Tag: science

Unraveling Danish Numerical Peculiarities | April 17 2025, 16:58

Today I learned something interesting about numbers. Turns out, the French are not the most convoluted when it comes to naming the tens up to a hundred. It seems the Danes hold that title.

In Danish, 92 is “tooghalvfems. It breaks down like this: “to” is two (2), “og” means and, and “halvfems” is 90. But why halvfems? halv means “half,” that much is clear. However, in this context, it’s not literally 0.5. When used with numbers ending in “-fems,” it signifies “minus half of the next multiple of twenty. Then comes fems: This is a shortened form of fem gange tyve, which means “five times twenty, thus, halvfems translates to “halfway into the fifth twenty”. The fifth twenty ranges from 80 to 100. Halfway equals 90 🙂

50 is “halvtreds” in Danish. Here “halv implies “halfway to the next multiple of twenty”. treds is the condensed form of tredje sinde tyve, which translates as “three times twenty, or 3 × 20 = 60. Thus, halvtreds can be understood as “halfway to sixty, that is: 60 – (0.5 × 20) = 60 – 10 = 50.

It’s clear that this is because of the vigesimal (base-20) numbering system.

I recalled the French because they too have 80 = quatre-vingts (four twenties), 90 = quatre-vingt-dix (four twenties and ten), 75 = soixante-quinze (sixty and fifteen).

P.S. Thanks to Timofey for the tip

Exploring Surprising Etymological Connections | April 10 2025, 20:20

The sixth day of etymological curiosities, #RaufLikesEtymology. My script is still running, which parses dictionaries and finds unexpected pairs and groups of words with a common origin but different destinies. Today features an entire series of such etymological doublets and even triplets.

Canvas (canvas), cannabis (cannabis), and hemp (industrial cannabis) are relatives. All three stem from the ancient word κάνναβις (kánnabis) — “cannabis,” possibly of Scythian or Thracian origin. Cannabis came directly from Latin, denoting the plant. Canvas came through French canevas — it’s a fabric, initially made from hemp fibers. Hemp came through Germanic languages (Old English henep), all with the same root (henep<-hanapiz<-cannabis).

Cannibal, Caribbean, and Carib — another intriguing triplet.

The word cannibal is a corrupted form of Cariba, as Columbus and his crew called the local tribes. They were thought to be cannibals. Caribbean — a geographical name of the same root. Carib — an ethnonym, the self-name of the people. Thus, “cannibal, “Caribbean, and “Caribs are words from one etymological family, just with different reputations.

Deutsch and Dutch (as the Japanese call Germany) are etymological twins, all stemming from one Proto-Germanic root þeudō — “people.” Deutsch is “German” in German, literally “people’s language.” Dutch formerly referred to any Germanic people, now strictly the Dutch.

Doitsu — a Japanese loanword from German, introduced through exchange in the 19th century. But in general, each neighboring country calls Germany differently in their languages because Germany as a single state appeared relatively recently (in 1871), and before that, it was a mosaic of separate principalities, duchies, free cities, and other political entities. Hence, different names have become entrenched in various languages — most often not for all of Germany, but for a particular tribe, region, or ethnic group. The French call it Allemagne — from Alemanni, Italians — Germania, but in casual conversation might also say tedesco (German), from the same root as Deutsch, Latvians — Vācija, from an ancient Baltic word meaning “foreign or “foreigner, Finns and Estonians — Saksa and Saksamaa, from the Saxons — one of the Germanic tribes, Poles — Niemcy, from the Slavic němьcь, meaning “mute — those who don’t speak “our way,” are unintelligible. The same root is also in Old Slavic.

However, the Japanese say Doitsu — an adaptation of German Deutsch through Dutch intermediation, as the first Europeans to actively trade with Japan were indeed the Dutch.

Species and spice — both from the Latin speciēs, meaning “appearance, form. Species retained its scientific meaning — “species. Spice came through Old French espice, initially meaning “rare goods, and then narrowed down to “spices.” So spices are also “forms, just aromatic ones.

Corpus, corpse, corps — all from the Latin corpus (“body). But “Corpse” — a dead body, came through Old French cors, and “Corps” — an army corps, pronounced as “core, stuck with the French pronunciation, and “Corpus” — a legal or scientific “assembly of bodies, used in the academy.

Map and mop — etymological twins. Both originate from Latin mappa — “cloth, napkin. Simply, one through Old French became “map (because maps were drawn on fabric), and the other — “mop (by the direct use of the fabric).

Read more such goodness by clicking here —> #RaufLikesEtymology

Exploring the Roots: A Daily Dive into Etymology | April 09 2025, 19:25

Day four of fascinating etymology! Here I am, scripting away at processing an etymological dictionary, discovering all sorts of curiosities, and sharing them daily.

The surname Biden likely originates from the verb bide, meaning “to endure, to wait. From the Old English bīdan and Germanic root. However, etymological dictionaries also mention Biden as a phonetic doublet of the root bouter (through the variant beat, “to hit”). Choose whichever you like more.

Interestingly, the word кретин (cretin) in Russian comes from the German word “Kretin” (simpleton). In turn, this word entered the German language from the French “crétin.” The French borrowed it from Latin, where it designated a Christian (Christiānus). By the way, Christ (Χριστός) literally means “the anointed one.”

The words sovereign (ruler, monarch) and soprano (soprano) originate from the same Latin root super — “above, beyond,” but entered the English language through different languages and cultural contexts, acquiring different meanings.

Everyone knows that the word “шедевр” (masterpiece) is French, from chef-d’œuvre — literally “chief work.” Chef comes from the Latin caput — head; hence la capitale (capital), captain, and capitol, which I wrote about a few days ago. And immediately it’s clear why in French chapitre is a chapter in a book, and capiteux means intoxicating, heady. Thus, Œuvre is work, labor. Interestingly, this word traces back to the Latin opera (in nominative case opus). Modus operandi — method of operation. Our operation is of the same lineage. From the same root also come the words ouvrier (worker) and les jours ouvrables (working days). Thus, opera is labor, as is opus. Right now, I’m listening to “Samson and Delilah,” quite fitting.

And this morning, I went to return some Amazon purchases to the Kohl store. They accept them there. So, not sure what else they accept, but Kohl is the same as alcohol. Both words derive from the Arabic root — الكحل (al-kuḥl). Initially, it meant “stibnite — a powdery mineral (usually antimony), used as a cosmetic for the eyes. Later, the meaning expanded in alchemy. First, it referred to any fine powder, then to a concentrated substance obtained by distillation, and finally to alcohol, as a product of distilling wine. In English, Kohl remained associated with cosmetics. But the Kohl’s store, of course, comes from the surname Kohl, German, Maxwell Kohl, and his surname in German means “cabbage.”

The word bedlam (meaning “chaos,” “mayhem”) originates from the name of the London hospital “St. Mary of Bethlehem,” which, since the 1400s, was designated for treating the mentally ill. Over time, the pronunciation of “Bethlehem” shifted to bedlam, and this term came to denote any situation where chaos and confusion reign.

Also, flask (“flask”) and fiasco (“fiasco”) share a common origin — the Proto-Germanic *flaskǭ — “bottle, container, encased container.” In Italian, a fiasco is a bottle. The expression fare fiasco — “to make a bottle” → “to mess up on stage” (in theatrical slang). Metaphorically: failure = “like a broken bottle” or “the loser pays for the bottle.” It entered English with this meaning through French.

It turns out Alice and Adelaide originate from the same Old High German name Adalheidis (adal — “noble,” heid / heit — “nature, essence, condition”).

Array and ready are etymological relatives, originating from the same Proto-Germanic root *raidaz, meaning “ready, organized, prepared.”

Going back to our cretins. I didn’t mention details earlier because it would have disrupted the “flow.” The word “cretin” appeared in Switzerland. More precisely, among the French-speaking people living in the Alps (this area is called Romandy). It’s particularly in mountainous areas where they often encounter endemic cretinism. The disease develops due to insufficient iodine in the mother’s diet during pregnancy.

In the 18th century, in Romandy, patients with cretinism were called “poor Christians” (pauvre chrétien). But they didn’t say chrétien, but crétin due to regional language characteristics. Other regions picked up this distorted word and started using it to describe people suffering from this disease. Hence the medical term “cretinism (when the thyroid gland releases insufficient hormones due to iodine deficiency, leading to serious mental and physical development disorders).

Originally, “cretin” meant “unfortunate Christian” (foolish, blessed). At the end of the 18th century, the term “cretinism” spread through European languages. But it entered the Russian language in the early 19th century via German!

Read more great stuff by clicking here –> #RaufLikesEtymology

Exploring the Intriguing Origins of Words | April 09 2025, 03:51

Well, shall we continue with the fascinating etymology? I’ve been writing scripts for processing an etymological dictionary, and I’m finding all sorts of interesting stuff.

It turns out that the word “ciao” comes from the word “slave”. It derives from the Venetian expression s-ciào vostro or s-ciào su, which literally means “(I am) your slave”. The Venetian word for “slave” — s-ciào [ˈstʃao] or s-ciàvo — comes from the medieval Latin sclavus, which, in turn, was borrowed from medieval Greek Σκλάβος (“sklavos”), itself related to the ethnonym “Slavs”, as most of the slaves during that time came from the Balkans.

Also, it was a revelation to me that the words Kubernetes, governor, and cybernetics are etymologically related. They all derive from κυβερνήτης (kubernḗtēs) — “helmsman, one who steers a ship”. Consequently, governor came through Latin and Romance languages, cybernetics as a scientific loan through French, and Kubernetes as a direct calque from Ancient Greek, via Latin transliteration.

The words fuel and focus originate from the same Latin word focus (“hearth”). Focus was actually coined by Johannes Kepler, who used it as a geometric term for ellipses: “the point where rays converge”.

The words Madeira, mata, mater, matrix, matter, and mother are related and all trace back to the same Proto-Indo-European root *méh₂tēr — “mother”.

The words madam and madonna come from the Latin mea domina — “my lady”.

It’s hard to imagine, but the words merry (cheerful) and brief (short) originate from the same Proto-Indo-European root *mréǵʰus, which means “short”.

The words lobby and leaf also have a common origin — both stem from the ancient Germanic *laubą or its derivatives, related to foliage, leafy shelters, and coverings. In old buildings, laubia/lobby was a covered gallery or arbor, literally a shelter made of leaves. Thus, “lobby originally meant “leafy shelter” or “leafy arbor”.

Common origins or roots also link names like Yuri and George, Étienne and Stephen/Steven, William and Guillermo, Zeus and Jupiter, Zhenya and Yana, Joel and Elijah, Hansel and John, as well as Agnes, Nancy, and Inez, Diego and Jacob, Dorothy and Theodore, and Isabel, Elizabeth, and Lisa, Iskander and Alexander, Patroclus and Cleopatra. Many of these essentially denote the same thing, just modified differently across cultures.

Read more of such good stuff by clicking here –> #RaufLikesEtymology

Exploring Linguistic Connections with #RaufLikesEtymology | April 08 2025, 16:22

I continue with etymological curiosities. This is my third consecutive post, #RaufLikesEtymology. It all started when I stumbled upon an etymological dictionary and began processing it programmatically, extracting all sorts of things.

It turns out that the words “жёлтый” (“yellow”), “зелёный” (“green”), and “золото” (“gold”) share a common Indo-European root related to brightness and luster — *gьltъ, which in English, for instance, became the basis for both gold and yellow. In German, “gelb” (yellow) comes from there too. In Russia, “желтый” has been known since the 13th century as a nickname, and as an adjective in written sources only since the 14th century.

It turned out that “известь” (“lime”) and “асбест” (“asbestos”) come from the same word, the Greek ἄσβεστος.

It turns out that the words шифр (“cipher”), цифра (“digit”), and zero all come from the same word — the Arabic صِفْر (ṣifr, “nothing, zero”), which itself is a calque from Sanskrit शून्य (śūnya, “emptiness, nothing”).

Pushkin wrote in “Poltava”: “In the night’s darkness they, like thieves… // Craft the ciphers of universals…” “Universals” in the Ukrainian language of those days were called Hetman’s edicts, and “цифр” back then meant what we now call a cipher — “secret writing”.

Interestingly, the word “кантон” (Switzerland consists of 26 cantons) – originates from Chinese, from Guangdong.

It turned out that grotto and crypt — come from the same word, Latin grupta/crypta. Well, about Saturday and sabbath everyone knows (that they are one word by origin).

The Russian word “колесо (wheel) and the Indian “чакра (chakra) are linked by origin — both come from the same ancient root in Proto-Indo-European — *kʷékʷlos — “circle”, “wheel”, “rotating”. “Колесо came through the Slavic branch, while “чакра — through the Indian (Vedic-Sanskrit) branch.

The words cloak (“cloak”) and clock (“clock”) derive from medieval Latin clocca — “bell”, but entered English differently. Cloak arrived in the 13th century through French cloque, which meant both “cloak” and “bell” — due to the shape of the garment. Clock appeared later through Dutch clocke, denoting a church bell that marks the time; subsequently, it came to mean “clock”. The word bell (“bell”) already existed in English as a designation for a metallic ringing object, so there was no need to introduce another word for this.

The apricot has had a very interesting journey. Here, look at the attached picture. Borrowed in the early 18th century from Dutch, which itself had borrowed from Romance languages (for example, French abricot). It’s interesting to trace this word further: it turns out that in French, it came from Arabic, and in Arabic from Latin. Latin praecox meant “early-ripening”. Thus, praecox became abricot.

My little script churned out about 2 thousand examples from wiktionary. I pick the most interesting ones, but I think there’s enough material for about five more posts like this 🙂 Plus, I have more ideas on how to process to uncover even more interesting things.

Read more good stuff by clicking here –> #RaufLikesEtymology

Unveiling Surprising Connections in English Etymology | April 07 2025, 21:09

In the previous post, I wrote about the little program I developed that searches for words far apart but sharing common etymology. It keeps bringing me new discoveries. Sharing them!

The words chaos and gas are essentially the same. The chemist Jan Baptista van Helmont introduced ‘gas’ as he deciphered ‘chaos’ in his Dutch interpretation, from the Greek χάος. The letter g in Dutch conveys a sound remotely echoing the modern Greek ch. “In the absence of a name,” he wrote, “I called this vapor ‘gas’, as it stems closely from the ancient concept of chaos.” Meanwhile, the word gasoline has no relation to gas. It derives from Cazeline (possibly influenced by Gazeline—a name from an Irish imitation), a trademark for petroleum-based lamp oil, originating from the surname of the man who first started selling it in 1862—John Cassell—and the suffix -eline. The name Cassell itself comes from the Anglo-Norman castel (related to the English castle), which, in turn, traces back to the Old French castel.

Cattle, capital, and chattel are etymological twins of each other, also linked to capital—all through the root caput (“head”), reflecting the ancient practice of counting wealth in terms of cattle heads. By the way, caput also gives rise to chief and captain.

The same goes for the twins bank and bench. “Bank” originally meant “bench,” where a money changer sat, or the “counter” of a money exchanger. Compare typologically with the Russian word “лавка”—both “bench” and “store” (in old times—these were the same), “counter”—the place where trading happens, i.e., “by the bench.” The breaking of a bench—banca rotta—has also given us the word bankrupt (“bankrupt”), literally “broken bench.”

Separately interesting are Chicago/skunk. Chicago comes from the French Chécagou, a transcription of the word from the Miami people’s language šikaakwa—”wild onion” (or ramps, Allium tricoccum) and also “striped skunk.” Skunk means, in the same language, roughly “urinates badly” and indeed designates the skunk itself.

Hospital and hotel/hostel are also etymological twins. They trace back to hospes (“host, guest”).

Discussing that dress and director share a common root would take a lot, a supporting image is attached for help

Read more such good stuff by clicking here –> #RaufLikesEtymology

This translation preserves your style and maintains the HTML formatting as requested.

Pythons: The Silent Predators of the Everglades | April 01 2025, 15:18

Everyone knows about the crocodiles in Florida, but not everyone is aware of the pythons that eat these crocodiles in Florida. I certainly didn’t know. There’s a national park here—Everglades. It’s vast, covering a quarter of the Florida peninsula. To the south, it’s covered with swamps teeming with alligators, its shores hide mangrove thickets, and to the north, tropical forests rise.

In the early nineties, keeping Burmese pythons as pets became fashionable. The juveniles seem completely harmless, plus they are calmer than other large reptiles, and they are not that hard to feed. Pet traders imported thousands of pythons into Miami and sold them for a pittance. At one point, baby snakes could be purchased for $20-30.

Buyers rarely considered what would become of their pets later on. And then they start to grow. A typical length for a dark Burmese python is 3.7 meters, and that’s not the limit. 5-meter individuals are not uncommon, and the largest recorded specimen of this species reached up to 5.7 meters. It’s possible that longer pythons lurk somewhere in the tropical swamps, but there’s no documentary proof of this.

A grown python can hardly be called harmless. Its jaws are lined with several rows of sharp, curved teeth. The reptile sinks its teeth into its prey with a deathly grip, wraps its entire body around it, and begins to constrict. Even a small Burmese python can inflict dangerous wounds, and adult individuals are capable of swallowing a leopard or an alligator whole. They are rather dim-witted, tending to snatch at anything within reach. However, they then digest it for months.

From captured pythons, remnants of mice, rats, rabbits, muskrats, raccoons, squirrels, bobcats, opossums, otters, deer, ducks, herons, and cormorants have been retrieved, and—in one particularly tragic case—a house cat named Francis. These exotic reptiles have almost completely exterminated the raccoons, opossums, and bobcats. Other mammals are visibly declining in numbers, particularly in areas with a high concentration of these snakes.

The population has long since crossed the threshold of 100,000 individuals. In other words, they are simply irradicable now.

Python meat is inedible, so hunting them is more a sport and for their skin. The mercury level in their meat is very high—up to 3.5 ppm. According to Florida standards, fish with mercury levels above 1.5 ppm are considered dangerous.

Quite remarkable. Living here all this time, I didn’t know that relatively nearby, we have these multi-meter, toothy pythons crawling around.

Understanding Stale Bread and Reheating Effects | March 31 2025, 23:12

I just found out that bread becomes stale not so much because it loses moisture, but because of a process called starch retrogradation. During the baking of bread, the starch in the flour gelatinizes — its granules absorb water, swell, and the structure becomes softer and more pliable. After cooling down and over time, the starch begins to reorganize into a more crystalline structure — this is retrogradation. Moisture indeed escapes, but not all of it and not necessarily to the outside. In the fridge, staling occurs faster precisely because of the accelerated retrogradation of starch at temperatures around 0–5°C.

Therefore, if you reheat stale bread (for example, in a toaster or an oven), the starch partially gelatinizes again, and the bread briefly regains its freshness. However, this effect is temporary. It doesn’t work the same way with French fries, where moisture is expelled more effectively, and the starch is slightly different. Hence, reheating does not break down the crystals without water, and the moisture has already left. The result is a rubbery, “styrofoam-like” texture, especially in fries that were fried in oil.

I’m going to fry some potatoes and eat them with bread

Revolutionary Surface Scanning Device Transforms Text and Texture into 3D Images | March 31 2025, 14:53

I’ve devised a new device that might become part of a future phone, or before that, a niche industrial and scientific tool. It works like this: you place it on any surface, say a paper with text, move it like a mouse, and end up with a 3D scan of the surface displayed on your screen. If there’s text, for example, it can be recognized, even if it’s inside an envelope. However, there probably are better industrial applications for such a device.

Technically: it uses a high-frequency ultrasonic sensor array (100–300 MHz) capable of distinguishing paper microreliefs and ink with up to 20-micron resolution—similar to what’s currently done in fingerprint scanners. A typical Qualcomm 3D Sonic Gen 2 piezo scanner measures 8×8 mm. The sensors have a resolution of up to 500 dpi. Motion data is collected from an IMU and an optical encoder (like in a mouse), to accurately stitch scan fragments into a unified image. It will work in darkness, with poor contrast, on semi-transparent paper, with zero dependence on lighting. It can detect hidden writings, fingerprints, or cleaned areas. Essentially, it will perform an in-depth analysis, down to detecting traces of pencil pressure.

Mysteries of Fungi: From House Invaders to Mind Controllers | March 30 2025, 13:45

A very meaningful, diverse, and captivatingly interesting episode—with Vishnevsky about mushrooms.

Three stories to whet your appetite. The first one is about the house fungus (Serpula lacrymans). It usually starts with a shed, a bathhouse, bridges, or a foundation, especially if it’s partially over water. The house fungus releases tough black mycelial cords (1-2 mm), which spread throughout the house within just a few days. Across the floors, walls, and floors—it’s like something out of sinister sci-fi movies. These cords reach any source of wood. The fungus begins to break down lignin and other components of the wood, and one of the by-products of this process is water. That is, the fungus only needs water at the beginning, and then, once it finds wood, it extracts water on its own, feeding and hydrating itself. Therefore, it is practically impossible to get rid of it. It is tenacious, fast-growing, and extremely destructive. It is capable of turning up to 50% of the wood volume it settles on to dust within a year. That’s why sleepers and footbridges at stations are made not from wood, but from concrete, even where wood is cheaper and despite the fact that wooden sleepers are superior in other properties to concrete ones.

The second story is about “witch’s circles.” Surely you’ve noticed that mushrooms often grow in rings on lawns or at the edges of forests, sometimes tens of meters in diameter. It turns out that the mycelium from the point where it originated transforms into a “donut,” which grows because the inner parts of this donut die off since it has already consumed everything there, while the outer parts continue to expand because there’s still something there. And thus, the mushrooms—the fruiting bodies—grow along this donut. Since the rate of spread is more or less the same, it appears as a perfect circle. Of course, unless it runs into something along the way.

The third is about cordyceps, which infects simple crawling organisms and controls them. Apart from being an interesting fungus on its own, the most expensive mushroom in the world is also a cordyceps (the Chinese variety). But now, about the one that parasitizes ants—you’ve probably heard of it.

It all starts with the fungus penetrating an ant’s body and gradually taking control over its nervous system. When the time comes, cordyceps “tells the ant that it is time to leave its native anthill. If it resists, the fungus employs chemistry: it not only biochemically influences the behavior, but literally “owns the ant. Moreover, it does so not bluntly, but very intricately—with precision to the details.

It entwines the muscles and nerve nodes, blocking any alternate movement. The ant begins to move along a specific trajectory—it climbs a plant, selects a suitable leaf, often one that hangs right above the anthill. It climbs to the underside of the leaf to prevent the sun from drying out its body and the future fungus. Then it moves strictly along the central vein of the leaf—as if along a highway.

When it reaches the middle of this vein, the fungus gives two last commands: 1) Clench the veins with its limbs as tightly as possible and 2) Bite through the vein with its jaws, securing itself definitively.

After this—rapid mycelial growth, the ant dies. From its head, now hanging downwards, begins to sprout the fruiting body of the fungus—a thin “needle, directed straight down over the anthill. When it matures, spores start to pour out of it, like from a shower, directly onto the ants passing below. Everything is calculated perfectly.

Scientists have spent decades trying to understand the “combat chemistry of Cordyceps. It seemed something incredibly complex must be at work. But as it turns out—on the contrary. Everything is simple: relatively primitive hydrocarbons are acting, structurally very similar to… gasoline.

If you take, for example, a bucket of gasoline, come to a forest anthill (especially a large one of red forest ants), stir it up a bit—you will see how the ants start to massively leave the dwelling, climb up the tree, cling to the bark, freezing in strange poses. Then they are released. But with Cordyceps, it’s the same, just with an additive: its hydrocarbons are slightly more complex, and “releasing” is no longer possible.

This is the bug in the ant’s firmware. It’s not some kind of remote control, not a command center. Just a chemical, and the ant “knows what to do. These aren’t random actions, but strictly defined, programmed within it reactions. Under certain substances, it behaves in a strictly defined way.

I recommend listening to it, Vishnevsky is very cool in this topic and it seems inexhaustible.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulQyUHsBaa4