Guy Drops iPhone 3GS In Pool While Recording Video, Doesn’t Stop Recording Or Working
As if I needed another excuse.
I really enjoyed this short.
Warning: Fake Penis.
A human brain being dissected into serial sagittal sections. David Clugston/ Wired
I took Cognitive Neuroscience at Stanford in the winter. It was probably the most difficult class I’ve taken. Something about it was just really hard for me to grasp. Maybe it’s because I just went into it thinking, I’m not much of a science guy. The whole thing was less cognitive and more neuroscience than I expected. If anything, the class gave me an appreciation for what a piece of work the human brain is.
Brandon Jennings & The Europe Experiment
Listening to Brandon Jennings quick interview on draft night, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that Jennings’ run in Rome is pretty much the same thing as a kid right out of college or high school back packing around Europe. People are often encouraged to travel around Europe and experience new cultures and see life from a different perspective, and even develop a different view of life. That’s what Brandon Jennings did, not to mention he got a million dollars from Under Armor.
I’ll combine this with something Robert said:
“The fact that Brandon Jennings can go get some culture, and some money, and still be picked number 10 in the NBA draft goes to show that there is almost no point in enrolling in a school, pretending like you go to class, and being forced to wait a year to start your career when you can just go overseas and fuck mad european bitches, all while counting the euros that are rolling in. I never understood why the NBA would force a young adult to wait a year before comitting to something they have already comitted to since the age of 12.”
Makes sense.
Nice purple shirt from Blake Griffin. Did he forget which LA team was picking him?
I just finished reading Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis. The story is particularly relatable as it’s about a boy coming back to Los Angeles after spending time away at college. It also mentions quite a bit of streets, cities, restaurants, and other spots throughout LA that I’m very familiar with. I know Bret Easton Ellis himself is from the Valley, and it’s interesting to read about characters interacting in Encino, Woodland Hills, Sherman Oaks, as well as Westwood, Hollywood, and Beverly Hills.
Here’s a section I liked (a flashback concerning a trip to Palm Springs):
I awoke to the sound of voices outside. The director whose party my parents had taken my grandmother to the night before was outside at the table, under the umbrella, eating brunch. The director’s wife was sitting by his side. My grandmother looked well under the shade of the umbrella. The director began to talk about the death of a stuntman on one of his films. He talked about how he missed a step. Of how he fell headfirst onto the pavement below.
“He was a wonderful boy. He was only eighteen.”
My father opened another beer.
My grandfather looked down, sadly. “What was his name?” he asked.
“What?” The director glanced up.
“What was his name? What was the kid’s name?”
There was a long silence and I could only feel the desert breeze and the sound of the jacuzzi heating and the pool draining and Frank Sinatra singing “Summer Wind” and I prayed that the director remembered the name. For some reason it seemed very important to me. I wanted very badly for the director to say the name. The director opened his mouth and said, “I forgot.”
