Incandescent bulbs are being phased out. We will all have compact fluorescents in all our homes and offices. All good, right? Well, I am not sure.
First off, they are more expensive. Second, they are slow to get up to brightness and color. Third, they are not efficient when you turn them on and off. They are best when left on for long periods of time. Also, they don’t work with timers or dimmers. Last, they contain mercury. So, they are a hazard if disposed in regular garbage and they could be dangerous if they break indoors.
CFL’s won’t be with us for long. Certainly not as long as old time Edison’s burning filament bulb. That is because of the reasons I listed above and more.
My guess is they will be replaced by LED’s. We are a couple innovations away from an amazing revolution in lighting. Their long life, cool light, compact size, and energy efficiency all make them better than either CFL’s with only a few drawbacks versus the old fashioned bulbs.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Lamest League
I just read a news story that was galling, shocking, funny, and nauseating. All at the same time. Seems that there is a group in Georgia forming a basketball league just for American born, white guys.
They should have waited a couple months and printed this as an April Fools Day joke. Apparently it is not joke. Eeeek!
Clearly this is creepy separatist idea. Is it racist? Perhaps.
But the other issue is that it is an argument from weakness. It’s a surrender. We can’t compete, so we have to make up our own league. Who wants to watch that?
More than that, who wants to play in it? Any decent player wants the best competition they can find. Even a superior foe who will beat them. Why? To have a chance to improve. If you always play weak opponents, you get weaker. You don’t get better.
I have watched a huge amount of youth basketball the last few years. Most of my time, I watched a virtually unbeatable team. They took on all challengers. They went up against teams made up of the best, select players in the state. On those occasions, they usually lost, but put up a courageous fight.
Black players—bring ‘em on. Taller players—bring ‘em on. Better players—yeah, them too. What is this but an admission you can’t compete. What’s next, high jump events for short guys? Or horse racing for retired offensive linemen?
But, this is out of Augusta, Georgia, the home of one of the most segregated golf club memberships in the country.
They should have waited a couple months and printed this as an April Fools Day joke. Apparently it is not joke. Eeeek!
Clearly this is creepy separatist idea. Is it racist? Perhaps.
But the other issue is that it is an argument from weakness. It’s a surrender. We can’t compete, so we have to make up our own league. Who wants to watch that?
More than that, who wants to play in it? Any decent player wants the best competition they can find. Even a superior foe who will beat them. Why? To have a chance to improve. If you always play weak opponents, you get weaker. You don’t get better.
I have watched a huge amount of youth basketball the last few years. Most of my time, I watched a virtually unbeatable team. They took on all challengers. They went up against teams made up of the best, select players in the state. On those occasions, they usually lost, but put up a courageous fight.
Black players—bring ‘em on. Taller players—bring ‘em on. Better players—yeah, them too. What is this but an admission you can’t compete. What’s next, high jump events for short guys? Or horse racing for retired offensive linemen?
But, this is out of Augusta, Georgia, the home of one of the most segregated golf club memberships in the country.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Uncle Pete
My Uncle Pete died last week. Of course I'm sad. While he lived a pretty long life, you always hope it could be longer. He outlived my Dad—his kid brother—by almost ten years. He cheated death a few years ago. Have you ever heard of someone under hospice care to recover and live a few more years? I have. I saw it. Uncle Pete lived to spend more time with his wife and kids and to play some golf and hang out with his buddies and play some poker. And to see his last two grandchildren—twins—born.
He worked hard his whole life, even moving his family back and forth across the country looking for work. The pictures in my grandmothers house of Pete in his uniform during WWII were the only proof I have that he was in the military. He never talked about it, at least not to me. He was married to the same woman til his last day and he raised four kids. His life was visited with sadness and unfortunately, some tragedy. But it also had joy. From what I saw, his greatest joy was in the form of family. He had a bunch of grandkids—mostly girls. That seemed about right for him. Seems like a typical story of a son of immigrants.
But I will always remember something remarkable about Uncle Pete. His four kids were special to him and he loved them all very much. That was obvious. His only daughter, Diane, was the apple of his eye. He probably would not deny she was his favorite. But it was his relationship with his third son, Joey, that I will never forget.
Joey was a few years older than me. I have a picture or two of him walking, but I only remember him in a wheelchair. From what I pieced together as a kid, Joey had a muscular dystrophy and developmental limitations. He was bound to one of those heavy steel wheelchairs his whole life. I saw fun, family times with Joey. I was not there for doctor's visits, bath time, etc. What I saw was a happy Joey. A smiling Joey. A lovable Joey. A Joey that made friends and made them smile. Now that I am a Dad, I know darned well that Joey must have had his moments. But not from what I saw.
From Uncle Pete and Aunt Louise, I never heard a grumble. Never a complaint. I never heard them short with Joey. They just took life as it came. But many times around Joey, I witnessed amazing, simple acts of love. To be with the kids, my Uncle Pete would carry Joey down a narrow staircase to our basement. Not just when Joey was a little kid, but when he was a teenager. I'll bet that by then, Joey was four or five inches taller than his Dad and probably weighed the same. But as carefully and as gently as can be, Pete walk down those stairs with his son in his arms.
Pete's other three kids were perfect. It's very easy to love kids when then aren't a problem. But a sick kid? Different story. That's a trial by fire. Lots of people crack. They leave either physically or emotionally. But I saw something else. I saw the resilient character of my Uncle.
It was a simple act. He did not put his life on the line. They don't award bronze stars for such acts of love. Nope. While it was not monumental, it was one of the greatest expressions of love I have ever seen. It has stuck with me for over 35 years.
Uncle Pete, you will always be in my heart and memories.
He worked hard his whole life, even moving his family back and forth across the country looking for work. The pictures in my grandmothers house of Pete in his uniform during WWII were the only proof I have that he was in the military. He never talked about it, at least not to me. He was married to the same woman til his last day and he raised four kids. His life was visited with sadness and unfortunately, some tragedy. But it also had joy. From what I saw, his greatest joy was in the form of family. He had a bunch of grandkids—mostly girls. That seemed about right for him. Seems like a typical story of a son of immigrants.
But I will always remember something remarkable about Uncle Pete. His four kids were special to him and he loved them all very much. That was obvious. His only daughter, Diane, was the apple of his eye. He probably would not deny she was his favorite. But it was his relationship with his third son, Joey, that I will never forget.
Joey was a few years older than me. I have a picture or two of him walking, but I only remember him in a wheelchair. From what I pieced together as a kid, Joey had a muscular dystrophy and developmental limitations. He was bound to one of those heavy steel wheelchairs his whole life. I saw fun, family times with Joey. I was not there for doctor's visits, bath time, etc. What I saw was a happy Joey. A smiling Joey. A lovable Joey. A Joey that made friends and made them smile. Now that I am a Dad, I know darned well that Joey must have had his moments. But not from what I saw.
From Uncle Pete and Aunt Louise, I never heard a grumble. Never a complaint. I never heard them short with Joey. They just took life as it came. But many times around Joey, I witnessed amazing, simple acts of love. To be with the kids, my Uncle Pete would carry Joey down a narrow staircase to our basement. Not just when Joey was a little kid, but when he was a teenager. I'll bet that by then, Joey was four or five inches taller than his Dad and probably weighed the same. But as carefully and as gently as can be, Pete walk down those stairs with his son in his arms.
Pete's other three kids were perfect. It's very easy to love kids when then aren't a problem. But a sick kid? Different story. That's a trial by fire. Lots of people crack. They leave either physically or emotionally. But I saw something else. I saw the resilient character of my Uncle.
It was a simple act. He did not put his life on the line. They don't award bronze stars for such acts of love. Nope. While it was not monumental, it was one of the greatest expressions of love I have ever seen. It has stuck with me for over 35 years.
Uncle Pete, you will always be in my heart and memories.
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