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Crews Giles
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SC: Is there any hope for hope? And how do you paint that?

SW: It's all unfathomable hope and irrational faith from where I'm sitting. Use puce.

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Having a little fun, in the "I was like..." meme-style using gif images.

Needed to get my frustrations out (along with the mucus), and maybe all my Austin friends can relate.

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Wallops Island Launch facility aftermath of Antares launch failure.

I have outlined what I think I am seeing:

- both fallen masts,
- crater formed by the impact (or by the self-destruct detonation), and
- what may be a portion of the payload resting beside the long white (LOX?) tank.

The water-filled crater does not appear in the images I have of that area before the launch, and seems to be located where one of the fallen masts had been based.

The cylinder of debris sits in a concrete-walled depression beside the white tank.  That might be an inter-stage section of the rocket or part of the payload section.

It does not appear to be a part of the tankage, both because of its skewed angle, and because it does not appear in any pre-incident images that I have seen.

#NASA #orbitalsciences #wallopsflightfacility
  #antaresrocketexplosion  
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Let's back up a bit... A "suspicious vehicle?"  How is a car, in a motel parking lot "suspicious?"

This all started with armed police approaching a man sitting in a vehicle.  Another report explains it as the officer was "confronting a suspicious vehicle."

Really?  One needs to "confront" a vehicle? 

"You!  Vehicle!  Put your wheels behind your hood!"

So, let's use a hypothetical:

I am sitting in my car at the hotel where I am staying.  I'm not leaving my firearm unattended in the hotel (no one should), so have brought it into the car with me.  Police arrive, guns drawn, and are approaching ME-- not a suspicious car-- me.

They are not there to protect me. 

They are not there to serve me. 

Weapons drawn, they are there to shoot at me.  That is what a drawn weapon means.  Although I do not often associate with them, I have known some drawn weapons, personally, and that is what drawn weapons tend to do.  They shoot at people.

Knowing this, I am seriously going to consider popping in the clip.  Here is why. 

We all have a part of the brain (the amygdala) which reacts to danger in one of two ways, known as "fight or flee."  Some people (most people?) will freeze, hide, or attempt to flee by natural, unreasoned, reaction.  The rest will act to confront the danger directly. 

Either way, reasoning can reverse the initial impulse, but in that first split second, we have primed ourselves in one direction.

In the millisecond before reasoning is initiated, I have assumed an aggressive posture equal to that ALREADY directed at me and snap the clip into my weapon.  Now reasoning kicks in.  I am processing my situation.

Let’s say that I am Hispanic, staying at a inexpensive hotel (so I am probably poor), and police are approaching me with weapons drawn. 

I have reasoned that there is NO WAY this is going to go well for me.  I have not done anything wrong and those who presume the police are always fair and reasonable can do what they want in such a situation, but I know better, from experience.

My reasoning and experience contribute to how I assess the situation; and when that police officer's gun points at me, I pull my trigger-- before he does. 

I'm not filled with murderous rage, I am saving my own life which has been threatened by a stranger.

A "suspicious vehicle" is to blame? 

No.  I suspect we will find that overly aggressive police presuming on a uniform to attest to a character not many actually possess is to blame.  I don’t wear a uniform, but I do posses three things, good character, good reasoning, and good aim.

I have drawn my weapon at least three times when threatened by a superior force, and have not pulled the trigger because the threatening person immediately backed down-- their instinct was to flee and by the time they reasoned their situation, I had control. 

Police are not trained to use such restraint-- a policeman, in the three situations I found myself in, would have left three dead bodies, and justified it on the presence of a suspicious necktie.

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This is an absurd attempt at social engineering-- framed by persons who never raised children.
I raised a son and a daughter. My son was playing with Duplos before he could walk and speak. When we graduated to Legos, this conversion is NOT what took place:
"Father, I would like a particular set of Legos featuring strong male role models."
And when my daughter was old enough-- having long ignored the extensive Duplo set and watching her big brother working with Legos, the conversation did NOT go, "Daddy, do they have any Legos with non-traditional female minifigs?"
Nope. Not in the real world.
Anyone who raised a boy and a girl knows that the daughter in a toy section is headed, all on her own, to the pink stuff-- costume Jewelry, stickers, glitter, and dolls.
And social-engineered as she has been by the incessant Progressive mantras in our culture (and by that, I point to female teachers, female principals and single Moms), she recently declared (on social media) how she HATES the color pink.
But I remember her picking out her pink-cowboy boots, her pink and black socks, her pink dresses as I stood and simply watched her go through all the options available.
She thought I hung the moon, and she watched me play with her brother and having a mostly absent mother, so I was her role model-- yet, she wanted pretty things, showed no interest in my old and beloved Matchbox Car collection or Star Wars spaceships.
What she wanted from me was to have tea parties-- her idea-- never occurred to me that would be "fun.". What she asked for at the toy store or toy aisle was Polly Pockets-- which I knew nothing about.
The point is, I had to learn what my daughter wanted and how she played since I had no sisters growing up. She showed me how to play like a girl plays.
Girls are different than boys and they are wonderful in that difference.
Yet, our culture is Hell bent on making sure girls grow up to hate, envy, and resent men, and yet to seek to be like them. A whole lot of childless adults are very confused about such things, but my daughter, my son, and I are not among them.
My son played with toy soldiers, trucks, and construction toys.
My daughter played with tea-sets, baby-dolls, fashion dolls, and kitchen toys.
The Progressive mantra includes that women raising children, cooking, and appreciating pretty things is drudgery imposed on them by oppressive male society.
Yeah? Really? And my son becoming a combat soldier, truck driver, or construction worker is such a delightful and easy life-- leaving the "hard" and "unappreciated" work to women?
You people are insane.

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Is so!

One man's attempt to correct the Internet.

I wrote changes to the IMDB page on the 1969 film, Marooned, last night; and had fun making an info-graphic and explaining my research on the so-called "goof."

It is a fun movie with fond memories seeing it in the theater with my father. 

Anyway, unless you are a space nerd, what follows is more than you will ever want (or need) to know about the night launch sequence of the rescue craft in Marooned...

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I want to see something on the Apollo 11 launch anniversary, but do not see anything on the television schedule.

If you were not yet born, or too young to recall-- Can you imagine?

Kennedy had given "The Speech" before I was old enough to remember. My parents set me in front of the TV for every manned launch, starting with Alan Shepard when I was barely a year old, and a few weeks after Yuri Gagarin's first flight.

Dreamers like Wernher von Braun envisioned manned space exploration but built weapons instead. Big rockets able to put a man in orbit, and on the Moon, realistically, meant being able to put an H-Bomb in orbit. That was a big part of the "Space Race" -- the ultimate sabre-rattling of the Cold War.

But watching launches, splash downs, and reading everything I could get my hands on (which was a lot! Thank you NASA... and Dad!) and building model rockets occupied between launch times-- sometimes years waiting between Mercury and Gemini and again between Gemini and Apollo.

I remember the Gemini launches, and those astronauts were my real-time heros holding big personalities and tons of brains. I had trading cards of all the astronauts-- knew their stats.

There was no sense of, "When are we finally going to get to the Moon?" Each launch was an adventure, and the many of us (even kids) understood why we needed to perfect rendezvous, spacewalks, endurance records, and such.

By the time Ed White did his spacewalk, the American program had taken the lead in the Race and never looked back. We had accomplished so much, the political aspect was over, and it was all about establish a future of peaceful technology, exploration, and (really) re-establishing what humans could do-- despite war, despite famine, despite disease. This was MY revolution-- shaping the world in which I would inherit as an adult.

So it was 45 years ago today. I was nine years old, already a space-geek, and since it was Summer, no school. No one was out playing that morning-- I doubt there was a car on the street and suspect the stores were empty.

It was a great day.

And here we are again, waiting, between the Shuttle and the Orion manned flights. I follow NASA every bit as much, and find great excitement (for example, the news this month that Space-X will be launching commercial vehicles from the Texas coast). We are still building that future-- still redefining who we, as humans, are.

I'll always have a higher expectations of what humans will be than NASA, but in worldly pursuits, this is iconic-- that we are much more... even then our dreams.
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2:19 me, front row at lower right (apparently looking like Eric Johnson) about to get my beer from RD, and then teased by MW for promptly reaching into my pocket to pull out my collapsible beer koozie.  Hey, I came prepared.  Sorry for the commotion Jeff and Bob.

So, about the mistaken identity:

After the TMA ended, RD and I were crossing the street in front of MoMo's on the way to her car when an enthusiastic (and very possibly drunk) college kid came up to us excitedly proclaiming me to be "the BEST guitar player on the planet-- Eric Johnson."

I was trying to get a word in to say I was not Mr. Johnson, but they were all so excited and shaking my hand; so I smiled, looked almost as humble as I felt, and thanked them. They were still back there talking about how cool it was to meet him as we made our way down the street.

Was just listening to "Cliffs of Dover" and so darted back to Google to find this video so I could tell the story.  http://youtu.be/15eu7ar5EKMhttp://youtu.be/15eu7ar5EKM
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