Im working on it.
Thứ Bảy, 6 tháng 6, 2015
The Lost Man
The Lost Man
In 1948, a man was found on a beach in South Australia. The mysterious circumstances of his death have captivated generations of true-crime fanatics. Today, one amateur sleuth has come close to solving the case — and upended his life in the process.
June 5, 2015 at 06:19PM
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These Insane Videos Show People Playing Music While Having Brain Surgery
Not only is it possible, sometimes it is imperative.
Videos of Brazilian man Anthony Kulkamp Dias playing the Beatles' song "Yesterday" as his brain was undergoing surgery have been making the rounds online.
"I played six songs at certain times," he said to The Telegraph. "My right hand was a bit weaker because that was the side that they were operating on. So I stopped and rested. I was interspersing songs and talking with them."
Being active and conscious during brain surgery helps doctors monitor for injuries to the patient's brain in real time. (Warning: Brains.)
Vilevi / Getty Images
This is possible because, unlike the rest of the human body, the brain does not actually have any pain sensors.
Dawidkasza / Getty Images
These Newly Discovered Itty-Bitty Frogs Are Smaller Than A Centimeter
(Muffled squeal.)
After years of expeditions to Brazilian mountains, scientists recorded seven new species of petite frogs.
Scientists unveiled the latest additions to the Brachycephalus frog group of 21 species, which now totals 28, according to the study reported in PeerJ.
All of the frogs are less than 1 centimenter (about 0.3 inches) long and vary in coloration and skin roughness. They have fewer digits than most frogs, too, clocking in at two fingers and three toes compared to a frog's typical four fingers and five toes.
The genus' diversity may be quite underestimated: The first time the species was documented was 1824, but more than half have been named in the last 15 years.
Luiz Fernando Ribeiro / CC BY SA / Via eurekalert.org
B. mariaeterezae
Ribeiro et al.
B. olivaceus
Ribeiro et al.
How I Adopted Nine Lobsters And Traumatized My Entire Family
As a 10-year-old I thought pet lobsters sounded “fun.” I was wrong.
Jenny Chang
The skeletal remains of a four-inch lobster have lingered somewhere in my parents' home for nearly 20 years.
It started with the 1993 FAO Schwarz holiday catalog. I was 10, and I flipped through it at the kitchen table of our railroad-style apartment, emotionless, like a creepy zombie child. As a kid in the '80s and '90s, few things were quite so thrilling as the moment you opened the mailbox to find this catalog, filled with life-size stuffed snow leopards and Mercedes-Benz kids cars with prices too high to list. Well aware of my parents' inability to afford most of the items in the catalog, I glossed over most of the toys — until! I laid eyes on the holy grail of Christmas presents: a live lobster kit.
Becoming the eager guardian to a gaggle of nontraditional pets was in the cards for me from an early age. As a child I lived near a live poultry market in Brooklyn, which my mom and I walked to often. Four-year-old me assumed any homogeneous collection of live animals in a small, dimly lit space was a zoo, and my delighted mom confirmed it. Maybe she didn't want to explain the slaughter process to me, but more likely, she simply realized that, for a lower-middle-class family, producing a child who believed a group of chickens in small wire cages constituted a zoo was like hitting the parenting jackpot: free entertainment only a 10-minute walk away.
In those visits — traipsing through the narrow, sawdust-sprinkled aisles, greeting and waving at dozens of doomed fowl — my pseudo-hippie mother instilled in me a sense that all living creatures deserved compassion. This included the stray cats for which she and my dad built winter shelters in our backyard, and it included a holiday collection of mail-order micro-lobsters.
BuzzFeed
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd ever find something so wondrous and so affordable in that catalog: For just $50, nine blue Australian lobsters would arrive along with a lobster "condo." And man, they could not arrive soon enough. Sea life was fascinating to me; I would even apply to a marine biology–specialized high school three years later. I circled the item number in a red Sharpie and handed it to my parents with a convincing plea. "This looks interesting," my mom said. I figured it was in the bag.
And so Christmas Eve arrived, along with my nine new crustacean friends — no more than three-quarters of an inch long, and almost completely transparent — each in its own little plastic baggie filled with water. How anyone could legally get away with marketing these water-cockroaches as "blue" Australian lobsters was an afterthought; I was already excitedly assigning them names, watching them balance on their teeny little tails and lift their micro-claws into the air to catch brine pellets, to care too much about the fine print. We set up their living quarters, a four-tier tank with a base and nine cubicles, each roughly 2 square inches, and I spent hours watching these sea aliens investigate their surroundings and disassemble their food with tiny little pincers.
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