關於 world radio frequencies ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

🌟 2020諾貝爾經濟獎 🌟

Announcement of The Sveriges Riksbank Prize in Economic Sciences in Memory of Alfred Nobel 2020

🔸你沒有看錯，經濟學獎的全稱是這個🔸
瑞典中央銀行紀念阿爾弗雷德·諾貝爾經濟學獎
　　
　　
🎉
美國經濟學者Paul R. Milgrom　 (72歲)
美國經濟學者Robert B. Wilson　(83歲)

🌠得獎理由： 改進拍賣理論並研發拍賣新形式
“for improvement to auction theory and inventions of new auction formats”
　　
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今年諾貝爾經濟學獎的獲獎者Paul Milgrom和Robert Wilson研究拍賣的運作方式。針對如無線電頻率等難以用傳統方式出售的商品和服務，他們以自身的創見設計了新的拍賣形式。他們的研究已使世界各地的賣方、買方及納稅人因此受惠。

隨著時間演進，人們在彼此間分配著越來越複雜的物件，例如無線電頻率。為此，二位學者發明了一種新的拍賣形式，可替那些追求廣泛社會利益而非最大收益的賣方，同時拍賣多種相互關聯的物件。1994年，美國政府首次使用其中一種他們發明的拍賣形式，將無線電頻率出售給電信運營商。從此，許多其他國家紛紛仿效。

This year’s Laureates, Paul Milgrom and Robert Wilson, have studied how auctions work. They have also used their insights to design new auction formats for goods and services that are difficult to sell in a traditional way, such as radio frequencies. Their discoveries have benefitted sellers, buyers and taxpayers around the world.

Over time, societies have allocated ever more complex objects among users, such as landing slots and radio frequencies. In response, Milgrom and Wilson invented new formats for auctioning off many interrelated objects simultaneously, on behalf of a seller motivated by broad societal benefit rather than maximal revenue. In 1994, the US authorities first used one of their auction formats to sell radio frequencies to telecom operators. Since then, many other countries have followed suit.

#經濟學

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官方新聞稿：https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/economic-sciences/2020/press-release/

(圖片來源／https://twitter.com/nobelprize)

寬頻無線的興起: 無線電系統設計變得越來越複雜,看看ADI如何與客戶共同解決這些技術的挑戰,這篇文章,剛出爐,對無線技術有興趣的粉絲,快看準有益.

Radio system design is becoming ever more complex, with increasing demands on performance, cost, and power consumption. With many different frequency bands in use around the world, and commercial systems now extending up into the millimeter wave frequencies above 50 GHz, today’s RF system designer is facing significant challenges. Learn about the rise of wideband wireless: http://ow.ly/4nfv2C

A Journey Called Drawing

How does a song come to life? Is it the thing you hear when you listen carefully? Does it wait for you deep in the woods? Do you need a secret map to find one or a textbook to write one? You can make a song if you’ve got a mind to, but whom or what is it for? I like songs that come naturally—from somewhere or someone—and are there at your bedside when you wake up. Or those you hear in a whisper when you look at the starry sky on a sleepless night. I like songs that resonate in the rain, while you walk along drenched to the bone. Or those played by the morning air, reflecting gold in the silent ascent of the sun. I even like the jarring notes that bounce around in your head on a hungover day.

I like songs that just happen. Those you don’t have to strain to hear because they’re already there. Although technique and the ability to analyze songs are important, simple tunes that anybody can sing are the best. Not solemn ones that rely on a host of instruments played at earth-shaking volume, but those that might come from the mouth of a little kid or a bird’s beak. Songs you can empathize with; songs you can share. But I can’t sing the songs I love. My voice can’t keep up. I try to sing well and look cool, but get lost halfway through.

The lyrics and music are always on the tip of my tongue. But the moment the melody leaves my lips, it turns to rust and falls to the ground. That’s why you’ll find these rusty clumps wherever I’ve been, scattered amongst the pebbles. Nobody picks them up, so they’ll be there until the world collapses.

What’s going on here? I’m trying to write about drawing and all I can think of is music. Maybe all the drawings I’ve done are only ghosts of those rusty melodies. Maybe my drawings belong where no one will notice them, lying on the road somewhere. Or maybe they should have been plastered all over my walls without anybody knowing. And maybe that room should turn into a clump of rust, waiting for the world to end.

No, that’s not quite it. Those clumps of songs that never were—that never could be—are broadcasting radio waves from their cores. For the most part, the frequencies are faint and don’t range far, but some of the good clumps have a message. And they were all once a part of me. Maybe I’ve spent my whole life flinging out things I should have nurtured longer. And I’ve flung so much out by now that I’m full of holes, like a corpse pecked at by crows.

After writing down thoughts of the day in a diary, you close the pages knowing you can open them again. We have to be able close the pages of our hearts in the same way. And yet, like some sleepless paranoiac plagued with worry, I can’t help rereading these pages, even from the beginning, and keep drawing the same thing again and again.

At least, that’s how it was until yesterday. Now, I’m now longer an insomniac. I go back and forth on the road I’ve walked, picking up pieces of myself I’ve dropped and sewing them back together. Dragging this patchwork body four steps forward and three steps back, I think I’m making some progress. And though I still can’t sing, I can keep making drawings that are something like songs.

Drawing is a journey. As long as I’m alive, I want to keep on traveling.