Ummm… No.

Pee Goal –

The Pee Goal includes a nice pitch, a goal, and a ball on a string. You use your penis to push the ball into the goal, apparently.

Oh wait. Just re-read it. You use your URINE STREAM to push the ball into the goal. It’s about $20 in England, and I suspect you can take this around with you, drop it into a urinal, play a game or two, and then pack it up again. Quite a bit of fun, right?

Product Page [LazyBone via GadgetSpy]

(Via Gizmodo)

 I can’t decide for sure, but I am leaning towards the BRILLIANT! comment on this one.  A truly novel combination of form and function.  I don’t drink coffee, but I would certainly buy one of these if I did.

The MugMouse –

The MugMouse, by interaction designer Louise Wictoria Klinker, is a computer mouse you can use to drink coffee. Or a coffe mug you can use as a mouse.

It´s just much slower. When filled with tea or coffee, the mug needs to be moved more carefully than a normal mouse. Working on the computer deserves a bit more time, reflection or personal involvement. MugMouse is in fact a reward: not only can you take a sip at your mouse but it acts as a signal to yourself and to others that you´re having a little more time away from work.

Part of SLOWEB, a project that rethinks the way people work at computer and introduces slowness in the life of hectic people.

(Via We Make Money not Art)

Apparently a faulty fuel tank sensor has led to NASA calling off this afternoon’s scheduled launch of the Space Shuttle Discovery. Damn and blast.

Safety is important, and we shouldn’t knowingly put our astronauts into harm’s way. Still, I remember seeing interviews with some of NASA’s pioneers, the first guys who took that leap into orbit and eventually to the moon when we didn’t know half what we know now. They looked at it like being a test pilot (which many of them were, in fact), and safety wasn’t their first expectation. They EXPECTED that there would be casualties. I’m not sure that that’s not the right attitude, on some level. I really don’t know. I remember watching the aftermath of the Challenger explosion while I was at school. Actually I was at WINGS, the gifted kids’ program that the fearless webmaster and I both attended many moons ago. I was in a logic class and we were working through the construction of a simple argument (A implies B, B implies C, therefore A implies C). Our teacher was interrupted by a knock at the door. We watched for a minute and then she came back in, eyes shining, and said "The space shuttle just blew up, it killed everyone on board." Without thinking, the guy next to me blurted out, "A implies B!" I like to believe Bryan thought that Mrs. Keys was making an obtuse joke rather than trying to make one of his own.

And I watched with horror two and a half years ago as the venerable shuttle Columbia was brought back into the atmosphere and disappeared, the victim of damage to its heat shielding. I remember thinking the day before it was due to land, Come on, there won’t be a problem. Something happened on takeoff, but what, a piece of foam? That couldn’t have done anything, could it? Just get down safely, guys, and they’ll figure out how to fix it for next time. But I couldn’t shake that feeling that I’m sure many people had, that it wouldn’t work out that way after all. And now it’s been 30 months since the US flew a mission to space, notwithstanding SpaceShipOne, winner of the $10 million X Prize.

So yes, safety is important. But is safety the MOST important thing? Is it the most important thing for doctors and nurses and EMTs who put themselves in harm’s way to try and help people? Or explorers who climb mountains either just to say they had DONE it or to discover new things about the regions they are exploring? Hell, is safety the most important thing for any of us, when we’re doing what we feel like we’re meant to do? 

From time to time I get into discussions with people who argue that we’ve already done "the space thing" and ought to give it a rest. I couldn’t disagree more, but sometimes I’m at a loss as to explain exactly why. Happily enough, Aaron Sorokin did it for me in an episode of The West Wing. When confronted with the same question (well, this one was specifically about Mars), speechwriter Sam Seaborn has this to say: 

Because it’s next. Because we came out of the cave, and we looked over the hill, and we saw fire. And we crossed the ocean, and we pioneered the West, and we took to the sky. The history of Man is hung on the timeline of exploration, and this is what’s next.

Amen.

 Um, what?  Words are powerful and the pen may be mightier than the sword but I can’t see what words would be on a note from someone sitting outside my reinforced window stuck in the drive through lane that would make me pony up some cash.

Drive-through robber in U.S. gets bank loot (Reuters) – Reuters – That was easy.

 

A bank robber behind the wheel of his car on Tuesday sent a note through a vacuum tube to the teller at the drive-through window at a branch of Chicago’s LaSalle Bank and the teller obliged, returning an undisclosed amount of cash, police said.

(Via Yahoo! Oddly Enough)

 Train collisions are always scary.  Just no way to avoid Mr. Newton’s basic laws when there is that much mass moving around.  But three trains colliding is something I haven’t heard of before.  Looks like one train hit another which derailed and hit the third one. Watching dominoes fall is fun.  Watching several thousand tons of train topple each other is not so much fun.

Dozens Feared Dead in Pakistan Collision (AP) – AP – Three passenger trains collided at a station in remote southern Pakistan early Wednesday and at least 13 cars derailed, killing or injuring dozens of people, officials said.

(Via Yahoo! Top Stories)

Femullet (n): The female version of the mullet, a hairstyle characterized by a short cut on the sides and top and longer hair in the back. Often seen at Indigo Girls and Melissa Etheridge concerts.

It’s 2002 (I think) and I am playing the field. Generally, in my experience, this translates roughly to "I am striking out with a variety of women, instead of just one." However, for some reason I am doing better now than I have in rather a long time. It is good for my ego, as my divorce is finalized, to have pretty girls interested in me. It is good for my ego, frankly, to not smoke a pack of Kamel Reds while writing terribly bad poetry.

There are two girls who I am seeing casually, just about as different as two women I’ve dated are. One of them lives in the suburbs and has the most comfortable couch I have ever had the pleasure of collapsing onto. She is a redhead with an infectous laugh and an encyclopedic knowledge of music that is a little frightening. I’ve introduced her to Stuart Davis, she’s introduced me to Tenacious D. She’s 31, and I’m 28. She’s a former social worker and current denzien of the corporate world.

The other girl is blonde, lives in the city in a studio apartment with nothing resembling comfortable furniture, a 13" TV without cable and a great liquor collection. She has a wicked smile and stories from summers abroad that make me shake my head and laugh and wonder just how much I can embellish my own tales without being guilty of out-and-out lies. She is 23 and has her first job out of college, working for a publishing company, and seems a little awed by the fact that I have strung together a few jobs into what might be considered in charitable circles a "career".

There is a concert coming up which I have some vague interest in – the Indigo Girls, which comprise a certain portion of my collection of music that makes people wonder if I’m actually straight. Tori Amos, Melissa Etheridge, the Indigo Girls, Ellen Reid and Bree Sharp don’t seem to inspire "Wow, what a manly guy!" feelings in the average woman.

The redhead calls me. "I have tickets to see the Indigo Girls in a couple weeks! Wanna go?" I am excited, and tell her that I’ll have to check with my work schedule since I have some travel coming up but I think I should be free. I agree to let her know in a couple days.

The blonde calls me the next day. "Hey, guess what I have!" I am loath to answer, because I know the answer. Tickets to the Indigo Girls concert. Knowing that I’m a bit of a fan, she wants to know if I’d like to attend. I stammer a bit and say that I’m going to be travelling for work, but I’ll know for sure soon.

I call Jeff, one of my best friends. He was the only roommate I had who I could really stand, including my wife. We spent about a year and a half in a crappy duplex in Ames, Iowa while I was studying Philosophy and he was rising through the ranks in the pizza management industry. Now he’s back in college and working on his bachelor’s degree. Eventually he will become a funeral director, but that is a story for another day.

I tell Jeff of my dilemna. "Two women with absolutely nothing in common. They’re almost 10 years apart in age, dude, they work in different industries, they’re into different things, different music, different everything. The ONLY thing they have in common is a misguided interest in me." Jeff chortles at the self-deprication and ponders. I don’t often ask him for advice, not because he doesn’t have any but because I don’t often ask anyone for advice. Usually our friendship works the other way. Invited or not, I share my ‘wisdom’ with him. Given this, he takes a while before answering.

"Who has the better tickets?"

I hang up on Jeff.

The concert is going to be huge. I can just tell the blonde in the city that I won’t be able to go, then go with the redhead with the great laugh. It doesn’t seem right to go at all if I don’t go with her – and, to be honest, I’m more interested in her anyway.

But I know what will happen. If I try to pull that, I know what will happen, and so does everyone who has ever considered such a thing. My life will turn into an episode of Three’s Company and we will file into our seats – the redhead to my left, the blonde on my other side with the friend she brought in my place. I won’t be able to show my face at the Regal Beagle for weeks to hide my shame, and even Mr. Roper will give me a look that says, "You’re a fucking idiot."

It’s the next day now and I’m out with the blonde from the city. I decide to be honest, sort of. I tell her that I’m already going to the concert with a friend, and the plans were sort of up in the air but that I already committed to it. She is totally cool, says she understands and will take a friend of hers instead. "Maybe we can all meet up for a drink beforehand!" she says brightly.

My throat constricts like a garden hose that’s been pinched off. I look everywhere but at her, my lips turned up in a sickly smile. Finally I start to stammer and then blurt out, "Well, see, it’s sort of a date that I’m going on, and she asked me first and this is really awkward and I’m just trying to keep my life from turning into Three’s Company."

Or, rather, I get as far as, "Well, see, it’s sort of a da-" before she cuts me off with a laugh that turns into a snort, then a cackle. "Of course it is!" she laughs. "Don’t worry, I’ll be taking a date too." Then she gives me one of those wicked smiles and it occurs to me that this is how she ends up with those cool stories that make mine feel silly and trite. I’m not sure if it’s a good trade or not.

I go to the concert with the redhead from the suburbs, owner of the perfect couch, and we have a great time. One of the best times I can remember, in fact. We laugh at the songs that make us laugh and I tell her halfway through that the only thing that will make me happier is if I hear "Galileo" and "Least Complicated" and she gives me a little grin. The next songs are "Least Complicated" and "Galileo" and she has a proprietary smile, as if she arranged the whole thing for my benefit. I fall a little in love with her then, with that smile.

I can’t keep from looking over my shoulder to look for Mr. Roper from time to time. I don’t see him, though, at least not that night.

 I want one for the name alone.  But the subtlety, the beauty of it all.  Reminds me of the stuff we used to pull when I was in the Air Force.  Take an audio oscillator and set it to a frequency at the top of your victims audible range.  Turn it on low, hide the speaker and leave it.  Person thinks they have tinnitius (sp?).  their ears are ringing constantly but only when they are in their office.

 Alternately (and for a higher degree of difficulty) find a big enough speaker and set the oscillator on an extremely low frequency (below what humans can hear) and leave it turned way up in their office.  Just makes them uncomfrotable without knowing why.

The Mind Molester –

We are so hiding one of these next time we’re over at Ryan’s house: Shomer-Tec, a company specializing in “Law Enforcement & Military Equipment”, is selling a little something called the Mind Molester which is supposed to be a non-violent way to mess with your enemies. The genius of the Mind Molester is in its simplicity — it’s an electronic device which emits a single one-second chirp every four minutes. That’d be annoying enough on its own, but the kicker is that because of the chirp’s duration, frequency, and sound characteristics they claim it’ll be “very, very difficult, time-consuming, frustrating and maddening task to locate the unit. And even if they find it, they’ll have no idea what it is.” Which at the moment just happens to be exactly what we’re looking for in a prank.

[Via pasta & vinegar]

(Via Engadget)

 Have to download this one later and listen to it.  Finally some research I can get interested in.

Orgasm neurobiology on the radio – David Pescovitz: ABC Radio National’s All In The Mind program has a lengthy segment about scientists’ efforts to understand the Big O by scanning people’s brains as they come. (Link to Xeni’s previous post about an article on the subject in the current issue of Wired.) Link to show page, Link to MP3 of program (via Mind Hacks)

(Via Boing Boing)

It shouldn’t be this hard to find the headphones I want.  I saw them at the PalmOne store in the Atlanta airport.  But the store was closed and I was to groggy to write down the model.

I need heaphones that have the following properties:

• Ear buds
• Wind up case
• Volume control on the cord

I can’t even think of a good search string that gets results.  So far I am getting the same ole stuff.  Mostly the ones I am finding lack the volume control.

If anyone sees such a creature, let me know. 

 Absolutely no reason for this to exist and yet I covet it.  Replace my car stereo with a PC containing GPS?  Why not?  Load it full of MP3s and navigational software.  Make it bluetooth and wi-fi compatible and the possibilities are endless.

Infill T3: Big Time Car PC –

It’s big and it’s brawny and it wants to live in your car. No, it’s not your mother—it’s the INFILLL T3, a double-tall car in-dash car PC with a 1.6GHz CPU, a 40GB hard drive, GPS, and a lot more (although maybe not Wi-Fi, which seems miraculously shortsighted). Price and availability is still up in the air, but it looks like a beast. Too bad it’s retarded to watch movies while driving.

INFILL T3 – The Ultimate In-Car Entertainment PC? [eHomeUpgrade]

(Via Gizmodo)