Helen Musselwhite: Romany Caravan
AS IT STANDS my name is Dave Stancliff. I'm a retired newspaper editor/publisher; husband/father, and military veteran. Laker fan for 64 years. This blog is dedicated to all the people in the world. Thank you for your readership!
Graduate student John Amend, left, and associate professor Hod Lipson with the universal robotic gripper. Watch the gripper in action. Robert Barker/University Photography
The human hand is an amazing machine that can pick up, move and place objects easily, but for a robot, this "gripping" mechanism is a vexing challenge. Opting for simple elegance, researchers from Cornell, the University of Chicago and iRobot Corp. have created a versatile gripper using everyday ground coffee and a latex party balloon, bypassing traditional designs based on the human hand and fingers.
'What governments decide is illegal is not always based on science'
“Heroin, crack cocaine and methamphetamines, or crystal meth, were the most lethal to individuals. When considering their wider social effects and harm to others, alcohol, heroin and crack cocaine were the deadliest. But overall, alcohol outranked all other substances, followed by heroin and crack cocaine. Marijuana, ecstasy and LSD scored far lower.”
Dave Stancliff/For the Times-Standard
Posted: 10/31/2010 01:13:36 AM PDT
The days of young children roaming neighborhoods (without parental escorts) in search of high candy yields on Halloween are long gone. They're just memories.
When I was a kid in the fifties, we didn't worry about apples spiked with razor blades or candies laced with LSD, crack, or cyanide. Or being kidnapped. Without bodyguards, we roamed the autumn night with other small skeletons and monsters seeking free candy.
I recall Halloween in 1959, when a group of us set out to make a mega-haul of goodies. We carried brown shopping bags and each vowed to fill at least two of them before the night's end.
It meant traveling beyond last year's borders, but we were determined. Our little group included Gunther, the class clown. He was twice our size, stuttered constantly and let us boss him around.
Our group consisted of two pirates (I was one of them), a cowboy, an Indian chief and a railroad conductor (Gunther). We all agreed to pass up our regular pranks, like letting the air out of old man Switzer's Ford pickup tires, so we'd have more time to collect candy.
We were all supposed to be home by 10 o'clock. Boys will be boys, and we decided to stay out until midnight, and damn the consequences. Our efforts paid off, and our second bags were nearly full by 11:30. The first bags were stashed safely in the cowboy's backyard shed.
Then we saw the haunted house. We were in an unfamiliar neighborhood but instantly recognized it from the rumors at school. A monstrous old oak tree stood in the front yard and its gnarly limbs seemed to twist and writhe with lives of their own.
A full harvest moon cast an eerie glow on the mansion from a bygone era. Shadows slunk along the porch and one of the shutters beat a mournful dirge in the wind. We were terrified, just looking at it.
Gunther broke the spell, “Tititi...immmmm...eee to g..go ho...omme!” he stuttered in his terror. But no. The rest of us were of one mind. We would enter that huge old Victorian or die trying.
Good old Gunther was selected to lead the way. It took a lot of name-calling and physical threats to get him to agree, but he finally did. We picked our way through the knee-high grass and weeds and carefully padded up the rickety steps of the front porch. The front door was locked.
Gunther saw this as a sign and suggested we give it up. We weren't having any of that. There was a broken window on the side of the house. Our other pirate located it while answering the call of nature.
It took all of us to boost Gunther high enough to get through the window. He disappeared inside with a loud crash and a scream of absolute horror! We stood riveted beneath the window, goose bumps crawling up and down our bodies. Then his screams abruptly stopped.
We went back to the front porch and milled around trying to decide what to do. None of us was eager to beat down the front door and look for him. Our Indian chief informed us it was almost the witching hour of midnight.
We finally rallied our courage and forced the front door open and went inside. There was no sign of Gunther. “Who's going to tell his mom?” the cowboy wondered. It was clearly time to leave.
When we got to the cowboy's yard, we discovered our first bags of candy were gone. Our carefully stashed bags brimming with sweets had mysteriously disappeared. We went to bed that night wondering what happened to Gunther and who stole the candy?
Interestingly enough, when we went to school on Monday, Gunther surfaced. He didn't seem any the worse for wear. Even more interesting was his new-found sly smile!
As It Stands, have a happy, creepy, and safe Halloween tonight!
What happened one Halloween in 1959 when one of my schoolmates disappeared inside an old haunted house in an unfamiliar neighborhood?
His screams were chilling and the Witching Hour pressed near…
The answer lies in Sunday’s Times-Standard OP ED Section, and in this blog.
I would have liked to attend this rally to restore SANITY and FEAR! What a hoot. Imagine being out there with that diverse crowd that loathes the Washington establishment and the mainstream media. People of all colors and screeds have gathered to show their disgust with both.
Al Qaeda behind airport scares, U.S. says; security tightened; Yemen investigating
Friends,
There she was, thrown to the pavement by a Republican in a checkered shirt. Another Republican thrusts his foot in between her legs and presses down with all his weight to pin her to the curb. Then a Republican leader comes over and viciously stomps on her head with his foot. You hear her glasses crunch under the pressure. Holding her head down with his foot, he applies more force so she can't move. Her skull and brain are now suffering a concussion.
The young woman's name is Lauren Valle, but she is really all of us. For come this Tuesday, the right wing -- and the wealthy who back them -- plan to take their collective boot and bring it down hard on not just the head of Barack Obama but on the heads of everyone they simply don't like.
Teachers union? The boot!
Muslim-looking people? The boot!
Thinking of retiring soon? The boot!
Living in a house you can no longer afford? The boot!
Doing a bit better with your minimum wage? The boot!
Stem cell research, the bullet train, reversing global warming? Ha! The boot for all of you!
What? You like your kids being covered by your health plan 'til they're 26? The boot for them and the boot for you!
In love with someone of your own gender? A double boot up the ass for every single one of you sick SOBs!
Hoping there's a few jobs left here in the U.S. when you graduate? How 'bout just a nice boot to your head instead?
And most importantly, the last boot is saved for the black man who probably wasn't born here, definitely isn't a Christian and possibly might be the Antichrist sent here to oversee the destruction of our very way of life. A boot to your head, Obama-devil!
Yes, one big boot is poised to stomp out whatever hopey-changey thing we might have had two years ago and secure this country in the hands of the oligarchs and the culture police.
And if they win on Tuesday, they plan to show no mercy. They will not speak of bipartisanship or olive branches or tolerate any filibuster threats. They will come in and do the job with a mandate they'll perceive the electorate will have given them. They will not fart around for two years like the Democrats did. They will not "search for compromise" or "find middle ground." They will not meet you halfway on the playing field. They know that touchdowns aren't scored at the 50-yard line. Unlike our guys, they're not stupid or spineless.
Make no mistake about it, my friends. A perfect storm has gathered of racists, homophobes, corporatists and born agains and they are on fire. Two years of a black man who secretly holds socialist beliefs being the boss of them is more than they can stomach. They've been sick to death since the night of 11/04/08 and they are ready to purge. They won't need a rope and tree this time to effect the change they seek (why bother when a nice shoe on another's skull will do just fine, thank you).
They simply need to get their base to the polls (done), convince enough people Obama is responsible for the fact they don't have a job or a secure home (done), and then hope enough of us Obama-voters are so frustrated, disappointed and downright mad at the Dems (done) that we'll either stay home Tuesday or, if we vote, we won't be carpooling with 10 others to the polls.
Done? Or not?
These Republicans mean business. Their boots are all shined and ready. But they've got one huge problem:
The majority of Americans don't agree with them.
The majority want the troops home. The majority want true universal health coverage. The majority want the thievery on Wall Street to be stopped. The majority believe that global warming is happening, that social security shouldn't be privatized and that unions are a good thing.
Too bad the majority party has done precious little to bring about the change for which the majority voted. Yes, change takes time. But try telling that to someone who hasn't worked in two years. Or who hears the knock of the foreclosure sheriff at the door. The booted-up minority knows how to make hay in a situation like this. All they need is us, the disappointed, dismayed, disgusted us.
What say you? Stay home and punish the weak-kneed, sell-out Democrats? Or spend every free moment you have between now and Tuesday trying to protect what little progress has been made so we can live to fight another day (even if it is with "allies" like a Democratic Party that will more than likely still not get the message of what they need to do -- and has, in fact, spent much of the past two years giving progressives the boot)? Perhaps our job, post-election, is to provide a gentle but swift boot in the bee-hind of the party whose mascot is an ass.
Right now, we've got 112 hours. Seems like enough.
Yours,
Michael Moore
Mother Jones reports:
“As we reported earlier, European companies are using political action committees to spend quite a bit on lawmakers who have blocked climate legislation in the Senate. But as Wonk Room reported over the weekend, foreign oil and gas interests have also directed quite a bit of cash to the US Chamber of Commerce, which is running a $75 million campaign focused on ousting congressional Democrats.”
None of the revelations in this following news story surprise me. I’ve said it before (column link below)
“Deepwater Horizon disaster was no accident - it was a certainty”
BP and Transocean, another partner, 'misinterpreted or chose not to conduct' key tests, inquiry reveals
Excerpt:
“BP and its cement contractor, Halliburton, knew weeks before the Deepwater Horizon explosion that the cement mixture they planned to use to seal the new well was unstable but still completed the work, staff for the presidential commission investigating the accident said in a letter Thursday.”
The National Do Not Call Registry doesn't cover political messages, and you've probably noticed that lately.
One reader suggests that pressing pound (#) during robocalls can get you off at least that caller's list, but an expanded button combo might work better.
The way I figure it, anything is worth trying to discourage those disruptive calls in the evening. Good luck, and let me know what happened.
It's fair to say Trump's efforts to establish an autocracy in the United States has led to an idiocracy where low intelligence is e...