And I saw the Sign of the Beast, 666, and it was, unsurprisingly, an… [cont.]
So, where did we end up? At the close, LinkedIn’s first day IPO pop yesterday put it… [cont.]
With today’s performance, <a href="http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/quote?ticker=LNKD"… [cont.]
Some random LinkedIn lessons now that the IPO is done, and it’s traded up 140 percent and… [cont.]
A crewman on a commercial tuna-fishing boat was the first to spot it: something shiny and metallic in the water off the ship’s bow. The crewman alerted the navigator, and the 280-foot San Nikunau slightly altered course to avoid a collision. As the ship came closer, the object revealed itself to be a small boat, an aluminum dinghy. It was late in the afternoon on November 24 of last year. The New Zealand–based San Nikunau was in open water, a couple of days out of Fiji, amid the vastness of the southern Pacific—an expanse the size of a dozen Saharas in which there are only scattered specks of land.
The dinghy, fourteen feet long and low to the water, was designed for traveling on lakes or hugging a shoreline. There was no way it should’ve been in this part of the Pacific. If the San Nikunau had passed a quarter mile to either side, likely no one would have noticed it. Anyway, it appeared empty, another bit of the ocean’s mysterious flotsam. But then, as the big ship was approaching the dinghy, something startling happened. From the bottom of the tiny boat, emerging slowly and unsteadily, rose an arm—a single human arm, skinny and sun-fried and waving for help.
There were, as it turned out, three people on the boat. Three boys. Two were 15 years old and the third was 14. They were naked and emaciated. Their skin was covered with blisters. Their tongues were swollen. They had no food, no water, no clothing, no fishing gear, no life vests, and no first-aid kit. They were close to death. They had been missing for fifty-one days.
While all sorts of strange correlations have been found between the stock market and real world… [cont.]
You live in the dorms and your upstairs neighbor, LeBrian Skinner, is a serious basketball player. He is about to declare for the NBA draft, but he fears that his merely average height will put him at a disadvantage. To compensate for his relative shortness, LeBrian decides that he needs to have a vertical jump of at least 36 inches.
In the evening you can hear LeBrian practicing his vertical leap, since he lives directly above you: you hear a loud creak when he first jumps followed by a loud thump when he lands again. You use a stopwatch to time the interval between the moment he first leaves the floor and the moment when he lands again. You measure this interval as 0.8 seconds.
Assuming that LeBrian lands with his legs fully extended (in the same position as when he leaves the floor), how high is he jumping? Is it enough?
Give it some thought, and then find the answer here.
One of the more remarkable unintended consequences of combining the commodity boom,… [cont.]
The Speed Desk at Bloomberg has the quick-witted folks who read headlines in an eye-blink and… [cont.]