#Hydrogen Olympics

[techdriveplay]

The Rise of Hydrogen Fuel Cell Vehicles

In the ever-evolving landscape of automotive technology, one innovation stands out as a beacon of hope for a sustainable future: hydrogen fuel cell vehicles (FCVs). As the world grapples with the pressing need to reduce carbon emissions and combat climate change, the rise of hydrogen fuel cell vehicles offers a promising solution. These vehicles, which run on one of the universe’s most abundant…

[asmuchasidliketo]

#technically most the heat would probably come from the heat of equipment in the tunnels #(like the brakes and the engines on the trains and lights and whatnot in the stations) #especially if- wait‚ did the tube use steam when it was first built? #that sounds stupid as shit to use steam trains in an underground railway #but never put it past the victorians to do incredible levels of stupid shit #okay quick wikipediaing later: yes portions of the tube *did* run steam‚ but only the shallow tunnels in like the central circle routes etc #idk exactly what lines on the modern day map or how much of those tunnels are still in service ive been to london like once in my life okay tags on the original above post by the fantastically named @shitposting-hobbits-to-gallifrey

if you've ever used the London Underground you might have noticed that it often gets uncomfortably hot. the reason for this is actually that its builders dug too greedily & too deep and as a result the trains are very close to the fires of hell. hope that helps.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

[girlcrushart]

I was hoping to post something Olympic-related now that the Olympics have officially kicked off, but I didn't have anything in my on-deck library that really fit the bill, and I don't want to make a poster rn bc I'd rather watch the Olympics, so here's Dua Lipa wearing kinda French colours? Dua is very fashionable and the opening ceremonies seemed to be a lot about fashion? Tenuous connection, but I'm rolling with it. I did want to talk about the opening ceremonies tho because wow that was a lot. In all fairness for a lot of the time it was a lot of boredom. But that's kinda the deal with the opening ceremonies anyways. Overall it was a hot mess, and I don't think they gave the broadcasters many notes (or maybe not the Canadian ones anyways) bc they certainly did a horrible job explaining wtf I was looking at most of the time. For the most part, I cannot say it was an enjoyable 4 hours. BUT, it was undeniably unique, and I love that the French were all, Fuck stadiums, let's do this in the river! In the pouring rain! And have drag queens and decapitated Marie Antionettes! The fact that Elon and his gang of anti-wokers are SO upset about it all is def a win in my books. And, it really did come together at the end. That horse was super cool (went on for wayyyy too long—wow long river!—but still super cool. The floating hydrogen balloon cauldron is epic (even tho it took the broadcasters way too long to explain that it's actually just water vapour and lights, and so not an explosion concern that I thought it to be for half an hour before they pointed that out. It's amazing that they somehow convinced the IOC that the cauldron could just be water vapour and light as opposed to polluting gas for all those days—go Paris! And then honestly, that laser light show on the Eiffel tower is easily one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, likely made even more spectacular due to the rain, so kudos to Paris for throwing away all the rules and just doing whatever the fuck they wanted while also celebrating diversity and inclusion in ways that pissed off all the right people. Today's girlcrushart guardian is Dua Lipa.

[the-olympics-olympics]

“Well, there he is, Jetman, flying into the stadium, no wires, no tricks, just as you see it. … What a beginning!” A piece of futuristic tech took center stage during one of the most memorable moments from the opening of the 1984 Summer Games, when a man flew a jetpack into Los Angeles Coliseum. The pilot was Bill Suitor, a rocketeer at Bell Aircraft, which had developed the hydrogen peroxide-powered “rocket belt” for the Army. His flight fueled imaginations of a future when we would all be flying around. But gravity, it turns out, makes it extremely hard to lift a person more than a few seconds at a time.

Taekwondoin Angel Matos was winning 3-2, with 1:02 left in the second round, when he fell to the mat after being hit by his opponent, Kazakhstan's Arman Chilmanov. Matos was sitting there, awaiting medical attention, when he was disqualified for taking too much injury time. Fighters get one minute, and Matos was disqualified when his time ran out. Matos angrily questioned the call, pushed a judge, then pushed and kicked referee Chakir Chelbat of Sweden, who required stitches in his lip. Matos spat on the floor and was escorted out. Interestingly, in 2010 the Royal Mail issued a.. familiar looking commemorative Taekwondo stamp in the leadup to the London 2012 Olympics.

[atotaltaitaitale]

.

From a small crowd the first night we went to see the “Vasque Olympique” take off into the Paris night sky at sunset (which ended up not going up that day due to inclement weather) to thousands of people coming to witness it in person (mostly due to seeing amazing pictures online) most nights during the 2 week of the Olympic Games.

The Olympic Cauldron has always remained on the ground in one position for the entirety of a Games, however Mathieu Lehanneur, the Cauldron’s designer, had other plans for Paris 2024. In a tribute to French pioneers Joseph-Michel Montgolfier and Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier, who invented the Montgolfier-style hot air balloon, the Cauldron was designed as part of a hot air balloon. The Olympic cauldron reflects the organizers' desire to place the Games and their symbols at the center of life in the capital, making the Olympic flame visible to all and contributing to the Olympic fervor in Paris. The golden balloon and cauldron sits in the Tuileries Gardens and it is sent a hundred feet up in the air every day at sunset. In 1783, the Mongolfier balloon took off from the Tuileries in front of 400,000 rapt spectators and in the 1790s, the first-ever aerostiers brigade, the French Air Force’s hot air balloon corps, did its earliest hydrogen experiments in the Tuileries next to the Louvre. Hot air ballooning was also an Olympic sport at the 1900 Paris Olympics, with two world records set by French balloonist Henry de la Vaulx who flew all the way to Kyiv, Ukraine, traversing almost 769 miles over the course of 36 hours.

Once again I love all those French symbols/history pieces intertwined into the Olympic Games.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Webb finds early galaxies weren’t too big for their britches after all

It got called the crisis in cosmology. But now astronomers can explain some surprising recent discoveries.

When astronomers got their first glimpses of galaxies in the early universe from NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope, they were expecting to find galactic pipsqueaks, but instead they found what appeared to be a bevy of Olympic bodybuilders. Some galaxies appeared to have grown so massive, so quickly, that simulations couldn’t account for them. Some researchers suggested this meant that something might be wrong with the theory that explains what the universe is made of and how it has evolved since the big bang, known as the standard model of cosmology.

According to a new study in the Astronomical Journal led by University of Texas at Austin graduate student Katherine Chworowsky, some of those early galaxies are in fact much less massive than they first appeared. Black holes in some of these galaxies make them appear much brighter and bigger than they really are.

“We are still seeing more galaxies than predicted, although none of them are so massive that they ‘break’ the universe,” Chworowsky said.

The evidence was provided by Webb’s Cosmic Evolution Early Release Science (CEERS) Survey, led by Steven Finkelstein, a professor of astronomy at UT Austin and study co-author.

Black Holes Add to Brightness

According to this latest study, the galaxies that appeared overly massive likely host black holes rapidly consuming gas. Friction in the fast-moving gas emits heat and light, making these galaxies much brighter than they would be if that light emanated just from stars. This extra light can make it appear that the galaxies contain many more stars, and hence are more massive, than we would otherwise estimate. When scientists remove these galaxies, dubbed “little red dots” (based on their red color and small size), from the analysis, the remaining early galaxies are not too massive to fit within predictions of the standard model.

“So, the bottom line is there is no crisis in terms of the standard model of cosmology,” Finkelstein said. “Any time you have a theory that has stood the test of time for so long, you have to have overwhelming evidence to really throw it out. And that’s simply not the case.”

Efficient Star Factories

Although they’ve settled the main dilemma, a less thorny problem remains: There are still roughly twice as many massive galaxies in Webb’s data of the early universe than expected from the standard model. One possible reason might be that stars formed more quickly in the early universe than they do today.

“Maybe in the early universe, galaxies were better at turning gas into stars,” Chworowsky said.

Star formation happens when hot gas cools enough to succumb to gravity and condense into one or more stars. But as the gas contracts, it heats up, generating outward pressure. In our region of the universe, the balance of these opposing forces tends to make the star formation process very slow. But perhaps, according to some theories, because the early universe was denser than today, it was harder to blow gas out during star formation, allowing the process to go faster.

More Evidence of Black Holes

Concurrently, astronomers have been analyzing the spectra of "little red dots" discovered with Webb, with researchers in both the CEERS team and others finding evidence of fast-moving hydrogen gas, a signature of black hole accretion disks. This supports the idea that at least some of the light coming from these compact, red objects comes from gas swirling around black holes, rather than stars – reinforcing Chworowsky and their team’s conclusion that they are probably not as massive as astronomers initially thought.  However, further observations of these intriguing objects are incoming, and should help solve the puzzle about how much light comes from stars versus gas around black holes.

Often in science, when you answer one question, that leads to new questions. While Chworowsky and their colleagues have shown that the standard model of cosmology likely isn’t broken, their work points to the need for new ideas in star formation.

“And so there is still that sense of intrigue,” Chworowsky said. “Not everything is fully understood. That’s what makes doing this kind of science fun, because it’d be a terribly boring field if one paper figured everything out, or there were no more questions to answer.”The James Webb Space Telescope is the world’s premier space science observatory. Webb is solving mysteries in our solar system, looking beyond to distant worlds around other stars, and probing the mysterious structures and origins of our universe and our place in it. Webb is an international program led by NASA with its partners, ESA (European Space Agency) and CSA (Canadian Space Agency).

[doitfortheculture]

« The Hindenburg air disaster of 1937 »

The LZ 129 Hindenburg is the largest dirigible of the time and its Daimler-Benz engines are very powerful. The machine covers the transatlantic link in an unprecedented way. By exposing it to the eyes of the world, particularly through the media, the company Luftschiffbau Zeppelin tends to promote the technological advances of Adolf Hitler's Nazi Germany. The dirigible was also widely used during the Berlin Olympic Games in 1936.

The aircraft bore the name of Hindenburg in tribute to the German Chancellor who had preceded Hitler (The giant of the air was to be called by the name of Adolf Hitler proposed by his Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels in the spring of 1936, but as a precaution the Führer decided to give it the name of Marshal Paul Von Hindenburg, former hero of the First World War.) Nazi propaganda required that crosses be painted on the dirigible.

In addition to being one of the largest airships ever known during this time, (It was 250m long). He was often compared to the Titanic whose nickname "The Titanic of the Air".

Hindenburg will experience both a period of great success and a tragic end. But unlike the first whose shipwreck did not seal the fate of sea crossings, the forfeiture of the LZ 129 Hindenburg will end the period of dirigibles

The inauguration flight of the LZ 129 Hindenburg took place on March 4, 1936 in Friedrichshafen, Germany. It operates for 14 months without incidents, and operates several promotional flights.

The airship balloon was originally designed to be inflated with helium. But this gas was mainly produced in the United States, which restricts sales to Germany. The Zeppelin company had therefore chosen hydrogen for the lifting of the aircraft, which was more economical, but also more dangerous.

It was during his landing in Lakehurst, New Jersey (80 km from New York), on May 6, 1937, that the irreparable occurred. After a flight without history, the airship is delayed by a storm on the American coast. The dirigible gently approaches its mooring mast; but at the back of the envelope, a hydrogen leak not detected by the crew (the gas being colorless and odorless) forms a highly flammable pocket.

Suddenly, a wreath of flames, probably caused by the contact of a mooring cable with the ground, gushed out at the back of the airship and causes the explosion of the hydrogen from the envelope. In just 34 seconds the Hindenburg ignites and crashes to the ground, forming a gigantic blaze rising from the aircraft's deformed carcass.

The dirigible will cause a total of 36 deaths. (29 deaths on the spot, 6 wounded will die a few hours later.)

Nazi Germany, weakened by this failure, will use the event and the lack of scientific explanation to serve its worst conspiracy theories, and fuel anti-Semitism in the country, under Hitler's impetus.

The destruction of the LZ 129 Hindenburg is a publicized event around the world. The shot (above) photographed by journalist Sam Shere will forever remain one of his most popular images.

[harumiflag]

Panasonic in HARUMI FLAG, Tokyo, 2020

Harumi Flag, a new urban development project located in the Harumi 5-Chome District, has been launched. This development is touted as one of the legacies of the Tokyo 2020 Games.

This 18-hectare area will hold 5,632 privately-owned and rental apartments in 23 buildings. It will accommodate a total of 12,000 residents by 2024.

Energy Management

The Tokyo Metropolitan Government, in partnership with ten private companies, is planning to redevelop the buildings that hosted the Olympic Village of the 2020 Games into an urban town called HARUMI FLAG. The new town will incorporate residential condominiums, child care facilities, and senior housing to accommodate a wide variety of people’s lifestyles and needs.

The town will use hydrogen as its primary power source, though conventional grid-supplied electricity can be used to supplement it. The area will also use solar generation and power storage systems in common-use spaces in 21 high rises that are now under construction.

In addition to providing hydrogen, HARUMI FLAG will also utilize an area energy management system** to monitor and control electricity consumption in each of the town’s residential blocks. Data from each block will be analyzed by the energy management system to lower reliance on conventional grid-supplied power and to help predict peak demand. By using these solutions, HARUMI FLAG will become an innovative model for sustainable development.

Security & Disaster Prevention

HARUMI FLAG is the name of the game in the snazzy new town being developed by a handful of well-heeled developers. This 13.9 hectare urban village will rewrite the rules of urban renewal and make Tokyo a more livable city for all. Panasonic is proud to be a part of this bold initiative that promises a new era in city planning and management.

Aside from the requisite security and surveillance, the real show stoppers are a handful of innovative features and technologies that will leave a lasting impression on visitors of all ages. Among these is the aforementioned 750 network-connected cameras which send pictures and videos to a specialized emergency response center. Other gizmos include a virtual reality experience which will give the residents a sense of what's in store when they move into their new home in 2024. Moreover, the aforementioned technology is matched with a smart phone enabled security system that will notify users via text message and email as soon as a break-in is detected.

Public Area Lighting

HARUMI FLAG is the first town in Japan with a full-scale hydrogen energy infrastructure system that includes a station, pipelines and hydrogen fuel cell generators. A group of private companies, leveraging the expertise and funds of the Tokyo government, is engaged in unified development and operation of this 18-hectare area.

Panasonic is a key player in this project, offering a comprehensive package of urban development solutions including Hydrogen Power Generation, Energy Management and Security & Disaster Prevention. 750 network-connected cameras are also deployed in town areas and common-use spaces to ensure security for residents. Finally, the HARUMI FLAG sales center features a cutting-edge VR (virtual reality) display that demonstrates how to make the most of a small screen in a large space using a high-brightness laser display. It is a highly entertaining experience. It’s also a smart way to get a glimpse of a future town in the making. The technology is a product of the long and close partnership between Panasonic and the Tokyo metropolitan government.

Virtual Reality Experience

Virtual reality (VR) is computer technology that makes you feel like you are in another place. The software produces images, sounds and other sensations to create a world that appears to be real, but it's all a simulation. Check their site to know more details HARUMI FLAG／晴海フラッグ

A VR system typically requires a headset, a computer, and a device that creates a 3D environment. It may also have sensors that can collect stimuli response information and send it back to the VR system to improve the experience.

A number of industries are benefiting from VR technology, including science and medicine, entertainment, education and real estate. A VR system could allow a doctor to practice procedures with virtual patients without putting them at risk, for example, or architects can show detailed plans in 3D before a building is built.

[whattheabcxyz]

2024-08-11

Health

Man’s triple hernias repaired with new surgical technique

Singapore: Hearing aids help stave off dementia, but few here use them

Singapore

Yet another worker dies in construction site mishap

5 injured during National Day event at Simei - a stage backdrop fell on them

55-year-old man found dead in car a day after being reported missing - police do not suspect foul play

Smaller independent pre-schools here hit by post-pandemic rental hikes & rising costs

^ Man got SG flag sunburn in hopes of winning NDP ticket

EMA to study laws/policies for adoption of low-carbon hydrogen when it becomes viable

Society

A library of things helps borrowers save money & reduce waste

Sports

Olympic breakdancing athlete disqualified for displaying political slogan during dance routine

Gold medallist Carlos Yulo’s mother took his prize money in 2022 without telling him - sounds like a mother one could do without!

Travel

Woman fined $1K for not wearing seatbelt properly during holiday in Australia - she was caught on camera

[carolynsehgal]

Art & Good News 8-3-2024

Trying something New this week. I’ll appreciate feedback Weekly roundup for Aug. 3rd, 2024 with art & uplifting stories Tiger Conservation, Hydrogen Powered Ferries, & the little things that make a big difference. #GoodNews #Art #Illustration #ArtShare

Starting with some art… Spaceship Do you ever wonder if UFOs are real? I think it is foolish to think we are the only intelligent life in the universe, however, I do not think they are coming around to make crop circles or any of that stuff. This is my humorous take on what I do think they’d do if they came around for a visit though. I hope you all had a great week and are enjoying the olympics…

[superpte]

Green Hydrogen Economy Saves Life

Fake ecologists are paid to hate hydrogen… Real ecologists want a hydrogen economy Political movements claiming to be “ecologist” have long been captured by the fossil fuel establishment. This is why the climate catastrophe has unfolded as badly as it did. Illustrating this corruption, 82 “scientists” urged the Olympic authorities to drop the Toyota Mirai, a large Electric Fuel Cell car, as…

[the-olympics-olympics]

The 1996 Olympics were going to occur 100 years after the very first Olympics were held in Athens in 1896. What could be more ideal and more symbolic than to have such a significant anniversary occur in the very country that inspired the creation of the modern Olympics? The centennial made Athens-1996 a juggernaut bid, the clear favorite, and its victory seemingly so inevitable, you might as well have written their name in pen. Unfortunately, Greece’s entire Olympic bid was rooted in historical symbolism and the country had done little to establish confidence that it had viable plans to handle infrastructure, facilities, security, and transportation. The centennial Olympic Games were awarded to Atlanta, instead.

“Well, there he is, Jetman, flying into the stadium, no wires, no tricks, just as you see it. … What a beginning!” A piece of futuristic tech took center stage during one of the most memorable moments from the opening of the 1984 Summer Games, when a man flew a jetpack into Los Angeles Coliseum. The pilot was Bill Suitor, a rocketeer at Bell Aircraft, which had developed the hydrogen peroxide-powered “rocket belt” for the Army. His flight fueled imaginations of a future when we would all be flying around. But gravity, it turns out, makes it extremely hard to lift a person more than a few seconds at a time.

[afactaday]

#aFactADay2022

#718

1) what is the letterbox of 10 downing street inscribed with?

2) where would you find the worlds largest pyramid?

3) which city was formerly known as duroliponte?

4) how long was it between the winter olympics in Albertville, France, and those in Lillehammer, Norway?

5) what did the romans call the mediterranean?

6) who is the patron saint of lost causes?

7) which gas was used in WW2 barrage balloons?

_ _

_ _

1) "First Lord of the Treasury". it was the residence of robert walpole, the first First Lord of the Treasury and the first Chancellor of the Exchequer, so he was essentially the first prime minister. he was also the longest in office. the name prime minister wasnt used officially at first, and it derives from "primus inter pares" (first among equals).

2) Mexico. the Quetzalcóatl pyramid at Cholula de Rivadavia is 54m tall, covering around 45 acres and has a volume of 3.3m cubic metres. to compare, the pyramid of Cheops has a volume of 2.4m metres cubed.

3) Cambridge, Cambridgeshire, a roman fort at the time. the town was abandoned with the roman withdrawal in c410 and reinhabited years later as Grantebrycge.

4) 2 years, from 1992 to 1994. theyre every 4 years apart from this, but this oddity was so that they could be staggered with the summer olympics.

5) Mare Nostrum, meaning "our sea". hence why they went around conquering it all. it was also called Mare Internum, but Mare Mediterraneum didnt appear until long after the fall of rome.

6) St Jude the Apostle, as well as of desperate situations, hospitals, armenia, and many cities around the place.

7) hydrogen. in the light of the hindenburg disaster, they used an intentionally explosive gas.

[soulweaverspirit]

What I hate most about living in this Era is the research a person has to do to be noteworthy.

I used to be they'd give you a doctorate for doing a study on "Do people like being shocked for 5 hours at random intervals?" but nowadays your doctoral dissertation has to be some super advanced something like "When exposed to mixed gasses of oxygen and hydrogen, do children choose a maternal or paternal caregiver for reassurance?" And yes the gasses are important because some fuck-off scientist found compounds of atmosphere produce emotions or something. It's so much more difficult now.

Even sports sees this happen. Competing in the Olympics isn't enough, setting a record isn't enough, breaking a 100 year record isn't enough - you have to be so extremely exceptional that everyone expects to come in second at the highest when you're there. Records are broken by nano-seconds. We're at the edge of the evolutionary cliff.

When will we run out of research to conduct within the human lifespan? When will we figure out that everything everyone else has ever contributed to research is necessary to know the next steps. It's so frustrating to know I'll never know it all and my research will always be lacking in that way, but people have put out shit before and been awarded from it so maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself.