I was thinking of how much those Tobacco companies are missing by not tagging their Ultra Light Cigarette Packs with the term: "Smoke Responsibly". But I guess the reason they haven't gone with this approach is the additional liability. In fact, it seems that ultra light cigarettes are as harmful to one's health as regular ones - if not worse.

That would translate the term "Smoke Responsibly" to "Minimize Smoking" or get rid of this habit once and for all.

I've recently noticed Redbull coming up with a new can; double the size (16oz) of the standard Redbull can (8oz). I did a quick search online, and it seems they also have a 24oz can too. That got me thinking... Why don't they think of marketing a new can the size of a shot (~4oz).... I can already imagine sales doubling!

Ever wondered how many feet is your foot? According to the French system, the shoe size is measured as follows: shoe size = 3/2 * (length of foot in cm + 2cm). My shoe size is 42. Thus, the length of my foot in cm is (42 * 2/3) - 2 = 26cm ~ 1/4 meter. In feet, it's 26/30.5 = 0.85 feet.

This pops another questions... Who has the perfect feet? Someone with a shoe size of 3/2 * (25 + 2) = 40.5 (1/4 meter). If you are one of them; go celebrate! You 'naturally' fit into the 'French System'. Doh...

Imagine inhaling all that is in a cigarette and then blowing... but there is nothing... No smoke coming out! What sense does that make?

Is it the smoke that gives the pleasure or the nicotine?

I guess the former...

Wired magazine has a gallery containing images from the nanoworld with a little description of each image.

It is really important and fun to explore smaller worlds that the human eye can't see. That's what makes Immunology and Quantum Physics so cool. Worth checking out: http://www.wired.com/science/discoveries/multimedia/2008/02/nano_gallery_jmm?slide=1&slideView=10

British scientists have discovered a way to turn female bone marrow into sperm, which makes our species capable of surviving without males! One more factor that takes males out of scope is that newborns are only females, due to the lack of the Y chromosome in females (females are XX while males are XY). However, the method does not guarantee a birth without defects, and so it's not the right time to put men out of the shelf of evolution. In fact, for ages to come, this would still not be possible as it's not a process of 'natural' selection.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/technology/technology.html?in_article_id=511391&in_page_id=1965

This web site allows you to create as many temporal email accounts as you want. It will forward any emails you get on the temporal accounts to your original email. You would do this in order to register on sites that you don't trust or to give new people a way to contact you without getting spammed.

Check it out at http://www.mailexpire.com/

http://maps.live.com/?v=2&cid=CFC7B391CD8FD743!121&encType=1

It can't get better than that...

http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?vid=2ea56e48-3649-4f22-9490-86d5f4456823

A team from the University of Tokyo has genetically engineered a mouse that does not fear cats. By tweaking genes to disable certain functions of the olfactory bulb (the area of the brain that receives information about smells directly from olfactory receptors in the nose) the researchers were able to create a 'fearless' mouse that does not try to flee when it smells cats, foxes and other predators. 'The
research suggests that the mechanism by which mammals determine whether or not to fear another animal they smell -- and whether or not to flee -- is not a higher-order cerebral function. Instead, that decision is made based on a lower-order function that is hardwired into the neural circuitry of the olfactory bulb.

http://www.pinktentacle.com/2007/11/scientists-create-fearless-mouse/

The area covered by sea ice in the Arctic has shrunk to its lowest level this week since satellite measurements began nearly 30 years ago, opening up the Northwest Passage – a long-sought short cut between Europe and Asia that has been historically impassable.

http://www.esa.int/esaCP/SEMYTC13J6F_index_0.html

Sister Joan Chittister, a Benedictine nun, tells the following Sufi story:

Once upon a time there was an old woman who used to mediate on the bank of the Ganges. One morning, finishing her meditation, she saw a scorpion floating helplessly in the strong current. As the scorpion was pulled closer, it got caught in roots that branched out far into the river. The scorpion struggled frantically to free itself but got more and more entangled. She immediately reached out to the drowning scorpion, which has soon as she touched it, stung her. The old woman withdrew its hand but, having regained her balance, once again tried to save the creature. Every time she tried, however, the scorpion's tail stung her so badly that her hands became bloody and her face distorted with pain. A passerby who saw the old woman struggling with the scorpion shouted, "What's wrong with you fool! Do you want to kill yourself to save that ugly being?" Looking into the stranger's eyes, she answered, "Because it is the nature of the scorpion to sting, why should I deny my own nature to save it?"

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guilty I came to your bedside.

These are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, "Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!"

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive - and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding - this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bed side in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing but a boy - a little boy!"

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.