A Short Treatise on Thermodynamics

I wrote this little paper for the biology class that I took over the summer as a pre-requisite for my upcoming masters' program. Dan suggested that I post it on my blog. Why not?

The first two laws of thermodynamics address the constant amount of energy available in the universe, or, otherwise stated, the amount of energy in a closed system. The First law of thermodynamics states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, or that the amount of energy in a closed system is constant, even if you change energy from one form to another. To test this law, set up a track on a ramp with a motion sensor at the top and place a cart with a velocity meter at the top of the ramp. The cart will bounce up and down along the track, decreasing in its “bounce height” each time. The velocity will decrease with each bounce, and the specialized motion sensor at the top of the ramp track will detect an increase in vibrations in the track, measuring the potential energy. At the end of the experiment when the cart has come to a complete stop, you can calculate that, even though kinetic energy was lost, potential energy was increased, and the amount of energy in this closed system was therefore conserved.

Scientists have had inklings of this law from the times of the ancient Greeks, but it was Julius Robert von Mayer of Germany who concerned himself with it enough to publish a paper on it in 1841. Growing up in a town that depended on water power, he endeavored to build a water wheel that incorporated an Archimedean screw to pump the water back up to the top of the wheel, negating the necessity of the river as a source of power…or so he thought. He discovered that, no matter what he did, running the water wheel always relied on an input of power. He concluded that no work can be done for free. With a strong backbone from the Antoine Lavoiser’s 1775 Law of Conservation of Mass (matter can neither be created nor destroyed) and to test what happened to the lost mechanical energy, Mayer devised a series of experiments where pistons were mechanically raised by gasses that had been activated by fixed levels of heat. He calculated that chemical energy was converted to mechanical energy, and that the work gave off a measurable, definite quantity of heat. Despite the loss of mechanical and chemical energy, heat was released, conserving the total amount of energy in the closed system. He termed his conclusions the Law of Conservation of Energy, stating that energy can neither be created nor destroyed.

A natural progression of the first law, the second law of thermodynamics is concerned with what happens to energy every time it is converted from one form to another (e.g. matter to chemical, mechanical to heat). Energy flows from higher, more organized states to less organized states; in other words, every time energy is converted, some will be lost in the form of heat. Since heat cannot be converted to any other form of energy, everything will eventually disassemble into heat through a process called “entropy.” Scientists from Lord Kelvin to Albert Einstein have worked with the implications of this law, and a good example of it is that no energy transfer system is 100% efficient and always results in the release of heat. Cars lose energy in heat, as do all living things.

Valentine's Day

Dan and I had the strangest experience the other day.

For Valentine's Day, we have a tradition of going to the Bombay Club Indian restaurant for their Valentine's Day extravaganza where they do a once-a-year gala and pull out all the stops -- a tremendously indulgent experience that we look forward to every year. Last year, we enjoyed their new digs in the South End, even if we missed the romantic location in Harvard Square.

Having made reservations on Open Table a couple of weeks prior (a necessity given the high demand of this event), Dan and I got a little primmed up and hopped on the Orange line to the Back Bay T stop where we would then walk the mile out to their South End location on Washington Street. The South End carries its own romance and made a lovely pallet for a pre-dinner stroll. Thanks, The Gays!

We rounded the corner of Washington Street, pausing to admire the display and bustle of Foodies Market, and arrived at the Bombay Club. Except that the windows were dark. Really dark. And then we noticed the imposing "FOR SALE" signs all over the windows. "Is this the right address?" "This is where it was, right?" "Well, yeah...It still says 'Bombay Club' above the door." After inspecting all the posters on the off chance that there was a helpful "WE'VE MOVED!" sign -- of which there were none -- we made an about face and walked back to the train station.

A local chocolaterie on Dartmouth Street let us in and sold us delicious chocolate truffles of lavender, homemade marzipan, and sesame caramel while we parleyed with its proprietor about the strange experience. "We got a reservation confirmation and everything. It just seems a little odd," I puzzled. The proprietor, a bubbly and nurturing woman with curly hair and a flair for life, copuzzled, "Isn't that strange?! Just the other day, I was talking with a girl who tended bar there when it was still the Pho Pasteur. Just this past Sunday, she said she thought the Bombay Club might close. Something about trouble with the lease. Wow. That was fast! That's how it is with restaurants; they can close just like that! Here one day, gone the next." One of her friends in the tiny room chimed, "They closed their stand in Faneuil Hall, too." Noooooooooo!!!

In the end, Dan and I went back to JP after our romantic stroll and tasty chocolates in the South End. We were greeted with a warm reception at the Ghazal, where we grab Indian food every other week or so. They know us there, and they were pleased to see us. Similarly, it did us good to see our favorite neighborhood Indian spot doing such brisk business. We had a lovely meal and we made attempts to order things that we don't ordinarily get so it would still feel special.

It wasn't the same, but nothing stays forever. We'd been going to the Bombay Club for special occasions for years and it had become a staple in the corner of many important memories. Valentine's Day was the typical cause, but we also went there the evening that Dan proposed to me. Further, it is the first Indian restaurant where Dan had eaten -- and only at the behest of an Indian friend of his, who has since passed away. The idea that a vessel of our traditions was so fragile and broken swiftly was cause of great disorientation and sadness. We're happy that we have the Ghazal, our favorite neighborhood Indian restaurant, but we will sadly miss the Bombay Club, its wonderful staff, food, and memories.

Christmas 2010

Christmas this year was a whirlwind as usual, but it carried the blessings of tradition and ritual to buffer to the blow of what could otherwise be crazy. The last few years, Dan and I have had Christmas Eve with my mother's family, Christmas morning with his mother's family, Christmas night with my father's family, and the day after Christmas with Dan's father's family. It sounds a little crazy, none of the driving distances are too great. Furthermore, as previously mentioned, there is something to be said for knowing what to expect, for knowing how the day generally goes. We know when to get there, when we should leave to get to the next destination, and what generally used to be pretty stressful became lovely. I was exhausted by the end of it, but I had a lovely time.

Christmas felt extra-special this year for some reason. Perhaps it's because I'm getting older and I can appreciate everything my parents did for me as a child in a whole new light. Perhaps it's because Dan and I kicked things up a notch this year with the Boston Holiday Pops. Perhaps it's because my mother is doing amazingly well and it's a blessing in and of itself how she came alive again to decorate her whole house for Christmas. Perhaps it's because my talent for making peanut butter balls and needhams has matured to a real skill that brings smiles to my friends' and families' faces. Perhaps it's because there is a new baby in the family: my cousin's wonderful new son. Perhaps it's because there was snow on the ground, and nothing can replace a true New England white Christmas. Perhaps it's because I am really happy. Whatever the reason, this year felt special.

Due to a Blizzard (and yes, the capital "b" is purposeful), Dan and I were compelled to drive home a day early. We managed to get all the way to the Mass-NH border before hitting any real snow, and I was able to keep up a pace of 80 mph until somewhere close to the 495 split. At that point, however, we quickly reduced to 40mph, and shortly thereafter, it was 20 mph all the way home. I was truly impressed with the fortitude Boston drivers showed as everybody on the road managed to drive safely. I bore witness to no accidents or sliding cars, unlike previous times driving in poor conditions. Truth be told, this was not the worst weather I've ever driven in -- I didn't even slide around when changing lanes! However, I know that had we delayed our departure a mere 20 minutes, for example, it would have been a different story.

It was just as well that we came home last night. Let's face it, folks, I am not a spring chicken anymore, and extended visits with friends and family, as wonderful as they always are, completely exhaust me and I generally need a day off to stare at the wall and play with my new toys before re-entering the workforce. The drive and the exhaustion didn't put a damper on my sheer bliss about all the snow, though! As soon as Dan and I managed to find a store/restaurant that wasn't closed so we could get something to eat, I put on an extra layer and tromped around in the snow along the bike path next to our apartment. I couldn't help myself but to make a snow-angel.

Today, my plans are to put our new sheets on the bed, play with my new Kindle, and go snow-shoeing along the pike path. There's no place like home.

Are you eating your veggies?

Told to Eat Its Vegetables, America Orders Fries

Courtesy of the New York Times, this quick little article looks at why even America's health care professionals aren't eating their veggies. We're issued the tall order of eating 4 and a half cups (considered 9 servings) of fruits and vegetables a day, I'm not sure that even my veggie-lovin' self eats that much.

On that note, I'm sure that you all won't be surprised to hear that I'm considering a Master in Public Health with a focus on Nutrition and/or Epidemiology. Considering how many posts I make about food and health, I am shocked that I didn't think of this sooner. No time like the present!

Alarmist-Titled Article with Good Information Nonetheless

Courtesy of WebMD
6 Best Foods You're Not Eating

Home Improvement

Dan and I are not big home improvement people. Sure, we like to get things settled, and we're not made out of money, so that has taken the form of us doing things ourselves. It's not hard; it's just time-consuming and exhausting. We tend to stay away from exhausting, time-consuming things that aren't inherently pleasurable. That having been said, we have a mouse problem. After multiple attempts with traps and exterminators (during the course of which we have managed to catch a mere one unfortunate baby mousy, of all things), we decided it was time to seal off all the nooks and crannies where it* could possibly get in. In an old unit in an old building, that generally means everywhere.

The darned mousy is getting bold as brass. It practically came out to visit with us while we were working the kitchen last night, and I'm pretty sure I saw the little bastard light up a cigarette. This is a no-smoking apartment, Mr. Mouse! We just need to make it clear that it's not welcome. And from the mouse's perspective, all those nooks and crannies practically made it look like a home especially made just for it.

Therefore, we are in the midst of undergoing a mass effort to seal off every cranny larger than one-eight of an inch through the use of silicone caulking, joint compound, and the sticky foaming filler known to me as Great "I-hate-that-stuff" Stuff. From little gaps in the trim to plaster that's falling down in the ceiling of the linen closet, this place has not been impervious to mice. We even pulled out the stove and sealed the holes and gaps around the pipes. We're treating this with the utmost obsessive-compulsiveness. There are lots of places that we're certain are not actual conduits for our mousy right now, but as we seal off the other obvious entrances (read: entrances with mouse poops around them) we realize that a mouse could very easily relocate and find a new way out. Hence the humongous effort.

It seemed like a good idea to use this as an opportunity to repaint the kitchen, too! "Why?" You ask. Well, we're in home improvement mode anyway. We're not the kind of people who do a little of this and a little of that to hammer away at a project when we get home from work every night. So while we're suffering through the fumes and the inconvenience of having moved everything around, so we may as well take advantage of it and repaint the kitchen now. Lord knows we wouldn't otherwise have gotten to it until at least February.

In the end, we'll probably still find the occasional mouse poop. But we're hoping this sends a clear message that it's not mouse friendly unit after all. This a pretty smart mouse, so we hope it gets the message.

* Where there is one mouse, there are many mice. I know this. But I can't bring myself to say the plural form. I can live with the idea that there is one mouse. Mice implies infestation. And I can't live with that. So I say mouse. At any point in this narrative where it seems like I may be fooling myself and that there might really be lots of mice, please humor me and forgive me for using the singular form for the sake of maintaining my sanity. Your narrator has a flawed perspective.

Courtesy of the New York Times...a fun article about having less and enjoying life more.

But Will It Make You Happy?

She had so much.

A two-bedroom apartment. Two cars. Enough wedding china to serve two dozen people.

Yet Tammy Strobel wasn’t happy. Working as a project manager with an investment management firm in Davis, Calif., and making about $40,000 a year, she was, as she put it, caught in the “work-spend treadmill.”

So one day she stepped off.

Inspired by books and blog entries about living simply, Ms. Strobel and her husband, Logan Smith, both 31, began donating some of their belongings to charity. As the months passed, out went stacks of sweaters, shoes, books, pots and pans, even the television after a trial separation during which it was relegated to a closet. Eventually, they got rid of their cars, too. Emboldened by a Web site that challenges consumers to live with just 100 personal items, Ms. Strobel winnowed down her wardrobe and toiletries to precisely that number.

Her mother called her crazy.

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