I found a tiny ad for this new fan made by Dyson in Better Homes and Garden tonight and was so intrigued I had to google it. Does anyone else find this insane?!
It made me even more excited when I found this video:
I know I'm fairly new to the world of Geek, but it just seems like this fan may open doors in other areas of technology. Obviously, at "200 pounds" per fan (what the hell does that even convert to anyway?), I don't think the Dyson Multiplier will be making an appearance in my house anytime soon. But damn.
When do we get those flying cars we all pictured in our future when we were little?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Jesus sighted in my town.
I live in a hilariously small town. We just put up our first and only stop light a couple years ago. It has been the butt of many Adam Sandler jokes, including when he spoke at my high school graduation (I went to school in a nearby city, Manchester, and was in Sandler's nephew's class). But laugh no more world, we have finally made it big. Associated Press big.
Alright so to be honest, this is only making our reputation worse but the AP nontheless.
Even though we only have one stoplight, no grocery stores, and may be the last remaining town in New England to not have a Dunkin' Donuts, we do have a waterpark. Yeah, apply logic to that one. At this waterpark, there seems to be a flag with the face of Jesus in it. Now, I know what you're thinking. My thoughts immediately went to housewives in Oklahoma with pieces of toast that look like Elvis, but when I looked at a picture of the flag, I was surprisingly curious. It's not that it's in an odd shape like Jesus, or that your eyes "matrix" a face out of a pattern, it has a similiar look as the Shroud of Turin.
A local priest agreed to come take a look at the flag, although I'm not exactly sure what his goal is. "Yep. That's him alright."
The owner of the park says that since he acquired the flag, the weather has been "perfect" and business has picked up. I would love to speak with him about his definition of perfect.
To read the whole article in our newspaper...
Priest will wait to look at water park's flag - Thursday, Jul. 8, 2010
Alright so to be honest, this is only making our reputation worse but the AP nontheless.
Even though we only have one stoplight, no grocery stores, and may be the last remaining town in New England to not have a Dunkin' Donuts, we do have a waterpark. Yeah, apply logic to that one. At this waterpark, there seems to be a flag with the face of Jesus in it. Now, I know what you're thinking. My thoughts immediately went to housewives in Oklahoma with pieces of toast that look like Elvis, but when I looked at a picture of the flag, I was surprisingly curious. It's not that it's in an odd shape like Jesus, or that your eyes "matrix" a face out of a pattern, it has a similiar look as the Shroud of Turin.
A local priest agreed to come take a look at the flag, although I'm not exactly sure what his goal is. "Yep. That's him alright."
The owner of the park says that since he acquired the flag, the weather has been "perfect" and business has picked up. I would love to speak with him about his definition of perfect.
To read the whole article in our newspaper...
Priest will wait to look at water park's flag - Thursday, Jul. 8, 2010
Amelie
After hearing a lot of good reports (and noticing it was free on On Demand this month), I finally saw the movie Amelie.
Now that I've seen it, I can't believe it took me this long to discover it. I will admit that the moment I realized the entire thing was in French and I would have to actually pay attention to subtitles, I almost turned it off. I'm very glad I didn't.
The main character, Amelie, is absolutely adorable and reminded me a lot of myself. We both look at the world like a little kid, play practical jokes, create extensive treasure hunts, and see white bunnies where we shouldn't.
I was only confused by one thing. I didn't realize JC Chasez of NSYNC spoke such fluent french!
I won't go on further and blow the plot. Not because I really care if I ruin the movie, but mainly because I'm really too lazy to write anymore.
Now that I've seen it, I can't believe it took me this long to discover it. I will admit that the moment I realized the entire thing was in French and I would have to actually pay attention to subtitles, I almost turned it off. I'm very glad I didn't.
The main character, Amelie, is absolutely adorable and reminded me a lot of myself. We both look at the world like a little kid, play practical jokes, create extensive treasure hunts, and see white bunnies where we shouldn't.
I was only confused by one thing. I didn't realize JC Chasez of NSYNC spoke such fluent french!
I won't go on further and blow the plot. Not because I really care if I ruin the movie, but mainly because I'm really too lazy to write anymore.
Close Encounters of the Non-Fiction Kind
I just finished reading Whitley Strieber's, "Communion", which made the #1 spot on the New York Times Bestseller's List (in 19 something...).
This was my first encounter with a book of the alien kind and it scared the hell out of me. That is, before establishing my "no reading of alien books before 8:00pm" rule.
The story follows Strieber in his discoveries of being "visited" by unknown beings throughout most of his life. The story takes you through his initial realizations, doubts, denial, psychological evaluations, hynosis, confirmation, theories, and mild acceptance.
Although I did find it a little convenient that such extraordinary events would happen to an already established horror writer, the book was very good. Although not grammatically or structurally breathtaking, Strieber's theories were extremely thought-provoking and encouraged me to do a little more research of my own.
One parallel he drew that I found particularly interesting was between our myths and perceptions of "aliens" in comparison to those of ancient Gods. He repeatedly compares his encounter with one being in particular to that of "Ishtar", a Babylonian Goddess of "fertility, love, war, and sex" (Wikipedia).
Although the book does tend to jump around a lot and can be redundant in places, I think it is very honest and real. As I read the sometimes scattered thought patterns, I felt all the more inside the author's head, and that I was struggling along with him to understand the happenings. There were also quite a few references to other books on the subject which I am now considering picking up as well.
This is a great book to pop your UFO cherry, if you haven't yet dived into the subject. Although extreme and invasive, Strieber also gives a comforting side to the encounters, which I am greatful for considering my extreme fear on the subject to begin with.
I give this book a scaley, tentacle-covered, alien thumbs up.
I also give an enthusiastic thumbs up to this picture, which I found while searching for a picture of the cover of this book...
I would also like to point out that after criticizing the book's "grammatical integrity", I reviewed my post to find that I had no idea how to even spell the word. Oh well, that's why I'm not an author.
This was my first encounter with a book of the alien kind and it scared the hell out of me. That is, before establishing my "no reading of alien books before 8:00pm" rule.
The story follows Strieber in his discoveries of being "visited" by unknown beings throughout most of his life. The story takes you through his initial realizations, doubts, denial, psychological evaluations, hynosis, confirmation, theories, and mild acceptance.
Although I did find it a little convenient that such extraordinary events would happen to an already established horror writer, the book was very good. Although not grammatically or structurally breathtaking, Strieber's theories were extremely thought-provoking and encouraged me to do a little more research of my own.
One parallel he drew that I found particularly interesting was between our myths and perceptions of "aliens" in comparison to those of ancient Gods. He repeatedly compares his encounter with one being in particular to that of "Ishtar", a Babylonian Goddess of "fertility, love, war, and sex" (Wikipedia).
Although the book does tend to jump around a lot and can be redundant in places, I think it is very honest and real. As I read the sometimes scattered thought patterns, I felt all the more inside the author's head, and that I was struggling along with him to understand the happenings. There were also quite a few references to other books on the subject which I am now considering picking up as well.
This is a great book to pop your UFO cherry, if you haven't yet dived into the subject. Although extreme and invasive, Strieber also gives a comforting side to the encounters, which I am greatful for considering my extreme fear on the subject to begin with.
I give this book a scaley, tentacle-covered, alien thumbs up.
I also give an enthusiastic thumbs up to this picture, which I found while searching for a picture of the cover of this book...
I would also like to point out that after criticizing the book's "grammatical integrity", I reviewed my post to find that I had no idea how to even spell the word. Oh well, that's why I'm not an author.
Rukka Bean Burrito skunks again.
At 1:30 this morning my dog decided to have a midnight snack.
A skunk.
Luckily (well, not luckily actually), I had been through this exact scenario with her before...
A few years ago, I had an apartment with a few friends and I decided to take Rukka out one last time before we all went to bed. It was around 1:30 in the morning and about 0 degrees out. After two minutes of standing there holding the leash and shivering my ass off, my brainiac dog runs so hard that she literally snaps the leash in half and takes off for the porch. I immediately ran over to try to break up whatever fight was about to ensue (Rukka's a pitbull and not very sociable with other animals), but before i could get to the porch, I hit a wall of the most horrific odor I had ever smelled. Getting sprayed by a skunk is nothing like smelling one on the side of the highway. It's like a mixture of ammonia, bleach, and burning poo. You literally taste it. I ran back into our apartment screaming and the rest of my roommates came out. By this point, Rukka was flipping the skunk up in the air and catching it with her mouth. I wish that was even an exaggeration. One of my roommates tried to bite the bullet and run into the death cloud but came out only to yak up dinner all over our front lawn. All of our eyes were pouring water and burning as we stood there and waited for it to end. When it finally did, Rukka was foaming at the mouth. All I could think of was rabies, but then we all realized that it was her body's way of trying to flush the chemicals out of her mouth. Someone quickly got the hose and one of us ran upstairs to grab whatever tomato product we could find. I don't remember what it was, but knowing the usual condition of our fridge, it was probably a packet of ketchup. We scrubbed her down as fast as we could and rinsed her off and then rushed her upstairs to get her out of the freezing cold air before she became a big stinky pupsicle. Unfortunately for us, the door had locked behind us. And being that it was the middle of the night and we were all in our jammies, no one had thought to bring out their keys. We were on the second floor so climbing in a window wasn't an option and our landlord lived over an hour away. And so, a day later, we were on the phone with our landlord trying to explain why we had taken a baseball bat to the window of our front door. She seemed to understand. We were also still trying to figure out why, after four tomato baths, Rukka Pooka still smelled like skunk pizza. Turns out the ole tomato routine is just an old wive's tale. After a quick google search, we found that dish detergant was our best option and after one bath, she was good as new. Well except for any time she got wet for the next three months.
And so last night, as I opened the door to see what the holdup was and was hit with the rancid cloud of toxic doom, I had some idea what I was dealing with. I slammed the door as fast as I could, but not before inhaling the chemical mouthful that I had wished I would never taste again in my life. I woke up my father, prepared my arsenal of dish detergant, rags, and lemon juice, and waited for the fight to end. The fight, by the way, was taking place underneath my Mom's car which was a great wake-up present as she left for work this morning. Shockingly, the detergant worked like a charm and with the exception of a small patch on her head (that I was too nervous to really soap up), Rukka was impressively clean smelling. I gave myself a smug pat on the back, decided for one more follow-up scrub down in the morning, and considered the night an inconvenient but tolerable story to add to my collection. Except that that's not how my luck works. Way too satisfied with myself, I filled up the tub an hour before class today to apply the final hose-down. Stacks of cheese and biscuits ready, I picked up my little terror and attempted to plop her into the lukewarm water. Rukka had other plans. Still, hours later, I haven't figured how it happened but at some point between me lifting her up and her feet landing in the water, something slammed down on the water spout of our tub with enough force that it not only snapped the spout off, but completely broke the pipe off.
Gorgeous huh?
The only advantage I do have is that my boyfriend is a plumber (which seems just a little ironic with the whole ghost... well anyway) so it should be fixed right up but that didn't help me as I stood in the bathroom soaked in sweat, covered in skunky dog hair, and needing to be in class in a half hour. And so here I am. Sitting on the couch in filth, missing the second class of a new semester with the cause of all of my misfortune curled up in my lap. And even though the last 24 hours have been a nightmare, I can't help but smile as her big brown eyes stare up at me apologetically.
Honestly, who could be mad at that face?
A skunk.
Luckily (well, not luckily actually), I had been through this exact scenario with her before...
A few years ago, I had an apartment with a few friends and I decided to take Rukka out one last time before we all went to bed. It was around 1:30 in the morning and about 0 degrees out. After two minutes of standing there holding the leash and shivering my ass off, my brainiac dog runs so hard that she literally snaps the leash in half and takes off for the porch. I immediately ran over to try to break up whatever fight was about to ensue (Rukka's a pitbull and not very sociable with other animals), but before i could get to the porch, I hit a wall of the most horrific odor I had ever smelled. Getting sprayed by a skunk is nothing like smelling one on the side of the highway. It's like a mixture of ammonia, bleach, and burning poo. You literally taste it. I ran back into our apartment screaming and the rest of my roommates came out. By this point, Rukka was flipping the skunk up in the air and catching it with her mouth. I wish that was even an exaggeration. One of my roommates tried to bite the bullet and run into the death cloud but came out only to yak up dinner all over our front lawn. All of our eyes were pouring water and burning as we stood there and waited for it to end. When it finally did, Rukka was foaming at the mouth. All I could think of was rabies, but then we all realized that it was her body's way of trying to flush the chemicals out of her mouth. Someone quickly got the hose and one of us ran upstairs to grab whatever tomato product we could find. I don't remember what it was, but knowing the usual condition of our fridge, it was probably a packet of ketchup. We scrubbed her down as fast as we could and rinsed her off and then rushed her upstairs to get her out of the freezing cold air before she became a big stinky pupsicle. Unfortunately for us, the door had locked behind us. And being that it was the middle of the night and we were all in our jammies, no one had thought to bring out their keys. We were on the second floor so climbing in a window wasn't an option and our landlord lived over an hour away. And so, a day later, we were on the phone with our landlord trying to explain why we had taken a baseball bat to the window of our front door. She seemed to understand. We were also still trying to figure out why, after four tomato baths, Rukka Pooka still smelled like skunk pizza. Turns out the ole tomato routine is just an old wive's tale. After a quick google search, we found that dish detergant was our best option and after one bath, she was good as new. Well except for any time she got wet for the next three months.
And so last night, as I opened the door to see what the holdup was and was hit with the rancid cloud of toxic doom, I had some idea what I was dealing with. I slammed the door as fast as I could, but not before inhaling the chemical mouthful that I had wished I would never taste again in my life. I woke up my father, prepared my arsenal of dish detergant, rags, and lemon juice, and waited for the fight to end. The fight, by the way, was taking place underneath my Mom's car which was a great wake-up present as she left for work this morning. Shockingly, the detergant worked like a charm and with the exception of a small patch on her head (that I was too nervous to really soap up), Rukka was impressively clean smelling. I gave myself a smug pat on the back, decided for one more follow-up scrub down in the morning, and considered the night an inconvenient but tolerable story to add to my collection. Except that that's not how my luck works. Way too satisfied with myself, I filled up the tub an hour before class today to apply the final hose-down. Stacks of cheese and biscuits ready, I picked up my little terror and attempted to plop her into the lukewarm water. Rukka had other plans. Still, hours later, I haven't figured how it happened but at some point between me lifting her up and her feet landing in the water, something slammed down on the water spout of our tub with enough force that it not only snapped the spout off, but completely broke the pipe off.
Gorgeous huh?
The only advantage I do have is that my boyfriend is a plumber (which seems just a little ironic with the whole ghost... well anyway) so it should be fixed right up but that didn't help me as I stood in the bathroom soaked in sweat, covered in skunky dog hair, and needing to be in class in a half hour. And so here I am. Sitting on the couch in filth, missing the second class of a new semester with the cause of all of my misfortune curled up in my lap. And even though the last 24 hours have been a nightmare, I can't help but smile as her big brown eyes stare up at me apologetically.
Honestly, who could be mad at that face?
TARADACTYL'S STILL EXIST IN NH!!!
I know this because one took a shit the size of a small child on my windshield this morning...
Someone alert a cryptozoologist.
Someone alert a cryptozoologist.
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