Machine Prints Food Smells On Postcards
O.k this is pretty crazy, The “Food printer” has a camera, a smell extractor and a printer. When you’re ready to go the camera snaps a shot of the food while the smell extractor gathers the smells and the printer than prints the postcard with aroma ink.
Jonah Lehrer Gets The Boot.
Way to go, stupid. That’s what happens when you think you’re smarter than everyone else, and then you find out that you aren’t.
If you’re going to make up quotes, everyone knows you should pick pretty much anyone other than Bob Dylan to attribute them to.
An article in Tablet magazine revealed that in his best-selling book, “Imagine: How Creativity Works,” Mr. Lehrer had fabricated quotes from Bob Dylan, one of the most closely studied musicians alive. Only last month, Mr. Lehrer had publicly apologized for taking some of his previous work from The Wall Street Journal, Wired and other publications and recycling it in blog posts for The New Yorker, acts of recycling that his editor called “a mistake.”
By Monday, when the Tablet article was published online, both The New Yorker and Mr. Lehrer’s publisher, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, made it clear that they had lost patience with him.
(Source: The New York Times)
So long Gore Vidal. You sure were a handsome fella.
And now, a few of your best quotes in honor of your passing.
“We must declare ourselves, become known; allow the world to discover this subterranean life of ours which connects kings and farm boys, artists and clerks. Let them see that the important thing is not the object of love, but the emotion itself.”
“I never miss a chance to have sex or appear on television.”
“There is no such thing as a homosexual or a heterosexual person. There are only homo- or heterosexual acts. Most people are a mixture of impulses if not practices.”
“For half a century photography has been the “art form” of the untalented. Obviously some pictures are more satisfactory than others, but where is credit due? To the designer of the camera? To the finger on the button? To the law of averages?”
“As societies grow decadent, the language grows decadent, too. Words are used to disguise, not to illuminate, action: you liberate a city by destroying it. Words are to confuse, so that at election time people will solemnly vote against their own interests.”
“The United States was founded by the brightest people in the country — and we haven’t seen them since.”
It’s a question worth asking. Here are a few excerpts from his New York Times interview.
In his new book, “Why Does the World Exist?,” Jim Holt throws everything he’s got at the question. He reads Wittgenstein and Plato. He meets with leading physicists, theologians and philosophers. He considers the relative strength of answers like God, multiple universes and Just Because. And he does all this without making the lay reader’s head explode. In a recent interview via e-mail, Mr. Holt discussed physics, philosophy, why string theory is different than religion and more. Below are excerpts from the conversation.
It’s hard to imagine a more ambitious title for a book. How would you summarize the question it investigates?
Why does the universe go through all the bother of existing? Why is there something rather than nothing? William James called this “the darkest question in all philosophy.” For Wittgenstein, the world’s existence was cause for wonder. “It is not how things are in the world that is mystical,” he declared, “but that it exists.” I share this sense of wonder, and I wanted to see how far the human mind could go in penetrating the mystery of existence.
The book includes what I consider a whopping use of parentheses, which comes when you write that “psychiatric patients have been known to be obsessed by” the question that gives your book its title. Is there a mental-health danger to pondering this for too long?
A British astrophysicist said that pondering the question “Why is there something rather than nothing?” could “tear the mind asunder.” It certainly seems to have unhinged Heidegger a bit. In the 1930s, he declared that Adolf Hitler would “reacquaint the German people with Being.” I hope I have not said anything similarly daft in the book.
After talking with Richard Swinburne, a British philosopher who believes in God, you wandered down a street “engulfed by a diffuse sense of contentment.” Might it make sense to believe in God for the possible contentment it offers when other answers may be equally unprovable, no matter how scientific their basis?
That sense of contentment, as I suggested in the book, probably had more to do with the bottle of Shiraz I downed in the Oxford brasserie after leaving Swinburne. But Swinburne’s own religiosity, while it may offer him contentment, is based on rigorous intellectual foundations. You could question or reject his premises — I certainly did — but they weren’t a matter of wishful thinking or wallowing in cheap contentment.
There’s a chapter about your mother’s death that I found incredibly moving. What impact, if any, did it have on you with regard to the big questions asked by your book?
The question “Why does the world exist?” rhymes with the question “Why do I exist?” Both cosmic and personal existence are precarious in the extreme. This was borne in upon me when, just as I was writing the last chapters of the book, about the self and death, my mother unexpectedly died. I was alone with her in the hospice room at the last moment. To see a self flicker into nothingness — the very self that engendered your own being, no less — is to feel the weirdness of existence anew.
(Source: The New York Times)
“Kramer staggered erect through the entrance and the man inside looked at him once or twice in familiar acknowledgment before returning to his pen and sheaf of papers, a cynical goblin emerged out of some alien trance of alchemist figures or comedic lines.
Hell-ooooo, Kramer said.
Seinfeld studied him.
Hell-ooooo, he said. A voice that went from room to room and back again.
A fearsomely bald squatter bespectacled and grinning from a blue upholstered sofa that had seen better days observed with something like amusement the avian newcomer, a gigantic egret no less a child of this city than the ragpicker begging for change, the bodega immigrant selling his wares. Hell-ooooo, Costanza said. His nosed twitched and he corrected his spectacles.”
John Waters hitchhikes across the country.
“You think maybe you’re standing by a highway for a long time, it’s a Zen-like experience,” he said. “It isn’t. It is a despairing experience to figure: No one’s ever going to stop. I’m here forever.”
Over all, Mr. Waters said he was fascinated to see what happened when he cast aside any vestiges of celebrity and threw himself to the vagaries of the road. “There’s not an airport in the world I’m not recognized in,” he said. “But who thinks it’s you on the side of the street?”
(Source: The New York Times)