Human Fuel Efficiency

According to the article on fuel efficiency on Wikipedia (what, you haven't tried the Wiki yet...click, dammit):

• Humans (see Human-powered transport):
  • walking or running one kilometre requires approximately 70 kcal or 330 kJ of food energy . This equates to about 1 l/100 km or 235 mpg in gasoline energy terms.
  • cycling requires about 120 kJ/km. This equates to about 0.36 l/100 km or 653 mpg in gasoline

Compare this to various forms of combustion engine transportation -

Transport Mode Load Factor Equivalent Passenger-Miles
(passengers/vehicle) per Gallon of Gasoline
Automobiles 1.57 34.9
Personal trucks 1.72 30.8
Motorcycles 1.22 55.0
Transit Buses 9.1 30.3
Airlines 95.8 33.8
Intercity trains 14.0 25.9
Commuter trains 33.5 46.1

Street-legal electric vehicles can get an equivalent upwards of 200 miles per gallon.

Over 635 m's per g;
gettin' fine;
keep moving when traffic's stuck...

And you wondered why I wanted you to buy me a bike.

Excuse me, sir: name one thing

you saw today that you wish you hadn't.

ME: a homelss man's penis

(beat)

(beat)

(end)

I DESPISE this feeling

of having wasted an entire weekend,

knowing that I need to be preparing for an audition on Thursday and that I'll be working all day, everyday before the audition.

I want very much to get this part. I again feel as though, if I can't at least get this callback (and perhaps also the part) I have no business being in this city.

I felt the same way before Yellowman. Perhaps it is a reflection of necessary hunger.

Yet I hate it. I can't tell myself to feel the hunger. I am not skilled in the craft as such. I have to actually feel it.

So I procrastinate and piss myself off. I could just prepare, as I've been taught...

but that doesn't work for me (because I never learn).

I need the pain, the anguish. I need it to burrow in and hold up in that spot in my psyche left empty by the lack of experience typified by those of us grown up sheltered and privileged.

I've not experienced my rightful share of the pain of living so I vainfully manufacture it for myself...

I create it.
I make it up.

I act.

I despise this feeling, this "profession" that relegates my sustenance to other's arbitrary whims, hate the lack of control...

yet I find that my bags are not packed.

(what?saul williams you ain't, potnah)

Jump down, turn around...

There's something about me, this construction company (at this location), and September.

After sitting around for a while without a daily toil and having booked a couple print jobs (that take at least a month to pay), the good ol' construction field office up in the Bronx came calling for a same day gig. I needed some dough to cover the groceries I put on my credit card the night before (hell, I NEED about $75K to cover my debt and get me out of the country for a while...), and I'd skipped out on an assignment at the place previously to take one of the print jobs, so I went ahead and climbed out of the bed and scooted up to the Bronx.
Upon arrival I was called into the managers office. He revealed that he wanted the current temp to be replaced and asked if I'd be available to work for a while. He seemed ok with the idea of me taking days off as long as he got some notice to get the phones covered on those days.

So, here it is early Fall and I'll apparently be spending some QT at 208th street.

Early mornings, ties and having to show self-control at the pasta-and-cheeze biased lunches.

On the other hand...

Money every week, the renewed chance to fulfill my goal of getting my cc paid off by November, and frequent free lunch.



yet again, God comes thru

Grade School Achebe

Today I was on the bus on the last leg of my trip home, and I saw a young lady with what appeared to be Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. It was a different cover from what I've seen, so I asked if it was the same. She said yes. She was young and it was the time of day that school let's out, so I asked her if she was in high school. Yes.

So here was this white high school student carrying home Achebe in the first weeks of new school year. I'm pretty sure she was from the public hs nearby. I wanted to ask her about what class it was for, was it assigned or did she choose it, etc., but I didn't want to make her feel weird about some random adult male on the bus interrogating her.

I didn't know about Thing's Fall Apart until the second year of college (I didn't actually read it 'til about a year after graduation).

Wow. Yay, NYC public school system.

There is no need to rebel against chronology.

It is self-imposed.

Merely dismiss it.

Live forever.

boo birthdays

happy birthday to these

JUST FREAKIN'

FIRE SOMEBODY, ALREADY!!!!!

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