headline of the day, III
Ex-Secret Service officer: I almost shot LBJ
dear clusterflock
Why are the couples always in bathtubs at the end of the Cialis ads?
Long John Blues
As promised, from the way-back machine.
AC/DC’s Thunderstruck on the Bagpipes
The original for comparison.
“Kids these days.”
That’s what Deron said when I told him.
A picture of myself and my new lip piercing. I like this picture cause it looks like maybe it’s from the movie Brand Upon The Brain!
AAA Restaurant #6. US 287, Palestine, TX 75803
The rest of the set can be seen here.
never going to give
It’s been making the rounds, but in case you haven’t seen Mayniac182′s essay, here it is.
geek evolution
and which are you?
Heart, tulips in the window
the new macbook air
the bird knows the word
(via)
headline of the day, II
Brother of Steven Slater’s boyfriend robs couple’s home while ex-JetBlue attendant was in court
coming next near — to a particle accelerator near you!
Billions of particles flying off from each LHC collision are tracked at four CERN detectors — and then in collaborating laboratories around the globe — to establish when and how they come together and what shapes they take.
The CERN theoreticians say this could give clear signs of dimensions beyond length, breadth, depth and time because at such high energy particles could be tracked disappearing — presumably into them — and then back into the classical four.
Parallel universes could also be hidden within these dimensions, the thinking goes, but only in a so-called gravitational variety in which light cannot be propagated — a fact which would make it nearly impossible to explore them.
That guy is O.Z. — the original zombie
headline of the day
Machine Made of Lego Builds Anything You Want — Out of Lego
a curveball doesn’t curve
The average curveball hurls toward a batter at around 75 mph, accentuated by a 1500-rpm spin. From the moment the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand, it travels a smooth, consistent, parabolic arc. There’s no disjointed change in its motion from beginning to end.
Yet as the ball nears home plate, the batter observes a sudden jump in its trajectory, the notorious “break.” A new study in PLoS ONE argues that the discrepancy between the physics and the perception of the curveball may be all in the mind — or, more specifically, an optical illusion created by the batter’s eyes and brain.
quote out of context
The main difference between the lampoon and the real one was that the fake release described the ads as addressing environmental issues in which Chevron is embroiled, including a dispute in Ecuador over oil pollution; the real ads do not directly address those matters.
that word, you keep using it, I do not think it means what you think it means
Virginia Thomas, wife of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, left this message on the voice mail of Anita Hill, the woman who testified against Thomas at his nomination hearing for sexual harassment.
“Good morning Anita Hill, it’s Ginni Thomas,” it said. “I just wanted to reach across the airwaves and the years and ask you to consider something. I would love you to consider an apology sometime and some full explanation of why you did what you did with my husband.”
Ms. Thomas went on: “So give it some thought. And certainly pray about this and hope that one day you will help us understand why you did what you did. O.K., have a good day.”
When asked if she really left the message, Virgina Thomas said:
“I did place a call to Ms. Hill at her office extending an olive branch to her after all these years, in hopes that we could ultimately get past what happened so long ago,” she said. “That offer still stands. I would be very happy to meet and talk with her if she would be willing to do the same. Certainly no offense was ever intended.”
Do we need a cunt category?
“what’s going on here…”
via Bike Snob NYC
from the spam
if you come across a person laying in the street who is pale, stinky, the color from the eye’s are faded and there cold to the touch, and there body is looking a little bloated, you can be reassured that CPR ain’t going to help, that person is dead and they most likely been dead for awhile.
Ten
Ten early memories:
Pink petunia trees waving in the sun and wind.
The collie just wanted to play. Then the big people screamed so he wanted to run and knocked me down. He was pulling and my hands were between my neck and the leash. I was crying but I was just trying to say it was the screaming.
A giant in the shadows lifting the corner of a building a bit so a cat could slip under and hide. This is a secret, he said without words.
A playhouse built for us of straw by my brother, with windows and a door. It rained and the house fell down. For years I built versions of that house that did not fall.
People in boats passing by the windows in the Texas night, in rushing red river water. During the day, the water and the boats were not there.
Eating cheese sandwiches and drinking Dr. Pepper with my best friend at a table behind the meat counter in the little store her parents owned.
My friend crying, pulling at the locked car door as we pulled away to move to Alabama. “We’re just going on vacation,” I said, the fib Mother told to get me into the car.
Our new house, in the middle of a cotton field! We got to pick cotton! Then it was too hot. So Mother asked a lady we had never even seen, “Do you want me to watch your baby?” We watched the tiny baby in our house while the mother picked cotton.
Waking up to singing from the woods at dawn. Coming from the Indian burial mound? Faces at the window, but they weren’t even scary. My brother saw them too. I was mad because he claimed during the day that “somebody’s horse must have gotten out.”
Working on the hiding. Buried in leaves by the swamp in the woods. I didn’t even hear him, but then he was whispering to the leaf pile. “Mother says you have to come in for dinner,” said Daddy.
No On 23 starring David Arquette
Ten
Accidentally kicking my sister between her cheeks in the bath and bracing myself for a slap, only to discover instead that she couldn’t breathe with laughter.
Placing my hands on the cold glass of an elevator on the outside of the Westin St. Francis as we rode to the thirty-second floor at dusk — after the Christmas tree in Union Square was lit but when the skyline still held daylight.
Making fun of the girl who said she wanted to grow up to be “wich,” less because of her lisp and more because of her superficiality.
That same girl telling me her parents were Santa a few months later.
Sitting on my sister’s hospital bed, playing double solitaire on the food tray she wouldn’t eat from.
Taking over half the dining table with my science fair presentation, incapable of moving or removing myself from the room while my shrill sister, crying, screamed at my father using a decibel only dogs could hear.
Welcoming my other sister home from Chile at the airport gate, where she pulled out two leaking sandwich bags from her jacket pockets — each containing a smuggled sea turtle the size of a silver dollar.
Being the only person on the playground who could get the new girl off the park bench and talking, even if it took almost two months.
Racing my only neighborhood friend to her house on rollerblades and winning! But by inadvertently smashing into the back of her parents’ Jeep in the driveway.
My father very delicately asking me if I thought that I might be too old to sit naked in the middle of the family room after every bath. Y’know, now that I’m developing.
Wait, what?
Late this afternoon, while my classmates and I were settling back into our seats at the end of break, someone in the room asked, “Kelsey, am I just dreaming this or do you run some kind of dating service?”
A sentimental education
Daryl just got an email from an oft-absent student. It reads simply, “This time I got food poisoning.”
He has a ways to go, though, if he wants to beat the guy from last semester who came in on crutches and said he’d been out because he had a heart attack.
