Good morning.

Saturday, the last day of summer, will be mostly sunny with a high of sixty-two.

On this day in 1942, the B-29 bomber makes its maiden flight:

The B-29 Superfortress is a four-engine propeller-driven heavy bomber designed by Boeing that was flown primarily by the United States toward the end of World War II and during the Korean War. It was one of the largest aircraft to see service during World War II and a very advanced bomber for its time, with features such as a pressurized cabin, an electronic fire-control system, and remote-controlled machine-gun turrets. The name “Superfortress” was derived from that of its well-known predecessor, the B-17 Flying Fortress. Although designed as a high-altitude strategic bomber, and initially used in this role against the Empire of Japan, these attacks proved to be disappointing; as a result the B-29 became the primary aircraft used in the American firebombing campaign, and was used extensively in low-altitude night-time incendiary bombing missions. One of the B-29’s final roles during World War II was carrying out the atomic bomb attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

We’re rightly told not to judges books by their covers, but rather their contents. Still, what about a book’s edges, especially when they display fine and lovely art? Over at i09, Vince Miklós writes about Fore-Edge Paintings: The Secret Works of Art Hidden Inside Book Pages:

Sometimes the greatest artworks are hidden in plain sight. Case in point: the University of Iowa recently discovered a four-volume set of scientific books from 1837 contains hidden paintings on the edges of the pages, which only show up when you fan them part-way open. These “Fore-Edge Paintings” are everywhere, and they’re beautiful.

As Flavorwire explains, Fore-Edge Paintings go back to the 16th century, “when Italian artist Cesare Vecellio (cousin of Renaissance painter Titian) started using his books as a canvas in order to beautify them.” A bunch of them were posted by the University of Iowa and the Boston Public Library….

Small, detailed, and remarkably lovely.

Good morning.

Friday presents a one-third chance of morning showers then a mostly cloudy day with a high of seventy-two. We have a waning gibbous moon with 98% of its visible disk illuminated.

Of the moon, using the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter, NASA’s created a detailed, striking animation of the lunar surface:

On this day in 1881, America sees her third president within one year’s time:

…Chester Arthur is inaugurated, becoming the third person to serve as president in that year.

The year 1881 began with Republican Rutherford B. Hayes in office. Hayes served out his first and only term and officially turned over the reins of government to James A. Garfield, who happened to be a close friend of his, in March 1881. Just four months into his term, on July 2, Garfield was shot by a crazed assassin named Charles Guiteau. Guiteau claimed to have killed Garfield because he refused to grant Guiteau a political appointment. Garfield sustained wounds to his back and abdomen and struggled to recover throughout the summer. Though it appeared he would pull through in early September, the autopsy report revealed that the internal bullet wound contributed to an aneurism that ultimately killed Garfield on September 19.

The next day, Vice President Chester Arthur was sworn in as president. Strangely, Garfield’s assassin wrote to the new president from jail, taking credit for vaulting Arthur into the White House. According to President Hayes, Arthur’s administration was best known for “liquor, snobbery and worse.” He served only one term from 1881 to 1885.

This was the second time in American history that three men served as president in one year; a similar situation occurred in 1841, when Martin Van Buren, William Henry Harrison and John Tyler all held the office.

Scientific American‘s trivia question asks about a quantity. (Clicking on the question leads to its answer.)

How many gigabytes make up a terabyte?

Good morning.

Thursday’s forecast calls for thunderstorms and a high of eighty-seven.

On September 19, 1959, during a visit to the United States, Soviet Premier Khrushchev has a fit because he couldn’t visit Disneyland:

In one of the more surreal moments in the history of the Cold War, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev explodes with anger when he learns that he cannot visit Disneyland. The incident marked the climax of Khrushchev’s day in Los Angeles, one that was marked by both frivolity and tension.

Khrushchev arrived in the United States on September 15 for an extended visit and a summit meeting with President Dwight D. Eisenhower. The Soviet leader indicated a desire to see Hollywood and a visit was arranged. On September 19, Khrushchev and his wife arrived in Los Angeles. The day began pleasantly enough, with a tour of the Twentieth Century Fox Studios in Hollywood. The Soviet premier was taken on to the sound stage for the movie “Can-Can” and was immediately surrounded by the cast of the film, including Shirley MacLaine and Juliet Prowse. MacLaine greeted Khrushchev in broken Russian and then attempted to engage the premier in an impromptu dance. Khrushchev jovially begged off and then stood by while the cast members performed a number from the film. Frank Sinatra was brought in to serve as an unofficial master of ceremonies for the visit, and he later lunched with an obviously delighted Khrushchev.

Things began to unravel when Twentieth Century Fox President Spyros P. Skouras introduced Khrushchev at Los Angeles Town Hall. Almost immediately, Skouras, who was an ardent anticommunist, irritated Khrushchev by referring to the premier’s famous statement that Russia would “bury” capitalism. Skouras declared that Los Angeles was not particularly interested in “burying” anyone, but would meet the challenge if posed. Khrushchev’s famous temper quickly flared. He charged that Skouras’s remarks were part of a campaign to heckle him during his trip to America. The plan, Khrushchev suggested, was to needle him, “rub” America’s strength in his face, and make him “a little shaky in the knees.” Addressing Skouras directly, Khrushchev stated, “If you want to go on with the arms race, very well. We accept that challenge. As for the output of rockets–well, they are on the assembly line. This is a most serious question. It is one of life or death, ladies and gentlemen. One of war and peace.”

Khrushchev’s anger increased when he learned that he would not be allowed to visit Disneyland. Government authorities feared that the crowds would pose a safety hazard for the premier. Khrushchev, still fuming about the debate with Skouras, exploded. “And I say, I would very much like to go and see Disneyland. But then, we cannot guarantee your security, they say. Then what must I do? Commit suicide? What is it? Is there an epidemic of cholera there or something? Or have gangsters taken hold of the place that can destroy me?” Khrushchev left Los Angeles the next morning.

If Khrushchev wanted to see something like Disneyland, then he should have permitted a society that had creative and economic wherewithal like America’s.

Scientific American‘s trivia question asks about scientific achievement. (Clicking on the question leads to its answer.)

The first American woman to win an unshared Nobel Prize did so in what year?

Good morning.

Wednesday will see an even chance of scattered showers or thunderstorms, with a high near seventy-seven.

An architectural beginning for America:

On this day in 1793, George Washington lays the cornerstone to the United States Capitol building, the home of the legislative branch of American government. The building would take nearly a century to complete, as architects came and went, the British set fire to it and it was called into use during the Civil War. Today, the Capitol building, with its famous cast-iron dome and important collection of American art, is part of the Capitol Complex, which includes six Congressional office buildings and three Library of Congress buildings, all developed in the 19th and 20th centuries.

On this day in 1870, the Old Faithful Geyser gets its name.

On the afternoon of September 18, 1870, the members of the Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition traveled down the Firehole River from the Kepler Cascades and entered the Upper Geyser Basin. The first geyser they saw was Old Faithful. In his 1871 Scribner’s account of the expedition, Nathaniel P. Langford wrote:

“Judge, then, what must have been our astonishment, as we entered the basin at mid-afternoon of our second day’s travel, to see in the clear sunlight, at no great distance, an immense volume of clear, sparkling water projected into the air to the height of one hundred and twenty-five feet. “Geysers! geysers!” exclaimed one of our company, and, spurring our jaded horses, we soon gathered around this wonderful phenomenon. It was indeed a perfect geyser. The aperture through which the jet was projected was an irregular oval, three feet by seven in diameter. The margin of sinter was curiously piled up, and the exterior crust was filled with little hollows full of water, in which were small globules of sediment, some having gathered around bits of wood and other nuclei. This geyser is elevated thirty feet above the level of the surrounding plain, and the crater rises five or six feet above the mound. It spouted at regular intervals nine times during our stay, the columns of boiling water being thrown from ninety to one hundred and twenty-five feet at each discharge, which lasted from fifteen to twenty minutes. We gave it the name of “Old Faithful.”

See, also, a link to the Old Faithful Geyser Live webcam.

Scientific American‘s trivia question asks about a different kind of natural phenomenon. (Clicking on the question leads to its answer.)

How fast does a tsunami move in the deep ocean?

Good morning.

Tuesday in Whitewater will be partly sunny with a high of sixty-eight.

Common Council meets tonight at 6:30 PM. Agenda items C-3 and C-8 will offer information about the city’s fiscal account. Thereafter, another twist in the life of this small town.

It’s Constitution Day in America:

The Constitution of the United States of America is signed [in 1787] by 38 of 41 delegates present at the conclusion of the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. Supporters of the document waged a hard-won battle to win ratification by the necessary nine out of 13 U.S. states.

On May 25, 1787, delegates representing every state except Rhode Island convened at Philadelphia’s Pennsylvania State House for the Constitutional Convention. The building, which is now known as Independence Hall, had earlier seen the drafting of the Declaration of Independence and the signing of the Articles of Confederation. The assembly immediately discarded the idea of amending the Articles of Confederation and set about drawing up a new scheme of government. Revolutionary War hero George Washington, a delegate from Virginia, was elected convention president.

During an intensive debate, the delegates devised a brilliant federal organization characterized by an intricate system of checks and balances. The convention was divided over the issue of state representation in Congress, as more-populated states sought proportional legislation, and smaller states wanted equal representation. The problem was resolved by the Connecticut Compromise, which proposed a bicameral legislature with proportional representation in the lower house (House of Representatives) and equal representation of the states in the upper house (Senate).

On September 17, 1787, the Constitution was signed. As dictated by Article VII, the document would not become binding until it was ratified by nine of the 13 states. Beginning on December 7, five states–Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, and Connecticut–ratified it in quick succession. However, other states, especially Massachusetts, opposed the document, as it failed to reserve undelegated powers to the states and lacked constitutional protection of basic political rights, such as freedom of speech, religion, and the press. In February 1788, a compromise was reached under which Massachusetts and other states would agree to ratify the document with the assurance that amendments would be immediately proposed. The Constitution was thus narrowly ratified in Massachusetts, followed by Maryland and South Carolina. On June 21, 1788, New Hampshire became the ninth state to ratify the document, and it was subsequently agreed that government under the U.S. Constitution would begin on March 4, 1789. In June, Virginia ratified the Constitution, followed by New York in July.

Scientific American has a trivia question about animals and flag poles. Clicking on the question leads to its answer.

What natural predators destroyed the world’s tallest flagpole?