Wired Magazine posted an online article yesterday focusing on the many patents that Apple owns. One of Apple’s new patents is a system which creates a vacuum that sucks the glass screen down tight against the hardware when the device’s accelerometer senses that the iPad is in free fall, which helps protect the glass screen for shattering upon impact.
This is great and all, those Apple engineers are amazing, but could Wired have used a less creepy finger in their publicity photo?
Seriously, what’s up with that thing? Shudder…
While pouring herself a glass of juice last night, Karin made a horrific discovery:
“Real juice from real people”? No thanks. I think I’ll skip my daily serving of people juice…
Noticed this sign in the company restroom today:
Apparently there are certain individuals who are unsure if two flushes are required, or they feel the need to seek approval before flushing twice, but I guess there’s enough of an outstanding issue to warrant such a sign in the men’s room.
I’m not sure if I want to be working with people who are mentally incapable of determining whether or not a secondary swirl is required. Being in the IT field, I thought I was working with some bright bulbs, but this sign seems to confirm otherwise.
I wonder if the mystery man that this sign is aimed at has as much trouble flushing at home as he does at work?
Ah well. Probably best not to dwell on such unsettling thoughts.
Happy Friday!
There are cases where using Photoshop to improve on a picture would be completely justified…
Gearing up for my Mt. Whitney run next week I decided to go on a nice, easy five mile run after work yesterday. The route I took skirts a local golf course and lazily snakes through a quiet residential neighborhood. At roughly the four mile mark in my run I saw a woman approaching me on the sidewalk pushing a stroller. As I neared her I noticed that she was sporting a pair of old radio headphones with antennas extended, the kind thing you would commonly see people wearing in the 70′s, and she was clearly rocking out to something motivating.
As the distance between us quickly closed I could make out that she was the grandmotherly sort, pushing mid-sixties, yet doing so in style with brightly colored clothes and a skip in her step. I was close enough to make out the smile wrinkles in her cheeks, and could now very clearly hear her loudly belting out the tune “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands”, with one hand pushing the stroller while the other wildly circled above her head as if she were swatting away at an unusually persistent dive bombing insect.
Looking down as we passed I saw a small dog, possibly a Yorkshire Terrier, strapped into the five-point harness of the stroller, wearing a bonnet and a pacifier strapped around its neck.
Mind. Blown.
