Shaking and stirred

Given my stand on energy generally — we need to produce so damned much of it that the marginal cost eventually nears zero, which happy event will bring us closer to utopia than any scheme yet imagined in Washington — I derive no joy from picking on the oil and gas guys that pay a lot of the bills around here. But dammit, there are still some questions that need to be answered:

Are all these recent earthquakes, some in the 4.0-magnitude or larger range, capable of damaging homes over the long term? Could the repeated shaking damage house foundations or window seals or roofs, for example? Can the oil and gas industry be held liable for the damage? What is the possibility of a larger quake in the 6.0- to 7.0-magnitude or larger range? Would lives be lost if the big earthquake hits?

In the absence of definitive data, these are my guesses: almost certainly, almost certainly, they’ll be sued but the outcome is not clear, about even money, depends on where it hits.

What I see as a best-case scenario: the industry, grumbling, revises the fracking process to reduce the threat, and even manages to cut down the enormous water use. Chances of that: don’t bet your life savings on it.

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Business un-taken care of

Lots of people have pointed to this article about “classic rock” by Walt Hickey at FiveThirtyEight, and as usual with something from Nate Silver’s baby, it’s meticulously researched and presented with an eye toward actual clarity.

Some weird statistics emerged, of course. In the Phoenix radio market, Creedence gets about half again as much airplay as might be expected. I assume this is sort of induced nostalgia, since nobody in Maricopa County has ever seen a river, green or otherwise, let alone a bayou. Furthermore, Bostonians have a curious love for the Allman Brothers Band. And Billy Joel does well in Miami, which made no sense to me until Hickey explained: “Think about who might be listening to classic rock stations in Miami: retired New Yorkers!”

Still, one thing puzzles me about the entire enterprise, to the extent that it challenges my very definition of “classic rock”: I contend that the one song the format must contain is “Takin’ Care of Business”, yet there is not a single mention of Bachman-Turner Overdrive anywhere in the article.

(I was originally sent the link by Dr. Pants.)

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Semi-square meal

This is the sort of thing that causes sadness to well up from somewhere this side of the duodenum:

So, it turns out that a habanero ranch bacon cheeseburger with fries in Buffalo sauce followed by a half pound of Skittles and a Drumstick ice cream cone isn’t something my system is prepared to handle any more.

Man. This sucks.

Especially since the Drumstick is basically the anti-Buffalo: they’re supposed to cancel themselves out sometime before you need to break out the Tums.

Also at that link: a potato salad recipe that you won’t need to raise tens of thousands of dollars to produce.

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Say yes to Z Dress

I might be excessively impressed by this, largely because I have no idea how difficult to live with it might be, but what I can see, I sort of like:

Z Dress Lookbook from Anastasia on Vimeo.

Then again, I used to own a couple of reversible ties. If you must judge me, judge me for that.

(Seen here.)

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Quicker loads

Not to be confused with “Quicken Loans.”

In an effort to speed up the load time on the front page, I cut the number of entries displayed from 20 to 12; after noticing that it made me look like I’d been screwing off, I brought it back up to 16.

If you have a preference, now’s the time. (Archive pages and such remain unchanged, mostly because I have a plugin that lets me do that, or not do that, as the case may be.)

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Evidently not a fan

I normally don’t like to quote an entire article, but this is so short, and so lacking in obvious break points, that I’m just going to do it and urge you to read his Other Stuff:

So apparently Rosie O’Donnell is returning to The View.

This is going to be a big problem for me in the event that my coffin is placed upright in cement in front of a television set tuned to the only frequency remaining after a strange phenomenon wiped out the entire electromagnetic spectrum other than ABC’s signal and the off-switch was sealed with a gallon of Shelob’s webbing.

See what I mean?

Now go read, oh, let’s say this, from his Younger Days.

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And sitteth at the left hand of .GOP

This passes for Republican strategy, or strategery, these days:

The Republican Party has come into the Internet age, just barely, or is at least cynically attempting to acknowledge the existence of the Internet by allowing young people to pour money into the RNC’s coffers one $20.16 domain name at a time (yes, $20.16). Or they’re just screwing with everyone and distracting the wider Interwebs by challenging them to find every last domain name on the RNC’s .GOP block list (for the record, porn.GOP was not available, even though all we were going to do with it is put up a black screen and make some awkward shuffling noises).

Does this mean we can expect to see Republicans In Domain Name Only? [Answer: yes.]

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Not getting with the program

Take that, “SmartHours”!

I am NOT, however, going to hew to the “set it to 80 for the hours of 2 to 7 pm” like some power companies recommend. When I come home, hot and tired, from doing fieldwork or teaching in a hot building, I don’t want to have to wait several hours to be able to cool myself off again.

When it gets up around 110, you’re going to end up with close to 80 anyway: these semi-miraculous machines can only do so much.

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One of the safer aspects of Tornado Alley

We’re a long way from any of this carnage:

Though I suppose a funnel cloud could pick up a shark from Galveston Bay and drop it over Moore. Maybe.

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Reporting from hell’s 0.2 hectare

That Sunday quickie about the metric system has generated a concurrence:

I’ll let you in on how I feel about the metric system: it’s great for stuff that is too small to see and for stuff that is too far away to touch, but for everyday existence, I prefer American. A foot is a foot, a mile a minute is a good speed for getting somewhere by car. One hundred degrees is hot, zero degrees is cold. What are the values for these in the metric system? Prime numbers from the planet Xylorcanth. And before you go trying to tell me that we could have a kilometer a minute as a good speed, if we only changed the length of a second to a more metric-centric value, let me remind you that your heart beats once per second, or it would if you were a real human and not some Eurocentric cyborg wanna-be.

If we must have metric, let us have Metric, a Canadian band whose 2012 album Synthetica has been boiled down to a bunch of lyric videos, including this one:

The guy who’s singing with Emily Haines? Lou Reed, in what might have been his last studio performance. He sounds downright upbeat at times.

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Faye accompli

Faye Emerson, born on this date in 1917, sticks in my mind because she did all manner of television in the 1950s: variety shows, game shows, you name it. Of course, she didn’t start out that way: in the 1940s she was on the Warner Bros. studio payroll, and while she never made it up to the A-list, she was pretty much always working, and pretty much always pretty:

Faye Emerson, starlet

Curiously, while I was out looking for additional photos, I encountered this phenomenon:

Faye Emerson wardrobe malfunction

This 1950 clip, once you get past the Pepsi promotion, illustrates how such a thing could be possible in that sanitary age:

Bonus: Steve Allen in his late twenties.

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When we wuz broke

We are told that really terrible living conditions, which today might be defined as having a two-generation-old iPhone, are dehumanizing and lead to violence. It wasn’t always so, says Ol’ Remus:

The Great Depression of the 1930s showed that hardship by itself produces little crime and may reduce it, contrary to ideological drum beating and the sensationalist press. One effect of hard times was to solidify family life, especially where holding the family together wasn’t a goal so much as a means, agricultural piecework for instance, or self-provided daycare. But in our time, career welfare has atomized millions of families by becoming the de facto head of household for several generations running. One conspicuous result is anonymous paternity, or at least uncertain paternity, a rarely mentioned result of which is a high rate of inadvertent inbreeding. Bottom line, a viable population was experimented upon because they could. And they did it badly.

Not that it could have been done well, the existing structure was too fragile to bear redirection. Nor did it need redirecting. In most things of importance it was both admirable and admired, at least by reasonable persons of good will. Improvements were happening, halting and incremental, but improvements nonetheless. In the event, it capsized, taking a lot of genuine progress with it. “Assistance” is now defended as an escalating bribe paid knowingly, if not cheerfully, to contain the wreckage.

As I’ve said before, the worst thing about the War on Poverty is that nobody bothered to plan an exit strategy. It might even have worked, had it been possible to administer it outside the bureaucracy; but bureaucracy, we have learned, cares only for its own perpetuation.

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Meanwhile beyond the sky

Tim Blair quotes a writer on the environmental beat:

“The Anglican Church has told the Abbott government to change its approach to climate change, urging it to respect and base its policy on scientific evidence.”

The comic power in that paragraph is equal to several kilotons of the finest plutonium. Here we have an organisation founded on belief and faith now demanding that selected scientific opinions inform government policy. These same people think they can talk to the planet’s inventor just by putting their hands together.

I demur somewhat on that last sentence — apparently there are Anglicans of a sort who don’t even believe in God — but one thing I have learned is that false prophets are generally trying to generate profits. (See, for instance, Saint Albert the Gaseous.)

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Ground-rule dullness

I didn’t see the Red Sox play the Yankees on the 13th of April, but then neither did this guy, and he was there:

A baseball fan who dozed off during a Yankee-Red Sox game sued the Yankees, ESPN and its announcers for defamation, claiming they broadcast photos of him asleep in his chair, calling him “fatty, unintelligent, [and] stupid.”

Andrew Robert Rector sued Major League Baseball Advanced Media, ESPN New York, the New York Yankees, and ESPN announcers Dan Shulman and John Kruk, in Bronx County Supreme Court. He demands $10 million in damages for defamation and intentional infliction of emotional distress.

Rector claims he was filmed, and defamed, at the April 13 game between the Yankees and Red Sox, at Yankee Stadium. “In the course of watching the game plaintiff napped and this opened unending verbal crusade against the napping plaintiff,” the complaint states.

It could have been worse. They could have been showing that day’s Rangers/Astros game, during which the fans had a good reason to sleep.

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You bet it’s solid

It was a modest crowdsourcing request: ten bucks to help make a batch of potato salad.

That was the third of July. By now, it’s grown far, far beyond that. At $1000, it was announced that the actual production of the potato salad would be livestreamed. What can they do at $30,000? It’s a shame the Ross Sisters are gone; they’d be perfect for this event.

Speaking of the Ross Sisters, the last couple of frames of their magnum opus remind me of the last couple of frames of this.

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Good God, that’s a lot of blather

I mean, really:

50,000 tweets

I snagged that screenshot Sunday evening; I have no idea which of the several dozen tweets I disgorged that day was actually the 50,000th. Maybe the whole idea is not to care.

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