Monday, June 3, 2013
The Jargon of Junk Food
Our limbic brains love sugar, fat, salt.… So formulate products to deliver these. Perhaps add low cost ingredients to boost profit margins. Then “supersize” to sell more.… And advertise/promote to lock in “heavy users.” —Bob Drane, former vice president for new business strategy and development at Oscar Mayer, quoted in Salt Sugar Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us (Random House, 2013)
Most of us love food—many of us love food a little too much. Hence the dangerous rates of morbid obesity in the United States and elsewhere, an epidemic known as globesity. Those extra pounds generally come from the overconsumption of soft drinks, snack foods, and fast foods. The massive popularity of these so-called junk foods (a phrase that was added to the language menu in 1973) is a testament to the food industry’s talent for creating feel-good food.
Our diets may be richer for it, but so too is the English language, which now boasts many tasty new words and phrases cooked up by food industry scientists and technologists. (I’m indebted to New York Times reporter Michael Moss, particularly for his fascinating new book Salt Sugar Fat, for many of these terms.)
Food companies don’t want their customers to be obese, of course, but what they are dedicated to is increasing stomach share, or the market share within a food category. They’re certainly happy to use marketing techniques to do this, particularly up-and-down-the-street marketing where they get their product prominently displayed in every mom-and-pop shop and convenience store on a street. But processed-food companies increasingly turn to their legions of scientists to produce foods that we can’t resist. These food geeks tweak their products by varying the levels of the three so-called pillar ingredients—salt, sugar, and fat.
Why not just crank these ingredients up to 11 if we crave them so much? It turns out that although we generally do like more of them, when you go past a certain amount, we like the result less. That optimum amount of salt, sugar, or fat is called the bliss point. Scientists also adjust these ingredients as well as factors such as crunchiness to produce a mouthfeel—that is, the way the food feels inside a person’s mouth—that causes consumers to crave more. Technologists can also induce a flavor burst by altering the size and shape of the salt crystals themselves so that they basically assault the taste buds into submission.
The holy grail of junk-food science is vanishing caloric density, where the food melts in your mouth so quickly that the brain is fooled into thinking it’s hardly consuming any calories at all, so it just keeps snacking. In the process, packaged-food scientists want to avoid triggering sensory-specific satiety, the brain mechanism that tells you to stop eating when it has become overwhelmed by big, bold flavors. Instead, the real goals are either passive overeating, which is the excessive eating of foods that are high in fat because the human body is slow to recognize the caloric content of rich foods, or auto-eating: that is, eating without thinking or without even being hungry. (The opposite problem is being overhungry, where you’re so ravenous that you’ll basically eat anything that’s put in front of you.) Either way, if you end up with a food baby, a distended stomach caused by excessive overeating, you’ve made a fast-food executive somewhere very happy.
Most of us love food—many of us love food a little too much. Hence the dangerous rates of morbid obesity in the United States and elsewhere, an epidemic known as globesity. Those extra pounds generally come from the overconsumption of soft drinks, snack foods, and fast foods. The massive popularity of these so-called junk foods (a phrase that was added to the language menu in 1973) is a testament to the food industry’s talent for creating feel-good food.Our diets may be richer for it, but so too is the English language, which now boasts many tasty new words and phrases cooked up by food industry scientists and technologists. (I’m indebted to New York Times reporter Michael Moss, particularly for his fascinating new book Salt Sugar Fat, for many of these terms.)
Food companies don’t want their customers to be obese, of course, but what they are dedicated to is increasing stomach share, or the market share within a food category. They’re certainly happy to use marketing techniques to do this, particularly up-and-down-the-street marketing where they get their product prominently displayed in every mom-and-pop shop and convenience store on a street. But processed-food companies increasingly turn to their legions of scientists to produce foods that we can’t resist. These food geeks tweak their products by varying the levels of the three so-called pillar ingredients—salt, sugar, and fat.
Why not just crank these ingredients up to 11 if we crave them so much? It turns out that although we generally do like more of them, when you go past a certain amount, we like the result less. That optimum amount of salt, sugar, or fat is called the bliss point. Scientists also adjust these ingredients as well as factors such as crunchiness to produce a mouthfeel—that is, the way the food feels inside a person’s mouth—that causes consumers to crave more. Technologists can also induce a flavor burst by altering the size and shape of the salt crystals themselves so that they basically assault the taste buds into submission.
The holy grail of junk-food science is vanishing caloric density, where the food melts in your mouth so quickly that the brain is fooled into thinking it’s hardly consuming any calories at all, so it just keeps snacking. In the process, packaged-food scientists want to avoid triggering sensory-specific satiety, the brain mechanism that tells you to stop eating when it has become overwhelmed by big, bold flavors. Instead, the real goals are either passive overeating, which is the excessive eating of foods that are high in fat because the human body is slow to recognize the caloric content of rich foods, or auto-eating: that is, eating without thinking or without even being hungry. (The opposite problem is being overhungry, where you’re so ravenous that you’ll basically eat anything that’s put in front of you.) Either way, if you end up with a food baby, a distended stomach caused by excessive overeating, you’ve made a fast-food executive somewhere very happy.
by Paul McFedries, IEEE Spectrum, Read more:
Illustration by Greg Mably
The Right to Evade Regulation
Every time you fill a prescription at a drug store like Walgreens, the pharmacy keeps a record of the transaction, noting information such as your name, the drug, the dosage, and the issuing doctor. It’s a routine bit of bookkeeping, and for a long time it raised few eyebrows. Then a firm called IMS Health starting buying up the data. Mining pharmacy records, the company assembled profiles of hundreds of thousands of American doctors and millions of individual patients, with names and other identifying details encrypted. IMS Health turned around and sold access to those files to pharmaceutical companies, making it easier for the firms to target (and reward) the physicians most likely to prescribe expensive, brand-name drugs.
Eventually, doctors and state officials caught on to what IMS Health was doing. Where the company saw a business opportunity, they saw a strategy that violated patient privacy and could increase health care costs. Three states—New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont—decided in 2006 and 2007 to ban pharmacies from selling prescription records for commercial purposes. By late 2010, 26 other states were considering similar measures.
Had the issue remained subject to a normal democratic process, it would have continued to play out that way—through a gradual, state-by-state debate about whether so-called “prescription confidentiality” laws make for good policy. But IMS Health did not want that kind of fight. Instead, it filed separate suits against the three states that had first cracked down on its business, invoking the First Amendment. The selling of prescription records, the company asserted, is a form of free speech.
For most of U.S. history, such a claim would have been a dead letter in court. But when it comes to the First Amendment, we live in interesting times. In June 2011, the Supreme Court struck down the new data-protection laws, arguing that they discriminated against IMS Health. “The State,” wrote Justice Anthony Kennedy for the majority, “has burdened a form of protected expression. ... This the State cannot do.”
It was Kennedy, of course, who authored Citizens United, which established that independent political spending by corporations is shielded by the Bill of Rights as well. The IMS Health case, which drew much less attention, shows just how pervasive such free speech arguments have become. Once the patron saint of protesters and the disenfranchised, the First Amendment has become the darling of economic libertarians and corporate lawyers who have recognized its power to immunize private enterprise from legal restraint. It is tempting to call it the new nuclear option for undermining regulation, except that its deployment is shockingly routine.
Last summer, the tobacco industry used the First Amendment to have new, scarier health warnings on cigarette packaging thrown out on the grounds that the labels constituted a form of compelled speech. Ratings agencies like Standard and Poor’s and Fitch, whose erroneous and possibly fraudulent AAA ratings of worthless securities helped cause the banking crisis, have leaned heavily on a defense that deems their ratings mere opinions and therefore protected by the First Amendment. The U.S. Chamber of Commerce is pushing to gut the disclosure requirements in new securities regulations, citing the free speech rights of hedge funds and publicly traded companies. Attorneys working for Google have argued that, since search results are speech, its rights are impinged by the enforcement of tort and antitrust laws. Southwest and Spirit airlines have employed the First Amendment to resist efforts to force them to list the full price of tickets. The incomplete, misleading cost, they have argued, is a form of free speech, too.
Fred Schauer of the University of Virginia calls such claims “First Amendment opportunism.” Free speech is a cherished American ideal; companies are exploiting that esteem, as he puts it, “to try to accomplish goals that are not so clearly related to speech.” The co-opting of the First Amendment has happened slowly, but not at all by accident. First, it was helped along by questionable court decisions. Today, it is being accelerated by a strange alliance between two groups: a new generation of conservative judges, who have repudiated the judicial restraint their forebears prized, and legendary liberal lawyers, like Floyd Abrams and Laurence Tribe, who, after building their reputations as defenders of free speech, are using their talents to deploy it as a tool of corporate deregulation.
Eventually, doctors and state officials caught on to what IMS Health was doing. Where the company saw a business opportunity, they saw a strategy that violated patient privacy and could increase health care costs. Three states—New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont—decided in 2006 and 2007 to ban pharmacies from selling prescription records for commercial purposes. By late 2010, 26 other states were considering similar measures.Had the issue remained subject to a normal democratic process, it would have continued to play out that way—through a gradual, state-by-state debate about whether so-called “prescription confidentiality” laws make for good policy. But IMS Health did not want that kind of fight. Instead, it filed separate suits against the three states that had first cracked down on its business, invoking the First Amendment. The selling of prescription records, the company asserted, is a form of free speech.
For most of U.S. history, such a claim would have been a dead letter in court. But when it comes to the First Amendment, we live in interesting times. In June 2011, the Supreme Court struck down the new data-protection laws, arguing that they discriminated against IMS Health. “The State,” wrote Justice Anthony Kennedy for the majority, “has burdened a form of protected expression. ... This the State cannot do.”
It was Kennedy, of course, who authored Citizens United, which established that independent political spending by corporations is shielded by the Bill of Rights as well. The IMS Health case, which drew much less attention, shows just how pervasive such free speech arguments have become. Once the patron saint of protesters and the disenfranchised, the First Amendment has become the darling of economic libertarians and corporate lawyers who have recognized its power to immunize private enterprise from legal restraint. It is tempting to call it the new nuclear option for undermining regulation, except that its deployment is shockingly routine.
Last summer, the tobacco industry used the First Amendment to have new, scarier health warnings on cigarette packaging thrown out on the grounds that the labels constituted a form of compelled speech. Ratings agencies like Standard and Poor’s and Fitch, whose erroneous and possibly fraudulent AAA ratings of worthless securities helped cause the banking crisis, have leaned heavily on a defense that deems their ratings mere opinions and therefore protected by the First Amendment. The U.S. Chamber of Commerce is pushing to gut the disclosure requirements in new securities regulations, citing the free speech rights of hedge funds and publicly traded companies. Attorneys working for Google have argued that, since search results are speech, its rights are impinged by the enforcement of tort and antitrust laws. Southwest and Spirit airlines have employed the First Amendment to resist efforts to force them to list the full price of tickets. The incomplete, misleading cost, they have argued, is a form of free speech, too.
Fred Schauer of the University of Virginia calls such claims “First Amendment opportunism.” Free speech is a cherished American ideal; companies are exploiting that esteem, as he puts it, “to try to accomplish goals that are not so clearly related to speech.” The co-opting of the First Amendment has happened slowly, but not at all by accident. First, it was helped along by questionable court decisions. Today, it is being accelerated by a strange alliance between two groups: a new generation of conservative judges, who have repudiated the judicial restraint their forebears prized, and legendary liberal lawyers, like Floyd Abrams and Laurence Tribe, who, after building their reputations as defenders of free speech, are using their talents to deploy it as a tool of corporate deregulation.
by Tim Wu, TNR | Read more:
Inscription of the First Amendment (December 15, 1791) in front ofIndependence Hall in Philadelphia via Wikipedia
U.S. Open Will Test the Limits at Merion
St. George’s Episcopal Church is about 150 yards from the sixth green at the Merion Golf Club, where the United States Open will begin June 13.
The bells in the 81-year-old church tower ring every 30 minutes, a harmonic, if striking, clangor that interrupts the usual hush enveloping a putting green.
Imagine Tiger Woods poised over a crucial putt on the sixth hole during the final day of the Open. If his caddie has done his homework, he will not let Woods begin his stroke at the top or the bottom of the hour.
Because no one has told St. George’s to turn off its bells.
Over at the pivotal 18th tee, it will be a little more complicated charting the ambient sound. Caddies will need a commuter train schedule and a stopwatch to time the piercing air horn of a nearby train. Federal transportation safety regulations require the high-pitched air horn to blast at certain intervals. The trains, which pass various holes, are not stopping for the championship either.
This year’s United States Open will be different from any other in the modern history of the event, and not solely because of the potential auditory distractions.
The United States Golf Association, in an endorsement of old-style golf architecture and in a bold tribute to the game’s roots, has chosen to bring its signature championship to pocket-size and hemmed-in Merion.
The fabled East Course at the club, which hosted its first national championship in 1904, has been home to more national championships than any American site. But the last time the Open was at Merion, 32 years ago, the consensus was that the off-the-course extravaganza had grown so outsize, it would be the final time the modest club would see the event. The United States Open has grown exponentially since. (...)
The Merion grounds are about half the size of a 21st-century United States Open location. The club is confined by public roads, a bordering college, a meandering railway and dozens of homes.
In scale, bringing the modern United States Open to little Merion and its serene suburban environs is like bringing the Super Bowl to a small-college football field. And in this case, the Super Bowl comes for four consecutive days.
When the first tee shots rise into the air June 13, golf fans should be ready for things they have never seen before at a United States Open — and not just caddies reading putts with an eye on their wristwatches.
When was the last time a golfer in a major championship hooked a shot just 25 yards off line and landed in somebody’s patio barbecue grill? Or a second-floor bedroom? It’s possible on Merion’s 15th hole.
About 12,000 people live in the less than two square miles of Ardmore, the orderly, uncluttered Philadelphia suburb where the Merion Golf Club was built in 1896.
When the United States Open descends here, the number of security personnel, members of the news media, officials and volunteers will equal the community’s population. They will be joined by a clamorous congregation of 190,000 spectators, who over four days will flock to an immense corporate tent city, multiple hospitality villages, a 24,000-square-foot merchandising store and acres of temporary grandstands, spectator plazas and food courts. It is a golf-themed Mardi Gras wrapped within one of the year’s biggest sporting events — all encircled by nine miles of chain-link fencing.
But Merion is also hallowed golf ground, and returning American golf to its embryonic grass roots is expected to be part of the charm. This is where Bobby Jones completed his Grand Slam in 1930; where Ben Hogan launched his historic 1-iron at the 18th hole in 1950; where Lee Trevino pulled a fake snake from his golf bag before winning his playoff with Jack Nicklaus in 1971.
The whole idea is old time meets big time.
The bells in the 81-year-old church tower ring every 30 minutes, a harmonic, if striking, clangor that interrupts the usual hush enveloping a putting green.Imagine Tiger Woods poised over a crucial putt on the sixth hole during the final day of the Open. If his caddie has done his homework, he will not let Woods begin his stroke at the top or the bottom of the hour.
Because no one has told St. George’s to turn off its bells.
Over at the pivotal 18th tee, it will be a little more complicated charting the ambient sound. Caddies will need a commuter train schedule and a stopwatch to time the piercing air horn of a nearby train. Federal transportation safety regulations require the high-pitched air horn to blast at certain intervals. The trains, which pass various holes, are not stopping for the championship either.
This year’s United States Open will be different from any other in the modern history of the event, and not solely because of the potential auditory distractions.
The United States Golf Association, in an endorsement of old-style golf architecture and in a bold tribute to the game’s roots, has chosen to bring its signature championship to pocket-size and hemmed-in Merion.
The fabled East Course at the club, which hosted its first national championship in 1904, has been home to more national championships than any American site. But the last time the Open was at Merion, 32 years ago, the consensus was that the off-the-course extravaganza had grown so outsize, it would be the final time the modest club would see the event. The United States Open has grown exponentially since. (...)
The Merion grounds are about half the size of a 21st-century United States Open location. The club is confined by public roads, a bordering college, a meandering railway and dozens of homes.
In scale, bringing the modern United States Open to little Merion and its serene suburban environs is like bringing the Super Bowl to a small-college football field. And in this case, the Super Bowl comes for four consecutive days.
When the first tee shots rise into the air June 13, golf fans should be ready for things they have never seen before at a United States Open — and not just caddies reading putts with an eye on their wristwatches.When was the last time a golfer in a major championship hooked a shot just 25 yards off line and landed in somebody’s patio barbecue grill? Or a second-floor bedroom? It’s possible on Merion’s 15th hole.
About 12,000 people live in the less than two square miles of Ardmore, the orderly, uncluttered Philadelphia suburb where the Merion Golf Club was built in 1896.
When the United States Open descends here, the number of security personnel, members of the news media, officials and volunteers will equal the community’s population. They will be joined by a clamorous congregation of 190,000 spectators, who over four days will flock to an immense corporate tent city, multiple hospitality villages, a 24,000-square-foot merchandising store and acres of temporary grandstands, spectator plazas and food courts. It is a golf-themed Mardi Gras wrapped within one of the year’s biggest sporting events — all encircled by nine miles of chain-link fencing.
But Merion is also hallowed golf ground, and returning American golf to its embryonic grass roots is expected to be part of the charm. This is where Bobby Jones completed his Grand Slam in 1930; where Ben Hogan launched his historic 1-iron at the 18th hole in 1950; where Lee Trevino pulled a fake snake from his golf bag before winning his playoff with Jack Nicklaus in 1971.
The whole idea is old time meets big time.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
A Couple of Guys
“If Not For You,” Bob Dylan and George Harrison rehearsing for the Concert For Bangladesh, Aug. 1971.
via:
Consider the Foul
About one of every six pitches is hit out of play—inert, a do-over, a mentally discarded blip as the ball shanked foul is discarded into the stands. No other sport includes this regular pileup of outcomes empty of conclusive results.Another unique element: when a foul ball reaches the seats, the game breaks the fourth wall. Only in baseball does the action penetrate the crowd so routinely. And it is no easy action: catching a foul pop-up barehanded stings, and a screaming line drive into the seats can kill you. Most people at Durham Bulls Athletic Park don’t pay much attention to the game, at their own risk.
I recently started taking more notice of foul balls, tracking them on my score sheet along with all the other subparticulars I habitually tally: balls and strikes; first-pitch strikes; total pitches thrown per inning and per pitcher, broken down by balls and strikes; total swings; and swings-and-misses. There are plenty of reasons for this extensive annotation, but mainly it keeps me tuned into the action, pitch by pitch. (...)
Foul balls require more than just extra pitches; they also make pitchers expend more mental energy. When a hitter fouls off a pitch, he disrupts the rhythm of the pitcher, who has to watch and wait out the flight of the ball into the blurry periphery, and then wait again for the umpire to give him a new one—which he has to inspect, rub up, and so on. Pitchers can be finicky about the ball itself and will sometimes reject the one they’re given. (...)
From a wider perspective, fouls can help explain a pitcher’s overall work. Steve Geltz relieved Colome and threw a nine-pitch seventh inning. There were three foul balls—a high proportion, but not for him. Among Bulls pitchers, Geltz’s foul-ball rate is the highest, 23 percent. In the roughly average four-pitch at-bat, one of his pitches will be hit foul. Geltz relies on a fastball that seems to rise as it approaches the plate, partially because he’s short and doesn’t generate much downward plane. The high fastball is one of the easiest pitches for hitters to read: it stays at eye level longer and it’s very inviting to swing at. But located correctly, up at the top of the strike zone or just above it, it’s very hard to hit solidly. (“Chocolate mousse,” a Durham Bulls hitter once called them, because “it looks so good but it’s so bad for you.”) The result is a high rate of balls fouled up in the air, straight back or into the bleachers. Although Geltz doesn’t throw anywhere near as hard as Colome does, he gets even more strikeouts, not by pitch velocity or movement but by forcing hitters to foul off those tempting, almost taunting, high fastballs until finally they just miss one—which they are likely to do eventually if Geltz hits his target. (He’s kind of like the guy sitting in the dunking machine at the fair, daring you to sink him from sixty feet away.) Foul balls are probably not a deliberate part of Geltz’s strategy, but they are nonetheless essential to his success.
by Adam Sobsey, Paris Review | Read more:
Photo by Kate Joyce.
A Streetcorner Serenade for the Public Plaza
The department brought in some potted trees and chairs, closed off a short street and voilà , what had been a problem became a boon. Since the plaza opened last summer, crime has plummeted, Mr. Di Benedetto told me, crediting the local police precinct. He heads the New Lots Avenue Triangle Merchants Association.
“People use the place all the time now, meaning the area is watched and safe,” he said. “I’ve had my pizzeria since 1971, so I can tell you, this is a renaissance.”
Cities need public spaces like plazas. For years they have mostly been planned from the top down. In New York, zoning laws have carved many of these spaces from commercial developments, which have been given bonuses to include them. Mayor Bloomberg is pushing a new proposal to rezone east Midtown, near Grand Central, that is a variation on this same old trickle-down theme.
But fresh thinking has focused on cheap, quick, temporary and D.I.Y.-style approaches to creating public space — among these, curbside “parklets” in San Francisco and a communal farm on what had been a derelict parcel in the middle of Phoenix. “Small steps, big changes,” as Janette Sadik-Khan, the New York City Department of Transportation commissioner, described the logic of plazas like that at New Lots.
And guess what? A beer garden made out of freight containers on an empty plot turns out to be a lot more popular and better for a city than a sad corporate atrium with a few cafe tables and a long list of don’ts on the wall.
As more and more educated Americans, especially younger ones, are looking to move downtown, seeking alternatives to suburbs and cars, they’re reframing the demand for public space. They want elbow room and creative sites, cooked up by the community or, like the plaza program, developed from a democratic mix of top-down and bottom-up governance.
The other day I visited Michael Bierut, whose design firm, Pentagram, has drawn the maps that accompany the new bike-share program. Pentagram’s New York office faces Madison Square Park. Mr. Bierut remembered when the plaza program started to take over the pedestrian-unfriendly territory where Broadway crosses Fifth Avenue, just next to the park. Traffic patterns improved, but he still thought the city was nuts to create plazas from concrete islands marooned between busy boulevards when there was already, right there, one of the most gorgeous parks in the city.
“Was I wrong,” he said, laughing.
The plazas outside his building are mobbed on warm days, with people even toting Shake Shack burgers out of the park to sit next to all the traffic — partly for the view (the Flatiron building one way, the Empire State Building the other) but also for the reason people gravitate to Trafalgar Square in London or the Piazza del Campo in Siena, Italy.
To be in the middle of things.
“It’s why we congregate near the kitchen at a dinner party instead of in the living room,” said Andy Wiley-Schwartz, who directs the Department of Transportation’s plaza program. “That’s where you see people coming and going to the fridge to grab a beer and watch stuff happen.”
by Michael Kimmelman, NY Times | Read more:
Photo: New York City Department of Transportation
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Sand-greens Golf
Back in the 1950s, one of the courses where my family played golf (Tianna Country Club, Walker, Minnesota) had sand greens. They were a cheaper alternative to the manicured grass used in conventional golf courses; greens fees could be substantially lower than on grass-greens courses, and courses could be constructed in communities that couldn't otherwise afford a golf course.
The sand would sometimes be moistened with vegetable or motor oil. After completing play on a hole, it was the responsibility of the golfers to drag the green in a spiral fashion from the center to the edge with a piece of carpet to restore the smoothness of the sand for the next players. I don't remember ever using a roller to flatten a path between one's ball and the cup, and suspect that is a more modern intervention.
I'm delighted to learn that sand-green golf still exists. For the golfers out there, here are links to a Sports Illustrated history of sand-greens golf, and to Pasture Golf, which "features golf courses that have the distinction of not being excessively manicured but which are fun and affordable to play. These courses are a surviving link to the original Scottish links courses, golf’s historical grassroots."
by Stan, TYWKIWDBI | Read more:
Photo: John Paul Newport/The Wall Street Journal
Net Loss
Spencer Baird had blamed the messy, voracious bluefish for decimating fish populations in New England, but he had the foresight to warn against the trawler as an even more destructive force. Like the bluefish, trawlers are incredibly wasteful predators, destroying everything in their paths. But unlike the bluefish, which create a buffet for the scavengers traveling in their wake, thereby helping to maintain the existing food web, bottom trawlers leave only rubble, making it difficult for the marine environment to recover to its natural state. Bottom trawlers destroy 4 to 16 pounds of marine life for every fish they catch. This waste, known as bycatch, can include other species of fish (including sharks), sea turtles, dolphins, octopuses, corals, and more--anything that has the misfortune to be caught in the path of a rumbling trawl.
Today's trawlers use much the same technology as in Baird's time. But the difference is twofold. First, in scale: The world's largest supertrawler, the Atlantic Dawn, debuted in 2000. It isn't just a fishing ship. It's a huge floating factory. Weighing 14,000 tons unloaded and stretching longer than 11/2 football fields, the Atlantic Dawn can store 18 million servings of frozen fish in its hold. The ship's otter trawl is supersized, at 200 feet wide and 40 feet tall: A 747 jet could fly through the metal doors. The weighted net is so heavy and powerful that it can sink to the bottom and shove aside 25-ton boulders as it chases down fish.
The second difference is the digital technology. It's been a long time since anyone could catch flatfish by hand in shallow waters, as colonists described with such heady enthusiasm. Modern industrial fishing ships are equipped with satellite technology, seabed-mapping software, sonar, radar, GPS devices, and more tools that transform the ships into highly sophisticated fish-seeking missiles.
Most trawlers aren't nearly as massive as the Atlantic Dawn. Just 1 percent of the world's fishing fleet can be called supertrawlers. But these few massive ships catch a huge portion of the world's seafood.
Meanwhile, in coastal regions and in seas like the Mediterranean, you're more likely to see boats hardly bigger than a large speedboat hauling the otter trawl's telltale steel doors. But what these ships lack in tonnage, they make up for in number. Together with the supertrawlers, they rake a seafloor area twice the size of the continental United States every year. Spencer Baird would be loath to visit New England's remaining fishing ports today. The trawler fleet there fishes an area the size of Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Hampshire, and Maine combined.
Trawlers are the flagships, so to speak, of a global fleet that has expanded exponentially since the end of World War II. The naturalist Walter Garstang reported that fishing effort had more than tripled on England's shores in the decade he studied the nascent trawling industry, and yet catches were dropping. And now we have added to the weaponry other specialist fishing gear like the purse seine, which targets fish at the top and middle of the ocean's water column. The seiners encircle schooling fish with 1,000-yard nets before dragging them into the hold. Without laws to protect marine mammals, it is purse seiners that are the most likely to drown dolphins and porpoises chasing schooling tuna.
This story has repeated itself again and again on a global scale since the early 20th century. Improved technology has allowed fishing fleets to search farther, deeper, and longer for fish. This expansion is not driven by some unspoken desire to conquer the oceans, like summiting Mount Everest or hiking Death Valley. It's because we've already laid waste to the marine wildlife that was easiest to catch. We started with the slowest and most trusting seabirds and marine mammals (sorry, Steller's sea cows!) and are now in pursuit of the most elusive fish in the world's remotest underwater places.
by Andy Sharpless and Suzannah Evans, Scientific American | Read more:
Image: Flickr / sludgegulper
Today's trawlers use much the same technology as in Baird's time. But the difference is twofold. First, in scale: The world's largest supertrawler, the Atlantic Dawn, debuted in 2000. It isn't just a fishing ship. It's a huge floating factory. Weighing 14,000 tons unloaded and stretching longer than 11/2 football fields, the Atlantic Dawn can store 18 million servings of frozen fish in its hold. The ship's otter trawl is supersized, at 200 feet wide and 40 feet tall: A 747 jet could fly through the metal doors. The weighted net is so heavy and powerful that it can sink to the bottom and shove aside 25-ton boulders as it chases down fish.The second difference is the digital technology. It's been a long time since anyone could catch flatfish by hand in shallow waters, as colonists described with such heady enthusiasm. Modern industrial fishing ships are equipped with satellite technology, seabed-mapping software, sonar, radar, GPS devices, and more tools that transform the ships into highly sophisticated fish-seeking missiles.
Most trawlers aren't nearly as massive as the Atlantic Dawn. Just 1 percent of the world's fishing fleet can be called supertrawlers. But these few massive ships catch a huge portion of the world's seafood.
Meanwhile, in coastal regions and in seas like the Mediterranean, you're more likely to see boats hardly bigger than a large speedboat hauling the otter trawl's telltale steel doors. But what these ships lack in tonnage, they make up for in number. Together with the supertrawlers, they rake a seafloor area twice the size of the continental United States every year. Spencer Baird would be loath to visit New England's remaining fishing ports today. The trawler fleet there fishes an area the size of Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Hampshire, and Maine combined.
Trawlers are the flagships, so to speak, of a global fleet that has expanded exponentially since the end of World War II. The naturalist Walter Garstang reported that fishing effort had more than tripled on England's shores in the decade he studied the nascent trawling industry, and yet catches were dropping. And now we have added to the weaponry other specialist fishing gear like the purse seine, which targets fish at the top and middle of the ocean's water column. The seiners encircle schooling fish with 1,000-yard nets before dragging them into the hold. Without laws to protect marine mammals, it is purse seiners that are the most likely to drown dolphins and porpoises chasing schooling tuna.
This story has repeated itself again and again on a global scale since the early 20th century. Improved technology has allowed fishing fleets to search farther, deeper, and longer for fish. This expansion is not driven by some unspoken desire to conquer the oceans, like summiting Mount Everest or hiking Death Valley. It's because we've already laid waste to the marine wildlife that was easiest to catch. We started with the slowest and most trusting seabirds and marine mammals (sorry, Steller's sea cows!) and are now in pursuit of the most elusive fish in the world's remotest underwater places.
by Andy Sharpless and Suzannah Evans, Scientific American | Read more:
Image: Flickr / sludgegulper
George Plimpton As Himself
[ed. I've been a fan of George Plimpton ever since reading Paper Lion as a football-playing teenager. What a keen intellect, matched with a generous dose of humility and boundless curiosity. See also: this loving tribute by his son Taylor -- My Father's Voice.]
There are as many layers in Plimpton! worth rolling one’s eyes at: George’s pedigree; his legacy; the mythology surrounding him to which a documentary would seemingly only contribute. Such eye-rolling would not be entirely misplaced: an unattributed newspaper headline displayed in the documentary reads, "Being Born To Lose Has Made George Plimpton A Winner," although someone who can trace his ancestry back to the Mayflower, who can get kicked out of Exeter in his senior year and still end up at Harvard, who goes sailing with the Kennedy’s (and maybe dated Jacqueline Onassis?) hardly seems appropriately described as "born to lose."
But looking past the man as brand, it becomes apparent that Plimpton retained through it all a sense of joy and wonder—mouth agape, Plimpton watches as Ali trounces Foreman—that deflates cynicism. Anyway it's hard to think ill of a man who watched as Robert F. Kennedy, one of his best friends, was shot and killed by Sirhan Sirhan right in front of him. (Plimpton would help tackle Sirhan and disarm him. He never spoke of the incident publicly.) Later, during a period of economic turmoil, Plimpton appeared on a number of infomercials to help keep the magazine alive. If his writer friends looked down upon his practice of participatory journalism, one can only imagine the disdain they must have felt at such debasement.
by Brendan O'Connor, The Awl | Read more:
Image: Larry Fink
The Death Instinct
McLaren and Westwood renamed their clothing shop SEX and began to sell ripped clothing, dirty t-shirts and repurposed S&M outfits. You could walk into SEX and buy all the gear that would make you look just like a member of The Sex Pistols. The “look” that McLaren saw in The New York Dolls, in Richard Hell and in Johnny Rotten was central to what became known as “punk.” Punk was a fashion before it became a subculture, a politics, a style of music. (...)
If punk is more than just fashion, it leads us to another question. What is fashion? According to Andrew Bolton and the people who put the show together at the Met, fashion is a form of freedom and self-expression. Punk was therefore important to fashion because it opened up new possibilities. Any kid could rip up some jeans and stick clothespins in a shirt and become the master of his or her destiny. Punk, so this thinking goes, made everyone into a designer and made any attire possible. The current Do-It-Yourself ethos within fashion and the culture at large is a direct result of the freedom given to us by punk. That’s the way Punk: Chaos to Couture sees it.
But fashion is only about freedom and self-expression on the surface. At its core, fashion is a kind of death drive. The number one imperative of fashion is, after all, to produce something new every season. This means killing the style of the last season. This process is relentless—some would say exhausting. The styles that are killed off are inevitably recycled down the line, only to be killed again in a cyclical process that never ends. (...)
Fashion took off as an industry around the same time that Nietzsche was thinking about nihilism. Fashion works well in a society that is unsure about its highest values because fashion has nothing to do with values. The point of fashion is to produce style. No style is inherently better than any other style. One can’t be better than another, since every style is only good for the moment. There is a democratic spirit to fashion for this reason, and a sense of freedom. But the freedom of fashion has a desperate quality. The newest style in fashion is fresh for the brief period in which it is new. Then it must be discarded.
The excitement of fashion is the constant excitement of novelty. But the flip side of this excitement is exhaustion, boredom. When Malcolm McLaren discovered Richard Hell in New York City in the 1970s, he loved Hell’s broken down and carefree look. One of the words McLaren used to describe Hell was “bored.” McLaren said, “He was this wonderful, bored, drained, scarred, dirty guy with a torn and ripped t-shirt.” You see that look on the faces of many classic punk rockers. They were dirty and bored. In many ways, the boredom was more unsettling than the anger. Sid Vicious could look scary when he put on a scowl and flipped you the bird. But he looked truly terrifying when he stared blankly into the camera lens, caring not at all whether he — or you — lived or died.
by Morgan Meis, The Smart Set | Read more:
Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
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