Photographer Geoffrey Baker discovered this
new species of horse while he was out birdwatching.
The same Gallup poll that found near-unanimous disapproval of cheating also found rising acceptance of many other non-traditional, consensual sexual relationships. The new ethical consensus that you can do whatever you like as long as you're not hurting anyone—and as long as you're being rigorously candid—reflects a thoroughly modern mix of tolerance and puritanical censoriousness. We've become more willing to embrace diverse models of sexual self-expression even as we've become ever more intolerant of hypocrisy and the human frailty that makes hypocrisy almost inevitable.How Marital Infidelity Became America's Last Sexual Taboo, The Atlantic>>
"This stainless steel tea kettle has all the bells and whistles you'll need—a cool-touch handle, space-saving design and a delightful whistle to let you know when it's ready to pour."No mention of Nazis.
"Well, I've got good news and bad news..."(In a first step at damage control, J.C. Penney did remove the billboard.)
"...individuals who engaged in expansive postures were more likely to steal money, cheat on a test, and commit traffic violations in a driving simulation."Abstract:
Can the structure of our everyday environment lead us to behave dishonestly? Four studies found that expansive postures incidentally imposed by our ordinary living environment lead to increases in dishonest behavior. The first three experiments found that individuals who engaged in expansive postures were more likely to steal money, cheat on a test, and commit traffic violations in a driving simulation. We also demonstrated that participants' sense of power mediated this effect. The final study found that automobiles with more expansive drivers’ seats were more likely to be illegally parked on New York City streets. These findings are consistent with research showing that (a) postural expansiveness leads to a psychological and physiological state of power and (b) power leads to corrupt behavior.The paper was written by Harvard Business School professor Amy Cuddy, Andy J. Yap (MIT), Abbie S. Wazlawek (Columbia University), Brian J. Lucas (Northwestern University) and Dana R. Carney (University of California, Berkeley).
During their attempt to stop Cullen, Homicide detectives studied his Pyxis records, but they didn’t see a smoking gun — a clear pattern of drug orders by him corresponding to the hospital overdoses. What they did find were a large number of canceled orders. Cullen had realized that if he placed an order of the drug for his own patient, then quickly canceled it, the drug drawer popped open anyway. He could simply take what he wanted without recording it in the system. It was that easy.He admitted killing 40, but some think he may have killed hundreds.
Ƭңє Ĥ∪ṃαи 尺єαďαӸє Ƭƴρє ʪ α ғΓєє ďσẘ␤σαďαӸє αиď є℁ƴ ʈσ ㏌§ʈαƖƖ Ⱪєƴ♭σαΓď ρƖ㎍㏌ ғσΓ ᗰα⊏ ʈңαʈ ㏚σď∪₠§§ ң∪ṃαи-σ␤ƴ ΓєαďαӸє ʈєχʈ ℁ ƴσ∪ ʈƴρє․ ШσΓď§ ẘΓįʈʈєи ʈңʪ ẘαƴ αΓє įƖƖє⅁įӸє ʈσ α∪ʈσṃαʈį⊂ §єαΓ⊂ң ㏚σ₠§§є§ αиď ďαʈα ṃٱи㏌⅁ σρєΓαʈįσи§§․ ␟є įʈ ғσΓ ␙αįʪ˛ ẘє♭ρα⅁є§˛ ғα₠♭σσʞ ρσ§ʈ§˛ єʈ⊂․ ιʈ ʪ ΓєαďαӸє ♭ƴ ң∪ṃαи§ σи αƖṃσ§ʈ αиƴ ďį⅁įʈαƖ ďє√į₠ αиď ρƖαʈғσΓṃYes your brain can read, but your brain might hurt.
Ƭңє ғįƖє ʪ θρєи Ƨσ∪Γ₠˛ αиď ∪ρďαʈє§ ẘįƖƖ ♭є ρσ§ʈєď ℁ ʈңєƴ σ⊂℆Γ.
“I don’t know much about plants. I’m not too good with that. When I saw them, the first thing I thought was ‘Oh, my God.’ Right there I looked it up on my phone and they looked close to marijuana plants, but I thought I should call someone who knew about plants, so I called police.”At first, police couldn't tell them apart, either. You would think that since both tomatoes and marijuana plants have distinctive odors, it would've been easy to just follow your nose.
I think we can all agree that life is pretty bleak place to be a lot of the time. Often you might even think, “Who thought this was a good idea to begin with!?” (God – what a jerk.) But I think that if there’s a way we can, just for a fleeting moment, give strangers an unexpected gift of absurdity, then I think we can make the world a slightly better place.Kurt Braunohler hires man in plane to write stupid things in the sky, Salon>>
Here's a novel way to reduce racism: Convince people their skin is darker than it really is.Yes, yes it does.
No need to break out the tanning booth. A new study finds that an illusion that makes people feel that a rubber hand is their own can make white people less unconsciously biased against people with dark skin.
"It comes down to a perceived similarity between white and dark skin," study researcher Lara Maister, a psychologist at Royal Holloway University of London, said in a statement. "The illusion creates an overlap, which in turn helps to reduce negative attitudes because participants see less difference between themselves and those with dark skin."
The rubber hand illusion is a classic psychology experiment in which a participant sits at a table with his or her hand obscured by a screen. A rubber hand is placed parallel to the person's own hand, where the participant can see it. By stroking or touching the fake hand and the person's real hand at the same time, a psychologist can make the participant feel like the hand is part of their body...
Maister and her colleagues wanted to know if using a rubber hand in a dark skin tone might influence the way white people perceived race.
"While working in Southeast Asia, a war torn veteran of the Vietnam War discovers a mysterious man claiming to be an American MIA and so begins his struggle to prove the lost soldier's identity and reunite him with his family."The mysterious man, 76-year-old Sergeant John Hartley Robertson, said he was a U.S. soldier who disappeared in Laos in 1968 when his helicopter crashed. He was caught and imprisoned for four years but escaped, and rather than return to his American family, he married a woman in Vietnam and took the name of her dead husband, Dang Tan Ngoc.
"...my impression of Belgium that it was a boring country and I wanted to give the Belgians some fun and a new art experience."Police removed the statue.
"so my parents were gone for 2 days and I switched most of our family photos with pictures of steve buscemi…"If you have to ask why this is a great prank, you may be incapable of pranking.
Ironically, the guru grifter won the woman’s trust by telling her that other people were cheating, deceiving and stealing money from her and that the guru, possessed of spiritual powers, could help.(The image is from the book The Energy of Money by Maria Nemeth. A quote from Booklist: "Nemeth is a clinical psychologist who, after losing $35,000 in an investment scam, became interested in psychological and emotional attitudes about money and how financial decisions are made.")
The phony spiritual leader, 39-year-old Janet Miller, has pleaded guilty to third-degree grand larceny for her involvement in a year-long scam that started when Ms. Miller met the victim at an apartment on East 41st Street in July 2011, according to the District Attorney’s office. Somehow, Ms. Miller won the victim over by telling her that she could see her dead grandmother crying and requesting $900 to make a shield to block the devil. After the victim gave her $400, she gave the victim “holy” water, oils, salt and crystals and started communicating with her on an almost daily basis.
Over the course of the year, demands and/or necessities for warding off the devil and curing the victim’s father of cancer escalated from hundred dollar bills to jewelry and Rolex watches.
The most dubious request of all—and the one which apparently brought down the scam—was when the so-called spiritual guru told the victim that her money was cursed and unclean and that she could cleanse it on a mountaintop, instructing her to give her $600,000 in cash (which would all be returned, of course)—the old cleaning your money on a mountaintop trick. The victim started to suspect that she had been swindled when Ms. Miller only returned a small portion of the “cleansed” cash.
Skechers will pay $40 million to settle claims in a class-action suit between Skechers USA Inc. and consumers who bought toning shoes after ads made unfounded claims that the footwear would help people lose weight and strengthen muscles...They were merely taking lessons from the shoe company Reebok, who ran a similar deceptive ad campaign and then had to refund customers $25 million. (Still, Reebok likely made a profit on the shoes.) See my post: Being Sexy and Deceptive is Profitable>>
The settlement grew out of a series of ads Skechers aired featuring celebrity endorsers such as Kim Kardashian and Brooke Burke, with claims that the shoes could help people lose weight and strengthen their butt, leg, and stomach muscles.
Skechers billed its Shape-ups as a fitness tool designed to promote weight loss and tone muscles with the shoe's curved "rocker" or rolling bottom — saying it provides natural instability and causes the consumer to "use more energy with every step." Shape-ups cost about $100 and are sold at retailers nationwide.
Ads for the Resistance Runner shoes claimed people who wear them could increase "muscle activation" by up to 85 percent for posture-related muscles and 71 percent for one of the muscles in the buttocks.
Alfred Anaya took pride in his generous service guarantee. Though his stereo installation business, Valley Custom Audio Fanatics, was just a one-man operation based out of his San Fernando, California, home, he offered all of his clients a lifetime warranty: If there was ever any problem with his handiwork, he would fix it for the cost of parts alone—no questions asked.Mr. Anaya did get problems. Read the article: Alfred Anaya Put Secret Compartments in Cars. So the DEA Put Him in Prison. Wired>>
Anaya’s customers typically took advantage of this deal when their fiendishly loud subwoofers blew out or their fiberglass speaker boxes developed hairline cracks. But in late January 2009, a man whom Anaya knew only as Esteban called for help with a more exotic product: a hidden compartment that Anaya had installed in his Ford F-150 pickup truck. Over the years, these secret stash spots—or traps, as they’re known in automotive slang—have become a popular luxury item among the wealthy and shady alike. This particular compartment was located behind the truck’s backseat, which Anaya had rigged with a set of hydraulic cylinders linked to the vehicle’s electrical system. The only way to make the seat slide forward and reveal its secret was by pressing and holding four switches simultaneously: two for the power door locks and two for the windows.
Esteban said the seat was no longer responding to the switch combination and that no amount of jiggling could make it budge. He pleaded with Anaya to take a look.
Anaya was unsettled by this request, for he had suspicions about the nature of Esteban’s work. There is nothing intrinsically illegal about building traps, which are commonly used to hide everything from pricey jewelry to legal handguns. But the activity runs afoul of California law if an installer knows for certain that his compartment will be used to transport drugs. The maximum penalty is three years in prison. Anaya thus thought it wise to deviate from his standard no-questions-asked policy before agreeing to honor his warranty. “There’s nothing in there I shouldn’t know about, is there?” he asked. Esteban assured him that he needn’t worry.
Esteban drove the F-150 to Anaya’s modest ranch-style house and parked by the back porch. A friend of his, who introduced himself as Cesar, followed right behind in a black Honda Ridgeline truck. The 37-year-old Anaya, a boyishly handsome man whose neck and arms are covered with tattoos of dice and Japanese art, tested the switches that controlled the truck’s trap. He heard the hydraulics whirr to life, but the seat stayed firmly in place. He would have to use brute force.
Anaya punched a precise hole through the upholstery with his 24-volt Makita drill, probing for the screws that anchored the seat to the hydraulics. After a few moments he heard a loud pop as the drill seemed to puncture something soft. When he finally managed to remove the backseat, he saw what he had hit: a wad of cash about 4 inches thick. The whole compartment was overflowing with such bundles, several of which spilled onto the truck’s floor. Esteban had jammed the trap by stuffing it with too much cash—over $800,000 in total.
Anaya stumbled back from the truck’s cab, livid. “Get it out of here,” he growled at Esteban. “I don’t want to know about this. I don’t want any problems.”
Nick Bohr, general manager at Energy West, said workers at the company were cleaning out some storage areas and discarded several boxes of scratch-and-sniff cards that it sent out to customers in the past to educate them on what natural gas smells like.Energy West official: Scratch-and-sniff cards to blame for gas smell in downtown Great Falls. Great Falls Tribune>>
“They were expired, and they were old,” Bohr said. “They threw them into the Dumpsters.”
When the cards were picked up by sanitation trucks and crushed, “It was the same as if they had scratched them.”
The chemical mercaptan is added to natural gas, which is odorless, so people can detect gas leaks. It smells like rotten eggs and is not poisonous.
All the cards combined to make a very strong smell, so as the garbage truck drove around downtown, it left behind the smell people think of as natural gas.
“It’s really, really potent,” said Jamie Jackson, a battalion chief for Great Falls Fire/Rescue...
Workers still were checking for possible gas leaks at noon “to make sure two things didn’t happen at once.” Workers followed the garbage trucks out to the dump and went through those loads of garbage after they were dumped.
“There’s no problem with contamination,” Bohr said, and the smell samples “can be buried with normal garbage.” He said 25,000 of the samples were sent out at one time.
Bohr said the company apologizes for the problem, especially since the smelly culprits originally were just part of a process to make everything safer.
“In a sense, it worked the way it was supposed to,” Bohr said of the numerous calls reporting gas leaks.
When Henry Hook was fourteen years old, living in East Rutherford, New Jersey, his grandmother gave him a crossword jigsaw puzzle for Christmas. Designed by Eugene T. Maleska, who became a legendary editor of the Times crossword, the puzzle had three parts. First, you had to solve the crossword puzzle on paper; then you had to fit the jigsaw pieces together in order to verify your answers. When you were done, if you looked carefully you could find a secret message zigzagging through the answers: “YOU HAVE JUST FINISHED THE WORLD’S MOST REMARKABLE CROSSWORD.” Hook was less than impressed. Within a matter of days, he sent a rebuttal puzzle to Maleska. It contained a hidden message of its own: “WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOUR PUZZLE IS MORE REMARKABLE THAN MINE?”Read more: The Riddler. Meet the Marquis de Sade of the puzzle world. The New Yorker>>
In the thirty-two years since then, Hook has come to be known as the Marquis de Sade of the puzzle world: a brilliant and oddly beloved misanthrope, administering exquisite torture through dozens of puzzle books and syndicated crosswords. But he’s not used to being clueless himself. Standing at the corner of Forty-third Street and Ninth Avenue one Saturday night, glaring out from beneath a Brooklyn baseball cap, he looks both fearsomely focussed and a little disoriented. He’s been brought here, along with a team of other puzzle experts, by a blank scroll of paper—the first clue in an elaborate treasure hunt known as Midnight Madness. From Fortieth Street to Sixtieth Street and from the East River to the Hudson, fifteen teams are scrambling across Manhattan in search of clues, each of which points to another location. Every fifteen minutes, teams can call in to headquarters and ask for a hint; the first team to reach the last location wins.
Half an hour ago, one of Hook’s seven teammates pulled out a tape measure and found that the blank scroll was exactly forty-three by nine inches. That brought them to this intersection, where they’ve been searching ever since. Across the street, a writer for “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” and a crossword virtuoso named Ellen Ripstein are scrutinizing graffiti in a phone booth. Catercornered to them, the editor of the Wall Street Journal crossword is standing beside a professional palindromist who is riffling through a bin of adult-education pamphlets. But by now they’re not alone. All around them, spindly cryptologists from fourteen other teams are scanning signs and peering sharply at Chinese menus. Hook’s teammates already look winded—they’re accustomed to more sedentary puzzle-solving—but their opponents are dismayingly sprightly. They are also better prepared: one team has come with nearly twenty members, many of them dressed in black, who are being deployed like ninjas around the intersection.
Hunts like this are the X-Games of cryptology: half wordplay and half extreme sport. The clues are as much as a mile apart, and the organizers—three shadowy figures known to us only by their first names—seem more interested in absurdist humor and elaborate effects than in pure deductive logic. “I hope you know I’m missing my karaoke night for this,” Hook mutters, lumbering past. Given his reclusive ways, it’s a wonder he agreed to join at all, and it’s clear that he expects to regret it. The T-shirt he’s wearing shows a man with thick spectacles irately crumpling an I.Q. test. “Why am I doing this?” the man is saying. “Why am I allowing myself to be humiliated by these moronic puzzles?!”
Sorority women might have been pleased to read that "all the popular girls on campus are members of this sorority," but every sorority was described the same way. Readers saw the Exponent staff listed as if they were cast members of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," playing slaves, Simon Legree, blood hounds, cakes of ice and back stage noises. Text from "The Rover Boys Go to College," a series of popular children's books of the time, ran throughout the yearbook, describing the fictional adventures of Dick, Tom and Sam instead of the real experiences of MSC students.The yearbook won various awards, including "most original" of the year.
Finally on page 55, readers began seeing Mjork. In real life, he was Rider in disguise.
Once he began showing up, Mjork appeared in almost every photo in the activities section. He laid across laps, held women on his lap, draped his arm over shoulders, peered between heads and hung from a lamp. In one photo, he held a giant fish. Another time, as Col. Mjork, he peered down the barrel of a gun. On one page, he appeared eight times, with each photo supposedly showing a different Clarence Mjork, all from Endgate, Mont., but unrelated.
The yearbook that included real-life faculty members who went on to have MSU buildings named after them--men like Cobleigh, Gaines and Linfield--listed Mjork as the campus playboy, escort to the campus queen, senior class adviser, junior class adviser, sophomore class adviser and freshman class adviser. He was the printer's devil and editor-in-chief of the yearbook, as well as its proofreader, military editor, power behind the throne, shadow, and friend to the editor. He supposedly worked for the student newspaper as sports editor, managing editor, society editor, business manager, circulation manager and proofreader. He apparently belonged to more than 25 clubs.