At a big multi-disciplinary conference like the European Forum at Alpbach, the real fun is not giving your own presentations but sitting down over some Hefeweizen and chatting with some of the other participants. One of the students in our seminar was a Dutch psychologist who explained to us what an emotion really is. Unfortunately I don’t remember his name, and also unfortunately I am not at all an expert in talking about these things, but let me try to explain his major idea.

The claim was essentially that true “emotional states” are not distinguished by the kind of response a creature gives, but the timing: emotions are distinguished by persisting long after the stimulus that has caused them has been removed, or by being prompted by conditions that merely recall the original stimulus, rather than duplicating it. The example given was that we get chewed out at work by our boss, get angry, but rather than actually taking it out on our boss (which might be maladaptive behavior) we go home and act cross to our family. In contrast, most animals (chimpanzees perhaps being the only counterexample) are “machines,” reacting simply to the stimulus of the moment. They might remember previous stimuli, and react appropriately with fear or joy if it looks like the stimuli might return, but they don’t nurse emotions that cause apparently-inappropriate responses long after the stimuli have disappeared.

The empirical support that was adduced for this position was the role of the frontal lobe in the feeling of emotions. Lobotomized patients, whose frontal lobes have disconnected from the rest of their brains, have IQs that are essentially unchanged, but become completely different people as their emotional responses are dramatically altered to the point of almost disappearing. Interestingly, these patients also lose the ability to plan future events, even something as simple as a dinner party. The claim is thus that it’s the frontal lobe, which is much more developed in humans than in other animals, that provides us with the ability to experience emotional states. (In 1949 the Nobel Prize was awarded to Egas Moniz for the development of the frontal lobotomy technique for treating patients with schizophrenia; this has often been called the biggest mistake in the history of the Prizes, although the official Nobel website seems less than completely contrite.)

It seems clear that there is some complicated relationship between emotions, persistence, and the frontal lobes, although it’s not perfectly clear to me that the idea of maintaining a response even after stimuli are removed is really the most important aspect of emotions. But there are clearly consequences for the question of animal rights, namely that we should not attribute true emotional import to signs of animals’ “suffering”; when the lobster is struggling to get out of the pot of boiling water, this is merely a robotic reaction, not analogous to a true human emotion (so the reasoning goes). In fact, our Alpbach friend related amusing stories about how he had been invited to speak at gatherings of animal-rights activists, who had apparently noticed that he had done research on animals and emotions without looking closely at was his conclusions were. Happily, he managed to escape the meetings in one piece.

So if emotions are what separates us and the chimps from the rest of the animal kingdom, what is it that separates us from the chimps? In one sense, not much; I just finished reading Will Self’s novel Great Apes, which features a London artist who wakes up one morning to find that the roles of chimps and humans have been miraculously interchanged, complete with horrible puns (“going humanshit” and worse). I tend to agree with Steven Pinker that grammar is what separates us from other animals; the subjunctive mood is what makes us human. This fits in well with my social-contractarian outlook; human beings can get together and make up rules about how we agree to act in certain situations, something other species just can’t do.

But I better quit roaming outside areas I know anything about before I completely destroy my credibility in those areas in which I’m supposed to be an expert.

I’m back in Chicago from the DPF Meeting in Riverside. Here is a pdf version of the slides from my talk, with the impossible title of “Theoretical Cosmology.” There are also slides from most of the other plenary talks, and some commentary at Peter Woit’s blog.

Some slightly-recycled content. (But it’s new to you, right?) Science writer Amanda Gefter is working on an article for Sky and Telescope about testing general relativity. (See other articles by Amanda here and here.) She emailed me to ask some general questions about the state of GR and its experimental tests; here are the questions and my answers, just off the top of my head.

What are scalar-tensor theories of gravity? In these theories, where does the extra field come from (in other words, what is it, and why is it there?) How do these theories modify GR? If a scalar-tensor theory is found to explain experimental results, does that necessarily mean that there are extra dimensions? How viable do you think these theories are?

Scalar-tensor theories are simply generalizations of GR that add a new scalar field that interacts directly with gravity (i.e., couples directly to the curvature of spacetime). A scalar field is like the electromagnetic field, except that it only has a magnitude and not a direction; it simply takes on a single numerical value at each point in spacetime. The first scalar-tensor theories proposed that the gravitational constant, which fixes the strength of gravity, could have a variable strength that depended on some scalar field; but current theories are more general.

Scalar fields can arise in different ways. Often, they are simply put there. They can also arise from extra dimensions of spacetime, or from superstring theory. But if we find a scalar field, it certainly doesn’t imply the existence of extra dimensions, as there are many other ways to get such scalars.

Scalar-tensor theories are simple and natural generalizations of GR, and it wouldn’t be surprising if one of them were true. However, many theories that are studied in the literature assume that the scalar field is very light, and therefore leads to (potentially detectable) effects at large distances. It’s much more likely that any such scalar has a significant mass, perhaps near the Planck scale, and so would remain undetectable in any conceivable experiment. However, we know little for sure, so it pays to keep an open mind.

Are there other alternatives to GR that are being explored? Any that you find particularly promising?

There are many alternatives being explored, too many to list or even catalogue. The most straightforward, and perhaps most promising, imagine that something like GR is true in extra dimensions, and lead to a modified theory at the level of our observed four-dimensional spacetime. The ways in which this theory can be modified will depend in the specific model of extra dimensions; it has been proposed that such theories can help explain the value of the cosmological constant, or explain the acceleration of the universe without any cosmological constant, or affect cosmology at very early times. It is also possible to modify GR directly in four dimensions to help do away with the need for dark energy.

Other models try to do away with the need for dark matter, by modifying gravity on the scale of galaxies. A famous example is MOND (Modification Of Newtonian Dynamics) by Milgrom, although that is more of an “idea” than a “theory” (although Bekenstein has recently tried to put it on a more sound footing). The biggest problem with such models is that they have a very hard time reproducing the many successes of the dark matter idea, for example in accounting for the perturbation spectrum of the cosmic microwave background.

Finally, there are models that don’t try to explain some specific feature of astrophysical observations, but instead simply try to see how far we can go in modifying GR. For example, there are models which violate Lorentz invariance at a fundamental level. These are interesting to explore, if only to help us understand the extent to which GR can be trusted.

Why is it important for us to test GR? Has it become more imperative in recent years?

Gravity is an important force, and GR is our best theory of gravity, so it should be tested as well as we possibly can. More specifically, cosmological observations (dark matter, dark energy, and primordial perturbations) have revealed a universe that seems very surprising to us, and our interpretations of these observations rely on extrapolating ordinary GR to scales of time and distance that are far larger than where it has been directly tested. So any new tests can give us more confidence that we have the right to make such extrapolations.

Why is our understanding of gravity so important?

See above. On the large scales characteristic of cosmology, gravity is by far the most important force. In addition, it is the only force that has thus far evaded a quantum-mechanical understanding; reconciling GR with quantum mechanics is the greatest single quest in contemporary fundamental physics, and any information we have about gravity itself could be an invaluable clue along the way.

Up to this point, is GR a well-tested theory?

It is extremely well-tested in certain regimes, less so in others. Three regimes have been especially well-tested: the Solar System, where precision measurements have tightly constrained deviations from GR; the binary pulsar, whose orbit implies exactly the amount of gravitational radiation predicted by GR; and the early universe, where observations of light elements produced by nucleosynthesis and the anisotropies of the cosmic microwave background provide good evidence for the validity of GR when the universe was seconds old and hundreds of thousands of years old, respectively.

There is still a lot we don’t know. For example, are the predictions of GR for gravitational lensing and dynamical measures of mass consistent with each other? Are there deviations at very strong curvatures, or for that matter very weak curvatures? Are there deviations at very small distances that may be probed in the laboratory? (Current best limits go down to about one tenth of a millimeter.) Are there long-range but subtle effects that still may show up in the Solar System?

As I understand it, GR has been inadequately tested in the strong field regime. Why is it important to test GR in such extreme circumstances? What kinds of tests will be helpful? In particular, how can we use black holes to test GR?

I wouldn’t say “inadequately”, but we can always do better. To be honest, I think that testing GR with black holes is interesting, but somewhat overrated. If GR is going to be modified, there are two likely ways it can happen: subtle long-range effects, and deviations that become important when the curvature of spacetime reaches a certain fixed value. In the first case, Solar System tests will usually do better than astrophysical tests, just because the precision is higher. In the second case, we would have to get extremely lucky indeed to notice any effects in black holes. The curvature outside astrophysical-sized black holes is actually not that great; the curvature radius would be measured in kilometers, while we would probably need to go to much smaller scales to observe any deviations from general relativity.

On the other hand, as already mentioned it’s important to keep an open mind. Many of our tests of GR thus far have either been in cosmology or in the quasi-static, weak-field regime of the Solar System, with the binary pulsar being the notable exception. Even if our most respectable alternative theories wouldn’t necessarily show up first in a dynamical, strong-field situation, we should certainly do as many tests in such regimes as we can, if only to make sure there are no surprises.

Is it strange to use black holes as testing grounds for GR when they them selves are consequences of the theory of GR? (in other words, if GR were wrong, would there even be black holes?)

Most respectable theories of gravity (all that I know of, to be honest) predict that there should be black holes, although their properties might be different in different models. So they are well worth investigating, keeping in mind the previous answer.

I understand you worked with Ed Guinan on DI Herculis — what are your thoughts on that problem? Do you think it points to a gap in GR, or is it an experimental anomaly? Are physicists worried about it?

It’s a very interesting system, and I don’t know what is going on. I became skeptical that gravity is to blame when I worked out that the stars in DI Her are well within the weak-field regime where Solar System tests have already tightly constrained any possible deviations from GR; it seems very hard indeed to find a theory that could explain the motion of DI Her yet remain consistent with Solar-System tests. So I suspect that some astrophysical phenomenon is causing the discrepancy, but I’m by no means certain.

Have there been any other observations that seem to violate GR?

It’s hard to say that any given observation violates GR, since there are always other assumptions that come into play. For example, the anomalous acceleration of the Pioneer spacecraft may be due to some extremely unexpected gravitational effect; more likely, however, there is some much more mundane explanation involving the spacecraft themselves. So far, there is certainly nothing we have observed that gives anything like a good reason to doubt GR.

In your opinion, what have been the most significant tests of GR?

Historically: precession of Mercury, deflection of light, gravitational redshift, and gravitational time delay. More recently: the binary pulsar and cosmological nucleosynthesis.

Any thoughts on the importance of Gravity Probe-B? Lunar laser ranging?

GPB is in a somewhat awkward position; it will either confirm the GR prediction for frame-dragging, or it will find a discrepancy and very few people will believe it. I’m not an expert, but my understanding is that the regime it is testing (in the “parameterized post-Newtonian” sense) has already been ruled out by other observations.

Lunar laser ranging is a very different story, well worth doing. There is an opportunity to greatly improve the precision of constraints on long-range deviations from GR, which is always interesting, even if there is no firm prediction from a specific model.

Will the detection of gravity waves be an important confirmation of GR?

Yes, absolutely. At this point, however, very few people doubt that gravitational waves exist, with essentially the properties predicted by GR, so they are more looking forward to learning about the astrophysical sources of the waves. If the observations are somehow inconsistent with GR, that would be an even more spectacular finding than anyone expects.

What makes general relativity such a beautiful theory?

It is extremely powerful (accounting for all gravitational phenomena ever observed), mathematically compelling (applying elegant results from differential geometry), and remarkably simple and robust (unlike, say, the Standard Model of particle physics). GR is simply the statement that “Gravitation is the curvature of spacetime”, made precise and mathematical; few theories in science are simultaneously so simple, elegant, and comprehensive.

Finally, do you think that GR will ultimately prove to be wrong (or incomplete) at some level?

Yes. Everybody (in their right mind) does. GR is a classical theory, fundamentally inconsistent with the quantum world in which we live. At the very least we will have to find a quantum version of GR; more likely, we will have to find some more profound theory that is intrinsically quantum-mechanical and reduces to GR in the appropriate circumstances. If experiments reveal deviations from GR at even the classical level, so much the better.

The nice thing about jet lag after a long trip westward (say, from Austria to the U.S.) is that you wake up early enough to enjoy the morning, something I tend not normally to do. Which is why it’s too bad I am not still in my beloved Chicago enjoying a cup of coffee while watching the sun rise over Lake Michigan, but instead sitting in a hotel room in Riverside, California, site (Riverside, not my hotel room) of the annual meeting of the Division of Particles and Fields of the American Physical Society. Tuesday afternoon I’ll be giving a review talk on “Theoretical Cosmology,” which sounds a bit too comprehensive to be coherent, but we’ll give it a go. Since it’s the last talk of the conference, likely nobody will be in the audience; if I remember I’ll post a link to the slides (once, you know, they’ve been written).

In the meantime, I’ll share this. Poet Richard O’Connell was kind enough to email me a copy of this poem he wrote in 1976:

To Beta, Cosmically Considered

If relic radiation bathes the spheres

Isotropically, as water is to fish,

To an observer here or on Andromeda,

Time has an arrow sharp as Cupid’s kiss.

If all is that primeval fireball

Exploding yet beyond the verge of sight,

We’re genesis and apocalypse ourselves

Galactic cousins, catastrophic flesh.

Let us junk tyrannical cyclopean clocks

Geared to the wormwork of industrious forebears

Who added pittance by the pendulum

Only to leave their wealth to wastrel heirs.

Let us accept that arrow in our hearts

Transfixing us, targets of joy and tears;

The stars may see how in our spendthrift love

We keep a better time by keeping theirs.

Maybe I can figure out some way to work it into the talk.

Also, read about a Big Bang in your bedroom. (No, it’s not what you think.) I will explain later.

I remember, back in 1992 when the Dream Team of NBA stars first participated in the Olympics, someone telling me with a straight face that the US would never lose a basketball game in international competition again. Why not? Because basketball is a black person’s sport, and the Europeans and South Americans just couldn’t compete athletically.

Someone forgot to tell the Argentinians and Italians, as the former beat the latter for the gold medal yesterday. The US managed to squeak by a small former Soviet republic to claim the bronze. The team played hard, but was under-prepared and put together badly for this kind of competition, with a bunch of swingmen who can drive to the basket and a significant lack of big men and outside shooters.

Who comes out of the fiasco looking the best, from the US side? None other than poster boy for selfishness Allen Iverson.

To the Shaqs and Garnetts and T-Macs and Ray Allens who had better things to do than protect their homegrown game, Iverson said: “They have to understand that, first and foremost, it’s an honor to be selected on this team. It’s something that you should cherish for the rest of your life, and honestly, it’s something I will cherish without winning the gold medal.

“I feel good about taking part in something like this. I feel like a special basketball player to be selected to a team like this.”

To his former coach in Philly, Brown, who complained about the only-in-America rush job needed to field an Olympic team when he wasn’t busy ripping his players and the USA Basketball selection committee that picked them, Iverson said: “I don’t want to make (the rush job) an excuse. I think the time that we had, it was already known that that’s how much time we were going to have. And we had to understand from the first day that that was the amount of time we had to prepare.”

Like Lindsay, I don’t really care that much about the Olympics. But it was sad to hear that the US team went from being worshipped a decade ago to being booed off the court this year. Of course, that might have something to do with issues other than basketball.

I’m back from the European Forum in Alpbach (where I was referred to as “herzig,” which I think is good). Many thanks to Lindsay for keeping things active while I was away. Only after getting there did I understand what the Forum is about, partly because it is such a sprawling multi-dimensional thing that a focus can be hard to pinpoint. There are many events involving all sorts of discussions on politics, culture, and anything else (science is represented, but only as an amusing distraction). The seminar week, which is what I was there for, is almost a summer school; twelve seminars go on for a week of lectures, and about three hundred students (largely graduate and professional students) from throughout Europe come to listen and participate in the discussions. But the definition of “student” is pretty loose, and a good number were well past their student days.

What became clear only gradually was that, since most of the students are interested in public policy questions, many of the attendees are there largely to network amongst their fellow students, rather than to actually attend the seminars. And the seminars they did attend were those that related in some way to their careers; i.e. questions of European politics. So everyone was interested in our little cosmology discussion, but very few people actually came to it.

That’s okay, since you can still learn interesting things by talking to the other attendees. Issues of the European Union were especially popular, for understandable reasons. Someone gave me an article to read by Stephen Breyer, my favorite Supreme Court Justice (although if Kathleen Sullivan is ever appointed, she will be granted this coveted honor), musing about the new European Constitution. It was fascinating reading, especially because Breyer was trying very hard to be polite but clearly has substantial worries about the new document.

One of his worries is obvious: the new constitution is far too long (about eighty percent of it should be cut, in Breyer’s estimation). In an effort to keep everybody happy, the framers have stuck all sorts of things into the constitution that should be ordinary law. One of the crucial features of a constitution is that it should be possible, but very hard and extremely rare, to amend it; so it should stick to enshrining absolutely bedrock principles rather than including every policy we might agree upon at the moment. (He also points out that the European court will have over twenty justices, speaking multiple languages, and can’t resist mentioning the difficulty that he and his eight very capable colleagues sometimes have in reaching consensus, even in a common language.)

The more subtle of Breyer’s points is the ease with which the constitution will allow centralization of power. From personal experience, he knows how ambiguous language in a constitution can be interpreted to funnel more authority to the federal government. He mentions the example of education, where the constitution innocently gives the European Commission power to pass rules to facilitate cooperation and compatibility between the educational systems of the member states. Who could object? Well, cooperation takes a lot of forms — Breyer imagines that before too long the EC will be passing whatever regulations it likes on school systems throughout Europe, all in the name of increased cooperation. It will be interesting to see how the constitution actually fares in action (although they did manage to keep Christianity out of the preamble, despite heavy Papal lobbying).

So, while we’re at it, do Europeans hate Americans? Well, the participants at Alpbach are traditionally conservative, establishment-oriented types, who generally are more pro-American than their lefty counterparts. But one over-simplified way to describe the current situation is that both left-wing and right-wing Europeans are horrified by our current administration. They don’t hate Americans, but the disgust with the Bush regime is palpable. Of course, these are people who will willingly sit through hours of discussion and dialogue relating intricate philosophical questions to concrete issues of policy; something tells me Bush wouldn’t like them, either.

If there’s one thing that you learn by being in academia, or by being a blogger for that matter, it’s to speak with authority on things you know little about. On Sept. 1st I get to put my skills to some use, participating in a roundtable discussion hosted by the Remy Bumppo Theatre Company. Their upcoming season, entitled “Chaos Theory and Other Family Gatherings,” features three plays with some connection to science: Delicate Balance by Edward Albee, Arcadia by Tom Stoppard, and Humble Boy by Charlotte Jones. Each play will be commented on by an expert of some sort or another, and then we will all join in with artistic director James Bohnen to discuss connections and so forth. I’m responsible for Humble Boy, and will also give some sort of lecture when the play opens in the spring (not that you can glean any info about it from the RBTC website).

I haven’t actually read the play yet — that’s a project for the plane ride home — but I’ve learned some of the basics about it. It’s loosely inspired by Hamlet, and features as its central character an indecisive theoretical physicist who is struggling in his personal life when he’s not busy trying to unify gravity and quantum mechanics. (Well, who isn’t?) I’m crossing my fingers here — the track record of authors using science as a source of metaphor and imagery is a mixed one, at best. I’ll let you know how it goes.

And now I need to hop in a train and cross the Alps. You’re in Lindsay’s capable hands for the duration.

Being a science journalist has to be one of the most difficult jobs I can think of, requiring both common journalism skills as well as an ability to understand and judge the importance of claims in a wide variety of obscure specializations. Still — a lot of it is very bad. Which is a shame, since so many people get most of their knowledge about contemporary science through the news.

Fortunately, there are certain strategies that can help you understand what is really going on when you read a piece of science journalism. As an example, let’s consider the breaking news about the cave linked to John the Baptist that has just been found in Israel.

TZOVA, Israel (Reuters) – A British archeologist has dug up evidence linking John the Baptist to a cave used for bathing rituals in hills near Jerusalem in what he said could be one of the biggest recent finds for Christian history.

Shimon Gibson, who has been digging in the Holy Land for nearly three decades, told Reuters he believed the cave, hewn 24 yards deep into a rocky hillside, might also have been visited by Jesus as well as New Testament preacher John.

Okay. For a start, these claims seem pretty grandiose. I don’t know anything about archeology, and precious little about Biblical history, so for all I know this guy could be completely accurate. But you do worry a little when scientists not only make absolutely fantastic claims, but seem willing to extrapolate far beyond what they have actually found evidence for (in this case, talking about Jesus). There is pressure to make your findings sound interesting to the public, and sometimes we get overly enthusiastic, but this is definitely a warning sign.

Discovered by Gibson in 1999, excavations at the cave since then have revealed a large bathing pool as well as objects used for anointing rituals that would be quite different from those used by most Jews there nearly 2,000 years ago.

Gibson, 45, said evidence of specific links to John at the site came from drawings made 400 to 500 years later, which portrayed him in a similar way to other Byzantine art. One of the pictures also showed John’s severed head.

Perhaps this is just me, but that last paragraph makes no sense. Are the drawings at the site, or are there drawings elsewhere that link John to the site? Why do we care that he is portrayed in a similar way to other Byzantine art? How do we know that the drawings are of John the Baptist? Most of all, do the conclusions being reported here rely on the assumption that there are no distortions that might creep into an oral record over a period of 400 years?

“Nothing like this has been found elsewhere,” Gibson said. “It is the first time we have finds from the early baptismal period … It is an amazing discovery that happens to an archeologist once in a lifetime.”

The discovery, 15 minutes drive into hills west of Jerusalem, is due to be announced officially Tuesday, ahead of the launch of a book by Gibson.

Ding ding ding! He’s writing a book. Already has written one, in fact. So there might be some conflict of interest between appropriate scientific skepticism and the selling of the story. Also, why is the finding only being announced now? It must have taken some time to write the book — presumably the archeological finding would have been published in a reputable journal some time back?

Any discovery of sites linked to the Bible is certain to stir controversy and its share of skepticism, but Gibson said he had carried out many tests to satisfy himself that his theory was sound. The Bible describes John performing baptisms — including that of Jesus — in the River Jordan, a good 25 miles east over the Judean desert.

But Gibson said the site at Tzova could be linked to early years “when John sought solitude ‘in the wilderness.”‘

Okay, now we are told that there is actually a conflict between what we know about John and where the cave was found. And a flimsy explanation is offered. But we are supposed to be reassured, since Gibson himself has carried out many (unspecified) tests. Notice that there are no outside experts quoted in the article. Even when there are, you need to take what they say with a grain of salt, since they have typically not had a chance to review the claimed findings in any detail, and have to rely on their general expertise in the subject area. When they are completely absent, it’s a bad sign.

“In addition to John the Baptist, there’s a possibility that Jesus used this cave as well,” said Gibson.

Yes. There is also the possibility that Alexander the Great slept there, and the Loch Ness monster has visited. There are lots of possibilities. If there were any actual evidence that Jesus had been there, do you think we’d spend so much time talking about John the Baptist?

Gibson said he was sure the cave could not have been put to other uses — as a water store or a hideout for example — or that it was used by any other group carrying out similar types of rituals around the same time as John.

“I don’t believe in that kind of coincidence,” said Gibson, who said he was not religious himself. “Pilgrims will be flocking to the cave.”

What coincidence? That some non-famous person was using the cave for some good reason? Most of the people alive two thousand years ago were not celebrated figures from the Bible, and most archeological findings are not going to represent important events in the lives of famous people.

Again, I have no expertise in this actual area, and for all I know Gibson may turn out to be completely correct and his findings may go down in history as a major breakthrough. But we don’t have evidence for that from this story. The journalist can always say that they are simply reporting what they have been told. But I don’t really think that is the end of the journalist’s job — it’s perfectly appropriate to exercise some judgement about the claims being made. Unfortunately, if you spend just a day talking to outside experts and verifying the credibility of the story, your rivals will get the story out before you, and that’s the major criterion for success in the news business. So it’s up to the readers to use their own judgement.

My personal experiences have been with stories about science. But something tells me that stories about politics are not that different.

Switzerland is a very cosmopolitan country (despite clinging to their own currency rather than bowing before the Euro), with no fewer than four official languages (German, French, Italian, and Romansh). On the Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Geneva, each announcement was first made in German and then repeated in both French and English. I don’t know whether the English was simply a bow towards the universal language of the world, or whether the fact that the flight was officially a code-share with United had something to do with it.

The existence of multiple official languages must create occasional headaches. Of course, in the U.S. we don’t have any official language, attempts by organizations like U.S. English notwithstanding (warning: cheesy patriotic music). And English doesn’t have an official governing body, so we don’t have to live through nonsense like the German spelling reform. Which I think is a good thing, since like Steven Pinker I fall firmly on the descriptivist side of the descriptivist/prescriptivist debate over the nature of language, believing that rules bubble up from the bottom rather than being imposed from the top. (Although I enjoy reading David Foster Wallace defending the opposition.)

Despite our lack of central authority, the usage of American English is probably more standardized than either French or German. But we do have charming regionalisms, which have been studied in the fascinating Dialect Survey. The Dialect Survey maps will tell you, for example, that “the devil is beating his wife” is simply Southern for “sunshower,” while the important dibs/shotgun distinction has no strong geographical bias. I was interested to see that my linguistic upbringing was almost perfectly standard, in that I fall into the majority category of almost every regionalism. The one noticeable exception was that I grew up calling subs “hoagies,” a distinct Philadelphia/New Jersey usage. And I am shocked to learn that nearly half of the country refers to sneakers as “tennis shoes.” Takes all kinds, I guess.

Also, over seven percent of Americans have no word to describe the concept of ogling. How do they make it through the day?

Greetings from Frankfurt airport! I have nothing special to say, but it just feels especially modern and sophisticated to be able to sit in a European airport cafe and post to the same blog that I would from home. German was the language that I took in high school, but it appears to have completely fled my brain; when I try to talk to any of the airport staff, it comes out in French, and I don’t even speak French. Fortunately they all speak English, as nobody is surprised to hear. Unfortunately, Germany seems to be one of those benighted countries in which the default mode for cappuccino is to have cinnamon on top.

No sleep on the flight over. All of my immediate neighbors were part of a single group, who seemed new to the concept of transatlantic travel, and thought it would be fun to chat the night away rather than grabbing a precious hour or two of sleep. What kind of group was it, you may ask? Well, they were going to Athens. For the Olympics. But not to actually watch the sporting events. No, they were going to be handing out tracts to passers-by, trying to persuade them to accept Jesus as their savior. (Chick tracts? I don’t know, and feared to ask.) I alternated between reading the latest Harry Potter book (now out in paperback) and working on a paper on the Big Bang — so I don’t know if they didn’t proselytize to me because they were saving their energies for Greece, or because they had given up on me without even trying.

Okay, so I did have something to say. I’m just too exhausted to say it in any sort of nuanced way.