One of the coolest aspects of Netflix is the foreign film availability. Even though the films are just movies, they tell a lot about what movie-makers worldwide thought audiences in their countries would willingly watch. What, in fact, their national populations would pay money to see. Their beliefs, their likes and dislikes.
So a Netflix watcher can discover, for instance, how similar a lot of Americans are to Pakistanis by watching Son of a Lion. It’s a 2007 movie in which the primary characters are involved in a family business of gun making, gunsmithing, and gun sales and have been for several generations. Expected to go into the family business, the 11-year-old son of a strict Muslim father runs away from home, determined to get an education instead. In the location in Pakistan where they live everyone is a 2nd Amendment devotee. Nobody bothers with signs or bumper stickers because they just raise their AK 47 or 1911 Colt and loose a few rounds into the air when the mood strikes.
Starring:Niaz Khun Shinwari, Sher Alam Miskeen Ustad, Director:Benjamin Gilmour.
It’s comforting knowing how much we have in common with Pakistanis for the most part. The father in the story is mujahedeen and fought against the Russians in Afghanistan and is extremely concerned where, should he allow his son to take to school, it would be located. “Those schools are magnets for American bombs!”
If you live in one of the states darkened in blue you might have already seen a Google-driven car as you gnashed your teeth over traffic jams. They’ve logged over 700,000 miles on public roads as of April, 2014.. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Google_driverless_car
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
Probably I was the last person on the planet to find out this is happening. And I should have guessed it, anyway. There’s a particular place in New Mexico where a police car sits around with a dummy in uniform at the wheel to discourage speeding. The inevitable next step was to replace the drivers of cars going past, standing their cars on their noses when they saw the police cruiser.
Admittedly the Google Driverless car doesn’t have the snazzy appearance, the pizzazz of the average cracker boxes and 1948 Dodge-looking cars running around the roads in 2014. But I think if I had a car and a few bucks to spare I’d paint it white, install a fake antenna array on the top, darken the windows, and go around ramming into things just to blow the foam off the top of a long life. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Google_driverless_car
Things do have a way of making the full circle. Half the drivers today are being directed by the voices of their friendly GPS devices while they text their wives, mistresses, husbands, boyfriends, parents, kids, and people they’re trying to buy something from on Craigslist. A nice Google package would relieve them of the burden of having to be distracted by red lights and road rage. In fact, the model that’s not equipped with steering wheel or pedals would go a step further to allow them to spend every waking minute texting and talking on the cell.
Put a mannequin in the driver seat and give it a cell phone to talk on and this thing will be lobbying for the right to vote and get mechanical insurance. With an inflatable girl-friend sitting in the passenger seat we wouldn’t need Americans anymore.
Jeanne’s uncle Dr. Philip Carlson patented this thing back in the 1960s. Got himself and it all written up in Popular Mechanics. So you’d figure when they put it together to serve a need of civilization, quid pro quo, wouldn’t you?
Well, there ain’t. They’re building it though, and someone’s going to get rich off it in a timely manner.
Brings to mind the story of my ex-wife, Carolyn’s uncle Arthur, who invented the forklift while serving in the Army during WWII. General Eisenhower visited his mom and dad in Comfort, Texas when he died, but they never saw a penny for the forklift.
This week, a small town near the U.S.-Mexico border gave an unusual company the right to build a 2,250-foot-tower, destined to become the tallest structure in the U.S. The company, Solar Wind Energy Tower Inc, is only three years old. But the idea it’s hocking dates all the way back to the 1960s.
It’s called an “energy tower,” or in the words of Forbes, an “energy skyscraper:” A massively tall hollow concrete structure situated in a warm, arid climate. The sun’s rays super-heat the top of the tower, and a cool mist gets sprayed across. The water evaporates and the cool, heavy air is then sucked down into the base at speeds of up to 50 miles per hour. At the bottom, the whooshing gusts of air push through a circle of wind turbines—producing energy.
Solar Wind, which is based in Maryland, wants to start construction on the first major energy tower in the country, in San Luis, Arizona, by 2018. The town of 26,000 has also agreed to sell the company the water it needs to continually spray a fine mist over the 1,200-foot wide top of the tower. This mega-structure will sit on a 600-acre piece of desert near the Mexican border where the temperatures regularly reach 106 degrees—perfect for the technology, which relies on hot, dry climates.
So, where does this fairly incredible-sounding idea come from? It turns out that the energy tower dates back to the 1960s, when an engineer names Dr. Philip Carlson floated the idea. In a December 1981 issue of Popular Mechanics, Carlson, then an engineer at Lockheed, describes how the idea came to him while working on a desalinization plant in the 1960s:
We ran some calculations and found that, theoretically, we’d get out eight times the energy we put in to pump the water to the top of the chimney. But, in 1965, there didn’t seem to be any need for new energy sources.
Carlson did patent the concept in 1975, but it seems the idea was tabled. Since then, two engineers named Professor Dan Zaslavsky and Dr. Rami Guetta from Technion-Israel Institute of Technology have resurrected the idea, studying it extensively and publishing a number of papers on the topic.
So, why isn’t the American Southwest dotted with 2,000-foot-high energy towers? First of all, there are considerable challenges involved in actually building them—including not only funding the construction of such a huge tower, but also the cost of pumping water up to the top at a constant rate. Building Solar Wind’s tower, in Arizona, will require $1.5 billion in capital, according to Businessweek.
It’s also easy to imagine that communities aren’t excited to welcome huge, industrial-looking towers that would loom over their homes. But as a San Luis city official told Forbes, it’s also an economic driver and an opportunity for smaller, struggling cities:
In Arizona you do get a lot of dreamers who say, ‘You could really do something with this.’ With (Solar Wind Energy), they have already gotten permission and concurrence from federal agencies in Washington. They weren’t starting with the Air Force, they weren’t starting with BLM. They were starting at the top. It isn’t a guarantee of success, but it is a lot more feasible than a lot of the other things I’ve seen.
The deal with San Luis no doubt hinges on the fact that the construction and upkeep of the tower would bring thousands of jobs to the area—not to mention producing 1,200 megawatt-hours of power in the hotted, driest months.
Still, there are plenty of questions about how their plan would work—starting with who’s going to put up the $1.5 billion to build it. But Solar Wind doesn’t seem to be letting that slow it down: Beyond putting up a tower in San Luis, the company reportedly wants to license its technology to developers all over the world. For now, winning approval from the small town is a huge step forward. [SMH; Businessweek; Forbes; Solar Wind Energy Tower]
The arrow indicates the crowd pleaser point of interest. “I can’t believe it ain’t cancer!’ Chorus of GI specialists declares. “Go back in and biopsy that SOB again!”. It ain’t all because I’m a white guy. White guys, it turns out, are one hell of a lot more prone to cancer of the goozle than non-white guys. And nobody likes to see anyone win in lotteries of this nature. It makes everyone look bad.
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
I just this morning had my third endoscopy in two months. Not to mention various CAT Scans, etc, and one of those big things involving a donut and a magnet on a rolling human-scale tray. Jeanne tells me it’s the MRI, which I can’t have anymore because of my electric cow-prod defibrillator.
This week I had a manometry, gastric emptying tests, and fights with the VA hospital concerning whether I ought to be letting them do nothing instead of going to the private physicians and them doing stuff.
In fact I’m bankrupting Medicare with my heartfelt cardiac flaws and my Disneyland esophagus darling of gastroenterologists and Asian male physicians. They do the snake swallowing a camera routine, take pics and biopsy it. Look at the pics and say, “Ohshitohdear!”
“It MIGHTN’T be malignant,” they cautiously confide. “We won’t know for certain until the biopsy results come back.”
Well, the nice Asian GI specialist today came after I regained my cogitude to give me a puzzled frown and tell me it ain’t cancer again this time. But it’s inflamed as hell, got a grotesque growth about it, and has every right to rear up on its hind legs and be what it damned well wants to be. Thinks they’d better have another look at it as soon as they can forget it ain’t.
What I haven’t confided to them is the part about Caisse’s herbal tea. Black burdock, turkey rhubarb, sheep sorrel and slippery elm all boiled together half an hour in stainless steel, left 12 hours, boiled again, strained, and taken in increments of an ounce morning, another nights.
I call it making my own luck. I’m not evangelical about it, but if anyone ever tells you you’ve got terminal cancer and you might as well go home and tell the heirs who’s getting what, consider remembering it. Black burdock, turkey rhubarb, sheep sorrel and slippery elm.
My lungs and goozle think it’s death to oncologists.
Hi again readers: Turned out I ain’t as tough as I believed myself to be. I’m in the hospital in Kerrville, TX, sneaked spang in a couple of days ago through the Emergency Room. They know a lot about what’s been going on inside me now, and all of it is interesting and exciting, though it doesn’t necessarily bode well for my continuing to post on the So Far From Heaven blog a lot longer, everything else being equal.
But I’ve refused most of the things they’d propose to do insofar as keeping me this distance from heaven, plan to get discharged hopefully today, go back out to Gale’s and digest my newfound perspectives. Make some exciting decisions about what a guy in my position ought to be doing with himself, thinking about, spending his time and energy on.
Probably should have been doing that all along, but it wasn’t rubbing right up against it consciously and autopilot isn’t the best place to observe important, exciting events.
Happy New Year to those of you who believe this is a new year and are willing to be happy during it.
When I left Andrews on Christmas Eve morning a cold fog wrapped the RV and a tasteful bow atop kept it all together for the felines and me until I reached Big Spring. That’s where the brakes on the RV failed. Roughly 100 yards before the entryway into the parking lot for a chain store for auto parts.
Great, helpful folks there while I was diagnosing the cause of the problem, feeding brake fluid to the pre-Christmas Universe. Determining the next best guess to be a failed master cylinder. And me with almost no tools along.
Ordered the master cylinder inside the store, arranged with them to park in their lot until it arrived the day following Xmas. They showed me an electrical outlet where I could plug in to keep the heater and lights modern.
Hydrox, Tabby and I watched a store employee carrying boxes past us to the dumpster straining to get them over the side. One plastic box appeared to be a great possibility for a litter box, so I went over to retrieve it. I was astonished to observe the dumpster was home to several boxes with taped label, “Manager Disposal”, the contents scattered among the lowbrow cartons and candy wrappers.
The contents: open end wrenches all sizes, box end wrenches, socket sets, miscellaneous other tools, a couple of which I’d surely need for the master cylinder replacement. So early Christmas morning I climbed down the chimney of the dumpster and began digging out every tool I could bring myself to save from the landfill.
Finished in time to have myself a nice Christmas dinner of something-or-other, cuddle a cat, watch a vintage movie.
Next morning the master cylinder arrived, I installed it with the dumpster-tools, ran the RV around the parking lot a bit to test the brakes, and headed off to points south.
Easily the weirdest Christmas I’ve ever been blessed with.
Hunkered into a 1947 US military goose-down sleeping bag, checking the blood oxygen occasionally probably is about as good a way as any to reach Nirvana.
Hi readers:
The coincidence coordinators decided last week that it’s still early times for figuring out what the Veterans Administration Medical Drama Department has in store. Spang shut down their offices mid-week, filled up their voice mail boxes to overflowing before I developed the good sense to bow to the inevitable.
The cats appear to be indifferent to the challenges. Whatever the hell it was caused me to decide I needed to sign up to see a VA medical person will have to get in line behind an ice-melt. Evidently it had nothing at all to do with blood oxygen, anyway.
The cats are laughing their asses off at me about the whole thing.
A person can sit right at home indoors and use these. Doesn’t have go to into the woods, nothing.
A couple of days ago when I opened the package Jeanne sent I thought at first it was the best birthday present I ever got my entire life. But as I thought on it I remembered the Victorinox Swiss Army Lensatic Compass my ex-wife gave me on my 45th birthday. [Pictured under ‘Compass’ section of the Survival Book link above]
Okay. There can only be one absolute no-questions-asked-no-prisoners-taken best birthday present a person ever got. The compass ain’t giving up its position of prominence.
She sent a box of the metal ‘Zebras’ too. They get lost worse than one sock of a pair. I like the ones you see in the background, black, which I’ve had a longish while, but they’re a bit thickset and rounded on the edges. Plus they break.
But how about them damned spoons? Out there the other side of three-score-and-ten spoons step in and declare themselves.
After two years the band will need replacement. Odor, not wear will motivate you. At three years the steel-appearing case begins to dissolve. Underneath is a rough synthetic material which, when exposed to shirt sleeves, wears them out.
Hi readers.
Several years ago, five years if memory serves, I bought this watch because my previous Timex Expedition refused to turn loose of the stem when I tried to set in the new DST time. I forced it and the watch upchucked the entire stem.
I saw this one coming. The case is far advanced toward dissolving entirely. I never mess with the stem until time change because I like to get as many minutes and hours out of my watches as possible.
But Jeanne sent me an email yesterday telling me it’s time change time again. So around 3 am pre-time change I woke, stepped outdoors to pee, and glanced at my watch. Remembered I needed to change the time.
Yawn. Began fighting to pull the stem out just enough to set the watch. Stuck. Got my pocket knife, pried it out, just a little. Date window spun, hands of the watch thumb their noses at me.
Sheeze. Found a small pair of needle nose pliars. Carefully carefully carefully pull the stem. Spang! Whole damned stem-rod came out.
So it seems I’m going to be visiting the WalMart watch department. Find me a new damned Timex Expedition. They’re up to $28.95 on Amazon. Probably save a bit a week from now when they have their DST replacement sale.
74 years old, a resident of Leavenworth, KS, in an apartment located on the VA campus. Partnered with a black shorthaired cat named Mister Midnight. (1943-2020)
Since April, 2020, this blog is maintained by Jeanne Kasten (See "About" page for further information).
https://sofarfromheaven.com/2020/04/21/au-revoir-old-jules-jack-purcell/
I’m sharing it with you because there’s almost no likelihood you’ll believe it. This lunatic asylum I call my life has so many unexpected twists and turns I won’t even try to guess where it’s going. I’d suggest you try to find some laughs here. You won’t find wisdom. Good luck.