Uncle John’s Impossible Questions & Astounding Answers Read online

  The Hindenburg dirigible was also called a zeppelin, named after Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin, who invented the craft in Germany in 1874. For a time, it seemed as if zeppelins could be the future of air travel (as evidenced by the zeppelin dock that was built on top of New York City’s Empire State Building), but the Hindenburg disaster in 1937 ended that dream.

  In 1968 guitarist Jimmy Page played a tape of his new band’s songs to the Who’s bass player, John Entwistle (or to drummer Keith Moon, depending on who’s telling the story). Entwistle joked, “That’ll go over like a lead zeppelin!” And that’s how Led Zeppelin got its name.

  The Squeeze

  Air is constantly pushing against you, and your body is constantly pushing back. How much pressure are you and the air around you exerting on each other? And what about a soccer ball? How much is it pushing back?

  Air Apparent

  Clouds are heavy, but they float. Why?

  The Squeeze

  If you’re at sea level, there are 14.7 pounds per square inch of air pressing against you. You don’t feel it because your body is pushing outward at about the same pressure. Then, you may ask, why does a soccer ball that’s inflated to “5 psi” not collapse in on itself? Isn’t 5 psi a lot less than 14.7 psi? It’s because the numbers on a pressure gauge don’t indicate absolute pressure, but overpressure—the amount of pressure above 14.7 psi, for a total of 19.7 psi. If you placed that same inflated soccer ball in a vacuum where there’s no air pressure, it would expand outward and explode. The same thing would happen to you in a vacuum, only it would be a lot messier.

  Air Apparent

  Even a small cloud covers more than half a cubic mile and weighs upward of two million pounds. And yet it floats. Why? Because there’s more than just water inside the cloud—there’s air as well. And even though the air is about 1,000 times heavier than the combined weight of all the water molecules, a cloud appears to float because it forms in warm, humid air that’s being pushed upward by air currents, and the tiny droplets of water in the cloud take a ride on top of those currents. When the air cools dramatically, the droplets combine into larger drops, and the pull of gravity trumps the upward-moving air. Then it rains.

  The Not Heard ’Round the World

  In the 20th century, two volcanoes erupted in the continental U.S.—Mt. St. Helens in Washington, and…do you know the other one? Why isn’t it common knowledge?

  Things That Go Bump

  Why do houses creak more at night than they do in the daytime?

  The Not Heard ’Round the World

  In May 1915, California’s Mt. Lassen erupted, spewing ash several miles into the atmosphere, some of it landing more than 200 miles away. The eruption caused massive avalanches and hot ash flows that wiped out entire forests and devastated nearby homesteaders.

  So why isn’t an eruption of such magnitude more commonly known in the United States? Two reasons: 1) It happened in central northern California, which was, and still is, fairly remote; 2) the volcano was overshadowed by current events—World War I had recently broken out in Europe. Americans were more concerned about whether the war would reach their shores than they were about a volcanic eruption in the middle of nowhere.

  Mt. Lassen became a National Park in 1916, and it hasn’t completely quieted down—you can still see its boiling mud pots, sulfur pools, and roaring fumaroles (steam venting out of the ground).

  Things That Go Bump

  Because nighttime is when ghosts come out to play. Don’t believe in ghosts? Here’s the scientific answer: Houses creak more at night because the temperature drops, which causes the wood and metal parts to contract and rub against each other. This isn’t to say that houses don’t creak in the daytime; they do, but not nearly as much. In addition, there’s often so much going on during the day that it’s harder to notice.

  Luna-tricks, Part I

  What would happen to a helium balloon on the moon?

  Luna-tricks, Part II

  How come we can only see one side of the moon?

  Luna-tricks, Part III

  What amazing fact about the sun and the moon makes it possible for eclipses to occur?

  Luna-tricks, Part I

  The balloon would instantly drop to the surface. Here on Earth, it’s not that helium simply rises by itself; air is heavier than helium, so the air “slides” underneath the balloon and pushes it upward. On the moon, the gravity isn’t strong enough to hold an atmosphere. No atmosphere means no air, and with no air on the moon, the balloon might as well be a bowling ball.

  Technically, a balloon on the moon wouldn’t even last long enough to fall to the ground. With no atmosphere to push back against its outer surface, the helium inside would keep expanding and burst the balloon, thus ruining the astronaut’s birthday party.

  Luna-tricks, Part II

  Over billions of years, the Earth’s enormous gravitational force has exerted enough “drag” on the moon’s rotation (the speed at which it revolves around its axis) so that now the moon only rotates once per orbit around the Earth. Result: The same side of the moon always faces us.

  Luna-tricks, Part III

  The sun is 400 times larger than the moon…and it’s also 400 times farther away. Result: The two bodies appear almost the exact same size in our sky. So when one of the bodies crosses directly in front of the other, we get an eclipse. The odds of this occurring are truly astronomical.

  Cash for Clunkers

  In 1992 teenager Michelle Knapp bought her grandmother’s 1980 Chevy Malibu for $100. A few months later, she sold it for $30,000. What happened?

  Litterbugs

  What is historically significant about a piece of garbage that was found on a Wisconsin road in the 1960s?

  Cash for Clunkers

  On Friday night, October 9, 1992, Michelle Knapp’s red Malibu coupe was hit by a meteorite in Peekskill, New York, destroying the trunk of the car. Because it was such a clear night, thousands of people up and down the East Coast witnessed the shooting star as it broke up into many pieces. But the only fragment that did any damage was the 28-pound space rock that struck the Malibu. And that’s what made it famous. Knapp sold the car (at 300 times what she paid for it) to a specialty company called R.A. Langheinrich Meteorites, which still exhibits both the Malibu and the “Peekskill Meteor” all over the world.

  Litterbugs

  Early Wednesday morning on September 5, 1962, a 20-pound chunk of the Russian satellite Sputnik IV fell out of orbit and landed at the intersection of Park and N. 8th Street in Mantiwoc, Wisconsin. It was the first man-made object to go into space and then fall back to Earth. No one saw it as it hit just after dawn, but an hour or so later, two cops found the chunk of metal embedded in the road. They assumed it fell off a truck, so they just kicked it into the gutter. But by that afternoon, the news was buzzing with reports of a bright object having fallen from the sky, so the cops retrieved it and sent it to a lab for identification. It turned out to be a piece of history. Today, there’s a plaque marking the spot where the Russians dropped their garbage.

  Doomsday!

  What would happen to Earth if it were to move three million miles closer to the sun? What would happen if it were to move three million miles farther away from the sun?

  Full of Sound and Fury

  What was the first man-made object to create a sonic boom?

  Doomsday!

  Doomsday? Not quite. The only effect would be that we’d put on coats in the winter and shorts in the summer, which we do anyway. That’s because our planet already moves three million miles closer to and farther away from the sun every year due to its elliptical orbit. That, along with the slight tilt of Earth’s axis, is what gives us four seasons. During the Northern Hemisphere’s summer, Earth reaches its orbit’s apogee (the farthest outward point), which is 94.5 million miles from the sun. In winter, Earth reaches its perigee, three million miles closer. So far, we’ve managed to survive unscathed. Now, if some celestial event were to make our
planet move more than three million miles closer to or farther away from the sun…

  Full of Sound and Fury

  You might be thinking Chuck Yeager’s 1947 supersonic jet flight, but the answer is the bullwhip, which has been used for controlling livestock (and slaves) at least since ancient Egypt. The whip’s distinctive “crack” is actually a sonic boom. Here’s how it works: A fast-moving object creates pressure waves (like a ship does in water) that travel at the speed of sound, which is 768 mph. When the object—be it a plane or the tip of a whip—exceeds the speed of sound, the pressure waves are all “pushed together,” resulting in a sonic boom. Scientists using high-speed cameras have clocked a whip’s crack at about 25 percent faster than the speed of sound.

  Lo Expectations

  What’s the historical significance of the following message: “Lo”?

  Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

  Why do some objects reflect light?

  Lo Expectations

  “Lo” was the first message ever sent from a computer in one place to a computer in another place—an important step toward what would later become the Internet. The milestone occurred on October 29, 1969, during the inaugural test of a new computer network. Charley Kline, a student at UCLA, was trying to connect to a computer at the Stanford Research Institute, 300 miles away. He was typing “Login”—but the system crashed after the first two letters.

  The project had begun seven years earlier, born out of a 1962 memo written by computer scientist J.C.R. Licklider, in which he visualized an “Intergalactic Computer Network.” U.S. Department of Defense chiefs saw the memo and hired Licklider to head up their ARPANET (Advanced Research Projects Agency Network). Lo and behold, Licklider was right.

  Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

  It’s all about the electrons. Most objects reflect at least some of the light that falls upon them. Highly reflective surfaces, such as mirrors and calm water, have more free electrons—meaning that those subatomic particles can easily pass from atom to atom. In other words, they vibrate. Instead of passing the light waves into the atoms (where they’re absorbed), free electrons send the light waves back out at the same frequency on the light spectrum in which they came; the light goes in, and the same light goes out. There are two kinds of light reflection: specular, which results in a mirror image, and diffuse, which reflects only the light energy and not the image.

  From Here to Eternity

  According to futurist Ray Kurzweil, what advancement could make humans immortal by 2040?

  Fasten Your Seatbelt

  Sitting quietly in your seat (or throne, or wherever you may be right now), how fast are you traveling?

  From Here to Eternity

  Nanotechnology. American author and inventor Kurzweil predicts that microscopic nanobots (tiny robots) will be zipping through our bloodstreams in the not-too-distant future, repairing damaged cells and organs. Disease and aging will become a thing of the past. Not only that, says Kurzweil, nanotechnology will be able to “back up” our memories to computers. Every day, Kurzweil takes hundreds of supplements and drinks 10 glasses each of alkaline water and green tea—that’s so he can stay alive until 2040, when he’ll be 92 years old. If he’s right, that will be just the beginning of his long life on Earth.

  Fasten Your Seatbelt

  You’re moving at about 1,000 mph. That’s how fast the surface of the planet is rotating. But that’s just the beginning: While it spins, Earth is orbiting the sun at 67,000 mph. Meanwhile, the sun and the solar system are whirling around the center of our galaxy at about 490,000 mph. And our galaxy—along with others in the Local Group—is moving at 1.4 million mph toward a region of space that astronomers refer to as the Great Attractor. Add all those speeds together, and it’s faster than most people can fathom. What does all this mean on a cosmic scale? In your lifetime, you’ll travel almost the exact same speed and distance as the average tree.

  WORDS AND STUFF

  Big words, little words, obscure words, and naughty words.

  Fear Factor

  What are you afraid of if you have hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia?

  Choose Wisely

  A dilemma is a situation in which you must choose between two equally undesirable options. What’s it called if you have more than two?

  Comings and Goings

  Study this word carefully: aibohphobia. What is it a fear of?

  Fear Factor

  Is hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia the fear of monstrous hippopotamuses? Not quite. This 36-letter, 15-syllable behemoth denotes the fear of long words. Originally, it was sesquipedalophobia. But some clever linguists decided sesquipedalophobia just wasn’t long enough to convey the very real fear that some people suffer when confronted with brobdingnagian nomenclature (big words). We don’t know who coined this word, but whoever they were, they didn’t make any friends with the folks who write the dictionary. According to Philip Durkin, principal etymologist for the Oxford English Dictionary, “The hippopotomonstro part is clearly someone adding ‘hippopotamus’ and ‘monstrous.’ It doesn’t really follow linguistic rules. It’s sort of a joke. The label actually mocks the sufferer.”

  Choose Wisely

  It’s a polylemma—like when you’re “stranded” on the toilet and you have to choose between your hand, your shirt, and a towel. (Don’t you even dare touch that Bathroom Reader!)

  Comings and Goings

  Yo, banana boy—look at it again: Aibohphobia is a fear of palindromes (and the word is a palindrome itself). This slang term hasn’t yet been accepted by etymologists…or psychologists.

  Splitsville

  When Captain Kirk said his mission was “to boldly go where no man has gone before,” he violated a commonly held rule of grammar. What rule did he break, and why is it considered incorrect? (And is it really incorrect?)

  On the Rocks

  Etymologically speaking, what do avocados and orchids have in common?

  Splitsville

  Captain Kirk split an infinitive—a two-word verb form, most often with the word “to” placed in front of a verb, such as “to go.” If you place an adverb in the middle, you’ve split the infinitive, as Kirk did when he said “to boldly go.” Many English teachers, and even a few grammar books, preach that it’s wrong to blithely split infinitives. This grammatical conundrum dates back to the mid-1800s when some Latin lovers (the language, not the people) argued that because the Ancient Romans didn’t split their infinitives, then neither should proper English speakers.

  It’s okay. Split them all you want. But be warned: Some learned types still loathe it. So if you’re carefully writing a cover letter, or you don’t want to unnecessarily anger your literature professor, it may be best to move that intrusive adverb elsewhere.

  On the Rocks

  Both words were named after testicles. The ancient Greek term for that part of a man’s anatomy was orkhis. Greek gardeners noticed that the roots of a flowering plant they were cultivating looked like a man’s orkhis, so they named the plant the orchid.

  The name of the round fruit, avocado, comes from ahuácatl, a word in the Nahuatl language of the Aztecs that also meant “testicles.” (Other words that were possibly named after that part of the male anatomy: musk, edema, and cull.)

  The End

  What kind of writers are most likely to commit suicide?

  Are You Sirius?

  What common phrase came from an astronomical goof by the ancient Egyptians?

  The End

  A 2003 study poetically titled “The Cost of the Muse: Poets Die Young,” by California psychologist James Kaufman, examined the death of prominent writers all over the world. Kaufman discovered that not only do writers in general die at a younger age than those in most other professions, but among them, it is the poet who meets the earliest end. Poets live an average of 66.2 years, compared to nonfiction writers, who live 72.7 years—six and a half years fewer than the average American life span. Sadder still, similar studies hav
e revealed that poets have an alarmingly high suicide rate compared to the general population. And it seems that the most at-risk writers are female poets. Kaufman calls this the “Sylvia Plath Effect,” named after the 20th-century, clinically depressed American poet who killed herself in 1963 at the age of 30.