What if the Earth had rings like Saturn?

I stumbled upon this while wandering around the internet. It’s an animation by Roy Prol depicting what the Earth would be like if it had rings like Saturn’s, properly scaled to our planet. It uses Ave Maria as the sound track, which only adds to the experience. Enjoy!

How do you tell people 10,000 years from now to stay the hell away?

(This isn't going to cut it...)

Every day I check out Slate.com, a news e-zine currently owned by the Washington Post that focuses less on the news of the day and more on analysis and critical thinking about what is happening in the world. Today I read a fascinating article By Juliet Lapidos entitled Atomic Priesthoods, Thorn Landscapes, and Munchian Pictograms: How to communicate the dangers of nuclear waste to future civilizations. The gist of the piece is that the United States is burying all of its atomic waste in New Mexico, and when they seal it up, how will they warn future generations to stay away?

That’s a really good question, and there are a lot of problems with the answers they’ve come up with so far. When you’re talking about that much nuclear waste, your warning message has to be intelligible to people ten thousand years and more from now. Ten thousand years! There is no form of communication in all of human history that has conveyed an understandable message for half that time. We can’t trust English to be understandable to layman even a few hundred years from now (take a look at Shakespeare), let alone a thousand (Chaucer). As for the international symbols for poison or radioactivity, those are only understood through our current society. Ten thousand years from now we might be back to the Stone Age. Ten thousand years from now we could have gone back to the Stone Age and returned to where we are now, with no understanding of who or what we were before. How can we make it clear to anyone at any time that they are standing above a considerable pile of the most deadly, toxic stuff on Earth?

Poems: Samples of the work of Luella Federonik

Secrets

The trees are wearing
Their finest dress
Full Skirt, puff sleeves,
Gloriously coiffured,
Beauty overtakes winter’s scene.

Sure wish they would disrobe!
I cannot see
What the neighbours are doing!

Another Holiday Blues

Talked to my plants
Gave them a drink
Washed their leaves
Faced them to the sun
Told them how much I love them
Petted each one when I can
I heard as I turned my back
“Are you nuts, lady?
Get yourself a man!”

The End

Can’t think of anything
To rhyme
This time.
How sad.
Was sure there was
An uneding supply
Of whimsy,
Some good, some bad.
Oh well, it may rise
Again.
So until then,
The End.
— L.G.D.

A long, beautiful day, with a funeral in the middle

Yesterday I woke up at quarter to six in the morning. That’s unusual for me. I’m a night owl. Long ago I gave up trying to fall asleep before midnight. I just lie awake, urging myself unsuccessfully to slumber. My internal clock isn’t set up to go to bed early, and, as a consequence, I’m not a great advocate of rising before the sun. Yesterday I had no choice, though. Yesterday my day was dedicated to a funeral.

Poem: In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 – 1918)

Awesome Pictures: Wait for me, Daddy

What is it:

Wait for me, Daddy is one of the most famous Canadian pictures of the Second World War. It was taken October 1st, 1940, in New Westminster, British Columbia by Claude Dettloff.

Why is it Awesome?

This is Remembrance Day, and it’s the only day that I celebrate for the reason it’s on the calendar. This long column of men was the British Columbia Regiment (the Duke of Connaught’s Own), an armoured reconnaissance unit, marching to war. The little boy wasn’t the only one who saw his father leave. Three and a half years after this photo was taken, this unit suffered enormous casualties at Hill 195 in Normandy. The regiment made its way to the wrong hill in the dark and and found itself surrounded by German armoured units on adjacent hilltops. They lost all their vehicles in the dawn action that followed, although the boy’s father did survive the war.

Sufjan Stevens: Casimir Pulaski Day

I first came across Sufjan Stevens a few years ago. His That Was the Worst Christmas Ever is something I can listen to year round. It just strikes a nerve with me that I can’t quite articulate, but it fascinates me all the same. Recently I’ve gone looking into his discography, and I’ve come across another song of his that really sticks with me. I’ve been listening to it over and over again, and there’s something haunting there. Here’s the video:

Awesome Pictures: The Simpsons do Abbey Road

What is it:

A Simpsons homage to The Beatles Abbey Road photo from the November 2002 cover of Rolling Stone.

Why is it Awesome?

I’m a huge Simpsons fan, and I’m a huge Beatles fan. This combines the two brilliantly. I saw it this morning, and now it is my desktop. Long may it reign.

Finding this image also led me to a fascinating story that I imagine is little known to my generation: While researching this picture I came across an urban legend that Paul McCartney is actually dead, and the man in the original photo was an imposter foisted on the public to perpetuate the ridiculous amounts of money to be reaped from Beatlemania.

Book Review: Bernard Cornwell’s The Burning Land

Bernard Cornwell is another one of my favourite authors. He writes smart, adventurous historical fiction in both stand-alone novels and long-running series, and he does so at a prolific rate: He has put out at least a book a year every year from 1981 up to the present; more often than not he’s written a couple, and in 1995, 2002 and 2003 he published three books inside of twelve months! Can you imagine if every author had this kind of work ethic? I can’t speak with great authority about Danielle Steel, but I suspect Cornwell has to be within an order of magnitude of her prodigious output, and that’s really saying something.

It’s easy to get hooked on Bernard Cornwell, and it’s even easier to get your fix. Even if you can shoot through one of his novels in a single long day in an arm chair, his current book total stands at fifty. He also does a nice job of jumping between his several series and single passion projects. No matter what you’re reading of his, though, you can sense the author’s enthusiasm, intelligence, and general good humour. There are an awful lot of authors whose work I admire, but who I doubt very much I’d like as a person. I’d love to buy Bernard Cornwell whatever he’s drinking. Let’s call it a standing invitation, shall we?

My Industrial Accident

I’ve worked a lot of factory jobs in my life, from the rock crushing job in England, to making gas tanks, to cooking steel. One summer I was working at a heat treating factory that tempered steel for tool and die purposes.

I had a couple of minor accidents that summer that are stories in their own right, but the thing I want to talk about today is how I broke my finger, and how that’s really a blessing. By all laws of probability I should be the proud owner of a single finger and thumb on my right hand. I should be a cautionary tale, perhaps one of those people who goes around to schools and talks about the dangers of not paying attention at your summer job. I’d be typing with two fingers right now if I wasn’t one very lucky young man.