Rattle and hum and more rattle

About two minutes after seven, I heard it: like thunder, but without all that aerial ballet.

And then I felt what must have been a groundwave, north to south, causing all sorts of unexpected jiggliness in my week-old bed and then moving on.

It came out like this:

I note that 5.6 is what we had on a November evening in 2011.

Pawnee, about an hour and a half west of Tulsa, got the worst of it:

But there were reports of falling bricks as far away as Oklahoma City.

Update, 7 September: USGS now says it’s a 5.8.

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Something to get

Roger Green just put out a retrospective of Billy Preston’s solo work; being the spoilsport I am, I hung a comment on it to the effect that Preston was the only sideman ever to be credited on the label of a Beatles record (“Get Back” b/w “Don’t Let Me Down”).

This, in turn, got me thinking of “Get Up and Go,” which struck me as the one Rutles recording that came closest to being legally actionable:

As it happens, Neil Innes, happy proprietor of the Rutles name and music, did get sued over several Fab Four-alikes — John Lennon had warned him — but not “Get Up and Go.”

Speaking of John Lennon, he wrote “Don’t Let Me Down,” the B-side of “Get Back,” which Rod Stewart appropriated for Part 2 of “The Killing of Georgie.” (“The lawyers never noticed,” Lennon quipped.) “Georgie” was remarkable for its time — 1976 — in that its protagonist was an openly gay man who’d found acceptance, even acclaim. Billy Preston, poor fellow, never could bring himself to come out of the closet until the very end. “Will it go round in circles?” Billy asked. I think it just did.

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Tuned out

Brief summation of last week’s meme:

… this coming from one of those execrable “PUA” sites (PUA = pick-up-artist, which means “a guy not actually looking for a relationship but seeking a bit of fun and maybe a good-looking woman to impress his friends with”) about talking to women with headphones. And my slightly-sad response was that there have been plenty of times I wasn’t wearing headphones and would actually have welcomed someone talking to me (well, maybe not a pick-up artist, but I’m not the type of woman they would be interested in anyway) and no one does.

Given my own distinctly non-PUA approach to the matter, I think I’d just bring along a set of headphones — I have a spare — and see if I can direct the conversation this way:

Me: “Here, put these on.”

She: “Why?”

Me: “I’m afraid I might want to talk to you. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

I have, of course, no reason to think this would actually work. But it does fit my modus operandi almost perfectly.

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Where she danced

“The most beautiful girl in the world,” said producer Walter Wanger about Yvonne de Carlo, whom he chose for the lead role in 1945’s Salome, Where She Danced, an implausible story that nonetheless made her a star at twenty-three.

And hey, I’m not one to argue with Walter Wanger:

Yvonne de Carlo, 1940s

Yvonne de Carlo, 1940s

Yvonne de Carlo, 1940s

The film roles began to dry up in the early 1960s; Universal talked her into a TV series.

Yvonne de Carlo as Lily Munster

After The Munsters was canceled, de Carlo made her way to the stage; her signature role, perhaps, was Carlotta Campion in Stephen Sondheim’s Follies.

Yvonne de Carlo died in 2007 at eighty-five.

(With thanks to Van Dyke Parks. Yes, that Van Dyke Parks.)

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Ain’t no sunshine when it’s dark

I get the feeling that they’d have been happier if the Mayflower had landed in Jacksonville:

Of all the major cities on America’s eastern seaboard, none is as far north or east as Boston. Which creates a slight problem in winter: The sun sets really early. As in, for most of December, well before happy hour.

The state, it appears, might do something about that. Governor Charles Baker recently signed a bill ordering a study of the wisdom of moving its 10,555 square miles into a time zone that would brighten the end of the day in the months the Northern Hemisphere tilts away from the sun. The idea came from Quincy resident Tom Emswiler, who worries Massachusetts is losing college grads to sunnier climes. On Dec. 9 last year, the sun went down in Boston at 4:11 p.m., only 22 minutes later than in the Yukon.

I assure you, 5:17 pm (typical Way-Early Sunset here on the South Plains) is no picnic either.

Emswiler says Massachusetts should throw in with those who live in the Atlantic Time Zone, which covers eastern Canada, the Caribbean and parts of South America, and do away with changing the clocks in spring and summer. From November through March, the sun would set an hour later than it does now, and those brutish winter days would lose some of their sting.

The sun would rise an hour later too, but the thinking is that darkness in the morning is less depressing than darkness at the end of the day.

My commute for the last decade or so has been in darkness nine months out of every twelve. It gets old very quickly.

Still, I feel I ought to support anything that weakens the deadly grip of Daylight Saving Time.

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My mind on my money

And my money on my mind. Snoop Dogg notwithstanding, this is not a position to which I aspire:

I imagine being rich is kind of a pain in the ass. Yes, I know, somebody famous once said “I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor and being rich is better,” but you have to constantly be thinking about your money and what you should be doing with it, where you should invest it, who is trying to steal it. Now some people might take to that kind of agonizing like a duck to water, they might actually enjoy it. Me, I find it tedious and boring. Fortunately there are things like Mutual Funds that remove most of the day to day agony.

Being rich requires paying attention to your money. Stop paying attention and all that money will wander off. And what do you do with a billion dollars anyway? I mean after you’ve bought your fancy car, boat, house, airplane? You invest it in something that you hope will make more money.

I’m not at all suited to these things. If I showed up on the Forbes 400 at, say, #399, I’d presumably have to start thinking about how I avoid dropping off the list next year. Perhaps fortunately, this is not going to be a problem for me, inasmuch as I have a mortgage and a lot of nerve damage and a five-figure net worth, well short of the $1.7 billion it takes to make the 400 these days. At least, I can console myself, it’s five figures on the positive side of the ledger. (It wasn’t always.)

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Neapolitan is dead

Now it’s Camo ‘n Cream:

Blue Bell Camo 'N Cream ice cream

Camo ‘n Cream Ice Cream is a combination of pistachio almond, milk chocolate and cream cheese.

“We are having a little fun with this flavor,” said Carl Breed, director of marketing for Blue Bell. “You see the camo design on everything these days, so we thought why not create an ice cream flavor that looks camouflage? The best part is these three flavors taste great together. We tried a few different combinations but chose these flavors because they complement each other so well.”

Yeah, but how do you know when the package is empty?

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Have you seen this Wizard’s?

I admit to having shopped at this place a time or two, twenty-some-odd years ago:

At least the keyboard looked substantial.

(From the collection of Rob O’Hara.)


When it all turned sour

Roberta X theorizes that “the battle for the soul of the Federal government was lost by 1913”:

What did we get in 1913? The odious Woodrow Wilson, who argued that government should not be deemed evil and advocated the use of government to allay social ills and advance society’s welfare in a textbook, The State, used in college courses through the 1920s. He believed that America’s system of checks and balances complicated American governance, and wrote that the Presidency “will be as big as and as influential as the man who occupies it.” There’s your modern imperial-style President and the all-encompassing FedGov, neatly wrapped up in one racist, eugenicist package.

Perhaps not entirely by coincidence, the Seventeenth Amendment was ratified in, um, 1913.


The continuing adventures of Jasmine Tridevil

A year ago, we learned about a Florida woman who claimed to have been surgically altered to add a third breast between the standard two.

I assumed we’d heard the last of her, but it’s not so. That summer she put out a BDSM-oriented music video, shot in the Tampa Bay area where she lives. I don’t think I’ll embed it here, but I admit, I’ve seen racier, and probably so have you. And her voice, or whoever’s dubbed here, isn’t that terrible.

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Perhaps it doesn’t matter

Found on Facebook:

IDGAF Trucking

This operation apparently did at one time exist:

  • Company Name: IDGAF TRUCKING, INC.
  • File Number: 3290868
  • Filing State: New York (NY)
  • Domestic State: Delaware (DE)
  • Filing Status: Inactive — Dissolution By Proclamation / Annulment
  • Filing Date: December 9, 2005
  • Company Age: 10 Years, 8 Months

Sorry to see them go.

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Ready for Brace class

Not news: Irish wolfhound mother gives birth to seven puppies.

News: Two of those puppies are identical twins:

[S]omething was different about this delivery. When he started the procedure, [Dr. Kurt] de Cramer noticed that the wolfhound had an unusual bulging by her uterus.

At first, he thought the lump was excess fluid surrounding a foetus. De Cramer painstakingly extracted this foetus from the bulge by making an incision into the dog’s uterus.

That was when the real shock came. He found not one, but two foetuses. They were both attached with umbilical cords to the same placenta.

Five siblings followed in single file, connected to five separate placentas.

It is thought that identical twins are rare because, when two foetuses share one placenta, they do not get enough nutrients from the mother and are therefore less likely to survive.

For instance, identical twin foetuses have been reported in horses, but none have survived. A horse’s placenta is not efficient enough to transport oxygen for two foetuses.

Citation: DOI: 10.1111/rda.12746.

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Diamonds are forever

The fifty-year odyssey of a born-again baseball fan.

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The dreaded E30

Ten percent ethanol is on the ragged edge of acceptable for motor fuels. The jerks who push this stuff for a living want fifteen. But thirty simply will not do [warning: autostart video]:

State regulators say about 450,000 gallons of gasoline containing three times the acceptable level of ethanol was delivered to retailers across the Oklahoma City metropolitan area over the last week.

The Oklahoma Corporation Commission reported Tuesday that they were notified by Magellan Midstream Partners that the problem resulted from an equipment failure at its Oklahoma City fuel distribution terminal.

Magellan says it is still working to determine the retail locations where the gas with up to 30 percent ethanol was delivered.

The Corp Comm’s position is that Magellan will have to locate all these stores and replenish their stock with proper fuels; Magellan, to their credit, is okay with that. They do, after all, have a reputation to protect.

As for me, I haven’t had to gas up since late June, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t get any of this adulterated stuff.

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It’s been that kind of year

No argument here.


Lethal hickey

This is decidedly dispiriting:

A teenage boy has died after getting a love bite from his girlfriend.

Julio Macias Gonzalez, 17, began convulsing at the dinner table with his family in Mexico City after spending time with his 24-year-old lover, The Sun reports.

It is thought the woman gave him a hickey earlier that evening which caused a blood clot that travelled to the teen’s brain, triggering a stroke.

Paramedics were called to the scene but Julio could not be saved.

I expect this will show up in the appendices to all those Thou Shalt Not books that nobody actually buys.

(Via Interested-Participant.)