Villain Supply.

I’m a car nut. Sue me. But sometimes, those magazines have really fantastic reviews.

I’m really not sure what I can say about this, except that sometimes ad campaigns blend ideas in scary ways.

Electronic Quarterback on your Palm.

Electronic Quarterback on your Palm.

Help ’em figure out What’s Better.

“ Abor, Two Cold Stroh’s”

This satellite photo clearly shows the path of an F-5 tornado. Scary, but also cool.

It’s nowhere near done — I’m currently using version 0.2.7 — but Chimera is rapidly becoming my favorite browser on Mac OS X. It’s a true Unix back-end wed to a pure Cocoa front end, and it’s fast. Check it out.

I guess if ice dancing and synchronized swimming are sports, then wife carrying must be, too.

Skippy has a list.

Surely it’s not exactly a shock to discover that evil drugs may not be evil after all, right?

Pierced Nipples!

This chronology pretty much speaks for itself.

Somebody in the photojournalism camp is having a bit of fun.

I’ve just been informed that John Ashcroft will be singing on the Letterman show tonight, Wednesday, April 17.

That is all.

It seems “trying to learn” is now against the rules in Introductory Computer Science at that esteemed Atlanta institution. Way to go, guys.

These doctors have a pretty good sense of humor about their work. Don’t skip the intro, but once it’s over don’t miss the map. There’s sound.

Really really cool trees.

I remember Pong.

You fin’ to raise up and get your limo on? Yeah, you know who to call.

A few weeks ago, I heard a story on NPR about a new pre-date ritual beginning to surface in some circles: “ Googling” your date. Put their name and address into Google, and fire away, and all sorts of interesting bits might come up. Not quite a background check and not quite stalking, it seems harmless enough and even a little interesting.

Well, comes now Ex-SO.com, which appears to take the idea several steps further — it’s like Epinions for dating. Interesting, but also a little bit creepy.

Some of you may know Tim. He got married on Sunday. I took some pictures. Enjoy.

Well, as it turns out, this whole science thing is just a big goof on the part of the Almighty.

I’d like to take this opportunity to note that not all Christians are freaks. Thanks you.

This just in: the anti-Unix site authored by Microsoft and Unisys is itself hosted on FreeBSD and Apache.

My pal Chris Mohney is writing a travel diary for Slate this week. The subject, oddly enough, is Las Vegas. Enjoy. (Longtime readers will recognize Chris from his earlier entry here; rest assured the dolphin recanted, and the ADA was forced to drop the charges.)

Actually, I’d say it’s a bad week for everybody. Legends Milton Berle, Dudley Moore, and Billy Wilder all checked out, leaving behind a really amazing body of work. Moore (b. 1935), widely known for comedies like 10, Foul Play, and Arthur, was actually a concert pianist prior to all that. If you’ve never seen the original version of Bedazzled, which he wrote with Peter Cook, it’s well worth your time. He was a bit young to go, I’d say, but he’s been very ill for a long tiime.

Both Wilder and Berle were in their 90s, but even so I think we could have all enjoyed a few more bits from them. Berle (b. 1908), a.k.a. Mr. Television, is one of the reasons that new medium succeeded so well. He was one of the original TV stars, and literally spent his life onscreen — his first credit is from 1914.

Wilder (b. 1906) left an even more significant mark on the world of film. It was Wilder who gave us Double Indemnity (“hey, isn’t that the dad from My Three Sons?”), The Lost Weekend (a film on the horrors of drink even grander than Leaving Las Vegas), Sunset Blvd., Stalag 17, (the original) Sabrina, Some Like It Hot, and The Apartment — and many more. Wilder’s body of work includes several of the AFI’s top 100 American Films. He was nominated for 21 Oscars, and won 7 (including the Thalberg Award). Few can hope to match this kind of cinematic resume.|*|

Lyle Lovett has been trampled by a bull at his family ranch. Doctors say he’s in good condition. No word yet on his hat.

So I spent the weekend in New York, where I met some interesting people, few of whom may be known to you.

Absinthe seems to be making something of a comeback thanks to the Internet.

Announcing Flo Control.

But I love McSweeney’s anyway.

How fast can you spank the monkey?

It’s coming back.

The Larson B ice shelf, an enormous floating extension of Antarctica, has broken up. When I say “enormous,” I mean REALLY REALLY BIG, like 1,250 square miles and 650 feet thick (which is roughly the same as Rhode Island, though right offhand I don’t know how thick Rhode Island is). It’s now basically free-floating icebergs of the absurdly large variety; one is about nine times the size of Singapore.

Coverage at Yahoo and the BBC.

Global warming? What’s that?

Spamradio. Text-to-speech never sounded so good.

Sony has produced a humanoid robot that walks on two legs, can handle uneven surfaces, and even get up on its own if it falls down. It can also recognize you, and have limited conversations. Not exactly C3P0, but definitely getting there.

The Jim Morrison Simulatron, brought to you by the good folks at Modern Humorist.

Thanks to Madam Kaldi, I think I’ve just found my new brand of toilet paper.

Squirrels!

Caribou-flavored condoms.

It’s my birthday.

National Geographic photographer Steve McCurry took what is widely believed to be the most recognizable photograph ever to appear in that magazine: the haunting portrait of a refugee Afghani girl that appeared on the cover in 1985. It’s the same shot that’s been bandied about lately as the face of worn-torn Afghanistan.

McCurry knew he had something special, but he didn’t have the one additional thing he really wanted: the girl’s name, or how to reach her. He’s made several trips to try and locate her, but with no success — and more than a few false leads — until now.

The girl’s name is Sharbat Gula — though “girl” is wrong, as she’s now married, a mother, and about 30. McCurry has arranged for both a trip to Mecca and the education of her children. National Geographic Explorer will air a special on his search this Friday. Cool.

NoGators Religion Correspondent Paige P. provides us with this lovely bit of instruction. Have a nice day.

Love her or hate her, most of us know who Ayn Rand was. She left her papers to a friend, who decided to donate all but two pages to the Library of Congress. The two pages in question? The first and last of her manuscript of The Fountainhead. The rest he shipped off to Washington as a gift to the Library. Nice enough, right? Well, the LOC decided it wanted all of the papers — so they sued him. Nice, guys.

When trends collide!

|*|Need some fancy new threads?

This evening, when watching television, I noticed two things that disturb me.

First, over the course of a about an hour, I saw ads for all three major American car companies. Of the three, only Chrysler actually appealed to quality. Ford was content with a “tradition of Ford” spot, and GM shamelessly wrapped itself in the flag with a spirit of America spot. I’m wildly annoyed by this. I’m convinced the US is capable of making a decent car, but it seems like only Chrysler is actually trying; witness the sloppy attempts of GM to participate in the sports sedan market with its butt-ugly Cadillac CTS — this from the folks who thought “Hey! A Cadillac pick-up truck” and called it a good idea.

The other thing: I just watched a fascinating dialog on the Middle East question that was both nuanced and interesting — and altogether free of bombast. Moreover, said dialog featured substantive contributions from both show host and guest. The show? Comedy Central’s Daily Show, which featured the New Yorker’s David Remnick as its guest this evening. A comedy show is the only place we can see discussion without some talking head going apo-goddamn-plectic over the sound of his own howling. Why is this? Contrast this with the softball handling Jay Leno gave Dick Cheney, and you’ll see what I mean.

Here’s an excellent rant on the state of the music industry and what the “O Brother” soundtrack’s Grammy success in the face of scant marketing support means.

NegativLand has a piece by producer Steve Albini on the economics of pop music — ie, who gets paid what — that may help paint a picture of just exactly how fucked up the whole scene is.

Between 1983 and 2000, the number of corporations that essentially control all US media dropped from 50 to 6. If that doesn’t disturb you, think on it some more.

This sequence of photos details a pretty stunning turn of events on a river involving a tugboat and a bridge.