Explore Science World

Website

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 13:40:00 +0000

A website (also spelled Web site) is a collection of related web pages, images, videos or other digital assets that are addressed relative to a common Uniform Resource Locator (URL), often consisting of only the domain name, or the IP address, and the root path ('/') in an Internet Protocol-based network. A web site is hosted on at least one web server, accessible via a network such as the Internet or a private local area network.

A web page is a document, typically written in plain text interspersed with formatting instructions of Hypertext Markup Language (HTML, XHTML). A web page may incorporate elements from other websites with suitable markup anchors.

Web pages are accessed and transported with the Hypertext Transfer Protocol (HTTP), which may optionally employ encryption (HTTP Secure, HTTPS) to provide security and privacy for the user of the web page content. The user's application, often a web browser, renders the page content according to its HTML markup instructions onto a display terminal.

All publicly accessible websites collectively constitute the World Wide Web.

The pages of a website can usually be accessed from a simple Uniform Resource Locator (URL) called the homepage. The URLs of the pages organize them into a hierarchy, although hyperlinking between them conveys the reader's perceived site structure and guides the reader's navigation of the site.

Some websites require a subscription to access some or all of their content. Examples of subscription websites include many business sites, parts of news websites, academic journal websites, gaming websites, message boards, web-based e-mail, social networking websites, websites providing real-time stock market data, and websites providing various other services (e.g. websites offering storing and/or sharing of images, files and so forth).

History

The World Wide Web (WWW) was created in 1989 by CERN physicist Tim Berners-Lee.[3] On 30 April 1993, CERN announced that the World Wide Web would be free to use for anyone.[4] Before the introduction of HTML and HTTP, other protocols such as file transfer protocol and the gopher protocol were used to retrieve individual files from a server. These protocols offer a simple directory structure which the user navigates and chooses files to download. Documents were most often presented as plain text files without formatting or were encoded in word processor formats.
Overview

Organized by function, a website may be

    * a personal website
    * a commercial website
    * a government website
    * a non-profit organization website

It could be the work of an individual, a business or other organization, and is typically dedicated to some particular topic or purpose. Any website can contain a hyperlink to any other website, so the distinction between individual sites, as perceived by the user, may sometimes be blurred.

Websites are written in, or dynamically converted to, HTML (Hyper Text Markup Language) and are accessed using a software interface classified as a user agent. Web pages can be viewed or otherwise accessed from a range of computer-based and Internet-enabled devices of various sizes, including desktop computers, laptops, PDAs and cell phones.

A website is hosted on a computer system known as a web server, also called an HTTP server, and these terms can also refer to the software that runs on these systems and that retrieves and delivers the web pages in response to requests from the website users. Apache is the most commonly used web server software (according to Netcraft statistics) and Microsoft's Internet Information Server (IIS) is also commonly used.
Static website

A static website is one that has web pages stored on the server in the format that is sent to a client web browser. It is primarily coded in Hypertext Markup Language (HTML).

Simple forms or marketing examples of websites, such as classic website, a five-page website or a brochure website are often static websites, because they present pre-defined, static information to the user. This may include information about a company and its products and services via text, photos, animations, audio/video and interactive menus and navigation.

This type of website usually displays the same information to all visitors. Similar to handing out a printed brochure to customers or clients, a static website will generally provide consistent, standard information for an extended period of time. Although the website owner may make updates periodically, it is a manual process to edit the text, photos and other content and may require basic website design skills and software.

In summary, visitors are not able to control what information they receive via a static website, and must instead settle for whatever content the website owner has decided to offer at that time.

They are edited using four broad categories of software:

    * Text editors, such as Notepad or TextEdit, where content and HTML markup are manipulated directly within the editor program
    * WYSIWYG offline editors, such as Microsoft FrontPage and Adobe Dreamweaver (previously Macromedia Dreamweaver), with which the site is edited using a GUI interface and the final HTML markup is generated automatically by the editor software
    * WYSIWYG online editors which create media rich online presentation like web pages, widgets, intro, blogs, and other documents.
    * Template-based editors, such as Rapidweaver and iWeb, which allow users to quickly create and upload web pages to a web server without detailed HTML knowledge, as they pick a suitable template from a palette and add pictures and text to it in a desktop publishing fashion without direct manipulation of HTML code.

Dynamic website

A dynamic website is one that changes or customizes itself frequently and automatically, based on certain criteria.

Dynamic websites can have two types of dynamic activity: Code and Content. Dynamic code is invisible or behind the scenes and dynamic content is visible or fully displayed.
Dynamic code

The first type is a web page with dynamic code. The code is constructed dynamically on the fly using active programming language instead of plain, static HTML.

A website with dynamic code refers to its construction or how it is built, and more specifically refers to the code used to create a single web page. A dynamic web page is generated on the fly by piecing together certain blocks of code, procedures or routines. A dynamically-generated web page would call various bits of information from a database and put them together in a pre-defined format to present the reader with a coherent page. It interacts with users in a variety of ways including by reading cookies recognizing users' previous history, session variables, server side variables etc., or by using direct interaction (form elements, mouse overs, etc.). A site can display the current state of a dialogue between users, monitor a changing situation, or provide information in some way personalized to the requirements of the individual user.
Dynamic content

The second type is a website with dynamic content displayed in plain view. Variable content is displayed dynamically on the fly based on certain criteria, usually by retrieving content stored in a database.

A website with dynamic content refers to how its messages, text, images and other information are displayed on the web page, and more specifically how its content changes at any given moment. The web page content varies based on certain criteria, either pre-defined rules or variable user input. For example, a website with a database of news articles can use a pre-defined rule which tells it to display all news articles for today's date. This type of dynamic website will automatically show the most current news articles on any given date. Another example of dynamic content is when a retail website with a database of media products allows a user to input a search request for the keyword Beatles. In response, the content of the web page will spontaneously change the way it looked before, and will then display a list of Beatles products like CD's, DVD's and books.
Purpose of dynamic websites

The main purpose of a dynamic website is automation. A dynamic website can operate more effectively, be built more efficiently and is easier to maintain, update and expand. It is much simpler to build a template and a database than to build hundreds or thousands of individual, static HTML web pages.
Software systems

There is a wide range of software systems, such as ANSI C servlets), Java Server Pages (JSP), the PHP and Perl programming languages, ASP.NET, Active Server Pages (ASP), YUMA and ColdFusion (CFML) that are available to generate dynamic web systems and dynamic sites. Sites may also include content that is retrieved from one or more databases or by using XML-based technologies such as RSS.

Static content may also be dynamically generated either periodically, or if certain conditions for regeneration occur (cached) in order to avoid the performance loss of initiating the dynamic engine on a per-user or per-connection basis.

Plug ins are available to expand the features and abilities of web browsers, which use them to show active content, such as Microsoft Silverlight, Adobe Flash, Adobe Shockwave or applets written in Java. Dynamic HTML also provides for user interactivity and realtime element updating within web pages (i.e., pages don't have to be loaded or reloaded to effect any changes), mainly using the Document Object Model (DOM) and JavaScript, support which is built-in to most modern web browsers.

Turning a website into an income source is a common practice for web developers and website owners. There are several methods for creating a website business which fall into two broad categories, as defined below.
Content-based sites

Some websites derive revenue by selling advertising space on the site (see Contextual advertising).
Product- or service-based sites

Some websites derive revenue by offering products or services for sale. In the case of e-commerce websites, the products or services may be purchased at the website itself, by entering credit card or other payment information into a payment form on the site. While most business websites serve as a shop window for existing brick and mortar businesses, it is increasingly the case that some websites are businesses in their own right; that is, the products they offer are only available for purchase on the web.

Websites occasionally derive income from a combination of these two practices. For example, a website such as an online auctions website may charge the users of its auction service to list an auction, but also display third-party advertisements on the site, from which it derives further income.
Spelling

The form "website" has become the standard spelling, but previously "Web site" (capitalised) and "web site" were also widely used. Some academia, some large book publishers, and some dictionaries still use "Web site", reflecting the origin of the term in the proper name World Wide Web. There has also been similar debate regarding related terms such as web page, webmaster, and webcam.

Among leading style guides, the Reuters style guide , the Chicago Manual of Style , and the AP Stylebook (since April 2010) all recommend "website".

Among leading dictionaries and encyclopaedias, the Canadian Oxford Dictionary prefers "website", and the Oxford English Dictionary changed to "website" in 2004.. Wikipedia also uses "website", but Encyclopædia Britannica (including its Merriam-Webster subsidiary ) uses "Web site".

Among leading language-usage commentators, Garner's Modern American Usage acknowledges that "website" is the standard form , but Bill Walsh, of the Washington Post, argues for using "Web site" in his books and on his website (however, the Washington Post itself uses "website" ).

Among major internet technology companies, Microsoft uses "website" and occasionally "web site" , Apple uses "website" , and Google uses "website".

Web design

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 12:29:00 +0000

Web design is a broad term used to encompass the way that content (usually hypertext or hypermedia) that are delivered to an end-user through the World Wide Web, using a web browser or other web-enabled software is displayed. The intent of web design is to create a website—a collection of online content including documents and applications that reside on a web server/servers. The website may include text, images, sounds and other content, and may be interactive.

Overview

Web design involves the structure of the website including the information architecture (navigation schemes and naming conventions), the layout or the pages (wireframes or page schematics are created to show consistent placement of items including functional features), and the conceptual design with branding.

All websites should begin with a clear strategy so that it is apparent what they are trying to achieve. The strategy then enables the design to fulfill defined goals.

Content

Such elements as text, forms, images (GIFs, JPEGs, Portable Network Graphics) and video can be placed on the page using HTML/XHTML/XML tags. Older browsers may require Plug-ins such as Adobe Flash, QuickTime, Java run-time environment, etc. to display some media, which are embedded into web page by using HTML/XHTML tags.

Improvements in browsers' compliance with W3C standards prompted a widespread acceptance and usage of XHTML/XML in conjunction with Cascading Style Sheets (CSS) to position and manipulate web page elements and objects.

Typically web pages are classified as static or dynamic:

    * Static pages don’t change content and layout with every request unless a human (web master/programmer) manually updates the page. A simple HTML page is an example of static content.
    * Dynamic pages adapt their content and/or appearance depending on end-user’s input/interaction or changes in the computing environment (user, time, database modifications, etc.) Content can be changed on the client side (end-user's computer) by using client-side scripting languages (JavaScript, JScript, Actionscript, etc.) to alter DOM elements (DHTML). Dynamic content is often compiled on the server utilizing server-side scripting languages (Perl, PHP, ASP, JSP, ColdFusion, etc.). Both approaches are usually used in complex applications.

With growing specialization in the information technology field there is a strong tendency to distinguish between web design and web development.   Web design is a kind of graphic design intended for the development and styling of objects of the Internet's information environment to provide them with high-end consumer features and aesthetic qualities.

This definition separates web design from web programming, emphasizing the functional features of a web site, as well as positioning web design as a kind of graphic design. The process of designing web pages, web sites, web applications or multimedia for the Web may utilize multiple disciplines, such as animation, authoring, communication design, corporate identity, graphic design, human-computer interaction, information architecture, interaction design, marketing, photography, search engine optimization and typography.

    * Markup languages (such as HTML, XHTML and XML)
    * Style sheet languages (such as CSS and XSL)
    * Client-side scripting (such as JavaScript)
    * Server-side scripting (such as PHP and ASP)
    * Database technologies (such as MySQL and PostgreSQL)
    * Multimedia technologies (such as Flash and Silverlight)

Web pages and websites can be static pages, or can be programmed to be dynamic pages that automatically adapt content or visual appearance depending on a variety of factors, such as input from the end-user, input from the webmaster or changes in the computing environment (such as the site's associated database having been modified).

Accessible web design

To be accessible, web pages and sites must conform to certain accessibility principles. These accessibility principles are known as the WCAG when talking about content. These can be grouped into the following main areas.

    * Use semantic markup that provides a meaningful structure to the document (i.e. web page)
    * Semantic markup also refers to semantically organizing the web page structure and publishing web services description accordingly so that they can be recognized by other web services on different web pages. Standards for semantic web are set by IEEE
    * Use a valid markup language that conforms to a published DTD or Schema
    * Provide text equivalents for any non-text components (e.g. images, multimedia)
    * Use hyperlinks that make sense when read out of context. (e.g. avoid "Click Here")

Website accessibility is also changing as it is impacted by Content Management Systems that allow changes to be made to webpages without the need of obtaining web-based programming language knowledge.

It is very important that several different components of web development and interaction can work together in order for the Web to be accessible to people with disabilities. These components include:

    * content - the information in a web page or web application, including:
          o natural information such as text, images, and sounds
          o code or markup that defines structure, presentation, etc.
    * Web browsers, media players, and other "user agents"
    * assistive technology, in some cases - screen readers, alternative keyboards, switches, scanning software, etc.
    * users' knowledge, experiences, and in some cases, adaptive strategies using the Web
    * developers - designers, coders, authors, etc., including developers with disabilities and users who contribute content
    * authoring tools - software that creates web sites
    * evaluation tools - web accessibility evaluation tools, HTML validators, CSS validators, etc.

History

Tim Berners-Lee published what is considered to be the first website in August 1991. Berners-Lee was the first to combine Internet communication (which had been carrying email and the Usenet for decades) with hypertext (which had also been around for decades, but limited to browsing information stored on a single computer, such as interactive CD-ROM design). Websites are written in a markup language called HTML, and early versions of HTML were very basic, only giving a website's basic structure (headings and paragraphs), and the ability to link using hypertext. This was new and different from existing forms of communication - users could easily navigate to other pages by following hyperlinks from page to page.

As the Web and web design progressed, the markup language changed to become more complex and flexible, giving the ability to add objects like images and tables to a page. Features like tables, which were originally intended to be used to display tabular information, were soon subverted for use as invisible layout devices. With the advent of Cascading Style Sheets (CSS), table-based layout is commonly regarded as outdated. Database integration technologies such as server-side scripting and design standards like W3C further changed and enhanced the way the Web is made. As times change, websites are changing the code on the inside and visual design on the outside with ever-evolving programs and utilities.

With the progression of the Web, tens of thousands of web design companies have been established around the world to serve the growing demand for such work. As with much of the information technology industry, many web design companies have been established in technology parks in the developing world as well as many Western design companies setting up offices in countries such as India, Romania, and Russia to take advantage of the relatively lower labor rates found in such countries.

Website planning

Purposing web design is a complex, but essential ongoing activity. Before creating and uploading a website, it is important to take the time to plan exactly what is needed in the website. Thoroughly considering the audience or target market, as well as defining the purpose and deciding what content will be developed, are extremely important.

Context

Web design is similar (in a very simplistic way) to traditional print publishing. Every website is an information display container, just as a book; and every web page is like the page in a book. However, web design uses a framework based on digital code and display technology to construct and maintain an environment to distribute information in multiple formats. Taken to its fullest potential, web design is undoubtedly the most sophisticated and increasingly complex method to support communication in today's world.

Purpose

It is essential to define the purpose of the website as one of the first steps in the planning process. A purpose statement should show focus based on what the website will accomplish and what the users will get from it. A clearly defined purpose will help the rest of the planning process as the audience is identified and the content of the site is developed. Setting short and long term goals for the website will help make the purpose clear and plan for the future when expansion, modification, and improvement will take place. Setting a goal practices and measurable objectives should be identified to track the progress of the site and determine success.

Audience

Defining the audience is a key step in the website planning process. The audience is the group of people who are expected to visit your website – the market being targeted. These people will be viewing the website for a specific reason and it is important to know exactly what they are looking for when they visit the site. A clearly defined purpose or goal of the site as well as an understanding of what visitors want to do or feel when they come to your site will help to identify the target audience. Upon considering who is most likely to need or use the content, a list of characteristics common to the users such as:

Audience Characteristics
Information Preferences
Computer Specifications
Web Experience

Taking into account the characteristics of the audience will allow an effective website to be created that will deliver the desired content to the target audience.

Content

Content evaluation and organization requires that the purpose of the website be clearly defined. Collecting a list of the necessary content then organizing it according to the audience's needs is a key step in website planning. In the process of gathering the content being offered, any items that do not support the defined purpose or accomplish target audience objectives should be removed. It is a good idea to test the content and purpose on a focus group and compare the offerings to the audience needs. The next step is to organize the basic information structure by categorizing the content and organizing it according to user needs. Each category should be named with a concise and descriptive title that will become a link on the website. Planning for the site's content ensures that the wants or needs of the target audience and the purpose of the site will be fulfilled.

Compatibility and restrictions

Because of the market share of modern browsers (depending on your target market), the compatibility of your website with the viewers is restricted. For instance, a website that is designed for the majority of websurfers will be limited to the use of valid XHTML 1.0 Strict or older, Cascading Style Sheets Level 1, and 1024x768 display resolution. This is because Internet Explorer is not fully W3C standards compliant with the modularity of XHTML 1.1 and the majority of CSS beyond 1. A target market of more alternative browser (e.g. Firefox, Safari and Opera) users allow for more W3C compliance and thus a greater range of options for a web designer.

Another restriction on webpage design is the use of different image file formats. The majority of users can support GIF, JPEG, and PNG (with restrictions). Again Internet Explorer is the major restriction here, not fully supporting PNG's advanced transparency features, resulting in the GIF format still being the most widely used graphic file format for transparent images.

Many website incompatibilities go unnoticed by the designer and unreported by the users. The only way to be certain a website will work on a particular platform is to test it on that platform.

Planning documentation

Documentation is used to visually plan the site while taking into account the purpose, audience and content, to design the site structure, content and interactions that are most suitable for the website. Documentation may be considered a prototype for the website – a model which allows the website layout to be reviewed, resulting in suggested changes, improvements and/or enhancements. This review process increases the likelihood of success of the website.

The first step may involve information architecture in which the content is categorized and the information structure is formulated. The information structure is used to develop a document or visual diagram called a site map. This creates a visual of how the web pages or content will be interconnected, and may help in deciding what content will be placed on what pages.

In addition to planning the structure, the layout and interface of individual pages may be planned using a storyboard. In the process of storyboarding, a record is made of the description, purpose and title of each page in the site, and they are linked together according to the most effective and logical diagram type. Depending on the number of pages required for the website, documentation methods may include using pieces of paper and drawing lines to connect them, or creating the storyboard using computer software.

Some or all of the individual pages may be designed in greater detail as a website wireframe, a mock up model or comprehensive layout of what the page will actually look like. This is often done in a graphic program, or layout design program. The wireframe has no working functionality, only planning, though it can be used for selling ideas to other web design companies.

Website design

Web design is different than traditional print publishing. Every website is an information display container, just as a book is a container; and every web page is like the page in a book. However the end size and shape of the web page is not known to the web designer, whereas the print designer will know exactly what size paper he will be printing on.

For the typical web sites, the basic aspects of design are:

    * The content: the substance, and information on the site should be relevant to the site and should target the area of the public that the website is concerned with.
    * The usability: the site should be user-friendly, with the interface and navigation simple and reliable.
    * The appearance: the graphics and text should include a single style that flows throughout, to show consistency. The style should be professional, appealing and relevant.
    * The structure: of the web site as a whole.

A web site typically consists of text, images, animation and /or video. The first page of a web site is known as the Home page or Index Page. Some web sites use what is commonly called a Splash Page. Splash pages might include a welcome message, language or region selection, or disclaimer, however search engines, in general, favor web sites that don't do this which has caused these types of pages to fall out of favor. Each web page within a web site is a file which has its own URL. After each web page is created, they are typically linked together using a navigation menu composed of hyperlinks.

Once a web site is completed, it must be published or uploaded in order to be viewable to the public over the internet. This may be done using an FTP client.

Multidisciplinary requirements

Web site design crosses multiple disciplines of multiple information systems, information technology, marketing, and communication design. The web site is an information system whose components are sometimes classified as front-end and back-end. The observable content (e.g. page layout, user interface, graphics, text, audio) is known as the front-end. The back-end comprises the organization and efficiency of the source code, invisible scripted functions, and the server-side components that process the output from the front-end. Depending on the size of a web development project, it may be carried out by a multi-skilled individual (sometimes called a web master), or a project manager may oversee collaborative design between group members with specialized skills.

Issues

By its very nature, web design is conflicted, involving rigid technical conformance and personal creative balance. Rapid technological change complicates acquiring and deploying suitable resources to maintain web presence.

Environment

Layout is a double edged sword: on the one hand, it is the expression of a framework that actively shapes the web designer. On the other hand, as the designer adapts that framework to projects, layout is the means of content delivery. Publishing a web engages communication throughout the production process as well as within the product created. Publication implies adaptation of culture and content standards. Web design incorporates multiple intersections between many layers of technical and social understanding, demanding creative direction, design element structure, and some form of social organization. Differing goals and methods resolve effectively in successful deployment of education, software and team management during the design process. However, many competing and evolving platforms and environments challenge acceptance, completion and continuity of every design product.

Collaboration

Early web design was less integrated with companies’ advertising campaigns, customer transactions, extranets, intranets and social networking. Web sites were seen largely as static online brochures or database connection points, disconnected from the broader scopes of a business or project. Many web sites are still disconnected from the broader project scope. As a result, many web sites are needlessly difficult to use, indirect in their way of communicating, and suffer from a 'disconnected' or ineffective bureaucratic information architecture.

Form versus function

A web developer may pay more attention to how a page looks while neglecting other copywriting and search engine optimization functions such as the readability of text, the ease of navigating the site, or how easily the visitors are going to find the site. As a result, the designers may end up in disputes where some want more decorative graphics at the expense of keyword-rich text, bullet lists, and text links. Assuming a false dichotomy that form and function are mutually exclusive overlooks the possibility of integrating multiple disciplines for a collaborative and synergistic solution. In many cases form follows function. Because some graphics serve communication purposes in addition to aesthetics, how well a site works may depend on the graphic design ideas as well as the professional writing considerations.

When using a lot of graphics, or sending a lot of instructions to the end client computer, a web page may load slowly, often irritating the user. This has become less of a problem as the internet has evolved with high-speed internet and the use of vector graphics. However there is still an ongoing engineering challenge to increase bandwidth and an artistic challenge to minimize the amount of graphics and their file sizes. This challenge is compounded since increased bandwidth encourages more graphics with larger file sizes.

Layout

Layout types

Layout refers to the dimensioning of content in a device display, and the delivery of media in a content related stream. Web design layouts result in visual content frameworks: these frameworks can be fixed, they can use units of measure that are relative, or they can provide fluid layout with proportional dimensions. The deployment flowchart (a useful tool on any design project) should address content layout. Many units of measure exist, but here are some popular dimension formats:

    * Pixel measure results in fixed or static content
    * Em measure results in proportional content that is relative to font-size
    * Percent measure results in fluid content that shrinks and grows to "fit" display windows

Proportional, liquid and hybrid layout are also referred to as dynamic design. Hybrid layout incorporates any combination of fixed, proportional or fluid elements within (or pointing to) a single page. The hybrid web design framework is made possible by digital internet conventions generally prescribed by the W3C. If any layout does not appear as it should, it is very likely that it does not conform to standard design principles, or that those standards conflict with standard layout elements. Current knowledge of standards is essential to effective hybrid design.

The earliest web pages used fixed layouts without exception. In many business pages fixed layouts are preferred today as they easily contain static tabled information. Fixed layout enforces device display convention, as viewers must set their display to at least a certain width to easily view content. This width can include display of corporate logos, cautions, advertisements and any other target content. Design frameworks for fixed layout may need to include coding for multiple display devices.

Hybrid design maintains most static content control, but is adapted to textual publishing, and for readers, to conventional (printed) display. Hybrid layouts are generally easy on the eye and are found on most sites that distribute traditional images and text to readers. For some sites, hybrid design makes an otherwise cold text column appear warm and balanced. A good example of hybrid layout is Wordpress, where liquid design is now optional, and movie and auditory media is stretching the envelope.

Fluid design is useful where content is delivered to an 'unknown device' population. Appropriate liquid code displays images, text and spaces proportional to display size. Someone with a handheld can see view and interact with the same content as someone using a large desktop monitor. However, scaling of content for a variety of devices has more recently evolved with modern web browsers, allowing users to see the same layout across all devices.

Layout concerns

With the onslaught of numerous monitor sizes, "fluid" web sites are becoming less common. The result is that fluid layouts look "old" because they were typically used more in the early days of the internet. In dealing with font layout, even expressed as ems, a static core cannot be escaped and often anchors most page content. However, as new standards are adopted by device manufacturers, viewers notice a wider spectrum of content and a greater interaction between and through content. For the World Wide Web Consortium drawing up tomorrows layout conventions, new media types and methods are increasingly in the mix. It is a true double axiom that 'content is all about layout', and 'layout is all about content'. We could say that layout is what designers squeeze into available technology — content is the culture manifested in the layout. "Space' is the envelope holding layout and content together. Space communicates style (layout appearance) to the target population. Understanding how to adapt space to this layout-content relationship is essential to web design. Every design's survivability depends on its sensitivity to emerging technology (within the cultures that its framework is servicing), and immediate acceptance depends on the layout or presentation of that content. On every page, no content is more susceptible to changes and variations in standards, than space. While the professional designer casually admits that 90% of design code is used to adapt space, most of his current work deploys spatial manipulations being used to actively reshape Internet communication.

Conceptual barriers to adequate layout abound! Presently layout is challenged by conflicting convention that makes it impossible to fit liquid and hybrid layout to the bottom corners of a display. Simply put, display device manufactures use the top right and/or left corners to display content. For non-standard equipment, setting custom fixed layout to their device is still seen by some businesses as a means of increasing revenue, as they can sell a 'unique' display. This business approach, domainating the digital market at the end of the last century, is not so useful today. However, some would claim a decade behind schedule, CSS3 and HTML5 are finally taking the four penultimate display reference point seriously. Just in time for 3 dimensional vector layout to tangle designers' templates in conundrums!

A common misconception among designers is to assume their layout is liquid because initial space and text container widths are in percents. However, their 'liquid' framework, while adhering to focused conventions, failed to manage graphic content. A subsequent edit placing a large image on the page, destroys the page appearance. When managing a design framework, it is critical that layout address content, convention and user interaction.
Device

On the Web the designer has no control over several factors, including the size of the browser window, the web browser used, the input devices used (operating system, mouse, touch screen, voice command, text, teletype, cell phone, or other hand-held), and the size, design, and other characteristics of the fonts that users have available (installed) and enabled (preference) on their device. Unique manufacture and conflicting device contentions are further complicated by varying browser interpretations of the same content, and some content automatically can trigger browser changes. Web designers do well to study and become proficient at removing competitive device and software markup so that web pages display as they are coded to display. Eric Meyers, a well known educator and developer, is one of many resources who have spear-headed HTML reset coding. While they cannot yet leave one local environment to control another, web designers can adjust target environments to remove much common markup that alters or corrupts their web content. Because device manufacturers are highly protective of their patent markup, Meyers and others caution that reset remains experimental.
Tableless web design

When Netscape Navigator 4 dominated the browser market, the popular solution available for designers to lay out a web page was by using tables. Often even simple designs for a page would require dozens of tables nested in each other. Many web templates in Dreamweaver and other WYSIWYG editors still use this technique today. Navigator 4 didn't support CSS to a useful degree, so it simply wasn't used.

After the browser wars subsided, and the dominant browsers such as Internet Explorer became more W3C compliant, designers started turning toward CSS as an alternate means of laying out their pages. CSS proponents say that tables should be used only for tabular data, not for layout. Using CSS instead of tables also returns HTML to a semantic markup, which helps bots and search engines understand what's going on in a web page. All modern web browsers support CSS with different degrees of limitations.

However, one of the main points against CSS is that by relying on it exclusively, control is essentially relinquished as each browser has its own quirks which result in a slightly different page display. This is especially a problem as not every browser supports the same subset of CSS rules. There are the means to apply different styles depending on which browser and version are used but incorporating these exceptions makes maintaining the style sheets more difficult as there are styles in more than one place to update.

For designers who are used to table-based layouts, developing web sites in CSS often becomes a matter of trying to replicate what can be done with tables, leading some to find CSS design rather cumbersome due to lack of familiarity. For example, at one time it was rather difficult to produce certain design elements, such as vertical positioning, and full-length footers in a design using absolute positions. With the abundance of CSS resources available online today, though, designing with reasonable adherence to standards involves little more than applying CSS 2.1 or CSS 3 to properly structured markup.

These days most modern browsers have solved most of these quirks in CSS rendering and this has made many different CSS layouts possible. However, some people continue to use old browsers, and designers need to keep this in mind, and allow for graceful degrading of pages in older browsers. Most notable among these old browsers is Internet Explorer 6, which is viewed in the web design community as becoming the new Netscape Navigator 4 — a block that holds the World Wide Web back from converting to CSS design. However, the W3 Consortium has made CSS in combination with XHTML the standard for web design.

Questions

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 12:20:00 +0000

Chase entered one end of a narrow white-walled room and crossed it toward a chair positioned before an unfamiliar man at the far end. But for the man and the chair, the room remained featureless. Chase was drawn to them.

Seated, Chase asked, "Am I dreaming?"

"No," the man said. What he said was certain.

Chase was not dreaming.

"Am I dead?" Chase asked.

"That's two," the man said. "And yes."

Two doors appeared on the wall behind the man. Back on the far wall, the door Chase had entered disappeared, replaced with bare white. His mind lurched.

"Can I go back?" Chase asked.

"Three. No."

"Where am I?"

"Four. You are nowhere, yet. Once you choose where to go, you will be somewhere."

"Where can I go?"

"Five. Through the door on my right is a place where you will forever wade in the complete memory of your life."

Hearing this, Chase realized that, indeed, he had no memory of his life, only a yawning cavity of curiosity. He was a body, a mind, in a shape, but he had no knowledge of how he had come to be such a body, such a mind, in such a shape.

"Through the door on my left," the man continued, "you will linger between places."

"Are those the only choices?"

"Six. Yes."

"When do I choose?"

"Seven. Whenever you wish."

"Can I change my mind after making a choice?"

"Eight. That is the one thing about you I do not know."

"Why are you counting my questions?"

"Nine. I have a theory that the number of questions relates to the decision reached."

"What's your theory?"

"Ten. I cannot influence your decision by telling you."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Eleven. There is no time here, but, numerically, I've seen many, many more than you."

"How old was I when I died?"

"Twelve. Forty."

Like an algal bloom, a gluey certainty that he had lived forty years filled the cavity of Chase's curiosity. Its level seemed lower than it should've been.

"How did I die?"

"Thirteen. Your heart stopped and shortly thereafter your brain quit functioning."

An urgent question pressed aside Chase's insult.

"Was my death an accident?" Chase asked.

"Fourteen. No."

A hole opened in the algal bloom, boiling with caution, fear.

"How many questions can I ask?"

"Fifteen. As many as you'd like."

"Will you always tell the truth?"

"Sixteen. I must."

What the man said was certain.

"Was I murdered?" Chase asked.

"Seventeen. No."

The algae rippled.

"Did I kill myself?"

"Eighteen. Yes."

The hole in the algae widened. Chase understood that he had been a religious man who believed in the divine as a punitive machination.

"Am I being punished for my suicide?"

"Nineteen. The truth cannot be punishment."

Through the part in the algae rose a sense that life could be measured on various scales which titled one of two ways. Also, in life there were things one deserved and things one did not.

"Was my life pleasurable?" Chase asked.

"Twenty. At times, yes."

"Was I a good man?"

"Twenty-one. I cannot pass judgment. I can only tell you the truth."

The skim of algae rippled with the movement of something large beneath it. Chase understood company as a kind of goodness, loneliness as a dismal rot.

"Did I have a family?"

"Twenty-two. Yes. A wife and children."

Chase envisioned two children, a girl and a boy.

"Do they miss me? Are they faring well?"

"I will count that as one, for I cannot tell you such things about other people. Twenty-three."

"Did I cause my family pain?"

"Twenty-four. At times, yes."

There was kindness in the man. A sympathy. A bond. The man yearned for Chase to ask the right questions. It was clear there were questions he did not want to answer, but would if asked.

"When I died was my family alive?"

"Twenty-five. Some were."

"Did I have a part in the deaths in my family?"

"Twenty-six. Yes."

Chase became aware that he was a man who rarely apologized yet could not let go of regret.

"Think it over," the man said. "Take your... time."

Chase could not wait. It rose under the algae, irrepressible, clamant.

"Did I care for my family?"

"Twenty-seven. Deeply."

"Whose deaths did I have a part in?"

"Twenty-eight. Your daughter's, then your own."

Chase understood she was his first. Just as he knew it was terrible to have a favorite child, he knew she was his favorite. She had kept him and his wife together, had given them strength and hope enough to try for a second child.

"Was my part in her death an accident?"

"Twenty-nine. As much as it could be an accident, it was."

"Could I have prevented it?"

"Thirty. There is only what happened and what didn't happen."

"How long after my daughter's death did I kill myself?"

"Thirty-one. Five years to the day."

"How old was my daughter when she died?"

"Thirty-two. Five."

"Did anything mean as much to me as my time with her?"

"Thirty-three. You have to answer that for yourself."

The man stepped aside as if Chase had reached a decision. Chase rose. The man was right. Chase knew all he wanted to know. He approached the door on the man's left. He understood that hesitating would only make the room he was in as much a place between places as what lay beyond the door. But here, he might be tempted to know more. He wanted to thank the man, though felt that if he tried, it would come out wrong and sound like an apology. He opened the door and stepped through it.

Chase entered one end of a narrow white-walled room. A chair appeared before him as the two doors behind him disappeared. A man entered through the far wall's only door and crossed the room to the chair. When the man sat, Chase recognized him.

Seated, Chase asked himself, "Am I dreaming?"

"One. No."

Flashback

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 13:34:00 +0000

My name is Brian. If you've trained at the New Sander Institute, I may have walked in your dreams. I'm the one who sat behind the screen, teaching you how to turn nightmares into a vision that your patient can control. I'm the man in the white coat, the one the others call "Doctor Sander."

I'm not Doctor Sander. I'm the Intermediary. I go between the conscious and the unconscious, between past and present. When your patient puts on the "Memory Cap," turning his most traumatic memories into someone else's story, with himself as author, those memories flow through me. I live every hurt, every grief, every fear. I take those memories into myself and transform them.

The real Doctor Sander claimed that the Intermediary had no memories of its own. He was wrong.

Once, Richard Sander was an idealistic, brilliantly talented graduate student. So I've heard, anyway. He'd become a bitter, crabbed Department Head by the time he created me. His lab rat. His anthropomorphic mind probe, something he could send into his experimental virtual therapy network with no risk to his own psyche. He only entered the Intermediary's space himself once. Just once. I'd served him for decades by then without obvious damage, and the lure of fame convinced him to join me in the Network after he installed the multisensory upgrade.

We materialized on a virtual cliff above a turbulent gray sea. I huddled at the edge of that cliff, naked and shivering. The air clung to my skin, clammy, heavy, with an odor like wet tombstones.

"Where's your spine, boy?" The glitter in Doctor Sander's eye said that he was perfectly aware that I didn't really have a spine, that I was his creation, and I'd better not forget it.

I stood and faced him. Dr. Sander smiled. It chilled me. He didn't know--or care-whose memories had built that first gray experimental mindscape. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that all my thoughts lay bare to him, as though the empty sky were an intermediary's screen.

"So," he said. "Are you ready to plumb the depths of the unconscious with all five senses?" He crouched as though ready to jump with me.

He didn't ask whose unconscious. I nodded. He pushed me off the cliff.

Real or not, the dark water was cold. It swallowed me, pulling me deeper and deeper. A bubble of memory rose to engulf me. For a moment, I blacked out.

I opened my eyes to see Carl leering at me. He had a girl with him--the first live girl I'd seen, except for Miss Newhouse and my "mother," Dr. Vera Jenkins. Cold metal pressed against my back. A steady mechanical beeping chirped in the background--the lullaby of my "childhood."

I remembered Carl. Doctor Sander's assistant. I remembered the girl, if not her name.

"Visual acuity check. How many fingers, Rat?" Carl held up his hand with the middle finger extended.

"One," I said. "Stop it." Inside, I struggled with panic and déjŕ vu. I hadn't realized how painful it would be to find myself standing here again, in this room of cinderblock and metal, smelling of rubbing alcohol, iodine, and dust. With every second, the memory took firmer hold, as though I were living everything for the first time.

The girl giggled. "Rat? Looks human to me. Not bad-looking, either. Who modeled-a senior from the swim team?"

"That's Sander at twenty-one, supposedly."

The girl swayed toward me, and squeezed my arm with her warm, soft hand. I tried to back away, flattening myself against the inside of my sleeping-cabinet. "Ooo. Feels real. Why do you call it Rat?"

"Because that's our new lab rat, babe. Takes all the crap out of people's heads, and turns it into a movie, so they can deal with it from the outside. Less traumatic than traditional therapy, supposedly. Next step is projecting all five senses. Ask Sander--he'll tell you all the psychobabble."

"It can't have seen what's in your head, or it wouldn't look so innocent. Doesn't it get clothes?" The girl stroked my arm again, raising little shivers where her fingers touched.

"What for?" Carl looked even more sour than usual. "No one sees it. It hasn't got a thought of its own in its head. It doesn't care if it's naked. It wouldn't care if you were naked."

"Really?" The girl smiled at me. "You got a real name, Rat?"

"Brian," I croaked, my mouth gone dry. She was standing too close. I looked at Carl. He glared back, silently threatening.

"So what is in your head, Brian?" The girl smiled again, watching me with her head tilted sideways. Behind her, Carl glowered.

"Nothing Doctor Sander hasn't taught me."

"Really? Let's fix that."

She turned my face toward her, and kissed me. I knew people kissed. I'd witnessed kissing, and more than kissing, in memories from the doctor's patients. But the cool tingle of peppermint lip gloss, the feel of real lips pressed to mine, was very, very different. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to react. Carl's slap took me totally off guard. My ears rang. The girl screamed.

"Nothing the doctor hasn't taught you, Rat?" Carl raised his hand again. "You'd better keep it that way."

"And you had better explain, Carl," said a calmer, colder voice from the doorway. Those measured tones frightened me more than Carl's rage had. Carl turned white.

"Doctor Sander! Er, Doreen, here, read your last article, and I thought for her first day..."

"You thought, with Newhouse and Jenkins gone, you'd get a head start on the new assistant."

At the name "Jenkins," I looked up. "Mama's gone? When is she coming back?"

All three of them stared. Doctor Sander's eyes narrowed.

"Get out. Carl, clean out your desk."

"But..."

"I didn't hurt Brian, Doctor. Honest," said the girl.

"Out!"

Once Carl and the girl were out of the room, the doctor turned on me.

"Mama? I never taught you that."

I swallowed. "The boys in the pictures have mamas. Hal was a boy." I pointed at the smaller, empty sleeping-cabinet on the other side of the lab. "Was Doctor Jenkins Hal's mama?" "Did she go to be with Hal?"

"Hal was not a boy. He was not a person. You are not a person. Is that clear? Technically, you don't exist."

"Then how could the pretty lady kiss me?"

Doctor Sander stared as though he'd never seen me before. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Without another word, he smacked the main power to "Off." My world went dark, as it always had--only this time it felt like I was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper, into bubbles....

Hal was crying, because he couldn't sleep. Hal could never sleep--he'd never become fully solid, like me, and he kept destabilizing and fading out. I thought it was because he was only a little boy. He looked like one. Doctor Sander said that was nonsense. I slipped off my ankle bands and left my cabinet, careful not to set off any alarms, and tiptoed across the cold floor to where Hal crouched.

"What's wrong, Hal?" I whispered.

He grabbed my leg, clinging tight.

"Bad dream," he whimpered. "Bad dream. Bad dream, bad bad bad...." He flickered in and out, showing glimpses of the sleeping-cabinet behind him.

"Sh!" I detached him from my leg. "If the Doctor hears..."

I froze, listening. Dr. Sander, Carl, and my mother were laughing in the hallway.

"So Brain doesn't get the flickers, like Hal?" Carl's voice.

"Brian," my mother corrected. "More client-friendly. No, it hasn't yet, and I've been doing memory uploads for a month."

"Not you too." As always when Dr. Sander spoke, I shivered. "First Newhouse, with her Arthur C. Clarke fixation, and now this? I'd have thought you were too objective to name the Intermediary. Of course, now it will have imprinted on you." He sighed. "Does this model retain anything between sessions?"

"Let's run a test. Hang on; let me get my keys."

"Hal! Into your place, quick!" I hurried back to my cabinet, glad that I'd practiced sliding in and out so often that I could do it quickly, without setting anything off.

Hal hadn't practiced. He tried to follow me. As soon as both feet were off the touchpad, the whistle shrieked.

Doctor Sander flung the door open. Hal cowered in the middle of the floor, nearly transparent. I stared at a crack in the opposite wall.

"What the..." Ignoring Hal, Doctor Sander marched around the room, checking wires and sensors.

"Is it a break-in?" said my mother, Doctor Vera Jenkins. She wasn't wearing her lab coat. She had on a sparkly red dress, and the air around her smelled pretty.

"Think Newhouse was trying something?" said Carl.

I liked Miss Newhouse. I almost asked where she was, before I remembered I was supposed to be sleeping.

"You forget. I still have rounds in the Psychiatric Wing," said Doctor Sander. "Marilu Newhouse is in no condition to try anything."

Carl groaned. "God, can't you program the rats to close their eyes?"

Doctor Sander hit the Wake Up button next to my cabinet. I waited for the buzzing before looking around, pretending I hadn't seen anything before.

"Good morning, Brian!" said my mother, in her Happy-Wake-Up voice.

"It's nighttime," I replied.

"Very good!" She looked at Doctor Sander. "There's a retained memory, right there."

"Or simple observation," said Doctor Sander. "Interm… Brian, has anyone been in this room?"

"You, me, Hal..."

"Since 6PM."

"Me, Hal..."

"Oh, never mind. There's no sign of forced entry. Must be a power surge."

I sighed with relief that he hadn't simply asked why Hal was out of his cabinet.

"Brian," said my mother, "we're going to play the picture game." She held up a stack of large cards.

Ah. A way to ask. "Miss Newhouse does the picture game."

"Miss Newhouse has gone away. I'll play the picture game with you now."

I swallowed. Once I had laughed in front of Doctor Sander, and he had taken my voice away for an hour. What would he do if I cried?

"No, you won't, Vera," Doctor Sanders interrupted. "I'll do it this time."

"Don't you trust me to be unbiased?"

"No." Doctor Sander took the cards. "Sit down," he directed me. I sat. "Now, what is this?" He held up a color photograph of a boy and a dog, looking out the windows of a car.

I hesitated. I knew lots of picture games. Rorschach. TAT. This was new.

"See, Vera?" Doctor Sander turned to my mother. "Tabula rasa. A completely blank slate. Nothing."

My mother frowned. Her hands knotted into fists.

"The boy's name is Kashon Dennison," I said.

Doctor Sander stared. I stared back. He was making my mother upset. He thought I couldn't remember anything.

"Kashon is nine years old. The dog's name is Wombat. They're at Spruce Lake. In one hour and six minutes, Kashon will climb a tree, fall, and break his right arm. He..."

"Stop!" said Doctor Sander. "How do you know this?"

"Kashon was inside me."

"When?"

"Last Tuesday, when I wore the hat. 9:16 AM."

"See?" My mother was smiling now.

"Newhouse might have sabotaged it."

"Just because the girl was a romantic doesn't mean she's out to ruin our work. I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who had her committed."

"It's not my fault the job unnerved her." Dr. Sander scowled, and went on recording my responses to the cards. "She was completely unreasonable--screaming that the intermediaries are self-aware."

"Marylu Newhouse was a nervous breakdown waiting to happen," said my mother. "The trick is to keep ourselves out of it."

"Self-aware." Doctor Sander went to Hal and shook him by the shoulder. Hal, frozen with terror, didn't respond. "Hardly. Watch."

He pulled two long wires from the wall near Hal's cabinet, and fastened them to Hal's ankle-bands. Hal never moved. Doctor Sander pressed some buttons. Hal glowed brighter and brighter, losing solidity, until, without a sound, he was gone. I froze, as petrified as Hal had been.

"See? No reaction."

"Was that necessary?" my mother said.

"Merely proving my point--and disposing of a defective model. Now . . ."

I didn't hear any more. Sparks danced in my vision where Hal had been. Floating sparks, like bubbles. I felt like I was sinking...

Some part of me, then, realized that all this had already happened-that I was reliving memories. Earlier memories each time. And I didn't want to remember any more.

I had no choice.

I stood in my cabinet, watching Miss Newhouse, my mother, and Hal. It was Hal's turn to be tested--only they weren't playing games with papers this time. Miss Newhouse sat Hal in a chair, and put a metal hat on his head.

"Upload the memories," said my mother.

Miss Newhouse pushed a button, and Hal screamed--and didn't stop. He screamed--and faded.

"He's destabilizing!" my mother yelled.

Like a dimming light bulb, Hal flickered in and out, even after Miss Newhouse took the cap off. He never got all the way solid again, until the day he flickered out forever. My mother ignored him. She turned dials on the cap, moved wires, and said, "Let's see if the new program makes a difference. Your turn, Brian."

I backed into the wall. It was cold. "I don't want to. Please, Mama."

Miss Newhouse put her hand over her mouth.

My mother looked surprised. "Sander's overdone the anthropomorphic program," she said, and reached up to press the cap onto my head.

I braced myself for pain, but there were only pictures. Pictures I couldn't understand:

My father held my hand. I was little, like Hal. I wore a fuzzy sweater and a hat. We were walking under trees. Red and yellow trees. Who was this? I had no father. Where were we going? Before I could speak, the picture changed again:

I knelt in a tall white building, full of colored light. I was crying, and saying "I believe," over and over. My tears fell on long white clothes, like Mama's coat. I didn't understand. But I repeated the words--"I believe, I believe..."--and my mother yanked off the cap, screaming, "We've done it, Richard! We've done it!" Doctor Sander burst into the room and grabbed my mother around the waist. They danced madly about the lab, while I trembled and cried and hugged poor flickering, unresponsive Hal. No one noticed--except Miss Newhouse. She led me into another room, wrapped me in a blanket, and asked, shyly, "Are you--are you all right?"

"Is Hal hurting?"

Her eyes got wide. "No, I don't think so."

"I don't want Hal to be hurting. Don't make him wear the hat any more, Miss Newhouse. Let me do it."

"The hat... what happened when you were wearing it?"

"Things happened. But not to me! It was like I was other people. What happened, Miss Newhouse?"

She looked scared. "How can you tell they were other people?"

"Because I remember what happens to me. I don't have a father. I have Hal, and Mama, and Doctor Sander, and you."

Now Miss Newhouse started to cry. "This wasn't supposed to happen. There shouldn't be a "you!"

I tried to get Miss Newhouse to explain, but she was crying too hard. Instead, she showed me Dr. Sander's report, with a diagram. I was meant to be a blank slate, an empty stage for patients to act out repressed memories. Dr. Sander was the director, interviewing patients, setting the stage--me--with their traumas. Memories flowed through me, in the form of raw data, to be given shape and projected onto a screen. The patients would "work through" their traumas, and be free of them. And I, the intermediary, would have to live those memories. Every single one.

I watched. I learned. I lived through tragedies, triumphs, and traumas. I saved up enough memories for a hundred lifetimes. By the time Dr. Sander pushed me off that cliff, I knew more about the memory-enactment process than he or my "mother" ever had, because I lived it. I knew that the memories he pushed me into would be ones he didn't think existed-my own. And I wasn't surprised that, once I reached the beginning, I'd come full circle and found myself on the cliff again. But he was.

"And Vera regretted selling out to me. All for..." he was saying when I appeared.

"You still remember her, Doctor Sander?" I said quietly.

He gaped, all composure drained away.

"You should look like that patient!" He pointed at the foaming gray sea. "The one with those memories."

"Those memories," I said, "are mine." I took a step closer. He backed away. "What about your memories, Doctor Sander? Do you remember Miss Newhouse? Or Hal?" I waited just long enough to see his blank expression, and pushed him into the turbulent gray sea.

Anyone who's studied at the New Sander Institute knows that our first rule is: Respect life in all its forms.

They take good care of Doctor Sander's physical body in the nursing home. I visit often. Everyone thinks I'm such a dutiful son. Who ages well. Only Miss Newhouse, now stooped and white-haired, suspects that Richard Sander's psyche is eternally drowning in a virtual sea.

I could save him. I could go back there. All I'd have to do is put on the Memory Cap and relive that memory. One day I might work up the courage.

I'm only human.

Forms of pollution

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 13:33:00 +0000

The major forms of pollution are listed below along with the particular pollutants relevant to each of them:

    * Air pollution, the release of chemicals and particulates into the atmosphere. Common gaseous air pollutants include carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) and nitrogen oxides produced by industry and motor vehicles. Photochemical ozone and smog are created as nitrogen oxides and hydrocarbons react to sunlight. Particulate matter, or fine dust is characterized by their micrometre size PM10 to PM2.5.

    * Light pollution, includes light trespass, over-illumination and astronomical interference.
    * Littering
    * Noise pollution, which encompasses roadway noise, aircraft noise, industrial noise as well as high-intensity sonar.
    * Soil contamination occurs when chemicals are released by spill or underground leakage. Among the most significant soil contaminants are hydrocarbons, heavy metals, MTBE, herbicides, pesticides and chlorinated hydrocarbons.
    * Radioactive contamination, resulting from 20th century activities in atomic physics, such as nuclear power generation and nuclear weapons research, manufacture and deployment. (See alpha emitters and actinides in the environment.)
    * Thermal pollution, is a temperature change in natural water bodies caused by human influence, such as use of water as coolant in a power plant.
    * Visual pollution, which can refer to the presence of overhead power lines, motorway billboards, scarred landforms (as from strip mining), open storage of trash or municipal solid waste.
    * Water pollution, by the release of waste products and contaminants into surface runoff into river drainage systems, leaching into groundwater, liquid spills, wastewater discharges, eutrophication and littering.

Pollution

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 13:13:00 +0000

Pollution is the introduction of contaminants into a natural environment that causes instability, disorder, harm or discomfort to the ecosystem i.e. physical systems or living organisms. Pollution can take the form of chemical substances or energy, such as noise, heat, or light. Pollutants, the elements of pollution, can be foreign substances or energies, or naturally occurring; when naturally occurring, they are considered contaminants when they exceed natural levels. Pollution is often classed as point source or nonpoint source pollution. The Blacksmith Institute issues annually a list of the world's worst polluted places. In the 2007 issues the ten top nominees are located in Azerbaijan, China, India, Peru, Russia, Ukraine, and Zambia

Ancient cultures

Air pollution has always been with us. According to a 1983 article in the journal Science, "soot found on ceilings of prehistoric caves provides ample evidence of the high levels of pollution that was associated with inadequate ventilation of open fires." The forging of metals appears to be a key turning point in the creation of significant air pollution levels outside the home. Core samples of glaciers in Greenland indicate increases in pollution associated with Greek, Roman and Chinese metal production.

Official acknowledgement

The earliest known writings concerned with pollution were written between the 9th and 13th centuries by Persian scientists such as Muhammad ibn Zakarīya Rāzi (Rhazes), Ibn Sina (Avicenna), and al-Masihi or were Arabic medical treatises written by physicians such as al-Kindi (Alkindus), Qusta ibn Luqa (Costa ben Luca), Ibn Al-Jazzar, al-Tamimi, Ali ibn Ridwan, Ibn Jumay, Isaac Israeli ben Solomon, Abd-el-latif, Ibn al-Quff, and Ibn al-Nafis. Their works covered a number of subjects related to pollution such as air contamination, water contamination, soil contamination, solid waste mishandling, and environmental assessments of certain localities.

King Edward I of England banned the burning of sea-coal by proclamation in London in 1272, after its smoke had become a problem. But the fuel was so common in England that this earliest of names for it was acquired because it could be carted away from some shores by the wheelbarrow. Air pollution would continue to be a problem in England, especially later during the industrial revolution, and extending into the recent past with the Great Smog of 1952. This same city also recorded one of the earlier extreme cases of water quality problems with the Great Stink on the Thames of 1858, which led to construction of the London sewerage system soon afterward.
It was the industrial revolution that gave birth to environmental pollution as we know it today. The emergence of great factories and consumption of immense quantities of coal and other fossil fuels gave rise to unprecedented air pollution and the large volume of industrial chemical discharges added to the growing load of untreated human waste. Chicago and Cincinnati were the first two American cities to enact laws ensuring cleaner air in 1881. Other cities followed around the country until early in the 20th century, when the short lived Office of Air Pollution was created under the Department of the Interior. Extreme smog events were experienced by the cities of Los Angeles and Donora, Pennsylvania in the late 1940s, serving as another public reminder.

Modern awareness

Pollution became a popular issue after World War II, due to radioactive fallout from atomic warfare and testing. Then a non-nuclear event, The Great Smog of 1952 in London, killed at least 4000 people. This prompted some of the first major modern environmental legislation, The Clean Air Act of 1956.

Pollution began to draw major public attention in the United States between the mid-1950s and early 1970s, when Congress passed the Noise Control Act, the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act and the National Environmental Policy Act.

Bad bouts of local pollution helped increase consciousness. PCB dumping in the Hudson River resulted in a ban by the EPA on consumption of its fish in 1974. Long-term dioxin contamination at Love Canal starting in 1947 became a national news story in 1978 and led to the Superfund legislation of 1980. Legal proceedings in the 1990s helped bring to light Chromium-6 releases in California--the champions of whose victims became famous. The pollution of industrial land gave rise to the name brownfield, a term now common in city planning. DDT was banned in most of the developed world after the publication of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring.

The development of nuclear science introduced radioactive contamination, which can remain lethally radioactive for hundreds of thousands of years. Lake Karachay, named by the Worldwatch Institute as the "most polluted spot" on earth, served as a disposal site for the Soviet Union thoroughout the 1950s and 1960s. Second place may go to the area of Chelyabinsk U.S.S.R. (see reference below) as the "Most polluted place on the planet".

Nuclear weapons continued to be tested in the Cold War, sometimes near inhabited areas, especially in the earlier stages of their development. The toll on the worst-affected populations and the growth since then in understanding about the critical threat to human health posed by radioactivity has also been a prohibitive complication associated with nuclear power. Though extreme care is practiced in that industry, the potential for disaster suggested by incidents such as those at Three Mile Island and Chernobyl pose a lingering specter of public mistrust. One legacy of nuclear testing before most forms were banned has been significantly raised levels of background radiation.

International catastrophes such as the wreck of the Amoco Cadiz oil tanker off the coast of Brittany in 1978 and the Bhopal disaster in 1984 have demonstrated the universality of such events and the scale on which efforts to address them needed to engage. The borderless nature of atmosphere and oceans inevitably resulted in the implication of pollution on a planetary level with the issue of global warming. Most recently the term persistent organic pollutant (POP) has come to describe a group of chemicals such as PBDEs and PFCs among others. Though their effects remain somewhat less well understood owing to a lack of experimental data, they have been detected in various ecological habitats far removed from industrial activity such as the Arctic, demonstrating diffusion and bioaccumulation after only a relatively brief period of widespread use.

Growing evidence of local and global pollution and an increasingly informed public over time have given rise to environmentalism and the environmental movement, which generally seek to limit human impact on the environment.

Lottery

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Thu, 25 Nov 2010 13:25:00 +0000

“Daddy, watch me do the airplane thing!”

Robert shushed Dinah and told her to keep still. She was jostling the other people in line. They’d been here for eight hours, but he hadn’t heard a single complaint from anybody. What did they have to complain about, really? Up ahead their shuttle to safety was belching steam as the engineers put on the finishing touches. Soon it would be up, up, and away. Bye bye Earth. Bye bye apocalypse. They would wait with perfect patience.

“What will happen to the Hendersons?” his wife Mary had wailed in an irrational horror. Robert assured her that they would probably find a way.

But he knew that the Hendersons wouldn’t. In fact, the Hendersons likely loathed them. Just because their name was attached to a lucky stream of numbers, they were leaving to start over scot-free. No sacrifices required. Robert remembered the cool automated voice bringing them the astounding news of salvation on the phone. One-in-a-million chance. It had sounded like the voice of God. They were the chosen ones, leaving behind a world of ash to thrive in luxury.

The line snailed forward. They turned a corner and Robert spied a square cherry-red sign far up ahead. When he read it, there was a sick feeling of having missed some vital fine print, yet at the same time Robert felt queerly satisfied. As if he’d known this would happen all along. As if they deserved it.

NO children are permitted aboard the shuttle. Couples will procreate at the colony. We apologize for any inconvenience or distress this causes.

Up ahead a woman was wailing, and Robert imagined he could see the Henderson’s smiles reach all the way to their eyes. This was the price of admission. This was the sacrifice. The even-steven world of constant giving and taking that Robert had come to expect, even take comfort in. Robert decided not to tell Mary. Let her live in the dream world a little longer.

“God sure has been good to us. We should never forget that,” Mary said. Robert agreed that He certainly works in strange ways.

Robert pulled his wife close and asked Dinah to do the airplane thing one more time.

A Day Like No Other

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 13:58:00 +0000

I stepped out into the rain, my flat cap shielding my mat of gray hair. As I walked with my hands in my trench coat pockets, I noted each imperfection on the concrete. Each hand- and footprint a kid made when it was still wet; every discarded wad of gum. Over the years, I had become familiar with them all.

What I wouldn't give for the days when I would walk with my head high, my beloved Mildred on my arm. I shut my eyes, looked up, and allowed the water to strike my face. After a moment, I lowered my head and pressed on.

As I walked past the jewelry shop, I spotted the jeweler assisting a customer. He was pointing at a glass case, no doubt indicating a fine piece of jewelry. Before the year was up, he'd win a substantial amount in the lottery and move to San Francisco.

I frowned. Today's goal was to avoid glimpsing into people's futures. Just once I wanted to go a day without feeling like I was prying into someone's life. I suppose that was a foolish goal given that, in the past, I haven't been able to control what I saw or when I saw it. Why did I assume today would be different?

Approaching the mailbox, I pulled the folded envelope from my pocket and ran my fingers across the address. Maryland. The clouds' wrath began to smear the ink, so I gave the envelope a quick kiss and delivered it. "I love you, Emily."

I turned around and entered my home away from home--the coffee shop.

I was welcomed by the familiarity of the red tables which were each equipped with a napkin dispenser and sugar packets. The strong aroma of coffee beans filled my nostrils. I looked across the room and smiled at the older lady who had a crossword puzzle in hand. She waved as I took a seat at my usual corner table and placed my coat beside me.

Mildred had been my social safety blanket. Unfortunate when you thought about it. As long as she was around, there was no need on my part to converse with the other regulars. And now that she was gone, I saw no point.

"Hi, Mr. Lynn!" Sally called from behind the counter.

"How are you, Sally?"

"Excellent! You want the usual?"

I considered it heavily for a moment. "Yes, please." There was no point in altering what worked.

I watched as she made my coffee, her red, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail that bounced about. She was a refreshing and overdue addition to the staff. I always loved the coffee shop and its employees, but the ladies there had become dispassionate as of late to make each day a memorable visit. Despite that, I still liked the slow-moving atmosphere instead of the hurry-up-and-get-out method the chain coffee shops provided.

My attention coasted back to the older lady. I envied her. She was still married at age seventy-three. She had four children and six grandchildren; truly a blessed life. It elated me to know she'd be experiencing thirty-three more years of health, happiness, and seven great-grandchildren.

There I go again, I thought and turned my eyes to the broken piece of floor tile that had gone neglected for months. I interlocked my fingers and rested my hands on the table. Normally I would read the newspaper, but today I only wanted to reflect and value the surroundings I'd come to love. From the floor speckled with spills of sugar to the slow hum of the soda machine, I delighted in every detail.

When I was growing up, my parents were always sensitive with my precognitive abilities and never treated me with anything but love. It was my own fear that ravaged my mind, initiating my choice to become reserved. I knew I was abnormal, and I didn't want to accidentally reveal my abnormality because I didn't know how people would respond.

Foreseeing the pleasurable things always brought enjoyment. The downside was the moment a tragic premonition surfaced. I'd become a mess. In these latter years I've learned to simply acknowledge the premonitions and let them be--good and bad.

Now closer to the grave I still don't know how people would take my precognition, but in my youth I was convinced I'd never find a wife who could understand my secrets. My heart was overjoyed when my beloved childhood friend Mildred Malone showed interest. Apart from my parents, she had been the only person I told my secret to. Her and our daughter, Emily.

"Here you are, Mr. Lynn," Sally said, placing the mug and napkin in front of me.

"Thank you." I took a sip of my coffee and relished the perfect mix of milk and cream.

Mildred, Emily, and I were a close family up until Emily's teenage years. It started with her suddenly not being able to look at us; it progressed into her turning to drugs. Mildred and I were ripped to pieces because we didn't know what to do outside of talking to her. When we tried having a discussion with her about it, she glared at us as if we were the cause of her problems.

What really traumatized us was that when she left for college, any conversation with us became scarce. We didn't see her until her wedding day six years later, drug-free. Mildred thought the invitation was a step to rekindling the relationship, but I gathered Emily invited us out of obligation. When my beloved Mildred realized the relationship remained stagnant, she fell into depression and passed on ten months later. I grimaced behind my mug.

The coffee shop's door opened, and I heard the barrage of rain hitting the ground like marbles clashing. Screeching tires followed shortly thereafter. I tensed and readied for a crash, but it never came. I glanced at my watch and uttered a profanity. I had twenty minutes left.

I pondered over the letter to Emily that rested in the mailbox. How would she react when she sees it's from me? Open it? Tear it up? If the latter, I hoped she'd at least hold it to the light and see that a check was inside.

The perfect scenario would be if Marc got the mail the day it arrived because he would open it. The times he'd gotten to my prior letters before Emily did, he wrote me an e-mail letting me know how things were going. I'm glad Emily married such a decent man.

From my spectator angle of the kitchen, I saw one of the employees walk into view holding a tray laced with paper towels. I knew that recently fried doughnuts were sandwiched between the towels. I looked at the roll of fat that surpassed my belt. I'd been doing well for the past few months, but I hadn't treated myself to doughnuts in a long while.

I raised two fingers in the air for Sally to see. She nodded and got to work on glazing a couple of the doughnuts.

Since having the premonition about my death two weeks ago, I had done everything I could to prepare for it. I could avoid the collision, but what would be the purpose? For the past ten years I've been alone. My wife was dead and my daughter doesn't want me in her life.

After a few more sips of my coffee, Sally delivered the doughnuts on a saucer. The smell of sweet, glazed dough attacked my nostrils. I thanked Sally and gripped one of the doughnuts, letting the warm icing caress my fingertips. I raised my hand and placed the gooey goodness into my mouth, glancing at my watch between bites.

The phone behind the counter rang, and Sally answered it, delivering the standard greeting of the coffee shop. After a moment, she bit her lip and looked at me. "Um, Mr. Lynn? It's for you."

I raised an eyebrow and she shrugged. I cleaned my mouth and fingers from the remnants of the doughnut and walked to the counter. Sally handed me the phone.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hey, Lynn."

The deep voice softened me. Marc. My son-in-law. I hadn't heard his voice in years. Last time he and I had any contact was two months ago when he had responded to one of my letters. He told me that their oldest child had just learned to ride his bike, and how he and Emily were expecting their third child.

"Lynn?" Marc asked. "You still there?"

"Yes… Marc… How have you been?"

"I've been good," he said and fell silent.

His silence sent me a signal I didn't appreciate. My gut tensed. It had to be an emergency. But how did he know to call me at the coffee shop?

"What happened to Emily, Marc?" I asked and then heard a faint voice on his side of the phone. "Is that her in the background?"

"Yes," he said.

"Put her on." I said, glancing at Sally who eased away to offer me privacy. I flashed a smile.

There was shuffling with the phone before I heard my Emily's soft voice. "Hi."

My body tingled. "How are you, Emily?"

"Good."

"I missed hearing your voi--"

"Dad, I just… There's a lot to say."

I glanced at my watch. "I have time," I said, but I really didn't if I was going to let my premonition manifest. But I had my daughter on the phone! I stepped aside as a customer walked up to the counter to order.

A burdened sigh came over the receiver, followed by a long pause. I prayed she was just nervous to talk with me after so many years of choice silence, rather than second guessing her decision to call at all.

"Dad," she finally said. "As a teenager… Before I rebelled…" Her words sounded forced, so I was thankful she was pushing herself. "I didn't know how to handle it, and I took my frustration out on you and Mom." She sighed again. "Mom died without me being close to her. I don't want the same thing to happen to you and me." Another heavy breath.

"I'm listening, Emily." My heart pulsated. "What is it?"

There was a whine in her tone. "Don't kill yourself, Dad."

My heart slowed. "What?"

"Don't leave the coffee shop until after the car crashes…. Please?"

Dear Ms. Moon

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 12:52:00 +0000

Dear Mr. Moon Man or Ms. Moon Lady,

I would like very much for gravity to continue to suck or pull or whatever it does, but if you could do so with just a bit more nuance I would be very grateful. My brother, Henry, keeps jumping off the roof in a Wonder Woman costume, and I would appreciate it very much if his limbs wouldn't break so much. Henry is very determined to fly through the air with a cape and although I tell him Wonder Woman flies an invisible plane and has no cape, he just tells me I am old school and should get with the program and Wonder Woman could kick Superman's ass any day. Last time Henry jumped off the roof, he blamed his crash landing on the cast still on his right arm. He said it pushed him off balance. Henry then left the last good mattress out in the rain, and now we have to sleep on the floor.

As a gravitational body exerting force on our planet, and making tides and things like that, I was wondering if you could suck extra hard as you pass over our house, 234 Jelbart Street. It's the blue house with a flat tin roof. You'll be passing directly over us at 2pm on Saturday afternoon, when Henry makes his next attempt. Henry likes to organize his attempts at flight to coincide with your presence in the sky. Wonder Woman's not so secret name is Diana. Diana is a Roman moon goddess who is really a Greek Moon goddess Athena. Athena has an Owl, which means that Diana has an owl. Do you have an owl?

Please remember 2pm, Saturday afternoon, suck a little bit harder and pull Henry up just a little bit. It would be wonderful to see him fly for a moment or two. Frankly if you could make his fall just a little less dreadful that would be wonderful.

Yours in anticipation,

Theresa Shackleton

Dear Ms Moon,

Henry now has two broken legs and the arm that only just got out of a cast is back in one. I must confess I am more than a little bit disappointed. I said suck, not push. I am certain Henry fell faster than nine point eight metres per seconds squared. I am extremely disappointed and so is Henry. Henry has had to cancel his next attempt, because he cannot figure out how to get a wheelchair up onto the roof. As you can imagine, Henry is heartbroken. He blames himself, I blame you. You knew where he was going to be and when. I wrote to you well in advance. I have not had the heart to tell Henry that you failed him, he adores you so much that it would crush him. Because I cannot tell him who really is to blame, I must watch Henry blame himself and feel helpless watching him berate himself for his failings.

Please excuse me, I have a broken brother to attend to.

Disappointedly yours,

Theresa Shackleton

Dear Ms Moon,

My brother has found a way to drag himself onto the roof. He really is ingenious and has constructed a small elevator platform out of pulleys, half a door, and some rope. He is determined to prove his worth to you and to Wonder Woman. He was going to jump today, but I convinced him to wait until next week when you will be directly over the house. He is full of hope that the wheelchair will give him the extra speed necessary. As I write this he is attaching red piping to his costume with a glue gun. He will be throwing himself off the roof at 5am, Thursday morning. Our address, once again, is 234 Jelbart Street, you will be passing directly over us. I urge you to use that gravity of yours for good and make him float for a moment, or at least not fall so hard.

Please do not let us down again, or you will break a small boy's heart and I will tell everyone what a callous beast you are.

Hopefully yours,

Theresa Shackleton

Dear Ms Moon

Ha ha ha, very funny. You didn't need to suck that hard.

Now give me my brother back, please.

Theresa Shackleton

Some Day My Prince Will Go

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 12:52:00 +0000

It was pretty scary watching the witch sing "Happy Birthday".

Instead of being pursed in disapproval as usual, her mouth stretched into a smile so wide it made me think of strychnine. Meanwhile her eyes stayed as cold and unblinking as a hawk, with a nose to match. She wore the inevitable silky blouse, twenty years out of date and buttoned right up to her wrinkled neck, but today it was little-girl pink. Even her trousers were pink. The outfit clashed hideously with her strident plum hair, and I couldn't help thinking it was going to get stained when she shinnied down the tower.

"Here's your present, Darling."

Surprise, surprise, it was yet another book of fairy tales about princesses being rescued by princes. Very tactful considering how long I'd been waiting for my own prince.

As soon as the witch left, I dumped it with all the others, and went to the tower window to gaze out over the sea of heather. I was thirty. I wasn't left on the shelf so much as stuck up the tower, haunted by the mistakes of my youth. Whoever heard of a middle-aged princess being rescued?

I was so deep in my brown study that it took some time for the wailing to register. Then, of course, I assumed that it was some new sorcery from the witch. But all I could see was a bicycle, groaning under a fat man, approaching from the East. Not a prince, then, unless some princes didn't have white horses or Harley Davidsons. Could a commoner rescue me? Even a life washing socks had to be better than mouldering in this stupid tower.

To my delight the bicycle came closer, until I could see that the man wore a rucksack. He also had a bald spot. I didn't care. I dashed off to touch up my make up and cram myself into a corset, followed by the golden ball gown. Right. Where were those toe-crushing stiletto heels? I had to look cool.

He reached the foot of the tower and stopped with a final squeal of brakes. Then he put one foot on the ground and one meaty hand over his heart. "Rapudzel, Rapudzel, let dowd your log hair."

There was no sign of the witch, so I spiked my hair on the hook by the window and let my plait snake to the ground. My rescuer let go of his rusty bike and began to climb.

He was heavy. Hook or no hook, his weight brought tears to my eyes, so that I could barely see him sway from one side of the plait to the other. Eventually he heaved himself through the casement and collapsed on the floor, gasping.

I sucked my stomach in, pushed my chest out, and surveyed my dream come true. He wore an orange T-shirt with ketchup stains and purple jogging pants with baggy knees; wives could fix dress-sense. Beer belly; oh well. Protruding eyes, chapped lips and a drippy nose; he obviously had a terrible cold, so perhaps he didn't realize that he smelt of fish.

Eventually he sat up and started searching for a hanky. Then he ignored the one I was offering and wiped his nose on his sleeve. I pushed my chest out again as he rolled up onto one knee. "Rapudzel, I am prince Jeffrey. I hab heard of your beauty frob afar, and I hab come to rescue you."

My back ached from posing. "The sooner the better. It's amazingly boring up here."

His brow furrowed with unaccustomed thought. "But I hab rescued you."

Oh dear, another stupid one. I forced a smile. "No you haven't. I'm still up here."

"Oh. Id the bidstrels songs, the prince climbs up and thad's thad."

I'd always assumed that I'd marry whoever rescued me, as princesses do, but I was beginning to have serious doubts about spending the rest of my life with a man as dim as a dinosaur. Kick Jeffrey's shin on Monday morning and he wouldn't say "Ow!" until Thursday lunch.

He finished his Jurassic thought process and said, "Why don't we go through to the bedroob and you can idspire me."

My body recoiled. The wedding was off. I absolutely couldn't share a bed with this oaf.

"Come od. You must be gagging for id after all those years alode up here."

I began to babble. "No, no, I really don't think that's proper and the witch might arrive here any second and I really think--"

"You need me. You can't escape widdout me." He grabbed my behind with both hands and yanked me close. I was still trying to shove him away when his chapped lips slobbered over mine.

I found myself pushing at air. Jeffrey had gone. I looked down to see a yellow-bellied frog with a drippy nose hopping about on grubby T-shirt, leggings and long-johns.

"Rubbit," said Jeffrey.

"Oh no, not again!" I wailed.

I gingerly picked him up and put him in the bath with the other six.

This was less fun than chewing aluminum foil. I waited months for a prince to appear, and every time, I got a frog. I might be stuck here forever. I couldn't escape by myself.

Sez who?

Sez Jeffrey. Sez the witch.

Oh well, you couldn't get much clearer than that.

I wasn't going to climb down anywhere in these stupid clothes. Off went the jewel-encrusted gown and the toe-pinching stilettos. On went Jeffrey's disgusting rags, with numerous safety pins to compensate for my lack of beer gut. Presumably the pong would fade in the open air.

I grabbed the nail-scissors and hacked off my plait at the nape.

The frogs gave an outraged chorus of "Ribbit!" and "Rubbid!"

"Don't be silly. I can't climb down my hair while I'm still attached to it."

Freed from the weight, the remaining hair felt as though it was standing on end. I peered at myself in the mirror. No, it was just a raggedy bob. I trimmed it as best I could. It would be wonderful not to have to wash, comb, and plait thirty feet of hair.

I dithered over the frogs. They had tried to save me, however ineptly, so on went rubber gloves and I loaded them into one of the witch's lunch baskets, then took them over to the window, dragging my plait.

I hesitated. Now that I was thinking of climbing down myself, the ground looked a lot further away.

I took a deep breath. I'd wasted twelve years waiting for rescue, and I wasn't going to let a few heebie-jeebies stop me now. I spiked my hair on the hook, tied the frog basket to the other end, and lowered it. When my plait hung strait, the basket dangled six feet above the ground. I'd just have to jump, and hope I didn't break my ankle. I imagined lying there, moaning, when the witch arrived.

I'd just have to imagine something else.

My hair was slippery, but I managed to control the slither well enough to land with nothing worse than a bruised rump.

Why hadn't I done this years ago?

Because I'd been waiting for someone else to do it for me. Anyway, what mattered was now. The cold wind numbed my face. Freedom at last!

I untied the frog basket and set off north, because the witch always came from the south. Walking was harder work than I'd expected, and as soon as I got out of sight of the tower I flopped down for a breather. I picked a sprig of heather. From the top of the tower the heather had always looked like one solid mass, green in spring, mauve in high summer, and rusty brown in autumn and winter. Now I could see that the mauve was made of thousands of tiny flowers, each with a darker line around the bell, and mine had a minuscule orange spider crawling--

"And just where do you think you're going, young lady!"

I jumped.

The witch stood there, arms akimbo and lips pressed together in a thin, angry line. She'd changed into her usual black power suit and white blouse, leaving her hair and scarlet lips as the only color. I felt tiny and overwhelmed.

The witch folded her arms and tapped her foot. "Well? Cat got your tongue?"

"I... I..." A tide of depression and defeat rolled over me. Then I thought, This is ridiculous. I turned seven princes into frogs and got down from the tower by myself. I can at least try to face her down. I took a deep breath and stuck my chin out. "I'm going to get myself a life."

"Oh no, you're not. It isn't decent. You're going back to that tower to wait for your prince."

"I'm sick of waiting."

"Tough! How else do you expect to meet a prince?"

"If they're all like the ones I've met, then I'd rather do without."

The witch's mouth opened in a big, scandalized "O." "You can't do without! The world isn't safe."

I felt cold. "If you try to stop me, I'll... I'll... I'll kiss you!"

"What? Yes please." The witch puckered up. It was about as inviting as a traffic accident.

"But you'll turn into a frog."

She doubled over, cackling with laughter. Eventually she gasped, "You think you turned them into frogs? Oh, that's priceless."

"I didn't?"

She snorted. "No, no. They were pretty much frogs to start off with. They only looked like princes because that's how they saw themselves. I just arranged for a kiss to show the truth."

So much for dreams! "So aren't there any real princes?"

"Of course there are. You're a real princess, aren't you?"

"Right." I tipped the frog basket upside down. "Hop it. Go find yourselves a pond."

The frogs gathered in a circle round my feet, looking up at me. "Ribbit. Rubbid." I spotted Jeffrey's yellow belly. His eyes were soft and pleading.

The witch sneered. "Oh I wouldn't let them go, dear. There's a French restaurant in the village that pays rather well for frogs legs."

The air briefly filled with leaping frogs, then they were gone.

The witch smirked. "You see, you haven't a clue about the world. You're not ready to be on your own."

I bit my lip. "I won't learn any more up that tower. I'm going."

"But it isn't safe." She gave me the look that had frozen my resistance for as long as I could remember, something midway between a sneer and a glare.

In spite of the sun, I felt cold all over. What if she was right? "I'm not all that safe in the tower either. What if a decent prince never comes? I'm thirty already. I could die of old age up there." I wished my voice wasn't so wobbly. "And what if something happens to you? I'm off. I've got to make my own life."

She wailed, "But I'll worry about you."

I hesitated, wondering whether she really cared, or whether she was just manipulating me. I needed the truth. My insides twisted, but I darted forward and kissed the witch.

She didn't turn into a dragon, or even a frog. She looked younger, and sad, and scared. Her black power suit faded into a daisy-print summer frock and her plum bob turned into brown hair curling round her shoulders.

Dim memories stirred. I'd played pat-a-cake with this woman. She'd told bedtime stories, cuddling me. Only then I'd barely reached to her hip. I must have been... three?

The jigsaw clicked into place. "You're my mother!"

"As good as."

"You adopted me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I did. Your birth mother was in a panic about some silly curse. Why else would I go to such trouble to keep you safe? Now you're coming home, with me, right now."

"Home? That tower's a prison."

"You ungrateful brat! I only gave you the best --satellite TV, organic food--" She broke off with a sob, tears in her eyes.

I stared with my mouth open. All these years she'd been taking care of me.

Protecting me from life. As far as she was concerned, I was going only one place: on a guilt trip.

I gave her a tissue. "I'm still going. I don't need your permission any more than I needed a prince."

"But I'll be all alone!"

"I'll write," I promised. "Give me your email address."

"Promise?" The witch looked up, tear tracks running down her cheeks like snail trails.

"I promise."

She handed me a business card

Perdita Pinchnose
Princess Protection Service
Blasted Heath
Middle Nowhere
old_b@out.of.hell

I put the card in my pocket and gave her a quick hug. Then I headed down to the village, sure I'd make a lot more mistakes and kiss a lot more frogs.

It was going to be great.

The Piper

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 14:22:00 +0000

The clock tower rises above the city, its bricks stained black. The hour hand rests against the curve of the eight, and the minute hand points due east, toward the wall where the forest creeps along the perimeter. The hands do not change. The cogs have long since melded with rust and rot, and the tower bells are silent.

Haunted, some say, as if it is an anomaly among the other buildings, the decay that reduces stone to dust and myriad cracks, thin like the legs of spiders.

But maybe they're right. Row likes to think so.

She watches the clock tower at dusk, watches the mist climb the walls and ripple across the weathered face. She sees how the hands gleam in the waning light, an illusion cast over discolored copper. At the crown of the tower, the mist breaks against the keel of a ship, plumes of gray that ride the hull and fill the phantom sails.

And she sees the boy. The boy who flits between the husks of houses, their jagged beams like the ribs of the city jutting out from its gutted earth, dry and cracked and hollow. She has only seen him in her periphery: the flutter of his coat tails, the impression of yellow curls, and a flash of silver in his hand.

"A healthy imagination, if nothing else," her father says, when she mentions the boy.

In the evening, her mother kneels at Row's bedside and cups her hands tightly. She says, "Don't look, Rowan. Please. For mama. Don't look."

Most others tell her she's mad, that her mind's gone rotten. Row spends one morning tossing stones over the wall, and when she considers climbing over to retrieve them, wonders if she should worry that they're probably right. She rubs the ache in her chest and doesn't let their words bother her. Row doesn't let a lot of things bother her.

Some believe her though. Some of the children have tried to see the ship, and they come to Row with questions, hungry for answers like beggars grasping at her pockets. They don't understand why they can't see.

It's simple really. They're doing it wrong. As soon as the sun touches the western hills, they scurry home like rats.

But Row waits. She waits and watches and is not afraid.

Row sneaks away from her chores in the afternoons. She follows the cracks that thread the cobblestones, toe to heel.

This one leads toward the square, at the center of which a hulking fountain sleeps, the stone green with mold. Several inches of murky water remain in the lower basin. On the upper tier, a wingless cherub balances atop a globe, its chubby fingers outstretched.

Jean, her little sister, traces Row's footsteps and hums a tune. Jean is only eight, three years younger than Row, and keeps to Row during the day like a second shadow. Row smiles and turns away from the breeze that stings their eyes.

"The sun is setting," Jean says. But she isn't watching the sunset. She's looking eastward.

At dusk, the mist crawls from the forest, heaves its bloated belly over the wall, and unfurls across the city. The dust rises and skitters beneath locked doors.

Her chest aches. She brushes her fingers along her collarbones and fails to contain the need to cough. Her entire body shudders; her throat feels raw.

"Row, we have to go." Jean tugs at Row's sleeve.

Row waves her off, the back of her hand against her mouth. She manages to say, "Go ahead. I'll be right behind you."

Jean bites her lip. Row can see it in her face, in her wild look and bloodshot eyes: she knows Row is lying. But daylight has dwindled to a glow on the horizon, and this is not the first time Row has stayed out after dark. Jean's footsteps echo in the empty street.

Row scuffs the toe of her shoe against the spindly path she'd been following, and watches the clock tower with wide eyes, not yet daring to blink.

The silhouette of a ship appears through the haze, sails billowing around a lonely mast. Above the stern, great cogwheels spin in languid rotation, the teeth winking in and out of focus like starlight. She squints, but the image blurs, shimmers once in the dying light, and then vanishes.

At the edge of her vision, the heel of a boot.

Turning, she scans the cobblestones, the buildings softened by the fog. She picks up her feet. Halfway back to her house, there is movement to her left. She stops. For a long moment, she doesn't turn, and the boy doesn't move.

"Hello?" she says. Her heart hammers in her chest, and she isn't sure why.

"Hello." His voice startles her. It resonates all around her, behind and above and below. But still he stands there, at the corner of her eyes.

"My name is Row," she whispers, and shivers. Chilled air breathes goose bumps up the skin of her forearms; it slides beneath her sleeves to brush the insides of her elbows. The nights are always cold. Not the brisk kind that encourages her to tighten the buttons at her collar, but the kind that reaches into her lungs and rattles her insides. And the dust. The dust is cloying, gathering in her nostrils and at the corners of her lips.

"Yes, I know," he says. He shifts. Something in his hand glints metallic in the dull light of the nearest lamppost. She wants so very much to look.

"May I--"

"Rowan!" Her mother's cry intrudes on the silence.

Row's gaze darts first to her mother and then the boy, who has vanished. She spins, searching, even as her mother drops down at her side and grips her shoulders, nails biting like the cold.

"Rowan," she says. Her voice shakes. "What are you doing?"

The ache in her chest tightens, claws up her throat. She averts her face and coughs into her shoulder. Her mother's lips flatten, and she pushes to her feet, pulling Row along behind her.

Her father is in a rage, but that's nothing new. Far less interesting than flying ships, to be sure. Row waves to Jean, who watches through the sliver of her open door as their father hauls Row down the hall, and their mother weeps in a pile by the front door. He shoves her in a dark room, steps in and turns the lock.

Row stares down at her knuckles, listens to her father's heavy breathing as he slides the belt from his pants.

She isn't afraid.

Everything corrodes in the dust that blackens the walls of the city, the dust that coats their mouths and turns their food bitter. The spreading decay that burrows into their eyes and ears like worms, eating through fibrous membranes and bubbling the soft tissue of their brains.

The city is dying. Everyone is dying.

No one in the city remembers a time before the clock tower fell silent, but there are stories. When Row was younger, her mother used to plait Row's hair, black and thick like her own, and tell her about a time when the forest beyond the wall was young, little more than a grove of saplings. The road, she said, had once led through to a castle with white banners and glass towers that disappeared into the clouds.

Like most tales, inside the castle lived a prince, beautiful and sweet and lonely. Row knows the story and nearly every variation of it. In her mother's story, the king was mad and had locked the prince away, letting the kingdom fall to ruin. Others tell it differently, insisting that it was a sorcerer who imprisoned the prince. Still others say it was the other way around, that the prince had gone mad with loneliness and the king's sorcerer locked the prince away, the prince's bitter hatred cursing the kingdom and its people. Some even say the prince and the sorcerer were one and the same.

Either way, Row knows the tales. She imagines the road before it was closed, before the forest overtook it. She imagines the wagons that roll across the cobblestones with the quiet tick-tick-tick of inner workings, the name of a distant city painted along its sides. She imagines the clock tower as it might have been before its repair had been forgotten like the city. She imagines climbing it, scrambling up to its roof and boarding the ship, which would sail her away to glass towers and castles in the sky.

"May I look at you?"

The boy laughs. It's a lovely sound. "Do you know what you're asking?"

"Just a look. I promise I'll be quick."

"You're limping."

She smiles. It pleases her that he notices. Her legs smart, but no more than her chest. "It's nothing."

"Does it hurt? Shall I play you a tune?"

There it is again: that flash of silver in his hand. He's moving, but she doesn't look lest he disappear again. She only realizes what he's doing when the first note hovers in the quiet night. The mist sways around her, cold fingers smoothing along her wrist, as if asking for a dance.

"A flute," she says.

He continues playing, the melody slow and lilting and as clear as if he stood directly at her side. It wards off the chill, conjures smoky images of turning cogs and ticking clocks in the mist.

"It's beautiful," she says. It's also familiar.

In the morning, after their parents have left, Jean is in the sitting room wiping away the dust that has slipped in overnight. She is humming.

Row crosses the room and slaps the rag from her sister's startled hand. "You've seen him, haven't you?"

Jean shakes her head, hair falling into her eyes. When Row reaches for her, she shuffles back and stumbles against their mother's rocking chair.

"Don't lie to me! You were humming his song just now. And the other day as well."

No one else is meant to have seen the boy. No one but her. He is her secret, her wraith, her only sanity in a city gone mad. Him, and the ghost ship, and the crumbling clock tower that shines like polished metal at dusk.

"I swear, I haven't seen him!" Jean says, cowering behind their mother's chair. "I... I only heard the song. It was so very lovely."

Row digs her fingers into her thighs, the wide-eyed fear in Jean's face enough to rein her anger even if her entire body trembles from the restraint. She has never felt such fury before, not even at their father.

Something twists in her chest, pain sharp and agonizing as if her ribs have collapsed. Perhaps they have, she thinks as her shoulder collides with the floor. Perhaps her innards have deteriorated, reduced to so much bile and pus by the poisoned air she breathes every night. Someone is shouting her name--Jean? Or maybe it's the boy, whose disembodied voice still lingers at the back of her mind even after he has gone.

All is silent. Except for the sweet tune of a flute, barely audible.

Seven nights later, when the house and the city have fallen silent, Row climbs from her bed and puts on her shoes.

Music floats up from the street outside her shuttered windows, faint and reedy like wind whistling notes in the slivers of withered eaves.

She drapes her mother's shawl around her head and shoulders, and steps out into the night. She picks the nearest crack in the road and follows it north, away from her house, away from the fountain and its lonely cherub, away from the aging wall and everything it keeps in.

When the music fades, she stops. She stands at the border of the city, where the dirty cobblestones segue into simply dirt, clumped and ruddy like clay. Here, the weeds have overtaken the path, so dense that it has become a single entity, a hopelessly tangled net stretching up the path to grasp at the tired wooden doors of the clock tower.

To her left, she is given the brief impression of yellow hair and the curve of a pale cheek before he steps out of sight.

"Are you angry with me?" His voice flutters around her, quick and elusive.

"Yes," she says, because she has kept to her room for a week and doesn't know if, in the end, it punished him or herself. "I thought you were mine. You're not supposed to play for anyone else."

He laughs. It's still as lovely as the first time. It makes her want to forgive him. "I'm sorry."

She toes the curling tip of an overgrown weed. "Are you really?"

"Of course."

His immediate response makes her smile, in spite of her desire to remain upset. "I'd be willing to forgive you... if you showed me your face."

The silence stretches on for so long that she fears he's left. Perhaps she shouldn't have pushed the issue. Disappointed, she tightens her mother's shawl around her face and begins to backtrack, when his voice sounds again.

"If I show you my face," he says, and Row goes completely still. "Then you must come with me."

She waits for him to clarify. When he doesn't, she says, "Come with you where?"

"I would have shown myself to you, Row. Very soon, in fact," he says. There is a buoyant quality in his tone, as if he is pleased with something. "But you've made it easier."

"I don't understand." Her chest is beginning to ache again. She tugs the shawl over her face, but it does little against the frigid air seizing her lungs.

"I think you do," he says.

And then he begins to play; the dulcet notes drape around her like a cloak, casting the chill from her bones. Before her, the mist parts, drawn back like curtains.

The weeds at her feet shrivel and unwind, reeling back into the earth. At the crest of the hill, the tower stands proud, its handsome brick walls adorned only in the ivy crawling up from the hedges. The clock face reflects the glow of an invisible moon and, above it, the slanted roof serves as a dock for a massive ship, its tall white sails and glittering clockworks illuminating a night sky clearer than any she has ever witnessed.

Then the music stops, and the mist snaps back like shutters slammed shut. Everything returns to dust and decay.

Row turns to look at the boy, but he's gone.

Her father catches her sneaking back in. When she sees him, she pulls her mother's shawl from her head, folds it on the rocking chair, and lets him wrap a fist in her hair. She doesn't cry.

She spends the rest of the day in bed, curled around her pillow and the sharpening ache beneath her ribs. She dreams about a ship with a figurehead in the image of a girl, flowing hair and feathery wings extending back to frame the base of the bowsprit.

Her mother coaxes her to eat, but she has no appetite. Jean sits at her bedside and reads aloud, but Row allocates her voice to background noise and stares without seeing at the slate gray sky beyond her window. In her head, a flute's song plays on repeat, the vision it reveals to her caught in her mind's eye.

When night falls, she realizes she's ready.

After her parents and sister have gathered themselves for sleep, she climbs again from her bed and reaches for her shoes. It's amazingly simple to leave the house. Perhaps her father believes she wouldn't be foolish enough to try again so soon. Perhaps he believes she is unable to move.

Her legs tremble with cold and pain, but they carry her all the same: down the narrow streets and past the fountain where the cherub watches her pass with envious eyes and small fingers pointing her north. She stops in the same place she stood the night before, and waits.

"Hello, Row," the boy says, a moment later. She smiles, although the effect is somewhat spoiled by her chattering teeth. She forgot her mother's shawl.

"Show me your face," she says. So he does.

He's beautiful, his face as sweet as any angel's. Short yellow hair curls against his temples and around his ears. His eyes are dark, the color indistinguishable in the poor light, and his lips are pale and full and smiling. Lace gathers beneath a sharp chin and spills over a short waistcoat, over which he wears a fitted jacket with rows of shiny buttons down the front. In his hand is a slim, silver flute.

He raises it to his lips. She thinks, surely, she must love him a little, because the sight of him makes her breath catch and her knees wobble. She watches him play, his nimble fingers dancing along the length of his instrument. Warmth settles around her shoulders and wraps around her throat like a scarf. When he turns, she follows him up the hill where the weeds have given way to a neat dirt path framed in grass and small flowers.

The clock tower's doors are thrown open. She has never been inside before, and she hesitates briefly at the threshold before stepping in after him. The stone is cool beneath the worn soles of her shoes. A wooden staircase spirals upward. The music beckons her forward, and she obeys without pause, trailing after him in her nightshift. The boards beneath her feet are steady and thick, not like the houses in the city, eaten through by insects and dry rot.

She wants to pause and take in the wonders around her, but she can't stop looking at him, now that she is allowed. Her gaze is drawn to his bright head, haloed by the light flooding down from above them, by the sheen of well-oiled cogs that churn and revolve on silent joints.

When they reach the landing, she presses a hand to her collar and realizes there is no pain. He smiles at her from behind his instrument. She closes her fist around the front of her shift, feeling curiously lost without that ever present ache at the center of her chest. Before her, through the dark glass of the clock face, she can make out a mottled view of the city.

His song carries on for another few measures, and then, after the last note fades to silence, he returns the flute to his side and steps away. In the wall adjacent to the clock face is an open door. A sconce just above the frame highlights the wooden plank that extends from the floor out to the deck of a ship.

A deep, resounding clang startles her. She looks away from the door, alarmed. It continues to chime, loud and rhythmic. The entire tower vibrates with it. The clock, she realizes.

"Are you ready?" the boy asks. He stands beside the open door, one hand extended.

She takes his hand and steps ahead of him, before bracing herself in the doorway. Leaning forward, she looks out at the city below. The sight leaves her breathless.

The city glows, as if alive. The streets, illuminated by rows of tidy streetlamps, gleam white from between the buildings that rise from their foundations, sturdy and whole. At the center of the square, the fountain glitters with the flow of water streaming down into the heavy basin. At its peak, the cherub is perched with its hand outstretched, as if waving at her.

"Row," he says.

She looks at him, looks away from the city and what it might have been. His eyes watch her, dark and deep and endless.

Row nods and steps aboard the ship. She feels his hand slip from hers, and she glances back to see him standing just inside the clock tower, the wooden plank drawing back into the ship's side. He smiles at her and waves.

"Aren't you coming?" Row shouts across the gap.

He says, "Thank you." And then, "I'm sorry."

The clock tower continues to chime, and she looks from the boy's apologetic smile back to the city, where time seems to have spilled forward, the buildings withering away to dust. The cherub's hand is still outstretched, reaching.

Row returns home before dawn. In the morning, he helps his mother and Jean with breakfast and smiles when she runs her fingers through his golden hair. Her hand catches for a moment, something like confusion wrinkling her brows, but then it's gone, and she moves away to open the oven and check the bread. Jean lingers at his elbow, ever his shadow, and asks for a tune from his flute.

"Of course," he says, because he is a good brother. The sound of music draws his father from his room, and they eat together at the breakfast table after Row has wiped the dust from the wood.

His mother opens the window for the first time in Row's memory, and sunlight spills into the room. In the distance, they can hear the clock tower chime the hour.

"It's going to be a good day," his mother says.

By popular vote, the city decides to rebuild. The forest has no shortage of lumber, and the buildings are in desperate need of repair. Row helps out where he can, but he is still only a child and can't yet carry more than the tools.

At dusk, they return to their homes and their dinner tables and speak of their day in low, content voices.

At Row's side, Jean whispers to him of how, sometimes, she thinks she sees a girl in her periphery darting between the buildings, never more than the impression of dark curls and a flowing nightshift just beyond her vision. She whispers of a phantom ship that beckons to her in the waning hours of daylight.

Row smiles and pats her head and tells her not to look. Then he plays her a tune on his flute.

What Lies Between the Bread

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 05:54:00 +0000

Jessica might have been able to resist temptation had the shop smelled of dust and ghosts or perhaps perfume and Saharan sand and sold music boxes that played the tinkling melody of her every treasured and trampled childhood memory. Or, had it stocked books with titles like Shakespeare's "Tragedy of King Arthur" or Hemingway's "Saigon" or "Martin Luther King, Jr. Biography of a President," she might have kept going and walked right on by.

But it wasn't that kind of shop.

It was a sandwich shop.

Jessica had skipped breakfast that morning and her stomach mewled with hunger. Strange little shop or not, her appetite overtook her caution. She steeled herself against whatever ironic fate might befall her and pushed through the door.

The shop was a little dark, but not unnaturally so, and the aromas were rich with spices and pickles and a tinge of grease, but not in a way that screamed "uncanny" or "disturbing." Jessica approached the counter, situated atop a glass case containing meats and cheeses.

A man in a white apron wiped his hands on a towel. "What can I do for you?"

He was dark, with tight, black curls, and bright eyes, and red lips that curved in a slightly suppressed smile.

"Don't you have a menu?" Jessica said, failing to spot one. She actually didn't expect the place to have a menu. These little shops were never so straightforward as to have menus. Unless they were menus written in arcane and largely forgotten languages.

"No point in menus," the man said. "The fare changes all the time."

Aha, thought Jessica. So that was their game: changing fare. "And what do you... specialize in?"

The man let a silent beat pass. He blinked. "Sandwiches," he said.

"I know that. That's what it says on your window."

"And that's what we serve. So... shall we start with your choice of bread?"

"Wheat?" Jessica ventured. "Possibly made from the grain of Neper, an aspect of Osiris the dismembered god who rules the Egyptian underworld?"

"We do have wheat bread," the man said, "but it's made in Kansas."

"Oh," she said, somewhat crestfallen. "That'll be fine. And as for meat... I don't want human, or kraken, or the body of Christ, or anything too weird. I'd take mammoth, though, or mastodon, as long as it's fresh."

The man looked distinctly uncomfortable. Embarrassed, even. "The roast beef is very nice, if a little rare. And our pastrami is a family recipe. First rate."

"Family recipe, you say?"

He nodded.

"And where is your family from, exactly?" Were she the wagering type, she would have put her chip down on Atlantian royalty.

"Kansas," said the man. "Kansas City, Kansas."

Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting impatient. "Let's skip ahead," she said. "What's the most exotic condiment you've got?"

The man considered a moment, scanning the work counter behind him. "Mustard," he concluded. "Dijon. Normally we have a tarragon mustard, but we're out. Sorry."

"Mustard?" Jessica repeated, incredulous. "And wheat bread from Kansas City, Kansas? Look, I know this street. The tavern and the stationary store never had a sandwich shop between them before. You just showed up here, all full of weirdness and strange little shoppiness, but, man, you're just sucking at it."

"You're very perceptive," he said, with what almost seemed like sincerity. "Have you ever asked yourself where shops like us go when we disappear?"

"Sure," Jessica said. "But it's a secret. Isn't it?"

The man shrugged. "Maybe, if I were selling heart-rending previews of your finest moment in life, or candles imbued with the ghosts of your children-to-come. But I'm just selling sandwiches. What have I got to lose by telling you?"

Now it was Jessica's turn to shrug. "So? Tell me."

The man cracked his knuckles, took up his knife, and sawed through a loaf of wheat. "When my shop fades from this street, from this town, from this world, it goes to a place where they find nothing stranger, nothing more eldritch, nothing more unworldly than processed cheese. They're frightened and fascinated by salami. They flip out over iceberg lettuce. This street of yours, this town, this world... this is just where I come to do my shopping."

Jessica had nothing to say in response. She selected a bag of sour cream potato chips and a Pepsi, collected her sandwich, and left the shop. She ate her lunch on a park bench across the street, trying to imagine a world in which the taste of roast beef made people think unimaginable thoughts.

The next day, when she came back to the shop, it was no longer there. She admitted disappointment to herself but was somewhat consoled when she remembered she had a coupon for 10% off at Quiznos.

Cloud computing

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 14:17:00 +0000

Cloud computing is Web-based processing, whereby shared resources, software, and information are provided to computers and other devices (such as smartphones) on demand over the Internet.

Cloud computing is a natural evolution of the widespread adoption of virtualization, Service-oriented architecture and utility computing. Details are abstracted from consumers, who no longer have need for expertise in, or control over, the technology infrastructure "in the cloud" that supports them. Cloud computing describes a new supplement, consumption, and delivery model for IT services based on the Internet, and it typically involves over-the-Internet provision of dynamically scalable and often virtualized resources. It is a byproduct and consequence of the ease-of-access to remote computing sites provided by the Internet. This frequently takes the form of web-based tools or applications that users can access and use through a web browser as if it were a program installed locally on their own computer. NIST provides a somewhat more objective and specific definition here. The term "cloud" is used as a metaphor for the Internet, based on the cloud drawing used in the past to represent the telephone network, and later to depict the Internet in computer network diagrams as an abstraction of the underlying infrastructure it represents. Typical cloud computing providers deliver common business applications online that are accessed from another Web service or software like a Web browser, while the software and data are stored on servers.

Gadget

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 14:15:00 +0000

A gadget is a small technological object (such as a device or an appliance) that has a particular function, but is often thought of as a novelty. Gadgets are invariably considered to be more unusually or cleverly designed than normal technological objects at the time of their invention. Gadgets are sometimes also referred to as gizmos.

History

The origins of the word "gadget" trace back to the 19th century. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, there is anecdotal evidence for the use of "gadget" as a placeholder name for a technical item whose precise name one can't remember since the 1850s; with Robert Brown's 1886 book Spunyarn and Spindrift, A sailor boy’s log of a voyage out and home in a China tea-clipper containing the earliest known usage in print. The etymology of the word is disputed. A widely circulated story holds that the word gadget was "invented" when Gaget, Gauthier & Cie, the company behind the repoussé construction of the Statue of Liberty (1886), made a small-scale version of the monument and named it after their firm; however this contradicts the evidence that the word was already used before in nautical circles, and the fact that it did not become popular, at least in the USA, until after World War I. Other sources cite a derivation from the French gâchette which has been applied to various pieces of a firing mechanism, or the French gagée, a small tool or accessory.

The October 1918 issue of Notes and Queries contains a multi-article entry on the word "gadget" (12 S. iv. 187). H. Tapley-Soper of The City Library, Exeter, writes:

A discussion arose at the Plymouth meeting of the Devonshire Association in 1916 when it was suggested that this word should be recorded in the list of local verbal provincialisms. Several members dissented from its inclusion on the ground that it is in common use throughout the country; and a naval officer who was present said that it has for years been a popular expression in the service for a tool or implement, the exact name of which is unknown or has for the moment been forgotten. I have also frequently heard it applied by motor-cycle friends to the collection of fitments to be seen on motor cycles. 'His handle-bars are smothered in gadgets' refers to such things as speedometers, mirrors, levers, badges, mascots, &c., attached to the steering handles. The 'jigger' or short-rest used in billiards is also often called a 'gadget'; and the name has been applied by local platelayers to the 'gauge' used to test the accuracy of their work. In fact, to borrow from present-day Army slang, 'gadget' is applied to 'any old thing.'

The usage of the term in military parlance extended beyond the navy. In the book "Above the Battle" by Vivian Drake, published in 1918 by D. Appleton & Co., of New York and London, being the memoirs of a pilot in the British Royal Flying Corps, there is the following passage: "Our ennui was occasionally relieved by new gadgets -- "gadget" is the Flying Corps slang for invention! Some gadgets were good, some comic and some extraordinary."

By the second half of the twentieth century, the term "gadget" had taken on the connotations of compactness and mobility. In the 1965 essay "The Great Gizmo" (a term used interchangeably with "gadget" throughout the essay), the architectural and design critic Reyner Banham defines the item as:

A characteristic class of US products––perhaps the most characteristic––is a small self-contained unit of high performance in relation to its size and cost, whose function is to transform some undifferentiated set of circumstances to a condition nearer human desires. The minimum of skills is required in its installation and use, and it is independent of any physical or social infrastructure beyond that by which it may be ordered from catalogue and delivered to its prospective user. A class of servants to human needs, these clip-on devices, these portable gadgets, have coloured American thought and action far more deeply––I suspect––than is commonly understood.

Today, the term has gained widespread currency in a variety of industries and activities. It can refer to tools and toys as diverse as "smartphones", GPS navigation devices, key finders, USB toys, and radio controlled cars.

Other uses

The first atomic bomb was nicknamed the gadget by the scientists of the Manhattan Project, tested at the Trinity site.

Application gadgets

In the software industry, "gadget" refers to computer programs that provide services without needing an independent application to be launched for each one, but instead run in an environment that manages multiple gadgets. There are several implementations based on existing software development techniques, like JavaScript, form input, and various image formats.

Further information: Google Desktop, Google Gadgets, Microsoft Gadgets, and Dashboard software Apple Widgets

The earliest documented use of the term gadget in context of software engineering was in 1985 by the developers of AmigaOS, the operating system of the Amiga computers (intuition.library and also later gadtools.library). It denotes what other technological traditions call GUI widget—a control element in graphical user interface. This naming convention remains in continuing use (as of 2008) since then.
It is not known whether other software companies are explicitly drawing on that inspiration when featuring the word in names of their technologies or simply referring to the generic meaning. The word widget is older in this context.

List of computer science fields

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 14:11:00 +0000

Computer science has a number of major sub-fields which can be classified by a number of means (for example the ACM classification system).

Algorithms
    formal processes used for computation, and the efficiency of these processes
Applications
    design and development software for everyday use
Artificial intelligence
    implementation and study of systems that exhibit (either behaviourally or seemingly) an autonomous intelligence or behaviour of their own, sometimes inspired by the characteristics of living beings. Computer science is closely tied with AI, as software and computers are primary tools for the development and progression of artificial intelligence
Compilers
    ways of efficiently translating algorithms from one form (usually a programming language) to another
Computational complexity theory
    fundamental bounds (esp. time and storage space) on computations
Computer programming
    the act of writing algorithms in a programming language
Computer graphics
    algorithms both for generating visual images synthetically and for integrating or altering visual and spatial information sampled from the real world
Computer vision
    the science and technology of machines that see. As a scientific discipline, computer vision is concerned with the theory behind artificial systems that extract information from images (aimed to perform as good as humans do).
Cryptography
    algorithms for protecting private data, including encryption
Data mining
    the process of sorting through large amounts of data and picking out relevant information.; closely related to information retrieval
Data structures
    the organization and storage of data
Networking
    algorithms and protocols for reliably communicating data across long distances, often including error correction
Operating systems
    systems for managing computer programs and data structures
Programming languages
    formal languages for expressing algorithms and the properties of these languages
Robotics
    algorithms for controlling the behavior of robots
Scientific computing
    algorithms for use in the sciences, especially (but not exclusively) biology (as in bioinformatics), physics, and chemistry
Software engineering
    the process of designing, developing, and testing programs
Steganography
    algorithms for covertly hiding data in seemingly unrelated documents, such as graphics
Type Theory
    formal analysis of the types of data, and the use of these types to understand properties of programs, especially program safety

Galaxy

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 14:06:00 +0000

A galaxy is a massive, gravitationally bound system that consists of stars and stellar remnants, an interstellar medium of gas dust, and an important but poorly understood component tentatively dubbed dark matter. The name is from the Greek root galaxias [γαλαξίας], literally meaning "milky", a reference to the Milky Way galaxy. Typical galaxies range from dwarfs with as few as ten million (107) stars, up to giants with a hundred trillion (1014) stars, all orbiting the galaxy's center of mass. Galaxies may contain many star systems, star clusters, and various interstellar clouds. The Sun is one of the stars in the Milky Way galaxy; the Solar System includes the Earth and all the other objects that orbit the Sun.

Historically, galaxies have been categorized according to their apparent shape (usually referred to as their visual morphology). A common form is the elliptical galaxy, which has an ellipse-shaped light profile. Spiral galaxies are disk-shaped assemblages with dusty, curving arms. Galaxies with irregular or unusual shapes are known as irregular galaxies, and typically result from disruption by the gravitational pull of neighboring galaxies. Such interactions between nearby galaxies, which may ultimately result in galaxies merging, may induce episodes of significantly increased star formation, producing what is called a starburst galaxy. Small galaxies that lack a coherent structure could also be referred to as irregular galaxies.

There are probably more than 170 billion (1.7 × 1011) galaxies in the observable universe. Most galaxies are 1,000 to 100,000 parsecs in diameter and are usually separated by distances on the order of millions of parsecs (or megaparsecs). Intergalactic space (the space between galaxies) is filled with a tenuous gas of an average density less than one atom per cubic meter. The majority of galaxies are organized into a hierarchy of associations called clusters, which, in turn, can form larger groups called superclusters. These larger structures are generally arranged into sheets and filaments, which surround immense voids in the universe.
Although it is not yet well understood, dark matter appears to account for around 90% of the mass of most galaxies. Observational data suggests that supermassive black holes may exist at the center of many, if not all, galaxies. They are proposed to be the primary cause of active galactic nuclei found at the core of some galaxies. The Milky Way galaxy appears to harbor at least one such object within its nucleus

Etymology

The word galaxy derives from the Greek term for our own galaxy, galaxias (γαλαξίας), or kyklos galaktikos, meaning "milky circle" for its appearance in the sky. In Greek mythology, Zeus places his son born by a mortal woman, the infant Heracles, on Hera's breast while she is asleep so that the baby will drink her divine milk and will thus become immortal. Hera wakes up while breastfeeding and then realizes she is nursing an unknown baby: she pushes the baby away and a jet of her milk sprays the night sky, producing the faint band of light known as the Milky Way.

In the astronomical literature, the capitalized word 'Galaxy' is used to refer to our galaxy, the Milky Way, to distinguish it from the billions of other galaxies. The term Milky Way first appeared in the English language in a poem by Chaucer.

    "See yonder, lo, the Galaxyë
     Which men clepeth the Milky Wey,
     For hit is whyt."
    —Geoffrey Chaucer. The House of Fame, c. 1380.

When William Herschel constructed his catalog of deep sky objects, he used the name spiral nebula for certain objects such as M31. These would later be recognized as immense conglomerations of stars, when the true distance to these objects began to be appreciated, and they would be termed island universes. However, the word Universe was understood to mean the entirety of existence, so this expression fell into disuse and the objects instead became known as galaxies.

Astrology

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 14:02:00 +0000

Astrology is a group of systems, traditions, and beliefs which hold that the relative positions of celestial bodies and related details can provide information about personality, human affairs and other "earthly" matters. A practitioner of astrology is called an astrologer. Few astrologers believe that the movements and positions of celestial bodies either directly influence life on Earth or correspond to events experienced on a human scale.[] More common is the idea that astrology is a symbolic language, an art form, or a form of divination. Despite differences in definitions, a common assumption of astrologers is that celestial placements can aid in the interpretation of past and present events, and in the prediction of the future.

Astrology is considered a pseudoscience or superstition by the scientific community, which sees a lack of statistically significant astrological predictions, while psychology explains much of the continued faith in astrology as a matter of cognitive biases. 2006 the U.S. National Science Board published a statement which said it considers belief in ten survey items, astrology among them, to be "pseudoscientific".

Numerous traditions and applications employing astrological concepts have arisen since its earliest recorded beginnings in the 3rd millennium BC. Astrology has played an important role in the shaping of culture, early astronomy, the Vedas, and various disciplines throughout history. In fact, astrology and astronomy were often regarded as synonyms before the modern era, with the desire for predictive and divinatory knowledge one of the motivating factors for astronomical observation. Astronomy began to diverge from astrology after a period of gradual separation from the Renaissance up until the 18th century. Eventually, astronomy distinguished itself as the empirical study of astronomical objects and phenomena, without regard to the terrestrial implications of astrology.

The word "astrology" comes from the Latin term astrologia ("astronomy"), which in turn derives from the Greek noun αστρολογία: ἄστρον, astron ("constellation" or "star") and -λογία, -logia ("the study of"). The word "starcraft" has also traditionally been used to mean astrology.

Core beliefs

The core beliefs of astrology were prevalent in parts of the ancient world and are epitomized in the Hermetic maxim, "as above, so below". Tycho Brahe used a similar phrase to summarize his studies in astrology: suspiciendo despicio, "by looking up I see downward". Although the principle that events in the heavens are mirrored by those on Earth was once generally held in most traditions of astrology around the world, in the West there has historically been a debate among astrologers over the nature of the mechanism behind astrology.

Although the connection between celestial mechanics and terrestrial dynamics was explored first by Isaac Newton with his development of a universal theory of gravitation, claims that the gravitational effects of the celestial bodies are what accounts for astrological generalizations are not substantiated by scientific research.

Most astrological traditions are based on the relative positions and movements of various real or construed celestial bodies and on the construction of implied or calculated celestial patterns as seen at the time and place of the event being studied. These are chiefly the astrological planets, the stars, the lunar nodes, Arabic parts and hypothetical planets. The frame of reference for such apparent positions is defined by the tropical or sidereal zodiac of twelve signs on one hand, and by the local horizon (ascendant-descendant axis) and midheaven-imum coeli axis on the other. This latter (local) frame is typically further divided into the twelve astrological houses. Furthermore, the astrological aspects are used to determine the geometric/angular relationship(s) between the various celestial bodies and angles in the horoscope.

Predictive astrology, in the Western tradition, employs two main methods: astrological transits and astrological progressions. In astrological transits the ongoing movements of the planets are interpreted for their significance as they transit through space and the horoscope. In astrological progressions the horoscope is progressed forward in time according to set methods. In Vedic astrology, the focus is on planetary periods to infer the trend, while transits are used to time significant events. Most Western astrologers no longer try to forecast actual events, but focus instead on general trends and developments. By comparison, Vedic astrologers predict both trends and events. Skeptics respond that this practice of western astrologers allows them to avoid making verifiable predictions, and gives them the ability to attach significance to arbitrary and unrelated events, in a way that suits their purpose.

In the past, astrologers often relied on close observation of celestial objects and the charting of their movements. Modern astrologers use data provided by astronomers which are transformed to a set of astrological tables called ephemerides, showing the changing zodiacal positions of the heavenly bodies through time.

Traditions

There are many traditions of astrology, some of which share similar features due to the transmission of astrological doctrines between cultures. Other traditions developed in isolation and hold different doctrines, though they too share some features due to drawing on similar astronomical sources.

Current traditions

The main traditions used by modern astrologers are Hindu Astrology (Jyotiṣa), Western astrology, and Chinese astrology.

Vedic and Western astrology share a common ancestry as horoscopic systems of astrology, in that both traditions focus on the casting of an astrological chart or horoscope, a representation of celestial entities, for an event based on the position of the Sun, Moon, and planets at the moment of the event. However, Vedic astrology uses the sidereal or fixed or constellational zodiac, linking the signs of the zodiac to their original constellations, while Western astrology uses the tropical or seasonal zodiac. Because of the precession of the equinoxes whose cycle is ~25,686 years long, during which the extensions of the polar axes describe circles, the twelve zodiacal signs in Western astrology no longer correspond to the same part of the sky as their original constellations, due to centuries of change. In effect, in Western astrology the link between sign and constellation was broken in approximately 222 AD, whereas in Vedic astrology the constellations remain of paramount importance. Other differences between the two traditions include the use of 27 (or 28) nakshatras or lunar mansions, each 13⅓ degrees wide, which have been used in India since Vedic times, and the systems of planetary periods known as dashas.

In Chinese astrology, a quite different tradition has evolved. By contrast to Western and Indian astrology, the twelve signs of the zodiac do not divide the sky, but rather the celestial equator. The Chinese evolved a system in which each sign corresponds to one of twelve "double-hours" that govern the day, and to one of the twelve months. Each sign of the zodiac governs a different year, and combines with a system based on the five elements of Chinese cosmology to give a 60 (12 × 5) year cycle. The term Chinese astrology is used here for convenience, but it must be noted that versions of the same tradition exist in Korea, Japan, Vietnam, Thailand and other Asian countries. It appears that this is a remnant of a more ancient system of Jupiterian astrology, an astrological system primarily based on the motion of Jupiter, which orbits the Sun every 11.89 years.

Western astrology has been the result of the knowledge of the earlier Indian/Vedic and Egyptian schools (each developed in their own right, and neither shows traces of the later Babylonian influences) being diluted and simplified in passing first through Persia/Babylon, and then through Greece, and later Europe. In modern times, these traditions have come into closer contact with each other, notably with Indian and Chinese astrology having spread in more direct form to the West, while awareness of the modern notions of Western astrology is still fairly limited in Asia, and is not considered useful. Astrology in the Western world has diversified among some in modern times. New movements have appeared that have jettisoned much of more recent traditional astrology to concentrate on different approaches, such as a greater emphasis on midpoints, or a more psychological approach. Some recent Western developments include modern tropical and sidereal horoscopic astrology, including constellational and star or point-based astrology (including aspects to the fundamental planetary dynamics, such as perihelions and aphelions, and nodal points resulting from the inclinations of the planets' revolutionary planes to the Earth's ecliptic plane); heliocentric astrology, cosmobiology; psychological astrology; sun sign astrology; the Hamburg School of Astrology; and Uranian astrology, a subset of the Hamburg School.

Esoteric traditions

Horoscopic astrology

Horoscopic astrology is a system that some claim to have developed in the Mediterranean region and specifically Hellenistic Egypt around the late 2nd or early 1st century BC. However, horoscopic astrology has been practiced in India since ancient times, and Vedic astrology is the oldest surviving form of horoscopic astrology in the world. The tradition deals with two-dimensional diagrams of the heavens, or horoscopes, created for specific moments in time. The diagram is then used to interpret the inherent meaning underlying the alignment of celestial bodies at that moment based on a specific set of rules and guidelines. A horoscope was calculated normally for the moment of an individual's birth, or at the beginning of an enterprise or event, because the alignments of the heavens at that moment were thought to determine the nature of the subject in question. One of the defining characteristics of this form of astrology that makes it distinct from other traditions is the computation of the degree of the Eastern horizon rising against the backdrop of the ecliptic at the specific moment under examination, otherwise known as the ascendant. Horoscopic astrology is the most influential and widespread form of astrology in Africa, India, Europe and the Middle East. Medieval and most modern Western traditions of astrology have Hellenistic origins.

Horoscope

18th century Icelandic manuscript showing astrological houses and glyphs for planets and signs.

Central to horoscopic astrology and its branches is the calculation of the horoscope or astrological chart. This two-dimensional diagrammatic representation shows the celestial bodies' apparent positions in the heavens from the vantage of a location on Earth at a given time and place. The horoscope is also divided into twelve different celestial houses which govern different areas of life. Calculations performed in casting a horoscope involve arithmetic and simple geometry which serve to locate the apparent position of heavenly bodies on desired dates and times based on astronomical tables. In ancient Hellenistic astrology the ascendant demarcated the first celestial house of a horoscope. The word for the ascendant in Greek was ὡροσκόπος (hōroskopos) from which horoscope derives. In modern times, the word has come to refer to the astrological chart as a whole.

Branches

Traditions of horoscopic astrology can be divided into four branches that are each directed towards specific subjects or purposes. Often these branches use a unique set of techniques, or a different application of the core principles of the system to a different area. Many other subsets and applications of astrology are derived from these four fundamental branches.
Natal astrology is the study of a person's natal chart to gain information about the individual and their life experience. Katarchic astrology includes both electional and event astrology. The former uses astrology to determine the most auspicious moment to begin an enterprise or undertaking, and the latter to understand everything about an event from the time at which it took place. Horary astrology is used to answer a specific question by studying the chart of the moment the question is posed to an astrologer. Mundane or world astrology is the application of astrology to world events, including weather, earthquakes, and the rise and fall of empires or religions. This includes the Astrological Ages, such as the Age of Aquarius, Age of Pisces, and so on. Each age is about 2,150 years in length, and many people use these massive ages to characterize and describe major historical ages, as well as current developments in the world.

History

15th century image from the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry showing projected correlations between areas of the body and the zodiacal signs.

Many believe that the origins of much of the astrological doctrine and method that would later develop in Asia, Europe, and the Middle East are found among the ancient Babylonians and their system of celestial omens that began to be compiled around the middle of the 2nd millennium BC. They believe this system of celestial omens later spread, either directly or indirectly through the Babylonians and Assyrians, to other areas such as the Middle East, and Greece, where it merged with pre-existing indigenous forms of astrology. Thus, Babylonian astrology migrated to Greece, initially as early as the middle of the 4th century BC, and then around the late 2nd or early 1st century BC, after the Alexandrian conquests, this Babylonian astrology was mixed with the Egyptian tradition of decanic astrology to create horoscopic astrology. This new form of astrology, which appears to have originated in Alexandrian Egypt, spread across the ancient world into Europe, the Middle East, and India with varying degrees of influence.

Before the modern era

Hand-colored version of the anonymous Flammarion woodcut (1888).

The differentiation between astronomy and astrology varied from place to place; they were strongly linked in ancient India, ancient Babylonia and medieval Europe, but separated to an extent in the Hellenistic world. The first semantic distinction between astrology and astronomy was probably given by Isidore of Seville (see astrology and astronomy).
The pattern of astronomical knowledge gained from astrological endeavors has been historically repeated across numerous cultures, from ancient India through the classical Maya civilization to medieval Europe. Given this historical contribution, astrology has been called a protoscience along with disciplines such as alchemy.
Astrology was not without criticism before the modern era; it was often challenged by Hellenistic skeptics, church authorities, and medieval Muslim astronomers, such as Al-Farabi (Alpharabius), Ibn al-Haytham (Alhazen), Abū Rayhān al-Bīrūnī, Avicenna and Averroes. Their reasons for refuting astrology were often due to both scientific (the methods used by astrologers being conjectural rather than empirical) and religious (conflicts with orthodox Islamic scholars) reasons. Ibn Qayyim Al-Jawziyya (1292–1350), in his Miftah Dar al-SaCadah, used empirical arguments in astronomy in order to refute astrology and divination.
Many prominent thinkers, philosophers and scientists, such as Galen, Paracelsus, Girolamo Cardan, Nicolaus Copernicus, Taqi al-Din, Tycho Brahe, Galileo Galilei, Johannes Kepler, Carl Jung and others, practiced or significantly contributed to astrology.

Contemporary changes

Several innovations have occurred in contemporary astrological practice.

Western

During the middle of the 20th century, Alfred Witte and, following him, Reinhold Ebertin pioneered the use of midpoints (see Midpoint (astrology)) in horoscopic analysis. From the 1930s to the 1980s, astrologers including Dane Rudhyar, Liz Greene and Stephen Arroyo pioneered the use of astrology for psychological analysis, with some following the lead of psychologists like Carl Jung. In the 1930s, Don Neroman developed and popularized in Europe a form of Locational Astrology under the name of "Astrogeography". In the 1970s, American astrologer Jim Lewis developed and popularized a different approach under the name of Astrocartography. Both methods purport to identify varying life conditions through differences in location.

Vedic (Hindu astrology)

Indian astrology uses a different zodiac than Western astrology and is a branch of Vedic science. In India, there is a long-established widespread belief in astrology, and it is commonly used for daily life, foremost with regard to marriages, and secondarily with regard to career and electional and karmic astrology. In the 1960s, H.R. Seshadri Iyer, introduced a system including the concepts of yogi and avayogi. It generated interest with research oriented astrologers in the West. From the early 1990s, Indian vedic astrologer and author, V.K. Choudhry has created and developed the Systems' Approach for Interpreting Horoscopes, a simplified system of Jyotish (predictive astrology) The system, also known as "SA", helps those who are trying to learn Jyotisha. The late K.S. Krishnamurti developed the Krishnamurti Paddhati system based on the analysis of the stars (nakshatras), by sub-dividing the stars in the ratio of the dasha of the concerned planets. The system is also known as "KP" and "sub theory". In 2001, Indian scientists and politicians debated and critiqued a proposal to use state money to fund research into Vedic astrology.

Effects on world culture

Belief in astrology holds firm today in many parts of the world: in one poll, 31% of Americans expressed a belief in astrology and, according to another study, 39% considered it scientific.
Astrology has had an influence on both language and literature. For example, influenza, from medieval Latin influentia meaning influence, was so named because doctors once believed epidemics to be caused by unfavorable planetary and stellar influences. The word "disaster" comes from the Italian disastro, derived from the negative prefix dis- and from Latin aster "star", thus meaning "ill-starred". Adjectives "lunatic" (Luna/Moon), "mercurial" (Mercury), "venereal" (Venus), "martial" (Mars), "jovial" (Jupiter/Jove), and "saturnine" (Saturn) are all old words used to describe personal qualities said to resemble or be highly influenced by the astrological characteristics of the planet, some of which are derived from the attributes of the ancient Roman gods they are named after. In literature, many writers, notably Geoffrey Chaucer and William Shakespeare, used astrological symbolism to add subtlety and nuance to the description of their characters' motivation(s). More recently, Michael Ward has proposed that C.S. Lewis imbued his Chronicles of Narnia with the characteristics and symbols of the seven heavens. Often, an understanding of astrological symbolism is needed to fully appreciate such literature.

Astrology and science

Pseudoscientific concepts

Claims
Measurable correlations can be reliably found between the position of the planets and personality and human events.
Related scientific disciplines
Astronomy, Psychology
Year proposed
antiquity
Original proponents
ancient priests and astrologers
Subsequent proponents
Philip Berg, Michel Gauquelin, Linda Goodman, Liz Greene, Alan Leo, Sydney Omarr, Joan Quigley, Jackie Stallone, Athena Starwoman, Shelley von Strunckel, Richard Tarnas

In the Islamic world astrology was rejected during the turn of the 2nd millennium AD owing to the development of the scientific method and the work of al-Farabi, Alhacen, al-Biruni, Avicenna and Averroes, who made a semantic distinction between astronomy and astrology and helped to render astrology obsolete for Muslims. Muslim views on astrology have generally remained negative.
By the time of Francis Bacon and the scientific revolution, newly emerging scientific disciplines acquired a method of systematic empirical induction based upon experimental observations. At this point, astrology and astronomy began to diverge; astronomy became regarded as one of the empirical sciences, while astrology came to be understood as a part of scholastic metaphysics, and was increasingly viewed as an occult science or superstition by natural scientists. For example, Christiaan Huygens wrote in his Cosmotheoros: "And as for the Judicial Astrology, that pretends to foretel what is to come, it is such a ridiculous, and oftentimes mischievous Folly, that I do not think it fit to be so much as named." This separation accelerated through the 18th and 19th centuries.
Contemporary scientists, such as Richard Dawkins and Stephen Hawking, regard astrology as unscientific, and those such as Andrew Fraknoi of the Astronomical Society of the Pacific have labeled it a pseudoscience. In 1975, the American Humanist Association characterized those who have faith in astrology as doing so "in spite of the fact that there is no verified scientific basis for their beliefs, and indeed that there is strong evidence to the contrary".Astronomer Carl Sagan was unwilling to sign the statement, not because he felt astrology was valid, but because he found the statement's tone authoritarian. Sagan stated that he would instead have been willing to sign a statement describing and refuting the principal tenets of astrological belief, which he believed would have been more persuasive and would have produced less controversy than the circulated statement.
Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson asserted that "astrology was discredited 600 years ago with the birth of modern science. 'To teach it as though you are contributing to the fundamental knowledge of an informed electorate is astonishing in this, the 21st century'. Education should be about knowing how to think, 'And part of knowing how to think is knowing how the laws of nature shape the world around us. Without that knowledge, without that capacity to think, you can easily become a victim of people who seek to take advantage of you'".
Although astrology has not been considered a science for some time, it has been the subject of considerable research by astrologers since the beginning of the 20th century. In their study of 20th-century research into natal astrology, Geoffrey Dean, a former astrologer who became critical of the field, and coauthors documented this burgeoning research activity performed primarily within the astrological community.^[57]

Research

The Mars effect: relative frequency of the diurnal position of Mars in the birth chart of "eminent athletes"^{[clarification needed]} (after Michel Gauquelin 1991

Studies have repeatedly failed to demonstrate statistically significant relationships between astrological predictions and operationally defined outcomes. Effect size tests of astrology-based hypotheses conclude that the mean accuracy of astrological predictions is no greater than what is expected by chance. For example, when testing for cognitive, behavioral, physical and other variables, one study of 2000 astrological "time twins" born within minutes of each other did not show a celestial influence on human characteristics. It has been suggested that other statistical research is often wrongly seen as evidence for astrology due to uncontrolled artifacts.
Experimental psychologists have suggested that several different psychological phenomena can contribute to perception of astrological accuracy. One, related to confirmation bias, is that people who are given a set of multiple predictions tend to remember more of the accurate predictions ("hits") than the inaccurate ones ("misses"). Consequently, people tend to recall the set of predictions as being more accurate than it actually was. When astrological predictions turn out to correspond with some phenomena but not with others, the recollected integrity of these predictions may stem in part from this phenomenon. A second, called the Forer effect, is that individuals tend to give high accuracy ratings to descriptions of their personality that are presented to them as tailored specifically for them, but which are in fact vague and general enough to apply to a wide range of people. When predictions use vague language, the appearance that they are specific to the individual may be partially attributable to the Forer effect.
The French psychologist and statistician who devoted his life to the attempt to demonstrate the validity of certain fundamentals of astrology, Michel Gauquelin, wrote that he had found correlations between some planetary positions and certain human traits such as vocations. Gauquelin's most widely known concept is the Mars effect, which denotes a correlation between the planet Mars occupying certain positions in the sky more often at the birth of eminent sports champions than at the birth of ordinary people. A similar idea is explored by Richard Tarnas in his work Cosmos and Psyche, in which he examines correspondences between planetary alignments and historically significant events and individuals. Since its original publication in 1955, the Mars effect has been the subject of critical studies and skeptical publications which aim to refute it, and of studies in fringe journals used to support or expand the original ideas. Gauquelin's research has not received mainstream scientific notice.

Obstacles to research

The Ptolemaic system depicted by Andreas Cellarius, 1660/61

Astrologers have argued that there are significant obstacles in carrying out scientific research into astrology today, including lack of funding, lack of background in science and statistics by astrologers, and insufficient expertise in astrology by research scientists and skeptics. Some astrologers have argued that few practitioners today pursue scientific testing of astrology because they feel that working with clients on a daily basis provides personal validation for their clients.
Another argument made by astrologers is that most studies of astrology do not reflect the nature of astrological practice and that the scientific method does not apply to astrology. Some astrology proponents argue that the prevailing attitudes and motives of many opponents of astrology introduce conscious or unconscious bias in the formulation of hypotheses to be tested, the conduct of the tests, and the reporting of results.

Mechanism

Early geometry was connected to the divine for most medieval scholars. The compass in this 13th century manuscript is a symbol of God's act of creation via the divine or perfect circle.

Astrologers have not presented consistent explanations of physical mechanisms underlying astrological beliefs, and few modern astrologers believe in a direct causal relationship between heavenly bodies and earthly events. An editorial published by the Astronomical Society of the Pacific reports no evidence for a scientifically defined mechanism by which celestial objects can influence terrestrial affairs. Researchers have posited acausal, purely correlative, relationships between astrological observations and events, such as the theory of synchronicity proposed by Carl Jung. Others have posited a basis in divination. Others have argued that empirical correlations stand on their own epistemologically, and do not need the support of any theory or mechanism. To some observers, and most astrologers, these non-mechanistic concepts raise serious questions about the feasibility of validating astrology through scientific testing, and some have gone so far as to reject the applicability of the scientific method to astrology entirely. Some astrologers, a minority, on the other hand, believe that astrology is amenable to the scientific method, given sufficiently sophisticated analytical methods, and they cite pilot studies to support this view. Consequently, several astrologers have called for or advocated continuing studies of astrology based on statistical validation.

Hypotheticals

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 13:45:00 +0000

"Picture this: an astronaut arrives on another world, searching for mineral resources. There's an unanticipated snag. Specifically, the exhaust from his stabilizers destroys the crops of a local farm lord. The astronaut did not anticipate encountering inhabitants, and is improperly trained for the encounter. Words are exchanged (through translation devices, of course), tempers flare, and the earth astronaut utters what is construed as a challenge. The farm lord has him placed at the base of a volcano, knowing that molten rock will pour over him. The air is thick with sulphur and radiation levels are beyond human tolerance. What does he do?"

Edward shifts slightly in his chair. "The whole thing seems a bit farfetched, don't you think? After all, it was an accident. Hey, is that it? The correct answer? The whole scenario is invalid because it's based on a false premise?"

"No. Though that's a highly original argument. But remember, you're dealing with aliens here. Their ideas on culpability, even punishment, have their own unique cultural foundations." I wait as he considers this grudgingly.

"Why doesn't he just walk away?"

"He's spread-eagle, the back of his gloves are affixed to the ground."

"With what?"

"Doesn't matter. But if he pulls free, the gloves will tear and the sulphur and radiation will flood his environment suit."

Edward thinks for a moment, then says, "He pulls free."

"No can do, I said--"

"He's secured by the gloves, right? Well, standard issue environment suits have an inner glove. Even if the outside one is torn, the body of the suit won't be compromised."

"That'll keep the sulphur out, true, but not the radiation. He'd lose his hands."

"But he'd live. He could make it back to his ship and get away."

I consider this for a moment, then make a note. "Fair enough."

"Where's his co-pilot in all this? Wouldn't it be more authentic to have them together?"

"The co-pilot's a non issue. He doesn't know where she is. O.K. Next question: an astronaut, blah, blah, blah. You know the scenario. The alien drops him into a forest with a methane atmosphere, crystal growths and sponges. Lots of sponges."

"Some forest."

"Well it is an alien world, Edward. In this forest are flying creatures who thrive on nitrogen. They store it in big sacks on their backs to see them through the methane."

"Like dolphins swim around underwater with a lung full of air?"

"Sure, whatever. They sense the oxygen nitrogen in his suit and can tear through his suit and extract his air, leaving him choking on methane."

"But if they need nitrogen...?"

"The oxygen's a harmless element to them--it won't hurt them."

"Can he out-run them?"

"That's what makes it so horrible. He can keep ahead of them for hours. But they don't tire. He does."

"Turnabout," he says suddenly. "If they store his air in sacks on their backs, he could tear into one and breathe it."

"It's three Earth-days out of the methane forest. He's going to do that the whole way?" I'm doubtful, but I get ready to mark it down. "Well, if that's your answer--"

Edward shouts, "Wait!" Then he grins sheepishly at his outburst. "Uh, just a minute, O.K.?"

I wait.

"They, uh, they want the nitrogen in his air--so they tear his suit. If his suit is violated, he dies," he mutters. "So how to keep them from tearing it in the first place...?" His voice trails off. Then he grins. "He voids his air."

"But--"

"The suit has a secondary tank... of oxygen helium. Intended for heavy atmospheres. He can breathe that until he gets out of the forest."

"Very good," I say, marking it down. "I wouldn't have thought of that in a million years."

He wipes a hand across his upper lip. A trickle of sweat starts down the side of his face.

"Are you feeling O.K., Edward? Is it too hot in here? I can--"

"I'm fine," he says quickly. "Let's... just keep going. How many more?"

"Just a few. You're doing very well," I tell him encouragingly. "How about this: our astronaut is put in a boiling spring, but the air is breathable."

"He's in the water with his suit?"

"Yes."

"The thermal compensators will keep him cool and--"

"Slow down, I'm not finished."

Edward grins apologetically.

"His head's above the water, but so are a flock of vicious bird things who want nothing better than to eat his brain."

"Can they survive the boiling water?"

"No."

"Can they punch through his helmet?"

"They can punch through just about anything. But they don't ha-"

"Fine," he interrupts eagerly. "He ducks beneath the boiling water since his suit will protect him. He just waits 'em out until they decide to seek easier prey." He folds his arms across his chest, cockily.

"You didn't let me finish. Who said he had his helmet? The aliens took it away."

His face freezes in that smirking expression. He stares at me for a moment. Then slowly, his lip starts trembling. "No," he whispers.

"I take it I should mark this down as an 'unable to solve'?" I give him a moment to try again.

But he's just screaming, straining against the straps that keeps him in his chair. "Please! Oh, God!"

Sighing, I mark it down, then rise. "Good day, Edward." The door dilates and I leave, not even listening as it cuts off his shrieks of protest. I go next door and I slither across the threshold.

The young woman jerks her head up, eyes wide with horror.

I try to put her at ease, saying jovially, "I know I look pretty repulsive, but you aren't much better from my point of view." She doesn't respond, so I just get on with it. "You and your pilot are responsible for the destruction of the crops of one of our local farm lords. In the course of the ensuing arguments, your pilot--and, by association, you--challenged the farm lord. Challenges are taken very seriously here, with forms that date back millennia. As the challenged party, the farm lord had the right to select the method of the duel. To whit: you will be presented with a series of hypothetical situations concocted by the farm lord. If you can propose a way to get out of all of them, you will be declared the victor. If, however, you should fail to come up with a reasonable solution to any one of the scenarios, then that's the scenario you will have to face.

"For real...."

Supply and Demand

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 13:45:00 +0000

The man who walked into my office was old-school through and through. A squad of little old ladies on Harris had toiled for years to make his suit, his school tie was knotted just right, and his brogues squeaked as he walked across the room. He looked to be in his seventies, but held his back ramrod straight. He strode into the room as if he owned it and thrust a hand at me that I couldn't refuse to shake.

"Thanks for seeing me, Doctor," he said.

In truth, I didn't have any option. All psych-cases from the ER were referred straight to me, and the call had come in about the strange little man in reception less than five minutes before.

I didn't quite know what to make of him yet. All I knew was that he had thrown a screaming fit when an orderly approached him.

He sat down across the desk from me and smiled.

"I'm not mad, you know?"

"Prove it," I said, smiling back.

He crossed his legs, making sure that the seams on his trouser legs were straight and that no ankle was showing above his socks before he was happy to relax.

"Do you believe in God, Doctor?"

"Yes," I said.

"Good. That will make this easier. I started to notice nearly thirty years ago," he said.

"Notice what?"

"Just give me a chance and I'll tell you. But first… another question if I may? Do you think you have a soul?"

"Yes," I replied again. "I'm not overly religious, but I do believe there's something that survives us… call it a soul if you must."

"An interesting position for a scientific man to take, is it not?"

"More common than you might think," I replied. "But we're not here to talk about me. Do you have a point?"

"Yes… and as I said, I'm getting to it."

He fiddled with his cuffs, making sure that just the right amount of shirt showed.

"One of the perils of getting old," he said. "The world changes so much around you. And back then, when I started to see them, it was still the Seventies, and the world had changed so much already that I thought they were just another manifestation."

"They?"

He waved a hand at me.

"Yes… I'm sure you hear about Them all the time from patients. But I'm not ready for the tin foil hat yet. No… what I was seeing was children. Little children. Children with blank stares. Children with no joy in their hearts… children without souls. And they were everywhere.

He stopped, sudden tears running down his cheeks.

"It's not uncommon," I said softly. "As we get older. We get disassociated from the consensus reality and…"

Again he waved me away.

"I'm old, not stupid," he replied. "For thirty years I've watched them. And now they are in positions of power… policemen, doctors, lawyers… and soon they'll be politicians. And where will we be then?"

"I don't quite understand what you're trying to tell me."

"The soulless. They're walking the earth in the millions. And their numbers are growing."

His tears coursed freely now, and he started to get agitated. My hand crept closer to my panic button, but I didn't hit it.

"As far as I can work it out, there are two reasons," he finally continued. One of them gives me slight hope for my own future, but neither is good news. Either God has given up on us completely, in which case it's all over bar the shouting…."

"Or?" I asked when he didn't show any sign of continuing.

"Or there's only a finite number of souls available at any one time… and we're growing too fast for God to keep up."

"Don't you think that God, being God, would have factored that in?"

"Maybe he did," the old man said. "Maybe he never meant us to get so ahead of ourselves. And… here's what really worries me, Doctor. Maybe what I'm seeing is his way of telling us our time is up?"

He started to look around him, as if afraid he was being watched.

I tried to keep my voice low and calm.

"And why do you think only you are seeing… whatever it is you are seeing?"

He was quiet for a long time before answering.

"I think everybody sees. It's just that they choose not to notice. Violence escalates, people get killed for little more than the loose change in their pockets. We let babies become heroin addicts before they are even born. The world is going to hell in a hand-basket."

His voice rose into a shout.

"Our moral compass is broken. And we know it. We just choose to look the other way, while the numbers of the soulless grow and we sink, ever closer to the end. And there's nothing I can do about it!"

When the orderly came in, the old man took one look at him and screamed even louder.

"Look! He's one of them."

Eventually it took three orderlies and a dose of Thorazine to quiet the old man. He had one last look at me as he was carried out.

"Just look," he whispered. "Please?"

I watched the orderlies carry him off down the corridor, then went to the one place I knew I could trust to lift my spirits after such an encounter.

The maternity ward was, as usual, full of hustle and bustle. Along the far wall a row of fathers looked in to the recovery area where row after row of newborn babies lay. Just looking at them always calmed me, reassured me that, despite all the sad despair I saw every day, there was some hope in new life.

But today was different.

The babes lay, still, quiet.

Their dark, cold stares followed me as I walked quickly away.

Cruel Mountain

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Tue, 16 Nov 2010 05:27:00 +0000

"Just how old are you, Mrs. O'Malley?"

May gave Jason a hard look because it was the only kind she had. He was a good kid for all that he dyed his hair blonde and punched metal through his skin. Most kids that made it out to college didn't come back for summer break, let alone winter break. They didn't come back at all. May strongly suspected that Jason loved the mountain and was planning on wasting his life being the town doctor. That meant that he needed a lot of straightening out.

"First, it's Ms. O'Malley," she said, cold as the freezing winds that pummeled the sides of the restaurant with snow. "I never married. Second, it's not Ms. O'Malley, it's May. If you haven't taken a name at my age, you keep the one that got given you. And third, it's none of your damn business."

Jason bent before the tirade like a sapling in a storm and came out standing. "Sorry, May," he said, "But the restaurant's called O'Malley's and--"

"It was my father's restaurant so it has my father's name."

Jason looked around at the empty restaurant and made the mistake of trying to fill it with conversation. "So why didn't you ever get married?"

The wind howled outside, tearing at the snow and the trees and the shingles as if it wanted to tear the little town off the side of the mountain. Other, luckier old mining towns managed to turn themselves into ski resorts, but the wicked conditions here had earned the peak and its only town the name Cruel Mountain. All of this considered, it suddenly seemed warmer outside O'Malley's.

"Is this what they teach you in college?" asked May, "To ask stupid questions? I fell in love, that's why I didn't marry."

"I don't get it," said Jason, "Why didn't you just marry him?"

"Couldn't love me back," said May, looking to the snow-blasted window.

Jason followed her eyes to the storm outside and nearly asked another question, but the door suddenly opened and a man tumbled through. Jason ran to his side as he lay in the open doorway. It was all Jason could do to haul the body indoors and roll it onto its back so he could check the vitals.

The man opened ice blue eyes to stare at his young rescuer. He was old, his skin dark brown from exposure and as craggy as the landscape outside. What hair he had was wild, wispy, and white and the tatters he wore bore every shade of brown that had ever been used as a dye. He licked his cracked lips and struggled to his feet.

May watched all of this apparently without interest. "What'll it be, stranger?" she asked, "If you don't mind waiting we can fire up the grill, but if you're in a hurry we've got a pretty good corned beef soup."

The stranger stumbled to a seat at the bar and struggled against his parched throat to say the word "Soup." Jason bolted to the back counter, tore open the tureen and filled a bowl with steaming broth.

"Don't be stingy with the meat now," said May, appearing at his ear, "We offered him corned beef soup and it wouldn't be polite not to put any beef in it."

"May, that man's clearly hypothermic, he's badly dehydrated, and I'm betting he's badly malnourished," hissed Jason, "If we try to feed him anything solid, he'll just throw it up. If we get some warm broth in him--"

"You know what they say about the customer always being right?" asked May, her voice dead as stone, "They're wrong. The boss is always right. Now give him a real bowl of soup."

The student obeyed, and soon the old man was carefully slurping small spoonfuls of the O'Malley family recipe. Outside, the wind gradually subsided and the snow cleared, leaving the world solid white. The effect that the soup had on the stranger was marginal at best; when he had finished, he still looked as ancient, tired, and cold as the mountain itself. He carefully reached for his pocket, and Jason scrambled for his own.

May shoved him toward the kitchen, harder than he would have thought possible. "Can I have a word with you, kid?"

When they were safely in the back, the young man spun around to face the old woman. His face met the back of her hand coming the other way. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, rubbing some life back into her fingers.

"He was going to try to pay for the soup," said Jason, surprised to find himself blinking back tears. The old woman's hand was so thin that he could see every vein, bone and tendon through the age-freckled skin, but her slap had nearly spun him back around. "I figured I'd cover it for him."

"'Cause he's got nothing, right?" said May, her voice as dark and dangerous as the depths of the mines in the mountain, "That's why he's got a right to keep what's his."

"Exactly," said Jason.

"So why do you want to take his dignity when it's about all he's got left?" said May, "He wants to pay, he pays. I don't care if he puts down a quarter or an old photo or a rock or a lump of pocket lint."

Jason looked at her in shock, and she gave him a fractional smile. He'd known May his entire life and it was the first sign of happiness he'd ever seen on her face. "I know you, Kid. You grew up in this broken valley and you think that if someone just puts in a little effort they could fix it. Maybe they could fix the whole damn world. I don't know, maybe they could do it, but first they'd have to learn that the rules are different for everybody in the game. You've got to learn each person's rules if you want to play with them, let alone help them."

With that she turned around and walked back to the front. Jason stared after her in shock and awe, then checked to see that his nose ring wasn't bleeding. A sudden rumble behind the building sent him running to the counter. Out the front window, dazzling sunlight shone off the snow; the storm had gone as suddenly as it had appeared. May had come out to stand by the door, where their old visitor was trying to leave.

"There'll be an avalanche along, shortly enough," she was saying, "I ain't going to try to keep you here, but I'd rather you weren't under it."

The old man turned and looked at her. A hesitant hand reached up and touched her cheek, making her shudder. "Under the snow," said the man, his voice broken and strange, "This is where I belong."

Outside, the snow crinkled in fresh sunlight, subtly melting and compressing, then refreezing into something hard and fragile. Each snowflake was completely unique, or so it was said, different from every other flake ever made. Trillions of them littered the mountainside, each a fraction of an ounce, but piling up into an unstoppable mass that needed no prompting to come tumbling down the mountain.

The old man stepped out onto and through the latest smattering of it, his feet crunching down into the white blanket. Far away, but drawing closer, the snow rumbled downward, ready to cleanse everything in its path. He smiled and scratched one shoulder as the white tsunami came into view.

Jason tried to charge out after him, but he ran into the iron bar of May's arm in the doorway. "It's not what you think," she said, "He wanted out of the cold for awhile, but now she's come looking for him he has to go back."

"Who's come looking for him?" asked the boy, struggling against her arm.

The old man stretched his arms back and embraced the oncoming cascade. Snow blasted over and around his frail form, but he somehow remained upright, a look of total ecstasy on his face.

"The snow," May said, smiling sadly, "They're sort of married, the mountain and the snow. They're never apart, anyway."

The avalanche changed direction, pulling back up the slope. Somewhere along the way, the man disappeared into it.

"I always thought of the mountain as a woman," said Jason.

"You would," said May, "You're in love with it, too."

Jason nodded, then looked at her sidelong. "What did he pay his bill with?" he asked.

May closed the door and walked back to the counter. Over her shoulder, she said, "You still ask too many questions."

Outside the Box

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 10:39:00 +0000

I work for God, but the cheap bastard won't even spring for a subway pass.

You're right--I should have just dodged the fare. Unlike everything else in Los Angeles, the subway still operates on the honor system. I could have breezed down to the platform and been on my way, no problem.

But I decided I could do without the bad karma, and, anyway, my mind was still on the screaming match I'd just had with Shannon. So I lingered behind some tourists from Eau Claire who couldn't master the ticket vending machines, and I missed the first train.

The next was late, of course, which ate up my cushion. I spent the twenty-minute ride south fidgeting and pacing, and that made my fellow passengers nervous.

Well, that and the box. The box always makes people nervous.

A sputtering escalator finally coughed me up on the Walk of Fame.

High overhead, thick smog commingled with harsh California sunlight, staining the horizon the dull brown of a broken heart. In the hundred-degree heat, sightseers abandoned their searches for the pink terrazzo stars of cinema giants like Lassie and Erik Estrada and fled gasping into the climate-controlled comfort of the Hollywood & Highland shopping complex.

I checked my watch. Less than a minute to spare.

The blonde in the crème pantsuit was nearly to the curb before I caught up to her. I reached into the box and offered what I found there.

"Take this," I said. With no time to size her up, I opted for earnest, but non-threatening. It didn't help I had to shout to make myself heard over traffic. "It'll change your life!"

She sniffed at me. In fairness, her reluctance to accept the battered pedometer was understandable. The small gadget was cracked and scratched and scarred. Whatever logo it had once borne had long since rubbed away, the battery cover was missing, and the "mode" button appeared permanently stuck. All in all, not one of the finer things I'd ever drawn from the box.

She tried to sidestep me, but when you've done this a while, you develop a feel for that kind of thing. I put myself right in her path, slowing us both down and costing her the crosswalk light.

"You bastard," she said in a voice as crisp as her suit. She had more to say--mostly about my dubious ancestry (fair enough) and my wholly inadequate anatomy (strictly her opinion). I let her get it out of her system. It was a long light, after all.

When she paused for breath, I was ready with the closer. "Lady, if you just take this damn thing, you'll never see me again."

Sold. She swept the pedometer from my hand as the light changed. I could tell she was thinking about ditching it in the trashcan across the street. She wouldn't, though. They never do.

"My work here is done," I announced to no one in particular. A busker dressed as Batman applauded.

I took a bow and went home.

When I got there, I discovered Shannon had moved out.

You're probably wondering about the box.

Don't.

That way lies madness.

Here there be dragons.

Danger, danger, Will Robinson.

Fine, don't say I didn't warn you.

At first glance, you might think it fell off the back of a UPS truck. Its fiberboard skin is the color of dead leaves, and it does have a barcode (though it won't register on any scanner). It's a bit bulky, but doesn't weigh very much.

There's no lid to open. When you want something from inside, you work your hand gently down between the top flaps (and pray).

You can't x-ray it. It rattles when it shouldn't. On a good day, it smells like fresh asphalt. On a bad day, it just smells like ass.

Like everything in life, the box comes with rules.

First Rule: Never look inside the box.

Second Rule: Never put anything into the box other than your hand (and even that's risky sometimes).

Third Rule: Never take out more than one object at a time.

Fourth Rule: Always take out the first item--and only the first item--you lay your hand on.

Fifth Rule: Never let the box out of your sight. Seriously. It gets cranky.

You're probably wondering about me.

That's safe enough.

My name's Charlie Zimmerman. I'm 23 years old, an Aquarius, originally from Portland (the one in Maine). I'm tall and thin and usually in need of a haircut. My favorite movie is Casablanca.

In fact, once upon a time, I wanted to make movies--I was four credit hours shy of a degree in film when this all started. I don't think much about that anymore. "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." John Lennon said that. Smart guy.

I've had the box for a little over a year. It's cost me my cat, my career, and my girlfriend.

Sometimes I think the jury's still out on my soul.

Some things I've pulled from the box: tweezers, a rose, thread, matches, duct tape, a bottle of aspirin, assorted keys, paperclips, foreign coins, batteries, and a flyswatter.

"You don't choose the box. The box chooses your sorry ass. And then, mon frere, you are well and truly fucked."

Words of wisdom courtesy of Lester Maddox, the guy who had the box before me. I'm pretty sure he was stoned when he said that. Lester was stoned a lot; he said it helped.

I'm coming around to his way of thinking.

Anyway, here's how it works:

The box is yours. No one else can use it. No one else should even try.

Every morning at a quarter past eleven, someone will step on a certain spot at the corner of Hollywood and Highland. You're there waiting and watching for this. You step up to these people, reach into the box, give 'em whatever you find. Simple as that.

Except, of course, when it's not.

See, there are rules for this, too. They have to freely accept what you're offering. You can't lie about the object or why you're giving it to them. You can't sneak it into their pockets or their bags when they're not looking. You can't threaten to beat the crap out of them if they won't take it.

Now, people always need the things you offer them, even though they don't know it. I told the blonde that taking the broken pedometer would change her life, and I meant that. It's that way for everybody. I'm talking marriages mended, true loves united, terrible fates avoided--all that and more.

So that's the job. Pull something out of the box, give it to someone who needs it. Rinse and repeat. If you're lucky, someday someone will cross that street corner, you'll reach into the box, and it will be empty. Then it's time to pass it on.

At least that's what Lester told me, and I live in hope.

That whole God thing? I'm just guessing about that.

Lester had no idea where the box came from. Neither did the guy who gave it to him (and, for various reasons, that's as far back as we could track it).

In the past, I've considered aliens, time travelers and the Illuminati as possible explanations, but for right now I'm coming down in favor of the Almighty.

If nothing else, "I work for God" gets people's attention.

Plus, it always made Shannon laugh.

You're probably wondering about Shannon.

Well, no, in fairness, you're probably not. I've only mentioned her briefly to this point, so why should you care, really? But I feel like talking about her.

Shannon's actually her middle name. It took ages before she was ready to entrust me with the dark secret of her first name--Melinda. Oh, she loathes Melinda (and holds Mel, Lynn, and Linda in equal disdain).

So, to anyone but the IRS, the DMV or her family, she's Shannon.

She's two years older and three inches shorter than me. When she grows up, she always says, she wants to be a kid. She tolerates Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, loves Mexican food, and hates saying goodbye. She has eyes the color of the ocean and hair the shade of sunshine, and she'd laugh to hear them described that way.

She used to laugh a lot.

When we first met.

Before the box.

In fact, the nicest thing she ever said to me was, "I wish I could've met you sooner."

I could go on forever listing random details about Shannon, and it still wouldn't give you a clue about her, would it? You can't see the way she holds her head when she's interested in what you have to say. You can't hear her laugh. You can't feel the touch of her fingers as they trail through your hair.

That's okay. I can't, either. Not anymore.

The box has no rules concerning people. As long as they don't interfere with the work, you can handle them however you like.

So I told Shannon the truth. That was bad.

What was worse was that she believed me.

In the end, she didn't leave because she thought I was crazy. She left because she realized she came second to the box.

That's enough about Shannon for now.

I missed my mother's funeral because of the box.

See, it's like this: Every morning at a quarter past eleven, someone will step on that spot at the corner of Hollywood and Highland and need something. Every morning. Seven days a week, without fail, guaranteed. With the box, you don't get vacation or sick days, and there's no time off for good behavior.

At first, you try to fight this, juggle new responsibilities with old ones, make it all fit. In short, you work like hell to hang on to your life.

Good luck with that.

Welcome to your new obsession.

Plot, plan, anticipate. Check your watch a lot. Learn the corner and the surrounding area. Map routes you might need. Polish your spiel. Whatever you do, get the objects to the people who need them. Focus on that and at least you'll have done one thing right.

But nothing you do will change what else is coming.

Before the box, you had a life, complete with family, friends and/or coworkers. They won't all be blind, stupid or terminally self-absorbed. Which is unfortunate for you, since you now have a permanent appointment at a quarter past eleven. One that will get in the way of, well, everything.

Take it from me--people will notice, people will talk, people will grow wary. Frankly, they'll think you're going quietly nuts.

You'll run out of excuses. They'll stop giving you chances. Game over.

Sorry, mom. I sent flowers. If it's any consolation, Jane and dad still hate me.

So you're asking: Who the hell would be stupid enough to give your life over to a box?

Well, you would--or the box wouldn't have chosen you.

Hey, as far as I know, there's no divine retribution for not being on that corner every morning. God won't phone up sounding like Morgan Freeman to chastise you. Your identity won't vanish in a digital puff of ones and zeroes, your cable service will continue to deliver five hundred channels you never watch.

Go for it, if you want. Blow off the box.

All you have to do is live with it afterwards.

True confession time. Early on, I deliberately missed two "appointments." Just stepped back and let them go on their way. What can I say? I was young, I was stupid, I was unconvinced. Blah, blah, blah.

Of the two people I could've helped, I've got no idea what happened to the first. But the second made the news; trust me, you've heard about it. Public outrage, marches, demonstrations. A huge memorial service for the victims.

I never missed another drop-off.

You're probably wondering about the cat.

Fifth Rule: Never let the box out of your sight. Seriously. It gets cranky.

Second Rule: Never put anything into the box other than your hand (and even that's risky on occasion).

So, yeah, curiosity did, in fact, kill the cat.

Weeks after she left, the apartment still smelled like Shannon.

I didn't try to change that; in fact, I wallowed in it.

I spent afternoons shuffling from the small bedroom to the cramped living room and back again, just sitting in different spots, trying to picture things as they'd been. Remembering her. When I wanted to punish myself, I read the words she'd left behind:

I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. Goodbye.

Sounds like a suicide note, doesn't it? Maybe it was, in a way. The relationship had been poisoning itself for a while, I guess.

You can make a lot out of eight words if you really put your mind to it--take them at face value, probe them for deeper meanings, theorize about what's left unsaid. I did all that. I tried to imagine Shannon reading the note aloud. What tone would she use? Would there be tears? A tremor in her voice? Or would a sense of relief shine through?

That's likely all crap, of course, but it passes the day.

I had plenty of time for that kind of analysis, too. My latest job, more retail hell, had ended abruptly when I'd refused to take on some morning shifts. I managed to make my appointments with the box, but accomplished little else. Not good. Shannon had made most of the money in the relationship. There'd be hell (read: rent) to pay soon, and I had no idea how I was going to handle that.

I didn't much care, either.

Ironic, really, since Lester had been living in a pile of cardboard behind the Ripley's museum on Hollywood Boulevard when I'd first met him. Later on, he'd told me that the guy who'd passed the box to him had been homeless, too.

I still remember rattling off a bunch of reasons why that wouldn't ever happen to me.

Lester had listened politely and then said, "Uh-huh. That's pretty much what I told my guy, too."

Not long ago, I gave some guy a gun from the box.

I knew something was different the moment I reached in. It was like someone had shoved a chunk of ice between my fingers. I'd never touched a gun before, but I realized what it was the instant my hand brushed the barrel. Well, no way was I gonna pull the damn thing out right there on Hollywood Boulevard--I kept my hand jammed inside the flaps.

The guy it was meant for looked ordinary enough--sunglasses, decent haircut, casual clothes. Of course, doesn't that describe pretty much every serial killer you've ever heard of? So I wrestled with what to do as I trailed him down Highland. He finally slipped into a parking lot behind some strip mall.

When I rounded the corner, he was waiting for me.

He took off the sunglasses and studied me with moderate interest for a moment. His eyes were pale green, and I swear there was no life in them. Then his gaze fell on the box and stayed there.

He knew what it was.

He held out his hand, and I offered him the gun, all my moral qualms instantly forgotten because I had no doubt he would take it if he had to. He accepted the weapon without a word, and I ran. Flight or fight at its finest.

When I told Lester about it, he just nodded.

"Hell, maybe he works for God, too."

I kept an eye on the television and the papers for the next few days, but there was no shooting spree, no carnage on the evening news. I tried to tell myself everything had worked out fine, just like it was supposed to.

I had trouble believing that.

The only good thing about pulling out the gun was that my story moved Lester to tell me about the oddest experience he'd ever had with the box.

"Never found a gun in there," he said. "Never had nobody waiting on me, neither."

He took a drag from the joint he held. Like I said, Lester was a firm believer in self-medication as a means of dealing with the box. "But one day I do my thing--make the drop-off just like normal--and I'm headed home--"

"To the Ripley museum?"

"No, asshole." He paused to flip me off. "This was back when I started. Back when I was all respectable." Having finished his own beer, he helped himself to mine. "I had a place down in Santa Monica right near the pier. Great view. Man, the girls you saw down there--" He shook his head. "Anyway, I'm walking along the pier, and I see this chick, right?"

He went on to describe the girl in detail. I tuned out halfway through, but got the gist. A redhead, freckles and all. Petite and attractive--on Lester's scale, "highly doable."

"Is this going somewhere?" I finally asked.

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Now lemme tell you what she was wearing..."

I shook my head, which earned me a sour look.

"Okay, fine, then lemme tell you what she was carrying."

That got my attention.

"She had a box." He raised the hand that held the smoldering roach. "Hand to God, she had one just like mine. Yours." He pointed to the box, which sat at the end of the couch. "Same color, same barcode, same everything."

I shrugged. "Coincidence."

Lester snorted. "You weren't there. I saw the thing. And I knew, man. I fucking knew."

"So what'd you do?"

"Oh, I just let her walk away." He rolled his eyes. "What do you think I did, bitch? I went tearin' off after her!"

I nodded, seeing where this was going. "But you lost her."

"It was Santa Monica on a Saturday. Fuckin' tourists everywhere." He glared at me. "I'd like to have seen your sorry ass do any better."

"Okay, say you're right--what does it mean?"

"Between your guy and my girl, I'd say it's obvious." He killed the rest of my beer. "We are not alone."

He nodded gravely, belched, and passed out.

I eased the roach from his fingers, stubbed it out, and left him there on the couch. Then I crawled into a bed where the sheets still held faint traces of Shannon's scent and thought about how wrong he was.

Here's a crazy idea.

Everything that's pulled from the box has been lost or discarded.

I'd ducked into the Virgin Megastore on Hollywood to escape the heat when that notion occurred to me. The two teenagers behind the register were arguing the ethics of pilfering the lost-and-found carton, and it clicked. I don't have any proof, of course, but try it on for size. The stuff has to come from somewhere, after all. (Well, I guess it really doesn't, since we're talking about magic of sorts, but I prefer to believe it does.)

Call it karmic recycling. Maybe people get credit to their souls for making donations.

You're probably wondering about Lester.

He's dead now.

I should've seen it coming.

I've told you about the lows the box brings with it. But there are highs, too, and in some ways, they're even more dangerous. Each time you reach into it, you change somebody forever. You spend your days saving lives and mending souls. Pretty heady stuff, right?

Sometimes that thrill is all that keeps you going. You find yourself needing a fix, so maybe you follow someone you've met and see how things play out for them. You stand in the shadows, you watch their joys and see their triumphs, and you think: I made that happen.

Trust me, that's one feeling you never get used to. You never get enough of it, either.

Now put yourself in Lester's shoes. All that was over for him--he'd been touched by fire, had given up everything for it, and had then found himself unable to hang on for the ride.

What came next... well, there were signs. There always are.

For one thing, he'd stopped visiting as often, and I had no idea where he was living. When Shannon moved out, I'd floated the notion of him sharing the apartment, but he'd waved the offer away.

He didn't talk about his plans anymore, either. At first, he'd seen the passing of the box as a weight off his shoulders, and he'd had a million ways he wanted to spend his newfound freedom. He never did any of those things, though. He just hung around me, offering pointers and pep talks. Teaching me how to handle the box.

After he was gone, I realized what I'd taken as generosity had been something else--hunger.

The need for a fix.

"Give it back to me."

That had been Lester's plea the night he died.

He'd stood in the middle of the street, his clothes dripping wet. It had been after midnight, and he'd looked like he'd just climbed from a swimming pool after the sort of pratfall you'd see in some low-grade comedy. But the sharp tang of gasoline had said the punchline that was coming would be a sick one. He'd held the lighter like it was a knife.

I'd been half-wasted from another night mourning Shannon when I'd first heard him ranting outside the building. I'd sobered, though, when I saw his eyes--they'd been wide and glassy, and they never left the box.

People had raised windows and peered at us from half-open doors. Someone had shouted, "Light it up, motherfucker!" But Lester's focus hadn't been on the gathering crowd.

"Give it back to me, Charlie."

"I can't," I'd told him. "You know that."

All I'd been able to think of was Tom, the guy who'd passed Lester the box nearly half a decade ago. I'd wanted to meet him when I'd first gotten started, but Lester had only shaken his head. Later--much later--I'd been able to pry a two-word explanation out of him. Snuffed himself, Lester had shrugged.

He'd stifled a whimper that night. "Please--please, just try, Charlie. Please. I need it. I need it, man."

After a moment's hesitation, I'd held out the box, and he'd extended tentative hands to embrace it. But as his fingers made contact with its surface, they'd simply slid away. He hadn't been able to keep his hold on it. He'd tried a second time, and the result had been the same. And a third.

The box, it seemed, had made its choice.

Lester had sunk to his knees. His eyes had finally drifted from the box and met mine.

"It sings," he'd said. "Did you know that?"

I'd extended a hand, silently asking him to give me the lighter. He'd shaken his head.

"It does. You can hear it sometimes, when you're not quite awake, but not really asleep, either." A bleak smile had curled his lips. "It's pretty damn beautiful."

That smile had remained in place as he'd touched the lighter to his chest. In the movies, when people do something like that, they always have time to run around screaming. But Lester had only a moment for a sigh, a hiss like a balloon deflating.

There had been someone screaming afterwards, though--me. It took the EMTs a long time to calm me down. I don't remember much of it.

The police questioned me. Fortunately, nobody else had been able to agree on exactly what happened, so they pretty much had to accept my version. I told them Lester had been a homeless guy I'd seen regularly. I'd given him money on occasion, and we'd spoken a few times. All true, as far as it went. Set-up for the lie: Why, no, officer, I have no idea what he might have wanted from me.

The detectives had nodded and told me that was pretty much what they'd figured. Bums, y'know. They're all crazy. What're you gonna do?

That night, after it was over, I sat in the waning darkness and listened.

I've listened every night since.

But I've heard no songs from the box.

I tried to talk to Shannon, but that went as well as you'd expect. She made a few sympathetic noises through the door of her new place and then asked me to leave. I did. I think she had someone with her.

Lester had no family, and I couldn't pay for a funeral. Even if I'd had the money, it probably would have raised too many questions. So, like most indigents, he was cremated. He probably would have found that hilarious. He was big on irony.

I kept the apartment for a bit by selling pretty much everything I owned, but I couldn't make the rent forever. Let me tell you, the gypsy lifestyle sounds a hell of a lot more romantic than it actually is.

Want to hear something funny? I was in a shelter a while back, and somebody actually tried to swipe the box. I surprised myself by fighting like hell for it.

Bums, y'know. We're all crazy. What are you gonna do?

I haven't told you exactly where the magic happens, have I? That's because I'm afraid you'll laugh.

See, the special spot happens to be the last star on the corner of Hollywood and Highland. Know whose that is? Monty Hall of Let's Make a Deal fame. The guy who was always tempting people with stuff hidden behind doors... and in boxes. I shit you not.

Who says God has no sense of humor?

I started arriving at my spot early, because I had no other place to be and nothing else to do.

One day, I found the boulevard closed off. Trucks and trailers lined the curb. Occupational hazard in Hollywood--sometimes the bastards actually want to make their movies here.

I stayed behind the sawhorses so I wouldn't draw attention. With so few pedestrians around, keeping an eye on the corner from a distance was no trouble.

I ended up with a lot of time to kill. I considered wandering down the street--Grauman's Chinese was starting a weekend-long classic film festival, and that sort of thing had been my passion in school. Now, though, the thought of old movies--movies in general, really--left me cold.

So I focused on business.

The clock ticked down, but nobody went near the star. I finally got edgy and slipped past the barricade. None of the crew noticed; they had their own schedules to keep.

It had to be one of them, I decided. I inched closer to the production to get an idea about who might be coming my way. Someone had to be, after all. That was the deal.

"Can you step back, please?" A production assistant--one who looked about twelve--had spotted me.

I smiled and nodded and retreated a few steps. Maybe it's her, I thought. But, no, she just nodded and turned back to her work.

I checked my watch. It was time.

But there was nobody around.

My confusion grew into irritation, and from there, it was a short step to rage. There had to be somebody! There was always somebody. Always. That was the deal, the bargain. That was why I'd given up my whole goddamn life.

But there was no one.

Not a soul on the sidewalk.

Well, except for--

Oh.

I glanced down.

And realized I was the one standing on the star.

On some level, I sensed there was a choice to be made, maybe the first bit of freedom I'd had in a very long time. For one wild moment, I contemplated just dropping the box and running like hell.

What stopped me was the same thing that always had--if I abandoned the box, someone else would have to pick it up. I knew that; don't ask how, but I did. Someone else would end up going through all the same crap. Someone who wasn't ready or maybe was never even meant to be part of it.

I couldn't let that happen--so I fell back on what I knew.

I reached into the box, my fingers dipping into cool darkness. There was something there, as always. This time, it was small and narrow and flat. Crisp, too.

Paper.

I drew it out. The production assistant had started to nag me again. But I didn't pay her any attention as I stared at the movie ticket I'd found.

It was for the film festival at Grauman's.

Casablanca.

I changed my mind about whether or not to go half a dozen times before I gave in. I wasn't afraid, exactly. More like dubious. Things from the box alter lives in big ways. But if you're the one holding it, how can anything ever change for you?

In the end, I decided not to overthink things. Like the lady said, que sera sera.

As usual with anything but drop-offs, I was late. The lights had gone down by the time I slipped into the theater, the box in tow, just like always. The place was packed. I ended up excusing myself a dozen times as I sought out the few remaining seats. All of them seemed to be saved.

I was about to give up when I spotted one toward the very front. As I got closer, though, I realized the woman sitting next to it had stowed her shopping in the seat.

I sighed, thought about just leaving, finally decided to make a fuss for once. The screen went dark between previews as I reached her.

"Excuse me," I whispered. "Is that one saved?"

She shook her head, picked up her package, and rested it in her lap. I squeezed past and settled into the seat. I glanced her way, couldn't really make anything out in the gloom. But she must have felt my eyes on her, because she looked over at me.

A new preview came up, and the theater lightened a bit. We were still looking at each other.

She had red hair and freckles.

And a box just like mine.

I smiled. So did she.

And, suddenly, all I could think about were new beginnings and beautiful friendships.

That's my story, as much of it as you need to hear. You've been a good listener, and I want to thank you for that courtesy.

So I've got something for you.

I promise, it'll change your life....TCRJJWQQNBYA

One Year Later

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 07:59:00 +0000

Terrance Smythe hesitated in the doorway. The space the Institute assigned to him for the call had the impersonal air of a hotel room in claustrophobic miniature: beige walls, brown carpet, and two potted ivy plants in 630 cubic feet of space. The wall opposite the door bore a single window that couldn't open. Beyond the sealed pane, a segment of parking lot glittered in the sun.

Terry's eyes moved to the center of the tiny room. To that damned pedestal. The prescribed telephone was the glossy black of a beetle carapace.

"Mr. Smythe?"

He came back to himself with a start. "Thank you," he said to the attendant, whose name he had already forgotten. Terry entered the room. He would've locked the door behind himself, but it had no lock. Possibly for the same reason the window wouldn't open. If this were supposed to be a healing experience, then why was the room set up as though--?

Terry sat down in the single chair. His heartbeat felt so strong, it was uncomfortable. A flush of heat crept up from his collar.

When the telephone finally rang, it was almost a relief.

Terry exhaled. He answered as if he didn't know who called. "Terrance Smythe."

"Terry?"

He bit his cheek until he'd mastered himself. This was not fair. The Margaret he'd been bracing himself for was the Margaret he'd known at the end, uncertain and weak-voiced, her sentences trailing off into mumbles. Not the Margaret he'd met 65 years prior, tangy as fresh-squeezed lemonade. "Hello, Margie."

Her voice trembled. "It's good to hear you."

Terry closed his eyes. He hated to say it--he wasn't talking to her, not really--but he said, "You too."

"I bet. It's been a year, then, if we're talking."

"Yes."

"A year already." Macabre laughter. "What've I missed?"

Terry swallowed. It was so easy to fall back into conversation, as if it had never stopped. The voice sounded so real. "Me being a stupid old fool, mostly. Puttering around. I'm calling Ally damn near every day. You can tell it's driving her nuts."

"She still with Steve?"

"Yup."

"He still telling those God-awful jokes?"

"Well--"

"Fill me in, man! I've missed a year's worth!"

Terry laughed. It hurt. On the other end, Margie laughed too. No. Not Margie. The voice of Margie. "I don't know if I should. They record this conversation, you know."

"Quality control and all that," said Margie thoughtfully. "That figures."

Terry bit the inside of his cheek again. He felt disconnected from himself, from this single-window room. In fact, it wasn't like a hotel room at all. More like somewhere between a forgotten closet and a prison cell. Despite the neutral colors, the telephone's dark cradle gave the room's nature away. "Listen…" Terry began, slowly.

"No, I know," said the voice of Margie. "I know all about it. They scan your brain, take your memories of your spouse, and make a program you can talk to--just once, one year later--to say goodbye. For closure."

Relief, strange and sad, flooded through him. "Yeah. That's right. That's exactly it. I didn't know how to…"

"It's okay. I know I'm not real."

"Yeah. Boy."

"Intellectually, anyway, I know I'm not." Margie paused. "I mean, I feel real."

Terry's grip on the telephone tightened. "You do?"

"Sure. But it's not like I have a body. I'm just… floating, I suppose."

Terry couldn't relax. Margie must've heard his quick breathing and guessed his train of thought, because she said, "Hanging up won't kill me again, Panda Bear. I'm just a program."

She sounded so real.

Terry's vision blurred with tears.

"But baby," said the voice of Margie, with that old perfect blend of tangy and sweet, "this program loves you anyway."

Terry squeezed his eyes closed. He would not cry in front of her. In front of this. "Margie," he whispered, into the receiver, but why bother? She was only a program. And this connection wasn't real.

"Yeah?" said the voice of Margie.

Terry hung up.

Winning Streak

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 07:58:00 +0000

Seven security gargoyles stare at me from atop the elaborate sandstone columns lining the casino’s walls. Their sharp eyes and oversized talons flex ever so slightly in anticipation of snatching up cheaters like unsuspecting prey. They’ve moved closer since I first sat down at this slot machine, the only place in the casino that hadn’t had line-of-sight thanks to a fortunate arrangement of overgrown palm fronds and the gritty haze from a gaggle of feathered Gwiffahs smoking silvawax from a hookah. But the gargoyles have been swarming to my location ever since my machine passed 87,000 kalax, its blinking lights and wailing sirens announcing my winnings to the entire casino.

The pit boss watches me too, now, and for good reason. I’m an Ittari after all, a shapeshifter, just as they’d identified me with the DNA scan when I’d entered this fine establishment. Traleel Az, their biometric readouts had said, and along with my name and race, they'd listed half a dozen details--birthdate, gender, height, mass, skin color, eye color--all inaccurate and irrelevant to my kind.

As I redouble my winnings, the management must really be sweating. They tempt me with free drinks and tickets to an impressive buffet featuring delicacies from every corner of the Cascade. They’ll do anything to knock me out of this winning streak.

“I don’t drink,” I tell the waitress, a Krellian girl with silver skin and a prehensile tail holding a cocktail that looks strong enough to peel the paint off the hull of my space cruiser. “I don’t eat either, actually.” Not humanoid food anyway.

They’ll have to do better than that to stop me. I pull the lever on my slot machine again and watch the symbols fall into a line--three Bulouvian cherries, all in a row. Jackpot. Now I stand at 415,000 kalax.

When I hit 1.2 million kalax, the pit boss comes down to congratulate me himself, a six-footed Crawvite, a smile on his long equine face. But he can’t stop his nervousness from showing as his hooves clack apprehensively on the casino’s slick granite floor.

“I’d like to offer you a three-night stay in our penthouse suite,” the pit boss says, shaking his luxurious mane in an obvious boast. The suites here are renowned across the Southern Cascade, not a single amenity overlooked. “Why don’t you get a little rest, then come back to the floor when you’re refreshed?”

I smile back at him. “No, thanks,” I say. “I’m sort of on a roll here. And besides, Ittari don’t need sleep. I just hope your casino has enough money in the vault to cash my voucher.”

And with that, I pull the lever, and what do you know, another jackpot. I can’t lose! The gargoyles flock to my machine, dozens of them, heads cocked, eyes sparking like struck flint, muscles tensing beneath stone. But they only suspect. The crowd behind me cheers me on, eighty or so witnesses that make any illicit means of prying me from this seat pretty much out of the question. Losing thousands of kalax is one thing, but having a reputation for strong-arming patrons would be even more damaging to the casino in the long run.

Nevertheless, three consecutive jackpots later, I’m being scanned and poked, prodded and searched.

“He’s a no-good, dirty shapeshifter!” the pit boss says to the disconcerted crowd, as if that would get them on his side. They gasp at his words, and I roll my eyes... I mean literally pop them out-of-socket and into the palm of my hand. I close them into my fist, and when I reopen it, they’re a pair of dice. I give them a shake, then toss them into the crowd. My audience shuffles out of the way as the dice tumble across the floor, then finally skid to a stop.

“Lucky seven!” an old Gwiffah biddy clucks. She’s so excited that her yellow feathers molt all over the place, and she can barely keep her wingtips from shaking as she scoops the dice up for a souvenir. They won’t be much of a souvenir once she’s on her way home, though--just a small puddle of oily, black goo when the dice leave the range of the coalescence field that allows me to hold my shape.

“You let me in here knowing what I was,” I say to the pit boss with a sneer. “In fact you’re the only casino in this system to let Ittaris gamble. You claim your machines are tamperproof, or is that just a marketing ploy? I’m good enough to play your games as long as you’re taking my money, but suddenly if things are reversed, I must be a criminal?”

The crowd applauds me, and I know I’ve got them in my pocket. Suddenly the casino is on the verge of some very bad press.

“Of course not!” the pit boss whinnies, trying to save face. “Our slot machines are tamperproof. But what you’ve done is impossible!”

“Improbable, yes, but not impossible. I figure the chances of hitting eleven jackpots in a row is one in eight billion, two hundred fifty million, six hundred twelve thousand, three hundred and fifty-four.”

“We know you’re cheating, Traleel,” the pit boss finally accuses, drawing his pink gums back to expose gleaming white teeth. “Tell us how and we won’t press charges.”

“I’m not cheating. The machine is hot, that’s all.” I morph myself a new set of eyes, then nod at the machine. “Why don’t you give it a spin?”

He looks at me dubiously, then trots over and pulls the handle. Jackpot!

The pit boss shakes his head in disbelief then orders the machine dismantled. Without warning, stone talons grip me, and I'm whisked away to the pit boss's lair for more questioning. A tinted glass wall overlooks the glitzy casino floor where thousands of patrons from hundreds of homeworlds plink their hard-earned kalax into stingy machines. We're all chasing crazy dreams of striking it rich, though what sets us apart is how much we're willing to sacrifice to make those dreams come true.

I'm feeling smug, maybe a little cocky as the pit boss paces the length of the room. At the center of his lair is a strikingly intricate desk, which I can't help but notice is carved from a Brahvian mammoth skull. Insanely expensive. Highly illegal. Most people might take this as a threat, but it’s difficult to intimidate an Ittari. Can’t exactly torture someone who can slip into a semi-liquid state, and forget about using those primitive lie detectors on me.

“So maybe you won’t talk,” says the pit boss, pulling a pistol out from a pewter box sitting on his desk. The pistol's bloated barrel is streaked with white light converging into a puckered tip. “But once my crew is finished dismantling that slot machine, I'll know the truth, and you'll be nothing but a puddle of sewer sludge.”

I almost flinch, but I keep my cool. I hadn't thought oride laser technology had made it to this edge of the Cascade. It's the only frequency of light that can nullify my coalescence field. We lock eyes like adversaries across the pink felt of a Brahvian Hold'em table. The pit boss's wide nostrils flare. Maybe it's a tell, maybe just a twitch. But I decide to call him on it, because one, I've never been one to play the odds, and two, he's holding the pistol backwards.

“You can’t prove anything,” I tell the pit boss, “because there’s nothing to prove. Not even telepaths can tamper with your machines, much less a no-good, dirty Ittari like myself. You really think I’ve got the smarts to crack your encryptions?”

He raises an arrogant eyebrow and gives me a long once-over. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, unless you’ve got anything else you’d like to accuse me of, I think I’ll collect my winnings now.”

“A six million kalax payout would cripple us,” the pit boss admits, and I almost feel sorry for him.

“Not necessarily,” I say. “Just think of all the press coverage you’ll get! ‘Local shapeshifter wins big’ the headlines will read. ‘Hits eleven jackpots in a row!’ People will be swarming in here like Guruvian flies on a pile of dung to play on that machine!”

The pit boss hems and haws and whinnies, his nostrils flaring in disgust. Finally, he places the pistol back in its box. “Maybe we can make a deal. One million kalax paid now and the rest paid over a five-year period.”

I bite my lip and entertain the offer. “Two million,” I dare to say. “And the rest paid over a five-year period including twenty percent interest.”

The pit boss rears his hooves up, then claps them back down on the floor. His tail swishes vigorously. He’s aggravated beyond belief, but what choice does he have? “One-point-five million and fifteen percent interest,” he finally says.

I extend my hand and we shake on it. “You drive a hard bargain, sir,” I say. “But I can assure you I’ll only give glowing reviews of your establishment. This is my favorite casino in the Southern Cascade. And I’m not just saying that because you’re the only one who lets me in.”

The pit boss grimaces, then escorts me to the vault. It takes three gargoyles to haul my winnings out to my space cruiser. Once I’m loaded up, I wave goodbye to the pit boss and blast off, still a no-good, dirty Ittari, but a rich one.

I feel my coalescence field straining, first just a tiny tug the size of a pair of dice. A sharp pain runs through my core as I lose that part of me, and somewhere in that old Gwiffah biddy’s purse, the pair of souvenir dice turns into two oil puddles.

I laugh, wondering how I of all people had pulled off the scam of the century. I’m definitely not smart enough to tamper with those machines, though I doubt anyone is. They truly are the most encrypted in the Cascade. But there is one thing I’m good at and that’s shifting. I can imitate just about anything, from something as small and simple as those dice, to something as large and mechanically complex as a personal space cruiser, like the one I’m flying right now.

I ache again, this time much more intensely. The coalescence field is straining one last time as I break the planet’s orbit. Before the bond severs completely, I give the lever a final spin. Somewhere in the pit boss's lair, three Bulouvian cherries blink all in a row, announcing a final jackpot before the slot machine melts into an oil slick on the casino floor.

Chaos theory

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 07:57:00 +0000

Deep in the tropical rainforests of far north Queensland, two tiny cocoons hung from a thick purple fungus. The cocoon on the left began to twitch and shudder, moments later so did the other.

A split appeared in the left cocoon, and two bright yellow wings could be seen as a little butterfly slowly emerged and took a perch on the spongy purple mushroom. It was joined less than a minute later by another, as the second cocoon split and disgorged a larger red and green winged butterfly.

They stood side by side in the silent forest, totally still. Then the larger butterfly fluttered its wings and rose into the air. With a sudden effort it beat its wings heavily once, then settled back on the fungus. The air displaced by the flapping wings produced a series of minute eddies that expanded exponentially, lifting warm air high into the atmosphere until the ice cold jet streams of the stratosphere were disturbed. Off the coast of north Queensland the warm air collapsed a low-pressure cell and a cyclone began to form. That cyclone hit the coast of Australia and wiped out the banana industry. The red and green butterfly just sat on the fungus, preening its wings and looking very satisfied with itself.

Next to it the little yellow butterfly flapped its wings twice and resettled on the fungus, looking about expectantly. Nothing happened. The air displaced by its wings had dissipated harmlessly. The yellow butterfly looked across at its companion who was fluttering like mad and sending typhoons to Taiwan and hurricanes to Haiti. Again the yellow wings flapped and again nothing happened.

In a fit of frustration the yellow butterfly stamped its foot. Minuscule reverberations flowed through the mushroom and into the earth's mantle. As each second passed the reverberations grew in magnitude. Eventually they hit a tectonic fault line far to the north. In a complete surprise to the inhabitants of North America, California collapsed into the Pacific.

With a self-satisfied flutter, the yellow butterfly looked at its larger companion and flew away into the forest.

Solar System

noreply@blogger.com (Explore Science World) — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 07:19:00 +0000

The Solar System consists of the Sun and the astronomical objects bound to it by gravity, all of which formed from the collapse of a giant molecular cloud approximately 4.6 billion years ago. Of the many objects that orbit the Sun, most of the mass is contained within eight relatively solitary planets whose orbits are almost circular and lie within a nearly flat disc called the ecliptic plane. The four smaller inner planets, Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars, also called the terrestrial planets, are primarily composed of rock and metal. The four outer planets, the gas giants, are substantially more massive than the terrestrials. The two largest, Jupiter and Saturn, are composed mainly of hydrogen and helium; the two outermost planets, Uranus and Neptune, are composed largely of ices, such as water, ammonia and methane, and are often referred to separately as "ice giants".

The Solar System is also home to two regions populated by smaller objects. The asteroid belt, which lies between Mars and Jupiter, is similar to the terrestrial planets as it is composed mainly of rock and metal. Beyond Neptune's orbit lie trans-Neptunian objects composed mostly of ices such as water, ammonia and methane. Within these two regions, five individual objects, Ceres, Pluto, Haumea, Makemake and Eris, are recognized to be large enough to have been rounded by their own gravity, and are thus termed dwarf planets. In addition to thousands of small bodies in those two regions, various other small body populations, such as comets, centaurs and interplanetary dust, freely travel between regions.

The solar wind, a flow of plasma from the Sun, creates a bubble in the interstellar medium known as the heliosphere, which extends out to the edge of the scattered disc. The hypothetical Oort cloud, which acts as the source for long-period comets, may also exist at a distance roughly a thousand times further than the heliosphere.
Six of the planets and three of the dwarf planets are orbited by natural satellites, usually termed "moons" after Earth's Moon. Each of the outer planets is encircled by planetary rings of dust and other particles

Discovery and exploration

For many thousands of years, humanity, with a few notable exceptions, did not recognize the existence of the Solar System. People believed the Earth to be stationary at the center of the universe and categorically different from the divine or ethereal objects that moved through the sky. Although the Greek philosopher Aristarchus of Samos had speculated on a heliocentric reordering of the cosmos,[1] Nicolaus Copernicus was the first to develop a mathematically predictive heliocentric system. His 17th-century successors, Galileo Galilei, Johannes Kepler and Isaac Newton, developed an understanding of physics which led to the gradual acceptance of the idea that the Earth moves around the Sun and that the planets are governed by the same physical laws that governed the Earth. In more recent times, improvements in the telescope and the use of unmanned spacecraft have enabled the investigation of geological phenomena such as mountains and craters, and seasonal meteorological phenomena such as clouds, dust storms and ice caps on the other planets.

Structure

The orbits of the bodies in the Solar System to scale (clockwise from top left)

The principal component of the Solar System is the Sun, a main sequence G2 star that contains 99.86 percent of the system's known mass and dominates it gravitationally. The Sun's four largest orbiting bodies, the gas giants, account for 99 percent of the remaining mass, with Jupiter and Saturn together comprising more than 90 percent.

Most large objects in orbit around the Sun lie near the plane of Earth's orbit, known as the ecliptic. The planets are very close to the ecliptic while comets and Kuiper belt objects are frequently at significantly greater angles to it. All the planets and most other objects also orbit with the Sun's rotation (counter-clockwise, as viewed from above the Sun's north pole). There are exceptions, such as Halley's Comet.

The overall structure of the charted regions of the Solar System consists of the Sun, four relatively small inner planets surrounded by a belt of rocky asteroids, and four gas giants surrounded by the outer Kuiper belt of icy objects. Astronomers sometimes informally divide this structure into separate regions. The inner Solar System includes the four terrestrial planets and the main asteroid belt. The outer Solar System is beyond the asteroids, including the four gas giant planets. Since the discovery of the Kuiper belt, the outermost parts of the Solar System are considered a distinct region consisting of the objects beyond Neptune.

Kepler's laws of planetary motion describe the orbits of objects about the Sun. According to Kepler's laws, each object travels along an ellipse with the Sun at one focus. Objects closer to the Sun (with smaller semi-major axes) travel more quickly, as they are more affected by the Sun's gravity. On an elliptical orbit, a body's distance from the Sun varies over the course of its year. A body's closest approach to the Sun is called its perihelion, while its most distant point from the Sun is called its aphelion. The orbits of the planets are nearly circular, but many comets, asteroids and Kuiper belt objects follow highly elliptical orbits.

Due to the vast distances involved, many representations of the Solar System show orbits the same distance apart. In reality, with a few exceptions, the farther a planet or belt is from the Sun, the larger the distance between it and the previous orbit. For example, Venus is approximately 0.33 astronomical units (AU) farther out from the Sun than Mercury, while Saturn is 4.3 AU out from Jupiter, and Neptune lies 10.5 AU out from Uranus. Attempts have been made to determine a correlation between these orbital distances (for example, the Titius-Bode law), but no such theory has been accepted.

Most of the planets in the Solar System possess secondary systems of their own, being orbited by planetary objects called natural satellites, or moons (two of which are larger than the planet Mercury), or, in the case of the four gas giants, by planetary rings; thin bands of tiny particles that orbit them in unison. Most of the largest natural satellites are in synchronous rotation, with one face permanently turned toward their parent.

The objects of the inner Solar System are composed mostly of rock, the collective name for compounds with high melting points, such as silicates, iron or nickel, that remained solid under almost all conditions in the protoplanetary nebula. Jupiter and Saturn are composed mainly of gases, the astronomical term for materials with extremely low melting points and high vapor pressure such as molecular hydrogen, helium, and neon, which were always in the gaseous phase in the nebula. Ices, like water, methane, ammonia, hydrogen sulfide and carbon dioxide, have melting points up to a few hundred kelvins, while their phase depends on the ambient pressure and temperature. They can be found as ices, liquids, or gases in various places in the Solar System, while in the nebula they were either in the solid or gaseous phase. Icy substances comprise the majority of the satellites of the giant planets, as well as most of Uranus and Neptune (the so-called "ice giants") and the numerous small objects that lie beyond Neptune's orbit.Together, gases and ices are referred to as volatiles.

Inner Solar System

The inner Solar System is the traditional name for the region comprising the terrestrial planets and asteroids.silicates and metals, the objects of the inner Solar System are relatively close to the Sun; the radius of this entire region is shorter than the distance between Jupiter and Saturn. Composed mainly of

Inner planets

The inner planets. From left to right: Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars (sizes to scale, interplanetary distances not)

The four inner or terrestrial planets have dense, rocky compositions, few or no moons, and no ring systems. They are composed largely of refractory minerals, such as the silicates which form their crusts and mantles, and metals such as iron and nickel, which form their cores. Three of the four inner planets (Venus, Earth and Mars) have atmospheres substantial enough to generate weather; all have impact craters and tectonic surface features such as rift valleys and volcanoes. The term inner planet should not be confused with inferior planet, which designates those planets which are closer to the Sun than Earth is (i.e. Mercury and Venus).
Mercury

    Mercury (0.4 AU from the Sun) is the closest planet to the Sun and the smallest planet in the Solar System (0.055 Earth masses). Mercury has no natural satellites, and its only known geological features besides impact craters are lobed ridges or rupes, probably produced by a period of contraction early in its history. Mercury's almost negligible atmosphere consists of atoms blasted off its surface by the solar wind. Its relatively large iron core and thin mantle have not yet been adequately explained. Hypotheses include that its outer layers were stripped off by a giant impact, and that it was prevented from fully accreting by the young Sun's energy.

Venus

    Venus (0.7 AU from the Sun) is close in size to Earth, (0.815 Earth masses) and like Earth, has a thick silicate mantle around an iron core, a substantial atmosphere and evidence of internal geological activity. However, it is much drier than Earth and its atmosphere is ninety times as dense. Venus has no natural satellites. It is the hottest planet, with surface temperatures over 400 °C, most likely due to the amount of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. No definitive evidence of current geological activity has been detected on Venus, but it has no magnetic field that would prevent depletion of its substantial atmosphere, which suggests that its atmosphere is regularly replenished by volcanic eruptions.

Earth

    Earth (1 AU from the Sun) is the largest and densest of the inner planets, the only one known to have current geological activity, and is the only place in the universe where life is known to exist. Its liquid hydrosphere is unique among the terrestrial planets, and it is also the only planet where plate tectonics has been observed. Earth's atmosphere is radically different from those of the other planets, having been altered by the presence of life to contain 21% free oxygen. It has one natural satellite, the Moon, the only large satellite of a terrestrial planet in the Solar System.

Asteroid belt

Image of the main asteroid belt and the Trojan asteroids

Asteroids are mostly small Solar System bodies composed mainly of refractory rocky and metallic minerals.

The main asteroid belt occupies the orbit between Mars and Jupiter, between 2.3 and 3.3 AU from the Sun. It is thought to be remnants from the Solar System's formation that failed to coalesce because of the gravitational interference of Jupiter.

Asteroids range in size from hundreds of kilometres across to microscopic. All asteroids save the largest, Ceres, are classified as small Solar System bodies, but some asteroids such as Vesta and Hygieia may be reclassed as dwarf planets if they are shown to have achieved hydrostatic equilibrium.

The asteroid belt contains tens of thousands, possibly millions, of objects over one kilometre in diameter. Despite this, the total mass of the main belt is unlikely to be more than a thousandth of that of the Earth. The main belt is very sparsely populated; spacecraft routinely pass through without incident. Asteroids with diameters between 10 and 10−4 m are called meteoroids.
Ceres

Ceres (2.77 AU) is the largest body in the asteroid belt and is classified as a dwarf planet. It has a diameter of slightly under 1000 km, and a mass large enough for its own gravity to pull it into a spherical shape. Ceres was considered a planet when it was discovered in the 19th century, but was reclassified as an asteroid in the 1850s as further observation revealed additional asteroids. It was again reclassified in 2006 as a dwarf planet.

Asteroid groups

Asteroids in the main belt are divided into asteroid groups and families based on their orbital characteristics. Asteroid moons are asteroids that orbit larger asteroids. They are not as clearly distinguished as planetary moons, sometimes being almost as large as their partners. The asteroid belt also contains main-belt comets which may have been the source of Earth's water.

Trojan asteroids are located in either of Jupiter's L4 or L5 points (gravitationally stable regions leading and trailing a planet in its orbit); the term "Trojan" is also used for small bodies in any other planetary or satellite Lagrange point. Hilda asteroids are in a 2:3 resonance with Jupiter; that is, they go around the Sun three times for every two Jupiter orbits.

The inner Solar System is also dusted with rogue asteroids, many of which cross the orbits of the inner planets.

Outer Solar System

The outer region of the Solar System is home to the gas giants and their large moons. Many short period comets, including the centaurs, also orbit in this region. Due to their greater distance from the Sun, the solid objects in the outer Solar System contain a higher proportion of volatiles such as water, ammonia and methane, than the rocky denizens of the inner Solar System, as the colder temperatures allow these compounds to remain solid.

Outer planets

From top to bottom: Neptune, Uranus, Saturn, and Jupiter (not to scale)

The four outer planets, or gas giants (sometimes called Jovian planets), collectively make up 99 percent of the mass known to orbit the Sun. Jupiter and Saturn are each many tens of times the mass of the Earth and consist overwhelmingly of hydrogen and helium; Uranus and Neptune are far less massive (<20 Earth masses) and possess more ices in their makeup. For these reasons, some astronomers suggest they belong in their own category, “ice giants.” All four gas giants have rings, although only Saturn's ring system is easily observed from Earth. The term outer planet should not be confused with superior planet, which designates planets outside Earth's orbit and thus includes both the outer planets and Mars.

Jupiter

Jupiter (5.2 AU), at 318 Earth masses, is 2.5 times the mass of all the other planets put together. It is composed largely of hydrogen and helium. Jupiter's strong internal heat creates a number of semi-permanent features in its atmosphere, such as cloud bands and the Great Red Spot.

Jupiter has 63 known satellites. The four largest, Ganymede, Callisto, Io, and Europa, show similarities to the terrestrial planets, such as volcanism and internal heating. Ganymede, the largest satellite in the Solar System, is larger than Mercury.

Saturn

Saturn (9.5 AU), distinguished by its extensive ring system, has several similarities to Jupiter, such as its atmospheric composition and magnetosphere. Although Saturn has 60% of Jupiter's volume, it is less than a third as massive, at 95 Earth masses, making it the least dense planet in the Solar System. The rings of Saturn are made up of small ice and rock particles.

Saturn has 62 confirmed satellites; two of which, Titan and Enceladus, show signs of geological activity, though they are largely made of ice. Titan, the second largest moon in the Solar System, is larger than Mercury and the only satellite in the Solar System with a substantial atmosphere.

Uranus

Uranus (19.6 AU), at 14 Earth masses, is the lightest of the outer planets. Uniquely among the planets, it orbits the Sun on its side; its axial tilt is over ninety degrees to the ecliptic. It has a much colder core than the other gas giants, and radiates very little heat into space.

Uranus has 27 known satellites, the largest ones being Titania, Oberon, Umbriel, Ariel and Miranda.

Neptune

Neptune (30 AU), though slightly smaller than Uranus, is more massive (equivalent to 17 Earths) and therefore more dense. It radiates more internal heat, but not as much as Jupiter or Saturn.

Neptune has 13 known satellites. The largest, Triton, is geologically active, with geysers of liquid nitrogen. Triton is the only large satellite with a retrograde orbit. Neptune is accompanied in its orbit by a number of minor planets, termed Neptune Trojans, that are in 1:1 resonance with it.

Comets

Comet Hale-Bopp

Comets are small Solar System bodies, typically only a few kilometres across, composed largely of volatile ices. They have highly eccentric orbits, generally a perihelion within the orbits of the inner planets and an aphelion far beyond Pluto. When a comet enters the inner Solar System, its proximity to the Sun causes its icy surface to sublimate and ionise, creating a coma: a long tail of gas and dust often visible to the naked eye.

Short-period comets have orbits lasting less than two hundred years. Long-period comets have orbits lasting thousands of years. Short-period comets are believed to originate in the Kuiper belt, while long-period comets, such as Hale-Bopp, are believed to originate in the Oort cloud. Many comet groups, such as the Kreutz Sungrazers, formed from the breakup of a single parent. Some comets with hyperbolic orbits may originate outside the Solar System, but determining their precise orbits is difficult. Old comets that have had most of their volatiles driven out by solar warming are often categorised as asteroids.

Centaurs

The centaurs are icy comet-like bodies with a semi-major axis greater than Jupiter (5.5 AU) and less than Neptune (30 AU). The largest known centaur, 10199 Chariklo, has a diameter of about 250 km. The first centaur discovered, 2060 Chiron, has also been classified as comet (95P) since it develops a coma just as comets do when they approach the Sun.

Trans-Neptunian region

The area beyond Neptune, or the "trans-Neptunian region", is still largely unexplored. It appears to consist overwhelmingly of small worlds (the largest having a diameter only a fifth that of the Earth and a mass far smaller than that of the Moon) composed mainly of rock and ice. This region is sometimes known as the "outer Solar System", though others use that term to mean the region beyond the asteroid belt.

Kuiper belt

Plot of all known Kuiper belt objects, set against the four outer planets

The Kuiper belt, the region's first formation, is a great ring of debris similar to the asteroid belt, but composed mainly of ice. It extends between 30 and 50 AU from the Sun. Though it contains at least three dwarf planets, it is composed mainly of small Solar System bodies. However, many of the largest Kuiper belt objects, such as Quaoar, Varuna, and Orcus, may be reclassified as dwarf planets. There are estimated to be over 100,000 Kuiper belt objects with a diameter greater than 50 km, but the total mass of the Kuiper belt is thought to be only a tenth or even a hundredth the mass of the Earth. Many Kuiper belt objects have multiple satellites, and most have orbits that take them outside the plane of the ecliptic.

The Kuiper belt can be roughly divided into the "classical" belt and the resonances. Resonances are orbits linked to that of Neptune (e.g. twice for every three Neptune orbits, or once for every two). The first resonance begins within the orbit of Neptune itself. The classical belt consists of objects having no resonance with Neptune, and extends from roughly 39.4 AU to 47.7 AU. Members of the classical Kuiper belt are classified as cubewanos, after the first of their kind to be discovered, (15760) 1992 QB₁, and are still in near primordial, low-eccentricity orbits.

Pluto and Charon

Comparison of Eris, Pluto, Makemake, Haumea, Sedna, Orcus, 2007 OR₁₀, Quaoar, and Earth (all to scale)

Pluto (39 AU average), a dwarf planet, is the largest known object in the Kuiper belt. When discovered in 1930, it was considered to be the ninth planet; this changed in 2006 with the adoption of a formal definition of planet. Pluto has a relatively eccentric orbit inclined 17 degrees to the ecliptic plane and ranging from 29.7 AU from the Sun at perihelion (within the orbit of Neptune) to 49.5 AU at aphelion.

Charon, Pluto's largest moon, is sometimes described as part of a binary system with Pluto, as the two bodies orbit a barycenter of gravity above their surfaces (i.e., they appear to "orbit each other"). Beyond Charon, two much smaller moons, Nix and Hydra, orbit within the system.

Pluto has a 3:2 resonance with Neptune, meaning that Pluto orbits twice round the Sun for every three Neptunian orbits. Kuiper belt objects whose orbits share this resonance are called plutinos.

Haumea and Makemake

Haumea (43.34 AU average), and Makemake (45.79 AU average), while smaller than Pluto, are the largest known objects in the classical Kuiper belt (that is, they are not in a confirmed resonance with Neptune). Haumea is an egg-shaped object with two moons. Makemake is the brightest object in the Kuiper belt after Pluto. Originally designated 2003 EL₆₁ and 2005 FY₉ respectively, they were given names and designated dwarf planets in 2008. Their orbits are far more inclined than Pluto's, at 28° and 29°.

Scattered disc

The scattered disc, which overlaps the Kuiper belt but extends much further outwards, is thought to be the source of short-period comets. Scattered disc objects are believed to have been ejected into erratic orbits by the gravitational influence of Neptune's early outward migration. Most scattered disc objects (SDOs) have perihelia within the Kuiper belt but aphelia as far as 150 AU from the Sun. SDOs' orbits are also highly inclined to the ecliptic plane, and are often almost perpendicular to it. Some astronomers consider the scattered disc to be merely another region of the Kuiper belt, and describe scattered disc objects as "scattered Kuiper belt objects." Some astronomers also classify centaurs as inward-scattered Kuiper belt objects along with the outward-scattered residents of the scattered disc.

Eris

Eris (68 AU average) is the largest known scattered disc object, and caused a debate about what constitutes a planet, since it is at least 5% larger than Pluto with an estimated diameter of 2400 km (1500 mi). It is the largest of the known dwarf planets. It has one moon, Dysnomia. Like Pluto, its orbit is highly eccentric, with a perihelion of 38.2 AU (roughly Pluto's distance from the Sun) and an aphelion of 97.6 AU, and steeply inclined to the ecliptic plane.

Farthest regions

The point at which the Solar System ends and interstellar space begins is not precisely defined, since its outer boundaries are shaped by two separate forces: the solar wind and the Sun's gravity. The outer limit of the solar wind's influence is roughly four times Pluto's distance from the Sun; this heliopause is considered the beginning of the interstellar medium. However, the Sun's Roche sphere, the effective range of its gravitational dominance, is believed to extend up to a thousand times farther.

Heliopause

The Voyagers entering the heliosheath

The heliosphere is divided into two separate regions. The solar wind travels at roughly 400 km/s until it collides with the interstellar wind; the flow of plasma in the interstellar medium. The collision occurs at the termination shock, which is roughly 80–100 AU from the Sun upwind of the interstellar medium and roughly 200 AU from the Sun downwind. Here the wind slows dramatically, condenses and becomes more turbulent,heliosheath. This structure is believed to look and behave very much like a comet's tail, extending outward for a further 40 AU on the upwind side but tailing many times that distance downwind; but evidence from the Cassini and Interstellar Boundary Explorer spacecraft has suggested that it is in fact forced into a bubble shape by the constraining action of the interstellar magnetic field. Both Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 are reported to have passed the termination shock and entered the heliosheath, at 94 and 84 AU from the Sun, respectively. The outer boundary of the heliosphere, the heliopause, is the point at which the solar wind finally terminates and is the beginning of interstellar space. forming a great oval structure known as the

The shape and form of the outer edge of the heliosphere is likely affected by the fluid dynamics of interactions with the interstellar medium as well as solar magnetic fields prevailing to the south, e.g. it is bluntly shaped with the northern hemisphere extending 9 AU (roughly 900 million miles) farther than the southern hemisphere. Beyond the heliopause, at around 230 AU, lies the bow shock, a plasma "wake" left by the Sun as it travels through the Milky Way.

No spacecraft have yet passed beyond the heliopause, so it is impossible to know for certain the conditions in local interstellar space. It is expected that NASA's Voyager spacecraft will pass the heliopause some time in the next decade and transmit valuable data on radiation levels and solar wind back to the Earth. How well the heliosphere shields the Solar System from cosmic rays is poorly understood. A NASA-funded team has developed a concept of a "Vision Mission" dedicated to sending a probe to the heliosphere.

Oort cloud

An artist's rendering of the Oort Cloud, the Hills Cloud, and the Kuiper belt (inset)

The hypothetical Oort cloud is a spherical cloud of up to a trillion icy objects that is believed to be the source for all long-period comets and to surround the Solar System at roughly 50,000 AU (around 1 light-year galactic tide, the tidal force exerted by the Milky Way. (LY)), and possibly to as far as 100,000 AU (1.87 LY). It is believed to be composed of comets which were ejected from the inner Solar System by gravitational interactions with the outer planets. Oort cloud objects move very slowly, and can be perturbed by infrequent events such as collisions, the gravitational effects of a passing star, or the

Sedna

90377 Sedna (525.86 AU average) is a large, reddish Pluto-like object with a gigantic, highly elliptical orbit that takes it from about 76 AU at perihelion to 928 AU at aphelion and takes 12,050 years to complete. Mike Brown, who discovered the object in 2003, asserts that it cannot be part of the scattered disc or the Kuiper belt as its perihelion is too distant to have been affected by Neptune's migration. He and other astronomers consider it to be the first in an entirely new population, which also may include the object 2000 CR₁₀₅, which has a perihelion of 45 AU, an aphelion of 415 AU, and an orbital period of 3,420 years. Sedna is very likely a dwarf planet, though its shape has yet to be determined with certainty. Brown terms this population the "Inner Oort cloud," as it may have formed through a similar process, although it is far closer to the Sun.

Boundaries

See also: Vulcanoid asteroid, Planets beyond Neptune, and Nemesis (star)

Much of our Solar System is still unknown. The Sun's gravitational field is estimated to dominate the gravitational forces of surrounding stars out to about two light years (125,000 AU). Lower estimates for the radius of the Oort cloud, by contrast, do not place it farther than 50,000 AU. Despite discoveries such as Sedna, the region between the Kuiper belt and the Oort cloud, an area tens of thousands of AU in radius, is still virtually unmapped. There are also ongoing studies of the region between Mercury and the Sun. Objects may yet be discovered in the Solar System's uncharted regions.

Galactic context

Location of the Solar System within our galaxy

The Solar System is located in the Milky Way galaxy, a barred spiral galaxy with a diameter of about 100,000 light-years containing about 200 billion stars. Our Sun resides in one of the Milky Way's outer spiral arms, known as the Orion Arm or Local Spur. The Sun lies between 25,000 and 28,000 light years from the Galactic Centre, and its speed within the galaxy is about 220 kilometres per second, so that it completes one revolution every 225–250 million years. This revolution is known as the Solar System's galactic year. The solar apex, the direction of the Sun's path through interstellar space, is near the constellation of Hercules in the direction of the current location of the bright star Vega. The plane of the Solar System's ecliptic lies at an angle of about 60° to the galactic plane.

The Solar System's location in the galaxy is very likely a factor in the evolution of life on Earth. Its orbit is close to being circular and is at roughly the same speed as that of the spiral arms, which means it passes through them only rarely. Since spiral arms are home to a far larger concentration of potentially dangerous supernovae, this has given Earth long periods of interstellar stability for life to evolve. The Solar System also lies well outside the star-crowded environs of the galactic centre. Near the centre, gravitational tugs from nearby stars could perturb bodies in the Oort Cloud and send many comets into the inner Solar System, producing collisions with potentially catastrophic implications for life on Earth. The intense radiation of the galactic centre could also interfere with the development of complex life. Even at the Solar System's current location, some scientists have hypothesised that recent supernovae may have adversely affected life in the last 35,000 years by flinging pieces of expelled stellar core towards the Sun as radioactive dust grains and larger, comet-like bodies.

Neighbourhood

The immediate galactic neighbourhood of the Solar System is known as the Local Interstellar Cloud or Local Fluff, an area of denser cloud in an otherwise sparse region known as the Local Bubble, an hourglass-shaped cavity in the interstellar medium roughly 300 light years across. The bubble is suffused with high-temperature plasma that suggests it is the product of several recent supernovae.

There are relatively few stars within ten light years (95 trillion km) of the Sun. The closest is the triple star system Alpha Centauri, which is about 4.4 light years away. Alpha Centauri A and B are a closely tied pair of Sun-like stars, while the small red dwarf Alpha Centauri C (also known as Proxima Centauri) orbits the pair at a distance of 0.2 light years. The stars next closest to the Sun are the red dwarfs Barnard's Star (at 5.9 light years), Wolf 359 (7.8 light years) and Lalande 21185 (8.3 light years). The largest star within ten light years is Sirius, a bright main sequence star roughly twice the Sun's mass and orbited by a white dwarf called Sirius B. It lies 8.6 light years away. The remaining systems within ten light years are the binary red dwarf system Luyten 726-8 (8.7 light years) and the solitary red dwarf Ross 154 (9.7 light years). Our closest solitary sun-like star is Tau Ceti, which lies 11.9 light years away. It has roughly 80 percent the Sun's mass, but only 60 percent its luminosity. The closest known extrasolar planet to the Sun lies around the star Epsilon Eridani, a star slightly dimmer and redder than the Sun, which lies 10.5 light years away. Its one confirmed planet, Epsilon Eridani b, is roughly 1.5 times Jupiter's mass and orbits its star every 6.9 years.

Formation and evolution

The Solar System formed from the gravitational collapse of a giant molecular cloud 4.568 billion years ago. This initial cloud was likely several light-years across and probably birthed several stars.

As the region that would become the Solar System, known as the pre-solar nebula, collapsed, conservation of angular momentum made it rotate faster. The centre, where most of the mass collected, became increasingly hotter than the surrounding disc. As the contracting nebula rotated, it began to flatten into a spinning protoplanetary disc with a diameter of roughly 200 AU and a hot, dense protostar at the centre. At this point in its evolution, the Sun is believed to have been a T Tauri star. Studies of T Tauri stars show that they are often accompanied by discs of pre-planetary matter with masses of 0.001–0.1 solar masses, with the vast majority of the mass of the nebula in the star itself. The planets formed by accretion from this disk.

Within 50 million years, the pressure and density of hydrogen in the centre of the protostar became great enough for it to begin thermonuclear fusion. The temperature, reaction rate, pressure, and density increased until hydrostatic equilibrium was achieved, with the thermal energy countering the force of gravitational contraction. At this point the Sun became a full-fledged main sequence star.

The Solar System as we know it today will last until the Sun begins its evolution off of the main sequence of the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram. As the Sun burns through its supply of hydrogen fuel, the energy output supporting the core tends to decrease, causing it to collapse in on itself. This increase in pressure heats the core, so it burns even faster. As a result, the Sun is growing brighter at a rate of roughly ten percent every 1.1 billion years.

Around 5.4 billion years from now, the hydrogen in the core of the Sun will have been entirely converted to helium, ending the main sequence phase. As the hydrogen reactions shut down, the core will contract further, increasing pressure and temperature, causing fusion to commence via the helium process. Helium in the core burns at a much hotter temperature, and the energy output will be much greater than during the hydrogen process. At this time, the outer layers of the Sun will expand to roughly up to 260 times its current diameter; the Sun will become a red giant. Because of its vastly increased surface area, the surface of the Sun will be considerably cooler than it is on the main sequence (2600 K at the coolest).

Eventually, helium in the core will exhaust itself at a much faster rate than the hydrogen, and the Sun's helium burning phase will be but a fraction of the time compared to the hydrogen burning phase. The Sun is not massive enough to commence fusion of heavier elements, and nuclear reactions in the core will dwindle. Its outer layers will fall away into space, leaving a white dwarf, an extraordinarily dense object, half the original mass of the Sun but only the size of the Earth. The ejected outer layers will form what is known as a planetary nebula, returning some of the material that formed the Sun to the interstellar medium.