sabato 28 novembre 2009

POWERFUL ICON: il porto.

Un porto è una struttura naturale o artificiale posta sul litorale marittimo o sulla riva di un lago o di un corso d'acqua, per consentire l'approdo, l'ormeggio e la protezione dalle avverse condizioni del mare ai mezzi marittimi.
Ha pure la funzione di consentire e facilitare il carico e lo scarico di merci e l'imbarco e lo sbarco di persone.
Ci sono vari tipi di porti:
-Porti commerciali ed industriali
-Porti turistici
-Porti fluviali
Un porto commerciale è di regola costituito da molte strutture:
I moli esterni, in genere protetti da blocchi di cemento o da grandi pietre frangiflutti sul lato verso il mare, per proteggere l'interno dalle onde.
La protezione può essere fornita in alternativa da una diga foranea.
I moli interni e le banchine per attraccare le navi e consentire di salire e scendere o caricare e scaricare.
I fari, uno bianco visibile da lontano con una sequenza luminosa caratteristica per identificare il porto dal mare aperto di notte, e due fanali, uno rosso ed uno verde, rispettivamente a sinistra e a destra dell'ingresso nel porto.

Nei porti più grandi ci sono dei marinai specializzati chiamati piloti, che manovrano le navi in ingresso e in uscita dal porto. Vengono portati con un gommone, o con un piccolo motoscafo, sulle navi in arrivo, e riportati in porto con lo stesso gommone o motoscafo, prelevandoli dalle navi in partenza.

giovedì 19 novembre 2009

Mr. Churchill you were given a mission.


Dear Everyone,

Do you know what an Earth Ball is? It's a giant inflatable ball, also called a cage ball, and you can usually find them in the corner of your junior-high-school locker room, waiting for a rainy day so that the coach can say, "No soccer. Today's Earth Ball Day." I am one of those. I was manufactured sometime in the early 1980s, and I have lived most of my life in a suburb of Baltimore, Maryland. It is a peaceful existence and a generally happy one.

Earth Balls have an equivocal relationship with the weather. We like sunshine, of course (who doesn't?), but our livelihood depends on rain. That's why the events of the last few weeks have been so confusing. On the one hand, the hurricane on the Gulf Coast was an unconditional tragedy. On the other hand, in the part of the country where I live, it produced three days of minor thunderstorms that got me out of my corner and into the action. The kids sat in a circle and bounced me into the air for hours. "Here comes the Earth Ball," they'd say, their voices filled with excitement. That's me! I was tired afterward, but in the most pleasant sense. But soon enough, my peaceful rest gave way to darker thoughts regarding the human race. I attribute most of these dark thoughts to one man. Please indulge me for a moment while I tell you about him.

There is a man named Sean Hannity. He is barely a man. Perhaps in his private life he is fair and kind, and perhaps he cares for his wife and children dearly, but that is not the point of the preceding sentence. In fact, it is entirely beside the point, so much so that I will now repeat myself. Sean Hannity is barely a man. Now sometimes an Earth Ball will criticize a man without any cause at all. This is not one of those times. I listen to Sean Hannity's nationally syndicated radio show quite often—almost every day, in fact—and I catch his television show whenever I can. (I should say that it's not very often that I can see him on television, not because they have moved the TVs out of the locker room, but because the show is broadcast at night, and it's rare that coaches are still in their offices.) (Coach Parker is an exception. He's having a little thing with Coach Ortega, and sometimes she comes over from the girls' locker room, and the two of them do what people do when they are having a little thing.) (I may be slightly off point. Let me collect my thoughts.)

There is a TV version of Sean Hannity and a radio version of Sean Hannity. I am less interested in the television show, which offers a flashier and more polished version of the radio show. The TV show is only an hour, not three. It has fancy graphics and often finds Sean "debating" with his "liberal" "co-host," Alan Colmes. The radio show lets Sean Hannity stretch out, lets him digest and reflect upon the news in a relatively unrestricted environment, and as a result it offers a clearer picture of what I take to be the real Sean Hannity. Every day, Sean Hannity makes a speech at the beginning of his show, during which he articulates his mission. That mission has something to do with bringing listeners the most complete coverage of current events. "That is our pledge, our commitment, our promise, and our solemn vow," he says, solemnly. In addition to being a little too Anne of Green Gables for my tastes, this speech exemplifies the kind of sanctimony that Hannity demonstrates on a daily basis.

There are hundreds upon hundreds of examples of Hannity's abysmal behavior. I would like to select just one. The other day, he was talking about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. For weeks, he has been defending the president against charges that he was partly responsible for the failed relief effort. He has said that it isn't really the president's responsibility to save New Orleans, or even to lift up the city's spirits. I don't agree. I think that since the president can't be conversant with the dangers facing every single state and every single municipality, furnishing symbolic leadership in the wake of a massive crisis such as Hurricane Katrina is among his most important duties. But I am just an Earth Ball and I could be wrong.

Then a strange thing happened. About a week and a half after the hurricane made landfall, Sean Hannity had the actress Kelly Preston as a guest on his show. First, he flirted unctuously with her for a few minutes—she called him "honey" and he told her that it was cool that John Travolta had his own 707, so cool that he (Hannity) would have married him (Travolta) just to get to ride in the plane. (Wealth never loses its allure, does it?) Then Sean Hannity told Kelly Preston that the people in New Orleans were so inspired by her visit that it touched him. "It means so much to them to see you, Kelly Preston, a movie star." I admit that I may be paraphrasing slightly. Go find the transcript. But it surprised me so much that I rolled back a few feet. Coach Parker was in his office, and he saw me roll. He saw it but he didn't believe it. And just as he didn't believe that, I don't believe that I heard Hannity congratulate Kelly Preston for buoying the spirits of those devastated by the hurricane. Let me understand this: moral uplift courtesy of Kelly Preston is worthy of Hannity's praise, but whether or not the president does his part for the nation's morale is irrelevant? Is it irrelevant? Huh, Sean? Huh?!?!?!? (You will have to pardon me for screaming here.) Granted, this is not the only or even the most egregious example of Sean Hannity's horrendous character, but it is the one that stuck with me, because it is a perfectly economical instance of his hypocrisy. One minute, he says one thing. The next moment, he says the opposite thing. Zip, zip: it's a clean cut right through the heart of the truth.

I would love to go on Hannity's show and give him a piece of my mind. I'm not sure that there's much chance of that. Have you ever seen an Earth Ball interviewed on a news show—even on cable? Because I cannot go on the show, I urge all of the rest of you to rise up against this man. Do not take him off the air, for that will only make a martyr of him. But discredit him by making him accountable for what he says. That is the worst punishment for a man like Sean Hannity.

Meanwhile, today was a sunny day. Sad. I sat inside while the kids played soccer and Coach Parker and Coach Ortega got a few minutes of afternoon delight. Guess who was on the radio throughout their rendezvous? That's right. Sean Hannity. I'm not sure whether Coach Parker listens because he agrees with the man or because he finds the whole thing blackly comic. People's inner depths elude me. But if Coach Parker continues to listen, I will listen, too. I find that I feel most inflated when I am filled not with air but with hatred.

Earth Ball


"If you think I'm annoying and preachy now, you should have known me in grade school."

19 NOV 1969

Oggi 19 novembre è il quarantesimo anniversario del secondo sbarco sulla luna.

Subito dopo la partenza da Cape Canaveral, esattamente a 36 secondi e mezzo e a 52 secondi dal lancio il razzo Saturn V venne colpito da un fulmine mentre attraversava l'alta atmosfera. Gli strumenti del Modulo di Comando andarono off-line per alcuni secondi ma l'alimentazione delle celle a combustibile riprese a funzionare regolarmente. Fortunatamente si guastarono solamente 9 sensori di minore importanza e ciò non influenzò la missione in quanto tutto il resto era a posto e funzionava alla perfezione.

Commander Charles Conrad, Jr

Third spaceflight

Command Module Pilot Richard F. Gordon, Jr.

Second spaceflight

Lunar Module Pilot Alan L. Bean

First spaceflight

Il luogo dell'allunaggio dell'Apollo 12.


dati topografici:

Latitudine: 18°24′00″N

Longitudine: 57°24′00″W

Estensione: ≈1.692.000 km2[1]

Diametro: 2.568 km



Sergey Korolyov | mythical people that really existed

A man a genius.
Sergey Pavlovich Korolyov (often transliterated Sergei Korolev), (January 12 1907, Zhytomyr – January 14, 1966, Moscow), was the head Soviet rocket engineer and designer during the Space Race between the United States and the Soviet Union in the 1950s and 1960s. He is considered by many as the father of practical astronautics.

Although trained as an aircraft designer, Korolyov's greatest strengths proved to be in design integration, organization and strategic planning. A victim of Stalin's 1938 Great Purge, he was imprisoned for almost six years, including some months in a Kolyma gulag. Following his release, he became a rocket designer and a key figure in the development of the Soviet ICBM program. He was then appointed to lead the Soviet space program, given the rank of Academician (Member of Soviet Academy of Sciences), overseeing the early successes of the Sputnik and Vostok projects. By the time he died unexpectedly in 1966, his plans to compete with the United States to be the first nation to land a man on the Moon had begun to be implemented. Before his death he was often referred to only as "Chief Designer", because his name and his pivotal role in the Soviet space program had been held to be a state secret by the Politburo. Only many years later was he publicly acknowledged as the lead man behind Soviet success in space.

Historical consultant_DAVID CONTI


mercoledì 4 novembre 2009

Но́вая Земля́_terra nuova

Novaja Zemlja è un arcipelago di isole appartenente alla Federazione Russa e dipendente amministrativamente dall'Oblast' di Arkhangelsk. Tecnicamente la Novaja Zemlja consiste in due isole principali separate dallo stretto di Matočkin, un tratto di mare di basso fondale che mette in comunicazione la costa ovest e quella est. Le altre isole che compongono l'arcipelago sono di grandezze molto inferiori. L'arcipelago estende la sua superfice di circa 82.600 km² oltre il Circolo Polare Artico, è posizionato tra il mare di Barents a ovest e il mare di Kara a est, di fronte alla penisola Jamal. La zona montuosa che si estende nella parte centrale supera i 1.300 metri d'altezza; il punto più alto è il picco Sedova (situato in prossimità dello Stretto di Matočkin), che raggiunge i 1.547 m di altitudine. La zona meridionale ha una superficie di circa 33.300 km², mentre quella settentrionale si estende per circa 48.900 km². La fauna è caratterizzata da molte specie di uccelli; si possono trovare inoltre varie famiglie di mammiferi caratteristiche dei climi polari tra cui: orso bianco, alopex lagopus (volpe artica),odobenus rosmarus (tricheco) e phocidae (foca).
L'arcipelago di Novaja Zemlja sin dal 1954 è stato un poligono nucleare russo destinato a numerosi esperimenti atomici durante la Guerra Fredda. Si calcola che circa 130 dei 715 test nucleari russi siano avvenuti su queste enormi e sperdute isole artiche in particolare 88 nell’atmosfera, 39 sotterranei e 3 sottomarini. Le aree designate per i test erano tre: "Zona A", "Zona B" e "Zona C"; le prime due, A e B si trovano nell'isola meridionale, mentre la Zona C in quella settentrionale. Il 30 ottobre del 1961, a Mityushikha Bay, nei pressi dello Stretto di Matockin nella "Zona A" destinata a test, fu fatto esplodere il più potente ordigno nucleare mai costruito, la cosidetta Bomba Zar, una bomba H della potenza di '57 megatoni. L’ultimo ordigno nucleare è stato testato in Novaja Zemlja il 24 ottobre 1990. Nel 1996 la Russia ha firmato il Trattato di messa al bando dei test nucleari. Nessun'esplosione scuote più l’area: vi si effettuano solamente i cosiddetti test “subcritici” previsti dal Trattato. “
L'insediamento più popolato dell'arcipelago della Novaja Zemlja si trova a Beluš'ja Guba. Si tratta del centro amministrativo del territorio. Dall'ultimo censimento del 2002 la popolazione risulta essere di circa 2.600 abitanti, che costituisce il 96% del totale degli abitanti di tutto l'arcipelago (circa 2.700). In passato la popolazione era costituita esclusivamente dal personale militare (e dalle loro famiglie) impegnato nelle intense attività di test nucleari svolti nella "Zona A" dal 1955 al 1962 e dal 1972 al 1975. Con la fine della guerra fredda il personale militare è progressivamente diminuito a favore dell'aumento di operai e tecnici specializzati in scavi sotterranei o attività di manutenzione delle reti elettriche e idriche. A circa 9 km a sud-ovest dall'insediamento sorge la base aerea di Rogačevo. Sull'isola meridionale si trovano due insediamenti, quello di Krasino e quello di Bašmačnyj; su quella settentrionale invece si trova l'insediamento di Matočkin'šar', chiamato ancheSevernyj che sorge proprio sulla sponda sud dello Stretto di Matočkin. Il villaggio era anche il centro operativo per i test nucleari delle "Zone B e C". Altri insediamenti sono Mal'e Karmakulyj e Stolbovoj, inoltre nella parte più settentrionale dell'arcipelago si trova Capo Želanija, un'importante postazione militare dell'ex Unione Sovietica durante la guerra fredda, attualmente disabitata.


martedì 3 novembre 2009


Nella notte sfiorati i -20°C a Kittila (Lapponia); a Enontekio raggiunti i -16°C, mentre a Sodankyla i -14°C. Notevoli anche i -14°C di Kiruna (Svezia) e i -12°C Kautokeino (Norvegia).
Sulla Russia nord occidentale, nonostante i cieli spesso nuvolosi, registrate minime in pianura fino a -10°C. Più a sud minime oscillanti tra i +3 e -4°C. Nelle prossime ore non è escluso che qualche fiocco di neve possa raggiungere Helsinki e Stoccolma. Intanto la pioggia sta impegnando tutta la Germania, con accumuli fino a 20mm e temperature ovunque al di sotto dei 10°C.




Margrét H. Blöndal, 1970

it is yellow and blue and grayish in between. i have a view to the north. actually to south and west and east too. mountain esja is in the north. you do remember her and the harbour. my dad phoned me on the first of april at 6.30 a.m. asking me to meet him at the harbour café because the ocean was frozen and the moment was still. now it is more of a spring with brightness but a bit of cold. some sprouts are appearing from the seeds that sölvi and i planted two weeks ago. seeds substituting siblings. we pat the soil – tiny rocks on the side -just to prevent the acrylic blanket to blow away. blow in the occasionally puff mag-icelandic dragon.

since i do not contain any implanted seeds i keep having these continious dreams of infants. i left the one i gave birth to last night in a fjord. when i returned to get it a ptarmigan was sleeping besides so i carried the child and the bird both resting on my chest home. preparing to nurse i realized that the milk needed the ptarmigan as a medium - so holding the bird tight i opened up its beak and let the child suck with his head facing down. the ptarmigan soon got exhausted being a small bird sucked by a mighty infant and its eyes seemed likely to pop out from the pressure of the milk.

ptarmigan is the christmas bird. i do not cook meat and am not fond of blood. still i crave for ripping its feather coat off which is a bloody task indeed. i am - mind you - only though referring to one night a year. it doesn’t feel like ripping more like undressing and the smell embraces you with meadow and heath. on the bird’s chest is a sack full of freshly contained berries and colourful herbs. the ptarmigan is such a friendly and peaceful bird and undressing is not a violent task though the knife becomes the zipper. i even can separate the head and the feet without hesitation. the ptarmigan is called rjúpa in icelandic and it burps.

it is grey and blue - almost the colour of my new seventy-two years old elegant stairway. there are bare branches and antenna. red gray and brown corrugated iron fields in front of me. an orange light from a pretending lighthouse.

i was swimming the other day as today and yesterday. it was crowded and overly crowded in the pool. adjustment is necessary. the swimmers became herrings and being slippery allowed them either to make a curve or slightly slip from the others. i of course became a herring too. i became so much of a herring that i didn’t sense anything above the surface. i didn’t sense the one who was not a herring coming closer. didn’t sense her with her hard and not slippery head in a continuously less distance from the herring-me. she bumped and collided - violently forcing me back.

we used to pick leaves from the salix and use them for tickets. endless potentials. once i climbed in a much taller tree with a blanket a bottle full of juice and a jar full of biscuits. getting hold of a long bare branch i swung onto a garage roof. the blanket was woven from wool and then it was wintertime. my new seventy two years old apartment is under another roof - higher than the garage. the rowan outside my bedroom window is blooming.

i have this crush on a silhouette dog. every time i see his outlines i get a sting in my heart. he has a long and sticky tongue - not a bit like new york in the summer time though.

it is lighter and brighter now. the overcast is evaporating. there are crickets singing. computerized crickets in an otherwise silent night. in another street of waves a blooming graduation party with turquoise sea plants and smiling mermaids is going on and on. i am going to bed.

the pretending lighthouse has stopped blinking. the mountains are disappearing - have almost changed into elastic teachers gum. it is easy to imagine how they feel between the fingertips and can be stretched further.

it is gray again and my heart is beating. it is not a pleasant beat - rather like boxing. inappropriate as it sounds the boxing thought does soften me. probably because sölvi has boxing gloves that are gray and green and red and are soft. there are famous brothers in iceland. one is a pop star and a boxing fan in a boxing-forbidden country. his brother has a boxing sack but uses it to kick since he is more into karate.

i can see the light appearing behind the curve. it brightens up the picture framed by my window. every time i see the tree i think of a swinging summerhouse. a week each time of dwelling. sometimes nests hiding behind leafy branches. i am uncertain - unsure - insecure.

the light should be comforting but acts more like decoration now. the colour is too cheery. the two antennas serve the roles of guardians - one is tall but the other divided into two of different sizes - maybe siamese twins. on a second thought i think they are much rather close friends - lovers or young siblings but guardians nonetheless.


it is almost two o'clock and different party sounds are increasing from the streets. i went wearing my nightgown to the store next door as a car filled with youngsters drove by - my appearance was probably not in sync with the friday's party mood and i did not pay attention to anythingoutside my own interior. just as the car passed by the passengers stuck their heads out of the windows and screamed loud in a choir and made me so scared that i screamed loud as well but they laughed like little demons.

i do not feel like frolicking in the autumn mist right now - am a little bit numb - swimming is though a savior and so is the little drummer boy of mine.

touched for the first time fresh figs and found them incredibly sensual. the skin is tender but bruised and their texture has a resemblance to the opposable thumb which has always reminded me of a raw chicken leg. now everyone in iceland is scared of raw chickens since a lot of people have got sick of salmonella. there is a famous singer here called sigridur ella but i don’t know anyone being scared of her.

neither grasshopping nor colourful but marfaminded i am slowly wakening up in the sudden winterrama of islandia. sölvi armed by a helmet bikes and bikes - he just disappeared into the night and i will see him again on sunday. colourrix our bird is a little bit scared of the norwegian composer currently playing. red is my kitchen and red are my cheeks.

i do not feel like frolicking in the autumn mist right now - am a little bit numb - swimming is though a savior and so is the little drummer boy of mine.

lunedì 2 novembre 2009

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domenica 1 novembre 2009

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