COLLECTIVE MADNESS


“Soft despotism is a term coined by Alexis de Tocqueville describing the state into which a country overrun by "a network of small complicated rules" might degrade. Soft despotism is different from despotism (also called 'hard despotism') in the sense that it is not obvious to the people."

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Inconvenient Ice Thickening


This was big news back in September of 2007:

..."Record melting of the Arctic polar ice cap this summer has seen it shrink to an area one million square miles more than normal, scientists claim.
Arctic sea ice - which melts and re-forms depending on the season - reduced by an area the size of 10 Britains during the warmer months, according to the US National Snow and Ice Data Centre.

And the astonishing shrinkage - plummeting to a total ice cap area of 1.59 million square miles - has shattered the the previous 2005 record by 460,000 square miles.

Arctic sea ice 10 times the size of Britain has melted during the summer, setting a new record

The centre believes the sea ice has reached its minimum area for 2007, measured over a five-day average, and ice is now beginning to re-form for the winter.

At its lowest point during the summer melting season, which stretches from around March to September, sea ice coverage in the Arctic plummeted to 1.59 million square miles, compared with the previous low of 2.05 million square miles in 2005, and 2.60 million square miles for the long-term average between 1979 and 2000.

The ice shrank so much this year that the fabled Northwest Passage route around the top of North America between the Atlantic and Pacific opened up and became fully navigable for around five weeks.

The Northeast Passage, over the top of Siberia, remains closed by just a narrow band of ice, the scientists said.

A combination of higher temperatures, clear skies, warm winds from Siberia and thinner ice have all contributed to the record-breaking sea ice melt this year.

Earlier this month scientists at the NSIDC warned that at current rates, the Arctic could be ice-free in the summer by 2030 and pointed the finger at climate change for the record melting."




Now:

Recent cold snap helping Arctic sea ice, scientists find
Last Updated: Friday, February 15, 2008 | 10:17 AM ET
CBC News

There's an upside to the extreme cold temperatures northern Canadians have endured in the last few weeks: scientists say it's been helping winter sea ice grow across the Arctic, where the ice shrank to record-low levels last year.

Temperatures have stayed well in the -30s C and -40s C range since late January throughout the North, with the mercury dipping past -50 C in some areas.

Satellite images are showing that the cold spell is helping the sea ice expand in coverage by about 2 million square kilometres, compared to the average winter coverage in the previous three years.

"It's nice to know that the ice is recovering," Josefino Comiso, a senior research scientist with the Cryospheric Sciences Branch of NASA's Goddard Space Flight Centre in Maryland, told CBC News on Thursday.

"That means that maybe the perennial ice would not go down as low as last year."

Canadian scientists are also noticing growing ice coverage in most areas of the Arctic, including the southern Davis Strait and the Beaufort Sea.

"Clearly, we're seeing the ice coverage rebound back to more near normal coverage for this time of year," said Gilles Langis, a senior ice forecaster with the Canadian Ice Service in Ottawa.

Winter sea ice could keep expanding

The cold is also making the ice thicker in some areas, compared to recorded thicknesses last year, Lagnis added.

"The ice is about 10 to 20 centimetres thicker than last year, so that's a significant increase," he said.

If temperatures remain cold this winter, Langis said winter sea ice coverage will continue to expand.

But he added that it's too soon to say what impact this winter will have on the Arctic summer sea ice, which reached its lowest coverage ever recorded in the summer of 2007.

That was because the thick multi-year ice pack that survives a summer melt has been decreasing in recent years, as well as moving further south. Langis said the ice pack is currently located about 130 kilometres from the Mackenzie Delta, about half the distance from where it was last year.

The polar regions are a concern to climate specialists studying global warming, since those regions are expected to feel the impact of climate change sooner and to a greater extent than other areas.

Sea ice in the Arctic helps keep those regions cool by reflecting sunlight that might otherwise be absorbed by darker ocean or land surfaces.



29 comments:

  1. I don't know if the little girl is strong enough to influence the Arctic, but I think La Nina is having an effect here. This is the coldest winter in the last ten or so, with lots of precipitation, and the map shows a colder mid Pacific water mass. It's like the old winters I remember as a kid. Coldest temperature ever recorded in my lifetime was -42* in Moscow, Idaho in '64 or '65. That was cold, lasted about three days, killing some of the trees in the Park.

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  2. Yup, Farmer Bob's Almanac calls it a La Nina. The little girl is acting up, for sure.

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  3. Man, he's whining about the Weather Again!
    I mean, if you can't take the heat, stay outta Idehoe!
    ---
    Hadn't heard about Johnny:
    (It was "Padres" I believe)
    Brooklyn Dodgers star Johnny Podres

    Former Brooklyn Dodgers star Johnny Podres died on Jan. 13 at 75 after a long bout with heart and kidney ailments and a leg infection.

    Podres pitched the Dodgers to their only World Series title in 1955, beating the New York Yankees 2-0 in Game 7. He later won titles when the the franchise moved to Los Angeles, in '59 and '63.

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  4. In the Isles of Gems,
    There is no drought
    Nor fierce winter storms howling,
    But only balmy trade winds blow
    And black bees gather nectar from
    The wish fulfilling trees,
    And buxom beauties bath on the beachs,
    Unashamedly.

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  5. Did you really drive around Hawaii w/the odometer on your Rental Datsun disconnected, Al-Bob?

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  6. Blogger: Content Warning
    Content Warning.
    Some readers of this blog have contacted Google because they believe this blog's content is objectionable. In general, Google does not ...sonia-belle.blogspot.com

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  7. Click on:
    " I understand and I wish to continue "

    ...assuming you'd like something better than Algore/McCain/Obama.

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  8. Man, the excercise Babe's set looks like where GI's Sleep in Iraq!
    ...battle hardoned.

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  9. "Homo sum humani nihil a me alienum puto - Ceterum censeo Communism esse delendam"

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  10. Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

    Sunday Morning

    I
    Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
    Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
    And the green freedom of a cockatoo
    Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
    The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
    She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
    Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
    As a calm darkens among water-lights.
    The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
    Seem things in some procession of the dead,
    Winding across wide water, without sound.
    The day is like wide water, without sound,
    Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
    Over the seas, to silent Palestine Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

    II

    Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
    What is divinity if it can come
    Only in silent shadows and in dreams
    Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
    In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
    In any balm or beauty of the earth,
    Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
    Divinity must live within herself:
    Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
    Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
    Elations when the forest blooms; Gusty
    emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
    All pleasures and all pains, remembering
    The bough of summer and the winter branch.
    These are the measures destined for her soul.

    III

    Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
    No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
    Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
    He moved among us, as a muttering king,
    Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
    Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
    With heaven, brought such requital to desire
    The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
    Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
    The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
    Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
    The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
    A part of labor and a part of pain,
    And next in glory to enduring love,
    Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

    IV

    She says, "I am content when wakened birds,
    Before they fly, test the reality
    Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
    But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
    Return no more, where, then, is paradise?"
    There is not any haunt of prophesy,
    Nor any old chimera of the grave,
    Neither the golden underground, nor isle
    Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
    Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
    Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
    As April's green endures; or will endure
    Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
    Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
    By the consummation of the swallow's wings.

    V

    She says, "But in contentment I still feel
    The need of some imperishable bliss."
    Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
    Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
    And our desires.
    Although she strews the leaves
    Of sure obliteration on our paths,
    The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
    Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
    Whispered a little out of tenderness,
    She makes the willow shiver in the sun
    For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
    Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
    She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
    On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
    And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

    VI

    Is there no change of death in paradise?
    Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
    Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
    Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
    With rivers like our own that seek for seas
    They never find, the same receding shores
    That never touch with inarticulate pang?
    Why set the pear upon those river banks
    Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?
    Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
    The silken weavings of our afternoons,
    And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
    Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
    Within whose burning bosom we devise
    Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.


    VII

    Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
    Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
    Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
    Not as a god, but as a god might be,
    Naked among them, like a savage source.
    Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
    Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
    And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
    The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
    The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
    That choir among themselves long afterward.
    They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
    Of men that perish and of summer morn.
    And whence they came and whither they shall go
    The dew upon their feet shall manifest.


    VIII

    She hears, upon that water without sound,
    A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine
    Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
    It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay."
    We live in an old chaos of the sun,
    Or old dependency of day and night,
    Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
    Of that wide water, inescapable.
    Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
    Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
    Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
    And, in the isolation of the sky,
    At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
    Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
    Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Sonia now resides in
    Cap d'Agde, Hérault, France,
    Wish the Concorde was still in action, but we'll figure out something.
    Doug + Sonia gets Carbon offset credits for the number of years I will no longer produce Co2.
    ...better sooner than never.

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  12. I did indeed, Doug, and felt good about it.

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  13. So did you plug the hole in the transmission, or not, Al-Bob?
    (quite responsible of you,
    I would say.)

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  14. (the non-farmboys wouldn't even think to do that.)

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  15. Yeah, it ran off the tranny, so you unplug it, stick in a capping bolt, wrap the odometer cable end in duct tape, and duct tape that to the frame.

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  16. Not possible to do with the models now, I think.

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  17. Dialecticized to Redneck:

    Inconvenient Ice

    Thickenin'" 15 Comments -

    bobal said, cuss it all t' tarnation... ah doesn't knows if th' li'l gal is strong inough t'influence th' Arckic, but ah reckon La Nina is havin' an effeck hyar. This hyar is th' coldess winter in th' last ten o' so, wif lotsa precipitashun, an' th' map shows a colder mid Pacific water mass. It's like th' old winters ah remember as a kid, cuss it all t' tarnation. Coldess temperature evah reco'ded in mah lifetime was -42* in Moscow, Idaho in '64 o' '65.

    Thet was cold, lasted about three days, killin' some of th' trees in th' Park. Shet mah mouth! Sun Feb 17, 05:49:00 AM EST

    bobal said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Yup, Farmer Bob's Almanac calls it a La Nina. Th' li'l gal is ackin' up, fo' sho'nuff. Sun Feb 17, 06:02:00 AM EST

    Doug said,
    cuss it all t' tarnation... Man, he's whinin' about th' Weather Agin! Fry mah hide! ah mean, eff'n yo' kin't take th' heat, stay outta Idehoe!

    --- Hadn't heard about Johnny-Boy: (It was "Padres" ah believe) Brooklyn Dodgers star Johnny-Boy Podres Fo'mer Brooklyn Dodgers star Johnny-Boy Podres died on Jan, as enny fool kin plainly see. 13 at 75 af'er a long bout wif heart an' kidney ailments an' a leg infeckshun.

    Podres pitched th' Dodgers t'their only Wo'ld Series title in 1955, beatin' th' Noo Yawk Yankees 2-0 in Game 7.
    He later won titles when th' th' franchise moved t'Los Angeles, in '59 an' '63. Sun Feb 17, 06:15:00 AM EST

    bobal said, cuss it all t' tarnation...

    In th' Isles of Gems, Thar is no drought No' fierce winter sto'ms howlin', But only balmah trade winds blow An' black bees gather neckar fum Th' wish fu'fillin' trees, An' buxom bootyes bath on th' betchs, Unashamedly. Sun Feb 17, 07:19:00 AM EST

    Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Sonia!

    Fry mah hide! Sun Feb 17, 07:40:00 AM EST Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Ju pow'ful drive aroun' Hawaii w/th' odometer on yer Rental Datsun disconnecked, Al-Bob?

    Sun Feb 17, 07:41:00 AM EST Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Blogger: Content Warnin' Content Warnin'. Some readers of this hyar blog haf contacked Google on account o' they believe this hyar blog's corntent is objeckshunable.
    In juneral, Google does not ...sonia-belle.blogspot.com Sun Feb 17, 07:45:00 AM EST

    Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Click on: " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...assumin' yo'd like sumpin better than Algo'e/McCain/Obama. Sun Feb 17, 07:48:00 AM EST

    Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Man, th' excercise Babe's set looks like whar GI's Sleep in Iraq! Fry mah hide! ...battle hardoned, cuss it all t' tarnation. Sun Feb 17, 07:50:00 AM EST Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... "Homo sum hoomini nihil a me alienum puto - Ceterum censeo Communism esse delendam" Sun Feb 17, 07:52:00 AM EST bobal said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) Sunday Mo'nin' I Complacencies of th' peignoir, an' late Coffee an' o'anges in a sunny chair, An' th' green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug min'le t'dissipate Th' holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a li'l, an' she feels th' dark Encroachment of thet old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. Th' punjunt o'anges an' bright, green win's Seem thin's in some processhun of th' daid, Windin' acrost wide water, wifout soun'. Th' day is like wide water, wifout soun', Stilled fo' th' passin' of her dreamin' feet On over th' seas, t'silent Palestine Dominion of th' blood an' sepulchre. II Whuffo' sh'd she give her bounty t'th' daid? Whut in tarnation is divinity eff'n it kin come Only in silent shadows an' in dreams Shall she not find in comfo'ts of th' sun, In punjunt fruit an' bright, green win's, o' else In enny balm o' booty of th' earth, Thin's t'be cherished like th' thunk of hevvin? Divinity muss live wifin herse'f: Passhuns of rain, o' moods in fallin' snow; Grievin's in loneliness, o' unsubdued Elashuns when th' fo'ess blooms; Gesty emoshuns on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures an' all pains, rememberin' Th' bough of summer an' th' winter branch. These is th' measures destined fo' her soul, ah reckon. III Jove in th' clouds had his inhoomin birth. No Mammy suckled him, no sweet lan' gave Large-mannered moshuns t'his mahthy mind, cuss it all t' tarnation. He moved among us, as a mutterin' kin', Magnificent,'d move among his hinds, Until our blood, commin'lin', virginal, Wif hevvin, brought sech requital t'desuhe Th' mighty hinds discerned it, in a star. Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come t'be Th' blood of pareedise? An' shall th' earth Seem all of pareedise thet we shall know? Th' sky will be much friendlier then than now, A part of labo' an' a part of pain, An' next in glo'y t'endurin' love, Not this hyar dividin' an' indiffrunt blue. IV She says, "ah's corntent when wakened birds, Befo'e they fly, tess th' reality Of misty fields, by their sweet quesshunin's; But when th' birds is gone, an' their warm fields Return no mo'e, whar, then, is pareedise?" Thar is not enny haunt of prophesy, No' enny old chimera of th' grave, Neifer th' golden unnergroun', no' isle Melodious, whar spirits gat them home, No' vishunary south, no' cloudy palm Remote on hevvin's hill, thet has indured As April's green indures; o' will indure Like her remembrance of awakened birds, Or her desuhe fo' June an' evenin', tipped By th' consummashun of th' swaller's win's. V She says, "But in corntentment ah still feel Th' need of some imperishable bliss." Death is th' Mammy of booty; hence fum her, Alone, shall come fu'filment t'our dreams An' our desuhes. Although she strews th' leaves Of sho'nuff obliterashun on our paths, Th' path sick so'row took, th' menny paths Whar triumph rang its brassy phrase, o' love Whispered a li'l outta tennerness, She makes th' willer shivah in th' sun Fo' maidens who were wont t'set an' gaze Upon th' grass, relinquished t'their feet. She cuzs fellas t'pile noo plums an' pears On disregarded plate. Th' maidens taste An' stray impasshuned in th' litterin' leaves. VI Is thar no change of death in pareedise? Does ripe fruit nevah fall? Or does th' boughs Hang allus heavy in thet puffick sky, Unchangin', yet so like our perishin' earth, Wif rivahs like our own thet seek fo' seas They nevah find, th' same recedin' sho'es Thet nevah touch wif inarticulate pang? Whuffo' set th' pear upon them rivah banks Or spice th' sho'es wif odo's of th' plum? Alas, thet they sh'd wears our colo's thar, Th' silken weavin's of our af'ernoons, An' pick th' strin's of our insipid lutes! Death is th' Mammy of booty, mahstical, Wifin whose burnin' bosom we devise Our earthly Mammys waitin', sleeplessly. VII Supple an' turbulent, a rin' of men Shall chant in o'gy on a summer mo'n Their boisterous devoshun t'th' sun, Not as a god, but as a god might be, Naked among them, like a savage source. Their chant shall be a chant of pareedise, Outta their blood, returnin' t'th' sky; An' in their chant shall inter, voice by voice, Th' windy lake wharin their lo'd delights, Th' trees, like serafin, an' echoin' hills, Thet choir among themselves long af'erward, cuss it all t' tarnation. They shall knows fine th' hevvinly fellership Of min thet perish an' of summer mo'n, as enny fool kin plainly see. An' whence they came an' whifer they shall go Th' dew upon their feet shall manifest. VIII She hears, upon thet water wifout soun', A voice thet cries, "Th' tomb in Palestine Is not th' po'ch of spirits lingerin'. It is th' grave of Jesus, whar he lay." We live in an old chaos of th' sun, Or old dependency of day an' night, Or islan' solitude, unsponso'ed, free, Of thet wide water, inexcapable. Deer walk upon our mountains, an' th' quail Whistle about us their spontaneous cries; Sweet berries ripen in th' wilderness; An', in th' isolashun of th' sky, At evenin', casual flocks of pigeons make Amtrimenjusuous undulashuns as they sink, Downward t'darkness, on extended win's. Sun Feb 17, 08:01:00 AM EST Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... Sonia now resides in Cap d'Agde, Hérault, France, Wish th' Conco'de was still in ackshun, but we'll figger out sumpin.

    Doug + Sonia
    gits Carbon offset credits fo' th' number of years ah will no longer prodooce Co2. ...better sooner than nevah. Sun Feb 17, 08:01:00 AM EST

    bobal said, cuss it all t' tarnation... ah did indeed, Doug, an' felt fine about it. Sun Feb 17, 08:01:00 AM EST Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... So did yo' plug th' hole in th' transmisshun, o' not, Al-Bob? (quite responsible of yo', ah w'd say.) Sun Feb 17, 08:03:00 AM EST

    Doug said, cuss it all t' tarnation... (th' non-farmfellas'dn't even reckon t'do thet.) Sun Feb 17, 08:04:00

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  18. " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...

    " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...

    " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...

    " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...

    " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...

    " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...

    " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue " ...

    " ah unnerstan' an' ah wish t'continue "....

    .........

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  19. (...assumin' yo'd like sumpin better than Algor'e/McCain/Obama. Sun Feb 17)

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  20. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  21. Fire an' Rain

    Jest yessuhterday mo'nin' they let me knows yo' were gone Pansyne th' plans they made put an ind t'yo' ah walked out this hyar mo'nin' an' ah wrote down this hyar song ah jest kin't remember who t'send it to

    Won't yo' look down upon me, Jesus Yo've gotta he'p me make a stan' Yo've jest gotta see me through t'other day Mah hide's achin' an' mah time is at han' An' ah won't make it enny other way Been walkin' mah mind t'an easy time mah back turned towards th' sun Lo'd knows when th' cold wind blows it'll turn yer haid aroun'

    Wal, thar's hours of time on th' tellyphone line t'talk about thin's t'come Sweet dreams an' flyin' machines in pieces on th' groun'

    I've see fire an' I've see rain I've see sunny days thet ah thunk'd nevah ind I've see lonely times when ah c'd not find a friend But ah allus thunk thet I'd see yo' one mo'e time agin

    Fire and Rain

    James Taylor

    Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone
    Susanne the plans they made put an end to you
    I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song
    I just can't remember who to send it to

    Won't you look down upon me, Jesus
    You've got to help me make a stand
    You've just got to see me through another day
    My body's aching and my time is at hand
    And I won't make it any other way

    Been walking my mind to an easy time my back turned towards the sun
    Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around
    Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come
    Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground

    I've seen fire and I've seen rain
    I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

    I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
    But I always thought that I'd see you one more time again.

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  22. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  23. I posted a discussion of drought in the southwest on my desalination blog which includes a very cool picture of sunspot activity from 1995-2015. The first observations of sunspot cycle 24 were made in january as predicted.

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  24. That sunspot theory makes more sense to me than green house gasses. Interesting blog you have there Charles.

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  25. From Pat Lang's blog:

    The Emperor Has Spoken

    "We've been plenty active on these issues, and we'll continue to be active on these issues because they're important issues for the U.S. security and for our interests," Bush said after landing in the tiny coastal country of Benin. He noted he will send Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice to Kenya on Monday. "The key is that the leaders hear from her firsthand the U.S. desires to see that there be no violence and that there be a power-sharing agreement that will help this nation resolve its difficulties." Bushie

    --------------------------------------------------------

    "Well, podner, we know how to deal with miscreants like you west of the Pecos, and if yeh didn't hear me my little fren' Condoleezia and her crowd will make it real clear..."

    All right, he did not actually say that but the meaning was clear. In Bush's "mind" and that of the Borgian collective that is his administration, the US is an imperial power that can dictate "solutions" to the internal problems of the formerly independent and supposedly sovereign countries of the world.

    it is an old rule of army life that one should not issue orders that one knows will not be obeyed. Perhaps Bush does not know that such imperial directives will not be obeyed. In that case he is even more of a fool than I had thought.

    What will be his next move when he is ignored? Will he cut off whatever money the "little people" might hope to receive? Will he send in the phantom legions that he does not possess.

    How absurd. pl

    (To be fair, this isn't unique to the Bush admin; the man himself simply serves it up with a correspondingly arrogant style that makes his Secretary look almost diffident in side-by-side comparison. Won't miss it one little bit. And for all the talk of McCain's supposed "madness" I frankly don't anticipate four more years of the same undiluted, autocratic, contemptuous buffoonery. Though it may be more colorful language-wise, and less quotable.)

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  26. The inquiring redneck wants to know: What in hell's see-oh-two?

    (Tens of millions of Liberal Arts students wasting their poor parents' hard-earned income would like to know as well.)

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