trying to stay current

Revising a well-received textbook offers challenges I had not expected as a co-author. For one, our Editor explained that we should not dramatically change the book because this is to be a 2nd edition, not a new book. Certainly, we don't want to be those kinds of authors who simply put a new cover on a rapidly aging manuscript. While I had hoped revising would allow us to bring some material up to date, this is turning into a mixed bag.

Early on, I had imagined we would omit the occasional blurbs about the old National Standards and replace those with the new ones. That would certainly have been a timely move -- except that to make this text ready for fall adoptions, it must be well into production long before the new national material is released. A much better sequence would have allowed us to drop the new stuff in and put us ahead of all our competitors which would have been an impressive accomplishment for students and professors this fall. Alas, the exact opposite will occur. Ours will be the last science methods text to ever be published under the old regime and the furthest from current as can be imagined.

Fortuitously, there are unexpected gems that arrive at just the right moment. For example, a recent article in Science News indicated some tiny adjustments in atomic weights as well as the formal naming of the latest element: Copernicium. How glorious it is to show the tentativeness of science via this example. I especially like this because the Periodic Tables in chemistry classrooms always seem so permanent — and these stories shows the plasticity of scientific knowledge. And a physics example of tentativeness just came to my attention this morning. Turns out there is now a 13th sign in the zodiac that has been named Ophiuchus. Coincidentally (perhaps) my co-author just forwarded to me the revised commentary to be embedded in the Nature of Science chapter. Juxtaposing his fine contribution with this new constellation framework could only be better if I could show how this contributor's sign changed with the new arrangements. At best, I'll have to editorialize by commenting how the tentativeness of science has even forced me to change from a Cancer to a Gemini. This nicely suits my fascination with the 1960s space program. So while we'll miss the boat with the new national science frameworks, we'll still be able to incorporate enough contemporary science tidbits to show how up-to-date the second edition is even in something as "unchanging" as astronomy.

desire to press top left button on keyboard

Driving home from campus this afternoon, I was finally able to get around a slow van when the road expanded to two lanes on my side. I pulled alongside mister law-abiding, right-at-the-speed-limit. His was a contractor's vehicle with a phone number on the back, metal racks on the roof … and this interesting symbol on the side.

I knew it was Greek but I wasn't sure which letter. Theta? No, that has a horizontal bar. Iota? No, that sounded too small which probably wouldn't be blue collar enough. Then I wondered if the electrician was playing some clever game. I know it's pretty rural where we live and I'd almost expect sly intellectual references if I was in Cambridge (notwithstanding being within a horseback ride to the best public university in New England). So I puzzled and puzzled. How do you pronounce phi?

The owner also had his last name on the side. In fact McPhee turns out to kind of a big deal within the electricity industry. Plus, their offices are far from Storrs. Phi was the mystery symbol and some purists argue it is pronounced as a long e sound. To rhyme with McPhee. Wikipedia informs me that this letter represents electrical potential which is an amazing advertising gimmick. I was very impressed and somewhat envious about the confluence of names and professions and symbols.

And I was about to end this entry when I followed a couple links and found that phi also is used to represent fugacity…

Fugacity reflects the tendency of a substance to prefer one phase (liquid, solid, or gas) over another, and can be literally defined as “the tendency to flee or escape.”

The fugacity coefficient is useful as a measure of the escaping tendency of a substance from a heterogeneous system.

fugacious |fyoōˈgā sh əs|
adjective (esp. poetic/literary)
tending to disappear; fleeting : she was acutely conscious of her fugacious youth.

Last random thought. A friend from Cleveland once told me of a sailing competition among various modest sailing clubs. All the competitors taught sailing during the summer and presumably were ski bums or college students in cooler weather. One team claimed they were descendants of an Indian tribe: the Fugawee. It sounded odd but its significance became clear as they shouted to other boats at each turn "We're the Fugawee?!" I can attest that when scented with beer, the voice that shouts that line sounds as if there is some uncertainty about one's location.

Turns out if you want footwear authentic to Paul Revere's time, you could obtain them from the Fugawee corporation. Further, there is a type of soil classified as Fugawee

Fugawee soils are on gently sloping plateaus and moderately steep mountains. Elevations are 6,000 to 8,000 feet. Slopes are 2 to 50 percent, but are mainly less than 30 percent. Fugawee soils formed in material weathered from basic volcanic flows, breccias and agglomerates. The average annual precipitation ranges from 35 to 60 inches. Mean annual temperature ranges from 37 degrees to 44 degrees F., mean January temperature is 24 degrees F. and mean July temperature is 59 degrees F. The average frost-free season is 30 to 80 days.

Time to flee and disappear. Fugaciously escaping.