Fruit o'the Loon '07 #15
Fruit o’ the Loon
‘07 Installment # 15
If I fail to offend everyone, I’m sorry. (PRINT THIS OUT, OR BE ANNOYED BECAUSE IT IS TOO LONG—THE LOON GOT CARRIED AWAY.)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. Erratum
2. Crazy Al’s News Digest
3. A Trio of Loon Micro-Book Reports
4. Potpourri
5. Previews of Coming Attractions
1. ERRATUM.
A. In the last line of the text in the ’07 #14 FotL, please change the rhetorical question, “Do I look like Nicodemus?” to read, “Do I look like Nostradamus?” (All those ‘….mus guys sound alike) FYI, (You know what’s coming next) Yes, the Loon is set to offer a wealth of worthless information simply because he has no job, nor any pressing chores. So….here we go.
Nicodemus, or Nick to his friends and acquaintances, one of whom was Jesus, was a Pharisee. A Pharisee was a Jew who had rebelled against the faith of his time, which is, when you think about it, Loonish behavior. Nick helped Jesus, and so, Nick is now a Saint in two Christian faiths. As a result, it would be difficult for the Loon to be confused with Nick. Further, Nick was a member of the Sanhedrin, a group of men who formed the combined equivalence of our U. S. Supreme Court and Congress, in which case, the Loon would not want to be confused with Nicodemus.
Nostradamus (1503-1566), on the other hand, was a clever, even sly, fellow (very Loonish, you might say?). He published a book which used quatrains to make predictions about events using language so obtuse that one could use almost any interpretation one wished to justify the opinion that a Nostradamus prediction had, indeed, come true. The ways to become a world class prognosticator, a.k.a. prophet, are to predict everything possible, and then forget all about the predictions which did not come true, OR make predictions using obfuscatory language that make manifold interpretations possible, thus increasing the number of predictions. Nostradamus was a world class obfuscator, and he has enjoyed a cult following to this day, and especially now in the United States where Woo-Woo Science* has become a mainstay of popular thinking. Nostradamus has been called evil, a fake and insane—Loonish characteristics all. Hey, the Loon does sort of look like Nostradamus except the Loon has no beard….yet
* e.g., Oh! Let me count the ways: Crystal Rubbing; UFO sightings and visitings; Parapsychology (e.g. bending spoons with the mind); Astrology (Nostradamus was a top-notch astrologer); Numerology; the Readings of Tarot Cards, Tea Leaves, and Bones Castings; Transcendental Meditation (The Loon practiced TM during his male climacteric. At the same time, he dressed sporty, with a white belt and shoes, and his hair combed forwards into bangs. The Loon believes a public confession serves as balm for the damaged soul); Palmology; Visiting the dead through mediums; Witchcraft; Voodoo; Horoscopy; ESP; plus sundry occult street magic galore.
B. In the last FotL, please change “Barbara”, as in Streisand, to read “Barbra”. Damn! The Loon must be slipping. Everyone in the important parts of the world knows that Babs is short for Barbra. How could the Loon….unforgivable…….Mea culpa.
2. CRAZY AL’S NEWS DIGEST
A. The Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornament Supply has been restored
Plastic Pink (What other color would they be?) Flamingo Lawn Ornaments are back in supply. Glory be praised. Crazy Al heard that the Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornament company had gone el-foldo del mundo, and all existing Plastic Pink Flamingos would naturally rise in value (when supply dries up, prices get juicy) until the sad sad day when the Loon could no longer afford a pair to surreptitiously plant on some deserving friends’ lawn. Hot News! The rights to make the sweet kitschy pink lawn ornaments has been sold, and a factory is up and running in up-state New York. Oh! Blessed Day.
Crazy Al remembers when the Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornament market was tight. They were hard to find back in 1986. That year my boss came to town and the two of us drove north of Chicago to make a business call on an (unnamed) pharmaceutical company run by profligate idiots. As we turned to go into their parking lot, I saw a guy by the side of the road selling Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornaments out of the trunk of his car. I stopped the car, and when my boss asked “Why are you stopping? I replied, “I need a pair of flamingos.” My boss then yelled in horror, “No, someone might see us.” Such is the power of Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornaments.
B, The Post Office is practicing bad faith again.
Yep, they raised the price of a first class letter by two cents. Look! It’s crazy for Crazy Al to go to the post office for a stamp every time he wants to mail a letter. Agreed? But, what in the hell is a first class stamp purchased before it is used? Is it not an implied contract between me and the Post Office? In exchange for 39 cents you give them for a stamp, they must mail one first class letter anytime you wish? But No! The contract can be rendered null and void by them, but never by me. Look, let’s just say I bought a whole roll of 39 cent stamps a while back; the Post Office then raised the price of a first class letter 2 cents, and I, in fit of pique, walk into the post office and declared “These don’t work anymore, I want to trade these in, one for one, for 41 cent stamps” Don’t you think a lawyer could make a sound case for this breach of implied contract?
C. Biosphere 2 is sold at a lo-oxygen fire-sale price.
Remember back in 1991 when a rich guy, by the name of Ed Bass spent $200M to build Biosphere 2 (Earth being “Biosphere 1”). He built it in the Arizona desert (Naturally, as all manner of cuckoo ideas are hatched in the desert southwest—maybe the sun bakes their brains.) Anyway, it was a 3.15 acre enclosed, air tight, completely self-sustaining environment in which 8 humans and their friendly delicious animals provided carbon-dioxide, poop and urine for the plants which then reciprocated generously by providing veggies for the humans and animals to eat, plus oxygen for the humans and their animals to breath. Does the term “perpetual motion machine” pop into mind? Biosphere 2 was a big deal, built to fulfill grand expectations about the possibility of space travel, to prepare for life in a degraded earth atmosphere and to scratch an environmental scientific itch. When it was first opened, or rather, closed, there was a great to-do. When all the water, dirt, bacteria, insects, plants, animals and humans were placed inside, they had a Whoopla party, for the great sealing of the doors. They invited the press and all the malleable attending scientists, who, it might be said, were attracted to Ed Bass’ money as bears are to honey.
Things went along fairly well for a while, but then, it became apparent that, while the plants were more than happy with the environment and provided lots of bananas, the uncooperative plants were soon shorting the oxygen needs of the humans and animals. But, since bad science and solid faith make good bed-fellows, it was just too difficult for Ed Bass to give up on the grand ideological system. And so, they pumped in a little sniff of oxygen (twice) and let the PR bandwagon roll on like a juggernaut. It was later learned that the bacteria were profligate with their use of oxygen. Then to their shock, they found the carbon–dioxide levels were fluctuating all over the place, and they secretly installed some CO2 scrubbers. Then, since Biosphere 2 was in the desert southwest, a place which in summer is hotter than the gates of hell, the inside crew of Biospherians (dontcha just luv it?) were in what amounted to a big-assed greenhouse, and things could get a little stuffy in there. So, it was finally revealed that they were using three times as much energy for air conditioning to cool down Biosphere 2 than they were getting from the solar panels. And, where was this extra non-Biosphere energy coming from? Hang on, you shall soon know. Then the insects died, (who knows why), except, that is, for the desert tramp ants which somehow got inside and were doing fine. Crazy Al, who has often parked his motor home in the desert southwest, could have told them that would happen. Then there was a plague of cockroaches. And, sadly, it was revealed that electricity for Biosphere 2 was not totally provided by the sun’s sweet free rays on solar panels, but rather, by burning natural gas at the going rate. Hey!...wait…let’s don’t fly off the scientific handle here and get judgmental. So….there were a few problems with the system; glitches which could be corrected by minor engineering tweakings. Armed with experience, they furloughed the Biosperians inside, and installed a second group of Biospherians, but that experiment too would come a cropper. Yep! More bad news.
The Biospherians found it hard to get along with the support staff outside. An apt analogy is how miffed combat infantry can become with REFMs, most notably the hated supply weenies. The outsiders on the on-site management team were falling into two warring camps, the science guys and the business guys—where have we heard this before? Rumors were floated about secret food caches inside. That’s understandable and forgivable since the crew of eight Biospherians were subsisting on a diet of not enough bananas, peanuts, and sweet potatoes, and thus, were losing weight. The biospherians began to eat the emergency food supplies. Armed guards finally ousted the on-site management people. Two disgruntled former Biospherians, in an unbelievable act of sabotage, vandalized the project by throwing open the doors, and thus, Gasp! violating (Yes! violating) the enclosure. Somebody then ratted this out to the press, and all was lost.
A psychological post-mortem examination of the Biospherians revealed, once again, as if we needed more evidence, a few unpleasant characteristics often found in humans confined in close quarters, e.g., prisons, schools, the Antarctic Research Station and, of course, the Biosphere. The Biospherians split into two groups which became implacable enemies—tribalism in miniature?—and it was 10 years before the adversaries spoke to one another again. There was lousy morale; more than enough for everyone. Where once there was buoying enthusiasm and promise, now all was rancor. Leaders were dismissed. Biospherian crew Captains were chastised. (Yes, dear hearts, each Biospherian crew had a Captain. I wonder if the Captain could perform marriages.)
As if this story isn’t already curiouser and curiouser, apparently the original idea for the Biosphere resulted from improvisational theater, and according to Marc Cooper was cooked up “by a clique of recycled theater performers that evolved out of an authoritarian—and decidedly non-scientific---personality cult.” i.e., the group on Synergia Ranch, a spot in the desert under the auspices of The Institute of Ecotechnic, which is as august a name as you will find, however is was shown in a CBS documentary to be nothing more than an art gallery and café in London.
This funeral of this misbegotten foray into environmental science finally made some biz types happy. See, the Biosphere was sited on 1,650 acres in north exurban Tucson, an area which has now traded the “ex” for “sub”, and a development company bought the whole shebang for $50M. Let’s see, that roughs out at $6,500 an acre; not too shabby for Arizona ‘burb property north of Tucson. A planned community and a resort hotel is in the works for the property, but the development company says it will keep Biosphere 2 tours going for about 20 bucks a pop, so that hard-core-greenies in despair might visit their violated Shangri-La; where social scientists might wish to do a retro-study on effect of human hubris on biological science, and others curious enough to drop a double sawbuck can have a place to go mourn or exult—whichever.
In the interest of honest attribution, Crazy Al read a report of the sale of the Biosphere property in the June 6 edition of the Minneapolis Star and Tribune. Some additional facts came out of Crazy Al’s admittedly faulty recollections, and the remainder came straight out of Wikipedia (where on earth did the word, “Wikipedia” come from? Was there ever a Mr Wiki? You readers owe me answers.) There is an obligation to list credits, as we now live in an age when truth in the written word has become almost an anachronism. Sports story editor, Glenn Stout wrote this. “Once upon a time, I believed everything I read until given a reason not to. Now, I question everything I read and look for reasons to believe.” Crazy Al cautions that skepticism makes perfect sense during this imperfect age.
3. A TRIO OF LOON MICRO-BOOK REPORTS
A. “Unrestricted Warfare: How a New Breed of Officers Led the Submarine Force to Victory in World War II”, by James F. DeRose.
This is an authoritative exceedingly well-researched book on this subject which has spawned a huge number of books (44 by my count). The sub-title is a bit misleading, as the book is completely about WW-II submarine warfare in the Pacific, and specifically, about the exploits of several notable U-boats in the Pacific fleet. If you like books about submarines—the Loon do—this one will not disappoint. It is all true, and full of high drama. This book is the definitive monograph on the subject.
B. “How to Get Out of the Rat Race; and live on $10 a Month” by the Herters, George and Berthe.
.
It was self published in 1975, and is a little charmer of a paperback, full of wry political and social commentary, and outdoorsy advice such as; how to prepare and cook Owl (Geo. prefers it over Chicken Hawk); how to mark a trail using toilet paper; how to live with a bitch; and offering a warning to never pull a string hanging over the bar in an Alaskan tavern. The book is out of print, and hard to get, and, No! You can’t have my copy. The Loon has given away too many already. You do not need this book, but to have one lying on your coffee table would likely provide a lively conversation-starter for a party.
C. “Moneyball: the Art of Winning an Unfair Game.” by Michael Lewis.
This is one of the most important books ever written about professional baseball, and one of the most readable. It is akin to a gripping page-turner novel, with a juggernaut plot, some mystery, and well developed characters, but this no novel. It is the true story of how several open-minded, determined, scientifically-inclined men used economics and statistics to consistently win with a major league baseball team in a poor, small market town (Oakland), and with the second lowest player salary budget in baseball. And in so doing, these baseball revolutionaries revealed the ancient, incestuous, group-think prevalent in professional baseball scouts, announcers, coaches, managers, front offices, owners and even Hizzoner, the Commissioner. To my chagrin, the book shames color commentator, Joe Morgan, he being one of my erstwhile heroes. Let’s cut Joe some slack. Joe began his color commentator career perfectly. He has a good speaking voice, but is not a blabbermouth. He has a good mind, a deep respect for baseball and has always been an astute student of the game. But somewhere along the way, he contracted the Tim McCarver virus, and thus, began to create case-hardened opinions about the game, and then, sadly, he fell deeply in love with his own opinions. Big mistake.
If you’re a baseball fan, and you don’t read this book, Abner Doubleday’s ghost will slap you upside the head.
Yes, the Loon has been wracked by a paroxysm of recent reading, and no, it’s not to escape—at least he doesn’t think so.
4. POTPOURRI
Yale Professor, Harold Bloom, claims that Don Quixote gave birth to the modern novel, a literary form which is now dying. He recommends children read the “Alice” books by Lewis Carroll. He thinks the Harry Potter books are rubbish, and the fact that 350 million have been sold is adequate indictment of the world’s descent into subliteracy. Hey! Harold, tell us how you really feel.
The reasons why Toyota has surpassed GM in car sales are easy to understand. It is because Toyota can make better cars than GM, and for less money and sell them for more money than can GM.
George Will laments the recent uncommemorated passing of the bicentennial of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s birth on February 27th 2007. That is also the Loon’s birthday, and the Loon did try to write poetry 20 years ago, but alas, nothing of value came of it. Even his limericks sucked. Anyway, Longfellow, (the American Shakespeare?) gave us so much; “Ships that pass in the night.” “Life is real! Life is earnest.” “footprints on the sands of time,” “Let the dead Past bury its dead!” “ In this world a man must be either anvil or hammer.” “Into each life some rain must fall.” (Which, if the Loon is not mistaken, found its way into the lyrics of a song.) “Under the spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands.” “by the shores of gichee gummee” and “Listen my children and you shall hear/Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.” George’s lament reads. “The melancholy fact that the 200th birthday of the poet who toiled to create the nation’s memory passed largely unremarked is redundant evidence of how susceptible this forward-leaning democracy is to historical amnesia.”
5. PREVIEWS OF COMING ATTRACTIONS
A Loon book review of “God is not Great; How Religion Poisons Everything”, by Christopher Hitchens, who is ranked # 5 on a list of 100 public intellectuals, and is a courageous curmudgeon. It’s a wowzer of a book, guaranteed to piss-off 95% of all people, and especially those who are fearful of dying. This is the first time ever that the Loon has found himself reading a book which was concurrently rated #1 on the NYT non-fiction Best Seller list.
Allen Hall
June 7 2007, On Windy Lake Sylvia. Windy enough to blow over a rotten Basswood tree which took out the electric lines to the Loon’s wee studio. Excuse me, Is it something I wrote?
‘07 Installment # 15
If I fail to offend everyone, I’m sorry. (PRINT THIS OUT, OR BE ANNOYED BECAUSE IT IS TOO LONG—THE LOON GOT CARRIED AWAY.)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. Erratum
2. Crazy Al’s News Digest
3. A Trio of Loon Micro-Book Reports
4. Potpourri
5. Previews of Coming Attractions
1. ERRATUM.
A. In the last line of the text in the ’07 #14 FotL, please change the rhetorical question, “Do I look like Nicodemus?” to read, “Do I look like Nostradamus?” (All those ‘….mus guys sound alike) FYI, (You know what’s coming next) Yes, the Loon is set to offer a wealth of worthless information simply because he has no job, nor any pressing chores. So….here we go.
Nicodemus, or Nick to his friends and acquaintances, one of whom was Jesus, was a Pharisee. A Pharisee was a Jew who had rebelled against the faith of his time, which is, when you think about it, Loonish behavior. Nick helped Jesus, and so, Nick is now a Saint in two Christian faiths. As a result, it would be difficult for the Loon to be confused with Nick. Further, Nick was a member of the Sanhedrin, a group of men who formed the combined equivalence of our U. S. Supreme Court and Congress, in which case, the Loon would not want to be confused with Nicodemus.
Nostradamus (1503-1566), on the other hand, was a clever, even sly, fellow (very Loonish, you might say?). He published a book which used quatrains to make predictions about events using language so obtuse that one could use almost any interpretation one wished to justify the opinion that a Nostradamus prediction had, indeed, come true. The ways to become a world class prognosticator, a.k.a. prophet, are to predict everything possible, and then forget all about the predictions which did not come true, OR make predictions using obfuscatory language that make manifold interpretations possible, thus increasing the number of predictions. Nostradamus was a world class obfuscator, and he has enjoyed a cult following to this day, and especially now in the United States where Woo-Woo Science* has become a mainstay of popular thinking. Nostradamus has been called evil, a fake and insane—Loonish characteristics all. Hey, the Loon does sort of look like Nostradamus except the Loon has no beard….yet
* e.g., Oh! Let me count the ways: Crystal Rubbing; UFO sightings and visitings; Parapsychology (e.g. bending spoons with the mind); Astrology (Nostradamus was a top-notch astrologer); Numerology; the Readings of Tarot Cards, Tea Leaves, and Bones Castings; Transcendental Meditation (The Loon practiced TM during his male climacteric. At the same time, he dressed sporty, with a white belt and shoes, and his hair combed forwards into bangs. The Loon believes a public confession serves as balm for the damaged soul); Palmology; Visiting the dead through mediums; Witchcraft; Voodoo; Horoscopy; ESP; plus sundry occult street magic galore.
B. In the last FotL, please change “Barbara”, as in Streisand, to read “Barbra”. Damn! The Loon must be slipping. Everyone in the important parts of the world knows that Babs is short for Barbra. How could the Loon….unforgivable…….Mea culpa.
2. CRAZY AL’S NEWS DIGEST
A. The Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornament Supply has been restored
Plastic Pink (What other color would they be?) Flamingo Lawn Ornaments are back in supply. Glory be praised. Crazy Al heard that the Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornament company had gone el-foldo del mundo, and all existing Plastic Pink Flamingos would naturally rise in value (when supply dries up, prices get juicy) until the sad sad day when the Loon could no longer afford a pair to surreptitiously plant on some deserving friends’ lawn. Hot News! The rights to make the sweet kitschy pink lawn ornaments has been sold, and a factory is up and running in up-state New York. Oh! Blessed Day.
Crazy Al remembers when the Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornament market was tight. They were hard to find back in 1986. That year my boss came to town and the two of us drove north of Chicago to make a business call on an (unnamed) pharmaceutical company run by profligate idiots. As we turned to go into their parking lot, I saw a guy by the side of the road selling Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornaments out of the trunk of his car. I stopped the car, and when my boss asked “Why are you stopping? I replied, “I need a pair of flamingos.” My boss then yelled in horror, “No, someone might see us.” Such is the power of Plastic Pink Flamingo Lawn Ornaments.
B, The Post Office is practicing bad faith again.
Yep, they raised the price of a first class letter by two cents. Look! It’s crazy for Crazy Al to go to the post office for a stamp every time he wants to mail a letter. Agreed? But, what in the hell is a first class stamp purchased before it is used? Is it not an implied contract between me and the Post Office? In exchange for 39 cents you give them for a stamp, they must mail one first class letter anytime you wish? But No! The contract can be rendered null and void by them, but never by me. Look, let’s just say I bought a whole roll of 39 cent stamps a while back; the Post Office then raised the price of a first class letter 2 cents, and I, in fit of pique, walk into the post office and declared “These don’t work anymore, I want to trade these in, one for one, for 41 cent stamps” Don’t you think a lawyer could make a sound case for this breach of implied contract?
C. Biosphere 2 is sold at a lo-oxygen fire-sale price.
Remember back in 1991 when a rich guy, by the name of Ed Bass spent $200M to build Biosphere 2 (Earth being “Biosphere 1”). He built it in the Arizona desert (Naturally, as all manner of cuckoo ideas are hatched in the desert southwest—maybe the sun bakes their brains.) Anyway, it was a 3.15 acre enclosed, air tight, completely self-sustaining environment in which 8 humans and their friendly delicious animals provided carbon-dioxide, poop and urine for the plants which then reciprocated generously by providing veggies for the humans and animals to eat, plus oxygen for the humans and their animals to breath. Does the term “perpetual motion machine” pop into mind? Biosphere 2 was a big deal, built to fulfill grand expectations about the possibility of space travel, to prepare for life in a degraded earth atmosphere and to scratch an environmental scientific itch. When it was first opened, or rather, closed, there was a great to-do. When all the water, dirt, bacteria, insects, plants, animals and humans were placed inside, they had a Whoopla party, for the great sealing of the doors. They invited the press and all the malleable attending scientists, who, it might be said, were attracted to Ed Bass’ money as bears are to honey.
Things went along fairly well for a while, but then, it became apparent that, while the plants were more than happy with the environment and provided lots of bananas, the uncooperative plants were soon shorting the oxygen needs of the humans and animals. But, since bad science and solid faith make good bed-fellows, it was just too difficult for Ed Bass to give up on the grand ideological system. And so, they pumped in a little sniff of oxygen (twice) and let the PR bandwagon roll on like a juggernaut. It was later learned that the bacteria were profligate with their use of oxygen. Then to their shock, they found the carbon–dioxide levels were fluctuating all over the place, and they secretly installed some CO2 scrubbers. Then, since Biosphere 2 was in the desert southwest, a place which in summer is hotter than the gates of hell, the inside crew of Biospherians (dontcha just luv it?) were in what amounted to a big-assed greenhouse, and things could get a little stuffy in there. So, it was finally revealed that they were using three times as much energy for air conditioning to cool down Biosphere 2 than they were getting from the solar panels. And, where was this extra non-Biosphere energy coming from? Hang on, you shall soon know. Then the insects died, (who knows why), except, that is, for the desert tramp ants which somehow got inside and were doing fine. Crazy Al, who has often parked his motor home in the desert southwest, could have told them that would happen. Then there was a plague of cockroaches. And, sadly, it was revealed that electricity for Biosphere 2 was not totally provided by the sun’s sweet free rays on solar panels, but rather, by burning natural gas at the going rate. Hey!...wait…let’s don’t fly off the scientific handle here and get judgmental. So….there were a few problems with the system; glitches which could be corrected by minor engineering tweakings. Armed with experience, they furloughed the Biosperians inside, and installed a second group of Biospherians, but that experiment too would come a cropper. Yep! More bad news.
The Biospherians found it hard to get along with the support staff outside. An apt analogy is how miffed combat infantry can become with REFMs, most notably the hated supply weenies. The outsiders on the on-site management team were falling into two warring camps, the science guys and the business guys—where have we heard this before? Rumors were floated about secret food caches inside. That’s understandable and forgivable since the crew of eight Biospherians were subsisting on a diet of not enough bananas, peanuts, and sweet potatoes, and thus, were losing weight. The biospherians began to eat the emergency food supplies. Armed guards finally ousted the on-site management people. Two disgruntled former Biospherians, in an unbelievable act of sabotage, vandalized the project by throwing open the doors, and thus, Gasp! violating (Yes! violating) the enclosure. Somebody then ratted this out to the press, and all was lost.
A psychological post-mortem examination of the Biospherians revealed, once again, as if we needed more evidence, a few unpleasant characteristics often found in humans confined in close quarters, e.g., prisons, schools, the Antarctic Research Station and, of course, the Biosphere. The Biospherians split into two groups which became implacable enemies—tribalism in miniature?—and it was 10 years before the adversaries spoke to one another again. There was lousy morale; more than enough for everyone. Where once there was buoying enthusiasm and promise, now all was rancor. Leaders were dismissed. Biospherian crew Captains were chastised. (Yes, dear hearts, each Biospherian crew had a Captain. I wonder if the Captain could perform marriages.)
As if this story isn’t already curiouser and curiouser, apparently the original idea for the Biosphere resulted from improvisational theater, and according to Marc Cooper was cooked up “by a clique of recycled theater performers that evolved out of an authoritarian—and decidedly non-scientific---personality cult.” i.e., the group on Synergia Ranch, a spot in the desert under the auspices of The Institute of Ecotechnic, which is as august a name as you will find, however is was shown in a CBS documentary to be nothing more than an art gallery and café in London.
This funeral of this misbegotten foray into environmental science finally made some biz types happy. See, the Biosphere was sited on 1,650 acres in north exurban Tucson, an area which has now traded the “ex” for “sub”, and a development company bought the whole shebang for $50M. Let’s see, that roughs out at $6,500 an acre; not too shabby for Arizona ‘burb property north of Tucson. A planned community and a resort hotel is in the works for the property, but the development company says it will keep Biosphere 2 tours going for about 20 bucks a pop, so that hard-core-greenies in despair might visit their violated Shangri-La; where social scientists might wish to do a retro-study on effect of human hubris on biological science, and others curious enough to drop a double sawbuck can have a place to go mourn or exult—whichever.
In the interest of honest attribution, Crazy Al read a report of the sale of the Biosphere property in the June 6 edition of the Minneapolis Star and Tribune. Some additional facts came out of Crazy Al’s admittedly faulty recollections, and the remainder came straight out of Wikipedia (where on earth did the word, “Wikipedia” come from? Was there ever a Mr Wiki? You readers owe me answers.) There is an obligation to list credits, as we now live in an age when truth in the written word has become almost an anachronism. Sports story editor, Glenn Stout wrote this. “Once upon a time, I believed everything I read until given a reason not to. Now, I question everything I read and look for reasons to believe.” Crazy Al cautions that skepticism makes perfect sense during this imperfect age.
3. A TRIO OF LOON MICRO-BOOK REPORTS
A. “Unrestricted Warfare: How a New Breed of Officers Led the Submarine Force to Victory in World War II”, by James F. DeRose.
This is an authoritative exceedingly well-researched book on this subject which has spawned a huge number of books (44 by my count). The sub-title is a bit misleading, as the book is completely about WW-II submarine warfare in the Pacific, and specifically, about the exploits of several notable U-boats in the Pacific fleet. If you like books about submarines—the Loon do—this one will not disappoint. It is all true, and full of high drama. This book is the definitive monograph on the subject.
B. “How to Get Out of the Rat Race; and live on $10 a Month” by the Herters, George and Berthe.
.
It was self published in 1975, and is a little charmer of a paperback, full of wry political and social commentary, and outdoorsy advice such as; how to prepare and cook Owl (Geo. prefers it over Chicken Hawk); how to mark a trail using toilet paper; how to live with a bitch; and offering a warning to never pull a string hanging over the bar in an Alaskan tavern. The book is out of print, and hard to get, and, No! You can’t have my copy. The Loon has given away too many already. You do not need this book, but to have one lying on your coffee table would likely provide a lively conversation-starter for a party.
C. “Moneyball: the Art of Winning an Unfair Game.” by Michael Lewis.
This is one of the most important books ever written about professional baseball, and one of the most readable. It is akin to a gripping page-turner novel, with a juggernaut plot, some mystery, and well developed characters, but this no novel. It is the true story of how several open-minded, determined, scientifically-inclined men used economics and statistics to consistently win with a major league baseball team in a poor, small market town (Oakland), and with the second lowest player salary budget in baseball. And in so doing, these baseball revolutionaries revealed the ancient, incestuous, group-think prevalent in professional baseball scouts, announcers, coaches, managers, front offices, owners and even Hizzoner, the Commissioner. To my chagrin, the book shames color commentator, Joe Morgan, he being one of my erstwhile heroes. Let’s cut Joe some slack. Joe began his color commentator career perfectly. He has a good speaking voice, but is not a blabbermouth. He has a good mind, a deep respect for baseball and has always been an astute student of the game. But somewhere along the way, he contracted the Tim McCarver virus, and thus, began to create case-hardened opinions about the game, and then, sadly, he fell deeply in love with his own opinions. Big mistake.
If you’re a baseball fan, and you don’t read this book, Abner Doubleday’s ghost will slap you upside the head.
Yes, the Loon has been wracked by a paroxysm of recent reading, and no, it’s not to escape—at least he doesn’t think so.
4. POTPOURRI
Yale Professor, Harold Bloom, claims that Don Quixote gave birth to the modern novel, a literary form which is now dying. He recommends children read the “Alice” books by Lewis Carroll. He thinks the Harry Potter books are rubbish, and the fact that 350 million have been sold is adequate indictment of the world’s descent into subliteracy. Hey! Harold, tell us how you really feel.
The reasons why Toyota has surpassed GM in car sales are easy to understand. It is because Toyota can make better cars than GM, and for less money and sell them for more money than can GM.
George Will laments the recent uncommemorated passing of the bicentennial of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s birth on February 27th 2007. That is also the Loon’s birthday, and the Loon did try to write poetry 20 years ago, but alas, nothing of value came of it. Even his limericks sucked. Anyway, Longfellow, (the American Shakespeare?) gave us so much; “Ships that pass in the night.” “Life is real! Life is earnest.” “footprints on the sands of time,” “Let the dead Past bury its dead!” “ In this world a man must be either anvil or hammer.” “Into each life some rain must fall.” (Which, if the Loon is not mistaken, found its way into the lyrics of a song.) “Under the spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands.” “by the shores of gichee gummee” and “Listen my children and you shall hear/Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.” George’s lament reads. “The melancholy fact that the 200th birthday of the poet who toiled to create the nation’s memory passed largely unremarked is redundant evidence of how susceptible this forward-leaning democracy is to historical amnesia.”
5. PREVIEWS OF COMING ATTRACTIONS
A Loon book review of “God is not Great; How Religion Poisons Everything”, by Christopher Hitchens, who is ranked # 5 on a list of 100 public intellectuals, and is a courageous curmudgeon. It’s a wowzer of a book, guaranteed to piss-off 95% of all people, and especially those who are fearful of dying. This is the first time ever that the Loon has found himself reading a book which was concurrently rated #1 on the NYT non-fiction Best Seller list.
Allen Hall
June 7 2007, On Windy Lake Sylvia. Windy enough to blow over a rotten Basswood tree which took out the electric lines to the Loon’s wee studio. Excuse me, Is it something I wrote?
posted by Allen Hall at 2:20 PM
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