In the mid­1950s，I was a somewhat bored early­ado lescent male student who believed that doing_any_more_than_necessary_was_wasted_effort.One day，this approach threw me into embarrassment.

    In Mrs.Totten's eighth­grade math class at Central Avenue School in Anderson，Indiana，we were learning to add and subtract decimals (小数)．

    Our teacher typically assigned daily homework，which would be recited in class the following day.On most days，our grades were based on our oral answers to homework questions.

    Mrs.Totten usually walked up and down the rows of desks requesting answers from student after student in the order the questions had appeared on our homework sheets.She would start either at the front or the back of the classroom and work toward the other end.

    Since I was seated near the middle of about 35 students，it was easy to figure out which questions I might have to answer.This particular time，I had completed my usual two or three problems according to my calculations.

What I failed to expect was that several students were absent，which threw off my estimate.As Mrs.Totten made her way from the beginning of the class，I desperately tried to determine which math problem I would get.I tried to work it out before she got to me，but I had brain freeze and couldn't function.

    When Mrs.Totten reached my desk，she asked what answer I'd got for problem No.14.“I...I didn't get anything，”I answered，and my face felt warm.

     “Correct，”she said.

    It turned out that the correct answer was zero.

    What did I learn that day？First，always do all your homework.Second，in real life it isn't always what you say but how you say it that matters.Third，I would never make it as a mathematician.

    If I could choose one school day that taught me the most，it would be that one.

    In the 1962 movie Lawrence of Arabia, one scene shows an American newspaper reporter eagerly snapping photos of men robbing a damaged train. One of the robbers, Chief Auda abu Tayi of the Howeitat clan, suddenly notices the camera and snatches it. “Am I in this?” he asks, before smashing it open. To the dismayed reporter, Lawrence explains, “He thinks these things will steal his virtue. He thinks you're a kind of thief.”

As soon as colonizers and explorers began taking cameras into distant lands, stories began circulating about how native peoples saw them as tools for black magic. The “ignorant natives” may have had a point. When photography first became available, scientists welcomed it as a more objective way of recording faraway societies than early travelers' exaggerated accounts. But in some ways, anthropological(人类学的) photographs reveal more about the culture that holds the camera than the one that stares back. Up into the 1950s and 1960s, many ethnographer(人种学者) sought “pure” pictures of “primitive” cultures, routinely deleting modern articles for daily use such as clocks and Western dress. They paid men and women to re-enact rituals or to pose as members of war or hunting parties, often with little regard for truthfulness. Edward Curtis, the legendary photographer of North American Indians, for example, got one Makah man to pose as a whaler with a spear in 1915 — even though the Makah had not hunted whales in a generation.

    These photographs reinforced widely accepted stereotypes that native cultures were isolated, primitive, and unchanging. For instance, National Geographic magazine's photographs have taught millions of Americans about other cultures. As Catherine Lutz and Jane Collins point out in their 1993 book Reading National Geographic, the magazine since its founding in 1888 has kept a tradition of presenting beautiful photos that don't challenge white, middle-class American conventions. While dark-skinned women can be shown without tops, for example, white women's breasts are taboo. Photos that could unsettle or disturb, such as areas of the world torn apart by war or famine, are discarded in favor of those that reassure, to conform with the society's stated pledge to present only “kindly” visions of foreign societies. The result, Lutz and Collins say, is the display of “an idealized and exotic world relatively free of pain or class conflict.”

    Lutz actually likes National Geographic a lot. She read the magazine as a child, and its lush imagery influenced her eventual choice of anthropology as a career. She just thinks that as people look at the photographs of other cultures, they should be alert to the choice of composition and images.

    Meet the amazing Eliot Schrefer, and see why we're big fans!

    Scope: Why do you write stories about animals?

    Eliot: I've always been excited by animal stories. When I was young, I liked reading about animals because they seemed like they needed help, and they were also voiceless.

    Scope: Where did you get the idea for Animal Distress Calls?

    Eliot: Many years ago, I had a friend who worked as a doctor at the Bronx Zoo. One evening he invited me to see the zoo after hours. Wandering that still, dark zoo was haunting. I was imagining adventures with big wild animals, but only the wolves were awake. Then he took me into the clinic, where I met a sick bird. That nighttime visit clearly had a big impact on this story.

    Scope: Why did you leave Josie's fate ambiguous in the story Animal Distress Calls?

    Eliot: So many of us have known a creature, human or nonhuman, who's been suffering. Sometimes everything gets better, and sometimes it doesn't. That doesn't change the important, compassionate act of caring. I didn't want the story to become about the outcome of Josie's illness. I wanted it to be about the sympathy Josie and Julia share for each other.

    Scope: Have you had a personal experience with an animal that changed you?

    Eliot: I had a moment during research for my ape novels when I was staying at a bonobo sanctuary in Congo. I'd have breakfast with Oshwe, a young bonobo who was too little to eat with the rest of the group. Sitting with him for a few hours each morning, I helped make sure that he finished his meal and got the nutrition he needed—but it also felt like a gift he was giving me. Oh, I remember thinking, you're spending this precious morning time with me!

    Reading can be a social activity. Think of the people who belong to book groups. They choose books to read and then meet to discuss them. Now, the website BookCrossing.com turns the page on the traditional idea of a book group.

    Members go on the site and register the books they own and would like to share. BookCrossing provides an ID number to stick inside the book. Then the person leaves it in a public place, hoping that the book will have an adventure, traveling far and wide with each new reader who finds it.

    Bruce Pederson, the managing director of BookCrossing, says "The two things that change your life are the people you meet and books you read. BookCrossing combines both."

    Members leave books on park benches and buses, in train stations and coffee shops. Whoever finds their book will go to the site and record where they found it.

People who find a book can also leave a journal entry describing what they thought of it. E-mails are then sent to the BookCrossers to keep them updated about where their books have been found. Bruce Pederson says the idea is for people not to be selfish by keeping a book to gather dust on a shelf at home.

    BookCrossing is part of a trend among people who want to get back the "real" and not the virtual(虚拟). The site now has more than one million members in more than one hundred thirty-five countries.

    Three-quarters of the world's coffee farms destroy forest habitat to grow coffee in the sun and typically use harmful pesticides (杀虫剂) and chemicals that poison the environment. When forests disappear, migratory (迁徙的) songbirds disappear, too. In order to deal with severe population and habitat loss, Smithsonian scientists created the Bird Friendly certification.

    Bird Friendly coffees are shade-grown, meaning the coffee is planted under trees, rather than on the land that has been cleared of all other plants. Coffee experts say shade-grown coffees taste better, because the beans ripen slower than coffee grown in the full sun, resulting in a richer, more complex flavor. Bird Friendly certified coffees grow under bio-diverse shade that provides habitat for migratory songbirds and other wildlife, stores carbon and fights climate change. Bird Friendly coffees are also certified organic, meaning they are grown without pesticides, which is better for people and for the planet.

    Bird Friendly producers can also earn more for their crops. The wood and fruit trees on shade coffee farms provide farmers with additional income. Every cup of Bird Friendly coffee purchased rewards these farmers with a little more money for being good stewards of the environment and encourages them to continue conserving Bird Friendly habitat.

    Buying Bird Friendly supports the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center's conservation research aimed at understanding and protecting your feathered friends. You can purchase Bird Friendly certified coffees around the world and protect wildlife and habitat with every cup. Find a store or cafe near you, or better yet, have it shipped to your door when you order online.

    In the 1960s, while studying the volcanic history of Yellowstone National Park, Bob Christiansen became puzzled about something that, oddly, had not troubled anyone before: he couldn't find the park's volcano. It had been known for a long time that Yellowstone was volcanic in nature—that's what accounted for all its hot springs and other steamy features. But Christiansen couldn't find the Yellowstone volcano anywhere.

    Most of us, when we talk about volcanoes, think of the classic cone (圆锥体) shapes of a Fuji or Kilimanjaro, which are created when erupting magma (岩浆) piles up. These can form remarkably quickly. In 1943, a Mexican farmer was surprised to see smoke rising from a small part of his land. In one week he was the confused owner of a cone five hundred feet high. Within two years it had topped out at almost fourteen hundred feet and was more than half a mile across. Altogether there are some ten thousand of these volcanoes on Earth, all but a few hundred of them extinct. There is, however, a second les known type of volcano that doesn't involve mountain building. These are volcanoes so explosive that they burst open in a single big crack, leaving behind a vast hole, the caldera. Yellowstone obviously was of this second type, but Christiansen couldn't find the caldera anywhere.

    Just at this time NASA decided to test some new high-altitude cameras by taking photographs of Yellowstone. A thoughtful official passed on some of the copies to the park authorities on the assumption that they might make a nice blow-up for one of the visitors' centers. As soon as Christiansen saw the photos, he realized why he had failed to spot the caldera; almost the whole park-2.2 million acres—was caldera. The explosion had left a hole more than forty miles across—much too huge to be seen from anywhere at ground level. At some time in the past Yellowstone must have blown up with a violence far beyond the scale of anything known to humans.