Month: September 2012

I just read an interview with Michael Grunwald, the author of The New New Deal, a book about the history of the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act (aka the Stimulus bill) and in it I learned about what Grunwald calls the Silent Green Revolution and this new government agency, ARPA-E. Why don’t I know about this already? From the article:

“After receiving an unprecedented surge in funding for renewable energy courtesy of the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, Chu set to work hiring big names from the nation’s top research laboratories, in order to staff a new agency called ARPA-E, modeled after DARPA, the R&D wing of the Pentagon. In just three years, ARPA-E has made more than 180 investments in basic research projects in renewable energy, and that’s in addition to grants issued by the Department of Energy proper, like the one that funded the Ocean Power Technologies project in Oregon …

“The argument is that everything you think you know about the stimulus is wrong. It was not a pathetic failure. It helped prevent a second depression and end a brutal recession in the short term; it was a huge down payment on Obama’s campaign promises to transform the U.S. economy for the long term. But clean energy was the real outlier, getting $90 billion when the U.S. had been spending just a few billion a year. There were unprecedented investments in wind, solar, and other renewables; energy efficiency in every imaginable form; a smarter grid; cleaner coal; advanced biofuels; electric vehicles; the factories to build all that green stuff in the U.S., and yes, clean energy research.”

A young drummer who was playing the car, the street, the sidewalk, everything he could find.

It’s been fun watching Bleeck try to get closer and closer to Finney in the exact way I am trying to get closer and closer to him. Yesterday I was miserable because Bleeck wouldn’t let me anywhere near him. He was all, put down the food and be gone. But today I’m allowed to pet him.

Finney, who couldn’t be in the same apartment with Bleeck, then room, has allowed him to get steadily closer. Actually, this is how he and Buddy used to sleep together. They never curled up, but they’d have to be on the couch or bed or floor together.

The difference is, Buddy and Finney would play and fight without hissing or any real damage. Finney still won’t let Bleeck get near enough to play. OH! But today, Bleeck went up and started eating out of Finney’s food bowl and Finney didn’t kill him. I was in shock. He just let him.

Back from the World Trade Center site. Got a few decent shots of the building I will one day marry, and one of a woman in front of the fence around St. Paul’s Chapel.

There were all sorts of people standing in front of the fence that surrounds St. Paul’s Chapel, truthers, various religious groups, etc. This woman was my favorite, although there were singers that were kinda nice. They were from that religious group, the one where the women wear the Little House on the Prairie dresses. I forget who they are. Oh hell, I’ll include a picture of them below. Someone will surely identify them.

Which would mean that I’m unable to think past names beginning with “Bu.” But that’s what I’ve been calling him so far. Bug. Poor guy. I tried to think of musical names for him, like Dolce for sweet, or Piano for quiet, which I kinda like, but his nickname would most assuredly become Pi, pronounced Pee, and that wouldn’t do.

He hid yesterday, so even though he doesn’t want me to come near him, being out in the same room with me while I took this photograph is progress.

I’ve still got him closed off in the bedroom. Finney hisses at the door, so he knows the intruder is in there. The little guy squeaked back though, so it seems he wants to go out there and check the hissing monster out.

I called and left a message that I wanted the cat. Also, in my memory he was 5 or 7 months old, but it looks like I wrote down 2 years old. I have to straighten that out. It won’t affect my decision, but I wanted as young a cat as possible so the day I have to face the end is as far off as possible. It will affect what catfood I pick up today.

At one point during my cat search I was walking behind a bride on her way to City Hall to get married. Most people getting married at City Hill wear something nice, but they usually don’t go all out with gowns and tuxes. (My friends Howard and Sandy got married there in their regular, every day clothes.) I love the brides who say, “Fuck it. It’s my wedding day and I’m wearing a wedding gown.” I took a couple of shots.