Regular readers will be familiar with Canadian futurist and ethicist George Dvorsky, whose excellent site Sentient Developments explores topics related to science, technology, human performance and the moral imperative to expand rights of personhood to certain non-human animals. We’ve linked to SD dozens of times over the years, and George was even good enough to let us do some guest blogging back before we got too busy to populate our own damn site.

George is also the Chairman of the Board at the Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies as well as the program director for the Rights of Non-Human Persons Program.

We’re happy to count George among our personal friends, which makes it that much more fun to tell you about his podcast, which we listened to all the time back in the day. Besides the cool discussions, we were always really impressed with George’s choices in music for the program. (Dude’s got some big ears!) Now the podcast is back in full force, and we encourage you to check it out. The official feed is here; you can get it through iTunes right here.

Another pal, Michael Nordstrom (aka Nerdstrom, aka Mondhexe, aka fifty other things), has taken his obsession with über-legendary kaiju character Garamon to an absurd and fairly fucking awesome new level. Already the proprietor of fan site Garamania, Nerdstrom is now attempting to become Garamon.

We’re not kidding.

Check out the Kickstarter page for The Becoming of Garamike project, through which Nerdstrom is attempting to raise a mere $2,200 to get a couple of pro sculptors and makeup artists to help him, erm, make the transition. Here’s the official description:

Yes, at last… no longer content to merely document and celebrate the world’s favorite clunky, crusty, fish-lipped, oil-belching, high-rise-wrecking meteorite monster… I, Michael Nordstrom (Nerdstrom), Proprietor of Garamania, being of warped mind and highly costume-tolerant body… have decided to becomeGaramon (actually, Garamike).  Working with ultra-talented professional sculptors/make-up artists Michael Ridge and Michael Turner and a whole lot of alginate, foam and silicone, I will be alchemically transformed into a being as outwardly Garamonic as I could ever hope to be. Our design honors the original suit while adding some cutting-edge components (including the face, which will be a form-fitting silicone masterwork of Gara-expressiveness).  Our goal is to complete work on at least the initial phase (head, hands, feet and tail) by the opening night of GARAMANIACAL, the all-Garamon, all-Pygmon art show I am curating for FOE Gallery in Northampton, Massachusetts (the current image for this project is a section of an incredible painting by Jason Edmiston, which will be on display at the show).  On opening weekend, my hope is to be a Gara-transformed barker and ballyhoo-er, stomping the snowy streets of Northampton to connect the public at large to the show, turning them on to works of Garamonstrous art that they didn’t even realize they needed in their lives (but they do… they definitely do).  The funds you contribute will help us meet this goal, as well as further us on the road to completing a full suit in the foreseeable future.

Backers should know that this will not be a short-term transformation.  Once granted the powers of Gara-becoming by Ridge and Turner, I will be able to become my Gara-self at any time, night or day… I plan to fully inhabit this suit, mustering all of my performance experience to truly bring it to life as a Gara-character unto itself.  Just as Jandek was Ready For The House, I am Ready For The Suit. I have a slew of mindbenderly projects in mind for my Gara-persona… YOU, the audience, will:

THRILL! at the sight of Garamike hosting a delightfully art-damaged musical variety show, to be produced for local cable access (also to be broadcast online);

GASP! while watching Garamike deliver gripping, novel musical performance art happenings to delight and inspire legions of like-monstrous folk (again, to be captured on video for cable and online broadcast);

GUFFAW! at frequent photoplay amusements featuring Garamike, to be posted to Garamania… and much, much more!

This may sound strange, but is it really any weirder than, say, Dolly Parton’s face in that thar new singin’ contest movie?

Best to both of our buds in their quest for excellence!

By all reports, Gerald Bull was a devoted but unremarkable student in his early college years. A hard worker, he gained the respect of some professors despite his limited academic success. These connections led to Bull’s acceptance at University of Toronto’s new Institute of Aerodynamics in 1948. Bull’s focus was on wind tunnels, and his hard work soon began to pay off.

Bull was noticed by the Canadian Armament and Research Development Establishment (CARDE), where he made a proposal — turned down as too expensive — for a wind tunnel. It was during this time that he was first introduced to the field of artillery and weaponry. After finishing his doctorate in 1951, Bull returned to work at CARDE, again on artillery. In the mid-’50s, CARDE was visited by a US military team, including the director of US Army Research and Development, Lieutenant General Arthur Trudeau. Trudeau saw potential in Bull’s ideas, and began using these ideas for US military development.

While working for CARDE, Bull purchased a large plot of land that straddled the United States/Quebec border, in the towns of North Troy, Vermont (where I grew up) and Highwater, Quebec. Bull donated this land to McGill University, to be used for a new ballistics lab, under the direction of former British Army man Robert Stacy. Tests were begun with 5-7″ guns, capable of firing projectiles great distances. A gun designed by Bull and test-fired on the island of Barbados as part of the High-Altitude Research Program (HARP) in 1962 was able to shoot a 330-pound object more than 10,000 feet, achieving an altitude of 215,000 feet. A joint US-Canada project soon began testing guns that were more than 110 feet long.

In the late ’60s, Bull severed his ties with McGill University and set up the Space Research Corporation (SRC) on the land in Vermont and Quebec. The company was incorporated in both countries, and Bull began to branch out around the world. SRC took on projects for China, Chile, Taiwan, Israel and South Africa. This is when things began to get hazy. It is often claimed that the work being licensed through South Africa was actually connected to the CIA, who were supporting South Africa as allies against the Soviet Union.

What is clear is that my parents got somewhat accustomed to the explosions, which used to wake my brother and me from our naps. We used to take walks to the end of the Long Trail, known as Journey’s End, about 3 or 4 miles from the house I grew up in, and we would be bordering SRC land. The first house my parents lived in when they moved to North Troy was owned by an SRC employee who was then living in South Africa. My mom reports that no one really knew what was going on at SRC, but it was clear enough that it was weapons related.

The Northeast Kingdom is known as a place where privacy is a social norm, and no one asked too many questions. At least not until 1977, when the US government adopted new arms trade restrictions and Bull ended up serving time for illegal deals with South Africa. After being sued and fined back in Quebec, Bull moved to Brussels, where he continued his work, taking jobs for China and Iraq. In 1988, Bull took on the infamous Project Babylon, for which he was hired by Iraqi President Saddam Hussein to construct superguns, and to work on SCUD missile development.

It was not too long after this, in March 1990, a few months before the Gulf War began, that Gerald Bull was shot outside his apartment in Brussels. Reports differ, of course, but it is most commonly assumed that the action was carried out by Mossad, Israel’s Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. Other suspects are the CIA, Iraq or Iran, but no one knows for sure. This video takes the tack that Mossad was responsible:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsCjlUH0qsA

Whatever the actual case, it makes for a bizarre and fine tale, especially as contrasted with the seemingly serene Northeast Kingdom landscape.

For instance, look at this fucking supernova:

Taken by the folks at the Chandra X-ray Observatory, the image above shows the Tycho supernova remnant in low energy X-rays (red) and high energy X-rays (blue).

Now look at this fucking motion-controlled time-lapse footage of the South Dakota night sky:

Sub Zero – winter night timelapse from Randy Halverson on Vimeo.

Now read this tragic fucking story. It’s about Soviet cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov, who was killed on re-entry in his Soyuz-1 space capsule — a death he knew was coming and could not avoid. The complete harrowing account is detailed in the book Starman, by Jamie Doran and Piers Bizony.

And check out this random fucking space fact: First artificial orbiters, by year:

• Earth: 1957
• Moon: 1966
• Mars: 1971
• Venus: 1975
• Jupiter: 1995
• Saturn: 2004
• Mercury: right now, baby!

NASA’a MESSENGER orbiter entered Mercury orbit on St. Patrick’s Day and it’s been sending back the first-ever close up images of the surface of the Sun’s nearest companion.

I hope these little gems have soothed any existential angst or knee-jerk nihilism caused by the Universe’s undeniable vastness. As you were.

@NASA vs. Neil

Wed Mar 2 02:27:36 2011
Mission Control woke up the crews at 5:24 am EST to begin Flight Day 7. “Speed of Sound” by Coldplay was played for shuttle Pilot Eric Boe.

Cats demanding breakfast with loud meows, scratching at door began 05:45 PST. Song in head is inexplicably Billy Ocean’s “Caribbean Queen”.

Wed Mar 2 03:29:20 2011
Spacewalk begins at 10:18a ET – preps underway now on NASA TV & http://www.nasa.gov/ntv

Rent past due. Post office closes at 17:30 PST, so early breakfast is a must. An unexpected Staples run for envelopes will make timing tight.

Wed Mar 2 04:34:53 2011
@antoinehl Spacewalkers breathe pure oxygen before they go outside to help purge nitrogen from their blood – prevents the bends.

@antoinehl Unclear why a daily visit to an expensive coffee shop brimming with L.A. douchebags is required — research is ongoing.

Wed Mar 2 05:40:18 2011
Crew members inside the station’s Quest airlock are troubleshooting a minor leak in Steve Bowen’s spacesuit. Bowen is in no danger.

Unscheduled stop at an intersection deciding whether to participate in the trending topic #teamsheen. Other motorists will get over it.

Wed Mar 2 06:02:47 2011
Astronauts are only 15 minutes behind schedule and the spacewalk still could begin on time at 10:18 am EST

“Caribbean Queen” earworm still persists. Attempting mindhack by freestyle rapping under breath, introducing other Billy Ocean singles.

Wed Mar 2 09:17:32 2011
Riding atop the station’s robotic arm, Steve Bowen retrieved a lightweight adapter plate assembly from outside the Columbus module.

Finally seated at desk at 13:17 PST, a comprehensive review of Facebook updates has begun. Commenting begins, is debated, curtailed.

Wed Mar 2 10:29:25 2011
Alvin Drew removed insulation from the avionics assembly on the ELC-4 and moved a sunshade away from the lens of a video camera near ELC-4.

Friend has called. 20 min chat re: True Grit, microphones, recent divorces. Phone call w/ parents considered, postponed. Scan boingboing.net

Wed Mar 2 13:48:28 2011
Spacewalkers are wrapping up today’s spacewalk — they’re back inside the hatch.

Severe onset of “4 o’clock shame” syndrome. Work furiously engaged in. Bolt into kitchen for snack break, run back. Cats confused.

Wed Mar 2 14:11:30 2011
This was the 155th spacewalk supporting station assembly & maintenance, totaling 973 hours, 53 minutes, equal to 40 full days of spacewalks.

GF returns from job. Dinner, beers. Larry Sanders SE1 discovered on Netflix. Awake again 03:41 PST, read @robdelaney tweets til 04:12 PST, sleep.

What began as provocative television has been reduced to — as noted by Stan and the boys on “South Park” as  — “the most retarded show(s) on television.”

I could understand that.

These shows are all carbon-copies of each other, and contain the same stock elements: a jerky über-male leads, by near intimidation, a team of cowering investigators through various haunted locations. Over the course of the program, those involved experience something perceived as “paranormal” — or what a critically-thinking person might call “normal.”

But like an aging Mafia don, they keep… pulling.. me… back.. in! Through the magic that is Netflix Instant, I found myself giving the genre a second chance, via the Travel Channel’s oh-so-cleverly-named “Ghost Adventures.”

The show follows the… um… adventures… of host/leader Zac Bagans and his crew, Nick Groff and Aaron Goodwin. In each episode, the fellas lock themselves up in a haunted location overnight without a film crew — the three of them are alone. They don’t investigate typical haunted houses, nor are they “there to help” like on “Ghost Hunters.” Rather, they go to the scariest and most dangerous locations available: prisons, mental wards, “satanic” sites, etc.  The idea is to “antagonize” the ghosts into appearing, usually by Zac challenging ghosts to a fight.

Yes, you read that right.

Let’s just say that if Ed Hardy sponsored a paranormal television show it would be “Ghost Adventures.”  It’s pretty douche-y: a salute to hair-gel and ripped muscles with enough “bros” and “dudes” to give “Jersey Shore” a run for its money. At its worse, “Ghost Adventures” resembles a drunken frat party where ego and testosterone inspire ragingly hilarious dude-offs between the boys and whatever “evil prisoner spirit” with which they’re trying to make contact.

Typical line from the show: “What?!? What?!? You want to touch something?!? You touched a girl and scared a girl! Touch me now! C’mon! You’re so tough, touch me now! What’s the matter? To afraid to touch me? Coward! You’re a coward!”

This tactic has drawn considerable ire from investigators who claim that “it goes against good taste of paranormal investigation” or that it is “too dangerous.” These paragons of the paranormal claim such antics lower the credibility of legitimate investigation. That being said, I have heard from a mutual acquaintance that the “Ghost Adventures” guys are actually pleasant dudes to share a beer with.

Bottom line: if you’re turning to paranormal TV in search of “credibility” then you are on a fool’s errand, my friends.

I’m not complaining. This one-hour show is my new obsession and I actually look forward to watching it. Although the team jumps to mind-numbingly idiotic conclusions with their “findings” — and Zac now appears to get possessed every other episode — I’m drawn to one aspect. The show dedicates half of its airtime to giving viewers the backstory of each location. Through personal interviews with those who experienced disturbances as well as any folks present for the site’s original function (ex-prisoners, psych patients, doctors, orphan children, etc.), “Ghost Adventures” puts the spotlight where it should be on the history of the paranormal location. Frathouse hi-jinks aside, it’s is a nice to have some objective context.

But then it’s off to nutsville as the team locks themselves in for the night. And that’s exactly where I find myself tuning out.  I’ll start making some food, reading a book, surfing the internets, or anything else that divides my attention. I’ll look up when Zac bucks at a ghost, or when Nick asks it to “use his energy to make itself known” — whatever that means — or when timorous Aaron (the Bluto of the group) goes slack-jawed with fear as sounds start filing up the room. I’ll glance at the mysterious “orbs” that enter the back of their heads, and hang in for the typical ending where Aaron turns off the last camera with a “phew!” of exhaustion and relief.

I’m happy that the show honors the locales and pays tribute to the people who played vital roles beyond just the witnesses and investigators. “Ghost Adventures” amplifies the history of the haunting — something that is sadly skipped by most paranormal programs. The documentary portion totally trumps the subsequent fist-pumping man-fest. But for those first first thirty minutes, “Ghost Adventures” has credibility than any other show of its kind.

Next time you’re in Atlanta, gentlemen, the beers are on me. Pound em, bros.

None of these various terms have changed my life dramatically. If you’re not familiar with NLD (it’s not one of those common or “cool” diagnoses like dyslexia), it means I’m terrible at math and science; I have poor visual spatial sense (meaning, I have no sense of direction and can’t read a map); I have trouble with affect in my verbal and facial expression; I have trouble with other’s non-verbal cues; and, perhaps worst of all, I’m bad at multi-step verbal instructions. Jealous yet? If you’re looking for a disabled person who has “risen above” her difficulties in life, go watch “Oprah.”

My disability has caused me some difficulty maintaining friendships in life, due to my obsessions with various topics and general nerdiness, particularly in high school. I played trombone and was on the debate team. For whatever reason, these things did not make me popular. I was particularly hurt when one of my best friends, Ethel* (name changed to protect the bitchy) dropped me in tenth grade. Fortunately, now that I’m in my late twenties, I realize not everyone wants to discuss the poetry of William Blake ad nauseam. [Editor's note: I do!!!]

Nevertheless, there are advantages to my learning disability. For one thing, the ability to become very focused on a particular subject is useful in college. I graduated with a high GPA. I’m not going to say what, since that’s pretty much the academic equivalent of whipping out a ruler…

Then again, even if you feel on top of the world in college, once you graduate, you realize employers aren’t saying, “Wow, she knows a lot about the Indian Partition! Let’s hire her!”

I’d also like to take a moment to address the absurd language people now use to describe various disabilities, chiefly “differently abled.” As usual, George Carlin put it better than I ever could:

“I believe that if a person is going to insist on using tortured language such as differently abled, then he should be forced to use it to describe everyone. We’re all differently abled. You can do things I can’t do, I can do things you can’t do. Barry Bonds can’t play the cello, Yo-Yo Ma can’t hit the curveball. They’re differently abled.”

There are definitely days when I wish I was simply “average” across the board — neither dramatically flawed nor exceptional, just one of your “Ethels” who you can distract with a shoe sale. But I have to accept who I am, including my flaws (though God forbid I should go on the lecture circuit preaching self-acceptance). And I really do know a lot about esoteric topics, should any readers be hiring…

www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDsZUTyMKog

Isn’t addiction awesome? The way it destroys your life and the lives of those around you? The way that once it has a toehold in your consciousness, it’s exceptionally hard to not have it define you forever? Ask anyone who’s ever been touched by the ravenous scourge of addiction, and I’m sure they’ll tell you it’s kinda like snack food. Really! Or at least the makers of snack food will.

So I’m having lunch with the lady yesterday and we discovered that both of our snack foods were emblazoned with proud claims about their addictive properties. Hers was an addictive assortment of savory and salty peanut snacks! Mine — a vegan cookie, of all things — was purportedly wonderfully addictive! What’s so blazingly fantastic about something being addictive?

Seems like everyone these days is trumpeting how addictive their product or service is, like it’s the new fried chicken. Sorry, I just had to stop typing there for a sec and run next door to the bodega, shoot the owner in the face and clean out his cash drawer so I could go score the new KFC shamewich. Shit, I said it again. BRB! OK. Back now, bloated, self-loathing and a wanted felon. What was I talking about? Oh yeah. Boy, you know what would go great with this inky blackness of grinding torment? A bag of “totally life-destroying” corn chips!! When you’re addicted to addiction, you just can’t get enough addiction! And oddly enough, the products that could actually back up their claims somehow choose to demur: Marlboro Wonderfully Addictive! Grey Goose Come For The Intoxication, Stay For The Crippling Habit! (Then switch to Ruble Vokda)

It’s so fantastically fashionable to be six kindsa wrong these days. Hotmail‘s latest grasp at relevance is that it’s made for The New Busy. Ads on buses inform me that for a member of The New Busy, this isn’t just a boring old bus, nooo. For The New Busy, it’s an office! Library! Nap room! Getaway car! Waterloo! Orphanage!

What’s so “new” about The New Busy, you might ask? Well, now that they’re through privately destroying their own lives, and they’re totally into destroying your life! Because for The New Busy, their car is their new phone booth! Chatroom! Text hut! Sauna! Chill pad! Gas chamber! The Starbucks is their new message center! Networking hub! Conference room! Sweat lodge! Speed date! Room 101!

You know The New Busy. They’re the ones whose response to any innocent salutation is to grow suddenly wide-eyed and heave a theatrically exaggerated sigh: “busy.” Or perhaps their style is the quizzical, surprised look “whew! busy.” Like it just unexpectedly hit them on the head. Wow man, I’m sorry. Is that the right response? How are you? Oh, you know… hardworking, but generally well-rested and satisfied. Really, dude? Maybe readjust your priorities and jam some miserable in there. After all, as they say: if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention!! (ie. Happy? Shame on you, you ignorant shit.)

What’s happened to the Old Busy? You know, Ol’ Gil from “The Simpsons.” He’s out of fashion, love. Apparently, he hasn’t gotten a hold of the new snortable sleep replacement they’re developing at UCLA. I hate to break it to you geniuses, but some colleagues and I already did some deep research into snortable sleep substitutes back in ’98 at a little Puerto Rican bar in Brooklyn. I would direct you there, but I hear it’s been shut down. Anyway, results were awesome brain lightning, followed by the worst 12 hours you can possibly imagine.

I guess the good news about addiction is. . . aw, fuck it, there’s no way to get out of that sentence reasonably. You either die, quit, or live out your days as a pitiful wraith. So will our society ever kick its addiction addiction? You’d certainly need more space on soda cans:

Delicious! Have one, and you won’t want any more for a reasonable length of time until you decide it’s prudent to have another! At which point we fully encourage you to make your choice free of duress!

Sounds awesome. I can’t wait to get hooked on patience and contentment!!

Drunk History is a Funny or Die series in which a completely sauced Duncan Trussell walks us through civilization’s most significant moments.

This clip is about that wizard of electromagnetism, Nikola Tesla, played here by John C. Reilly. Tesla’s eternal frenemy, Thomas Edison, also makes an appearance. Even better, it’s everyone’s favorite eccentric Crispin Glover as the doyen of direct current.

Checkit:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwI1Xpwhyi8

www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSgiXGELjbc

www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGK84Poeynk

www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Cd36WJ79z4

Thank you, Symphony of Science!