How Did the Standing Ovation Originate?

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Applause is one of those cultural rituals so ingrained in our habits that to clap is a nearly subconscious act. However, the choice to remain clapping—and, at times, to stand while doing so—is very intentional. But when did the standing ovation begin? 

Like many facets of our culture, this one dates back to Ancient Rome. Although today’s society counts a standing ovation as one of the highest forms of flattery, it was actually a tier below one of Rome’s most honorary celebrations. At the time, a “triumph” was a rite conducted to publicly acknowledge a commander who led the Roman forces to a great military victory.

In contrast, the definition of an ovation is derived from the Latin for “I rejoice” and while it’s still a pretty big deal, it’s a step down from a triumph: “A ceremony attending the entering of Rome by a general who had won a victory of less importance than that for which a triumph was granted.”

Fast forward a few centuries or so, and standing ovations are solidified in modern culture. In a 2003 op-ed piece for The New York Times, Jesse McKinley supposed that standing ovations became associated with theater around the 17th century, but noted that many historians cite the origin to the years following World War II. In fact, there’s even a (fantastically named) theory to support this claim.

According to McKinley, American musical scholar Ethan Mordden came up with the “Big Lady Theory.” In productions around the 1950s (My Fair Lady is cited as an example), the music left barely any time for the cast to bow during a curtain call. However, when musicals evolved to showcase a star performer—think Carol Channing in Hello, Dolly!—the production was staged to accommodate a longer bow.

''The whole curtain call is built to a climax,'' Mordden said. ''The ensemble bows and sings. The male leads bow, and supporting women, and everything builds and builds and builds, and then when everyone's attention is focused, the star comes out in her 37th Bob Mackie gown of the evening. By that point, you have no choice but get to your feet.''

Standing ovations are so ingrained in our culture that we’ve reached a point where certain ones get additional recognition. For example, iconic actor Charlie Chaplin was given an Honorary Award at the 1972 Oscars. According to Harper’s Bazaar, his 12-minute standing ovation remains the longest in the award ceremony's history.

Sports are another area where standing ovations remain common. Cal Ripken, Jr. is widely reported to have received one of the longest ovations in athletic history. On September 6, 1995, Ripken broke the record for most consecutive games played in the Major League Baseball—and the stadium saluted him by standing and cheering for 22 minutes. Despite being honored by thousands that day, Ripken remains modest about the applause.

“It was really, really long,” he told Baltimore Magazine in a 2015 interview. “I was embarrassed because you don’t stop a game in the middle. Pitchers are warming up; players have a rhythm. So I was like, ‘I’ll celebrate afterward as much as you guys want, but let’s get this game going.’”

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Do Lobsters Really Mate for Life?

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It's a pop culture trope that mated lobsters stay together until they die. But is it true?

Nope. While plenty of animals practice long-term monogamy, lobsters are not among them. Lobsters actually mate by a weird system of serial monogamy. It's not exactly a one-night stand, but it's not a lifelong commitment either. Instead, a bunch of females take turns having a fling with the local dominant male that lasts a week or two and, if they're not happy with the amount of genetic material he's provided, then seek a little extra action.

It works like this: A female lobster who's ready to mate (which they can only do right after they've molted) hangs out near the den of the local dominant male and fans her pheromone-laced urine into his home. This relaxes the male, making him less aggressive and more receptive to mating. Then there's a brief courtship, and the male allows the female into his den.

Anywhere from a few hours to a few days later, the female slips into something a little more comfortable by shedding her exoskeleton. (Shacking up with the neighborhood tough guy guarantees her protection during this vulnerable time.) The pair mates, and the male deposits his sperm in the female. Once her new shell has hardened a week or two later, she takes off, and another female can have her turn. Often, the females in an area will stagger the timing of their molts to make their reproductive conga line more efficient. As soon as one female is done with the stud, the next one is already waiting to pee on his doorstep.

Sometimes, the male doesn't provide enough sperm to fully fertilize all of a female's eggs. In these cases, she'll leave before her new shell finishes forming to find and mate with another male (or males) until she collects enough sperm. Usually this requires just an extra dalliance or two, but as many as 10 have been reported.

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Could an Astronaut Steal a Rocket and Lift Off, Without Mission Control?

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C Stuart Hardwick:

Not with any rocket that has ever thus far carried a person into orbit from Earth, no. Large rockets are complex, their launch facilities are complex, their trajectories are complex, and the production of their propellants is complex.

Let me give you one simple example:

  • Let’s say astro-Sally is the last woman on Earth, and is fully qualified to fly the Saturn-V.
  • Further, let’s say the Rapture (which as I understand it, is some sort of hip-hop induced global catastrophe that liquefies all the people) has left a Saturn-V sitting on the pad, raring to go.
  • Further, let’s grant that, given enough time, astro-Sally can locate sufficient documentation to operate the several dozen controls needed to pump the first stage propellant tanks full of kerosene.
  • Now what? Oxidizer, right? Wrong. First, she has to attend to the batteries, oxygen, hydrogen, and helium pressurant tanks in her spacecraft, otherwise it’s going to be a short, final flight. And she’ll need to fill the hypergolics for the spacecraft propulsion and maneuvering systems. If she screws that up, the rocket will explode with her crawling on it. If she gets a single drop of either of these on her skin or in her lungs, she’ll die.
  • But okay, maybe all the hypergolics were already loaded (not safe, but possible) and assume she manages to get the LOX, H2, and HE tanks ready without going Hindenburg all over the Cape.
  • And…let’s just say Hermione Granger comes back from the Rapture to work that obscure spell, propellantus preparum.
  • All set, right? Well, no. See, before any large rocket can lift off, the water quench system must be in operation. Lift off without it, and the sound pressure generated by the engines will bounce off the pad, cave in the first stage, and cause 36 stories of rocket to go “boom.”
  • So she searches the blockhouse and figures out how to turn on the water quench system, then hops in the director’s Tesla (why not?) and speeds out to the pad, jumps in the lift, starts up the gantry—and the water quench system runs out of water ... Where’d she think that water comes from? Fairies? No, it comes from a water tower—loaded with an ample supply for a couple of launch attempts. Then it must be refilled.

Now imagine how much harder this would all be with the FBI on your tail.

Can a rocket be built that’s simple enough and automated enough to be susceptible to theft? Sure. Have we done so? Nope. The Soyuz is probably the closest—being highly derived from an ICBM designed to be “easy” to launch, but even it’s really not very close.

This post originally appeared on Quora. Click here to view.

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