The Palace of the Soviets (Russian: Дворец Советов, Dvorets Sovetov) was a project to construct a political convention center in Moscow on the site of the demolished Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. The main function of the palace was to house sessions of the Supreme Soviet in its 130-metre (430 ft) wide and 100-metre (330 ft) tall grand hall seating over 20,000 people. If built, the 416-metre (1,365 ft) tall palace would have become the world's tallest structure, with an internal volume surpassing the combined volumes of the six tallest American skyscrapers.[10]
The music on this video is annoying--hit MUTE--but otherwise it's well done.
A mother-in-law door is an exterior door that lacks steps leading up to it, despite needing such steps. They're a common architectural feature in Newfoundland, and no one really knows why.
After Newfoundland officially joined Canada in 1949, fire regulations demanded that buildings have two exits, but most existing homes did not. So people carved a second door into their homes. However, since the regulations did not clearly stipulate that the second exit have stairs, they didn't bother with them.
An article by Lisa Moore in the Toronto National Post (Jan 16, 1999) offers another theory:
The traditional Newfoundland house — that is, the saltbox — had no steps leading up to the front door because that entrance was rarely used. Saltbox houses were designed with the kitchen in the back and the parlour in the front, facing the ocean (the main thoroughfare at the time was the water). The kitchen was the heart of the household because that was where the woodstove was located, and most families could only afford to heat one room. Everything happened there — eating and entertaining and playing cards or the fiddle. The parlour, on the other hand, was only used for special occasions.
Frances Gabe had a vision of putting an end to housework. No more dusting or vacuuming. All a homeowner would have to do would be to push a button and the house would clean itself, as if the entire structure was a giant dishwasher.
Of course, this meant that everything in the house had to be waterproofed. But it also meant that the actual dishwasher and clothes washer became redundant. Just hang dirty clothes in the closet and stack dishes in a cabinet — they'd get washed along with the rest of the house.
Gabe offered two stories for how she came up with the concept of the self-cleaning house. The first was that, as a newly married young woman, she once noticed a jam stain on the wall. Instead of scrubbing it off she decided to get a hose and sprayed it off.
The second story involved divine inspiration. After divorcing her husband she said that she was sitting, feeling despondent, and praying to God to provide her with some purpose to keep her going. Suddenly two angels appeared on her shoulders. And then, she said, "I picked up a pencil and began scribbling. I thought I was just doodling. Then I stopped and looked, and there was the self-cleaning house."
She received a patent (No. 4,428,085) for the self-cleaning house in 1984. She also transformed her own house in Newberg, Oregon into a prototype. From what I can gather, she never managed to make the entire house self-cleaning, but the kitchen could clean itself.
When she was alive she would offer tours of the house, but she died in 2016, and the new owners of the house haven't maintained its self-cleaning features.
Incidentally, Gabe was an invented name, so it's not what appears on her patent. Her full name, when married, was Frances Grace Arnholtz Bateson. She constructed 'Gabe' out of her initials.
On an empty plain in Tasmania there now sits a metallic structure filled with storage drives that is recording "every step we take" toward climate-change catastrophe. Its creators — marketing communications company Clemenger BBDO in collaboration with University of Tasmania researchers — describe it as "Earth's Black Box".
Perhaps I'm too cynical, but I predict that the project is abandoned within 20 years and this turns into an architectural curiosity sitting in the middle of nowhere. I was going to say 10 years, but I'll be charitable.
Researchers at the University of Manchester have proposed that future settlers on Mars can create concrete by mixing Martian dust with their own blood and urine. Details from globalnews.ca:
Water is scarce on Mars and it costs $2 million to send a single brick to the Red Planet, according to estimates. But astronauts can simply make their own concrete on-site using Martian dust and their own blood, according to findings published this month in the journal Materials Today Bio...
The blood-and-dust mixture alone is equivalent to concrete, but researchers say it becomes even stronger when human urea is added to the mix...
Roberts and his team say that animal blood could eventually replace human blood in Martian construction projects, but that would only happen after we send cows to Mars.
Experimental 'astrocrete' made from blood and dust
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.