Links, curiosities & mixed wonders – 6

Mar9

Step right up! A new batch of weird news from around the world, amazing stories and curious facts to get wise with your friends! Guaranteed to break the ice at parties!

Have you seen those adorable and lovely fruit bats? How would you like to own a pet bat, making all those funny expressions as you feed him a piece of watermelon or banana?
In this eye-opening article a bat expert explains all the reasons why keeping these mammals as domestic pets is actually a terrible idea.
There are not just ethical reasons (you would practically ruin their existence) or economic reasons (keeping them healthy would cost you way more than you can imagine); the big surprise here is that, despite those charming OMG-it’s-so-cuuute little faces, bats — how should I put it — are not exactly good-mannered.
As they hang upside down, they rub their own urine all over their body, in order to stink appropriately. They defecate constantly. And most of all, they engage in sex all the time — straight, homosexual, vaginal, oral and anal sex, you name it. If you keep them alone, males will engage in stubborn auto-fellatio. They will try and hump you, too.
And if you still think ‘Well, now, how bad can that be’, let me remind you that we’re talking about this.
Next time your friend posts a video of cuddly bats, go ahead and link this pic. You’re welcome.

Sex + animals, always good fun. Take for example the spider Latrodectus: after mating, the male voluntarily offers himself in sacrifice to be eaten by his female partner, to benefit their offspring. And he’s not the only animal to understand the evolutionary advantages of cannibalism.

From cannibals to zombies: the man picture below is Clairvius Narcisse. He is sitting on his own grave, from which he rose transformed into a real living dead.
You can find his story on Wikipedia, in a famous Haitian etnology book, in the fantasy horror film Wes Craven adapted from it, and in this in-depth article.
Since we’re talking books, have you already invested your $3 for The Illustrati Archives 2012-2016? Thirty Bizzarro Bazar articles in kindle format, and the satisfaction of supporting this blog, keeping it free as it is and always will be. Ok, end of the commercial break.

Under a monastery in Rennes, France, more than 1.380 bodies have been found, dating from 14th to 18th Century. One of them belonged to noblewoman Louise de Quengo, Lady of Brefeillac; along with her corpse, in the casket, was found her husband’s heart, sealed in a lead lock box. The research on these burials, recently published, could revolutionize all we know about mummification during the Renaissance.
While we’re on the subject, here’s a great article on some of the least known mummies in Italy: the Mosampolo mummies (Italian language).
Regarding a part of the Italian patrimony that seldom comes under the spotlight, BBC Culture issued a good post on the Catacombs of Saint Gaudiosus in Naples, where frescoes show a sort of danse macabre but with an unsettling ‘twist’: the holes that can be seen where a figure’s face should be, originally harbored essicated heads and real skulls.
Now for a change of scenario. Imagine a sort of Blade Runner future: a huge billboard, the incredible size of 1 km², is orbiting around the Earth, brightening the night with its eletric colored lights, like a second moon, advertising some carbonated drink or the last shampoo. We managed to avoid all this for the time being, but that isn’t to say that someone hasn’t already thought of doing it. Here’s the Wiki page on space advertising.

Since we are talking about space, a wonderful piece The Coming Amnesia speculates about a future in which the galaxies will be so far from each other that they will no longer be visible through any kind of telescope. This means that the inhabitants of the future will think the only existing galaxy is their own, and will never come to theorize something like the Big Bang. But wait a second: what if something like that had already happened? What if some fundamental detail, essential to the understanding of the nature of cosmos, had already, forever disappeared, preventing us from seeing the whole picture?

To intuitively teach what counterpoint is, Berkeley programmer Stephen Malinowski creates graphics where distinct melodic lines have different colors. And even without knowing anything about music, the astounding complexity of a Bach organ fugue becomes suddenly clear:

In closing, I advise you to take 10 minutes off to immerse yourself in the fantastic and poetic atmosphere of Goutte d’Or, a French-Danish stop-motion short directed by Christophe Peladan. The director of this ironic story of undead pirates, well aware he cannot compete with Caribbean blockbusters, makes a virtue of necessity and allows himself some very French, risqué malice.

Stoned spiders

May29

1948, University of Tubingen, Germany.
Zoologist H. M. Peters was frustrated. He was conducting a photographic research on the way orb-weaver spiders build their web, but he had encountered a problem: the arachnids he was studying insisted on performing this task of astounding engineering only during the night hours, very early in the morning. This schedule, besides forcing him to get up at an ungodly hour, made photographic documentation quite hard, as the spiders preferred to move in total darkness.
One day Peters decided to call on a collegue, young pharmacologist Dr. Peter N. Witt, for assistance. Would it be possible to somehow drug the spiders, so they would change this routine and start weaving their webs when the sun was already up?

Witt had never had any experience with spiders, but he soon realized that administering tranquilizers or stimulants to the arachnids was easier than he thought: the little critters, constantly thirsty for water, quickly learned to drink from his syringe.
The results of this experiment, alas, turned out to be pretty worthless to zoologist Peters. The spiders kept on building their webs during the night, but that was not the worst part of it. After swallowing the medicine, they weren’t even able to weave a decent web: as if they were drunk, the arachnids produced a twisted mesh, unworthy of being photographed.
After this experience, a disheartened Peters abandoned his project.
In Dr. Witt’s mind, instead, something had clicked.

Common spiders (Araneidae) are all but “common” when it comes to weaving. They build a new web every morning, and if byt he end of the day no insect is trapped, they simply eat it. This way, they are able to recycle silk proteins for weeks: during the first 16 days without food, the webs look perfect. Whe nthe spider gets really hungry, it begins sparing the energy by building a wider-meshes web, suitable to catch only larger insects (the spider is in need of a substantial meal).
After all, for a spider the web isn’t just a way to gather food, but an essential instrument to relate with the surrounding world. Most of these arachnids are almost totally blind, and they use the vibrations of the strands like a radar: from the perceived movements they can understand what kind of insect just snagged itself on the web, and if it is safe for them to approach it; they can notice if even a single thread has broken, and they confidently head in the right direction to repair it; they furthermore use the web as a means of communication in mating rituals, where the male spider remains on the outer edges and rythmically pinches the strings to inform the female of its presence, in order to seduce her without being mistaken for a juicy snack.

During his experimentation with chemicals, Dr. Witt noticed that there seemed to be a significative correspondence between the administered substance and the aberrations that the spiderweb showed. He therefore began feeding the spiders different psychoactive drugs, and registering the variations in their weaving patterns.
Dr. Witt’s study, published in 1951 and revised in 1971, was limited to statistical observation, without attempting to provide further interpretations. Yet the results could lead to a fascinating if not very orthodox reading: it looked like the spiders were affected in much the same way humans react to drugs.

webs

Under the influence of weed, they started regularly building their web, but were soon losing interest once they got to the outer rings; while on peyote or magic mushrooms, the arachnids movements became slower and heavier; after being microdosed with LSD, the web’s design became geometrically perfect (not unlike the kaleidoscopic visions reported by human users), while more massive doses completely inhibited the spiders’ abilities; lastly, caffeine produced out of control, schizoid results.

Spiderweb after high doses of LSD-25.

Clearly this “humanized” interpretation is not scientific to say the least. In fact, what really interested Witt was the possibility of using spiders to ascertain the presence of drugs in human blood or urine, as they had proved sensitive to minimal concentrations, which could not be instrumentally detected at the time. His research continued for decades, and Witt went from being a pharmacologist to being an entomology authority. He was able to recognize his little spliders one by one just by looking at their webs, and his fascination for these invertebrates never faded.
He kept on testing their skills in several other experiments, by altering their nervous system through laser stimulation, administering huge quantities of barbiturics, and even sending them in orbit. Even in the absence of gravity, in what Witt called “a masterpiece in adaptation”, after just three days in space the spiders were able to build a nearly perfect web.

Near the end of the Seventies, Witt discontinued his research. In 1984 J. A. Nathanson re-examined Witt’s data, but only in relation to the effects of caffeine.
In 1995 Witt saw his study come back to life when NASA successfully repeated it, with the help of statistic analysis software: the research showed that spiders could be used to test the toxicity of various chemicals instead of mice, a procedure that could save time and money.

Anyway, there is not much to worry regarding the fate of these invertebrates.
Spiders are among the very few animals who survived the biggest mass extinction that ever took place, and they are able to resist to atmospheric conditions which would be intolerable to the majority of insects. Real rulers of the world since millions of years, they will still be here a long time — even after our species has run its course.

Impostors: two animal fictions

Jul4

Picture a mythological beast, a half-snake, half-spider hybrid, likely to make both arachnophobics and herpetophobics sleepless. Imagine its tail, from which eight mutant legs stick out, and where several small, black and shiny eyes open up to scrutinize their prey. It could well be a lovecraftian horror fantasy, or a new incarnation of the alien from The Thing.
And yet, such an animal exists. Even if reality is, of course, not so dramatic.

In 1968, William and Janice Street were exploring Iran. It was their second naturalistic expedition on behalf of the Field Museum of Chicago (in the following decade they would carry out three more, in Afghanistan, Peru and Australia), with the aim of expanding the Museum’s collection with new specimens. Their mission was mainly focused on mammals, but during their trip the Streets were also collecting several reptiles.
One day they noticed a snake which seemed to have a solifugid — a type of arachnid living in arid and sandy regions — attached to its tail. Once brought back to the Museum, the specimen was examined by researcher Steven Anderson, who realized the alleged spider was in reality a part of the viper’s own morphology: since only one specimen was known, he speculated that either a tumor, a congenital defect or a parasite could be responsible for that strange appendage. The snake was identified as Pseudocerastes persicus, the persian horned viper, and almost forgotten in the shelves of the Museum for nearly fourty years.

Then, in 2003, researcher Hamid Bostanchi came in possesion of a second specimen, identical to the one previously classified. He thus began suspecting the mutation was more than a physical defect, given that 35 years had passed from the first finding. He was therefore the first to speculate that this was an unknown species.
A third specimen was found in the poisonous animals section of the Razi Institute in Karaj, Iran: it had been mistakenly classified as a horned desert viper.
At this point Bostanchi, together with the first discoverer Steven Anderson and other collegues, published his findings and baptized the new snake Pseudocerastes urarachnoides (“with a spider-like tail”) in a 2006 essay.

X-rays showed the caudal vertebrae, bearing no sign of malformation, extending well into this anomalous structure, which was evidently formed by modified scales. As many vipers move their tails to lure preys, Bostanchi hypotesized that this bizarre spider-shaped protuberance was nothing else than an elaborate hunt bait.
In 2008 a live P. urarachnoides was captured and the animal, held in captivity, seemed to actually use its tail to lure sparrows and baby chickens near him; then, with a sudden twitch, it bit them and poisoned them in less than a half second. In its stomach fowl remains were found, indicating that this bait could have evolved specifically to catch birds.

To clear any doubt and verify the hypothesis, other observations followed, also in a natural environment. Here is a recent and wonderful video of the spider-tailed viper using its caudal bait to deceive and catch a bird.

If a viper imitating a small arachnid might seem an exceptional case of mimicry, what’s really astonishing is that in nature a perfectly specular example can be found: an insect, that is, mimicking a snake.
It’s the Dynastor darius, a butterfly which during its pupa stage locks itself inside a chrysalis that would definitely look far from tempting to a possible predator: in fact, it resembles a reptile’s head.

The pupa is still aware of the world outside the chrysalis, and if it feels threatened it can shake its “mask” from side to side, to make it even more convincingly realistic.

Sometimes it is asserted that man is the only animal capable of lying.
Yet, from crypsis to mimicry, it’s clear that fiction and deceit are extremely widespread behaviors among the rest of living creatures: they are weapons of attack and self-defense, sharpened in time. The predator has to disguise its presence, the prey has to dupe the senses of its enemy, and so on, in a constant game of mirrors in which nothing is really as it seems.

La baby-sitter zombi

Dec22

Il mondo degli insetti, così fantasioso e variopinto, si rivela ad un’occhiata più attenta spesso crudele e sconcertante: dotati di armi terrificanti, gli insetti sono costantemente impegnati in una sanguinosa lotta che non conosce distrazioni o riposo.

Alcuni tipi di vespe hanno sviluppato delle tecniche di riproduzione parassitaria che si basano sulla modifica del comportamento dell’ospite – in quello che potrebbe apparire come un vero e proprio “controllo della mente”. La vespa Hymenoepimecis argyraphaga inietta le sue uova all’interno del ragno Plesiometa argyra. Le larve, una volta schiuse, avranno intorno a sé tutto il nutrimento che necessitano, e si faranno strada all’interno dell’addome del ragno fino ad uscirne. Ma questo non è tutto. La sostanza tossica iniettata dalla vespa assieme alle uova, alterando il sistema nervoso, “costringe” il ragno morente a creare una ragnatela con una conformazione del tutto diversa da quelle che realizza normalmente: la nuova, particolare configurazione è adatta affinché le larve, una volta venute alla luce, possano creare i loro bozzoli in tutta sicurezza. Nella foto sottostante, la ragnatela normale e quella “modificata” ad uso e consumo delle vespe.

Ma la vespa Dinocampus coccinellae, che assomiglia un po’ a una formica volante, si spinge ancora più in là. Come suggerisce la sua nomenclatura tassonomica, il bersaglio preferito di questa vespa è la coccinella: quando è pronta a deporre le uova, ne cerca una che sia adulta, e femmina. L’uovo della vespa viene impiantato nell’addome della coccinella, e dopo una settimana le larve si schiudono.

Dotate di grosse tenaglie mandibolari, come prima cosa queste larve divorano le uova della coccinella; in seguito cominciano a mangiarne la carne dall’interno, facendo però attenzione a non ledere organi vitali. Dopo essersi nutrite degli strati lipidici della coccinella per 18-27 giorni, le larve sono finalmente pronte ad uscire dal corpo che le contiene: paralizzano quindi la coccinella, e cominciano a farsi strada mangiando attraverso l’addome, fino ad uscirne. Ma i tormenti della coccinella non sono ancora finiti, perché la sua presenza è ancora utile alle larve.

Le larve creano il bozzolo proprio sotto alla coccinella, assicurandolo bene alle sue zampe. L’insetto, paralizzato, non può far altro che rimanere immobile sopra il bozzolo, in preda ad occasionali tremori. Dopo un’altra settimana, le vespe sono sviluppate ed escono dal loro rifugio. Ma qual è il motivo di questa complessa strategia parassitaria?

Alcuni entomologi, in uno studio del 2011 coordinato dall’Università di Montreal, hanno scoperto che i colori sgargianti e gli spasmi della coccinella tengono le larve al riparo dai predatori.
In laboratorio, più di 4.000 sfortunate coccinelle sono state portate a contatto con le vespe, in modo che venissero loro impiantate le uova. Una volta formati i bozzoli, i ricercatori hanno fatto entrare in scena i predatori: i Crisopidi, ghiotti di larve.

Il risultato è stato evidente: il 65% dei bozzoli protetti dalle coccinelle sopravvive, rispetto allo 0-5% di quelli lasciati da soli e immediatamente attaccati dai predatori.
Lo studio ha anche dimostrato che non è escluso un sorprendente lieto fine per queste involontarie “balie-zombi”. Nonostante infatti le coccinelle vittime di questo trattamento spesso muoiano di stenti (a causa della paralisi che impedisce loro di nutrirsi), incredibilmente il 25% sopravvive alla terribile esperienza: le larve delle vespe non hanno infatti intaccato alcuna parte biologicamente fondamentale dell’insetto ospite.