Japanese Television is Evil.

I'm speechless. All I can say is this: I think he's wearing a costume and it's from a Japanese television show. For this segment and a ton of other Japanese strangeness, Star Wars or otherwise, check out

http://www.mondotees.com/pl/Super-Happy-Fun-Monkey-Bash-4/81 A part of my soul just died...

 

2020 Update. The link goes 404. Sorry. You're 11 years late.

25 Favorite Children's Titles

In no particular order, here is my current 25 favorite children’s titles. Many of these books are fun to read even if you don’t have and don’t want children. Enjoy.

The Matzo Ball Boy
Anansi The Spider
all the Olivia books
Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs
all the Toot & Puddle books
Don’t let the Pigeon Drive the Bus
Goodnight Moon
Oh, The Places You’ll Go!
How Do Dinosaurs Say Good Night
Guess How Much I Love You
Kitten’s First Full Moon
The Happy Lion
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie
Blue Hat, Green Hat
I Love You, Little One
Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears
all the Little Critter books
all the Thomas the Tank Engine books
all the Richard Scarry books
Zin! Zin! Zin! a Violin
The Relatives Came
Hey, Pancakes!
The Very Quiet Cricket
The Daddy Mountain
Muncha! Muncha! Muncha!

How Fast The Great Pyramid (updated 2024)

 

2024 update! The construction time frame still orbits twenty-years in academic circles. Not all, of course. but most I see. Just letting you know as this post from 2009 is almost as old as the pyramids. Carry on. For ankhs and giggles, let's bump the figure to 30 years and it's 210 2.5 ton stones a day. 8.75 placed an hour. One block every 6.85 minutes. Ponder that. Something is missing in our understanding of the Damned Thing.

 

According to mainstream Egyptologists, the Great Pyramid of Giza was constructed roughly over a 20-year period starting in 2580 BCE. Probably on a Monday. It is comprised of approximately 2.3 million stone blocks with an average weight of 2.5 tons or 5000lbs.

 Let’s do the math:

      1.  20 years multiplied by 365 days a year = 7300 days

      2.  2,300,000 blocks divided by 7300 days = 315 blocks a day (315.068493 to be exact)

      3.  1 day = 24 hours

      4.  315 blocks divided by 24 hours = 13 blocks an hour (13.125 to be exact)

      5.  1 hour = 60 minutes

      6.  60 minutes divided by 13 blocks = One 2.5 ton block placed every 4.6 minutes (4.61538462 to be exact) 

Ponder that. I mean, really sit on the toilet and think about that. For the Great Pyramid to have been built in twenty years, laborers situated a 5000-pound stone every 4.6 minutes 24 hours a day for 7300 days straight despite errors, mishaps, or elevation. 

Plus...

Don’t let us forget it holds several shafts (can you dig it) and elaborate interior features like the King's Chamber, the Queen's Chamber, the The Grand Gallery, and that underground chamber. 2016 and 2017 non-evasive scanning programs found even MORE interior features.* The 4.6-minute speed DOES NOT INCLUDE these design features because no one knows how they were built into the midst of everything else. Plus, this does NOT include the time to quarry and move the millions of stones! Nor does it include the outer polished limestone layer that the locals (mostly) pilfered over the centuries. Nor does it include the construction of the mud bricks, which is its own process.

(Found this rendition on a number of sites in different formats, but never with a source for credit. Well done, mystery person.)

Plus...

Then we have the logistics of growing/processing/distributing food, water, beer, milk, and housing the on sight workforce while disposing of the resulting...ahem...solid waste. My exhaustive online research found an average human spawns 3-8 oz of stercore, as they say in Latin, per day. Let’s call it 5.5 oz to keep it simple. While the true size of the onsite workforce is unknown, estimates place it in the many thousands depending on the time of year. 2500 humans in a single day, for example, could grace Giza with 859.37 pounds of germ loving detritus requiring constant attention so sickness didn't sweep away the labors. Or at best, get in the way.

Then we have the logistics of sourcing/crafting/storing/repairing/replacing of thousands upon thousands of sundry tools like: stone hammers, copper chisels, ropes, saws, and coffee makers. An entire industry all on its own. And what about replacing injured, old, or killed workers? Oh wait. I just remembered how to make more humans. Never mind.

Let your mind wander around a bit on this: the support systems needed to build the pyramids might surpass, in some ways, the constructs themselves. And scholars wonder why foolish, ignorant lay persons fancy outlandish theories about the lost and distant past. Personally, I’m not implying supernatural or non-human forces were at work here. I enjoy those ideas because looking at a picture from multiple directions can sometimes yield new knowledge on the subject. It's a big Universe, after all. No, for me the suspect of choice has always been the weirdos called Humans. When we want to, we're truly amazing. That's my ultimate message here. We did this. We. Did. This. What else can we do?

Unless, of course, the ancients did have gifted anti-gravity devices. The lazy bastards...

 Be well, gentle reader.  

 

* https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/hidden-chamber-pyramid-giza-180981745/ 

Visiting Hours. A true ghost(?) story.

I was seventeen years old and living in Marcy, NY in the summer of 1987. Located outside Utica, Marcy was sparsely populated and not known for much beyond Mid-State Correctional Facility, Central New York Psychiatric Center (both are situated on the same parcel of land), and Whitesboro Senior High School. I will let you ponder if mere coincidence accounts for all three resting within two miles of each other. My family moved into an old, state-owned converted farmhouse about a mile down the road from the prison the previous summer after my father became its new Deputy Superintendent of Security. What we later learned about our new surroundings was in stark contrast to their humble appearance. For example, roughly thirty yards to the right of our driveway sprawled a large, two story brick building used for storage by the prison. In fact, it was once the Marcy State Hospital, a branch of the New York State Lunatic Asylum (originally called the Utica Lunatic Asylum in the 1840’s). The old asylum, our house, the prison, and the Center were all located on 1,000 acres of land purchased in 1911 from the Crane family whose burial plot lay across the road from my front door. Two overflowing farmhouses held patients until the Marcy State Hospital was completed in the early 1900’s. I don’t have definitive proof my house was one of them, but couple the lack of any other houses in the area with its glaring proximity and age (proven by an 1861 penny that I found the driveway) and Occam’s Razor points in that direction.

Late August seemed cold that year. I mention it because my perpetually open window was closed the night something visited me in my room. It was about 1 A.M. and I was having trouble sleeping. Normally I fell asleep to the radio, so I got up and lowered the volume on the off chance it was too loud. The pale light from a passing car’s headlights caught my eye as I slipped back into bed. It flowed from right to left on the wall behind the radio, as its kind always did, and onto the wall adjacent to my bed before disappearing. A few quiet moments passed when my attention was again caught by a dim light, but this time it was coming from my overhead light fixture. Power surge? That is what I thought for the second it took me to realize the illumination was at least twelve inches to right of the fixture. The glow gradually grew in dimension and intensity until it was the size of an over-inflated football and its radiance reflected off the fixture glass and ceiling. The lower half was grayish while the upper half was the color of cream. Then, as slowly as it formed, it dimmed until it was no more. The room was dark and the moment was over. At no time did I feel shock or fright. Whatever had taken place over the prior ten to fifteen seconds left me calm and relaxed. It was the next twenty minutes that still bother me.

Immediately after the event ended, a short shaft of light, like that cast by a flashlight, reached under my closed door. Back and forth, the shaft flashed under the door before rising toward the doorknob. There it paused and disappeared only to instantly reappear under the door that separated my room from my parent’s bedroom. It performed the same erratic dance near the door’s base for a few moments and then disappeared. But, as the door was painted shut, I had no way of knowing if it was truly gone. What I did know was it was in the same room as my slumbering parents. Adrenalin erased my calmness with one overwhelming thought: there was an intruder in the house. I grabbed my bat, crept into the hallway and into my parents’ room ready to swing first and ask questions later. I found nothing. My parents were sound asleep. I woke them and explained what had happened as best as I could in my frightened state. We spent the next twenty minutes searching the house for any signs of forced entry. Every window and door was intact. My father said it was a dream and that I should go back to bed. My mother tried to reassure me by adding if I did see odd lights they were probably from the drive-in theatre down the road. I knew both explanations were wrong, but without an alternative, I decided to let the matter go and try to make sense of it in the morning.

The next day brought no answers. I tried to wrap my head around it, but as I didn’t know what ‘it’ was, I was at a loss. I might have relegated the entire episode to a waking dream or perhaps cryptonesia had my mother not confessed several years later to seeing light coming out of my room from under my closed door while she was trying to calm me, though my room was dark when I opened my door.

Our house did not own the market on strangeness, however. The old asylum produced an odd assortment of half words and unrecognizable sounds on quiet nights. Occasionally we would see light behind its barred windows. I have no theories linking the two phenomena, but a few years after we moved away prison security discovered cult paraphernalia (teen wannabes most likely) in the asylum’s basement. That could obviously account for what we saw and heard, but what about my house? Why did I associate the second light with an intruder trying to get into my room? And, what does that say about the first light and how calm I felt? I’ve never been able to answer these questions and nothing like it ever transpired again. It was a singular event and those are often the hardest to explain. Even our cat, with all its vaunted feline senses and sensitivities, showed no change in behavior before or after; nor did she shy from any corner of the house. I’ve talked to others who have experienced odd circumstances and like them, I sometimes wish I had an explanation while other times I want to forget about it. Answers are not always pleasant.

Ronald Reagan, Watchmen, and aliens.

*SPOILER ALERT* If you haven't watched the Watchmen film yet, read no further. If you haven’t read the graphic novel yet, ditto. Still with me? Good. Thousands of Watchmen reviews have already sprung up so I won't bother you with another one. You have (or will have) your own opinion which is as valid as the most erudite critic. This piece is about one of the changes made to the graphic novel in the film. The film’s final scene is set in the office of a less than mainstream, anti-Russian publisher called the Pioneer Publishing Inc. The editor belittles an employee for suggesting an article about an actor planning to run for President in '88. The editor replies, “Seymour, we do not dignify absurdities with coverage. This is still America, God damnit. Who wants to a cowboy actor in the White House?" Robert Redford is the aforementioned actor in the graphic novel. In the movie version, the actor is Ronald Reagan. Some supporters of Reagan may feel this is a slight as our charged political landscape is filled with thin-skinned partisans on both sides of the fence. For those I offer this theory: It may have been a nod to the former President and all the comic fans who knew the ending was changed. Dr. Manhattan, for those who haven't read the graphic novel, was never framed by Veidt. Veidt's plan involved fake ALIENS. Yup, an alien invasion gone bad and the murder of millions. THAT was the plot the Comedian uncovered. I don't want to spoil the specifics for those who haven't read it, but Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons presented it wonderfully. Back to Reagan. The movie's plot device was a number huge explosions killing millions. What's more believable to viewers, even a superhero movie audience, a plot to trick Earth into thinking we narrowly missed an alien invasion or a terrorist act? I think the answer is obvious. And yet... 

 

 

Yes, that's Reagan speaking about the unifying force such an alien invasion might generate. So, my take on the Reagan reference is not a necessarily a jab, but perhaps the producers' acknowledgement of a HUGE change in the story. Maybe I'm wrong. I have been accused of reading too much into things before. Yes, that's Reagan speaking about the unifying force such an alien invasion might generate. So, my take on the Reagan reference is not a necessarily a jab, but perhaps the producers' acknowledgement of a HUGE change in the story. Maybe I'm wrong. I have been accused of reading too much into things before.