Mali's proto-bluesman dead at 66. I loved his guitar, true—but I <I>really</I> loved his phrasing as a singer. If you haven't heard his duet with kora-player Toumani Duabaté, you're missing one of the great records of <I>this</I> century.
I missed <I>Pharyngula</I>'s picture of planktonic octopus paralarva from last Friday. It's not cat-blogging, but it sure is pretty.
I'm not an economist, so I can't vouch for how accurate this is, but I loved the wild ride. First it teaches classic B-school pricing philosophy and then it tells you that everything you just learned is wrong. It <I>does</I> seem to explain a lot.
<I>Seed</I> rates 2005's science-based movies. It's a tough room.
If you answered "my consciousness," then what happens if you wake up one day and it's not the same? This is a strange and frightening essay.
The biggest problem with many consumer products these days is that the people who make 'em never figured out what they needed to be. That's why I have an all-in-one printer/scanner/fax machine I have never figured out how to send a fax with. I could read the manual I suppose, if I ever figure out which pile of papers it's under.
John Atkinson just sent out a very strange e-mail:
Apparently there was some sort of awards ceremony in LA last night, but news of it has only just reached Brooklyn. I stopped caring about the Oscars years ago (pretty much around the time I became a voting member of NARAS and realized how little the Grammies had to do with musical quality), but I never cease to be amazed by how much they seem to matter to other non-film-industry people. Mark Evanier has a nice essay about the post-ceremony media frenzy—and he totally pwns Tom Shales.
I do so love <I>The Smoking Gun</I>.
In zero-G, doesn't everybody?