My Left Ring-Finger

Guess who's going to the Orthopedic Surgeon on Monday?
Japan's Fujitsu said on Monday that it had built a new security robot for domestic or office use that can be controlled remotely with a mobile phone. The robot, called MARON-1, has a shape that resembles a vacuum cleaner with an upside-down fishbowl attached to the top. Underneath the bowl are two digital cameras that have the look of disembodied eyeballs, but serve to remind users of the purpose of the new Japanese machine -- security and surveillance.
"This image has been digitally created by the photographer to convey the revolution in mobile phone communications including the recently introduced WAP technology."
The judges seemed to have missed the Silver Surfer reference....
More great science pix at the link above. Thanks, TinyMammoth!
GREAT FALLS, Montana (AP) -- Montana's Libertarian candidate for Senate has turned blue from drinking a silver solution that he believed would protect him from disease. Stan Jones,a 63-year-old business consultant and part-time college instructor, said he started taking colloidal silver in 1999 for fear that Y2K disruptions might lead to a shortage of antibiotics. He made his own concoction by electrically charging a couple of silver wires in a glass of water.
I've been trying hard to understand why Tony Blair would defy public opinion and his own generally liberal ideals to support the invasion of Iraq. It can't be economic-- it's not as if Bush & Co. can expect to punish everyone who opposes them. Why, then?

More importantly, long live Ska covers of otherwise unnecessary music. Case in point: a cover of Snoop Dog's "Gin and Juice."
Despite wild speculation that everyone from Sublime to Weezer was responsible for this little gem, the actual culprits turned out to be a rather obscure ska-act-cum-pop-group called The Berlin Project. Cannot, will not recommend the band (not based on one song, anyway), but their rendition of "Gin and Juice" is right on.
As for me, I had to dissect a frog in seventh-grade science. It was truly a disaster. Well, not so much for the frog, mind, nor for my peace of mind, but just because I couldn't find half of the organs we were supposed to find. The damn things are small, and I've got huge hands. After doing a botch job removing the tongue and brain, I really should have just given up, but no, I had to push on and make sure no one was ever going to reanimate this poor amphibian. Ah, well. So much for my dreams of becoming a surgeon.
Fortunately, Froguts.com handles the knife for you, so you needn't worry about accidentally carving your intitials in the poor beast. Do bear in mind that this may bring back a touch of the nostalgic, so if your own dissection experiences haven't been the best, enter at your own discretion.

It all started with Andre the Giant. Then it was Hello Kitty, the Dalai Lama, and, eventually, Ralph Nader. They all had posses. Then Gary Coleman, Barry White, and even Gargamel. They all had posses.
So why not the hippest, coolest, smartest physicist on the planet?
So now, thanks to the power of Photoshop, MC Hawking has a posse. Tremble.

1. The Advisory System is based on relative words which have no objective value to them. Severe? High? Elevated/Significant? Guarded/General? In the muddled vocabulary of government-speak (or worse, Mil-speak), what do these words mean? If Severe, should we expect the National Guard to patrol the streets? If Elevated, should we merely be turning in our treasonous grandmothers?
2. These colors and words by themselves do nothing to alert the general public to the nature of a given threat-- is it in the water supply? a pocket-nuke? a birkenstocker buying fair-trade coffee instead of synthetic American?
3. Security alerts without clarifying information will indeed raise alertness levels, but it will almost certainly also induce higher anxiety levels and a greater inclination to panic, and if this panic is not followed by an event, then the next wave of security alerts will result in apathy and disinclination to pay attention, thereby undermining the system itself.
4. It's just plain goofy. It's like something a bunch of 8th graders would come up for a project based on 1984: "Hey, Bobby, what could we do to illustrate ways of panicking people and keeping them disinformed?" "I know, we'll flash colors to simulate varying levels of expected xenophobia!" "Man, that's TIGHT!"

In other news, Darth Rumsfeld slaughtered the White House Press Corps when they questioned whether Tony Blair would approve plans to attack Iraq.
"He will join us or die," remarked the Sith Lord, adding, "We got Death Star."
I put off watching this movie for a long time because I have a love-hate relationship with sharks. This is not based on personal, physical experience with actual sharks but is instead based on a lifelong love affair with the ocean. I love to swim in the sea. I have swum and played in the ocean since before I can remember. I have swum during the day and at night, in calm and storm, in waves that have towered twice my own considerable height above me and smooth water stretching sixty or more feet below me, in clear blue water and murky greens and greys, in water that seemed barely cooler than my own skin and water cold enough to turn my legs blue. Although scuba diving is contraindicated for me (for health reasons I'll be glad to explain later, if folks wish), I do snorkel, and I have played around fish as big as my arm.
I do not fear the ocean.
The shark, however, particularly the Great White, with its predilection toward attacking surface-swimming seal-like things from sixty feet down in murky water, scares me senseless. I have this horrifying fear of being grabbed by something beneath the waves and pulled down to my death. It's the suspense more than anything else, really. I mean, sure, I'd hate to have the actual tragedy played out, but the anticipation of the attack, that horror generated by a powerful imagination, is greater to me now than any attack could ever be. And yet....
The shark holds an almost totemic place in my psyche. The ferocity, the drive, the pure skill with which it hunts its prey, its amazing social structure which rivals that of wolves in its complexity, its incredible, sleek form so well adapted to its environment-- it is at once bogey-man and exquisitely beautiful hunter, both psychotic murderer and perfect warrior-king. It is Strength and Courage and the Chariot all rolled into one.
And so it is that the shark compels and repels me, fascinates me and revolts me.
Why then, you might ask, would I rent a movie devoted to the use of the shark as horror device, as malign, malicious intelligent monster? Why, indeed.
Perhaps because I knew, deep down inside, that The Deep Blue Sea would not be that scary. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of good old-fashioned jump-out-of-your-skin frights. It's just that the majority of these are telegraphed from a mile away, so that by the time the "boo" arrives, I'd already been through the shock and past it.
The movie works very hard to establish that these are particularly clever, super-intelligent sharks, both bigger and smarter than their paltry non-enhanced brethren on whom they evidently feast. The sharks are supposed to be so intelligent, in fact, that they seem to have set the whole movie up just so that they can get out into the Deep Blue Sea (hence the title). The most obvious problem with this idea is that the elements that cause the disaster that eventually leads to the crew being trapped are themselves completely outside of the scope of even these super-bright sharks.
Exhibit A: a monstrous storm
Exhibit B: an opportunity to take an arm off at the elbow
Exhibit C: a faulty winch on a helicopter
Exhibit D: big-ass explosions-- even though the fuel line had been expressly turned off
The best I can draw from all this is that these sharks are really good at taking advantage of opportunity when it knocks.
The peculiar nature of the sharks' intelligence, however, is inevitably aided by the amazing lack of intelligence evidenced by the crew, all of who are described as being at "the top of their game." (Apparently, their game is not "Survivor: Horror Movies.") From the very start we are presented with what can only be described as dumb, dumb, DUMB behavior: going skin diving with the sharks to remove a license plate from the mouth of one of the specimens; going out into the open water when the lights and cameras have been shut down (presumably by the sharks); crouching down near the head of a supposedly sleeping shark to make pithy remarks; standing right next to a big water entrance while making an inspirational speech; and heading down into the water-flooded sections of the base to retrieve some ill-described paperwork that's so important the lead scientist keeps it in her personal locker. And let's not forget constantly reaching out over the murky, shark-infested water to grab items that are just out of reach. If these yahoos can isolate a cure for Alzheimer's, I expect that a team of moderately competent grad students from UCSF will give us a cure for cancer any day now.
The best part of the movie, in my opinion, was the (uninentional?) snub paid to Leviathan and Deep Star Six: the black guy gets to attack the monster at the end, and live.
In short, I hope that the next team of scientists to go mucking about trying to get brain cures from the brains of encephallically enhanced sharks brings back a cure for silliness. It might have made the difference in this movie.
John Lindh was denied bail today.
For some people, this was a no-brainer. As Andrew Solovay, a person on one of the lists I'm on, put it:
"He changed his name, left the country, and moved to
the *other side of the freaking world*. He wrote letters to his family
saying how glad he was that he wasn't in America any more, then he stopped
writing completely. We found him and dragged him here in chains. And,
incidentally, he's up for several life sentences."
The last two are pretty convincing arguments. After all, we don't grant bail to accused murderers who've been brought in after being featured on America's Most Wanted.
Then again, John Lindh is not an accused murderer. He's an accused member of al Qaeda. And he wasn't caught in some dastardly al Qaeda terrorist plot. He was captured along with a bunch of other Taliban soldiers.
Why should this make a difference? Because unless the prosecution has some incredible incriminating evidence they haven't shared with the world, his only provable crime is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It's not a crime to change your name. (In Japan, my name is Ehreekoo Neeroosehn.) It's not a crime to leave the country. (I left it twice for extended periods of time.) It's not a crime to move to the other side of the world. (I moved to Japan.) It's not a crime to be glad you're not in America nor to write letters to that effect. (I wrote letters to that effect.) It's not a crime to stop writing to people you know back in the States. (Although it is a faux pas and does nothing to endear you to those you've left behind, as I found out from personal experience.)
From all accounts, John Lindh left the country to study Arabic and Islam in Yemen in February 2000. Unless he's some kind of amazing prodigy (and accounts written by his fellow students assure us that he is/was not), I guarantee you that my Japanese is better than his Arabic. This leads me to ask:
Would you consider me a strong flight risk?
John Lindh may be a terrorist. He may be a loyal Taliban soldier. He may also be a stupid kid who got mixed up with the wrong ideology. I agree that we have to take all of these possibilities seriously. For the sake of his human rights, however, I personally believe that what he really needs is his Mom and Dad.
. . . it's not as if the FBI wouldn't be watching him 24/7 in his house anyway.