Here’s my rant about energy and how we’d typically treat it in an introductory physics class. We might say something about “energy” and say that it has something to do with “work,” and then we’ll turn around and define “work” as having to do something with “energy.” This is circular and non-helpful. More importantly, it doesn’t really tell you anything that you would really want to know about energy and why it’s important.
So I start with food.
What did you eat for dinner most recently? If you’re lucky, you had something that filled you up, maybe tasted good, and ultimately served some kind of purpose. In fact, you can’t be alive and function if you don’t eat. If you have some spaghetti with meatballs and tomato sauce, you can eventually tie any of these back to the Sun. Pasta was once wheat that grew because of the Sun; and even the beef in the meatballs sustained itself from eating alfalfa which got its energy from the Sun. Almost anything you eat has a similar history.
We also know that all of those foods have some kind of “Calorie” value. These are “food Calories,” or “kilocalories,” which is 1000 calories (what I’d call “chemistry calories”). We can compare these to other units that measure similar things, but for now we simply know that we eat food for these Calories, and these Calories are supplied by the Sun.
So here’s an interesting table I got from a textbook for another course. In it, you’ll see a lot of confusing and strange information about different materials and processes. It’s worth staring at for 5 minutes or an hour or a lifetime.
The table and the comparison of different “energy densities” brings up a lot of questions. What it starts to drive home, though, is that this thing called “energy” comes in lots of different forms. Coal, butter, ethanol, and chocolate chip cookies all have similar amounts of energy per gram, but they are wildly different in how we use them. Or are they? We can only eat a couple of these, and others we use in other processes that warm things up or move things around, but apparently they’re pretty similar in terms of how much energy we get from them. Also, they, too all get their energy from the Sun if you go back far enough.
(You can think about that last sentence for a while. It’s worth it. I’ll wait.)
So, we still don’t really know what energy is all about, but we can play with the units of Calories, joules, watt-hours and the like. You might know that you get charged for electricity by assessing how many “kilowatt-hours” you use in a month. This is worth thinking about for a bit. A “watt” is a rate, like a speed, for energy, and if we trace it do its fundamental roots it’s shorthand for joules per second.
You can think about this for a bit, too. It’s important. You’ll also get to practice with this later.
We then play with this simulation, particularly to show that “height” is a quantity that is conserved for something skating back and forth on any variation of a “U” you can imagine. This means that the height is what we can use to keep track of what the skateboard can do. Similarly, the higher the height, the fast the speed at the bottom. These go hand in hand.
If you haven’t had a chance, you really ought to play with this. There are features we didn’t use in class but are really useful.
Great. At this point you can open up a book or ask a wisened physics professor to express how we keep track of energy in terms of stored energy (potential), moving/acting energy (kinetic), and processes by which we transfer energy (work). There are equations for this, but the big idea is that energy is something we account for, and by doing this we can solve for really complicated features of some system. Like for example, no matter what path a skateboard takes on the way down a (frictionless) ramp, its starting height will exactly predict a certain speed at the bottom, as well as a height on the other side. This is A Really Big Deal. You’ll use it a lot now, basically by just keeping track of this conserved quantity of energy in all its different forms.
But then we can look again a energy in the real world, maybe the food you eat or the energy table above, or this look at the U.S. electric grid and its sources of energy, courtesy of Dan Schroeder. This is worth playing with, zooming in and out and scrolling around the country, as well as going back in time. You can see how energy is used (remember the coal in the energy table?) and many other sources for energy — even though most of these, too, come from the Sun, in one way or another.
If you poke around the grid, you’ll notice that each power plant has information about its capacity, owner, etc. This is worth taking a look at, especially as you notice how energy use changes over time.
What’s the point of all this? I want to make sure we recognize not only that “energy” is some chapter in a textbook that gives us a way to solve problems, but that it’s a real quantity that we use through our own food as well as the electricity that runs our homes, and lots of other things as well. We can find these and then start to make sense of them. Energy is a quantity that is not just some abstract concept in physics, but something we use across all disciplines in science to figure out if and how anything functions. This is just our first step in putting this all together.
In a typical class or Friday night, I’ll pop popcorn and wonder: What happens to the stuff of the popcorn kernel as it is transformed into the morsel of popped corn that I can eat?
Those two “states” of the corn are really different. One I can eat easily, the other seems impossible and would break my teeth. So what happens to that stuff as it’s heated? In particular, does the stuff that’s there stay the same or does it change? I know that it’s different in some way, but how do I model the matter of this popcorn and where it goes (or stays)?
There are probably lots of great models and lots of great ways to think about this. As you do, you could use your model to predict if the kernel changes its mass as it is popped, or does it stay the same? And, if it does change, does it get more or less massive? And, regardless of what happens, what does that tell us? How do our models help explain what’s going on as popcorn is popped?
I documented this mini-investigation in a video:
I’m adding some space here so that there aren’t any spoilers. Below are a few screen grabs of the video that capture some key moments in my science and acting career.
Pointing out the kernel. It’s hard to see, because it’s small. That’s actually part of the challenge.
I thought I could weigh a single kernel to compare to after it popped. It’s really hopeless because the kernel is too small, and …
…wouldn’t it be a better idea anyway to have a bunch of kernels, in case some don’t pop or something else weird happens. Plus, this is easier to weigh.
The bucket by itself was 95 grams, but with the added kernels the total mass was 166 grams. So that means that the kernels by themselves were 71 grams, but it’s easy to just keep track of the popcorn in the bucket since that stays the same.
Live action! Pouring kernels into the air popper! (It’s probably important that I was using an air popper without any butter or oil.)
Popcorn! In the video, I speed up this part of the footage, which is kind of fun and convenient.
[Drumroll, suspense, etc.]
Final massing of the popped popcorn with the bucket. What happened?
A summary of our data.
Huh.
That’s a loss of a few grams. Doesn’t seem like much, but it’s pretty substantial in comparison to what we started with–about a 10% loss of stuff. So where did that go? It could be mistake, but this was monitored and it’s repeatable. We also talked about it being air in the kernels, or some kind of chemical reaction, or some loss of liquid water that could have been in the kernels. Or maybe something else.
There are a few things that could be helpful to know. For example, the density of air is something like 0.001 gram per cubic centimeter; and the density of water is about 1 gram per cubic centimeter. That helps us think about how much stuff we could lose of either of these and what we might expect that to look like.
This quick investigation was done with an air popper, but when I pop popcorn at home I do it over a stove and have a glass lid. This way I can see a little bit more of what’s going on. So, the other thing I could contribute is what it looks like when I pop popcorn. I recorded the video and put it on the internet, because I figured that was what the world needed:
Here’s few highlights from the video, just for posterity:
I spent part of the early evening with some science teaching students walking up through the trees to the former shoreline of Lake Bonneville. Their task was to make observations of phenomena they could use to center science learning around. I took photos of some of what caught my attention.
Adam went to the trouble of throwing a ball up into the air in his office. The ball not only went up; it came back down. Here’s video of the event:
(It’s also available on YouTube, here.)
You can study this motion in a variety of ways. In another video example, I suggest that you analyze the frames while using some kind of timing device. That could work here, especially if you can advance the video one frame at a time. Another way of doing this is with some video tracking software, such as JS Track, available online as a web based application. To use this, do the following, OR take a look at this video I made showing you the steps I use.
There’s more to talk about, but that’s exactly what the point of this assignment could be!
I dropped by the offices of scientists around my building here at Weber State University and asked them to blow bubbles and tell me about the things they notice and wonder. At the same time, I recorded video of these episodes on my phone. Here’s a quick 10-minute compilation of the things they did, noticed, and wondered.
My guess is that the things you’ve observed and wondered are really similar to these scientists.
Special thanks to (in order of appearance):
It’s no secret that I enjoy blowing bubbles and I’ve made good use of them in classes, workshops, and informal learning settings, as I describe here. In all of these, I’ve made the case that:
The width of a human hair is pretty small, so you probably don’t have a good way of measuring it directly. However, you can use other methods, and these are the same as how you might study materials and the arrangement of molecules that you can’t see directly. We use the diffraction of light around these small structures, and we end up measuring how the light interferes as it goes through our object.
In my case, I had to pluck one of my hairs from my head. I don’t normally pull out my own hair, but this is for physics and for my students. I affixed the hair at the opening of the laser:
When I turn the laser on, you can see that it goes through and around the hair:
Here are some details about my laser for those who may be doing this calculation along with me.
Normally, this green laser would make a very precise dot, as Gus the cat is observing here:
However, with the hair in the path of the coherent green light, a diffraction pattern was formed. I lined things up so that the hair was running horizontally across the aperture of the laser, making the diffraction pattern align vertically. The staircase made a good place to set this all up, and one of my favorite books was a good prop for lining up the laser so that the pattern could be displayed on the wall above the stairs.
The diffraction pattern on the wall was in a good place for me to look at and measure it closely:
The central maximum is at the 50cm mark on this meter stick, with minima extending on either side. The projection of this pattern is 360 cm away from the aperture of the laser where the hair is taped. Here’s my schematic:
Based on all of this, how can you calculate the width of my hair?
I often host a lab where we study the Drinking Bird in its native habitat. But, in case you don’t have a chance to be in my lab and you don’t have your own drinking bird, here’s some video you can analyze. The bird goes through two of its cycles in this clip, and I repeat those cycles at high speed so you can see things in a different way.
A drinking bird is very simple, which makes its actions that much more interesting, I think. What do you notice? What do you wonder about? Can you trace out cause-and-effect rules in the bird and its motion? Can you create a model for how it’s working? In particular, how can something just move (and there are a few different motions in this bird) when it isn’t hooked up to anything else?
In case you need more footage of the drinking bird for longer amounts of time, I have about an hour and 15 minutes of video, both in real time and at 10x speed:
What makes up matter? We can’t see it directly, but observing some details might help us imagine what’s going on at a deeper level.
I have two glass bottles of water that I drop red dye into. All the water came out of my faucet, but the two bottles behave differently. What do you notice? What do you think might be happening? How do you picture or model the water and dye interacting? How could you investigate this on your own? What would you try?
Different musical instruments work because they play the note you want to hear. This seems obvious, but it’s no small thing to make something play exactly the right note, and leave out all of the other noise. How do they do this?
Instruments are made from lots of different stuffs and geometries. Some things, like violins and guitars, use tight strings to create their notes. Tuning forks and the reeds of a harmonica use vibrations of solid materials with specific lengths. Other instruments, such as organs and clarinets, produce the notes in a tube of air. That’s the kind of instrument I’m playing with here, except my tube is a simple piece of pipe.
You might not have a tuning fork to create this phenomenon, but is there something else you could do to make a tube sing? What other instruments could you create? What do you think the sound waves in the tube look like?
A lot of people don’t believe me when I tell them this, but I truly don’t understand how water crawls up a paper towel or string or piece of cloth. How does it get the energy to do this when it’s just sitting there; and the towel is also seemingly passive in the whole affair?
I’m a physicist and I work with many like-minded scientists. When I ask them about this phenomenon, they realize that it’s not all that simple, but probably it has something to do with electric forces in the towel and interactions with the water. I’m sure that this is part of the answer. But even so, I’m happy to admit that I don’t really understand it.
So, I assign the problem to my students and ask them to start to investigate different features of liquid absorption. They think of much better investigations than I would, and when we share these we start to come up with more ideas. To get them started, I’ve created this timelapse video of water moving up a cloth:
I thought my idea to speed up the video and include a clock in the frame was clever. I’m proud of that old-school technique.
What do you notice? What wonders strike you? What investigations could this spur? This is just the beginning.
Here’s what the scene looked like the following morning:
And then, later that morning, I detached the cloth and set the loose end on the table. It was originally dry, but then this puddle started to form:
In my classes, I see lots of really great examples of how this phenomenon can be turned into a research project with lots of different variables. Researchers create all sorts of different investigation designs with interesting variables and creative methods. This time-lapse video that Micah created gives a good impression of one of the hundreds of ways the climbing fluids can be studied, and it’s fun to see the process overviewed in just a couple minutes: