Blog (3)

Chopin Is My Spiritual Father

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Tags: #myspiritualfathers
It usually catches people off guard when they find out that I — a straight-A student, a former Komsomol member, and a nuclear physicist — am, in fact, a metalhead. Even more confusing to them is my borderline religious devotion to Chopin. But really, it makes perfect sense. If particles can be waves and waves can be particles, then I have every right to blast the screech of metal guitars one moment and then light a symbolic candle (and maybe sacrifice a few metaphorical cockroaches) for the greatest composer of all time the next. Funny thing is, I only “discovered” Chopin three months ago… and now I’m completely obsessed. I adore everything he ever wrote. I adore how he rests in his grave. I even adore the airport named after him. And get this — there’s a crater on Mars named after Chopin. On Mars! Mozart and Bach can quietly smoke in the corner. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s even a street in Kyrgyzstan named in his honor. What’s Kyrgyzstan, you ask? And how do you eat it? Pfff… don’t worry — most Kyrgyz people have no idea what Europe is either. Score: 1–1. But hey, they know Chopin. That’s what matters. Now, here’s a beautiful bit of symbolism: Chopin is buried in Paris, where he spent most of his life — but his heart is enshrined in the Holy Cross Church in Warsaw. It fits perfectly, since he was a fierce Polish patriot and never really felt at home anywhere else. One of his most powerful works — the Revolutionary Étude — was born out of sheer rage when he learned that the Polish uprising against the Russian Empire had failed. He had actually packed his things, ready to volunteer for the Polish army. In his diary, he wrote: “God, You exist! You exist and do not avenge! Or have You not yet had enough of Moscow’s villainy — or are You Yourself a Muscovite?! … And I am here, helpless — empty-handed — sometimes I only moan, suffer at the piano — despair — and then what? God, God! Open the earth, let it swallow the people of this age. Let the cruellest torments fall upon the French who did not come to our aid.” Raw, furious, magnificent. And if you know anything about the 1830 Polish uprising, you can feel his anger vibrating in every note of that étude. That piece is the reason I rush home early from my walks — so I can sit down at the piano and pour all my own chaos into the keys before my sacred afternoon nap. https://youtu.be/_0zkp1iEr3A Read more

Money, money, money… must be funny… in a nuclear physics world!

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Tags: #longlivenuclearphysics
You know the main difference between chemistry and nuclear physics? It’s that nuclear reactions are about a hundred thousand times more powerful than any dull, grey chemical hydrate could ever dream to be. And while medieval alchemists were busy boiling rat urine to make gold, nuclear physicists scribbled down the formula for beta decay: n → p + e⁻ + v⁻ Here’s the gist: n is a neutron that used to mind its own business, and p is what it becomes after experiencing the spiritual awakening of beta decay. Sounds insane? But from a nuclear point of view, you can technically turn oxygen into nitrogen, arsenic into germanium — even mercury into gold. And that’s where we stop… and start nuclear-financing some money. If you can turn mercury into gold, why isn’t anyone doing it? I mean, imagine the business! Actually — they already tried. Back in 1941, at the University of California, scientists did make gold from mercury. There’s just one tiny problem: the experiment cost around a hundred thousand dollars… and produced a few atoms of gold. Do the math — that’s about $100,000,000,000 per gram. Not exactly cost-efficient. You’d think it’s simple — just zap some mercury with beta radiation and enjoy your golden life, right? Well… not quite. First of all, you can pour regular mercury right back into your thermometer. To make gold, you need an unstable isotope — because stable ones don’t decay. So, you have to knock mercury out of its nuclear balance, make it radioactive, and for that, you’ll need to bombard it with neutrons. Once you get Mercury-196, you can move on to phase two. Now we need a positive beta decay — because that reduces the number of protons in the nucleus(For the record, negative beta decay does the opposite, it adds protons.) At this point, you’ll want to grab a calculator — because to “zap” mercury-196 with a positive beta decay, you’ll have to load it into a particle accelerator. A particle accelerator — or more precisely, a cyclotron. It’s a glorious metal booth where particles spin in a spiral, pushed by a magnetic field, gaining speed and energy until — bam! — the scientists unleash the beta beam and fire. Sounds epic? In practice, it’s bureaucratic hell — and getting a license to use a cyclotron for “alchemy purposes” is a whole new level of boring. And then there’s the power bill. Cyclotrons eat electricity like monsters. You’re looking at hundreds, maybe thousands of kilowatts. Add the beam energy on top — and voilà, your one gram of gold now costs a hundred billion dollars. Oh, and by the way — the gold you get is radioactive for a few hours, maybe a day. Not all mercury atoms transform; some remain stubbornly moral. The result? A glowing, unstable, gold-mercury hybrid worth as much as a galaxy — and just as impractical. As the band Tsvyakhy once sang in their song “Alchemy”: I proclaim to the world: LONG LIVE NUCLEAR POWER! I stand on the edge with an angel and a demon… https://youtu.be/Ev-BYCQynR4 Read more

What Would Happen If You Fell Into a Nuclear Reactor?

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Tags: #longlivenuclearphysics #nuclearpowerplant
Let’s imagine a scenario where it somehow happens. Maybe our unfortunate volunteer is a maintenance worker — a welder. So, picture this: our welder’s been sent to tighten a few bolts near the top of the reactor. He’s muttering to himself about why they didn’t install a lift — climbing twelve or thirteen meters in full gear isn’t exactly a joyride. Up there it’s hot, humid, and covered in steam. He slips… and down he goes. Straight into the reactor core. Now — what happens next depends on what kind of reactor we’re talking about. But before we get into that, let’s quickly cover what a reactor actually is. Imagine a giant metal pot full of water. That water gets superheated by nuclear fuel rods. The “steam” goes off to drive turbines and make electricity. The “spices” floating around — those are radioactive particles having a rave. There are two main types: • Boiling Water Reactor (BWR) — where the water literally boils inside the core. • Pressurized Water Reactor (PWR) — where it doesn’t boil, because it’s under insanely high pressure. Spoiler alert: you die in both. Scenario 1: The Boiling Reactor If you fall into a boiling water reactor, you’ll basically be cooked alive in seconds. The water temperature is about 300°C (572°F) — not exactly spa conditions. And that’s before we even mention the radiation, which is off the charts. Your body would start breaking down at the molecular level almost instantly — think less “human” and more “radioactive soup.” You’d release steam (since humans are mostly water), plus gases like carbon dioxide, methane, ammonia, and hydrogen sulfide. And because your body is now messing with the neutron balance inside the core, you’d actually cause a brief spike in radiation levels. Scenario 2: The Pressurized Reactor Good news — here, the water doesn’t boil. Bad news — it’s still around 320°C (608°F), but it stays liquid because the pressure is around 16 megapascals — about 160 times the pressure of Earth’s atmosphere. So before you even get the chance to cook, you’d be crushed flat by the pressure. Even if, by some miracle, you managed to grab onto something and not sink — nobody’s going to save you. They will only ask you to fall and accept your death. The Bigger Problem A person falling into a reactor isn’t just tragic — it’s a nightmare for the whole power plant. Within minutes, sensors would go crazy, alarms would blare, and neutron activity in the core would spike. The operators would have to shut everything down immediately. Then comes the cleanup: draining and filtering 200 to 400 cubic meters of water, removing radioactive debris, recalculating power loads, writing reports, dealing with the media… Basically, it would be three days of chaos and a career-ending headache for everyone involved. The Moral of the Story: Don’t. Fall. Into. The. Reactor. Read more