Thursday, January 31, 2013

BLACK.... by popular demand!

No, no, no.... that wasn't a racial comment or a shot at the big O. No, that actually used to be the call sign of Walter Williams (not to be confused with Walter White... he's a badass), widely considered a genius economist (who also happens to be black) for his conservative radio talk show which followed Rush Limbaugh way back before Rush got high off his own, uh.... drugs. Rush should call Heisenberg!


It really has nothing to do with anything other than it was the first thing I thought about when deciding to make my triumphant return, and admittedly, its a cheap trick to use the controversial headline to grab your attention.

Walter Williams

It's been a good long while since I've written you all, and a great many things have gone down since, my own life now radically different, but the over whelming response by many of you has forced me out of retirement. You, the people, have called.... looking for a voice, and I have answered!

Walter White

"Just when I think I'm out... they PULL me back in!"

And so, the Dark Knight rises.... BLAC.... er, BACK by popular demand!


When last you heard from me I was busy twittling my one good thumb in a no good environment of dead end jobs and losing cultures into a self medicated downward spiral. My one hope, I knew, the thing I held onto was that all it would take was one positive break in an important life arena and I'd be on my way. Lo and behold, out of nowhere a buddy hooked me up with a good new job, a month later I met the woman who would quickly become my wife, and I wasted no time putting a baby inside of her. Radical change, I know, but finally in a positive manner; I'm a family man now, and I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.


It goes to prove two things, the first being that, of course, I was right again about life and how it all works, and more importantly, that no matter what stain of a situation you may find yourself in, it can all turn around at any moment, and in an instant. Ironically, because if you've read this space and know what an animal I can be, I'm having a daughter. That's either poetic justice or the universe knows what I need; I'm a cave man and this will force me to turn into some sort of human being.

Some sort of human. What sort? I don't know

So now that my re-introduction has come and gone it's time to turn our attention towards some of those worldly matters that often get me so riled up. And there's so much to go over after a near year hiatus that I'm lucky 2012 went out with such a bang. Of course, as things go these days that means precisely one thing.... Facebook fights!

Why, my wife explained, would I engage in senseless arguments with the ignorant when you can pontificate here? So here it is, and now you know why I married her.

Trouble is... you can't speak truth if it goes against popular opinion, that's not the way it works anymore, what you are F'en Crazy?!


We've had Hurricane Sandy, The Sand Hook School Shootings, the fiscal cliff debate, cries for gun control, taxing the rich, Terrorist attacks in Libya, people getting pushed in front of trains everywhere and all manner of craziness, and the one, the one lesson to come out of all of it is this.... 

That it doesn't matter. People have no interest in knowing what's actually going on out there. You can argue until your tongue falls off and your fingers bleed, point out fact after fact, but no one is ever going to listen to you. Their opinion, and this was actually said to me, is more important than the FACTS you present, and the minute you disagree, they turn you off. 

Sandy

On a side note, 2012 also had a number of massage therapists come out against John Travolta. As they put it, he threatened them "Don't you know who I am?! You BETTER let me blow you!"

(And if you don't get the connection here.... well, that would explain a lot.)

So I've decided that my best course of action, since I can't seem to show people the light and turn them away from those cliffs at the edge of the rye fields, (they're not interested, they'd rather be right no matter how wrong they are) is that from now on I'll be speaking directly to my children, my daughter who's on the way and those yet to come, because at any time I can be beaten to death by pacifists protesting intolerance over the fact that they can't tolerate my different points of view.... or the truth rather than what sounds good,  and when I'm gone I'd like for them to know their father.


But before I go I'm going to make some quick points with verifiable FACTS based on empirical data which you can look up on your own, and you can take from them what you like.

As of 2012 the national average high school graduation rate is 78.2%
Which means 21%, more than 1 in every 5 Americans, doesn't graduate from High School.

The Presidents' answer to fix the economy is to send more kids to college. How do you send people to college if they can't get a high school diploma? How does that lead to jobs?


Between 1998 and 2012 more than 160 MILLION background checks were conducted in the United States for the purpose of buying a firearm. Very few checks result in the actual denial of purchase, and you can buy more than one gun per background check. In that span it's estimated that 40% of gun sales were done without any form of background check in all. In short, there are literally Hundreds of Millions of guns out on the streets. No matter how you feel about the subject, the cat is out of the bag on this one, just as it is with drugs and illegal immigrants, there's no way in hell you can possibly reign that in. No ban of any kind will get the guns off the street, no matter what anyone tells you.

Beyond that, the people want what they want and will do anything to get it. Alcohol was banned once, and it gave rise to Al Capone and the biggest organized crime syndicates this country has every known. Drugs are now banned, and you'd be hard pressed to meet someone who can't get their hands on them. The illegal drug   trade has bred life into the bloodiest, most ruthless criminals the world over. Abortion was illegal and women went into back alleys to get their guts ripped out with hangers.

What would happen with the illegal gun trade here if they're banned? People want what they want. Guns, drugs, abortion, prostitution, pirated goods, its all the same. They're never going away. What are we even fighting about?


Finally... and this brings us back full circle to the title of this piece. Try not to be too offended, these are purely statistics taken from government websites that you can verify. In all the talk of the economy, rich against poor, you often hear of the plight of the poor black kid....

As of 2012 just 12.2% of the U.S. Population is African American, or around 40 Million people. 1 in 6 Americans, 46 Million people, are currently collecting some form of welfare or another. Of that 46 million, 39% of welfare recipients are African American, more than any other group. That comes in at about 19 Million people.  Look at those numbers again, around 19 Million of the 40 Million (nearly HALF) African American people in the United States collect some form of welfare.


Many people will shout racism over this. Please be objective, there are an incredible number of reasons for why this is, but these are the statistical facts of the situation. Add in crime rates and school drop out rates which I won't even go into here and there is clearly a very serious problem within that community.

So why do I bring this up? Simple. The Struggles of the poor, the economy, racism, gun violence in America, failures in education, over spending on Government programs, every single one of these factors are inseparably tied together. The fix to all of America's problems lies in the answer to what ails the Black community. If we stop being over sensitive, worried about public perception, and take a good hard look at the problems and solutions within that populace, well, if we learn how to fix that we learn how to fix all of us.



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LORD GANESHA'S NAMES

LORD GANESHA AND 
HIS SANSKRIT NAMES
www.boldsky.com Lord Ganesha is given prime importance among the Panch Devtas. The Panch Devtas are Lord Ganesha, Vishnu, Shiva, Shakti and Surya. In Hindu mythology, Panch Devtas together makes the Brahman (universe), which is supreme and absolute. Lord Ganesha is the son of lord Shiva and the God is given the first honour of worship in Hinduism. Before undertaking anything auspicious Hindus offer prayers to Lord Ganesha. In Hindu families it is a tradition to take 10 Sanskrit names of Lord Ganesha before undertaking any new initiative. So, here are the 10 Sanskrit names of the Lord Ganesha with their meanings. 
1. Sumukh: This represents one who has a beautiful face. The idol of lord Ganesha is considered very beautiful. Though, Ganesha's small eyes signify seriousness. Long nose and his flat long ears reflects his wisdom and intellect because by means of them he listens to the complaints and grievances of his devotees. 2. Ek danta: This means the one who has one tooth. There is a story behind the reason why Ganesha is called 'ek danta'.

3. Kapil: Cow is known as Kapila. The priests believed that as cow gives milk to make life of a man healthy, similarly, Lord Ganesha gives knowledge and wisdom that keeps man happy. 4. Gajakarna: 'Gaja' mean elephant and 'karna' means ears. Ganesha has ears of an elephant and therefore he is known as Gajakarna. 5. Lambodar: Lambodar means the one who has big belly. 6. Vikat: It means ferocious and dreadful. Lord Ganesha stands firmly to defeat all the evils. So, he is also known as Vikat. 7. Vighnanash: Lord Ganesha is believed to be the destroyer of all evil and calamities. Hence, he is known as Vighnanash. 8. Dhoomra Ketu: Dhoomra Ketu means agni or fire. Lord Ganesha destroys all hindrance which comes in the way of mankind.
9. Ganadhyaksha: It means controller or a guru. As Hindu mythology believes that Lord Ganesha controls all human beings, demons, vedas etc. So, he is also known as Ganadhyaksha. 10. Bhalchandra: This mean the one who has moon on his head. Moon signifies the Universe, therefore Ganesha is also known as Bhalchandra.

Lord Ganapati or Ganesha is known to help human beings in their difficulties and He enables man to achieve the success by providing strength and courage. The author of the article, Apoorva Srivastav, explains the reason why Ganesha is called 'ek danta'. The story says, once his mother Parvati went to take a bath. She told Ganesha to stand on the entrance and not allow anyone to enter inside. Then, Lord Parashuram arrived there and he tried to enter the place where Parvati was taking a bath. But when Ganesha objected to this, Parashuram got angry and attacked Ganesha with his weapon. Ganesha then lost one of his teeth and was named "Ek Danta". Ganesha is considered as the Lord who overcomes all obstacles


WHAT DO THE VEDIC TEACHINGS TELL US? 
The elephant head of Lord Ganesha signifies the highest intelligence, buddhi. It represents the largest brain matter. The trunk of Lord Ganesha signifies the discretionary power. He can pick up a needle from a heap of grass. The large ears of Lord Ganesha signify the importance of hearing - to accept what is good and reject what is not useful to us. The small eyes of Lord Ganesha symbolize concentration and the power to focus our attention on what we should while shutting out the rest. The Vedas of Lord Ganesha signify the importance of knowledge in our lives. ... In the traditional Hindu temple, the worship ceremonies are conducted with an organized set of rituals.  The temple priest usually begins the ceremony by offering a prayer to Lord Ganesha that all obstacles may be removed.


Dr. Hiro Badlani:
“Hinduism - Path of the Ancient Wisdom”
Chapter 52 “Symbols and Icons in Hinduism”
Chapter 53 “Hindu Customs” -  http://hinduismpath.com/

Published by dasavatara das - "Vedic Views on World News"
http://www.vedicviews-worldnews.blogspot.com.ar/


You Know, Back When I Was Your Age...

("That's one small step for man...")

I have a confession to make:


("I'm all ears," Oprah yawns.)

Remember when I said I was afraid of doing an accidental triathlon?  Well, I've already done one.  Actually, more than one.  See, back when I lived in Brooklyn, sometimes I'd ride to the beach, then when I'd get there I'd run a little bit, and then I'd jump in the ocean to cool down, and then I'd ride home again.

I feel so dirty--and a little sandy in the scranal region, too.

Anyway, if anybody wants to form some sort of truth and reconciliation committee I'll be the first one through the door, though I'll probably fall down on the way there, because that's what triathletes do.

Speaking of triathlons, a number of readers inform me that Bret finally made Triathlete magazine:

I'm not sure Bret is the best person to be giving advice on interval training, since he travels through time, and his typical workout consists of five sets of eighteen years, and his lactate threshold is eternity.  Here is GoPro footage of a Bret interval, shot from his handlebars:



The camera is left behind because he is faster than light.

(It probably won't surprise you to learn that I went to a state university, where I majored in English, and the only physics class I ever took there came on a small piece of blotter paper.)

But while Bret may flit through time like a cosmic space butterfly to a Hawkwind soundtrack, some people prefer to life eternally in the past.  Once such person is Pete Hamill's brother, who hates those darned bike lanes:


I can remember a time when anti-bike lane screeds were torpid with vitriol, but now they're just limp and perfunctory, like a drunk attempting coitus.  This particular one seems especially phoned in--and on one of those old-timey phones, no less:


When I was a kid, I built my first bike from assorted discarded parts mined from the wood bins of our tenement in Brooklyn.  It looked like Bozo the Clown’s bike. But I taught myself to ride in Prospect Park, taking several hard falls long before bike helmets were even made, never mind made mandatory.

I don't believe for a second that Pete Hamill's brother built a bike from crap he found in the basement.  However, I do believe he inhaled too much paint thinner down there and galloped around the neighborhood astride a broom, and that he thought he had built a bike.  I suppose in that sense he can be forgiven for the fib.  In any case, the paint thinner and the helmentless falls would go a long way towards explaining the rest of the article.


Soon I was hired as a butcher’s delivery boy, and I pushed an industrial bike with a basket sometimes filled with more than 100 pounds of meat to homes from Flatbush Ave. to Green-Wood Cemetery.

I discovered a lifelong work ethic on that bike. I fought for my place in my city in the clanking, horn-blaring urban traffic. We didn’t need no stinking bicycle lanes. We blazed our own trails.

Firstly, Mario Cipollini owns the phrase "One Hundred Pounds Of Meat," and Pete Hamill's brother can expect to hear from his lawyers any day now.  Secondly, did any of these "epic" meat runs happen to occur during blizzards--those same blizzards through which he had to walk 14 miles to school every day while carrying the entire Encyclopedia Britannica?  I'm guessing so.  Of course, it is worth noting that part of the reason he didn't need any stinking bike lanes is that people were more considerate in those days, there were fewer cars, and it's simply not as deadly to get hit by a Model T or a horse and buggy.


Anyway, I was driving my car recently along Prospect Park West, once a majestic three-lane, mile-long esplanade from one war memorial to the other. Now it’s like squeezing yourself through a crinkled tube of toothpaste.

No it isn't.  I think he's confused and is actually describing how it feels when he tries to urinate.  I would suggest Flomax.

The yuppie-ki-yay bike lane, where kids dressed like hockey goalies pedal in a danger-free fantasy lane, has literally painted car traffic into two lanes.

Dressed like hockey goalies?  What the hell is he talking about?!?  In Brooklyn, they're dressed like Audrey Hepburn--unless he just happened to see some kids who were actually riding to a hockey game, which is entirely possible.


If you hit the lottery and see 10 feet of free space in the parking lane, you can no longer use the curb to guide your parallel parking. No, the curb is reserved as a barrier reef for the Hipster Highway for Richie Rich on his $1,500 Lance Armstrong Doperacer.

OK, so far he's referenced Bozo the Clown and Richie Rich, and his most up-to-date reference is Lance Armstrong.  Plus, if he can't park his car without a curb, he's cleary one of those drivers who parallel parks like a drunk attempting coitus (yes, I recycle my similies, it's better for the environment).  We've all watched in amusement as people like this approach a space at a wild angle, pinch the tire on the curb, try it again, grind their rim, and keep repeating the process until they eventually give up and drive away.  It's pretty obvious at this point that Pete Hamill's brother should have moved to Florida ten years ago, where he can impress the retirees with his fresh pop cultural references and tall tales of meat delivery.


News flash: Life ain’t a smooth sail, kiddos! There’s a big crash just waiting at the end of every bike lane.

I don't know who is more annoying: the New Brooklynites who are making the place ridiculously expensive with their precious tastes, or the Old Brooklynites who who won't shut up about how people don't play stickball anymore.  Either way, this certainly falls under the latter category, and it's worth noting that Pete Hamill's brother wrote the movie "Turk 182."

Way to ruin Timothy Hutton's career.

He also wrote "Critical Condition:"


I think that speaks for itself, and the ultimate irony is that after reading Pete Hamill's article, hundreds of  precious New Brooklynites are going to start shopping for vintage meat bikes.

Speaking of Brooklyn, awhile back I mentioned a bike corral that has become a heated symbol of gentrification, and it continues to make news, assuming you call the "Brooklyn Paper" news:



Little Zelda started a counter-petition of its own to support the racks, posting it both in the store and online, and has more than 230 signatures online so far. But while Nugent-Miller collected her signatures among local residents and businesses, the pro-corral online petition includes supporters from places like Romania, Turkey, Netherlands and the Czech Republic — none of which are in biking distance of Crown Heights.

The hell they're not.  Pete Hamill's brother could ride from Romania to Crown Heights on his meat bike while carrying 100 pounds of USDA prime rib roast.  That's because he's got gumption.

Lastly, here's a disturbing PSA:


Damn shame about that sandwich.


And that apple really should have been wearing a helment.


Not everyone cares about the Super Bowl



It’s Super Bowl week, all everyone is talking about… here in the United States. We Americans seem to forget that there’s the rest of the world out there and not everyone on the planet shares our zest and passion for a football game or Honey Boo Boo.

Last year I watched the Super Bowl in Tauranga. That’s a cute little beach town in New Zealand. I was hoping somebody closer to Los Angeles

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

TURMERIC CAN FIGHT MANY DISEASES

TURMERIC: SPRINKLE ON
THIS SPICE FOR GOOD HEALTH
www.chiroeco.com Turmeric, a yellow spice in the ginger family, is a staple of Asian cuisine. Turmeric powder is dried from the root of the Curcume longa plant. Grown primarily in India, it is exported worldwide. You can eat it fresh or dried. Although turmeric has a peppery flavor, it isn't hot. Research suggests that turmeric may be able to improve or prevent many health conditions. In some instances, this is due to Curcumin, one of turmeric's main ingredients. Curcumin, which gives turmeric its yellow color, has anti-inflammatory and anti-oxidant properties.
People in India and China have consumed turmeric for centuries in curry, and have also used it for its medicinal properties. Studies show that people who consumed turmeric had minimal or no side effects. The most common side effect was gastrointestinal issues.

Particular medical conditions that studies have shown turmeric can help or prevent include: Alzheimer's. Turmeric's anti-oxidant and anti-inflammatory properties may help to block the production of the IL-2 protein, which destroys the nerve's protective coating. Arthritis. Turmeric’s anti-oxidant and anti-inflammatory properties help relieve joint pain. Cancer. Curcumin initiates the self-destruction of cancer cells and prevents their growth. It may help to prevent or treat breast, prostate, colon, lung, skin and colorectal cancers as well as leukemia. 
Cardiovascular disease. Turmeric can lower your cholesterol levels, which helps to prevent heart disease. Indigestion. Curcumin stimulates your gallbladder to make bile, which may improve digestion. Liver disease. Consuming turmeric can increase your liver's enzyme production, which helps to detoxify your blood and eliminate toxins. Also, as an antibacterial agent, turmeric can help to heal skin injuries.

The turmeric, known as ‘Haldi’ in Hindi, is an essential ingredient in Indian cuisine also has substantial health benefits and medicinal properties. It is considered the golden spice of India. The author of the article, Ms. Karen Appold - a medical writer in Royersford, Pennsylvania, USA - explains that studies show that turmeric may also help with a host of other health conditions. For example, it may help: to relieve osteoarthritis symptoms, to prevent atherosclerosis, to treat uveitis, an eye inflammation, people with ulcerative colitis to remain in remission. In addition to consuming this spice in foods, you can also take it as a supplement, she says. According to old Indian custom, the threshold of the houses is applied with turmeric water. The turmeric prevents many insects, ants, and termites from entering the houses.


WHAT DO THE VEDIC TEACHINGS TELL US? 

The turmeric spice was a major part in Indian culinary dating back to 3000 B.C. The turmeric plant requires hot climate with light soil. The hot and humid climate of India suits the growth of tropical turmeric plant. In Sanskrit, turmeric is known as “Haridra”. Turmeric was not only used in Indian delicacies but was also used extensively in Ayurveda, an ancient Indian medical system of preventive health care. Turmeric was not known to the western world until the medieval period. In 13th century, the Arabian traders introduced turmeric to Europe. Turmeric was then known as “Indian Saffron”. Turmeric is used in Indian rites and rituals. Turmeric mixed in water is poured on the idols of Gods and Goddesses in the temples as a part of ritual ablution, ‘Abhishekam’. The dried turmeric root is considered as symbol of purity, prosperity, and fertility
.


"Turmeric Spice"
"The Golden Spice of Life - Turmeric in India"
Ramdev Food Products Pvt. Ltd.
http://www.turmeric.co.in
http://www.turmeric.co.in/turmeric_india.htm

Published by dasavatara das - "Vedic Views on World News"
http://www.vedicviews-worldnews.blogspot.com.ar/


Support for Artrike, a pedal-powered theatre

If anyone is interested this project could use your help!Cheers,Heather ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~JOIN THE ARTRIKE TEAM TO GET VANCOUVER'S FIRST BIKE-PROPELLED STAGE ONTO ITS STREETS!The Artrike is a pedal-powered and propelled, multi-functional stage in development that is intended for

"You Got Your Peanut Butter On My Wednesday!" "You Got Your Wednesday In My Peanut Butter!"

Yesterday I mentioned that cycling can render you physically useless once you're off the bike.  At least that's been my experience, and as a self-indulgent blogger naturally I impose my own experiences on the rest of the world.  The uselessness effect wasn't as pronounced when I was younger, but now that I'm whatever age I am I grow increasingly awkward and crablike when I don't have a pair of wheels under my crotch, and as soon as I clip out and dismount I find myself scuttling about in a stiff, contorted, and sideways fashion.*

*[This is where you tell me to get a recumbent, causing me to vomit.]

Scarier still is that the pernicious effects of years of cycling don't stop with the body, and it can also atrophy the brain.  Remember the cyclist in "Triplets of Belleville," a pair of quads with an extraneous Gumbylike body attached?


Well, the same thing can happen to your mind, and I'm here to tell you it's happened to me.  I've been a messenger.  I've been a racer.  I've been a commuter.  I know how to get around the city on a bike.  Take that bike away though and I'm a rube, as hapless as a tourist.  This is because my bikeless decision-making skills have withered through years of disuse, which I finally faced yesterday when I had an appointment in Manhattan, ventured there without a bike, and kept getting hit with the "stupid tax."

While my new mansion is quite convenient to the subway, once in awhile I like to "class it up" by taking a shower and riding the Metro North commuter train.  Unfortunately, it turns out that when you take me off a bike and put me on rails I turn into an idiot.  Arriving in Grand Central, I thought "I should pick up a Metro North bike permit," which I did.  After purchasing it, I discovered that the Long Island Rail Road bike permit I already had is good for the Metro North too, and indeed they're the exact same permit, and in fact my LIRR permit says "Metro North" on it in really big letters, which I noticed when I put my new Metro North pass in my wallet and there was one exactly like it already there.  So essentially, I paid a stupid tax of five dollars.

Stupid Tax #1: $5

[I'm actually into the MTA for at least $15 in bike passes at this point, since I ripped up my last LIRR bike permit and threw it in a fit of pique when a conductor tossed me off the train somewhere around Hampton Bays for bringing a bicycle on a peak train.  I was too angry to think about it at the time, but it was obviously my fault for boarding the wrong train, and as I showered the train car with confetti I probably looked like a more Fredly Rip Taylor.  However, that loss happened in a different fiscal year so it doesn't count.]

Next, I went somewhere to do some stuff before my appointment, and then I got caught up in that stuff and realized I was going to be late for my appointment, and because I was running late and I'm a member of the 1% I said "fuck it" and hailed a taxicab, and then I got in the taxicab and told the driver where to go, and then I got wrapped up in a phone call like a douchebag, and then we got to my destination, I got out, and the driver pulled away, at which point I realized I had given him the wrong intersection and was now over four crosstown blocks away from where I needed to be--nearly as far, in fact, as I had been when I hailed the taxicab in the first place, rendering the entire ride moot.

Stupid Tax #2: $7

By the way, I realize what that sounds like, but my appointment was not at a questionable massage parlor.

After my appointment, I bought lunch, and only after opening and drinking from my Snapple did I realize I had bought the diet by accident.  Disgusting.  I don't even know how much the Snapple cost because I'm a member of the 1% and don't pay attention to that stuff, but it was midtown so let's just say it was $1.75--and I'm not the kind of person who tops a Snapple back up with water, pretends never to have opened it, and asks to exchange it.

Stupid Tax #3: $1.75

Sure, you might argue I'd have paid that stupid tax whether I rode or I didn't, but I suspect the reason for the error was that I'd already been rattled by my previous errors and that my judgment was impaired.

TOTAL STUPID TAX: $13.75

Sure, that may not sound like a lot, but over time it starts to add up.  Also, that doesn't even factor in train fare, or all the other stupid taxes I pay without even realizing it because I'm too stupid to notice.  Essentially, it cost me at least $26 not to ride my bike yesterday, and I'm deeply unsettled by the fact that without a bicycle I'm merely a moronic crab that constantly leaks small amounts of money.

Then again, when I was younger I paid stupid tax even for riding a bicycle.  For example, I actually bought a pair of Ksyriums when they first came out.  They cost me pretty much all the money I had, and I think they lasted about a year.  Plus, I'm saving a huge amount of stupid tax by no longer living in Brooklyn, where the marginal stupid tax rate is something like 75%.  (Coming soon: luxury condos on the Gowanus!  Watch dolphins die from your Juliet balcony!)  So I guess stupid tax is all relative.  In any case, as a card-carrying member of the 1% (my card is a million dollar bill), I blame Obama.

Speaking of shakedowns, various non-ironic cyclocross world championship races are taking place in Louisville through the weekend, and apparently USA Cycling is requiring pit volunteers for the masters racers to buy $60 racing licenses:


I'm not really up on the rules so I have no idea if this the way it's always been.  I did check both the USA Cycling and UCI rulebooks, and I didn't find anything on the subject in the 45 seconds before I fell asleep.  Nevertheless, I'm not sure why you need a USA Cycling license to hand somebody a bike, though maybe the plan is to subject the pit crew to doping tests, which would probably result in a lot of suspensions.  I did find this in the USA Cycling rulebook, though:


1E3.  Road Downgrades
(a) A rider who wishes to downgrade may request a 
downgrade online. Such requests will be evaluated 
individually. 
(b) In no case will a rider be allowed to downgrade to 
category 5.

That is really going to put a damper on my racing plans for 2014, which I've already dubbed "Operation Sandbag."  I guess my only alternative at this point is to establish another identity complete with social security number, passport, and so forth, and use that to get a Cat 5 license.  Then again, there's always the ultimate downgrade, which is Cat 6 racing, and USA Cycling doesn't require a license for that...yet.

Actually, if you think about it, USA Cycling has a lot in common with the Hasidic Modesty Squads of Brooklyn, in that both shake down insular groups of people who wear strange clothes:


The Brooklyn shopkeeper was already home for the night when her phone rang: a man who said he was from a neighborhood “modesty committee” was concerned that the mannequins in her store’s window, used to display women’s clothing, might inadvertently arouse passing men and boys.

I don't have to tell you what a turn-on mannequins clad in long, drab clothing can be, which is why you'll often find large groups of men and boys pleasuring themselves in front of these sorts of storefronts.  Yes, things can get pretty steamy in the Hasidic part of town:

But many Hasidim say they have seen or heard how a shadowy group of men seeks to pressure parents to rein in children who wear dresses too short or stockings too thin, or who chat on cellphones with friends of the opposite sex. One family reported being harassed because the wife had stepped outdoors with a robelike housecoat rather than a long dress.


I'll never forget the day Mrs. Margolis stepped outside in her robelike housecoat.  It was easily the most erotic experience of my life.  Just thinking about what lay beneath that housecoat (specifically, a body that had squeezed out eleven children) still makes my payos stand on end.

By the way, like the Hasidim, I also deny that I am part of this so-called "squad of enforcers:"

But Hasidim interviewed said squads of enforcers did exist in wildcat form.

Though I do think Modesty Squad would be a good name for one of those '80s-style ska/hardcore bands.  They could open for Operation Sandbag.  I'd imagine more people would go see that show than will watch the Tour de France this year.  Really, given all the controversy I'm surprised the organizers haven't just given up at this point.  It's clear from the promotional materials that they're just phoning it in anyway:


Sadly they've been forced to resort to stock photography since there's not a single Tour de France rider who hasn't been implicated in a drug scandal.

Lastly, yesterday I was also talking about the apocalypse, and I'm pleased to report I recently received a promotional email from a company that's already betting we're going to revert to the barter system:

I’m thrilled to be letting you know we're actually launching TIMEREPUBLIK, the first online, non-monetary based community where people exchange services, each offering his or her own skills in exchange for time you can use to get something else done.

Before the Internet, that was called "family and friends."

Is there laughter in the writers room?



Yes.

A lot of it.

There is a misconception that comedy writers never laugh.  Although we frequently do just nod and say, “That’s funny, put it in” there is also a ton of laughter.

Being able to laugh all day is the one saving grace of sitting in a pressure-filled room night after night after night. Well, that and junk food.

True that most of the laughs stem from jokes that don’t get

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Bird In A Cage Optical Illusion


Getting used to looking at one color can lead you to perceive an entirely different color.

Bird In A Cage Optical Illusion

Stare at the eye of the red parrot while you slowly count to 20, then immediately look at one spot in the empty birdcage. The faint, ghostly image of a blue-green bird should appear in the cage.

Try the same thing with the green cardinal, and a faint magenta bird should appear.

The ghostly birds are called afterimages. An after image is an image that stays with you even after you have stopped looking at something. As you stare at the red bird, light-sensitive cells at the back of your eyes become less responsive to red light. When you shift your gaze to the birdcage, your visual system “subtracts” red light from the white light that’s being reflected from the white background. White light minus red light is blue-green light. That’s why the afterimage of the parrot is blue-green. A similar thing happens when you stare at the green bird, but this time your eyes become less responsive to green light. White light minus green light is magenta light, so you see the afterimage as a magenta cardinal.


Run Away! Instinct of Survival

Recently I was reading the Metro-North Commuter Railroad Company's bicycle permit regulations, and  here is how they define a bicycle:

Definition: A bicycle is a single-seat, human powered, two wheeled vehicel with a wheel diameter not in excess of 27 inches.  No mopeds, mini-bikes, motorbikes or motor scooters.

I was particularly incensed by the draconian wheel diameter limitation, to which I have the following reply:



Also, what's that crap about a bicycle only having one seat?  Are they trying to tell me I can't ride the train with my "retambent?"


That's some bullshit right there.  I'd threaten to take by business elsewhere, but the Long Island Railroad's rules are even worse:

Types of Bicycles: Single rider bicycles only; No tandem, motorized, or three wheeled bikes; no protrusions which could cause injury or damage.  Maximum bicycle dimensions are 80" long x 48" high.  Bikes must be clean and free of excessive dirt and grease at all times.  Cyclist mus have a suitable elastic cord to secure the bike on the train.

That "free of excessive dirt and grease at all times" thing is a total dealbreaker, because each and every one of my bicycles is filthy at all times.  Never trust anybody with a clean bicycle.  It means they're hiding something and most likely suffer from Lady Macbeth syndrome.  Who has the cleanest bicycles?  Roadies.  And they're all on drugs.  Think about it.  Also, the "no protrusions which could cause injury or damage" thing is kind of ridiculous, since pretty much every part of a bicycle is a protrusion which can cause injury or damage, and I have the scabs on my shins to prove it.  If you remove every dangerous protrusion from a bicycle, you wind up with this:


No thank you.

By the way, yesterday I mentioned bicycles and the apocalypse, and a reader was kind enough to forward the following article:



I'm reading some after-the-electromagnetic pulse disaster novels where the electric grid has collapsed. Lots of people walking home or fleeing home on foot. In the vast majority of these novels there is no mention of any means of human transportation between a car and walking. So some guy has to walk home hundreds or thousands of miles across a post-apocalyptic landscape to get back to his family. Every person he comes across either is on foot or has some Mad Max truck fuel. What's with that?

In my opinion, the answer to this is very simple: Most Americans would rather perish than ride a bicycle.  It's a fate worse than death.  Therefore, if you're going for realism in your post-apocalyptic fiction naturally you're going to omit them.  Maybe--maybe--you have a scene in which someone's getting attacked by some post-nuclear zombies, and he looks at a bicycle, then he looks at the zombies, then he looks back at the bicycle, and finally instead of fleeing on it he surrenders himself to the zombies and lets them eat him alive.  Even in real-life disasters people only ride bicycles for as long as they have to and not a second more.  Sure, after Supercane Hurristorm Sandy there was a temporary uptick in bike commuters in New York City, but vastly more people chose to wait on line for gas for 12 hours instead.  I'd wager that most Sandy bike commuters pretend it never happened, like some ill-advised drunken liaison or that one time they ate horse in Belgium.

It is worth mentioning though that there was a shopping cart in Cormac McCarthy's "The Road," and it is pretty easy to graft a bike onto one of those:


Naturally though they didn't, because it would have diluted the effect of the shopping cart as a metaphor for consumerism.

Scranus.

Speaking of survival, I've recently been coming to terms with how ill-suited to it I really am.  In particular, like many cyclists, I am physically completely useless without a bicycle.  Sure, at any given time I can manage a hundred mile ride without too much trouble or preparation, but once you take that bike away I'm utterly helpless.  More to the point, I can't run.  At all.  This is pathetic, since running is our most basic means of danger avoidance.  Sure, maybe if a lunatic came at me the burst of adrenaline might carry me for a block or two, but what about a post-apocalyptic scenario where mutants have already stolen my bicycle and my own two feets are my only remaining mode of transport?  Shouldn't I at least be able to manage a brisk interborough trot in the interest of self-preservation?

Therefore, in a sad burst of stereotypical midlife shame over my body's depressing lack of functionality, I've resorted to running every now and again, during which I listen exclusively to this:



Sure, there were times in the past when I would run every now and again under the delusion that it would help me in cyclocross (it didn't, because when you suck, you suck, and I suck) but now I've been doing it just to do it, and I'm concerned about two things: 1) My knees possibly falling off, because they hurt; and 2) One day accidentally doing a triathlon.  Obviously, it's that second one that's the scariest.  Now don't get me wrong, I certainly don't plan to ever do a triathlon intentionally, but what happens if through no fault of my own or some bad planning I end up riding, swimming, and running all on the same day?  Right now I feel like I'm messing around with two out of three ingredients in a triathlon, and if that third one falls into the mix somehow it will become volatile and I'll perish in an explosion of tri-dorkitude.

Still, the fact is that as the years go by you do all sorts of things you never thought you'd do, like running, or spraypainting your bald spot with barbecue grill paint, or participating a Gran Fondo--which I did last fall to my lasting shame.  Even so, it's very unlikely that I'll do the Gran Fondo New York, though I did just receive a press release informing me that it's now the Campagnolo Gran Fondo New York:



The Gran Fondo New York is of course most famous for the fact that they tested for drugs last year and caught some sad Fred doping.  It also costs $250, and between you and me, for only $175 I'll be happy to take you on the same route.  Sure, you won't have a state-of-the-art timing chip, but there will be numerous "shaming climbs" during which I remind you of how badly you suck.  (Provided I can keep up with you, which I almost assuredly can't.)  Also, while I don't actually have drug testing equipment, you're more than welcome to pee in a cup anyway.  Best of all, each participant in my gran Fondo gets a jersey.  Unfortunately, it's this one, and you'll have to order it from Nashbar and pay for it yourself.

And if I get dropped or simply decide to turn around and go home, there will be no refunds.

Lastly, on the subject of survival, subway deaths have been in the news quite a bit recently, and due to the public outcry there is now talk of installing sliding doors on the platforms:


Before we get to the MTA's plans, let's quickly look at the stats you are most interested in—how often do people actually get hit by the subway. And the answer, in 2012 at least, was 141 times. Of those incidents 51 were people who "contacted a moving train while on the platform," 54 were incidents were a passenger was "stuck on the tracks," 33 were suicides or attempted suicides and three were cases were a customer fell between cars.

Interestingly, the MTA is considering a safety measure that would cost $1 billion.  Meanwhile, 176 cyclists and pedestrians were killed in traffic in New York City during fiscal year 2012.  Practically none of which were suicides, though arguably many of them were homicides, even if the police dismissed them with their standard response of "no criminality."  I suppose to some degree bike lanes and pedestrian plazas are the equivalent of sliding doors in that they are meant to make the roads safer, though I still find it odd there's not a similar public outcry over the dangers of private cars.

I'm surprised nobody has suggested that subway riders should wear helments.

AUSTRALIA AND INDIA, GENETIC LINKS

ANCIENT MIGRATION: GENES 
LINK AUSTRALIA WITH INDIA
www.bbc.co.uk - Australia experienced a wave of migration from India about 4,000 years ago, a genetic study suggests. It was thought the continent had been largely isolated after the first humans arrived about 40,000 years ago until the Europeans moved in in the 1800s. But DNA from Aboriginal Australians revealed there had been some movement from India during this period. The researchers believe the Indian migrants may have introduced the dingo to Australia. 
In the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, they say that the fossil record suggests the wild dogs arrived in Australia at around the same time. They also suggest that Indians may have brought stone tools called microliths to their new home. To study the early origins of Australia's population, the team compared genetic material from Aboriginal Australians with DNA from people in New Guinea, South East Asia and India.

By looking at specific locations, called genetic markers, within the DNA sequences, the researchers were able to track the genes to see who was most closely related to whom. They found an ancient genetic association between New Guineans and Australians, which dates to about 35,000 to 45,000 years ago. At that time, Australia and New Guinea were a single land mass, called Sahul, and this tallies with the period when the first humans arrived. But the researchers also found a substantial amount of gene flow between India and Australia.
Prof. Mark Stoneking, from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany, said: "We have a pretty clear signal from looking at a large number of genetic markers from all across the genome that there was contact between India and Australia somewhere around 4,000 to 5,000 years ago." "Our results show that there were indeed people that made a genetic contribution to Australians from India," Prof Stoneking explained.

A new study states the existence of a genetic contribution to Australians from India about 4,000 years ago. Researchers compared the DNA of Aboriginal Australians with Indians' genetic material. They looked at fossils and other archaeological discoveries that date to this period and concluded that changes in tool technology and new animals could possibly be attributed to the new migrants. The genetic data could not establish the route the Indians would have taken to reach the Australian continent, but it was evidence that Australia was not as cut off as had been assumed, Prof Mark Stoneking explained. Archaeological evidences confirm that since 4,500 B.C. or earlier, people moved from India to the west, and there was a lot of contact between India and Egypt, Sumeria, Mesopotamia, and others.

WHAT DO THE VEDIC TEACHINGS TELL US? 
This was also (around 4000 to 5000 B.C. or earlier) when the Vedic culture was spreading throughout the world, either because of reasons of trade, migration, or because some of the degenerated tribes were driven out of the Indian region. Some of the first tribes to have left India may include the Prithu-Parthavas (who later became the Parthians), the Druhyus (who became the Druids), the Alinas (Hellenes or ancient Greeks), the Simyus (Sirmios or ancient Albanians), the Cinas (Chinese), and others. ... These were some of the earliest of Aryans who created the most ancient form of Indo-European society. They took with them their Vedic customs, language, rituals, etc., all of which gradually changed with time due to their lack of seriously following the Vedic traditions, or because of their loss of close contact with the orthodox homeland.


Stephen Knapp (Śrīpad Nandanandana dasa) :
"Death of the Aryan Invasion Theory"
http://www.stephen-knapp.com  -  http://www.stephenknapp.info/
http://www.stephen-knapp.com/death_of_the_aryan_invasion_theory.htm

Published by dasavatara das - "Vedic Views on World News"
http://www.vedicviews-worldnews.blogspot.com.ar/

The laugh that almost cost me my career



It was our first staff job. My partner, David Isaacs and I had been hired on THE TONY RANDALL SHOW as “term writers.” That’s the lowest rung on the ladder. Term writers didn’t even get a credit. I don’t think there are term writers today. Anyway, we didn’t care. We were thrilled. Not only were we on an actual show but it was an MTM show. This was the mid ‘70’s and MTM back then was

Monday, January 28, 2013

It's Not The Size Of The Commute, It's What You Do With It That Counts

(Who's the dorky time-traveling Fred who's a sex machine to all the chicks?  [Bret!]  You're damn right.)

Hi!  Welcome to [insert blog name here].  Today's post is pretend-sponsored by Miller's Honey, the world's first all-natural taintally-applied all-in-one energy food and chamois cream!  It's the perfect goop for that "epic" ride--and speaking of epic riding, this past Sunday, the New York Times explored the strange and expensive world of Long Distance Fred Commuting:


If you're excited by lengthy descriptions of Freds sensually donning hundreds of dollars of technical garments then read on:

Having sheathed his legs in NASA-worthy Capo bib shorts — woven from high-tech fibers that compress leg muscles to minimize fatigue — he pulled on a pair of winter cycling tights lined with fleece from the waist to the thighs. Next came over-the-calf Smartwool ski socks under Sidi Genius 5.5 shoes strategically packed with chemical toe warmers. To shield his torso, he wore a wool base layer under an Italian long-sleeve racing jersey, and a windproof vest reinforced in front to block freezing gusts and meshed in the back to vent excess heat. On his head, an Assos Fuguhelm racing cap with vents on top to minimize sweating, and a pair of Oakley Jawbones sunglasses. The final touch: a pair of $19 insulated work gloves, coated with beeswax to make them water resistant.

Fastening his helmet, Mr. Edstrom stepped outside and into early-morning indigo. In a minute he was rolling down the driveway of his snow-covered Cape-style house, his headlights aglow, on a 40-mile journey to his workplace, JPMorgan, at One Chase Manhattan Plaza, a trip he would make entirely on a Zanconato cyclocross bicycle.

That passage was an excerpt from the upcoming erotic novel, "Fifty Shades of Fred," which will be published by Rodale in Spring of this year.

Certainly a 30-mile commute can be a good way to squeeze in those winter base miles, though I'm not sure why you'd elect to do it on a folding bike:

The second query was from Scott Bernstein, an electrophysiologist and assistant professor at New York University School of Medicine, who commutes 30 miles on a collapsible bike from his home in Tarrytown to his office at NYU Langone Medical Center at First Avenue and 34th Street.

“As long as it’s at least 10 degrees, I ride,” Dr. Bernstein said.

I realize that boasting about your temperature threshold is an essential part of Long Distance Fred Commuting, but if I had to commute from Tarrytown to 34th Street and it was 10 degrees outside I'd collapse the shit out of that bike and ride the Metro North instead.  What does he do when it's actually warm outside?  How does he prove himself then?  Does he ride his folding bike while wearing nothing except a Terry bolero like some sort of Naked Matador of Smugness?


(Forwarded to me by a reader.)

Then again, he is a man of science, so he might just mean 10 degrees Celsius, in which case big freaking deal.

Speaking of thresholds, by now you've no doubt seen the "bicycle barometer:"



The bicycle barometer takes data about the weather, the status of the tube lines I use to get to work, and whether my local station is open or shut.

It then reduces all that data down to a single value and displays it on a dial with a bike sign at one end and a tube sign at the other.

Meanwhile, a similarly clever Portland bike commuter has created a "smugness assist" that actually pats you on the back as you ride, and you can see his invention here.  He's also working on a dynamo hub that powers a handlebar-mounted speaker which constantly reminds you of how special you are.  Expect the Kickstarter fundraising campaign soon.

Anyway, I enjoyed the Long Distance Fred Commuting article, and perhaps one day the New York Times will explore an even more ridiculous group of commuters--people who travel to work in Manhattan via car.

Lunatics.

In other New York City-related news, a mass email I received from some guided tour company declares the Brooklyn Bridge to be the 8th most romantic spot in New York City:



If your idea of romance is having "Stay out of the bike lane!" shouted at you by an endless procession of self-important brownstone-dwelling bicycle commuters then by all means, grab the old ball and chain and shuffle on up there.  And if you're wondering what the number one most romantic spot in New York City is, it's apparently the whispering gallery at Grand Central:


As for the most popular romantic utterance in the whispering gallery, it's a tie between "Will you marry me?" and "I have a boner," though if you listen closely you might get to hear Toronto mayors Robs Fords opining about "Orientals:"


The afore-linked article was forwarded to me by a reader, and while I've enjoyed following Fords' exploits over the years I have to admit that I'm totally over them now that Gawker has picked up on them.  In this sense Robs Fords are the fixie bike of shitty mayors, so naturally I will now move on to the cyclocross bike of shitty mayors, whoever that might be.

Of course, any fashion-conscious cyclist knows that cyclocross bikes are also passé.  Indeed, the real bike of the moment is the "fat bike," and here is one that was spotted recently by a reader in Michigan:


Carrying a snow bike on a convertible is like wearing one of those crazy Russian fur hats with a pair of flip flops.  In this case it seems like it would make more sense to use the bike to carry the car.

Lastly, there's apparently a group of people out there who are more dorky than cyclists, and they're called the "preppers:"

It's tempting to think that cyclists would make good preppers, since few modes of transportation are more efficient or less dependent on a functioning infrastructure than the bicycle.  However while this may be true of the bicycles, it is not true of cyclists, and any attempt at post-apocalyptic survival would be doomed by endless debates about appropriate post-nuclear tire pressure or whether disc brakes or rim brakes are better suited to loaded fleeing.

We are so screwed.