Note (12/2015): Hi there! I'm taking some time off here to focus on other projects for a bit. As of October 2016, those other projects include a science book series for kids titled Things That Make You Go Yuck! -- available at Barnes and Noble, Amazon and (hopefully) a bookstore near you!

Co-author Jenn Dlugos and I are also doing some extremely ridiculous things over at Drinkstorm Studios, including our award-winning webseries, Magicland.

There are also a full 100 posts right here in the archives, and feel free to drop me a line at secondhandscience@gmail.com with comments, suggestions or wacky cold fusion ideas. Cheers!

· Categories: Physics
What I’ve Learned:

Nucleation: Once you start, you REALLY can't stop.
“Nucleation: Once you start, you REALLY can’t stop.”

Everybody has to start somewhere. If you’re a corporate lackey, you start at the bottom. If you’re a gravedigger, you start at the top. And if you’re a phase transition, you start with nucleation.

Phase transitions are the change of a substance from gas to liquid, or from liquid to solid. But transitions don’t magically happen everywhere at once; you never see a swimming pool full of water freeze in an instant.

Not outside of a Vegas Penn and Teller show, anyway. Preferably with David Blaine chained down in the deep end.

Instead, the process — in this case, the formation of ice crystals — starts in one or more places called nucleation sites. In pure substances, these sites may occur randomly; where materials are mixed or in an irregular container, the nucleation sites usually form where different surfaces meet. Like by a leaf floating in the swimming pool. Or the tip of David Blaine’s nose. Just for instance.

Once formed, the nucleation sites provide an anchor for the transition process. That process speeds up, piling onto the sites like tacklers on a running back, until the entire team is on the pig pile and the system comes back into equilibrium. In the example above, that would be when all the water on the surface that’s cold enough has frozen into solid ice. Or when they fish the David Blaine-cicle out with a pool noodle.

The magic-but-actually-science of nucleation is not limited to freezing water, however. It’s also a crucial part of other natural processes, like crystallization, cloud formation and elongation of biological polymers like actin filaments. Some quantum cosmologists have even hypothesized that our entire universe is the result of a sort of bubble nucleation in the vacuum of whatever it is that lies outside the universe we observe.

(My guess for what’s out there? That girl from the Wendy’s commercials. Because she seems to be every-fricking-where else these days.)

Speaking of bubbles, a lot of people have been having fun with nucleation, possibly without realizing it. The key to the explosive foaming mess you can make by dropping a Mentos candy into a bottle of diet soda is indeed nucleation. Small pores in the Mentos allow bubbles of gas from the soda to form, which attract more bubbles and more bubbles — and they tell two friends, and so on and so on until there’s foam all over your kitchen and mom’s asking why there’s half a dissolved mint embedded in the ceiling.

Of course, bubble nucleation doesn’t require all those theatrics to be useful. Microscopic irregularities in champagne glasses nucleate those nose-tickling bubbles in the bubbly everyone loves. Nucleation also explains why it’s harder to pour a beer into a used glass without foaming up the place; the remnants of the previous pint’s suds provide sites for bubble-making that a fresh clean glass would not.

So that’s nucleation in a nutshell. It’ll help you pour a good beer, it makes Mentos much more interesting, and it might help us get rid of David Blaine. Honestly, what more could you ask of science?

Image sources: ASEPTEC (nucleation diagram), YouTube (cold, wet but sadly unfrozen David Blaine), Examiner.com (football pig pile), New York Times (science ‘n’ Mentos)

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· Categories: Biology
What I’ve Learned:

Electric bacteria: And you thought your 220V plug adapter was impressive.
“Electric bacteria: And you thought your 220V plug adapter was impressive.”

First they came to make our stoves electric, and I said nothing. Because I’m a terrible cook. I can’t even brown bagels.

Then they came to make our lawnmowers electric, and I said nothing. Because who can afford a yard these days?

Then they came to make our cars electric, and still I said nothing. Because Teslas are sexy, and only occasionally burst into flames.

But now we have electric bacteria, and there’s no one left to speak up. Presumably because they’ve been zapped by electric freaking bacteria. What’s next, nature? Chickenpox with tasers? Athlete’s foot fungus armed with bazookas? Napalm-spewing cooties?

Fear not, science fans. Unlike that Electro dude in the Spider-Man sequel, these “electric bacteria” aren’t out to fry humanity like a trillion tiny bug zappers. They’re just efficient little critters trying to cut out the middle man.

All living organisms need energy. We get ours in the form of coffee or cheese sticks or chicken cacciatore. Likewise, animals and plants ingest nutrients in various forms to get the oomph they need. Eating equals energy.

But once the grub goes down the gullet — or up the rootstalk — things get complicated. Nearly all organisms gain energy by transferring electrons from food molecules onto another molecule called ATP.

(No, not the tennis tour ATP. The only thing stored there is Roger Federer’s six thousand watches.)

ATP stands for adenosine triphosphate, possibly the most important bit of microscopic fluff in living cells, because it can hold onto electrons — and therefore energy — until they’re needed. Organisms spend a ridiculous amount of effort getting these electrons onto and off of ATP, using enzymes and cofactors and quite possibly David Blaine is involved — all because our cells can’t deal with bare electrons directly.

But some cells can.

Scientists have known for a while that certain bacterial species can gather energy from an electrical source — that is, a pool of electrons. No ATP needed; these microbes sip electrons like espresso and use them directly.

Dubbed “electric bacteria”, because they survive on raw current — rather than, say, raw currants — researchers believed they were relatively rare. But new experiments have jammed a proverbial fork into that outlet: electric bacteria aren’t rare; they’re everywhere.

Several new types of electron-munching microbes have been recently discovered. How? By jamming electrodes into the ground, turning on the juice (gently) and seeing what grows. Some bacteria in the lab can thrive on just the juice from a simple battery. No food. No water. No Chicken McCoenzymes. Just pure, unadulterated voltage. They’re like tiny little toasters, only alive and creepy and also terrible at browning bagels.

These weirdo electrical bacteria are interesting in a number of ways. Some live deep underground, slowly slurping electrons off the surrounding rocks. These may give us a hint of what primitive life on other planets might look like. They could also help us figure out the bare minimum energy cells need to survive. And they might be engineered to clean up biowaste or toxic spills, powering themselves with loose electrons as they work.

Some species even have filaments called nanowires that help regulate the electrons flowing in and out. These cells can link together, forming a bacterial bridge to transfer electrons several centimeters away. That’s not lightning shooting out of Jamie Foxx’s hands, maybe. But for teeny-ass microbes, it’s like Zeus firing thunderbolts at a bullseye on the moon.

So even if they won’t tase you, bro, don’t mess with electric bacteria. These crafty critters will shock you.

Image sources: Real Simple Science (plug-in microbe), Tampa Bay Times and Flickr / Dusty_73 (cootie napalm), Silver Screen Serenade (Electro charging), CityNews Toronto (electric Blaine)

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