I’ve read the nature vs nurture debate in plenty of forums, but never actually read any reports. Personally I lean towards genes (and I certainly don’t side with the ‘THEY CHOOSE TO GO AGAINST NATURE OMG!!1!’ nutbags). Anyhow, here’s a report. These usually spark my interest and lead to half an hour of hot Google action, cramming my noggin with more half-baked crap that I can’t form a logical argument with.

Not really related, but I know Crumpet will dig this.

Somewhere in the middle of my mindless blog-trawling day I found this article by Robert X. Cringely. Stick with it until the end, the idea he postulates is truly a product of demented genius.

Some guy on Flickr created this amazing-looking thing. He’s posted virtually no information about how it was done, which is a real shame. He’d definitely get a lot of hits if he whipped a site together.

Justin has turned me onto port, something I haven’t partaken in since being frightened by the turpentine-like brews favoured by my father. I figured I should do some research on it and found a decent interview over at Grape Radio. It turns out that port was introduced to winelovers in the early 1800s by British merchants looking for a way to get Portugeuse wine to the UK (although it has been made in Portugal since the mid-15th century). Fortifying the wine with brandy helped it survive the long ship voyage. Maybe I should invest in some wine down the track.

It’s altogether possible that I’m just jealous.

Potentially Not Safe For Work, but fascinating/intriguing/disturbing none the less. Naturally I’m reading it at work because I’m a rebel who plays by my own rules.

Something I’ve just heard about and heartily approve of is Report An Apple Bug Friday. Amazing how many niggling things people can find if they put their minds to it.

My entertainment for the evening comes courtesy of Awful Plastic Surgery, where you can see the results of foolish celebrities trying to fight nature and remove all expression from their face or bodies…

I spent some time this morning heading down to the Police Credit Union to sign up for a new account and found out I was missing the essential form, the Papa Smurf of forms, without which all my other forms were just so much twaddle. It was alright though, because I was in my car and listening to one of the few 5-star songs in my collection. Giz has been discussing a song a day over at his pad of milkiness, and while I’m not planning on doing this every day (I think I post enough crap as it is), I should be able to make time for the occasional bit of gushing.

So, the song.

Tom, get your plane right on time.
I know your part’ll go fine.
Fly down to Mexico.
Da-n-da-da-n-da-n-da-da and here I am,
The only living boy in New York.

And then Larry Knechtel’s Hammond organ glides in and Art Garfunkel layers about 8000 tracks of ethereal vocals like a convention of Lisa Gerrard impersonators, Paul Simon’s twelve-string begins walking and Hal Blaine’s snare starts crashing so hard you’d swear you can hear the plate reverb starting to split…

One day I’m going to try to cover this, and I’m going to cry because I just can’t do it justice.

This is naturally the kind of thing to happen when I’m unable to spend cash, but it looks like the Muppet Show is finally coming to DVD, in its entirety. I yearn! So much yearning do I have!