Though it's quite a privilege to witness this, it's also a form of narcissism without much historical parallel. Frankly, I don't think I ever really believed in my own brain until I saw these images. By this time, robots ought to be making our breakfasts, fetching our newspapers, and driving our atomic-powered personal helicopters. But this has not come to pass, and the reason is simple. We don't have any robot brains.
Most clouds never manage to rain or snow.
In this column, we're going to demystify broadcast towers, and talk about what they do, and why they look that way, and how they've earned their peculiar right to loom eerily on the skyline of every urban center in America. This was an element the codemasters of World War II and the Cold War had never foreseen. The Machine in the Desert was a transcendant scheme to steal cosmic secrets, an enterprise whose unashamed raison d'etre was to enable wild and glorious flights of imagination and comprehension. Rather like science fiction, actually. Let's pretend that a bacterium is about the size of a railway tank car.