Urban Studies

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

Urine for you. 50$ a bottle.

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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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As I’ve mentioned numerous times, including yesterday, drones will get increasingly smaller à la microchips, until the information-gatherers, much like the information, can fit on the head of a pinThe opening of John W. Whitehead’s Rutherford Institute essay, “Roaches, Mosquitoes, and Birds: The Coming Micro-Drone Revolution“:

“America will never be a ‘no drone zone.’

That must be acknowledged from the outset. There is too much money to be made on drones, for one, and too many special interest groups—from the defense sector to law enforcement to the so-called ‘research’ groups that are in it for purely ‘academic’ reasons—who have a vested interest in ensuring that drones are here to stay.

At one time, there was a small glimmer of hope that these aerial threats to privacy would not come home to roost, but that all ended when Barack Obama took office and made drones the cornerstone of his war efforts. By the time President Obama signed the FAA Reauthorization Act into law in 2012, there was no turning back. The FAA opened the door for drones, once confined to the battlefields over Iraq and Afghanistan, to be used domestically for a wide range of functions, both public and private, governmental and corporate. It is expected that at least 30,000 drones will occupy U.S. airspace by 2020, ushering in a $30 billion per year industry.

Those looking to the skies in search of Predator drones will be in for a surprise, however, because when the drones finally descend en masse on America, they will not be the massive aerial assault vehicles favored by the Obama administration in their overseas war efforts. Rather, the drones coming to a neighborhood near you will be small, some nano in size, capable of flying through city streets and buildings almost undetected, while hovering over cityscapes and public events for long periods of time, providing a means of 24/7 surveillance.”

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Speaking of wealthy eccentrics, the Messy Ness Chic blog has a story about the former home of the late Girard B. Henderson, a longtime Avon bigwig who in 1978 built a 16,000-square-foot abode 25 feet below ground in Las Vegas. Like a lot of folks in the Cold War days, Henderson feared his family would disappear into a mushroom cloud–but no mere fallout shelter would do for them. He created a bunkered McMansion, replete with soundstage scenery, a swimming pool and putting green. (It’s currently on the market.)

Henderson had experience in subterranean endeavors having sponsored in 1964 the Underground Living exhibit at New York World’s Fair. He also in 1950 founded one of America’s first cable TV companies (which brought the service, of course, underground). Unsurprisingly, he kept details about his private life buried. The opening of a paywalled 1966 Time article about him and a video about the house follow.

Girard Brown Henderson, a director of Avon Products, Inc., owes his wealth to the cosmetics firm’s cheery, door-to-door sales technique, but he is not the kind of fellow that a stranger comes calling on. A 5-ft. 6-in., onetime barnstorming pilot, Henderson at 61 is one of the richest men in the U.S., and one of the most secretive. Though he has interests in half a dozen businesses ranging from investment companies to a community antenna television outfit in California and is a member of the New York Stock Exchange, he is rarely seen at his Wall Street office.•

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“All these trees are faux trees obviously”:

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Apart from money, J. Paul Getty wasn’t a very rich man. A billionaire in a time when such things were unheard of, Getty was a strange and miserly sort with five marriages and a procession of troubled heirs. In this 1970s commercial, the industrialist spoke on behalf of E.F. Hutton, the brokerage firm that was swallowed in a series of mergers beginning in the 1980s.

The jaw-dropping tale of the 1973 kidnapping of Getty’s grandson, from the heir’s 2011 New York Times obituary:

“J. Paul Getty III, who was a grandson of the oil baron once believed to be the richest man in the world and who achieved tragic notoriety in 1973 when he was kidnapped by Italian gangsters, died Saturday at his home near London. He was 54.

His son, the actor Balthazar Getty, confirmed the death in a statement relayed in an e-mail from Laura Hozempa, one of his agents. Mr. Getty had been wheelchair-bound since 1981, when a drug overdose caused him to have a stroke that left him severely paralyzed, unable to speak and partly blind.

At the time of his abduction, Mr. Getty was just 16 and living on his own in Rome, where his father, J. Paul Getty II, had, for a time, helped oversee the family’s Italian business interests.

Expelled from a private school, the young Mr. Getty was living a bohemian life, frequenting nightclubs, taking part in left-wing demonstrations and reportedly earning a living making jewelry, selling paintings and acting as an extra in movies. He disappeared on July 10, 1973, and two days later his mother, Gail Harris, received a ransom request. No longer married, she said she had little money.

‘Get it from London,’ she was reportedly told over the phone, a reference either to her former father-in-law, J. Paul Getty, the billionaire founder of the Getty Oil Company, or her former husband, who lived in England.

The amount demanded was about $17 million, but the police were initially skeptical of the kidnapping claim, even after Ms. Harris received a plaintive letter from her son, and a phone call in which a man saying he was a kidnapper offered to send her a severed finger as proof he was still alive. Investigators suspected a possible hoax or an attempt by the young Mr. Getty to squeeze some money from his notoriously penurious relatives.

‘Dear Mummy,’ his note began, ‘Since Monday I have fallen into the hands of kidnappers. Don’t let me be killed.’

The eldest Mr. Getty refused to pay the kidnappers anything, declaring that he had 14 grandchildren and ‘If I pay one penny now, I’ll have 14 kidnapped grandchildren.’ His son said he could not afford to pay.

Three months after the abduction, the kidnappers, who turned out to be Calabrian bandits with a possible connection to organized crime, cut off Mr. Getty’s ear and mailed it, along with a lock of his hair, to a Roman newspaper. Photographs of the maimed Mr. Getty, along with a letter in which he pleaded with his family to pay his captors, subsequently appeared in another newspaper. Eventually the kidnappers reduced their demands to around $3 million. According to the 1995 book Painfully Rich: The Outrageous Fortune and Misfortunes of the Heirs of J. Paul Getty, by John Pearson, the eldest Mr. Getty paid $2.2 million, the maximum that his accountants said would be tax-deductible. The boy’s father paid the rest, though he had borrow it from his father — at 4 percent interest.

The teenager, malnourished, bruised and missing an ear, was released on Dec. 15; he was found at an abandoned service station, shivering in a driving rainstorm.”

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“Puppy mill, kitty mill, here kitty kitty.”

“Puppy mill, kitty mill, here kitty kitty.”

Nasty crazy lady (NY & MASS)

I just got a new phone line in my house. I am getting phone calls from a woman who calls me obscene names, threatens to come beat my family up, sings and yells puppy mill, kitty mill, here kitty kitty. I have an elderly Mom and when the phone rings at 1:10 am, 2:15. am 4:55 am and all throughout the day I panic. No one has my new number yet. She calls from 8 different phone numbers in NJ, NY and Mass. Has anyone had this problem with this insane woman calling at all times of the day and night and does anyone know who she is? 

In this strange time, everyone is spying on everyone and privacy as we knew it is not returning. Yet people believe–or pretend to believe–that something can be done about it. While many think legislation is the answer, some in Colorado have a different idea: license citizens who wish to shoot down government drones. (Those involved haven’t yet said what they will do when drones shrink from the size of planes to that of fleas.) From Jason Bittel at Slate:

“Is it just me, or are things really coming off the rails in Colorado? Earlier this summer, a handful of northern counties got all hyped up on freedom juice and started talking about secession. (The rural counties were reportedly upset over ‘restrictive gun laws and clean energy mandates.’) Now, a town to the south has been inundated with requests for drone-hunting licenses—and we’re not talking about using flying robots to shoot deer on the ground. Naturally, it doesn’t matter that there’s no such thing as a drone-hunting license.

Here’s how the whole brouhaha began. In June, some dude in Deer Trail, Co., proposed that there should be a town-wide ordinance to shoot down government drones, complete with a $100 bounty should one successfully ground one. (FYI: You’d have to provide a piece of the drone to prove your ‘kill.’) Despite the fact that the town won’t even vote on the ordinance until October, the story snagged national media attention, which in turn spurred red-blooded Americans everywhere to send Deer Trail a check for $25 (the proposed cost of the license that doesn’t exist). When the town clerk stopped counting, they’d received $19,006.”

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From the November 1, 1883 New York Times:

“Charles M. Sams, assistant purser of the steam ship Nacoochee, of the Savannah Line, was shot in the head early yesterday morning by Jennie Mitchell, of No. 106 West Thirty-first Street, in T.H. Moffat’s shooting gallery, No. 484 Sixth Avenue, and he died in New York Hospital at 9 o’clock A.M. The homicide, it is believed, was an accident due to Sams disconcerting the aim of the woman while she was about to shoot at a clay pipe. Sams and a friend named Harris had been on a frolic with Jennie Mitchell and Alice Sinclair since 10:30 o’clock on Tuesday night. After eating and drinking at a restaurant they went into the shooting gallery to have some fun. Sams picked up a Ballard rifle of 22 calibre and broke a pipe at the targets. The woman Mitchell then wanted to shoot, and, although the men laughed at her, she had the rifle reloaded and attempted in an awkward way to take aim. Sam stood a little in advance of her at her right, and as she was sighting the gun he playfully tickled her under the arm. The girl swung around suddenly and the rifle went off just as Sam’s head was in front of the muzzle.”

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Alan Whicker interviews Lula Parker Betenson, the 94-year-old sister of Western outlaw Butch Cassidy, in 1978, two years before her death. This line about Cassidy’s devout Mormon ancestors stays with me: “Drawn towards the mecca of their religion, they sailed from Liverpool in 1856 and walked the 1300 miles from Iowa to Salt Lake City.”

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A SpaceX video modestly called “The Future of Design,” in which Elon Musk, sans stylus and mouse, relies on Tony Stark-style gestures.

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From “Zapped,” Mary HK Choi’s Aeon article about her experimentation with Transcranial Direct-Current Stimulation, which may be a performance enhancer:

“The godfathers of modern TDCS are Dr Michael A Nitsche and Dr Walter Paulus from the department of clinical neurophysiology at the University of Göttingen in Germany. In the year 2000, Nitsche and Paulus published an article in The Journal of Physiology, which described how TDCS alters excitability in different regions of the brain by up to 40 per cent. In the brain, excitability affects synaptic plasticity, which means that the neural pathways that determine the capacity for memory and learning are changing substantially, depending on where you’re zapping. There are various electrode montages, each correlating to what we understand about regions in the brain. If you want to stimulate the language centre, you place your anode and cathode on different parts of your head than if you’re interested in reducing epileptic seizures. It seems straightforward but it’s actually mysterious. For example, stimulating the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex influences memory but also helps you quit smoking.

Most of the recent internet write-ups on TDCS have been about the ‘foc.us,’ a TDCS headset that claims to ‘overclock’ your brain and make you better at video games. Priced at $249, the unit comes in two colours (red and black) with a fancy zippered carrying case like the kind that overhyped headphones made by ex-rappers are packaged in. They’re beleaguered with shipping issues and have fallen a couple of weeks behind in fulfilling orders (mine has not arrived yet) but their customer service is highly communicative. The website is a riot. In the ‘press’ section, there’s a handful of high-resolution images with attractive models wearing the headset with Blue Steel expressions, very low-cut jeans, and ‘come hither’ eyes. It’s clear this stuff is marketed to gamer bros, but from what little I know, I’m not convinced of the effectiveness based on the foc.us contact points. The sponges are too small and flat and the headset looks hard, like a girl’s plastic headband. I can’t imagine the electrodes are placed snugly enough on the skin to guarantee an effective circuit.

Despite my scepticism, and the fact that I don’t even know what it means to ‘overclock’ the brain, I’m intrigued. After all, the desire to make yourself smarter is universal, and in my experience, if you’re smart in the first place, you’re even greedier for cognitive boosts. When I get writer’s block, I’ll do almost anything to get over it. Sometimes, I even give a guy money to let me lie in the dark in his saline-filled tank. The only thing I won’t do is noortropics. Smart drugs scare me. Especially ProVigil (Modafinil), the pill that’s referred to as the ‘Limitless’ drug since it behaves like NZT-48, the brain-boosting stuff that takes a doltish Bradley Cooper and makes him superhuman-smart. Certain overachieving Silicon Valley types are candid about taking it regularly, like Dave Asprey, aka The Bulletproof Executive, who also cops to augmenting his chemically heightened brain function and alertness with TDCS. He’s had a kit for over a decade, and he throws it on like a light cardigan whenever he feels like it. He claims it allows him to efficiently reach ‘gamma states,’ a transcendental level that takes the Dalai Lama four hours of meditation to achieve. I know this because he talked about it on Joe Rogan.”

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“Is Mars sending us signals?”

Marconi on Mars would be a great title for a Philip Glass composition, but it’s also an apt description of a bizarre chapter in the career of inventor Guglielmo Marconi, who appears to have suspected roughly 90 years ago that Martians were sending Morse code messages to Earth. His beliefs were the basis for reportage in the January 29, 1920 New York Times. The story:

London–William Marconi informs The Daily Mail that investigations are in progress regarding the origin of mysterious signals which he recently described as being received on his wireless instruments. He hopes to make a statement on the subject at an early date. 

Marconi insists that ‘nobody can yet say definitely whether they originate on the earth or in other worlds.’

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Paris–French savants are inclined to attribute to earthly causes the unexplained wireless impulses which Mr. Marconi says may come from sources outside of this planet and its atmosphere. Most of the French press treat the whole matter as a joke, under such headings as ‘Hello, Central, give me the moon,’ but some of the more serious journals devote studied attention to the question raised by Marconi.

M. Branly, a leading wireless authority, thinks that the fact that signals come in letters of Morse code tends to discredit the theory that they are of other than earthly origin. He says:

‘If we attribute these phenomena to solar eruptions, how can we explain that they come in Morse? If we attribute them to interplanetary sources (admitting that planets are inhabited) we must then admit that their people have reached a degree of development comparable to ours and that their science has led them to construct instruments similar to ours. This would be a succession of coincidences that I would call improbable.

‘It might be that solar eruptions were the cause of wireless phenomena, since light has certain effects on electromagnetic currents. It might be possible that these disturbances caused raps in our receiving instruments, but not letters of the Morse code.’ M. Branly recalled that there existed a prize of 100,000 francs for communication and answer between the earth and any planet.

M. Baillaud, Director of the Paris Observatory, said:

‘Frankly, I am in ignorance of this supernatural correspondence. It would seem that if New York and London received these messages, we should have received them at the Eiffel Tower.’

General Ferrie, head of the military wireless, said:

‘We have heard nothing abnormal recently at the Eiffel Tower. We have disturbances which bother our communication, but they are continual. We attribute them to atmospheric variations and sometimes to the magnetic influence of the sun. Wireless men do not know much about these currents. They are more frequent in the Summer than in Winter. They are sometimes so intense that we can receive no messages. We call them parasites of radio but we do not think that they are supernatural.’

M. Bigourdian, chief of the Observatory Service, advances the theory that the planets and sun do have something to do with the wireless phenomena.

‘The explanation,’ said he, ‘is that when certain planets attain a position with regard to the sun such that the summits of their mountains are lighted and the bases are dark, the summits appear as points, distinct from the body of the planet, and these points of light may have an influence. But I know nothing about their talking in Morse.’

The Petit Journal says that French experts will do well to improve the communication service in France before they go about communicating with Mars. The Matin advances the theory that Hertzian waves from the sun are responsible for it. It says:

‘Here is a possible explanation: The cosmic Hertzian waves noted by Marconi come from clouds giving forth electrical discharges which occur in the solar atmosphere and which should engender Hertzian waves, analogous to those earthly clouds, but infinitely more powerful.

‘Nineteen years ago a French scientist demonstrated that the sun sent us Hertzian waves, and on the summit of Mont Blanc he made experiments to study these waves. These experiments did not give good results, but today, with receiving instruments more sensitive, it is possible that the phenomena noted by Marconi are the same as those the French savant announced.’

Camille Flammarian, the astronomer, holds that all the world are inhabited. As to the Marconi ‘revelations,’ he says:

‘I think with Marconi that the interruptions in the wireless messages may have their cause in a magnetic storm on the sun. The sun and earth are joined, in spite of their immense distance apart, by invisible ties of attraction. It is not poetic fiction to compare them to two hearts which beat in unison. This globe, which appears to many of us stable, possesses a great amount of mobility. It is the plaything of fourteen different movements.

Is Mars sending us signals? That is the question for which a long time has interested us, since the publication of the Martian geographical charts, on which were observed singular features, the origin of which did not appear to be due merely to chance. We should be glad to take a step further toward our neighbors of the skies, who, perhaps for centuries have addressed to us signals to which we have never known how to reply, terrestrial humanity being still absorbed with the grosser demands of material affairs.

‘Astronomers who have known how to withdraw themselves somewhat from these material affairs hope to have soon an opportunity of following out to a triumphal end of the investigations already commenced.'”

 

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"The night I nearly banged my cousin."

“The night I nearly banged my cousin.”

Controversial Epic Failures Book – $2 (Midtown)

The Chris Wheeler Stories. Its a compilation of all my funny stories that happened in my life, it is not for the faint of heart as it is very graphic and hilarious. Trust me when I say you will laugh your ass off. Its available on Ebook for $1.99, you will like it I’m sure if you give it a chance. Here’s the chapter list:

1. A cock blocking lesbian potentially saved my life.

2. I busted a nut in mid air.

3. My cage fight.

4. Truth or dare.

5. The night I nearly banged my cousin.

6. The day I almost died.

7. Her husband watched me bang her.

8. Why not to overdose on benadryll.

9. My first dance with mary.

10. I always remember to floss.

11. The ever so addicting webcam.

12. Strip clubs suck.

13. The wannabe gangsters.

14. Club descretions.

15. …And then her mom walked in.

16. My virginity gets taken, amongst other things.

17. My self evaluation.

18. Sex with a 40 year old.

19. The popular girl with immunity.

20. My great depression.

21. Facts of me.

22. I got robbed, yo!

"…And then her mom walked in."

“…And then her mom walked in.”

From the December 18, 1911 New York Times:

Paris–Roast camel will be the culinary novelty to be served on Christmas Eve in fashionable restaurants here. Parisians in search of the traditional eccentric delicacy for their annual festival found the bear cotoiets, which were served last year, rather tame, and missed the elephant’s foot, which had figured prominently on the menus of 1909.

The opportunity for presenting the revelers with real camel this year was afforded by a well-known Hamburg animal trainer, who informed prominent Paris butchers that he had three camels for sale. The reason he offered them was that he had bought them in Algeria some months ago with a view of training them for circus work, but he had been disappointed with their artistic capacity. The three animals, which cost $220 each, were killed to-day at the Villette slaughter house, and their quarters, which were prominently displayed in the shops of certain butchers, attracted the attention of great crowds all the afternoon.

A competition has been started  among the chefs of several restaurants as to the best manner of cooking the rather tough meat of the desert runners.”

Via Matt Cantor at Newswer, a few quotes from Jeff Bezos during his visit to the Washington Post offices:

  • “If it’s hopeless, I would feel sorry for you guys, but I wouldn’t want to join you,” he said, per journalist Cara Ann Kelly.
  • Still, “What’s been happening over the last several years can’t continue to happen.”
  • “It should be as easy to get a subscription to the Post as it is to buy diapers on Amazon.”
  • “People will buy a package,” but “they will not pay for (an individual) story.”
  • “All businesses need to be forever young … If your customer base ages with you as a company, you’re Woolworth’s.”
  • As to content: “Don’t be boring.”

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Perhaps no act in modern life speaks more aptly to these very democratic, decentralized and dumb times like the taking of the selfie, that narcissistic attempt to pretend that the minutiae of our lives is important. It’s the new religion. But not everyone agrees it’s a bad thing. Sarah Hepola defends the digital obsession in the Morning News. An excerpt:

“These days, the sight of someone pulling over to the side of the road—or standing at a bar, or flashing a peace sign in front of a building, or waiting at the drive-thru in the front seat of the car—and taking a picture of themselves is not bizarre at all. We live in the endlessly documented moment, and the arm outstretched with that small, omnipotent rectangle held aloft is one of the defining postures of our time. We’ve had selfie scandals, from Weiner’s weiner to Amanda Bynes’ meltdown. We’ve had a million billion cautionary tales about sending erotic selfies, though it doesn’t seem to stop anyone. Criminals take selfies and so do cops. The presidential selfie surely could not be far behind. (On this, Hillary was first.) 

But people are also worried about the selfie. Well, worried and irritated. Several trend stories have pondered the psychological damage on a generation that would rather take a picture of their life than actually live it. A recent studyfound that posting too many selfies annoys people (for this, they needed science?). Last month, the word made its way into the Oxford Dictionaries Online, but it has also become something of a smear, another tacky emblem of a culture that has directed all possible spotlights toward its own sucked-in cheeks. ‘Are you going to take a selfie?’ a friend asked with mock derision when I pulled out my phone at dinner to check the time. And it was clearly a joke, but I wasn’t sure if he was making fun of people who do such things, or the fact that I was one of them.

I have many friends who would never take a selfie. Never, ever. The practice is too conceited and unserious, and it would hurt them in their perfectionist bones in the way that 10 mariachis showing up at the dinner table and singing ‘Happy Birthday’ would hurt them. Sometimes life can be too embarrassing.

But I am a selfie enthusiast—I’m not yet ready to say ‘selfie addict’—who has to constantly monitor my own usage.”

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“The instant the heart ceased to beat there was the sudden and almost uncanny diminishment in weight.”

Good science wasn’t at the heart of an experiment aimed at weighing “souls,” as recorded in an article in the March 11, 1907 New York Times:

Boston–That the human soul has a definite weight, which can be determined when it passes from the body, is the belief of Dr. Duncan Macdougall, a reputable physician of Haverhill. He is at the head of a Research Society which for six years has been experimenting in this field. With him, he says, have been associated four other physicians.

Dr. Macdougall’s object was to learn if the departure of the soul from the body was attended by any manifestation that could be recorded by any physical means. The chief means to which resort was made was the determination of the weight of a body before and after death.

The method followed was to place a dying patient in bed upon one of the platforms of a pair of scales made expressly for the experiments, and then to balance this weight by placing an equal weight in the opposite platform. These scales were constructed delicately enough to be sensitive to a weight of less than one-tenth of an ounce. In every case after death the platform opposite the one in which lay the subject to the test fell suddenly, Dr. Macdougall says. The figures on the dial index indicated the diminishment in weight. 

Dr. Macdougall told of the results of his experiments as follows:

‘Four other physicians under my direction made the first test upon a patient dying of tuberculosis. This man was one of the ordinary type of the usual American temperament, neither particularly high strung nor of marked phlegmatic disposition. We placed him, a few hours preceding death, upon a scale platform, which I had constructed and which was accurately balanced. Four hours later with five doctors in attendance he died.

‘The instant life ceased the opposite pan fell with a suddenness that was astonishing–as if something had suddenly been lifted from the body. Immediately all the usual deductions were made for physical loss of weight, and it was discovered that there was still a full ounce of weight unaccounted for.

‘I submitted another subject afflicted with the same disease and nearing death to the same experiment. He was a man of much the same temperament as the preceding patient and of about the same physical type. The same result happened at the passing of his life. The instant the heart ceased to beat there was the sudden and almost uncanny diminishment in weight.

‘As experimenters, each physician in attendance made figures of his own concerning this loss, and, at a consultation, these figures were compared. The unaccountable loss continued to be shown.

"The subject was that of a man with a larger physical build, with a pronounced sluggish temperament."

“The subject was that of a man with a larger physical build, with a pronounced sluggish temperament.”

‘But this was less remarkable than what took place in the third case. The subject was that of a man with a larger physical build, with a pronounced sluggish temperament. When life ceased, as the body lay in bed upon the scales, for a full minute there appeared to be no change in weight. The physicians waiting in the room looked into each other’s faces silently, shaking their heads to the conviction that our test had failed.

‘Then suddenly the same thing happened that had occurred in the other cases. There was a sudden diminution in weight, which was soon found to be the same as that of the preceding experiments.

‘I believe that this in this case, that of a phlegmatic man slow of thought and action, that the soul remained suspended in the body after death, during the minute that elapsed before it came to the consciousness of its freedom. There is no other way of accounting for it, and it is what might be expected to happen in a man of the subject’s temperament.

‘Three other cases were tried, including that of a woman, and in each it was established that a weight of from one-half to a full ounce departed from the body at the moment of expiration.”

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“Liquid gold.”

Pregnancy Urine – $50 (Hudson Valley)

Strange but true, the hormones in a pregnant woman’s urine can increase plant growth. It MUST be diluted in water though, or you will burn your plants–a little goes a long way. I have used 8oz. urine in one gallon of water with good results–giving each plant no more than 1/2 cup (less to small plants). Once per month for average houseplants, 2 times a month for orchids seems to work very well for me (finally got my orchids to bloom after 2 years of blossoms dropping off before opening). At the proper dilution it did not make the plants smell like pee–no one needs to know your secret for gorgeous orchids.

You could freeze it for next years tomato plants–online info seems to suggest it gives a bumper crop. However, the idea of saving urine in your freezer until spring may be sort of gross–label it well!

The urine comes in a clean glass mason jar, containing at least 8oz of urine. Yes, it will be “fresh” but use it up or freeze it. Handle it as any organic plant fertilizer: Wear gloves, don’t use it straight, and DON’T just leave it lying around–it will go “bad”.

For goodness sake, don’t email me with any weird sexual requests or I will NOT respond.

Put “liquid gold” in the subject line or I will not open email.

 

From “Disruptions: More Connected, Yet More Alone,” Nick Bilton’s New York Times article which wonders whether smartphone immersion is permanent or whether there will be a retreat from its ubiquity:

“In the late 1950s, televisions started to move into the kitchen from the living room, often wheeled up to the dinner table to join the family for supper. And then, TV at the dinner table suddenly became bad manners. Back to the living room the TV went.

‘It never really caught on in most U.S. homes,’ said Lynn Spigel, a professor at the Northwestern University School of Communication and author of the book, Make Room for TV. ‘At one point, a company even tried to invent a contraption called the TV Stove, which was both a TV and a stove,’ she said.

So are smartphones having their TV-in-the-kitchen moment?”

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