Dutch: Earth's Tallest Humans

Found on Digg..... hum, wonder if there is something to this. Half my family is from the Nederlands, and we are all pretty tall folk. My daughters are pretty tall, too, much taller than their Mom and her family - they are all kinda little folk :)


In the last 150 years, the Dutch have become the tallest people on Earth, and experts say they're still getting bigger. It is a tale of a country's health and wealth. Many Dutch are much taller than average. So many, in fact, that four years ago the government adjusted building codes to raise the standards for door frames and ceilings.

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Possessed Demon Cat From Hell!

This is one seriously pissed off cat...someone please call a priest!



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Harris: Non-Christian Politicians 'Legislate Sin'

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/52261

She's crazy - Katherine Harris Crazy

Harris: Non-Christian Politicians 'Legislate Sin'

Congresswoman Katherine Harris (R-FL) recently stated that separation
of church and state was "a lie," and that non-Christian elected
officials would "legislate sin." What do you think?

Wendy Raudive,
Customer Support
"She wasn't saying that Christians are the only people fit to make
laws—just that they're the only people, period."

Constatin Clark,
Sin Lobbyist
"As a sin lobbyist, I have to say that Harris is making it very
difficult for sinner interests and the sin platform."

Andy Lees,
Systems Analyst
"What kind of lie is 'separation of church and state?' A 'the check is
in the mail' kind of lie, or a 'the world was created in seven days
and dinosaurs never existed' kind of lie?"

BOINC: compute for science

BOINC is a program that lets you donate your idle computer time to science projects like SETI@home, Climateprediction.net, Rosetta@home, World Community Grid, and many others.

After installing BOINC on your computer, you can connect it to as many of these projects as you like.

-----------

For Mac OS Tiger

The World Map of Happiness

This is very informative. From what I know, and I'm no expert in this area, of course, the rankings do appear to be very accurate. Denmark, Switzerland, are One and Two, the Netherlands is 15th.

The U.S., I noticed, is ranked 23rd, and Canada is 10th.

A pirate walks into a bar...

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel around his testicles.

The bartender says to the pirate "hey, you know you got a steering wheel hanging off of your testicles?"

Says the pirate "Argggh, it's drivin' me nuts!"

Hawk Wings - Plug-ins for Apple Mail

Hawk Wings - Plug-ins for Apple Mail: "You will find 120+ plugins, add-ons, scripts and helpful apps here. That's a lot. A Top Ten list might help you get started. Otherwise, choose one of the categories below. Browse. Enjoy!"


this is a huge list of stuff addons and what nots.

Today is the 65th Anniversary of Television Broadcasting

The first scheduled television program was broadcast by the National Broadcasting Company from the Empire State Building in New York City 65 years ago today.

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Pogue’s Posts - Technology - New York Times Blog - A New Perspective on Living Space

Pogue’s Posts - Technology - New York Times Blog - A New Perspective on Living Space: "A New Perspective on Living Space"

Here's a direct link: http://photomichaelwolf.com/100x100/

MEMENTO MORI

MEMENTO MORI
by DAVID SEDARIS
When gifts come back to haunt you.
Issue of 2006-05-08
Posted 2006-05-01

For the past ten years or so, I’ve made it a habit to carry a small notebook in my front pocket. The model I favor is called the Europa, and I pull it out an average of ten times a day, jotting down grocery lists, observations, and little thoughts on how to make money, or torment people. The last page is always reserved for phone numbers, and the second to last I use for gift ideas. These are not things I might give to other people, but things that they might give to me: a shoehorn, for instance—always wanted one. The same goes for a pencil case, which, on the low end, probably costs no more than a doughnut.

I’ve also got ideas in the five-hundred-to-two-thousand-dollar range, though those tend to be more specific. This nineteenth-century portrait of a dog, for example. I’m not what you’d call a dog person, far from it, but this particular one—a whippet, I think—had alarmingly big nipples, huge, like bolts screwed halfway into her belly. More interesting was that she seemed aware of it. You could see it in her eyes as she turned to face the painter. “Oh, not now,” she appeared to be saying. “Have you no decency?”

I saw the portrait at the Portobello Road market in London, and though I petitioned, hard, for months, nobody bought it for me. I even tried initiating a pool, and offered to throw in a few hundred dollars of my own money, but still no one bit. In the end I gave the money to my boyfriend, Hugh, and had him buy it. Then I had him wrap it up, and offer it to me.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

And following the script he said, “Do I need a reason to give you a present?”

Then I said, “Awwwww.”

It never works the other way round, though. Ask Hugh what he wants for Christmas or his birthday and he’ll answer saying, “You tell me.”

“Well, isn’t there something you’ve had your eye on?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Hugh thinks that lists are the easy way out, and says that if I really knew him I wouldn’t have to ask what he wanted. It’s not enough to search the shops; I have to search his soul as well. He turns gift-giving into a test, which I don’t think is fair at all. Were I the type to run out at the last minute, he might have a valid complaint, but I start my shopping months in advance. Plus I pay attention. If, say, in the middle of the summer, Hugh should mention that he’d like an electric fan, I’ll buy it that very day, and hide it in my gift cupboard. Come Christmas morning, he’ll open his present, and frown at it for a while before I say, “Don’t you remember? You said you were burning up, and would give anything for a little relief.”

That’s just a practical gift, though, a stocking stuffer. His main present is what I’m really after, and, knowing this, he offers no help whatsoever. Or, rather, he used to offer no help. It wasn’t until last year that he finally dropped a hint, and even then it was fairly cryptic. “Go out the front door, and turn right,” he said. “Then take a left and keep walking.”

He did not say “Stop before you reach the boulevard,” or “When you come to the Czech border you’ll know you’ve gone too far,” but he didn’t need to. I knew what he was talking about the moment I saw it. It was a human skeleton, the genuine article, hanging in the window of a medical bookstore. Hugh’s old drawing teacher used to have one, and though it had been ten years since he’d taken the woman’s class, I could suddenly recall him talking about it. “If I had a skeleton like Minerva’s . . .” he used to say. I don’t remember the rest of the sentence, as I’d always been sidetracked by the teacher’s name, Minerva. Sounds like a witch.

There are things that one enjoys buying, and things that one doesn’t. Electronic equipment, for example—I hate shopping for stuff like that, no matter how happy it will make the recipient. I feel the same about gift certificates, and books about golf or investment strategies or how to lose twelve pounds by being yourself. I thought I would enjoy buying a human skeleton, but, looking through the shop window, I felt a familiar tug of disappointment. This had nothing to do with any moral considerations. I was fine with buying someone who’d been dead for a while; I just didn’t want to have to wrap him. Finding a box would be a pain, and then there’d be the paper, which would have to be attached in strips because no one sells rolls that wide. Between one thing and another, I was almost relieved when told that the skeleton was not for sale. “He’s our mascot,” the store manager said. “We couldn’t possibly get rid of him.”

In America this translates to “Make me an offer,” but in France people really mean it. There are shops in Paris where nothing is for sale, no matter how hard you beg. I think people get lonely. Their apartments become full, and, rather than rent a storage space, they take over a boutique. Then they sit there in the middle of it, gloating over their fine taste.

Being told that I couldn’t buy a skeleton was just what I needed to make me really want one. Maybe that was the problem all along—it was too easy: “Take a right, take a left, and keep walking.” It took the hunt out of it.

“Do you know anyone who will sell me their skeleton?” I asked, and the manager thought for a while. “Well,” she said, “I guess you could try looking on bulletin boards.”

I don’t know what circles this woman runs in, but I have never in my life seen a skeleton advertised on a bulletin board. Used bicycles, yes, but no human bones, or even cartilage, for that matter.

“Thank you for your help,” I said.

The baby was tempting because of its size—I could have wrapped it in a shoebox—but, ultimately, I went for the adult, which is three hundred years old and held together by a network of fine wires. There’s a latch in the center of the forehead, and removing the linchpin allows you to open the skull and either root around or hide things—drugs, say, or small pieces of jewelry. It’s not what one hopes for when thinking about an afterlife (“I’d like for my head to be used as a stash box”), but I didn’t let that bother me. I bought the skeleton the same way I buy most everything. It was just an arrangement of parts to me, no different from a lamp or a chest of drawers.

I didn’t think of it as a former person until Christmas Day, when Hugh opened the cardboard coffin. “If you don’t like the color we can bleach it,” I said. “Either that or exchange it for the baby.”

I always like to offer a few alternatives, though in this case they were completely unnecessary. Hugh was beside himself—couldn’t have been happier. I assumed he’d be using the skeleton as a model, and was a little put off when, instead of taking it to his basement studio, he carried it into the bedroom, and hung it from the ceiling.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

The following morning, I reached under the bed for a discarded sock and found what I thought was a three-tiered earring. It looked like something you’d get at a crafts fair, not pretty, but definitely handmade, fashioned from what looked like petrified wood. I was just holding it to the side of my head when I thought, Hang on, this is an index finger. It must have fallen off while Hugh was hanging the skeleton. Then he or I or possibly his mother, who was in town for the holidays, accidentally kicked it under the bed.

I don’t think of myself as overly prissy, but it bothered me to find a finger on my bedroom floor. “If this thing is going to start shedding parts, you really should put it down in your studio,” I said to Hugh, who told me that it was his present and he’d keep it wherever he wanted to. Then he got out some wire and reattached the missing finger.

As the days pass, I keep hoping that the skeleton will become invisible, but he hasn’t. Dangling between the dresser and the bedroom door, he is the last thing I see before falling asleep, and the first thing I see in the morning.

It’s funny how certain objects convey a message—my washer and dryer, for example. They can’t speak, of course, but whenever I pass them they remind me that I’m doing fairly well. “No more laundromat for you,” they hum. My stove, a downer, tells me every day that I can’t cook, and before I can defend myself my scale jumps in, shouting from the bathroom, “Well, he must be doing something—my numbers is off the charts.” The skeleton has a much more limited vocabulary, and says only one thing: “You are going to die.”

I’d always thought that I understood this, but lately I realize that what I call “understanding” is basically just fantasizing. I think about death all the time, but only in a romantic, self-serving way, beginning, most often, with my tragic illness, and ending with my funeral. I see my brother squatting beside my grave, so racked with guilt he’s unable to stand. “If only I’d paid him back that twenty-five thousand dollars I borrowed,” he says. I see Hugh, drying his eyes on the sleeve of his suit jacket, then crying even harder when he remembers I bought it for him. What I didn’t see were all the people who might celebrate my death, but that’s all changed with the skeleton, who assumes features at will.

One moment he’s an elderly Frenchwoman, the one I didn’t give my seat to on the bus. In my book, if you want to be treated like an old person, you have to look like one. That means no face-lift, no blond hair, and definitely no fishnet stockings. I think it’s a perfectly valid rule, but it wouldn’t have killed me to take her crutches into consideration.

“I’m sorry,” I say, but before the words are out of my mouth the skeleton has morphed into a guy named Stew, who I shorted in a drug deal.

Stew and the Frenchwoman will be happy to see me go, and there are hundreds more in line behind them, some whom I can name, and others whom I managed to hurt and insult without a formal introduction. I hadn’t thought of these people in years, but that’s the skeleton’s cleverness. He gets into my head when I’m asleep, and picks through the muck at the bottom of my skull. “Why me?” I ask. “Hugh is lying in the very same bed—how come you don’t go after him?”

And the skeleton says, “You are going to die.”

“But I’m the one who found your finger.”

“You are going to die.”

I said to Hugh, “Are you sure you wouldn’t be happier with the baby?”

For the first few weeks, I heard the voice only when I was in the bedroom. Then it spread and took over the entire apartment. I’ll be sitting in my office, gossiping on the telephone, and the skeleton will cut in, sounding like an international operator. “You are going to die.”

I stretch out in the bathtub, soaking in fragrant oils while outside my window beggars are gathered like kittens upon the heating grates.

“You are going to die.”

In the kitchen, I throw away a perfectly good egg. In the closet, I put on a sweater that some half-blind child was paid ten sesame seeds to make. In the living room, I take out my notebook, and add a bust of Satan to the list of gifts I should like to receive.

“You are going to die. You are going to die. You are going to die.”

“Do you think you could alter that just a little?” I asked.

But he wouldn’t.

Having been dead for three hundred years, there’s a lot the skeleton doesn’t understand; TV, for instance. “See,” I told him, “you just push this button and entertainment comes into your home.” He seemed impressed, and so I took it a step further: “I invented it myself, to bring comfort to the old and sick.”

“You are going to die.”

He was the same with the vacuum cleaner, even after I used the nozzle attachment to dust his skull. “You are going to die.”

And that’s when I broke down. “I’ll do anything you like,” I said. “I’ll make amends to the people I’ve hurt, I’ll bathe in rainwater, you name it, just please say something, anything else.”

The skeleton hesitated a moment. “You are going to be dead . . . someday,” he told me.

And I put away the vacuum cleaner, thinking, Well, that’s a start.

AppleCared: Life Inside AppleCare

As a technical support agent, you develop mental calluses that help you move on and through the chaff and treasure the customers that are amiable, acknowledge that they need help, and are happy with the answer they're given. A good number of calls are actually like that and make the job bearable. A similar number are very, very far from it.

It's a business critical machine, this portable. So that's why you don't have a backup of your data or a spare machine to use in the mean time. It, and all that's on it, is just that important to you. You can't run your business without it, and you have no way of replacing it should something happen to it, even temporarily. I understand. Go to hell.





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While Window Shopping

I was window shopping yesterday, and noticed a nice shiny iPod with video - yes, it was a tech shop, my kinda toy store...anyway, I don't have one as yet - got a nano, though, and an HP iPaq to split the duties - and, so, any way, I like to check them out when I see one in a hands on display area. Picking it up, I spin through the menu, checking out the items preloaded on it. I noticed that there was a copy of the Incredibles on it. Did a little checking, and, of course, this isn't available on the iTunes Store. Not yet anyway. So, it either came from Apple preloaded, or someone at the shop ripped it and loaded it up. Interesting to see a maybe-sorta-pirated movie on an item in a store display.

Entangled Evacuation

The Baytown Sun
- MOBILE EDITION -

http://baytownsun.com/mobile/mobilestory.lasso?ewcd=ff02368a28261637
Entangled Evacuation

By David Bloom

Baytown Sun

Published April 20, 2006

Counties and cities spanning the Texas Gulf Coast have defied an executive order from Gov. Rick Perry to empower one person to make evacuation decisions during hurricanes. Instead, the officials from a 13-county region surrounding Houston — including the mayor of Baytown and Chambers County judge — opted for a committee of 15 to make decisions like how to stagger evacuations and when to enable contraflow on clogged highways.

Of course, mayors and county judges already have the authority given by the Legislature to call for mandatory evacuations. They say appointing one commander is impractical and leads to uninformed decisions. And with a committee, each jurisdiction is represented we suppose, leaving less chance for favoritism and, most assuredly, politics.

Forming the committee would begin immediately with each county judge appointing one member, with the other two decided by the mayors of Houston and Galveston.

But this tempest in a teapot over commander or committee ignores the real issue: the gross negligence of certain elected officials who had no plan or clue about a mass evacuation, making it a greater danger than the storm itself.

The fundamental problem was the lack of a coordinated plan to deal with the massive evacuation. Since then, for example, has the state of Texas developed contra-flow plans along major evacuation? And what about supplying gas, comfort and medical stations along the routes?

We also need a statewide database of people with special needs; the enforcement that all nursing homes and health care facilities have an evacuation plan; and a requirement for school districts to make buses and buildings available to evacuees.

Public awareness campaigns also should be launched informing Texans of the importance of keeping vehicles properly fueled during hurricane season and plans in place to care for pets during emergencies.

Working on it, we are told.

Certainly, centralized control over evacuations would be an improvement, assisting with problems related to evacuation traffic management and special needs assistance.

Ultimately, it matters little who calls the evacuation. The decision to leave town ahead of a hurricane remains solely a personal or family decision.

What is important is that the state must be better prepared for the mass exodus of millions along the Texas Gulf coast.

Rita taught us painful lessons about the woeful inadequacy of our plans in the face of such catastrophe.

Clearly much work remains ahead of the start of the 2006 hurricane season, now only 41 days away.

Today’s editorial was written by David Bloom, managing editor of The Baytown Sun, on behalf of the newspaper’s editorial board.
Copyright © 2006 The Baytown Sun

James Green
jimgreen@bdgreen.com

The Videotape Recorder Turns 50

The Videotape Recorder Turns 50

Routine NAB preview event showcased revolutionary technology

by James E. O'Neal
The Ampex video recorder is unveiled at the NARTB show in Chicago, April 14, 1956.

FALLS CHURCH, VA.: In an age when video cameras and recording devices are virtually everywhere, it's difficult to believe that it wasn't always possible to walk into a Wal-Mart or Best Buy store with $50 and leave with a new video recorder.

The science of magnetically recording video images is so mature today that it's taken completely for granted, but that was not always the case. Television broadcasting as we know it appeared in the mid-1930s. Video recording technology lagged by another 20 years."

Google Earth Sleuthing - Story of a Burning Ship

An obscure satellite photo captured a scene of daring rescue at sea where a burning ship's crew was rescued by two other ships. The interesting thing was it took the power of thousands of forum readers to help find the answer to the mystery.

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1983 Apple T-Shirt Ad showing a Stylin' "Apple Family"

Nothing says really bad and old fashion like geek ad copy from 'back in the day'.



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PocketMod version 0.3 beta

PocketMod version 0.3 beta

now this is some good web 2.0 stuff.....

‘Jurassic beaver’ unearthed in China - Science - MSNBC.com

‘Jurassic beaver’ unearthed in China - Science - MSNBC.com

Updated: 2:00 p.m. ET Feb. 23, 2006

WASHINGTON - For years, the mammals living in the era of dinosaurs have been thought of as tiny shrewlike creatures scurrying through the underbrush. Now the discovery of a furry aquatic creature with seallike teeth and a flat tail like a beaver has demolished that image.

Some 164 million years ago, the newly discovered mammal was swimming in lakes in what is now northern China, eating fish and living with dinosaurs.


Very interesting, but also a lead to many many bad jokes..............

Ancient Cave Art Full of Teenage Graffiti

Many art historians and anthropologists believe Paleolithic cave wall art was done by accomplished shaman-artists, but mixed in with the finer paintings are graffiti-like scenes of sex and hunting.

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After 150 yrs, Western Union ends telegram service

: "After 150 yrs, Western Union ends telegram service
Thu Feb 2, 2006 7:24 PM ET

CHICAGO (Reuters) - Cheap long distance calling. E-mail and instant messaging. Cell phones and other wireless devices.

Thanks to new technology, consumers have a lot of options for communicating these days. Thanks to new technology, they've also lost a few.

Western Union quietly announced last week that it was exiting the telegram business -- a business that was synonymous with its name for 155 years.

'Effective January 27, 2006,' the company said in a note posted without ceremony on its Web site, 'Western Union will discontinue all Telegram and Commercial Messaging services. We regret any inconvenience this may cause you, and we thank you for your loyal patronage.'

Consumers eager to send a singing telegram, one of many Western Union innovations, would have to look elsewhere, the company said.

The move doesn't signal the end of Western Union. In fact the company, which was founded in Rochester, New York, in 1851, is actually on the verge of a new chapter in its life.

Just last week, its parent, Greenwood Village, Colorado-based First Data Corp. , announced plans to spin off Western Union, creating a stand-alone, publicly listed company.

But the announcement formally recognizes that Western Union has become a financial services company, deriving nearly all its revenue from transferring money around the country and around the world.

The peak of Western Union's telegram business was 1929, when the company and its army of uniformed messengers delivered 200 million telegrams worldwide -- almost 550,000 a day.

In 2005, the company delivered just 20,000 -- about 55 a day. The Western Union messengers were gone. In their place were third-party couriers. And the average price had jumped to $10.

'It was a hard decision,' said Western Union spokesman Colin Wheeler. 'It wa"