It was 1942, and, among many other challenges, wartime Great Britain had a big problem: Nazi U-boats. These German submarines destroyed U.K.-bound merchant ships laden with much-needed food and supplies, and the attacks became so frequent that from March to September of that year they sank close to 100 merchant ships a month. Airplanes at the time couldn’t fly far enough from land-based airstrips to protect these ships in the ocean, and this aviation limitation left a 300-mile lane of unprotected waters known as “the mid-Atlantic Gap.” Britain’s legendary prime minister, Winston Churchill, was desperate to close this gap by any means necessary, and dreamed of building floating islands where planes could refuel. Unfortunately, aircraft carriers were few and far between, and steel was hard to come by during the war effort, when it was needed for weapons, tanks, ships, and more.
It takes more than 20 years for some modern aircraft carriers to run out of fuel.
In the decades following WWII, aircraft carriers increased in size and complexity. Today, a modern aircraft carrier uses nuclear power for fuel, an energy source so dense that these massive ships — some weighing 97,000 tons — don’t need refueling for more than 20 years.
One day, a potential solution arrived when Lord Louis Mountbatten, the head of Britain’s Combined Operations Command (and beloved uncle of the future Prince Philip), presented Churchill with a strange chunk of ice. This wasn’t any normal piece of ice, however: It was pykrete (named after its creator Geoffrey Pyke), which was a type of ice reinforced with wood pulp. The result was a material that melted very slowly, and for Churchill, a vision of a fleet of aircraft carriers made from pykrete came into focus. The proposed pykrete ship would’ve been the biggest “ship” ever constructed, displacing 26 times more water than the largest ship at the time and requiring 26 electric motors for propulsion. A 60-foot-long prototype was soon constructed in Alberta, Canada, that weighed as much as five blue whales. But by 1943, things had changed. Escort carriers had arrived in the Atlantic and long-range aircraft such as the B-24 Liberator had closed the gap for good. Despite pykrete’s amazing ability to hold its shape, the dream of an iceberg aircraft carrier soon melted away.
When an iceberg breaks off from a glacier it’s called calving.
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Some scientists think the moon might be partly responsible for the Titanic’s demise.
On January 4, 1912, a celestial event occurred that hadn’t happened for more than a thousand years. The moon made its closest approach to Earth in the last 1,400 years while it was almost full, only a day after the Earth made its own annual close approach to the sun. According to Texas State University scientists, this one-of-a kind cocktail of astronomical activities created an exceptionally high tide. Their theory posits that this tide allowed some icebergs that would usually get stuck on their journey south from Greenland to be refloated, pushed into southbound currents, and into the path of unsuspecting ships crossing the Atlantic. One such ship was the Titanic, which famously — and tragically — struck an iceberg that April.
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Darren Orf lives in Portland, has a cat, and writes about all things science and climate. You can find his previous work at Popular Mechanics, Inverse, Gizmodo, and Paste, among others.
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Modern English wouldn’t be the same without William Shakespeare. Thanks to the Bard’s plays and sonnets, more than 1,700 words have been added to our language. But Shakespeare did more than just spice up the dictionary; he also may have invented one of the world’s greatest (or worst) comedy setups — the knock-knock joke. Strangely, the joke isn’t found in one of Shakespeare’s masterful comedies. Instead, it’s embedded within one of his darkest, most intense works.
While the Bard did include a “maternal insult” joke in his play “Titus Andronicus,” a Babylonian student etched the first known “Yo Mama” joke on a tablet 3,500 years ago. The damaged tablet was deciphered in 2012, but sadly the punchline has been lost to history.
The beginning of Act 2, Scene 3 of Macbeth, after the tortured title character has just killed King Duncan, is known as the “porter scene.” It opens with a drunken porter (or gatekeeper) at Macbeth’s castle hearing a distant knock, pretending to be the porter of “hell-gate,” and saying, “Knock, knock, knock, who’s there?” Adding a bit of comic relief, the porter imagines the arrival of a farmer, an equivocator, and a tailor, using the same “knock-knock” construction each time. Although there’s none of the eye-rolling wordplay central to the modern knock-knock joke, this is the first known reference to a “knock, knock/who’s there” sentence structure in the context of comic relief. Yet it wasn’t until the 1930s that the modern knock-knock joke really caught on, as a reassuringly predictable form of comedy during the Great Depression. In other words, across its 400-year history, it seems the knock-knock joke has a knack for bringing levity to dark times.
National Knock-Knock Joke Day occurs each year on October 31.
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Macbeth was a real person, but quite unlike Shakespeare’s depiction.
Mac Bethad mac Findláich, also known as Macbeth, was born around 1005 in Scotland. In August 1040, Macbeth killed King Duncan I to become king of Scotland — but that’s where any similarities end with Shakespeare’s famous work. Macbeth wasn’t tortured by his actions, as far as we know: Instead, he flourished as king for more than a decade, ruling magnanimously, imposing order, and even pulling off a few successful military campaigns. So where did the Bard’s portrayal come from? Shakespeare, along with his contemporaries Christopher Marlowe and Edmund Spenser, based much of their work on the 16th-century English historical text known as “Holinshed’s Chronicles.” Modern historians have identified this chronicle as pretty inaccurate thanks to tensions among its multiple authors, each with different religious backgrounds, among other issues. “Holinshed’s Chronicles” is the reason behind Shakespeare’s monstrous-looking Richard III, and why Macbeth is such a tormented soul.
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Ruth Wakefield was no cookie-cutter baker. In fact, she is widely credited with developing the world’s first recipe for chocolate chip cookies. In 1937, Wakefield and her husband, Kenneth, owned the popular Toll House Inn in Whitman, Massachusetts. While mulling new desserts to serve at the inn’s restaurant, she decided to make a batch of Butter Drop Do pecan cookies (a thin butterscotch treat) with an alteration, using semisweet chocolate instead of baker’s chocolate. Rather than melting in the baker’s chocolate, she used an ice pick to cut the semisweet chocolate into tiny pieces. Upon removing the cookies from the oven, Wakefield found that the semisweet chocolate had held its shape much better than baker’s chocolate, which tended to spread throughout the dough during baking to create a chocolate-flavored cookie. These cookies, instead, had sweet little nuggets of chocolate studded throughout. The recipe for the treats — known as Toll House Chocolate Crunch Cookies — was included in a late 1930s edition of her cookbook, Ruth Wakefield’s Tried and True Recipes.
German chocolate cake was actually created in Texas.
Baker's Chocolate employee Sam German created a baking chocolate — Baker's German's Sweet Chocolate — for the company in 1852. More than a century later, Mrs. George Clay of Dallas used his chocolate when she submitted the first German chocolate cake recipe to her local newspaper.
The cookies were a huge success, and Nestlé hired Wakefield as a recipe consultant in 1939, the same year they bought the rights to print her recipe on packages of their semisweet chocolate bars. To help customers create their own bits of chocolate, the bars came pre-scored in 160 segments, with an enclosed cutting tool. Around 1940 — three years after that first batch of chocolate chip cookies appeared fresh out of the oven — Nestlé began selling bags of Toll House Real Semi-Sweet Chocolate Morsels, which some dubbed “chocolate chips.” By 1941, “chocolate chip cookies” was the universally recognized name for the delicious treat. An updated version of Wakefield’s recipe, called Original Nestlé Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies, still appears on every bag of morsels. For her contributions to Nestlé, Wakefield reportedly received a lifetime supply of chocolate.
Jim Carrey's reporter in the 2003 film “Bruce Almighty” often uses the sign-off “That’s the way the cookie crumbles.”
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Cookie Monster’s first name is Sidney.
Sesame Street’s resident treat fanatic first revealed his given name in a 2004 episode. During a flashback to his high-chair years, this furry blue Muppet (voiced by puppeteer David Rudman) sings about his introduction to cookies. Mid-duet with his mom, the bonneted baby monster rhymes, “Me was just a mild-mannered little kid/In fact, back then, me think me name was Sid.” The show’s official Twitter account later confirmed that “Sid” was short for “Sidney.” In a 2017 video interview, Cookie Monster reiterated, “Me real name’s Sid Monster.” Incidentally, when Rudman wears the puppet, the back of Cookie Monster’s throat runs down Rudman’s sleeve to give the appearance that Cookie Monster is really eating. The baked treats Cookie Monster “consumes” are actually decorated rice cakes, since the oils from real cookies would damage the puppet.
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In addition to their spots and long necks, giraffes have another distinguishing feature: their tongues are often dark purple. Whereas most animals have fully pink tongues, a giraffe’s is infused with melanin that makes it darker — sometimes it’s even blue or black rather than purple — although the base and back are indeed pink. And while it hasn’t been proven definitively, the most widely accepted theory is that the melanin provides ultraviolet protection, preventing giraffe tongues from getting sunburned while the animals feed on tall trees. Giraffe tongues are also long (up to 21 inches) and covered in thick bumps known as papillae, which help protect them from the spiky defensive thorns of the animal’s favorite snack: acacia trees.
Not unlike human fingerprints, giraffe spot patterns are unique. The different species and subspecies are partially distinguished by the typical shape of their spots, however.
Giraffes aren’t the only creatures with darker tongues, of course; okapis, polar bears, impalas, and chow chow dogs have them as well, among other animals. However, giraffes are distinguished from their purple-tongued friends not only by their status as the world’s tallest mammal, but also because they give birth standing up. Newborn giraffes fall to the ground from a height of more than five feet, not that they mind — they can stand within half an hour and run within 10 hours, usually alongside their doting (and similarly dark-tongued) mother.
Giraffes have extremely high blood pressure — and it isn’t a problem.
When it comes to most living creatures, hypertension is a serious health issue. By virtue of their extreme height, however, high blood pressure is not only a good thing for giraffes, but an essential part of their biology — a way for their hearts to overcome gravity and pump blood up their long necks. In order to maintain a blood pressure of 110 over 70 at the brain, a normal number for a large mammal, giraffes need a blood pressure at the heart of roughly 220 over 180. That number would be beyond concerning to your cardiologist, as lower than 120 over 80 is considered healthy for humans. Giraffes’ cardiovascular strength is of great interest to scientists, who have marveled at their resilience — and tried to see what lessons we might learn from it.
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Michael Nordine is a writer and editor living in Denver. A native Angeleno, he has two cats and wishes he had more.
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For about 37 years of its history, the U.S. has been without a second-in-command. Before the passage of the 25th Amendment in 1967, there was no procedure for filling the role if a commander in chief died in office. Instead, there just wasn’t a VP if that happened — at least not until the next presidential election. Thanks to this legislative quirk, John Tyler, Millard Fillmore, Andrew Johnson, and Chester Arthur (all VPs under a President who died in office) served their entire presidential terms without a Vice President.
National elections are held on Tuesdays in early November thanks to 19th-century farmers.
When the U.S. came up with a nationwide voting day in 1845, they picked November — a month when farmers were done harvesting but before winter set in. Tuesday allowed farmers (who often had long trips to polling sites) to go to church on Sunday and to market day on Wednesday.
Other Presidents have gone without VPs for at least part of their terms, whether through resignation (two) or because their veeps died in office (seven). The first VP vacancy occurred in 1812, when George Clinton, President James Madison’s running mate, died in office. Strangely, Madison’s VP pick for his second term also died in office, after serving only about 20 months. The last executive shuffle occurred during the Nixon administration in 1973–74, when Spiro Agnew and Richard Nixon both resigned (Agnew about nine months before Nixon, amid tax evasion and corruption charges). Nixon nominated Gerald Ford to replace Agnew, and after Nixon himself resigned in August 1974 following the Watergate scandal, Ford became the first and only President never elected by the U.S. people. Ford left the vice presidency vacant for several months until Nelson Rockefeller finally filled the position on December 19, 1974. Since then, the U.S. has never been without a veep.
The political term “gerrymandering” is named for fifth Vice President Elbridge Gerry.
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The vice presidency used to be a consolation prize.
We’re used to seeing a presidential ticket featuring one person aiming for the top job and their running mate, but for the first three U.S. administrations, that wasn’t how things worked. In the beginning, the vice presidency was given to the candidate who came in second in the presidential election. During the nation’s first election, in 1789, electors (members of the Electoral College) voted for two people to be President. General George Washington received 69 votes, but fellow founding father John Adams received 34, enough to secure the second-place spot and, in turn, the vice presidency. But pretty quickly — and especially as U.S. political parties began to form — this system displayed a fatal flaw: It forced men who had been bitter rivals to work right next to each other. In 1796, Thomas Jefferson became Adams’ Vice President after tallying the second-most votes, but the two were from opposing parties (with Adams a Federalist and Jefferson a Democratic-Republican). By 1803, Congress had become convinced that the vice presidency needed a tweak, which came in the form of the 12th Amendment — a change that allowed electors to cast a separate vote for President and Vice President, which ensured that both leaders came from the same party.
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The American West is known for its wide open spaces, but nowhere is quite as wide open as the area around Glasgow, Montana. Crunching some numbers back in 2018 in an effort to definitively define “the middle of nowhere,” The Washington Post found that a whopping 98% of Americans in the contiguous U.S. live within an hour of some kind of urban center (that is, a metropolitan area with at least 75,000 people). But Glasgow, located in the northeast corner of the state, is an estimated 4.5 hours from the nearest urban center, making it the most isolated town (with a population of 1,000 or more) in the Lower 48.
Though you might think that Glasgow has an intimate connection with Scotland, the isolated Montana town, previously named “Siding 45,” was actually named randomly after a railroad clerk spun a globe and his finger landed on the Scottish city.
Glasgow was founded in 1887 as a railroad town, and during World War II was home to the Glasgow Army Airfield, which eventually transformed into the Glasgow Valley County Airport. After a nearby Air Force base left town in the late ’60s, Glasgow’s population settled around 3,000. Although it’s now the most remote town on the mainland, many towns in Alaska rival Glasgow’s “middle of nowhere” claim when it comes to the nation as a whole. Utqiagvik, formerly known as Barrow, is the U.S.’s northernmost city, is only accessible by plane, and is 500 miles away from Fairbanks. In other words, Alaska takes the idea of “wide open spaces” to a whole new level.
The farthest spot from land is called Point Nemo, after a character in “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas.”
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The object farthest from the sun in our solar system is called Farfarout.
Things don’t get much more isolated than the trans-Neptunian object (TNO) Farfarout — so named because it’s the farthest known object in our solar system. With the technical name 2018 AG37, Farfarout takes an entire millennium to complete its orbit around the sun; it’s an average of 132 astronomical units (AU) away from our host star. With one AU equaling the distance between Earth and the sun (about 93 million miles), Farfarout is true to its name. However, depending on where it is in its orbit, Farfarout can be up to 175 AU away or as close as 27 AU, which is about as near as Neptune. While astronomers found this far-flung celestial body searching for “Planet X” — an unknown, hypothesized planet somewhere beyond the orbit of Neptune (sorry, Pluto) — Farfarout puts the “dwarf” in dwarf planet, as it stretches only about 250 miles across.
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Our diversity is part of what makes human beings special. Yet as far as our genes are concerned, we’re all fairly similar: Humans share 99.9% of their genes with one another. To put this into perspective, bonobos and chimpanzees — the closest relatives to humans in the animal kingdom — share approximately 98.8% of their genes with humans. Clearly, even small differences in genetic similarity can have a major impact.
Modern humans still have traces of DNA from other human species.
Some 70,000 years ago, at least four species of humans coexisted on Earth — Homo sapiens, Neanderthals, Homo floresiensis, and Denisovans. Evidence of this coexistence can be found in human genetics, with small percentages of Neanderthal and Denisovan DNA embedded in our genes.
That may be especially true when it comes to human health. According to the National Institutes of Health, nine of the 10 leading causes of death in the U.S. (barring accidental deaths) are influenced by our genetics, and variations among individuals can mean significantly varying health outcomes.
In the 21st century, advances in our understanding of the human genome — thanks to the completion of groundbreaking scientific studies including the Human Genome Project — have pushed medicine into the genetic frontier. Now doctors can screen newborns for genetic abnormalities and sometimes use gene-based therapies, while nutritionists are using genomics to tailor diets to specific genetic dispositions. According to some, the future of medicine is in our genes.
The ancestor of all life is a single-celled organism called Luca (Last Universal Common Ancestor).
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The woman who discovered DNA’s double helix was denied the Nobel Prize.
Photo 51 is one of the most famous images in science history. Taken by British chemist Rosalind Franklin in 1952, the image revealed the now-famous double helix structure of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA). The photo was shared with scientists Francis Crick and James Watson at the Cavendish Laboratory, likely without Franklin’s knowledge. In 1953, the two scientists, along with Franklin’s colleague Maurice Wilkins, published their DNA work alongside Franklin’s photo without crediting her. A decade later, the three scientists received the Nobel Prize — and Franklin was once again neglected. (Sadly, she had died in 1958 of ovarian cancer.) Thankfully, in the decades since, the scientific community has honored Franklin’s contribution to science. In 2019, the European Space Agency even named its new Mars rover the Rosalind Franklin.
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The human body has 206 bones — unless you’re talking about babies, in which case the number is closer to 300. Many of a newborn’s bones are actually made of cartilage, which is much more malleable and allows fetuses to curl inside the womb as they develop. As children grow, cartilage turns into bone in a process called ossification, and the excess bones fuse together. (If you’ve ever wondered how those “soft spots” on an infant’s head — technically known as fontanelles — become stronger, bone fusion is the answer.) This is also a big part of why calcium is so important for babies: New bone tissue can’t grow without it.
For the first weeks of their life, babies don’t technically cry. They may make a lot of noise when expressing their displeasure, but because tear ducts don't fully form for a month or so, their eyes will remain dry while they do so.
Ossification doesn’t happen overnight, however — it continues until a person reaches their mid-20s, which is around when humans reach their peak bone mass. In much the same way that we’re constantly shedding our skin, our bones are constantly changing as well, with old bone gradually destroyed and new bone material formed. The process is called remodeling, and it helps keep the skeletal system healthy long after we’ve settled down at 206 bones.
The smallest bone in the human body is the stapes.
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Humans and giraffes have the same number of neck bones.
Despite having the longest necks in the animal kingdom — they can reach a length of 8 feet, twice as long as the neck of any other creature — giraffes have the same number of cervical vertebrae as humans: seven. The key difference is that giraffes’ vertebrae are much longer, with each of them measuring close to 10 inches in length; in humans, the entire vertebral column is around 28 inches for men and 24 inches for women. We have the same number of neck bones as our tall, spotted friends for the simple reason that we’re both mammals — sloths and manatees are the only members of this particular class that don’t have seven.
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Michael Nordine is a writer and editor living in Denver. A native Angeleno, he has two cats and wishes he had more.
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Mentions of radioactivity can send the mind in a dramatic direction, but many ordinary items are technically radioactive — including the humble banana. Radioactivity occurs when elements decay, and for bananas, this radioactivity comes from a potassium isotope called K-40. Although it makes up only 0.012% of the atoms found in potassium, K-40 can spontaneously decay, which releases beta and gamma radiation. That amount of radiation is harmless in one banana, but a truckload of bananas has been known to fool radiation detectors designed to sniff out nuclear weapons. In fact, bananas are so well known for their radioactive properties that there’s even an informal radiation measurement named the Banana Equivalent Dose, or BED.
One of the most ubiquitous facts about bananas is that they’re loaded with potassium. While the berry (yes, a banana is a berry) has a good amount of potassium, many other foods provide more milligrams of the stuff, including lima beans, spinach, potatoes, and avocados.
So does this mean bananas are unhealthy? Well… no. The human body always stores roughly 16 mg of K-40, which technically makes humans 280 times more radioactive than your average banana. Although bananas do introduce more of this radioactive isotope, the body keeps potassium in balance (or homeostasis), and your metabolism excretes any excess potassium. Oh, and in case you were wondering, a person would have to eat many millions of bananas in one sitting to get a lethal dose (at which point you’d likely have lots of other problems). So go ahead and eat that banana cream pie — you can leave the Geiger counter at home.
India grows more bananas than any other country, producing more than a quarter of the world’s total.
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Scientists have measured the slipperiness of a banana peel.
Slipping on a banana peel is one of the world’s oldest jokes, but it’s also based on some solid physics. In 2011, researchers from Kitasato University in Tokyo analyzed the slipperiness of banana peels compared to orange and apple peels. Without a doubt, bananas were the slipperiest, due to polysaccharide follicular gels that spill out when the peels are crushed (or stepped on). These same chemicals are found in membranes where human bones meet, and further research on them could lead to better prosthetics. Not content with just taking a scientist’s word for it, Twitter users in 2016 created the viral Banana Peel Challenge, which provided even more qualitative data proving the devilish slipperiness of the banana peel.
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You’ve probably heard people say things like “I’ll be there in a jiffy,” using “jiffy” to mean a very short period of time — something like the blink of an eye. But it may surprise you to learn that for some scientists, the term has a more precise definition. That definition varies depending on who’s doing the talking: The physical chemist Gilbert Newton Lewis (1875–1946) defined a jiffy as the length of time it takes for light to travel 1 centimeter in a vacuum. However, some physicists have defined a jiffy as the time it takes light to travel 1 femtometer — one-millionth of a millionth of a millimeter. By this account, each second contains roughly three hundred thousand billion billion jiffys.
We owe a lot to ancient Egyptians for dividing time into something close to our own clocks and calendars. However, they divided the day and night into 12 hours each, which varied from 45 to 75 minutes long, depending on the season. Our 60-minute hour comes from the Babylonians.
But a jiffy has also been defined outside of physics and chemistry. An electrical engineer, for example, might describe a jiffy as the time it takes for a single cycle of alternating current, which is one-fiftieth or one-sixtieth of a second depending on the electrical system. Whatever definition holds true, one thing is certain — no one in the history of the world has ever truly accomplished much “in a jiffy.”
A leading theory suggests that “jiffy” was originally slang for a flash of lightning.
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Technically, a second is not 1/60 of a minute.
It’s forgivable to think a second is one-sixtieth of a minute (or 1/86,400 of a day). After all, it’s pretty prominently displayed on every clock and watch ever built. But time isn’t nearly as neat as our timekeeping devices make it out to be. The universe is full of astronomical quirks, and for scientific purposes a second needs to be much more precise than a simple fraction. That’s why, in 1967, scientists changed the official definition of a second from 1/86,400 of a day to “the duration of 9,192,631,770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium-133 atom.” This is the basic principle behind atomic clocks, super-accurate instruments that use atomic physics to maintain long-lasting accuracy. For some state-of-the-art devices, it would take 15 billion years for the clock to be off by one second.
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