it’s science time
Technically, no, since they don’t have anuses. Then again, they do have cloaca, which is the multi-purpose exit point for both waste and reproductive fluid…and thus, it serves the purpose of the anus. The male has two hemipenes, stored in the tail, and inserts one of the pair into the female’s cloaca in mating.
I suppose it depends on how you look at it.
omg
Seeing this presented as something other than.. well, traditional math- I might actually remember it! :3 Very cute!
this made me really sad
Ah, heartbreaking as this is, there is one thing. The asymptote graph is technically inaccurate, - as said, the lines get closer and closer, without meeting, but an asymptote (to a plane curve) is actually a straight line in which the distance between the line and the curve will approach zero as they tend to infinity. These are the typical asymptote graphs, of course - but in the example above, two curves that approach each other at their minimum points are depicted, which…well, isn’t a representation of asymptotes. Rather, they’d look like this:
The asymptotes to the above graphs are y=0 and x=0. The larger the value (approaching infinity), the closer the curve to the axis, but they do not meet. The relationship isn’t between the two curves, as implied by the graphic!
Not to mention, a curve can actually intercept its asymptote. For example, take the graph of y=x(e^-x): you can see it here. Technically, y=0 is a horizontal asymptote by appeal to calculus (for large x, f(x) may be made as small as possible, and yet will always be positive). As you can plainly see, however, the curve passes through (0,0). And there we have it - a curve intersecting its asymptote.
…Oh dear, I think I’ve gotten carried away.
Heterochromia.
Or, more specifically, central heterochromia, in which thecentral zone of the iris is a different colour than the midperipheral zone, with the exterior colour being the iris’ ‘true colour’. A little-known fact is that the word is actually a blanket term, and the condition may also occur in the hair and skin - when it occurs in the iris, it’s specifically known as heterochromia iridum or iridis.
There are, of course, a variety of causes, ranging from inherited genetic traits, genetic mosaicism, disease, or injury. Generally, however, an eye that is low in melanin is often subject to central heterochromia.
(via whimsimeebs:renaexo:vvulf)
2198. Odori-don. Odori-don is a sushi dish with a dead octopus that dances when soy sauce is poured on it. WHAT THE…
Oh, now this is interesting! To understand the science behind this curious phenomenon, think of the soy sauce - which has a high sodium content - as jolting the squid’s tentacles with tiny amounts of electricity. The energy in question lies within ions contained in the sauce’s aforementioned sodium content, which are used in cells to create voltage differences. As the squid is served fresh, the cells inside are still active and when the sodium is applied, the signals across the nerve cell membranes are temporarily reactivated causing the squid to “dance.”
Anonymous…That’s a rather strange way to phrase it. Do you mean to ask what my favourite part of teaching my students was?
I suppose it’d be the thrill of watching them realise their potential. I seems a little trite to say, I suppose, but any other who has coached young minds would see the truth in my words…and of course, when said potential pertains to mutations, it’s all rather exciting.
AnonymousMy, you’re making me feel rather guilty for not paying attention to this little project of mine. Perhaps I ought to write more articles…
Now, regarding your question: the link to my article on the Science of Love was broken, but I believe it’s been fixed. As for love being a chemical reaction, that is precisely what I am talking about! The ‘click’ can be said to be a series of biological reactions - it’s not as simple or unromantic as it sounds, really. While each person’s personal definition of ‘romantic love’ is up to their own discretion, the very basics of it - feelings of attraction, attachment, etc, can be effectively explained by chemical reactions in the brain. Certain types of behaviour induce these chemical reactions, which makes sense, really - that is why when one engages in bonding behaviour with another, the relationship improves and the pair becomes more comfortable. Other miscellaneous traits such as monogamy have also been said to have links to genetics, which I elaborated on in the article - human behaviour is, after all, a result of brain activity. I hope this summarises it for you effectively…
Ah, one of my favourite topics! In the interest of keeping this from turning into an essay, however, I’ll be leaving out some of the finer details…and do feel free to correct me if you have any objections.
There are quite a few opinions on the chemical reactions of love, dating back to the 1800s - the German polymath Johann von Goethe postulated that human relationships are in fact ‘elective affinity reactions’, quantifiable by ‘affinity tables*’. The famous psychiatrist Carl Jung himself stated explicitly that love was a chemical process in 1933. For a more recent example, the computational chemist David Hwang published ‘The Thermodynamics of Love’ in 2001 - though I believe his theories are a little too technical for casual conversation.
Now, there are two particularly interesting (and conversation-friendly) studies on the topic: Firstly, the three-stage chemical process of love as put forth by Dr. Helen Fisher, and secondly, the study of genes that influence monogamy and pair-bonding as researched by neuroscientist Larry Young - the latter of which I’ve mentioned in another post, actually. Dr. Fisher’s hypothesis is that the experience of love may be classified into three broad stages - ‘lust, attraction, attachment’, each involving different chemical equations.
[Cut for ridiculous length.]
Anonymous
I expect not much will happen at all, my dear. The American geneticist and Nobel laureate Hermann Joseph Muller, however, was born on December 21st 1890, if you’re interested.
Anonymous
I - er. Thank you?
Certainly! I think I’ll discuss a particularly well-known trait of moths - their tendency to gravitate towards light. Firstly, I must introduce you to the term‘phototaxis’, which refers to an organism’s automatic behaviour towards light - cockroaches, for example, are negatively phototactic, and tend to scurry for darkness. Moths, of course, are positively phototactic, though as for why…well, there’s no definitive explanation, but there are several theories.
The first theory would be that moths use a method called transverse orientationas a form of celestial navigation - in other words, to fly in a given direction, they would keep the moon at a fixed angle relative to their bodies. Under normal circumstances the moon would most likely be the brightest celestial object, but with the advent of artificial porch lights, the moths are likely to be confused. Given the great distance between us and the moon, the change in angle between the moth and the light source would be negligible - however, with a much closer artificial light, the angle would shift dramatically after only a short distance. The moth, therefore, would instinctively attempt to correct its direction by turning towards the light, resulting in a spiral flight path.
The rosy maple moth. Lovely, isn’t it?
There is one problem, however - the very simple fact that moths do not fly in a spiral. A researched named Henry Hsiao established this, actually, by tracking their flight patterns (he did this by tethering moths to tiny Styrofoam boats in an artificial pond, by the way).
Other theories have, unfortunately, been similarly discredited - such as the theory that bright lights mean safety. Moths are nocturnal, after all, and there is no natural light source as bright as a porch light at night. It can’t be moths being attracted to warmth either, for ultraviolet lamps attract more moths, despite being cooler.
Generally, however, two types of behaviour have been observed among moths - when they spot a light source from far away, up to two hundred feet, they make a beeline straight towards it. As for why…nobody knows. When they get close to the light, however, they begin to avoid it, for a bright light to a nocturnal creature should mean danger. The moth doesn’t fly directly away from the light due to a peculiarity of vision called a Mach band, which is the region surrounding a bright light that seems darker than any other part of the sky. Hsiao, therefore, conjectured that the moth’s atom-sized brain determines the darkest part of the sky is the safest. Therefore, it roughly circles the light in the Mach band region, usually at a radius of about one foot, depending on the species. It isn’t a perfect theory in the slightest, but it does help throw some light - if you’d forgive the pun - on the moths’ peculiar behaviour.
