A trench-first dual damascene process has been developed for fat wires (1.26 μm pitch, 1.1 μm thickness) in a 0.18 μm CMOS process with copper/fluorosilicate glass (FSG) interconnect technology. The process window for the patterning of vias in such deep trenches depends on the trench depth and on the line width of the trench, with the worse case being an intermediate line width (lines that are 3X the via diameter). Compared to a single damascene process, the dual damascene process has comparable yield and reliability, with lower via resistance and lower cost.

R. Lattimore's translation is neat and accurate:

There is a rocky island there in the middle channel halfway between Ithaka and towering Samos,

called Asteris, not large, but it has a double anchorage

where ships can lie hidden. There the Achaeans waited in ambush.

I assume that Homeric Ithaca is the island now called Ithaki and that Samos is Kephallinia. The channel will then be the Ithaca Channel, and here there is only one island, now called Daskalio (FIG. 1). So Daskalio = Asteris. So far, so good; Homer has deftly pinpointed the location of the ambush by associating it with the only small island off the west coast of Ithaca.

Daskalio is certainly πετρήεσσα; indeed it is nothing but a narrow shelf of rock about 200 yards long, and rising only about 15 feet above water level (Plate IIIa). No one can deny that it is οὐ μεγάλη; the phrase may well be a litotes. It is not strictly in ‘mid-channel’, being 3,000 yards from Ithaca and only 800 yards from Kephallinia, but this may pass in a poetic description. It is with the ‘double anchorage’ that Homer's description appears to lose touch with reality.

In 1965 the notable paper ‘Santorini Tephra’ by D. Ninkovich and B. C. Heezen provided the first firm evidence that the Late Bronze Age eruption of the Thera volcano directly affected the eastern part of Crete through ash fall-out. In July 1967 Professor Marinatos's initial exploration of a settlement buried under volcanic ash near the village of Akrotiri on the south coast of Thera received worldwide publicity, partly for its intrinsic interest, but perhaps even more because the discovery was linked with the magic word Atlantis. The whole subject was then extensively aired in newspaper and magazine articles, and three books on the theme of Thera-cum-Atlantis appeared in 1969.

The site of ancient Dystos in south-central Euboea deserves to be better known. The imposing circuit of the city wall with its main gate and eleven towers bears comparison with the fort at Eleutherae or the walls of Messene or Thasos. The numerous remains of private houses are of considerable interest for the history of Greek domestic architecture.

In Cratylus 385 b-c Plato argues that if statements () can be true or false, names (),2 as parts () of statements, are also capable of being true or false. From Aristotle onwards this view has often been challenged,3 and R. Robinson put the case against it trenchantly when he wrote:4

This argument is bad; for names have no truth-value, and the reason given for saying that they do is a fallacy of division. No one in the dialogue points out that it is bad. … Nevertheless it is fairly probable that Plato saw or at least felt that it is a bad argument, quite different in quality from those he later produces against the nature-theory.

In the ten years between 1929 and 1939 three remarkable books were produced in a tiny Irish-speaking community of less than one hundred and fifty people living on the Great Blasket, an island off the south-west coast of Kerry. The authors, two men and a woman, were peasants, eking out a scanty living by farming and fishing. They were technically literate in that they had acquired the rudiments of reading and writing at the island school, but for all practical purposes their culture was oral. They certainly had neither opportunity nor inclination for book-reading. Yet out of the resources of their oral culture they produced works of a high literary standard, one of which has (in translation) achieved the status of a ‘World's Classic’.

The pregnant phrase fatale monstrum comes at a crucial point in the third and longest of the three sentences of the ‘Cleopatra Ode’. Before it Cleopatra is being hissed from the stage of history with cries of disapproval; after it she is recalled to receive plaudit after plaudit for her courage and resolution. The phrase is emphasized by its position at the start of a stanza followed by a marked pause. Prima facie it is the climax of the vituperation, and has often so been taken. T. E. Page, for example, comments: ‘Horace speaks of Cleopatra as not human, but a hideous and portentous creature sent by destiny to cause horror and alarm.’

This long and complicated sentence has not been correctly translated nor clearly explained by any of the editors of the Phaedo that I have been able to consult. Bekker, Stallbaum, Wohlrab, Geddes, Wagner, Archer-Hind, Williamson, Burnet, in their notes on the passage say much that is true, but all seem to fall into certain errors. None of them has given an accurate and coherent picture of the passage as a whole. In attempting to supply such a picture I have pointed out what I believe to be the mistakes of these editors, and on certain points of grammar, textual criticism, and interpretation I have some new suggestions to offer. So much emphasis on one sentence is not misplaced, for this is an important sentence, the culminating point of the first section of the dialogue, and containing in brief the essence of the ethics which Plato expounds through the mouth of Socrates. It is the peroration of Socrates' Apologia pro Vita sua, introduced by the impressive words: ⋯ μακ⋯ριε ειμμ^iota;α, a form of address often used by Socrates in passages of ‘pith and moment’.