Urban Studies

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From another great obituary in the New York Times by Margalit Fox, this one about a nonagenarian typewriter repairman who triumphed in a small way over time itself:

“Mr. [Manson] Whitlock was often described as America’s oldest typewriter repairman. He was inarguably one of the country’s longest-serving.

Over time he fixed more than 300,000 machines, tending manuals lovingly, electrics grudgingly and computers never.

“I don’t even know what a computer is,’ Mr. Whitlock told The Yale Daily News, the student paper, in 2010. ‘I’ve heard about them a lot, but I don’t own one, and I don’t want one to own me.’

Whitlock’s Typewriter Shop once supported six technicians, who ministered to patients with familiar names like Royal, Underwood, Smith and Corona, and curious ones like Hammonia and Blickensderfer.

The shop, near the Yale campus, attracted a tide of students and faculty members; the Pulitzer Prize-winning writers Robert Penn Warren, Archibald MacLeish and John Hersey; the Yale classicist Erich Segal, who wrote the best-selling novel Love Story on a Royal he bought there; and, on at least one occasion, President Gerald R. Ford.

In recent years, however, until he closed the shop in June, Mr. Whitlock was its entire staff, working with only a bust of Mark Twain for company.”

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More typewriter-related posts:

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From a Five Books interview with journalist Caspar Henderson about our so-called Anthropocene Age, an excerpt about an intriguing title by Braden Allenby and Daniel Sarewitz to be published this month:

Question:

Tell me about your final choice, The Techno-Human Condition.

Caspar Henderson:

Climate change is likely to be a huge challenge in this century and beyond, but it’s unlikely to be the only one. Some challenges may come as a surprise but among those we think we can see coming are how we will feed nine to twelve billion humans, how we will keep a lid on deadly conflict and how we will increase the likelihood that what is most valuable and marvelous in the rest of the living world thrives.

Responses  and debate often focus on how science and technology can ‘save’ us.  Sure, there will be no solutions without advances in science and technology. Equally surely, science and technology alone almost never provide a solution. Technical advances usually bring unforeseen consequences. More importantly, poor political and social choices can lead to terrible outcomes.

There is a large and serious literature emerging on how to ‘manage’ the planet in the Anthropocene. Books for non-specialists include Mark Lynas’s The God Species and Al Gore’s The Future.  There is also a growing array of writers and thinkers who are sceptical of the very idea of planetary management, often accusing the ‘managers’ of overly simplistic analysis and recommendations. I recommend Allenby and Sarewitz’s book not because it is especially critical of, say, geo-engineering – in fact their first target is transhumanism – but because it can help the reader to think more clearly about the actual complexity and inherent unpredictably of the situation in which we find ourselves. They are not suggesting that we should cease to act rationally or ethically, just that we understand more fully our ignorance about most complex systems, not least the human context for science and technology and our frequent inability to control them. We need, they say, to ‘add a degree of psychological and institutional flexibility that acknowledges and dignifies our ignorance and limits. Rehabilitate humility.’ This is, if you like, about thinking slow as well as thinking fast about the planet, and there is nothing here that a good and wise scientist would disagree with. Ken Caldeira, a climate scientist who has looked carefully into geo-engineering, stresses the uncertainties – and, by the way, emphasizes that other options such as reducing emissions are likely to be cheaper and more effective. The late Carl Woese, one of the most eminent biologists of recent times, argued that our first priority should be ‘not to engineer nature but to listen to its harmonies.’

Science and technology are key to our future but even more important are the ethical and political challenges we have to overcome if we are truly to grow up in the Anthropocene. If Jared Diamond was right in Collapse, societies disintegrate when those in charge cease to think about the interests of the people as a whole. This looks like one of the clear and present dangers facing us today. To find the resources to fight the necessary battles we need to find strength inside ourselves. This means allowing plenty of room for the inner child to play. Music, the arts and the sciences, which are making discoveries of surpassing beauty almost daily, can help us find plenty of space, amidst all the uncertainty, for wonder and celebration.”

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Mets player with a body like a woman’s (Queens)

I don’t know who he is but there’s a guy on the Mets who has a female shaped body. I don’t know his name or number. I’m curious who he is. It’s kind of fascinating. He’s white or Hispanic/Latin. Any idea who he might be? Thanks.

A 1976 report (with spooky score) on solar power. The sun will be the answer, but when?

From the June 5, 1911 New York Times:

“Russell Hopkins, Consul General of Panama, has purchased the house at 1,045 Fifth Avenue for his baby son, John Randolph Hopkins, who was born two months ago in the St. Regis and who is now at his father’s country home, in Irvington-on-Hudson. The baby’s grandmother, Mrs. Lawrence, widow of Dr. J..J. Lawrence, who lives in the Hotel Plaza, said yesterday she would spend $25,000 in furnishing a suite of five rooms in the new house for her grandson.

Mr. Hopkins wished to purchase Mrs. William B. Leeds’s house, and offered $250,000 for it, but it was refused, so he bought the Fifth Avenue house, between Eighty-fifth and Eighty-sixth Streets.

The roof of the house will be covered with a steel wire cage and half converted into a playground. The other half will be used as a small private zoo. Mr. Hopkins has maintained a private zoo at Irvington for years for the entertainment of his guests and the instruction of the village children.

Mr. Hopkins had a baby hippopotamus there last Summer, but, owing to its splashing propensities and inordinate appetite, he had to get rid of it. A bear cub will arrive form the Rocky Mountains this week, sent by one of his old guides to the son and heir.”

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I’ve said many times that social networks makes us sadder. Living inside a perpetual high-school or college yearbook, living in the past, is unhealthy. You can’t go home again, even with Google Maps. And we can never realize the expectations–and the the ideal of ourselves–that we create online. The icons lie and connectedness is not contentedness.

The opening of “How Facebook Makes Us Unhappy,” Maria Konnikova’s New Yorker blog piece about emoticons and emotions:

“No one joins Facebook to be sad and lonely. But a new study from the University of Michigan psychologist Ethan Kross argues that that’s exactly how it makes us feel. Over two weeks, Kross and his colleagues sent text messages to eighty-two Ann Arbor residents five times per day. The researchers wanted to know a few things: how their subjects felt overall, how worried and lonely they were, how much they had used Facebook, and how often they had had direct interaction with others since the previous text message. Kross found that the more people used Facebook in the time between the two texts, the less happy they felt—and the more their overall satisfaction declined from the beginning of the study until its end. The data, he argues, shows that Facebook was making them unhappy.

Research into the alienating nature of the Internet—and Facebook in particular—supports Kross’s conclusion. In 1998, Robert Kraut, a researcher at Carnegie Mellon University, found that the more people used the Web, the lonelier and more depressed they felt. After people went online for the first time, their sense of happiness and social connectedness dropped, over one to two years, as a function of how often they used the Internet.

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petersellers898989

Another of the 1970s TWA ads featuring Peter Sellers, with the protean actor this time portraying a jolly if condescending British chap.

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“Um, I-ee-ug-crrrr-ssssk.”

Monkeys look and act enough like humans so we usually don’t kill and eat them. One exceedingly human-ish primate was Consul, a chimpanzee promoted by the original William Morris Agency, who dazzled New Yorkers more than a century ago with his ability to act world-weary and chain-smoke. From an article in the June 21, 1909 New York Times:

Dressed in a sailor suit with patent leather shoes on his feet and his sailor cap set flat aback with a slight list over his port ear, Consul, the monkey, which is to be the newest star of the vaudeville stage, received reporters and photographers yesterday on the sun deck of the incoming North German Lloyd liner George Washington. He is an intelligent-looking monkey, about three feet in height when he stands erect. He came originally from Rhodesia, Southeast Africa.

Ivan Drowski, his manager, who has brought the chimpanzee over under contract to the William Morris vaudeville syndicate, said that Consul was not at all shy, but liked attention. He was fond of children, but did not like them to play tricks on him. Drowski spoke to Consul in French, and the chimpanzee responded with guttural sounds that seemed to be understood by his manager.

Here is a specimen of the dialogue which ensued when the reporters asked Consul questions through his interpreter:

“How do you like New York, Consul?” a reporter asked.

When it had been put in French by Drowski the monkey looked at the crowd and said something that sounded like: “Um, I-ee-ug-crrrr-ssssk.”

According to Drowski, what Consul said meant, “Have any of you got a cigarette holder?”

An amber holder was produced by a photographer and handed out to Consul, who put it in his mouth.

To the next question, “Do you like wearing clothes?” the chimpanzee replied, “garrrrr-egre-grummm-goora-umn.” This was translated by Drowksi to mean: “Have any of you got a cigarette, I want to smoke.” Consul was promptly handed a box of Egyptian cigarettes. He selected one carefully, put it in the tube and then said: “Rrr-rag-bwa-gu-gu-.” This meant “give me a match.” He got one at once. “Do you admire the tall building?” the monkey was asked.

Lighting the cigarette Consul leaned carelessly on his hand, blew the smoke lazily through his nose and said something that sounded like ‘Jilde jallou grugru,’ which Drowski said was the equivalent of the American phrase, ‘You make me tired.’

Then his manager took Consul off the rail, where he had been sitting, and put him on the deck, where he tickled the monkey under the arms until he laughed out loud like a schoolboy and turned somersaults to show his joy. William Morris, who was also on the liner, said that Consul had played shuffleboard with his little boy on the awning deck, but they had to be careful, as he was so fond of going up the rigging.

Once, it is said, Consul climbed up to the crow’s nest and played with the lookout man.

During the trip Consul dressed for dinner and had his meals served at a small table with his manager. In the evenings he held receptions, to which the passengers were invited. Apparently he did not like brass bands, and took delight in throwing brazil nuts at the trombone player. Consul is insured for $100,000, and will make his appearance to the New York public at the opening of the roof garden of the American Theatre on July 4.•

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come and video my wife and i making love (staten island)

We are in need of cash and some fun.

If u want to have some fun come join in on it.

We are in need of some cash..so we are asking for 100.

Email us now.

Almost as amusing as Peter Seller’s buffoonish international playboy character was his enthusiastic Scotsman, which was also used to sell TWA in the 1970s.

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At the New Yorker‘s “Currency” blog, Vauhini Vara and Vijith Assar have published “What the Dow Tells Us About Ourselves,” a fun, interactive timeline that explains how companies were viewed in America in the year they were added or subtracted from the Dow. From “1991 through 2004”:

“It’s easy to forget that the late eighties and early nineties saw as strong a backlash against consumer culture as we’ve seen in the post-Vietnam era: it was in those years, remember, that Nirvana and Clerks happened. It also happened to be the period in which the Dow added both McDonalds and Walt Disney, two of the era’s most memorable symbols of capitalism’s effect on our culture. By the time Walt Disney joined, in 1991—the year it released Beauty and the Beast—the company had long been seen in some quarters as an evil empire. In a 2006 article for the magazine, Anthony Lane, quoting a 1971 broadside by the writer and activist Ariel Dorfman, wrote, ‘Disney has somehow become shorthand for the cushioning with which, knowingly or otherwise, we protect and console ourselves against experience: ‘All the conflicts of the real world, the nerve centers of bourgeois society, are purified in the imagination in order to be absorbed and co-opted into the world of entertainment.’’ (The broadside’s title: How to Read Donald Duck: Imperialist Ideology in the Disney Comic.) By the end of the nineties, of course, people were distracted by a new trend in consumer culture: the rise of the technology industry, which brought Hewlett-Packard to the average in 1997, followed by Microsoft and Intel in 1999.”

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If your dreams come true, you better have dreamed wisely. Working class Viv Nicholson won millions in a football pool in 1961 and found herself isolated the way billionaires sometimes are. Did she spend, spend, spend herself back into modest financial means because of a poor foundation in economics or was she driven by survival instincts?

From a 1966 interview with Nicholson by Alan Whicker:

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There’s nothing blindingly new in Chris Bryant’s Financial Times piece about autonomous cars, but it wisely points out that the transition will be incremental, that the process has, in fact, already begun. An excerpt:

Ralf Herrtwich, director of driver assistance and chassis systems at Mercedes-Benz, says the networking of cameras, sensors, actuators, data-processing and back-up systems required to deliver autonomous driving is of ‘almost mind-boggling complexity.’ Still, the marque’s owner Daimler aims to be the first to introduce other autonomous functions in series production vehicles this decade.

Indeed, self-driving cars, long a staple of science fiction movies, are step by step becoming science fact and autonomous driving technologies will be very much in evidence when the Frankfurt motor show commences on Tuesday.

Ralf Cramer, board member at Continental, the German parts supplier, explains: ‘Autonomous driving will come about from a base of advanced driving assistance systems. Technically, we can do it already today [in testing and development] but if we put all this technology into a production car, the vehicle would be too expensive.’

Some of these systems are already finding their way into non-premium vehicles. The new Ford Focus can parallel park itself without the driver touching the wheel and the Ford S-Max Concept, to be shown in Frankfurt, includes perpendicular parking capability and automatic braking if a collision with a pedestrian is imminent.”

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Cyberwar hasn’t replaced traditional war–not yet, at least–it’s just added to it. The opening of “The Geeks on the Front Lines,” David Kushner’s Rolling Stone state-of-the-state about hackerdom in 2013:

“Inside a darkened conference room in the Miami Beach Holiday Inn, America’s most badass hackers are going to war – working their laptops between swigs of Bawls energy drink as Bassnectar booms in the background. A black guy with a soul patch crashes a power grid in North Korea. A stocky jock beside him storms a database of stolen credit cards in Russia. And a gangly geek in a black T-shirt busts into the Chinese Ministry of Information, represented by a glowing red star on his laptop screen. ‘Is the data secured?’ his buddy asks him. ‘No,’ he replies with a grin. They’re in.

Fortunately for the enemies, however, the attacks aren’t real. They’re part of a war game at HackMiami, a weekend gathering of underground hackers in South Beach. While meatheads and models jog obliviously outside, 150 code warriors hunker inside the hotel for a three-day bender of booze, break-ins and brainstorming. Some are felons. Some are con artists. But they’re all here for the same mission: to show off their skills and perhaps attract the attention of government and corporate recruiters. Scouts are here looking for a new breed of soldier to win the war raging in the online shadows. This explains the balding guy prowling the room with an ‘I’m Hiring Security Engineers. Interested?’ button pinned to his polo shirt.

Hackers like these aren’t the outlaws of the Internet anymore. A 29-year-old who goes by the name th3_e5c@p15t says he’s ready to fight the good fight against the real-life bad guys. ‘If they topple our government, it could have disastrous results,’ he says. ‘We’d be the front line, and the future of warfare would be us.’

After decades of seeming like a sci-fi fantasy, the cyberwar is on.”

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In the 1970s, Peter Sellers did several TWA commercials. Here’s my favorite.

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I love Land Art in general and especially when the focus is the desert, which, at the right moments, can look like a painting that’s melting. Photographer Jim Mangan’s new book, Bastard Child, and its related series, Time of Nothingstudy the splendid isolation of the American Southwest, with photos taken with a 1976 Leica R3 SLR. From Christian Storm’s new Vice interview with him:

“Vice:

Your previous work featured humans in landscapes, but now you seem to have moved more toward documenting the landscape itself.

Jim Mangan: 

Almost all the images (three images represent California, Wyoming, and Nevada) were shot in the Utah desert, which to me, strictly from a landscape standpoint, is the most interesting place on Earth. I’ve spent so much time exploring these different areas in the southern portion of Utah—each has its own very unique qualities and aesthetics, and, ultimately, sort of present themselves as separate planets even though they’re only 30 to 40 minutes away from one another. The imagery you see in the photos represents the places I kept getting drawn back to. Initially, I wanted to only see new locations, but as I searched I realized how special certain ones are. The more I kept going back to the same ones the more of connection I developed. I think if I was stripped of the privilege to spend time in these magical places it would be sort of like a girl I was totally in love with breaking up with me and never wanting to see me again—I would be totally devastated!”

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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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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.

__________________________

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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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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