When you look at any one of these picture individually, you think they are pictures of models, but they aren’t. They are pictures of regular people stitched together to form a coherent picture–such as everyone looking up, or people wearing white, or people wearing black, or everyone walking their dogs. Here’s an example:
This is a sad, but beautiful photoessay from North Korea.
I-Movix SprintCam v3 NAB 2009 showreel from David Coiffier on Vimeo.
I love this rant by Nick Gillespie of Reason. It sounds like at some point he had some hope in Obama, but that hope is now dashed.
Gillespie is beside himself with Obama’s silly yammering about high speed rail. Gillespie is correct to point out that high speed rail has almost nothing to do with traffic congestion. High speed rail moves people between cities, but traffic is centered in and around cities. The traffic I drive though in Washington, D.C. is almost exclusively caused by people trying to get from one part of the D.C. metro area to another. When I get in a traffic jam on Sunday afternoon on I-66, it isn’t caused by people who could be taking high speed rail to the sprawling metropolis of Front Royal, VA.
Wasting billions on high speed rail is silly. It can’t be defended. America’s rail transport system is actually pretty good. But unlike Europe’s, which almost exclusively carries passengers, America’s almost exclusively carries freight.
This is my luxury of living in the minority. I get to criticize the Democrats and the Republicans.
In my mind’s eye, I envision a street fair—one of those happy community gatherings at which sellers of handcrafted ceramics, funky clothing, herbal remedies, fresh vegetables, and edible delicacies congregate to display their wares for the strolling customers, who chat amiably with the stall-keepers and with one another. Suddenly, amid horrified shrieks and the roar of a giant engine, a truck plows through this placid setting, scattering twisted debris and broken bodies in its wake. Finally, after wreaking a hundred-yard swath of death and devastation, the truck stops, and the driver, Ben Bernanke, climbs down from the cab.
“People, people,” he exhorts them in a calm, world-weary voice, “do not panic. I am here to assess the damage and make recommendations for reforms that will prevent a recurrence of this unfortunate and wholly unforeseen act of God.” Whereupon he proceeds to lay out his assessment and recommendations, always speaking in the same quiet, unemotional voice. The stunned and wounded survivors gaze at him in astonishment. “He’s a madman,” one cries out.
You never know when you are going to find someone like Susan Boyle.
My birthday was last week. Here’s my favorite card:
Truth is stranger than fiction:
Jack Wrangler, a ruggedly handsome 1970s-era porn star whose openness about his homosexuality made him a symbol of self-confidence for many gay men, died Tuesday in New York City from complications of lung disease. He was 62.
…
He met [Margaret] Whiting, a big-band-era singer whose hits include "That Old Black Magic" and "Moonlight in Vermont," in the 1970s. Their romance turned tabloid heads: She is 22 years his senior, and Wrangler continued to describe himself as gay even in an interview with the gay magazine the Advocate last fall.
Nonetheless, Wrangler told the Chicago Tribune in 1985 that the two saw "things the same way, comically, professionally and romantically." The pair eventually married.
But this is a pretty cool response to getting beaten up South Park (even if it isn’t sincere).