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Smart Satellite Sets Its Own Priorities
Roland Piquepaille writes "Currently, satellites take pictures of whatever is in front of their cameras. But hydrologists from the University of Arizona (UA), working with the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) are creating spacecraft that think for themselves. Their smart software, which is tested on NASA's EO-1 satellite, can be used on all kinds of spacecraft. This software has three components: an image formation module, a science algorithm module, and a continuous planning module. This onboard planner reschedules what to film in conjunction with what the scientific algorithms have detected. This software has already detected floods in Australia and will be adapted to also detect volcano eruptions and changes in ice fields. More details and references are available in this overview, including images of the flood detected by this smart software."
Can't you do anything better than bite off of Roland Piquepalle? You do this shit every day. Just put his blog in the fscking sidebar.
Well when the space elevator is completed, we can all have our own personal satellites. Talk about an off-site backup!
Mr. Microphone ... I
don't know, pigs? Popeil has cured baldness with hair in a spray can.
And in 1979, he cured the common zit. As part of a program to teach
mathematics, science and grammar, we were forced to take health class
in high school. Part of that instruction concerned skin care. Rather
than bore you with detail, I'll summarize the conclusion. I quote,
"Douche bag, you're NEVER gonna get laid with a zit on your face."
This was not well recieved as I was the Fry Guy at Wendy's Old
Fashioned Hamburgers. Enter Ron Popeil.
Ron Popeil has "invented" a lot of shit for your kitchen. His company markets a small rotisserie oven for that white trash buffet taste in your very own home. He sells a dehydrator for ridding food of that pesky moisture and a sausage maker for people with their own
In 1979, Popeil's company, Ronco, marketed a product named Mr. Microphone. This name was chosen over Mr. Douchebag, since it was a microphone and not a feminine hygiene system. Mr. Microphone plugged into a common radio and turned a common schmo into a sex magnate. As the commercial demonstrated, getting laid was as simple as cruising the street and dictating your intentions to hapless pedestrians. "Hey, good-looking, we'll be back to pick you up later!" Ah, yeah. Chicks dig assertiveness. Zit, schmit. Mr. Microphone was the ticket to a bedroom full of many beautiful ladies.
Skeptics may doubt the effectiveness of Mr. Microphone as a cure for common acne. But I can attest to the fact that I never had a Mr. Microphone yet my bedroom was never filled with many beautiful ladies.
Coincidence?
I don't think so.
Maybe I'll get pictures of those bikini-clad babes like those ads always promised.
Does it run Linux, and if so will it cause itself to crash into Redmond?
I Am My Own Worst Enemy
numbFers continue