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Build Your Own Satellite Ground Station
kavachameleon writes "A site called Hobby Space has this article at which there are instructions on how you can build your own satellite weather station! Something I think all of us have wanted to do at one point or another, this site tells us all how to "hack" into the weather satellites and get back usable pictures using our PCs and an AM antenna. There are more instructions for getting geostationary images."
spiffy!
Chronology of Events
Seymour Hersh writes an article in The New Yorker:
A Hawk's Business: Why was Richard Perle meeting with Adnan Khashoggi?
Richard Perle, on Wolf Blitzer's show, calls Seymour Hersh a terrorist
Read the interesting comments with historical comparisons at Talkingpointsmemo.com
More details available at:ENOUGH IS ENOUGH:
Richard Perle brands journalist Seymour Hersh a "terrorist"
Jack Shafer at Slate calls Richard N. Perle a pantywaist
Cheers,
W00t
From the CNN transcript:
There's an article in the New Yorker magazine by
Seymour Hersh that's just coming out today in which he makes a serious accusation against you that you have a conflict of interest in this because you're involved in some business that deals with homeland security, you potentially could make some money if, in fact, there is this kind of climate that he accuses you of proposing. Let me read a quote from the New Yorker article, the March 17th issue, just out now. "There is no question that Perle believes that removing Saddam from power is the right thing to do. At the same time, he has set up a company that may gain from a war."
PERLE: I don't believe that a company would gain
from a war. On the contrary, I believe that the
successful removal of Saddam Hussein, and I've
said this over and over again, will diminish the
threat of terrorism. And what he's talking about
is investments in homeland defense, which I think
are vital and are necessary. Look, Sy Hersh is the
closest thing American journalism has to a
terrorist, frankly.
BLITZER: Well, on the basis of -- why do you say
that? A terrorist?
PERLE: Because he's widely irresponsible. If you
read the article, it's first of all, impossible
to find any consistent theme in it. But the
suggestion that my views are somehow related for
the potential for investments in homeland
defense is complete nonsense.
BLITZER: But I don't understand. Why do you
accuse him of being a terrorist?
PERLE: Because he sets out to do damage and he
will do it by whatever innuendo, whatever
distortion he can -- look, he hasn't written a
serious piece since Maylie (ph).
BLITZER: All right. We're going to leave it right there
Get Your Unilateral War On Iraq On
I remember it well...it was my junior year in high school, and Kate and I were at the same party. She had been doing rails of coke all night and swigging Jack Daniels like nothing any of us had ever seen. You could tell this was something that she had done often, as the sheer amount of intoxicants that she had been consuming did not seem to affect her one bit.
I was hesitant to approach her...she was not really the type of girl I dated usually -- I went for the cheerleader/popular girl type who you were guaranteed to at least get a blow job by the first date. Fast girls -- not the kind of girls that required at least two dates to get a kiss on the cheek and a raging case of blue balls. Yet tonight was different. I was particularly randy, and Kate was there snorting enough coke to supply a small country. She was considered to be in the geeky chick group -- the girls that weren't hot, but were tolerable enough to hang around outside of school. But I didn't care...she looked like she wanted to get fucked -- and hard.
Finally I made my move. I had made eyes with her all night and I finally went to talk to her. I came over to her and before I could get out "Hi, my name is..." she grabbed my penis and started massaging it. There was a bathroom nearby, which no one was occupying at that moment, so I motioned for her to join me in it -- she accepted.
We enter the bathroom and lock the door, and she didn't even bother to kiss me or anything -- she dropped straight to her knees and whipped out my dick, and practically swallowed it whole. I'm no John Holmes, but they don't call me tic-tac either; I'm working with a good 8 inches or so, and she deep-throated it -- just like that.
I knew there had to be a catch to this. I felt around and grabbed her crotch, only to notice that she was on her period. I wasn't sure what to do, and then I asked her if she wanted it like a dirty whore and take it in the ass. Luckily, I had a condom with me that was lubricated, but it was obvious that she had been an anal pro and had already relaxed her sphincter to the point where my cock just slid in. It was the best ass I had ever had and she loved every inch of it in her ass. I couldn't last long -- her ass was still tight, surprisingly. I pulled it out and whipped off the condom, and unleashed my white wave into her waiting mouth. She swallowed every last drop of it. After I finished, I put my pants back on and wasn't sure what to say to her, but she smiled and left the bathroom. It was like she knew that I just wanted to fuck her and leave and not say shit to her.
After the encounter in the bathroom, I didn't see her for the rest of the night. I did see her occasionally at school and we exchanged smiles, but we never mentioned our hot anal session in the bathroom at that party. I still look back on it fondly. I'll always remember that 10 minutes of fun in the bathroom with Kate.
you should be a moron to not be able to build yourself a RELIABLE space shuttle!! YOU FAILED IT!
fdd dgdf dgds fdsg
...ABOUT SEVEN DEAD ASTRONAUTS. AND HERE'S WHY:
... underwhelmed. Seven astronauts have perished, but compared to 2,800 civilians, the news seemed almost like a relief.
Friday night was a late one for me, so I crawled out of bed about noon Saturday to a beeping phone. My mother was on the voice mail. "Will, I wanted to see if you were watching CNN. Have you seen it? It's terrible, Will, just terrible."
We have all been waiting for a call like that. Any time any of us - particularly those of us in New York - are out of contact for any period of time, that fear is always in the back of the brain: What if they've blown it all up while I was gone? Last July 4, I left to visit the Midwest. I found myself saying goodbye to my friends with more emotion than perhaps a one-week trip would necessitate; who knows what could happen while I was away. It's a thought that never leaves -- not anymore.
So when I heard my mom's message, her voice a mixture of horror and anger, it was impossible not only to fear the worst, but to expect it. It was only a matter of which scenario. Was Times Square on fire? Did they knock down the Sears Tower? Was a 747 shot out of the air? It's a dirty bomb on the Washington Mall, has to be.
I walked to the den and picked up the television remote control. I stared into the blank screen, my reflection staring back, afraid to push the power button. How different would the world be after I pressed that button than it was right now?
The first thing I saw was the now-familiar image of streaking, breaking light across the sky. Oh my God, it's a missile, they've fired a missile at us. The newscaster said, "There were obviously no survivors." Jesus, it was a nuke. Someone dropped a nuke on us. It was a Saturday, our defenses were down, no matter what we claim, we weren't ready. My God, where did it hit? Los Angeles? DC? My God, what if it hit downtown and I'm breathing in radiation right now? The BREAKING NEWS graphic, which has replaced the shadowy figure in an alleyway as our collective societal bogeyman, flashed words quickly, and I couldn't quite comprehend them.
Then I noticed it: "NASA." My mind reeled. That flight. The one with the Israeli soldier on it. Was that still going on? Jesus, they've shot it down. They've broken into NASA and now they're destroying our space shuttles. The newscaster piped in again: "Terrorism is not believed to be a factor." Math figures whirled around my head. Shuttle breaking apart, and crashing into sparsely populated Texas. Seven people dead.
The facts and figures poured in, and my brain added, subtracted, calculated and spat out an involuntary and inevitable conclusion: Shuttle explosion. Seven people dead. That's all. Just seven. It's not as horrible as you thought. Life can continue.
I then ordered lunch.
What happened Saturday morning was a tragedy, seven lives senselessly rubbed out in a split second. Background information on the astronauts filtered in, and your heart ached for the families of those who were lost. But you couldn't help but feel, well
Several reasons exist for the quietly callous reaction many have had to the disaster. For anyone over the age of 23, the memories of the 1986 Challenger explosion are still fresh. Like many schoolchildren at the time, I watched live in my fifth-grade classroom as the heroic Christa McAuliffe - a teacher, just like Mrs. Lawyer and Mrs. McRoberts - was set to cross that threshold, show that anyone could go into space, break through to that whole other world above. When that closeup shot of the Challenger - with its small spark before the actual explosion, a millisecond of hey, what was that? -- revealed the detonation into oblivion, it scarred us all forever. A world shared in pain and shock; it had happened to all of us, at once.
Saturday provided our television culture less catharsis. Most of the country wasn't watching the reentry live. Space travel isn't as exciting as it once was; trips to the international space stati
Why go outside to check the weather when there are satellites that can fall from the sky?
Any
Pedro
----
The Insomniac Coder