Beams of Steel

So what did happen on 9/11? How did two airplane crashes bring down two 110-story skyscrapers? How did the collapse of WTC2 and WTC1 also cause the collapse of WTC7? What exactly happened?

If the answers to those questions interest you, keep reading.

In the sibling post I wrote about the conspiracy crazies who believe the Towers and WTC7 were brought down deliberately by our government using explosives.

A somewhat less utterly preposterous theory suggests it was American and/or Israeli agents the flew the planes. In some versions the passengers were off-loaded and vanished somehow, in others they were captives. (Which ignores the air-to-ground phone calls made by some of those passengers. Melissa Etheridge has a heart-breaking song about one such case.)

But here’s what the NIST scientific analysis of the events found.

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Conspiracy Theories

Eleven years ago today a world-changing event occurred. A year ago, on the ten-year dark anniversary, I wrote a post about how we’d changed, about how profoundly our view of the world changed.

Today, at the eleven-year mark I want to write about something else. I want to write about how some people believe it was more than what it was. I want to write about how some people believe we did this to ourselves. About how some believe that our own government was behind the sudden, terrifying, mass murder of nearly 3000 Americans.

I want to write about conspiracy crazies. And make no mistake, that is exactly what they are: crazy.

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My Life 3.0

Recently I told you about how, in high school, a casual decision to take an elective added a new direction to my compass. That new direction turned towards a world I had never imagined, and the path along that direction brought me to many joyful and wonderful experiences. For a long time I followed that path towards an imagined future somewhere down the road.

But in college, once again, a casual decision to try something new added yet another direction to my compass. And that path, too, led to joy and wonder. And that path did take me down a road towards my future.

Towards my present.

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BB #11: Hints & Pomes

Do you all know the Gallagher bit about the Crazy English Language?

B.O.M.B. … “b-ah-m!”
T.O.M.B. … “t-ah-m?” … no T.O.M.B. “t-oo-m”
C.O.M.B. … “c-oo-m?” … no C.O.M.B. “c-oh-m”
P.O.M.B. … “p-oh-m?” … no P.O.E.M. “p-oh-m”
H.O.E.M. … “h-oh-m?” … no H.O.M.E. “h-oh-m”
S.O.M.E. … “s-oh-m?” … no S.O.M.E. “s-uh-m”
N.O.M.E. … “n-uh-m?” … no N.U.M.B. “n-uh-m”

This will make more sense when you get to the end of this Special Edition of Brain Bubbles.

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The Love Connection

A couple of weeks ago I started writing about a high school English teacher of mine and ended up writing about how I got into theatre (pretty much accidentally). That post turned into the story of finding a completely new direction I never knew existed. In one way or another, that new direction has been part of my compass ever since. At first it was an intended career, but it turned out my career followed a direction discovered much later.

In that post, I mentioned that I would write about the intended subject another time.

It is now another time.

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57 and Rising

When I woke up this morning, it was 67 degrees in the house and 57 outside. (Fahrenheit, by the way.) Right now, I’m sitting here fighting the urge to turn on the furnace. Or at least put on some socks (I’m a barefoot boy unless I absolutely, positively must wear shoes; I rarely am stocking footed; shoes or nothing, preferably nothing).

Or maybe even just close the windows.

But it’s supposed to warm up to 77 or 78 today, so I’m fighting the urge. I don’t even want to close the windows. I love fall weather, and I’ve been so much enjoying that period between needing the air conditioner to fight the heat and humidity and needing the furnace to fight Old Man Winter.

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Google Trek

Star Trek fans, go to Google right now (Go Ogle)!

They’re celebrating the 46th anniversary of Star Trek, and the Google artwork is delightful and provides some fun.

Mouse over the image and click anything that lights up with a line around it!

See if you can find the tribbles!

See if you can beam down to the planet and defeat the monster!

See if you can see the Enterprise fly.

Happy 46th Anniversary Star Trek!!

[Pass it on to your Trekker friends.]


BB #10: Observing Primates

I was digging through boxes I’ve carted around for four decades looking for a short science fiction story I wrote in high school. I haven’t found it, but I refuse to believe it’s not there somewhere. There’s a lot to go through; I’d forgotten how much writing I did in high school and into college. Most of it is embarrassing juvenile crap (I may share some of it with you just for laughs).

I did find a piece I wrote seven or so years after college. Reading it made me laugh out loud (but I’m easily amused). Perhaps it will tickle your funny bone as well.

[Update July 23, 2016: I did eventually find The Lost Story.]

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My Parents’ Music

Those of you who grew up with Rock & Roll probably heard your parents say, “That music all sounds the same.” (The implication: Therefore, it’s crap.)

The funny thing is: To me, their music all sounded the same (and to some extent, still does). No doubt the music of my children will all sound the same to me (assuming I had any (which I don’t (and now it’s not likely I ever will (not that I’m bitter (yeah, right))))).

Truth is, I really have no ear for rap… it, um, all sounds the same to me. That may have more to do with having really bad hearing. I frequently cannot make out the lyrics of songs. Often, for me, the vocal track is just another melodic track that sounds like a human voice. And in any event, rap, to me, is more a form of poetry than of music.

Over the years, I’d noticed how my parents (and other lovers of classical music) could identify a symphony after hearing just a small bit. “Oh, yeah, that’s Foomhauser’s Opus #52 in P-flat Minor.” That seemed amazing and mysterious to me, but then I realized that I can do the same thing with rock. No doubt we can all identify music we’ve listened to over and over.

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Machinery Rules

A few months ago a friend asked me if I had ever read, or seen, The Sand Pebbles. I replied that the closest I’d come was the Mad Magazine parody of the film. My friend felt this was a serious gap in my experience and offered to loan me the book and his DVD of the film.

Two things I should explain at this point. The first is that I’m always open to trying new things. That is, assuming they’re not utterly insane, extremely illegal or likely to cause harm. (Mildly insane, slightly illegal or probably harmless, yeah, okay, keep talking.) I would rather try a new restaurant than one I know, and I’ve turned down many a road just to see where it went.

The second thing is that, as much as I love movies, I’m not real big on war movies or westerns. The friend mentioned above loves both, and has been rather pointed sometimes about the “gaps” in my collection.

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