The Man-Machine Interface. That is what Michael Hart of Project Gutenberg called the course of college study he fashioned for himself in the early 1970s. Later, in the 80s, I mucked around with Professor DOS, hacked a Mac IIe, and dreamed of devices embedded into skull and relatively flat body surfaces like palm, stomach, thigh. Who needs an input device when you have yourself? What then is the meaning of interaction?

Along with my Hindu mother’s teachings on pantheism, these questions followed me into the cyberpunk-heavy 1990s when I read and re-read Neal Stephenson and William Gibson with reruns of Babylon 5 playing in the background, designed jewelry from computer components, began programming in three different object oriented languages, and danced to way too much techno at Chester Street and The Cardinal.

The earth and its outcrops offered similar seductive problems: Where do we end to let the earth begin? To answer this, I eventually went back to the interface and sat inside the data in cool, dark visualization rooms. Earth, meet computer, meet human. Virtual machine. Real machine. Sometimes I don’t see the difference.

Now, I am practically one with a desktop, laptop or smartphone and cannot imagine working without these tools to the extent that my shoulders and hands have morphed to accept them. Not good in the long run, I hear, but such is the payment for becoming what you pretend to be. Truly interactive.

We are The Borg.

Where does data end and meat begin? How much of the virtual is becoming real as we grow up with it and it becomes part of our everyday? What are we defining as interface and interaction these days? What happens to us when we eventually become non-corporeal (hey, if we’re not headed in that direction as a species, I want my money back)?

It appears we’re all thinking this at the same time. No. We have been thinking this all along. Same chewtoy, different day.

Charlie Stross: The Internet Is Made Out Of Meat (and here I thought the internet was invented so we could “fax” pizzas to one another – extra pepperoni on mine, please)

Boing Boing: They’re Made Out Of Data (warning: Tron 2 references and possible spoilers; also, use of the word “cloud”)

And the grand poobah of meat Terry Bisson: They’re Made Out Of Meat

* meatdata. Get it, get it? Never mind.

Full disclosure: Oxford University Press gave me a copy of the book for review purposes. No other form of compensation was received.

A sculptor once said to me, “Science is a discipline followed with passion. Art is a passion followed with discipline.” In The Planet In A Pebble: A Journey Into Earth’s Deep History, Jan Zalasiewicz describes well how geology and its pursuit is simultaneously both discipline and passion. From the origin of its parts in the Big Bang and earth’s own cataclysmic birth to its subterranean assembly, from its exhumation in a plate tectonic act to ultimate disintegration many millions of years from now, the book follows the life of a pebble of Welsh slate. Along this arduous journey with the pebble, the reader is introduced to the fundamentals of geology as well as the tools and practices of the trade.

A pebble of Welsh slate. One will never consider such a rock sample drab, lowly or boring again on learning its contents and history, which is the makeup and story of the earth itself. The book begins with the creation of our solar system and immediately relates geology to the first principles of science – that an implicit understanding of these is required, that geology is not an “ism” in isolation but a synthesis of fundamental sciences in the study of this ball of physics, chemistry and biology on which we live. Pebble also directly imparts an understanding of and respect for time, that key geological ingredient.

Landscapes are transient. This is a concept that does not come easily to us. In our brief lifetimes we see the Earth’s landmasses as things of massive permanence, the bedrock of passing civilizations. And yet even in these human lifetimes we can see masses of rock debris piled up beneath mountain crags – and, as we walk nearby, hear the fall of new scree fragments, dislodged from rock faces by wind and water … Multiply such changes by the vastness of geological time, and there is plenty of time to change the face of a continent.

Zalasiewicz appears to be a paleontologist and geochronologist primarily, obvious from the tender explanations of the biochemistry of deep sea life, fossil preservation and rock dating techniques. One cannot get over clever phrases like  “cathedral-like vaults” when describing clay mineral formation at a molecular level, “atomic wallflowers” in the U-Pb dating of detrital zircons, and the “baroque complexity” of well-preserved graptolites. The only complaint I have about the book, then, is that while it jumps with the ease and intellectual curiosity between concepts required of such an investigation, it does not spend equal amounts of time on those concepts. Case in point: The word “graptolite” shows up approximately 60 times in the book, while “lithosphere” and “palaeomagnetism” appear not even once. Zalasiewicz loves fossils, we get it.

The book has its excessively-detailed Tolkien moments, but it is that same passion and dedication which propelled me through Pebble and its beautiful take on a deeply-buried mudstone’s oil window – “not only did that pebble yield up its own few drops of oil, but it also allowed through it many more such droplets that travelled up from the strata below, on their way towards the surface.” And following that the transformation of that mudstone into the metamorphic rock slate, in a majestic act of mountain-building known as the Caledonian/Acadian orogeny.

No scientist should be without a sense of humility and humor. In his generous use of terms like “reasonable,” “estimate,” “conundrum” and “working model,” Zalasiewicz sends the message clearly that geological analysis is a forensic science – an investigation using all currently-available tools and theories – and the only thing we know is that there is a lot more to know.

Out there, somewhere, will be the Rosetta Stone of the chitinozoans … waiting to be released. Someone will find it, and realize what it is … Then, there will be brief fanfare among palaeontologists, and celebrations and the concoction of a purple-prosed press release. And the next day, palaeontologists (one or two with slight hangovers) will get back to work, for there is much more work to do out there, and many more mysteries to be solved.

Admittedly, it is hard to review an earth science book without an eye to science education and literacy. Given that an introductory geology class is the only science class many students take at the university level, I offer that this book with more illustrations (and scale bars on existing illustrations) would serve as an excellent textbook, thanks in large part to its readability, with more formal classroom learning following along with its chapters. I can guarantee that many a budding geologist will emerge from its pages, the amazing tale of this pebble, lowly no more.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar.

— The Dark, Blue Sea by Lord George Gordon Byron.

I’m gonna need my own zip code.
Because I’m fat, I’m fat, sha mone.
— Fat by Weird Al Yankovic

Two nicely-written opinions on America’s love-hate relationship with body fat. Despite the crazy amount of travel and delicious baked goods on my schedule this time of year, I’ve managed to fend off the Christmas 10. It’s not heroic self-discipline on my part (natch) but my stomach now rejecting any food and drink beyond a certain limit. Hooray for glucocorticoids.

Madison.com | Wisconsinites May Be Fat And Drunk, But At Least We’re Honest About It

If you call somebody on the phone in Connecticut, Massachusetts or Vermont and ask how much they weigh, meanwhile, they will say, “Practically nothing. I look pretty good, quite svelte, actually.” Your average Wisconsinite, in the meantime, will say, “I weigh roughly the same as a horse. I am so fat I can barely waddle to the bar ” although I do make it there somehow.”

This sort of honesty and good humor, I believe, is what gives us such excellent mental health in comparison to other skinnier and supposedly more sober places. And, the fact is, there are only six states with better mental health than we have, based upon the number of days we tell interviewers we limit our activities for mental reasons. In other words, we Wisconsinites function well on a day-to-day basis ” so long as there’s beer or donuts nearby.

Reason | Obama’s Obesity War

Yes, parents have the right to decide what their children eat”but let’s not pretend that many of them don’t make woefully bad decisions. One-third of American children and teenagers are overweight while nearly 20 percent are obese”a shocking rise since 1980, when the childhood obesity rate was barely above 5 percent. One need only look around to confirm these statistics. The consequences already include a spike in early-onset diabetes and high cholesterol. Things will get worse when fat children become fat adults.

… the cult of thinness poses its own health risks, including dangerous diets and eating disorders. It is equally true that no one, adult or child, should be treated cruelly because of body weight. But the answer is not to go to the other extreme and normalize, if not glamorize, obesity or the lifestyle choices that create it. Conservatives have often argued that, in order for a free society to flourish, individual freedom must be coupled with self-restraint. Perhaps some appreciation of this old-fashioned virtue is just what’s needed in the debate over food and fat.

Sainted Mother Of JoePa. This is all some overpaid graphic design group can come up with as the Big Ten’s much-awaited new logo?

You have got to be kidding me.

SBNation Cleveland’s Martin Rickman: “It’s good to see that they went out and grabbed a branding firm worse than the one that did that atrocity of a GAP logo earlier this year. The Big Ten refuses to be outdone. Should we hire Jim Tressel’s six-year-old nephew to draw something up?”

And the dropping of the other stinky cleat: the new Big Ten Twelve Ten’s division names are … wait for it … Legends and Leaders. The shock of 6000+ Chicago Tribune readers is nicely encapsulated in the results of this poll.

Didn’t the internet get GAP to reject its cheesy new logo in one week’s time? The Big Ten and its money deserve better than Jim Delaney and this.