RpROf course there is a routine when it comes to enforcing IP (or anything else) upon those who persist in not dancing to the tune of the dominant power, a routine that includes sanctions and culminates in ‘regime change’, but fortunately China is far too powerful to be moved by such measures. Alas those African nations seeking to distribute low-cost HIV medicines to their citizens aren’t so fortunate.
LOL– if the U.S. truly boycotted China’s trinket products place like Walfart sell, China would collapse like a house of cards.
Nothing to do with China being too powerful, it is U.S. politicians are sleaze who are only concerned about their paychecks.
RpRIf we accept the rationale of your second paragraph then there could never be a single original concept, thought, theory or idea.
Correct.
RpRIf we accept the rationale of your second paragraph then there could never be a single original concept, thought, theory or idea.
Correct.
RpRI am really glad there is some good discussion on this thread.
Imagine being the first person on the planet to see a loved one [if they were loved as such in very early times] die,all of a sudden this living creature ceases to be with no reason or understanding.
Who do you ask for advice,who is to blame,why ,why ,why .
At that point a creation is made in the mind ,an extra out of body substance in which you can blame, look to to take/absolve you from responsibilities.You then end up with “my god [for the want of a word] is the only one and therefore better than yours” ,oh no it isn’t ,oh yes he is , fiiiight ,war,–suppress the other ones at all costs.
I have seen basically similar rhetoric on other forums based on god verses no god.
It absolutely fails on the fact that if there is no god, then the belief of one could not be created as there is zero concept of such a thing to create such an idea from.
In rhetoric where god exists, all ideas are merely variations of that which came before, i.e. there is nothing new under the sun.
If man simply has not always been man and the rules given him by god, then there is zero, absolutely zero reason for creation of a god or anything remotely similar to one to come into existence.
As death is and always has been it would simply be seen as the way things are or will be.
RpRI am really glad there is some good discussion on this thread.
Imagine being the first person on the planet to see a loved one [if they were loved as such in very early times] die,all of a sudden this living creature ceases to be with no reason or understanding.
Who do you ask for advice,who is to blame,why ,why ,why .
At that point a creation is made in the mind ,an extra out of body substance in which you can blame, look to to take/absolve you from responsibilities.You then end up with “my god [for the want of a word] is the only one and therefore better than yours” ,oh no it isn’t ,oh yes he is , fiiiight ,war,–suppress the other ones at all costs.
I have seen basically similar rhetoric on other forums based on god verses no god.
It absolutely fails on the fact that if there is no god, then the belief of one could not be created as there is zero concept of such a thing to create such an idea from.
In rhetoric where god exists, all ideas are merely variations of that which came before, i.e. there is nothing new under the sun.
If man simply has not always been man and the rules given him by god, then there is zero, absolutely zero reason for creation of a god or anything remotely similar to one to come into existence.
As death is and always has been it would simply be seen as the way things are or will be.
RpRI know this is a picture thread but this goes well with the above.—————————-
Story by Brian Shul SR-71 Pilot
***********************************************************************
HOW S-L-O-W… WOULD THAT MACH 3… SR-71 BLACKBIRD GO? This is a story. Not the FAST story about flying over Libya.
by Brian Shul, Retired SR-71 Blackbird Pilot via “Plane and Pilot Magazine”
************************************************************************
As a former SR-71 pilot and keynote speaker, the question I’m most often asked is: ‘How fast would that SR-71 fly?’ I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend.
It’s an interesting question, given the aircraft’s proclivity for speed. But there really isn’t a single number to give, as the turbo ramjet would always give you a little more speed…if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute. But we typically flew a programmed Mach number. But because we never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run ‘out’ to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own personal ‘high’ speed that he saw at some point during our missions.*
I saw my highest speed over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way when max power was in order. Let’s just say that the Blackbird truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to high Mach numbers we had not previously seen.
So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked: ‘What was the SLOWEST you ever flew the Blackbird?’ This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following: I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back seater, Walt Watson.
We were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The Commander of air cadets there was a former Blackbird pilot and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield. In the back seat, Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment and he began to vector me toward the field.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Sr71_1.jpg
picture inserted below… File:Sr71 1.jpg
Descending to subsonic, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in the slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close. And that I should be able to see the field. But as far as I could see in the haze, I saw nothing but trees. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from our 325 knot cruise. With the gear up, anything under 275 knots was plain uncomfortable. Walt said we were
practically over the field. Looking hard there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver, hoping to pick up
anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the Commander had taken the Cadets up on the control tower’s cat walk to get a prime view.
It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast. Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us. But in the overcast and haze, I couldn’t see it. But the longer we continued to circle and peer out…the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets had silence. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator s-l-i-d-e below **160 knots**, my heart stopped, as my adrenalin-filled left hand shoved both throttles **FULL FORWARD!** At this point we weren’t really flying but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame [and what a joyous feeling that was], the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the catwalk. Shattering the absolute quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their faces as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on their side of the infield… much closer than expected… maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge aerobatic pass. We proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident, not saying a word to each other for those next 14 minutes.
After landing, our commander greeted us and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the Commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen. Especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. Some of the cadet’s hats were blown off. The sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner, dropping right in front of them, was stunning… unbelievable.
Walt and I both understood the concept of ‘breathtaking’ very well that morning. And we sheepishly replied that the Cadets seemed… just excited… to see our low approach.
As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there…hadn’t spoken a word since ‘the pass.’ Finally, Walter looked at me and said: ‘I saw One hundred fifty-six knots. What did you see?’ Trying to find my voice I stammered: ‘One hundred fifty-two.’ We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt calmly said: ‘Don’t ever do that to me again!’ And I never did.
A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he’d seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. As we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, the officer noticed our HABU [shoulder patch icon of a deadly snake] asked us to verify to the Cadets that such an event occurred. Walt just shook his head and said: ‘It was probably just a routine low approach they’re pretty impressive in that airplane.’ Impressive indeed.
Little did I realize that LOW SPEED experience would become one of the most requested of my stories. It’s ironic that people now became very interested in how *slow* the
world’s fastest jet aircraft can fly.
Regardless of your speed…it’s always a good idea to keep up your instrument cross-check. I’m certain you’ll agree. However keep your Mach up, too.*
Brian
Read more: http://forum.f-106deltadart.com/thread/4593/#ixzz2nrsSmfMq
RpROut of the Furnace with Christian Bale.
Interesting study of society although a bit off.
RpROut of the Furnace with Christian Bale.
Interesting study of society although a bit off.
RpRDo you like Christmas or not?
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
(Most wonderful time)
With the kids jingle-belling
And everyone telling you
Be of good cheer
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
It’s the hap-happiest season of all
With those holiday greetings
And great happy meetings
When friends come to call
It’s the hap-happiest season of all
There’ll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for roasting
And caroling out in the snow
There’ll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
There be much mistletoe-ing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It’s the most wonderful time of the year, ooh ah
Woah, there’ll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for roasting
And caroling out in the snow
There’ll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
There be much mistletoe-ing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
Merry Christmas and God speed to you all.
RpRDo you like Christmas or not?
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
(Most wonderful time)
With the kids jingle-belling
And everyone telling you
Be of good cheer
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
It’s the hap-happiest season of all
With those holiday greetings
And great happy meetings
When friends come to call
It’s the hap-happiest season of all
There’ll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for roasting
And caroling out in the snow
There’ll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
There be much mistletoe-ing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It’s the most wonderful time of the year, ooh ah
Woah, there’ll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for roasting
And caroling out in the snow
There’ll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
There be much mistletoe-ing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
Merry Christmas and God speed to you all.
RpRSo Ms Lanza had taken up “Target shooting?” Don’t you realise, that as soon as you point a loaded weapon at anything,that that “Anything” is a target?.albeit Sport or otherwise?.
Jim.
Lincoln .7
You are rationalizing to the point it sounds as if you will be extremely annoyed if Mrs. Lanza is not as horrible as you wish her to be.
RpRSo Ms Lanza had taken up “Target shooting?” Don’t you realise, that as soon as you point a loaded weapon at anything,that that “Anything” is a target?.albeit Sport or otherwise?.
Jim.
Lincoln .7
You are rationalizing to the point it sounds as if you will be extremely annoyed if Mrs. Lanza is not as horrible as you wish her to be.
RpRI expect her own sister-in-law was lying just to discredit those with gun fixations?
Moggy
It sounds like who ever wrote what you read twisted it to say what the writer wanted to say and to hell with the truth.
Here is the complete article.
http://www.syracuse.com/news/index.ssf/2012/12/conn_gunmans_mother_nancy_lanz.html
RpRI expect her own sister-in-law was lying just to discredit those with gun fixations?
Moggy
It sounds like who ever wrote what you read twisted it to say what the writer wanted to say and to hell with the truth.
Here is the complete article.
http://www.syracuse.com/news/index.ssf/2012/12/conn_gunmans_mother_nancy_lanz.html
RpRIt was merely that the original post said something about ‘sports shooter’ as if she was actually involved in formal, skill-based target shooting, whereas she was simply one of the sad, deranged, fringe group people in the US who believe that survival from the coming apocalypse
Moggy
Really, hmmm.
NEWTOWN, Conn. (AP) —” Everybody knew her name. Nancy Lanza was the one who, if she heard you were short on cash, regularly offered to pick up the tab at My Place.
Two or three nights a week, Lanza — the mother of the gunman in Connecticut’s horrific school massacre — came in for carryout salads, but stayed for Chardonnay and good humor. The divorced mother of two — still smooth-skinned and ash blonde at 52 — clearly didn’t have to work, but was always glad to share talk of her beloved Red Sox, gardening and a growing enthusiasm for target shooting.—Despite the challenges, the trappings of Lanza’s life in Newtown were comfortable. When she and then-husband Peter Lanza moved to the central Connecticut community in 1998 from southern New Hampshire, they bought a brand new 3,100-square-foot colonial set on more than two acres in the Bennett’s Farm neighborhood. Nancy Lanza had previously worked as a stock broker at John Hancock in Boston and her husband was a successful executive.
When the couple divorced in 2009, he left their spacious home to Nancy Lanza and told her she would never have to work another day in her life, said Marsha Lanza of Crystal Lake, Ill., Lanza’s aunt. The split-up was not acrimonious and Adam spent time with both his mother and father, she said.
Those who knew Nancy Lanza recall her as very generous, often giving money to those she met and doing volunteer work.
When a mutual friend sought a loan from an acquaintance, Jim Leff, and Leff asked for collateral, Lanza intervened.
“Nancy overheard the discussion, and, unblinkingly, told him she’d just write him a check then and there,” Leff recalled on his blog in a post after Lanza’s death. “While I’m far from the most generous guy in the world, it’s not often that I feel stingy. But I learned something from that. I should have just written him the check. She was right.”
Mark Tambascio recalled the time Lanza invited him and his brother to attend a Boston Red Sox game, buying them tickets atop the outfield wall known as the Green Monster, and refusing any talk of repayment….Neighbors knew her from the monthly gathering of women who rotated between homes for games of the dice game bunko. Lanza enthused about gardening, while poking fun of the fact that few could see the result because her house was set back from the road on a low rise, partly cloaked by trees.
“She used to give me a hard time, you know, because I put out all these Christmas lights, and she said, ‘I put out mine, too, but you can’t even see them,'” said Rhonda Cullens, who lives one street over.
Lanza also began telling friends that she’d bought guns and had taken up target shooting, John Tambascio said.”
Seems from your baseless accusations, your post is the only thing that comes from a deranged fringe group.
Sign In
