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Edmund Lawall must have felt cursed. He’d brought his family to New York in the late 1800s to carry on his father’s business as a pharmacist, but fate—or perhaps the city itself—seemed determined to drive him back out again. Lawall’s health had been in decline since their arrival, and his wife’s kidney disease had worsened, despite all of the tinctures and patent medicines available to his turn-of-the-century expertise. Not long after that, his business partner had been revealed as a crook, sending Lawall scrambling into bankruptcy court to convince the judge that his pharmacy had nothing to do with shady real estate dealings. Then, in the midst of the bankruptcy proceedings, an anonymous woman had staggered into Lawall’s drug store, collapsed on the floor, and died of unknown causes. Likely no one could have saved her, but it wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of the pharmaceutical services available at the corner of Eighth Street and Avenue C. None of that compared, however, to the morning of 27 June 1906, when a disheveled man in a medical coat burst through the narrow glass doors of the pharmacy, begging for protection. He was immediately followed by a young man with a revolver, and an angry crowd screaming in Yiddish. Lawall didn’t speak the language, but there was no mistaking the young man’s intent as he strode purposely forward and raised his gun to the doctor’s head. It was a grim, but recognizable tableau: the young man’s stance and grip were confident, clearly marking him as a budding gangster. The behavior of the crowd, on the other hand, made no sense at all. Innocent bystanders tended to run away from gang violence, yet the pushcart vendors and housewives surrounding the apparent holdup were not frightened, or even appealing for mercy. They were shouting, quite insistently, for the doctor’s execution. And everything seemed to indicate they were going to get what they wanted. In the weeks that followed, blame would be pointed in nearly every direction—because at that moment, unbeknownst to Lawall, similar scenes were playing out all over the neighborhood, with other doctors, teachers, reporters, and even utility workers being assaulted by hordes of people howling at them in Yiddish. By the time it was over, the incident would be measured as one of the largest riots ever in New York City, and the confrontation at Lawall’s Pharmacy would be mentioned only in passing, if at all. Another name, however, would be repeated over and over again: Adeline E. Simpson, the principal of Public School No. 110. Continue reading ▶
Iceland is known to the rest of the world as the land of Vikings and volcanos, an island caught between continents at the extremities of the map. Remote and comparatively inhospitable, it was settled only as long ago as the 9th century, and has seen little additional in-migration since. Even today, more than 90 percent of Iceland’s 390,000 residents can trace their ancestry back to the earliest permanent inhabitants, a Nordic-Celtic mix. The tradition of the Norse sagas lives on in the form of careful record-keeping about ancestry—and a national passion for genealogy. In other words, it is not the place to stumble upon old family mysteries. But growing up in the capital city of Reykjavík in the 1950s, neurologist Dr. Kári Stefánsson heard stories that left him curious. Stefánsson’s father had come from Djúpivogur, an eastern coastal town where everyone still spoke of a Black man who had moved there early in the 19th century. “Hans Jónatan”, they called him—a well-liked shopkeeper who had arrived on a ship, married a spirited woman from a local farm, and became a revered member of the community. The local census did record a man by the name of Hans Jónatan, born in the Caribbean, who was working at the general store in Djúpivogur in the 19th century—but that was all. No images of the man had survived, and his time in Iceland was well before any other humans with African ancestry are known to have visited the island. If tiny, remote Djúpivogur did have a Black man arrive in the 19th century, the circumstances must have been unusual indeed. It was an intriguing puzzle—and solid grounds for a scientific investigation. Given the amount of homogeneity in the baseline Icelandic population, the genetic signature of one relative newcomer with distinct ancestry might still stand out across a large sample of his descendants. Geneticists thus joined locals and history scholars, and they pieced together a story that bridged three continents. Continue reading ▶
It’s been a busy summer, and the large shortfall in donations last month has been demoralizing, so we’re taking a week off to rest and recuperate. The curated links section will be (mostly) silent, and behind the scenes we’ll be taking a brief break from our usual researching, writing, editing, illustrating, narrating, sound designing, coding, et cetera. We plan to return to normalcy on the 11th of September. (The word “normalcy” was not considered an acceptable alternative to “normality” until 14 May 1920, when then-presidential-candidate Warren G. Harding misused the mathematical term in a campaign speech, stating that America needed, “not nostrums, but normalcy.” He then integrated this error into his campaign slogan, “Return to Normalcy.” Also, the G in Warren G. Harding stood for “Gamaliel.”) While we are away, on 06 September 2023, Damn Interesting will be turning 18 years old. To celebrate, here are the first emojis to ever appear in the body of a Damn Interesting post: 🎂🎉🎁 If you become bored while we are away, you might try a little mobile game we’ve been working on called Wordwhile. It can be played alone, or with a friend. If you enjoy games like Scrabble and Wordle, you may find this one ENJOYABLE (75 points). Launch Wordwhile → And, as always, there are lots of ways to explore our back-catalog. View this post ▶
In the late 17th century, natural philosopher Isaac Newton was deeply uneasy with a new scientific theory that was gaining currency in Europe: universal gravitation. In correspondence with a scientific contemporary, Newton complained that it was “an absurdity” to suppose that “one body may act upon another at a distance through a vacuum.” The scientist who proposed this preposterous theory was Isaac Newton. He first articulated the idea in his widely acclaimed magnum opus Principia, wherein he explained, “I have not yet been able to discover the cause of these properties of gravity from phenomena and I feign no hypotheses […] It is enough that gravity does really exist and acts according to the laws I have explained.” Newton proposed that celestial bodies were not the sole sources of gravity in the universe, rather all matter attracts all other matter with a force that corresponds to mass and diminishes rapidly with distance. He had been studying the motions of the six known planets–Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Uranus–and by expanding upon the laws of planetary motion developed by Johannes Kepler about eight decades earlier, he arrived at an equation for gravitational force F that seemed to match decades of data: Where m1 and m2 are the masses of the objects, r is the distance between their centers of mass, and G is the gravitational constant (~0.0000000000667408). But this is only an approximation; humanity may never know the precise value because it is impossible to isolate any measuring apparatus from all of the gravity in the universe. Fellow astronomers found that Newton’s theory seemed to be accurate–universal gravitation appeared to reliably forecast the sometimes irregular motion of the planets even more closely than Kepler’s laws. In 1705, Queen Anne knighted Isaac Newton to make him Sir Isaac Newton (though this honor was due to his work in politics, not for his considerable contributions to math or science). In the century that followed, Newton’s universal gravitation performed flawlessly. Celestial bodies appeared to adhere to the elegant theory, and in scientific circles, it began to crystallize into a law of nature. But in the early 19th century, cracks began to appear. When astronomer Alexis Bouvard used Newton’s equations to carefully calculate future positions of Jupiter and Saturn, they proved spectacularly accurate. However, when he followed up in 1821 with astronomical tables for Uranus–the outermost known planet–subsequent observations revealed that the planet was crossing the sky substantially slower than projected. The fault was not in Bouvard’s math; Uranus appeared to be violating the law of universal gravitation. Newton’s theory was again called into question in 1843 by a 32-year-old assistant astronomer at the Paris Observatory, Urbain Le Verrier. Le Verrier had been following the Uranus perturbations with great interest, while also compiling a painstaking record of the orbit of Mercury–the innermost known planet. He found that Mercury also departed from projections made by universal gravitation. Was universal gravitation a flawed theory? Or might undiscovered planets lurk in extra-Uranian and intra-Mercurial space, disturbing the orbits of the known planets? Astronomers around the world scoured the skies, seeking out whatever was perturbing the solar system. The answer, it turned out, was more bizarre than they could have supposed. Continue reading ▶
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[Note that this article is a transcript of the video embedded above.] There’s a new trend in high-rise building design. Maybe you’ve seen this in your city. The best lots are all taken, so developers are stretching the limits to make use of space that isn’t always ideal for skyscrapers. They’re not necessarily taller than buildings of the past, but they are a lot more slender. “Pencil tower” is the term generally used to describe buildings that have a slenderness ratio of more than around 10 to 1, height to width. A lot of popular discussion around skyscrapers is about how tall we can build them. Eventually, you can get so tall that there are no materials strong enough to support the weight. But, pencil towers are the perfect case study in why strength isn’t the only design criterion used in structural engineering. Of course, we don’t want our buildings to fall down, but there’s other stuff we don’t want them to do, too, including flex and sway in the wind. In engineering, this concept is called the serviceability limit state, and it’s an entirely separate consideration from strength. Even if moderate loads don’t cause a structure to fail, the movement they cause can lead to windows breaking, tiles cracking, accelerated fatigue of the structure, and, of course, people on the top floors losing their lunch from disorientation and discomfort. So, limiting wind-induced motions is a major part of high-rise design and, in fact, can be such a driving factor in the engineering of the building that strength is a secondary consideration. Making a building stiffer is the obvious solution. But adding stiffness requires larger columns and beams, and those subtract valuable space within the building itself. Another option is to augment a building’s aerodynamic performance, reducing the loads that winds impose. But that too can compromise the expensive floorspace within. So many engineers are relying on another creative way to limit the vibrations of tall buildings. And of course, I built a model in the garage to show you how this works. I’m Grady, and this is Practical Engineering. One of the very first topics I ever covered on this channel was tuned mass dampers. These are mechanisms that use a large, solid mass to counteract motion in all kinds of structures, dissipating the energy through friction or hydraulics, like the shock absorbers in vehicles. Probably the most famous of these is in the Taipei 101 building. At the top of the tower is a massive steel pendulum, and instead of hiding it away in a mechanical floor, they opened it to visitors, even giving the damper its own mascot. But, mass dampers have a major limitation because of those mechanical parts. The complex springs, dampers, and bearings need regular maintenance, and they are custom-built. That gets pretty expensive. So, what if we could simplify the device? This is my garage-built high-rise. It’s not going to hold many conference room meetings, but it does do a good job swaying from side to side, just like an actual skyscraper. And I built a little tank to go on top here. The technical name for this tank is a tuned liquid column damper, and I can show you how it works. Let’s try it with no water first. Using my digitally calibrated finger, I push the tower over by a prescribed distance, and you can see this would not be a very fun ride. There is some natural damping, but the oscillation goes on for quite a while before the motion stops. Now, let’s put some water in the tank. With the power of movie magic, I can put these side by side so you can really get a sense of the difference. By the way, nearly all of the parts for this demonstration were provided by my friends at Send-Cut-Send. I don’t have a milling machine or laser cutter, so this is a really nice option for getting customized parts made from basically any material - aluminum, steel, acrylic - that are ready to assemble. Instead of complex mechanical devices, liquid column dampers dissipate energy through the movement of water. The liquid in the tank is both the mass and the damper. This works like a pendulum where the fluid oscillates between two columns. Normally, there’s an orifice between the two columns that creates the damping through friction loss as water flows from one side to the other. To make this demo a little simpler, I just put lids on the columns with small holes. I actually bought a fancy air valve to make this adjustable, but it didn’t allow quite enough airflow. So instead, I simplified with a piece of tape. Very technical. Energy transferred to the water through the building is dissipated by the friction of the air as it moves in and out of the columns. And you can even hear this as it happens. Any supplemental damping system starts with a design criterion. This varies around the world, but in the US, this is probability-based. We generally require that peak accelerations with a 1-in-10 chance of being exceeded in a given year be limited to 15-18 milli-gs in residential buildings and 20-25 milli-gs in offices. For reference, the lateral acceleration for highway curve design is usually capped at 100 milli-gs, so the design criteria for buildings is between a fourth and a sixth of that. I think that makes intuitive sense. You don’t want to feel like you’re navigating a highway curve while you sit at your desk at work. It’s helpful to think of these systems in a simplified way. This is the most basic representation: a spring, a damper, and mass on a cart. We know the mass of the building. We can estimate its stiffness. And the building itself has some intrinsic damping, but usually not much. If we add the damping system onto the cart, it’s basically just the same thing at a smaller scale, and the design process is really just choosing the mass and damping systems for the remaining pieces of this puzzle to achieve the design goal. The mass of liquid dampers is usually somewhere between half a percent to two percent of the building’s total weight. The damping is related to the water’s ability to dissipate energy. And the spring needs to be tuned to the building. All buildings vibrate at a natural frequency related to their height and stiffness. Think of it like a big tuning fork full of offices or condos. I can estimate my model’s natural frequency by timing the number of oscillations in a given time interval. It’s about 1.3 hertz or cycles per second. In an ideal tuned damper, the oscillation of the damping system matches that of the building. So tuning the frequency of the damper is an important piece of the puzzle. For a tuned liquid column damper, the tuning mostly comes from the length of the liquid flow path. A longer path results in a lower frequency. The compression of the air above the column in my demo affects this too, and some types of dampers actually take advantage of that phenomenon. I got the best tuning when the liquid level was about halfway up the columns. The orifice has less of an effect on frequency and is used mostly to balance the amount of damping versus the volume of liquid that flows through each cycle. In my model, with one of the holes completely closed off, you can see the water doesn’t move, and you get minimal damping. With the tape mostly covering the hole, you get the most frictional loss, but not all the fluid flows from one side to the other each cycle. When I covered about half of one hole, I got the full fluid flow and the best damping performance. The benefit of a tuned column damper is that it doesn’t take up a lot of space. And because the fluid movement is confined, they’re fairly predictable in behavior. So, these are used in quite a few skyscrapers, including the Random House Tower in Manhattan, One Wall Center in Vancouver (which actually has many walls), and Comcast Center in Philadelphia. But, tuned column liquid dampers have a few downsides. One is that they really only work for flexible structures, like my demo. Just like in a pendulum, the longer the flow path in a column damper, the lower the frequency of the oscillation. For stiffer buildings with higher natural frequencies, tuning requires a very short liquid column, which limits the mass and damping capability to a point where you don’t get much benefit. The other thing is that this is still kind of a complex device with intricate shapes and a custom orifice between the two columns. So, we can get even simpler. This is my model tuned sloshing damper, and it’s about as simple as a damper can get. I put a weight inside the empty tank to make a fair comparison, and we can put it side by side with water in the tank to see how it works. As you can see, sloshing dampers dissipate energy by… sloshing. Again, the water is both the mass and the damper. If you tune it just right, the sloshing happens perfectly out of phase of the motion of the building, reducing the magnitude of the movement and acceleration. And you can see why this might be a little cheaper to build - it’s basically just a swimming pool - four concrete walls, a floor, and some water. There’s just not that much to it. But the simplicity of construction hides the complexity of design. Like a column damper, the frequency of a sloshing damper can be tuned, first by the length of the tank. Just like fretting a guitar string further down the neck makes the note lower, a tank works the same way. As the tank gets longer, its sloshing frequency goes down. That makes sense - it takes longer for the wave to get from one side to the other. But you can also adjust the depth. Waves move slower in shallower water and faster in deeper water. Watch what happens when I overfill the tank. The initial wave starts on the left as the building goes right. It reaches the right side just as the building starts moving left. That’s what we want; it’s counteracting the motion. But then it makes it back to the left before the building starts moving right. It’s actually kind of amplifying the motion, like pushing a kid on a swing. Pretty soon after that, the wave and the building start moving in phase, so there’s pretty much no damping at all. Compare it to the more properly tuned example where most of the wave motion is counteracting the building motion as it sways back and forth. You can see in my demo that a lot of the energy dissipation comes from the breaking waves as they crash against the sides of the tank. That is a pretty complicated phenomenon to predict, and it’s highly dependent on how big the waves are. And even with the level pretty well tuned to the frequency of the building, you can see there’s a lot of complexity in the motion with multiple modes of waves, and not all of them acting against the motion of the building. So, instead of relying on breaking waves, most sloshing dampers use flow obstructions like screens, columns, or baffles. I got a few different options cut out of acrylic so we can try this out. These baffles add drag, increasing the energy dissipation with the water, usually without changing the sloshing frequency. Here’s a side-by-side comparison of the performance without a baffle and with one. You can see that the improvement is pretty dramatic. The motion is more controlled and the behavior is more linear, making this much simpler to predict during the design phase. It’s kind of the best of both worlds since you get damping from the sloshing and the drag of the water passing through the screen. Almost all the motion is stopped in this demo after only three oscillations. I was pretty impressed with this. Here’s all three of the baffle runs side by side. Actually, the one with the smallest holes worked the best in my demo, but deciding the configuration of these baffles is a big challenge in the engineering of these systems because you can’t really just test out a bunch of options at full scale. Devices like this are in service in quite a few high-rise buildings, including Princess Tower in Dubai, and the Museum Tower in Dallas. With no moving parts and very little maintenance except occasionally topping it off to keep the water at the correct level, you can see how it would be easy to choose a sloshing damper for a new high-rise project. But there are some disadvantages. One is volumetric efficiency. You can see that not all the water in the tank is mobilized, especially for smaller movements, which means not all the water is contributing to the damping. The other is non-linearity. The amount of damping changes depending on the magnitude of the movement since drag is related to velocity squared. And even the frequency of the damper isn’t constant; it can change with the wave amplitude as well because of the breaking waves. So you might get good performance at the design level, but not so much for slower winds. Dampers aren’t just used in buildings. Bridges also take advantage of these clever devices, especially on the decks of pedestrian bridges and the towers of long-span bridges. This also happens at a grand scale between the Earth and moon. Tidal bulges in the oceans created by the moon’s tug on Earth dissipate energy through friction and turbulence, which is a big part of why our planet’s rotation is slowing over time. Days used to be a lot shorter when the Earth was young, but we have a planet-scale liquid damper constantly dissipating our rotational energy. But whether it’s bridges or buildings, these dampers usually don’t work perfectly right at the start. Vibrations are complicated. They’re very hard to predict, even with modern tools like simulation software and scale physical models. So, all dampers have to go through a commissioning process. Usually this involves installing accelerometers once construction is nearing completion to measure the structure’s actual natural frequency. The tuning of tuned dampers doesn’t just happen during the design phase; you want some adjustability after construction to make sure they match the structure’s natural frequency exactly so you get the most damping possible. For liquid dampers, that means adjusting the levels in the tanks. And in many cases, buildings might use multiple dampers tuned to slightly different frequencies to improve the performance over a range of conditions. Even in these two basic categories, there is a huge amount of variability and a lot of ongoing research to minimize the tradeoffs these systems come with. The truth is that, relatively speaking, there aren’t that many of these systems in use around the world. Each one is highly customized, and even putting them into categories can get a little tricky. There are even actively controlled liquid dampers. My tuning for the column damper works best for a single magnitude of motion, but you can see that once the swaying gets smaller, the damper isn’t doing a lot to curb it. You can imagine if I constantly adjusted the size of the orifice, I could get better performance over a broader range of unwanted motion. You can do this electronically by having sensors feed into a control system that adjusts a valve position in real-time. Active systems and just the flexibility to tune a damper in general also help deal with changes over time. If a building’s use changes, if new skyscrapers nearby change the wind conditions, or if it gets retrofits that change its natural frequency, the damping system can easily accommodate those changes. In the end, a lot of engineering decisions come down to economics. In most cases, damping is less about safety and more about comfort, which is often harder to pin down. Engineers and building owners face a balancing act between the cost of supplemental damping and the value of the space those systems take up. Tuned mass dampers are kind of household names when it comes to damping. A few buildings like Shanghai Center and Taipei 101 have made them famous. They’re usually the most space-efficient (since steel and concrete are more dense than water). But they’re often more costly to install and maintain. Liquid dampers are the unsung heroes. They take up more space, but they’re simple and cost-effective, especially if the fire codes already require you to have a big tank of water at the top of your building anyway. Maybe someday, an architect will build one out of glass or acrylic, add some blue dye and mica powder, and put it on display as a public showcase. Until then, we’ll just have to know it’s there by feel.
Under a new agreement, London will source enough solar power to run its light railway and tram networks entirely on renewable energy. Read more on E360 →
I participated in a program about 15 years ago that looked at science and technology challenges faced by a subset of the US government. I came away thinking that such problems fall into three broad categories. Actual science and engineering challenges, which require foundational research and creativity to solve. Technology that may be fervently desired but is incompatible with the laws of nature, economic reality, or both. Alleged science and engineering problems that are really human/sociology issues. Part of science and engineering education and training is giving people the skills to recognize which problems belong to which categories. Confusing these can strongly shape the perception of whether science and engineering research is making progress. There has been a lot of discussion in the last few years about whether scientific progress (however that is measured) has slowed down or stagnated. For example, see here: https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2018/11/diminishing-returns-science/575665/ https://news.uchicago.edu/scientific-progress-slowing-james-evans https://www.forbes.com/sites/roberthart/2023/01/04/where-are-all-the-scientific-breakthroughs-forget-ai-nuclear-fusion-and-mrna-vaccines-advances-in-science-and-tech-have-slowed-major-study-says/ https://theweek.com/science/world-losing-scientific-innovation-research A lot of the recent talk is prompted by this 2023 study, which argues that despite the world having many more researchers than ever before (behold population growth) and more global investment in research, somehow "disruptive" innovations are coming less often, or are fewer and farther between these days. (Whether this is an accurate assessment is not a simple matter to resolve; more on this below.) There is a whole tech bro culture that buys into this, however. For example, see this interview from last week in the New York Times with Peter Thiel, which points out that Thiel has been complaining about this for a decade and a half. On some level, I get it emotionally. The unbounded future spun in a lot of science fiction seems very far away. Where is my flying car? Where is my jet pack? Where is my moon base? Where are my fusion power plants, my antigravity machine, my tractor beams, my faster-than-light drive? Why does the world today somehow not seem that different than the world of 1985, while the world of 1985 seems very different than that of 1945? Some of the folks that buy into this think that science is deeply broken somehow - that we've screwed something up, because we are not getting the future they think we were "promised". Some of these people have this as an internal justification underpinning the dismantling of the NSF, the NIH, basically a huge swath of the research ecosystem in the US. These same people would likely say that I am part of the problem, and that I can't be objective about this because the whole research ecosystem as it currently exists is a groupthink self-reinforcing spiral of mediocrity. Science and engineering are inherently human ventures, and I think a lot of these concerns have an emotional component. My take at the moment is this: Genuinely transformational breakthroughs are rare. They often require a combination of novel insights, previously unavailable technological capabilities, and luck. They don't come on a schedule. There is no hard and fast rule that guarantees continuous exponential technological progress. Indeed, in real life, exponential growth regimes never last. The 19th and 20th centuries were special. If we think of research as a quest for understanding, it's inherently hierarchal. Civilizational collapses aside, you can only discover how electricity works once. You can only discover the germ theory of disease, the nature of the immune system, and vaccination once (though in the US we appear to be trying really hard to test that by forgetting everything). You can only discover quantum mechanics once, and doing so doesn't imply that there will be an ongoing (infinite?) chain of discoveries of similar magnitude. People are bad at accurately perceiving rare events and their consequences, just like people have a serious problem evaluating risk or telling the difference between correlation and causation. We can't always recognize breakthroughs when they happen. Sure, I don't have a flying car. I do have a device in my pocket that weighs only a few ounces, gives me near-instantaneous access to the sum total of human knowledge, let's me video call people around the world, can monitor aspects of my fitness, and makes it possible for me to watch sweet videos about dogs. The argument that we don't have transformative, enormously disruptive breakthroughs as often as we used to or as often as we "should" is in my view based quite a bit on perception. Personally, I think we still have a lot more to learn about the natural world. AI tools will undoubtedly be helpful in making progress in many areas, but I think it is definitely premature to argue that the vast majority of future advances will come from artificial superintelligences and thus we can go ahead and abandon the strategies that got us the remarkable achievements of the last few decades. I think some of the loudest complainers (Thiel, for example) about perceived slowing advancement are software people. People who come from the software development world don't always appreciate that physical infrastructure and understanding are hard, and that there are not always clever or even brute-force ways to get to an end goal. Solving foundational problems in molecular biology or quantum information hardware or photonics or materials is not the same as software development. (The tech folks generally know this on an intellectual level, but I don't think all of them really understand it in their guts. That's why so many of them seem to ignore real world physical constraints when talking about AI.). Trying to apply software development inspired approaches to science and engineering research isn't bad as a component of a many-pronged strategy, but alone it may not give the desired results - as warned in part by this piece in Science this week. More frequent breakthroughs in our understanding and capabilities would be wonderful. I don't think dynamiting the US research ecosystem is the way to get us there, and hoping that we can dismantle everything because AI will somehow herald a new golden age seems premature at best.
Image generators are designed to mimic their training data, so where does their apparent creativity come from? A recent study suggests that it’s an inevitable by-product of their architecture. The post Researchers Uncover Hidden Ingredients Behind AI Creativity first appeared on Quanta Magazine
Humans are dramatically changing the environment of the Earth in many ways. Only about 23% of the land surface (excluding Antarctica) is considered to be “wilderness”, and this is rapidly decreasing. What wilderness is left is also mostly managed conservation areas. Meanwhile, about 3% of the surface is considered urban. I could not find a […] The post Animals Adapting to Cities first appeared on NeuroLogica Blog.
