Why monkeys shout during s3x:

To investigate the purpose behind these calls, scientists at the German Primate Center in G

Was there trade between China and the west five millennia ago?

And from an unlikely source:

Although the work of 39 year old Garrett Lisi still has a way to go to convince the establishment, let alone match the achievements of Albert Einstein, the two do have one thing in common: Einstein also began his great adventure in theoretical physics while outside the mainstream scientific establishment, working as a patent officer, though failed to achieve the Holy Grail, an overarching explanation to unite all the particles and forces of the cosmos.

Now Lisi, currently in Nevada, has come up with a proposal to do this. Lee Smolin at the Perimeter Institute for Theoretical Physics in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada, describes Lisi’s work as “fabulous”. “It is one of the most compelling unification models I’ve seen in many, many years,” he says.

“Although he cultivates a bit of a surfer-guy image its clear he has put enormous effort and time into working the complexities of this structure out over several years,” Prof Smolin tells The Telegraph.

Not just unusual because he’s a surfer, but also because he seems a little old to do something like this, which is supposedly more likely from a younger mind.

Everyone (well, OK, not everyone, but most people interested in this kind of stuff) is familiar with “mascons” (mass concentrations) on the moon, that cause perturbations and instability in the orbits of objects around it. Interestingly, though, the earth’s gravitational field isn’t all that symmetric, either, based on results from the GRACE satellites. I think that it’s kind of amazing how sensitive these detectors are:

The concept is simple. The two satellites, each about three metres long, follow each other in identical orbits roughly 400 kilometres above the Earth and 210 kilometres apart. Microwave instruments measure the distance between them, precisely enough to detect variations smaller than one percent of the width of a human hair.

“[It’s as though] you have two automobile-sized things, one in Los Angeles and one in San Diego, and you’re measuring the distance between them to the size of a red blood cell,” says Watkins.

As one satellite and then the other passes through wrinkles in the Earth’s gravity field, they speed up or slow down slightly, shifting the distance between them. By measuring these tiny yo-yos, scientists can calculate the gravity field that produced them, mapping the entire Earth about once a month.

But the dispersions are much smaller, relative to the size of the body, so it doesn’t create the same levels of perturbations that can result in instability. Pretty cool graphic.

This is kind of an interesting bit of data. I moved from the state with the second greatest disparity between high and low points (between Mount Whitney and Badwater in Death Valley–only Alaska is higher, because of Denali) to the one with the least.

But I was surprised to see that several states rival it, including Delaware and DC (which isn’t really a state–I also have a little trouble believing that the elevation of the Potomac in the district is only one foot above sea level). Louisiana is pretty flat as well. But Florida is striking to me because it’s so big, so the fact that it has so little variation in altitude is all the more remarkable. And depressing, to someone for whom (like me) mountains almost define scenery.

[Update a few minutes later]

As someone in comments notes, there are some people (like those wheelchair bound) who prefer it flat for obvious reasons. I had never considered this before, but Patricia mentioned to me that she knew people who had been brought up in New York who were actually afraid to drive on hills (a concept totally bizarre to me, but then, I have my own phobias). So I guess that a place like Florida would actually appeal to them. But I suspect that most people who like Florida don’t do so for its flatness, but because there are a lot of other things they like about it (year-round warm weather, golfing, boating) and are simply indifferent to whether or not the terrain has any relief.

I’ve always thought of myself as more left than right brained, but according to this, I’m definitely right brained (assuming that “clockwise” means the direction when viewed from above). I can’t see it going the other way. Which makes me question the validity of the test.

[Update at 10 AM EDT]

Funny, I just went back and looked at it again, and this time it was spinning the other way, but then it stopped, and reversed direction and went clockwise again. Weird.

One of the things that I hate about living in Florida is the fact that it’s the Sunshine State. I actually am not a big fan of ol’ Sol, and would probably be happier in Seattle. Accordingly, one of the few things that I like about Florida in the summer (and late fall) are thunderstorms and frequent showers. Unlike many here, who apparently watch the Doppler radar with trepidation, over fears of a missed golf game, or boat outing, I watch it with hope. Hope that is often dashed, because often, one will see a huge storm heading one’s way, only to watch it fizzle out as it approaches.

This happened all afternoon yesterday, in which I could see a vast amount of heavy rainfall over the Bahamas, but as it approached the Palm Beach County coast, the reds would turn to yellows would turn to greens, and then entirely disappear, all the while it continue to storm fifty miles off shore. It’s doing exactly the same thing today. I’ve never heard anyone on the local weather discuss this phenomenon. Is there something about the difference between the land (even as low as the land is here) and the sea that dries out the air as the storm approaches? I’m guessing that it’s being fueled by the humid ocean waters below, but I still don’t understand why it dies before it even gets here, when it’s still ten or twenty miles from the coast.

[Update at 1 PM]

It’s continuing to threaten us ineffectually, though a few showers are starting to pop up along the coast. Patricia suggested that we go for a walk. “Maybe it will make it rain,” she joked.

You guessed it. Just after we turned around and started to head back home, it started to sprinkle. Then it started to come down harder.

“You know,” I said, as we walked/trotted, dripping, “it will quit just as soon as we get back to the house.”

And that’s exactly what it did.

Ancient man walked, but struggled to run.

The studies show that “whilst these very early fossils could walk well, our initial findings suggest that efficient running came about quite a bit later in the fossil record,” he said, adding “we have only just started to look at running and so there are still plenty of questions to answer.”

Funny, I wouldn’t think that a fossil could walk at all…

“The next really interesting question is to look in more detail at running. It has been suggested that our ability to run for long distances took a lot longer to evolve than our ability to walk. Our techniques should let us get to the bottom of this question because it will let us measure the running abilities of our fossil ancestors directly.”

“What we need to discover now is when in our evolution did we develop an Achilles tendon as knowing this will help unravel the mystery of our origins.”

Well, at least I do have an Achilles tendon.