THE OLDEST BLOCKCHAIN WAS PRINTED IN THE NEW YORK TIMES!!!!!!!
That’s the clickbait headline that’s going around a couple of the garbage sites like Vice and Buzzfeed. To prevent you from having to read them, I’ve found an alternate source for you, free of charge: Finding The Oldest Blockchain.
If you don’t know what blockchain is, then you’ll want to start by reading my Explain-Like-I’m-Five-Years-Old piece on hashes. It was written for people with an interest in Bitcoin. I suspect that interest in Bitcoin has greatly waned since I wrote it; judging by the current market cap, it’s a third of what it is now. Which reminds me. I have a Bitcoin story of my own to tell. Watch this space.
It’s been so refreshing to see the bipartisan respect for John McCain this week. Democrats everywhere are reminding us how much they love John McCain. He was a patriot, a hero, and a statesman. It’s a real shame that McCain didn’t die before he ran for President—he might have won.
But once the left got a taste of a winning Republican (in the person of one Donald J. Trump), they decided that McCain was just fine. Always a lovable loser, the Washington Generals to the Dems’ Harlem Globetrotters, the left was happy to deify McCain upon his passing. All of a sudden, they decided that respect for the flag was a really important thing. All because of just one thing—McCain was essentially a #nevertrump guy.
The media has decided to make a Faustian deal with the neo-con GOP establishment—rebuke Trump, and we’ll change our position on you.
Imagine, in 2018, that there is a station wagon that sells. It exists, and it is the Subaru Outback. In today’s fractured market, with crossovers and teeny 2.0L turbocharged Singer sewing machines powering a vast majority of new cars, the Subaru comes with boxer four- or six cylinder engines. And although Subaru has joined the CVT transmission party, both powerplants are-GASP!-normally aspirated. Imagine that.
About a month ago I was wandering around the showroom at McLaughlin Cadillac-Subaru-Volvo when I leaned in the open window of a black Outback Limited. I hadn’t really paid much attention to these wagons, although I noted their regular presence in traffic. It was rather nice inside. The beige leather was pleasing, and the wood trim on the doors and dash were attractive.
Intrigued, I got in behind the wheel. This was pretty cushy. It was especially nice with the light beige leather, and wood trim. Airy. No Bat Cave interior, with loophole windows, this! I thought perhaps it would be a good candidate for a test drive for Riverside Green. Continue Reading →
In 2017, 74 of the 30,000 white farmers in South Africa were murdered.
In that same year, 48 unarmed Black men were killed by police in the USA, out of 21.5 million Black men, the majority of whom presumably go about unarmed most of the time.
That’s one in 405 against one in 447,917. If you’re upset by the latter — and I don’t think anybody likes it, with the possible exception of the people who benefit financially or politically from the situation — you should be enraged by the former. Yet the uniparty media, which lionized Mr. Obama for his posthumous adoption of Trayvon Martin, became practically rabid with frothing fury when President Trump expressed concern regarding those South African farmers. CNN screeched that “one recently released accounting… suggested the killing of white farmers in South Africa was at a 20-year low.” Well, the rate of “gun violence homicide” in the USA is half what it was in 1992 but that’s not stopping our media from bleating about the “gun violence epidemic”. Not one more death! Unless the guy is working a farm in South Africa, in which case 74 will be just fine!
We all know how this movie is going to end: the killings, beatings, rapes of intimidation of farmers will increase until they are driven off the land. The land will be given to cronies of the South African political leadership. Production will start to fall, because the qualities that make for a good political crony do not make for a good farmer. Over the course of say, a decade, South Africa will see its farming output decline until it is perhaps one-quarter or less of what it is now. Then South Africa will become a permanent recipient of Western aid and its people will live in abject poverty.
We know this because we’ve seen this movie before. The fall of Rhodesia from “Africa’s breadbasket” to Africa’s basketcase is well documented, even in left-leaning American press. Which no doubt explains why, as South Africa prepares to leap from the same precipice, the media is starting to rewrite history.
Back in May of 2016, I was running a couple of errands after work when I spotted something that is getting harder and harder to find out on the open road: A 1980-84 Town Car. The 1980 Continental and Continental Mark VI were downsized compared to their impressive, chromed Pullman car 1975-79 forebears, but in this day and age the first Panther Lincolns no longer look small, and among silver silvermist and beige beigemist Camrys and Altimas, it stands out as an elegant rectilinear throwback to the early 1980s.
The final single released by Jimi Hendrix before his death, Stepping Stone, ends with a kind of intensity crescendo followed by the squeak of a pick (or hand) on his guitar strings, the click and buzz typically intended to suggest a cut-in from the recording booth to the studio, and a voice, not Jimi’s, saying “…made it.”
That’s how I felt at about two o’clock today when Danger Girl crossed the line to finish her first NASA sprint race. All day on Friday and Saturday we had struggled with a random cutout at speed that eventually became a misfire which eventually became the car running on just three cylinders. After no small amount of drama and hassle, I traced it to the trigger wire for the coilpack which had melted inside the intact housing and coil clip.
Naturally, the parts were only available back home in Columbus, so we missed Saturday’s race. And just as naturally for Ohio, today’s qualifying session was a rain-soaked mess. DG elected to start at the back of a 50-car race group. She didn’t finish last and she did not have the slowest lap times. We are going to call that an unqualified success. She also set her personal best lap for Mid-Ohio’s Club configuration in the middle of some unpleasant Spec Miata traffic. Finally, Marilyn the MX-5 Cup Car rang the Dynojet to the tune of 148 RWHP after our quick-and-dirty wiring-harness fix. All good news.
Let’s catch up on the Week That Was.
True confessions time: Until today, I was under the impression that the American response to the hurricane crisis in Puerto Rico had been a little, shall we say, stingy. How could you blame me for feeling this way? The media has continually told me about our stingy response. Hell, it’s been worse than stingy; it’s been trashy. Fully ten percent of the food aid to PR consisted of candy or snacks that you CANNOT FIND at Whole Foods! The idea that you would hurriedly box up a bunch of aid to starving people and have THE NERVE to let a full tenth of it be the kind of food that rich people in Los Angeles wouldn’t buy… We might as well have dropped Fat Man (the bomb, not the self-congratulatory automotive journalist) on the place and let it vaporize in the nook-u-lar flame.
Well, it’s time for you to feel better. I just sent a thousand dollars to Puerto Rico. So did you. In fact, I’ve been sending about $250 a year to Puerto Rico since I was a teenager, give or take a few bucks. And there’s more to come.
Perhaps because I have done it so often, I sometimes forget that the great American road trip is a dying tradition. Some of my earliest memories are tied into those long drives from our home in the cool, tree covered hills of Western Washington to visit my grandparents on the hot, sun baked plains of Eastern Kansas. The recollections play out in my mind like a disjointed movie – a memory of our overheated Oldsmobile station wagon on a mountain pass shooting out a geyser of steam as my father adds water collected from the melting snow, an image caught through the window of a canopy on the back of our Chevy truck where my brothers, sisters and I made another trip atop a pile of blankets, and still another, when my older three siblings had been deemed too old to be forced to make the trip, where my sister Connie and I luxuriated in the spacious backseat and the air-conditioned comfort of my dad’s Delta 88. Eventually I too aged out of that particular journey, but as an adult I still embrace the road trip and have spent more than my fair share of time using the interstate to traverse the vast distances between our nation’s shores. I’ve done it probably a dozen times now and it’s become an old trick. Perhaps that was why I felt so little trepidation over using a 27 year old Nissan to do it yet again. Continue Reading →
The 1964 Cadillac was the end of an era. Sure, there would be great Cadillacs for years after, but 1964 was extra special. It marked the final year of the fin. While the totally redesigned 1965 Cadillacs would still have a squared-off blade on their rear quarter panels, and said protuberances would last way, way wayyy up to the final 1992 Cadillac Brougham and Brougham d’Elegance, 1964 was the last year of the true, unedited, unmitigated Cadillac shark fin.
The thing I love the most about Cadillac in the 1960s is that no matter what model you chose, you got a great car. A high-quality car, whether a Series 62, de Ville, Fleetwood Sixty Special or Eldorado.
I have been to the mountaintop, as the man once said. More specifically, to Mount Evans, the highest paved road in North America. This is actually the second time I’ve been to the mountaintop; the last time I was driving a McLaren 650S right after the snowplows had made an icy but usable path for me to follow. This time the weather was good, the car was FWD, and the goats were out in force. For more hot animal action and for a link to the (extremely) short roundup for this week, click El Linko.