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Black Sun: The Annular Eclipse in Tokyo

We did it! You did it! We made out Kickstarter goal of $10K for our Tokyo shoot. We have 26 hours to go and we would like to raise $10, 900.00 to cover the fee to Kickstarter. As I am sitting in the airport waiting for my flight, we have 133 Backers and $10,342.00. This was my first Kickstarter campaign http://kck.st/J2q1qy and I have some strong feelings about crowd funding: It is a lot of work! It takes a team! It takes time! The reason we kickstarted "Black Sun" was because we needed to be in Tokyo for the May 20/21 eclipse and needed to raise the funds quickly. Success! 

Our film crew consists of four people: me, Kelvin, Andrea, and Jackie. Kelvin Z. Phillips is my co-director - really important since I will be doing interviews for part of the time. Andrea Macias and Jackie Kuenstler are both students at UT Austin and work for The Daily Texan http://www.dailytexanonline.com/. They will be camera, sound, and general crew for our Tokyo production.

We are excited to get to Tokyo and begin scouting locations for the next several days of shooting. The annular eclipse, which is Monday morning in Tokyo, will be our most time-sensitve event. Up until then we will be getting to know our star: Dr. Alphonse Sterling. Also, we will learn about the Japanese Space Exploration Agency (JAXA) and the Hinode Satellite. Hinode observes the Sun in several wavelengths of light. 

In addition to blogging here, I will be tweeting @astroholbrook, and posting updates to our kickstarter page. 

Bon Voyage!

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In The Neighborhood...












The Most Likely Places to Find Alien Life according to Seth Shostak of the SETI institute are Enceladus (small moon of Saturn), Titan, Mars, Europa, Venus, Callisto and Ganymede (Jupiter moons).

Mind you, the EXTREME climates on these extraterrestrial candidates are not hospitable to human life, without some well-engineered terra-forming.

However, we have examples on the Earth of life developing under extremes:
crushing pressures at ocean depths; temperatures beyond the boiling point of water where we've found life, thus the theory: if in these places, then elsewhere beyond our solar system.

 

Space.com:
The 6 Most Likely Places to Find Alien Life

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Righteous Indignation...

 



It is a psychosis when one's esteem is based on an entire culture's abasement. It is also, national suicide to
insist that the heavy lifting of
future STEM careers be held up by one culture, one gender over all others.

 


"Melting pot" then becomes less than lyric poetry: it devolves to self-delusional myth, "picket fence" fantasies and a recipe for national disaster as the globe becomes more complex and needs every citizen valued, valuable and rowing in our collective boat. The inane debates on birth control, gay marriage et al have not created a
singlejob, a single educational opportunity for those at the bottom of the social hierarchy to lift themselves by bootstraps... with no laces!

 

"Pyrrhic victory" will be our epitaph.


 
"Blessed [are] the meek: for they shall inherit the earth." Matthew 5:5

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Signs of Shake, Rattle and Roll...


 


Earthquake in Chile:
Bostondotcom


ABSTRACT:
During earthquakes preparation periods significant disturbances in the ionospheric plasma density are often observed. These anomalies are caused by lithosphere-atmosphere-ionosphere interaction, particularly by the seismic electric field penetrating from the ground surface into the ionosphere. The seismic electric field produces electromagnetic EB drift changing plasma density over the epicenter region and magnetically conjugated area. The paper is devoted to analysis of regular Global Positioning System observations and revelation of seismo-ionospheric precursors of earthquakes in Total Electron Content (TEC) of the ionosphere. Global and regional relative TEC disturbances maps (%) have been plotted for 2005-2006 M6, D<60 km seismic events and analyzed in order to determine general features of precursors. The obtained results agree with the recent published case-study investigations.

 

Physics arXiv:
Searching for seismo-ionospheric earthquakes precursors:Total Electron Content disturbances before 2005-2006 seismic events

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SEM shows a gold nanotip (top) and localized photocurrent from the nanotip apex (middle). A schematic depicts the photoelectron escape trajectory (with quenched quiver motion) from the nanolocalized field (bottom). (Courtesy of University of Göttingen)

 


In 1905, Albert Einstein used his “quantum” view of light to explain key attributes of the photoelectric effect: The energy of electrons emitted from a metal does not increase at higher light intensities, as the classical wave theory contends, but only the number of emitted electrons increases, consistent with light quanta. With the photon energy E = hν, each electron acquires energy from one photon, and only by increasing the light frequency ν (and not intensity) can the energy of the emitted electrons be increased.

Now, more than a century later, scientists at the University of Göttingen (Göttingen, Germany) have demonstrated that in the so-called strong-field regime—the interaction of extremely high-intensity laser light with atoms and surfaces—classical dynamics may indeed prevail in photoemission from metal nanostructures.1

“In the usual photoeffect, one electron absorbs one photon, but in our experiments, we found electrons that had hitched a classical ride on the light field itself to escape confinement on the nanoscale,” says University of Göttingen scientist George Herink. “Strong, few-cycle infrared light pulses focused on gold nanotips cause the energy of electrons to grow with increasing intensity and wavelength; some electrons acquire the energy of not just one photon, but more than a thousand photons.”

 

Laser Focus World:
STRONG-FIELD PHYSICS: Ultrafast pulses, gold nanotips renew classical view of the photoelectric effect

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Evil Walks. Part 6.

Evil Walks. Part-6.

by Barry K. Nelsonon Sunday, May 6, 2012 at 7:02pm ·

Bill Foster felt nervous as he sat at the small round table in the dark corner of the Fallen Angel Tavern. Not only was this corner dark but it was also cold. As his body shivered he was wishing that he had put on something warmer that the thin black jacket over his black AC/DC T-shirt. Even the black jeans and biker boots that he had on did not protect his legs and feet from the chill. He felt a cold draft blowing through his shoulder length black hair.

Bill looked up at the mysterious dark figure that walked over to the table and sat down across from him. A man dressed in black pants tucked into black knee high boots. He was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and necktie. And black gloves. He was wearing a black hooded cape. The hood prevented Bill from seeing the features of his face. This was the same dark image that Bill had seen on a website on the internet. But now this person was actually sitting across from him. This person was known as the Sandman.

         “So Bill. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the Sandman’s cheerful greeting.

          Feeling apprehensive, Bill cleared his throat. “The pleasure’s all mine. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

          “So from your E-mail I understand that you’ve got a bit of a complicated problem that you want me to deal with. Care to fill me in on the details?”

          “The details are a bit sensitive,” said bill. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to tell you.”

          “A sensitive nature?” asked the Sandman. “How sensitive can it be if you need my help? What have you got? head lice? Crabs?”

          “No. The problem is with my best pal. Snake Lindstrom. His real name is Jacob. But everyone calls him Snake. That‘s hic nickname.”

          “I get that part, Bill. Most parents usually don’t name their kids after animals.”

Bill continued. “Anyway, Snake and I used to run together. We did everything. We partied. We fought together when somebody tried to mess with us. And we were also in business together.”

          The Sandman nodded his hooded head. “Yeah. I know all about your business dealings. Stolen cars. Burglaries. Small time drug dealers.”

          Bill gasp in amazement. “How the hell do you know all that? I mean…assuming that it’s true.”

          “I like to get a little background info on all my clients. And don’t try to act so modest. You’re not here to apply for the priesthood. So finish telling me about your pal, Snake.”

          Bill cleared his throat again. “Well, Snake and I did a lot of things together. Especially our business dealings. But the problem was that we were always small time players. So one day Snake comes up with this idea for us to expand into the big leagues. He wanted us to set up our own lab and start making our own meth. That was gonna be our chance to finally break into the big time. But our only problem was that we needed money to get things started. So the easiest way that we could come up with was to do these bank jobs. We did three of them the same day. We hit this one bank on Fifth avenue. Then this one bank on the South Side. Then we did this one in Oakland. Snake was as cool as an ice cube the whole time. But I was scared out of my mind the entire day. Between the three jobs we netted $8,000. The plan was to do the jobs, hide out and lay low until the heat dies down. Snake took the money and hid it. But the problem was that a few days later he got killed in a gunfight with the cops before he had the chance to tell me where he hid it.”

          “Ok Bill. Let me get all this straight. You and your pal, Snake pull off these bank jobs to get some quick cash for a meth operation. Your good pal, Snake takes the cash and then hides it. And he doesn’t share the location with you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

          “I don’t know,” said Bill. “What do you think it means?”

          “It could mean a lot of things. Perhaps Snake didn’t trust you as well as you thought. That maybe you two weren’t close as you thought. That maybe you’re a dumbass.”

          Bill was angered by the Sandman’s theories. “Wait a second. Hold on. You didn’t know us. Snake and I were tight. He was my bro. We shared a lot together.”

          “Yeah. I see that. You guys did share a lot. Like, for example, Snake was pretty generous in sharing his wife, Mindy, with you. At least I’m assuming that he knew that you two were seeing each other on the side.”

          Bill became nervous and sank down in his seat. How in the hell did he find out about that? he asked himself. His mind struggled to come up with a believable excuse. “Hey. It’s not what you think. Mindy and I were just friends.”

          “A friendship like yours could net you a feature photo spread in Playboy,” The Sandman replied.

          Bill was at a loss to find a suitable response.

          The Sandman continued. “And just out of curiosity did you ever tell your bro, Snake that you were holding out on him when you scored a few drug deals? After all. You two were supposed to be partners.”

          Bill was now becoming even more nervous. He felt like hiding under the table. He was still at a loss to conjure a suitable excuse to tell the Sandman.

          The Sandman held up his hand. “Hey. No problem. Maybe you were just holding on to it to share with him later. I get it. Happens all the time in these situations. So lets get back to your little problem with Snake. If he’s dead then how can I help you?”

          “I need to ask him where the money is hidden,” replied Bill. “I owe this guy in Oakland some money. And he wants to get paid soon. Real soon. Or he’s gonna send his guys out to break my legs. And maybe worse. I really need that money.”

          “So you need to speak to dearly departed Snake. And I take it that the batteries in your Ouija board are dead?”

          “I know that this all sounds a bit out there. But if you can pull this off I’d really appreciate it.”

          “Hey. No problem. Out there is my trade mark,” the Sandman assured Bill. “Your appreciation is all well and good. But if you want my help then I’m going to need something that’s a bit more substantial. And you already know how I operate.”

          Bill gave a nod. “Yeah. I remember from your website. I give you one of my dreams or nightmares and you’ll grant me a wish.” Bill took a few seconds to search through his mind for his most recent dream. “Here’s one. I remember this one that I had last week. I’m walking along this road out in some desert someplace. I look around but there’s nothing else out there except rocks and a few weeds at both sides of the road. The air is really hazy because the wind is blowing all this dust through the air. So I keep walking along the side of this road. Then I see this black car coming. I try to wave the car down so I can get a ride. But the prick who’s driving the thing just passes me by. Then I keep walking until this white car comes down the road. I try to wave this guy down, but he passes me by too. Then I keep walking. And I keep walking. And the road doesn’t seem to end. And the wind starts blowing harder. And the air gets hazier. Do you have any idea what a dream like that means?”

          “Yeah. it means that smart people don’t pick up hitchhikers,” the Sandman answered. “I mean. seriously. Even I wouldn’t pick you up. Just look at you. A bank robber that cheats with his best friend’s wife behind his back.”

          Bill was again insulted by the Sandman’s assessment. “Hey. Hold on. That’s a bit harsh.”

          “Hey. You can’t put peanut butter on a snakebite and expect it to feel better. And I’ve actually tried that on some people. But regardless, that’s a pretty decent dream. And It will net you your wish. So you need to speak with your buddy, Snake. Ok. I can arrange that. But I just hope for your sake that he’s in a good mood.”

          Bill lowered his head. Turning his gaze to the table. He realized that the Sandman was telling the truth about his past underhanded dealings behind Snake’s back. For a moment he began to feel guilty. But he was at least secure in the knowledge that Snake had never found out. “Yeah. I hear you. There were a lot of times that I did dirt behind Snake’s back. There were plenty of times that I held out on him when I scored a deal on my own here and there. I always told myself that I’d make it up to him later. But the thing that always ate at me was cheating under the sheets with Mindy. Snake was like my brother. We ran the streets of Pittsburgh together. We fought side by side. Made deals together. And here I go cheating with his wife behind his back. And there were times when I cringed at the thought of what would happen if Snake ever found out. I don’t know what would piss him off the most. Cheating with his wife or cheating him out of money. Snake really valued money. He always told me that if he ever kicked the bucket then he would try to take it with him. What’s mine is mine, he’d always say.”

          Bill looked up from the table and saw that the Sandman was sitting quietly with his arms folded against his chest.

          “Are you finished?” the Sandman asked Bill. “Is this the end? Or are you just getting to the part where the iceberg crashes into the boat?”

          “Sorry. I sort of ran off at the mouth,” Bill told him. “So tell me. When can I talk to Snake?”

          “He waiting for you outside,” The Sandman told him as he pointed a gloved hand towards the door.

         "Then I’d better haul ass out of here,” Said Bill. He jumped up from his seat and headed for the door.

          “Don’t spend all that money in one place,” The sound of the Sandman’s voice called out to him.

          Bill did not divert his attention from the bar’s front door and the prospect of meeting his old and very dead friend, Snake Lindstrom. Once Bill was outside he looked to the left and right sides of the dark street but found that he was the only person out here. His black pick up truck was parked in front of the bar. He walked over and stood next to it and waited for another ten minutes. As the time passed he was expecting some ghostly phantom to appear before him and announce itself as Snake Lindstrom. But so far nothing happened to disturb the quiet darkness of the street.

What the hell is this? Where the hell is he? Bill wondered. I’m not standing out here all night. The Sandman said that Snake would be here. I’d better go back and talk to him.

          Bill went back inside the bar and returned to the table in the dark corner. The Sandman was not there. Bill walked over to the bar. The bartender, a tall bald man wearing a black Pittsburgh Penguins jersey approached him.

          “Hey my man. Where’s the Sandman?” Bill asked.

          The bartender shrugged his shoulders. “Beats the hell outta me. He just stepped out.”

          “He stepped out? What the hell? Did he say where he was going? I need to talk to him.”

          The bartender shrugged his shoulders again. “He didn’t say. I don’t poke my nose in his business. I just tend bar. You want a beer or something?”

          “No. I don’t want a beer. I need the Sandman,” said Bill. Now growing impatient.

          “Like I said. I can’t help you,” replied the bartender in a now stern tone.

          Bill turned and looked at the patrons sitting at the bar and the tables. He wondered what to do next but had no answers. With his mind in an angered state he left the bar and got into his truck. His drive home was going to be a bitter one. He was in desperate need of that hidden money. And only a dead man had the solution to his problem. Bill almost felt like laughing at the bizarre predicament that he was trapped in.

          As Bill was driving down the darn neighborhood street he noticed the headlights of another vehicle reflecting off of his rear view mirror. At first he paid little attention to them. Just another driver, was his thought. Then he took a second look at the mirror and noticed that the headlights were bright red. Red? What kind of idiot has red headlights?      

          Then Bill noticed that the headlights were making a fast approach to his truck. The force of a powerful impact shook Bill’s body as a vehicle hit the back of his truck. Bill was thrust onto the steering wheel. Pain stabbed through his chest. He lost control of the truck and watched it swerve to the left. Running across the road and heading for a collision course with a tree. At the last second Bill’s foot mashed the brake pedal to try to at least slow the truck’s momentum as it plowed into the tree. There was a loud boom. Bill’s body was again jerked forward.

          Bill sat back in his seat and took a deep breath. His body was trembling after his harrowing experience. He looked to his right and saw a black camaro with bright red head lights screeching to a stop just a few feet from his truck. There was a bright red glow coming from the car’s windows. It was so bright that Bill could not see the driver. But whoever was behind the wheel of this car Bill was intending to confront them face to face. Bill got out of his truck and inspected the damage. It was not as bad as he feared. Pressing against the tree the front of the truck was slightly bashed in. “Thank God for them brakes,” said Bill.

          Bill walked from around his truck and approached the camaro. His hands were balled into tight fists and heady for a fight. “Hey buddy. What the hell’s your problem? Get the hell out here!”

          As Bill drew closer to the camaro the driver’s side door opened. Bill halted in his tracks when he saw a large cloud of fire shoot out from the car. Then the driver stepped out from among several burning corpses inside the car. He appeared to be a man standing six feet tall. Dressed in a black T-shirt, boots and jeans. And a black leather jacket. All of his clothing were both ragged and ablaze. But his most shocking feature was the body beneath the clothes. His skin was dark and withered. The torn right sleeve of his jacket revealed the bones of his forearm exposed through a patch of his decomposed flesh that had fallen off. Swarms of small white maggots were squirming over his skull-like face, with his lips rotted away and baring his blackened clenched teeth. His blazing red eyes were fixed upon Bill. This decomposed thing stormed over to Bill and reached for him with it’s withered hands. It’s bones sticking through the tips of it’s fingers. Bill was paralyzed with fear as this thing grabbed him by his throat. The powerful stench of rotting human flesh caught his nose while he felt the heat from the fires dancing over it’s pants and jacket. Bill was even more shocked when this thing opened it’s mouth to speak.

          “Bill. My old pal. My buddy. my bro,” the thing said is a raspy voice.

          Bill’s mind was in a state of panic. Hardly able to breathe with the thing’s grip on his throat he chocked out a reply. “Hi. Do I know you?”

          “Yeah you know me, you jackass!” the thing roared back. “It’s your old pal, Snake!”

          Bill was dumbfounded. “Snake? Snake Lindstrom?”

          “You don’t recognize me? Maybe it’s the maggots.”

          Snake brushed his hand over his face and scraped several maggots onto his palm. He then wiped that same hand over Bill’s face. Bill was now fighting the urge to vomit as the tiny white vermin were now squirming over his skin.

          “Snake. My man. You’re looking good,” A jittery Bill gasped out.

          “Looking good? What are you? Blind?” Snake shouted at Bill.

          “You seem a little pissed off,” Bill told him.

          “Pissed off? Why sure. I died and woke up in hell one morning. What the do you think?”

          Bill was still trying to accept the fact that Snake was now here standing before him. But not in the form that he expected. But he still had to take advantage of the opportunity. “Snake. Since you’re here there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

          “Like what? How’s my day going? They’re giving me a short break from hell. So it’s going pretty damn well.”

          “That’s great. But actually I wanted to ask you about that $8,000 we made from those bank jobs. You never told me where you hid it.”

          Snake laughed. Spitting a black, fowl smelling bile onto Bill’s face. “Oh, you wanna know where I hid the money. Is that all? Why sure. I’d be more than happy to tell you, pal. After all. You are my partner. My bro. My best pal who was holding out on me when he was making his own little deals on the side.”

          Snake knew one of Bill’s dirty little secrets. He felt as though his heart had stopped beating. “Oh that. I can explain. I think.”

          Snake continued. “And I’d be more than happy to share the loot with my best pal who was cheating with my damn filthy skank of a wife behind my back.”

          Seized by fear, Bill stopped breathing for a moment. Snake knew his second and worse dirty little secret. “You mean Mindy?”

          “No! The refrigerator!” Snake bellowed in a rage. “Yeah, my wife! Who the hell do you think I’m talking about?”

Snake sent a punch into Bill’s face. Bill fell back, blinded by pain as his head hit the hard pavement. Snake began to kick and stomp at Bill’s legs and groin while admonishing him in a fury.

          “You two faced, lying dog! You dirty double crossing pig! You were so stupid that you never thought about why I never told you where I hid that money! I never trusted you, you moron! I was planning to pop a cap in your head and dissolve our stupid partnership! Then take the money and go into business for myself without having to carry your dead weight! And as for the money, I always told you that what’s mine is mine. And If I kick the bucket then I’m taking it with me. And I meant what I said. I did take it with me. Straight to hell. And now I’m gonna drag your ass straight to it.”

          “No!” Bill screamed out. He had only one meager defense to use against the undead Snake Lindstrom. He reached into the right pocket of his jacket and brought out a switchblade. He jumped to his feet and plunged the blade into Snake’s chest. Bill took a step back. Leaving the blade sticking into Snake’s chest. But Snake was unharmed.

          “Are you kidding me?” said Snake. He pulled the knife out of his chest. “I’m already Dead stupid. Didn’t that sink into your brain yet? Maybe I should sink this pig sticker into your rotten hide and see how long you stay standing.”

          Bill turned and ran for his truck. He was in such a panic that he did not even make an effort to close the door as he sat down behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition twice. Frantic for the truck to start.

          “Come on! Go! Go! Go!”

          Bill looked to his right and saw Snake walking towards the truck. The knife was still in his hand. Upon the third attempt Bill’s truck started. He shifted the truck into reverse and backed a few feet away from the tree. He then shifted the truck forward. his foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor. His truck sped from the area with it’s tires screeching.

Bill lost track of how long and far he was driving. His only hysterical thought was about Snake. An enraged living dead thing from hell that was bent on revenge.

          Bill looked up at his rear view mirror. The red reflection of the camaro’s head lights appeared. And they were making a fast approach to Bill’s truck. Bill heard a loud bang. His body was jolted forward as the camaro rammed into the back of his truck. The camaro rammed into Bill’s truck a second time. Then a third. Bill was not sure of how much more of this he could take. He knew that if he wanted to survive then he would have to go on the offensive.

          Bill hit the brakes to slow his truck down. He jerked the steering wheel to swerve the truck to the left. The camaro was now running along the right side of his truck. It moved in and rammed into the side of his truck. Bill took the opportunity to retaliate by ramming his truck into the side of the camaro. The camaro pulled away from Bill’s truck. Then moved in to ram him again. Bill’s truck made a sharp swerve to the left. Then swerved to the right to ram into the camaro a second time. The camaro veered off to the right side of the road and crashed into a tree with a loud boom and exploded into a ball of fire.

          Bill continued to speed off in his truck. He was overjoyed at the sight of losing Snake. he looked back at the now blazing camaro.

          “How do you like that, buddy? How do you like that?” he shouted in triumph. “That’s what I’m talking about! You stinkin’ heap of trash! Kiss my ass!”

          Bill turned back to the road ahead. That was when he received another surprise. A large crater was suddenly opening in the middle of the road. Directly in the path of his truck. It belched out a mushroom cloud of fire that lit up the area as bright as daylight. Bill screamed. His foot jammed the brake pedal. With it’s tires screeching his truck came to a halt halfway over the edge of the flaming crater.

          Bill was now trembling beyond all control after his close call. He looked into the flaming crater and blinked his eyes in disbelief over what he was seeing. A swirling sea of fire and the skeletons of both humans and animals. Several of the human skeletons were reaching up towards him. Also among the fire and skeletons Bill saw writhing snakes, huge spiders and centipedes. He even caught a brief glimpse of a shark. And the crater emitted a strong rotting flesh odor that was nauseating.

          “I gotta get outta here,” said Bill. He reached for the handle of his driver’s side door. That was when the truck began to tilt forward. Bill froze. The truck started to teeter-totter between plunging into the crater and remaining where it was. After a few seconds of this movement the truck remained still.

          “Ooookaayyy. Not a good idea,” was Bill’s nervous assessment. He was now trapped in his own truck. His next movement could cause to truck to fall into the crater. His only options were to remain still, attempt to calm down, then try to figure a way out of the truck.

          Bill jumped in this seat as he was startled by a sudden loud noise from behind him. Then it came over his head. Like a large rock had crashed down on top of the truck’s roof. Then he screamed out as he saw a figure with it’s clothes on fire jumping down onto the hood of his truck. It was Snake.

          “This is hell! Glad you could make it!’ Snake yelled out to Bill.

          The added weight of Snakes body on the hood caused to truck to lean forward into the crater.

          “I got news for you, bro! If you think it looks bad then just wait! This is just the front porch!” Snake warned Bill.

Bill let out a long and loud scream as his truck took it’s long plunge into the mouth of hell.

 

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Earl Conrad

I am currently reading The Life and Career of Errol Flynn, an excellent biography of the late actor written by my friend and fellow Chicagoan, Thomas McNulty. I just read where Earl Conrad, who wrote Harriet Tubman back in 1943, and was born Earl Cohen, was hired as a ghost-writer to help Flynn finish his autobiography, My Wicked, Wicked Ways. (Something I did not know.) Unfortunately for Flynn, his autobiography was not published until after his death.

If anyone is interested in Flynn's life and career, I highly recommend McNulty's book. Tom writes some excellent westerns, too, and for those who like werewolves in myth, legend, fact, fiction, and film, his Werewolves is another great book I recommend.

 

 

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Nanotech Cancer Fighters...


 


Health New Medicine

For more than a decade, researchers have been trying to develop nanoparticles that would deliver drugs more effectively and safely. The idea is that a nanoparticle containing a drug compound could selectively target tumor cells or otherwise diseased cells, and avoid healthy ones. Antibodies or other molecules can be attached to the nanoparticle and used to precisely identify target cells. "One of the largest advantages of nanotechnology is you can engineer things in particle form so that chemotherapeutics can be targeted to tumor cells, protecting the healthy cells of the body and protecting patients from side effects," says Sara Hook, nanotechnology development projects manager with the National Cancer Institute.

 

But executing this vision has been difficult. One challenge: a drug's behavior in the body can change dramatically when it's combined with nanoparticles. A nanoparticle can change a drug's solubility, toxicity, speed of action, and more—sometimes beneficially, sometimes not. If a drug's main problem is that it's toxic to off-target organs, then nanotechnology can ensure that it's delivered to diseased cells instead of healthy cells. But if a drug depends on being absorbed quickly by diseased cells to be effective, a nanoparticle may slow the process and turn an optimal therapeutic into second best.

 

Technology Review:
Fine-tuning Nanotech to Target Cancer

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SUNDAY AFTERNOON ADVENTURES

I can remember, when I was young, Saturdays being a far more special day than simply a day-off from school. My friends and I would play and roughhouse the week out of our system until 3:00 called us back inside. It wasn’t a call for chores to be done or errands to run. It was the call of channel 5’s Drive-in Movie. That’s right, that time when we could watch the martial-arts fantasies of Hong Kong’s Kung-Fu movies and travel to where adventure and heroics filled our imaginations. A pass-time enjoyed by generations before us. They had the Lone Ranger and Lost in Space, we had The Duel of the Iron Fist and The Ten Tigers of Kwantung.

 

Sunday Afternoon Adventures my attempt, to honor of those days when storytelling was entertainment and something to look forward to. It will be more like a serial than a completed story posted every Sunday for your enjoyment. Please feel free to leave comments, whether you liked it or not.

 

Link: SUNDAY AFTERNOON ADVENTURES

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Eclipsing Expectations...


 
 
 


 



Fred's Excellent Eclipse Image (that's the cred)


Black Sun,” a feature-length documentary, chronicles two celestial events: the May 20, 2012 annular solar eclipse and the November 14, 2012 total solar eclipse. The movie follows two astrophysicists who study the solar atmosphere during eclipses:

•Dr. Alphonse Sterling of NASA Marshall Space Flight Center stationed in Japan (a man who had early success in the US, but left his home country to further cultivate his wide-ranging interests).

Dr. Hakeem Oluseyiof the Physics & Space Sciences department at the Florida Institute of Technology (a scientist who beat all of the odds: poverty, homelessness, single-parent, poor early education, etc., to get to where he is today).

“Black Sun” explores how and why the two men became scientists, their opposing paths and personalities, their struggles as minorities in a STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics) field, and their noteworthy accomplishments today.


 



Related Link:
Hubble's Diverse Universe

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edX...



 
 
 

Harvard Gazette

An organization established by MIT and Harvard that will develop an open-source technology platform to deliver online courses. EdX will support Harvard and MIT faculty in conducting research on teaching and learning on campus through tools that enrich classroom and laboratory experiences. At the same time, edX also will reach learners around the world through online course materials. The edX website will begin by hosting MITx and Harvardx content, with the goal of adding content from other universities interested in joining the platform. edX will also support the Harvard and MIT faculty in conducting research on teaching and learning.

 

Such as:
MITx 6.002x Circuits and Electronics
Info:
edX online
Technology Review:
Harvard and MIT Offer Online Education for Free

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Moore's Law Another Day...

"[Gordon] Moore is my boss, and if your boss makes a law, then you'd better follow it," says Mark Bohr, who leads Intel's efforts to make advances in microchip design practical to manufacture. Moore's Law, of course, was first proposed by Bohr's boss in 1965, when Moore pointed out that the number of transistors on a chip doubles every year. The current form of Moore's law has been set since 1975, when Moore altered the pace to a doubling every two years. Remarkably, the computer industry has maintained that pace ever since, training us to expect computers to become ever faster in the process.

 

Technology Review:
Moore's Law Lives Another Day

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 Greetings to all Members and Friends of BSFS!!!!
I wanted to invite each of you to please check out and join our blog.."The Crocodile-Factor"
as we are finishing the final episodes before trying to find a publisher for our book!!
Please help us reach 200 members!!! Join n leave a reply or comment if you wish!! Your help is Much
Appreciated!!!! Feel Free to leave a comment if you wish!!!!!

http://www.thecrocodilefactor.blogspot.com/



Give Thanks!!
J.Peterson
D. Jahman Deidotree
------------
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Valjeanne pulls a Switch!

The Switch, by Valjeanne Jeffers, noted and uber talented member of BSFS, introduced to us a world ruled by a repressive, dictatorial regime presiding over an unequal two-tier system. On the planet Tyrol, the wealthy reside above ground. They enjoy the opulent perks of their privileged status and regard with class-laden disdain those who eke out hollow existences in the impoverished squalor of the underground.

Z100, a beautiful spy and assassin, was instrumental in the coup that brought about the present order. As a reward, she lives the life of the decadently rich, incurring the jealousy and resentment of those in her class who deem her undeserving. Of course, her skills, reputation and power makes her a very dangerous person. But it's who Z100 is that also makes her a vital component in a plot by a group of revolutionaries to overthrow Tyrol's ruling regime.

The Switch II follows through with this plot, its success or failure hinging on key conspirator, Simone 2. The twists in this roller coaster tale were enough to make me feel like a twizzler. There are plenty of dazzling steampunk elements in both I and II. Particularly the sequel, where Valjeanne crafts a detailed and descriptive steampunk sub-terrain environment to contrast a sleek, hi tech upper world. The detail she pours into settings are not lost on the human element. There is good, solid characterization in this work. The heroes are sympathetic and utterly human. The villain, Z100, is a morally repugnant sort, but there is room for multi-dimensionality in her character. Fantasy, science fiction, and suspense meld to make Switch I and II a literary pleasure.  

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In this month's Urbanite Magazine

The sun wearily peeled off the horizon's tight grip as it crept upon Route 40 during its habitual rise above the infinite sprawl of strewn metal and concrete deities some called city.

Anachronistic train tracks clanged like loud hammers rudely crisscrossing socioeconomic and cultural borders like thick coagulating blood traversing the veins of some terrestrial body begrudgingly awakened from its slumber.

Pillz could see the slight drops of mist outside his tall windows that served as his entry point to the gleaming downtown of skyscrapers and golden-hued, electroplated steeples. He could see the faint reflection of himself in the window.

He looked younger than he should.

His life was a war. Or was his war life?

Pillz smiled egotistically, amazed that he still possessed the frame of some raw powerful athlete. Twenty years went in a blink. Twenty years ago, he was a B-Boy—a term the hip-hop proletariat identified by before the corporate takeover of hip-hop. B-Boy wuz before real hip-hop slowly tapped out to the brutal commercial takedown, replete with collateral industries of quasi-scientific over-analysis of one myopic slice of Black culture.

Twenty years ago, Pillz was a B-Boy and a hoop-god, infallible to gravity with the ability to dunk a basketball in the contorted faces of many a challenger seeking to earn a rep by dismantling his.

That was then, and then was always good.

But then wasn't now, even though at times he felt like he was again back then—when endorphins saturated his being. Still, then was just always a thought away, when he was that dude.

Returning to the now, Pillz ditched his memories like a pair of old kicks tossed onto the street wire. He stared into the sky and smiled like the city was his.

Mornings and late night were the only times he could steal those elusive, brutally honest moments of mental Tai Chi before the noise of the outside world ushered in his new list of "gotta-dos."

Inescapable as body odor, his gotta-dos had morphed into majestic pyramids of collection notices and overdraft fees mercilessly competing with his joneses to do better than yesterday.

Pillz measured his self-worth by the "got-dones." His got-dones were the only currency that mattered, and as always, his gotta-dos were messing wit his got-dones. Sweating 'em like some hacking overzealous defender trying to stop him from getting to the rim. Pillz knew how to get a tight defender up off him, how to break them ankles, cross 'em over to get the room he needed to score. No one could stop him from getting to the rim. He knew what to do and how to do it, he just needed motivation . . . Coffee, thought Pillz. Italian? ... Nah, Ethiopian.

Morning intervals of past hoop dreams transitioned into nothingness.

Nothingness rudely shattered by the vibrating noise from his phone symbiotically atop his copy of Gerald Massey's Lectures. According to Massey, the early church left out helluva lot of information about who Jesus was.

Pillz wondered if Dan Brown with all his DaVinci shit had ever read Massey or Alvin Boyd Kuhn. He knew Brown read Holy Blood, Holy Grail, and Messianic Legacy 'cause he read both of them back in '94 himself. Hollywood was a mutha, Pillz laughed to himself as he picked up the phone to figure out who the hell be calling him this early.

Maybe it was Jesus?

The caller I.D. read WT, but he knew he didn't know anyone named WT.

WT? Maybe that's short for what the ... Pillz laughed to himself as he decided to answer the phone anyway.

"Yeah," said Pillz, all the while hoping not to end his four-year streak of successfully ignoring the pitiful attempts of debt collectors to confirm he existed. Maybe they were closing in on him? Maybe he was gonna have to move off the grid quicker than he thought.

Alaska?

All the fresh salmon you could catch ... Nah. Plus, now they got gangs in Alaska. It's too damn cold to gangbang in Alaska. Gangs must be like "Yeah, kid, when I see you this summer, it's on! In six months when them icicles drop, watch ya back, fool."

Now, that would be just my luck—survive B'more and instead of catching salmon, catch a bullet. And it probably won't even be a gangbanger—just some trigger-happy Republican with bad eyesight thinking I'm a Black Russian. Okay, ixnay Alaska.

"I'm trying to reach Pillz."

"Who you?"

"I'm WT."

"Yeah ... what up," mumbled Pillz.

"I got your number from a chick in my yoga class, Tina. She said you had the good shit."

"Yeah," smiled Pillz. "Oh, you talking 'bout double-jointed Tina with the bad eye?" Pillz stopped suddenly. "What shit you talking 'bout?"

"Well, I got some serious pain going on, and Tina said you could help."

"OK. Maybe I can help you . . . maybe not, "said Pillz cryptically.

WT paused for a second, and Pillz could almost hear him thinking through the phone. Pillz glanced up, just in time to see a pigeon land on his window and grin, like kid you got too many gotta-dos to turn down cash.

The bird just sat there chilling.

Pillz stared at the bird like this won't Occupy Wall Street, you had to get buzzed into this building. Wall Street, Occupy, Left or Right didn't matter none to him—they all had they hustle, and he had his.

For bretheren like Pillz, it was like people who played the lottery, worrying 'bout the Dow Jones averages.

Shit, at least with the lottery, poor people had an actual chance to win. Pillz had a multitude of clients, and they politics wuz they own problem.

He sold to the Occupy and Wall Street execs in the same transaction, and a few of his Goldman Sachs clients invited him into an offshore hedge fund managed via an MP3 player and a private-invitation-only social media site. By the time the government realized he'd joined the secret society of alchemical masters manufacturing money out of thin air, he'd have already cleared 'bout $2 billion. If the Feds catch me, I'll just ask the other Feds who bailed out my clients to bail me out—heard they got Bernanke on speed dial.

The pigeon looked at Pillz like he heard his thoughts and like it wasn't no normal pigeon but more like some winged sage. An animal angel whose job it was to warn cats by shitting on 'em, before they slipped up and did something like buying that just-before-closing, last batch of shrimp-fried rice from that red-bricked Chinese restaurant that operated on the occupied side of a semi-abandoned row house.

This shit was weird enough to be on the new show about ancient animal aliens.

Pillz looked at the pigeon and saw he was wearing a pair of Jordan Melos.

Damn, didn't know they came that small.

Note to self, grimaced Pillz. Never buy that last batch of shrimp fried rice at closing time.

"So, you gonna tell me what you got?" said WT breaking up Pillz's unplanned meander into the sordid world of friends with feathers.

"I need to see if it is worth my while to head your way. You off 40, right?" said WT.

"I don't put my biz out there like that, kid—this is Bal'more. You could be wearing a wire," said Pillz. "Tell you what, meet me at Lexington and Eutaw around 11, and I think I can help you."

An hour flipped into two as Pillz threw on his black hoodie and made his way across the city toward Lexington Market. It was a blustery day with the sun peeking out between dark clouds that shifted back and forth across the sky.

The wind blew with an unusual aggressiveness.

Pillz swore he saw tumbleweed blow down the street. He had never seen it so empty. The only thing open was the dollar store. It was even emptier outside than the day the First Lady unexpectedly showed up to buy some cheap snacks for the White House.

I think it was the First Lady, Pillz mused. Or maybe it was Oprah, 'cause they wouldn't open the door?

He looked up only to see what had to be WT walking towards him with a major limp.

WT was about 6'4" with a limp that made him 6' even. He struggled up the block, grimacing, eyes squinting against the wind as it slapped him in his face. He was in pain; Pillz could see that. He could also see that kid looked like a narc.

Nah, retail security guard, concluded Pillz.

"What up . . . Pillz," said Pillz introducing himself with a closed-fist pound to WT.

WT smiled sparingly and instead of pounding Pillz with a return closed fist nervously tried to shake his fist.

Pillz stared over WT's shoulder and then glanced in the cardinal directions to make sure was clear.

"OK, you got the ends?"

"Yeah," remarked WT, "you got the product?"

"I do, but I need to see some ends," said Pillz.

"Yeah, I understand," said WT as he slid the tightly folded cash over to Pillz's outstretched palm. "I just don't wanna get ripped off. Everybody in B'more got a hustle, it seems."

"You right about that," smiled Pillz, "but vicking somebody ain't mine. We good," said Pillz as his eyes scoured the perimeter. "Just walk over a few steps to your left and look down underneath that empty brown bag bottle of gin and we good," he whispered.

A helicopter zoomed overhead across the skyline, recklessly doing figure eights over the top of the seniors building, scaring the shit out of old people.

Without hesitation, WT walked looking down, saw the empty brown bag bottle of gin, and picked it up. He peeked inside and saw about an ounce of the good stuff wrapped up in a sandwich baggie.

He looked up eager to signal to Pillz he was good, but by the time he turned around Pillz was ghost. All WT saw was intersecting concrete blocks that led to nowhere. He scanned the other direction and saw some old tumbleweed floating down Eutaw.

He knew what the tumbleweed meant: He had until sundown to get the hell out of Dodge. Either that, or it was Sunday and Lexington Market was closed.

The sun peeked through the weaving clouds for a quick cameo as WT slid his pocket knife out from his front pocket and cut a small slit into the baggie. He lifted a hit of the powder and rubbed a small taste on his tongue.

His eyes rolled back in delight and he could feel the pain leaving his body almost instantly. WT tucked the product into his hoody pocket and started trekking up the street back home.

He smiled to himself, thinking, Damn, this is the purest glucosamine-chondroitin on the streets of B'More.

He wasn't proud of the fact that he had a habit and had to deal with all types of strangers to get his fix on, but he was a stone health junkie and he wasn't apologizing for that.

It was like that, and that's the way it is.

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Cold Islands, Hot Fusion...


 


Experimental Fusion Reactor - MIT

One reason it's taking decades to develop fusion reactors that can generate electricity is that physicists don't completely understand what's going on in the high-temperature plasma inside a reactor. Under certain conditions, the plasma—which is where fusion reactions take place—disappears in under a millisecond.

 

A new theory developed by researchers at the U.S. Department of Energy's Princeton Plasma Physics Laboratory (PPPL) explains what happens just before the plasma disappears. The explanation could help engineers design better reactors. And that might help them increase the power output of a reactor, perhaps doubling the electricity they could produce, and making fusion reactors more economical.

According to the researchers' theory, islands develop within the plasma that cool off and cause the plasma to disappear. These islands—which are easily identified—could be selectively heated with microwaves, the researchers think, which could keep the plasma stable.

 

Technology Review:
Physicists Crack Fusion Mystery

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After years of personal practice in the act of writing, I’ve come to the conclusion that not all dialogue is created equal or the same.  Personally, I believe that there are various types of dialogue that have a unique and specific function in a story. However, for now, I’ll focus on three types of dialogue types. These dialogue types are as  following: descriptive, functional, and epic.


Dialogue Type I: Descriptive

Descriptive dialogue explains your story plot and your character’s purpose. It can also revel itself in many ways, but the most common way (and the easiest to illustrate my example) is the student-teacher conversations. (Think: Yoda-Skywalker or Gandalf-Fodo interactions.)

Example: Confused Student with an inferiority complex talks with Teacher.

    Student: “But what is my purpose? I am nothing compared to my brother.”

    Teacher: “One’s purpose is discovered, my child.”

    Student: “But how?”

    Teacher:  “Fight for it.”

     Descriptive dialogue is a great way to introduce the plot of your story without resorting to excessive illustrative prose.


Dialogue Type II: Functional

Functional dialogue sets up your story. These are the conversations that are usually forgotten by your reader/audience but is necessary in setting up the plot of your story.

Example:  Hero is lost in a big city.

    Hero: ‘Where in the world is Avia Water Street?’

    Random Stranger:  “Down two stoplights and past the Chinese restaurant.”

    Hero: “Okay, thanks!

Functional dialogue doesn’t need to be mind-blindingly creative. It just gets your character or story from Point A to Point B.

Dialogue Type II: Epic

Epic Dialogue is probably the most important type of dialogue you write when you are crafting a story. This is the dialogue that defines your entire story and will leave the greatest impression on your readers/audience. Usually, this type of epic is found in the climax. Epic dialogue contents the lines that are quoted excessively by readers/audience members because it leaves an internal thematic ring inside them.

Examples:

    Star Wars:  “I am your father.”

    300: "Prepare for glory!"

    Dirty Harry:  “Go ahead, make my day.”

Epic dialogue is the toughest to write and is extremely depended on the previous conversational exchanges between your various characters, the story line, and the intensity of the climax. Therefore,  a writer' epic line/dialogue is linked to overall story design.

 

 

More about Dialogue in the Camali’s Writing Tips - Dialogue, Part 3

A.N.: Leave your thoughts in the comment section below and thanks for all the good feedback!

 

 

 

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