This one’s pretty self-explanatory, so we will leave you with this delightful YouTube video!
“We would like to report our observations upon a new gastrointestinal syndrome, which we shall refer to by the acronym HAFE (high altitude flatus expulsion). This phenomenon was most recently witnessed by us during an expedition in the San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado, with similar experiences during excursions past. The syndrome is strictly associated with ascent, and is characterized by an increase in both the volume and the frequency of the passage of flatus, which spontaneously occurs while climbing to altitudes of 11,000 feet or greater. The eructations (known to veteran back-packers as “Rocky Mountain barking spiders”) do not appear to vary with exercise, but may well be closely linked to diet. The fact that the syndrome invariably abated on descent leads us to postulate a mechanism whereby the victim is afflicted by the expansion of colonic gas at the decreased atmospheric pressure of high altitude. This is somewhat analogous to the rapid intravascular expansion of nitrogen which afflicts deep-sea divers and triggers decompression illness. While not as catastrophic as barotrauma nor as debilitating as HAPE (high altitude pulmonary edema), HAFE nonetheless represents a significant inconvenience to those who prefer to hike in company.”
Discoblog: NCBI ROFL: Finding the frequency of Fido’s farts.
Discoblog: NCBI ROFL: It’s like a Brita filter for your butt.
Discoblog: NCBI ROFL: ha ha poop
The post Flashback Friday: High Altitude Flatus Expulsion (HAFE). appeared first on Seriously, Science?.
New Zealand Instagram user waiverider_ has made a hobby of recreating photos of famous celebs with a humorous twist
The post Instagram User Makes Hilarious Recreations Of Celebrity Photos appeared first on Strange Beaver.
Kira Roessler, bassist for Black Flag
Warning! Big animated gif below the fold, or you can go to NatGeo and watch the movie there.
Super Zaxxon gameplay (all screenshots by the author)
The Internet Archive, the nonprofit behind the Wayback Machine and countless other digital resources, has just launched the Internet Arcade, a free online database of about 900 classic arcade games you can play in your browser. The collection features games from the 1970s up to the ’90s, including childhood classics like Street Fighter II, Frogger, Q*bert, and Paperboy.
“Obviously, a lot of people are going to migrate to games they recognize and ones that they may not have played in years,” writes one of the project’s leaders, Jason Scott, in a blog post. “They’ll do a few rounds, probably get their asses kicked, smile, and go back to their news sites. A few more, I hope, will go towards games they’ve never heard of, with rules they have to suss out, and maybe more people will play some of these arcades in the coming months than the games ever saw in their ‘real’ lifetimes.”
Indeed, the greatest pleasure to be taken from the collection is in exploring all the weird games with absurd premises, surrealist imagery, or impossibly wonky gameplay that, for obvious reasons, wound up in the dustbin of video game history. There’s Kick, for instance, which Midway released in 1981, wherein players control a unicycle-riding clown who must either catch, pop, or kick balloons as they fall from the sky. The game also has an improbable Pacman cameo, in that the beloved character occasionally falls from the sky and eats the balloons balanced on your clown’s head — you’d just better have enough balloons to satisfy his hunger.
Another standout artifact unearthed by the Internet Arcade is Mysterious Stones – Dr. John’s Adventure, from 1984, in which Dr. Johns makes Indiana Jones look like the First Duke of Wellington (incidentally, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is also on the site). The object of the game is to plunder as much loot from exotic palaces and temples while fighting their region-specific demon prospectors, like ghost samurai and alligator warriors.
Mysterious Stones – Dr. John’s Adventure gameplay
A personal favorite discovery is Sega’s Super Zaxxon (1982). The aerial fighter format is nothing new, but something about the design of the game — its garish color palette and jarring blend of sci-fi, retro, and contemporary imagery — is irresistible, never mind that I still haven’t made it through the first level.
For Scott, the project isn’t just about pandering to our nostalgia for all things 8-bit, but should be put to productive uses. As he writes: “My hope is that a handful, a probably tiny percentage, will begin plotting out ways to use this stuff in research, in writing, and remixing these old games into understanding their contexts. Time will tell.”
Multiple reports have been coming in about Nokia Suite having been broken by the disabling of SSL 3 support on Nokia and Microsoft's servers to avoid possible POODLE exploits. This appears to have been a problem for the last two weeks and there's no sign of Microsoft fixing the issue, so I've quoted the appropriate workaround below, as suggested by power users on Nokia Discussions.
I know it seems a little strange to apply food industry practices to one’s personal life, but it does make my life easier. Whenever we move to a new home, I apply all kinds of modified principles of facility design to arrangement and layout. It isn’t always easy because of the architecture of the house, but some simple modifications can be made so that things run smoothly and efficiently.
If you’re interested in doing the same, consider the following:
Create Distinct Zones. Maintaining separations between areas reduces the likelihood of transfer of material from one area to another. When items are kept where they belong, you can quickly and easily find what you need, when you need it. You may not be able to renovate your home to add walls, but a shelving unit could be used to separate a living room from a dining area. Screens or curtains could be used to designate distinct areas in a shared bedroom or to separate a home gym from the family room.
Control Process and Material Flows. Lack of adequate processes or poorly designed processes can cause clutter to build up. Identifying and repairing bad processes can help you save time and effort. Ensure you set up the processes so that the people in your home can move around easily without bumping into one another. For example, if someone is trying to pour his/her breakfast cereal at the same counter space where someone else is making coffee, you could consider relocating the coffee maker or the breakfast cereal. An alternative would be for the coffee drinkers to adjust their morning routines to vacate that particular counter space before the cereal eaters need to prepare their breakfast.
Easy Cleaning. When you are examining your processes, think about general housecleaning. Will the vacuum cleaner easily pass between pieces of furniture? Would the addition of garbage and/or recycling bins help keep clutter at bay in certain areas?
Environmental Control. Ensuring proper airflow in the home improves indoor air quality and makes the home more comfortable with respect to temperature and humidity. Do not block vents, radiators or windows with furniture. Vent deflectors can be used if furniture must be placed over vents. In the winter, temporary curtains can be installed to create a double doorway and prevent cold air from entering all over house.
Plan Exterior Elements. Putting mats and boot brushes at the entryway to the house can prevent dirt and mud from getting deeper into the house. A chair or bench by the door will allow you to set packages down in a clean, dry area while you unlock your door. Be sure to keep the area clean of leaves and dirt so rodents and insects don’t have a place to hide while they wait for you to open your front door.
Post written by Jacki Hollywood Brown
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Friendship Magazines, 1948-1954
Many thanks to research assistant Kyle McCulloch!
I want to play melon roulette
"William Burroughs with a Jack-O-Lantern he carved with a hatchet, October 31, 1996,"
by Philip Heying.
Halloween afternoon, my senior year of high school. At the end of the school day, shadows already stretch from the huge white pines near Newton Square. The Pixies’s record Surfer Rosa came out in the US at the end of summer, and, as we climb into my friend B.’s old blue Toyota in the upper parking lot, we slide a cassette of that album into the tape deck and crank down the windows.The unseasonably warm air makes us frisky, as do the Pixies: last month we would’ve played Rocket to Russia or This Is Boston Not L.A., but now the speakers in B.’s car vibrate and shudder with Joey Santiago’s rough, whiny guitar. Unlike those other records, this one, still new and undiscovered, feels like it belongs to us alone. “Now let’s not get too preachy-preach about kissy-kiss,” Black Francis advises. I sit shotgun; Tim, floppy bangs covering half his face, sits in back. On the floor at my feet, half a dozen cans of Silly String roll: B. has stolen them from his part-time job at Cumberland Farms.
Cars from two parking lots slowly creep downhill toward Highland Street and wait to turn. A year ago, two years ago, I would’ve been headed to cross-country practice, my running sneakers and shorts and T-shirt in a duffle bag at my shoulder; Coach Donahue would’ve handed us training schedules still damp from the mimeograph machine. A year earlier than that, I would’ve been walking home in Converse All-Stars, pegged jeans, and my dad’s US Navy wool shirt, trying to look cool though I felt anything but. Now, I grab one of the cans of Silly String and shake it. Younger, backpack-burdened kids stream around the cars in twos and threes: I have no idea who any of them are. From the speakers, Black Francis shrieks and sputters. By the time he and Kim Deal harmonize, “Break my body, hold my bones,” we’ve turned left onto Highland Street, still barely rolling in an almost entirely adolescent traffic jam. I hang out the window, then spray ribbons of pink foam on a troop of younger kids walking by: they lift three-ring binders as shields, shout at me, give me the finger, turn and run. Inside the car, Tim cackles, doubled over, and B. pounds the steering wheel. I haven’t yet buckled my seatbelt—we’re going five miles an hour, then maybe ten as I grab another can. We leave behind the foam-wreathed kids as, ahead of us, cars slip through the Newton Square rotary in four different directions.
“Somebody got hurt, somebody get hurt, somebody got hur-r-r-rt!” Kim Deal and Black Francis harmonize again, and then immediately the next song starts with a twangy guitar lick and a ferocious drumbeat. Black Francis’s voice, run through some filter, sounds monstrous, chromed: “I’ve got something against you!”
“Get them, get them,” Tim says, pointing at another cluster of kids.
We’re heading up Pleasant Street toward Coffee Kingdom, starting to pick up speed. My arms and shoulders out the window, I aim the nozzle at the kids. Silly String shoots over the sidewalk as the kids try to dodge it, but I get their jeans, their sleeves, their shoes. I ease back into the car, laughing, and look at B. He’s facing me, eyes nearly closed as he chokes out laughter, one hand on the wheel, the other pointing at the kids I just sprayed. Then I look through the windshield—where, a few car lengths in front of us, a pickup truck has stopped to make a left turn.
“Stop!” I shout, and then B. looks too and stomps the brake pedal. Screeching tires drown out the Pixies. I don’t know how fast we’re going when the hood of his Toyota crumples against the pickup truck’s bumper: when I open my eyes, I see B. hitting his chin with his hand to force his face out from where it’s wedged between steering wheel and dimpled safety glass. I too have left the impression of my skull in his windshield. In the backseat, Tim has torn his pants and cut his leg. We totter out of the car and sprawl on the strip of grass between sidewalk and curb, clutching our heads and groaning. The middle-aged guy driving the pickup truck comes over and shrugs, his hands palms up to the sky. “I’m really sorry,” B. says. The kids marked with gobs of mostly wiped-off Silly String walk past us, laughing and pointing at the crushed Toyota. The speaker mounted in the open passenger door still plays music: Black Francis yelps that he has a “broken face, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, oooh!”
Torpedo Ray is set to stun...