Lisa Issenberg photo credit
October storm arrives ~
cold air, froZen leaves
If you’re like many people, you may have decided that you want to spend less time staring at your phone.
It’s a good idea: an increasing body of evidence suggests that the time we spend on our smartphones is interfering with our sleep, self-esteem, relationships, memory, attention spans, creativity, productivity and problem-solving and decision-making skills.
But there is another reason for us to rethink our relationships with our devices. By chronically raising levels of cortisol, the body’s main stress hormone, our phones may be threatening our health and shortening our lives.
Until now, most discussions of phones’ biochemical effects have focused on dopamine, a brain chemical that helps us form habits — and addictions. Like slot machines, smartphones and apps are explicitly designed to trigger dopamine’s release, with the goal of making our devices difficult to put down.
Ginger Baker, who helped redefine the role of the drums in rock and became a superstar in the process, died on Sunday in a hospital in southeastern England. He was 80.
His family confirmed his death in a post on his official Twitter account.
Mr. Baker drew worldwide attention for his approach to the drums, as sophisticated as it was forceful, when he teamed with the guitarist Eric Clapton and the bassist Jack Bruce in the hugely successful British band Cream in 1966.
Keith Moon of the Who was more uninhibited; John Bonham of Led Zeppelin — a band formed in 1968, the year Cream broke up — was slicker. But Mr. Baker brought a new level of artistry to his instrument, and he was the first rock drummer to be prominently featured as a soloist and to become a star in his own right. Mr. Clapton praised him as “a fully formed musician” whose “musical capabilities are the full spectrum.”
Both as a member of the ensemble and as a soloist, Mr. Baker captivated audiences and earned the respect of his fellow percussionists with playing that was, as Neil Peart, the drummer with the band Rush, once said, “extrovert, primal and inventive.” Mr. Baker, Mr. Peart added, “set the bar for what rock drumming could be.”
WASHINGTON — Forget it, America. It’s Chinatown.
Washington, once the guarantor of American values, is a crime scene. This capital of white marble is now encircled by yellow tape, rife with mendacity, cowardice and corruption. It’s Chinatown on the Potomac.
Robert Towne, the screenwriter of the 1974 classic “Chinatown,” wrote the movie as a eulogy to great things that were lost. He said that he was not conjuring a place on a map but a state of mind: the futility of good intentions.
Or, as Raymond Chandler, the premier chronicler of Los Angeles noir, once wrote: “We still have dreams, but we know now that most of them will come to nothing. And we also most fortunately know that it really doesn’t matter.”
“Chinatown” was set in 1937, right before the war. Like Jack Nicholson’s Jake Gittes, America was naïve about the forces of real corruption, real evil.
Director, señor Tim Lane drinking his first glass of water since he was thirteen.
Rio Blanco Director of Confusion, Tim Lane, forecaster Colin Mitchell (r rear) and guest lecturer, rŌbert, enjoying Pisco Hour(s) at La Ruca.
Tim using the Center’s confuser pointing out his favorite site, the ESPN sports page.
Avalanche Center debrief with Frank Coffey, Tim Lane and Colin Mitchell in attendance.
‘Blind Boy’ Mitchell entertaining the
rotos de nieve with one of his tunes.
Tim with son Gabriel breaking in the new parilla
Constructed by Masón de piedra principal y diseñador, Colin Mitchell
Henry Purcell, propietario de Ski Portillo with the boys.
Director Lane with visiting profesor, rŌbert waiting for lunch in Portillo