I went outside into the cold morning air this AM… and my lungs *didn’t* freak out. So I was able to head out and get some stuff done. So, yay.
I went outside into the cold morning air this AM… and my lungs *didn’t* freak out. So I was able to head out and get some stuff done. So, yay.
Issue number 06 of US Bomber Projects is now available (for background, see HERE). This issue includes:
USBP#06 can be downloaded as a PDF file for only $4:
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US Bomber Projects #07 is also now available. This issue includes:
USBP#07 can be downloaded as a PDF file for only $4:
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There’s two ways to have a computer generated character walk:
1) You animate it walking, doign whatever you want
2) You *simulate* it walking, factoring in physics and anatomy and whatnot
For movies and whatnot, #1 gets the job done. #2 is far, far harder, and is prone to fail… but if you can pull it off, the results can be impressive.
We present a muscle-based control method for simulated bipeds in which both the muscle routing and control parameters are optimized. This yields a generic locomotion control method that supports a variety of bipedal creatures. All actuation forces are the result of 3D simulated muscles, and a model of neural delay is included for all feedback paths. As a result, our controllers generate torque patterns that incorporate biomechanical constraints. The synthesized controllers find different gaits based on target speed, can cope with uneven terrain and external perturbations, and can steer to target directions.
[vimeo 79098420]
Some folks want to make the *worst* 1980’s cop movie ever. They’ve made a trailer for it to advertise their Kickstarter effort. Remember, worst 80’s movie ever. It’s… it’s freakin’ AWESOME.
[youtube 72RqpItxd8M]
Fimbulwinter comes!
According to the Daily Mail (yeah…), the sunspot cycle has apparently crashed, and we’re on our way to a Maunder Minimum like the kind that led to the Little Ice Age a few hundred years ago… when the Thames would freeze solid in winter. If true (*if*), it should provide some entertaining decades as planetary temperatures collapse and ecosystems shift.
Of course, it might also lead to armies of ice giants stomping across the polar parts of the world, and fire giants stomping around the equatorial bits. Then all y’all will better repent yer blasphemous ways and take up arms at the last defense and prepare to partake of your defeat and die in good company.
Or maybe, y’know, it’s just one of them things.
I woke up this morning feeling… alright. Didn’t even have to spend have an hour coughing once I made it to vertical… just a few hacks, and I was done. I felt almost back to normal. Had visions of finally getting done some things that have needed doing since before the sickness began. And then… I went out to get the mail. Within two seconds, the cold air hit my lungs, and their response was:
Damn things tried to eject themselves. They’ve been twitchy and inefficient ever since.
Damn.
Best guess, all the coughing and whatnot has stripped off the protective layers of gunk and ick and whatnot, leaving the lung tissue exposed. Some cold dry air hits it and *whammo,* it panics.
On the back of one odd piece of Boeing propaganda for the 2707 SST were a few paintings depicting the wonders that the SST would bring. This one depicts the interior of the SST. It seems, by modern standards, quite empty and spartan… what happened to the overhead baggage stowage? There seems to be only a little of that here.
Also, notice that the stewardesses/flight attendants/whatever seem to be wearing bubble helmets. This is not doubt pure artistic license, meant to make it look more mid-1960s Future Cool. But having flown recently, and having spent those seven or eight hours cooped up right in front of someone who spent the whole trip coughing up their lungs (and, unsurprisingly, I came down with the plague within the next day or two), I know *I* would certainly want to wear an environment suit if I had to spend my days in a sealed aluminum tube with hundreds of random strangers. Hell, next time I fly I’m wearing a gas mask.