The Stuff of Hot

El chile gordo

Late Saturday evening, I was cutting jalapeños for the salsa for the next day’s barbeque party. I had a few other things on my mind — like my bean salad, and cleaning the bathroom, and figuring out what to write for this post — and so I forgot the lesson learned the last time I cut hot peppers: just wear gloves, you idiot. Five minutes later, my hands were on fire.

The stuff that makes jalapeños hot is a colorless, odorless compound called capsaicin, found mostly in the white pith that connects the seeds to the shell. Capsaicin works by binding to ‘TRPV1’ receptors in your nerve cells, which in turn sets off pain messages. Inside your mouth, small amounts of capsaicin makes for a pleasantly tingling spice, which I happen to love when mixed with the salt of a tortilla chip. But when rubbed in large quantities over both sides of both hands, capsaicin feels like a bad, bad sunburn.
Continue reading

Guest Post: Lies and the Lying Bicyclist Who Tells Them

Tyler Hamilton has finally confessed.

I am not inclined to give him another hug. In 2007, I wrote a Bicycling magazine feature about Tyler, his supporters and why I don’t believe. (You can read the story here.)

While writing the Bicycling story, I spent a lot of time with Tyler and his fans. Tyler— a former teammate of Lance Armstrong— was under suspension at the time, having tested positive for blood doping at the 2004 Tour of Spain (a technicality allowed him to keep the gold medal he’d won in the 2004 Olympics). Tyler insisted that he’d never doped and following his positive test, “Believe Tyler” t-shirts started turning up at bike events. One thing that always struck me was how often people would tell me that they believed Tyler, because he was such a nice, down-to-earth guy. Again and again, Tyler’s defenders would invoke the “nice guy” defense. Continue reading

Arsenic, RNA, and the unpleasant aftertaste of hype

I will never forget the last time I got serious food poisoning. I was a teenager, and my family went out to eat one sunny Saturday morning. Soon after we returned home, I was grasping the toilet bowl, retching in agony. I could still taste the omelet I had eaten for breakfast.

To this day, I’m not a big fan of eggs.

I was reminded of this last week when researchers published a paper claiming to find evidence that the genetic code is not so faithfully interpreted by our cells as we’ve come to believe. The claim, if true, is astonishing: it would mean that the long-accepted central dogma of molecular biology is, at best, incomplete.

Continue reading

The

Fifty years ago today, President Kennedy, speaking before a joint session of Congress, said, “I believe this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the Earth.”

Love that “the.”

Continue reading

Abstruse Goose: Newton #2

I see two problems here.  Number 1 is that no squirrel ever slipped and fell off a tree.  Squirrels’ understanding of gravitational physics is hard-wired and mathematically immaculate.

Number 2 is with AG’s mouse-overed comment, “Not even an insatiable thirst for knowledge can compete with our innate affinity for cute fuzzy little animals.”  I agree the affinity is innate: cute fuzzy animals have always been proxies for babies, and babies are an obsession for Mother Nature.  I don’t really agree with “our:”  naturally the affinity is most intense in people of baby-making age.  Our sweet AG, now I know how old he is; and the problem is, I don’t think Newton was ever that age.

http://abstrusegoose.com/338

No More Clock-Punching

As part of LWON’s first birthday celebrations, Ginny set a question for me:

Your upcoming book is about experiencing time in different cultures. I can’t wait to read it. In the meantime, could you tell us which country/city/village, in your opinion, has the best conception of time? (However you’d like to define best.) In other words, where should I move to feel more sane?

I’d be happy to help you shop for cultures that might suit your sanity, Ginny. The results won’t be the same as my own assessment of their coolness, though, because like many science writers, I grew up as a sci-fi kid and see biological limitations merely as rough design guidelines ripe for meddling. I resent the third of my life stolen by sleep and love that we, through the ever-expanding use of artificial light, have colonized the night.

Perhaps you’d prefer somewhere with a concept of time that fits human activities, rather than a soulless number on a digital clock. In Sudan, the Nuer people are cow herds and tell the time according to the day’s work schedule. The clock might read milking time, pasturing time or cattle-moving time. According to anthropologist Wade Davis, Borneo’s Penan people measure time using subjective perception. If a hunting trip reaped a lot of meat, it’s understood to have taken a shorter time, even though it could have lasted several days. Continue reading

Blammo! Yay! Lists!

One year ago today, the People of LWON published their first post. It was by Josie Glausiusz, it was on flesh-eating algae, and we thank her for setting that tone.

Writing LWON — that is, writing what we want to and in the way we want to write it — turns out to be a release and blessed relief.  And since writing is no good unless it’s read, we hope you’ll keep reading; we love it when you do that.  And talking back; we love back-talk too.  We don’t love our pay scale but we don’t see what to do about it.

Anyway, to honor the occasion, we offer two lists. Continue reading

Obesity and Falling off the Edge of the Known World

When my husband and I moved to a suburb of Vancouver eleven years ago, many of our friends ribbed us wildly about our decision. Instead of living in a leafy urban neighborhood, a short walk from a good cappuccino, an organic fruit and veg store, and a pilates studio, we had, it seemed, forsaken civilization and migrated to the far barrens of Carland. Our friends could barely place our neighborhood on their mental maps, although it was a mere 20 minutes on the Skytrain–Vancouver’s rapid transit system–from where they lived. Others got hopelessly lost when they tried to drive here, even though the route was relatively straightforward, simple and entirely lacking in freeways. It was as if we had fallen off the edge of the known world.

But in spite of all the jokes, I’ve grown to love this peaceful suburban life. It’s quiet here. The air is clean. And I love the way kids play ball hockey in some of our streets. So I was a little puzzled this week to read that some researchers now view the suburbs as “sick zones” that promote diabetes and as “obesogenic environments” that actively encourage many North Americans to forego exercise and pack on the pounds. Continue reading