Showing posts tagged Robert Krulwich
“I’d always see the dot first, me second. I was not even remotely a boy with a dot. I was a dot with a boy.”
“I’m going to see my girlfriend and the railroad man gives me the ticket. And it turns out to be a fabulous date. Then I put the ticket in my pocket and I save the ticket for 40 years. Any time I want to go back to the day that I had the great date, I just touch the ticket.”
“If only, instead of that noisy, bawling, crying little person, you could have produced an antelope baby.”
“Jefferson started issuing a flurry of letters home, pleading for someone in America, anyone, to kill and stuff the largest moose he could find and ship it to him in France.”
At Radiolab Live, Reggie Watts DJ’d a dance party for Robert Krulwich and a giant dinosaur.
Yes, this really happened.
Want to see the rest of the show that bred this lunacy? You’re in luck.
"This is a comparative life expectancy chart. The red dots show the average lifespan of American women compared to women in nine other well-off countries (represented by the black dots.) As you can see, we aren’t doing so well."
“George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe, Andrew Jackson, Andrew Johnson, Rutherford Hayes, James Garfield, Grover Cleveland, Herbert Hoover, Gerald Ford, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama.”
List of US presidents who lost their fathers at a young age.
In his new blog post, Krulwich explores the idea of “eminent orphans,” the disproportionate number of famous or successful people who lost a parent early in their development.
“I’ll play it for somebody on staff, and you just kind of watch their eyes. You watch the parts where their eyes get wide. You watch their hips. Are they leaning in or are they leaning back?”
Don’t panic. Everything is fine. It’s just that Jad and Robert visited a Hollywood makeup studio.
“If you can’t get to a beach this weekend, you can still see waves. Just look up.”
“[They] found one beetle hanging onto his bottle even while ‘a number of ants’ were busy biting ‘the soft portions of his everted genitalia’ — and still he stuck to his business.”
Robert Krulwich muses on the fruitless love of a beetle for a beer bottle.