Reptiles

For some reason, I have been thinking about snakes this week...

Snowballer

So, you want to be a baller?
A shot caller.
You wanna be two or three inches taller?
You’d like to be the guy whose $500 billion investment pauses the DOW free fall, heh?


Well then The Snowball, by Alice Schroeder is not the book for you. The Snowball is a great sweeping examination of the personal life and interactions of Warren Buffet, the folksy mid-western soothsayer to most amateur Wall Street investors and some professionals as well.

Perhaps, as a potential reader of The Snowball, you are imagining that you may glean some kernel of wisdom from the book. Perhaps by gaining some greater understanding of the character of Warren Buffet, you might find larger dividends in your own life.

All I will guarantee is that you might not need to know everything laid out in The Snowball.

You will learn that Buffet works hard. That he is stubborn, at times to a fault. The Snowball points out how much of Buffet’s success was built upon caution, pragmatism and a good bit of luck.

Alternately, you will gain some insight into the backside of the folk hero investor Buffet is often portrayed as. You will learn of his, at times, harsh, cold greediness. There is some examination of Buffet’s recent acceptance of his mortality and sudden interest in charity. You are given a glimpse of difficult family relationships and extra-marital affairs which have gone unresolved after decades.

Schroeder spent hours, nay months, alongside Buffet in the development cycle of this book. I suppose that effort shows. The depth of detail, looking into the personal nuances of Warren Buffet are undeniable. The story of Buffet’s success is intermingled with the story of his life. A more complete coverage of Buffet’s existence is provided, not just the five hundred word praise-fests of the various investments papers and magazines which have lifted Buffet beyond legend and to demi-god status.

It seems as though Schroeder found the literary equivalent of Buffet’s colloquial soundbite, which is the basis for the title of the book, “Life is like a snowball. The important thing is finding wet snow and a really long hill.” I have to presume that Schroeder is the snow in this iteration, as her wetness is fairly apparent on the slope of Buffet’s biography.

Perhaps Schroeder’s shine is justified. There is a charm to Warren Buffet that resonates, even in his shareholder statements. Underlying the text of Buffet’s remarkable success, is the cold numerical calculation required as one amasses a fortune, and the examination of that side of the man has an obvious gloss in The Snowball.

If you are not interested in worshipping at the feet of Warren Buffet, I am not sure you need to read this book.

Rancid

Consider this proof that I don't hate electronic music.
I just hate boring, repetative, bad electronic music.


Ronni Size is not known for that sort of thing, though.

Breakbeat Era, Rancid.

Baa Baahhh Bahhh

Why the hell isn't television more like this these days?


The Black Sheep Sqaudron might be the best television in the history of television.

Actual planes zooming around.
A telling of the story of one of the most infamous air groups in history.
A shirtless Robert Conrad.

Christ, what more could the public want?

The story of Greg "Pappy" Boyinton and his collection of misfit warriors, fighting off the tyranny of evil. I mean really, what more do you need?

Plus, that intro...


We are poor little lambs,
Who have lost our way...
Bah
Baahhh
Bahhh...

Golden Sub

This fellow, Dan Webb, and a bunch of uber-talented folks have been working on a new interpretation of the Golden Sub.

The Golden Submarine was a race car from a long time ago. The origianl Sub was pretty successful and pretty radical for it's time.
It eventually was shelved for newer, faster technology.
The Sub's history ended when the building it was stored in burnt to the ground.






There were only scratchy old photos.



That was enough inspiration though.
The chassis for this car was shown at last years Autoroma, in Detroit.

These photos just came out a bit ago.


Hard to not gawk at work like this.
The vision, true to the orignal car - but different. More stylized, more modern. Not a recreation, but still instantly recognizable as the Sub.

Click through the chassis pic and check out the detail on the chassis.

Cool Vintage Chopper

Cool chopper does not always mean motorcycle.

Here is one cool chopper.
I wonder who thought up the military theme.
Everybody knows that when you build choppers you have to have a theme.

America

Fuck Yeah!


Freak flag paintjobs on dragracing Corvettes.

I want to hop into this thing, take a deep swig of Jack, dump the clutch, smoke the tires and shoot a .38 revolver out the window at any street sign I pass. I want to steer this Corvette with my knee, while I reload and chase the whiskey with a beer.

I want fast, freak-power freedom!


Because this is America, god damn it!



Sure, you were expecting some political rambling.
It is election day, after all.


I have reached a zen-like state of peace with this election cycle.

I have resigned myself to the fact that regardless of the outcome, I will never get to drive a freak flag painted Corvette, while drinking and using firearms.

And that is just the start of the list of things that will be shitty and suck.
Things will keep sucking for some time.


But this is America.

There are still Corvettes, and there are a mess of guns, and booze available in most counties.

There is still hope.

Aaaay!

No, not a Fonzie Aaaay!

A Model A, and a damned fine one too.

chicken...

I think that the creative juices may have overpowered the intellectual blockage that has been in place for more than a bit, here.

I have been pushing some paint around, again...


The word "chicken" has been stuck in my head for a while now. Imagery and language sort of sorted themselves out, in this peice.
Or, rather, they have found some peace with one another.

I am not sure I got to the point, exactly.
The point was more about doing some work. Doing some "doing" is sometimes more important than the results.
I think that is what we have here.


I think that the end is somewhat juvenile, or collegiate might be a better description of where things have ended.
But, I think it is done.

The moving of hand and paint were more of what I was interested in.

I needed to be less of a chicken about the tranfer of idea to image.


So, here it is...

Democratic Vistas

Political democracy, as it exists and practically works in America, with all its threatening evils, supplies a training-school for making first-class men. It is life's gymnasium, not of good only, but of all. We try often, though we fall back often. A brave delight, fit for freedom's athletes, fills these arenas, and fully satisfies, out of the action in them, irrespective of success. Whatever we do not attain, we at any rate attain the experiences of the fight, the hardening of the strong campaign, and throb with currents of attempt at least. Time is ample. Let the victors come after us. Not for nothing does evil play its part among us. Judging from the main portions of the history of the world, so far, justice is always in jeopardy, peace walks amid hourly pitfalls, and of slavery, misery, meanness, the craft of tyrants and the credulity of the populace, in some of their protean forms, no voice can at any time say, They are not. The clouds break a little, and the sun shines out -- but soon and certain the lowering darkness falls again, as if to last forever. Yet is there an immortal courage and prophecy in every sane soul that cannot, must not, under any circumstances, capitulate. Vive, the attack -- the perennial assault! Vive, the unpopular cause -- the spirit that audaciously aims -- the never-abandon'd efforts, pursued the same amid opposing proofs and precedents.


Taken from Walt Whitman's "Democratic Vistas" written shortly after the Civil War.
Worth reading today.

With All of Your Power

With all of your power, what would you do?


Maybe this song will stick in your head.
So that the chorus keeps coming back...
Again, and again.


Go vote.


The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song, by The Flaming Lips