Since we were talking about antiquated, largely wrong metrics built on Victorian bullshit, here’s an appropriate video from Katy Stoll on BMI.
I think it’s generally true that any attempt to reduce an individual’s existence to a single, simple number is always going to be wrong.
These are cute. “Loessbians” — clever.
We biologists have always been allies.
That is a hate symbol aimed directly at me.
It’s some kind of national holiday celebrating our independence, but I don’t feel like celebrating in a country where justice has been deposed and our supreme court is nothing but a corrupt arm of the far right Federalist Society. So instead I’m going to murder spiders.
I’ve got a set of wild-caught Steatoda triangulosa, and another set of wild-caught Parasteatoda, and yet more long-term lab-fed S. triangulosa, and they’re all going to feel the kiss of cold 95% ethanol before being stashed in a freezer. Then this weekend they get delivered to a collaborator up north who will disembowel them and sequence their microbiome.
That’s how we celebrate America’s birthday around here.
Also this weekend, we’re going to visit a few cemeteries around Gary, Minnesota and check out the graves of some long-dead relatives, and do some sight-seeing of great-great-great grandparents’ old haunts, while also chasing down a few spiders. It seems appropriate.
But it still looks delicious. This is a fresco found in the ruins of Pompeii.
I stared at that image trying to figure out what’s in it: focaccio bread, was easy enough, seasoned with pesto, but what’s on it? Is it all dried fruit, which would make it rather sweeter than I’d like, or are there onions and mushrooms in there? There’s not enough information in the picture, I’d have to free wheel it.
The more I stared, the hungrier I got. I could probably make the focaccio, since I won’t find it in the markets around here, and I make pesto all the time. But what to top it with? I’d want something more savory, with dried fruit on the side, and of course I’d need a cup of red wine. This could be an all day project.
This morning, I discovered that my Twitter account is “rate-limited”. Actually, everyone’s account is rate-limited.
So I’m only allowed to read 600 tweets per day. What that means in practical terms, since I follow about 800 people, when I first log in Twitter will access all the tweets made by those people overnight, and then…I’ve reached my limit within minutes, and I’m done. That’s all it takes, Twitter is over for me before I take my first sip of coffee.
I pity all those people who are paying $8 a month to get privileged access — now nobody is going to read their prioritized tweets, except other blue check users, and even then, only until they finish their breakfast, and then they’ll be done, too.
Brilliant move, Elon. Just shut it down.
Meanwhile, I’m on @pzmyers@octodon.social.
I don’t follow Elon Musk, but does he even realize that he’s just effectively blocked people who do? Probably not.
No? Just me?
Waiting for our flight to Chicago, United abruptly announced that it was canceled — you should have heard the howls of fury from all the people waiting. Then they announced that maybe it would fly anyway. Then they said one of the flight crew was missing so it was canceled. Then they found him! Maybe not canceled?
I was finally able to talk to a gate agent — I needed to arrange our connecting flight from Chicago to Syracuse. They were all canceled! All of them! For the next two days! I might be able to get a flight for the last day of the conference.
So I canceled them.
No trip to AAS this year. I’m disappointed, my student is disappointed, but it looked like we were going to spend days and days in limbo, with no certainty of getting there for any time at the meeting.
Now we’re waiting at the airport for long-suffering Mary to drive out from Morris to pick us up and take us home again.
United Airline sucks.
We are trying to get to Cornell for a scientific conference. We’re supposed to be there right now. Last night was an epic run-around of sitting and waiting in lines and repeated announcements that we’ll be boarding a plane any minute now…and a final announcement that no, you will not be boarding a plane today, try again tomorrow. Our heroic quest has become a stalled adventure, where we are left noodling around the edges of the Shire, unable to reach Osgiliath, let alone Mordor.
Our plan for the day is to take a shuttle to the Minneapolis airport and sit around and stand in line some more while we listen to excuses from United Airlines. Maybe they’ll put us on a plane; I sure hope so, since Liz has a poster presentation this afternoon, and I’d like to get this damn ring thrown in Lake Beebe today.
I’m beginning to appreciate why Frodo and Sam couldn’t be dropped off directly at Mount Doom by the eagles. It’s because the eagles needed maintenance, they didn’t have aircrews to man them, there was lightning on the runway, and we already have your money, suckers. Also, one does not fly into Mordor.
OceanGate is hiring!
If you’ve played video games on a console, then you are ready to “operate complex systems.”
It’s not clear if this ad was posted before or after the spectacular implosion of their submersible, but at any rate, I think this company is doomed and everyone employed there should be getting out fast.
