Oh my God, the robots are taking over! We're doomed! Doomed! Now that I've gotten that out of my system, it's become clear that while we may or may not be doomed, the robots are taking over. The latest example is the government's new guidelines for self-driving cars.

    Tesla, Google and Uber are already testing driverless cars in cities across America. Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick is among those predicting that by 2021, self-driving cars will play a big part in urban settings.

    Nearly 40,000 people died last year in this nation in automobile-related accidents, and we believes driverless cars can save tens of thousands of lives annually.

    Makes sense. Robot drivers are less likely to get drunk, drive without a license, text while driving or feel agitated at the scene of a pileup. On the other hand, I wonder how these highly sensitive cars will react, with walkers constantly dashing into the street. Will they jam on the brakes every 10 seconds?

    But there's a bigger picture. Not only are robots replacing humans behind the wheel, but behind the work desk, in warehouses, senior homes, you name it. Robots aren't just taking over in the workplace.

    The question is, where can't a robot function better than a human? How about writing songs? A robot can go through every combination of notes in record time and come up with a pleasing melody. The lyrics might be a different story. Is a Grammy-winning song co-written by Hank Human and R-3071 in our future?

    Finally, it's only a matter of time until we have robot politicians and presidential candidates. Why not? They can be programmed to be experts in world and domestic affairs and come up with the best solutions without corruption and bad humors.

    Actually, it's too bad such technology isn't available in 2016. Pretty sure the robot would win in a landslide.

    Last year, when our three-year-old great-granddaughter Kylie was taken to see Santa Claus, she made sure to give him her wish list of toys. A week later, she ran into a different Santa in a mall. He stopped to ask what she wanted for Christmas. Kylie was surprised and let him know: “If you can't remember what I told you last week, how are you going to remember on Christmas Eve?”

    Mary Paul, Milwaukee, Wisconsin

    As my son Mike and I drove to the mall, we passed a Salvation Army Santa ringing his bell. “Mike,” I said, “there's Santa!” He shook his head. “That's just some guy in a Santa suit,” he said. It saddened me to think that maybe my son no longer believed in Santa, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. At the mall, we spotted another Santa greeting young believers. Suddenly, Mike took off toward him. Turning back to me, he shouted. “Now, there's the real Santa!”

    Michael E. Fahey, Huntley, Illinois

    We immigrated to America from China when I was six. Because I was shy and didn't speak English, I had few friends. My days were spent at home with my brother. Sometimes we'd help our neighbor Mr. Mueller pull weeds. One Christmas Day, there was a knock at the door. Grandma opened it, and there stood a big fellow in red with a snow-white beard, laughing, “Ho, ho, ho!” He handed out presents and made us laugh. I had so much fun. It was years later when I learned that our special Santa was our neighbor Mr. Mueller.

    Joanne Tang, Litchfield Park, Arizona

Life in the Clear

    Transparent animals let light pass through their bodies the same way light passes through a window. These animals typically live between the surface of the ocean and a depth of about 3,300 feet — as far as most light can reach. Most of them are extremely delicate and can be damaged by a simple touch. Sonke Johnsen, a scientist in biology, says, "These animals live through their life alone. They never touch anything unless they're eating it, or unless something is eating them."

    And they are as clear as glass. How does an animal become see­through? It's trickier than you might think.

    The objects around you are visible because they interact with light.  Light typically travels in a straight line. But some materials slow and scatter (散射) light, bouncing it away from its original path. Others absorb light, stopping it dead in its tracks.  Both scattering and absorption make an object look different from other objects around it, so you can see it easily.

    But a transparent object doesn't absorb or scatter light, at least not very much. Light can pass through it without bending or stopping. That means a transparent object doesn't look very different from the surrounding air or water. You don't see it — you see the things behind it.

    To become transparent, an animal needs to keep its body from absorbing or scattering light. Living materials can stop light because they contain pigments (色素) that absorb specific colors of light. But a transparent animal doesn't have pigments, so its tissues won't absorb light. According to Johnsen, avoiding absorption is actually easy. The real challenge is preventing light from scattering.

    Animals are built of many different materials — skin, fat, and more — and light moves through each at a different speed. Every time light moves into a material with a new speed, it bends and scatters. Transparent animals use different tricks to fight scattering. Some animals are simply very small or extremely flat.  Without much tissue to scatter light, it is easier to be see­through. Others build a large, clear mass of non­living jelly­lie (果冻状的) material and spread themselves over it.

    Larger transparent animals have the biggest challenge, because they have to make all the different tissues in their bodies slow down light exactly as much as water does. They need to look uniform. But how they're doing it is still unknown. One thing is clear for these larger animals, staying transparent is an active process.  When they die, they turn a non­transparent milky white.

    Have you ever run into a careless cell phone user on the street? Perhaps they were busy talking, texting or checking updates on We Chat without looking at what was going on around them. As the number of this new “species” of human has kept rising, they have been given a new name—phubbers (低头族).

    Recently, a cartoon created by students from China Central Academy of Fine Arts put this group of people under the spotlight. In the short film, phubbers with various social identities bury themselves in their phones, a doctor plays with his cell phone while letting his patient die, a pretty woman takes selfe in front of a car accident site, and a father loses his child without knowing about it while using his mobile phone, a chain of similar events eventually leads to a series of destruction.

    Although the ending sounds overstated, the damage phubbing can bring is real.

    Your health is the first to bear the consequence (后果) of it. “Constantly bending your head to check your cell phone could damage your neck,” Guangming Daily quoted doctors as saying. “The neck is like a rope that breaks after long-term stretching.” Also, staring at cell phones for long periods of time will damage your eyesight gradually, according to the report.

    But that's not all. Being a phubber could also damage your social skills and drive you away from your friends and family. At reunions with family or friends, many people tend to stick to their cell phones while others are chatting happily with each other and this creates a strange atmosphere, Qilu Evening News reported.

    It can also cost you your life. There have been lots of reports on phubbers who fell to their death, suffered accidents, and were robbed of their cell phones in broad daylight.

    For several decades, there has been an organized campaign intended to produce distrust in science, funded by those whose interests are threatened by the findings of modern science. In response, scientists have tended to stress the success of science. After all, scientists have been right about most things, from the structure of the universe to the relativity of time and space.

    Stressing successes isn't wrong, but for many people it's not persuasive. An alternative answer to the question "Why trust science?" is that scientists use the so-called scientific method. But what is called the scientific method isn't what scientists actually do. Science is dynamic: new methods get invented; old ones get abandoned; and at any particular point, scientists can be found doing many different things. False theories sometimes lead to true results, so even if an experiment works, it doesn't prove that the theory it was designed to test is true.

    If there is no specific scientific method, then what is the basis for trust in science? The answer is the methods by which those claims are evaluated. A scientific claim is never accepted as true until it has gone through a long process of examination by fellow scientists. Scientists draft the initial version of a paper and then send it to colleagues for suggestions. Until this point, scientific feedback is typically fairly friendly. But the next step is different: the revised paper is submitted to a scientific journal, where things get a whole lot tougher. Editors deliberately send scientific papers to people who are not friends or colleagues of the authors, and the job of the reviewer is to find errors or other faults. We call this process "peer review" because the reviewers are scientific peers—experts in the same field—but they act in the role of a superior who has both the right and the responsibility to find fault. It is only after the reviewers and the editor are satisfied that any problems have been fixed that the paper will be printed in the journal and enters the body of "science."

    Some people argue that we should not trust science because scientists are "always changing their minds." While examples of truly settled science being overturned are far fewer than is sometimes claimed, they do exist. But the beauty of this scientific process is that science produces both creativity and stability. New observations, ideas, explanations and attempts to combine competing claims introduce creativity; transformative questioning leads to collective decisions and the stability of scientific knowledge. Scientists do change their minds in the face of new evidence, but this is a strength of science, not a weakness.

Photographic self-portraits have existed for as long as cameras have been in human hands. But what about selfies in space? On Twitter last year, NASA astronaut Edwin Aldrin, who famously became the second man to walk on the moon in July 1969, laid claim to a spaceflight first: taking the first selfie in space during the Gemini XII mission in 1966.

"For me, it needs to be digital to be selfie," argues Jennifer Levasseur, a director at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. According to Levasseur, the concept of a selfie is directly linked to internet culture. "The thing that makes a selfie is sharing it," she says.

Still, astronauts have been carrying cameras aboard space vehicles since the 1960s. In 1966, Aldrin used a Hasselblad camera designed specifically for space. Hasselblad also painted the first camera in space a matte(磨砂) black to reduce reflections in the orbiter window. But cameras used in space need to survive extreme conditions, like temperature swings from -149° to 248°F, so Hasselblad painted later model silver.

Astronauts visiting the moon then had to take out the film and leave their camera bodies behind when they returned to Earth, because early space missions were limited by a weight limit on the returned trip. Then a big change in space camera technology came after the space shuttle Columbia broke apart on its return to Earth in 2003, Levasseur notes. "Fear that they'd never be able to bring film back from space and lose all that hard work accelerated the push for digital," she says.

Today, astronauts also have access to internet and social platforms in space and can post true space selfies made using digital cameras. Similarly, space robots are participating in selfie culture, capturing remote pictures of themselves in space or on other planets and sending them back to Earth.