Comment hidden because you are ignoring dag. (show it anyway)

^From the outset you have to make an assumption that ETs are trying to make contact with other ETs. That might be a pretty irrational assumption- but it's one that we could easily make. After that, it's just a matter of finding the medium.

You're right, it could be something so far beyond us- that we have no way of grasping it.

All of our rapid advances in communication tech over the last 100 years has given us some species hubris that we are cutting edge- to a type III civilisation, we would be ants building nests - but even ants have a kind of ambition- so maybe we shouldn't lose hope.

Also, with regard to pulsars, or any stars for that matter- there could be barely discernible fluctuations in the light strength that would form a kind of modulation. The pulsar pattern might be the bigger signal saying "hey look at me" and then the subtle message comes after you know that's where to look. If I wanted to create a message beacon that many galaxies could tune in to, I would use something like a pulsar- so at least people would know where to look.

This snippet from the Wikipedia article on pulsars is very interesting:

In 2003 observations of the Crab nebula pulsar's signal revealed "sub-pulses" within the main signal with durations of only nanoseconds. It is thought that these nanosecond pulses are emitted by regions on the pulsar's surface 60 cm in diameter or smaller, making them the smallest structures outside the solar system to be measured.

Not fit to live? Nice tags. Aren't you just a shining beacon of tolerance? -To say someone should die because their beliefs do not match yours? You're no better than Hitler.

Yeah, I went there.

demon, it seems unlikely that there will be complex bigger lifeforms. That is because at least on Earth oxygen respiration is required to sustain energetic multicellular creatures. No sunlight reaches the depth of Europa so oxygen generating photosynthesis is unlikely. So if we only harm a small place in, the worst case scenario of a leak or meltdown, then I don't think it would matter that much on a planetary scale. However leaving the reactor in the water will doubtlessly cause it to leak after decades or centuries. Maybe they could drive the meltprobe back up a bit after the mission is done. If it then locks into the ice it should remain so.

Crake for communication a wire would bring problems as you say. What they could do, is drop radio beacons at certain distances along the way down which could then relay the signal back up the surface. Or maybe use really longwave radio signals which might be able to penetrate the ice, though could only carry very low bandwidth.

>> ^quantumushroom:
Hating me won't help you when we're all paying even more for electricity and watching American jobs die based on lies about Earth's weather, in order to keep fat asshole D.C. bureaucrats farting through silk.


Hating you.

Why should we hate you?

Haven't you been a beacon of truth?

Haven't you cared so much?

Why should we hate you?

Haven't you been a beacon of truth?

Haven't you cared so much?

Won't everyone love you?

Hating you makes so much sense.

You are a shallow, cruel, forgettable loud mouth.

Won't everyone love you?

Hating you makes so much sense.

You are a shallow, cruel, forgettable loud mouth.

I am a fighter; you are a fiend.

I read a lot of forums after Outliers came out, and it was from a pilot who was knowledgeable about the situation, and pointed out several very basic errors Gladwell made in describing the crash. Things like Gladwell claiming pilots would fly right into the beacon in question, when VOR beacons are never, you know, actually on a runway.

He didn't disagree necessarily with Gladwell's overall premise, but with the factual mistakes that he made in describing the accident, it called into question Gladwell's veracity.

In reply to this comment by messenger:
Have you got a link to that analysis? I'd like to read it too.

In reply to this comment by ShakaUVM:
It's an interesting argument, but I read an analysis of Outliers which showed that Gladwell completely botched the story of the Korean Airlines flight.

So I don't trust anything he says on the topic.

This is great. The same affliction applies to the medical field and anything else for that matter. People are just so sure of themselves, an open mind would go a long way.

We have some really old medical texts attributing all illness to "humours", vapor like gasses.
Here's a great quote as a rebuttal when the idea of bacteria came around:

"The facts on which the Bacteriologist build need not be, and are not, denied. Specific Bacteria do exist, and they do more or less serve to convey disease, but adequate investigation compels some of the first medical authorities in the world to consider the inference of the Bacteriologists that infective diseases are usually conveyed by Bacteria utterly delusive; because they find that the universal efficient cause of the whole group of infective diseases is some form of miasmatic volatile poison, which on entering the human system, or any other animal system, produces the disease, and at the same time produces the Bacteria characteristic of the disease, a part of the poison, and probably a very small part only, being made up into the microscopic parcels which the Bacteria are." ~ Dr. John Nicol , a most esteemed correspondent, editor of The Beacon at Tioga Center, N.Y. June, 1895

Comment hidden because you are ignoring dag. (show it anyway)

I don't like the sneering disdain that Obermann has for blog journalists. His content is hardly a shining beacon of straight news.

My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister - Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like, were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father's, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, "Also Georgiana Wife of the Above," I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine - who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle - I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.

Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things, seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain, that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dykes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond, was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing, was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.

"Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you little devil, or I'll cut your throat!"

A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.

"O! Don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it, sir."

"Tell us your name!" said the man. "Quick!"

"Pip, sir."

"Once more," said the man, staring at me. "Give it mouth!"

"Pip. Pip, sir."

"Show us where you live," said the man. "Pint out the place!"

I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.

The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to itself - for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my feet - when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high tombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread ravenously.

"You young dog," said the man, licking his lips, "what fat cheeks you ha' got."

I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my years, and not strong.

"Darn me if I couldn't eat em," said the man, with a threatening shake of his head, "and if I han't half a mind to't!"

I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn't, and held tighter to the tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it; partly, to keep myself from crying.

"Now lookee here!" said the man. "Where's your mother?"

"There, sir!" said I.

He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"There, sir!" I timidly explained. "Also Georgiana. That's my mother."

"Oh!" said he, coming back. "And is that your father alonger your mother?"

"Yes, sir," said I; "him too; late of this parish."

"Ha!" he muttered then, considering. "Who d'ye live with - supposin' you're kindly let to live, which I han't made up my mind about?"

"My sister, sir - Mrs. Joe Gargery - wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."

"Blacksmith, eh?" said he. And looked down at his leg.

After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine, and mine looked most helplessly up into his.

"Now lookee here," he said, "the question being whether you're to be let to live. You know what a file is?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know what wittles is?"

"Yes, sir."

After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a greater sense of helplessness and danger.

"You get me a file." He tilted me again. "And you get me wittles." He tilted me again. "You bring 'em both to me." He tilted me again. "Or I'll have your heart and liver out." He tilted me again.

I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both hands, and said, "If you would kindly please to let me keep upright, sir, perhaps I shouldn't be sick, and perhaps I could attend more."

He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped over its own weather-cock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright position on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:

"You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted and ate. Now, I ain't alone, as you may think I am. There's a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I am a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has a secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open. I am a-keeping that young man from harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what do you say?"

I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the morning.

"Say Lord strike you dead if you don't!" said the man.

I said so, and he took me down.

"Now," he pursued, "you remember what you've undertook, and you remember that young man, and you get home!"

"Goo-good night, sir," I faltered.

"Much of that!" said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. "I wish I was a frog. Or a eel!"

At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his arms - clasping himself, as if to hold himself together - and limped towards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the nettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people, stretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his ankle and pull him in.

When he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose legs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When I saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of my legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on again towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and picking his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into the marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy, or the tide was in.

The marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped to look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not nearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long angry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the river I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the beacon by which the sailors steered - like an unhooped cask upon a pole - an ugly thing when you were near it; the other a gibbet, with some chains hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life, and come down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a terrible turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their heads to gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I looked all round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of him. But, now I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping.

You call me a puppet, but I haven't had a sip of that Ron Paul koolaid yet, it must be intoxicating stuff. Ron Paul is part of the party that created this terrible economic mess for us, therefore he is responsible no matter how remote. Just because he's popular with the wingbat anarchists doesn't mean he's right or that he knows what he's talking about.

I believe Obama will lead our country to becoming the beacon of freedom and greatness around the world. I believe he will lead us to once again lead others. Auditing the Federal Reserve won't help us to a position of absolute leadership.

>> ^MaxWilder:
No, no, no. Religion is never the "cause". It is the gasoline that gets poured on sparks. It is the brightest beacon in an "us vs. them" mentality. "They" are heathens. "They" are infidels. "They" are goyim.

Do you argue that other fuels like nationalism are less volatile? If not, why are you attacking the gas instead of the spark? If you think humans are incapable of escaping from their violent nature, then what are you arguing about? We will always fight, and the reasons are irrelevant.


In the places around the world where there is war, how many of them are fought between peoples who share an identical religion? Sunnis hate the Shiites, Muslims hate the Jews, Protestants hate the Catholics. Nevermind that they all share the same ideological roots.

So what. People from different backgrounds fight? Wow, that's profound. The point isn't that religious backgrounds cause harm, but that humans find any difference between their tribe and another as worthy of fighting over.


How many conflicts would simply stagnate and die if the religion element was removed?

None.

The entire middle east would suddenly have no reason to fight. No holy land to contest. You talk about tribes and nations, but aren't they primarily defined by their religions as well?

No, they are not. They are defined by tribal and ethnic associations. Do you think a fanatical orthodox jew shares more with others that subscribe to his religion, or those who share his heritage, including those who do not visit temple every saturday? The "holy land" isn't disputed because of some temple, it's disputed because of its economic, political, and military importance.

No, no, no. Religion is never the "cause". It is the gasoline that gets poured on sparks. It is the brightest beacon in an "us vs. them" mentality. "They" are heathens. "They" are infidels. "They" are goyim.

In the places around the world where there is war, how many of them are fought between peoples who share an identical religion? Sunnis hate the Shiites, Muslims hate the Jews, Protestants hate the Catholics. Nevermind that they all share the same ideological roots.

How many conflicts would simply stagnate and die if the religion element was removed? The entire middle east would suddenly have no reason to fight. No holy land to contest. You talk about tribes and nations, but aren't they primarily defined by their religions as well?

And you say it's "occasionally" useful? It's what drives the ignorant to support the greedy!

^ I know the feeling. Usually I go by the poster's intent, and I suspect dft's intent is to show he's a douche, not holding Beck forward as a beacon of light and truth in these troubles times.

^who would have guessed the provider of cat-fart videos would be the only beacon of light and reason amid the darkness?

Never considered how ironic it really is that the US being on the far fringes of capitalism and while emanating minimal communal altruism through through its health care and social security system for a developed nation, pretends to be a beacon of religious compassion and good samaritanism.

>> ^burdturgler:
more info:
http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/china/shenzhou-vii-fake-spacewalk-5
809.html


Epoch times is pretty much the propaganda mouthpiece of the falungong. They've been making up fake news stories for years. I remember hearing from them years ago how millions were leaving the communist party and China was going to collapse any moment now. That and the story about how the Chinese were murdering thousands of falungong pratictioners and harvesting their organs (confirmed to be a fake). Bill-O and Fox is a shining beacon of professional journalism compared to the people at Epoch Times.

This is about as accurate as all the moon landing conspiracy theories and the Creation Museum.