Marisa Waddell, a collegue of Jon Iverson's over at KCBX, writes:
"I'm doing a pilot study for my thesis and need some help. I put a survey online about new radio technologies, and need 100 completed surveys in the next week. Can you pass the link along to folks you know, who might help?"
Let's put her over her goal.
When the wind blows hard, our building makes a sound like an old ship swaying on the sea. Not that I would know how that sounds. But I can imagine. I'm very attracted to this sound. It makes me wish for more windy days. It makes me wonder if I was born to live on the sea.
It sounds like wood bending and stretching and almost, but never quite, breaking. It sounds like the tensing of some wooden instrument whose strings are tuned too tight. It sounds like the wooden floor beneath a cellist's feet. It sounds like waking up too early on Saturday morning. I don't know…
For its 50th anniversary, The New Scientist asked 70 of the world's "most brilliant" scientists to predict the biggest breakthrough in our next 50.
Discover magazine lists its top 25, plus 8 honorable mentions. At first, I was proud of how many I'd read, but as the list went on, I was horrified at how many I own and have been meaning to read. Is it too early to make a 2007 New Year's resolution?
Holds 400 CDs plus one 16lb cat. Although she's smirking at Huckleberry's antics, you just know Bagheera wishes she'd discovered the CD case first. Now that O.J.'s come out with his TV interview and his book, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. The DVD/CD tie-in. How about a soundtrack album featuring OJ enthusing about he "may" have done it. Or a tribute record: "Song for OJ." Or possibly "OJ sings the hits of …" Don’t laugh (or gag). Anyone unbalanced enough to write this book, presumably for the money, no matter what it's doing to his children, is ego-blind enough to think he could make it in the music business. Hey, he's already been an actor.
Heard a fairly scary rumor this week that I'm trying to confirm. Supposedly, you…
As usual, I wandered.
In this case, I wandered onto the F train car which happened to be owned by Bose. Or so it seemed. Judging from the many Granny Smith-colored advertisements lining the dirty walls, Bose had, at the very least, been here. New standards, lifelike sounds, images of attractive young men and women staring off into deepest space, apparently seduced into some euphoric music coma. What are they looking at? What beauties lie beyond the boundaries of these Granny Smith ads — Herds of wild bison tip-toeing across Yosemite?; The secret to the art of…
Remember kids, open flames and hi-fi are a volatile mix.
aka the Large Hadron Collider at Cern.
