The good news is that your experimental robo-ants are a success! The bad news is that you accidentally just gave them the ability to shoot deadly lasers …and you can’t turn it off. You have five minutes to stop them before the lasers go online. Until then, all of your robo-ants will walk inside their habitat at a speed of exactly 1 meter per minute. If they bump into each other or hit a dead end, they’ll instantly turn around and walk back the way they came. When five minutes are up, they’ll turn on their lasers, break free, and stream out into the world, carving a path of destruction as they go. Your one chance to stop them is to insert the two emergency vacuum nozzles into the habitat and suck the ants up before they break free. The nozzles can press into any one location in the habitat through a membrane covering its front side, and any ants that walk past will be sucked up and deactivated. You can’t move the nozzles once they’re placed without leaving a hole that the robo-ants would pour out of, so choosing the right spots will be key. The habitat is made out of meter-long tubes. When the robots reach an intersection, they will pick randomly whether to go left, right, or forward. They only go backward if they hit hit another robo-ant or a dead end. Unfortunately, there are hundreds of them inside the habitat, and if even one escapes, it’ll do a lot of damage. With just less than five minutes remaining, where should you place the 2 vacuum nozzles to suck up all the robo-ants? Pause the video now if you want to figure it out for yourself. Answer in: 3 Answer in: 2 Answer in: 1 With robo-ants ricocheting all over the habitat, it might seem impossible to stop them before they break free. But this situation is simpler than it seems. Here's why. Imagine just two robo-ants crawling toward each other. When they collide, they immediately reverse directions. And what would that sequence of events look like if they crawled past each other instead? It would look exactly the same before and after their collision, but with their positions swapped. This is true every time a pair of robo-ants meet. Because the identities of individual ants don’t matter, you just need to figure out where you should put the nozzles to capture any single ant walking without interruption for less than 5 minutes, starting from any point in the habitat. That’s much easier to conceptualize and solve. Placing the nozzles at intersections where three or four tubes meet seems like your best bet since that’s where the robo-ants might otherwise change directions and miss your nozzles. There are only four intersections… which two should you pick? The top right intersection has to be one of them. If it isn’t, an ant crawling down from this intersection toward the dead end would crawl for four minutes to get back to the intersection, and then go in any of three directions, walking for at least another minute. Once you’ve placed a nozzle in the top right, the only other choice that has a chance to work is the bottom left. To see that this works, imagine an ant anywhere else in the habitat. Worst case scenario, the ant would start right next to the vacuum nozzle, marching away from it. But in all those worst cases, the ant would march for at most 4 meters before being sucked up into the vacuum. No other choice of two intersection points is guaranteed to get all the robo-ants within five minutes. Having vacuumed them all up, you’ve averted a major crisis. Before you mess with robo-ants again, you’ll want to have a robo-anteater ready. And wouldn’t it be cool if it could fly and breathe fire? There’s no way that could go wrong! I coined my own definition of success in 1934, when I was teaching at a high school in South Bend, Indiana, being a little bit disappointed, and [disillusioned] perhaps, by the way parents of the youngsters in my English classes expected their youngsters to get an A or a B. They thought a C was all right for the neighbors' children, because they were all average. But they weren't satisfied when their own -- it would make the teacher feel that they had failed, or the youngster had failed. And that's not right. The good Lord in his infinite wisdom didn't create us all equal as far as intelligence is concerned, any more than we're equal for size, appearance. Not everybody could earn an A or a B, and I didn't like that way of judging, and I did know how the alumni of various schools back in the '30s judged coaches and athletic teams. If you won them all, you were considered to be reasonably successful -- not completely. Because I found out -- we had a number of years at UCLA where we didn't lose a game. But it seemed that we didn't win each individual game by the margin that some of our alumni had predicted -- (Laughter) And quite frequently I really felt that they had backed up their predictions in a more materialistic manner. (Laughter) But that was true back in the 30s, so I understood that. But I didn't like it, I didn't agree with it. I wanted to come up with something I hoped could make me a better teacher, and give the youngsters under my supervision, be it in athletics or the English classroom, something to which to aspire, other than just a higher mark in the classroom, or more points in some athletic contest. I thought about that for quite a spell, and I wanted to come up with my own definition. I thought that might help. And I knew how Mr. Webster defined it, as the accumulation of material possessions or the attainment of a position of power or prestige, or something of that sort, worthy accomplishments perhaps, but in my opinion, not necessarily indicative of success. So I wanted to come up with something of my own. And I recalled -- I was raised on a small farm in Southern Indiana, and Dad tried to teach me and my brothers that you should never try to be better than someone else. I'm sure at the time he did that, I didn't -- it didn't -- well, somewhere, I guess in the hidden recesses of the mind, it popped out years later. Never try to be better than someone else, always learn from others. Never cease trying to be the best you can be -- that's under your control. If you get too engrossed and involved and concerned in regard to the things over which you have no control, it will adversely affect the things over which you have control. Then I ran across this simple verse that said, "At God's footstool to confess, a poor soul knelt, and bowed his head. 'I failed!' he cried. The Master said, 'Thou didst thy best, that is success.'" From those things, and one other perhaps, I coined my own definition of success, which is: Peace of mind attained only through self-satisfaction in knowing you made the effort to do the best of which you're capable. I believe that's true. If you make the effort to do the best of which you're capable, trying to improve the situation that exists for you, I think that's success, and I don't think others can judge that; it's like character and reputation -- your reputation is what you're perceived to be; your character is what you really are. And I think that character is much more important than what you are perceived to be. You'd hope they'd both be good, but they won't necessarily be the same. Well, that was my idea that I was going to try to get across to the youngsters. I ran across other things. I love to teach, and it was mentioned by the previous speaker that I enjoy poetry, and I dabble in it a bit, and love it. There are some things that helped me, I think, be better than I would have been. I know I'm not what I ought to be, what I should be, but I think I'm better than I would have been if I hadn't run across certain things. One was just a little verse that said, "No written word, no spoken plea can teach our youth what they should be; nor all the books on all the shelves -- it's what the teachers are themselves." That made an impression on me in the 1930s. And I tried to use that more or less in my teaching, whether it be in sports, or whether it be in the English classroom. I love poetry and always had an interest in that somehow. Maybe it's because Dad used to read to us at night, by coal oil lamp -- we didn't have electricity in our farm home. And Dad would read poetry to us. So I always liked it. And about the same time I ran across this one verse, I ran across another one. Someone asked a lady teacher why she taught, and after some time, she said she wanted to think about that. Then she came up and said, "They ask me why I teach, and I reply, 'Where could I find such splendid company?' There sits a statesman, strong, unbiased, wise; another Daniel Webster, silver-tongued. A doctor sits beside him, whose quick, steady hand may mend a bone, or stem the life-blood's flow. And there a builder; upward rise the arch of a church he builds, wherein that minister may speak the word of God, and lead a stumbling soul to touch the Christ. And all about, a gathering of teachers, farmers, merchants, laborers -- those who work and vote and build and plan and pray into a great tomorrow. And I may say, I may not see the church, or hear the word, or eat the food their hands may grow, but yet again I may; And later I may say, I knew him once, and he was weak, or strong, or bold or proud or gay. I knew him once, but then he was a boy. They ask me why I teach and I reply, 'Where could I find such splendid company?'" And I believe the teaching profession -- it's true, you have so many youngsters, and I've got to think of my youngsters at UCLA -- 30-some attorneys, 11 dentists and doctors, many, many teachers and other professions. And that gives you a great deal of pleasure, to see them go on. I always tried to make the youngsters feel that they're there to get an education, number one; basketball was second, because it was paying their way, and they do need a little time for social activities, but you let social activities take a little precedence over the other two, and you're not going to have any very long. So that was the idea that I tried to get across to the youngsters under my supervision. I had three rules, pretty much, that I stuck with practically all the time. I'd learned these prior to coming to UCLA, and I decided they were very important. One was "Never be late." Later on I said certain things -- the players, if we were leaving for somewhere, had to be neat and clean. There was a time when I made them wear jackets and shirts and ties. Then I saw our chancellor coming to school in denims and turtlenecks, and thought, it's not right for me to keep this other [rule] so I let them just -- they had to be neat and clean. I had one of my greatest players that you probably heard of, Bill Walton. He came to catch the bus; we were leaving for somewhere to play. And he wasn't clean and neat, so I wouldn't let him go. He couldn't get on the bus, he had to go home and get cleaned up to get to the airport. So I was a stickler for that. I believed in that. I believe in time; very important. I believe you should be on time, but I felt at practice, for example -- we start on time, we close on time. The youngsters didn't have to feel that we were going to keep them over. When I speak at coaching clinics, I often tell young coaches -- and at coaching clinics, more or less, they'll be the younger coaches getting in the profession. Most of them are young, you know, and probably newly-married. And I tell them, "Don't run practices late, because you'll go home in a bad mood, and that's not good, for a young married man to go home in a bad mood. When you get older, it doesn't make any difference, but --" (Laughter) So I did believe: on time. I believe starting on time, and I believe closing on time. And another one I had was, not one word of profanity. One word of profanity, and you are out of here for the day. If I see it in a game, you're going to come out and sit on the bench. And the third one was, never criticize a teammate. I didn't want that. I used to tell them I was paid to do that. That's my job. I'm paid to do it. Pitifully poor, but I am paid to do it. Not like the coaches today, for gracious sakes, no. It's a little different than it was in my day. Those were three things that I stuck with pretty closely all the time. And those actually came from my dad. That's what he tried to teach me and my brothers at one time. I came up with a pyramid eventually, that I don't have the time to go on that. But that helped me, I think, become a better teacher. It's something like this: And I had blocks in the pyramid, and the cornerstones being industriousness and enthusiasm, working hard and enjoying what you're doing, coming up to the apex, according to my definition of success. And right at the top, faith and patience. And I say to you, in whatever you're doing, you must be patient. You have to have patience to -- we want things to happen. We talk about our youth being impatient a lot, and they are. They want to change everything. They think all change is progress. And we get a little older -- we sort of let things go. And we forget there is no progress without change. So you must have patience, and I believe that we must have faith. I believe that we must believe, truly believe. Not just give it word service, believe that things will work out as they should, providing we do what we should. I think our tendency is to hope things will turn out the way we want them to much of the time, but we don't do the things that are necessary to make those things become reality. I worked on this for some 14 years, and I think it helped me become a better teacher. But it all revolved around that original definition of success. You know, a number of years ago, there was a Major League Baseball umpire by the name of George Moriarty. He spelled Moriarty with only one 'i'. I'd never seen that before, but he did. Big league baseball players -- they're very perceptive about those things, and they noticed he had only one 'i' in his name. You'd be surprised how many also told him that that was one more than he had in his head at various times. (Laughter) But he wrote something where I think he did what I tried to do in this pyramid. He called it "The Road Ahead, or the Road Behind." He said, "Sometimes I think the Fates must grin as we denounce them and insist the only reason we can't win, is the Fates themselves have missed. Yet there lives on the ancient claim: we win or lose within ourselves. The shining trophies on our shelves can never win tomorrow's game. You and I know deeper down, there's always a chance to win the crown. But when we fail to give our best, we simply haven't met the test, of giving all and saving none until the game is really won; of showing what is meant by grit; of playing through when others quit; of playing through, not letting up. It's bearing down that wins the cup. Of dreaming there's a goal ahead; of hoping when our dreams are dead; of praying when our hopes have fled; yet losing, not afraid to fall, if, bravely, we have given all. For who can ask more of a man than giving all within his span. Giving all, it seems to me, is not so far from victory. And so the Fates are seldom wrong, no matter how they twist and wind. It's you and I who make our fates -- we open up or close the gates on the road ahead or the road behind." Reminds me of another set of threes that my dad tried to get across to us: Don't whine. Don't complain. Don't make excuses. Just get out there, and whatever you're doing, do it to the best of your ability. And no one can do more than that. I tried to get across, too, that -- my opponents will tell you -- you never heard me mention winning. Never mention winning. My idea is that you can lose when you outscore somebody in a game, and you can win when you're outscored. I've felt that way on certain occasions, at various times. And I just wanted them to be able to hold their head up after a game. I used to say that when a game is over, and you see somebody that didn't know the outcome, I hope they couldn't tell by your actions whether you outscored an opponent or the opponent outscored you. That's what really matters: if you make an effort to do the best you can regularly, the results will be about what they should be. Not necessarily what you'd want them to be but they'll be about what they should; only you will know whether you can do that. And that's what I wanted from them more than anything else. And as time went by, and I learned more about other things, I think it worked a little better, as far as the results. But I wanted the score of a game to be the byproduct of these other things, and not the end itself. I believe it was one great philosopher who said -- no, no -- Cervantes. Cervantes said, "The journey is better than the end." And I like that. I think that it is -- it's getting there. Sometimes when you get there, there's almost a let down. But it's the getting there that's the fun. As a basketball coach at UCLA, I liked our practices to be the journey, and the game would be the end, the end result. I liked to go up and sit in the stands and watch the players play, and see whether I'd done a decent job during the week. There again, it's getting the players to get that self-satisfaction, in knowing that they'd made the effort to do the best of which they are capable. Sometimes I'm asked who was the best player I had, or the best teams. I can never answer that. As far as the individuals are concerned -- I was asked one time about that, and they said, "Suppose that you, in some way, could make the perfect player. What would you want?" And I said, "Well, I'd want one that knew why he was at UCLA: to get an education, he was a good student, really knew why he was there in the first place. But I'd want one that could play, too. I'd want one to realize that defense usually wins championships, and who would work hard on defense. But I'd want one who would play offense, too. I'd want him to be unselfish, and look for the pass first and not shoot all the time. And I'd want one that could pass and would pass. (Laughter) I've had some that could and wouldn't, and I've had some that would and could. (Laughter) So, yeah, I'd want that. And I wanted them to be able to shoot from the outside. I wanted them to be good inside too. (Laughter) I'd want them to be able to rebound well at both ends, too. Why not just take someone like Keith Wilkes and let it perezdonald@example.net. He had the qualifications. Not the only one, but he was one that I used in that particular category, because I think he made the effort to become the best. There was a couple. I mention in my book, "They Call Me Coach," two players that gave me great satisfaction, that came as close as I think anyone I ever had to reach their full potential: one was Conrad Burke, and one was Doug McIntosh. When I saw them as freshmen, on our freshmen team -- freshmen couldn't play varsity when I taught. I thought, "Oh gracious, if these two players, either one of them" -- they were different years, but I thought about each one at the time he was there -- "Oh, if he ever makes the varsity, our varsity must be pretty miserable, if he's good enough to make it." And you know, one of them was a starting player for a season and a half. The other one, his next year, played 32 minutes in a national championship game, Did a tremendous job for us. The next year, he was a starting player on the national championship team, and here I thought he'd never play a minute, when he was -- so those are the things that give you great joy, and great satisfaction to see. Neither one of those youngsters could shoot very well. But they had outstanding shooting percentages, because they didn't force it. And neither one could jump very well, but they kept good position, and so they did well rebounding. They remembered that every shot that's taken, they assumed would be missed. I've had too many stand around and wait to see if it's missed, then they go and it's too late, somebody else is in there ahead of them. They weren't very quick, but they played good position, kept in good balance. And so they played pretty good defense for us. So they had qualities that -- they came close to -- as close to reaching possibly their full potential as any players I ever had. So I consider them to be as successful as Lewis Alcindor or Bill Walton, or many of the others that we had; there were some outstanding players. Have I rambled enough? I was told that when he makes his appearance, I was supposed to shut up. (Laughter) (Applause) I write about food. I write about cooking. I take it quite seriously, but I'm here to talk about something that's become very important to me in the last year or two. It is about food, but it's not about cooking, per se. I'm going to start with this picture of a beautiful cow. I'm not a vegetarian -- this is the old Nixon line, right? But I still think that this -- (Laughter) -- may be this year's version of this. Now, that is only a little bit hyperbolic. And why do I say it? Because only once before has the fate of individual people and the fate of all of humanity been so intertwined. There was the bomb, and there's now. And where we go from here is going to determine not only the quality and the length of our individual lives, but whether, if we could see the Earth a century from now, we'd recognize it. It's a holocaust of a different kind, and hiding under our desks isn't going to help. Start with the notion that global warming is not only real, but dangerous. Since every scientist in the world now believes this, and even President Bush has seen the light, or pretends to, we can take this is a given. Then hear this, please. After energy production, livestock is the second-highest contributor to atmosphere-altering gases. Nearly one-fifth of all greenhouse gas is generated by livestock production -- more than transportation. Now, you can make all the jokes you want about cow farts, but methane is 20 times more poisonous than CO2, and it's not just methane. Livestock is also one of the biggest culprits in land degradation, air and water pollution, water shortages and loss of biodiversity. There's more. Like half the antibiotics in this country are not administered to people, but to animals. But lists like this become kind of numbing, so let me just say this: if you're a progressive, if you're driving a Prius, or you're shopping green, or you're looking for organic, you should probably be a semi-vegetarian. Now, I'm no more anti-cattle than I am anti-atom, but it's all in the way we use these things. There's another piece of the puzzle, which Ann Cooper talked about beautifully yesterday, and one you already know. There's no question, none, that so-called lifestyle diseases -- diabetes, heart disease, stroke, some cancers -- are diseases that are far more prevalent here than anywhere in the rest of the world. And that's the direct result of eating a Western diet. Our demand for meat, dairy and refined carbohydrates -- the world consumes one billion cans or bottles of Coke a day -- our demand for these things, not our need, our want, drives us to consume way more calories than are good for us. And those calories are in foods that cause, not prevent, disease. Now global warming was unforeseen. We didn't know that pollution did more than cause bad visibility. Maybe a few lung diseases here and there, but, you know, that's not such a big deal. The current health crisis, however, is a little more the work of the evil empire. We were told, we were assured, that the more meat and dairy and poultry we ate, the healthier we'd be. No. Overconsumption of animals, and of course, junk food, is the problem, along with our paltry consumption of plants. Now, there's no time to get into the benefits of eating plants here, but the evidence is that plants -- and I want to make this clear -- it's not the ingredients in plants, it's the plants. It's not the beta-carotene, it's the carrot. The evidence is very clear that plants promote health. This evidence is overwhelming at this point. You eat more plants, you eat less other stuff, you live longer. Not bad. But back to animals and junk food. What do they have in common? One: we don't need either of them for health. We don't need animal products, and we certainly don't need white bread or Coke. Two: both have been marketed heavily, creating unnatural demand. We're not born craving Whoppers or Skittles. Three: their production has been supported by government agencies at the expense of a more health- and Earth-friendly diet. Now, let's imagine a parallel. Let's pretend that our government supported an oil-based economy, while discouraging more sustainable forms of energy, knowing all the while that the result would be pollution, war and rising costs. Incredible, isn't it? Yet they do that. And they do this here. It's the same deal. The sad thing is, when it comes to diet, is that even when well-intentioned Feds try to do right by us, they fail. Either they're outvoted by puppets of agribusiness, or they are puppets of agribusiness. So, when the USDA finally acknowledged that it was plants, rather than animals, that made people healthy, they encouraged us, via their overly simplistic food pyramid, to eat five servings of fruits and vegetables a day, along with more carbs. What they didn't tell us is that some carbs are better than others, and that plants and whole grains should be supplanting eating junk food. But industry lobbyists would never let that happen. And guess what? Half the people who developed the food pyramid have ties to agribusiness. So, instead of substituting plants for animals, our swollen appetites simply became larger, and the most dangerous aspects of them remained unchanged. So-called low-fat diets, so-called low-carb diets -- these are not solutions. But with lots of intelligent people focusing on whether food is organic or local, or whether we're being nice to animals, the most important issues just aren't being addressed. Now, don't get me wrong. I like animals, and I don't think it's just fine to industrialize their production and to churn them out like they were wrenches. But there's no way to treat animals well, when you're killing 10 billion of them a year. That's our number. 10 billion. If you strung all of them -- chickens, cows, pigs and lambs -- to the moon, they'd go there and back five times, there and back. Now, my math's a little shaky, but this is pretty good, and it depends whether a pig is four feet long or five feet long, but you get the idea. That's just the United States. And with our hyper-consumption of those animals producing greenhouse gases and heart disease, kindness might just be a bit of a red herring. Let's get the numbers of the animals we're killing for eating down, and then we'll worry about being nice to the ones that are left. Another red herring might be exemplified by the word "locavore," which was just named word of the year by the New Oxford American Dictionary. Seriously. And locavore, for those of you who don't know, is someone who eats only locally grown food -- which is fine if you live in California, but for the rest of us it's a bit of a sad joke. Between the official story -- the food pyramid -- and the hip locavore vision, you have two versions of how to improve our eating. (Laughter). They both get it wrong, though. The first at least is populist, and the second is elitist. How we got to this place is the history of food in the United States. And I'm going to go through that, at least the last hundred years or so, very quickly right now. A hundred years ago, guess what? Everyone was a locavore: even New York had pig farms nearby, and shipping food all over the place was a ridiculous notion. Every family had a cook, usually a mom. And those moms bought and prepared food. It was like your romantic vision of Europe. Margarine didn't exist. In fact, when margarine was invented, several states passed laws declaring that it had to be dyed pink, so we'd all know that it was a fake. There was no snack food, and until the '20s, until Clarence Birdseye came along, there was no frozen food. There were no restaurant chains. There were neighborhood restaurants run by local people, but none of them would think to open another one. Eating ethnic was unheard of unless you were ethnic. And fancy food was entirely French. As an aside, those of you who remember Dan Aykroyd in the 1970s doing Julia Child imitations can see where he got the idea of stabbing himself from this fabulous slide. (Laughter) Back in those days, before even Julia, back in those days, there was no philosophy of food. You just ate. You didn't claim to be anything. There was no marketing. There were no national brands. Vitamins had not been invented. There were no health claims, at least not federally sanctioned ones. Fats, carbs, proteins -- they weren't bad or good, they were food. You ate food. Hardly anything contained more than one ingredient, because it was an ingredient. The cornflake hadn't been invented. (Laughter) The Pop-Tart, the Pringle, Cheez Whiz, none of that stuff. Goldfish swam. (Laughter) It's hard to imagine. People grew food, and they ate food. And again, everyone ate local. In New York, an orange was a common Christmas present, because it came all the way from Florida. From the '30s on, road systems expanded, trucks took the place of railroads, fresh food began to travel more. Oranges became common in New York. The South and West became agricultural hubs, and in other parts of the country, suburbs took over farmland. The effects of this are well known. They are everywhere. And the death of family farms is part of this puzzle, as is almost everything from the demise of the real community to the challenge of finding a good tomato, even in summer. Eventually, California produced too much food to ship fresh, so it became critical to market canned and frozen foods. Thus arrived convenience. It was sold to proto-feminist housewives as a way to cut down on housework. Now, I know everybody over the age of, like 45 -- their mouths are watering at this point. (Laughter) (Applause) If we had a slide of Salisbury steak, even more so, right? (Laughter) But this may have cut down on housework, but it cut down on the variety of food we ate as well. Many of us grew up never eating a fresh vegetable except the occasional raw carrot or maybe an odd lettuce salad. I, for one -- and I'm not kidding -- didn't eat real spinach or broccoli till I was 19. Who needed it though? Meat was everywhere. What could be easier, more filling or healthier for your family than broiling a steak? But by then cattle were already raised unnaturally. Rather than spending their lives eating grass, for which their stomachs were designed, they were forced to eat soy and corn. They have trouble digesting those grains, of course, but that wasn't a problem for producers. New drugs kept them healthy. Well, they kept them alive. Healthy was another story. Thanks to farm subsidies, the fine collaboration between agribusiness and Congress, soy, corn and cattle became king. And chicken soon joined them on the throne. It was during this period that the cycle of dietary and planetary destruction began, the thing we're only realizing just now. Listen to this, between 1950 and 2000, the world's population doubled. Meat consumption increased five-fold. Now, someone had to eat all that stuff, so we got fast food. And this took care of the situation resoundingly. Home cooking remained the norm, but its quality was down the tubes. There were fewer meals with home-cooked breads, desserts and soups, because all of them could be bought at any store. Not that they were any good, but they were there. Most moms cooked like mine: a piece of broiled meat, a quickly made salad with bottled dressing, canned soup, canned fruit salad. Maybe baked or mashed potatoes, or perhaps the stupidest food ever, Minute Rice. For dessert, store-bought ice cream or cookies. My mom is not here, so I can say this now. This kind of cooking drove me to learn how to cook for myself. (Laughter) It wasn't all bad. By the '70s, forward-thinking people began to recognize the value of local ingredients. We tended gardens, we became interested in organic food, we knew or we were vegetarians. We weren't all hippies, either. Some of us were eating in good restaurants and learning how to cook well. Meanwhile, food production had become industrial. Industrial. Perhaps because it was being produced rationally, as if it were plastic, food gained magical or poisonous powers, or both. Many people became fat-phobic. Others worshiped broccoli, as if it were God-like. But mostly they didn't eat broccoli. Instead they were sold on yogurt, yogurt being almost as good as broccoli. Except, in reality, the way the industry sold yogurt was to convert it to something much more akin to ice cream. Similarly, let's look at a granola bar. You think that that might be healthy food, but in fact, if you look at the ingredient list, it's closer in form to a Snickers than it is to oatmeal. Sadly, it was at this time that the family dinner was put in a coma, if not actually killed -- the beginning of the heyday of value-added food, which contained as many soy and corn products as could be crammed into it. Think of the frozen chicken nugget. The chicken is fed corn, and then its meat is ground up, and mixed with more corn products to add bulk and binder, and then it's fried in corn oil. All you do is nuke it. What could be better? And zapped horribly, pathetically. By the '70s, home cooking was in such a sad state that the high fat and spice contents of foods like McNuggets and Hot Pockets -- and we all have our favorites, actually -- made this stuff more appealing than the bland things that people were perezdonald@example.net. At the same time, masses of women were entering the workforce, and cooking simply wasn't important enough for men to share the burden. So now, you've got your pizza nights, you've got your microwave nights, you've got your grazing nights, you've got your fend-for-yourself nights and so on. Leading the way -- what's leading the way? Meat, junk food, cheese: the very stuff that will kill you. So, now we clamor for organic food. That's good. And as evidence that things can actually change, you can now find organic food in supermarkets, and even in fast-food outlets. But organic food isn't the answer either, at least not the way it's currently defined. Let me pose you a question. Can farm-raised salmon be organic, when its feed has nothing to do with its natural diet, even if the feed itself is supposedly organic, and the fish themselves are packed tightly in pens, swimming in their own filth? And if that salmon's from Chile, and it's killed down there and then flown 5,000 miles, whatever, dumping how much carbon into the atmosphere? I don't know. Packed in Styrofoam, of course, before landing somewhere in the United States, and then being trucked a few hundred more miles. This may be organic in letter, but it's surely not organic in spirit. Now here is where we all meet. The locavores, the organivores, the vegetarians, the vegans, the gourmets and those of us who are just plain interested in good food. Even though we've come to this from different points, we all have to act on our knowledge to change the way that everyone thinks about food. We need to start acting. And this is not only an issue of social justice, as Ann Cooper said -- and, of course, she's completely right -- but it's also one of global survival. Which bring me full circle and points directly to the core issue, the overproduction and overconsumption of meat and junk food. As I said, 18 percent of greenhouse gases are attributed to livestock production. How much livestock do you need to produce this? 70 percent of the agricultural land on Earth, 30 percent of the Earth's land surface is directly or indirectly devoted to raising the animals we'll eat. And this amount is predicted to double in the next 40 years or so. And if the numbers coming in from China are anything like what they look like now, it's not going to be 40 years. There is no good reason for eating as much meat as we do. And I say this as a man who has eaten a fair share of corned beef in his life. The most common argument is that we need nutrients -- even though we eat, on average, twice as much protein as even the industry-obsessed USDA recommends. But listen: experts who are serious about disease reduction recommend that adults eat just over half a pound of meat per week. What do you think we eat per day? Half a pound. But don't we need meat to be big and strong? Isn't meat eating essential to health? Won't a diet heavy in fruit and vegetables turn us into godless, sissy, liberals? (Laughter) Some of us might think that would be a good thing. But, no, even if we were all steroid-filled football players, the answer is no. In fact, there's no diet on Earth that meets basic nutritional needs that won't promote growth, and many will make you much healthier than ours does. We don't eat animal products for sufficient nutrition, we eat them to have an odd form of malnutrition, and it's killing us. To suggest that in the interests of personal and human health Americans eat 50 percent less meat -- it's not enough of a cut, but it's a start. It would seem absurd, but that's exactly what should happen, and what progressive people, forward-thinking people should be doing and advocating, along with the corresponding increase in the consumption of plants. I've been writing about food more or less omnivorously -- one might say indiscriminately -- for about 30 years. During that time, I've eaten and recommended eating just about everything. I'll never stop eating animals, I'm sure, but I do think that for the benefit of everyone, the time has come to stop raising them industrially and stop eating them thoughtlessly. Ann Cooper's right. The USDA is not our ally here. We have to take matters into our own hands, not only by advocating for a better diet for everyone -- and that's the hard part -- but by improving our own. And that happens to be quite easy. Less meat, less junk, more plants. It's a simple formula: eat food. Eat real food. We can continue to enjoy our food, and we continue to eat well, and we can eat even better. We can continue the search for the ingredients we love, and we can continue to spin yarns about our favorite meals. We'll reduce not only calories, but our carbon footprint. We can make food more important, not less, and save ourselves by doing so. We have to choose that path. Thank you. What could octopuses possibly have in common with us? After all, they don't have lungs, spines, or even a plural noun we can all agree on. But what they do have is the ability to solve puzzles, learn through observation, and even use tools, just like some other animals we know. And what makes octopus intelligence so amazing is that it comes from a biological structure completely different from ours. The 200 or so species of octopuses are mollusks belonging to the order cephalopoda, Greek for head-feet. Those heads contain impressively large brains, with a brain to body ratio similar to that of other intelligent animals, and a complex nervous system with about as many neurons as that of a dog. But instead of being centralized in the brain, these 500 million neurons are spread out in a network of interconnected ganglia organized into three basic structures. The central brain only contains about 10% of the neurons, while the two huge optic lobes contain about 30%. The other 60% are in the tentacles, which for humans would be like our arms having minds of their own. This is where things get even more interesting. Vertebrates like us have a rigid skeleton to support our bodies, with joints that allow us to move. But not all types of movement are allowed. You can't bend your knee backwards, or bend your forearm in the middle, for example. Cephalopods, on the other hand, have no bones at all, allowing them to bend their limbs at any point and in any direction. So shaping their tentacles into any one of the virtually limitless number of possible arrangements is unlike anything we are used to. Consider a simple task, like grabbing and eating an apple. The human brain contains a neurological map of our body. When you see the apple, your brain's motor center activates the appropriate muscles, allowing you to reach out with your arm, grab it with your hand, bend your elbow joint, and bring it to your mouth. For an octopus, the process is quite different. Rather than a body map, the cephalopod brain has a behavior library. So when an octopus sees food, its brain doesn't activate a specific body part, but rather a behavioral response to grab. As the signal travels through the network, the arm neurons pick up the message and jump into action to command the movement. As soon as the arm touches the food, a muscle activation wave travels all the way through the arm to its base, while the arm sends back another wave from the base to the tip. The signals meet halfway between the food and the base of the arm, letting it know to bend at that spot. What all this means is that each of an octopus's eight arms can essentially think for itself. This gives it amazing flexibility and creativity when facing a new situation or problem, whether its opening a bottle to reach food, escaping through a maze, moving around in a new environment, changing the texture and the color of its skin to blend into the scenery, or even mimicking other creatures to scare away enemies. Cephalopods may have evolved complex brains long before our vertebrate relatives. And octopus intelligence isn't just useful for octopuses. Their radically different nervous system and autonomously thinking appendages have inspired new research in developing flexible robots made of soft materials. And studying how intelligence can arise along such a divergent evolutionary path can help us understand more about intelligence and consciousness in general. Who knows what other forms of intelligent life are possible, or how they process the world around them. Bruno Giussani: Commissioner, thank you for coming to TED. António Guterres: Pleasure. BG: Let's start with a figure. During 2015, almost one million refugees and migrants arrived in Europe from many different countries, of course, from Syria and Iraq, but also from Afghanistan and Bangladesh and Eritrea and elsewhere. And there have been reactions of two different kinds: welcoming parties and border fences. But I want to look at it a little bit from the short-term and the long-term perspective. And the first question is very simple: Why has the movement of refugees spiked so fast in the last six months? AG: Well, I think, basically, what triggered this huge increase was the Syrian refugee group. There has been an increased movement into Europe from Africa, from Asia, but slowly growing, and all of a sudden we had this massive increase in the first months of this year. Why? I think there are three reasons, two long-term ones and the trigger. The long-term ones, in relation to Syrians, is that hope is less and less clear for people. I mean, they look at their own country and they don't see much hope to go back home, because there is no political solution, so there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Second, the living conditions of the Syrians in the neighboring countries have been deteriorating. We just had research with the World Bank, and 87 percent of the Syrians in Jordan and 93 percent of the Syrians in Lebanon live below the national poverty lines. Only half of the children go to school, which means that people are living very badly. Not only are they refugees, out of home, not only have they suffered what they have suffered, but they are living in very, very dramatic conditions. And then the trigger was when all of a sudden, international aid decreased. The World Food Programme was forced, for lack of resources, to cut by 30 percent food support to the Syrian refugees. They're not allowed to work, so they are totally dependent on international support, and they felt, "The world is abandoning us." And that, in my opinion, was the trigger. All of a sudden, there was a rush, and people started to move in large numbers and, to be absolutely honest, if I had been in the same situation and I would have been brave enough to do it, I think I would have done the same. BG: But I think what surprised many people is it's not only sudden, but it wasn't supposed to be sudden. The war in Syria has been happening for five years. Millions of refugees are in camps and villages and towns around Syria. You have yourself warned about the situation and about the consequences of a breakdown of Libya, for example, and yet Europe looked totally unprepared. AG: Well, unprepared because divided, and when you are divided, you don't want to recognize the