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Dig it: the Clean Green owns over a meg of Cicso About my nonendorsement of Ralph Nader, one reader begs to differ: I wouldn't say that Nader is anti-business or a Luddite. I believe his office was the among the first to poll OEMs to see if one could buy a machine without Windows, but with Linux instead.. He also points me to a piece titled "Financial report shows Nader practices what he preaches." A sample:
More impressive than how Nader has earned his money, though, is how he spends it — or more accurately, doesn't spend it. The man who has achieved a reputation for fearlessly protecting consumers from the predations of unscrupulous companies does not do much consuming himself. He doesn't own a home, hasn't owned a car since he stopped driving his '49 Studebaker in the '50s and has only recently indulged himself by acquiring a small black and white television. By maintaining what amounts to a monkish existence in our consumer society, Nader says he can get by on $25,000 a year. Which is probably about the same Bush the Younger's lunch money. The center's edge
This morning the alarm went off at 3am PST, which is my body's time. It was 6am here, and still dark. For the last nine years Joyce has had this apartment on the 26th floor of a building on W. 56th. It's a tiny little place, distinguished only by the view, which is straight north, right up Central Park. The sunrise was amazing. It reminded me of what Whitman wrote: To behold the daybreak! The sky was filled with the Hudson River haze that taught a whole school of bucolic art, and glowed a luminous pink. As the sun came up, the park bloomed with autumn colors, each tree a dome of yellow, orange, green or some graduated blend of all three. It looked as if dawn in the park had been jobbed out to Eyvind Earle. And now I have to drop the blinds to keep from getting even more distracted. By the way, thanks to various readers and XO customer service for that ISP's access number page.
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We flew into JFK last night a little after sundown. It was one of those perfect fall New York evenings, when the city looks too fine to be true, like one of those invented alien places in sci-fi movies, where the the lights are all too small, too organized, too improbably clear and bright. None of the buildings looked built, but rather grown like crystals from an exotic mix of civilized chemicals.
