Jumble Gym, with its 17-year-old creator, Andrew WK.
found via Andrew WK Week, celebrating Phillip Crandall’s 33 1/3 book, I Get Wet.
Jumble Gym, with its 17-year-old creator, Andrew WK.
— keepyourpebbles' sister's hairstylist is going to write the next great season of Dr. Who.
The 400-pound Architeuthis Dux was transported to the Maritime Museum of Cantabria where its fate remains unclear as to whether it will be put on display or dissected and studied for science.
Danny Cudd plays the
hang drum Hang. I’d never heard of one before today, but it seems to be a steel drum played with the fingers and thumbs.
I think I want one on the couch in the living room. Just hanging out.
Later, then, would mean tomorrow morning. But after seeing how bright the moon is tonight, Shealy has been inspired to check the beans early. So here we are, pushing our way through patches of hip-high sawgrass and palmetto, getting our feet wet in the interest of science. A certain skepticism seems in order — it’s hard to believe we could really get results so soon — but otherwise, it occurs to me, there are worse ways to spend a warm Saturday night in January.
Then I see Shealy stand up straight, as though startled. “What’s happened here?” he says, taking a big step forward into what I recognize as the site of the bean-set. “Look at this!” I’m looking already, not sure what I’m seeing. For some reason the blue, five-gallon bucket in which Shealy had carried the beans is lying on its side in the middle of the mud. The rake he used to clear the ground and which he’d left standing upright in the bucket and leaning against a pine tree is now in the mud too — but it’s in pieces, its sturdy wooden handle snapped at three points like a toothpick. The beans, once piled in a neat, six-inch mound, are almost all gone.
Shealy is kneeling down, examining the ground a few feet in front of the biggest piece of rake handle, staring at a strange mark in the mud. “There’s a print!” he exclaims. “See the heel, the toes?”
When I return alone to the site at 8:30 the next morning, the footprint is still there. A quick measurement confirms that it is, in fact, quite big — about fourteen inches from its toes to its deep-pressed, water-filled heel, and about five inches across at its ball. It appears to be a right foot.
The bucket and pieces of rake lie where they were dropped. The night before, I’d moved only one thing — the rake’s plastic teeth. An unfamiliar odor is still present on them hours later. Strangely, it is not especially unpleasant, and nothing like a rotten-egg stench. Rather, it smells like licorice crossed with something else, something completely outside my experience. Now, with that smell still on my hands, I’m left to wonder just what it was we almost encountered last night. With the sun up, it’s much harder to imagine a rampaging Skunk Ape loose in these woods."
Jim Kelly, "Creature Feature", Miami New Times, 19 Feb 1998.
Ride easy, Jim. You never know what’s out there.
George Hansen lectures on the decline of parapsychology. He’s the author of The Trickster and The Paranormal, a book I can’t recommend enough.
(EDIT TO ADD: The good “why this matters” stuff starts about 16 minutes in.)
SCIENCE FACT: Sometimes all the flamingos need to touch up their makeup at the same time.
WEIRD TRUTH: I am not making that up. They probably don’t use the ladies’ room, though.
We carried our experiment to the busiest section of the park, the main lake, filled with dozens of even more humongous alligators.
Once again, our intrepid musicians played through the boardwalk into the water. They played all the notes on the scale for two octaves and then played the notes once more. Nothing happened until they hit the B flat two octaves below middle C.
All over the lake, male alligators bellowed back.
"It’s the vibrations caused by the note that has to be exciting them, " Mickelsen shouted.
John Banther hauled his tuba away from the railing nearest the lake and knelt on the boardwalk. He saw an alligator below in the dim shadows. He wondered if it would be safe to serenade him.
As amused tourists detoured around him, the young musician lay on his side and hit the B flat.
As I took Banther’s photograph, I felt the boardwalk shake. Was Krakatoa about to erupt?
An instant later hell broke loose below us. The roars of the bull alligators were so loud and so deep we felt them in our chests."
— “Musical note sends gator into bellowing ecstasy," Jeff Klinkenberg, Tampa Bay Times, 10 June 2007.
"I.S.S. (Is Somebody Singing?)" by Cmdr. Chris Hadfield, Ed Robertson, Barenaked Ladies & The Wexford Gleeks
Does this sound schmaltzy? Usually things with a full choir and a key change after the bridge sound schmaltzy. I honestly can’t tell - judgement just flew right out the window. I think from the point at which Hadfield held his guitar pick up to the camera and left it there, hanging in zero gravity.
We are living in the future. And this is the future we are living in.
Swann told me while staying at my house that he does not identify himself as a psychic. He called himself, “a consciousness researcher,” and said that most people can be taught to be Remote Viewers, although some people have more innate ability than others. Swann has stated, “I don’t get tested, and I only work with researchers on well-designed experiments.” He was pleasant gentleman with a great smile and intuitive abilities that provided the US government with significant intelligence information on the Soviet Union and Extraterrestrials.