Rick and Justine's other blogs
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
From Evernote: Sustainability is back in fashion
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From Evernote: A sugar-coated remedy for the crisis blues - International Herald Tribune
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From Evernote: Community-supported fisheries hold promise for consumers and fishermen - The Boston Globe
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Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Check out the playlist: Piano - Jamendo
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Friday, March 20, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
My Life With Cables - A good afternoon chuckle!
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Cables: Don’t like ‘em.
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You can precipitate my problems with cables by simply calling me. There is a 50 percent chance that you will be greeted by the sound of my desk set banging against a radiator, because the spiral cord of my phone keeps tangling and assembling itself into a compact ball. Why? Am I unconsciously rotating or dancing while talking on the phone?
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But my real troubles with cables occur out of sight.
My desk is far from organized, but the mess on top pales compared to the chaos lurking below. I just did a quick inventory and counted a staggering 31 cables running riot down there.
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Over the years I have made multiple attempts to tame this mess. All my strategies share one fatal drawback: replacing a single cable means I have to untie the entire arrangement.
This is how I deal with the situation these days: If I get a new device, I just stuff any new cables right into the swamp of existing ones. And if I need to remove a cable, I optimistically pull on it, like a madman.
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I don’t even want to get started about the endless varieties of cables, chargers and adapters out there. My biggest frustration stems from a much simpler problem: I use a lot of extension cords with multiple sockets. Although these cords are obviously designed to power six cables, I can barely squeeze in three, since most electronic equipment nowadays seems to sport absurdly large plugs. This reminds me of some very inconsiderate folks one so often encounters on the subway.
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Adding to the insult: those Frankencables are immorally expensive. I have a habit of losing power adapters when traveling, and spend a small fortune on replacements. When I close my eyes, I can see Mr. Radio and Mrs. Shack living on an island made of solid gold.
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I don’t want to complain, though — I am just a designer.
A couple of years back, I tried unsuccessfully to hook up an old drum machine to an electric keyboard. This gave me a glimpse into the terrifying universe of cables that musicians and audiophiles have to deal with.
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I am aware that I could reduce the number of cables in my life if I took advantage of all the advancements in wireless technology. The problem: if it’s not attached to a cable, I will lose it.
If my 24-inch computer screen wasn’t connected to the wall with a power cable, it would disappear among the sofa pillows one day.
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The most venomous of all cables are headphones. The combination of thin wires and stubborn earplug hooks is an endless source of gordian frustration (notably amplified when combined with seat belts on an airplane).
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The true malice of headphones, however, is revealed when they are allowed to mingle with other cables.
Last year, as my family was packing up for our big move from New York, I was stunned at the number of cables I had amassed over the years. I had stuffed them all into a huge box, and was now confronted with one solid knot.
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Upon our arrival in Berlin, I realized that there were some extremely important cables woven into miles of headphones and other junk. Untangling this mess was impossible, unless I cut some evil $3 headphones. Then I realized that a crucial cellphone charger had an identically thin black cable: a situation that required steady hands and a bold heart.
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The storage issue has been resolved: In a dark corner of our basement I have attached to the wall an eight-foot plank spiked with long nails, and all my cables now hang untangled in neat lines.
I sometimes sneak down there and wallow in memories of battles past.
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I am sure that a generation from now, all our hassles with cables will be long forgotten. But I pledge to keep history alive, and look forward to telling my grandkids stories of SCSI cables, unpolarized NEMA 1-15 sockets and DVI plugs.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thoreau's Wine: I could not but notice some of the peculiarities of my visitors
Friday, March 13, 2009
I could not but notice some of the peculiarities of my visitors
I could not but notice some of the peculiarities of my visitors. Girls and boys and young women generally seemed glad to be in the woods. They looked in the pond and at the flowers, and improved their time. Men of business, even farmers, thought only of solitude and employment, and of the great distance at which I dwelt from something or other; and though they said that they loved a ramble in the woods occasionally, it was obvious that they did not. Restless committed men, whose time was an taken up in getting a living or keeping it; ministers who spoke of God as if they enjoyed a monopoly of the subject, who could not bear all kinds of opinions; doctors, lawyers, uneasy housekeepers who pried into my cupboard and bed when I was out -- how came Mrs.
-- to know that my sheets were not as clean as hers? -- young men who had ceased to be young, and had concluded that it was safest to follow the beaten track of the professions -- all these generally said that it was not possible to do so much good in my position. Ay! there was the rub. The old and infirm and the timid, of whatever age or sex, thought most of sickness, and sudden accident and death; to them life seemed full of danger -- what danger is there if you don't think of any? -- and they thought that a prudent man would carefully select the safest position, where Dr. B. might be on hand at a moment's warning. To them the village was literally a community, a league for mutual defence, and you would suppose that they would not go a-huckleberrying without a medicine chest. The amount of it is, if a man is alive, there is always danger that he may die, though the danger must be allowed to be less in proportion as he is dead-and-alive to begin with.
A man sits as many risks as he runs. Finally, there were the self-styled reformers, the greatest bores of all, who thought that I was forever singing,--
This is the house that I built;
This is the man that lives in the house that I built;
but they did not know that the third line was,
These are the folks that worry the man
That lives in the house that I built.
I did not fear the hen-harriers, for I kept no chickens; but I feared the men-harriers rather.
I had more cheering visitors than the last. Children come a-berrying, railroad men taking a Sunday morning walk in clean shirts, fishermen and hunters, poets and philosophers; in short, all honest pilgrims, who came out to the woods for freedom's sake, and really left the village behind, I was ready to greet with -- "Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!" for I had had communication with that race.HDT (Walden)
He began seeing strange rashes on his patients, starting more than a year ago.

The late Tom Anderson, the family doctor in this little farm town in northwestern Indiana, at first was puzzled, then frightened.
He began seeing strange rashes on his patients, starting more than a year ago. They began as innocuous bumps — “pimples from hell,” he called them — and quickly became lesions as big as saucers, fiery red and agonizing to touch.
They could be anywhere, but were most common on the face, armpits, knees and buttocks. Dr. Anderson took cultures and sent them off to a lab, which reported that they were MRSA, or staph infections that are resistant to antibiotics.
MRSA (methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus) sometimes arouses terrifying headlines as a “superbug” or “flesh-eating bacteria.” The best-known strain is found in hospitals, where it has been seen regularly since the 1990s, but more recently different strains also have been passed among high school and college athletes. The federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported that by 2005, MRSA was killing more than 18,000 Americans a year, more than AIDS.....
A Dirty Pun Tweaks China’s Online Censors
A YouTube children’s song about the beast has drawn nearly 1.4 million viewers. A grass-mud horse cartoon has logged a quarter million more views. A nature documentary on its habits attracted 180,000 more. Stores are selling grass-mud horse dolls. Chinese intellectuals are writing treatises on the grass-mud horse’s social importance. The story of the grass-mud horse’s struggle against the evil river crab has spread far and wide across the Chinese online community.
Not bad for a mythical creature whose name, in Chinese, sounds very much like an especially vile obscenity. Which is precisely the point.
The grass-mud horse is an example of something that, in China’s authoritarian system, passes as subversive behavior. Conceived as an impish protest against
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Nearly 400 years after his death, William Shakespeare appeared in a new and more handsome guise Monday
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Emanuel Derman expected to feel a letdown when he left particle physics for a job on Wall Street in 1985.
Friday, March 6, 2009
At digs in Kazakhstan, signs of the early horse - International Herald Tribune
A mare being milked in Kazakhstan in this undated handout photo provided by the journal Science.(Alan K. Outram for Science via The Associated Press) At digs in Kazakhstan, signs of the early horse
I can stand as remote from myself as from another
I only know myself as a human entity; the scene, so to speak, of thoughts and affections; and am sensible of a certain doubleness by which I can stand as remote from myself as from another. However intense my experience, I am conscious of the presence and criticism of a part of me, which, as it were, is not a part of me, but spectator, sharing no experience, but taking note of it, and that is no more I than it is you. When the play, it may be the tragedy, of life is over, the spectator goes his way.
It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination only, so far as he was concerned.HDT (Walden)

























































