Darks pools allow for large investors to make anonymous trades, off exchanges, as to not impact prices in the broader market.
"If I have 1,000 bitcoin and I want to trade it for another cryptocurrency, everyone can see that and it puts downward pressure on the price," chief executive Taiyang Zhang, 21, told the Journal.
Bitcoin transactions are recorded on a public ledger, but the dark pool would "temporarily conceal" a trader’s identity, according to the Journal.
The firm expects to capture up to $9 billion worth of monthly trading volumes. To put that in perspective, the crypto markets see around $750 billion worth of tokens and coins change hands in a given month, according to CoinMarketCap.
Lex Sokolin, a partner at Autonomous NEXT, told Business Insider the demand for such a platform has grown with the crypto market.
"As the market cap of total crypto grows, there are more and more crypto whales that need to solve for large, private orders," Sokolin said in an email. "The largeness is an issue in getting good execution on shallow retail exchanges. The privacy is important so that people are not hacked, ransomed, or worse."
Dave Schilling (@dave_schilling) joins us again to talk about Get Out. What’s going to have to happen behind the scenes to send a Best Picture trophy home with a thriller? It doesn’t happen often, but this might be the year.
Are you ready to get those abs in shape for Spring Break 2K18? You’re damn right you are. It won’t be easy, and you probably should’ve started working on those abs months ago but it’s not too late thanks to this crazy ab workout from 12-time Olympic medalist swimmer Dara Torres.
Dara has held three world records and won 12 Summer Olympics medals while representing Team USA at five different Olympic Games (1984, 1988, 1992, 2000 and 2008). At 41-years-old, she won three Silver Medals at her last Olympic Games and she recently sat down with Tech Insider Video to show off the quick but grueling ab workout she does to stay in absolutely immaculate shape:
Here’s a copy of that workout in text form if that helps.
Lower ab exercises:
1) Flutter Kicks — feet 6-inches off the ground (each interval for 30-45 seconds at a time)
2) Without taking a break you go straight into leg lifts
3) Scissor Kicks, keeping your feet 6-inches off the ground your cross one leg over the other
1) Planks — you can make them more challenging by rocking back and forth on your toes and/or tucking
2) Hip roll planks — without stopping the planks you roll over to one hip and then onto the other, keeping everything elevated while trying to touch your hip to the ground
3) Side planks — this one should be self-explanatory, and you can introduce dips into the side planks to make them more challenging
None of this is revolutionary stuff. Dara Torres has just strung together some common exercises into 30-45 second intervals that when done in order will blast your abs.
Let’s just acknowledge that we’d be better off if we ate less meat. But then there’s the tough part: Meat is just so damned delicious! How do we break free from our addiction? I can’t envision dipping my toes into the pool of black bean burgers without recoiling with the chills.
So allow me to suggest a baby-steps method that—I humbly and wholeheartedly believe—is better and more delicious. For this we’ll use the mighty cheeseburger as our baseline, and employ a method that’s been gaining traction in the restaurant world over the past year: mixing chopped mushrooms into the beef patty. Chefs have dubbed this the blended burger.
I’m fully on board with this idea, and so should you. Let me list some advantages:
It uses one-third less beef, and therefore, one-third less saturated fat. And everyone I served this to can’t tell the difference.
It significantly boosts the umami in the burger, which provides that appealing meatiness with less meat used.
I love mushrooms on my burgers as is, and this integrate those tasty flavors into the patty. There’s also much moisture within the mushroom, so it helps keep your burgers juicy even if you overcook it.
I honestly think it tastes better than an all-beef burger.
To that last point, I wanted to make the mushroom as beefy and bold as possible. I used a mix of chopped portabella and shiitake mushrooms, sautéed them, then marinated it with mushroom and beef bouillon base. Then I folded this into seasoned ground beef, about 2-to-1 meat-to-mushroom ratio, and seared the patties on a smoking hot cast-iron skillet. I couldn’t be happier with the result.
Kevin’s Blended Burger
1 lb. ground beef (80 percent lean)
8 oz. package of mushrooms (button, shiitake, baby bellas)
Fresh ground pepper
1/2 tsp. mushroom base (Better Than Bouillon)
1/2 tsp. beef base (Better Than Bouillon)
Finely chop the mushrooms either in a food processor or with a chef’s knife. You’re looking for pieces roughly the size (or smaller) than a pencil-head eraser. In a cast-iron skillet, add a splash of olive oil over medium-high heat, then pan-fry the chopped mushroom for about three minutes. The mushrooms are going to give off some moisture, so don’t worry if they don’t turn golden brown. You just want to cook the rawness out and release some of its flavors. Scoop this into a bowl and let chill in the fridge for at least 20 minutes. After the mushrooms have cooled, add 1/2 teaspoon each of mushroom base and beef base (I suggest Better Than Bouillon) to a separate bowl and dissolve with a splash of water. Pour this over the mushroom and mix well.
Take raw ground beef and add a few dashes of Worcestershire sauce, fresh ground pepper and a little less seasoning salt than you think you need (maybe a few teaspoons?). Combine the marinated mushrooms with raw ground beef and mix with hands until well integrated. Form into three or four loose patties no more than 1/2-inch thick.
I highly suggest using a cast-iron skillet here. You want the pan fairly hot, at which point add a splash of vegetable oil and a pat of butter. Now add the patties, no more than two at a time, to one half of the skillet. In order to achieve that nice and crisp sear, don’t touch the patty—avoid the temptation to touch/nudge/fiddle with the patty for at least two minutes! Here’s another tip: When you flip the burgers, flip to the other half of the skillet, the part untouched by beef (this will ensure an equally hot sear on the other side of the patty). A minute before taking the patty off the heat, add a slice of American cheese and cover skillet with a lid to let melt.
I prefer my burgers cooked to a medium-rare, but it’ll be just as good if cooked to a light pink—remember the mushrooms will compensate with added juiciness.
I’m not much for accoutrements, so I say skip the lettuce and tomato. I slather some mayo on the bottom bun, splash A-1 sauce on the patty, and serve it simply—meat-cheese-toasted bread-sauce, as God intended.
Teenage Engineering is known for its wonky-looking yet functional synths and speakers, while IKEA furniture fills college (and folks who still live like it’s college) apartments. Their powers combined has produced…some neat, boldly-colored speakers, actually. On its Instagram, Ikea just posted a sneak peek at their upcoming line of collaborated products built "so that you can host your party, wherever you may be."
Per the photo, the new line FREKVENS (translated to "frequency") looks to include speakers, an LED box, a spotlight and, of course, speakers — all the tools needed to party. That might not be everything: When IKEA first announced the line last June, the company mentioned it would include an electronic choir, vinyl player, party lighting "and everything else you need in order to throw a really good music party wherever you are."
Their ideal use case? Drop by IKEA for dinner party supplies and add some go-anywhere party gear to your cart.
"When you are younger you usually come up with the idea of a party the same day and I think a lot of people use IKEA that way. ‘I’m going to have a party, I need some glasses, napkins, candles and stuff and will go to IKEA to get it.’ For us, it is about finding a reason to make and play some music. Thinking about the totality of what you need for a party is a good start", Teenage Engineering CEO and head of design Jesper Kouthoofd said in an Ikea blog post back in September.
Sadly, you’ll have to wait ’til next year to bring the party: The FREKVENS line is slated to arrive in IKEA stores in February 2019.
On October 4, 2017, I set out on a trip unlike any I had ever taken before: stand-up paddleboarding the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.
Inspiration struck two months earlier. For years I dreamed of making a solo trip into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, and to make it work I assumed I would need a solo canoe.
I never imagined that I would make the trip standing up.
But last summer my wife, Liana, and I bought an inflatable stand-up paddleboard. It was an innocuous purchase meant to add a little summer fun for us and our kids. But it set in motion a journey that would take me through miles of America’s most expansive wilderness, and deep into my own being.
For a couple 40-somethings accustomed to climbing into kayak cockpits and paddling from our seats, the stand-up paddleboard was an instant hit. Liana loved the balance challenge and core muscle workout. Secretly, I think she enjoyed being much better at it than me.
My daughters and her friends used the paddleboard as a mobile floating dock, perfect for jumping off, swimming under, and crawling back onto for entire summer afternoons. Compared to our plastic whitewater kayaks, carrying this new paddleboard was a breeze.
And once I got a feel for the technique (and stopped falling off), paddling from my feet was a blast. (Think golf or baseball swing – it’s all in the hips.)
Gearing Up To Paddle the BWCA
I went into the garage and dug out my dry pack, stuffed it with blankets and coats, and strapped it to the paddleboard deck. A perfect fit. On the bathroom scale, minus my own weight, the pack weighed 25 pounds.
Time for a test.
After strapping the pack onto the deck and pulling the paddleboard into the water, I stepped on and pushed off. Happily, the board never sunk, even as I experimented with heavier and heavier loads. I jammed a bike lock, a tackle box, and jug of water into the pack, about 35 pounds total. Still buoyant.
Standing barefoot, I paddled flat water for two hours straight. Into headwinds and crosswinds, I paddled on my knees. Sandals, neoprene booties, Gore-Tex dry pants, and rubber-soled muck boots took me the rest of the way. I studied maps of the Boundary Waters, practiced compass skills, and chose a route that followed creeks and rivers. But I still avoided the big lakes like Basswood and Lac La Croix, where whitecaps and strong headwinds might stop me altogether.
Nearly every day for six weeks, I walked three blocks from my house to Brownie Lake in Minneapolis, hauling the pack and paddle, and carrying the board under my arm like a surfboard.
On a test run, I paddled from Brownie Lake, then to Cedar Lake, and finally to Lake of the Isles while my third-grade daughter, Maia, rode shotgun. She loved it. Not everyone in my family was as enthusiastic as Maia, though.
“Tell me why this is a bad idea?” I asked my wife. “It’s lighter than a canoe, and we’ll save money on a rental. What am I missing?”
“Has anyone else done it?” Liana replied.
“I have no idea.”
“Did you Google it?”
“No,” I said. And then of course, I did. I didn’t find much.
“Take a staycation, Dad,” my sixth-grade daughter, Siena, said.
Nice thought, but no.
Boundary Waters By SUP
On the morning of October 4, I pulled into an empty slot near the trailhead at entry point number 23 to Mudro Lake, opened the car door, and stepped out. The scent of pine and the rich, damp smell of mud filled the air.
Northern Minnesota in early October is the best place on Earth when the conditions are good. And that morning, the conditions could not have been better.The temperature was up 15 degrees from an hour ago – 58 according to my dash thermometer. Overhead, yellow birch leaves rattled softly in a light breeze from the south. After recent days of heavy rain, I couldn’t find a cloud in the sky. Yet I was still nervous.
I wondered why. In 20 years, I’d kayaked more than 50 different whitewater rivers, paddling up to 12 hours per day. I once canoed across 30 lakes in the Boundary Waters in a single day. But stand up paddleboarding, I’d learned, was different. It was more like trail running or cross-country skiing than canoeing or kayaking. Paddling for an hour is a solid workout, 2 hours a slog, 3 hours a marathon.
Fifty feet from the trailhead, four men in camouflage coats and rubber boots unloaded life vests and fishing poles, four bulging green-canvas Duluth packs and two 16-foot camouflage Kevlar canoes from the beds of their pickups. I climbed onto my rear tire and undid a pair of red straps. Slowly, I lifted my inflatable SUP off the roof and set it gently down on the pavement.
“Be careful with the fins,” I told myself. “Don’t break something before the trip even starts.”
From the back seat, I grabbed the pump and inflated the board to 15 psi. I then packed the pump and a small repair kit – including a valve wrench, spare patches, a tube of adhesive, and a bottle of acetone – into a dry bag. I then fastened it with bungee cords to a pair of D rings on the stern of the deck.
With luck, I wouldn’t need any of this, and the conditions would hold. I’d stay on the board and out of the water, find every portage trail, avoid turning an ankle, manage the mud, and stay hydrated and warm. With any luck, I’d be back at my car in four days, healthy, recharged, and somehow (I hoped) different.
Perhaps I’d be wiser, immune to all the noise and endless political chatter, oblivious to news of Russia and hurricanes and Twitter – grounded to what truly matters. Maybe this silly SUP would reaffirm that when we strip away our gadgets – all these tools with faces that flash and beep and glow – our world slows down, grows quiet. And then, finally, we can listen.
I took a deep breath and slung on my pack. I grabbed my board and paddle, and hiked to the edge of the lot, past the bridge, past the trail sign, into the wilderness.
Setting Out: BWCA on a SUP
Two hours later, I arrived at the south end of Horse Lake. A steady tailwind made the paddling easier than I dared hope, so I’d kept pace with the camouflaged canoes.
But it was on the portages where I truly shined.
A few years earlier on a trip to the Boundary Waters with friends, I injured my neck portaging an 18-foot Old Town canoe. The next morning, I couldn’t turn my head or feel the tips of the first three fingers on my right hand. The pain between my shoulder blades was ridiculous. We were two days in with three to go – three days of hell. Afterward, I made myself a promise: Never embark on a wilderness trip again before training on the equipment I would actually use.
But now, as I paddled north out of the bay and into open water, the wind shifted. Waves began racing in. Lake water sloshed under the soles of my muck boots. The paddleboard teetered, skipped, slapped at the surface. I bent my knees and curled my toes.
Blue blotches and wavy streaks on the lake darkened as the sun slid beneath a pool of clouds. Horse Lake suddenly looked huge. The shoreline bent away, then reappeared, and seemed to stretch ahead for miles. It dawned on me that, for the first time that day, I was completely alone.
I dropped to my knees, pried open the lever on my paddle grip, twisted, and shoved the paddle shaft down to its shortest position. My palms were slick with sweat, but my fingers were numb and stiff, brittle as talons. Leaning into the wind, I took 10 strokes on the right, 15 on the left.
Already I was exhausted.
After maybe an hour of hard paddling that felt like an entire afternoon, I made camp on a tiny island at the very north end of Horse Lake. Sheltered from the wind, I pitched my tent on a carpet of tawny pine needles, changed into dry clothes, and collapsed into my camp chair. Behind me, a squirrel dove into a den of deadfall, followed by the sound of chittering, tiny toenails clicking up and down pine bark, and acorn crumbs landing like soft rain on my tent fly.
Then nothing. Silence. I was alone on my own private island. It was 3:00 p.m. and I had forever.
Overnight the wind died. The water was a mirror. And for the next two mornings, as the autumn sun illuminated red pines and white birch trees peaked in golden leaves, my paddleboard glided on the water so softly it seemed almost to hover. On day three, the wind finally picked up.
And that’s when I made my biggest mistake.
While dragging my gear-heavy paddleboard upstream along a river– stepping from rock to rock in what I thought was a series of shallow rapids – I slipped. Water rushed up and under the bottom of my dry-pants and into my boot. Now my wool sock was a sponge.
I learned to first unstrap the pack and set it on dry land, then carry the much lighter SUP up the rapids, returning for the pack.
But the lesson was far more obvious: Don’t be in a hurry.
Reflecting on a Solo BWCA Adventure
Later that evening, as my sock hung off the end of a stick to dry in the woodsmoke over my campfire, I watched moonlight on blue water rippling at the edge of stone. Pine shadows in the distance shimmered on a silver lake. Somewhere in the dark, I heard a single splash that sounded like a stone, but I knew instead must be a fish. A creek whispered from the south as steam rose from the bay.
“I am so thankful for this place,” I thought.
The next morning – my last of the trip – I paddled flat water, shoveling my way along as water droplets dribbled from my blade. My gratitude resurfaced. I’m thankful for generations of Ojibway people who did not clear-cut the pines or dam the rivers or mine the ridges, as later generations of white industrialists did in places like Silver Bay and Virginia and International Falls. I’m thankful for those who worked to protect this place from an army of saws and shovels and boatloads of dynamite. And I’m thankful for the gurgling creeks and granite shelves that slide and vanish into lake after lake after lake.
And I thought of my mom on that last morning – of her passion, how she believed that our last, best places deserved respect and protection. I thought of my dad, who, before I left, gave me his adjustable saw and a weather radio still new in the box, sealed in bubble wrap.
“Better to take your time out there than to hurry back to the car and take chances,” he said. “You be safe. Let me worry.”
As I paddled south on Mudro Lake back to the car, I thought of my daughters and my wife, how they have not yet seen twin bald eagles soar above the Basswood River, or red maple leaves spinning from eddy pools that tumble into Wheelbarrow Falls, or pictographs of moose and swans (I think) painted on a granite cliff face rising from Crooked Lake.
I realized they have not yet seen the sun set over Fourtown Lake and the sky go from orange to pink to purple to blue, or a harvest moon reflecting on the still surface of the Horse River in the morning amidst a thousand autumn leaves the color citrus. With luck, one day I’ll be back, they’ll be with me, and all of us will see this place together.
On my final portage, I met a group of three young men who’d been out 10 days. “The wind was rough at the start,” one of them told me. “Especially on Friday Bay.” He glanced at my paddleboard and nodded. “We’ve been asking ourselves if someone could SUP it out here. How’d it go?”
I paused. “If you plan on short paddling days, stay away from big water, and then get a little lucky with the wind, it’s definitely doable,” I said. “And fun. A lot of fun.”
Messaging app provider Telegram says it has raised $850 million in the first part of its controversial initial coin offering (ICO), public records show.
If confirmed, the raise is by far the largest seen for any ICO to date. According to CoinDesk’s ICO Tracker, the previous record was the token sale by Tezos, which raised $232 million last year. Filecoin and Bancor raised more than $200 million and $150 million in the same year, respectively.
The amount raised was revealed in an SEC notice of securities exemption, which also indicates that the firm aims to use the funds for “the development of the TON Blockchain, the development and maintenance of Telegram Messenger and the other purposes described in the offering materials.”
Launched in 2013 by Russian brothers Pavel and Nikolai Durov, Telegram announced in January that it intended to raise $1.2 billion via a sale of its own token known as “grams.” Having struggled with high operating costs, as previously reported by CoinDesk, a successful ICO would likely secure the struggling firm’s future.
Part of the ICO is also aimed to open new avenues for the firm, financing development of a network for low-cost real-time payments and, later, a platform for decentralized identity, storage and more
It’s so far unclear if the $850 million represents the token pre-sale, but that would appear likely. It further indicates that Telegram has had no problem appealing to VC firms and hedge funds in its capital-raising efforts.
The ICO is not without its critics, however, and cryptographic experts have questioned Telegram’s security in the past. Additionally, there are concerns about the governance of the tokens, as detailed in the ICO white paper, and the voting power of the TON Foundation set up to manage the reserve tokens kept by Telegram.
MIT professor Christian Catalini previously told CoinDesk that the company should clarify details of its plans, adding that:
“Investors should evaluate the capacity of any team to execute on their plan and vision, as well as the protections they have if things go wrong.”
The leader in blockchain news, CoinDesk is an independent media outlet that strives for the highest journalistic standards and abides by a strict set of editorial policies. Have breaking news or a story tip to send to our journalists? Contact us at email@example.com.
NASA’s $1 billion Juno spacecraft flew over the Great Red Spot in July 2017.
The probe provided the closest-ever photographs of the gigantic storm.
However, planetary scientists think the Great Red Spot could soon weaken and fade into a "Great Red Memory" within a few decades.
A signature storm on Neptune is vanishing, too.
Get a good look at Jupiter’s Great Red Spot while you can. The giant storm as we know it today is shrinking, and it might fade into memory within your lifetime.
NASA’s $1 billion Juno probe took stunning photos of the Great Red Spot in July 2017 — the closest images we’ve ever gotten of the giant tempest. Scientists were floored by the level of detail beamed back by the spacecraft.
Jupiter’s super-storm is wider than Earth and has been swirling around since perhaps the 1600s. By comparison, Earth’s longest recorded storm, Hurricane John in 1994, lasted just 31 days.
Business Insider asked Glenn Orton — a lead Juno mission team member and planetary scientist at NASA JPL — why Jupiter’s storms last so long.
"They don’t, at least not all of them," Orton said in an email. "Think of the GRS [Great Red Spot] as a spinning wheel that keeps on spinning because it’s caught between two conveyor belts that are moving in opposite directions. The GRS is stable and long-lived, because it’s ‘wedged’ between two jet streams that are moving in opposite directions."
Jupiter’s jet streams can move at speeds of more than 300 mph, so they impart great force onto any storms that spin backward relative to the planet’s rotation. That keeps "feeding momentum into the vortex," Orton said.
Juno will get its next peek at the Great Red Spot in April 2018, then again in July and September of 2019, and at least one more time in December 2020. But the spacecraft’s view will not be as close or detailed as its July 2017 flyby.
"[W]e’re not planning currently ever to come as close without changing the orbit from its current configuration," Orton said. "This also assumes that the GRS maintains its current drift rate in Jupiter’s atmosphere."
When will the Great Red Spot disappear?
Earth doesn’t permit storms to last for hundreds of years since, unlike Jupiter, its surface is not shrouded in tens of thousands of miles’ worth of atmosphere.
Instead, our planet’s dynamic atmosphere is in close contact with features like oceans and land. Earth is also relatively small and rotates more slowly than Jupiter (which spins once roughly every 10 hours). These factors shape our world’s jet streams in a way that can disrupt weather systems and vortexes before things get too out of control.
But Orton said the Great Red Spot, and other long-lived storms on Jupiter, still won’t go on forever.
"In truth, the GRS has been shrinking for a long time," he said.
In the late 1800s, the storm was perhaps as wide as 30 degrees longitude, Orton said. That works out to more than 35,000 miles — four times the diameter of Earth. When the nuclear-powered spacecraft Voyager 2 flew by Jupiter in 1979, however, the storm had shrunk to a bit more twice the width of our own planet.
"Now it’s something like 13 degrees wide in longitude and only 1.3 times the size of the Earth," he said. "Nothing lasts forever."
A signature storm on planet Neptune is also vanishing, ongoing Hubble telescope observations show. That storm is as large as a continent on Earth, but may disappear in a few years, according to Space.com.
The remaining lifetime of the Great Red Spot on Jupiter isn’t much better.
"The GRS will in a decade or two become the GRC (Great Red Circle)," Orton said. "Maybe sometime after that the GRM" — the Great Red Memory.