Space Poop, Contact Congress and Elf on the Shelf

our children to the concept of a surveillance state. But First Senior Writer Jonathan Strickland brings us a less festive but equally important political segment. Thanks to our freelancer Patrick Jake Haiger for the research on this one, and to Aaron Scherb, the director of legislative Affairs for a government transparency and accountability lobby Common Cause, for speaking with us

about the issue. Together, these three humans answer an increasingly relevant question, how can we ordinary citizens get members of Congress to really listen to us? Following the US election, people on all sides of every issue have been motivated to voice their opinions and concerns. But what's the most effective method to getting a congress person's attention. Warning, this piece is about the United States, so people in some other countries may also find it helpful when interacting with

their respective governments. I have some tough news for those of us who rely on the Internet to get our point across. It's not terribly effective when it comes to actually reaching someone in Congress. Online communication is generally pretty terrific, at least for those who have the means to access it. It's instantaneous, and on platforms like Facebook or Twitter, it's easy to share, promote, or add two messages. But when it comes to making a real difference on the political level,

it's not great. One reason for that is it can be difficult for a congress person and to determine how many messages come from actual constituents. If you represent a state like Georgia, for instance, you don't really care what someone in California thinks. California voters don't elect you to office. With most online platforms, it's difficult or impossible to determine where people actually live. For that reason, many politicians pay

little attention to messages on social media. Email doesn't fare much better, particularly online form letters, Congressional staff tend to perceive them as one step above spam mail, or maybe even a lateral move. If you do send an email, writing your own words is better than relying on a form letter format. Snail mail is a bit more effective. A handwritten or type letter tends to be treated with more care than electronic communication, particularly if you take the

time to write your thoughts out yourself. But the two most effective means of communication when trying to make your tend to be phone calls and in person meetings. That's not great for those of us who suffer from social anxiety, but the truth of the matter is that these methods

tend to be taken more seriously than others. According to Emily Ellsworth, a former congressional staffer, taking the time and effort to contact a congress person's office or arrange a meeting is necessary if you really want to affect the political process. Though unless you're a politically influential person, you're not likely to land a meeting with the actual congress person. Instead,

you'll chat with one of his or her staffers. Still, that's usually more effective than tweeting how angry you are about a political issue. Unfortunately, This means many people are left without an effective way to make their voices heard because it requires them to have spare time and resources to dedicate to such activities, and it could be argued that thousands of people are wasting their time voicing their concerns online rather than banding together to attend town hall

meetings and other events in person. Online communication could still be an effective means to organize like minded individuals, but when it comes to making a difference, nothing measures up to talking directly to congressional staff. Next up, I've got a challenge for you from our freelance writer, Kate Kirshner and none less than the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. How can we better handle excrement in space? So here's what we know about everybody. They hurt, they dance, and

they poop. From the Queen of England to the Queen's Corgis. Everybody on Earth has got to go, and everybody not on Earth too. The world has long been interested in the bathroom habits of astronauts. We ourselves devoted whole articles and podcasts to it. But the truth is that it hasn't always been terribly high. Astronauts on the first of Pollo missions literally had bags taped to their bums to

catch the crud. Alan Shepherd had to sit in a soggy suit before taking off to become the first American in space. It's gotten better. The International Space Station has a vacuum section system that allows for a clean and easy disposal. Once waste is collected, the solid waste is flowing into space and urine is converted into possible drinking water.

And if the I s S were to lose pressure and astronauts were confined to their suits, well, the I s S is only a few hours away from Earth, not long enough to cause huge harm if its crew were left to wallow in their filth, and while they're in their suits, diapers not exactly sustainable or healthy for more than a few hours. But as NASA considers missions far away from Earth on places like Mars, the space agency now needs some ideas about how astronauts can contain

their waste in a space suit. So they're asking the public to help troubleshoot the issue and dangling a thirty dollar prize for an elegant solution. Something to keep in mind before you get busy designing. NASA needs a solution that allows a fecal, urine and menstrual waste to be rooted away from the body, and that can hold up to six days of waste. Here's a fun fact. NASA has estimated that astronauts would need to excrete seventy five grams that's two point six ounces of fecal matter per day.

But the folks that Encyclopedia Britannica say that the average human drops off between one hundred and two hundred and fifty grams that's between three point five and eight point eight ounces. What's up with the discrepancy. Maybe the space diet produces less feces. Also, the proposed solution has to work in microgravity, and of course there's not a lot of space to work with. Astronauts suits already contain a lot of important equipment, and there's not loads of room

for extra bulk. Got an idea? Get working? The contest opened on October eleven, and all submissions are due by December. Sorry for our delay and response. For more information, you can head on over to hero x dot com slash space poop. Finally, this week senior writer and Stuff to Blow your Mind. Co host Robert Lamb raises questions about

some beloved Christmas traditions, both low and old. In Court mc McCarthy's The Crossing, the author wrote, deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence, something knows and cannot be fled nor hid from. America's elder scribe of philosophic grimness was of course talking about God here or whatever counts for God and the violent delights of McCarthy's Border trilogy. But his grim pronouncement may well extend beyond the unblinking eye of divine judgment and

into our modern holiday traditions. I speak, of course, of the Elf on the Shelf. Now, perhaps this most foul of Santa's Mermadon's has yet to infiltrate your house. After all, they were only unleashed in two thousand five with the publication of Chandra Belle's children's book. In the years to follow, the elf dolls made their way into millions of homes, each with Bell's scripture to govern the practices surrounding their supernatural presence. Yes, uninitiated, the Elf on the Shelf comes

with rules. Each parent is encouraged to establish the following guidelines. Number one, thou shalt not touch the elf, lest the sorcery of its creation drained from its form, isolating it forever from Santa's realm. And number two, the elf shalt neither move nor speak while its human subjects remain awake, confining its unnatural movements to the inky, black dead of night. The elf watches, the elf waits. The elf reports all childhood behaviors back to its bearded polar master, so that

he might exact his holiday judgment upon them. Stephen Nissenbaum, author of The Battle for Christmas, even likens traditional Christmas is, what with their crampuses and coal threats, to quote many days of doom. The elf seems an extension of that. Toys or no toys, candy or no andy. For the materialistic child, the stakes could scarcely be any higher. It's a formative time, after all, when children learned to navigate the waters of social responsibilities to human and inhuman agents alike.

As such, it's no wonder that parents still argue over the potential harm of invoking Santa's magic on young children. The elf on the shelf, however, has not lived among our holiday traditions quite as long. It's less shielded from our distrust and revulsion, and perhaps we feel this way

for a good reason. In the two thousand fifteen article Who's the Boss, The Elf on the Shelf and the Normalization of Surveillance, authors Laura Pinto and Selena Namoran questioned to what extent this vile wooden idol indoctrinates children into the mindset of the panopticon to refresh? The panopticon, which means all seeing, was a theoretical prison design championed by

utilitarian philosopher Jeremy Bentham in seventy seven. The prison would, in theory, require minimal supervision while offering an effective, sufficient means of regulating a prison population. Cells would line the interior walls of a vast enclosure, and a central tower ensured that any given prisoner might suffer the guard's scrutiny at any moment. The Panopticon was never built as Bentham envisioned it, though numerous facilities would later cite panopticonic influences

in their design. For the most part, the idea of the panopticon lives on only as a metaphor for surveillance. Twentieth century French historian and philosopher Michael Fouco expounded much on this notion, stating that modern disciplinary society breaks down to three key governmental techniques to control the masses. Hierarchical observation, normalizing, judgment,

and examination. Welcome to the panopticon. The elf on the shelf, unblinking in its lifeless gaze but imbued with parentally induced holiday magic, would seem to offer all three of these panopticonic techniques. It serves in Santa's hierarchy and stands as a symbol of you liiquitous judgment and examination. These factors, Pinto and Nomoran argue, make the elf particularly problematic in our information age. Sure, Santa was always watching you. He

knows when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake. We get it. But human agents always mitigated, either in the form of holiday stress parents or perhaps one of Santa's helpers at the shopping mall. The elf on the shelf, however, is far from human. It can't be bargained with, it

can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity or remorse or fear, and it absolutely will not stop, you know, until Christmas morning, at least in this time of hacked emails and Pilford eye cloud, photos of doxing attacks, and professor watch lists. Pinto and no Moorn's words of caution

ring all the more true. Quote. While the elf may be part of a pre Christmas game and might help manage children's behaviors and the weeks leading up to the holiday, it also sets children up for dangerous, uncritical acceptance of power structures. Perhaps it's time to rise is up against elvin oppression. Perhaps it's time to cast down their likenesses, question authority, and remind our children that privacy still exists and that the unblinking, judging eye of eternal surveillance is

not free to roam our homes. Perhaps we can even stick to those values as long as it takes us to lose patience with Junior's morning checklist, all the while the Polar Panopticon waits patiently. That's our show for this week. Thank you so much for tuning in. Further thanks to our audio producer Dylan Fagan and our editorial liaison Christopher

Hasseiotas filling in for Alice in louder Milk. Subscribe now for more of the latest science news and send us links to anything you'd like to hear us cover plus the name of your favorite hip hop album, classic, recent, whatever. You can send us an email at now podcast at how stuff works dot com, and of course, for lots more stories like these, head on over to our home planet Now dot how stuff works dot com.