2013

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Almost 40 years before Jeff Bezos rescued the Washington Post from stegosaurus status, the paper was ascendant in the aftermath of its Watergate reportage, and the focus of a 60 Minutes report by Mike Wallace. Watching Ben Bradlee in this story reminds how perfectly Jason Robards captured him, physically and spiritually, in All the President’s Men. “If we hadn’t been right, we would’ve been dead,” Katherine Graham notes in regards to Watergate, but years later integrity was no match for technology.

Quick question: Without pause, can you name the person ultimately revealed as the Woodward-Bernstein Deep Throat source? For decades, this was one of the mysteries most obsessed about in America, and it seemed to have become an afterthought nearly the moment it was solved. I think the name W. Mark Felt means almost nothing to the vast majority of people in the country today. Even before he passed away, Felt had returned to the shadows.

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There were reports earlier this year questioning the greenness of electric vehicles. As Tesla Motors becomes more popular, winning hearts and minds, Will Oremus of Slate looks into the environmental impact of Elon Musk’s car brand. The opening of “How Green Is a Tesla, Really?“:

“The knock on electric cars has always been the same: They’re great for the environment, but they’re pokey and impractical, and nobody wants to buy one. The stunning success story of the Tesla Model S has, improbably, flipped that equation. It’s blazingly fast, surprisingly practical, and everyone wants to buy one. But now some critics are asking: How green is it, really?

The quick answer: If current trends hold, it could be pretty darn green in the long run. But as of today, the calculation isn’t as straightforward as you might think. Depending on whom you ask, what assumptions you make, and how you quantify environmental impact, the answer could range from ‘greener than a Prius’ to ‘as dirty as an SUV.’ And where the Tesla falls on that spectrum depends to a surprising extent on where you live and how much you drive it.

Electric cars are squeaky clean, of course, in the sense that they don’t burn gas. With no engine, no gas tank, and no exhaust, they’re considered to be zero-emissions vehicles. But there’s more to a vehicle’s environmental impact than what comes out of the tailpipe. The Tesla doesn’t run on air. It runs on electricity, which in turn is generated from a range of different sources, from nuclear fission to natural gas to the darkest, dirtiest fossil fuel of them all: coal.”

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“I’ll become so well trained that I shall not need food.”

Some inhale their meals while others prefer to live on air. Count eccentric inventor Joseph William Sheppard in the latter category. His self-induced demise was the subject of an article in the February 1, 1903 New York Times. An excerpt:

“In developing the theory that a man could train himself so that he could live without food, Joseph William Sheppard came to his death yesterday morning in a room he rented in the boarding house of Mrs. Madden at 159 West Eighty-third Street. The facts preceding the old man’s end came to light because the Board of Health declined to accept a death certificate signed by Dr. Julian P. Thomas of 26 West Ninety-fourth Street. Coroner Scholer has announced an investigation, to take place to-day.

Dr. Thomas it was learned last night, played very little part in the life of Mr. Sheppard, who was an inventor, a Brahmin in belief, a student of strange philosophies, an Englishmen by birth, and so much of a recluse that it is said he did not have a speaking acquaintance with a dozen human beings. Until he began his final treatment, which consisted of starving himself, he lived for fifteen years on a diet of rice, port wine, and honey.

This diet was preliminary, according to his philosophy, to a state of being in which he would be altogether psychic, with no troublesome physical attributes at all. This strange idea caused his wife to get a divorce from him some years ago, his two daughters to leave his home, and his only son to dodge his society as much as possible.

Dr. Thomas, who is a food specialist and rarely visits patients at their homes, knew Mr. Sheppard two years ago. It was about that time that the inventor, then sixty-two years old, began to plan starvation, and it was inferred by those who knew him that he visited the physician simply to study the mind of one who seemed foolish enough to believe n nourishment for unhappy mortals’ stomachs.

The doctor’s advice was not taken, and their acquaintance had little of professional value in it. Then Dr. Thomas lost track of his mock patient until last Thursday, when he received a summons to visit the inventor. The message came from the old man’s son. W.B. Sheppard, manager of the American Brazing Company of 532 West Twenty-second Street. The physician went to 159 West Eighty-third Street. The inventor was so weak and emaciated that he could hardly lift his hand.

‘You must eat or you will die,’ the doctor said to him.

‘I don’t need to eat,’ was the reply. ‘I’ll become so well trained that I shall not need food. You were not called in here to satisfy me, but simply because my son insisted. You are called for the protecting of my family.’

All efforts to persuade him to take nourishment, according to both the son and the doctor, were in vain, and the physician went away. Shortly before the old man died there was another summons, but Dr. Thomas declined to respond, saying it was no use for him to visit a patient who would not do what was ordered. When the death certificate was sent to the Health Board it was accompanied by the following note from the physician:

Enclosed you will find a death certificate for Mr. Joseph William Sheppard. You will note that I say he died from ‘starvation.’ Mr. Sheppard had some very peculiar ideas and hung to them tenaciously. For the cure of the trouble he had decided that he would take a prolonged fast; exactly how long he fasted we do not know. His friends tried to get him to eat, but it was utterly impossible to persuade him to do so. He continued his fast in spite of all efforts–in fact, until he died. His friends and relatives tried to get him to eat, but he would not. They called me in, but I could not influence him to take food. I hope that this report, in conjunction with the death certificate, will be satisfactory. 

When Dr. Thomas was seen last night, after giving the facts told above he said Mr. Sheppard had been urged at the last to take just a little fruit juice, if nothing else. It had been a theory of the old man at one time that he might break his rule to the extent of eating ‘something that was ripened in the sun.’ But at last he had gotten beyond this stage, and not even a drop from an orange was permitted to pass his lips.” 

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I am

Going to your house, you’re going to feed me and pay me just to sit there. And you can kiss your momma mia ass. That’s what I am talking about!!!!! See ya daddy!!!!! I got my blue jacket all ready to go!

The opening ofSpace Farming: The Final Frontier,” Jesse Hirsch’s Modern Farmer piece about Tang-less space crews producing their own food:

Last year, an astronaut named Don Pettit began an unusual writing project on NASA’s website. Called ‘Diary of a Space Zucchini,’ the blog took the perspective of an actual zucchini plant on the International Space Station (ISS). Entries were insightful and strange, poignant and poetic.

‘I sprouted, thrust into this world without anyone consulting me,’ wrote Pettit in the now-defunct blog. ‘I am utilitarian, hearty vegetative matter that can thrive under harsh conditions. I am zucchini — and I am in space.’

An unorthodox use of our tax dollars, but before you snicker, consider this: That little plant could be the key to our future. If — as some doomsday scientists predict — we will eventually exhaust the Earth’s livability, space farming will prove vital to the survival of our species. Around the world, governments and private companies are doing research on how we are going to grow food on space stations, in spaceships, even on Mars. The Mars Society is testing a greenhouse in a remote corner of Utah, researchers at the University of Gelph in Ontario are looking at long-term crops like soybeans and barley and Purdue University scientists are marshaling vertical garden design for space conditions. Perhaps most importantly, though, later this year NASA will be producing its own food in orbit for the first time ever.”

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Cal Worthington, legendary West Coast car salesman and innovative pitchman, just passed away at 92. The opening of his Los Angeles Times obituary penned by Martin Miller:

“Cal Worthington, the Oklahoma native whose old-time carnival flair built one of the most successful car dealerships west of the Mississippi, has died. He was 92.

Worthington died Sunday while watching football at his home on the Big W Ranch near Orland, Calif., said Brady McLeod of the Miles Law Firm in Sacramento, which represented Worthington.

Described as a cross between Dale Carnegie and Slim Pickens, Worthington was best known for his wacky television pitches that had him wrestling with a tiger, flying upside down on an airplane wing or riding a killer whale. His sales antics with his ‘Dog Spot’ drove a career that took him from a three-car lot on a patch of Texas dirt to a multi-make dealership empire that grossed billions of dollars and stretched from Southern California to Alaska.

In 1950, Worthington bought a car dealership in Huntington Park and in the years that followed began to use his down-home theatrical style to drum up more business.

Worthington’s enduring mark on regional television wasn’t made until 1971, when he began running his famous ‘Dog Spot’ commercials. The ads were inspired by two competitors, Ralph Williams and Fletcher Jones, who both ran television ads featuring dogs. In particular, Jones was shown cuddling puppies and promised he’d give customers a dog from the pound.

‘I decided I’d mimic them,’ Worthington told the Los Angeles Times in 2002. So he borrowed a gorilla, chained it to a car bumper and let the cameras roll. With the ape snarling in the background, Worthington said: ‘Howdy, I’m Cal Worthington and this is my dog Spot. I found this little fella down at the pound, and he’s so full of love.'”

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Cal and his “dog”:

Soupy Sales spoofs him as “Cal Nothington”:

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Gayle King interviewing Bashar al-Assad.

 

Tell me about the sexy new fragrance you just released.

Tell me about that sexy new fragrance you’ve just released.

You mean Sarin?

You mean sarin?

In “The Man Who Came To Dinner,” Sarah Ellison’s new Vanity Fair piece about Julian Assange, we get a look at the Wikileaks mastermind as he’s confined to the Ecuadorian embassy in London, dodging a likely indictment from the U.S. for espionage and certain interrogation from Sweden about alleged sex crimes. Yet behind closed doors, he telecommutes at will, running his document dump seamlessly, striking a pose that’s equal parts Ellsberg and Polanski. An excerpt:

“Even before the Snowden affair brought him back into the limelight, Assange had been busy. During his year of confinement at the embassy, he has released a vast cache of documents, written a book, addressed the U.N., founded a political party in Australia and launched a bid for a Senate seat there, entertained socialites and celebrities, maintained contact with leakers and whistle-blowers all over the world, and worked behind the scenes to influence depictions of him that are now hitting movie screens (the most high-profile being a DreamWorks production starring Benedict Cumberbatch). As for the Snowden case, Assange and WikiLeaks have served, in effect, as Snowden’s travel agents, publicists, and envoys; it is still not clear how far back the Snowden connection goes, or precisely how it originated, though the filmmaker Laura Poitras likely played the key role.

Assange cannot move from his quarters, but he is either at his computer or in conference, working in an impressive number of spheres. ‘He is like any other C.E.O.—plagued by constant meetings,’ WikiLeaks told me. He employs sophisticated encryption software, which anyone wishing to make contact with him or his circle is encouraged to use. To gain a sense of his life and work, during the past months I have spoken to Assange’s lawyers and to many longtime or former friends, supporters, and professional associates. (Some have requested anonymity.) Daniel Ellsberg, the former U.S. military analyst who brought the Pentagon Papers to light, has met with Assange and speaks with personal knowledge about the lonely life of a leaker and whistle-blower. ‘We are exiles and émigrés,’ he told me.

But the fact that Assange has had to take himself physically out of circulation has had the effect, oddly, of keeping him more purely at the center of things than he was before. His legal perils have not receded, but his state of diplomatic limbo means that he is no longer being hauled out of black vans and in front of screaming reporters and whirring cameras. The U.S. government has tried to decapitate his organization, which has only made him a martyr. No one is talking, as they were when he was free to mingle with the outside world, about his thin skin, his argumentative nature, his paranoia, his self-absorption, his poor personal hygiene, his habit of using his laptop when dining in company, or his failure to flush the toilet.

‘If anything, I think he’s stronger and more sophisticated than he used to be, and so is the organization,’ Jennifer Robinson, an Australian human-rights lawyer best known for her work defending Assange in London, told me. ‘They’ve weathered three years of intense pressure and all forms of legal and political attacks, and they are still here and still publishing and still making headlines.’ Today, Assange is alone and unbothered, but not isolated—the unquiet center of a web whose vibrations he can both detect and influence.”

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A few exchanges from the early part of an excellent Ask Me Anything at Reddit being conducted by the Sports Illustrated and ProPublica journalist David Epstein, author of The Sports Gene: Inside the Science of Extraordinary Athletic Performance.

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Question:

I have always thought that Usain Bolt was dirty. He was beating the best guys in the world easily, and they were doping. But in your book you talk about why the Jamaicans are so good at sprinting. Essentially it is years of breeding amongst the best athletes that produced the best sprinters in the world in this tiny part of this tiny island. After reading that section, I started thinking, “Wow, this guy may actually be clean!” So do you think Bolt is clean, or just the possessor of the best genes the human race has to offer?

David Epstein:

I don’t want to be naive, but if I were absolutely forced to bet on it at this moment, I would go “clean” for Bolt. Would I be surprised to be wrong? Not really. After all the lying from athletes, it’d be crazy to be surprised any more. That said, there hasn’t been the proverbial “smoke” around Bolt yet, and not because people aren’t looking, so I give him the benefit of the doubt. And not that this means he’s clean, but I think his junior records are at least as impressive as his world records, so at least my suspicion index doesn’t increase just because he made bizarre performance jumps. Honestly, I think a guy like Randy Moss would potentially be Bolt-like, but in how many countries does a guy who is 6’4″ at age 15 with blinding speed end up on the track? Jamaica, Trinidad, Bahamas, maybe Barbados, and probably nowhere else. I believe there are other Bolts out there, but the sifting system I describe in chapter 10 makes sure they find them in Jamaica.

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Question:

How do you think the U.S. would do in World Cup Soccer if the best athletes in pro football, baseball, and basketball were playing soccer instead?

David Epstein:

I think the U.S. would do extremely well. In The Sports Gene, I write about a Danish scientist who takes muscle biopsies of soccer players, and his frustration that they don’t get enough guys with a high proportion of fast-twitch muscle fibers at the top level. We have a load of sprinters here! And I also write about the Netherlands soccer pipeline, and a sports scientist who helps track the top kids, and look how well they’ve done with a relatively small population. One thing she has found is that the kids who go on to the pros are always, starting from age 12, about a quarter second faster on shuttle runs than the kids who don’t make it. I tend to think if Adrian Peterson and athletes like him grew up playing soccer, we’d have a much better team. At numerous points in the book, it’s clear that one way a country dominates a sports is simply by making sure the best general athletes go through the talent funnel of that sport. Obviously, we’re massively diluting that in the U.S. I think we would be a world power if even just American football were taken out of the equation.

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Question:

With all the new science on concussions and other health issues, do you think football, the NFL in particular, will exist in a decade.

David Epstein:

I think it will exist. I look at boxing, which is completely medically indefensible, and it still exists. That said, every time I look through the new scientific literature on brain trauma, here’s the troubling trend: rather than concussions being of primary importance, the accumulation of sub-concussive hits is taking center stage. So all the rule changes in the NFL that go toward protecting defenseless receivers and all that, those are great PR but do nothing for the linemen who are taking the sub-concussive hits to the frontal lobe on every single play. And, of course, the majority of players who are ending up with their brains dissected are linemen, not receivers. …In The Sports Gene, I write about a gene variant–ApoE4–that about one in five people and that we know makes it more likely that a carrier will have permanent brain damage from taking hits to the head. All in all, I think there’s increasing evidence that some people, maybe many people, simply can’t play football without being brain damaged in some way, whether that damage is temporary or permanent. I do think, ultimately, that it will reduce the pipeline of children who participate in football, but I don’t think the game will be gone in a decade. Here’s a piece I wrote about subconcussive hits in high school players, for whom the cost/benefit analysis is vastly different than an NFL pro.•

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Beyond the Fringe, the 1961 comedy revue created by and starring Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, Alan Bennett and Jonathan Miller, is a particular favorite of Lorne Michaels, and it’s easy to see why. The show was a watershed moment in the development of modern satire, in a time before Second City and other such groups were established. I mean, the Beatles hadn’t even hired Ringo yet. This video records the final production of the original run, which stretched from Edinburgh to London’s West End to Broadway.

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Charles Bukowski, a poet of despair who questioned the wisdom of crowds, was a person of interest for the FBI. Open Culture points out that Bukowski.net has published 113 pages of FBI documents from 1968. It’s mostly pointless investigation into a man who was most dangerous to himself and his spouses, but it’s there if you’re a completist.

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This month is the one-year anniversary of the launching if Aeon, the digital magazine that has quickly become the best producer of essays I can find in print or online. Congratulations to Paul and Brigid Hains, who founded the publication, and to all their contributors.

From “Catching the Star,” Lee Billings’ new Aeon essay about astrophysicist Roger Angel, who wants to transform the American Southwest, which is getting closer to dying of thirst, into one of Earth’s chief solar-power stations:

In the first decade of this new century, Angel began to shift his focus from planets around other stars to the planet that we live on, the planet that was growing parched and crowded before his eyes. He has spent years devising a three-decade plan to build and launch 16 trillion tiny, autonomous spacecraft to form a sunshade to cool the Earth to pre-industrial average temperatures, thus counteracting anthropogenic greenhouse heating. The associated expenses would amount to some $5 trillion, although Angel hastens to point out that this would constitute less than one per cent of the world’s gross domestic product for the project’s duration — a bargain compared with the much higher projected costs of allowing global warming to proceed unabated.

No one could find technical flaws with Angel’s audacious plan: the physics was eminently feasible. It was also meticulous. Angel had considered practically every relevant physical variable and technological scenario. Even so, he considered it little more than ‘a Band-Aid’, something that could buy perhaps a century of cooler temperatures. More sustainable long-term adaptations would be needed to deal with the recent spike in greenhouse gases, which promise to linger in the atmosphere for tens or hundreds of thousands of years.

“The sunshade may seem like mad science,” he quips from time to time, “but the fact is, we live upon a mad world.” Not mad enough, however. Not yet. Few would seriously contemplate building anything like Angel’s sunshade until catastrophic warming and sea-level rises are already well under way, and by then, it may be too late. Angel himself prefers that it never be built at all. He believes that cutting carbon emissions would be considerably cheaper in the long run.

To that end, Angel has been working on a new project since 2008, an effort less ambitious than blotting out the light of the sun but audacious enough. He wants to make grid-scale solar power that costs about a dollar per watt — as cheap as or cheaper than electricity from burning coal or other fossil fuels. Moreover, he thinks he has found how to do it, and has even formed a company, REhnu, to gather capital investment and develop the necessary technology.

In years to come, if Angel has his way, his proprietary system of gleaming mirrors and flashing lenses will transform the American southwest and other sun-drenched regions into the 21st-century powerhouses of the globe, driving markets to leave all the world’s remaining coal in the ground. He has attracted several research grants from government agencies, as well as a considerable number of backers from the upper echelons of US astronomy and energy research who, having seen Angel build the Mirror Lab from nothing, prefer to bet with rather than against him.•

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A brief note from the March 22, 1908 New York Times:

Berlin–The German medical world is aghast at the revelation made through an operation just performed at Herschberg by a Silesian surgeon upon a 16-year-old girl who was suffering from a strange internal growth.

The opening of this growth revealed the presence of over three pounds of iron, consisting of 1,410 one-inch nails, 160 bent pins, 70 double-pointed needles, and 7 nail heads. For variety’s sake there were four splinters of glass. The girl came out of the operation splendidly.

No explanation has been published to show how it came about that this large stock of hardware got together in the young woman’s interior and became encysted there.”

In 1985, Merv Griffin was visited by J.Z. Knight, who’s long made a good living by pretending that she could channel Ramtha, a 35,000 year-old spiritual guide given to twisty, Yoda-ish pronouncements. She “summons” the “entity” at around the ten-minute mark, and it’s fairly clear how even someone as cerebral as Linda Evans could have become a true believer.

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Fat-necked babyhead Karl Rove spent a good part of Sunday excoriating the President for inching backwards from his line in the sand on Syria, but I’m glad Obama retreated if only a little. I know he doesn’t want a Rwanda to happen on his watch, but it’s difficult to bomb a country into a safer place. Not impossible, but difficult. Obama did what responsible adults do when they feel emotions getting the best of them: They doubt. And then perhaps they proceed or maybe they realize that strength isn’t only in being inflexible, the way JFK did after the Cuban Missile Crisis. Khrushchev sure seemed forceful when banging his shoe on a table, but even if he won a day or two with bluster, he didn’t win the history books. Certitude alone doesn’t do that.

Doubt was in short supply when Rove’s candidate, President George W. Bush, was in office. He and his inner circle knew that Iraq had WMDs, and there was no bending their spines of steel. So many people died because they had no doubt. In Errol Morris’ new Donald Rumsfeld documentary, the former Secretary of Defense still doesn’t question his decisions. From Gregg Kilday’s Hollywood Reporter interview with Morris about Rumsfeld’s desire to own the narrative even though the facts say he got owned:

Hollywood Reporter:

You eventually interviewed him for 33 hours.

Errol Morris:

Over 11 separate days, four separate trips to Boston. We filmed in a studio in Allston over the course of a little bit more than a year.

Hollywood Reporter:

And you had him read his memos as part of the interview?

Errol Morris:

Yes, the memos are memos that he shared with us. I don’t believe they were ever available before we started talking with him. I sometimes describe it as a kind of history from the inside out rather than the other way around. What was so fascinating and still is fascinating about the memos is that they came from [various] periods, whether it was the Ford Administration or his role as an ambassador-at-large in the Middle East during the Reagan Administration and during his tenure as secretary of defense for George W. Bush. They also reflect how he wants other people to see him. They are complex. It gives some kind of insight into what he was thinking, how he wanted to present himself to others, how he wanted to present himself to history. I think there are a lot of complicated things going on that fascinated me and still fascinate me. For a lot of people when you make a movie, you’re supposed to come away with definite answers about things. I’m not sure that is my M.O. In fact, I’m pretty sure it is not.

Hollywood Reporter:

He seems strangely obsessed with the definition of words.

Errol Morris:

I’ll tell you how I interpret it. When we think of words and the definition of words, I immediately think of George Orwell because he wrote so extensively about it. Orwell was obsessed with language and how language could be used to manipulate people. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. It’s something stranger. Words become for Rumsfeld his own way to regain control over reality and history as he feels it slipping away. I’m not sure I’m even characterizing it correctly either, but there’s something strange and powerful about it. If somehow he gets the right word or the right definition of words, everything will be OK. America will win the war in Iraq, the insurgents will vanish. It’s all a problem of vocabulary.”

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A bro named Chad visiting a country named Chad.

 

Beer me broheim.

Beer me, broheim.

DO U HAVE A URINE FETISH? – $50 (East Harlem)

Urine for you. 50$ a bottle.

Alan Whicker’s mesmerizing 1969 film about Haiti’s witch doctor of a dictator, François “Papa Doc” Duvalier.

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“The clock not only tells the time, but alarms the sleeper by agitating a lever which is connected by a string to a pillow.”

Novel electrical devices aimed at aiding the blind and deaf were the focus of a poorly written article in the October 28, 1903 New York Times. The story:

Boston--W.E. Shaw of Brooklyn gave an ‘electrical party’ last night, the feature of which was the exhibition of the electric clock for blind deaf-mutes. Mr. Shaw is deaf and dumb, and he was assisted in demonstrating the workings of his invention by Tommy Stringer, blind, deaf, and dumb, who is making great progress in the sciences.

The clock not only tells the time, but alarms the sleeper by agitating a lever which is connected by a string to a pillow, causing the pillow to move up and down, the vibrations being communicated to the sleeper by a touch.

A circuit is closed, by which an electric current is sent through a small incandescent lamp in front of a parabolic mirror, the rays of which are thrown into the face of the sleeper. It releases a spring connected with a hammer, which falls upon a fulminating cap, the loud explosion of which at close quarters is perceptible to a deaf person.

It also gives notice of the ‘entrance of burglars by any of the above methods, by means of connection by a wire with the doors and windows. It gives indication of fire by electric thermostats placed anywhere on the premises.”

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I used to have the complete version of Alan Whicker’s 1971 documentary about the wet-dream merchant Harold Robbins on the site until it was removed from Youtube. But even just the opening posted below is worth watching, with the trashy author making his way through his childhood neighborhood, Hell’s Kitchen, during New York City’s bad old days. Robbins, who was the best-selling novelist in the world at the time, specialized in literature that was most suitable for the beach or masturbation, though preferably not both at the same time. 

It appears that Elon Musk has succeeded where John DeLorean failed, in creating a successful automobile company from scratch. I suspect others will likewise blaze those trails as 3D printing power becomes more profound. But what about a large if young company like Google? Can it compete with the traditional automakers in the autonomous sector? From a post by Brad Templeton, who it should be noted is a consultant to Google:

“While I don’t comment on Google’s plans, I do believe it has one big advantage in this race. It doesn’t know what the rules of the car industry are, and has no desire to follow them. The car companies have huge resources, and better expertise on cars, but their internal rules and practices, honed over a century, are sure to hobble them. They won’t take the risks that non-car companies will take, won’t want to damage existing business lines, and will face attacks within the companies from the ‘company immune system’ which seeks to attack disruptive ideas within big companies.

Google’s main impediment is that it is also a big company, though an unusual one. But this business is so hard to enter that we have yet to see a start-up make a play.”

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Another thing to worry about: jellyfish. In “They’re Taking Over!” Tim Flannery’s New York Review of Books critique of Lisa-ann Gershwin’s Stung!, he explains how the colorful stingers are perhaps becoming kings of the sea. An excerpt:

“To understand why jellyfish are taking over, we need to understand where they live and how they breed, feed, and die. Jellyfish are almost ubiquitous in the oceans. As survivors of an earlier, less hospitable world, they can flourish where few other species can venture. Their low metabolic rate, and thus low oxygen requirement, allows them to thrive in waters that would suffocate other marine creatures. Some jellyfish can even absorb oxygen into their bells, allowing them to ‘dive’ into oxygen-less waters like a diver with scuba gear and forage there for up to two hours.

Jellyfish reproduction is astonishing, and no small part of their evolutionary success: ‘Hermaphroditism. Cloning. External fertilization. Self fertilization. Courtship and copulation. Fission. Fusion. Cannibalism. You name it, jellyfish [are] ‘doing it.’’ But perhaps the most unusual thing is that their eggs do not develop immediately into jellyfish. Instead they hatch into polyps, which are small creatures resembling sea anemones. The polyps attach to hard surfaces on the sea floor, and are particularly fond of man-made structures, on which they can form a continuous jelly coating. As they grow, the polyps develop into a stack of small jellyfish growing atop each other that look rather like a stack of coins. When conditions are right, each ‘coin’ or small jellyfish detaches and swims free. In a few days or weeks, a jellyfish bloom is observed.

One of the fastest breeders of all is Mnemiopsis. Biologists characterize it as a ‘self-fertilizing simultaneous hermaphrodite,’ which means that it doesn’t need a partner to reproduce, nor does it need to switch from one sex to the other, but can be both sexes at once. It begins laying eggs when just thirteen days old, and is soon laying 10,000 per day. Even cutting these prolific breeders into pieces doesn’t slow them down. If quartered, the bits will regenerate and resume normal life as whole adults in two to three days.

Jellyfish are voracious feeders. Mnemiopsis is able to eat over ten times its own body weight in food, and to double in size, each day. They can do this because they are, metabolically speaking, tremendously efficient, being able to put more of the energy they ingest toward growth than the more complex creatures they compete with. And they can be wasteful. Mnemiopsis acts like a fox in a henhouse. After they gorge themselves, they continue to collect and kill prey. As far as the ecosystem goes, the result is the same whether the jellyfish digest the food or not: they go on killing until there is nothing left. That can happen quickly. One study showed thatMnemiopsis removed over 30 percent of the copepod (small marine crustaceans) population available to it each day.

Jellyfish ‘can eat anything, and often do,’ Gershwin says. Some don’t even need to eat, in the usual sense of the word. They simply absorb dissolved organic matter through their epidermis. Others have algae living in their cells that provide food through photosynthesis.

The question of jellyfish death is vexing. If jellyfish fall on hard times, they can simply ‘de-grow.’ That is, they reduce in size, but their bodies remain in proportion. That’s a very different outcome from what is seen in starving fish, or people.”

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Everything changes us, but sometimes a crash can change everything. Even though the brain is wired into a particular mode of behavior by repetition, trauma can lead to a break, to enlightenment. But far more often, suffering is simply what it is: It just hurts. Blessed are those, I suppose, who have useful tragedies. The opening of Pico Iyer’s New York Times essay:

NARA, Japan — Hundreds of Syrians are apparently killed by chemical weapons, and the attempt to protect others from that fate threatens to kill many more. A child perishes with her mother in a tornado in Oklahoma, the month after an 8-year-old is slain by a bomb in Boston. Runaway trains claim dozens of lives in otherwise placid Canada and Spain. At least 46 people are killed in a string of coordinated bombings aimed at an ice cream shop, bus station and famous restaurant in Baghdad. Does the torrent of suffering ever abate — and can one possibly find any point in suffering?

Wise men in every tradition tell us that suffering brings clarity, illumination; for the Buddha, suffering is the first rule of life, and insofar as some of it arises from our own wrongheadedness — our cherishing of self — we have the cure for it within. Thus in certain cases, suffering may be an effect, as well as a cause, of taking ourselves too seriously. I once met a Zen-trained painter in Japan, in his 90s, who told me that suffering is a privilege, it moves us toward thinking about essential things and shakes us out of shortsighted complacency; when he was a boy, he said, it was believed you should pay for suffering, it proves such a hidden blessing.

Yet none of that begins to apply to a child gassed to death (or born with AIDS or hit by a ‘limited strike’). Philosophy cannot cure a toothache, and the person who starts going on about its long-term benefits may induce a headache, too.”

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“And what good is cancer in April?”:

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Muhammad Ali and Joe Louis seldom had a good word for each other–“Slow Joe Louis” was one of the nicer things Ali called his predecessor—and it wasn’t just joking. Louis picked Sonny Liston to win both Ali-Liston fights, and Ali never really forgave him. Louis seemed to be jealous of the brash younger fighter who was set to eclipse him.

This 1966 clip captures the two heavyweight egos when the men were actually working together briefly, with Louis acting in an adviser capacity. But Ali’s stance on the Vietnam war, among other issues, soon led to a bitter falling out.

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The opening of Julie Belcove’s Financial Times article about the contrarian conceptualist John Baldessari, who is trying, in his own way, to undo what the art world has done:

“In an age when contemporary art is very big business, and works by even living artists can command eight-figure prices at auction, John Baldessari is unafraid to poke a little fun at the art-industrial complex. The California-based conceptual master’s most recently completed body of work – a send-up of art history’s canon – takes a jab at the art world’s appetite for household names and easily identifiable visuals.

There is, for instance, an image of a soup can, a classic Warhol motif, but done in blue instead of Campbell’s red, without the label’s familiar logo, emphasising instead the can’s clean, minimalist, geometric shapes favoured by Sol LeWitt, whose name is printed underneath. Another piece takes a detail of a Jackson Pollock gestural abstraction but renders it in Matisse’s trademark yellow and blue and labels it with the latter artist’s name.

‘I was getting mildly irritated by artists getting branded – ‘This is a Warhol,’ ‘This is a de Kooning’ – and you don’t even look. It just has to look like a brand,’ says Baldessari, in fine fettle at 82 years old, on a warm summer afternoon at Marian Goodman Gallery, his New York dealer. ‘And I said, I wonder if I can slow that down.'”

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“A Brief History of John Baldessari,” narrated by Tom Waits:

“1970: Baldessari destroying his paintings”:

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