By Rob Watson
Several years back I talked myself into buying into a partnership in a gun store. The agreement was we would work together for six months. If we got along, I would buy half the business. Good plan. Didn't work. However a lot of good stories came out of the experience...
It was a small store in an out of the way location. It was fairly unusual to have more than one browser in at a time, (Browser, that is what businesses use to call folks looking for stuff.)with lots of time in between. On this particular day there were half a dozen browsers, myself, and Partner. Enter a tall, handsome, young man with an attractive young woman on his arm.
The couple was striking enough in appearance to draw most eyes to themselves. It was a warm day and both were in shorts. After browsing for a bit the young man asked to see one of our stun gun devices. Partner handed him the less expensive, smaller model. The man took the device, touched his bare leg and pulled the trigger. He seemed not to react to the 50,000 volt charge he had just put through himself.
He handed the device back to Partner saying: "That wasn't much." Now ALL eyes were on the man. Partner was actually insulted that the man had disparaged his self defense device. (For the unfamiliar, when you press the trigger on one of the things, they issue a loud popping sound and produce an impressive blue spark discharge about two inches long between the prongs.) Partner took back the less expensive model and handed over the newer, larger, expensive stun gun, saying: "Here, try this."
Every person in the store was now aware of what was about to happen. This foolish young man was going to take a large self defense stun gun and deliberately shock himself. And, he did.
Handing the device back to Partner, he replied: "Oh, that's better."
Everyone, the young man excepted, was struck completely speechless. For myself, I COULD NOT BELIEVE what I had seen. My amazement and surprise at that moment has been surpassed by no more than three other events in my life. (The Kennedy assassination, the 9/11 attacks, and the death of my very best friend.) I was shocked into near immobility. The young man and his date walked casually from the store.
Partner, with his mouth wide open and the stun gun poised in the position he had received it, having still not spoken, pressed the trigger on the stun gun, no doubt to see if it was actually working. The device produced the loud popping sound and the impressive blue spark, two inches long. There was some discussion about one of us trying the same stunt, but there were no takers.
Intellectual curiosity has always been a passion of mine. In the following case we should just call it curiosity. I could not stand it. I had to know what that shock felt like. I have been holding sparkplug wires for cars and lawn mowers when they discharged. These were truly unpleasant events... just unpleasant, not harmful. After three days, I "screwed my courage to the sticking place" (Shakespear, I think) and shocked myself with the smaller stun gun. (I shall tell you how it felt... shortly.)
It was a revelation. My eyes opened and I felt an epiphany. The first thought to my mind was: "How in the hell can anyone defend themselves with this silly device." I took the larger device and shocked myself again. The kid had it right "Oh, That's better." I called the lady who had sold us the expensive stun gun and told her the story of the young man and his girl. I did not tell her my own story, yet. Her reply was: "I can't help it if some kid wants to show off for his girlfriend!" to which I replied, "Hey, I shocked myself with that damned thing and I want to know how someone can use it to defend themselves!!"
"I teach a self defense class to women." She began. "I tell them to wrap their arms around the assailants arms and their legs around his legs..." Think about this... You're getting this picture, right? "... then I tell them to hold the device on their spine for three to five seconds." I asked for my money back. She sent it.
No refund on the smaller one. That was OK. I used it to sell several guns and lots of pepper spray. (I later learned that most pepper spray will not stop a determined attack from a human, especially one who has experienced it previously. Varmints such as dogs, but not all bears, will be stopped by pepper spray.) When a customer would come to me and ask for a stun gun for self defense, I took them to my cheap one. I demonstrated the loud popping sound and the bright blue spark, then stuck it to my knee and pulled the trigger again.
I asked the customer if he/she saw me fall down and pass out like you see in the stun gun films. "Well, no." was always the response. Then we went to the gun counter...
If I had thought one of those things would impress the girls, I would have bought one in the 8th grade, when girls first became interesting to me. What does it feel like? Put a bandaid on a hairy part of your body and yank it off in one quick jerk. Leaves a little red mark. Yesser, I would have traded two or three such shocks for a movie date with a young lady of my own choosing.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
The Merry Bee: Swapping Ends
Several things affect the stability of an automobile. Gravity and friction being chief among them. The Bee had a very low center of gravity; it was also well forward. The engine, a reworked Chevy 283 and transmission constituted 2/3 of the total weight of the vehicle. The front tires, supporting most of this weight, had good tread. In seeking style over function I had chosen nine inch wide drag slicks (no tread at all) for the rear tires. Simply put: front lots of weight lots of tread lots of friction. Rear light weight no tread not much friction.
The goal of this adventure was to sneak the Bee over to college and work on her there. The guy in the trailer down from us was an experienced mechanic that had decided to go back to college. He had helped previously, and was a participant in a couple of our Merry adventures.
I got on the road late in the afternoon so as to arrive after dark. Rain was threatening but in my vast inexperience I was unconcerned. About thirty miles along the back roads, I noticed a man and his car stopped along the side of the road. His hood was up and he was peering inside. My tool box was part of the cargo so I stopped to offer help. He declined my offer. It began to sprinkle, just enough to wet the road surface.
A few yards from the disabled driver was a crossroad with the stop sign on my side. I stopped. Then, inspired by a really foolish thought, I decided to do a "quick" start. With a great roar from the engine Bee and I went blasting down the road. The shift into third gear caused the slick rear tires on the wet road to do what slick tires always do on wet roads. They broke loose and began to spin. The front tires, with extra weight and good tread held. The rear began to swish from side to side like a hula dancer.
Brilliant strategist that I was, I removed my foot from the accelerator. then jammed on the brakes. The front wheels continued to exhibit some contact with the wet road surface. The rear wheels, considerably less. Bee swapped ends and directed herself, in a sweeping spiral off the road and up across the face of steep road cut through a hill.
I clung to the steering wheel with the break and clutch both fully depressed. I kept repeating to myself: "When is she going to roll? When is she going to roll? When is she going to roll?" And, my eyes were closed until Bee rattled and bumped to a stop, still upright.
Opening my eyes, Bee was pointed directly down slope toward the road. The motor had died so I took my foot off the break and rolled down hill and onto the road. I rolled across the road and straightened out on the shoulder. I got out and, on my knees, said a fervent prayer of thanks for being safe, unharmed, and alive.
Careful inspection revealed the bolts holding the body to the frame had all broken loose and the body had displaced forward about four inches. Everything else seemed to be attached and working. It seemed that way, but all was not well. The engine started without a problem so I continued on my way, the adventure not half done, lessons about slick tires and wet roads not half learned.
Twenty or so miles along the way, the here-to-fore unobserved problem arose. As Bee came down a slight hill and into a curve, headed toward a bridge, the accelerator stuck at an advanced setting. The engine roared again. The rear wheels broke loose and began to spin. The rear end did its hula dancer thing and I jammed on the brake and clutch. Bee swapped ends and slid, tail lights first, some 180 feet (by actual measurement) off the road and into a ditch.
Then the scary part came. The ditch was about 12 feet deep and had 4 feet of water in it. Bee hit bottom on her back end and continued directly over to land on her top. As before I was clinging to the steering wheel. When I heard and felt the water I immediately sucked in a huge breath. Before all motion had stopped I was planning my escape. Bee's top had never been covered, leaving a four foot square hole. In her final motion, Bee rolled onto her side, offering me a great escape route.
After my escape, I climbed up to the road and repeated the prayer of thanks, again on my knees. I was not cold and began to consider my options. It was still 20 miles or so to school. I could walk, and come back tomorrow with help to get Bee out of the ditch. I could try to hitchhike but nobody would want a wet muddy stranger in their car... but maybe the back of a pickup.
It was now dark and all one saw of an oncoming vehicle were its headlights. I waved down the first set of lights to come along... the only set of lights as it turned out. I explained my situation to the man and his wife. They promised to send help. Some help.
The next set of lights belonged to a Louisiana Highway Patrol Policeman. He was followed by a couple of sheriff deputies, all with enough lights to blind half the parish (county). After determining that there was no property damage and no personal injuries, these officers measured my skid marks and made notes for their accident reports.
After a while, a tow truck showed up. The black driver proceeded to let out his tow cable and climbed into the ditch to hook onto Bee. Bee was now on her side, half submerged, and pointed in the correct direction. Just as the driver found a place to connect his cable, two pistol shots rang out and the officers shouted "SNAKE!!". Jesus walked a fair distance on water, and with Jesus as my witness, this driver arose out of the water and walked ten feet across the water to the shore. As a student of science, I know what I saw is impossible. I saw it none the less.
There was no snake. However the lawmen had a huge laugh. (TV shows always suspend an officer and investigate every time he draws and fires his weapon... don't think it happened this time) No amount of coaxing or shining of light on the water could get the driver near the water. I eventually took the tow cable and hooked it up myself. I was given a ticket for driving too fast for road conditions. I rode back with the tow truck.
Here I learned another great lesson. Never go to traffic court to argue your innocence. I did not know you could just go pay the fine and all would be forgotten. The fine would have been $25 back when $25 was 1/4 my monthly allowance. I watched several cases where young people, not unlike myself, argued their case before the judge. It became clear that the defendant's testamony was completely ignored when in conflict with an officer of the law.
When my case was called, I walked to the front of the court and stood, seemingly, all alone against the powers of the whole court. I had never planned to argue innocence. At this late date my mind cannot recall any plan at all. The charge was read and the judge asked if I was guilty. My brilliant reply: "I don't know." After another exchange, the judge decided I was guilty. He banged his gavel and said: "I fine you $25 plus court costs." The deputy, who to this point had not said a word, jumped up and shouted: "But Judge, he was driving one of those hotrods!" The judge paused for the briefest of moments before banging his gavel again and said "I'm going to teach you kids not to drive those things around here! Fine $50 plus court costs! 62% of my monthly budget down the drain. Did I call home and tell them what happened... Well truthfully, I have done many silly and foolish things... But I never did tell my parents.
Bee's engine was full of water. Timely advice and quick action prevented any significant damage. When the ditch had dried out I went back to the spot and retrieved my tools and other stuff, The next time I had a few extra dollars, I bought some rear tires with good tread. The drag slicks went into the barn. They were eventually stolen. I have often wondered what that fool learned about slick tires and wet roads.
The goal of this adventure was to sneak the Bee over to college and work on her there. The guy in the trailer down from us was an experienced mechanic that had decided to go back to college. He had helped previously, and was a participant in a couple of our Merry adventures.
I got on the road late in the afternoon so as to arrive after dark. Rain was threatening but in my vast inexperience I was unconcerned. About thirty miles along the back roads, I noticed a man and his car stopped along the side of the road. His hood was up and he was peering inside. My tool box was part of the cargo so I stopped to offer help. He declined my offer. It began to sprinkle, just enough to wet the road surface.
A few yards from the disabled driver was a crossroad with the stop sign on my side. I stopped. Then, inspired by a really foolish thought, I decided to do a "quick" start. With a great roar from the engine Bee and I went blasting down the road. The shift into third gear caused the slick rear tires on the wet road to do what slick tires always do on wet roads. They broke loose and began to spin. The front tires, with extra weight and good tread held. The rear began to swish from side to side like a hula dancer.
Brilliant strategist that I was, I removed my foot from the accelerator. then jammed on the brakes. The front wheels continued to exhibit some contact with the wet road surface. The rear wheels, considerably less. Bee swapped ends and directed herself, in a sweeping spiral off the road and up across the face of steep road cut through a hill.
I clung to the steering wheel with the break and clutch both fully depressed. I kept repeating to myself: "When is she going to roll? When is she going to roll? When is she going to roll?" And, my eyes were closed until Bee rattled and bumped to a stop, still upright.
Opening my eyes, Bee was pointed directly down slope toward the road. The motor had died so I took my foot off the break and rolled down hill and onto the road. I rolled across the road and straightened out on the shoulder. I got out and, on my knees, said a fervent prayer of thanks for being safe, unharmed, and alive.
Careful inspection revealed the bolts holding the body to the frame had all broken loose and the body had displaced forward about four inches. Everything else seemed to be attached and working. It seemed that way, but all was not well. The engine started without a problem so I continued on my way, the adventure not half done, lessons about slick tires and wet roads not half learned.
Twenty or so miles along the way, the here-to-fore unobserved problem arose. As Bee came down a slight hill and into a curve, headed toward a bridge, the accelerator stuck at an advanced setting. The engine roared again. The rear wheels broke loose and began to spin. The rear end did its hula dancer thing and I jammed on the brake and clutch. Bee swapped ends and slid, tail lights first, some 180 feet (by actual measurement) off the road and into a ditch.
Then the scary part came. The ditch was about 12 feet deep and had 4 feet of water in it. Bee hit bottom on her back end and continued directly over to land on her top. As before I was clinging to the steering wheel. When I heard and felt the water I immediately sucked in a huge breath. Before all motion had stopped I was planning my escape. Bee's top had never been covered, leaving a four foot square hole. In her final motion, Bee rolled onto her side, offering me a great escape route.
After my escape, I climbed up to the road and repeated the prayer of thanks, again on my knees. I was not cold and began to consider my options. It was still 20 miles or so to school. I could walk, and come back tomorrow with help to get Bee out of the ditch. I could try to hitchhike but nobody would want a wet muddy stranger in their car... but maybe the back of a pickup.
It was now dark and all one saw of an oncoming vehicle were its headlights. I waved down the first set of lights to come along... the only set of lights as it turned out. I explained my situation to the man and his wife. They promised to send help. Some help.
The next set of lights belonged to a Louisiana Highway Patrol Policeman. He was followed by a couple of sheriff deputies, all with enough lights to blind half the parish (county). After determining that there was no property damage and no personal injuries, these officers measured my skid marks and made notes for their accident reports.
After a while, a tow truck showed up. The black driver proceeded to let out his tow cable and climbed into the ditch to hook onto Bee. Bee was now on her side, half submerged, and pointed in the correct direction. Just as the driver found a place to connect his cable, two pistol shots rang out and the officers shouted "SNAKE!!". Jesus walked a fair distance on water, and with Jesus as my witness, this driver arose out of the water and walked ten feet across the water to the shore. As a student of science, I know what I saw is impossible. I saw it none the less.
There was no snake. However the lawmen had a huge laugh. (TV shows always suspend an officer and investigate every time he draws and fires his weapon... don't think it happened this time) No amount of coaxing or shining of light on the water could get the driver near the water. I eventually took the tow cable and hooked it up myself. I was given a ticket for driving too fast for road conditions. I rode back with the tow truck.
Here I learned another great lesson. Never go to traffic court to argue your innocence. I did not know you could just go pay the fine and all would be forgotten. The fine would have been $25 back when $25 was 1/4 my monthly allowance. I watched several cases where young people, not unlike myself, argued their case before the judge. It became clear that the defendant's testamony was completely ignored when in conflict with an officer of the law.
When my case was called, I walked to the front of the court and stood, seemingly, all alone against the powers of the whole court. I had never planned to argue innocence. At this late date my mind cannot recall any plan at all. The charge was read and the judge asked if I was guilty. My brilliant reply: "I don't know." After another exchange, the judge decided I was guilty. He banged his gavel and said: "I fine you $25 plus court costs." The deputy, who to this point had not said a word, jumped up and shouted: "But Judge, he was driving one of those hotrods!" The judge paused for the briefest of moments before banging his gavel again and said "I'm going to teach you kids not to drive those things around here! Fine $50 plus court costs! 62% of my monthly budget down the drain. Did I call home and tell them what happened... Well truthfully, I have done many silly and foolish things... But I never did tell my parents.
Bee's engine was full of water. Timely advice and quick action prevented any significant damage. When the ditch had dried out I went back to the spot and retrieved my tools and other stuff, The next time I had a few extra dollars, I bought some rear tires with good tread. The drag slicks went into the barn. They were eventually stolen. I have often wondered what that fool learned about slick tires and wet roads.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The Merry Bee: Riding the String
Riding the String
By Rob Watson
All mechanical devices have development problems. This is especially true when the developer is inexperienced and in a hurry to get things done. In this case "hurry" led to some good news and some bad news. The good news was that the idea to make the clutch hydraulic saved me from figuring out the complex mechanical linkage to make the clutch work. Just mount a hydraulic master cylinder next to the brake master cylinder, screw a slave cylinder to the transmission and you are done. (for the nitpickers, there is a hydraulic line and an actuation rod as well) The bad news was a string attached to the throttle... (actually a length of electrical wire) that could be passed to the control of another person. You made the Bee go faster by pulling the string(wire). Because there was a very limited exhaust system installed, you could also create a great deal of noise by pulling the string.
The a few days before, I had discovered the break and clutch master cylinders both were not working properly: no breaks, no clutch. I took them apart, rebuilt them with new parts, and readjusted them and let them set. On a Sunday I decided to test them out to insure there were no more problems. As I went cruising down the road south of Big Lake in Arkansas, I encountered Jimmy. We chatted for a bit and Jimmy decided he wanted to go for a ride in the Bee.
As we toodled on down the road (I liked to drive about 50) Jimmy saw how the throttle worked and asked if he could operate it. Presumably, he was enamored with the increased speed and increased noise associated with jerking on the string, 'cause he was working it over.
You may recall that road is mostly straight on the east end and passes through unoccupied areas. There, speed and noise were not a problem. The west end is curved and occupied. As we approached the curves I tried to get Jimmy to stop jerking on the string. Apparently, he was otherwise occupied to the point of ignoring me. No problem, thinks I. Engage the clutch, depress the breaks. Still noisy but we would slow down. Nope, nope, nope!!!
When I depressed the clutch it went, easily, all the way to the floor and stuck there, without disengaging the transmission. I immediately depressed the break. It slipped easily to the floor and stuck there without engaging the breaks. No Clutch, No Breaks, and a madman jerking on the throttle.
Fortunately, after a few seconds of pure terror, I remembered there is always an option of last resort, on automobiles it is the ignition switch. I turned the key as the Bee zipped through a series of S curves with Lake on one side and big trees on the other. ( it has always amazed me that, in the movies, someone is driving a car that goes out of control and they never, never turn off the ignition... But that is the movies)
When the engine died, while roaring down the road and the madman jerking furiously on the throttle, Jimmy looked at me with a look of pure puzzlement. When the Bee came to a complete stop, I demonstrated to my puzzled passenger that neither the break nor the clutch were working. He did not faint or die of fright... it was a near thing either way, I am sure.
If you get the chance, ask Jimmy to tell the story. His is a much more dramatic version.
PS: at the risk of ruining a perfectly good mystery, The problem turned out to be: I had used the wrong kind of hydraulic fluid. It caused all the rubber parts to swell up and stick... once depressed they leaked around the seals and would not return to the original position. The lesson from this: if the book says use DOT 3 hydraulic fluid, use DOT 3 hydraulic fluid, or you may end up "riding the string" and need to remember about the ignition switch.
By Rob Watson
All mechanical devices have development problems. This is especially true when the developer is inexperienced and in a hurry to get things done. In this case "hurry" led to some good news and some bad news. The good news was that the idea to make the clutch hydraulic saved me from figuring out the complex mechanical linkage to make the clutch work. Just mount a hydraulic master cylinder next to the brake master cylinder, screw a slave cylinder to the transmission and you are done. (for the nitpickers, there is a hydraulic line and an actuation rod as well) The bad news was a string attached to the throttle... (actually a length of electrical wire) that could be passed to the control of another person. You made the Bee go faster by pulling the string(wire). Because there was a very limited exhaust system installed, you could also create a great deal of noise by pulling the string.
The a few days before, I had discovered the break and clutch master cylinders both were not working properly: no breaks, no clutch. I took them apart, rebuilt them with new parts, and readjusted them and let them set. On a Sunday I decided to test them out to insure there were no more problems. As I went cruising down the road south of Big Lake in Arkansas, I encountered Jimmy. We chatted for a bit and Jimmy decided he wanted to go for a ride in the Bee.
As we toodled on down the road (I liked to drive about 50) Jimmy saw how the throttle worked and asked if he could operate it. Presumably, he was enamored with the increased speed and increased noise associated with jerking on the string, 'cause he was working it over.
You may recall that road is mostly straight on the east end and passes through unoccupied areas. There, speed and noise were not a problem. The west end is curved and occupied. As we approached the curves I tried to get Jimmy to stop jerking on the string. Apparently, he was otherwise occupied to the point of ignoring me. No problem, thinks I. Engage the clutch, depress the breaks. Still noisy but we would slow down. Nope, nope, nope!!!
When I depressed the clutch it went, easily, all the way to the floor and stuck there, without disengaging the transmission. I immediately depressed the break. It slipped easily to the floor and stuck there without engaging the breaks. No Clutch, No Breaks, and a madman jerking on the throttle.
Fortunately, after a few seconds of pure terror, I remembered there is always an option of last resort, on automobiles it is the ignition switch. I turned the key as the Bee zipped through a series of S curves with Lake on one side and big trees on the other. ( it has always amazed me that, in the movies, someone is driving a car that goes out of control and they never, never turn off the ignition... But that is the movies)
When the engine died, while roaring down the road and the madman jerking furiously on the throttle, Jimmy looked at me with a look of pure puzzlement. When the Bee came to a complete stop, I demonstrated to my puzzled passenger that neither the break nor the clutch were working. He did not faint or die of fright... it was a near thing either way, I am sure.
If you get the chance, ask Jimmy to tell the story. His is a much more dramatic version.
PS: at the risk of ruining a perfectly good mystery, The problem turned out to be: I had used the wrong kind of hydraulic fluid. It caused all the rubber parts to swell up and stick... once depressed they leaked around the seals and would not return to the original position. The lesson from this: if the book says use DOT 3 hydraulic fluid, use DOT 3 hydraulic fluid, or you may end up "riding the string" and need to remember about the ignition switch.
Social Security may not be a bad deal
Today I started, as all good mathematicians and scientists, with a hypothesis: Social Security is a bad deal for those who have been gainfully employed all their lives. Ultimately there are two cases. First Case is my out of pocket expense and potential return. Second Case is the return on the total paid to Social Security by me and my employer.
As you may know there is no money in the Social Security Trust Fund. A Democratically controlled congress, back in the '70s I think, took all the cash out and spent it, all future surplus was also put in the national treasury and spent. The trust fund now contains a pile of IOUs to be paid from future income taxes. (If you have an income, you get to pay yourself for your Social Security "entitlement")
That said, the following is pure speculation as congress may decide we are not entitled to our entitlements after all... they having the wisdom to spend our money as we might have if given the choice. (yep, you bet)
Case one: Having applied for early Social Security benefits at age 62, My entitlement payment is X dollars a month. As I am embarrassed at the smallness of the number, it will remain a secret. However, I have used standard financial formulas and calculations, you should be able to put your X in and have your numbers.
Step one was to find how much I actually paid to Social Security from age 13, when I was paid to work in my parents store, to the present. 52 years. Social Security reported that total annually until I started taking benefits. I built a spreadsheet, entered each annual payment, and calculated the future value of these to the present. That is 112.5X for the total of all the years, Which had to be calculated separately because the SS tax rate changed almost every year. I did the same for medicare: 26.3X
Next I wanted to figure out what I would be able to get if I had that 112.5X dollars. First I looked up an insurance association web site. They had a calculation for figuring the lifetime return from an annuity, payments continue to death, no survivor payments: .7136X. From Medicare I would get : .1664X Please notice the placement of the decimals. I would get about 88% of what Social Security now pays, from the annuity. ( but then again SS takes back some of my X so it may be a wash)
Case Two: The total paid to Social Security, my money plus the employers contribution, is fortunately, exactly double. Then, look at these numbers. From an annuity I would get 1.76X out of which I would have to pay about .2X for a $2500 deductable Health Insurance policy similar to what Medicare provides. That is to say I would be forced to live on 1.56X instead of X.
Conclusion: I doubt I could live, in any condition except poverty, on the X. With 1.56X I could live in comfortable poverty. What would surprise me more than anything if the X does NOT trend to zero. Does anyone know what Walmart pays those greeters?
As you may know there is no money in the Social Security Trust Fund. A Democratically controlled congress, back in the '70s I think, took all the cash out and spent it, all future surplus was also put in the national treasury and spent. The trust fund now contains a pile of IOUs to be paid from future income taxes. (If you have an income, you get to pay yourself for your Social Security "entitlement")
That said, the following is pure speculation as congress may decide we are not entitled to our entitlements after all... they having the wisdom to spend our money as we might have if given the choice. (yep, you bet)
Case one: Having applied for early Social Security benefits at age 62, My entitlement payment is X dollars a month. As I am embarrassed at the smallness of the number, it will remain a secret. However, I have used standard financial formulas and calculations, you should be able to put your X in and have your numbers.
Step one was to find how much I actually paid to Social Security from age 13, when I was paid to work in my parents store, to the present. 52 years. Social Security reported that total annually until I started taking benefits. I built a spreadsheet, entered each annual payment, and calculated the future value of these to the present. That is 112.5X for the total of all the years, Which had to be calculated separately because the SS tax rate changed almost every year. I did the same for medicare: 26.3X
Next I wanted to figure out what I would be able to get if I had that 112.5X dollars. First I looked up an insurance association web site. They had a calculation for figuring the lifetime return from an annuity, payments continue to death, no survivor payments: .7136X. From Medicare I would get : .1664X Please notice the placement of the decimals. I would get about 88% of what Social Security now pays, from the annuity. ( but then again SS takes back some of my X so it may be a wash)
Case Two: The total paid to Social Security, my money plus the employers contribution, is fortunately, exactly double. Then, look at these numbers. From an annuity I would get 1.76X out of which I would have to pay about .2X for a $2500 deductable Health Insurance policy similar to what Medicare provides. That is to say I would be forced to live on 1.56X instead of X.
Conclusion: I doubt I could live, in any condition except poverty, on the X. With 1.56X I could live in comfortable poverty. What would surprise me more than anything if the X does NOT trend to zero. Does anyone know what Walmart pays those greeters?
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Stories of the Merry Bee: In the Beginning
Stories of the Merry Bee: In the Beginning
By Rob Watson
The Merry Bee was a hot rod. She was black and yellow. I built it myself, well, mostly. It had parts from 23 different automobiles and all four major auto manufacturers. (this was back when there were four major auto manufacturers and the only import was a Volkswagen Beetle.) The name came from a really pretty girl with which I had a short, unsuccessful relationship. Her name was Mary B... (and who ever reads this first will be the first person, other than myself, to know the real origin of the name)
As I got ready to head for college, I wanted a car. The Ford place had a nine year old 1957 Chevy. They wanted $100 for it. I had a hundred dollars, but, alas, not my parents permission to buy it.
During my Freshman year, a good friend and classmate had twin brothers as roommates that had built a hot rod. They had sold it before going off to college. They had a set of books that had detailed information on each of the systems that made up a hot rod and gave them all to me. I was on my way. I even got my parents permission to build the thing. (It was always clear that the permission was granted with the firm belief that the car would never be finished.)
During the summer after that freshman year, another friend and former classmate came home on leave from the Navy. He happily joined the search for something out of which to make a hot rod. For a week we queried people, followed rumors, and chased ghosts, driving all over the north central part of the state, looking for a suitable body and frame. On the last day before my friend was to return to the care of Uncle Sam, we drove out of his neighborhood by a different route. There, sitting in a yard, a block from his house, was the perfect candidate... a 1931 Ford coupe body and frame. The owner was willing to part with this treasure for the paltry sum of $20. At a junkyard in the big city we found a 1949 ford front axle, wheels, and drum assemblies, along with a complete oldsmobile rear end. (All recommended by the set of books.) Within days I had ordered the correct size front wheels and drag slicks for the back. We had also acquired an old oldsmobile engine for $5. It met with an unfortunate accident in being transported. (The statute of limitations has probably expired and my parents have expired as well so, I may relate that story in my section about evading the law.) The replacement engine and transmission came from the 1957 Chevy that was now languishing in a local junk yard.
As long as it is true confession time, I should disspel a myth I have fostered myself. When asked, and sometimes when not asked, I told listeners I started building my hot rod by buying four tires and working my way up. A total fabrication as you now know.
College raised its ugly head again and I was off to continue my education. On weekends I would come home and haul the frame to a welder to have it reinforced. With the engine and transmission in hand, the welder was also able to fabricate the needed mounts. Ditto for the front and rear axle assemblies and the steering mechanism. To this point all skill and knowledge came from experienced people or books. From here on out the tasks became my own to accomplish.
With the frame and mounts all done I began to take all the assemblies apart. I needed tools. I could have borrowed Dad's but I bought my own top of the line sets... which, almost 50 years later, I still have and use. (To date, I have never paid another person to repair any automobile that I have owned... well, except for paint and body work. I am no good at those things.) In taking each thing apart, I figured out how it worked and how to repair it and put it back together again. Oops, there is one exception to the above extravagant claim. I hired two real mechanics from the Chevy place to put my engine back together again.
The first real adventure came the day these two mechanics finished assembling the motor. They chose to assemble the motor in the frame. The frame had the front end assembly (springs, axle, steering, and wheels) in place on the front and the rear end assembly (springs, axle, and wheels) in place in the rear. This had been towed to their house to be worked on in their garage. I also trucked all the engine parts.
over.
Patients has seldom been one of my attributes, and in this case, it had not infected my two mechanics. When the engine was complete everyone wanted to see if it ran. Most newly and properly assembled engines are hard to turn over. (start) I had Daddys truck and a chain. The plan was to tow the frame/engine to get it started. The mechanics laid a board across the frame for a seat. One sat on the board and steered, He also had a string tied to the curburetor to control the throttle. The other sat on the transmission with a crowbar, operating the clutch and shifting gears. The valve covers had been left off to adjust the valves, once the engine was running.
I tied on the chain, hopped in the truck and started dragging the thing down their residential street. Within a few hundred feet the engine started. The mechanics adjusted the valves and set the timing. The engine purred like a happy kitten... only louder as there were no mufflers attached. With everything running it seemed a shame not to go for a ride. I untied the chain, hopped on the board and off we went, oil spraying out the missing valve covers and all.
We drove out of the subdivision and down a country road for a mile or so, then back again, judging the engine to be running low on oil. I only remembered later that I had not changed out of my Sunday clothes, which were now covered with oil spots (the oil never came out).
By Rob Watson
The Merry Bee was a hot rod. She was black and yellow. I built it myself, well, mostly. It had parts from 23 different automobiles and all four major auto manufacturers. (this was back when there were four major auto manufacturers and the only import was a Volkswagen Beetle.) The name came from a really pretty girl with which I had a short, unsuccessful relationship. Her name was Mary B... (and who ever reads this first will be the first person, other than myself, to know the real origin of the name)
As I got ready to head for college, I wanted a car. The Ford place had a nine year old 1957 Chevy. They wanted $100 for it. I had a hundred dollars, but, alas, not my parents permission to buy it.
During my Freshman year, a good friend and classmate had twin brothers as roommates that had built a hot rod. They had sold it before going off to college. They had a set of books that had detailed information on each of the systems that made up a hot rod and gave them all to me. I was on my way. I even got my parents permission to build the thing. (It was always clear that the permission was granted with the firm belief that the car would never be finished.)
During the summer after that freshman year, another friend and former classmate came home on leave from the Navy. He happily joined the search for something out of which to make a hot rod. For a week we queried people, followed rumors, and chased ghosts, driving all over the north central part of the state, looking for a suitable body and frame. On the last day before my friend was to return to the care of Uncle Sam, we drove out of his neighborhood by a different route. There, sitting in a yard, a block from his house, was the perfect candidate... a 1931 Ford coupe body and frame. The owner was willing to part with this treasure for the paltry sum of $20. At a junkyard in the big city we found a 1949 ford front axle, wheels, and drum assemblies, along with a complete oldsmobile rear end. (All recommended by the set of books.) Within days I had ordered the correct size front wheels and drag slicks for the back. We had also acquired an old oldsmobile engine for $5. It met with an unfortunate accident in being transported. (The statute of limitations has probably expired and my parents have expired as well so, I may relate that story in my section about evading the law.) The replacement engine and transmission came from the 1957 Chevy that was now languishing in a local junk yard.
As long as it is true confession time, I should disspel a myth I have fostered myself. When asked, and sometimes when not asked, I told listeners I started building my hot rod by buying four tires and working my way up. A total fabrication as you now know.
College raised its ugly head again and I was off to continue my education. On weekends I would come home and haul the frame to a welder to have it reinforced. With the engine and transmission in hand, the welder was also able to fabricate the needed mounts. Ditto for the front and rear axle assemblies and the steering mechanism. To this point all skill and knowledge came from experienced people or books. From here on out the tasks became my own to accomplish.
With the frame and mounts all done I began to take all the assemblies apart. I needed tools. I could have borrowed Dad's but I bought my own top of the line sets... which, almost 50 years later, I still have and use. (To date, I have never paid another person to repair any automobile that I have owned... well, except for paint and body work. I am no good at those things.) In taking each thing apart, I figured out how it worked and how to repair it and put it back together again. Oops, there is one exception to the above extravagant claim. I hired two real mechanics from the Chevy place to put my engine back together again.
The first real adventure came the day these two mechanics finished assembling the motor. They chose to assemble the motor in the frame. The frame had the front end assembly (springs, axle, steering, and wheels) in place on the front and the rear end assembly (springs, axle, and wheels) in place in the rear. This had been towed to their house to be worked on in their garage. I also trucked all the engine parts.
over.
Patients has seldom been one of my attributes, and in this case, it had not infected my two mechanics. When the engine was complete everyone wanted to see if it ran. Most newly and properly assembled engines are hard to turn over. (start) I had Daddys truck and a chain. The plan was to tow the frame/engine to get it started. The mechanics laid a board across the frame for a seat. One sat on the board and steered, He also had a string tied to the curburetor to control the throttle. The other sat on the transmission with a crowbar, operating the clutch and shifting gears. The valve covers had been left off to adjust the valves, once the engine was running.
I tied on the chain, hopped in the truck and started dragging the thing down their residential street. Within a few hundred feet the engine started. The mechanics adjusted the valves and set the timing. The engine purred like a happy kitten... only louder as there were no mufflers attached. With everything running it seemed a shame not to go for a ride. I untied the chain, hopped on the board and off we went, oil spraying out the missing valve covers and all.
We drove out of the subdivision and down a country road for a mile or so, then back again, judging the engine to be running low on oil. I only remembered later that I had not changed out of my Sunday clothes, which were now covered with oil spots (the oil never came out).
Monday, August 1, 2011
Best Boss
Best Boss
By Rob Watson
In my post on my First Year Teaching I described what had to be the worst long term experience of my life. The readers of this will be better prepared for the following if they have read that post. My second year teaching was only a point or two, on a scale of ten, better. However, I closed that first tale on a happy note: my new boss (Principal) was the best boss I ever had. This should in no way be taken as a mark against the half-dozen or so other really good people for whom I was privileged to work over the years. (There were some bums in there as well.)
A couple of weeks after leaving my first teaching job, I was invited to visit my new school and meet Principal. He was a big man but not fat, Early fortyish, short salt and pepper hair. He had an outdoor look and moved like an athlete. He had a confident air about him. When he spoke his mouth took a distracting twist. He was a vast encyclopedia on the people around him. His judgement of these people was always direct and without error. When I spoke to him a few years ago, I found he still thought I had a good knowledge of my subjects. (I was exceedingly careful not to prompt an opinion of my classroom control skills)
Like my first principal, Principal handed me my books (6) from which I was to teach six different math classes in five periods. (unlike year one I had 2 1/2 months to prepare, instead of 2 1/2 minutes) He showed me to my classroom and gave me its history... An old music room that had been added some years after the main building had been built. He then carefully described a "situation" from the previous year. Two students had filed a law suit against a coach for physical abuse... they were paddled for bad behavior. The suit came to trial and the students lost.
Principal showed me pictures of these students and instructed me not to ever touch them... If they became a problem I was to send for him immediately. He then described other students and problems I should expect from them and how to best handle those problems. These sessions continued throughout the year. With his own four children in school, Principal had his own "information network". I never doubted that he got regular reports on me and all my successes and failures.
My one glowing success, the story of which went around the school like a grass fire in a Wyoming wind, involved a math problem. I think the class was Algebra. I had given a set of word problems for homework. Next day several students reported one of the problems could not be worked. I told the students to pay attention while I worked the problems on the board, then we would look at the one that could not be worked. I put the three problems on the board and explained how each should be worked. Then I worked each in turn. When I asked about the problem that could not be worked... "It's the second one on the board."
Apparently, a group of the smarter students got together to do a "group study" on the problems the day before. They were unable to find a solution and went to the 8th grade math teacher (who also taught an advanced form of algebra to 8th graders... this was in the years before it was thought 'advanced' classes hurt the self esteem of those who were not in advanced classes) This man is an entirely competent mathematician. (I can only guess he had a brain freeze at the time) He was unable to find the solution.
Thus, the stranger and outsider out shined the here-to-fore math whiz. (and, yes, I am fully aware this was not much of a success)
One afternoon, last class of the day, a brain freeze of my own lead me into what could have been a repeat of the "monkey" incident of my first year. I was explaining problems on the board. The student directly in front of me had turned his back to me and was talking to the girl behind him. I picked up a foot long chalk board eraser and tapped him lightly on the ear. the residual chalk on the eraser covered the left side of his face. Before the class could stop laughing the bell rang to end the school day.
A minute or so later I was "invited" to my classroom door (located beside the stream of students exiting the building) to face an extremely angry mother. She was breathing fire. To condense the data stream, it seems she was concerned that I had, or could have, caused her son brain damage. My mouth was open but nothing came out... much to the amusement of the students walking past.
Out of nowhere, Principal showed up. He got between the mother and myself and completely shouldered the fight. I became, no more or less than, a casual observer... of a battle over my competency. Principal insisted I was competent and without flaw of any kind (which, I am sure, Principal could have had cause to doubt). As the fight raged on (much to the amusement of the students walking past) the recurring theme of brain damage brought me to my senses.
I judged this mother to be a sane and competent person who was just under stress. With that in mind, I walked back into the classroom and picked up the eraser that had hit the student. I walked back to the edge of the ongoing shouting match and began to flex, twist, and bend the offending object. (You see it was quite soft and flexible with no hard parts)
The mother's eyes caught this motion. She stopped in mid sentence and paused without comment eyeing the flexing eraser. Principal also paused. After several seconds she asked me if that was the eraser with which I had struck her son. My only spoken words of the encounter: "Yes, ma'am." Mother took the eraser from me and flexed and twisted it in her hands.
Mother handed the eraser back to me. She grabbed her son by the shirt collar, gave him a serious jerk and said "come on boy" and walked away without another word to me or to Principal. While this young man was large and tended to be troublesome, I never had another problem with him. Principal, much to his credit, never retracted a word he spoke in my defense, not in my hearing, nor that of my friends.
If my sources are correct Principal assended to the position of Superintendent of Schools for that school system. He later became a school board member, then school board president.
My wish for you, the reader, is that sometime in your working life, you have a boss like Principal. One who recognizes your flaws and uses that knowledge to guide you to a be a better professional. One who also has the strength of character to defend you against all detractors.
By Rob Watson
In my post on my First Year Teaching I described what had to be the worst long term experience of my life. The readers of this will be better prepared for the following if they have read that post. My second year teaching was only a point or two, on a scale of ten, better. However, I closed that first tale on a happy note: my new boss (Principal) was the best boss I ever had. This should in no way be taken as a mark against the half-dozen or so other really good people for whom I was privileged to work over the years. (There were some bums in there as well.)
A couple of weeks after leaving my first teaching job, I was invited to visit my new school and meet Principal. He was a big man but not fat, Early fortyish, short salt and pepper hair. He had an outdoor look and moved like an athlete. He had a confident air about him. When he spoke his mouth took a distracting twist. He was a vast encyclopedia on the people around him. His judgement of these people was always direct and without error. When I spoke to him a few years ago, I found he still thought I had a good knowledge of my subjects. (I was exceedingly careful not to prompt an opinion of my classroom control skills)
Like my first principal, Principal handed me my books (6) from which I was to teach six different math classes in five periods. (unlike year one I had 2 1/2 months to prepare, instead of 2 1/2 minutes) He showed me to my classroom and gave me its history... An old music room that had been added some years after the main building had been built. He then carefully described a "situation" from the previous year. Two students had filed a law suit against a coach for physical abuse... they were paddled for bad behavior. The suit came to trial and the students lost.
Principal showed me pictures of these students and instructed me not to ever touch them... If they became a problem I was to send for him immediately. He then described other students and problems I should expect from them and how to best handle those problems. These sessions continued throughout the year. With his own four children in school, Principal had his own "information network". I never doubted that he got regular reports on me and all my successes and failures.
My one glowing success, the story of which went around the school like a grass fire in a Wyoming wind, involved a math problem. I think the class was Algebra. I had given a set of word problems for homework. Next day several students reported one of the problems could not be worked. I told the students to pay attention while I worked the problems on the board, then we would look at the one that could not be worked. I put the three problems on the board and explained how each should be worked. Then I worked each in turn. When I asked about the problem that could not be worked... "It's the second one on the board."
Apparently, a group of the smarter students got together to do a "group study" on the problems the day before. They were unable to find a solution and went to the 8th grade math teacher (who also taught an advanced form of algebra to 8th graders... this was in the years before it was thought 'advanced' classes hurt the self esteem of those who were not in advanced classes) This man is an entirely competent mathematician. (I can only guess he had a brain freeze at the time) He was unable to find the solution.
Thus, the stranger and outsider out shined the here-to-fore math whiz. (and, yes, I am fully aware this was not much of a success)
One afternoon, last class of the day, a brain freeze of my own lead me into what could have been a repeat of the "monkey" incident of my first year. I was explaining problems on the board. The student directly in front of me had turned his back to me and was talking to the girl behind him. I picked up a foot long chalk board eraser and tapped him lightly on the ear. the residual chalk on the eraser covered the left side of his face. Before the class could stop laughing the bell rang to end the school day.
A minute or so later I was "invited" to my classroom door (located beside the stream of students exiting the building) to face an extremely angry mother. She was breathing fire. To condense the data stream, it seems she was concerned that I had, or could have, caused her son brain damage. My mouth was open but nothing came out... much to the amusement of the students walking past.
Out of nowhere, Principal showed up. He got between the mother and myself and completely shouldered the fight. I became, no more or less than, a casual observer... of a battle over my competency. Principal insisted I was competent and without flaw of any kind (which, I am sure, Principal could have had cause to doubt). As the fight raged on (much to the amusement of the students walking past) the recurring theme of brain damage brought me to my senses.
I judged this mother to be a sane and competent person who was just under stress. With that in mind, I walked back into the classroom and picked up the eraser that had hit the student. I walked back to the edge of the ongoing shouting match and began to flex, twist, and bend the offending object. (You see it was quite soft and flexible with no hard parts)
The mother's eyes caught this motion. She stopped in mid sentence and paused without comment eyeing the flexing eraser. Principal also paused. After several seconds she asked me if that was the eraser with which I had struck her son. My only spoken words of the encounter: "Yes, ma'am." Mother took the eraser from me and flexed and twisted it in her hands.
Mother handed the eraser back to me. She grabbed her son by the shirt collar, gave him a serious jerk and said "come on boy" and walked away without another word to me or to Principal. While this young man was large and tended to be troublesome, I never had another problem with him. Principal, much to his credit, never retracted a word he spoke in my defense, not in my hearing, nor that of my friends.
If my sources are correct Principal assended to the position of Superintendent of Schools for that school system. He later became a school board member, then school board president.
My wish for you, the reader, is that sometime in your working life, you have a boss like Principal. One who recognizes your flaws and uses that knowledge to guide you to a be a better professional. One who also has the strength of character to defend you against all detractors.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Hope To Heaven This Is Not True
Warning!! Scientific over-achievers may find this boring, imprecise or both.
Regular folks may want to skip to the last paragraph, immediately, or when you get saturated.
By Rob Watson
Disclaimer: I have borrowed this title from wattsupwiththat science blog on the internet. You can get more detailed information from there and Google searches. The information below comes from my memory. Conclusions may be classified somewhere between "educated Scientific guess" and "Wild eyed speculation".
As an introduction, Many WUWT contributors and commentors forget (or ignore) that most of us followers of that blog have less than 60 college hours in Science classes. While I have more, the grades were almost all "C's" except for one Physics, one Chemistry, one Botany and two Geology classes. (These were "A's"... also got an A in "Physics for Elementary Teachers" but that hardly counts) The following is aimed at making sense of entries by the scientific over-achievers in that blog.
Sometime in the '90's some college students were examining spectral lines (Bright lines made by glowing chemicals, when the light from those chemicals are passed through a prism... chemicals on the sun's surface tend to glow) from sunspots on the sun. A followup study revealed that some of these lines were getting dimmer. This lead to a serious study of those spectral lines. The study showed these lines were indeed diminishing. A forward projection of the rate of decline showed these spectral lines indicated they would be entirely gone by 2015 or so. Then came the bad news. Further study showed when these spectral lines were bright the solar activity was high. When they were dim the solar activity was low. or simply: Bright lines hot sun, dim lines cooler sun. Science based speculation extends this evidence to guesstimate that a repeat in the "Little Ice Age" is upon us.
The sun directs about 1,350 watts of visible light to the earth surface (per square yard/meter per second of time) when directly overhead. As the earth is nearly a sphere, time of day and latitude (Distance away from the tropics) diminish this number. That is slightly less energy than you get from an 1500 watt electric heater. In the northern hemisphere, the difference in solar energy between summer and winter averages about 150 watts per second or so (again depending on time and latitude). The difference between hotter and cooler sun is two or three watts per second. {{You can experiment: Take a radiant electric heater outside about noon Local time (no wind). Lay in full sun for a minute. Stand in full shade for a minute. Turn on heater and stand 3 feet from it for a minute. If the heater has a 1200 watt setting try that. Don't forget to record results.}}
In addition, some research shows a cooler sun has a weaker magnetic field. This allows more cosmic rays from outside the solar system to strike the earth causing more clouds and cooler earth. (clouds reflect some of the sun's energy back into space before it warms the earth.) (yes, they also reflect outgoing energy back down... less incoming, less outgoing). Also, particulate pollution (smoke, dust, volcanos) cause clouds and reflect sun energy... remember, less in, less out. Evaporation rate studies show refectance can range from 10% to 30% in some conditions.
And more: Sea surface temperatures also affect land temperatures. Warm Pacific= El Nino, cool Pacific=La Nina. (for reasons that entirely escape me, oceanographers think sea SURFACE temperatures extend down to 700 feet, or is it meters?) For reference purposes, the last 12 months, July 2010 to July 2011, have been classified as a La Nina year. Warm Sun warm Pacific El Nino. Cool sun cool Pacific La Nina.
A classic La Nina draws a line around the northern hemisphere at about the 40 degree latitude line. Above the line, cold wet/snow winters, stormy summers with heat. Below the line, hot dry summers, cold dry winters. La Ninas are also associated with low solar activity... few sun spots.
Because of the elliptical orbit of the earth around the sun, the Earth (and northern hemisphere) is closest to the sun on January 6 or so giving warmer winters north and warmer summers in the southern hemisphere. This gradually changes to colder winter north and cooler summers south. The Earth also varies its tilt on its axis having a similar result. Sometimes they happen at the same time. This requires more research... could I get a grant?
Mostly agreed upon facts: Temperatures during our time, "Recorded History" have been remarkably stable when compared to the last 600,000 years or so. The advance of continental glaciers during the last several ice ages stopped about the 40 degree latitude. (give or take). The last several warm periods, between ice ages lasted about 10,000 years. Our current warm period is about 12,000 years old. Glacial periods last about 90,000 years. Between 1645 and 1715 there were very few observable sunspots, (ie, low solar activity) This period is sometimes referred to as "The little Ice Age"
Four possibilities: 1. The weather for the next year will be like the last year. 2. The weather for the next 75 years will have a new normal, of which last year is the best example. 3. A new Ice age is about to commence and we will get to see the beginnings, with last year's weather being greatly longed for. 4. What I have been smoking is not what I think I have been smoking.
Regular folks may want to skip to the last paragraph, immediately, or when you get saturated.
By Rob Watson
Disclaimer: I have borrowed this title from wattsupwiththat science blog on the internet. You can get more detailed information from there and Google searches. The information below comes from my memory. Conclusions may be classified somewhere between "educated Scientific guess" and "Wild eyed speculation".
As an introduction, Many WUWT contributors and commentors forget (or ignore) that most of us followers of that blog have less than 60 college hours in Science classes. While I have more, the grades were almost all "C's" except for one Physics, one Chemistry, one Botany and two Geology classes. (These were "A's"... also got an A in "Physics for Elementary Teachers" but that hardly counts) The following is aimed at making sense of entries by the scientific over-achievers in that blog.
Sometime in the '90's some college students were examining spectral lines (Bright lines made by glowing chemicals, when the light from those chemicals are passed through a prism... chemicals on the sun's surface tend to glow) from sunspots on the sun. A followup study revealed that some of these lines were getting dimmer. This lead to a serious study of those spectral lines. The study showed these lines were indeed diminishing. A forward projection of the rate of decline showed these spectral lines indicated they would be entirely gone by 2015 or so. Then came the bad news. Further study showed when these spectral lines were bright the solar activity was high. When they were dim the solar activity was low. or simply: Bright lines hot sun, dim lines cooler sun. Science based speculation extends this evidence to guesstimate that a repeat in the "Little Ice Age" is upon us.
The sun directs about 1,350 watts of visible light to the earth surface (per square yard/meter per second of time) when directly overhead. As the earth is nearly a sphere, time of day and latitude (Distance away from the tropics) diminish this number. That is slightly less energy than you get from an 1500 watt electric heater. In the northern hemisphere, the difference in solar energy between summer and winter averages about 150 watts per second or so (again depending on time and latitude). The difference between hotter and cooler sun is two or three watts per second. {{You can experiment: Take a radiant electric heater outside about noon Local time (no wind). Lay in full sun for a minute. Stand in full shade for a minute. Turn on heater and stand 3 feet from it for a minute. If the heater has a 1200 watt setting try that. Don't forget to record results.}}
In addition, some research shows a cooler sun has a weaker magnetic field. This allows more cosmic rays from outside the solar system to strike the earth causing more clouds and cooler earth. (clouds reflect some of the sun's energy back into space before it warms the earth.) (yes, they also reflect outgoing energy back down... less incoming, less outgoing). Also, particulate pollution (smoke, dust, volcanos) cause clouds and reflect sun energy... remember, less in, less out. Evaporation rate studies show refectance can range from 10% to 30% in some conditions.
And more: Sea surface temperatures also affect land temperatures. Warm Pacific= El Nino, cool Pacific=La Nina. (for reasons that entirely escape me, oceanographers think sea SURFACE temperatures extend down to 700 feet, or is it meters?) For reference purposes, the last 12 months, July 2010 to July 2011, have been classified as a La Nina year. Warm Sun warm Pacific El Nino. Cool sun cool Pacific La Nina.
A classic La Nina draws a line around the northern hemisphere at about the 40 degree latitude line. Above the line, cold wet/snow winters, stormy summers with heat. Below the line, hot dry summers, cold dry winters. La Ninas are also associated with low solar activity... few sun spots.
Because of the elliptical orbit of the earth around the sun, the Earth (and northern hemisphere) is closest to the sun on January 6 or so giving warmer winters north and warmer summers in the southern hemisphere. This gradually changes to colder winter north and cooler summers south. The Earth also varies its tilt on its axis having a similar result. Sometimes they happen at the same time. This requires more research... could I get a grant?
Mostly agreed upon facts: Temperatures during our time, "Recorded History" have been remarkably stable when compared to the last 600,000 years or so. The advance of continental glaciers during the last several ice ages stopped about the 40 degree latitude. (give or take). The last several warm periods, between ice ages lasted about 10,000 years. Our current warm period is about 12,000 years old. Glacial periods last about 90,000 years. Between 1645 and 1715 there were very few observable sunspots, (ie, low solar activity) This period is sometimes referred to as "The little Ice Age"
Four possibilities: 1. The weather for the next year will be like the last year. 2. The weather for the next 75 years will have a new normal, of which last year is the best example. 3. A new Ice age is about to commence and we will get to see the beginnings, with last year's weather being greatly longed for. 4. What I have been smoking is not what I think I have been smoking.
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