2015 archive
Oh, Balls! 0
In reference to “Deflategate,” the father of Boston Patriots quarterback Tom Brady says he has no doubts about his son’s integrity.
Oil Boom 0
It’s happened again.
The six tank cars that exploded into flames were a model slated to be phased out or retrofitted by 2020 under a federal rule announced last week.
Lies, Damned Lies, and Statisticians 0
David Kyle Johnson takes a statistician’s eye to anti-abortion lawyer Gene Schaerr’s assertion before the Supreme Court that gay marriage causes abortions.
Would you be shocked to know it doesn’t stand up?
Nothing To Do, Nowhere To Go 0
Still trending positively.
(snip)
The number of people continuing to receive jobless benefits dropped by 28,000 to 2.23 million in the week ended April 25, the fewest since November 2000.
Secret Lives 0
As Frank Zappa said, “Plastic People, you’re such a drag.”
“An Armed Society Is a Polite Society” 0
Politeness can be a moving experience.
A woman died Tuesday morning in what police believe may have been an accidental shooting. . . .
Preliminary investigating indicates a woman was moving her boyfriend’s gun when the weapon fired, Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department officials said.
Pedestrian Concerns 0
I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my bike.
And where I live is a good place to ride: the traffic is light inside the development, the streets are wide and level, and the drivers for the most part courteous.
Not so the pedestrians and the joggers, who seem to get stupider every year.
I can understand a jogger’s choosing to run on asphalt, rather than the concrete sidewalk. If you’ve ever gone running, you know that asphalt is a damned sight softer than concrete.
Nevertheless, all those heel-strikes seem to be having detrimental effects on their brain stems. Rather than running on the right side of the road–that is, the left, facing on-coming traffic, more and more of them seen to prefer the wrong side of the road–that is, the right–with the traffic. Heck, more than a few of them take their side of the road in the middle.
With their heads buried in their iJunk machines listening to God knows what or why, they don’t hear me coming up behind them on my silent hit-and-run machine bicycle. (I wouldn’t listen to something via headphones on a bet when I’m bicycling–I want to hear the cars coming up behind me.)
One of these days, one of them is going to veer right in front of me at the last minute despite my shouting “Passing” in my loudest voice, and I’ll have it all recorded on my handle-bar cam.