Everybody knows the sound of a scratched record. But have you ever wondered what that maddening little blemish looks like up close? Well, you’re in luck, because Zammuto’s music video for “Great Equator” featuring scratched records was filmed entirely with a microscope. And it’s more interesting than you might think.
Definitely not coming to water park near you is a FloWave, a state-of-the-art wave pool that whips water around, creating waves as tall as nine-story buildings and currents four times as fast as Michael Phelps. FloWave is a real ocean simulator, you see, and its job is to prepare our infrastructure for the violent battering of the seas.
Our four-legged friends have a habit of not eating when something ails them. However, if you’re at work all day, you may not pick up on the lack of appetite until it’s too late. Well, there’s a smart cat feeder with built-in facial recognition that’s…
Google+, the social service you probably aren’t using, has lifted a restriction that may have been keeping you away. The social layer of Google once required you to use a real name to associate yourself with the service. Over time, they peeled back that rigid requirement, and are now doing away with it completely. Via their own service, Google+ is … Continue reading
Google is practicing their own version of Inception. Three Developer Advocates from the company are using an app to teach you how to make apps. A new, free course on Udacity, called “Developing Android Apps: Android Fundamentals”, teaches you all you need to know in starting your path toward app development. Like any good tutorial, the aim is teaching you … Continue reading
The first time I saw my father cry was on June 21, 1986, the day France eliminated Brazil from the World Cup in a dramatic penalty shootout. At that moment my father granted himself the right to weep before his children, as if to teach us the absolute enormity of the loss: In a catastrophe such as this, even a grown man is allowed to cry. His weeping, filled with both embarrassment and relief, was also a kind of retching. The crying of the Brazilian father, allowed, even if discretely, every four years in case of a World Cup loss, can be quite the temporal marker, as well as a chance for certain men to excrete whatever else was stuck in their throats while they’re at it. In this performance of paternal failure (a father putting his soccer jersey to rest), it became obvious to me that Brazil’s dependence on the belief that its soccer team is an invincible enterprise, despite all signs to the contrary, is nothing short of pathological.
The World Cup has always functioned as a kind of test of the power of the Brazilian phallus, or the illusion of such, outsourced to the 11 players on the field, who work their hardest to create the trompe-l’œil that will make us witness the spectacle and experience the frisson of a collective orgasm that says, “Yes, we all bow down to the same insuperable god.” Whenever Brazil lost, it never felt like a complete and utter castration of the nation, but only because we could blame the final score on an accident: an inept referee, an idiotic player, a stubborn coach, or, well, Argentina. But the 2014 massacre by the Germans, 7 to 1, followed by the 3-to-0 defeat by the Netherlands in the contest for the third place (the nail after the final nail in the coffin), tells a different story: something closer to national trauma, for the unimaginable has occurred. And, as we know, we have no resources to deal with the unimaginable.
It wasn’t just a loss but the slow and painful withering of the national phallus right before our eyes. Unlike the guillotine-like rapidness of a sudden defeat after a last penalty kick, this defeat, which heralded the death of soccer as the go-to guarantor of the Brazilian heteromasculinity needed for the nation to make sense of itself, was particularly perverse. It was like a presumably massive Titanic-like structure revealing itself to have been a sham all along as it deflates slowly into a shriveled little birthday balloon.
Instead of looking for culprits to blame for this humiliation, we would do well to welcome it as an opportunity to seek something other than the fiction of heteromasculinity’s astonishing force with which to orient our lives. Let us look for the richness and pleasures of loss and accept the very idea of loss as an essential part of being alive and human. If soccer has worked in Brazil as a great defense mechanism against that truth — that we are born to lose from day one (cells, hair, teeth, loved ones, time) — we should bury the myth of an invincible Brazilian manliness, which comes alive every four years to flex its muscles and keep everything in place, as Brazilian soccer becomes something between a museum piece and a joke. Perhaps now we can unburden our children of the weight that a soccer jersey imposes (be a man, be infallible) and allow them the freedom to wear the costume (“fantasia” in Portuguese) that they see fit — or none at all. Let us stop using soccer as the only language that Brazilian men are allowed to (and demanded to) speak. Let us reject soccer as the all-important marker of gender difference and arbiter of whether a boy is properly Brazilian or a disposable “bicha.” Let us not measure the value of who we are through an institution built on the bullying of losers with homophobic insults, from the less-obvious “chupa” (“suck it”) to entire stadiums chanting that a certain player is a faggot.
Let us not chase after superiority if this superiority is resolved only through bodies and the disavowal of the hotness of such bodies. Let us develop other investments that don’t boil down to whether or not our men have managed to beat their men while our women served us snacks and served as punching bags for our frustrations. Instead of channeling our present shame into a campaign of fury to win in 2018, let us reconsider our dependence on soccer, and on men’s victory, to tell us who we are and show us the limits of who we can be. Let us also acknowledge how precarious and fictitious a winning position always is (you take Neymar out and the entire team comes crashing down like a game of jackstraws), and how infantile soccer victories are: a few minutes of ecstatic glee, cheeky headlines, obnoxious Internet memes, and bragging rights. Let us use the great big loss of 2014 to exorcise masculinist soccer out of the Brazilian soul, come face-to-face with whatever is left, and do something about it.
Knowing how to flirt is both an art and a science. A slew of research provides a convenient road map to what works best and what doesn’t:
1. Skip the cheesy jokes: According to research, both men and women react poorly to silly jokes, hollow compliments, cheesy pick-up lines and overt sexual references. Be sincere and, most importantly, be yourself.
2. Ask interesting questions but don’t interrogate: Most people’s favorite topic of conversation is themselves and research confirms this. A Scientific American article entitled “The Neuroscience of Everybody’s’ Favorite Topic” states:
Why, in a world full of ideas to discover, develop and discuss, do people spend the majority of their time talking about themselves? Recent research suggests a simple explanation: because it feels good.
Find common ground — inquire about topics that genuinely interest you and where you can relate. Build on what they say. Avoid firing out checklist, predictable questions like, “Where are you from?” and “What do you do?” and ask open-ended question instead.
3. Active listening: Truly listening involves hearing what the person is saying and also paying attention to their nonverbal communication. Respond by paraphrasing and reflecting on the conversation to move it forward — it shows them you genuinely care about what they have to say. Resist the temptation to interrupt immediately and hijack the conversation: “Oh you like skiing? Me, too! I just came back from heli-skiing in British Columbia.”
4. Body language: Nonverbal cues speak volumes. Make eye contact, smile, laugh, unfold your arms, lean in. The right body language projects confidence and warmth.
5. Accentuate the positive: In yourself and search for the positive in the person you are flirting with. Mention your interests and highlight the positives in your life. It will allow for the other person to see you in the best light possible and open up the conversation to shared interests. But be mindful not to overdo it. Check yourself and assess whether you are dominating the conversation. One counterintuitive suggestion:
Avoid your favorite topic — whether it’s opera or your Shih Tzu — or else you’ll probably talk too much.
6. If you’re female, be direct: Research suggests men appreciate a direct statement of intention, “Let’s get together next Monday,” more than a subtle request or sexual innuendo. Studies show that women don’t immediately provide cues expressing interest, thereby leaving men in the dark. Expressing attraction and interest builds confidence in both parties.
7. If You’re a man, be witty: Witty men — smart jokes, not crude or silly ones — are perceived as appealing, attractive and intelligent.
8. Graceful exit: Don’t let the conversation drag. If you feel an awkward silence coming on, politely excuse yourself. Leave them wanting more.
If all else fails, try joining a band if you’re a guy, or wearing less makeup if you’re a girl. Studies show that women are more attracted to men with guitars than without, and men prefer less makeup on women than most women think.
Good luck.
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Contributed to by Roni Willett
“We live in a society that says to girls ‘Don’t play too hard, don’t build, don’t create.” – Reshma Saujani
Reshma Saujani didn’t listen to society back then and her stellar career is proof of what happens when you block out the naysayers and continue to move forward. A graduate of Yale Law School, the Harvard Kennedy School and University of Illinois, Saujauni’s efforts to champion women is both impressive and inspiring. “We need to start a girl’s club, and start uplifting each other,” Saujani is looking to women to proactively empower each other.
Saujani is already doing her part as the founder of Girls Who Code, an organization that encourages girls to pursue a career in the computer science fields. Her hope is to increasingly fill future positions with hard working, determined and talented women, with the ultimate goal is to fill the widening gender parity gap in the very much male-dominated tech space.
AOL supports Saujani’s initiative and has partnered with Girls Who Code on a #BuiltByGirls summer program. Five graduates of the GWC program have taken over Cambio and are mentored through the creation of their own product as AOL interns.
Saujani is a self-proclaimed “Feminist with a capital F” and while she asks “Where are the women?,” she definitely knows where they should be: EVERYWHERE.
A go-getter, Saujani is tenacious (from her early days as a lawyer turned politician) and bullish, she recognizes that her greatest moments of opportunity have stemmed from personal failures. She encourages the audience to “Get back up and dust yourself off”–a mantra she uses in both her career and life.
Check out the BUILD segment below to hear more about how we can achieve it all.
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Watch the MAKERS segment as part of #AOLBuild: Reshma Saujani, Founder, Girls Who Code.
It was January 30, 2013, a cool, overcast winter day in Southern California. The plan was to drive in to Mexico, turn around, file some visa paperwork at the border, get my visa and continue on with my life as an attorney in Los Angeles. As a Canadian citizen, I could only work in America with a work visa, and mine was set to expire on February 1, so this trip was necessary to keep my immigration status legal.
Once I got in to Mexico, the line of cars to get back in to California was five hours long. Once got to the immigration area and parked my car, I walked into a brick building, which housed a large gray room with a white counter. Behind the counter were two agents, a man and a woman, both in their late 20s.
The male guard called me up to take my case. The interview went really well at first. He asked where I was working, and what I was doing. I answered him casually, in a relaxed manner. A ll of the sudden, the female guard who had been sitting quietly got up from her chair and walked over to the counter. We had a short discussion about my employment situation, and she told me to sit down.
I returned to my seat in the waiting area. She walked back to her computer and sat down typing. All of the sudden the woman’s face changed. She looked over at me.
“I think we’re going to have a problem here,” she stated.
She asked began interrogating me about my employment situation and argued with me about my job. After the argument, I sat waiting for almost an hour.
All of the sudden she stood up from her chair and gave a nod to her male co-worker behind the counter. She looked over at me.
“Please stand up sir,” she said loudly.
The two guards began to walk up to me. The woman pulled out a set of hand cuffs. My jaw dropped.
“Please face the other way. You’re not under arrest, but we are handcuffing you for security purposes,” she stated.
The guard put my hands in the cuffs behind my back. The two guards grabbed me and began walking me to another building.
In the other building, the female guard then proceeded to search me. She asked me to empty my pockets and remove my belt. I took out my phone, wallet and keys and gave them to her. She then asked me to take off my shoes. I gave them to her and she removed the shoe laces. She put all of my belongings into a plastic bag, including the laces, phone and watch.
She walked me over to a set of seats, turned around and walked back out the door with her colleague, both never to be seen again.
About 20 minutes later, another guard walked in.
“Come this way,” he continued. My thought was that we were being called in to speak to an immigration officer.
We suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallway. The guard turned to the right, where there was a pile of brown cloth blankets sitting on a ledge.
“Here, take this.”
The guard grabbed a blanket from the top of the pile and threw it at me. I looked down at the blanket, wondering why I would need one.
The guard then turned to the left side of the hallway, grabbed a key from the holster in his belt and began opening a door. I looked inside, astonished by what was in front of me. It was a jail cell, filled with people.
As I looked in to the cell, the terror immediately began to flow through my body. I walked into the cell and turned around to look at the officer.
“I’ll get you a floor mat when one becomes available. We’re all out right now,” he stated.
He then proceeded to shut the door and lock the cell. As I stepped in to the cell, I slowly turned my head to look at my surroundings. My eyes wandered to my right passed the door. A pair of wide open deep brown eyes staring at me sent me into a state of shock. An olive skinned man of European descent was staring ahead with an angry gaze on his face anxiously vibrating his right leg up and down.
The room was packed with sleeping bodies lying on the floor. About 12 men lay on every square inch of this tiny holding cell. Each was sleeping on a tiny floor mat, similar to a Yoga mat, but of much poorer quality. Each had a cloth blanket on top of him like the one I had received.
The floor felt like solid concrete with no softness or give. The room was long and narrow, angling to a point at the end. The ceilings about 12 feet high. The room was lit by bright fluorescent lights, and there was nothing on the white walls. There was no clock to keep time and no television. There was no radio playing or books to read. The room smelled of human waste and body odor. The sounds of two men snoring overwhelmed the buzzing from the fluorescent lights and ventilation system.
There was no light from the outside to indicate what time it was. Opposite from the door leading in to the cell was a nook, which housed two steel toilets, similar to those on an airplane, but with a built in seat. Both toilets were out in the open, only separated from the room by a body length steel divider.
My mind began to imagine what happened in prison dramas. Was I going to be sexually assaulted or get into a fight? Who were my roommates? Were they Mexican drug smugglers with gang connections? I lay down on a steel bench and covered myself with the blanket.
Suddenly, one of the sleeping men lying below the bench pushed my blanket away.
…Continued: Read Dan’s account in its entirety on his website: danrevich.com
Move over The Jackson 5, Jonas Brothers and Hanson, because there’s a new sibling sensation on the rise — The Willis Clan.
The 12-member band, made up entirely of siblings ages 3 to 21, recently took “America’s Got Talent” by storm with their rendition of “My Favorite Things” from “The Sound of Music.”
The family performed their own unique version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein show tune, setting the lyrics to a catchy country beat. With their string instruments and lively Southern twang, they clearly impressed the judges.
“I’m getting really excited for season 9 now. You just kicked it into high gear,” judge Howard Stern said.
Watch the performance from the Nashville, Tennessee, natives above. And be sure to check out the show-stealing jig by 3-year-old Jada, at the 3:15 mark.
This is site is run by Sascha Endlicher, M.A., during ungodly late night hours. Wanna know more about him? Connect via Social Media by jumping to about.me/sascha.endlicher.
