Category Archives: Uncategorized

Old and poor? Crime pays

Years ago I thought that if you were elderly and poor, homeless even, then committing a crime in order to go to prison (three squares, a bed, TV and mates to talk to) would be an ideal habitat.

Turns out the Japanese are doing just this. See the comment below (link included).

What else should the elderly be doing? Sharing their homes with oppressed college kids who need to save $ for room & board?

Dangerous work that doesn’t require high physical strength or acuity?

The military. Don’t send youngsters in to a war zone – send old folks?


Rare Earth: more evidence

I keep a running list of the reasons why we should consider Earth as rare in the Universe.

Two additions I’ve recently added are this:

• Theia’s impact delivered more than just iron and nickel to Earth’s core (producing an extra large magnetosphere) but also (probably) delivered additional carbon, nitrogen and sulfur — chemicals which, like oxygen and hydrogen, are volatile and tend to get boiled off during a planet’s accretion phase (forming from the solar system’s proto-disc).

• Tidally locked planets and moons would lose their magnetosphere (the dynamo engine within a iron molten cored planet). Without this magnetic shield solar and cosmic radiation would ravage any life that had arisen on the planet.

The reason I keep this list is that it supports the 2^Nth theory I maintain about how to calculate a Rare Earth.

~~~

The “Two to the N’th” theory is an approximate probability that describes the uniqueness in the Universe of a electromagnetic-energy manipulating species — that is, us. Essentially, all factors that contributed to the existence of humanity can be distilled down to coin flips. Every coin flip = 50% probability. Add up a bunch of coin flips (landing on heads) and you get a probability that represents how unique we are.

For instance: If we assume that one out of every two stars in the Universe/Galaxy is singular not binary (binary star systems are too unstable to support planetary life) that’s coin flip number one (2^1). Of those, if half are the right size (a very conservative estimate) — another coin flip (2^2). If you examine all the factors, turn them into 50% (one flip) or 25% (two flips) or 12.5% (three flips) etc. you end up with a whole load of coin flips or powers of two (2^Nth).

I’ve done the compilation (that is, keeping this growing list) and determined that over 60 is the current number of coin flips that all landed up “heads” which represents how lucky/unique we are in the universe. The probability of flipping 60 coins and ALL OF THEM landing heads — represents the probability of Humanity.

How often would 60 coin flips all land on heads? Well, we know it happened at least once (that US!). But what is 2^60th power?

1,152,921,504,606,846,976

The probability of Humanity is 1 out of 1.1 quintillion. Is that rare? Probably.

I continue to collect these “features” which helped contribute to our existence. I suspect that we’ll get to seventy here some time soon: 2^70 = 1 sextillion.

Here’s a handy approximator:

  • 2^10 = ~one thousand
  • 2^20 = ~one million
  • 2^30 = ~one billion
  • 2^40 = ~one trillion
  • 2^50 = ~one quadrillion
  • 2^60 = ~one quintillion
  • 2^70 = ~one sextillion (or one billion trillion)

 


Writer’s Log: 1883 Fog

I found a bunch of poems and songs I’d written decades ago. I’ll post these here over a few days/weeks.

Fog

Where the sea meets the sand
 humidity finds
its invisible status
 has left it behind.

A chilling night air
 bumps head to head
with a moist ocean breeze
 and between them they shed
a mist.

A rolling white specter
 so think it’s been dubbed
with an untouchable texture
 an ethereal rub.

Fog is its title
 confusion its wake,
leaving all standing idle
 while the sun works to make
a fist…

To punch through this blanket
 to tear it to shreds,
but remorse moves to thank it
 for fog’s presence led…

Us to ponder our lives
 and their continual rush
to question our pace
 to instill a hush…

As fog’s dearest treasure
 is silence and calm,
a noiseless deep pleasure
 which soothes as a balm
our souls.

 


Old dog: New tricks

I’ve had to take a “real” work-a-day job.

Up at 7 am. There by 8 am. Home by 5:30 pm.

Sitting (and standing) in a CUBE FARM, ALL-DAY-LONG.

Oy!

So, I’ll be wiped for the foreseeable future.

I’ll be learning Microsoft Dynamic AX & X++ for an S&P500 company — maybe it will delay my Alzheimers for a couple of years.

-AM


Adolescent squirrels are spastic

That big Douglas Fir tree there was covered with cones. Two or three Energizer squirrels, young ones with apparently nothing better to do, cut down every cone they could reach. The cones littered the lawn and the mower does not care for them. So I had to collect them. Here you see three bins filled and then dumped back into a pile in the woods/park behind us. These were the cones found only in the yard. The balance the little devils had squirreled away in whatever nook and cranny they could find.

What’s curious is it’s only the young squirrels that do this. The adults? They know there’s nearly zero nutritional value in a fir cone. Within the cones exist tiny seeds the size of sesame seeds, attached to wings that flutter out once the cones have dried to brittle.

But, since they think there’s value in them, I decided not to pitch them. If they get desperate then they’ll find the hundreds I dumped in a pile.

 


What would you say to Hemingway?

If I could someday write like Hemingway, Steinbeck, or London, I’d die content.

Dave Cline - lost and found

What would you say to Hemingway?

The Idaho sun is, just now, rising above the treetops. The Sun Valley home you find yourself within smells of Hoppe’s, old leather, whiskey and sweat. He’s there, sitting in a stiff backed chair behind a desk. You’ve plopped yourself into a leather stuffed monster that nearly swallows you whole.

“Papa,” you say, “your stories are not — have never been — real.”

“Of course they were real.” The man slurs his words, from age or alcohol, it’s hard to tell which. His bearded face scowls at your assumption.

“I mean, to readers. To readers, they were always imaginings. They shut the book and their own lives came back into view.”

“Your point?”

“You could go on telling stories that even you, yourself, knew to be ensconced fully in the realm of imagination.”

The old man cleaned his teeth with his tongue. His jaw…

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I’ve got a glass eye