Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Monday, August 30, 2010

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Simpsons Saturday

One of my favorites: What's a gym?

Friday, August 27, 2010

Friday game

Creeper World Training Sim. It's good enough that I briefly considered buying the full version. Of course I didn't because I am cheap and poor, but I did consider it.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

now we know what happens...

when tha captainz away from his rudder. Weather posts.

Never a good sign

They said on the news this morning that the high temperature for the week is going to be 94, and I thought to myself how much cooler and more comfortable that sounded.

I'm ready for winter to be here.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Monday, August 23, 2010

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Saturday, August 21, 2010

University bloat

Enrollment at America’s leading universities has been increasing dramatically, rising nearly 15 percent between 1993 and 2007. But unlike almost every other growing industry, higher education has not become more efficient. Instead, universities now have more administrative employees and spend more on administration to educate each student. In short, universities are suffering from “administrative bloat,” expanding the resources devoted to administration significantly faster than spending on instruction, research and service.

Between 1993 and 2007, the number of full-time administrators per 100 students at America’s leading universities grew by 39 percent, while the number of employees engaged in teaching, research or service only grew by 18 percent. Inflation-adjusted spending on administration per student increased by 61 percent during the same period, while instructional spending per student rose 39 percent. Arizona State University, for example, increased the number of administrators per 100 students by 94 percent during this period while actually reducing the number of employees engaged in instruction, research and service by 2 percent. Nearly half of all full-time employees at Arizona State University are administrators.

A significant reason for the administrative bloat is that students pay only a small portion of administrative costs. The lion’s share of university resources comes from the federal and state governments, as well as private gifts and fees for non-educational services. The large and increasing rate of government subsidy for higher education facilitates administrative bloat by insulating students from the costs. Reducing government subsidies would do much to make universities more efficient.
Administrative Bloat at American Universities

Friday, August 20, 2010

BBC Dimensions

I can't remember if we've featured something like this before, but it's fun.

Speaking maps: here's another.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

this just in

Juicebot sighted recently in outdoor exhibit



Please stay tuned for more updates

Justin Beiber week lives

it never really ended

Monday, August 16, 2010

Friday, August 13, 2010

Saturday, August 07, 2010

Friday, August 06, 2010

Thursday, August 05, 2010

Nutritious vegetables

Eating all your vegetables was a lot better for you in the '50s. Store-bought veggies weren't as pretty back then, but according to USDA data, they were packed with a lot more nutrients than their modern counterparts. The likely reason for the nutritional drop is that hybrid crops are often bred for size and color, not nutrients. Below, the stats for a few crops that have gone to seed.
Looks Great, Less Nutritious? | Don Kenn

OFFICIAL

Tha Captainz 2010 Auburn predictions:

Auburn loses to:
Alabama
Georgia
Two(2) of Miss St., Ole Miss, and Kentucky
Two(2) of Clemson, South Carolina, Arkansas, and LSU
ppj.c bowl to West Virginia

6 - 7. Heartwarming.

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

untitled

Impossibly bright, ground-zero bright, the seven AM sun blasts through the bank of uninterrupted windows.

“Hell of a way to wake up… Shouldn’t someone be cooking bacon or something?” Wes doesn’t so much say this. It is more of an expulsion. Like the words themselves are at the same time unpleasant yet necessary and somehow connected to the action of rolling over on the couch.

Other bodies stir on the floor, one rising and the other falling as the air mattress and its occupants seesaw to life.

The Black One covers his eyes with his tattooed arm. “Why is that so bright?” One arm being insufficient, now raising the other. Agitated and increasingly high pitched. “Did we do something wrong?”

The White One, significantly more composed, says something indifferent and muffled by his pillow.

There is no use trying to fall back asleep as each soon realizes. The pair on the floor slowly gain enough consciousness to reach that critical moment that males often experience when waking up after a long night of drinking and find themselves in a bedspace with a fellow (and usually only casually acquainted) male. White One to the loveseat and the moment is handled adequately.

“Wes, I want you to know I’m still pissed off that you didn’t come talk to those girls at the country-western biker bar last night,” the Black One says, rubbing his eyes and checking his phone.

“Those cougars?”

“Those girls were in college.”

“Whatever, I didn’t have my glasses. Doesn’t matter, though.”

The Black One sighs. The White One turns on the TV. Despite the abundance of channels, the most interesting thing on (but perhaps only interesting precisely because it isn’t interesting) is the BYU Network (this exists!), showing classic gymnastics.

“This exists.” Says the Black One, starting to giggle uncontrollably.

The White One has produced (oh, what’s this now?) a bottle of Jagermeister from his duffel and holds it, mischievously grinning. “A shot every half-hour until everybody else wakes up?”

The Black One giggles even harder. Wes eyes the White One and narrows his eyes. They have competed before. “Every half-hour? What are we? Mincing, turtleneck-wearing faggots? Every five minutes.”

And so it begins. Predictably, classic BYU gymnastics becomes genuinely rather than ironically interesting. Wes and the White One keep up the pace while the Black One becomes rather more engrossed in sending a text message to one of the non-cougars from the previous night. After much deliberation, the ideal text is decided to simply read “moist.” It does not illicit an immediate response.

As the clock approaches eight, the Jager approaches extinction. Stirring is heard elsewhere in the house. “I have a flask of bourbon in my bag. Well, blended bourbon. It isn’t very good,” Wes’s intonation at the end of this last sentence somehow makes it sound like an endorsement.

And so it continues. Just as the flask joins the Jager bottle in emptiness, footsteps on the stairs. Somewhat needlessly (no shame in an eight AM drunk), a silent agreement is made to act sober.

Our mystery footsteps belong to the Lord of the Manor as it were, the gracious host of the three groggy imbibers. “Good morning, boys. Hope the sun didn’t wake you.” Somehow, the three share a knowing glance without actually looking at each other.

“Mr. Palumbo, you haven’t shaved.” The Black One, despite drinking the least is the most inebriated. However, drunk as he may be, his observation is spot-on.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen you like this. You look DRUNK.” A calculated risk by Wes, gambling that the Black One wouldn’t explode in a fit of drunken giggles. Admirable restraint and the gamble pays off.

“Good heavens, you’re right!” Mr. Palumbo, a slight man with olive skin and dark features (Jewish? Mid-forties? Who knows…) reaches for his face with a look of abject terror and sprints down the hall and back up the stairs.

The dam breaks and the giggles roll. “And get that wife of yours to cook us some damn bacon!” the White One yells after the flustered host. Now in an exaggerated whisper, “You wanted bacon, right Wes?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m a vegetarian.” Wes rolls off the couch. Interestingly, it’s taken this long for his traditional morning erection to subside. Stumbling toward the kitchen, “How much beer do you think these people have?”



I hope that when the bombs fall this is the only thing that survives

Tuesday, August 03, 2010

From Tha Captainz Exploration Journal


Left for dead in this swamp (or is it a slough?) Only crawfish for company. He underestimates me. I’ve been gutshot before. A cuckolded husband’s scorn (how did he know?) can be as blinding as a woman’s can be furious.

This far into the muck, the crawfish have been known to grow quite large. Big enough? Have to be. Deep breath, now start digging. Mud mingles with blood and bowels. Further and further downward. Hand feels carapace. Not quite big enough yet. Keep digging before he can turn around. Not big enough to wear, but big enough that I don’t want to get to know him too well.

My insides are more mud than man, what’s left of my lungs burn, and my eyes (why open? dark in here) roll back in my head. Need to find this big fucker quick.

…and whaddaya know there he is. Gotta work quick. Knife out. God, the carapace is hard. It takes all my strength just to dent it and now he knows exactly where I am. SNAP. A claw the size of a VCR misses my leg by inches. I stab again and through. With an upward motion I gut the bastard. SNAP. His death throes succeed where his conscious efforts failed as that one cleanly lops off my left hand. With what little strength I have left, I pry him open and let the carapace envelop me. Somehow, it doesn’t seem so dark and unwelcoming down here anymore…

UPWARD UPWARD POWERFUL TAIL AND MANY ARMS PUMP THIS IS STRENGTH OUR VENGENCE WILL BE SATISFYING AND SLOW HE WILL KNOW OUR STRENGTH WE BREAK THE SURFACE HARSH BURNING SUNLIGHT NOW SPECKLED WITH AN EXPLOSION OF WONDERFUL COOL MUD THE TIME FOR OUR VENGENCE WILL COME BUT FOR NOW SOMETHING COMPELS US NOT TO LEAVE THIS SWAMP THIS HOME MAYBE BACK UNDER THE MUD FOR JUST A LITTLE WHILE MAYBE A LONG WHILE THIS HOME…

Inspiration/atmosphere:

Monday, August 02, 2010

Animal treatment

As it is, the subject hardly comes up at all among conservatives, and what commentary we do hear usually takes the form of ridicule directed at animal-rights groups. Often conservatives side instinctively with any animal-related industry and those involved, as if a thing is right just because someone can make money off it or as if our sympathies belong always with the men just because they are men.

I had an exchange once with an eminent conservative columnist on this subject. Conversation turned to my book and to factory farming. Holding his hands out in the “stop” gesture, he said, “I don’t want to know.” Granted, life on the factory farm is no one’s favorite subject, but conservative writers often have to think about things that are disturbing or sad. In this case, we have an intellectually formidable fellow known to millions for his stern judgments on every matter of private morality and public policy. Yet nowhere in all his writings do I find any treatment of any cruelty issue, never mind that if you asked him he would surely agree that cruelty to animals is a cowardly and disgraceful sin.

And when the subject is cruelty to farmed animals—the moral standards being applied in a fundamental human enterprise—suddenly we’re in forbidden territory and “I don’t want to know” is the best he can do. But don’t we have a responsibility to know? Maybe the whole subject could use his fine mind and his good heart.
Fear Factories

omg

oh my god

Metal Monday

Sunday, August 01, 2010

don't say you haven't thought about it too.

Why the seal attempted to have sex with the penguin is unclear. But the scientists who photographed the event speculate that it was the behaviour of a frustrated, sexually inexperienced young male seal.

penguinfucker.

have you ever wondered...

what the first image google would spit back from an image search for 'surprising boner?' It's this:


How fun!

Congratulations, Hugh and Lisa


Lisa's Wedding