Crawling iCub Is the Robot Baby You Never Wanted

Watching iCub crawl around at IROS 2011 reminds us all why robot babies are really not a good idea

1 min read
Crawling iCub Is the Robot Baby You Never Wanted

As far as robot babies go, iCub is not the weirdestof the bunch. The fact that it's also one of the most capable robot babies out there doesn't necessarily help its case, though, since watching it crawl around the floor is a tad unnatural, to say the least:

iCub, if you remember, is designed to emulate a three and a half year-old child, although personally I don't know any kids that young who I'd trust with a bow and arrow (or a lit torch). In addition to these potentially destructive hobbies, and crawling, iCub is intended to explore how human cognition develops, using facial expressions and adaptive learning techniques. Sometimes those facial expressions don't work out so well, though, especially when iCub is being calibrated:

Yeah, uh, I don't know exactly what button they pushed to get iCub to look like that, but I just wish I had one attached to me somewhere. Here's a photo of iCub enjoying San Francisco, and below is one more pic of the bot looking slightly more normal, from the expo floor at the IEEE International Conference on Intelligent Robots and Systems last week:

[ iCub ]

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The Bionic-Hand Arms Race

The prosthetics industry is too focused on high-tech limbs that are complicated, costly, and often impractical

12 min read
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A photograph of a young woman with brown eyes and neck length hair dyed rose gold sits at a white table. In one hand she holds a carbon fiber robotic arm and hand. Her other arm ends near her elbow. Her short sleeve shirt has a pattern on it of illustrated hands.

The author, Britt Young, holding her Ottobock bebionic bionic arm.

Gabriela Hasbun. Makeup: Maria Nguyen for MAC cosmetics; Hair: Joan Laqui for Living Proof
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In Jules Verne’s 1865 novel From the Earth to the Moon, members of the fictitious Baltimore Gun Club, all disabled Civil War veterans, restlessly search for a new enemy to conquer. They had spent the war innovating new, deadlier weaponry. By the war’s end, with “not quite one arm between four persons, and exactly two legs between six,” these self-taught amputee-weaponsmiths decide to repurpose their skills toward a new projectile: a rocket ship.

The story of the Baltimore Gun Club propelling themselves to the moon is about the extraordinary masculine power of the veteran, who doesn’t simply “overcome” his disability; he derives power and ambition from it. Their “crutches, wooden legs, artificial arms, steel hooks, caoutchouc [rubber] jaws, silver craniums [and] platinum noses” don’t play leading roles in their personalities—they are merely tools on their bodies. These piecemeal men are unlikely crusaders of invention with an even more unlikely mission. And yet who better to design the next great leap in technology than men remade by technology themselves?

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