Nobel award-winner Bob Dylan basically defined the protest song in the 1960s. What do protest songs sound like today? Well, here's a favourite example, from 2011. https://youtu.be/0Fju9o8BVJ8
Climatologist Michael Mann is barely able to hide his incredulity as he fends off asinine attacks in Washington on March 29, 2017. Last week's Committee on Science, Space and Technology hearing in Washington should have been a sober discussion about the latest findings on climate change and the direction the U.S. should take towards mitigating the damage. Instead, it was about as productive as a World Wrestling Entertainment match. Lots of melodrama and smackdowns with no real winners, but one very real loser: the truth. At the bottom of the scrum was Michael Mann, a mild-mannered paleoclimatologist who works with proxy data to map historic temperatures. He and his colleagues produced a graph in 1998 that took the world by storm. It was dubbed the "hockey stick" graph because the sharp upward turn in the past century or so resembles the blade of a hockey stick. An extended version of the graph was incorporated into the Third Assessment Report by the UN's In...
It was probably just a fluke. Perhaps an accidental click of a mouse. I don't remember exactly how I got there. What I do remember is that at first I thought it was just a joke, a mistake, maybe fake news. It could be an old satellite image, I thought. Something from some long-forgotten hell centuries ago. I checked the page source. It was real. And it was happening right now. An ominous blob of — of what? Rain? Smog? Locusts? — was creeping up the Atlantic coast. I could only wish it was something so benign. But deep in my heart, I knew it wasn't. The colour code for rain is blue. Smog is yellow. Locusts are brown. This was white. And white can only mean one thing: snow. A death cloud of snow. And it was headed our way. I might be the only one who knows our collective fate right now, I thought. Here in my little den in the east end of St. John's, I imagined other residents blithely chatting to workmates or shuffling around WalMart, oblivious to the impending doom. No ...
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