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| Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle - eochemistry string theory 2 |
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Yesterday, Sputnik launced the "space race," and President Eisenhower invested in education as part of national defense and "the common good." We're still benefitting from the spinoffs of technological innovation, and the audacity to choose to go to the moon, "not because it is easy, but because it is hard." (President Kennedy).
The USA Science & Engineering Festival is this country's first national science festival and will be held in Washington, D.C. starting October 10, 2010.
This is a good thing!
I went to the web site for the National Society of Hispanic Physicists to get something for Hispanic Heritage Month, and this gem was on their web site.
I talk to a lot of kids, naturally since I teach High School. Many of them of course think I'm weird that I blog about physics or that I actually LIKE math. I get the usual questions that give one pause at their audacity:
"What am I ever going to use this for?"
Actually, you do really.
I usually say they haven't had their "Sputnik moment," when the United States was caught completely off-guard. Americans are uncomfortable with being seen as "second."
We were well into the "Cold War" with the former Soviet Union, so a satellite on October 4, 1957 translated to the Russians ability to deliver thermonuclear warheads to our shores. We caught up January 31, 1958 with our first satellite Explorer I. In July of 1958, NASA was born (I blogged about it) with the National Space Act. Popular Culture followed with series like Star Trek, Lost in Space, The Invaders and The Jetsons.
So often, the fear of war was the motivation for progress and creativity.
A "Sputnik moment":
I blog this on 10 September 2010, a day before the 9th year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. That was almost a moment, when out of fear we were willing to trade civil liberties for security. A day before a Florida Pastor may or may not put veterans at risk overseas with a controversial burning of the Koran.
The fourth estate - the news media - is forced to print immediately without much review and then print retractions sheepishly where they cannot be found. The Internet has made print media almost obsolete in that whatever newspaper or magazine you can purchase you can see online for free. Without an estate responsible for sifting through falsities and truths, without fact checking, we're in a cyberspace free-for-all, informing like minds with sometimes monolithic monologues and being in full agreement. Our concept of an informed citizenry in a democracy is threatened.
We are surrounded by information and starving for wisdom: we're entertained by performance and not enthralled by the results of investigation using the Scientific Method. As far as STEM, science, math and engineering are in the words of my students "boring," but the technology that allows them to text, tweet, Facebook and blog they're all over, with no appreciation for the other facets that brought the possibilities of their casual amusement into existence.
In the US, we've created a culture of entertainment, probably at the moment a television program or DVD became the defacto "baby sitter," and then we say to our kids "I can't stand reading/writing/math" and wonder why they're not doing so well in the same subjects at school. In education, it's called "modeling," and not the kind you'd see on the fashion runway.
For my students, this is your "Sputnik moment": the world you will inherit will be far more complicated than the one I grew up in. You have the ever present fear of war around the globe, global warming, natural disasters, technological preeminence or inferiority, economic harmony or disparity; political efficiency or fecklessness. How well you lead and manage it will depend on how well you prepared for it.
Dear Mr. President,
I was at work Wednesday night, but I have heard the coverage regarding the debates. They said Governor Romney won. It was like getting punched in the gut.
No mention of the 47%. Or the fact that he was 47th in job creation while governor. Someone with your rhetorical skills should have made poetry with those two items; mincemeat out of Mr. Romney.
Wednesday was you and First Lady Michelle's anniversary. Do me a favor: FIRE the lawyers that deliberated and put the first debate on what should have been YOUR and the First Lady's private day.
Also sir: Mr. Romney obviously suffers from Pseudologia Fantasticia, AKA pathological lying. His running mate is a "chip-off-the-old-block" with admiring Ayn Rand in one video-taped breath, then repudiating her as if he never knew the author of "Atlas Shrugged" was a militant atheist (her words: I know some atheists, and they're quite pleasant).
What's at stake: we're in the "Twilight Zone" with a dominionist-dominated Republican Party hijacking privately-practiced religion for one public end: power. Former GOP operative Mike Lofgren says it's become "an apocalyptic cult." You won only on facts, not style, and the crowd that's adamant about voting for Willard ain't thinking about the "facts": they once labeled his faith as a cult until left with no other alternative. In the words of a political operative to Run Suskind, they "create their own realities."
It's a shame we're discussing the "controversy" about evolution, question whether the earth is over four billion years old or six thousand years old. Meanwhile, "back at the ranch" of global competition, countries we helped build up with the Marshall Plan post WWII have no such delusional machinations. They march forward in STEM careers, creating more scientists and engineers than our own universities as we put our heads in ostrich sands; our minds in reverse back to God-knows-where, but I bet where we land won't have a middle class or America as fabled "shining city on a hill." I'm a year younger than you, and I can recall getting more on evolution and sex education during the late seventies than my twenty and thirty year old sons. Science is no threat to religious faith, and any reality created, virtual or imagined, cannot govern.
Let me end with Kevin Costner and Sean Connery in The Untouchables: "Don't bring a knife to a gun fight," and by the way: you're FROM Chicago!
Related link: William Rivers Pitt - A Nationally-Televised Presidential Fail
The Viscera battle seemed endless in San Francisco. I hear it’s just as bad or worse in other parts of the country, the world for that matter. The Pack even had to blow the Golden Gate Bridge to help control the Viscera infestation, keep them across the bay. But they have boats and air vehicles. Between the military and guerrilla groups like ours “The Pack of Wolves”, commonly referred to as “The Pack”, we keep them under control, so far.
We are down to Ham Radio communication. There are no broadcasts anymore, no television or radio. But people still tried to maintain and hold on to as much of whatever normal is as possible. Even though one dead Viscera brought two more it seems. The dead walkers would bite someone or scratch someone and they’d become Viscera. The good thing is we are clearing out the dead walkers in the city or as Sarang calls them, Spliftan Nanites. We just call them all V Heads. We just have the Viscera for the most part now. There is a big difference between the Dead Walkers and what we now classify as V Heads. We figured out that the Dead Walkers were basically designed to breed by bitting humans or the scratch. The nanites get in the blood stream and you become one, if you aren’t eaten. And from my experience are as dumb as dirt. But they are the catalyst for something worse. The second generation V heads were born to kill. They’re smart. They’re like fighting vampires or zombies with intellect. They feed on the warm flesh of humans. Their thing is the appetite for human intestines. I don’t know why that is, that particular part of the body. But they seem to wash that down with spinal fluid and treat our blood like it’s gravy.
They have their clans. The biggest clan in the city was lead by a man named Mokatari, Doctor Jiles Mokatari Ph.d. He was a college professor from Africa, Ghana I think. He taught at the University of San Francisco. Mokatari is a very smart and industrious V head. He has them organized. That’s why he has the biggest clan. Mokatari is King. (From the diary of Dr. Roi Sungari,MD)
Consider Legos over the latest game system and/or game. Which will get your child into college with critical thinking skills?
Here's a video based on the 'Mortal Kombat' videogame featuring today's national politicians vying for the Presidency. Too funny to describe, see for yourself...'COUNT IT!'
http://bcove.me/o4h3y3y9
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| Themis Goddess of Justice - bronze sculpture, Goddess of Justice, Law and Equity - RoyalDecorations.fr |
Justice
That Justice is a blind goddess
Is a thing to which we black are wise:
Her bandage hides two festering sores
That once perhaps were eyes.
Langston Hughes
I was saddened that names I respect as credible authorities - Dr. Sanjay Gupta of CNN and PBS News Hour could so botch reporting on cancer cures and climate change. I recall seeing the "possible cure for cancer" on CNN, which put me in a rather melancholy mood: my father died of lung cancer in 1999; my mother had been a smoker and at one time and a breast cancer survivor. She passed in 2009.
There is a false balance, or as I refer to "blind balance" in the news we digest from so many different sources: television, talk radio, the Internet; You Tube. Anyone with a laptop can post a video questioning the history of the moon landing, and get a following whether they were physically on the planet to witness the event or not. Without judge, panel or jury, "everything on the Internet must be true" including cancer cures, climate change deniers, teaching the controversy on evolution and the earth only being around six millennia old. Meanwhile, back at the ranch of global competition, countries that score higher than us in STEM obviously don't consider such delusional machinations.
This is me typing: You can choose to believe it our not, as this particular post is only my humble opinion. However, when I see someones research I find interesting, I post excerpts of the article or abstract in italics differentiating the originator from my commentary (if any). I only post if I have the originator's permission, avoid it if some written instruction prohibits it. Usually at the end of the post, I provide a link to further review if the blog reader's interested. I give credit and links to photos and their origins.
"Fair and Balanced" is in the lexicon, yet we can blithely ignore statistics (or facts) we don't like; science that may put in question our worldviews creating our own realities in the process.
The Internet has made that consumption instantaneous, thus the Fourth Estate is reduced to tabloid journalism, embedded reporters and ratings wars. Facebook and Twitter feeds are scrolled during presented news; in many cases that is the news! The immediate gratification of seeing one's "handle" on the flat screen is probably a rush for some, however Letters to the Editor have to stay within a certain word count, have a subject, make your point to an editorial board. When the National Enquire can break John Edward's affair with Reille Hunter before any legitimate news outlet, we know we've gone past the Rubicon.
I hang my head sadly that the word "shoddy" should become associated with any media coverage on science.
Columbia Journalism Review: Shoddy TV science coverage
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| Credit: Physics World - Gold Nanoantennas |
Physicists in Germany have used evolutionary algorithms to help them pinpoint the best geometry for a nanoantenna. As well as zeroing in on the optimal design out of more than 10132alternatives, the technique has provided unexpected new insights into the complex optical properties of nanostructures.
Nanoantennas convert light to electrical power and vice-versa, and are essential in the design of tiny electro-optical devices. They have diverse potential applications in just about anything based on light–matter interaction, including optical sensing and signalling, microscopy, solar-power conversion and quantum cryptography.
Inspired by natural selection, evolutionary optimization algorithms work towards an ideal design rather than evaluating the performance of all possible designs. For the problem tackled by Feichtner's team, the latter would be impossible because more than 10132 antenna designs would need to be evaluated using a process that takes 20 minutes per structure. The team's goal was to find a geometry that would enhance the near-field intensity of an illuminating beam of light as much as possible, so they chose this as the "fitness parameter" that they would judge each design against. Just as in nature, the fittest patterns got the chance to pass on their characteristics to the next generation, while the weaker specimens were discarded. The highest-performing five from each batch were used to build a new generation of 20 structures via crossing techniques and mutations. The new structures were in turn pitted against one another, so the overall fitness of the designs improved generation by generation – over 100 generations – until the near-field intensity enhancement registered almost twice that of the reference antenna.
Physics World: Survival of the fittest nanoantenna
Abdul Walid found himself somewhere in Afghanistan not knowing how he got there, when he arrived or how long he’d been in the country. From the backpack he wore and the AK 47 strapped over his right shoulder, he had obviously been on a journey. Aches and pains from the rigors of that journey wrapped his body in a throbbing shawl of fatigue. He needed to rest. By the will of Allah, he desperately needed rest.
The landscape was a bleak sprawl of rugged hills as far as his eye could travel. Hills coated in every conceivable shade of gray, like everything else in this jagged, devilish corner of existence…including the people.
This backward nation was not exactly Walid’s choice of venue for doing Allah’s work. Nonetheless, his superiors assigned him here for that very purpose.
Walid plopped down on a patch of hard ground close to the summit of a hill he was negotiating. He had already walked himself ragged and for the life of him he could not remember anything recent beyond the past two minutes. It was if he had been asleep on his feet and just woke up. Of course he knew who he was and why he was in Afghanistan to begin with. He remembered every other aspect of his life. He knew his family, his friends…
Abdul awoke to darkness. A bitterly chill wind accosted him like a slap to the face. He realized he was walking and stopped. How could this be? He turned in place, squinting his eyes to adjust them to pitch-blackness. Bright stars speckled a clear night sky. On any other occasion he would have been dazzled by their radiance. Instead, he stood motionless, dumbfounded by the surrounding night, when his last cogent memory was of him resting on a hilltop during midday. I don’t understand. Abdul lowered to his knees, more tired than he was hours earlier…however many hours had passed. His lungs felt seared from his exertion, his legs heavy as blocks of concrete. He would rest just long enough to rejuvenate…drink water from the plastic bottle in his pack…snack on rations…prayer…he didn’t remember doing his evening prayer. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t.
When in doubt.
Walid set his food aside, looking every which way to get his bearings. He needed to face East. Had he been any good at reading the stars.
Daytime. Wahid averted his eyes from a sun that suddenly appeared out of nowhere…or seemed to. He staggered sideways before balancing himself, his head swimming in disorientation. He must have blacked out again. From his labored breathing and aching feet, he concluded he had been sleepwalking, just like the previous occasions. How else could he explain the distance he covered?
He was walking on flatter terrain. A mountain range loomed before him. Abdul spotted a familiar sight, and his apprehension regarding these mysterious memory lapses gave way to calm. A small village nestled at the foot of one of those rocky peaks. He quickened his pace.
A group of children ran to greet Wahid. He recognized their eager faces and laughed and played with them as he neared the village. He walked past mud brick structures. Men in keffiyeh head wraps loitered about. Some greeted him with silent nods; others simply stared, not bothering to hide their disdain of the foreigner in their midst, even if that foreigner was Muslim.
He noticed a pair of Burkha-clad women drawing water from a well. His entourage of youngsters melted away now that the excitement of his presence had dwindled. Wahid grinned endearingly. Who could blame the little ones?
“Abdul!”
Wahid turned to the sound of that familiar voice to see an equally familiar face emerging from the nearest brick hut. A heavily bearded man in dark sunglasses, dressed in olive green military fatigues. Malik.
Happy and relieved to see a comrade, Wahid beamed a broad smile.
Malik did not reciprocate. He approached Wahid hesitantly, looking for all the world as if he was seeing a ghost. “Wahid…what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in America. You’re supposed to be in Chicago!”
Wahid formed his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say. He was supposed to be in America? Well, that was certainly another major detail left out of his memory.
Malik glanced up at the sky before gripping Wahid’s elbow. “Come, let’s get to a secure location. I don’t want an American drone to spot us.”
The cave entrance was less than a forth of a mile from the village.
Wahid had been to this tucked away redoubt so many times, he almost considered it a second home. Two Afghan sentries were posted at the mouth of the cave. Two more stood guard twenty yards further in.
Wahid and Malik passed the guards in silence, following a curving halogen-illumined pathway. The cave’s natural features starkly gave way to man-made renovation.
The pair entered a large, brightly lit room replete with computers, printers, fax machines, internet routers, and a large flat screen TV suspended from the ceiling. Smaller TVs rested on desks lined along the wall. Two of the TVs showed an Al-Jazeera news station, the remaining three, BBC, Fox News, and CNN.
A map of Chicago’s downtown area covered one wall. Next to it, a photograph of the city’s tallest skyscraper, the Willis Tower. Next to the picture, were posted interior and exterior schematics of the building.
Eleven men occupied this busy space. All eleven paused with comically gape-mouthed expressions at the sight of Wahid.
Like Malik, none of these men were Afghan. Most were from the Gulf States. There were a couple of Egyptians a Pakistani, even an Indonesian. Different nationalities, all united in their commitment to Allah. All united under the banner of Jihad.
Walid’s heart stirred with pride.
Sheikh Mahmud, the leader, a PhD engineer in his mid fifties, stepped forward. “What is this?” His puzzled gray eyes darted between Malik and Walid, before settling with finality upon the latter. “Why are you here?”
“The operation was compromised,” Walid said. “Khalid and Fodio were picked up by the authorities. I barely managed to get away. I made my way to the Mexican border and slipped out of the country.” Walid’s lips seemed to move of their own accord as he recounted events he had absolutely no memory of.
“Khalid and Fodio…arrested?” Hamza, the youngest Jihadi in the group, shook his head, his face creasing with skepticism. “We heard nothing about this! It would have been on the news!”
“Unless, the Americans are keeping a lid on this, as they say,” Malik speculated.
Khalid was a white European from Germany, Fodio a northern Nigerian.
The two were specially trained to talk, walk and dress like Americans. And because they resembled typical Americans, they were less likely to fall under the type of scrutiny Middle Eastern looking men tended to encounter. The planners in this room had counted on the would-be martyrs’ ability to blend in for this operation. The group’s disappointment was palpable.
“Why would they keep this secret?” Abdullah, a master bomb maker, ridiculed. “They never hesitate to trumpet the arrests of so-called terror suspects across their media outlets!”
As the planners debated, discussed and lamented, a curious sense of detachment fell over Walid. He panned the room with a blank face, taking in every detail. Then he studied his fellow Jihadis…
On the other side of the world in a DARPA (Defense Advance Research Projects Agency) facility somewhere in Northwest Nevada, another group of men gathered in a different room, observing live feed of terrorists through the eyes of a terrorist.
Four of the men were military officers, the remaining three, civilians.
One of the civilians, Dr. Jerome Williams, sat, focused on a 32 inch monitor in front of him. Williams was a Howard University robotics professor, currently consulting for DARPA.
Facial recognition indicators buzzed each time a terrorist was featured on the screen. Every one of the men in that distant cave ranked high on more than one government most-wanted list. .
General Allen Murphy blew out an amazed whistle. “I never thought he would’ve made it that far.”
Deputy Secretary of Defense, Jeremy Skelton, turned to the general. He was new to this affair and his bewilderment showed. “Alright, how did you manage to get this man inside so easily? Infiltrating terror cells is no walk in the park. You can’t just make someone like an Abdul Walid cooperate.” He leaned closer to the monitor. “What kind of hidden camera is he wearing?”
“In this case, inducing cooperation from our subject was no problem at all,” Dr. Williams answered cheerfully. “And he’s not wearing a cam.”
Skelton grinned dubiously and looked to CIA Station Chief Thomas Perkins for elaboration. “Ok, I’m all ears.”
“Abdul Walid was arrested several weeks ago, along with two other terrorists,” Perkins explained. “Walid’s companions, a German and a Nigerian were going to blow themselves up in the Willis Tower observation deck, while Walid detonated a truck bomb at a downtown park festival. Two devastating, simultaneous attacks, typical of an al Qaeda operation.”
“Walid wasn’t going to suicide himself,” said General Murphy. His weathered features twisted in a sarcastic sneer. “Apparently he’s too valuable a planner to enter Paradise so soon.”
“Anyway,” Perkins continued. “Walid’s task was to coordinate the attack, make sure everything went according to plan. That’s why we chose him for our special project.”
Skelton’s brow crinkled. “Special project?”
“I’ll let Dr. Williams take over from here.”
Dr. Williams swiveled toward the deputy secretary. “Shortly after his arrest and subsequent interrogation, Walid was turned over to my lab. There, doctors, under my supervision, replaced a portion of his brain with a memory restrictive cybernetic implant. The implant makes Walid deeply susceptible to suggestion.”
“In other words,” Perkins cut in, “Walid is a living breathing puppet, and the good professor here pulls the strings.”
“The implant is connected to his visual cortex, allowing us to see what he sees,” Williams pointed out. “Thus eliminating the need to hide a camera on his person.”
“Skelton paled. “You mean to tell me that…you…turned a human being into some sort of zombie cyborg?”
Williams chuckled lightly. “No Mr. Deputy Secretary. I wouldn’t go that far. He does have awareness, but it’s limited to what I allot him. He knows he suffers from memory loss but can’t attribute its cause. He knows his actions are not his own but can’t pinpoint the reason. Other than those lapses, he behaves no differently from the average human.”
“And with this thing in his head…”
“Mental Interdictive Neural Determinant,” Williams interrupted with a hint of pride. “M.I.N.D. for short.”
The deputy secretary raised a brow. “Clever. With this…M.I.N.D. in his head, you’ve gotten our subject back to his cave. Now what? What’s the end game?”
Williams held up a finger and spun back to his console. He began typing on his keyboard.
“This is a disaster.” Sheikh Mahmud paced across the room, wringing his hands. A vision he cherished of the Willis Tower crowned in a blazing wreath, infidels flailing to their deaths, would yet remain unconsummated by reality.
“There are other targets,” Malik assured the cell leader. “There are always other targets. We will simply lick our wounds and God willing, move on to plan our next action.”
Walid paid no attention to the discussion around him. A compulsion he could not override moved his hand into his pocket. He pulled out an object resembling a bicycle handle grip with a red button on top.
Inwardly, Walid panicked at his action, knowing he could not arrest it no matter how hard he tried.
Hamza noticed first the detonator in Walid’s hand, then the backpack, which the latter never removed.
The bomb maker’s jaw unhinged. “Brother…what are you doing?”
A tear gleamed in the corner of Walid’s right eye, the only sign of distress on an otherwise emotionless face.
One by one the cell members spotted the detonator and their eyes widened in alarm.
Walid raise the device to chest level.
Forgive me, Brothers…his thumb unwillingly pressed the button.
Static instantly filled Dr. Williams’ screen.
Another monitor displayed real-time satellite footage of smoke boiling out of a cave in Eastern Afghanistan.
An over watch drone recorded the same event at a much lower altitude.
A blanket of grim silence settled over the room.
Dr. Williams stretched his neck and turned to the deputy secretary. “Thirteen terrorists down.”
Skelton could barely keep his eyes off the snowy screen. Unsettled, he cleared his throat. “I’m at a loss for words. A part of me is not particularly comfortable with mind control.”
“This might make you feel a little better, Mr. Deputy Secretary,” Perkins stated. “Drones have done an admirable job of killing terrorists. The downside is, too many civilians have perished in drone strikes. A M.I.N.D.-implanted subject can pinpoint targets with much greater precision and eliminate those targets with minimal to zero risk of civilian casualties. As you’ve just seen.”
Perkins’ argument seemed to have sunk in. Skelton nodded in realization. “Do you have more of these M.I.N.D. devices, Dr. Williams?”
“I have an improved version on the drawing board,” Williams gestured toward the static-filled screen “Walid just ‘tested’ the prototype. Once I iron out the kinks, I expect M.I.N.D.s to be in full production within a month. That should give you some time to line up more candidates for future operations.” The professor flicked a switch shutting down the screen.
Skelton regarded the CIA operative. “I think the president will be interested in this new technology.” A smile slowly parted his lips. “Very interested.”
World Science Festival: Stories have existed in many forms—cave paintings, parables, poems, tall tales, myths—throughout history and across almost all human cultures. But is storytelling essential to survival? Join a spirited discussion seeking to explain the uniquely human gift of narrative—from how neurons alight when we hear a tale, to the role of storytelling in cognitive development, to the art of storytelling itself, which informs a greater understanding of who we are as a species.
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| Missouri S&T researchers' modeling of stacked nanoscale slot waveguides made of metamaterials shows an optical force 100 to 1,000 times greater than conventional slot waveguides made from silicon. |
In a study that could lead to advances in the emerging fields of optical computing and nanomaterials, researchers at Missouri University of Science and Technology report that a new class of nanoscale slot waveguides pack 100 to 1,000 times more transverse optical force than conventional silicon slot waveguides.
The findings could lead to advances in developing optical computers, sensors or lasers, say researchers Dr. Jie Gao and Dr. Xiaodong Yang, both assistant professors of mechanical engineering at Missouri S&T.
R & D: Researchers demonstrate "giant" forces in super-strong nanomaterials
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| This set of images compares the Link outcrop of rocks on Mars (left) with similar rocks seen on Earth (right). Image credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/MSSS and PSI |
PASADENA, Calif. -- NASA's Curiosity rover mission has found evidence a stream once ran vigorously across the area on Mars where the rover is driving. There is earlier evidence for the presence of water on Mars, but this evidence -- images of rocks containing ancient streambed gravels -- is the first of its kind.
Scientists are studying the images of stones cemented into a layer of conglomerate rock. The sizes and shapes of stones offer clues to the speed and distance of a long-ago stream's flow.
"From the size of gravels it carried, we can interpret the water was moving about 3 feet per second, with a depth somewhere between ankle and hip deep," said Curiosity science co-investigator William Dietrich of the University of California, Berkeley. "Plenty of papers have been written about channels on Mars with many different hypotheses about the flows in them. This is the first time we're actually seeing water-transported gravel on Mars. This is a transition from speculation about the size of streambed material to direct observation of it."
* * * * *
“Nothing in the world is more flexible and yielding than water. Yet when it attacks the firm and the strong, none can withstand it, because they have no way to change it. So the flexible overcome the adamant, the yielding overcome the forceful. Everyone knows this, but no one can do it.”
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
Mars Science Laboratory: NASA Rover Finds Old Streambed on Martian Surface
Related site: The Planetary Society
Star Trek TNG debuted on network television the week of 28 September 1987
I met brother N. Steven Harris in Bed Stuy several years a ago and was instantly impressed by his skills with the pencil. i bought the first two or three issues of his comic "The fringe" right away and showed them to my son. Since then the brother has been working hard, being featured in independent books such as "Black Comix" and as a penciller for Marvel. He has also shown his work at many comic cons across the East Coast. Definitely check out his work and pass it on to the next lilttle bor or girl looking for something cool to read!
-Robert Trujillo
Brother is working on a new issue of Ajala: LINK
Technology Review:As the Voyager 1 spacecraft was about to leave the Solar System in 1990, the American astronomer Carl Sagan asked that spacecraft's cameras be turned towards its home planet some 3 billion kilometres away.
The resulting photograph is called the Pale Blue Dot and shows Earth as a tiny bluish-white speck against the vast emptiness of space. Sagan later used this phrase for the title of a book about his vision of humanity's future in space.
Given Earth's distinctive colour, an interesting question is what colour an alien Earth orbiting another star might be. Today, we get an answer of sorts from Siddharth Hegde at the Max Planck Institute for Astronomy in Germany and Lisa Kaltenegger at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Physics arXiv: Colors of extreme exoEarth environments
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| Artistic representation of Gliese 163c as a rock-water world covered with a dense cloud layer (left). It looks reddish, instead of white, due to the reflected light from its red dwarf parent star. Actual false-color image of the Gliese 163 star taken by NASA's WISE Mission (center). Map with the location of Gliese 163 in the constellation Dorado (right). CREDIT: PHL @ UPR Arecibo, NASA/IPAC IRSA, IAU, Sky & Telescope. |
A new superterran exoplanet (aka Super-Earth) was found in the stellar habitable zone of the red dwarf star Gliese 163 by the European HARPS team. The planet, Gliese 163c, has a minimum mass of 6.9 Earth masses and takes nearly 26 days to orbit its star. Superterrans are those exoplanets between two and ten Earth masses, which are more likely composed of rock and water. Gliese 163 is a nearby red dwarf star 50 light years away in the Dorado constellation. Another larger planet, Gliese 163b, was also found to orbit the star much closer with a nine days period. An additional third, but unconfirmed planet, might be orbiting the star much farther away.
Some humble suggestions:
- Pay teachers a competitive entry wage like other professions: treat them as professionals.
- Set a national standard. In a global economy, it's not communist/evil/fascist/globalist/socialist: it's evidence of intelligence, otherwise, we expect our youth = future workers to start a sprint with leg irons tied to their ankles.
- Use standardized test scores (with a national target, not 50 yardsticks) to measure where students are, not a "Sword of Damocles" that makes them think only on passing exams and merely graduating, not understanding subject matter.
- Allow teachers to work internships at factories, businesses, laboratories over the summer. It will inform their instruction with "real-world" examples to draw from.
- Partner with local technology businesses, law firms, non-profits for mentors that will visit and co-teach periodically throughout the school year, once or twice a semester. Some sources: National Association of Black Accountants, National Association of Hispanic Journalist, National Society of Black Engineers, National Society of Black Physicists, National Society of Hispanic Physicists, Society of Hispanic and Professional Engineers, Society of Women Engineers et al. This is just a short list.
"The common good" simply means "the good of the community." It is the difference between E pluribus unum being a quaint Latin phrase, or United States... as oxymoron.
The alternate domination of one faction over another, sharpened by the spirit of revenge, natural to party dissension, which in different ages and countries has perpetrated the most horrid enormities, is itself a frightful despotism. But this leads at length to a more formal and permanent despotism. The disorders and miseries which result gradually incline the minds of men to seek security and repose in the absolute power of an individual; and sooner or later the chief of some prevailing faction, more able or more fortunate than his competitors, turns this disposition to the purposes of his own elevation, on the ruins of public liberty. George Washington, 1796 farewell address
Newsweek columnist Robert J. Samuelson recently wrote: "We face a choice between a society where people accept modest sacrifices for a common good or a more contentious society where groups selfishly protect their own benefits."
Ironically: This is post number 911.
MSNBC: Education Nation
Welcome to Ljubljana, Slovenia!
Being a cultural astronomer and member of SEAC has taken me to places in Europe I have never imagined. Slovenia was part of Yugoslavia until 1992. Ljubljana is the capital of Slovenia. It has a river running through it and a castle above it. This time of year there is outdoor dining along the river and last night there was a live performance in the square.
Today was the first day of meetings for the conference. Nick Campion situated the current 2012 phenomena within the apocalyptic tradition that is centuries old. He revealed that certain doomsayers are predicting this to be a spiritual shift rather than a physical one, thus ensuring that when nothing happens...something happens...if you feel it. If you don't feel it, too bad for you! Michael Rappenglück, the current SEAC president, and Barbara Rappenglück, gave lectures on research methods when studying ancient cave art, myths, and folklore. Many novice researcher are guilty of finding astronomy in every alignment, over-interpreting sparse data, and improper sampling. Vito Palcaro reminded us of "Hamlet's Mill" which hypothesized that all of the worlds religions were created to explain the precession of the equinox and other celestial events - a problem with sampling and over-interpretation. The afternoon was about alignments: how to determine an axis to measure, how to determine the significance of measurements, and finally how to interpret the data. Fernando Pimenta and Cesar Gonzalez-Garcia presented nuanced details of how to do alignments without bias and managing error. We were treated to folk music to round out a pleasant day.
Tomorrow the topic shifts from best practices to case studies in Europe mainly focused on alignments: archaeoastronomy.
Picture: The Square as seen over the triple bridge.
Picture: Dessert!
Way back when I was a kid, I wrote two sci-fi space operas for an ongoing homemade comic series. They were popular with the kids in my school. Too popular, because someone decided they wanted it more than I did! I hadn't written in the sci-fi genre since then because I feel it necessary to be serious about the balance between the story and tech. I didn't want to get overwhelmed by either. Well, after so long a silence on sci-fi I've worked out the bugs and present this Preview for my upcoming short-story series, 'The Pandora Ultimatum'.
THE PANDORA ULTIMATUM
By H. Wolfgang Porter
Warning klaxtons reverberated from every quarter of the Interstellar Transport. The warning is beamed directly into my Personal Heads Up Display. I smack my face hard and the display puts the warning graphic and audio feed on mute. It still flashes in the lower part of my vision but not as large or bright. The transport lurches and then I’m thrown off my feet. I compensate for the sudden twist my body makes and I avoid smashing head first into the display console. I manage to salvage the rest of the fall but come to a brutal stop against a bulkhead stanchion. My PHUD winks out for an instant as I endure the wave of feedback otherwise known as ‘pain’.
I can hear explosions rattling the transport’s decks. The Holo Display I nearly opened my cranium on comes alive with visual boxes filled with the frantic faces of crew and passengers screaming from other areas for assistance. I get to my feet and try to make contact, but the Holo image erupts in a blizzard of data corruption. I try to call up the hard light control panel, but my body’s electrical field won’t activate the matrix. In another burst of data corruption, the panel comes back online and there are dozens of viz boxes blank or filled with static.
The screams get worse and one by one the viz boxes go down. I work the control display with fingers flying in an effort to contact the Transport’s Control Section. My efforts pay off and I bring up the image of a young woman with blonde hair and yellow-green eyes. She is disheveled and bleeding from a scalp injury. I note how the trail of blood seems to split her face in half. Screaming into her display I hear, “By the Galactic Core! Help us!” Behind her, random energy discharges wreak havoc and there are screams other than hers resounding in my ears. I move in closer to the display as if it will help and yell, “Control, what is your status?”
The young woman now crying screamed, “Control Systems are off-line! We’ve lost orbital integrity!” The information causes me to blink hard as the many implications of what she relayed hit me all at once. “Can you compensate for orbital drift?” The transport lurched again, but I hang on. The woman wasn’t so lucky. She flies from view and the visual feed shows only energetic mayhem as the various displays in the Transport’s Control Center burst with catastrophic data corruption. Amidst the din mixed within the audio feed, I suddenly detect the unmistakable sound of laughter. It does not come from anyone I can see scrambling to get out of the Control Room.
To get a better look before Control’s main display goes down I voice command, “Display, pan right 90 degrees!” The display does as commanded and I see the young woman in the grip of... something. It tears at her and her Protective Body Membrane as she screams and thrashes about. I then notice her status display which pops up during what the Transport’s AI deems a medical emergency. Her name is Lori Nyo. She is 75 standard Earth years old and is a Grade 1 Modified Human with standard enhancements. Despite her modified physicality, the ‘thing’ has her pinned and shreds her PBM like ancient Kevlar. I then realize what it is doing to her and then the visual feed goes down with data corruption.
All the viz boxes are down. Hundreds of humans, androids and alien beings Med Stats all flash red with the words, ‘Off-line’. Dazed, I look about my compartment and recognize I am alone. I quickly call up the vis feed showing the Transport’s exterior. High above the ‘Super Earth’ Aipotu circling its yellow star ‘HESTIA’, I can see the warning graphic ‘Off-line’ flash ominously from the Control Center feed. Data corruption has taken down secondary and tertiary back-up systems yet, the display showing the counter rapidly rattling down kilometers until the transport breaches the atmosphere works perfectly.
As per protocol, I work to cut through the data corruption and get audio only contact with the Aipotu Planetary Net. “EPIMETHEUS Supply Co-operative Transport DROMEDARY, it is evident you have catastrophic loss of orbital controls and will descend into the atmosphere within 30 Earth Standard Minutes. Please have all personnel proceed to all functioning Particle Wave Transport Stations immediately for emergency evacuation to Aipotu.” “Aipotu Planetary Net, this is Transport DROMEDARY, we are suffering catastrophic data corruption and do not advise Emergency Particle Wave Transmission!”
The Aipotu Net is a planetary network controlled by AI. It paused for a moment running various scenarios and then the display graphic ‘EXTERIOR SCAN’ popped up. No sooner started I snapped, “Aipotu Net, we are suffering catastrophic data corruption! Do not scan this Transpor....” The audio feed shutdown and that laughter continued. I looked once more at the exterior viz display and Aipotu was looming larger. Knowing how planetary AI’s think, I dashed towards the compartment hatch. Aipotu’s Net would treat the DROMEDARY like any other harmful space debris or asteroid and use its planetary defenses to deflect or shoot the offending matter out of the sky!
Though unlikely to affect its many firewall’s and built-in defenses, Aipotu’s Net would not allow any chance of data corruption to infect its systems. Without access to Particle Wave Transmission and data corruption fouling every system aboard, the AI will choose to protect itself and the planetary population at the expense of any survivors aboard the dying Transport. Lurching harder than before, I could tell the DROMEDARY was firmly caught in Aipotu’s 1.7G gravity field and wasn’t getting out. I took a hard shot in the ribs from the edge of the compartment hatch and once more my PHUD nearly went down. I took in a sharp breath and stepped out into the passageway. My PHUD came back up and through the smoke, something big moved.
I didn’t waste time trying to figure out what it was. I raced down the passage and could hear the heavy sounds of something large and powerful coming up behind me! I had to reach the nearby cargo bay. There were a set of ancient ‘Escape Pods’ my companion the Captain kept as souvenirs. Without PW Transmission, they were my only possibility for getting off the transport before the inevitable. I slid to a stop in the cargo bay and someone slammed the manual override actuator causing the hatch to crash heavily upon the deck as it shut. Despite the growing flames in the cargo bay, I could see it was a bald human male no doubt of high grade modification who’d closed the hatch. “The Shielding System’s down!”
The man’s words yelled over the din struck almost hard as the edge of that compartment hatch. With the Shielding System down and the PWT offline as well, there was no way to evac the Transport! Even with the fully functional Escape Pods at hand, it was over. Then, a jarring thud struck the manually sealed cargo bay hatch. Again and again, something pounded at the Micro-Crotanium alloy hatch which regularly withstood the stresses of Particle Wave Transport across interstellar distances hard enough to make expanding dents!
“Shit! We gotta’ get the fuck out of here!” The man’s language was ancient and course, but absolutely correct. Yet, I had no solutions. The pounding continued and I wondered what could have possibly caused this disaster? Out of my periphery I saw something familiar lying on the debris covered deck that made me shudder. It was a Transport BOLSTERED OLLA Fortification Level X or ‘BOX’. It was open and it should not be. Not at all! I looked in the BOX and its containment field was offline and whatever had been held within was gone. I looked about the cargo bay and through the spreading wall of flames I saw copious amounts of blood and androidal functional fluids. There were also torn bodies strewn about.
I recognized at that moment, a Transport BOX that should not have been opened had been and now a lone crewman and me were all that were left as something horrible fought to make its way into the cargo bay. The Transport DROMEDARY was hurtling towards a fiery crash planetside and in moments Aipotu’s AI would turn its planetary defenses upon us. Two perfectly good Escape Pods sat prepped and ready, but there was no way to get off the Transport. Worst of all, everything that was happening had been my fault. My designation is PAnd0RA 001 and this is my story....
© 2012 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved.
A pleasant recollection birthed serindipitously from yesterday's posting: I visited the Basilica of Santa Croce in 2000, well before 9-11, a trip my wife won to Italy - Rome and Florence - for her sales at Dell.
I recall it was somber, silent except for the tourists - of which we were two - the snapping of photos and the films that invariably ended up on You Tube in one form or another.
Wikipedia: It is the burial place of some of the most illustrious Italians, such as Michelangelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, Foscolo, Gentile and Rossini,...
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| Florence, Italy |
It was humbling thinking I'd studied many of the concepts and theories of Marconi, Fermi; especially to stand before the tomb of Galileo, the father of modern scientific inquiry. The irony of the discovery that Copernican theory was more valid and contradicted (then) Aristotle and Church doctrine on geocentricity. He was labeled a heretic, sentenced to house arrest, had to "renounce" his theories, and died pretty much a pauper. Now the heretic is part of the Temple of the Italian Glories (Tempio dell'Itale Glorie). Vindicated by the passage of time and corroboration.
"Living well is the best revenge," George Herbert. Even in the face of ignorance...
