🔥 Popular | Latest

Cookies.: rsasai lumos5001 One of those things that the human mind doesn't actually understand is numbers. Take cookies, for instance. You look at some cookies. If there are more than four cookies, chances are that you have to actually count them. Uniess they're arranged in a specific geometric pattern, which can sometimes help (Your mind has a number associated with the pattern, and pulis that out when you look at it). So if you just look at some cookies, you dont really understand how many are there. Maybe a dozen? You dont know. So when you want to make some cookies, you find a recipe. This recipe usually telis you how many cookies it yields. A lot of the time, it's something like 18-24. 24 cookies?f you say. That might not seem like a lot. It's only two dozen, right? You try and picture in your head 24 cookies, but you cant really get a sense of the scale, of how many 24 cookies is So you're making cookies for multiple people. "24 doesnt sound like a lot of cookies for a few people... should double the recipe, is what you tell yourself. 48 cookies. That sounds a lot better, right? That's a lot of cookiest That wil be enough. So you make some cookies. Except now you have more than 48, because it's an estimation and you're not that great at dividing a batch of cookie dough into exactly 48 cookies. So you start baking them. Then you make the frosting, because you're making trosted cookies because awww yisss frosted cookies. Then all of your cookies bake. And you look at these 60 cookies you have now, and this bowl of trosting. That's a lot of cookies.. you think to yourself. Because now you see the cookies, and realize that 24 would have been enough. But you've baked them all, and made the frosting. So you settie down and start frosting cookies, one at a time. Each cookie is about three inches across. That's seven square inches of cookie. So you frost these cookies, except you cant just put them in a container because they'll have frosting on top and on the bottom and it'll be this giant mess. So you spread them out until the frosting has some time to set. Except now you need somewhere to lay them out. Each cookie may only be 7 square inches, but there's gaps. And some cookies are larger, some are smaller. It's not an even ft. So you just start spreading them over any available surface. And now your ktchen is covered in cookies And that is the story of how every available surface in my kitchen became covered in cookies. Like Comment Share 620 people Ske this thought of my friend's FB post the other day while making cookies booksnmusicals thought this was going to be something profound and meaningful but it's literally the long version of i fucked up rsasai NO BUT REALLY. Okay. So, last year I was making peanut butter cookies. I looked at the recipe, and it said that the bath would create 36 cookies. I was affronted by the idea of 36 cookies, because my family has like 16 people, and those cookies wouldn't go very far So. I doubled it. I ended up with over 250 cookies and I still don't even know /how. There were 6 other trays. Just FYI orteil42 keep going please Source: lumos5001 69,226 notes Cookies.
Save
cocaine-and-insulin: miakosamuio: mishastolemywormstache: sandandglass: CNN actually researched how much it would cost to go to Hogwarts #NO WONDER THE WEASLEYS ARE FUCKING BROKE How exactly did they “research” this? Looks like they just pulled a bunch of random figures out of their butts. It’s stated in the books that tuition to Hogwarts is “free for all children in Britain”. I don’t know why they thought it wouldn’t be - it’s a British high school, not a college. So there, you just saved yourself $42,024. In Chamber of Secrets, Mrs. Weasley emptied her entire bank account which contained only two galleons [£10 / US$20] and she managed to buy all five children’s entire set of books and potion ingredients with this, as well as Ginny’s robes, hat, clock, cauldron, and wand!!! And we know she bought all of these as she mentioned having to buy them. The fact that she bought all of these with only £10 pretty much proves how absolutely ridiculous CNNs estimation is. If you want more proof, the actual cost of Harry’s want is far over estimated here, and the exact price in both pounds as US dollars can easily be found right within the books! Harry’s wand is bought for seven galleons, a galleon being worth about five pounds [mentioned by JK Rowling in an interview and in FBAWTFT/QTTA] means that his wand was £35, or US$53. So there’s some straight-out-of-the-books-and-word-of-god proof that the figures CNN have given are way off the mark. Not to mention the fact that even if you don’t go to Hogwarts, as a magical human you’re gonna have to buy a wand anyway if you want to do magic. As for the school books, I’ve done an approximation based on various prices given through-out the books and on Pottermore. While these prices involve a substantial amount of guess-work, I think you’ll agree that my calculation is far more accurate than CNNs: The Standard book of Spells costs one sickle [29p / US59c]. On the back of my comic relief copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them it says it costs fourteen sickles [£4.60 / US$8.26]. One Pottermore, all text books are one galleon [£4.97  / US$10.17] - however Pottermore currency only uses galleons so it’s likely they have rounded off. Lockhart’s books, the most expensive in the series, are five galleons on Pottermore meaning that the exchange rate in the books puts them around two galleons and fourteen sickles [£14.60 / US$20.80]. If we put a high average on this and assume that all textbooks are approximately a galleon [they are likely much less], and that each year has around seven required reading books, the entire price for seven years worth of books would be forty-nine galleons, which equals approximately £243, or US$367 - and remember, this is the maximum estimated price for the textbooks. For the minimum, we need to consider that the Weasleys get a lot of things second hand, with Ginny’s copy of A Begginers Guide To Transfiguration being described as “a very old, very battered copy” - likely no more than five sickles. If they got all their books around that price, it would cost them no more than £14 / US$21 for the entire seven years worth! So school books, far from being US$516, fall somewhere between US$14 and US$367 for the entire seven years at Hogwarts. Next we have robe, glove, cloak, and hat prices - these are never mentioned in the books or on Pottermore, so I can’t account for that. However I seriously doubt it’s as a high as they’ve got here. Considering books in the wizarding world are generally much cheaper than in the muggle world, I think it’s fairly safe to assume that clothing is as well. Likely a maximum of a galleon for a single set of robes. They’ve also forgotten a huge number of things - cauldrons, potion ingredients, scales, and star charts, among others. So yeah, I really don’t know where they came up with these figures. It looks like some guy just wanted to make a story about how expensive Hogwarts would be and put a bunch of American college figures together and thought “yeah, this looks good.” Do not fuck with a fandom. : igh Cost of Hogwarts Tuition $42,024 Gloves $123 Textbooks $516 Cloak $80 3 Robes $488 Pointed Hat $32 Wand $162 SOURCE: CENTIVES, LEHIGH UNIVERSITY A HOGWARTS EDUCATION MONEY Study: More expensive than Harvard CNN SANDandGLASS.tumbl.com COMEOY cocaine-and-insulin: miakosamuio: mishastolemywormstache: sandandglass: CNN actually researched how much it would cost to go to Hogwarts #NO WONDER THE WEASLEYS ARE FUCKING BROKE How exactly did they “research” this? Looks like they just pulled a bunch of random figures out of their butts. It’s stated in the books that tuition to Hogwarts is “free for all children in Britain”. I don’t know why they thought it wouldn’t be - it’s a British high school, not a college. So there, you just saved yourself $42,024. In Chamber of Secrets, Mrs. Weasley emptied her entire bank account which contained only two galleons [£10 / US$20] and she managed to buy all five children’s entire set of books and potion ingredients with this, as well as Ginny’s robes, hat, clock, cauldron, and wand!!! And we know she bought all of these as she mentioned having to buy them. The fact that she bought all of these with only £10 pretty much proves how absolutely ridiculous CNNs estimation is. If you want more proof, the actual cost of Harry’s want is far over estimated here, and the exact price in both pounds as US dollars can easily be found right within the books! Harry’s wand is bought for seven galleons, a galleon being worth about five pounds [mentioned by JK Rowling in an interview and in FBAWTFT/QTTA] means that his wand was £35, or US$53. So there’s some straight-out-of-the-books-and-word-of-god proof that the figures CNN have given are way off the mark. Not to mention the fact that even if you don’t go to Hogwarts, as a magical human you’re gonna have to buy a wand anyway if you want to do magic. As for the school books, I’ve done an approximation based on various prices given through-out the books and on Pottermore. While these prices involve a substantial amount of guess-work, I think you’ll agree that my calculation is far more accurate than CNNs: The Standard book of Spells costs one sickle [29p / US59c]. On the back of my comic relief copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them it says it costs fourteen sickles [£4.60 / US$8.26]. One Pottermore, all text books are one galleon [£4.97  / US$10.17] - however Pottermore currency only uses galleons so it’s likely they have rounded off. Lockhart’s books, the most expensive in the series, are five galleons on Pottermore meaning that the exchange rate in the books puts them around two galleons and fourteen sickles [£14.60 / US$20.80]. If we put a high average on this and assume that all textbooks are approximately a galleon [they are likely much less], and that each year has around seven required reading books, the entire price for seven years worth of books would be forty-nine galleons, which equals approximately £243, or US$367 - and remember, this is the maximum estimated price for the textbooks. For the minimum, we need to consider that the Weasleys get a lot of things second hand, with Ginny’s copy of A Begginers Guide To Transfiguration being described as “a very old, very battered copy” - likely no more than five sickles. If they got all their books around that price, it would cost them no more than £14 / US$21 for the entire seven years worth! So school books, far from being US$516, fall somewhere between US$14 and US$367 for the entire seven years at Hogwarts. Next we have robe, glove, cloak, and hat prices - these are never mentioned in the books or on Pottermore, so I can’t account for that. However I seriously doubt it’s as a high as they’ve got here. Considering books in the wizarding world are generally much cheaper than in the muggle world, I think it’s fairly safe to assume that clothing is as well. Likely a maximum of a galleon for a single set of robes. They’ve also forgotten a huge number of things - cauldrons, potion ingredients, scales, and star charts, among others. So yeah, I really don’t know where they came up with these figures. It looks like some guy just wanted to make a story about how expensive Hogwarts would be and put a bunch of American college figures together and thought “yeah, this looks good.” Do not fuck with a fandom.
Save
voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started. Seriously, this is legit. In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted. Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line. And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no. Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says. “This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says. The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ” His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying. “And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.” “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says. And then, it got better. “The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says. “And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says. “Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says. For real. “And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.” “Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.” So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time. Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport : awkward. @howtobeprada imagine if you called the wrong number and "mom?" "no this is Morgan freeman" Reply Retweet Favorite voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started. Seriously, this is legit. In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted. Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line. And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no. Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says. “This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says. The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ” His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying. “And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.” “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says. And then, it got better. “The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says. “And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says. “Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says. For real. “And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.” “Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.” So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time. Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport
Save
kkhendin: voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started. Seriously, this is legit. In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted. Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line. And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no. Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says. “This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says. The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ” His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying. “And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.” “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says. And then, it got better. “The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says. “And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says. “Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says. For real. “And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.” “Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.” So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time. Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport It got better. : awkward. @howtobeprada imagine if you called the wrong number and "mom?" "no this is Morgan freeman" Reply Retweet Favorite kkhendin: voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started. Seriously, this is legit. In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted. Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line. And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no. Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says. “This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says. The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ” His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying. “And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.” “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says. And then, it got better. “The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says. “And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says. “Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says. For real. “And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.” “Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.” So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time. Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport It got better.
Save
fun-n-fashion: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. This is how the whole Santa Tracker thing got started with NATO.  Also reminds me of a story.  A dude I once knew has a fancy job in computer security that has him travelling all over the world and one of my favorite stories is how this company (I was not allowed to know the name due to confidentiality clauses but I was assured it was one with strong ties to national security) had a problem where every day their servers would go down at the same time for 15 mins straight and no one could figure out why because everything checked out and it was literally supposed to be impossible for the servers to go down and so they hired him to come have a look at their servers and figure out if they were being hacked or what because according to security logs no one had been in there that shouldn’t be. The security around the server room was ridiculous. Like, he couldn’t even go in the room without the head of security and one of the vice presidents of the company in there with him.  He had to pretty much force them to let him put a small camera, encrypted data  streaming to his laptop,  in the server room overnight and then he wasn’t allowed to leave with his laptop. So he goes in and reviews the footage the next day and at the exact time stamp he has for the footage going down he sees…. The cleaning person unplugging the servers so that they can plug in their vacuum. Fifteen minutes later the vacuuming is done and the servers are up and running again.  : awkward. @howtobeprada imagine if you called the wrong number and "mom?" "no this is Morgan freeman" Reply Retweet Favorite fun-n-fashion: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. This is how the whole Santa Tracker thing got started with NATO.  Also reminds me of a story.  A dude I once knew has a fancy job in computer security that has him travelling all over the world and one of my favorite stories is how this company (I was not allowed to know the name due to confidentiality clauses but I was assured it was one with strong ties to national security) had a problem where every day their servers would go down at the same time for 15 mins straight and no one could figure out why because everything checked out and it was literally supposed to be impossible for the servers to go down and so they hired him to come have a look at their servers and figure out if they were being hacked or what because according to security logs no one had been in there that shouldn’t be. The security around the server room was ridiculous. Like, he couldn’t even go in the room without the head of security and one of the vice presidents of the company in there with him.  He had to pretty much force them to let him put a small camera, encrypted data  streaming to his laptop,  in the server room overnight and then he wasn’t allowed to leave with his laptop. So he goes in and reviews the footage the next day and at the exact time stamp he has for the footage going down he sees…. The cleaning person unplugging the servers so that they can plug in their vacuum. Fifteen minutes later the vacuuming is done and the servers are up and running again. 

fun-n-fashion: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center an...

Save
<p><a class="tumblr_blog" href="http://skypig357.tumblr.com/post/138561336891">skypig357</a>:</p> <blockquote> <p><a class="tumblr_blog" href="http://gravitystardust.tumblr.com/post/138560842416">gravitystardust</a>:</p> <blockquote> <p>Its not “Republican”…. or “white”….. or racist or unheard of when people of faith feel something good has happened. Like passing a test or finding their car keys.</p> <p>I’m an atheist and even I’m so fucking over this religion vs religion bullshit. </p> <p>Should also point out that Ted Cruz wasn’t wearing an explosive vest… or is the joke not funny at that point?</p> </blockquote> <p>The sentiment is the same, in my estimation. </p> <p>But you are 100000% correct in the substantive difference in ACTIONS</p> </blockquote> <p>“The sentiment is the same”<br/></p><figure class="tmblr-full" data-orig-height="214" data-orig-width="350" data-tumblr-attribution="a-majestic-indignation:TLIdA0rM_RtLKjnVThmltQ:ZxCJVtgTjsZ9"><img src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/8b2f4053e910c57548655c4377d6d15f/tumblr_mjtdv3Gw9d1s13bwyo1_400.gif" data-orig-height="214" data-orig-width="350"/></figure><p>I don’t like Cruz but let’s get real.</p>: end Amry @LibyaLiberty I just heard Ted Cruz's first words on his lowa caucus win: "To God goes the glory That's Republican for "Allahu Akbar!" 3:08 AM- 02 Feb 16 <p><a class="tumblr_blog" href="http://skypig357.tumblr.com/post/138561336891">skypig357</a>:</p> <blockquote> <p><a class="tumblr_blog" href="http://gravitystardust.tumblr.com/post/138560842416">gravitystardust</a>:</p> <blockquote> <p>Its not “Republican”…. or “white”….. or racist or unheard of when people of faith feel something good has happened. Like passing a test or finding their car keys.</p> <p>I’m an atheist and even I’m so fucking over this religion vs religion bullshit. </p> <p>Should also point out that Ted Cruz wasn’t wearing an explosive vest… or is the joke not funny at that point?</p> </blockquote> <p>The sentiment is the same, in my estimation. </p> <p>But you are 100000% correct in the substantive difference in ACTIONS</p> </blockquote> <p>“The sentiment is the same”<br/></p><figure class="tmblr-full" data-orig-height="214" data-orig-width="350" data-tumblr-attribution="a-majestic-indignation:TLIdA0rM_RtLKjnVThmltQ:ZxCJVtgTjsZ9"><img src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/8b2f4053e910c57548655c4377d6d15f/tumblr_mjtdv3Gw9d1s13bwyo1_400.gif" data-orig-height="214" data-orig-width="350"/></figure><p>I don’t like Cruz but let’s get real.</p>
Save
prismatic-bell: attackonrwbytailonline: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  These are my two favorite stories IT GOT BETTER I SALUTE YOU, RED PHONE PERSON : awkward. @howtobeprada imagine if you called the wrong number and "mom?" "no this is Morgan freeman" Reply Retweet Favorite prismatic-bell: attackonrwbytailonline: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  These are my two favorite stories IT GOT BETTER I SALUTE YOU, RED PHONE PERSON

prismatic-bell: attackonrwbytailonline: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call...

Save