin No. 2: Saturday.
Robin No. 1: No, I mean what’s the date?
Robin No. 2: April 7, in the Gregorian calendar, the most widely used calendar in the world. A modification of the Julian calendar, it was first proposed by the Calabrian doctor Aloysius Lilius, and was decreed by Pope Gregory XIII, for whom it was named, on 24 February 1582 …
Robin No. 1: A simple “April 7” would’ve sufficed, thank you. So, contrary to the headline, we’re not early.
Robin No. 2: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Robin No. 1: And I have no idea why we’re talking.
Robin No. 2: We’re killing time until the worms thaw, dummy! (Pause) So much for global warming!
Robin No. 1: Geez, don’t you know the difference between climate and weather?
Robin No. 2: I was joking.
Robin No. 1: Chirp. (Flies away)
Robin No. 2: Chirp chirp. (Flies after)

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Hoaxed

The devoted reader of this blog will know why its proprietor won’t be concocting his own April Fools’ Day joke. (Besides, his team just got slaughtered in softball, so cut him some slack.) He did manage to find a nifty site that lists 100 classic AFD hoaxes. So enjoy that, and the rest of April, while you’re at it.

A sample:

#80: Moscow’s Second Subway
In 1992 the Moskovskaya Pravda announced that the winds of capitalism transforming Russia would bring further changes for the residents of Moscow. Apparently plans had been finalized to build a new Moscow subway system. Of course, there was nothing wrong with the city’s current subway. But in the spirit of capitalism, the second system would be built to promote “the interests of competition.”

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Hydrous

Hot on the heels of a widely slammed article about global warming, William Broad of the New York Times wisely took on a cooler subject yesterday: big snowflakes. Hey, wasn’t I just talking about that? Someone’s been reading my mail blog.

Broad writes about credible reports of snowflakes the size of frisbees and how this hypertrophy occurs. The really big ones are actually agglomerations of many individual snowflakes (which are, technically speaking, snow crystals). In the process he mentions a certain Ken Libbrecht, who is the reincarnation of Wilson Bentley, the pioneer snowflake photographer, except that Libbrecht is also a physicist who studies the mechanics of snow crystal growth and grows synthetic snowflakes in his lab. As it happens, after posting the previous item and before reading Broad’s article, I had dug out my copy of Libbrecht’s book The Snowflake: Winter’s Secret Beauty and had been struck by a sidebar on page 60:

Doing Your Part

There is a bit of you in every snowflake. That’s because even you, right this moment, are making a contribution to the atmospheric water supply. Water is evaporating from our skin, plus you are putting water right into the air every time you exhale. In fact, you personally put so much water into the air that some of your water molecules almost certainly made it into the snowflakes pictured in this book.

You exhale roughly a liter of water per day into the atmosphere, and most of this water rains or snows back down again within about a week’s time. The total global precipitation is about 1,000,000,000,000,000 (one quadrillion) times greater than the amount of water you exhale, so your impact on the weather is pretty minor.

But even if you contribute only one quadrillionth of the total water content in a snowflake, that is still about 1,000 molecules. It depends on how well things are mixed up in the atmosphere, but there are probably, very roughly, about a thousand of your molecules captured in every snowflake picture. Thank you for your contribution—and keep up the good work.

Initially I was charmed by this idea. But the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. What does he mean, “a bit of you”? Just because some water molecules happened to pass through me, they’re “me”? Or “mine”? I understand what he’s saying: water that was in me has gone off and got embedded in snowflakes (maybe even, theoretically, after having lived so long, in every snowflake). But obviously I was just a temporary vessel for this water, just as the snowflake is a temporary structure made partly from this same water. As a striking image of the water cycle in action, I rather like Libbrecht’s formulation. I guess I object to considering the water a “bit of me,” rather than the reverse: I was temporarily (momentarily, for the blink of an eye or less) a collection of that molecule of water and that one and that one … (plus molecules of a lot of other stuff, all quite transiently). I mean, it’s not as if I come to own, or even possess in any real sense, the water, or the potassium, or the iron, or anything in me. Even these thoughts are just passing through.

I highly recommend the book mentioned above (I have not seen Libbrecht’s more recent Field Guide to Snowflakes). In passing he mentions Ice IX and Kurt Vonnegut’s fabulous “ice-nine,” which sent me scampering off into the internet, where I found a free copy of Cat’s Cradle to reread. Unlike Vonnegut’s catastrophic fictional substance, the real stuff is “a metastable form of solid water that exists at temperatures below 140 K and pressures between 200 and 400 MPa. It has a tetragonal crystal lattice and a density of 1.16 g/cm3, slightly higher than ordinary ice” (Ice Ih, which is hexagonal, as you can see).

Snow crystal from Ken Libbrecht’s website

From Ken Libbrecht’s website SnowCrystals.com

Okay, they say tomorrow it’s going to be in the mid-60s (Fahrenheit—which is what, high teens Celsius?). No more snow talk. Happy Vernal Equinox, everyone!

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Refreshing

After the recent political rants, it’s time to cleanse the mental palate with a bit of photographic sherbet:

Dogwood under snow

A pleasant memory of our February snows—in particular, the huge flakes on the 25th that fell straight down through the absolutely still air. The way the snow built up on the twigs of the dogwood almost defied belief. But seeing is believing, of course.

To see more (and more deeply), visit the Wilson Bentley collection. [Hat tip to Laureeg]

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Fallout

The New York Times ran an analysis of the Libby case today that argues the verdict will change the way the press covers the government. Would that it does.

“Every tenet and every pact that existed between the government and the press has been broken,” said Theodore J. Boutrous Jr., a media lawyer who represented Time magazine and one of its reporters in their unsuccessful efforts to fight subpoenas from Mr. Fitzgerald, the special counsel in the Libby case.

There have been “tenets” and “pacts” between the government and the press? That would explain a lot.

Actually, there was a “truce,” but it was between the press and government prosecutors:

In the 35 years since the United States Supreme Court ruled, in Branzburg v. Hayes, that reporters have no right under the First Amendment to refuse to answer questions from a grand jury, press protections against Justice Department subpoenas have existed largely as a matter of prosecutorial grace. That is over.

“We had this truce for a generation since Branzburg,” said Mark Feldstein, a journalism professor at George Washington University. “Nobody really pushed it. The virginity is lost now.”

It’s interesting the Feldstein brings up the notion of virginity, what with an entire generation of Washington reporters behaving more like cheap tarts than innocent naifs.

But the clincher is this passage about “access journalism.” It dovetails with something I said earlier about what it used to mean to “protect a source,” and what it has come to mean in 21st century Washington:

Earl Caldwell, a reporter for The Times who was involved in the Branzburg case, would not cooperate even after the Supreme Court’s decision, and the government never pressed the point. In 1978, another Times reporter, Myron Farber, spent 40 days in jail rather than identify his source.

“I wonder,” Professor [Jane] Kirtley [of the University of Minnesota] said, “if part of it is that Caldwell and Farber were proudly outsiders.” By contrast, the journalists who testified at the Libby trial were Washington insiders, and they gave the public a master class in access journalism. It was not always a pretty sight.

“They’re not fearless advocates,” Professor Feldstein said of the reporters involved, “but supplicants, willing and even eager to be manipulated.”

Meanwhile, in faraway California, an editorial board “gets it.”

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