Dmitry Krasnoukhov

Если в двух противоположных точках нашей планеты одновременно положить на землю два куска хлеба, то получится сэндвич с земным шаром. Первый такой бутерброд изготовили в 2006 году, рассчитав координаты места в Испании и соответствующего места-антипода в Новой Зеландии. Впоследствии опыт был повторён во многих других уголках планеты. А вот жителям России сэндвич с Землёй сделать очень трудно, поскольку для подавляющей части территории страны противоположные точки находятся в Тихом и Атлантическом океанах.

Источник: www.zefrank.com

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Чешский авангардный композитор Эрвин Шульхофф в 1919 году написал Эротическую сонату, которая по сей день исполняется на музыкальных фестивалях. Фактически соната состоит из одной партии для женского голоса, имитирующего стоны и вздохи при половом акте.

Источник: www.radio.cz

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Скорость обмена информацией в соцсетях редко дает время задуматься над источником этой информации, проверить факты, поразмышлять над разумностью данных. Читатели обратили внимание на характерный пример.

Вот, например, более 46 000 людей поставили “Мне нравится”, бессловно соглашаясь с текстом поста в группе “Детки” (91000 участников)

Из них более 23000 (!) поделились этой ссылкой на своих фидах:

У людей реальная паника:

При этом, по словам экспертов (в настоящей, а не в параллельной реальности):

Эти метки служат для того чтобы автомат для резки полиэтилена распознавал место разреза и спайки. Эта метка всегда самого контрастного цвета из палитры, использующейся в дизайне тюбика и абсолютно ничего не означает.

Ну а мы ожидаем скопления людей в супермаркетах и дефицит зеленых тюбиков.

Спасибо Николаю (i@gabb.in)

"I was the Duke of Earl, but it couldn't last/ I was the pony express, but I ran out of gas." This is the first thing Hamilton Leithauser sighs on the Walkmen's new album, Heaven. It is a distinctly un-rock'n'roll sentiment. In fact, it sounds like the sort of thing your grandpa might say. Ten years ago, the Walkmen were a magnetic, messy young rock band, and they did all the things we expect young rock bands to do: swung in unexpectedly on friends, drunk-dialed exes, pleaded pathetically that things would get better with zero evidence that they would. But over the course of their last two albums, they began receding gracefully into sepia tone: Both You & Me and Lisbon felt like more breezy postcards from abroad than seething dispatches from here. Heaven, their gloriously pretty sixth studio record, marks the moment they shuffle off into that 4x6-sized sunset forever. The title they've chosen says it all: Look where they ended up! We all know that's not where rock bands go.

Heaven, as Talking Heads famously defined it, "is a place where nothing ever happens." For most sentient people, that sounds like the definition of hell, which Byrne's lyrics admitted: "It's hard to imagine how nothing at all/ Could be so exciting/ Could be so much fun." Similarly, it might not thrill longtime Walkmen fans to picture the band as a bunch of rumpled, beaming dads slotting recording time in between play dates. But on Heaven, they've made a bewildered, giddy paean to their own happiness. Heaven feels infectiously drunk on its own good fortune and kicks out a barstool for you to drink alongside it.

It helps that Hamilton Leithauser, with his oddly aristocratic presence, remains a magnetic frontman even when he's basically taking a song to make goo-goo noises at his one-year-old daughter (the lovely if borderline-saccharine "Song for Leigh"). There was always something airily entitled in Leithauser's on-record persona; he was the rich kid who didn't have to do his homework, because he knew you'd do it if he asked. That this kid had feelings too was a fundamental dramatic premise of the Walkmen. To hear this former kid now ruminating on big-picture stuff, like the statistical improbability of lasting love ("Love Is Luck") or the emptiness of perfection ("We Can't Be Beat") is to hear the band's purview expand quietly. On "Southern Heart", he even plays a pleasantly tired cuckold, like the Leonard Cohen of "Famous Blue Raincoat": "Tell me again how you loved all the men you were after," he mutters.

Some longtime fans might not like their Walkmen like this. They were great, after all, at being sexily unstable. But this retro-yearning tendency has been there since the beginning if you looked for it. So to hear them ease out of sturm-und-drang and into something resembling durable adulthood is to witness a great rock band evolve along a logical path. In what may be a tacit acknowledgement of this shift, Heaven glows with nostalgic pre-rock'n'roll sounds: "Jerry Jr.'s Tune" is one-and-a-half moonlit minutes of classic doo-wop; "No One Ever Sleeps" has a faint mariachi-sounding horn section; "Love Is Luck" is a sparkling calypso song. "Heartbreaker" echoes the chords, melody and rhythm of "Be My Baby".

All of the Walkmen's albums have been recorded with meticulous, stone-cutting care; by now, listening to them is like entering a room where you can tap your foot in corners to test its resonance. "We Can't Be Beat", one of a few songs on Heaven rounded out with harmonies from Fleet Foxes' Robin Pecknold, eases into a full-band march after about two minutes of wry, twinkling acoustic guitar. On "Line By Line", Leithauser croons tenderly over a single rippling guitar until a string section gradually soaks in at the song's edges. The beery, cock-eyed "No One Ever Sleeps" transforms the Walkmen into a schmaltzy gypsy band serenading the outdoor tables at a white-tablecloth restaurant.

This group has always been able to carve out dramatic gestures like this, and even at this end of the spectrum-- far beyond personal explosions and exclamation-pointed delivery-- they continue to craft music of wry vitality. It may be that they can no longer convincingly deliver tortured, existential desperation, and if so, that's just as well. With Heaven, they've turned out a record that finds a thousand affecting variations on contented hum.