To be clear, we're only looking sets that are at least 46 inches—go big or go home. And though there are some nice 720p plasmas out there for amazing prices, the majority of TVs we're concerned with are 1080p—it's the standard now, even in cheap HDTVs, and probably the only resolution you'll see next year.

We focus on LCDs quite a bit here, not because we prefer them, but because there are key enhancements that can be put in LCD technology to make them look better. With plasma, the problems—energy consumption, weight, thickness—are more of an evolutionary, year-to-year thing. A cheaper plasma often is one that's just using older technology.

Also, we're using Amazon as our pricing base line, since it's on average a good standard for low but legitimate street prices, and we use Samsung examples a lot because they have a ton of different models on the market, so it was easier to isolate individual features, and to gauge subtle differences in pricing.

Size Matters

The first, and most obvious thing that'll cost you is more screen real estate. There's not an absolute inches to dollars ratio, but generally speaking, the first step up is the cheapest, and somewhere in the middle, there's a sweet spot, after which you basically lose money by upgrading. The funny thing is, each maker seems to have a different idea of where the sweet spot is, which you could play to your advantage:

Take for instance, Panasonic's plasma G10 series. It's $200 to go from the 42-inch model to 50, and then $400 to go up to 54. So the sweet spot is at 50 inches. Similar thing happening with Vizio's XVT line: Going from 42 to 47 inches is just $250, though going up to 55 from 47 costs about a a grand. Hence 47 inches makes the most dollar-per-inch sense if you like that TV.

With Sony and Samsung, though, it pays to keep going up. In Sony's top-of-the-line Bravia XBR9 series, the hop from 40 to 46 is $360, but going from 46 to 52 is just $250. Samsung's LED-backlit TV costs $350 to go from 40 to 46, and just $500 to go from there to 55 inches. (There's a limit, of course, Samsung's 65-inch LN65B650 doesn't have many of the frills discussed below, but still lists for $6000.)

The real lesson here: Don't think of size as a foregone conclusion. When you've narrowed down your options using all the criteria, go back and check the sizes and relative prices. There may be a surprise, hopefully good but possibly bad.

Vroom, Vroom

Everything after size you can roughly sweep everything you'd pay more for into the category of performance. The grand trick of buying TVs though, according to our friend Gary Merson of HD Guru, is that "the TV industry is setup like the car industry." Just like buying a Corvette to battle your mid-life crisis because it vrooms real good, when you pay extra money for extra horsepower, you're also going to get leather bucket seats and the in-dash GPS. It's hard to buy a stripped-down car that just delivers better performance, and the same goes when you're trying to scrimp on a TV without compromising picture. In the case of TVs, a higher performer might come with a million HDMI jacks or integrated Wi-Fi and video on demand, and you never know exactly what you're paying for.

Fortunately, we can break performance into a two major categories so it's slightly easier to interpret those price differentials: Backlight (for LCDs) and panel quality.

Fancy Backlighting

The single most expensive upgrade for LCD TVs right now is LED backlighting. As we explain here, there are a bunch of advantages to LED over conventional CCFL backlighting for LCD TVs. Which particular advantages you pick up depends on the kind of LED backlighting in the set. While both offer instant on and power savings, edge-lit models mainly deliver serious thinness, while backlit sets can offer local dimming, which delivers noticeably better black levels and contrast.

How much will it cost you? Well, comparing two Samsung sets with fairly equivalent panels, the price difference is about $500. The CCFL-backlit LN46B650 is $1360, while the UN46B6000 is $1850. Because it's got LED edge lighting, the B6000 is only 1.2 inches thick, compared to the B650's 3.1 inches. When you step up and compare Samsung's edge-lit to back-lit, the difference isn't as great: A 46-inch 8000 series edge-lit model goes for $2300, while the 8500 series with local-dimming is $2600. (If you're already paying for LED technology, you definitely want to step up.)

So yes, backlit LED sets with local dimming tend to cost more. Sony's year-old Bravia XBR8 uses tri-color LEDs to improve color accuracy over the most LED sets, which use white ones. Though its production is discontinued, it's still nearly $2200 at 46 inches. However, Toshiba consistently delivers cheaper sets than most of its fellow "name" brands, and their 46-inch LED backlit set with local dimming is just $1700.

Panels and Oh, It Hertz

The panel is the other major thing that determines how good an HDTV actually is, and it applies to both LCDs and plasmas. Typically, as you move up in price, you get a better panel. Cheaper sets generally use older panels with previous-generation tech that Merson says have a poorer viewing angle, so there's a smaller area you can actually stare at on your TV to get a good picture. The problem is that no TV manufacturer actually declares its panel attributes on the box, so you're often on your own to figure it out. The best way is to go to the store and check out the viewing angles.

Hertz, for the uninitiated, is simply the number of times per second that LCD TVs refresh their picture. (Plasma isn't part of this discussion because phosphor pixels work differently than liquid crystal ones, and plasma's "refresh rate" would be way higher—to the point of irrelevance.) A 60Hz LCD refreshes the picture 60 times a second, 120Hz is 120 times a second, and so on, up to 240Hz in the top-priced LCD sets. A higher refresh rate is supposed to increase the ability to see fast-moving video at its highest intended resolution, and works well in theory, though there are issues with 240Hz execution. At this point, a minimum of 120Hz is a given on all premium LCDs, says Merson. There isn't one LED-backlit set that doesn't have it.

Here's how the refresh-rate step-ups look: The 46-inch Samsung B550 is a standard 1080p CCFL-backlit set for $1020. Moving up to the same size B650 for $1360—$300 more—gets you 120Hz (plus a higher contrast ratio). Going up again, to the B750 for $1630, another $300, you get 240Hz, and again even better contrast ratio. That's about the top of Samsung's CCFL-backlit line.

You can see the same thing with their LED sets: The 46-inch B6000 is a 120Hz LED edge-lit set for $1850. The 46-inch LED edgel-lit B8000 goes to 240Hz, and it costs $2300, about $450 more.

What About Plasma?

As we mentioned, plasmas are a little less complicated, since there's nothing like refresh rates to deal with. On the other hand, the situation may be more obtuse, since you don't always know what the real differences are. Merson says there are a few basic levels of plasma performance. On Black Friday, Walmart is selling a 50-inch plasma for $598 if you don't mind the fact that it's 720p (and branded Sanyo, which is probably Panasonic-based but who knows?). Stepping up to the 50" 1080p plasmas will generally cost $300 to $400 more.

There are more issues, however. Panasonic has a new panel called NeoPDP that's more energy efficient, but it's sometimes hard to tell which models have it and which don't. (Hint: Look for the Energy Star sticker.) Finally, you have THX-certified panels that offer nearly perfect calibration right out of the box. Beyond that, contrast ratios do tend to get better over time, but it's relative: At the low end of the HDTV price spectrum, plasma sets have generally delivered better picture than LCD anyway.

Frills and Other Stuff

The funny thing about TVs nowadays is that there's more to them than the screen. Like inputs. Until recently, one thing you got more of by paying more money were more holes to stick things into. That's not really the case once you get up into 46-inch sets—you're gonna get 4 HDMI slots in a set that big no matter what. But, there are other things nowadays. Like video services that come in through other holes, or maybe without wires at all.

An example, to use our old friends at Samsung: The B6000 looks a lot like the B7000, but with the B7000, for $180 more, you get online video services via Yahoo's widget engine, like YouTube.

Or, let's look at the upcoming crop of LED TVs that aren't even out yet, or are in limited distribution for now. LG's 55LHX and Sony's Bravia XBR10 both have wireless HDMI and 240Hz, but with Bravia Internet Widgets and Slacker radio, the Bravia is $5000, $200 more than 55LHX. Wireless HDMI itself is a pretty pricey feature. Same Sony, compared to Samsung's 8500. The 8500 has built-in video services, but no wireless HDMI, and it's $500 cheaper, at $4500. Oh, and did I mention that the Sony is even 3 inches smaller than the Samsung and LG?

Wireless is still in the gimmick phase, but next year, we assume we'll be able to track its price premium as well as we can track size, refresh rate, backlighting and other factors today, $300 to $400 at a time. How do you get from $600 to a $6000? You just add, add some more, and then keep adding.

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about addition, subtraction, hertz, aches, pains and LEDs here, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

So Wait, What Is Android, Exactly?

In Google's words, it's "the first truly open and comprehensive platform for mobile devices." That doesn't mean much, so here's a breakdown: It's a Linux-based, open-source mobile OS, complete with a custom window manager, modified Linux 2.6 kernel, WebKit-based browser and built-in camera, calendar, messaging, dialer, calculator, media player and album apps. If that sounds a little sparse, that's because it is: Android on its own doesn't amount to a whole lot; in fact, a phone with plain vanilla Android wouldn't feel like a smartphone at all. Thankfully, these phones don't exist.

Android is Linux insofar as its core components are open-source and free, and Google must publish their source code with every release. But the real heart of the Android phone experience—the Google apps like Maps, GChat, Gmail, Android Market, Google Voice, Places and YouTube are closed-source, meaning Google owns them outright. Every Google phone comes with these apps in one form or another so to the user this distinction isn't that important. That said, it occasionally rears its head, like when Android modder Cyanogen had to strip the apps out of his custom Android builds to avoid getting sued by Google:

The issue that's raised is the redistribution of Google's proprietary applications like Maps, GTalk, Market, and YouTube. They are Google's intellectual property and I intend to respect that. I will no longer be distributing these applications as part of CyanogenMod.

This can lead to more mainstream (and confusing) issues, like with the, erm, touchy (sorry!) multitouch issue: Android OS supports multitouch, in that it can recognize multiple simultaneous input points on its screen. But Google's Android apps don't. So when a company like HTC comes along and decides to properly add multitiouch to the OS, they can only add it to the open-source parts, like the browser (or their own closed-source apps), not Google's proprietary apps. That's why the Hero has pinch-zoom in its browser and photo albums but not in Google Maps, where it's just as at home.

The issue gets even less trivial as the apps grow more central to the Android experience. You know how Google Maps Navigation was, like, the banner feature for Android 2.0? Well, it was, but technically speaking, it's not a part of Android. It's just part of an app made by Google for Android, and that'll ship with most Android handsets. Except for in countries where Google doesn't have their mapping data quite together enough, where it won't. That's what's happening with the Euro Droid, which, by the way, does have multitouch in its browser, like the Hero. That's why the distinction matters.

So, why take so much care to set up and protect this open source component, when surely Google could just slap together a closed-source mobile operating system and give it away for free, right? It would deprive handset manufacturers of their ability to freely modify certain core components of the OS, sure, but the real reasoning, oddly enough, has less to do with phones and more to do with, well, everything else.

How We Got Here

Flash back to November 7th, 2007, when the Open Handset Alliance, a massive coalition of mobile industry companies, held hands to announce to the world their new child. His name was Android, and we were told very little about him. What we were told, though, was delivered almost entirely in frustratingly vague platitudes:

Handset manufacturers and wireless operators will be free to customize Android in order to bring to market innovative new products faster and at a much lower cost. Developers will have complete access to handset capabilities and tools that will enable them to build more compelling and user-friendly services, bringing the Internet developer model to the mobile space.

We were a little disappointed that the GPhone wasn't strictly a phone, but like most people, this sounded exciting to us. Vague, but exciting.

And so we waited, patiently. And waited. Then, nearly a year later, we got our hands on the first hardware to actually use Android. It was called the T-Mobile G1, and It Was Good. Then, six months later, we got another phone—the Magic, or MyTouch, which was more or less exactly like the first one, minus a keyboard. It wasn't until two full years since Android's first appearance—when not just HTC but Motorola, Samsung and Sony started showing off fresh wares—that Android began to feel like more than an experiment. And more important than getting fresh hardware, Android's OS had changed too. A lot.

The T-Mobile G1 shipped with Android 1.0, which wasn't exactly missing much, but still felt a bit barebones. We had to wait until February of 2009 for paid apps to show up in the Android Market, after which April saw the first major update, Android 1.5 "Cupcake." (Updates each have alphabetical, pastry-themed codenames.) This was followed by 1.6 "Donut," which most new handsets are shipping with now, then 2.0 (yes, "Eclair"), which throws in social networking integration, an interface lift, support for new device resolutions, a fresh developer SDK and support for the optional Google Maps Navigation. This version is currently only found on the Motorola Droid, but should start showing up elsewhere with a few months. And so here we are. And that's just half of it.

Android Isn't Just a Phone OS

That announcement I showed you earlier? That was from the Open Handset alliance, a consortium of phone folks—handsets manufacturers, mobile chip makers and the like. But let's look back at another announcement, from the Android project leads, back in early 2008:

Android is not a single piece of hardware; it's a complete, end-to-end software platform that can be adapted to work on any number of hardware configurations. Everything is there, from the bootloader all the way up to the applications...Even if you're not planning to ship a mobile device any time soon, Android has a lot to offer. Interested in working on a speech-recognition library? Looking to do some research on virtual machines? Need an out-of-the-box embedded Linux solution? All of these pieces are available, right now, as part of the Android Open Source Project, along with graphics libraries, media codecs, and some of the best development tools I've ever worked with.

Almost all the talk about Android over the last two years has been about Android the phone OS, not Android the lightweight Linux distribution. While Google was busy pumping out high-profile phone-centric updates, Android was starting to creep into other industries, like a disease. A good disease, that everyone likes! Yes, one of those. This is where things get weird.

Remember all those not-quite-there Android netbooks? Part of the plan. The Android-powered Barnes & Noble Nook? Shouldn't have been a surprise. Android navigators? Why not? PMPs? Creative's got one. Photo frames and set-top boxes? Already in the works.

Most of these devices won't look like Android hardware to us, because our strongest Android associations with the OS are all visual and phone-specific, like the homescreen, app drawer and dialer. Nonetheless, this is as much a part of the Android vision as phones are—it just won't be as obvious.

Your Android-powered DVR won't have an app drawer, but it will share the kernel, and an unusually good widget system. Your Android-powered PMP may run a custom interface, but it'll have access to thousands of apps, like an open-source iPod Touch. Your Android-powered photo frame might look just like any other photo frame, but when it drops your wireless connection, it'll have a decent, full-featured settings screen to help you pick it back up. And over-the-air updates. And it might actually cost a few dollars less that it would have otherwise, because remember, Android is free. This is our Android future, and it sounds awesome.

What Happens Next

But the first step in the Android takeover is necessarily the phones. Android 2.0 means the handsets aren't just interesting anymore; they're truly buyable. As Matt said this week:

In time, Android very well could be the internet phone, hands down, in terms of raw capabilities.... Android 2.0's potential finally feels as enormous as the iPhone's, and I get kinda tingly thinking about it.

What problems the phones still have—among them, poor media playback and the lack of a bundled desktop client to manage media—are not with Android but with Google, which is really just a major supporter of Android. Either Google will solve them hands-on, or the dream of the open source and app developer communities rising up to fill in all the gaps will become a reality. What's certain is that Google—or someone—needs to address them if future legions of Google-branded phones are to succeed to their full potential.

Speaking of potential, it's massive. In addition to everything else Android has going on, timing is on its side. Windows Mobile is limping along with two broken legs, and its hardware partners took (or maybe gave) notice: Motorola, lately a pariah in its own right, doesn't want anything more to do with Microsoft; HTC is stating continued support while quietly phasing out the WinMo ranks; Sony Ericsson, which hasn't seen a true hit come from one of their Microsoft-branded phones in years, is dabbling in Androidery. And as far as most consumers are concerned, anything Windows Mobile can do, Android can do better.

It doesn't stop with Microsoft, either. Symbian, whose boss called Android "just another Linux platform," is losing ground, and losing some of Sony Ericsson's business doesn't help. The Palm Pre, polished and beautiful as it is, can't keep up with Android's exploding app inventory, multiplying hardware partners and rock-star ability to draw talent. RIM's BlackBerry isn't generally seen as a direct Android competitor, but Android 2.0, along with Palm's WebOS and Apple's iPhone OS, are the main reasons the BlackBerry OS feels so clunky and old. That matters. From here, the outlook is clear: Android and the iPhone are the next consumer smartphone superpowers.

And even if it takes Google 10 years to iron out Android's faults and push this kind of adoption, you can expect Android, or its unofficial pseudonym "Google Phone," to become a household name. Besides, Android will start creeping into our lives in places we might not expect it. It'll power our settop boxes, ebook readers, PMPs and who knows what else. It's not just going to be the next great smartphone OS, it'll be the quiet, invisible software layer that sits between all our portable gadgets and our fingers.

Source photo courtesy of NASA

Still something you wanna know? Still mixing up your Androids and your hemorrhoids? Send questions, tips, addenda or complaints here, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

The more you look at the writhing orgy of plugs in the world, the sillier it seems. If you buy a phone charger at the airport in Florida, you won't be able to use it when your flight lands in France. If you buy a three-pronged adapter for le portable in Paris, you might not be able to plug it in when your train drops you off in Germany. And when your flight finally bounces to a stop on the runway in London, get ready to buy a comically large adapter to tap into the grid there. But that's cool! You can take the same adapter to Singapore with you! And parts of Nigeria! Oh yeah, and if said charger doesn't support 240v power natively, make sure you buy a converter, or else it might explode.

And aside from a few oases, like the fledgling standardization of the Type C Europlug in the European Union, this is the picture all across the world.

I'd hesitate to refer to power sockets as a part of a country's culture, because they're plugs—they don't really mean anything. But in the sense that they're probably not going to change until they're forcefully replaced with something wildly new, it's kind of what they are.

What's Out There

Click for larger

There are around 12 major plug types in use today, each of which goes by whatever name their adoptive countries choose. For our purposes, we're going to stick with U.S. Department of Commerce International Trade Administration names (PDF), which are neat and alphabetical: America uses A and B plugs! Turkey uses type C! Etc. Thing is, these names are arbitrary: the letters are just assigned to make talking about these plugs less confusing—they don't actually mandate anything. They're not standards, in any meaningful sense of the word.

And even worse, these sockets are divided into two main groups: the 110-120v fellas, like the the ones we use in North America, and the 220-240v plugs, like most of the rest of the world uses. It's not that the plugs and sockets themselves are somehow tied to one voltage or another, but the devices and power grids they're attached to probably are.

How This Happened

The history of the voltage split is a pretty short story, and one you've probably heard bits and pieces of before. Edison's early experiments with direct current (DC) power in the late 1800s netted the first useful mainstream applications for electricity, but suffered from a tendency to lose voltage over long distances. Nonetheless, when Nikola Tesla invented a means of long-distance transmission with alternating current (AC) power, he was doing so in direct competition with Edison's technology, which happened to be 110v. He stuck with that. By the time people started to realize that 240v power might not be such a bad idea for the US, it was the 1950s, and switching was out of the question.

Words were exchanged, elephants were electrocuted, and eventually, the debate was settled: AC power was the only option, and national standardization started in earnest. Westinghouse Electric, the first company to buy Tesla's patents for power transmission, settled on an easy standard: 60Hz, and 110v. In Europe—Germany, specifically—a company called BEW exercised their monopoly to push things a little further. They settled somewhat arbitrarily on a 50Hz frequency, but more importantly jacked voltages up to 240, because, you know, MORE POWER. And so, the 240 standard slowly spread to the rest of the continent. All this happened before the turn of the century, by the way. It's an old beef.

For decades after the first standards, newfangled el-ec-trick-al dee-vices had to be patched directly into your house's wiring, which today sounds like a terrifying prospect. Then, too, it was: Harvey Hubbell's "Separable Attachment Plug"—which essentially allowed for non-bulb devices to be plugged into a light socket for power—was designed with a simple intention:

My invention has for its object to...do away with the possibility of arcing or sparking in making connection, so that electrical power in buildings may be utilized by persons having no electrical knowledge or skill.

Thanks, Harvey! He later adapted the original design to include a two-pronged flat-blade plug, which itself was refined into a three-pronged plug—the third prong is for grounding—by a guy named Philip Labre in 1928. This design saw a few changes over the years too, but it's pretty much the type Americans use now.

Here's the thing: Stories like that of Harvey Hubbell's plug were unfolding all over the world, each with their own twist on the concept. This was before electronics were globalized, and before country-to-country plug compatibility really mattered. The voltage debate had been pared down to two(ish) which made life a bit easier for power companies to set up shop across the world. [Note: There are technically more than two voltages in use, which reader Michael clarifies rather wonderfully here]. But once they were set up, who cared what style plug their customers used? What were you gonna do, lug your new vacuum cleaner across the ocean on a boat? Early efforts to standardize the plug by organizations like the International Electrotechnical Commission (IEC) had trouble taking hold—who were they to tell a country which plug to adopt?—and what little progress they did make was shattered by the Second World War.

Take the British plug. Today, it's a huge, three-pronged beast with a fuse built right into it—one of the weirder plugs in the world, to anyone who's had a chance to use one. But it isn't Britain's first plug, or even their first proprietary plug. In the early 1900s the Isles' cords were capped with the British Standard 546, or Type D hardware, which actually include six subversions of its own, all of which were physically incompatible with one another. This worked out fine until the Second World War, when they got the shit bombed out of them by Germany, and had to rebuild entire swaths of the country in the midst of a severe shortage of basic building supplies— copper, in particular. This made rewiring stuff an expensive proposition, so the government was all, "we need a new plug, stat!"

Here was the pitch: Instead of wiring each socket to a fuseboard somewhere in the house, which would take quite a bit of wire, why not just daisy-chain them together on one wire, and put the fuses in each plug? Hey presto, copper shortage, solved. This was called the British Standard 1363, and you can still find them dangling from wires today. Notice how even in the 1940s and '50s—practically yesterday!—the UK was devising a new type of plug without any regard for the rest of the world.

Now imagine every other developed country in the world doing the same thing, with a totally different set of historical circumstances. That's how we ended up here, blowing fuses in our Paris hotel rooms because our travel adapters' voltage warning were inexplicably written in Cyrillic. Oh, and it gets worse.

You know how the British had control over India for, like, ninety years? Well, along with exporting cricket and inflicting unquantifiable cultural damage, they showed the subcontinent how to plug stuff in, the British way! Problem is, they left in 1947. The BS 1363 plug—the new one—wasn't introduced until 1946, and didn't see widespread adoption until a few years later. So India still uses the old British plug, as does Sri Lanka, Nepal and Namibia. Basically, the best way to guess who's got which socket is to brush up on your WW1/WW2 history, and to have a deep passion for postcolonial literature. No, really.

Is There Any Hope for the Future?

No. I talked to Gabriela Ehrlich, head of communications for the International Electrotechnical Commission, which is still doing its thing over in Switzerland, and the outlook isn't great. "There are standards, and there is a plug that has been designed. The problem is, really, everyone's invested in their own system. It's difficult to get away from that."

When Holland's International Questions Commission first teamed up with the IEC to form a committee to talk about this exact problem in 1934. Meetings were stalled, there was some resistance, blah blah blah, and the committee was delayed until 1940. Then a war—a World War, even!—threw a stick in the committee's spokes, (or a fork in their socket? No?), and the issue was effectively dropped until about 1950, when the IEC realized that there were "limited prospects for any agreement even in this limited geographical region (Europe)." It'd be expensive to tear out everyone's sockets, and the need didn't feel that urgent, I guess.

Plus, the IEC can't force anyone to do anything—they're sort of like the UN General Assembly for electronics standards, which means they can issue them, but nobody has to follow them, no matter how good they are. As time passed, populations grew, and hundred of millions of sockets were installed all over the world. The prospect of switching hardware looked more and more ridiculous. Who would pay for it? Why would a country want to change? Wouldn't the interim, with mixed plug standards in the same country, be dangerous?

But the IEC didn't quite abandon hope, quietly pushing for a standard plug for decades after. And they even came up with some! In the late 80s, they came up with the IEC 60906 plug, a little, round-pronged number for 240v countries. Then they codified a flat-pronged plug for 110-120v countries, which happened to be perfectly compatible with the one we already use in the US. As of today, Brazil is the only country that plans to has adopt[ed] the IEC 60906, so, uh, there's that.

I asked Gabriela if there was any hope, any hope at all, for a future where plugs could just get along:

Maybe in the future you'll have induction charging; you have a device planted into your wall, and you have a [wireless] charging mechanism.

Last time I saw a wireless power prototype was at the Intel Developer Forum in 2008, and it looked like a science fair project: It consisted of two giant coils, just inches apart, which transmitted enough electricity to light a 40w light bulb. So yeah, we'll get this power plug problem all sorted by oh, let's say, 2050?

She took care to emphasize that the standards are still there for people to adopt, so countries could jump onboard, but even in a best-case scenario, for as long as we use wires we'll have at least two standards to deal with—a 110-120v flat plug and the 240-250v round plug. For now, the Commission is taking a more practical approach to dealing with the problem, issuing specs for things like laptop power bricks, which can handle both voltages and come with interchangeable lead wires, as well as as something near and dear to our hearts: "We have to move forward into plugs we can really control," Gabriela told me. She means new stuff like USB, which is turning into the de facto gadget charging standard. The most we can hope for is a future where AC outlets are invisible to us, sending power to newer, more universal plugs. My phone'll charge via USB just as well in Sub-Saharan Africa as it will in New York City; just give me the port.

In the meantime, this means that things really aren't going to change. Your Walmart shaver will still die if you plug it into a European socket with a bare adapter, Indians will still be reminded of the British Empire every time they unplug a laptop, Israel will have their own plug which works nowhere else in the world, and El Salvador, without a national standard, will continue to wrestle with 10 different kinds of plug.

In other words, sorry.

Many thanks to Gabriela Ehrlich and the IEC, as well as the Institute for Engineering and Technology and Wiring Matters (PDF), and USC Viterbi's illumin review. Map adapted from Wikimedia Commons by Intern Kyle

Still something you wanna know? Still can't figure out how to plug in your Bosnian knockoff iPhone? Send questions, tips, addenda or complaints to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

There's all kinds of new hotness in Snow Leopard and Windows 7, but what's old and busted is when stuff crashes, even on the newest OSes. This is how that happens, and why it's thankfully happening less and less.

There are about a bajllion ways for a computer to crash, from hardware to software, so we're going to start with the little crashes and work our way towards kernel panics and BSODs.

Application Crashes

Broadly speaking, the two most common causes of crashes, according to Microsoft's Chris Flores, a director on the Windows team, are programs not following the rules, and programmers not anticipating a certain condition (so the program flips out). The most obvious example of the former is a memory error. Basically, an operating system gives a program a certain amount of memory to use, and it's up to the program to stay inside the boundaries. If a program makes a grab for memory that doesn't belong to it, it's corrupting another program's—or even the OS's—memory. So the OS makes the program crash, to protect everything else.

In the other case, unexpected conditions can make a program crash if it wasn't designed with good exception handling. Flores' "oversimplified" example is this: Suppose you have a data field, like for a credit card number. A good programmer would make sure you type just numbers, or provide a way for the program to deal with you typing symbols or letters. But if the program expects one type of data and gets another, and it's not designed to handle something it doesn't expect, it can crash.

A completely frozen application is one that has crashed, even though it stays on your screen, staring at you. It's just up to you to reach for the Force Quit and tell the computer to put it out of its misery. Sometimes, obviously, the computer kills it for you.

Crashes, as you probably experience almost daily, are limited to programs. Firefox probably crashes on you all the time. Or iTunes (oh God, iTunes). But with today's operating systems, if you hit an omega-level, take-down-your-whole-system crashes, something's likely gone funky down at the kernel level.

System Crashes

The kernel is the gooey core of the operating system. If you think of an operating system as a Tootsie pop with layers of sugary shell, it's down at the lowest level managing the basic things that the OS needs to work, and takes more than a few licks to get to.

More than likely, your computer completely crashes out way less than it used to—or at least, way less than Windows 95. There's a few reasons for that. A major reason, says Maximum PC Editor Maximus Will Smith, is that Apple and Microsoft have spent a lot of time moving stuff that used to run at really low level, deep in the guts of the OS, up a few layers into the user space, so an application error that would've crashed a whole system by borking something at the kernel level just results in an annoying program-level hang up. More simply put, OSes have been getting better at isolating and containing problems, so a bad app commits suicide, rather than suicide bombing your whole computer.

This is part of the reason drivers—the software that lets a piece of hardware, like a video card talk to your OS and other programs—are a bigger source of full-on crashes than standard apps nowadays when it comes to modern operating systems. By their nature, drivers have pretty deep access, and the kernel sits smack in the middle of that, says Flores. So if something goes wrong with a driver, it can result in some bigtime ka-blooey. Theoretically, signed (i.e., vetted) drivers help avoid some of the problems, but take graphics drivers, which were a huge problem with Vista crashes at launch: Flores says that "some of the most complex programming in the world is done by graphics device driver software writers," and when Microsoft changed to a new driver model with Vista, it was a whole new set of rules to play by. (Obviously, stuff got screwed up.)

Another reason things crash less now is that Apple and Microsoft have metric tons of data about what causes crashes with more advanced telemetry—information the OS sends home, like system configurations, what a program was doing, the state of memory, and other in-depth details about a crash—than ever. With that information, they can do more to prevent crashes, obviously, so don't be (too) afraid to click "send" on that error message.

In Windows 7, for instance, there's a new fault tolerance heap—basically, a heap's a special area of memory that's fairly low-level—which could get corrupted easily in past versions of Windows. In Windows 7, it can tell when a crash in the heap is about to happen and take steps to isolate an application from everything else.

Future Crashes

Of course, there are other reasons stuff can crash: Actual hardware problems, like a memory failure, or motherboard component failures. Hard drive issues. Hell, Will Smith tells us that a new problem with high-performance super-computing clusters are crashes caused by cosmic rays. A few alpha particles fly through a machine and boom, crash. They weren't a problem 30 years ago.

Granted, you don't have to worry about that too much. What you might worry about in the future, says Smith, with the explosion of processor cores and multi-threaded programs trying to take advantage of them, are the classic problems of parallel processing, like race conditions, where two processes are trying to do something with the same piece of data, and the order of events gets screwed up, ending in a crash. Obviously, developers would very much prefer if the next 5 years of computing didn't result the Windows 95 days, and programming techniques are always growing more sophisticated, so there's probably not a huge danger there. But as long as humans, who make mistakes, write programs, there will be crashes, so they're not going away, either.

Thanks to Maximum PC's Will Smith! Blue Screen of Death photo by Sean Galbraith originally posted on Gizmodo here.

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about crashes, blueberry pie or popcorn kernels to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

Chips, Chipsets and Damned Chipsets

Okay, so the first thing to understand is that an Intel brand, like Core 2 or Core i7, actually refers to a whole bunch of different processors. Although they generally have the same basic microarchitecture (in other words, chip design), the brand envelopes both desktop and mobile chips, chips with radically different clock speeds, that use different motherboard sockets, etc.

Because of these differences, each particular chip is given a codename, chosen for obscure geographical locations (seriously, plug just about any codename into Google Maps). For instance, the original mobile Core 2 Duo processor was Merom, and it was replaced after about two years by Penryn, which was manufactured using a new 45-nanometer process to be more efficient. Quite different, these two, but Intel pimped both as Core 2 Duos nonetheless.

View Intel in a larger map
Although Intel doesn't market chips according to their codenames, the individual chip gets a model number that gives you an idea of how it compares, spec-wise (clock speed, cache size, etc.), to other chips in the same group. So, a Core i7-950 is gonna be faster than a Core i7-920, and a Core 2 Duo P8600 isn't going to quite stack up to a Core 2 Duo P9600. The difference between a P8400 and P8600 is obviously less than the difference between a P8600 and a P9600. To match a particular chip codename to a particular model number, though, you probably have to do some Googlin' (or Bingin').

In some cases, Intel pushes chips with a ULV designator for "ultra-low voltage," which doesn't mean anything in particular in terms of chip design, since it includes several brands of chips, from Core 2 to Celeron. The point is that these chips power notebooks that are almost as portable at netbooks, but are more expensive, so computer makers (and Intel) make more money.

While we're at it, I might as well explain what the hell Centrino is. It's not a single chip, it's a platform. That is, it's a combo meal for notebooks with a mobile processor, a chipset (essentially the silicon that lets the processor talk to the rest of the computer) and a wireless networking adapter. Typically, Intel releases a new combo meal every year, though they're all been called Centrino, with the most recent making the leap to being called Centrino 2.

The reason we decided to tell you all this stuff now is that Intel is gradually phasing out the Core 2 family, like Pentiums before that, and is moving Core i7, Core i5 and Core i3 up to take its place. This is how all the families relate to each other...

Nehalem Rising: Core i7, Core i5 and Core i3

Core i7 systems use a totally new microarchitecture called Nehalem, and it's badass.

The first set of Core i7 chips, codenamed Bloomfield, launched in November 2008 for high-end desktops. They're the most outrageously fast Core i7 chips, with triple-channel memory (meaning they're able to use memory sticks in triplets rather than pairs) and other blazing accoutrements.

The new Core i7 chips, launched last month, are for desktop and mobile. The desktop variant is codenamed Lynnfield, and it more closely resembles its mobile equivalent, codenamed Clarksfield, than it does the Bloomfield monster—dual-channel memory, not triple, for instance.

You'll be seeing a lot more Clarksfield in the next couple weeks, like in the HP Envy 15, since most computer makers were holding off for Windows 7 to drop their new laptops. All of the Core i7 processors are quad-core, even the mobile Clarksfield, so you're not gonna see it in anything like Dell's skinny Adamo.

Core i5 is going to be Intel's more mainstream Nehalem-microarchitecture chip brand, and as a broader brand, the chip differentiation gets a little more confusing. Core i5 actually includes some, but not all, of the desktop Lynnfield processors. For now, the only Core i5 chip is quad-core, but you're going to start seeing dual-core Core i5 chips, and soon enough they will make up the bulk of Intel's mainstream processors. In English: Unless you're looking for a crazyfast new computer, your next machine will probably run an Intel Core i5 CPU.

Eventually, dual-core Core i3 chips will come out, and as you can guess by the number, they won't be quite as fast—or expensive—as the Core i5 or i7 chips.

Netbook's Best Friend: Atom N and Z

Atom is probably the Intel chip you hear about second only to Core 2 Duo: It's essentially the CPU that goes inside of netbooks. There are a couple of different variations out now, the N series (codename Diamondville) and the Z series (codename Silverthorne). The Diamondville chips are for nettops and netbooks (though as pointed out, nettop don't use the N prefix, just the chip number), and can handle full versions of Windows Vista and 7. Silverthrone is used in netbooks but was designed for smaller connected devices like UMPCs and MIDs. (This is why Sony shoving an underpowered Atom Z in the Vaio P, and trying to run Windows Vista on top of it, was retarded.)

The next generation of Atom is more interesting, and more confusing, in a way. The CPU is codenamed Pineview, and it's actually got the graphics processor integrated right onto the same chip, precluding the need for a separate GPU tucked into the netbook's overall chipset. The benefit is longer battery life, since it'll take less energy to crunch the same visuals. We'll start seeing Pineview netbooks sometime early next year, most likely.

Oldies But Goodies: Core 2 Duo, Quad and Extreme

Intel's Core 2 chips have been out three years now, an eternity in computer years. Because of this, and because they're the main ones used in most personal desktop and laptop systems, there is a metric shitton of different Core 2 chips.

It's also more confusing because there are way more codenames to wade through. Let's start from the top: Core 2 Solo has one core, Core 2 Duo two, and Quad has four (as does Extreme). From there, you have two distinct generations of chips within the Core 2 family.

In the first generation of Core 2 Duos, the main desktop chip was Conroe (with a cheaper variant called Allendale), while the main mobile one was called Merom. There was also a branch of Core 2 Quads called Kentsfield.

The next generation (that is, the current generation, unless you're already on the Core i7 bandwagon) arrived with a new process for making chips with even smaller transistors. Among other more technical differences, they were more energy efficient than their predecessors. With this generation of Core 2s, the mainstream desktop chips are Wolfdale, the desktop quad-cores are called Yorkfield, and the mobile chips are Penryn—if you've bought a decent notebook in the last two years, it's probably got a Penryn Core 2 inside of it.

Ancient History: Pentium and Celeron

Pentium is dead, except it's not, living on as a zombie brand for chips that aren't as good as Core chips, but aren't as crappy as Intel's low-end Celeron processors. If you see a machine with a sticker for Pentium or Celeron, run.

Okay, I hope that helps, at least a little—you should probably thank me for staying away from clock speeds and other small variations, like individual permutations of Core i7 Bloomfield processors, to hopefully give you a broader overview of what all's going on. Intel told me it'll all make more sense once their entire road map for the year is out on the market, but I have a feeling it's not gonna help my mom understand this crap one bit better.

Top image via soleiletoile/Flickr

Thanks to Intel for helping us sort all this out!

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about sweet potato chips, pumpkin pie or turduckens to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

Avid photographers, you already know the score, and this isn't a guide for you. Nor is it for the dude with the brand-new 5D Mk II with an external flash gun, or the weekend strobist. This is a reference to be passed around as a public service; a quick guide for the aquarium-flashing, face-flushing, baby-blinding friends and family you all know and tolerate love.

When You Shouldn't

At Large Events
Every time I go to a nighttime sporting event or concert, I see hundreds of starry flickers coming from the stands. When I see them, I die a little inside. For your average point-and-shoot, the effective range of your built-in flash is about 15 feet. You might stretch this to 20 feet if you jack up your camera's ISO settings to 800 (or God forbid 1600), but under no circumstances will your camera's flash reach down to the field or stage.

Every little flash you see in the photo above represents a failed photo, unless the intention was to get a well-lit out-of-focus shot of the dude sitting two rows forward. Shooting artificially lit events may be hard, but letting your camera's automatic flash have its way won't help. Shut it down.

Through Glass
Walk into any aquarium for a classic flash infraction: Shooting through glass. People press their cameras up to the fish and everybody goes blind. This almost never works—ever notice that giant white explosion where the fish was supposed to be? We don't have an aquarium in our office, so I put Kyle, our new intern, in a glass conference room for a similar effect. He now has a glowing orb for an eye. Thanks, flash.

Shooting Gadgets, or Anything With a Screen
This one may be a bit of a tech blogger pet peeve, but please, turn off the flash before taking pictures of your gear, especially if it has a screen. Even the brightest, matte-est screens act as flash mirrors, as do all manner of plastic and metal finishes. It's nearly impossible to take a good photo of a gadget with your flash on, and there's rarely a reason to: Gadget generally won't move unless you tell them to, so find a way to stabilize your camera and treat your subject to a nice, loooong exposure. On point-and-shoots, this usually requires nothing more than manually turning off your flash and staying in auto mode—the camera will figure out the rest.

On Anything That Isn't Moving
Know what I said about shooting gadgets? Honestly, it applies to all inanimate objects, and even animate objects, assuming you get get them to sit still enough. Set your camera on the table, prop yourself against a tree, make an improvised monopod out of a lamp—if your subject is still, the only person to blame for not turning off your flash is yourself.

On Humans
It's not a hard rule, but it's a good guideline: built-in flash units emit whitish xenon light, and generally make your subject look like a malnourished villager from medieval Europe, often with horrifying red pupils. If you can help it, avoid the flash. (If you can't, we've got some tips below for making your shots look less ghostly.) Photo by Flickr user busbeytheelder

In a Baby's Face
Because as adorable as this overdramatic baby is, flashing blindingly bright light into your newborn's pupils seems like bad parenting. And babies don't usually move too fast.

When You Should

In Daylight
Counterintuitively, one of the only times your camera's built-in flash is genuinely useful is when it's bright and sunny out, and you've got a shadow problem. Ideally you should try to illuminate a subject with natural light, but in the event that your photo is lit from behind or above, like this here cat, knocking out a few shadows is a reasonable excuse for using flash. Why? Because the mix of ambient and flash-bulb light is much less harsh than straight flash. Photo by Hoggheff aka Hank Ashby aka Mr. Freshtags

When It's Totally Dark
Because you have no other choice.

How to Avoid It

Stabilize Your Camera
Keeping your camera still isn't always easy. If carrying a tripod or Joby-style stabilizer isn't an option, you can always do it yourself. From our piece on hacking together camera accessories on the cheap:

Shooting long exposures without something to prop your camera on is a pain in the ass, not to mention a blurry mess. So is carrying a tripod. This video shows how to build a pretty effective foot-looping camera stabilizer out of some string, a bolt and a washer. The results are surprisingly good.

And another! Here's what I call the David Pogue Special, and it's great: Many lampshade mounts share a diameter and thread size with the tripod mount screw on the bottom of your camcorder, point-and-shoot or DSLR, providing quick and dirty stabilization in a bind.

If You Absolutely Have To

Reduce the Flash's Intensity
Many cameras will have a setting for flash intensity. Find it. This will essentially just turn down the brightness of your flash, which will avoid overexposing your subjects' faces, albeit at the expense of range.

Improvise a Diffuser
External flash units turn out better photos because they have bigger, better bulbs, mostly, but also because they're often fitted with a diffuser. These accessories soften your flash's harsh glow, but they're both expensive and generally impossible to fit onto your mom's point-and-shoot.

Luckily, you can fashion them yourself, sometimes in a matter of seconds. Again, from the DIY camera accessory roundup:

A coffee filter held in front of a flash, a translucent film canister with a notch cut into it, a simple piece of A4 paper or even a piece of matte Scotch tape over the flash lens will measurably improve your drunk party photography.

Tricks like this tend to take a little trial and error, but you'll love the results. Top image via SharperFocus

Still something you wanna know? Can't get your brother to stop flashing himself in the mirror? Send questions, tips, addenda or complaints to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

We're gonna be talking in-ear earbuds—canalphones, really, or in-ear monitors, if you're snooty—since all the good stuff goes deep into your precious earholes. We aren't talking about headphones because great headphones aren't the most discreet things around—can't defeat physics, children. Unless you derive some sick pleasure from jogging with a pair of giant cans bolted to your head, earbuds are the way to go.

It's All About the Drivers—No, Not Those Kind

Whether you're talking about headphones or earbuds, they work a lot like loudspeakers, just miniaturized. The key element in both are drivers, though earphone drivers are a lot smaller, and do a lot less work to make the same music.

There are two main types of drivers: The a dynamic driver works just like a traditional one in big ol' speaker. The benefit of the dynamic driver is that it produces a nice bass response, though it can be hard to miniaturize.

A balanced armature driver is pretty common in serious in-ear monitors, since it's easy to shrink down. Originally found in hearing aids, it houses a magnetic armature that moves when an electric current runs through the coil, putting pressure on the diaphragm, creating sound. It can be, and often is, paired with a dynamic driver.

Most earbuds just have the one driver, though more and more have multiple drivers. That costs more 'cause it's harder to cram more than one into a tiny casing meant to rest gravity-free in your ear. With multiple drivers also comes a "crossover network," circuitry meant to divide music into different frequencies and route them to the appropriate drivers, an additional payload to stuff into that tight space. Once all that is crammed in, however, multi-driver earbuds typically sound better than single-driver ones, because the woofer, tweeter and mid-range horn are more innately equipped to handle their own domains of sound—from boomy bass to sizzly treble.

Among the least expensive multiple-driver earbuds are Apple's fancier $80 in-ear earbuds, which use two drivers, a tweeter for highs, and another for everything else. It gets more expensive as you creep up. Shure's three-driver SE530 lists for $500 (but can be found for much less). Ultimate Ears' UE-11 Pro, which will run you a ridiculous $1150, come with a correspondingly ridiculous four drivers. That's one for mid-range and one for highs and two for bass.

Some companies opt for a single driver because they think it's better, since there aren't complications with crossover networks, trying to get all the drivers to work together to produce seamless sound. On the other hand, with a single driver, you're asking one driver to do everything: highs, lows and mid-range, says Stereophile senior contributing editor Michael Fremer Fremer. (Yes, that Michael Fremer.) That's why , FutureSonics, for instance, makers of pro monitoring gear, charges so much for their single-driver earbuds. "A really good single-driver can sound really good," says Fremer.

What It's Made Of, How It's Made

Besides more drivers, what you get in pricier earbuds is (surprise, surprise) better materials, finer build quality and a more focused design. Michael Johns, headphones manager for Shure—known for earbuds with MSRP ranging from $100 to $500 but rarely double digits—told me that most of the really cheap ($20) headphones on the market are basically rebranded crap from no-name factories, and that when you buy those with suggested retail pricing between $50 and $100, you're mostly paying for style, not sound. The top-tier brands, of which there are many, tend to design and engineer their own headphones. The expense of that is, unfortunately, passed on to you.

The cost of raw ingredients is also passed to you—the cable material, the magnet behind the diaphragm, the diaphragm material itself, the overall quality of the driver, and the enclosure. (Again, all of the stuff that jacks up the price of higher quality loudspeakers too.) None of that stuff, when it's well made, is cheap. Fremer says, for instance, that better headphones actually use stronger magnets than cheaper headphones. As you might guess, the more powerful the magnet, the higher the cost.

The Fit

With legit in-ear buds, fit matters a lot, because the seal is critical. Not only does a good seal mean less ambient noise infiltrates your ears—allowing you to keep your volume low while still catching the full dynamic range—but an airtight seal is how you get decent bass response. And you want something shoved deep down inside your ear to be comfortable, as well as fit, so there's a lot of different kinds of tips earbud makers have come up with. Besides the standard rubber bulb, there's squishy foam, and the Christmas tree-lookin' triple-flange sleeves. What works best often comes down to your own ears and personal preference, which is why better earbuds come with a ton of tips.

What Do I Buy?

So, uh, what's the sweet spot price for great headphones? If Shure and Fremer had their way, everybody would spend upwards of $200 on their earbuds, but if you twist their arm, they'll agree that $100 is where buds start getting decent. The real trick, according to Fremer, is just getting people to "spend that first hundred bucks."

The law of diminishing returns tends to kick in above that point: The difference between $300 set of buds and a $400 pair is nowhere near the jump from $20 to $100. Even smaller is the difference in models between generations. The best value on the market might be a previous-gen version of Shure's 500 series buds at a cut rate ($290), but if you can find $100 earbuds for 70 bucks, it's even better.

Interestingly, Fremer says what you're looking for in great earbuds is "a relatively flat frequency response so no frequency is accentuated above another," so "the product that sounds the best is usually the one that impresses you the least at first." Buds that tout big bass, for instance, don't actually have better bass, just more of it. (You can always adjust the EQ if you want more bass.)

Whatever you do, for Christ's sake—and yours—ditch the iPod earbuds.

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about buds, tips or hot waitresses who deserve big tips to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

The first problem is, nearly all electronics are lumped together, despite differences in their innards and the services they perform. The second problem is this constant generic request to turn them "off." Until airlines can speak coherently about ebooks, smartphones, tablets and other traveler-friendly gadgets—and address the various states of rest between "on" and "off"—the system remains in a sphere of stupidity. Whether this is mildly annoying or potentially deadly remains to be seen.

The last time I flew, I had in my carry-on bag three cameras, three laptops, a smartphone and a classic iPod. Judging from the long security lines, I wasn't the only one trucking plentiful gadgetry.

When I got on the plane, the flight attendant asked everyone to turn "off" phones and other portable electronics. She appeared at my side as I was switching my iPhone to airplane mode and repeated, "It's time to turn off your portable electronics." I replied, "That's what I'm doing." She sneered like a 1930s copper who'd just collared the dumbest guy in the bootlegging operation: "So flipping through screens is how you turn it off? There's no on-off switch on the side?" She thought she'd caught me in a lie. I just looked back in disbelief, made the screen magically go dark, and put my supposedly "off" phone back in my pocket, satisfying whatever interpretation of the rules was in this poor misinformed woman's head.

On another leg of our journey, just before takeoff, a flight attendant pointed to the ebook reader my wife was using and said in a stern voice, "Please turn off all portable electronics." She did not ask the gentleman seated next to us to turn off his digital watch, though it may well have been drawing more power at the time.

Worst of all, she did not check every single cellphone and laptop to make sure they were in a state where they could not emit a hefty dose of RF. Most of the smartphones on board were probably in standby (with some kind of radio emission still happening) and most laptops were probably closed but not powered down—hopefully sleeping.

The only command we're given is to turn stuff "off"—a command increasingly ignored for its incoherence. What does it mean for a phone or iPod to be "off"? Most people don't even know. If the command is this easy to ignore with no consequences, the likely conclusion is that the gear really isn't a threat. But if it is, the airlines may not discover their own boneheadedness until the danger reaches some lethal saturation point.

Here's the actual FAA regulation:

§ 121.306   Portable electronic devices.
(a) Except as provided in paragraph (b) of this section, no person may operate, nor may any operator or pilot in command of an aircraft allow the operation of, any portable electronic device on any U.S.-registered civil aircraft operating under this part.
(b) Paragraph (a) of this section does not apply to—
(1) Portable voice recorders;
(2) Hearing aids;
(3) Heart pacemakers;
(4) Electric shavers; or
(5) Any other portable electronic device that the [airline] has determined will not cause interference with the navigation or communication system of the aircraft on which it is to be used.
(c) The determination required by paragraph (b)(5) of this section shall be made by that [airline] operating the particular device to be used.
[Doc. No. FAA–1998–4954, 64 FR 1080, Jan. 7, 1999]

You will have noticed the date, 1999, but still, that preamble speaks volumes: "no person may operate…any portable electronic device on any U.S.-registered civil aircraft…" followed by exception after exception. The mentality of that is old school, to put it politely. You will also note that the discretion is left up to the airline (with heavy support from the aircraft maker), layering on confusion in sugary heaps.

What is the issue? This suggests it is "interference with navigation or communication systems," and in that case, it's understandable that such potential for jamming is minimized during the most dangerous parts of the flight, take off and landing. All electronics give off a bit of radiation; communications devices like phones and laptops give off considerably more. Minimize the amount of RF emissions (including unpredictable radio "harmonics") and you will reduce the chances—however unlikely in the first place—that portable electronics will threaten the safety of the flight.

That was Boeing's recommendation to the feds 10 years ago, when cellphones were starting to boom, and it makes sense. Unfortunately, what's going on now is a mere pantomime true RF security. Here's why:

Smartphones
How many people actually know how to turn off their smartphone? When I carried a BlackBerry, I never turned it off, because it took like 5 minutes to power back on. At the same time, I was always finding it fully awake in my bag or pocket, long after I thought I'd secured it. You CrackBerry addicts are making fun of me right now, and that's fine, but the fact is, I can't possibly be alone. How many people know about airplane mode on iPhones or other phones? For flight attendants, turning off the screen is all that apparently matters, but there's no way that is truly compliant.

Laptops
When was the last time you shut off your laptop during the boarding process? When I run out of the house, I just slam the thing shut and shove it in my bag. When I am at the airport, I pop it open to do some work. So when I'm finally at an altitude where it is safe to use portable electronics, I pop it open and then remember to turn off Wi-Fi. And not so we don't plummet out of the air—more so I can save at least some battery life. My guess is that most people who carry laptops on board just let them sleep, with Wi-Fi engaged. And on certain Vista notebooks I've carried, just closing the lid didn't mean squat.

Handheld Gaming Systems
Back about 14 years ago, there were a spate of reports that Game Boys were causing interference with the operation of planes. According to Boeing, there was never any actual proof of this, though it did inspire one of the funniest Simpsons moments ever. The real joke is, back then, portable gaming systems didn't all come with embedded Wi-Fi and Bluetooth like they do now. My guess is that many a properly stowed Nintendo DS can still sniff around the plane for cute Nintendogs or whatever, even with the lid closed.

Ebook Readers
This one is going to need special attention. I often get quite a bit of quality reading done at take-off and landing, precisely because I can't pop open a device and watch a movie or a TV show. But when I carry a Kindle or some other reader, I can't use it during that happy time. The question is, why can't I? With the 3G radio turned off—a very easy maneuver—an ebook reader uses less battery life than the Bluetooth earbud on standby that you may have forgotten to take off your ear. There is no power needed to hold a picture on E-Ink, so the battery is only taxed when the page is turned. How's this for irony? If you are looking at a page of words, your reader actually is off.

Noise-Canceling Headphones
Here's where most airlines get it right. Anything that takes 35 hours to drain a single AAA battery and has no inherent telecommunication function probably isn't going to cause the plane to go into an "uncommanded roll." Armies of Bose addicts fly friendly and unfriendly skies every day, and are generally allowed to use their own big ole cans during take-off and landing, provided they're attached to the airlines' audio system and not their own iPod. This kind of common sense needs to be applied to other devices.

In the end, what we've really got is an increasing array of devices that are replacing the books and crosswords of yore, and almost none of them have an "on-off switch" on the side. They're powered up and doing their thing, often while still nestled inside our pockets or our bags. Some are perfectly harmless beyond a shadow of a doubt, some could easily join together to form a cloud of harmless or harmful electromagnetic radiation. So why are airlines so confused? Hell, they've made special dispensations permitting knitting needles, even foot-long metal suckers. Is it too much to ask that they give equal consideration to our many cherished gadgets?

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about airlines, the FAA or rolls (commanded, uncommanded, hot and buttered) to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line. Oh, and if you're dying to look up FAA regulations whenever you damn well feel like it, check out this PilotFAR iPhone app that reader (and developer) Nick Hodapp just showed me.

Microsoft obviously has a more complicated relationship with "industry" standards, because anything it decides is its standard—even proprietary ones—becomes a kind of de facto standard for everybody else, simply because of Microsoft's overwhelming marketshare. This was more true in the past than today, with Microsoft playing ball with everybody else more often.

Microsoft's AV Club
Let's start with Windows Media Audio—most commonly, it's known as Microsoft's proprietary audio codec that at one point fought the good fight against MP3, but is now much more, having grown into a sprawling family of various codecs with multiple versions. To name a few of the current ones, there's WMA 9, WMA 9 Lossless and WMA 10 Pro. Microsoft says it offers superior quality/compression over MP3, with "CD quality at data rates from 64 to 192 kilobits per second." Needless to say, while it's baked into Windows Media Player for ripping CDs and is supported by a fairly wide range of PMPs and phones, it obviously never displaced MP3, nor is it ascendant as the "new" standard like AAC (the official successor of MP3), basically since it isn't supported by the iPod, which owns over 70 percent of the MP3 player market. WMA Pro, despite being an even better codec than WMA, has more limited support still, mostly with Microsoft's own hardware, like the Xbox 360 and Zune.

WMA's more ignoble legacy, undoubtedly, is PlaysForSure, Microsoft's grand attempt to standardize the entire digital music industry (except Apple, or rather, against Apple) by getting everybody on the same page. PlaysForSure was technically a certification for players and services with a variety of requirements, but support for WMA, WMV and Windows Media DRM is what it amounted to in practice. Microsoft succeeded, for a time: Pretty much every PMP maker and services from Walmart, Rhapsody, MSN Music, Yahoo, Napster and others were all aboard PlaysForSure. Then it imploded. As every real music service went to DRM-free MP3, Microsoft re-branded it to Certified for Windows Vista. Which, incidentally, was a badge they slapped on the Zune, Microsoft's own audio player that didn't actually support PlaysForSure. When Microsoft ditched its own standard for its premiere player, everybody knew PlaysForSure was dead.

Windows Media has been more successful on the video front, with WMV. Like WMA, it's gone through multiple versions: At one point (WMV 7) merely Microsoft's take on the MPEG-2 standard, Microsoft actually succeeded in making it a genuine industry standard, with WMV 9 becoming the basis for the VC-1 codec that's backed by the Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers. VC-1 is part of the spec for both HD DVD and Blu-ray, though at this point it's really just an alternative to H.264, which is becoming the dominant modern video codec. WMV saw some success as the codec of choice for some services during the heyday or PlaysForSure (since WMV support was part of the certification), but now it sees a lot of action as the video codec for Silverlight, Microsoft's Adobe Flash competitor.

Internet Exploder
Silverlight itself actually isn't doing so bad, considering it's fighting Flash, which is installed on the vast majority of internet-connected computers, powering Netflix's streaming service and last summer, NBC's streaming Olympics coverage. But like Flash, it's proprietary, which is obviously a bit disconcerting for people who want an open web. Which brings us to Internet Explorer. The early history of IE and Netscape is grossly complicated, but suffice it to say, being included with Windows eventually gave IE over 90 percent of browser marketshare. In other words, Microsoft defined how an overwhelming majority of people looked at the internet for years—meaning it essentially defined what the internet look like. Microsoft essentially stopped moving forward with IE6, sitting on its ass for years, which is a problem since it's totally non-compliant with what most people would call modern web standards. (Short version: Web developers hate IE6.) With IE8, which entered a new world with Firefox having devoured a huge chunk of its marketshare, Microsoft supports actual real web standards (mostly—it still fails the Acid3 test miserably). And, they're actually serious about HTML5, even though they're not planning to implement the controversial video aspect at all.

Do You Trust Me?
Obviously, Microsoft's in an odd spot in part because the constant specter of antitrust allegations hang over its head—it's had to de-couple Internet Explorer from Windows in Europe, and it's moved to separate other stuff from the core OS, like even its mail, video and photo applications, making it harder to achieve the kind of de facto standards through sheer force of market like before.

Which might be part of the reason it's moving to make tech legit industry standards—besides VC-1 above, for instance, its HD Photo has become the basis for the successor to JPEG, now dubbed JPEG XR. Also, it's simply that standards matter more now than ever as people do more and more of their computing on the web, on multiple platforms from Windows desktops to Android phones, so industry-wide standards are way preferable to proprietary formats, even if most people still are on Windows.

Increasingly, if Microsoft wants people to use their tech, they're going to have to open it up in the same quasi-way Apple has (it'll also go a long way with the whole trust/control issues people have with Microsoft). So don't surprised if you see Microsoft continue to "open up" and "standardize." Just don't be surprised if the standards they embrace have Microsoft tech at the core.

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about standards, things that are open other than your mom's legs or Steve Ballmer's deodorant to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

How to Actually Make Coffee
Odds are, you're doin' it wrong. Here's most of the major ways to make delicious coffee, with advice from our friends at Ninth St. Espresso, Intelligentsia Coffee and La Marzocco.

Bill Nye Explains Oleophobic Screens
Uh, Bill Nye. Explaining stuff. Do I need to say anymore?

How Electrocution Really Kills You (With Adam Savage)
Mythbuster Adam Savage tells us how electricity really kills you—surprisingly, it's not by poaching your brains inside of your skull.

The Difference Between $100 and $100,000 Speakers
Well the title really says it all, don't it?

Why Analog Audio Cables Really Aren't All the Same
Yes, there really is a difference between analog cables. And you want there to be.

Why Lenses Are the Real Key to Stunning Photos
Despite what stupid spec wars would have you believe, a fancy slice of glass is just as important as silicon to taking a stunning photo.

Why More Megapixels Isn't Always More Better
You want quality pixels, not just more of 'em.

GPGPU Computing: How Your Graphics Card Is Gonna Make Your Computer Fly
Programmers are finally figuring out how to make it easy to use your graphics card to do awesome stuff besides render cool explosions, meaning your computer is going to scream.

How to Choose the Right Graphics Card
Do you really need the Nvidia GeForce Ultra Pro 295 GTX 2 OC Black Edition, or is it okay to play Crysis with some a little more cost effective?

How Cell Towers Work
Until Wilson explained how cell towers work, I always thought Stormtrooper fairies carried the signals from my phone to the Death Star and then to my mom's cellphone.

Why Cell Reception Still Sucks Speaking of cell towers, why does cell reception still suck so hard sometimes?

How Apple Affects Your Tech World Through Standards (Even You, Windows Guy)
The easy way to have power over technology and people outside of your own little domain: Create tech standards. Here's a few Apple's been instrumental in getting out there.

Still something you still wanna know? Send any questions about cameras, processors, or anything else crazy complicated to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

They Call It "Open" For a Reason
One of the more excellent aspects of Snow Leopard, actually, is its full-scale deployment of OpenCL 1.0—Open Computing Language—a framework that allows programmers to more easily utilize the full power of mixes of different kinds of processors like GPUs and multi-core CPUs. (Much of the excitement for that is in leveraging the GPU for non-graphical applications.)

OpenCL lives up to its name: It is a royalty-free open standard managed by the Khronos Group, and supported by AMD/ATI, Apple, ARM, IBM, Intel, Nvidia, among others. Interesting thing about this open industry standard is that it was developed and proposed by... Apple.

What Is a Standard?
By "standard," we're talking about a format, interface or programming framework that a bunch of companies or people or organizations agree is the way something's going to get done, whether it's how a movie is encoded or the way websites are programmed. Otherwise, nothing works. A video that plays on one computer won't play on another, web sites that work in one browser don't work in another, etc. With increased connectedness between different machines and different platforms, standards are increasingly vital to progress.

Standards can range from open (anybody can use them, for free) to open with conditions (anybody can use them as long they follow conditions X, Y and Z) to closed (you gotta have permission, and most likely, pay for it). Some companies view standards strictly as royalty machines; others don't make much money on them, instead using them to make sure developers do things the way they want them to. Apple falls into this latter category, by choice or possibly just by fate.

Kicking the Big Guy in the Shins
Of course, OpenCL isn't the only open standard that Apple's had a hand in creating or supporting that actually went industry-wide. When you're the little guy—as Apple was, and still is in computer OS marketshare, with under 10 percent—having a hand in larger industry standards is important. It keeps your platform and programming goals from getting steamrolled by, say, the de facto "standards" enforced by the bigger guy who grips 90 percent of the market.

If you succeed in creating a standard, you're making everybody else do things the way you want them done. If you're doubting how important standards are, look no further than the old Sony throwing a new one at the wall every week hoping it'll stick. Or Microsoft getting basically everybody but iTunes to use its PlaysForSure DRM a couple years ago. Or its alternative codecs and formats for basically every genuine industry standard out there. To be sure, there is money to be made in standards, but only if the standard is adopted—and royalties can be collected.

Web Standards: The Big Headache
The web has always been a sore spot in the standards debate. The web is a "universal OS," or whatever the cloud-crazy pundits call it, but what shapes your experience is your browser and in part, how compliant it is with the tools web developers use to build their products. Internet Exploder shit all over standards for years, and web programmers still want IE6 to die in a fiery eternal abyss.

Enter WebKit, an open source browser engine developed by Apple based off of the KHTML engine. It's so standards-compliant it tied with Opera's Presto engine to be the first to pass the Acid3 test. What's most striking about WebKit isn't the fact it powers Safari and Google Chrome on the desktop, but basically every full-fledged smartphone browser: iPhone, Android, Palm Pre, Symbian and (probably) BlackBerry. So WebKit hasn't just driven web standards through its strict adherence to them, but it has essentially defined, for now, the way the "real internet" is viewed on mobile devices. All of the crazy cool web programming you see now made is made possible by standards-compliant browsers.

True, OpenCL and WebKit are open source—Apple's been clever about the way it uses open source, look no further than the guts of OS X—but Apple is hardly devoted to the whole "free and open" thing, even when it comes to web standards.

All the AV Codecs You Can Eat
The recent debate over video in the next web standards, known collectively as HTML5, shows that: Mozilla supports the open-source Ogg Theora video codec, but Apple says it's too crappy to become the web's default video standard—freeing everyone from the tyranny of Adobe's Flash. Apple says Ogg's quality and hardware acceleration support don't match up to the Apple-supported MPEG-4 standardized H.264 codec, which is tied up by license issues that keep it from being freely distributed and open. (Google is playing it up the middle for the moment: While it has doubts about the performance of Ogg Theora, Chrome has built-in support for it and H.264.)

Apple has actually always been a booster of MPEG's H.264 codec, which is the default video format supported by the iPhone—part of the reason YouTube re-encoded all of its videos, actually—and gets hardware acceleration in QuickTime X with Snow Leopard. H.264 is basically becoming the video codec (it's in Blu-ray, people use it for streaming, etc.).

Why would Apple care? It means Microsoft's WMV didn't become the leading standard.

A sorta similar story with AAC, another MPEG standard. It's actually the successor to MP3, with better compression quality—and no royalties—but Apple had the largest role in making it mainstream by making it their preferred audio format for the iPod and iTunes Store. (It saw some limited use in portables a little earlier, but it didn't become basically mandatory for audio players to support it until after the iPod.) Another bonus, besides AAC's superiority to MP3: Microsoft's WMA, though popular for a while, never took over.

FireWire I Mean iLINK I Mean IEEE 1394
Speaking of the early days of the iPod, we can't leave out FireWire, aka IEEE 1394. Like OpenCL, Apple did a lot of the initial development work (Sony, IBM and others did a lot of work on it as well), presented it to a larger standards body—the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers—and it became the basis for a standard. They tried to charge a royalty for it at first, but that didn't work out. It's a successful standard in a lot of ways—I mean, it is still on a lot of stuff like hard drives and camcorders still—but USB has turned out to be more universal, despite being technically inferior. (At least until USB 3.0 comes out, hooray!)

Update: Oops, forgot Mini DisplayPort, Apple's shrunken take on DisplayPort—a royalty-free video interface standard from VESA that's also notably supported by Dell—which'll be part of the official DisplayPort 1.2 spec. Apple licenses it for no fee, unless you sue Apple for patent infringement, which is a liiiiittle dicey. (On the other hand, we don't see it going too far as industry standard, which is why we forgot about it.)

That's just a relatively quick overview of some of the standards Apple's had a hand in one way or another, but it should give you an idea about how important standards are, and how a company with a relatively small marketshare (at least, in certain markets) can use them wield a lot of influence over a much broader domain.

Shaping standards isn't always for royalty checks or dominance—Apple's position doesn't allow them to be particularly greedy when it comes to determining how you watch stuff or browse the internet broadly. They've actually made things better, at least so far. But, one glance at the iPhone app approval process should give anybody who thinks they're the most gracious tech company second thoughts about that.

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about standards, things that are open other than your mom's legs or Sony Ultra Memory Stick XC Duo Quadro Micro Pro II to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

The heart of the matter is that the trick to actually utilizing the full power of multiple processors—or multiple cores within a processor, like the Core 2 Duo you've probably got in your computer if you bought in the last two years—is processing things in parallel. That is, doing lots of stuff side by side. After all, you've got 2, maybe 4 or even 8 processors at your disposal, so to use them as efficiently as possible, you want to pull a problem apart and throw a piece of it at each core, or at least send different problems to different cores. Sounds logical, right? Easy, even.

The rub is that writing software that can actually take advantage of all of that parallel processing at an application level isn't easy, and without software built for it, all that power is wasted. In fact, cracking the nut of parallel processing is one the major movements in tech right now, since parallelism, while it's been around forever, has been the domain of solving really big problems, not running Excel sheets on your laptop. It's why, for instance, former Intel chair Craig Barrett told me at CES that Intel hires more software engineers than hardware engineers—to push the software paradigm shift that's gotta happen.

A big part of the reason parallel programming is hard for programmers to wrestle with is simply most of them have never spent any time thinking about parallelism, says James Reinders, Intel's Chief Software Evangelist, who's spent decades working with parallel processing. In the single core world, more speed primarily came from a faster clock speed—all muscle. Multi-core is a different approach. Typically, the way a developer takes advantage of parallelism is by breaking their application down into threads, sub-tasks within a process that run simultaneously or in parallel. And processes are just instances of an application—the things you can see running on your machine by firing up the Task Manager in Windows, or Activity Monitor in OS X. On a multi-core system, different threads can be handled by different processors so multiple threads can be run at once. An app can a lot run faster if it was written to be multi-threaded.

One of the reasons parallel programming is tricky is that some kinds of processes are really hard to do in parallel—they have to be done sequentially. That is, one step in the program is dependent on the result from a previous step, so you can't really run those steps in parallel. And developers tend to run into problems, like a race condition, where two processes try to do something with the same piece of data and the order of events gets screwed up, resulting in a crash.

Snow Leopard's Grand Central Dispatch promises to take a lot of the headache out of parallel programming by managing everything at the OS level, using a system of blocks and queues, so developers don't even have to thread their apps in the traditional way. In the GCD system, a developer tags self-contained units of work as blocks, which are scheduled for execution and placed in a GCD queue. Queues are how GCD manages tasks running parallel and what order they run in, scheduling blocks to run when threads are free to run something.

Reinders says he's "not convinced that parallel programming is harder, it's just different." Still, he's a "big fan of what Apple's doing with Grand Central Dispatch" because "they've made a very approachable, simple interface for developers to take advantage of the fact that Snow Leopard can run things in parallel and they're encouraging apps to take advantage of that."

How Snow Leopard handles parallelism with GCD is a little different than what Intel's doing however—you might recall Intel just picked up RapidMind, a company that specializes in optimizing applications for parallelism. The difference between these two, at a broad level, represent two of the major approaches to parallelism—task parallelism, like GCD, or data parallelism, like RapidMind. Reinders explained it like this: If you had a million newspapers you want to cut clips out of, GCD would look at cutting from each newspaper as a task, whereas RapidMind's approach would look at it as one cutting to be executed in a repetitive manner. For some applications, RapidMind's approach will work better, and for some, GCD's task-based approach will work better. In particular, Reinders says something like GCD works best when a developer can "figure out what the fairly separate things to do are and you don't care where they run or in what order they run" within their app.

It's also a bit different from Windows' approach to parallelism, which is app oriented, rather than managing things at the OS level, so it essentially leaves everything up to the apps—apps have got to manage their own threads, make sure they're not eating all of your resources. Which for now, isn't much of a headache, but Reinders says that there is a "valid concern on Windows that a mixture of parallel apps won't cooperate with each other as much," so you could wind up with a situation where say, four apps try to use all 16 cores in your machine, when you'd rather they split up, with say one app using eight cores, another using four, and so on. GCD addresses that problem at the system level, so there's more coordination between apps, which may make it slightly more responsive to the user, if it manages tasks correctly.

You might think that the whole parallelism thing is a bit overblown—I mean, who needs a multicore computer to run Microsoft Word, right? Well, even Word benefits from parallelism Reinders told me. For instance, when you spool off something to the printer and it doesn't freeze, like it used to back in the day. Or spelling and grammar running as you type—it's a separate thread that's run in parallel. If it wasn't, it'd make for a miserable-ass typing experience, or you'd just have to wait until you were totally finished with a document. There's also the general march of software, since we love to have more features all the time: Reinders says his computer might be 100X faster than it was 15 years ago, but applications don't run 100x faster—they've got new features that are constantly added on to make them more powerful or nicer to use. Stuff like pretty graphics, animation and font scaling. In the future, exploiting multiple cores through parallelism that might be stuff like eyeball tracking, or actually good speech recognition.

Reinders actually thinks that the opportunities for parallelism are limitless. "Not having an idea to use parallelism in some cases I sometimes refer to as a 'lack of imagination,'" because someone simply hasn't thought of it, the same way people back in the day thought computers for home use would be glorified electronic cookbooks—they lacked the imagination to predict things like the web. But as programmers move into parallelism, Reinders has "great expectations they're going to imagine things the rest of us," so we could see some amazing things come out of parallelism. But whether that's next week or five years now, well, we'll see.

[Back to our Complete Guide to Snow Leopard]

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about parallel processing, parallel lines or parallel universes to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

Grand Central Terminal main concourse image from Wikimedia Commons

Here's the rub about making coffee: The best ways to make coffee are the super simplest or the ultra-geekiest. The middle ground—i.e., your drip brewer—produces mediocrity. And where I come from, mediocre is spelled s-h-i-t-t-y. What's universal to every good method of making coffee is that there's a ton of control and consistency going on. In fact, consistency is the secret sauce to making great coffee. But we've got a few things we even get to the part you probably think of as "making coffee." These are the basic elements, no matter what voodoo you're invoking to make coffee: The beans, roast, grind, dose, water, temperature and brew time.

Beans

Buy 'em fresh, buy 'em whole, buy 'em sustainably. That's about all there is to it. Well, almost. If you're a dark roast drinker, it's time to branch out. Here's how Ken Nye, owner of Ninth St. Espresso, which has been at the forefront of NYC's coffee scene since 2001 explains it like this: Take a piece of dry-aged prime rib, which is loaded with complex flavors. How are you gonna cook it? Lighter, to preserve all of that complexity, or are you gonna char the holy hell out of it? There's nothing wrong with people who like the taste of a well-done piece of meat, but well, they're loving the char more than the meat. Same thing with some of the amazing coffees people that are being sourced now by companies like Intelligentsia, Stumptown and Counter Culture—they tend to roast on the medium to lighter side using older equipment to let the coffee's actual flavor come through. Roasting super dark is a good way to hide what's going on with the bean (good or bad).

Grinding

There's no way around this: If you care about coffee, you have to grind the beans right before you make it. As soon as they're ground, the oils inside the beans are exposed to air, and the thousand different flavor compounds inside start dying. Coffee's fragile, man.

The grind is the foundation process for everything else that happens afterward. In fact, David Latourell, formerly of the Coffee Equipment Company (of Clover fame) and currently at Intelligentsia, says that the number one thing people can do to "change their world" when it comes to coffee is to fix their grind situation. If the grind up is screwed, so is everything else. Uniformity is what's key, otherwise you get an uneven extraction, which means mediocre coffee. And the only way to get that uniformity is with a good burr grinder.

Blade grinders mutilate coffee beans, and the heat caused by the friction screws up the chemistry, so don't even think about it. A burr grinder pulverizes the beans instead of chopping them up. Just because it's a burr grinder doesn't mean it's a good grinder, though. You want one that's efficient and can grind slowly, otherwise you're introducing friction and heat that corrupts the coffee. Typically, that means a conical burr grinder, versus a flat burr grinder. While you can get a burr grinder as cheaply as $50, both Ken and David say that you have to spend at least $150-$200 for a home grinder—in particular, David recommends the Baratza Virtuoso, a conical burr grinder that's about $200. (Ken's commercial grinder, pictured, is about $3000.) It sounds like a crazy amount of money for a grinder, but if you're serious about making coffee at home, this is where you start. Fortunately, it's the most expensive piece of equipment you need to buy.

Okay! Let's get to brewing, from simple to whizbang.

Chemex

A Chemex pot is one of the simplest ways to brew coffee. Seriously. You put a paper filter over a carafe, dump in coffee grounds, and pour water over it. There is an art to it, however. As is the case with every method of making coffee, there's no one perfect dose, brew time or temperature for every coffee—it depends on the coffee, and of course, your taste, and that's where the art lies—but Intelligentsia's got some starting points (PDF). (200 degrees is a good fail-safe temp, though.) Intelligentsia's got a tutorial video ready to go. Besides the $35 Chemex pot, you need Chemex brand paper filters (no, the cheap filters won't do, because the paper weave sucks). Something to look for is a nice, even bloom, like we see up top (the coffee will puff up in the filter) as you pour. The end result is a light, super clean cup of coffee where all of its qualities shine through really brightly.

French Press

The French press, while low tech like the Chemex, produces coffee that's almost antithetical to the Chemex's clean profile: It's got more heft, it's grittier, it's a little less defined, but it's much richer, too. A solid Bodum press starts at about $30, give or take. The coffee is ground a little coarser here, for bigger particulates. Happily, there's another video to walk you through the process. Two things to emphasize, Ken from Ninth St. says: When you push down the plunger at the end of the brew time, go slow and easy. As coffee steeps longer, it gets more sensitive, so you don't want to agitate it by slamming down the plunger. Also, when you're done brewing, pour off all the coffee. Don't let it sit, you gotta get it outta there. (Image via jilliansvoice/Flickr)

Vacuum or Siphon Pot

The vacuum pot looks like it's straight out of a chemistry set—or meth lab—for a reason: You don't wanna go there. David explains that it's perhaps the finickiest way to brew coffee—it "requires skill" and an amazing cup out of it can be "elusive." It is a seriously cool concept though. So, you've got two chambers connected by a tube. Water is boiled heated in the bottom chamber so it rises into the upper chamber, where your coffee is hanging out. It brews. Then you pull it off the heat source (whatever you're using), and the coffee is sucked back into the lower chamber—vacuums, baby—leaving the grounds up top and an articulate, clean cup in the bottom.

Moka Pot

Then there's the Moka pot. What makes it special is that it uses steam pressure to brew coffee, and you make it on your stove, using coffee that's almost as finely ground as espresso, though not quite. Again, pretty simple idea with a couple of chambers connected by a tube. You've got a base chamber, filled with water, into which you stick a funnel-shaped filter filled with coffee. Start the water a-boilin' and steam pressure will start forcing water through the filter (and the coffee grounds, natch) into the upper chamber. So it's sort of like a percolator, and there's debate as to whether or not it's a true perc pot because of the way it uses steam pressure. You've got to take care not to let things get too hot, though, otherwise you'll screw up the coffee. Gimme Coffee's tutorial for making Moka Pot coffee is a pretty solid one to follow, and pots go from $25-$50, depending on size. (kanaka/Flickr)

Cold Brew or Toddy

Haven't heard of cold-brewing? This is how you make iced coffee, not pouring coffee you've brewed regularly over ice, which results in a sour, disgusting abomination. Well, every method we've talked about (and will after this) for brewing coffee involves hot water, and a relatively short brewing time. Cold brewing is the low and slow approach: Coarse coffee grounds are steeped in room temp water for 12-24 hours, depending on the coffee. What comes out is exceptionally smooth, with most of the acidity—and some would say complexity—gone, so it has drinkability, like Bud Light. The "official" and I suppose easiest way to make cold-brew coffee is using the $40 toddy system, which claims credit for starting the whole damn cold-brew deal in the first, but you can make it on the cheap.

AeroPress

Update: Alright already, we hear you guys: We can't leave out AeroPress, which delivers a super smooth cup of coffee with a superfast brew and extraction time. Plus the apparatus is cheap, under 30 bucks. It's basically like a giant syringe. Ground coffee (a little finer than drip) is placed in a tube with a paper filter on the bottom, which is placed over whatever want the coffee to wind up in. After hot water is added and the coffee steeps, a plunger is inserted and pushed down, forcing the brewed coffee through the filter. And hey look, another tutorial from Gimme.

Drip

Okay, I'm about to explode your world here. The drip coffeemaker you've got at home and at your office on the left here? It sucks. Remember earlier, how I said consistency is the key to coffee? A consistent temperature is crucial, and most drip makers can't deliver that. They can't even deliver the right temperature to begin with. 200 degrees is the golden temperature for brewing coffee, and most drip pots top out at around 180, which isn't hot enough for a proper extraction. Plus, they probably wet the grinds unevenly, making it worse. In fact, Ken and David both say that the only drip brewer who can deliver that is from Technivorm (on the right), whose drip brewers actually meet the temperature standards of the Special Coffee Association of America. And Technivorms coffeemakers aren't cheap, going for around $200. Sorry dudes.

Espresso

You know what? Let's just get this out of the way: You can't make amazing espresso at home. Not unless you're will to spend something $7500 on an espresso machine from someone like La Marzocco. Why? Consistency. Temperature. Pressure.

As big and scary as an espresso machine looks, again, the basics aren't too complicated to grasp: It's using pressure to force water through a puck of finely ground coffee. What's inside that giant box is a boiler system—or two—that heats the water that passes through the puck and powers the steamer, and a motor to force the water through with a degree of pressure, so that the coffee is quickly extracted with all of those "beautiful oils" Ken from Ninth St. is fond of talking about, if the espresso shot is pulled skillfully. It should be dense, rich and topped with a yummy looking rust foam on top, called crema.

Lesser machines aren't that good at the two most important things an espresso machine works with: Temperature and pressure. To start, good commercial machines have at least two independent boiler systems, one for the coffee, one for the steamer. In the past, Jacob Ellul-Blake from La Marzocco R&D told me, before the brew boiler and steam boiler were separated, you ran into a problem where steaming milk would cause the steam pressure inside of the machine to drop, which would make the water temperature drop as well, since temperature and pressure are proportional—and you'd get a less-than-excellent shot. So, a good machine keeps a consistent temperature. Incredibly high end machines are super-precisely controlled temp-wise, within tenths of a degree. That's because taste is affected with a temperature variation of half a degree. (We'll go more in-depth on that later this week.) On the pressure front, most home machines just can't deliver the 8-9 bar of pressure that you need for a good extraction.

So when it comes to espresso, if you desire excellence, you're pretty much resigned to going to a coffee shop. They've got the equipment—and hopefully barista skills—you just don't have. But that's not a bad thing. David related it this way: It's like the difference between cooking at home and eating out. You can make a delicious meal yourself (coffee analog: Chemex or French press) but you're probably not going to make cookie-covered ice cream balls using liquid nitrogen, and that's okay.

Clover

Clover was the darling of the coffee world until the Coffee Equipment Company was bought by Starbucks. All hand-built, around 250 of them were made before Starbucks swooped in. Essentially, the Clover is a nerdy way of delivering water to coffee with precisely—digitally—controlled parameters that are repeatable every single time, so you can brew the same cup over and over and over, or so you can experiment more rigorously, carefully tweaking one element at a time.

The gist of the Clover of this: You place ground coffee in a chamber, which is filled with a precise amount of water at the exact temperature you set (give or take a degree) for the precise brew time you set. When it's done. Coffee pulled into the chamber by the vacuum formed when the piston is pushed back up with the Clover's powerful motor—it can lift 350 pounds—with the grounds left on top thanks to its 70 micron filter. The resulting cup is clean—coffee aficianados love clean cups—and expressive, though it's not quite so as the Chemex method. But that's what $12,000 of coffee engineering gets you.

That's not quite every method of brewing coffee—seriously, there's about a million, like CafeSolo or single-cup ceramic drip—but those are the majors definitely worth knowing (or in one case, forgetting). But in sum, if you're looking to change your home game, Chemex or French Press are the ways to go. If you wanna get really geeky about coffee, believe me, we haven't even started, so stayed tuned.
Still something you wanna know? Send questions about coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee or coffee to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

Taste Test is our weeklong tribute to the leaps that occur when technology meets cuisine, spanning everything from the historic breakthroughs that made food tastier and safer to the Earl-Grey-friendly replicators we impatiently await in the future.

Quantum computing is a pretty complicated subject—uh, hello, quantum mechanics plus computers. I'm gonna keep it kinda basic, but recent breakthroughs like this one prove that you should definitely start paying attention to it. Some day, in the future, quantum computing will be cracking codes, powering web searches, and maybe, just maybe, lighting up our Star Trek-style holodecks.

Before we get to the quantum part, let's start with just "computing." It's about bits. They're the basic building block of computing information. They've got two states—0 or 1, on or off, true or false, you get the idea. But two defined states is key. When you add a bunch of bits together, usually 8 of 'em, you get a byte. As in kilobytes, megabytes, gigabytes and so on. Your digital photos, music, documents, they're all just long strings of 1s and 0s, segmented into 8-digit strands. Because of that binary setup, a classical computer operates by a certain kind of logic that makes it good at some kinds of computing—the general stuff you do everyday—but not so great at others, like finding ginormous prime factors (those things from math class), which are a big part of cracking codes.

Quantum computing operates by a different kind of logic—it actually uses the rules of quantum mechanics to compute. Quantum bits, called qubits, are different from regular bits, because they don't just have two states. They can have multiple states, superpositions—they can be 0 or 1 or 0-1 or 0+1 or 0 and 1, all at the same time. It's a lot deeper than a regular old bit. A qubit's ability to exist in multiple states—the combo of all those being a superposition—opens up a big freakin' door of possibility for computational powah, because it can factor numbers at much more insanely fast speeds than standard computers.

Entanglement—a quantum state that's all about tight correlations between systems—is the key to that. It's a pretty hard thing to describe, so I asked for some help from Boris Blinov, a professor at the University of Washington's Trapped Ion Quantum Computing Group. He turned to a take on Schrödinger's cat to explain it: Basically, if you have a cat in a closed box, and poisonous gas is released. The cat is either dead, 0, or alive, 1. Until I open the box to find out, it exists in both states—a superposition. That superposition is destroyed when I measure it. But suppose I have two cats in two boxes that are correlated, and you go through the same thing. If I open one box and the cat's alive, it means the other cat is too, even if I never open the box. It's a quantum phenomenon that's a stronger correlation than you can get in classical physics, and because of that you can do something like this with quantum algorithms—change one part of the system, and the rest of it will respond accordingly, without changing the rest of the operation. That's part of the reason it's faster at certain kinds of calculations.

The other, explains Blinov, is that you can achieve true parallelism in computing—actually process a lot of information in parallel, "not like Windows" or even other types of classic computers that profess parallelism.

So what's that good for? For example, a password that might take years to crack via brute force using today's computers could take mere seconds with a quantum computer, so there's plenty of crazy stuff that Uncle Sam might want to put it to use for in cryptography. And it might be useful to search engineers at Google, Microsoft and other companies, since you can search and index databases much, much faster. And let's not forget scientific applications—no surprise, classic computers really suck at modeling quantum mechanics. The National Institute of Science and Technology's Jonathan Home suggests that given the way cloud computing is going, if you need an insane calculation performed, you might rent time and farm it out to a quantum mainframe in Google's backyard.

The reason we're not all blasting on quantum computers now is that this quantum mojo is, at the moment, extremely fragile. And it always will be, since quantum states aren't exactly robust. We're talking about working with ions here—rather than electrons—and if you think heat is a problem with processors today, you've got no idea. In the breakthrough by Home's team at NIST—completing a full set of quantum "transport" operations, moving information from one area of the "computer" to another—they worked with a single pair of atoms, using lasers to manipulate the states of beryllium ions, storing the data and performing an operation, before transferring that information to a different location in the processor. What allowed it to work, without busting up the party and losing all the data through heat, were magnesium ions cooling the beryllium ions as they were being manipulated. And those lasers can only do so much. If you want to manipulate more ions, you have to add more lasers.

Hell, quantum computing is so fragile and unwieldy that when we talked to Home, he said much of the effort goes into methods of correcting errors. In five years, he says, we'll likely be working with a mere tens of qubits. The stage it's at right now, says Blinov, is "the equivalent of building a reliable transistor" back in the day. But that's not to say those of tens of qubits won't be useful. While they won't be cracking stuff for the NSA—you'll need about 10,000 qubits for cracking high-level cryptography—that's still enough quantum computing power to calculate properties for new materials that are hard to model with a classic computer. In other words, materials scientists could be developing the case for the iPhone 10G or the building blocks for your next run-of-the-mill Intel processor using quantum computers in the next decade. Just don't expect a quantum computer on your desk in the next 10 years.

Special thanks to National Institute of Standards and Technology's Jonathan Home and the University of Washington Professor Boris Blinov!

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about quantum computing, quantum leaps or undead cats to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

Well, push describes a lot of things. Push is simply an action. Versus, say, pulling. Maybe that's horribly abstract, so try this: If information shows up on your phone or neural implant or messaging program without you (or your wares) asking for it—that's push. The info is pushed to you, versus you pulling it from the source. There are tons of ways push can be (and is) used.

Email's a pretty good starting point for grasping the difference between push and the other stuff. You probably know good ol' POP3—you log into your mail server and pull down new messages. Maybe it's on a frequent schedule, so it feels automatic, even instant, but you're still reaching out to the mail server every time to check and see if there's new mail to download.

IMAP is a little fancier than POP, where all of your folders and email are the same on all of your computers, phones and other gadgets, and any change you make on one shows up on the other, since it's all happening on a remote server somewhere. But with the standard setup, it's still the same deal—your mail program has to log in, see what's new, and pull it down. IMAP does have a pretty neat trick though, an optional feature called IMAP IDLE, that does push pretty well—it's what the Palm Pre uses for Gmail, for instance. Essentially, with IMAP IDLE, the mail server can tell whatever mail app that you've got new messages waiting, without you (or your app) hammering the refresh button over and over. When the app knows there's new messages, it connects and pulls them down, so it gives you just about the speed of push, without matching the precise mechanism.

While different systems do things differently (obvs), what true push services have in common is that they generally insert a middleman between you and the information source.

RIM's setup for the BlackBerry is probably the most sophisticated. When your BlackBerry registers with the carrier (which has to support BlackBerry), the details are handed to RIM's network operating center, so the NOC knows where to send your mail. The NOC watches your mail server, keeps tabs on the phone's location, and pushes email through to your phone whenever you get new stuff.

What makes it push is that your phone's not actually polling a server for new messages to pull—it only receives them when they hit your inbox, and are then pushed to your phone by RIM's servers. This means you save a lot of battery life that'd be wasted by making the phone constantly hit the servers for updates. The flipside is that when RIM's servers blow up, you don't get email, since it's all routed through their system—hence the other panic that grips dudes in suits once every few months lately.

The other biggie is Microsoft, who has Direct Push, part of Exchange's ActiveSync. It's architected a little bit differently, so it doesn't need the precise kind of data about where your phone is that RIM's NOCs do: The phone or whatever you've got sends an HTTPS with a long lifespan to the Exchange server—if new mail arrives before it dies, the Exchange tells your device there's new stuff, so it should start a sync. After it syncs, the device sends out another long HTTPS request, starting it all over again.

Apple's weak-sauce substitute for multitasking works pretty similarly: The developer has something its wants to send an iPhone, when its application isn't actually running, like an IM. It sends the notification to Apple's push servers, which send the notification to the phone through a "persistent IP connection" the phone maintains with the servers. This connection, which is only maintained when push notifications are turned on, is needed to locate the phone, but still doesn't draw as much power as constantly pinging the mail server.

Of course, those aren't the only push systems around, and it's only getting more and more important as stuff gets shifted to the cloud. We haven't mentioned Android and Google Chrome, but both utilize push (or will) in different ways. Suffice it to say, Google Sync will soon be a major player in this game. But basically, all kinds of different data can be pushed—calendars, contacts, browser data, hell, even IM is a kind of push—and they all work more or less the same broad way. Just don't ask us why there isn't push Gmail on the iPhone yet.

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about pushing, shoving and pancake massacres to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

Here's what Google says: "Google Chrome OS is an open source, lightweight operating system that will initially be targeted at netbooks" and "most of the user experience takes place on the web." That is, it's "Google Chrome running within a new windowing system on top of a Linux kernel" with the web as the platform. It runs on x86 processors (like your standard Core 2 Duo) and ARM processors (like inside every mobile smartphone). Underneath lies security architecture that's completely redesigned to be virus-resistant and easy to update. Okay, that tells us, um, not much.

After all, Google's Android is a mobile OS that runs on top of a Linux kernel. But Chrome OS is different! Android is designed to work on phones and set-top boxes and other random gadgets. Chrome OS is "designed to power computers ranging from small netbooks to full-size desktop systems" for "people who spend most of their time on the web." Hey wait, they both run on netbooks? Hmm!

Since the official blog post is all Google has said about Chrome OS and it doesn't say much, let's do something I learned in college, turning tiny paragraphs into pages of "deep reading."

It seems like there are two possibilities for what Chrome OS is, on a general level. The more mundane—and frankly uninspired—possibility is that it's essentially a Linux distro with a custom user interface running the Chrome browser. As someone quipped on Twitter (sorry I don't remember who), if you uninstall everything but Firefox 3.5 on Ubuntu, would that be the Firefox OS? What's the difference between Chrome OS and a version of Chrome with Google Gears on Intel's pretty Moblin OS?

The other possibility is more interesting. Look at this closely: "Most of the user experience takes place on the web." The software architecture is simply "Google Chrome running within a new windowing system on top of a Linux kernel." That sounds familiar. A lot like Mike Arrington's CrunchPad, actually, which boots directly into the WebKit browser running on top of Linux.

Meaning? The entire experience of the CrunchPad takes place on the internet, and the web is its "platform" as well, essentially. Chrome is WebKit-based as well. (I'm surprised Arrington didn't mention this in his post, actually.) If I had to guess, I'd say Chrome OS is somewhere in between an entirely browser-based OS and a generic Linux distro, though leaning toward the former.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.But running a full computer like Chrome OS, based entirely on web apps, is crazy, right—I mean, what if you're not online? There are two things that show it actually might not be completely retarded.

You can already use Gmail offline. I think that will be really indicative of other app experiences in a totally web-oriented Chrome OS with Google Gears. The same goes for Google Docs in offline mode, an option some people have been using for over a year. It's no coincidence that Google pulled "Beta" off of its web apps the day it announced Chrome OS.

Another reason it might work is Palm's WebOS on the Pre, where most of the apps, like Pandora, are written simply using web languages. (It, too, is running WebKit on top of Linux kernel.) As Harry McCracken notes, it seems like a prime opportunity for Google's long rumored GDrive online storage to finally rear its head, picking up on the line "people want their data to be accessible to them wherever they are and not have to worry about losing their computer or forgetting to back up files." That could make Chrome OS wildly more compelling. And don't get me started on all the app-like possibilities from HTML5 by the time Chrome OS launches in the second half of 2010.

Actually, the more minimal it is, the more I think Chrome OS could be better, in some ways, than Android. Google half-assed a lot of Android at launch (UI inconsistencies, missing video player, etc.). If Chrome OS really is just a glorified browser, Google can afford to be that lethargic—all they have to do is maintain the browser, and everyone else will take care of the web apps. Which developers will code, because they'll run on any OS with a browser—Windows, OS X, whatever—and because the web as a platform is the way things are going. Even Microsoft knows this, deep down, as their Gazelle browser project shows.

How will you sync an iPod, manage printers and network drives, or yank photos and videos from your camera? We don't know. Some things may be impossible. Will there be an uproar, like there was with iPhone 1.0, about the limitations of web apps? Surely someone will bitch.

But I can almost see a day where phones run Chrome OS, too, when wireless internet is truly ubiquitous. It seems obvious, now, that this is Google's long-haul play—not Android, even. Either way, Microsoft doesn't have to be scared today. But they might be in about a year.

Still something you wanna know? Send questions about web tablets, web apps, the wicked webs Google weaves and anything else to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line. Top image by Cobra Commander, from our totally insaney Google Chrome comic Photoshop contest.

Whether you're buying a new computer, building your own or upgrading an old one, the process of choosing a new graphics card can be daunting. Integrated graphics solutions—the kind that come standard with many PCs—have trouble playing games from three years ago, let alone today, and will put you at a disadvantage when future technologies like GPGPU computing, which essentially uses your graphics card as an additional processor, finally take hold. On top of all this, we're in the middle of a price dip—it's objectively a great time to buy. (Assuming you're settled on a desktop. Ahem.) The point is, you'll want to make the right choice. But how?

Set Specific Goals, Sight Unseen
Your first step to finding the right graphics card is to just step back. Just as graphics card specs are nigh-on impossible to understand, naming conventions and marketing materials will do nothing except give you a headache. The endlessly higher numerical names, the overlapping product lines, the misleadingly-named chip technologies—just leave them. For now, pretend they don't exist.

Now, choose your goals. What games do you want to play? What video output options and ports do you want? What resolution will you be playing your games at? Do you have any use for the fledgling GPGPU technologies that are slowly permeating the marketplace? And although you may have to adjust this, set a price goal. Ready-built PC buyers will have to consider whatever upgrade cost your chosen company is charging, and adjust accordingly. For people upgrading their own systems, $150-$200 has been something of a sweet spot: It'll get you a card with a new enough GPU, and sufficient VRAM to handily deal with mainstream games for a solid two years. If you want to spend less, you can; if you want to spend more, fine.

These are the terms that matter most. Seriously, disregard any allegiance to Nvidia or ATI, prior experiences with years-old graphics hardware or some heretofore distant, unreleased and unspec'd game franchise. Be decisive about what you want, but as far as hardware and marketing materials go, start blind.

Don't Get Caught Up In Specs
Now that you've laid out your ambitions, as modest or extreme as they may be, it's time to dive into the seething, disorienting pool of hardware that you'll be choosing from. The selection, as you'll find out, is daunting. The first layer of complexity comes from the big two—Nvidia and ATI—whose product lines read more like Terminator robot taxonomies than something generated by humans. Here's Nvidia's desktop product line, right now:

It seems like you ought to be able glean a linear progression of performance (or at least price) out of that alphanumeric pile, right? Not at all. How in the world are we to know that the 9800GTX is generally more powerful than the GTS 250, or that the 8800GTS trumps a 9600GT? A two letter suffix can mean more than a model number, and likewise, a model number can mean more than membership in a product line. These naming conventions change every couple years, and occasionally even get traded between companies. For example, I've personally owned two graphics cards that bore 9x00 names—you just won't see them on the chart above, because they were made by ATI. Point is: You don't need to bother with this nonsense.

The next layer of awfulness comes from the sundry OEMs that rebrand, tweak and come up with elaborate ways to cool offerings from the big two. This is what Sapphire, EVGA, HIS, Sparkle, Zotac and any number of other inanely named companies do. They can, on occasion, cause some sizable changes to the performance of the GPUs they're built around, but by and large, the Nvidia or ATI label on the box is still the best indication of what to expect from the product, i.e., a Zotax Gtx285 won't be that much better or worse than an eVGA or stock model. You'll get a different fan/heatsink configuration, different hardware styling, and possibly different memory or GPU frequency specs, but the most important difference—and the only one you should really concern yourself with—is price.

Graphics cards' last, least penetrable line of defense against your comprehension is hardware jargon. Bizarre, unhelpful spec sheets are, and always have been, a common feature in PC hardware, from RAM (DDR3-1600!) to processors (12 MB L2 cache! 1333MHz FSB!).

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Graphics cards are worse. Each one has three MHz-measured speeds you'll see advertised—the core clock, the CPU (shader) clock and the memory frequency. VRAM—the amount of dedicated memory your card has to work with—is another touted specification, ranging from 256MB to well beyond the 1GB barrier for gaming cards. On top of frequency, memory introduces a whole slew of additional confusing numbers: memory type (as in, DDR2 or DDR3); interface width (in bits, the higher the better); and memory bandwidth, nowadays measured in GB/s. And increasingly, you'll see processor core numbers trotted out. Did you know that Nvidia's top-line card has 480 of them? No? Good.

The best way to approach these numbers is to ignore them. Sure, they provide comparative evaluation and yes, they do actually mean something, but unless you're a bonafide graphics card enthusiast, you won't be able to look at a single spec—or a whole spec sheet—and come to any useful conclusions about the cards. Think of it like cars: horsepower, torque and engine displacement are all real things. They just demand context before they can be taken to mean anything to the driver. That's why road tests carry so much weight.

Graphics cards have their own road testers, and they've got the only numbers you need to worry about.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Respect the Bench, or Trust the Experts
In the absence of meaningful specs, names or distinguishing features, we're left with benchmarks. This is a good thing! For years, sites like Tom's Hardware, Maximum PC, and Anandtech have tirelessly run nearly every new piece of graphics hardware through a battery of tests, providing the buying public with comparative measures of real-word performance. These are the only numbers you need to bother yourself with, and where those goals you settled on come into play.

Here's how to apply them. Say you just really want to play Left 4 Dead, and have about a hundred dollars to spend. Navigate over to Tom's, check their benchmarks for that particular game, and scroll down the list. You're looking for a card that is a) an option on whatever system you're buying and b) can handle the game well—at a high resolution and high texture quality—which, generally speaking, is a comfortable 60 frames per second. Find the card, check the price and you're practically done. Once you've zeroed in on a card based on your narrow criteria, expand outward. You can check out more games benchmarks and seek out standalone reviews, which will enlighten you on other, less obvious considerations, like fan noise, power draw and reported reliability. (Note: resources for notebook users are a little more sparse. That said, Notebook Check [click the British flag for English] does good work.]

From there, your next worry will be buying for the future. You shouldn't buy the bare minimum hardware for the current generation of games—there's no need to spring for a card that'll be obsolete within a few months, no matter how cheap it is. But buying the latest, greatest dual-GPU graphics cards is an equally bad value proposition. As generations of video hardware have come and gone, one thing has remained constant: A company's midrange offerings, usually pegged at about $150-$200, are your best bet, period. Sometimes they'll be new products, and sometimes they'll have been around a while. What you'll be buying, basically, is the top end of the last generation. This is fine, and will keep the vast majority of users happy for the lifecycle of their PC. Those of you who live on the bleeding edge probably don't need this guide anyway.

Your alternative route is to just trust the experts. Sites like Ars Technica and Maximum PC regularly assemble system guides at various pricepoints, in which they've made your value judgments for you. Tom's even assembles a "Best Cards for the Money" guide each month, which is invaluable. At given price points, the answer will often be obvious, and these guys know what they're talking about.

But keep in mind, they're applying the same formula you can, just with a slightly more knowing eye. The matter truly is as simple as broadly deciding what you need, consulting the right sources and floating far enough above the spec-ravaged landscape so as to avoid getting a headache. Good luck.

The new 3GS iPhone has a coating that helps you leave no, well hardly any, prints–-fingerprints. The glass screen is coated with a polymer, a plastic that human skin oil doesn't adhere to very well. People in the chemical bonding business like to call the finished surface "oleophobic."

Such a lovely Greek cognate may sound like it means "afraid of oil." And, it does, but it also connotes (or carries with) "aversion" or "not-like-to-be-around-tivity," if I may. Instead of sticking to the bonded-plastic surface of your new phone, the oil from you fingers or cheekbone or tip of your nose stays more or less together as its own smooshed droplet.

The Applers were able to do this by bonding this oleophobic polymer to glass. The polymer is an organic (from organisms) compound, carbon-based. The glass is nominally inorganic, silicon-based… solid rock. The trick is getting the one to stick to the other. Although it is nominally proprietary, this is probably done with a third molecule that sticks to silicon on one side and to carbon-based polymers on the other side. Chemical engineers get it to stay stuck by inducing compounds to diffuse or "inter-penetrate" into the polymer. The intermediate chemical is a "silane," a molecule that has silicon and alkanes (chains of carbon atoms).

If you'd like—and I hope you will—take a moment and think about droplets, like water droplets, on a surface. Deep in the droplet, water molecules stick to each other. On the surface though, they stick to each other as well, but they also have to opportunity to stick or not to stick to the surface they're resting on. When they stick, say to the nylon fibers in a bikini strap, the swimsuit feels wet (or so I'm told). When they don't stick to the surface they're resting on, they bead up, like in the car wax commercials.

Well, the polymer that the 3GS iPhone screen is coated with doesn't let the oil of your skin stick to it very much. So, you don't leave fingerprints. The key is in the intermediate compounds, the silanes that hold the plastic to the glass.

So grab a hold of one, and for a change, watch almost nothing happen. It's chemistry.

Thanks so much, Bill! Written for Gizmodo - Copyright 23 June 2009 - Bill Nye The Science Guy®

First, a direct translation: AT&T's upgraded (or more accurately, upgrading) 3G network claims data download rates of 7.2 megabits per second. Though that's the lingo used to describe bandwidth, it's important to remember that those are not megabytes. AT&T's impressive-sounding 7.2 megabits would yield somewhere closer to .9 megabytes (900 kilobytes) per second, and that's only if you're getting peak performance, which you never will because...

That 7.2Mbps is theoretical, and due to technical overhead, network business, device speed and overzealous marketing, real world speeds are significantly lower. UPDATEDEven looking at the old hardware on the current 3G network—the networking guts in your iPhone 3G is technically capable of reaching the 3.6Mbps downstream that AT&T's network is technically capable of pushing. There are lots of reasons you don't ever see that. For one, it's limited to 1.4Mbps to preserve battery life—the faster you download, the faster you burn that battery. Another is congestion—all the a-holes watching YouTubes around you—and backhaul—the amount of pipe running to a tower, or more English-y still, the total bandwidth the tower has available. Another is proximity—the closer to the tower you are, the faster your phone is gonna fly. So for top speeds, you should sit under a deserted tower with plenty of backhaul.

As you can see on our chart above, our tested speeds for everything from EV-DO Rev. A to WiMax ran at anywhere from one half to one sixth their potential speed. Accordingly, Jason found AT&T's network to run at about 1.6Mbps with the iPhone 3G S—about a third faster than with the 3G, though he was probably still connecting at 3.6Mbps rates—the 7.2 rollout won't be complete until 2011, according to AT&T.

AT&T-style HSDPA is expected to reach out to an eventual theoretical speed of 14Mbps, which will undoubtedly make the current 3G networks feel slow, but won't necessarily blow them out of the water. That's the thing: the iPhone, and indeed just about all high-end handsets on the market today, operate at speeds that are reasonably close to the limits of 3G technology. In a funny sort of way, the iPhone 3GS is already a bit out of date.

So what's next? And what the hell are those really long green bars up there? Those are the so-called 4G (fourth generation) wireless technologies. Americans can ignore HSPA+ and EV-DO Rev B. for the most part, and given that they're the slowest of the next-gen bunch, shouldn't feel too bad. And anyway, as Matt explained, WiMax and LTE are what's next for us.

Both Verizon and AT&T are within a couple of years of deploying LTE in their networks, and WiMax is already out there in some cities. Our own WiMax tests on Clearwire's network peaked at an astounding 12Mbps—nearly eight times faster than the iPhone 3GS on AT&T. And even if WiMax is shaping up to be more of a general broadband protocol than a cellular one, this is the kind of thing that'll be in your phones in a few years, and the promises are mind-boggling: earlier this year, Verizon's LTE were breaking 60Mbps.

So in short, your brand-new, "S"-for-speed iPhone is pretty speedy—as long as you only look to the past.

In way, they're opposites: Windows 7 uses the same core foundation as Vista while fixing issues and prettying up the outside, while Snow Leopard keeps most of the same spots while re-arranging how things work internally. But the mission is the same—to evolve their current OS—not change the whole game. And launching this fall, we can't avoid a comparison study. The stars of Redmond and Cupertino have never been so closely aligned before.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Price/Availability
Snow Leopard socks Windows 7 on both counts here: It's shipping in September for just $29. Windows 7 doesn't hit until Oct. 22, and we've heard it could be pricier than Vista, though it will, on the other hand, be cheaper for people who already have Vista. Nowhere near $29, we bet, but we can dream, can't we?

Storage Footprint
Both Windows 7 and Snow Leopard are engineered to gobble less of your hard drive than their predecessors. Snow Leopard promises to give you back 6GB of storage—cutting out all the code for PowerPC-based Macs helped a lot there. Microsoft isn't touting how much extra space you'll have with Windows 7 vs. Vista, but an earlier version of Windows 7 used about 6GB of space, and they've been thinking about ways to make drivers take up less space.

If it says anything though, Snow Leopard requires 5GB of free disk space, while Windows 7 has a minimum recommended requirement of 16GB for the 32-bit OS and 20GB for the 64-bit OS—Microsoft doesn't put out absolute bare minimums, though the footprint seems to be about 6-8GB for Windows 7.

Startup/Shutdown/Sleep
Windows 7 smoked Vista with sub-30-second startup times, and RC1 is even faster. Shutdowns are quicker too. We had problems with sleep in the beta release, but it still seemed better than Vista, if not faster. Apple doesn't pimp a specific improvement in startup time, but promises doubletime wakeups and 1.75x faster shutdowns than Leopard.

64-bit
Windows 7 will come in both 32-bit and 64-bit flavors—it's up to you to pick the right one (hint: 64-bit). The majority of Windows 7 install will likely be 64-bit—since you don't have to worry about compatibility issues as much as with Vista 64, and people are starting to want 4GB or more of RAM—so we're at a tipping point there. Snow Leopard will also more or less finish up OS X's transition to 64-bit, so it's something Apple's pushing hard as well.

Multicore Parallel Processing Powah
Some of the tweaks that Microsoft is making to the core of Windows 7 are to improve parallel processing—in short, using multiple cores to handle more simultaneous tasks than past versions of Windows. But these multicore-optimizing tweaks don't seem as extensive as Apple's parallel processing plans in Snow Leopard, headlined by what it calls Grand Central Dispatch.

What's key about GCD is that if it works like Apple says, it'll make easy for app developers to use multiple cores by handling threading for the programmers. The trick these says isn't the hardware, it's the software—the software tools that enable programmers to actually use multicore technology. (Just look back at our interview with Intel chair Craig Barrett, who explained why Intel hires more software engineers than hardware guys at this point.)

GPGPU—Processing Powah Continued
Again, since Snow Leopard is all about the plumbing, Apple's being the loudest about how they plan to tap your graphics card for even more processing power. Using the OpenCL language, programmers can more easily tap the hundreds of cores lurking inside of your graphics card for applications that might have nothing to do with graphics. OpenCL is a big part of Snow Leopard, if you haven't noticed. Snow Leopard will also use your graphics card for H.264 video acceleration (for smoother playback without overheating the CPU), if you've got a newer Mac with an Nvidia GeForce 9400M chipset.

Windows 7 also uses graphics cards more smartly than Vista—it has native GPU-accelerated transcoding and some other refinements in the graphics programming. But its big GPGPU push we'll see a bit later when DirectX 11 launches in July.

Browser: Do You Want to Explore or Go on Safari?
Sorry guys, there's not much of a contest here: Internet Explorer 8 is by far the best browser Microsoft has ever shipped, but when you consider it needs a compatibility list for all the sites coded for IE's past shittiness, the real modern web standards support in Safari 4 gives this one to Safari without even considering the other features. It's also wildly better than IE8 at handling JavaScript, which is pretty key in the age of web apps.

Networking
Networking is waaaaaaaay better in Windows 7 than it was in Vista—you can actually get to wireless networking with fewer than seventeen clicks, and the networking UI makes more sense. It also seems to be a little smarter at finding stuff on your network, at least in our experience. We're still not totally sold on HomeGroups, but hey, Microsoft's trying. And (sorta) easy remote streaming built into the OS? Pretty good.

Apple's not really promoting any changes to networking in Snow Leopard beyond the metric that it's 1.55 times faster at joining networks than Leopard it's got more efficient filesharing. You could argue networking in Leopard didn't need to be reworked—it was definitely better than Vista's—but really, networking is one of those things that's still not easy to understand for regular people in either OS.

How Long's Your Battery Gonna Last?
Windows 7 supposedly improves notebook battery life by a minimum of 11 percent. On the Snow Leopard front, well, um, all of the new Macs have much bigger batteries? Since Apple didn't drop a slide at WWDC telling the whole world, we can presume there isn't any benefit.

So Much Media Playing
Windows Media Player will handle pretty much any kind of mainstream video or audio format you throw at it, be it H.264, Divx, Xvid or AAC. The UI is better too, but it still kinda sucks 'cause it's trying to do too much (kind of like iTunes nowadays). But it has a few pretty great tricks, like "Play To," that'll command any compatible device on your network and stream stuff to it by way of the newest DLNA standard. Not to mention it'll natively stream your whole library over the internets to anywhere. Oh yeah, and Windows Media Center still rocks.

Apple doesn't get too specific on whether or not QuickTime X can now handle a broader range of formats with its fancy new logo, just that it'll play "the latest modern media formats" like H.264 and AAC even more betterer. It's also got a pretty classy new UI and supports graphics-accelerated playback (mentioned above). But maybe the best new feature is built-in video recording and trimming.

If all this talk of video codecs and file formats is confusing, read our (hopefully) helpful guide on the subject.

Backgrounds
Have you seen Windows 7 acid-trip backgrounds? Incredible. What's Snow Leopard got? Some stupid purple star thing. Apple background designers needs more drugs, plz.

Backup/Backup Time
Time Machine is simply awesome because it's so incredibly easy to use and implement. It's 50 percent faster in Snow Leopard. Our only gripe is that it's still all or nothing—a few built-in scheduling and content preferences wouldn't hurt. Windows Backup and Restore is definitely improved in Windows 7, with finer control over backups and descriptions actually written in English.

Dock vs. Taskbar Round 3
Oh, this is a contentious one. We think Windows 7's taskbar is pretty damn excellent and even said that it was useful than OS X's dock thanks to Aero Peek, which lets you find any window in any app smoothly and instantly. Jump lists, which give you quick access to common functions right from the taskbar icon, were also a nice touch. In short, with these features and stuff like Aero Snap, more usable previews, and Aero Peek mixing it up with Alt+Tab, Windows 7 has the best UI of any Windows yet.

Snow Leopard's UI is mostly the same, but it manages to improve on one of its best features—Exposé—and the Dock at the same time. You can actually do a whole lot more stuff from the Dock now, so you can easily drop files in whatever app window you want to. Exposé, my "I would die without it" feature in Leopard, now arranges windows in a neat grid, rather than scattering them across whatever space is available. Stacks is actually useful now too, since they're scrollable and you can look in folders within stacks in Snow Leopard.

Exchange Support
Snow Leopard's got it built-in, your copy of Windows 7 doesn't. Freaky but true.

Overall Snap Crack and Pop
Both Windows 7 and Snow Leopard are designed to be faster, leaner, stronger and more stable than the OSes they're building on. Windows 7 is markedly more responsive, and you simply feel like you're more in control. We'll have to see with Snow Leopard, but if it lives up to Apple's promises, we're definitely looking forward to the performance prowess.

There' s a whole lot that goes into deciding whether you're a Mac or PC, but whatever one you pick, you definitely won't go wrong upgrading your OS this fall.