The Library of Congress recently discovered a copy of a "long-lost film made in approximately 1897 by George Méliès called "Gugusse and the Automaton" (Gugusse et l'Automate), which "had not been seen by anyone in likely more than a century" and "was the first appearance on film of what might be called a robot." It's also one of the first science fiction films ever made.
Up top is a digitized copy of the entire 45-seconds-long film.
Bill McFarland, who found the film, drove the entire box of films in which he found it from his home in Grand Rapids, Michigan to the Library of Congress's National Audio-Visual Conservation Center in Culpeper, Virginia, to have the cache evaluated.
His great-grandfather, William Delisle Frisbee, had been a potato farmer and schoolteacher in western Pennsylvania by day, but by night he was a traveling showman. He drove his horse and buggy from town to town to dazzle the locals with a projector and some of the world's first moving pictures.
He set up shop in a local schoolroom, church, lodge, or civic auditorium and showed magic lantern slides and short films with accompanied by music from a newfangled phonograph. It shocked the viewers.
"They must have been thrilled," McFarland said. "They must have been out of their minds to see this motion picture and hear the Edison phonograph."
"The data is the Global Human Settlement Layer population grid for 2025. This release was known to be less accurate for small areas, especially where there has been rapid change in population."
This is a 3D billboard on a Bank of China building in a city in China. Using an optical illusion, it makes the building look like it is wrapped in metallic ripples and being distorted, creating a stunning dynamic visual effect. pic.twitter.com/LRGI4JBSDK
Let me tell you a little story, all the more profound because every word of it is true.
Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, I went to UCLA Medical School.
I got to be friends with some of the members of the class a year ahead of me; I saw them on rotations, in the mail room, what have you.
While in med school and for some years thereafter I lived in an wonderful old Spanish–style apartment building that was walking distance from UCLA.
My downstairs neighbor was a member of the class that finished a year ahead of me; he was a GP in solo private practice in Malibu and liked to drop the names of his famous show business patients.
He had the most beautiful clothes.
He had a Ferrari, bright yellow as I recall, and a Porsche and a string of flight attendant girlfriends over the years, but finally settled down with one in particular who was just nutso.
Screaming, crying, fighting, noise, things being thrown against the wall and breaking, doors slamming so hard the building shook, loud music, the works, it all emanated from their place.
But the apartment and the rent and the location were so great I just didn't want to move so I endured their craziness for years.
Among the other members of this guy's class had been my dorm residence advisor when I was an undergraduate; I remained friends with him, touching base maybe every couple years or so.
Once I mentioned that I was living above his med school classmate and I started going on about what a bozo the guy was and the ex–residence advisor started laughing really hard.
What's so funny? I asked.
He said my neighbor had graduated last in their class: #121 out of 121.
No one could believe UCLA Medical School would actually let him graduate, he was such a doofus.
He knew nothing, screwed up everything and half the time didn't even show up.
But you know the old joke, don't you, about what they call the guy who graduates last in his med school class?
"Doctor."
Anyway.
One day, maybe eight or ten years after I'd graduated, I happened to be reading Los Angeles magazine, the annual issue featuring "The Best Doctors in Los Angeles."
And guess what?
My downstairs neighbor, Dr. Last–in–his–class, who would occasionally tell me about pet treatments out of left field that he used in his practice, was named "The Top GP in Los Angeles."
w00t!
So that's why I asked, at the top of this post, "Are you sure?"
I was strolling down memory lane yesterday and happened on a boj post that appeared on December 15, 2005, headlined My Top 10 Songs.
That's them up top, followed by the number of times I'd listened to each song in the years immediately preceding the post (iTunes launched in 2001 and the iTunes Music Store in 2003).
You know what?
I must be frozen in some kind of musical time-warp because I still love every one of those songs and could happily listen to each on endless replay at max volume.
Apart from the fact that bookofjoe is attributed to one Joe Peach, a long-time commenter on bookofjoe who retired from the Comments section about ten years ago.
And the inception date, which kagi states is 2003, is close: in fact, bookofjoe started on August 24, 2004.
This Charles Addams cartoon originally appeared in the New Yorker in 1940.
It's remarkable that Addams was able to so elegantly characterize the nature of quantum mechanics just fifteen years after its formulation in 1925-1926.
He also gave a glimpse into the future: it was in 1957 that Hugh Everett III first proposed what's now called the Many-Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics.
The digital fly appears to behave in the digital environment in reasonably fly-like ways. According to the scientists this is not a simulation: the fly's "sensors" are being activated by the digital environment and its neurons are responding. More details here.
Supposedly Jean-Jacques Cartier, then head of Cartier London, saw one of the company's watches that had melted in a fiery auto crash, and in 1967 created this timepiece.
Its unusual asymmetric form kept the signature Cartier Roman numerals, blued steel baton hands, and sapphire cabochon.
At first the design was only made and sold in London from 1967 through the early 70s: it's thought that less than a few dozen were made.
Since then, Cartier has produced the Crash in limited numbers: a run in London in the 1980s; an extremely limited edition Paris Crash in platinum in the early 1990s.
Ii can occasionally be found today the wrists of those who appreciate iconic design — and can afford it.
The 18k gold specimen pictured up top sold for $819,000 on December 9, 2024 at Christie's in New York.
This is a terrific 10-episode spy thriller set in Canada, mostly Montreal, which I stumbled on last week.
I watched the first 40-minute-long episode and was hooked, such that I had to forcibly get up out of my chair and stop after the fourth one.
Great cast none of whom I've ever heard of nor seen in any other shows/movies that I can recall — but then, I have trouble remembering what movie I watched last night.
This series is so obscure, I couldn't even find a trailer for it on YouTube.
"The Fish Doorbell in Utrecht, The Netherlands, is back for another season! Did you spot a fish? Press the Fish Doorbell! Then our lock keeper can let the fish through."
This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "gated community."
We can go through most of our lives holding out hope of one day seeing in person such works as Van Gogh's Sunflowers, Monet's Haystacks, a clay tablet containing actual cuneiform writing with our own eyes, or the ancient Egyptian Temple of Dendur. We can actually come face to face — or rather, face to surface — with all of them, temple included, at New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, which contains all these and more artifacts of human civilization than any of us could hope to examine closely in a lifetime. Now we can get closer than ever thanks to the Met's new archive of high-definition 3D scans.
"Viewers can zoom in, rotate, and examine each model, bringing unprecedented access to significant works of art," says the Met's official announcement. "The 3D models can also be explored in viewers' own spaces through augmented reality (AR) on most smartphone and VR headsets."
Browsing this archive you'll find pieces from Japan like seventeenth-century screens by the artists Kano Sansetsu and Suzuki Kiitsu. These must have been priorities for the Met's institutional partner in this project, the Japanese television network NHK.
It came about "as part of the public broadcaster's initiative to produce ultra-high definition 3D computer graphics of national treasures and other important artworks."
To use the archive, click the "View in 3D" button below the image on the page of your artifact or artwork of choice.
A company that makes bubble wrap was kind enough to get back to me with the following:
The bubbles go on the inside
The topic came up just now when I unwrapped a 2015 11" MacBook Air I bought on eBay.
It was beautifully protected by three (3) layers of protection:
1. A heavy cardboard box
2. Filling the box, substantial corrugated cardboard cut to make it flexible and serve as a shock barrier
3. Bubble wrap surrounding the computer, three layers of it
The bubbles — as usual — were on the outside.
Most people don't think it matters which side the bubbles are on, though if you persist in asking which side do you put against the object to be protected, almost everyone will tell you they put the bubbles on the outside.
Even though you can’t hear it, infrasound fills the air. And because the atmosphere doesn’t absorb it like regular sound, infrasound comes from hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away. If humans could perceive frequencies lower than 20 Hz, then changing ocean currents, wildfires, turbines, receding glaciers, industrial HVACs, superstorms, and other geophysical and anthropogenic sources from across the planet would be part of the quotidian soundscape of our lives, wherever we might be.
I made this recording in the small town of Amherst, Massachusetts. I sped it up by a factor of 60: 24 hours becomes 24 minutes, raising the pitch by almost six octaves and making infrasound audible. Although we might think we hear something familiar when listening to this album, only its very highest sounds could have been detected with an unaided ear.
Since ordinary microphones cannot pick up frequencies this low, I constructed infrasonic “macrophones.” If a microphone amplifies small sounds, a macrophone brings large sounds with long wavelengths into our perceptual range. Each consists of a wind-noise reduction array leading to a microbarometer and a data recorder. I based the design on what the Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty Organization uses to detect distant warhead tests. In this case, however, we’re listening to a planet in transition.
This work germinated in Oregon amid an unprecedented season of wildfires. It developed along with my chronic illness, Lyme, a tick-borne disease that has become more common as a result of warming winters. My young son watched over the recording process; our ancestors mined coal. For me, it’s not just a matter of hearing what is novel to the human ear, but of encountering those agencies greater than our own that connect us through the atmosphere.
A mesmerizing live feed from a camera near a water hole in the Namib Desert.
Among the creatures you will see if you're a regular visitor: Porcupines, giraffes, warthogs, cape crows, jackals, ostriches, kudus, zebras, elands, springboks, pied crows, oryx, gnu, Lanner falcons, goshawk, sandgrouse, spotted hyena.
Wonderful knowledgeable moderators tell you in real time in the sidebar the names of the animals and birds you're looking at and what it is they're doing.
Endless enjoyment.
My favorite thing: turning off all the lights at night and watching on TV via the Apple TV YouTube app with my kitty on my lap (below).
The desert livecam is 6 hours ahead of my time so at 9 pm here it's 3 am there and the live stream's nightcam function that turns on automatically is a trip, with the animals' eyes glowing like tiny light bulbs.
I don't know what my cat sees after she processes what's on the screen but she sure follows the various animals visually as they move about the waterhole.