The Chronicles of the Chronicle Flask: 2017

We’ve made it! Not only to 2018 (which was starting to look doubtful earlier in the year), but also to the Chronicle Flask’s 100th post. Which doesn’t seem that many, really, but since posts on here frequently run to 1500 words, that adds up to a rather more impressive-sounding 150,000 words or so. I mean, that’s like… half a Brandon Sanderson novel. Oh.

Anyway, it’s time for a yearly round-up. Here goes!

Last January I began with a post about acrylamide. We’d all been enjoying lots of lovely crispy food over Christmas; it was time to tell us about the terrible dangers of such reckless indulgence. The newspapers were covered with pictures of delicious-looking chips, toast and roast potatoes alongside scary headlines such as:  “Crunchy toast could give you cancer, FSA warns”. The truth was not quite so dramatic. Acrylamide does form when foods are cooked to crispiness, and it is potentially harmful, but the quantities which form in food are tiny, and very unlikely to cause you any serious harm unless you literally live on nothing but burnt toast. The FSA (Food Standards Agency) hadn’t significantly revised their guidelines, it turned out, but were in fact only suggesting that the food industry should be mindful of acrylamide levels in food and seek to reduce them as much as possible. That wouldn’t have made for quite such a good “your food is going to killllll you!” story though, I suppose.

In February the spikey topic of vaccination came up. Again. Vaccines are awesome. They protect us from deadly diseases. No, I don’t want to hear any nonsense about “Big Pharma“, and I definitely don’t want to hear how “natural immunity” is better. It’s not. At best, it might provide a similar level of protection (but not in every case), but it comes with having to suffer through a horrible, dangerous disease, whereas vaccination doesn’t. It ought to be a no-brainer. Just vaccinate your kids. And yourself.

It was Red Nose Day in the UK in March, which brought some chemistry jokes. Turns out all the best ones aren’t gone, after all. Did you hear about the PhD student who accidentally cooled herself to absolute zero? She’s 0K now.

April brought a post which ought to have been an April Fool’s joke, but wasn’t. Sceptics often point out that homeopathy is just sugar and water, but the trouble is, sometimes, it’s not. There’s virtually no regulation of homeopathy. As far as I’ve been able to establish, no one tests homeopathic products; no one checks the dilutions. Since a lot of the starting materials are dangerously toxic substances such as arsenic, belladona, lead and hemlock, this ought to worry people more than it does. There has been more than one accidental poisoning (perhaps most shockingly, one involving baby teething products). It really is time this stuff was banned, maybe 2018 will be the year.

In May I turned to something which was to become a bit of a theme for 2017: alkaline water. It’s not so much that it doesn’t do anything (although it really doesn’t), more the fact that someone is charging a premium for a product which you could literally make yourself for pennies. It’s only a matter of dissolving a pinch of baking soda (sodium bicarbonate) in some water.

June brought a selection of periodic tables because, well, why not? This is a chemistry blog, after all! And now we’ve finally filled up period seven they do have a rather elegant completness. 2019, by the way, has just been announced as the International Year of the Periodic Table of Chemical Elements, to coincide with IUPAC’s 100th anniversary and the 150th anniversary of Mendeelev’s discovery of periodicity (his presentation, The Dependence Between the Properties of of the Atomic Weights of the Elements, was made on 6th March 1869). Looks like 2019 will be an exciting year for chemists!

In July it was back to the nonsense of alkaline diets again, when Robert O. Young was finally sentenced to 3 years, 8 months in custody for conning vulnerable cancer patients into giving him large sums of money for ineffective and dangerous treatments. Good. Moving on.

August brought me back to a post that I’d actually started earlier in the year when I went to a March for Science event in April. It was all about slime, and August seemed like a good time to finally finish it, with the school holidays in full swing – what could be more fun on a rainy day at home than making slime? Slime was a bit of a 2017 craze, and there have been a few stories featuring children with severely irritated skin. But is this likely to be caused by borax? Not really. Turns out it’s actually very safe. Laundry detergents in general, not so much. In short, if you want to make slime the traditional way with PVA glue and borax, fill your boots. (Not really – your parents will be uninpressed.)

In September it was back to quackery: black salve. A nasty, corrosive concoction which is sold as a cancer cure. It won’t cure your cancer. It will burn a nasty great big hole in your skin. Do not mess with this stuff.

October carried on in a similar vein, literally. This time with a piece about naturopaths recommending hydrogen peroxide IVs as a treatment for lots of things, not least – you guessed it – cancer. Yes, hydrogen peroxide. The stuff you used to bleach hair. Intraveneously. Argh.

The puking pumpkin!

The end of the month featured a far better use for hydrogen peroxide, that of the puking pumpkin. Definitely one to roll out if, for any reason, you ever find yourself having to demonstrate catalysis.

November brought us, somewhat unseasonally, to tomatoes. Where is the best place to store them? Fridge or windowsill? Turns out the answer involves more chemistry than you might have imagined.

And then, finally, December. Looking for a last-minute Christmas gift? Why not buy a case of blk water? I mean, other than it’s an exorbitantly priced bottle of mysterious black stuff which doesn’t do any of the things it claims to do, and might actually get its colour from coal deposits, that is.

And that, dear friends and followers, is it for 2017! Happy New Year! Remember to be sceptical when the inevitable “deadly food” story appears in a few weeks….


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No element octarine, but Nanny will be pleased…

After lots of speculation over the last few months, the names of the new elements were finally announced by IUPAC yesterday. There will now be a five-month public review, ending on 8 November 2016, but it looks likely that these names will be accepted. They are:

  • 113: Nihonium, Nh, from ‘Nihon’, meaning Japan or ‘The Land of the Rising Sun’, home of RIKEN;
  • 115: Moscovium, Mc, in recognition of the Moscow region, where JINR is based;
  • 117: Tennessine, Ts, for the Tennessee region, home of ORNL;
  • and 118: Oganesson, Og, named after a very important individual*.
New-Element-Names-768x378

New Element Names, by Compound Interest (click image for more info)

As you can see, octarine sadly didn’t make the cut. Perhaps the million to one chance rule just doesn’t work so well on roundworld. Oh well.

But look, they didn’t completely forget about us! They just misspelled ‘Ogg and Son’. It’s easily done. I’m sure Nanny will still be pleased.

nanny_ogg_by_hyaroo-d6mnot6

Nanny Ogg. Image byHyaroo, http://hyaroo.deviantart.com/

*Oganesson actually recognises Professor Yuri Oganessian (born 1933) for his pioneering contributions to transactinoid elements research. But perhaps he’s a distant relative?


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Name element 117 Octarine, in honour of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld

Sign the petition to name element 117 Octarine

UPDATE: Nature Chemistry have recently released a list of odds for the suggested new element names. Octarine is 1,000,000:1. And since, as we know: “Magicians have calculated that million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten,” that makes it practically a dead cert!

octarine

Octarine can famously only be seen by wizards (and witches) and cats and perhaps, now, some scientists. (Image: Discworld.com)

As you will have heard, the periodic table’s seventh row has finally been filled as four new elements have been added. Atomic numbers 115, 117 and 118 have been credited to the Joint Institute for Nuclear Research in Dubna and the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California. Element 113 has been credited to a team of scientists from the Riken institute in Japan.

Period 7 is finally filled (image credit, IUPAC)

Period 7 is finally filled (image credit: IUPAC)

These elements were discovered a little while ago, but the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC) – who’s in charge of such things – have only recently verified these discoveries and asked the scientists responsible to suggest names to replace their existing temporary names of ununtrium, ununpentium, ununseptium and ununoctium.

IUPAC does have rules about naming. Namely: “Elements can be named after a mythological concept, a mineral, a place or country, a property or a scientist.”

Now, mythological concept… that might be a bit flexible, mightn’t it? What’s the definition of mythology? Well, according to dictionary.com, it’s: “a body of myths, as that of a particular people or that relating to a particular person.” And the definition of myth is “a traditional or legendary story, usually concerning some being or hero or event, with or without a determinable basis of fact or a natural explanation, especially one that is concerned with deities or demigods and explains some practice, rite, or phenomenon of nature.

I can work with that!

Terry Pratchett Terry Pratchett at home near Salisbury, Wiltshire, Britain - 04 Jun 2008

The late Sir Terry Pratchett at home near Salisbury, Wiltshire, Britain – 04 Jun 2008
(Image Credit: Photo by Adrian Sherratt/REX, (770612f), via theguardian.com)

So I propose that element 117, falling as it does in group 17 (the halogens), be named octarine, in honour of the late, great, Terry Pratchett and his phenomenally successful Discworld books. I’m also proposing the symbol Oc (pronounced, of course, as ‘ook’*).

As a halogen, 117 ought to have an ‘ine’ ending, so octarine makes perfect sense. Over 70 million Pratchett books have been sold worldwide, in 37 different languages, and lots of them concern heroes, gods and monsters. Ok, they’re not quite as old as the Greek myths, but they will be one day, right? Time is relative and all that.

Octarine, in the Discworld books, is known as ‘the colour of magic’, which also forms the title of Pratchett’s first ever Discworld book. According to Disc mythology (see, mythology), octarine is visible only to wizards and cats, and is generally described as a sort of greenish-yellow purple colour. Something that’s difficult to find and hard to observe; what could be more perfect?

So pop along and sign my petition. Maybe the Russian and American scientists are Discworld fans? You never know. If nothing else I’m absolutely certain that Sir Terry, the author of the Science of the Discworld series of books, would have a little chuckle at the idea.

“It is well known that a vital ingredient of success is not knowing that what you’re attempting can’t be done” — Terry Pratchett

* with thanks to Tom Willoughby for the pronunciation suggestion).

EDIT:

Since I started this, one or two devoted Discworld fans have commented that I should have suggested that element 118 be named octiron instead. This is because in Discworld the number 8 has special significance, and also because octiron is the metal which is the source of magical energy, and hence leads to octarine, which is just the colour of magic.

But I’m sticking with 117 and octarine. The greenish-yellow purple description seems perfect for a new halogen, and the ‘ine’ ending is just right for group 17. Although octiron also has the right ending for group 18 (‘on’), it doesn’t quite fit since it’s a metal and group 18 is technically made up of noble gases (admittedly, when you’ve only got a couple of atoms of a thing, metal vs. noble gas might be a bit irrelevant). Plus, the fact that octarine is ‘the colour of magic’ makes it seem like a more fitting tribute, this being, as I mentioned above, the title of Terry Pratchett’s first ever Discworld book.

It’s possible I’ve spent a little too long thinking about this…

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So how do you spell element 16?

IUPAC says sulfur, and what they say goes

IUPAC says sulfur, and what they say goes

I found myself yet again discussing the correct spelling of the name of element number 16 today with a group of students. Now, on the one hand, going over this again and again is a tad wearisome. On the other, I’m quietly glad that in a time in which the media constantly blather on about terrible literacy levels, rant about the use of txt spk and generally mutter under their (or there/theyre/one of those) breath about the inability of the nation to use an apostrophe properly, I can consistently find an entire roomful of youngsters who care so much about spelling that they’re willing to argue over the correct use of ‘f’ vs. ‘ph’.

I am, of course, talking about sulfur.

You will note that I have spelled it with an ‘f’.  I should point out that the spelling chequer* on my browser has just underlined that with a row of red dots. It disagrees with me as well.

However, IUPAC (The International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry – sounds like a fun place for a holiday doesn’t it?) do not, and in this they get the deciding vote. One of the many things IUPAC does is to sort out the official nomenclature of organic and inorganic molecules.

Of course, chemistry professors have been cheerfully ignoring them for years, and so it is that generations of chemistry students have tripped gaily into their first university session, fresh from A-level teachers using systematic names, to be immediately and thoroughly bamboozled by a lecturer talking about acetone, neopentane, para-nitrophenol and the gloriously-named glacial acetic acid.

But there it is, when it comes to element 16, IUPAC are crystal clear. It’s sulfur. With an f. That means it’s also sulfide with an f, and sulfate, with an f. Oh and sulfuric, as in the acid, with an f. Interestingly Richard Osman, on the BBC quiz show Pointless, has been very keen to point out in elements rounds that it’s sulfur, and then in a round about acids spelled it sulphuric. Weird.

In their notes, IUPAC even say that ‘”aluminum” and “cesium” are commonly used alternative spellings for “aluminium” and “caesium.”’ No such note is made for sulfur. Time to get over it.

Volcanic sulfur - it looks prettier than it smells.

Volcanic sulfur – it looks prettier than it smells.

If the Online Etymology Dictionary is to be believed, the ph/f thing has gone backwards and forwards a few times. It was apparently sulphur in Latin, and sulfur in Late Latin. There was an Old English word ‘swefl’ meaning sulfur or brimstone (same thing really, just with more religious connotations), and an Old French one: ‘soufre‘. Actually, according to Google Translate, that’s the modern French spelling as well. I am pretty clueless when it comes to French, so feel free to correct me.

The UK started spelling the word with a ph in around the 14th century, along with several other words that have since fallen out of use, such as phantastic and turph. The ph makes some sense in words with a Greek origin, such as philosophy and orphan, since the Greek alphabet actually has the letter phi, but little sense otherwise. However the scribes of the time believed that the more letters there were in a word the more impressive it would look, so they made everything as long and complicated as possible. Why use f when you can use ph? Why spell it ‘tho’ when you can write ‘though’? And you also have them to blame for all those annoyingly unnecessary double consonants that turn up far from occasionally (I absolutely never get that one right first time).

If we’re honest, this belief still persists to some extent. True we don’t throw extra letters in for good measure any more, but there are plenty of sesquipedalianist writers out there who believe such behaviour makes them look intelligent (see what I did there?) And just look at how annoyed people get about text speak, or how many quietly sneer about tweeting.

So back to element 16. Chuck in a few more centuries and we come, more or less, full circle. IUPAC adopted the spelling sulfur in 1990, and the Royal Society of Chemistry Nomenclature Committee followed suit in 1992. The Qualifications and Curriculum Authority for England and Wales switched in 2000, and it’s now the spelling you will see in both GCSE and A-level examinations and, consequently, the one in any text book published within the last decade. For those that complain it’s an American spelling, even The Oxford Dictionaries admit that “In chemistry… the -f- spelling is now the standard form in all related words in the field in both British and US contexts.”

So it’s sulfur. With an f. It’s not “the American spelling”. Well, ok, it IS, but it’s also the British spelling. And the rest of the world’s spelling. So add sulfur to your spell checker’s dictionary and let’s move along.

——

* this is a joke. Probably not a very good one, since a number of people have pointed out my ‘mistake’. It’s never a good sign if you have to explain your attempts at humour is it? Anyway, it’s a reference to this famous (well I thought it was, anyway) poem.