The vipera palaestinae, as his parent snake gods christened him, had wound himself so tightly inside the iRobot Roomba that it died of head wounds. The Roomba? Well, it's back to a life of giving kittens free rides and not cleaning corners correctly. [Facebook via BotJunkie]

The contact information of the person memorialized is privatized and the pages cannot be logged into anymore. You need to submit proof of death, but beyond that, I think this is going to make for some really tacky pranking. In the end, I find this to be a nice digital analogue to that which inevitably happens to all Facebook Users. [FB via BB]

Strangely enough, the eccentric urn does not seem to have been a request of the deceased, but an earnest and loving gesture by family. From brother/flickr user sam 3.14:

His friends and family were able to leave their final good-byes on post-notes. Anyone who wanted to keep their words private could just slip their note into the case through the floppy slot. All notes will be sealed in plastic and placed within the case. There has been one complication. His daughters like the look of it so much they aren't now sure if they want to bury him.

Apparently "Beam Me Up Scotty. I'm done here" were among the departed's final words.
And while years of browsing the internet has forced me to question the validity of this tale, that same experience has also convinced me that, yes, this probably actually happened. [flickr via Slashdot]

Personal Urns use "advances in facial reconstruction and 3D printing" to create an urn in the shape of anyone's head based on a photograph. And hey, if you're not much to look at, they're happy to make one based on any celebrity's head as well. Me, I'm going to have my remains stored in the head of Natalie Portman.

I have my reasons. [Personal Urns via The Daily What]

The family now gets $52,600 (up from $44,000) as well as $4,385 every year as long as one of the parents are alive. The Foxconn official that leaked this information to the press spoke anonymously since he wasn't a qualified press-relations employee. [Yahoo]

This is more than a simple survey. In the past, we've learned of major breaking news from sources that now seem incredibly reliable, like television, radio and newsprint. None of those media can be brought down by increased traffic. But while it's clear the Internet is taking over the flow of information, it's not clear that right now, it can handle such large news.

I myself heard about it from a friend, who had read it on the National Post's website, a major Canadian news network. But what did I do then? I hopped on my computer and Googled the shit out of it. Soon, when we ask "where were you when you learned of this event?", we may not be talking about geographical location, but URL.

So, readers, tell me: Was it Google? Twitter? Word of mouth? Suspicion based on the all-MJ set the DJ played at your favorite bar last night?

Seriously, many Webber grills died to bring us this information today. Like, two of them.

The designer admits this isn't a perfect project, but the Star Destroyer handle had me too distracted to notice any big time flaws. Hit the link for some candid in progress construction shots as the grill orbits Endor. [Bryan Atate via Geekologie]

I guess if you want to be buried in style and comfort, you'll need one of these suckers. Sign me up, because I sure don't want to be sweating bullets in my coffin. You know what, might as well throw in some Doritos and an Xbox in there while you're at it. [Daily Star via Crave]

These plywood, floor-standing shelves are meant to be self-assembled, which makes us wonder: How can you reassemble your shelf to resemble your coffin if you're already dead? Ideal for psychics and vampires only, if you're mortal and boring, make sure your will specifically states that the shelf is to go with you—not for $5 at a garage sale. [Shelves for Life via Like Cool]

But why a flower, and not a juicy pseudo-human arm? Well, fun fact: Mosquitoes love sucking blood, but they love sucking nectar from flowers even more. Hence, this deadly flower and its irresistible siren's song.

From the flower's "petals," which use colors that attract different mosquito species, to the special environmentally friendly Bt pesticide that resides at its center, everything has been engineered by Thomas Kollars, of the Georgia Southern University at Statesboro, to attract and kill those flying six legged devils (Bt specifically targets mosquitoes).

Even the tiny screen at the center of the flower is specially engineered: The tiny holes are only large enough for the mosquito's tube-shaped mouth (the proboscis) to get through, thereby ensuring ants and other creepy crawlies won't get accidentally snared in this trap too.

The Provector is currently being tested in the wilds of Puerto Rico. We'll know if this deadly "flower" was a success next month at the American Mosquito Control Association meeting in New Orleans. [New Scientist]

The alleged explosion came from the gas cylinder that was in the base of the chair, the part that allowed the user to adjust the seat up and down. The canister gets compressed when you sit on it, but can it actually create enough energy to make the seat cushion explode like that and kill a man? I doubt it, but this is what people are reporting.

In other news, I am working from a beanbag from now on. Sweet merciful crap. [Anorak via The Daily What]

While at the time of this writing, I am a spry (OK, a bit soft) 26-year-old man, I realize that I could, at any moment in time, die. In such an unfortunate circumstance, should the world ever recover from its loss, I'd like my most important possessions (my gadgets and digital media) to be well-tended pending their obsolescence (two or three months from now).

I will, give, and bequeath unto the persons named below, if he or she survives me, the Property described below:

My iPhone

Pending that my iPhone 3G was not crushed by whatever huge boulder must have smashed me, I would like to leave it to someone very special in my life. My wife Elizabeth, a long time iPhone hater, recently admitted that she was wrong in denouncing the phone and purchasing a Blackberry Pearl instead. I know she would really, really enjoy having my iPhone.

Too late, sweetie! Your penance were not adequate. My iPhone should go to an underprivileged child who is resourceful enough to pay a $100/month subscription even though they haven't shoes on their feet. Actually, publicize the donation and guilt AT&T and/or Apple into picking up the tab. It'll help if the child can't read.

My Flickr Account

You can't give thousands of pretentious sepia photos to just anyone. No, these all go to the Art Institute of Chicago. May they reconsider my genius when macro photography of mundane objects constitutes an artistic revolution, or when there's finally a wing dedicated to LOLCatz.

My Plasma TV and Home Theater Accessories

The 46-inch Samsung plasma should be placed in my building's workout room where, as of now, some devil has placed two crappy 13-inch LCDs under the guise that anyone can actually see those things. My TV now belongs to the condo association, pending that neither ESPN nor ESPN2 can ever be watched on it.

My Tangled Box of Cords

Everyone has an obnoxious, tangled box of various cords, and I was no exception. I hated this box, but found it a necessity in the mortal world. Now that I have transcended to a higher plane of existence (hopefully involving wireless HDMI and unlimited refills at a peach margarita machine), I leave this box to the last person who wronged me in life. Whoever that may be, I fucking hate you and my grudge will be eternal, just like that knot of cords.

My Xbox 360 and Games

OK, now this was a tough one. Who gets all the games, the controllers and the overpriced Wi-Fi dongle? Humanity, that's who. And my gamer points go to Adam Frucci, the only guy who I know with less Live street cred than me. Well, him or my mom. Figure it out, lawyers. This point might go to trial.

My Wii

Sell it on eBay. I wouldn't subject anyone I love to dealing with the horrors of the current Wiimote. If eBay has gone bankrupt, the lawyer has been instructed to bury the system in a time capsule until Wii MotionPlus comes out. If there's a decent amount of game support (I'm talking games with headshots and blood, people), it should go to my two adorable nieces to aid in their development.

My PS3

Hahahahahaha. I mean, whoever will take this can have it! Hahahahahaha. Really though, in ten years, everyone will have them...pfft...hahahahhahahaha. Oh man, I'm funny even when dead.

My Low Digit ICQ Number

Mom, I know this has been hard for you, especially as you have no one to turn to regarding all things tech. No problem. You can have my five-digit ICQ number. (I realize you have no clue what that means.) It's OK. Walk into any chatroom with that and, trust me, 87264829 isn't giving you any shit, ever. You rule the internet now. Go forth and crush the opposition.

My MacBook Pro

Ahh, the MacBook Pro, the center of my digital life. That's why you're all here, isn't it? Well, of course my darling wife Elizabeth receives it. With some provisions:

Always wash your hands before using. Before you turn it on, say three Hail Maries with "Steve" replaced for "Mary." No Boot Camping Vista, but Win 7 is fine. No watching YouTube clips where kids light their own farts on the screen. No chatting with other men on it. Don't worry about webcam restrictions, I've taken the liberty of breaking the iSight for you.

It should be noted that there is a lot of important media saved on the hard drive that represents not only my musical preferences but snippets of our life together. You are now the owner of all MP3s, photos, animated GIFs (this is a big score, honey), and videos.

On the condition that you never delete my Springsteen collection, as low as you may be on space, it's all yours. The computer is out in the hall. Please go claim it now. Mom? Sis? You can go with and help.

[They should leave the room.]

OK, Jason Chen. Quick. The MacBook is under your seat. I need you to delete some files. Go to my hard drive. Open "Applications." Open "System Files" folder. Open "DO NOT OPEN OR COMPUTER WILL MELT" folder. Open "I'M NOT JOKING." Open "SEARS CATALOG BABES WINTER 2002-2008." Select all files. If you have time, you can copy these to the external drive you were instructed to bring with in a past email. If not, select all and delete. Then empty trash. Thanks buddy. You're a true friend.

Oh, and to everyone. Don't mourn my passing. Remember, I'm not dead. My crippled body is merely frozen. When I awake from my long winter slumber, I'll be totally cured of ailments and donning a 7-foot titanium robot body complete with laser Gatlings and a turbo orgasm button. So don't feel sorry for Mark. That guy's doing just fine.

Well, that, or the cryogensis freezer failed, I was wrong about Christianity being fake and I'm burning through eternity in some poorly ventilated internet cafe that only has dial-up.

"Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30, I was out."

"Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don’t lose faith. I’m convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did."

"I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life."

"Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something–your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."

"When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn’t even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor’s code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you’d have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up, so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying, because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I’m fine now.

This was the closest I’ve been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma–which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called “The Whole Earth Catalog,” which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960’s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: It was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of “The Whole Earth Catalog,” and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.” It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish."

— Stanford University commencement address, June 12, 2005

It's the 25th anniversary of the Apple Macintosh, but Steve Jobs' eyes are dry. At the company headquarters in Silicon Valley, where he was presenting a set of new laptops to the press last October, I mentioned the birthday to him. Jobs recoiled at any suggestion of nostalgia. "I don't think about that," he said. "When I got back here in 1997, I was looking for more room, and I found an archive of old Macs and other stuff. I said, 'Get it away!' and I shipped all that shit off to Stanford. If you look backward in this business, you'll be crushed. You have to look forward."

—From Steve Levy's 25th Anniversary story in Wired

"And, you know, I think of most things in life as either a Bob Dylan or a Beatles song, but there’s that one line in that one Beatles song, “you and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead.” And that’s clearly true here."
— As said to Bill Gates at All Things D, D5 Conference, May 31st 2007

[Wired]

Marian even went so far as to etch his cell number onto his gravestone, allowing those passing to ring him up and leave a message.

It's one of those things that's pretty borderline. On the one hand, its her way of coping with the loss of her husband. On the other hand, it's kind of crazy. What do you guys think? [NY Post via Textually]

The 30 illustrations are from the book Elektroshutz, found in Vienna's Technisches Museum. These frightening fables are great reminders to not pee on, chew on or feed to babies electricity. Check out Bre Pettis' Flickr for the rest of the set. [Bre Pettis Blog via Flickr]

“It seems that everyone under 40 who dies takes their cell phone with them,” says Noelle Potvin, family service counselor for Hollywood Forever, a funeral home and cemetery in Hollywood, Calif. “It’s a trend with BlackBerrys, too. We even had one guy who was buried with his Game Boy.”

While there is no hard data to back up this claim, more and more people in the funeral biz agree that it has become a common occurrence over the last five years. In fact, actually calling the deceased is not uncommon either. MSNBC points to a story involving a woman named Marion Seltzer who continues to pay her husband's phone bill even though he died in 2005. His phone was buried with him, and having the ability to call him and leave a message on his voicemail offers her a degree of comfort. She even had his number carved on the headstone so other people could leave messages.

Yeah, I agree—this seems bizarre. But it actually makes some sense when you think about it (it's even touching in a creepy sort of way). Besides, there is a long tradition throughout history involving burials with treasured objects—and given the fact that we obsess over our cellphones and iPods, I can see why this is becoming a trend. Plus, if you should ever be buried alive, having your cellphone with you could be a lifesaver. [MSNBC via Fark]

But it isn’t a conventional final resting place. Inside the crypt, there’s a TV, also a water pitcher and a fruit pantry. Fresh outdoor air flows in through four vents from the chapel roof. Within reach of the coffin are two makeshift megaphones — plastic cones attached to tubes running out through the wall.

One Saturday recently, Mr. de Melo lay in the coffin, shouting into the cones in a voice that echoed into the countryside. "Help me! Come quick! I've been buried alive!"

It was only an equipment check — not an actual emergency. Mr. de Melo, a resort operator and politician, built a burial vault he could survive in because he's gripped by a rare condition called taphephobia, the fear of being buried alive. "I have awful, awful nightmares of trying to dig myself out from underground," says Mr. de Melo, whose physician father named him, presciently, for the pioneer of dream analysis.

I'd say that in this day and age the chances of being buried alive are pretty slim, but hey, whatever helps you sleep at night. [WSJ via Neatorama]