Beware of Dihydrogen Monoxide (DHMO)

DHMO Can Be Found Virtually Everywhere!

DHMO Can Be Found Virtually Everywhere!

I don’t usually do this, but I am hijacking a hilarious post from the Today I Found Out website in its entirety. If I can’t improve on the material or the wording, I’m not going to try and pretend. Enjoy!

A major component of acid rain, an accelerator of corrosion and the rusting of metals, found in the tumors of cancer patients, a contributor to the greenhouse effect, fatal if inhaled, and capable of causing serious burns in the right circumstances, colorless, odorless and tasteless dihydrogen monoxide (DHMO) is responsible for thousands of deaths each year.

An exercise in perspective, by focusing simply on the negative, we can easily be tricked into thinking just about anything is bad, even something as necessary to life as water, made of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom, hence dihydrogen monoxide. And thanks to a few precocious people, at different times over the last few decades, that is precisely what happened.

One of the earliest dihydrogen monoxide hoaxes was printed on April 1, 1983, in the Durand Express, a weekly newspaper in Shiawassee County, Michigan. The article warned the populace that inhaling the chemical “nearly always results in death,” and its “vapors … cause severe blistering of the skin which can be fatal if extensive.” By the end of the article, however, it was revealed that the dangerous chemical was, in fact, just water.

So Simple, and Yet So Potentially Deadly!

So Simple, and Yet So Potentially Deadly!

With the dawn of the internet, the chemically savvy continued to prey on the ignorant, and by 1994, internet jokers pretended to have serious conversations about the dangers of dihydrogen monoxide. One of the earliest fake organizations, eventually called the Coalition to Ban Dihydrogen Monoxide, was formed by students at the University of California, Santa Cruz, in 1989.

Early claims included: “Millions of gallons of the stuff are sprayed on fruits and vegetables. Do you want your children eating that stuff?” It was an “invisible killer” that was “found in almost every stream, lake and reservoir in America,” and that the U.S. Navy was “designing multi-billion dollar devices to control and utilize it during warfare situations [and even that] research facilities receive tons of it through a highly sophisticated underground distribution network.”

These early sites also noted that this “hazardous chemical” was used “as an industrial solvent and coolant . . . in many forms of animal research . . . in the distribution of deadly pesticides . . . [and] as an integral part of the operation of nuclear power plants.” They also claimed that although it could damage concrete, erode natural landscapes and interfere with the operation of automobile brakes, it was still used “as a fire retardant” and “an additive in certain junk foods and other food products.”

Funny now, at the time, some people were truly deceived. In fact, one hoax in 1997 was so convincing, its four teenage masterminds were arrested and nearly faced criminal charges.

The young men, aged 14 to 16, distributed fliers in the Wylie Heights neighborhood outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, that carried warnings that dihydrogen monoxide was responsible for “severe hydration, frequent urination and possible death.” They included an 800 number on the flier (that directed the caller to a telephone sex business) and listed the name of the father of a classmate as a “county health inspector.” After the “health inspector” received several calls from distraught people, some of whom got mad at him, he called the police. The teens were eventually identified when they blabbed to his son, their classmate. Although they were not ultimately charged, they were forced to go door-to-door to apologize.

Also in 1997, Nathan Zohner, a 14-year-old student at Eagle Rock Junior High in Idaho Falls, Idaho, as part of a science project called “How Gullible Are We?” warned 50 of his classmates of the “dangers” of DHMO and asked them to join his effort to ban DHMO. He was able to get 43 to sign his petition.

Besides average citizens and middle school students, sometimes even public officials have been fooled. In March 2004, the City Council of Aliso Viejo, California, had planned to take up a ban on foam cups because of “environmental concerns . . . [of] the danger posed by dihydrogen monoxide, described as a chemical used in production of the [foam cups] that can threaten human health and safety.” Blaming the initiative on “a paralegal who did bad research,” the city’s manager pulled the proposed law from the agenda prior to any vote.

The Antiquarian

It’s Funny How Times Change....

It’s Funny How Times Change….

In the 1940s, Van Wyck Brooks’s reputation was riding high. There he is in 1944 on the cover of Time magazine, along with an inset photo of his book which I have just finished reading: The World of Washington Irving. Go to a used book store, and you won’t have much trouble finding nice hardbound copies of his best books, titles like The Flowering of New England, The Times of Melville and Whitman, and New England: Indian Summer. Go to a new book store, and you are not likely to find any of his work.

I guess it’s all a matter of fashion. I read The World of Washington Irving and The Flowering of New England with rapt attention, Brooks’s knowledge of his subject matter was nothing less than awesome. But the tone is different from today’s literary critics. Brooks was an antiquary: He worshiped and celebrated the past, which for him was a pageant from beginning to end.

Take, for example, this quote from a letter written by Philip Pendleton Cooke to Edgar Allan Poe, about how rural Southerners were no longer as literate as they used to be:

My wife enticed me to visit her kinspeople in the country, and I saw more of guns and horses and dogs than of pens and paper. Amongst dinners, barbecues, snipe-shooting, riding parties, etc., I could not get my brains into humour for writing to you or to anybody else.

And yet, Brooks had, I felt, a better of understanding of Poe than any other writer I have read:

Meanwhile, the tales Poe was writing had much in common with [his poems],—and they were sometimes as musical in the beauty of their prose,—and there one also found dim tarns, wild and dreary landscapes and phantom figures flitting to and fro. Evil things in robes of sorrow presided over some of these tales, with their strange effects of horror, the macabre and the grotesque, a world of the phantasmagoric, suggesting the dreams of an opium-eater and reverberant with Thomas de Quincey’s “everlasting farewells.”

Brooks is one of those writers who sends me looking for new authors. The Flowering of New England introduced me to Francis Parkman, and I suspect that The World of Washington Irving will send me on a similar voyage of discovery with its eponymous writer as well as William Bartram, John James Audubon, William Cullen Bryant, and James Fenimore Cooper.

Not coincidentally, I want to read more Brooks. Perhaps I, too, am an antiquarian of sorts, but nowhere in his league!

Surprise: They’re Not All Blondes

Some Surprising Results from Gene Studies

Some Surprising Results from Gene Studies

All the people in the above photograph are Icelanders. What you are looking at are some of the contestants in the Irish Days festival in Akranes, a small city just north of Reykjavík. Now why would Iceland be having an Irish Days festival?

Apparently Iceland was first settled by Irish hermit monks for about a century before Ingólfur Arnarson became the first Scandinavian settler in A.D. 874. These papar (“Papists”), as they were called, did not stick around once they were surrounded by hyper-aggressive heathens. And, being celibate, they probably did not add their genes to the population of Iceland; but the Vikings did raid Ireland for slaves, and that’s where things suddenly become interesting.

Genetic studies taken of the Icelandic population show that 20% of the males and 63% of the females have Irish ancestry. I find that statistic to be interesting, but I have some trouble wrapping my head around it. Even if the Vikings preferred Irish redheads to the Scandinavian blondes, the Irish women would give birth to as many if not more males than females (the ratio is 21:20 in the U.S.). Perhaps the male Irish slaves had a harder life and were not permitted to mate, while the women were encouraged to bear children, whether within or outside of wedlock. If so, it’s just another instance of the hard life that the Irish have suffered through the ages.

Prizewinner at Akranes

Prizewinner at Akranes

By the way, the winner of the Akranes competition was one Laufey Heiða from the Westfjords. Runner-up was Vígdis Birna, who is shown above receiving her prize.

One thing I can say with certainty is that Icelandic women tend to be beautiful, whether they are blondes or redheads.

 

 

“A Dream Within a Dream”

Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?

Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

We tend to undervalue the poems, stories, and essays of Edgar Allan Poe. Currently, I am reading a slim volume of his complete poem; and I am amazed at what simple means he uses to achieve such strong and vivid effects. Take this one, for example:

A Dream Within a Dream
By Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

This is a poem even a child can understand. Yet few adults, however brilliant, could put it so well.

Move Aside, Men!

Best in the World

Best in the World

Something happened quite suddenly in he last ten or twenty years: American women athletes have proven themselves time and again to be world class contenders. Today, the U.S. Women’s Team beat Japan 5-2 for the 2015 World Cup in soccer.

Although I was not able to watch the game, I am delighted to hear that our women won, and convincingly, too.

I would like to see soccer football replace the so-called American football with its armored players pawing the dirt with their feet during the innumerable time-outs that were no doubt created solely for the convenience of advertisers. Soccer football is the real deal: It goes back and forth in waves until a sudden break-out results in a goal.

Americans will always have problem with the concept of a tied game, especially when the result is a 0-0 tie. But even some of those games are exciting.

Way to go, Ladies!

 

Mexican Bus Ride

Model of an ADO Bus With 1980s Logo

Model of an ADO Bus With 1980s Logo

It was in the 1970s and 1980s that I first fell in love with Latin America. Unfortunately, at that time, many of the countries that I wished to visit such as Guatemala, Chile, Argentina, Peru, and Uruguay were ruled by dictators and—in the case of Peru—marked by a violent Maoist insurgency (the Sendero Luminoso). But Mexico was okay at the time. Now there are parts of Mexico I would fear to visit because of violent narcotraficante gangs. And Central and South America are generally safer.

I remember traveling thousands of miles by bus—all on buses built in Mexico by such companies as Masa, Sultana, and Dina. I remember one Cristóbal Colón bus between Mazatlán and Durango that crossed the Sierra Madre Occidental and forded several (then) unbridged rivers on roads that would have left a GM bus in pieces.

In central Mexico, I fell in love with the Flecha Amarilla (Yellow Arrow) line of clean second class buses one could board within minutes to destinations such as Guanajuato, San Miguel Allende, Querétaro, Pátzcuaro, and Mexico City. Along the Gulf, there were the buses of ADO (Autobuses de Oriente) that went clear to Yucatán. Only in Yucatán itself were the intercity buses broken-down wrecks, especially the ones operated by Union de Camioneros de Yucatán. (This may no longer be the case, but it was when I traveled there.)

All through my travels, I kept thinking of a Luis Buñuel film entitled (in the U.S.) Mexican Bus Ride (1952), although the original title is Subida al Cielo (“Ascent to Heaven”). Most of the story takes place during a long bus ride from a coastal fishing village over the mountains to the interior. During the film, there is a death, a birth, a seduction—in other words, just about all of life. It is probably one of Buñuel’s best films, and certainly his best production made in Mexico.

 

 

In Amongst the Enemy

The Tomb of President Ronald Reagan

The Tomb of President Ronald Reagan

Today I was surrounded by hundreds of Republicans as I visited the library of their sanctified hero, Ronald Wilson Reagan, 40th President of the United States.

While he was Governor of California and President of the United States, I hated him with a white-hot heat. With hundreds of fellow UCLA students, I jeered him at an illegal screening of Bedtime for Bonzo (1951), in which the widely disliked Governor of California was paired with a chimpanzee.

But times have changed. Although I disagreed with him on a number of counts, especially the Iran-Contra affair and the sending of U.S. troops to be blown up by one of the first suicide bombers in Lebanon. And yet, I would prefer him to any of the Klown Kar GOP candidates for 2016. There was a certain intelligence and sincerity to him that I would now find refreshing. He could also whip them all in a debate with his hand (and tongue) tied behind his back.

The words on his tomb (above) read: “I know in my heart that man is good, that what is right will always eventually triumph, and there is purpose and worth to each and every life.” That’s not a bad line to be remembered by.

Curiously, Martine and I showed up at the Reagan Library on June 5, 2004, the day Mr. Reagan died. We were interviewed by the Press (though I never saw my interview on TV). At that time, I said I thought that, although I did not agree with many of his policies, I thought he was a superb communicator. I still stand by that opinion.

 

 

 

 

He Couldn’t Breathe

Eric Gardner Died of a Police Chokehold in 2014

Eric Gardner Died of a Police Chokehold in 2014

One could complain forever about brutality of life in America, especially when one doesn’t have white skin. Instead, I wanted to present this little poem by Ross Gay, a teacher and gardener living in Bloomington, Indiana. I would rather celebrate Eric Garner’s life, as this poem does. The title is the same as the first line: “A Small Needful Fact.”

A small needful fact
Is that Eric Garner worked
for some time for the Parks and Rec.
Horticultural Department, which means,
perhaps, that with his very large hands,
perhaps, in all likelihood,
he put gently into the earth
some plants which, most likely,
some of them, in all likelihood,
continue to grow, continue
to do what such plants do, like house
and feed small and necessary creatures,
like being pleasant to touch and smell,
like converting sunlight
into food, like making it easier
for us to breathe.

Garner’s widow, Esaw, pictured above with a beautiful smile, said to the press, “My husband was not a violent man. We don’’t want violence connected to his name.”

This poem was reprinted by Truthdig.Com, for which I thank them.

“The Whole Country Is One Vast Forest”

Deep Forest

A French Visitor Describes a Very Different America

Among foreign visitors to the young United States around 1800 was one Constantin Volney, who was lucky to escape the Reign of Terror and the guillotine in his native France. His The Ruin was one of some seventy volumes of travels in the New World by French visitors during that time.

“Compared with France,” wrote Volney, “we may say that the entire country is one vast forest.” In the year 1796, he had traveled from Pennsylvania through Virginia and Kentucky to Detroit and back by way of Albany. During his travels, he wrote, “I scarce traveled three miles together on open and cleared land.”

This was at a time when Philadelphia was the largest city in the United States, with a population of some 70,000 inhabitants, followed by New York, with 60,000; Boston, with 25,000; and Baltimore, with 13,000. In 1800, these were the only American cities with more than 10,000 population.

I got these facts from Van Wyck Brooks’s The World of Washington Irving, which is showing me a far different picture of my country some two hundred years ago.