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The three captured and reprogrammed Brelac Reploids have proved their worth to the Protectorate in a fierce battle against the powerful cybernetic weapon Succubus, developed by traitorous Dr. Fenlow. The Reploids, commissioned to form a special unit known as the Silencers under the jurisdiction of the military’s Central Intelligence Division, are back on Maseklos Prime, working at menial jobs while the CID keeps a close eye on them. That changes when President Drennan is almost killed in a bizarre assassination attempt.

Colin McKenzie and his team are ordered to uncover whoever’s behind the assassination attempt and to find and destroy the frightening weapons responsible for the horrible death and destruction at the President’s last election campaign address. After the first attempt on the President’s life, it’s certain more are sure to follow.

Meanwhile, Colin remains curious and wary about his dark past as a Vendetta operative formerly working against the Protectorate. The more he learns about his previous life, the less he likes it. Even more worrisome is the odd dreams he’s been having.

As Colin, Diane, and Kelly chase leads in their case, they realize they may be up against unstoppable weapons – but they are the Protectorate’s only hope.

Available on Amazon.com books. And Barnes and Noble.com. Or Order from the link below.
Pribt version, $10,99. E-book version, $2,99.
https://www.createspace.com/3710272

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McKenzie Files. Book 1

The United Protectorate is under attack by the reptilian race known as the Brelac. The Brelac’s bloodthirsty onslaught brings forth the creation of the genetically engineered Humanoid weapons known as Reploids. These Reploids are the perfect weapon. They are the identical copies of real Humans that have been captured, killed, cloned, embedded with powerful psionic based abilities, and programmed to kill for the Brelac. They are untraceable as they blend into Human society.

Colin McKenzie is a second generation Reploid planted in the Protectorate military. When he turns on his commanding officer in an attempt to protect a shipwrecked band of Brelac soldiers, he is captured and reprogrammed along with two other arrested Reploids to serve the government that they were created to destroy.

A dark alliance between the Brelac and the separatist organization Vendetta looms over the Protectorate. The balance is upset when the traitorous Doctor Howard Fenlow, the scientist who is the very creator of the Reploids, manages to produce a weapon powerful enough to bring the Protectorate to it’s knees.

And there are only three that can stop it.

Order from Amazon.com books. And Barnes and Noble.com. Or click on the link below to order from the publisher.
Paperback version, $10,99. E-Book Version. $2,99.
https://www.createspace.com/3667787

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Rosie Took Your Job...

When you just give love
And never get love
You'd better let love depart
I know it so
And yet I know
I can't get you out of my heart

You
Made me leave my happy home
You took my love and now you're gone
Since I fell for you


Lenny Welch (should hear it sung by Al Jarreau!)

In our economy, many of the jobs most resistant to automation are those with the least economic value. Just consider the diversity of tasks, unpredictable terrains, and specialized tools that a landscaper confronts in a single day. No robot is intelligent enough to perform this $8-an-hour work.


But what about a robot remotely controlled by a low-wage foreign worker?


Hollywood has been imagining the technologies we would need. Jake Sully, the wheelchair-bound protagonist in James Cameron's Avatar, goes to work saving a distant planet via a wireless connection to a remote body. He interacts with others, learns new skills, and even gets married—all while his "real" body is lying on a slab, miles away.

 

As the article alludes, it's no longer science fiction!


Technology Review: The Avatar Economy; Me, My Money and My Devices

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Our beloved comic book culture, as fans and for some. superhero theme activists, was used as a back drop to commit mass murder inside an Aurora Colorado movie premier of ” the Dark Knight Rises. “

Americans and world citizens who love this medium should look deeply into unfolding events and resolve to use one of its core values, individual vigilance to enhance public safety, to help people better secure what’s always been society’s soft under belly: theaters; malls; stores, eateries, etc.

Members of what media calls ” the real life superhero ( RLSH ) ” now have a golden opportunity to put aside petty squabbles in the face of a masked assault embodying the worst villainy of fact and fiction. Their use of superhero imagery can assume new seriousness in wake of this tragedy.

The Free World is being tested these days. From domestic crime to foreign terrorism free people are being battered by angry dissidents and worse. Those who enjoy comic books unbridled freedom and the few who even take this to the streets should unite to pump new life into tired appeals about being vigilant in public.

Whether this shooter is a loner or part of a plot our beloved comic book culture nonetheless has preached awareness against sudden evil from its inception. We ( meaning fans and activists ) shouldn’t go spastic and stage embarrassing fan boy pr exercises or misguided vigilantism as clumsy attempts to calm a frightened populace.

Using our beloved comic book culture as fans and activists to creatively high light the need for real life vigilance will be more than enough.

Our fictional heroes and heroines once again have shown us the way.

Whether we use their example to make horrible facts like this movie massacre history remains to be seen.

My thoughts and prayers are with the victims; their families and nations wondering if anywhere is safe anymore?

NADRA ENZI AKA CAP BLACK promotes creative crime prevention. (504) 214-3082. nadracaptblack@gmail is where Pay Pal donations can be sent to assist my citizen patrol efforts which support civic duty and due process.
” EITHER YOU’RE A GOOD BLACK MAN- OR A MEMBER OF THE CHOCOLATE KLAN! “

http://moveonup.ning.com/profiles/blogs/chocolate-klansmen-alert-sp…
CHOCOLATE KLANSMEN ALERT! Speaking Tour

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Good evening fam :) If anyone would like to purchase print copies of Immortal and Immortal II: The Time of Legend, I'm having a sale: Immortal & Immortal II for $20. Individually: Immortal will be selling for $10 and Immortal II: The Time of Legend for $12.

 

So hit me up here or at sister24moon@gmail.com. And you can always visit my site.

 

 

 

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Trash - Free First Chapter Preview

Novel's Summary:

Meet Alem Reed.

Black Hair. Black eyes. Black temper.

After being kicked out of his fifth high school for fighting, Alem’s dream of getting his high school diploma was destroyed – until he is invited to attend an exclusive but secretive new school.

However, when it’s a school filled with nightmarish creatures who hate humans (or view you as the next delicious snack), tough boy Alem is going to need every fighting skill, witty comment, and gut instinct he’s got if he is going to survive his senior year of high school.

___________________________________________________

Chapter One: Of Notoriety and Reed (Preview)

 

            They call me Alem, The Asshole, Reed.

You won’t be pleased to meet me, ‘cause quite frankly, I'm a jerk, a money-lover, a troublemaker, an underage smoker, and an all-around not-so-nice kid. I prefer to believe I’m more honest about myself than most people I’ve met, but you can decide for yourself.

            I’m not a genius, but I’m far from stupid—contrary to popular adult opinion. However, my cynical nature can be summed up in five, less-than-ideal, traits: I have a short temper when dealing with stupidity; I’m a big bluffer; I like pissing people off; I fight; and I have the good fortune of always being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. Go figure.

            I was sitting on a dirty sidewalk on a muggy Sunday afternoon when I came to the horrifying realization that my precious cigarette supply was running dangerously low. My last baby was giving me the few sweet puffs of nicotine that its short life could afford. Thank you, Cigarette #200, your noble sacrifice will always be remembered.

            I pulled my hair back and stared into the cloudy blue sky. Man, I hate days like these when there’s absolutely nothing to do. Once again, my old man was out working some new job trying to pay for the fleapit we call home and put food on our typically empty table.

            My pops is an okay guy. We don’t have much but he tries his best to provide me with the essentials: food, clothing, a roof over my head, yadda, yadda. I know he cares about me, and I care about him too. Though I‘ll never tell him that, even under the threat of torture. But he’s never been the same after mom passed away.

            As I was saying, Sundays suck. They suck big time. But Monday is the only day worse than Sunday, if you ask me. Especially tomorrow’s Monday, because I was finally going back to school after a three-day suspension. The reason I was suspended was because the principal, otherwise known as Principal I-Have-A-Stick-The-Size-Of-Chicago-Up-My-Rear, decided that I was at fault for causing the impromptu rumble at school last Tuesday.

That was injustice.

            I was minding my own business—Scout's Honor. Though I despise bullies, and their cronies, it’s not as if I go hunting for fights. Fights love me. What can I say? No matter how much I try to avoid them, they always seem to find me.

            But in my defense, Clearington High School was the last—yes, the absolute last—public high school in the district that would accept me and it was the fifth high school that I had attended. The previous principals had kicked me out of all the others. So it was one last chance to complete my lifetime goal, which was to earn my high school diploma. So you can understand that I was not about to screw it up. I would not give up this dream.

            Lady Fate—or Murphy—had other ideas.

            At the beginning of lunch on that fateful Tuesday, three bullies, who slightly resembled the Three Stooges, were messing with a freshman wearing glasses. This was so typical and rather boring. However, they were surrounded by a large mob of howling spectators who were either trying to get involved or trying to avoid getting punched in the face. I was on the way to my lonely little locker, when coincidentally, this scene caught my eye and really pissed me off.

            One of the bullies, a guy with greasy blond hair, lifted the kid off his feet and shook him like a rag doll. The bully mocked the kid's parents, his style of clothing, and how he looked. He was a wonderful example of how to be a disgusting human being. I elbowed my way through the middle of the crowd and waited. I thought the three idiots might notice my pissed off presence but the noise and commotion from the crowd distracted them. I didn't want innocent people in my way when I kicked their sorry asses, so I needed to do something to awe the sheep so that they’d back up and give me room to work. I went into my left pocket and calmly lit a cigarette—it’s amazing how that gets people’s attention.

            Some folks probably wondered if I wanted to get into trouble because I’m seventeen and smoking is against the law for people my age. Most of those people probably concluded that I was either a total badass or damn stupid to smoke on school property. I prefer to think the former. When the catcalls died down and whisperers took their places in the back of the crowd, the bullies finally noticed. They glanced around, and met my infamous, cold, brown eyes.

            The Blondie leader smirked. “What do we have here?”

            “You really don't want to know.” I blew a puff of smoke out of the side of my mouth. Some idiot coughed.

            “I suggest you leave us alone if you know what’s good for you. Or your face will become my new punching bag if you don’t back off.” Blondie narrowed his flinty eyes.

            I raised my left eyebrow. It was clear that this poor excuse for a kid had neither seen me before, nor heard of my greatness; too bad for him. I stared at him for a moment, and then gave the jerk a condescending half-smile. It was time for one of my trademark fight starters. “For someone who has no balls—you sure have got a lot of nerve.” I took another long drag of the late Cigarette #185 and blew a large puff of smoke in his face.

            There was dead silence.

            Needless to say, the three idiots and I went through the motions. Blondie ended up with two black eyes, a broken arm, and a busted lip. Blondie Henchman One, ended up with one black eye and a swollen face. Blondie Henchman Two, after I had kicked him in the stomach, didn’t get back up to face me, and so was the least injured of the trio. I ended up with a small cut above my left eyebrow and that was my sole injury.

            You might think I’m arrogant, but I’m a damn good fighter. Though I will admit that sometimes I am damn good at being an idiot too.

            Principal I-Have-A-Stick-The-Size-Of-Chicago-Up-My-Rear came roaring down the hallway like a possessed dragon, and before I could escape, he dragged my happy ass and Blondie Henchman Two to his office and sent Blondie and Blondie Henchman One to the nurse.

            On my perilous journey to Principal I-Have-A-Stick-The-Size-Of-Chicago-Up-My-Rear’s office, numerous lies and excuses swirled around in my mind, but each excuse sounded more and more pathetic the longer that I contemplated it. Mr. I-Have-A-Stick-The-Size-Of-Chicago-Up-My-Rear and I were not on the best of terms. The guy hated me plain and simple. He had hated me since the day the school board forced him to accept me. This came after he had flat out denied my admission here in the first time.

            So, because of his intense dislike for me, I've tried to stay out of his way and, for the most part, I have been successful until this particular incident occurred. When we arrived, Blondie Henchman Two was the first to go into the office after Principal I-Have-A-Stick-The-Size-Of-Chicago-Up-My-Rear gave me a bitter glare. The feeling of hostility was, of course, mutual.

            While Blondie Henchman Two was trapped in the Office of Evil, I still had time to make up something in my defense. But what could I say? I’m not the greatest of speakers. For all my boasting, my brain tends to shut down when I need it most. When things like this happen, I tend to follow my instincts, without thinking first, which explains how I manage to get into trouble even while avoiding it. I prefer to keep things short, sweet, and direct, which, as you can imagine, is another fault of my being. My mouth is always finding ways to get me into trouble. It’s my greatest enemy.

            After several moments, the second henchman revealed himself and gave me an evil grin. Sadly, he appeared minus any bite or claw marks. Unnerved, I decided to use my infamous plan A. What is this, you might wonder? Well, it goes like this: I say whatever bullcrap that comes to mind until I can come up with a way to get myself out of the situation. It’s that simple.

            Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to incite my infamous plan A because Mr. I-Have-A-Stick-The-Size-Of-Chicago-Up-My-Rear gave me a three-day suspension without even looking at me. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. When I opened my mouth to protest, the smirk on his old face warned me that if I so much as uttered a syllable he would gladly expel me.

            There was no way I was going to give this old fart the satisfaction of destroying my one goal in life—to graduate high school. I glared at him and held my fists tightly to my side, while trying to fight the strong urge to punch the guy’s lights out. I took the paper, mandating my suspension, and quickly walked out the door.

            Whatever Blondie Henchman Two had said, he managed to place all of the blame on me. The stupid coward, the leader Blondie, and Blondie Henchman One, did not get suspended. I found that out later. They didn’t even get detention. Somehow, Blondie Henchman Two twisted the story around so that I became the bully and he, and his entourage, were the nice guys who rescued the innocent kid. Principal I-Have-A-Stick-The-Size-Of-Chicago-Up-My-Rear didn’t even ask for my side of the story. He swallowed their lie whole, like a ravenous dog, hungry for a meaty bone.

            When my old man found out about my suspension, he gave a big sigh and looked me square in the eye. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he was disappointed. This made me feel like the biggest teenage scumbag in the world.

Now look, my grades are okay—okay enough in get into college, if I had the desire to go. My dad definitely wants me to go to college. Because neither he nor my mom finished high school and I think he has something to prove to the world. College was an unattainable dream for my parents. With decent grades and a good profile, they say that all students can and should go to college. And I knew that my GPA was fine, it was my student file that was the problem. It was bad - plain and simple. Even I know that plus one and minus one equals a big sad zero.

            So I completed my suspension, however unfair it was. I spent Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday lying around the apartment and  looking through my textbooks in an effort to keep up. I workout at home, and continuously bothered Mr. Chang, the owner of the Mini-Mart on the first floor of our building, for the usual trade—one carton of cigarettes for a couple of hours of free labor. As usual, Mr. Chang adamantly refused my offer. But in the end, he relented and I would get my carton of smokes.

            He only agreed to the trade-off after several hours of my annoying  banter and presence in his store. Then he sharply vowed to end my existence if I incriminated him for aiding a minor in the procurement of the dreaded tobacco. The deal was that I would work for him for three hours on the weekend in exchange for my sticky nicotine-filled friends. I nearly groaned at the deal with Mr. Chang though, because with him, the shorter the amount of time requested in the trade, meant the harder the selected task that he gave to me. Needless to say, I wasn’t looking forward to the three hours of labor that I owed to Mr. Chang, for I believed that he would take pleasure in finding the most difficult task imaginable. I might venture to say that he was an unprofessed sadist, based on the sense of contentment that he displayed at my past pain and suffering, lifting heavy boxes around his Mini-Mart.

            Despite his acute business sense and tough bargaining, Mr. Chang was a pretty cool guy. His family originally came from Korea. I knew this because I’ve known him ever since we moved to this crappy neighborhood three years ago. He has a son who is one year older than I am, and that guy was in college now: a nice college, Ivy League or something. I don’t know how he did it though, considering our past behaviors; it’s amazing he’s still alive. But Heaven couldn’t have helped him if he didn’t go to college. Mr. Chang was a real stickler for education, and he has hinted around inadvertently that he wanted to see me go to college too. It’s nice that he cares, but if I manage to make it to my high school graduation, I doubt I’ll live long enough to go to college.

            After an uneventful three days of suspension, working out, and hitting the books, the weekend came and went. On Sunday, I spent most of the day watching TV until the lights were cut suddenly at 1:35 PM and hadn’t come back on since. The lack of electricity led me outside, in the muggy afternoon air, where I waited until three o’clock, so I could fulfill my end of the bargain with Mr. Chang.

           I glanced at my watch. I still had an hour to wait. It couldn’t come fast enough.

 

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CadCam...


Essentially, how my crown (# 20) was designed, manufactured and replaced yesterday (minus the music score), in the office! The dentist also gave me shades because he used a laser to smooth out the base before forming and cementing my crown. It was quite amazing, since my last crown involved "silly putty," a temporary and waiting for the permanent ~ 3 weeks. I'm a little late on the new tech.

Yes...physics everywhere. Smiley
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It was all the rage after a year of sweating it out with jobs and kids. Taking a vacation was a right of spring, especially after the ultra cold winter and blistering summer. Seems a waste to dwell on all this now. The sky is permanently etched by clouds and gray, greenery has receded like the hairline of a young man whose genes betrayed his good looks. People have left the cities for the endless shanty towns that connect them. A simpler life we all thought. What we got was chaos and disrepair.

They were all over the city, quonset huts on stilts, no windows, no apparent door. Mega-tek used to be an on-line video retailer. People still wanted theater experience but with mistrust and terrorism we avoid the old dark palaces and crowds. Mega-tek devised these self sustained video huts, you rent the key and help yourself to an eye-full and a mind-full. Mega-tek is a huge, self sustained complex in the city. They have access to every video footage on the planet. At least that's what I heard. No one goes to the city anymore, who's running the show? I don't know.

I found a key while rummaging for coupons, that's todays currency. The key is a coin shaped disc about the size of a quarter and twice as thick. Has the logo and instructions in texting script. Walk under the unit, stand on the spot. The place is on the edge of town, somewhat desolate. I stand on the spot beneath it's stoic form, a small light greets me. I watch an overhead trapdoor slide away and the earth at my feet raises to meet it. Needless to say I am scared. I come up into a ring of lounges surrounded by a ring of screens.

I sit and the screens burst into life, cartoon like instruction, commercials, offerings of syn-food refreshments. I just cried out, 'what happened to us?' All went dead at first as if putting all kidding aside. Then one by one each screen took it's turn retailing history. I don't know how long I was in there. I was OK but out side things were worse, it seems. Maybe it was because of all I saw. Some virtual vacation I said. I took out the coin looked at it again, it read, 'toss it for someone else to find.' I can't go back, I've been changed...................This story clip inspired by this equipment storage unit construction picture off the net.

Old sketch from old 'knowtbook' of a livingroom suite that could apply to this story.

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WAR OF THE WORLDS ( IN THE HOOD! ).

Martian War Machine lifts from pit in War Of The Worlds by George Pal


Crack is the looming unearthly invader in my life as someone raised in the inner city BC ( Before Crack ).

Crack transformed my neighborhood into a " Hood " with all that entails. We devolved from a Southern-fried version of the Cosby Show to an all Black real life production of Escape From New York, which cast me in the improbable role  of Snake Plissken ( LOL ).


I can't forgive crack dealers for the humanity they stole from my neighborhood. Like literal scenes from a George Romero zombie movie furniture began vanishing from porches so frequently they had to either be brought in or with my grand parents chained to the porch railing.


Diary of the Dead Poster

Crack heads began wondering the streets like the famed director's undead nit looking for people to eat but rocks to smoke with equal vigor.

All the horror and science fiction movies I watched with my grandfather were prequels to this bleak new reality for Inner City America.


I compare the roll call of cities hit by Soviet missiles in the movie Damnation Alley to those crack ravaged from the 80s forward.




The Martians and nameless aliens in Independence Day were more merciful: they offered extinction level death ray assault with explanation or mercy.
 


Crack dealers prefer slow motion attrition so they can profit for decades off addicts  hungry for what's destroying them.

Mutants in the original Planet of The Apes series at least got telekinetic powers in exchange for radiation deformed bodies.
 

In real life crack heads only got whatever flights of fancy each hit lauches inside brains and bodies wasting away before their wide glassy eyes.

I'm one of those who watched this erupt around him- just like in a Romero zombie. I fought it back home and anywhere else!
Dawn of the Dead Poster

One day life proceeds as normal until an invisible  point of no return is crossed without warning... or mercy!!!

So far, the War of the Worlds within Inner City America has the invaders and zombies winning.

I am legend perhaps?
A man wearing leather clothes and holding a rifle walks alongside a dog on an empty street. A destroyed bridge is seen in the background. Atop the image is "Will Smith" and the tagline "The last man on Earth is not alone". Below is the film's title and credits.

Not hardy.

Like Enoch the intelligent lizard man from the original Land of The Lost TV series,

Land of the Lost - The Complete First Season

I'm cursed/blessed ( take your pick ) to remember what the Hood was like before a real life war of The World hit it.

As a caretaker of a lost culture of dignity and hope all I can do is fight the Good Fight; champion these values and find others who practice the same.

That's my report as a remnant of the Hood before a literal War of the Worlds conquered it!

Name: Nadra Enzi.

User Name: Capt Black.

Base of Operations: Crack Destroyed Inner City America. July 17th, 2012.

NOTES: For the millionth time I lament this future isn't what Buck Rogers awakened to.  
buck rogers


We owe the Freedom Riders; Dr King:  Malcolm X and our generations an apology if we let crack dealers; crack heads; thug culture i.e. chocolate Klansmen erase all we fought to institute.

In the TV series " V" mankind took up arms against their invaders.



In the Hood we can't even get on television and denounce them for the low lives they are.

End of Entry.  

NADRA ENZI AKA CAP BLACK promotes creative crime prevention. (504) 214-3082.
" EITHER YOU'RE A GOOD BLACK MAN- OR A MEMBER OF THE CHOCOLATE KLAN! "

http://moveonup.ning.com/profiles/blogs/chocolate-klansmen-alert-sp...
CHOCOLATE KLANSMEN ALERT! Speaking Tour

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Pakistan's Nobel Laureate...

Credit: NobelPrizedotorg

Few Pakistanis know what the Higgs boson is and even fewer realise that some of the earliest theoretical groundwork that led to this discovery was laid by Pakistan’s only Nobel laureate, Dr Abdus Salam.

 

The Higgs boson is a subatomic particle whose existence was confirmed by the European Organisation for Nuclear Research (known by its French acronym, CERN) on July 4. The discovery of the particle provides the last remaining bit of empirical evidence necessary for the Standard Model of physics, which seeks to explain the existence of all forces in the universe except gravity.

 

From "The First Three Minutes-The First One-Hundredth Second, page 148: Despite the weakness of the weak interactions, it has long been thought that there might be a deep relation between the weak and electromagnetic forces. A field theory which unifies these two forces was proposed in 1967 by myself (Weinberg), and independently in 1968 by Abdus Salam.

 

International Herald Tribune:
Higg's boson: Pakistan's contribution to a major breakthrough

Nobel Prize in Physics, '79: Sheldon Glashow, Abdus Salam, Steven Weinberg

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Stereotype Threat...

Credit: NPR


I thought about this report, listening to it on NPR as I drove to work. It speaks of stereotype threat as a gender-bias issue only, but it tends to go (as far as gender):

1. I see less women in STEM careers;

2. I receive no support as far as STEM career ambitions;

3. I am steered into other non-STEM careers;

4. Due to a lack of representation, I don't feel I "fit" in this STEM career, and tend in time to "drop out."

5. I will gravitate towards career choices where there's a more representative number of myself, and therefore comfort in relating to other professionals within said career.

As the article alludes, it applies to any "outside" groups. It explains why (to me), there are fewer minorities in STEM careers as well, why we tend to gravitate to support structures like NSBP, NSHP, NSBE, NABA et al if in the fields at all, or ubiquitously, sports and rap music. Reminds me at my high school, my so-called guidance counselor didn't encourage me to major in Engineering Mathematics (I changed after my freshman year to Engineering Physics). I enjoyed visiting North Forsyth High School in my junior year ('83), telling her I was a year away from obtaining my degree. Some less evolved of us tend to exist as the gatekeepers of what is "proper." They are sadlymistaken.

 

"Living well is the best revenge." George Herbert, English clergyman & metaphysical poet (1593 - 1633).


When there's a stereotype in the air and people are worried they might confirm the stereotype by performing poorly, their fears can inadvertently make the stereotype become self-fulfilling.

 

Steele and his colleagues found that when women were reminded — even subtly — of the stereotype that men were better than women at math, the performance of women in math tests measurably declined. Since the reduction in performance came about because women were threatened by the stereotype, the psychologists called the phenomenon "stereotype threat."

Stereotype threat isn't limited to women or ethnic minorities, Steele wrote elsewhere. "Everyone experiences stereotype threat. We are all members of some group about which negative stereotypes exist, from white males and Methodists to women and the elderly. And in a situation where one of those stereotypes applies — a man talking to women about pay equity, for example, or an aging faculty member trying to remember a number sequence in the middle of a lecture — we know that we may be judged by it."

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SkyScan, WWVB and RCCs...

The clock in the gym at my apartment complex is a SkyScan ®. The diagram on the clock face - in my case, analog - suggests a satellite. I think it's a marketing gimmick!
The actual clock is controlled from Fort Collins, Colorado by old-fashioned Marconi radio waves (Radio-Controlled Clock) from WWVB, a radio station operated by the National Institute of Standards and Technology.
This reality became obvious between grunts as the clock's minute hand started progressing forward - FAST, as it had been behind several hours/days and was trying to sync with the central control signal in Colorado. Still speeding clockwise as my wife and I left, it will progress until it matches the exact day/time. Nerdier, more detailed description here.

Yes, I see physics everywhere, beyond the typical gym-type.
The Borg were absolutely right:
 
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 I've launched my webpage for suspense, thrillers, mysteries, horror, fantasy, sci-fi and paranormal by Black authors and need your assistance. On the Author List page of the site is a list of authors in the genre. I know I have missed MANY authors. Soooo, could you use the contact page on the website and let me know of authors I’ve missed and their genre. Also, I hope some of you plan to come by and be a guest.

Here’s the site: http://www.suspensemysteryhorrorandthrillersinblack.com/

Thanks again,

Dee

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Battleship: Col. Gadson Stole the Show

Col. Gregory D. Gadson stole the show in "Battleship". Gadson played Lieutenant Colonel Mick Canales a double amputee in physical therapy when the film opens. We meet him because he is a plot device for the love interest in the film showing that she is a three dimensional character rather than just a pretty face. However, he is necessary for her part in the battle to be plausible. His acting was strong, powerful, riveting, and left me wanting more. I researched Gadson on IMDB.com to find he is an active duty military officer and 'wounded warrior'. He was featured in the documentary "Wounded Warriors' Resilience" http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2097945/. I'm sure he is busy with his military duties but it would be great to see him in more films. 

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container living development

I was looking at pictures of Africa they don't show you in the media. There are some mighty fine cities and large. I have only seen on TV the degradation and despair and military and why is every African leader who isn't pushing democracy a dictator? Anyway, when I see the big cities I want to go there and bask in the place.

I look at the enticing real estate offerings and realize it is kind of sick. With all the shambles and poverty for rural Africans, why does the escape from that equal the ostentatious display of wealth as if they read an ad, "now you too can have your own plantation, servants and live a little higher on the hog"....? I mean here is few limits you can do anything you wish. Of course I had a little nation building drummed into me in college, the utopian novel, black power and umoja ngoma (not by the school, of course).

I fell into the idea of using cargo containers as dwelling spaces. They resemble the corrugated shanty you see all over Africa. The modern container users seem not to prefer to alter them much. So when I see a single container home in contrast to surrounding homes they look quaint and ultra modern. In mass they look like a shanty town. I thought how can I change them so that an endless variety of configurations could be realized. Join them together with quonset huts and grain silos was the answer.

My first thought was not to mimic the western idea of housing as a standard. Since the glut of people live in less than that standard dwelling. Also something about how African cultures do things differently. So I strayed away from large personal spaces that compromised the communal space. If you have a big bedroom it takes away from the living room space. I ask why does every person need a personal apartment (bed, bath, kitchenette) in the house. I'm not saying every person gets a cubby hole and a mattress (a cell). My realization is that Africans respect the communal living more than of western folk.

I think about functional parts, bathroom, kitchen, lighting, utilities and open reconfigurable space. The cargo container becomes a basic unit, easy to set up, remove, and to alter with quonset arches and silo curves spanning spaces, breaking up straight walls, etc. Perhaps it is a little more compact than we would like. These parts are pre-manufactured and require less altering to surround space. I live in a house with nice rooms made small with overstuffed furniture. It is comfortable to the behind but looks cramped and small to the eyes. A lot of space is unused to be filled with junk.

Instead of down grading the typical western idea of a house, I am looking at upgrading the sheet steel shanty (hut), into a high tech dwelling unit or at least a more flexible way to enclose space. So, if you peruse my photos and see the dwelling unit concepts you have some idea where I am going with this line of thought.

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Fuel Cells!...

Department of Energy

A new approach to an established fuel will be the focus of research, development and maybe production with the help of NASA's Kennedy Space Center in Florida.

The company, based in Britain, has formulated a way to store hydrogen safely in tiny pellets that still allow the fuel to be burned in an engine. [NASA] Kennedy, which handles huge amounts of the explosive gas regularly as part of its rocket work, is being enlisted to help the company overcome a couple technological hurdles.

If the work pays off, engines all over the world could run on hydrogen, which burns clean, producing no greenhouse gases.
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