Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
zuolim Apr 2013
In my Times column Thursday, I reviewed a new generation of LED light bulbs. They last 25 times as long as regular bulbs, use maybe one-eighth the electricity, work with dimmers, turn on instantly to full brightness and remain cool to the touch. A big drawback has always been cost, but now, I noted, the prices have fallen.

This column generated a lot of reader e-mail, probably because LED represents change. And change is always scary. Here are some excerpts, with my responses.
FDDP
The Times’s technology columnist, David Pogue, keeps you on top of the industry in his free, weekly e-mail newsletter.
Sign up | See Sample


* For LED bulbs, the biggest issue that most consumers will notice is the color. You correctly point out that you can get different colors, and also different shades of white, from warm white, to cool white, to daylight. However, not all white is the same. Two bulbs, both of which measure 2700K (warm white) color may create a completely different impression in the room.

The difference is C.R.I. (Color Rendering Index). Incandescent bulbs have a C.R.I. of 100. Really bad LEDs have a C.R.I. of 50; average ones (most of them) have a C.R.I. of 80 to 85. The really good ones have C.R.I.’s above 90.

C.R.I. is a way of expressing how many colors in the rainbow are actually contained in the white light. Incandescent bulbs contain every color in the rainbow, all in equal measure.

With LED bulbs that have low C.R.I.’s, the color of objects looks wrong, and everything “feels” ghostly. It is not a subtle effect.

Wow. Well, I’d never heard of C.R.I., and it certainly isn’t listed on the package.

I can say only that I’m completely happy with the light color of the Cree bulbs. They look nothing like the weak, diluted light of the compact fluorescents they’re going to replace. I don’t perceive anything ghostly or wrong about them.

But if you’re worried about C.R.I, maybe try out one bulb at home before you replace the whole house’s bulbs.

* Why I don’t have LED bulbs: I have yet to see one that puts out close to the same lumens of an incandescent bulb rated at 75 or 100 watts offered for sale in my area.

Many of you made this point: that the 40- and 60-watt bulbs I reviewed are not bright enough for aging eyes, reading, detail work and so on.

That really is a good point. You can buy 75- and 100-watt-equivalent LED bulbs — online, they’re plentiful — but they’re still expensive ($30 to $45 each).

* At my home, CFLs don’t last half as long as stated on the box, and when CFL electronics flame out, they leave that nasty burnt electronics smell, strongly disliked by my wife. A few friends have reported CFL flame outs that have set things on fire.

Sorry to hear that! However, my column was about LED lights, not compact fluorescent light bulbs. Compact flourescents are basically curlicue tubes filled with gas that lights up. LED bulbs use tiny light-emitting diodes, of the type you have seen in some flashlights and the “flashes” of smartphones.

* Why didn’t you write up the LIFX bulbs on Kickstarter? Are you some kind of paid shill for the light-bulb industry?

Mainly, because I hadn’t heard about LIFX bulbs. Now I have!

Looks like it’s a lot like the Philips Hue kit I reviewed, in that these are LED bulbs you can control from a phone app: brightness, timing and color. The beauty of LIFX, though, is that there’s no router box required. The networking electronics are right in the bulb.

And the LIFX does more, too: changes color in time to the music, for example, or notifies you when you have new e-mail.

These bulbs did super-well on Kickstarter, so they’ve obviously captured the public’s imagination. I’m in touch with the creators, and they’ve promised to send me one to try out when it becomes available!

* You have done what many before have done: Praise LED light bulbs — without touching on the quality of light.

It doesn’t matter whether the light bulb is $200 or 50 cents. If the light is ugly, and it hurts your eyes to read, then why should I buy it?

Compact fluorescent lights have an austere blue tinge. Some give a “warmer” shade of yellow. But the quality of light they produce is atrocious.

I did, in fact, mention the quality of light; in my opinion, it’s wonderful. You can choose “daylight” (whiter) or “warmer” (yellower). With some, like the Philips, you can dial up any color you like: white with a touch of blue or yellow, say.

But I’m not sure why we keep talking about compact fluorescent lights. LED technology is completely different. There is zero relationship between a compact fluorescent light bulb’s light quality and LED’s light quality.

* You neglected an important point: because of heat issues, you’re not supposed to put LED bulbs into enclosed fixtures, like ceiling “cans.”

Actually, I asked Cree specifically about this. The representative says the bulbs are fine in ceiling cans. “The Cree LED bulb can be used in any application that would use an incandescent bulb. As long as there is an opportunity for air to circulate, the bulb is designed to work properly.”

I’m aware that not all bulbs meet this criterion; I’ve seen warnings on 3M and Philips bulbs, for example, not to use them in ceiling cans.

* Is there a potential issue with RF (radio frequency) interference from the circuitry? I know someone who put the LED bulbs in his garage door opener and then had trouble with the remote control.For more information, please visit cree led flashlight
They say
(and I'm not sure who they are)
but they say this

They say
that it's better to light a candle
than to curse the darkness

Well I am no candle
Because I run off of electricity
and I may not be the brightest bulb
but that only means that if you turn me on
and leave me alone
I will die faster than
flourescents
for instance
I'll flicker with the ticker
that contantly hovers over my head
while the others
will give yellow light to everyone
they know
and everyone
they love
Which is all I can dream of

And what they say is true
It's better to light a candle
than to curse the darkness
So don't leave me to be the curse
and don't leave me to be what everyone curses

And I know
I am not the brightest bulb
so all I ask
is that if you turn me on,
turn me off before you leave
so there is still a little flicker left in me
so somebody else
can turn me on again
and maybe then
I can be the candle that gets lit
rather than darkness that is cursed
Chris Behrens Feb 2013
In between the silky stars
There is a silver line of cars
Watery scotch and cheap cigars
A dingy dive beside the road.

A ***** blonde beyond her years
Serves another round of beers
Crispy smile, the boss is near
Another sorry episode.

Whose place this is I think I know
His girlfriend's in the city though
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his bar fill up with smoke.

A man in greasy overalls
Strokes and chin and grabs his *****
I check the door and scan the walls
A heavy pistol in my coat.

Heart pounding now, this is my chance
I pull the gun out from my pants
and drop into a Weaver stance
Barking, for the money - now.

A shotgun blast, the sound of sand
A searing pain inside my hand
Without the strength to run or stand,
I stagger to the parking lot

I drop the keys and pull the door
Just another minute more
I've got to stop the bleeding or
Another minute's all I've got

Pale flourescents pierce the night
Mosquitos buzzing round the light
Tiger, tiger burning bright
Hell on Wheels, that's what we say

I fish the keys up off the ground
start the engine, turn around
and limp away without a sound
And live to fight another day.
Mimi Sep 2012
I am not a perfect human
when I was born there was gunk in my lungs
and for a while now my heart's been talking to me in rhythms
like let me out like forget to beat like no blood to my brain
or fingertips

They tried to make me a perfect human
in the summertime under the knife
under flourescents instead of the sun
crinkle sheets crinkle paper gown
crinkle pop heartbeat

When they burned me from the inside I could feel it
I woke up when I wasn't supposed to like a volcano of survival
the light was white, I screamed, I remember it all
till anestesiologist put me back to sleep
all three seconds

Days and weeks after bruise hobble
the monitor is even now every third beat
like a perfect human being's
I watch everyone around me breathe strong
I breathe strong too and only check my pulse
out of nerves.
The problem with the tribe these days,
they pay too much attention to the burning man,
driving out to remote desert islands,
to watch the note crumple under the pressure,
flying over mountains to witness their transformation into a volcano.
I’m your herbal blend and your medicine man,
you see, I emerge from unharbored islands of survival,
I come with a vision, blinded to the tribe,
and my heart and legs ache to present it,
your smudged, trembling hands will reach out as I see it,
and your eyes broaden as I hand my dripping liver to you,
no, not my heart, hearts are just.. so cliché.
You can have my liver, I wont be processing anything unclean,
but in a moment, the tribe will shove moons,
oils, chemicals, yellow, green, blue with acid-stained flourescents,
so you may need the second filter.
But, no matter what they put you through,
you’ll always be that northern light,
the aurora borealis is just the reaction to too much energy in the atmosphere,
meanwhile, you take the worst, and you turn it into something beautiful,
colors from amethyst to ruby cruising lightspeed through my aura,
and there you stand, covered in the filth of the tribe,
and the sheen of authenticity shines through the cracks,
soon enough though, there wont be any more tribes,
and when the earth splits, there will be molten lead,
sprinkling space with shining, obsidian stars,
You and I will stand on the moon to witness the explosion,
and laugh as we walk away into the next creation.
Michal Shilor Mar 2014
it's your turn.
go.
"in muddy footprints i see faces
that Picasso would have drawn,
in ***** floors and
unwashed dishes lay the lies
and promises i told myself
in backwards orders,
with misplaced eyes,
glasses,
mouths.
and now, my turn's arrived,
and i've nothing to confess!
point taken.
i don't know what it is.
it's Picasso in my mind.
Van Gogh: self-portrait.
missing parts,
misplaced parts,
misinterpretation of an education
too-well carried out.
dirt piles up and i play,
a little girl amused,
like when i learned about
maps,
navigation,
topography in sandboxes.
i was so much older than a little girl and yet i still belong in sandboxes!
there i can pretend to be
Picasso,
there i can call this
'art.'
and i can't call it art anywhere else
because it's not,
it's not artistic in the real world,
and there,
there exists no ideal.
only confusion.
but of another sort-
not the kid described on these pages.
my pages.
my turn?
i've not much to say, not
that would mean anything to you, anyway.
in cloudy visions i see
smoke
that Picasso could have
breathed,
in,
out,
breath.
in,
out,
smoke.
his smoke must have been
so full of art!
oh!
what is art!"
you'd get along here, just fine,
you're friendly enough,
i can tell.
"so it's my turn?
i wouldn't get along
anywhere, no,
i wouldn't last a day
without him,
but that's a different life.
a life so far away,
built like castles in sandboxes
on playgrounds that wish they were
the beach,
wish to hear the ocean,
wish to feel the waves,
and. yet.
that is art,
is it not?
beauty in the wishes
of personified concepts.
the life that lives in
another time,
(where do i belong?) but
i don't remember and
i
am so tired
of 'i'!
oh. no.
in shattered windows i see
accidents,
injuries,
deaths.
but some of it is beautiful.
you must think i'm
sick,
sadistic,
too influenced by art.
i assure you i won't cut off my ear but it's
very possible i'll dream in
figures
misaligned.
missing eyebrows,
misplaced lashes.
bifocals keep me from speaking clearly,
fogged with every exhalation of
smoke:
1920's Hollywood actresses,
mascara too thick,
lipstick too red,
cancer sticks between slender fingers.
tap.
ashes fall.
in ashes on linoleum floors,
flourescent lighting,
i see-
never mind.
you'll think i'm more dangerously sadistic
than is safe,
at this point.
i don't see anything at all,
no linoleum, non flourescents
to reflect your muddy footprints,
no Picasso faces this time around.
in muddy footprints i see...
faces misaligned, i see...
wheels in overdrive.
and you say i'll get along there,
'just fine'!
go.
it's your turn.
i hope i haven't scared you away.
there's not much time
before another day."
z Apr 2016
I'll lie with these rhythmic flourescents hanging
pushing light on whitewashed walls poorly painted
And dully sunned palms outstretched and drooping
And steven spielberg sinks charcoal tainted
I watch everything from the 17th floor
The sky a lackluster pupil of a mare
The magenta air is a chest just before
taking a breath and the city is just a breath taken
And the world slowly just...happens
Like bees building structures for their children a wonderful catastrophe
Like a roll of film falling off a cliff and unwinding itself
Or rather dividing and dividing
Winding itself into new terrifying and **** beautiful things
And making and becoming

— The End —