Who’s in charge around here?!
Is This A Jackson Pollack Painting, or Insect Flight?
I mean, you can probably guess which it is, since I’m putting it here on my Tumblr, and I don’t usually post Pollack paintings, but still. Go read the story behind this awesome rainbow spaghetti at io9.
We now know that 24 hours without sleep, or a week of sleeping four or five hours a night induces an impairment equivalent to a blood alcohol level of .1 percent. We would never say, ‘This person is a great worker! He’s drunk all the time!’ yet we continue to celebrate people who sacrifice sleep for work. —
Insights from the doctor who coaches athletes on sleep. Pair with the science of what actually happens while you sleep and how it affects your every waking hour.
More on sleep here.
Get that rest, folks! Science says so.
Because I am! You can find all sorts of information about this jam-packed, brain-exploding FREE science fest over on their website.
As for me, I’ll be performing!!! Whatever that means!! Come see me talk about science things on Saturday and Sunday! It will probably be fun! Here’s the expo map and schedule in convenient PDF form :)
Wait a sec…
I was just reading that expo schedule for Saturday… and, umm…
SAGAN HELP ME I AM SCHEDULED BETWEEN MICHIO KAKU AND BILL NYE don’t they know I just make YouTube videos and GIFs?
Happy Earth Day
It’s like we’re dancing! The waltz of Terra Luna …
On Discovering A Butterfly -
Happy birthday to lepidopterist and sometimes writer Vladimir Nabokov! Well, he might be a bit more famous for the writing thing, come to think of it, but I’m convinced that science was his true passion.
Celebrate with one of his poems, an ode to taxonomy:
I found it in a legendary land
all rocks and lavender and tufted grass,
where it was settled on some sodden sand
hard by the torrent of a mountain pass.
The features it combines mark it as new
to science shape and shade — the special tinge,
akin to moonlight, tempering its blue,
the dingy underside, the checkered fringe.
My needles have teased out its sculptured sex;
corroded tissues could no longer hide
that priceless mote now dimpling the convex
and limpid teardrop on a lighted slide.
Smoothly a screw is turned; out of the mist
two ambered hooks symmetrically slope,
or scales like battledores of amethyst
cross the charmed circle of the microscope.
I found it and I named it, being versed
in taxonomic Latin; thus became
godfather to an insect and its first
describer — and I want no other fame.
Wide open on its pin (though fast asleep)
and safe from creeping relatives and rust,
in the secluded stronghold where we keep
type specimens it will transcend its dust.
Dark pictures, thrones, the stones that pilgrims kiss,
poems that take a thousand years to die
but ape the immortality of this
red label on a little butterfly.
Don’t miss his lovely butterfly sketches, drawn as dedications to his wife Vera.
Thanks to Morgan Jackson for the link.