Thursday, November 01, 2007

This was Grandpa & Grandma's old ranch cat, Blacky McGee. Bobcat got 'im ten 'alloweens ago. They 'eard an 'air-raising shriek at midnight, and found 'im skinn'd alive the next day near the corral. 'Twas a bloody, gruesome November morn.

'Ere's to the ghost of ol' Blacky McGee
'E paid the price for cur-i-os-o-tee
Prowlin' around & actin' shady
Gittin' fur balls from Mr. Bobcat's lady

Poor ol' Blacky, yer ramblin' days are done...


daddy said...

I thought of you when I saw this from this Orion magazine blog:
"... if heat recycling is going to happen on the scale and at the pace required to deal with climate change, it will mean enviros being willing to focus on stuff like smokestacks and utility regulation with the same enthusiasm with which we rhapsodize about the spinning blades of windmills. That’s hard—there aren’t any good folk songs about waste-heat recovery boilers. And it’s going to mean utilities, and the politicians who regulate them, understanding that they now have three missions: keeping the lights on, at something approaching affordable prices, on a habitable planet.

Once in a while, it turns out, we get to work on all three simultaneously. Casten just signed a contract with a factory in the Southeast that makes silicon. He’ll recycle the waste heat from their stack, and as a result the solar panels made with that silicon will require a third less fossil fuel to produce. There must be a song there somewhere."

Anonymous said...

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Todd D