Get her Lotus and Probe her Volvo!

For the Gearhead

http://www.toddbutler.com/music/carnames48.mp3 1932kb

Drivel for the senses

No longer must I confine the absorption of drivel to a single sense. At the moment, I'm reading people's blogs AND listening to some inane comedy Podcast from Southeast Wisconsin. Talking about picking up her friend Ryn or Moongirl....or something. Lames World!

Technology is awesome.

Attn: Worst Hour!

The new version of iTunes offers something Apple calls "Podcasts," which is essentially a service where they publish your RSS audio feed. Subscribing to one of these feeds in iTunes is exactly the same concept as subscribing to a blog's RSS feed, except the posts are audio files.

The thing that imresses me is Apple's continuing embracement of RSS technology. In this case, they are taking the whole concept to the realm of Audio. If you browse for published podcasts on the iTunes store, you find a category called "Audioblogs."

Audioblogs!

Download Apple's spec for Podcasts Here (pdf).

TO test my theory

Have some random pics yo.

The catch basin they installed at WAM under where the new entrance will be.


A picture of a sine wave


A trench containing the 4" PVC conduits for primary electric service.


A sexy woman.

Okay

This one at least doesn't overlap stuff.

Black to the max yo.

Which would be better?

Discussion topic:

Which would sound better? Starting with a studio-quality recording, say 24bit/96kHz:
a) Downsampling to 16bit/44.1KHz (CD-audio) and left uncompressed.
b) Encoding directly to 24bit/96kHZ mp3, at a bitrate equal to that of uncompressed CD-audio

Dammit

I liked the old one better

United State of Atlanta, by Ying Yang Twins released today.



Dirty Souf!!

*||*

This is like, so much better! OMG!

still fucked

Not in the mood to fuck with it

procrastinated!

Dude

Why is it doing that? I am confused. Maybe writing more will fix it. Enter this post.

Yes.






That's all I got.

Moozeum

While leading the boring life of a security guard, I got to read into the slightly less boring life of one security guard.

This guy Evans, who was on duty on May 17th 1972, was standing at the front entrance at WAM on a routine day. As it neared closing time, he saw two guys wearing black ski masks carrying bundled trash bags under their arms walking quickly towards the exit. He didn't think much of it, until he saw them walking across the floor mosaic. "Hey! You're not allowed to walk on that..." he yelled...

He tried to stop them as they walked out the door, but was shot in the process with a .22. As it turned out, the guys had stolen two Gaughin paintings, as well as a Rembrandt and a Picasso, which were later described by the museum's director as "About the most valuable and portable items in the museum's collection."

To make a long story slightly longer, the paintings were recovered later by police in ways they were not at liberty to discuss with the press.

School

This term's not turning out so bad. I am totally finished with materials already, and I am still wrought with images of eutectoid steel and screw dislocations floating through my head. My fluids grade is based on two out of three exams and a project. So far, I've scored an 81 and a 92 on the first two exams respectively, and I have yet to take the third. The project is just a simple discussion of the operation of some real-life doohicky involving fluids principles. Examples he gave in class: "A beer keg," and some other things I've forgotten.

I'm willing to bet that Justin has something to do with the Beer Keg suggestion.

I am an uncle.

Elliott Berz, born June 18th at 7:48 PM

Kitchen Table!

We gots one! Only Twenty Bux yo.

Its back with a face

How quickly I change my tune.. perhaps its because I have a real computer again! All is right with the universe now. I already ordered a battery for this bad boy.

And the confirmation email for the battery arrived in about 30 seconds, not 6 freakin' days! Again, I will reiterate. Don't shop at pcusa.com. Nuff said.

I got it

The laptop is back and good as new!

Many thanks to those responsible for its repair. I may have lost my patience but the concerns were unfounded. It's back!

Now I've just got to deal with these bastards over at PC Source. They never gave me my order! Do not shop here. After 6 days of no responses at all to phone calls or email, I am beginning to doubt their existence.

My new office

AK is so empty at 4am.



Since I have no computer of my own, this'll have to do.

My soul hurts

The Dukes of Hazzard. Proof that Hollywood has officially run out of new ideas.

Or, I guess maybe they just feel that with today's technology these "classics" can be done the justice they deserve.

Yeah.

Couch!

We now have a couch! Finally! After all these years! A real couch!

Behold the glory that is couch.

Why is weed so expensive?

New 2-person dresser: 1 bag of weed
New A/C: 3 bags of weed
1 Month of cable and internet: 2.5 bags of weed
Futon frame: 3 Bags of weed
Weed for a month: at least that many!

Investment in comfort

We have A/C!
It's cool and DVR-iffic in here now.

Alcohol Essay

Alcohol and Motor Vehicles: A Bad Mix, to Say the Least

James Glavin
Period B
5.11.99

Its a party. You’re with all your friends. A lot of people have been drinking, including you. Its the classic story, and we’re just getting to the exciting part. Here comes midnight. You decide it is time to go home. As soon as the thought enters your head, your clouded judgment takes over. As if you were on a crusade to save the world, you resolve that you must get home at all costs. You quickly administer a self-evaluation of your state of mind, but are unsuccessful in determining the true amount of awareness you posess. This is due, again, to your clouded judgment. You seem to think you are “Fine to drive,” because you are intoxicated to the point that you are no longer able to recognize that you are intoxicated. When you make the announcement of your intentions to leave, your close friends, and generally the people who care about you, express their disagreement with this proposition. Your clouded mind begins to reason again. Since everyone has been drinking, their judgment must also be clouded. Therefore, they don’t know what they are saying. You convince yourself that it is a good idea. Oops, its getting late. Your parents might get mad if you’re not home by midnight. You mumble your good-byes to the group of people, now openly trying to change your mind by yelling. As you stumble out the door, your best friend approaches you. He calmly tells you that you’ve been drinking, that it would be better for you to wait before you try to drive. He then asks you for your car keys. This triggers your muddled brain to become angry at your friend for trying to tell you what to do. As you walk away after pushing him off his feet, you feel triumphant, for standing up for yourself.

After you get in your car, you sit there for a moment, trying to remember why you are out there. Then, you look at your watch, seeing that its a quarter to twelve, and your purpose suddenly returns. As you speed out of the bumpy, rutty driveway, you hardly notice the horrible sounds the muffler is making as you fantasize about all the food awaiting you in the refrigerator at home.

Now, you're out on the road. You race home at dangerous speeds, continually looking down at the clock, which now reads 11:50. When you look up, you notice something in the road, and then hear a dull “thud-thud.” A rabbit. You assure yourself that you could have avoided it, that you were only too lazy. As you again lose concentration, you suddenly hit another rabbit. Or, maybe it was a skunk. You couldn’t look up in time. As the thought of your car smelling like skunk pulses through your brain, you forget again to pay attention to the task at hand. As a sharp corner approaches, you don’t notice, and continue to drive at about sixty miles per hour. At the last minute, your eyes focus back on the road, where a looming stonewall taunts you directly ahead at about fifty yards. By the time the message gets sent from your brain to your hands to jerk the wheel, this number has been reduced to single digits. As your car careens wildly about the road, a sinister grin works its way onto your face. When you finally come to rest somewhere a little down the road, facing backwards, you can’t resist but to yell out loud. “Whoah... That was awesome!!!” Your car is still running when you decide to resume your trip. You put the car into third gear and promptly stall. After you restart the car, you take a few minutes to work the problem out. Once you reach the solution, you try again, and this time you are back on your way.

After about two miles of utter confusion, you turn around and resume your journey in the right direction. When you get home, you hastily pull into the driveway, shut the car off, and promptly open the door and throw up all over the ground. You sit back in the driver’s seat and wait for the nausea to wear off, and presently drift off to sleep. When you wake up, night is drawing to a close, and you get out of your car, step in your own puke, and go into your house to sleep.

In a typical ending for this story, you would wake up in the morning, look out the window, see your car parked the wrong way with visual signs of abuse, and the remains of throw-up on the ground, and groan, promising yourself that you will never do this again. Then, the story may have a sequel. Who knows what could happen in the sequel.
I was once one of these people. I can recount numerous times when I was in no condition to walk, and offering people rides home. That was just my nature. I was a “professional.” Since I first got my license last September, I had been working up to this famed status. For a period of time, I was regarded by some as “bulletproof,” and I was able to keep up this reputation. A lot of other people didn’t approve of my practices. Of course, I was engaged in a risky occupation, and it had to reach its peak at some point.

It happened about a month ago. I was at another one of those famed high school parties. After countless beers and shots of anything you could think of, The issue of transportation was brought up. Now, even I had limits. I could keep myself on the road better than others, yes, but I also knew that there were times when even I had to say no. I could tell that this was one of those times. I determinedly rejected any requests of my service. Then, suddenly, the topic had changed. We started talking about something that caught my attention, and I promptly forgot about my resolution. I resumed drinking. From what I can remember, this is when the night ended. So, I will continue the story from the recollections of others. Once I had consumed quite a bit more, I then decided that it would be a good time to go for a drive. So I began to make preparations. I gathered up the people who were going, drank the last of any liquor I could find, and we were on our way.

The conclusion may not be what you expect. Like I said before, I really think that I was able to keep myself on the road better than others. After a mysterious drive that I don’t remember any of from Vineyard Haven to Chilmark, It seemed like we had made it. We pulled into where we were going, and I shut the car off. At this point, I tried to get out of the vehicle, and realized that I was going to have a hard time walking. I stood up, and then fell flat on my face in the dirt. While I lay there, my companions were busy with other matters. As it turns out, my car was in flames at this point, and I hadn’t noticed it. As everyone tried to put out the fire, I simply lay there, with my face in the ground. When everyone realized that they weren’t going to get the flames out, they brought me into the house. They called the fire department, and tried to think of some way to keep them from seeing me. However, short of blatent lies, there was just no way. It was my car, and I had to take responsibility for it. So, when I finally became coherent enough to know where I was, I had been taken to the hospital, given a blood test, released, and put in jail. When I came to, an officer was filling out a form with my name and address. My mother came in, and my bail was paid, at which point I was brought home. Just like in every story, I went to sleep without a care in the world. When I woke up the next morning, I was shocked at sight of myself. When I looked in the mirror, I saw huge scrapes and bloody gashes all over my face. Although this sight was scary by itself, the most frightening thing was that I had no recollection of where they came from.

This incident will cost me my car (obviously) and my license for the next year. I will have to enter a drunk-driving program, and pay numerous court and legal fees amounting to large sums. The punishment for doing what I did is harsh, and with good reason. In some ways, I am glad that its so harsh. Maybe I’ll learn something.

Salvador Dali Essay

Salvador Dali

James Glavin
Period D
3.24.00

Le chef du mouvement de réalisme, Salvador Jacinto Dalí était un grand partie de l’art dans le vingtième siécle. Il a déclaré que “le surréalisme, c’est moi.” Je croix qu’il a raison.

Dalí est allé par periodes differentes. Au commencement de lui profession, il a expérimenté avec cubisme pour un peu de temps, avec une peinture qu’a utilisé la nature morte et forme géometrique, s’appelle “Sandia” (voyez figure A, page 3). Aprés ce court période, leurs peintures êtaient trés surréal, tel “La Persistence de La Memoire.” Choses tel les horlages qui fond a apparu souvent. Aprés 1940, Il bougeait á une ére nouvelle. L’ére, Il s’appelle “Classique.” Contraire d’il même, leurs peintures a devenu plus profonde, et moins surréal. Les peintures tel “The Hallucinogenic Torreador” (voyez figure B, page 3) a essayé dire la vie de Dali á une image.

Dali travaillait en Amerique et en Europe. Partout il peindait, il créait l’art fantastique. Avec Gala, sa femme, il habitait en Espagne pour la plupart de sa vie. Il était né en Figueres, et il mourrait en Figueres. Gala était son économe, et son inspiration. Il créait l’art en tout les formes, autre que le peint. Il créait la sculpture, les graphiques, et les aquarelles.

Mon peinture favorite est “The Hallucinogenic Toreador.” Ce peinture est trés complexe, et il décrit la vie de Dali. Ce sont les double-images dans le peinture. Dans le milieu du peinture, c’est un guerrier des taureaux derrière la Venus de Milo. Ce peinture est trés large aussi.

En mon opinion, le mouvement de surréalisme, c’etait stupide. Le seul raison que c’était populaire était Dali. Sans Dali, il n’y a pas surréalisme. Á la même temps, c’était mouvements inepte, tel Dadaisme. Les peintures de Dali avait intention, quand même c’étaient abstrait. Dali était un génie.

Figure A: Still Life: Sandia


Figure B: The Hallucinogenic Toreador

Neuromancer Review

William Gibson's Neuromancer
-A Book Review-

James Glavin
Period F
1.12.00
English

Some people ridicule science fiction. Some people think that it is trivial to fantasize about what the future might hold, arguing that we never really know how everything really turns out. People open science fiction books written long ago, some about the “future” which has now become the past, and laugh at their inaccuracies. Although these books are sometimes very well-written, people tend to believe that since the book’s technological merit is obsolete, so is the writing. Although Neuromancer has yet to be obsolete, it was written a surprisingly long time ago. In 1984, there was no Internet, to speak of. It was a time when the world was still a fairly big place. William Gibson had a vision of what it would become in the future. His vision still remains quite realistic to this day, and enables this book to serve as a gloomy look into the inevitable.

Henry Dorsett Case was a cowboy. Although the term had been reserved for the rugged man in leather boots high atop a steed riding through the country, it was reassigned after the horse became extinct and the country became too crowded with cities. Case was a cyberspace cowboy. He spent his days jacked into neurotransmitters, lived his life in the internet of the future, a vast amount of data represented visually as a virtual world. He was a thief, and worked for bigger thieves, stealing data and selling it. It was an honest living, until an employer damaged his nervous system, making him unable to access the matrix. He wandered aimlessly between bars and alleys, wasting his life away with amphetamines, until another employer offered him a second chance in return for his service. Case got himself into something he should have just as well stayed out of, and was in for one hell of a ride.

This book is extremely visual, with stunning description throughout. Gibson takes as long as he needs to create the future, and from there takes you on an incredible adventure. He experiments with a lot of different concepts, and aids the imagination to create images and settings that one wouldn’t ever create on their own. The accuracy of his vision of the future will probably hold for at least another ten years. His frequent reference to things that actually exist, like drugs, corporations, even a thing so simple as the name of a country, plays a big role in making it seem more real. He certainly did his homework for this one.

Overall, I consider this book required reading for anyone even considering the science fiction genre. It stands out as a defining piece of literature, with an incredibly high entertainment value. The Earth-shaking reality of everything hits home so well in this book that you will come out of it with a totally new perspective. And, well, quite fankly, it will make you hope you don’t live long enough to see what the future holds.

Road Trip Story

A Physical and Mental Escape From a Dreary Lifestyle

James Glavin
Period F
12.15.99
English

It was 6:00 AM. As I packed my car with clothes and other various supplies, I had an epiphany. I stopped what I was doing, and began removing everything from the trunk but essentials. If we were going on a road trip, we weren’t going prepared. That was for damned sure. I left the toolbox and other supplies for the car, because I knew that something was going to go wrong with it. I drove an early eighties Saab. It was stereotypically notorious for breaking down whenever it wanted, which seemed to be often. Consequently, I normally carried around such everyday supplies as a case of motor oil, a whole toolbox, jumper cables, and a whole crate of little spare parts, fuses, and various fluids. So, even though I decided not to prepare myself, I took all of these things, just because I always carried them around.

I got in the car and drove away as quickly as possible with only three shirts and an extra pair of pants. As I made the comparatively long trip from Gay Head to Edgartown to pick up my friends, I became giddy. I realized that I would be getting more driving hours in the next few weeks than I had gotten in the last few months. I could barely contain my ecstacy while I drove, singing loudly along with the music.
When I arrived at Alex’s house, him and Chris and Dan all came out carrying large bags, apparently filled with clothes. I told them that I had only borught three shirts and a pair of pants, and they blatently disagreed with me, insisting they get to bring all their stuff. They jokingly asserted that I was going to be sleeping in the car once my clothes started smelling really bad.

I drove up to the Ferry Terminal in Vineyard Haven, holding the reservation that my parents had arranged for me. This was it. After we got off the boat, our destiny was in our hands. We had absolutely no idea where we were going, except that it wasn’t going to be Boston, like we had so calmly assured our parents. A cranky Steamship employee was carelessly waving me onto the boat when I looked up from the reservation, and I felt embarrassed for a second as I sped towards the ramp.
The fact that we were finally doing what we had fantasized about for so long hadn’t really set in yet. We sat at a table and stared into our boat coffee, still too hot to bring even close to the mouth without burning your tongue. As we crossed the Vineyard Sound, and drank our coffee, we slowly began to gain energy. “Hey we’re finally free, at least for a while,” I said, trying to evoke a response from someone.
“I need to call my Mom when we get to Woods Hole. I think I left my computer on,” Said Alex, ironically right after my statement.

“Yeah, hey, does anyone have a calling card? My Dad told me to call him when we get to “Boston,” Dan said.
“But, what if we go across country? It doesn’t take three days to get to Boston,” Chris said.
“Yeah, stupidass. That’s why I’ll call from wherever we are in three hours.”
“Did anyone hear what I said? I said we’re finally free. Can’t we just not call, make them worry? What does it matter? Are they going to start a nationwide search for us? Come on, guys.” I was awake now. I could tell that the trip had to be handled carefully, or we might end up at each other’s throats by the end of the day.
“Well, I guess you’re right,” Alex said. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. She’ll realize it’s on eventually, when she starts renting my room out.”
“Hey, at least your parents aren’t like mine, they would realize it was on when they grabbed it and threw it out the window,” I interjected, “But that’s OK, because I’m not thinking about them. I’m going to do my best not to let it bother me. We’re going on a road trip, and we’re gonna have fun.” A unanimous “Yeah!” came from the rest of the table.
We debarked from the boat. “OK, we’ve got a full tank of gas, and a good fast car,” I said, “Where are we off to?”
“Let the road take us, man,” Dan said, “I say we go west.”
“West sounds good,” Chris said.
“OK, we go west. Everyone down with that?” No complaints, and we were off.
The first two or three hundred miles was a blast. Loud music, open windows, and caffeine kept us going through state after tiny Eastern state. Massachusetts turned into Rhode Island, which turned into Connecticut, then New York. It was what I had always dreamed of. Straight road that went on, and on, and on, as far as you could ever want to go. I was so excited at first that I was tingling.

We had left the state of New York, and were somewhere in Pennsylvania. It was late afternoon, and our previous excitement had painstakingly bled out of us. The music was turned down, the windows were up, and everyone was silent. It seemed that we were now ready to get there. I made a resolution to myself: I would drive my car until either I was too tired to stay awake, or I lost interest in the actual driving, whichever came first. Just then, Alex, sitting next to me, turned towards me.
“How long are we driving for?” He asked.

“I’m driving until I can’t drive anymore. I don’t know how long it will take, but we’ve been through two tanks of gas already, and I’m not there yet.”
“OK. I’m sure glad I brought a pillow.” He pulled out a small airline pillow, and leaned over. Soon, all three were asleep.

I drove through the night. I’m not sure how, but I managed to make my way through Ohio and part of Indiana. I was nearing the state line when the sun came up. Alex woke up. He simply looked over at me, then back at Chris and Dan, who were both sleeping, and leaned back over.

Towards noontime, I began to get hungry. So, I stopped at a McDonald’s. When I shut off the car, all three of them woke up simultaneously.
“Are we there yet? Wait, I mean, where are we?” Asked one of them.
“I think we’re in Illinois. I’m hungry. I’ve been driving for almost 30 hours straight, and the last thing I ate was that donut on the boat for breakfast yesterday. We’re having lunch.” No one had any complaints. We ate a lot, and we ate it quickly. I went to the bathroom, and went across the street to the convenience store for food to bring in the car. I knew that we wouldn’t be stopping for a while.

“Hey, you feel like stopping yet? I could use a good night’s sleep in a motel.” Dan asked, hoping I had grown bored of driving already.
“Hell, no, I’ve got a few more days of good driving before I’ll need sleep. I don’t know how, either. I think I’ve been driving in my sleep.... just kidding.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. I think we should stop soon.”
“No, don’t worry about it. What, you don’t trust my driving?”
“Okay, fine. Drive as long as you want.”
So we drove.

We were somewhere in Kansas, or maybe Colorado, in the mid-afternoon of day three. I was beginning to long for that motel bed. By now, we were well on our way to making it all the way from East Coast to West Coast without staying in any motels. Even though I felt extremely fatigued, I pressed on, convincing myself that it wasn’t that much farther, that I could make it. Only a few more states, a few hundred more miles. Or was it a few thousand? I didn’t care anymore. My diet over the past few days had consisted mostly of gas station coffee, with occasional McDonald’s stops, where I would drink two cups with my scant meal, then take two more with me in the car. As a popped another caffeine pill, I decided that it wasn’t unfeasible that I could make it all the way before I needed sleep.

I drove through that night, and by the next morning, I don’t know if you could say I was driving. All I was really doing was resting my arm on the bottom of the steering wheel to keep it straight, with cruise control set at exactly 100 miles per hour. It seemed like the road had been perfectly straight for the entire night. Then, what little energy I had left in my body was mustered, and I squinted in the distance at a sign that distinctly said “Welcome to California.”

“Hey, guys. We’re almost there. How about that, huh? I didn’t even stop once to sleep. What a feat. I wonder if anyone’s ever done that before.”
Alex looked up, and noticed the sign. “Hey, alright. We’re in Nevada. You’re right, we are almost there. Just this state and then we go across California, and that’s it.”
“Yeah, well, we just passed that sign. Now we’re in California.”
“How is that?”
“What do you mean?”
“What? Did you even read it?”
“Yeah. It said ‘Welcome to Nevada.’ So?”
“Oh, whoops. Yeah, that’s what I meant.” I looked away.

I didn’t know how much more I could take. So far, I had gone through an entire box of caffeine pills, about 50 cups of coffee, and god knows how many Cokes and Pepsis along the way. My body was slowly consuming itself in the driver’s seat of my car. I even wondered if I would be able to get out once we got there. It seemed like my friends spent about 23 hours a day sleeping, and the other hour in a McDonald’s.
It was again mid-afternoon. Day four. The circles around my eyes were darker than the pupils. I glanced nervously from side to side as I drove, in a vain last effort to keep myself awake for just a little longer. Just then, I came to a realization, and rudely awoke the person next to me. “H-h-hey...” I managed to stutter, “w-w-were in th-the city. W-where d-do I g-go?”
“Wow, you need sleep badly. Here, stop at this motel here on the right. We’re sleeping. I don’t care what you say.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I turned right, and shut off the car.

I could barely stand up. I must have looked drunk. As they aranged a room, I noticed some very confortable-looking lobby chairs. As I walked over to one, the room was ready to go, and I was denied the chance to try out that chair. We went up the elevator, and found our room. I walked in, saw a bed, and collapsed.

When I woke up, it was dark out. I woke up to the sound of my colleagues coming into the hotel room. “What time is it?” I asked. I also wanted to know where we were.
“Don’t you mean, what day is it? You’ve been asleep for more than 48 hours.”
“Where are we?” I asked desparately.
“What do you mean? Don’t you know? You drove us here.”
“I have no idea. As far as I know, we’re in either California or Nevada.”
“Well, we’re in California alright. We made it. We’re in San Francisco.”
“We really made it? Alright! Did you know that I just drove for almost four full days straight?”
“Yeah, of course, we were with you, remember?”
“Yeah. Hey, how’s my car?”
“Oh, it’s fine. It’s got an extra four thousand miles on it, but other than that, it’s the same as it was when we left. It pretty amazing, actually.”
“Yeah, it is. I knew we could make it. Well, when do we go back?”
“Go back? You want to? If we leave today, we’ll get back before the end of vacation. I know we planned to stay longer, but if you really want to go back now, we should, because that way we won’t miss any school.”
“Alright, sure. Why not? Let’s go.” I got out of bed, and began gathering my stuff together.
“But, don’t you want to see the city or something?” Dan was concerned that the trip was a waste.
“Ahhh, maybe some other time. I mean, look on the bright side. I have a good excuse to do this again sometime.”
“Okay, it’s your car.”

As we drove out of the city, I looked into the rear view mirror. What a great place, I thought. I told myself that I would have to come back some other time, so that I could take in the full experience of the place. But no time for that on this trip. I had to hurry back to Martha’s Vineyard so I wouldn’t miss any of the, uh, exciting stuff that goes on all the time here.

Hemp Essay

The Plant That Will Save The World

James Glavin
Period F
3.26.00

Fuel. Clothing. Paper. Rope. Medicine. Building Material. The list goes on forever. No other plant in existence can be made into as many different things as the hemp plant. The government knows this, and so does everyone else. The only question that remains is a perplexing one. Why is it illegal?

Hemp

Due to the fact that it is illegal to grow hemp in this country, we continue to waste hundreds upon thousands of acres of trees to produce paper that could easily be made out of hemp. Hemp has a shorter growing cycle than a tree (one year versus decades). All things considered, you can produce about four times as much paper annually from the same area using hemp. On top of this, hemp paper is stronger than wood paper. It has more resistance to moisture, and is less likely to tear. Our own government used to make their paper money out of hemp, in fact. The process used to make wood pulp into paper involves many dangerous chemicals, chemicals that aren’t needed with hemp. Hemp paper is 7 times more recyclable, as well. (Nimbin 1)

Today, hemp is cultivated in Canada. From there, it is exported to this country chiefly as clothing. Clothing made from hemp is durable, comfortable, and warm. The industry is still dominated by cotton- as well as synthetics-based clothing, however, due to the fact that hemp can’t be grown in the United States.

Hemp is known to be a very good source of fuel. It has a great deal of biomass that can be converted into methane easily, producing methanol, an alcohol that can be used in cars as fuel. (Nimbin 2) The reason we don’t use it for this is similar to the reason that we don’t make paper out of hemp. The petroleum companies put a great deal of effort into lobbying for the continuing criminalization of hemp, so they can keep making a profit. As a result, we continue to waste our non-renewable fossil fuels when we have the means to be using a renewable substitute.

Hemp has been persecuted over the years. Due to “Big Money People,” like William Randolph Hearst, hemp was outlawed in the early part of the 20th century. Hearst owned of a large paper company, as well as millions of acres of timber. In the 1930’s, a machine was invented that made hemp paper production easier and simpler. Hearst, afraid of losing billions in profit, began a campaign to spread propaganda about hemp, and to ultimately ban its cultivation. With followers like Pierre Dupont, patent holder of a wood-pulp treatment process, who also stood to lose money from hemp production, the wealthy businessmen prevailed. To this day, hemp remains illegal due to lies spread in the 1930’s. (Shirt 1)

Marijuana

“In all my study and review of the information regarding this issue, one question keeps coming back to me. Let's assume - for the sake of argument - that marijuana has no medical value whatsoever, despite the fact that it has a several thousand year history of medical use and that a prescription drug is made from its primary active ingredient. Let's assume - for the sake of argument - that all these medical marijuana patients are just fooling themselves.

“Even in that case, what would we stand to gain as a society by punishing sick people and putting them through an already overloaded criminal justice system? Even
if they are deluding themselves -- what benefit is there to prosecuting sick people?”
-Shaffer Library Medical Marijuana Master Reference

Cannabis Sativa, although criticized by even some hemp activists, also has its share of uses. The active chemical in marijuana, THC, does, admittedly, have some psychotropic effects. It produces a “high,” which will last for a few hours, during which time a user will merely feel euphoric, happy, and hungry. During the time of William Hearst, many people were led to believe that users of marijuana became hyperactive, schitzophrenic, mentally unstable, and worse. This propoganda was responsible for the original criminalization of the drug. While these people had no scientific backing for their wild claims, they succeeded in scaring the public enough to get the right laws passed. Over the years, the official stance on the drug has been changed many times, but the government has never been able to accurately describe the actual short- and long-term effects of the drug. Currently, their biggest complaints are that marijuana affects the brain’s memory center. While this may be true to a small extent, its vast medical usefulness should still be exploited.
By supressing nausea, THC can be used by AIDS and cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy to ease side effects. Marijuana has been proven to help cure diseases like Glaucoma, and many psychiatric disorders. It can be used by people suffering from anorexia to help improve their appetite (Schaffer 5). Arguably, it can even be used to fight depression.

What the government has done by criminalizing this drug is give it a bad name. The laws are only justified by themselves. What was once a “Wonder Drug” has turned into the “gateway” that teens take to hard drugs, such LSD, PCP, cocaine, heroine, among other things. If it was legal, it would no longer be profitable to grow it independently for sale. The drug market would no longer include marijuana, making the government unable to blame it for all crack, heroine, and cocaine addicts. This innocent drug has been called a felon for no reason, just like those who use it.

Turbo Paper

As you are making your way home, you come to a gentle stop at a rural stop sign. Suddenly, some deviant young teen pulls up next to you in his shiny sports car. He revs his engine a few times, and then speeds off down the road in a cloud of horrible-smelling rubber smoke. As you slowly continue your trip home, you wonder to yourself. How was this reckless teenager able to accelerate so quickly down the road? You know that your old Buick would never be able to perform like that. There is, of course, an explanation. The teenager had something in his car that greatly improved the engine’s output. This device is known as the turbo.

The turbo was invented in 1905 , first intended to be employed in airplanes to allow them to fly at greater altitudes. It was later developed for large diesel engines, such as in dump trucks and heavy machinery. These types of engines were able to use turbos because they consumed a large amount of air, which drives the turbo, and little fuel. Also, the high cost of such large engines could blanket the cost of the addition of a turbo.

Throughout the 1950’s, turbos were only used in dump trucks and other heavy-duty diesel engines. But, in 1975, Buick developed a 3.8 liter V8 engine that employed the turbocharger (it was actually a V6 - Ed.). The turbo began to gain popularity in Europe and Japan, through companies such as Sweden-based Saab Automobile AG, which has made many pioneering developments with turbos, and is still breaking new ground today. As more companies began using the turbo, more developments were made.

One problem that has plagued the turbo industry is turbo lag. This is a phenomenon seen when one steps on the gas pedal of a turbocharged car. If the car suffers from significant turbo lag, there will be a delay of a few seconds before the full amount of turbo boost begins to power the engine. This can be explained easily by first describing how a turbo works. Before engine exhaust is put through the catalytic convertor and expelled out the tailpipe, it is first passed through a small turbine, like in a jet engine. This is the main portion of the turbocharger. The turbine spins at very high speeds, (up to 180,000 RPM) and in turn powers a compressor that pushes the fuel and air going into the engine, increasing efficiency and power output. For the turbine to begin spinning fast enough, there first must be a certain amount of exhaust coming out of the engine. At idle speeds, the turbo does not spin, and exhaust simply passes through it and out the muffler. When one steps on the gas, the engine begins getting more gas, which prompts it to speed up. However, the turbo was previously inactive, so it has to speed up. This will usually take a few seconds, since the engine has to spin up a little before enough exhaust is being expelled to spin the turbine. As the engine speeds up, now being helped by the turbo, it is able to make the turbo spin even faster, thus creating more boost, making the engine more powerful.

If there were no safety systems, this would keep happening until the turbo was creating so much boost pressure that the compressor itself actually blew up. Of course, engineers didn’t want this to happen, so they created the wastegate. A wastegate is a valve located on the compressor that opens when the turbo reaches high pressure. To prevent an explosion, the pressure is regulated at a safe level by the wastegate, which is essentially a hole in the assembly that lets air out to relieve pressure. If you drive a car which has a turbo, you can identify when the wastegate is activated by a slight decrease in acceleration.

Many things have been developed to tackle turbo lag. Engineers have tried electric motors that keep the turbo spinning at idle speeds so that when gas is applied, the turbo doesn’t need as much time to spin up. They have tried hybrids between turbos and superchargers, which are like turbos, but are belt-driven instead of using exhaust. A hybrid turbo would use a belt attached to the engine to keep it spinning, and then when sufficient exhaust was present to drive the turbo, the belt would spin freely. A lot of these ideas have not had much success. What most automotive companies do is to simply use smaller turbos, sometimes employing two of them. Recently, the use of ceramics in the making of the actual turbine has helped reduce turbo lag by making the whole thing lighter and thus easier to spin up. Some cars that use the twin-turbo concept are the Mitsubishi 3000GT and the Nissan Skyline VSpec.

Everyday use of the turbo is present in some car companies, but not others. In America, car companies tend to avoid the turbocharger, opting instead simply for bigger displacement engines. In the past, this has had a negative effect on fuel consumption, causing some American cars of old to be considered “Gas Guzzlers.” Saab Automobile AG of Sweden prefers to use smaller, turbocharged engines. They employ turbos in many of their cars, and have been doing so since the late ‘70’s. Mitsubishi motors of Japan and America uses turbo technology avidly, in many of its models, chiefly the 3000GT and the eclipse. The 3000GT VR-4 uses a 3.0 liter engine, which, without a turbo, as in the SL and base models, produces about 222 horsepower. With the twin-turbo configuration, like in the VR-4 models, the engine can be modified with a new boost controller and new exhaust assembly to produce over 400hp. The Nissan Skyline, made only in Japan, has been known to be modified to produce over 1000hp, in a relatively small engine, and twin turbos.

Another problem known to exist with turbos is the extreme temperatures. Inside the turbine, exhaust smoke can reach temperatures over 1,800°F. This is sufficiently hot to melt metals such as aluminum. The industry’s remedy for this problem has been the intercooler. A device that acts like a radiator, the intercooler is situated between the turbo and the engine, and cools the compressed air as it passes through it. This has been another one of the ground-breaking developments in turbo technology, because as well as prolonging the life of the turbo, it also can create more horsepower and prevent engine knocking.

As you can see, the turbo has played a major role in automotive technology. It is used under the hoods of some of the fastest cars in the world. It has come a long way since its creation. Although turbos these days have become very advanced, mostly controlled by computers, and very efficient, they still have a long way to go.

tv+internet=good

New apartment internet and DVR rocks! We got 3 meg.

I discovered that they broadcast some movies in 5.1. And since the cable box has digital audio out I can listen to it on my stereo in 5.1! So now movies on TV are jsut as cool as DVD's. werd.

Technology is cool!

BLOOD!!!!

for those who remember

EMoat

I am a materialistic bastard.

On that note, I will say that I once had a laptop. It was a glorious, wonderous thing. I could perform various computer-related tasks in places where I otherwise could not. I even could access wireless internet. It was a good tool for many things, and I miss it. To be sure, it increased my productivity in such endeavors as school, in which I am currently involved.

The last time I saw my laptop, it was in usable condition. Granted, it was unreliable, but it was usable. I could do work on it. Currently, my other computer is getting closer and closer to falling under the "unusable" category. Some criteria I use to make this judgement: After an extended period of time (between 1 hour and 2 days), the computer will turn off and need to cool down for a significant amount of time (between 15 minutes and 2 hours). The CD-ROM works much less than 50% of the time. When turning the computer on, there is a wait of at least 15 minutes before it can be used.

My laptop also needed some finagling to get it to turn on. However, once it was on there was a good chance it would stay on for a while. Also, the CD-ROM worked. Also, it started up quickly.

Also, it was portable!

I tried to get it fixed with some reluctance, hoping that it would work out in the end. As the summer term is nearing its halfway point, I still see no signs of a fixed laptop. To make matters worse, I have been told a few times that it is in fact fixed and in some location where I can't get it. I am beginning to think these are all lies, and that's what really makes me mad. If it really is in some location, why can't I get it? It doesn't make sense. I just want my friggin laptop back and............................................

Much of the work I do is on the computer. At the moment, I have no computers of my own which work to any significant degree of reliability. It would be nice if this changed.

Link

Funk's blog for your reading pleasure.

Need

Anyone trying to get rid of any of the following?

-A kitchen table
-Chairs for such an endeavor
-A queen-size futon frame

Give it up!

Limbo

Still waiting for internet at the new place. It won't be put in until the 10th!

Dammit!!!

Pretty much all i have left to move is my computer and desk and bookshelf. I am going to wait until the