Most members of the Millennial generation (those born between 1982 and 2003) believe viral videos can make a measurable difference in the world. And despite its creator’s recent tribulations, the most viral video in Internet history, Kony 2012, is giving them a chance to prove they’re right.

Within five days of its release, the video—created by the California-based nonprofit Invisible Children about Lord’s Resistance Army head and indicted war criminal Joseph Kony—had been seen by 80 million people, a major step toward creating global awareness of Kony’s crimes.


The video’s tagline stated mission is to “make Joseph Kony famous,” but the larger goal is to help capture Kony by the end of this year. Until then, the video’s producers want everyone interested in the cause to join the publicity effort by putting up posters and stickers about Kony on April 20. While it remains to see whether the efforts will pay off in this case, all of these tactics to translate virtual interest into physical action are hallmarks of earlier successful organizing efforts that demonstrated the emerging power of the Millennial generation.

The most well known example of this strategy was the 2008 Obama campaign’s use of a Facebook-like website, MyBarackObama.com, to enable millions of supporters to organize in their communities by providing them with tools and information about other like-minded voters in their neighborhood. Crucially, the campaign also made sure that everyone involved understood what they needed to do offline. Registering to vote and turnout activities were emphasized almost as much as making a donation. The result was an outpouring of support among Millennials, two-thirds of whom voted for Obama. Their votes turned what would have been a narrow victory into a large mandate for change.

There have been other examples of linking online and offline organizing, though the English language currently has no word for the concept. (One suggestion, “onff line,” has failed to catch on.) In 2004, the Howard Dean campaign popularized the concept of a “money bomb” posting a graphic of the progress it was making toward its fundraising goal that “blew up” when the goal was reached. The idea was wildly successful and has led to many variations that capture its essential elements—a clear goal and a deadline for taking action.

Most recently, Wikipedia’s one-day site blackout to protest the SOPA and PIPA bills, demonstrated just how powerful such a dramatic technique can be in altering the behavior of an entrenched establishment. The effort drove Millennials, more than any other generation, to flood Congress with tweets and emails, causing dozens of Senators and representatives to withdraw their support for the legislation.

In the case of the Kony2012 video, the awareness campaign was carefully planned to take advantage of Millennials’ fondness for social media and their desire to change the world together. The video campaign initially targeted 20 “culture makers,” including George Clooney, Angelina Jolie, and Ryan Seacrest. The video drew about 66,000 viewers on the first day of its release, but exploded after Oprah Winfrey, another of the culture makers, tweeted it to her 10 million followers. That day, the video had about a million views.

As a result of the coordinated campaign, 40 percent of all Millennials said they had heard “a lot” about the video one week after its release, according to a Pew Research survey, twice the percentage of any other generation. Of that group, half learned about it from social media, and almost two-thirds from some online information source. Of the millions of tweets the awareness campaign generated, more than two-thirds said something positive about the video.

But not everyone was impressed. As the campaign gained notoriety, others—mostly baby boomers, those born between 1946 and 1964—began to weigh in about the need to listen to true experts on the topic before signing on to a cause based on one video. Members of often-cynical Generation X, those born between 1965 and 1981, expressed skepticism about the nonprofit’s motives; questioned its leaders’ salaries (which are quite modest by charity standards); and demanded a transparent audit of Invisible Children’s books. The reactions of older generations reflected the traditional ways entrenched interests have defended themselves from sudden disruptions to their world and challenges to their power. Millennials, who place their faith in the wisdom of the group and have little interest in being lectured at by experts who have not been able to resolve the world’s problems, are unlikely to be dissuaded by the pushback.

Janessa Goldbeck, a Millennial who is the former field director for the Genocide Intervention Network and is currently pedaling her bike across America as part of her “Make US Strong” campaign to support international development, succinctly explains the critical role social media plays in organizing efforts by her generation. “We have to build political will, which means organizing both online and offline,” she says. “Social media platforms lower the barrier to entry and provide people with mechanisms to connect and get involved—hopefully for the long haul.”

This online-offline approach strikes Boomers like Malcolm Gladwell and Thomas Friedman as weak imitations of the street demonstrations of their youth, but during the last five years it has elected a president and stopped the entertainment industry from working its usual will in Congress. By the end of this year we will know if it has also been successful in bringing a war criminal to justice.

Photo via (cc) Flickr user Micke Kazamowicz

  • Too many males to choose from can overwhelm female frogs – and change who gets to mate
    There can be too many frogs in the dating pool. R. Andrew Odum/Photodisc via Getty Images

    Assistant Professor of Ecology & Evolutionary Biology, University of Tennessee; Smithsonian Institution

    If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by menu options at a restaurant, cereal varieties at the grocery store or potential partners while scrolling through dating apps, you’ve experienced choice overload.

    People aren’t the only ones to have trouble making decisions when confronted with many options simultaneously. In our new study published in the journal iScience, my colleagues and I found similar effects of choice overload in female gray tree frogs when faced with too many calls from males looking for love.

    Scientists have observed many species having similar decision-making problems when experiencing choice overload. But we know little about how these kinds of cognitive constraints affect animals in natural settings.

    Indecision on the frog dating scene

    The gray tree frogs we focused on live in wooded areas near sources of water in North America. During the mating season, males gather in choruses and call to attract mates. Females pick mates based on several call attributes, including call length. Longer calls are more attractive.

    For our experiment, we captured 60 female tree frogs from breeding choruses in East Tennessee and brought them into our lab. Then we played recorded mating calls for each female, giving her a choice between one long, attractive “target” call and one, three or seven shorter, less attractive “distractor” calls.

    In the wild, a tree frog breeding chorus can include dozens or even hundreds of calling males. In our lab setup, the calls played sequentially, so they never overlapped.

    Females would hop toward the speaker broadcasting the call she preferred. As the number of distractor calls increased, females got worse at picking the attractive call, took longer to decide, and were more likely to defer choosing within the 10-minute window altogether.

    Black and white aerial view of a circular area with a white star in the middle
    View from above of the frog test arena, where researchers would place a female frog in the center and then play various male mating calls from speakers placed around the perimeter. Jessie Tanner

    Cognitive confusion

    Because we eliminated call overlap entirely, we know this decline wasn’t due to what researchers call energetic masking. That’s the well-documented problem of overlapping signals impairing an individual’s ability to detect and discriminate a signal from noise.

    Biologists have long known that female preferences can weaken in choruses and have usually assumed the explanation is energetic masking: Too many overlapping signals create a challenge for the frogs’ perceptual systems. In other words, they can’t detect or discriminate individual calls.

    Instead, our study shows that a female’s own cognitive limits can make it hard for her to select her preferred mate. The challenge comes from too many males to choose from, not being unable to hear the males clearly.

    When females can’t make the optimal choice

    Call traits are linked to offspring fitness in gray tree frogs. If females have trouble recognizing the calls they prefer in a real chorus, they aren’t able to pick the mates with the best genes to pass on. They may end up mating with males they would otherwise reject. These males with less going for them then pass on their less desirable traits, which could have negative consequences for the offspring.

    Smaller frog on top of larger frog with grass blades around
    Females’ cognitive overload could be an opportunity for males who might not otherwise get a chance to mate. Jessie Tanner

    Our finding raises the possibility that males could exploit this cognitive limitation in females. Less attractive males might do better by joining bigger choruses, where the sheer number of competitors makes it harder for females to discriminate against them. Conversely, more attractive males may benefit from calling in smaller groups, or even in isolation. My colleagues and I hope to investigate some of these possibilities soon.

    More options, more opportunities … to a point

    We ran our experiments in a simplified lab arena, which allowed us to isolate choice overload from other effects. We removed the real-world clutter of overlapping calls, vegetation and risk from predators that females would face in an actual pond. We also limited female choice to eight calls, though frogs may hear even more in natural settings.

    The next step in this research is figuring out how much choice overload matters in a real chorus, where calls do overlap, and where sensory processing and cognitive processing are probably both at play. We’re particularly interested in seeing whether, in natural choruses, decisions do take longer and females really end up mating with less preferable males.

    Choice overload isn’t unique to frogs, or even to mate choice. Researchers have seen bees choosing among flowers, ants comparing potential nest sites and mosquitoes selecting egg-laying sites all making worse decisions as the number of competing options increases. And recent research on field crickets and tree frogs has found similar patterns in these animals as they pick mates based on their calls.

    Together, this growing body of evidence suggests that cognitive constraints are a general feature of animal decision-making.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

  • Why do frozen turkeys explode when deep-fried?
    When water and boiling oil mix, the result can be explosive, as seen in this demonstration. U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Travis Alston/Released via Flickr
    ,

    Why do frozen turkeys explode when deep-fried?

    A holiday kitchen disaster comes down to some powerful chemistry.

    Associate Professor of Chemistry, University of Richmond

    Deep-frying a turkey is a great way to get a delicious, moist meal for Thanksgiving. But this method of cooking can be a very dangerous undertaking.

    Every fall, millions of dollars of damage, trips to the ER and even deaths result from attempts to deep-fry turkeys. The vast majority of these accidents happen because people put frozen turkeys into boiling oil. If you are considering deep-frying this year, do not forget to thaw and dry your turkey before placing it in the pot. Failure to do so may lead to an explosive disaster.

    What is so dangerous about putting even a partially frozen turkey in a deep-fryer?

    I’m a chemist who studies plant, fungal and animal compounds and have a love of food chemistry. The reason frozen turkeys explode, at its core, has to do with differences in density. There is a difference in density between oil and water and differences in the density of water between its solid, liquid and gas states. When these density differences interact in just the right way, you get an explosion.

    A cup filled with a layer of oil sitting on top of a layer of water.
    If water and oil are in the same container, the denser water will sink to the bottom. Daniel Merino, CC BY-ND

    Understanding density

    Density is how much an object weighs given a specific volume. For example, imagine you held an ice cube in one hand and a marshmallow in the other. While they are roughly the same size, the ice cube is heavier: It is more dense.

    The first important density difference when it comes to frying is that water is more dense than oil. This has to do with how tightly the molecules of each substance pack together and how heavy the atoms are that make up each liquid.

    Water molecules are small and pack tightly together. Oil molecules are much larger and don’t pack together as well by comparison. Additionally, water is composed of oxygen and hydrogen atoms, while oils are predominantly carbon and hydrogen. Oxygen is heavier than carbon. This means that, for example, one cup of water has more atoms than one cup of oil, and those individuals atoms are heavier. This is why oil floats on top of water. It is less dense.

    While different materials have different densities, liquids, solids and gases of a single material can have different densities as well. You observe this every time you place an ice cube in a glass of water: The ice floats to the top because it is less dense than water.

    When water absorbs heat, it changes to its gas phase, steam. Steam occupies 1,700 times the volume as the same number of liquid water molecules. You observe this effect when you boil water in a tea kettle. The force of expanding gas pushes steam out of the kettle through the whistle, causing the squealing noise.

    Frozen turkeys are filled with water

    A man in a fire suit placing a turkey in a fryer.
    Deep-frying a turkey can be safe as long as the turkey is thawed and dried. YinYang/E+ via Getty Images

    Frozen turkeys – or any kind of frozen meats, for that matter – contain a lot of ice. Raw meat can be anywhere from 56% to 73% water. If you have ever thawed a frozen piece of meat, you have probably seen all the liquid that comes out.

    For deep-frying, cooking oil is heated to around 350 degrees Fahrenheit (175 C). This is much hotter than the boiling point of water, which is 212 F (100 C). So when the ice in a frozen turkey comes in contact with the hot oil, the surface ice quickly turns to steam.

    This quick transition is not a problem when it happens at the very surface of the oil. The steam escapes harmlessly into the air.

    However, when you submerge a turkey into the oil, the ice inside the turkey absorbs the heat and melts, forming liquid water. Here is where the density comes into play.

    This liquid water is more dense than the oil, so it falls the bottom of the pot. The water molecules continue to absorb heat and energy and eventually they change phases and become steam. The water molecules then rapidly spread far apart from one another and the volume expands by 1,700 times. This expansion causes the density of the water to drop to a fraction of a percent of the density of the oil, so the gas wants to quickly rise to the surface.

    Combine the fast change in density together with the expansion of volume and you get an explosion. The steam expands and rises, blowing the boiling oil out the pot. If that weren’t dangerous enough, as the displaced oil comes into contact with a burner or flame, it can catch fire. Once some droplets of oil catch on fire, the flames will quickly ignite nearby oil molecules, resulting in a fast-moving and often catastrophic fire.

    Every year, thousands of accidents like this happen. So, should you decide to deep-fry a turkey for this year’s Thanksgiving, be sure to thoroughly thaw it and pat it dry. And next time you add a bit of liquid to an oil-filled pan and end up with oil all over the stove, you’ll know the science of why.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

  • I’m an artist who works with glass – here’s how the physics and chemistry of glassblowing work
    Artists physically work with glass in its molten state at the Glass Hot Shop at the Rochester Institute of Technology. Carlos Ortiz/RIT
    ,

    I’m an artist who works with glass – here’s how the physics and chemistry of glassblowing work

    Making a simple tumbler takes heat, teamwork and a surprising amount of science.

    Lecturer of Art, Rochester Institute of Technology

    Glass as a material is full of contradictions. Depending on the form and use, glass can be fragile or strong, opaque or transparent, rough or smooth. The studios my colleagues and I teach and learn in, as glass instructors, echo this abundance of physical opposites. These environments are simultaneously immersive, complex, seductive and demanding.

    When the studio is in action, you might hear glass breaking, hot metal being quenched in water, glassblowing pipes rolling on the workbench rails, and some good tunes on the stereo. You might smell hot beeswax and burning newspaper. You might feel a bit of waste glass under your shoe or the intense heat from the furnaces and a breeze from a well-placed fan. Glassblowers learn to listen, to feel and to find some focus within and among the kinetic.

    The constant stimuli of the glass studio may not seem anything like a sterile science lab, and yet glass artists need to accrue knowledge of physics and chemistry to achieve any kind of control with this dynamic material. They must choose a material with the desired properties and during the process judge factors such as heat and malleability.

    Glass as a material

    At Rochester Institute of Technology, where I help run the glass program, we primarily use two types of glasses. In our hot glass studio we melt “soft” glass. This glass is specifically formulated to be melted in a furnace and used by the glassblower. It’s a combination of fine mesh silica sand, soda ash and lime, with small amounts of a few additional ingredients that keep the glass beautiful when it’s at its top temperature of 2,200 degrees Fahrenheit (1,204 degrees Celsius).

    In our flameworking studio, we use a borosilicate glass. You might recognize this glass as the brand Pyrex made in Corning, New York. This is a super heat-resistant glass. It melts at a higher temperature than soft glass and arrives to our students in preformed rods that they can melt and shape by torch in our flameworking studio. The differences in chemistry really change how these glasses look and behave.

    Two pyrex measuring cups
    Pyrex cookware is made out of a specially formulated, heat-resistant type of glass called borosilicate. Picofluidicist/Wikimedia Commons

    Glass, from a material science perspective, is categorized as an amorphous solid, meaning that glass’s molecules are arranged in a near-random pattern and there is no sharp melting point. Rather, glass gradually softens over a wide temperature range.

    Gathering glass

    Once you’ve adjusted to the chaos of the studio, it’s time to start working.

    We have two furnaces in our hot glass studio, where we work with soft glass, so anytime during the school year there is between 700 to 1,200 pounds of glass. It’s kept in the furnace at its molten state (2,200 degrees F or 1,204 degrees C), ready to be gathered and transformed.

    An artist puts a pole with molten glass on the end into a circular furnace
    Glass artists heat up their glass in a furnace so that it’s molten and easy to mold. AP Photo/Keith Srakocic

    When we work with the material, transforming it with tools and breath and heat, it needs to be kept in a workable heat zone – probably between 1,100 and 2,000 F (593 and 1,094 C). When the glass dips below that range, we perceive it as solid, though at the molecular level it is still dynamic and acting more like a liquid.

    To make anything – a sculpture, a tumbler, a celestial magical orb or a pumpkin – you start by gathering glass out of the furnace on a metal rod. Once you’ve gathered your glass, you start making decisions.

    An artist standing by a bench covered in metal tools holds a long pole with an orb of molten glass at the end. In the background is a furnace.
    An artist works in the Glass Hot Shop at RIT. When glass is in its molten state, the artist can shape it and blow into it. Elizabeth Lamark/RIT

    You might ask yourself: What tools do I need to begin to shape and transform this glass into the object I have in mind? If you wait too long and the glass begins cooling down, you’ll need to reheat it to reintroduce malleability, allowing you to continue working it without breaking it.

    A big part of glasswork is moving between the reheating chamber and the bench, where the artist uses tools to move and stretch the molten glass into the desired shape. You’ll need to alternate between these two stations many times.

    Glassblowing is a team activity. I have physical and intellectual support from my colleagues: breath from their lungs, protection from the heat, additional bits of glass brought from the furnace to add to my object. We almost never work alone.

    So, say I want to make a very basic clear tumbler. This is a simple conceptual object – utilitarian, domestic and intimate. It is also a tricky one to make well: too heavy and it feels bad in the hand, too thick at the lip and it dribbles when you drink, too thin at the bottom and it will break before it is complete.

    Maybe I want to design it so it is slightly conical: wider at the bottom than the top, so it’s less likely to tip over. Maybe I want it to have a little indent for the user’s thumb as a gentle invitation to her hand. First I make my design: I draw it. I share it with my team so they can predict the process and the object’s needs. Then we begin.

    Working with physics

    I gather glass out of the furnace, let it cool a bit, then introduce a bubble in the glass by blowing into the pipe, the hollow rod that attaches to the object I’m making. I reheat, sit at the bench and begin to shape the glass using both gravity and the Jills, a cooling and shaping tool. The Jills is kind of like a large pair of tongs. It hasn’t changed much in design for 2,000 years.

    A glass artist holds an orb of glass with tongs and heats it up with a torch.
    Glass artists use a variety of tools to shape their work. AP Photo/Gerry Broome

    I ask for some air from my teammate, and she blows into the pipe while I’m shaping the glass. The bubble transforms into a pill shape, slightly wider at the bottom. I constrict the area right in front of the pipe. I’m focusing on shape and heat, taking care to not let the glass get too cold. If the glass drops to about 1,000 F (538 C), it enters a danger zone. If it’s not yet finished, it needs to be warmed up in the reheating chamber; or if it is done, put away in a kiln to cool slowly.

    If glass cools too quickly, the molecules freeze into a chaotic pattern, which causes stresses that result in fracture. To combat this volatility, when the glass object is done and ready to be cooled, we place the object in an annealer: a kiln set to a resting temperature of 930 F (500 C).

    This temperature is like a Goldilocks zone for our glass: It’s not so hot that the glass will deform, but not so cool that the glass will stress and break. Once the kilns are full, a computer guide takes them down to room temperature over about 10 hours.

    As I continue to work on my cup, I get more heat, focusing on the very end of the bubble – the part that will be the base of the cup. I then sit down and have another member of my team flatten the bottom with a wooden paddle while I tool the glass with the Jills to keep its shape. The cycle continues on and on.

    The process is quick, but also there are so many little steps that it would take nearly a full-length book to describe them all. When asked how long it takes to make a tumbler, I’ll often answer, “About 10 years or 10 minutes, depending on how you think about time and material knowledge.” This is both glib and true. Glass demands attention, dedication and a willingness to make connections between physics and chemistry and your observable experiences. It is a highly challenging and equally rewarding material to work with and alongside. I count myself very lucky.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

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