Headset Quotes

I've got a huge, terrible problem." Oh no! Not that horrible toenail fungus that takes six months to cure?" No, no, no. Much worse. This is shocking news. Are you sure I should tell you while you're driving?" I've got my headset on. Both hands on the wheel. Windows rolled up. Go for it." Okay, here goes...Principal Abernethy called me this morning to let me know I'm in the running for valedictorian." There is silence. A rather loudish snort. And guffaws. Congratulations," she finally says, laughing. "What ever are you going to do?" Fail ever assignment from today onward." You won't be able to." Watch me.

These headsets could pick up a spider scratching in Madagascar.” “And is there a spider scratching in Madagascar?” “Well … I don’t know. They can’t really—

From the end of the bar, the bartender threw a sidelong look at him, so Clarence pulled out a broken Bluetooth headset and fixed it to his ear. "I learned this trick while traveling with Mikey," Clarence told Nick. "Makes my brand of crazy the same as everyone else's.

Fitch danced on rooftops like some kind of manic digital maestro in a Wi-Fi headset, waving his arms and crying, 'More power! Need more power!

As I sat in my chair, her gaze followed me. I adjusted the fit of my headset and paused when I realized she was staring. She liked looking at me.

Hanna: I got one of their headsets. Will that help? Pauchok: unless you know the freqs they're transmitting on, it's as useful as a master's degree in philosophy

A reaper emerges from the crowd with glossy, black wings, and Akila takes off her headset and runs dizzily over. She puts her arms around me and says, I am so happy right now. I do my best to be cool about this contact, but it has never happened before, and I pat her awkwardly on the shoulder, terrified that a too-enthusiastic reciprocation will alert her to her error, like the way a white person might raise a jungle cat from birth and be pals for a time until the cat turns five and realizes it is, in fact, a carnivore. If I’m honest, all my relationships have been like this, parsing the intent of the jaws that lock around my head. Like, is he kidding, or is he hungry? In other words, all of it, even the love, is a violence.

Ellie kept going. “You should get one of those headset things that are invisible and stick in your ear. Like the secret service and James Bond and crap like that. I bet you’d look really cool. Get tons of pussy.

Whenever I put the headset on now," he'd continued, "I really do understand what I find there. When those kids sing about 'She loves you,' yeah well, you know, she does, she's any number of people, all over the world, back through time, different colors, sizes, ages, shapes, distances from death, but she loves. And the 'you' is everybody. And herself. Oedipa, the human voice, you know, it's a flipping miracle." His eyes brimming, reflecting the color of beer. "Baby," she said, helpless, knowing of nothing she could do for this, and afraid for him. He put a little clear plastic bottle on the table between them. She stared at the pills in it, and then understood. "That's LSD?

But at the bottom of the bridge, the seat at the ship’s nose where the pilot usually sat was gone. In its place was what looked like a nest of bright-colored fabric, and sitting in this nest was a very large bird wearing a headset.

I see it all through the lens of my camera—the flurry of movement, the venue staff in black T-shirts, giving orders into their headsets. As I take it all in, my mind weighs the texture, the composition, the possibility of each changing scene, and I struggle to hold back, to keep my finger from pressing too soon. That’s my biggest flaw as a photographer. I’m impatient—trigger-happy. I want the shot now, now, now, click, click, click, and if I could just wait a second more, the moment would really flourish.

Most of the other visitors were chained to their audio guides, looking only at what their little headsets told them was worth seeing.

I read once about how fighting in a game releases the same brain chemicals as fighting in real life--but fighting online removes any humanity from it. It's all in your head. Even with a headset and a voice, no one feels real. It's easy to drop your guard and make friends. And it's just as easy to tear someone down. I don't just mean from my side. If I win a mission, I'm happy--but to someone on the other side, do they feel even worse because they were defeated by someone who their brain doesn't think exists? And when they pair that anonymous defeat with a woman's real voice/likeness, is that somehow emasculating? Like, where does the rage come from?

Because getting a headset sweaty was kind of small potatoes compared to the fact that I was brandishing a machete at large raptors, while considering the pros and cons of hiring a pimp to dig up our dead dog.

Happiness is a frame of mind. It is a state of thinking. It is an attitude, a headset, a mentality. Happiness is a disposition and demeanor. It is a mood and sensibility. It is a philosophy, a notion, a tone, an outlook and perspective. Happiness is all of these things, none of which exist separate from me. They cannot be extracted or stolen because they constitute my very being. Therefore, happiness must be the natural essence of me.

All sensory input received by their brain is digitized and stored as a .oni (dot-oh-en-eye) file on an external data drive attached to their headset.

mouthed the lyrics to the Queen song playing on my headset as I blasted one Glaive after another right out of the sky. And another one gone, another one gone, another one bites the

His crimped hair was subtly frosted, making him look like a preacher in some California church - the kind with acoustic guitars and headset microphones and not much use for the actual Bible.

Joaquin, who had torn off his headset to jump from the truck, put his ear on Tony's chest, trying to hear his heart or check for breathing. This is a terrible way to check for evidence of life.

I’ve never skydived, bungee-jumped, or parasailed. As I remove the headset, I try to calculate the fall and can’t. Maybe my brain is protecting me from myself and what I’m about to do. I’m not sure of the exact numbers, but I’ve heard hitting the water from such-and-such height feels like hitting concrete at such-and-such miles per hour. In other words, it’s a bone-shattering experience. I seriously doubt those calculations are based on the Syrena bone structure though. In fact, I’m counting on it. “No lower, okay?” Dan says, looking out his window to the water below. “Oh, you see sharks! Wow, it looks like a feeding frenzy down there. Hey, don’t touch that!” I grip the handle harder, but the door won’t budge. Leaning back, I get in the mule-kick position. “Emma, don’t!” Toraf yells. “Those are sharks, Emma!” I take a deep breath. “Wait until I have them under control before you jump.” A joint effort from two half-Syrena legs sends the door flying to a watery grave. “They want proof?” I grumble to myself as I lean into the wind, “I’ll show them proof.” Right before I hit the water, I can still hear Toraf screaming.

This avatar appeared inside a huge virtual call center, inside a virtual cubicle, sitting at a virtual desk, in front of a virtual computer, wearing a virtual phone headset. I thought of this place as my own private virtual hell.

Once it was verified, a tiny augmented reality display extended from the front of the headset and then locked into place in front of my left eye, like a monocle. Several paragraphs of text appeared, floating in the air in front of me, superimposed in the center of my vision:

According to Business Insider, VR headsets alone will grow from a $37 million dollar industry in 2015 to $2.8 billion in 2020—growing by a factor of 75. Goldman Sachs predicts revenue from all categories of VR including software will reach $110 billion by 2020, making the category bigger than the TV industry in its first five years. We

I took control of a Happy Helpdesk avatar, a cookie-cutter Ken doll that I used to take tech-support calls. This avatar appeared inside a huge virtual call center, inside a virtual cubicle, sitting at a virtual desk, in front of a virtual computer, wearing a virtual phone headset. I thought of this place as my own private virtual hell.

Group,” the second man said into the headset microphone. “This is Control. Comms check.” “Copy that Control, this is One. Strength ten.” “Eight, also strength ten.” “Twelve, copy that.” “Ten, strength ten.” “Eleven, same here. Strength ten.” “Five. Ditto for me.” “Eleven, what can you see?” The agent code-named Eleven was standing at the bar,

It is the world’s first fully functional noninvasive brain-computer interface. It allows an OASIS user to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel their avatar’s virtual environment, via signals transmitted directly into their cerebral cortex. The headset’s sensor array also monitors and interprets its wearer’s brain activity, allowing them to control their OASIS avatar just as they do their physical body—simply by thinking about it.

She spoke loudly in order to be heard above the noise of personal communitainers that were thudding and banging all around them. Some people used earphones, some didn't, clearly believing that as many people as possible should be given the opportunity to appreciate their musical taste. That, combined with the mass leakage from the headsets, created a terrible din and even discreet private conversations had to be conducted at a yell.

Sometimes difficulty clarifies things. And sometimes realizing that the road you’ve chosen is a demanding one gives you the courage to stay on that road. It reveals the nature of our relationship with God. It sounds cute and comforting to say “God is in control,” and people who say that may imagine sitting on their daddy’s lap behind the wheel of the family car, going “Vroom vroomy vroom!” while Daddy does the steering. In reality, when God is in control, it feels more like one of those movies where some amateur has to step up and land the airplane or steer the ship to safety through a crashing storm, with an expert giving them instructions remotely through a headset. In theory, following the expert’s instructions will help us get in safely; but our fear, panic, self-doubt, and lack of skill are not exactly comforting. Yes, God is in control, but we’re the ones who are in for a rough ride.

The device had a segmented central spine that appeared to stretch from a wearer’s forehead to the nape of their neck, with a row of ten C-shaped metal bands attached to it. Each band was comprised of jointed, retractable segments, and each segment had a row of circular sensor pads on its underside. This made the whole sensor array adjustable, so that it could fit around heads of all shapes and sizes. A long fiber-optic cable stretched from the base of the headset, with a standard OASIS console plug at the end of it.

brother moved to stand next to Aunt Cass. He was smiling and giving Hiro a thumbs-up. Hiro smiled back and took a breath. “Sorry. My name is Hiro Hamada, and I’ve been working on something I think is pretty cool. I hope you like it.” Hiro put on a headset and reached into his hoodie. He took out a small object no bigger than a paper clip. “This is a microbot.” The small object in his palm took a bow. “It doesn’t look like much,” Hiro continued, “but when it links up with the rest of its pals, things get a little more

It had been in 1985, through the headsets of a helicopter being flown by a veteran Night Stalker named Steel. Being called a customer put me off. It felt too much like business, too transactional—not how warriors should think of their comrades. I soon came to see that the Night Stalkers’ constant use of the term was a skillful way of reminding themselves that they existed to support and enable the forces—the customers—whom they flew. The culture that formed around this word was one of the Night Stalkers’ great strengths.

But just in case you don’t want to spend eternity giving yourself high colonics on some sleazy Web site, ogled by millions of men with serious intimacy problems, the other type of work which most people do in Hell is—telemarketing. Yes, this means sitting at a desk, elbow-to-elbow with fellow doomed telemarketing associates who stretch to the horizon in either direction, all of you yakking on headsets. My job is: The dark forces are constantly calculating when it’s dinnertime anywhere on earth, and a computer autodials those phone numbers so I can interrupt everyone’s meal. My goal isn’t actually to sell you anything; I just ask if you have a few seconds to take part in a market research study identifying consumer trends in chewing gum. In mouthwash. In dryer fabric-softener sheets. I get to wear my headset telephone and work from a flowchart of possible responses. Best of all, I get to talk to real-live people—like yourself—who are still living and breathing and have no idea that I’m dead and phoning them from the Afterlife. Trust me, the vast majority of telemarketing people who ring you up, they’re dead. As are pretty much all Internet porn models.

On October 29 the connection was ready to be made. The event was appropriately casual. It had none of the drama of the “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” that had occurred on the moon a few weeks earlier, with a half billion people watching on television. Instead it was an undergraduate named Charley Kline, under the eye of Crocker and Cerf, who put on a telephone headset to coordinate with a researcher at SRI while typing in a login sequence that he hoped would allow his terminal at UCLA to connect through the network to the computer 354 miles away in Palo Alto.

Watney," she said into her headset, "we have a plan." "Yay! A plan!" Watney replied. "HOUSTON," Lewis's voice rang through Mission Control. "Be advised we are going to deliberately breach the VAL to produce thrust." "What?" Mitch said. "What!?" "Oh... my god," Venkat said in the observation room. "Fuck me raw," Annie said, getting up. "I better get to the press room. Any parting knowledge before I go?" "They're going to breach the ship," Venkat said, still dumbfounded. "They're going to deliberately breach the ship. Oh my god..." "Got it," Annie said, jogging to the door.

5 PM CHRIS TAKES THE STAGE Announces that before the African lady, there will be a surprise talk, a mind-bender, he promises, on brain-computer interface. People snap out of their truffle-and-bacon haze. Chris introduces Elgin Branch from… wait for it… Microsoft Research. Research is the only half-decent group at MS, but really? Microsoft? Audience deflating. Energy dissipating. 5:45 PM HOLY CRAP Disregard snarkiness of 5 PM post. Give me a second… I’m going to need some time… 7 PM SAMANTHA 2 Thanks for your patience. This talk won’t post on the TED website for a month. In the meantime, let me try to do it justice. Big shout-out to my blogging pal TEDGRRRL for letting me transcribe her phone video. 5 PM Branch puts on headset. On the big screen:

With a long sigh, Emilia rubbed her forehead below the edge of the bandana wrapped around her head. “We must be missing something super obvious here. We’ve been at this for days and keep getting wiped out.” We were in the gaming room in my house, all sitting around a table with our laptops in front of us. Since we were all in the same room for once, we didn’t need headsets. I stifled a yawn. They always got extra irritated when I appeared bored. What did they expect? I had to mentally sit on my hands and let them figure this out by themselves. Kat straightened. “Okay, I’ve got all my spells back. We are good to go again.” “Shit. We have to do something different. I’m not just going to keep doing the same thing over and over again. This is bullshit. Seriously,” Heath moaned.

ASIO turned up on Hamza's doorstep a year ago, after he and his mate, both in their mid-twenties, returned from Yemen. They weren't charged with anything but they were placed on no-fly lists. Hamza is convinced ASIO is monitoring their phones and watching their homes. So, as a workaround, he, the paladin dwarf, and his mate, a gnome, skip through forests in World of Warcraft, chatting business over their headsets. I ask him what he was doing in Yemen. 'Okay, now this... what you're getting to now, is a dangerous area.' He pauses. 'I was eating pizza.' He asks for a selfie with me. He says the gnome will be stoked because they had to lie low at one point and were confined to a small apartment in Yemen. They passed the time watching Breaking Bad and John Safran vs God. Pretty chuffed by the inroads I've made into the jihadi demographic.

Instead it was an undergraduate named Charley Kline, under the eye of Crocker and Cerf, who put on a telephone headset to coordinate with a researcher at SRI while typing in a login sequence that he hoped would allow his terminal at UCLA to connect through the network to the computer 354 miles away in Palo Alto. He typed in “L.” The guy at SRI told him that it had been received. Then he typed in “O.” That, too, was confirmed. When he typed in “G,” the system hit a memory snag because of an auto-complete feature and crashed. Nevertheless, the first message had been sent across the ARPANET, and if it wasn’t as eloquent as “The Eagle has landed” or “What has God wrought,” it was suitable in its understated way: “Lo.” As in “Lo and behold.” In his logbook, Kline recorded, in a memorably minimalist notation, “22:30. Talked to SRI Host to Host. CSK.”101

Things are so relaxed and uneventful that he thinks to himself in passing, “It is times like these that Murphy strikes.” The PJ is thinking about Murphy’s Law: “If anything can go wrong it will.” Murphy’s Law is particularly notorious for rearing its ugly head during complex military operations. Seconds later, Dan’s thoughts of Murphy prove prophetic. Even though he is wearing a noise-canceling headset, Sergeant Houghton hears a loud pop. He is a trained aircrew member and the unusual noise sets off internal alarm bells in his head. He looks around; the rest of the passengers remain oblivious, but Sergeant Houghton notices flight engineers moving around, nervously referring to their checklists. And then he hears the ominous sound of an engine winding down and losing power. He flips up his night vision goggles and mentally takes stock of his situation. Word quickly circulates around the cabin—hold on!

On our first flight out, and for all the following ones, we boarded two Black Hawk helicopters. On that first flight, we were looking for the area where a marine in our group lost both of his hands. While we were airborne, the door was kept open. There were only a few pairs of headsets for the group, so whoever was the focus of the trip got first dibs on a pair and would help guide the pilot to the right spot. The rest of us shared the remaining few sets as we squinted against the wind to the terrain below. Right before we made it to this marine’s area, the guy sitting next to me handed me the headset. Just as I put it over my ears, I saw the marine looking out the window, and then I heard him say, “And that’s where my hands are.” Suddenly it wasn’t about me, the injured guy. I was privy to this man’s intimate struggle. It was a painfully shocking statement. I knew all of the rest of these guys were injured, too, but I don’t think it really hit me until that moment that these guys all faced the same kinds of struggles and confusion I’d faced.

It’s 56.43 N, 2.87 W, I think,” the awful voice continued. “Osman is dead, and Baines and Boswell and Rudd are dead, and I think Wilton may be gone as well. There are just too many—” Phillip had written down all coordinates but underlined the last set. He hated the voice’s gasping quality. The way every breath seemed to pain it. The phlegmy gurgle at the back of its throat. “What’s your situation? What happened?” “They’re in the walls.” The voice gasped, a choked laugh that curdled and quickly died. It seemed to say something else, but a hissing burst of static cut through the channel. Phillip frowned, straining to hear. “Repeat, please.” “In the walls…” The voice from the radio groaned, and the sound seemed to travel not only through Phillip’s headset but into his bones as well, causing them to ache. “The walls.” “Please repeat—” The bridge’s lights shimmered, flickering. Phillip pressed himself back against the desk as he stared up at the bulbs that sparked and threatened to blow. Then the voice rose, flooding his ears, filling his head, raw and battered with terror: “There are bodies in the walls.

In another famous study, introverts and extroverts were asked to play a challenging word game in which they had to learn, through trial and error, the governing principle of the game. While playing, they wore headphones that emitted random bursts of noise. They were asked to adjust the volume of their headsets up or down to the level that was “just right.” On average, the extroverts chose a noise level of 72 decibels, while the introverts selected only 55 decibels. When working at the volume that they had selected—loud for the extroverts, quiet for the introverts—the two types were about equally aroused (as measured by their heart rates and other indicators). They also played equally well. When the introverts were asked to work at the noise level preferred by the extroverts, and vice versa, everything changed. Not only were the introverts over-aroused by the loud noise, but they also underperformed—taking an average of 9.1 trials rather than 5.8 to learn the game. The opposite was true for the extroverts—they were under-aroused (and possibly bored) by the quieter conditions, and took an average of 7.3 trials, compared with the 5.4 they’d averaged under noisier conditions.

Bannon thrived on the chaos he created and did everything he could to make it spread. When he finally made his way through the crowd to the back of the town house, he put on a headset to join the broadcast of the Breitbart radio show already in progress. It was his way of bringing tens of thousands of listeners into the inner sanctum of the “Breitbart Embassy,” as the town house was ironically known, and thereby conscripting them into a larger project. Bannon was inordinately proud of the movement he saw growing around him, boasting constantly of its egalitarian nature. What to an outsider could look like a cast of extras from the Island of Misfit Toys was, in Bannon’s eyes, a proudly populist and “unclubbable” plebiscite rising up in defiant protest against the “globalists” and “gatekeepers” who had taken control of both parties. Just how Phil Robertson of Duck Dynasty figured into a plan to overthrow the global power structure wasn’t clear, even to many of Bannon’s friends. But, then, Bannon derived a visceral thrill anytime he could deliver a fuck-you to the establishment. The thousands of frustrated listeners calling in to his radio show, and the millions more who flocked to Breitbart News, had left him no doubt that an army of the angry and dispossessed was eager to join him in lobbing a bomb at the country’s leaders. As guests left the party, a doorman handed out a gift that Bannon had chosen for the occasion: a silver hip flask with “Breitbart” imprinted above an image of a honey badger, the Breitbart mascot. — Bannon’s cult-leader magnetism was a powerful draw for oddballs and freaks, and the attraction ran both ways. As he moved further from the cosmopolitan orbits of Goldman Sachs and Hollywood, there was no longer any need for him to suppress his right-wing impulses. Giving full vent to his views on subjects like immigration and Islam isolated him among a radical fringe that most of political Washington regarded as teeming with racist conspiracy theorists. But far from being bothered, Bannon welcomed their disdain, taking it as proof of his authentic conviction. It fed his grandiose sense of purpose to imagine that he was amassing an army of ragged, pitchfork-wielding outsiders to storm the barricades and, in Andrew Breitbart’s favorite formulation, “take back the country.” If Bannon was bothered by the incendiary views held by some of those lining up with him, he didn’t show it. His habit always was to welcome all comers. To all outward appearances, Bannon, wild-eyed and scruffy, a Falstaff in flip-flops, was someone whom the political world could safely ignore. But his appearance, and the company he kept, masked an analytic capability that was undiminished and as applicable to politics as it had been to the finances of corrupt Hollywood movie studios. Somehow, Bannon, who would happily fall into league with the most agitated conservative zealot, was able to see clearly that conservatives had failed to stop Bill Clinton in the 1990s because they had indulged this very zealotry to a point where their credibility with the media and mainstream voters was shot. Trapped in their own bubble, speaking only to one another, they had believed that they were winning, when in reality they had already lost.

Saving Lives and Protecting Rights in Translation It is said that life and death are under the power of language. —Hélène Cixous, French author and philosopher Lifeline The phone rings, jolting me to attention. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night. I didn’t want to work the late shift, but the need for my work never sleeps. Most of the calls I get at this late hour are from emergency dispatchers for police, fire, and ambulance. They often consist of misdials, hang-ups, and other nonemergencies. I’ve been working since early this morning, and I’m just not in the mood tonight to hear someone complain about a neighbor’s television being turned up too loud. But someone has got to take the call. I pick up before it rings a second time. “Interpreter three nine four zero speaking, how may I help you?” The dispatcher wastes no time with pleasantries. “Find out what’s wrong,” he barks in English. He didn’t ask me to confirm the address, so I assume he must already have police officers headed to the scene. I ask the Spanish speaker how we can help. I wait for a response. Silence. I ask the question again. No answer, but I can hear that there’s someone on the line. We wait, but we don’t hear any response. It’s probably just another child playing with the phone, accidentally dialing 911. I imagine the little guy looking curiously at the phone and pressing the buttons, then staring at it as a voice comes out of the other end. This happens all the time. I turn up the volume on my headset, just in case it might help me pick up the scolding words of a parent in the background. Then suddenly, I hear a timid female voice speaking so quietly that I can barely make out the words. “Me va a matar,” she whispers. The tiny hairs on my arm stand up on end. I swiftly render her words into English: “He’s going to kill me.” Not missing a beat, the dispatcher asks, “Where is he now?” “Outside. I saw him through the window,” I state, after listening to the Spanish version. I’m trying to stay calm and focused, but the fear in the caller’s voice is not only contagious, but essential to the meaning I have to convey. For what seems like an eternity (but is probably just a few seconds), I hear only the beeps of the recorded line and the dispatcher clicking away at his keyboard. I feel impatient. He’s most likely looking to see how far the nearest police officer is from the scene. “Interpreter, find out where she is.

Saving Lives and Protecting Rights in Translation It is said that life and death are under the power of language. —Hélène Cixous, French author and philosopher Lifeline The phone rings, jolting me to attention. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night. I didn’t want to work the late shift, but the need for my work never sleeps. Most of the calls I get at this late hour are from emergency dispatchers for police, fire, and ambulance. They often consist of misdials, hang-ups, and other nonemergencies. I’ve been working since early this morning, and I’m just not in the mood tonight to hear someone complain about a neighbor’s television being turned up too loud. But someone has got to take the call. I pick up before it rings a second time. “Interpreter three nine four zero speaking, how may I help you?” The dispatcher wastes no time with pleasantries. “Find out what’s wrong,” he barks in English. He didn’t ask me to confirm the address, so I assume he must already have police officers headed to the scene. I ask the Spanish speaker how we can help. I wait for a response. Silence. I ask the question again. No answer, but I can hear that there’s someone on the line. We wait, but we don’t hear any response. It’s probably just another child playing with the phone, accidentally dialing 911. I imagine the little guy looking curiously at the phone and pressing the buttons, then staring at it as a voice comes out of the other end. This happens all the time. I turn up the volume on my headset, just in case it might help me pick up the scolding words of a parent in the background. Then suddenly, I hear a timid female voice speaking so quietly that I can barely make out the words. “Me va a matar,” she whispers.

Seriously. There were three of them, all roughly in their thirties, and they spent their time traveling the world, putting together documentaries about the earth’s wonders. The on-screen talent, I learned, did indeed write his own scripts, and came off as the Boss Man for the trio. He was the one with all the responsibilities—deciding on shots, dealing with the Home Office, periodically having to shave, etc. The camera guy did all the heavy lifting and was always one hernia or one dropped camera away from ruin. And the sound guy? He just stands there holding a lightweight microphone and a headset. Then ka-ching, paycheck, and he trots off to the Andes. It sounded ideal to me, a lazy traveler’s ideal profession. No thinking. No lifting of heavy objects. Just keep the mike out of the camera’s view and know what a woofer is. Easy-peasy. Then they asked me what I did.

There is basic equipment required: a headset, a Dictaphone to play the tapes that must be transcribed, and patience, a willingness to become a human conduit as the words of others enter through her ears, course through her veins, and drip out unseen through fast-moving fingertips.

his cylinder head temperature right at 215° Centigrade. That’s what the book said was the most efficient climbing attitude, and Major Parks flew by the book. As they passed through 12,000 feet, he put the black rubber mask over his face, readjusted his headset to accommodate

That’s no doubt why Google took the lead in an astonishingly large $542 million investment round in Magic Leap last October. Whatever it is cooking up has a good chance of being one of the next big things in computing, and Google would be crazy to risk missing out. The investment looked especially prescient in January, when Microsoft revealed plans to release a sleek-looking headset this year. HoloLens, which lets you interact with holograms, sounds as if it’s very similar to what Magic Leap is working on.

Tommy pointed out before removing something from his pocket and passing it to me. I turned the small radio and microphone over in my hands. “I’m not going on a mob bust.” “It’s that or you wear one of those ridiculous Bluetooth headsets, which are about as secure as yelling really loud.

he said into the headset, running past Samantha, who

You okay?" Cam said into his headset microphone. She nodded, then made a face. "No one else has to work this hard to get married.

The desk phone trilled. The receptionist let out a loud sigh, set down her cell, and realigned her headset. “Fite Fitness, this is Carrie.” “Hi Carrie, this is Beverly Lewis, right next to you. I’m here to see Richard, the CFO.

Virtual Reality [10w] Bliss is a virtual-reality headset coupled with a virtual-reality hooker software.

For fifty years, the federal government had regulated where airlines could fly and what they could charge, down to the tiniest details: the price of a cocktail, the rental cost of a movie headset. Suddenly removing these restrictions unleashed a tidal wave of S-type loonshots, small shifts in strategy. Those changes were not glamorous. They were kind of nerdy: a frequent flier program, a new system of flying through hubs rather than flying direct, a computerized reservation system for travel agents. P-type loonshots—jet engines, jumbo planes—make headlines. Small changes in strategy are barely noticed. Deregulation, for a brief moment, let the faint, hidden light from S-type loonshots shine through.

There is an affordable laser treatment device that can be used at home with a headset that emits near infrared light through diodes placed on the scalp and inside the nostril called Vielight. They are conducting a clinical trial with 228 participants across North America to see what it does for Alzheimer’s. If someone I love was suffering from Alzheimer’s right now, I wouldn’t want to have to wait for this trial to be over before getting the device. The risk of allowing Alzheimer’s to progress is much higher than the risk of trying it out. Devices that use light on the brain range from $200 to many thousands of dollars.

on rooftops like some kind of manic digital maestro in a Wi-Fi headset, waving his arms and crying, “More power! Need more power!

Nicole was trying to rouse her dad. Hayley was doing the same with the pilot. I took the headset and got on the radio again. No one was responding. So either we tried to land or we kept flying until Sam lost control and we plunged into the strait.

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stands in the window with his little headset on, grimacing at people who think they have to scream into the intercom. At least that’s one thing I understand; Jordyn,

Ding. The cabin lights came on...The flight attendants paced the aisles like antic tightrope walkers, with fixed smiles and mussed make-up. They were done with coddling. They snatched Naila's blankets and demanded her headset, they claimed her rubbish and chastised her tilted seat.

Devoid of real estate, Sanford built a fully immersive mega-campus using a virtual world platform called VirBELA (which eXp now owns). Today, eXp Realty’s campus is home to sixteen thousand agents from all fifty US states, three Canadian provinces, and four hundred major real estate markets—all supported without a single office. Instead of coming into work, agents and managers stay home. Using either a VR headset or their laptop, they gather virtually, on a campus replete with a lobby, library, theaters, meeting rooms, and a sports field.

When he was wearing the virtual reality headset and his brain thought he was high in the French mountains, he was able to work out at 150% of his previous ability.

You aren’t going to need these now.” I gently ply her headset off, trying not to pull her hair. Her face softens as she submits, and I promise myself that I will see that look again as she moans with pleasure. I have six years of fantasies to fulfill with her and I intend to fulfill every last one.

All Oculus headsets will require a Facebook account by 2023, to help you “find, connect, and play with friends in VR” — and only incidentally to match you to ads.111

The whales always fell silent when the throbbing hum of humanity grew overwhelming. Whenever a ship of any size came near, I had to take off the headset to protect my ears. I wondered if a species that had taken millennia to evolve such a delicate and sophisticated sense of hearing could adapt to humanity’s sonic onslaught. My notes from the time bear witness to the effect on my own primitive ears: “I have been listening to boats all day; my head is throbbing; the silence of my canvas tent feels good tonight—poor whales.” That

Well, we have to remember that this whole band thing was kind of thrown together at the last minute. We hadn’t even picked a name yet.” Sasha started talking into a headset, and suddenly the house lights dimmed. The curtains opened to reveal the first act, which was a seventh-grade rap group dressed in fuzzy dog costumes. They were performing the song “Who Let the Dogs Out?” I hoped it was supposed to be a comedy act. “This is SO unfair!” Chloe groaned. “There has to be something we can do!” Zoey moaned. “That’s showbiz!” Violet said sarcastically. Sasha shot us a dirty look and covered the mic on her headset. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to put on a show here. Take it out in the hall. Please!” We sighed and slowly shuffled out of the dark auditorium. Then the five of us threw a private pity party for Dorkalicious. Everyone looked SO disappointed. It was heartbreaking.

LucidSound provides gamers with the ultimate experience in sound by creating high-end audio products, gaming headsets with surround sound for Xbox and PS4 globally, including cities nyc, los angeles, chicago, houston, philadelphia.

It was horrifying. Khaki pants and polo shirts and exclamation points at the end of every sentence. Each introduction was like a kick in the groin. When someone made a bad joke it was like they’d taken a running start. I had to drop to one knee after this pale turtle-looking man with a huge Adam’s apple and a headset touched his finger to his earpiece and said, “Houston, we have a new temp.” I would never be able to have children.

Just before eleven, Jack Phillips was busily transmitting passenger messages when the Californian’s call blasted into his headset: “Say, old man, we are stopped and surrounded by ice.” An exhausted Phillips angrily tapped back, “Keep out! Shut up! I am busy. I am working Cape Race.” The Californian’s operator listened in as Phillips apologized to Cape Race for the interruption and asked for a repeat of the last message. Twenty-five minutes later the Californian’s wireless man could still hear Phillips sending messages to Newfoundland, so at 11:35 he took off his headset, turned off his equipment, and went to bed.

I’m with Jaron Lanier, who likes to describe the most amazing moment in VR as the moment when you take the HMD off and are flooded with the full gamut of subtle sensory inputs that VR can’t capture—fine gradations of light, smells, the sensation of air moving on your skin, the weight and torque of the headset in your hand—these are all sensations that are incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to effectively simulate in a virtual world.

Virtual Reality (VR) is a technology that creates the illusion of real-life conditions. It does this using computer games, movies, and other programs where fluid images are displayed on a video screen or headset. A virtual reality video game or movie can provide fully immersive experiences for users with full interactivity and 360-degree views. Virtual Reality headsets are used to create the illusion of a virtual environment by using a computer known as an HMD (head-mounted display) that connects to a computer and/or gaming console.

Augmented Reality (AR) is different from Virtual Reality (VR) in that users typically interact with real-world objects and environments while wearing AR headsets or AR-enabled glasses. With VR, users don’t see real-world objects and environments instead of interacting with a virtual environment presented on a screen.

Nothing works like a routine, in parenting underachieving children. Underachievers don't like routines. They dislike rules. They want a simple life. They feel life's hard. They think their abilities are fixed. Their emotions, motivation and learning is usually flawed. By misinformation...in some cases By defiance...sometimes. By a fixed mindset...many times. But it all makes them choose consciously or unconsciously to underachieve. So routines tend to break their pattern. ... They would hate you for it, though. The dog that's about to get lost...would likely not hear the hunter's whistle. So it's wise to tie over the dog's neck a mobile speaker or headset....and use a microphone in calling the dog out, so he has no choice but to hear the whistle...if you know what I mean. Routines does it!

VR headsets can collect more and richer data about users than traditional screens. Companies, therefore, can better profile and provide personalized advertising.

Most headsets can track hand movements, the space around you and the movements. They collect data on what surrounds you, the objects in the house, the people around you, etc. 20 minutes in VR collect 2 million data.

Sune had seen a photograph of Mark Zuckerberg, the founder of Facebook, standing in front of a room of people who were all wearing virtual-reality headsets. He was the only person standing in actual reality, looking at them, smiling, pacing proudly around. When he saw it, Sune said, 'I was like - holy shit, this is a metaphor for the future.' If we don't change course, he fears we are headed towards a world where 'there's going to be an upper class of people that are very aware' of the risks to their attention and find ways to live within their limits, and then there will be the rest of society with 'fewer resources to resist the manipulation, and they're going to be living more and more inside their computers, being manipulated more and more'.

In 2019, the Wall Street Journal reported that a primary school in Jinhua required its fifth-grade students to wear EEG headsets, which fed data to their teachers, parents, and the state. The US-based manufacturer and supplier of the devices, BrainCo, had shipped more than twenty thousand of them to China already.13 About an inch wide and made of black plastic, the Focus 1 (or Fu Si) headsets are worn across students’ foreheads. A light in the middle blazes red, yellow, or blue to signal the student’s engagement.14 More intensive brain wave data is sent in real time to the teacher’s computer, whose software generates real-time alerts about students’ attention levels. The teachers overseeing the program believed that brain monitoring substantially improved their students’ engagement. One student agreed, saying he had “become more attentive in class. All of my assignments come back with perfect grades.”15 Other students are less sanguine, having been punished by their parents for their low attention scores.

now.” Shortly before I met with him, Sune had seen a photograph of Mark Zuckerberg, the founder of Facebook, standing in front of a room of people who were all wearing virtual reality headsets. He was the only person standing in actual reality, looking at them, smiling, pacing proudly around. When he saw it, Sune said, “I was like—holy shit, this is a metaphor for the future.” If we don’t change course, he fears we are headed toward a world where “there’s going to be an upper class of people that are very aware” of the risks to their attention and find ways to live within their limits, and then there will be the rest of the society with “fewer resources to resist the manipulation, and they’re going to be living more and more inside their computers, being manipulated more and more.

When investigative journalists David Kocieniewski and Peter Robinson broke the story about the ties between Donald Trump’s incoming national security advisor, Michael Flynn, and a company that sells brain wave technology to governments worldwide, surprisingly few people noticed.66 Serving alongside Flynn on Brainwave Science’s board of directors was Subu Kota, a software engineer who had pleaded guilty to selling highly sensitive defense technology to the KGB during the Cold War.67 Brainwave Science sells a technology called iCognative, which can extract information from people’s brains. Among its customers are the Bangladeshi defense forces as well as several Middle Eastern governments.68 Following some successful experiments at the Dubai Police Academy, Emirati authorities have recently deployed the technology in real murder investigations. At least two cases have successfully been prosecuted.69 In one case, the police were investigating a killing at a warehouse. Suspecting that an employee was involved, they forced the warehouse workers to don EEG headsets and showed them images of the crime. Purportedly, a photo of the murder weapon triggered a characteristic “recognition” pattern in one of the employee’s brains (the P300 wave), while none of the other employees showed a similar response. Confronted with that evidence, the suspect confessed, revealing details that only the guilty party could have known.

(After Sutherland left ARPA for Harvard, moreover, Roberts would start a collaboration with him on what would now be called virtual reality, complete with the world’s first 3-D virtual headset.)

If you are a music producer is very important that you clean your ears, before you consider buying monitors or headset for mixing and mastering.

Hey, Javier, Josh’s fucking Kristen.” Javier paused mid–seat belt and looked at me. “Really? Isn’t she engaged?” I turned on the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. “No. She broke up with him last night. She doesn’t want to date me though. And I’m not fucking her. I like her, asshole,” I said over my shoulder. Shawn snorted. “Naw, she’s fucking you. Hey, man, for real though—if you’re a dick in a jar, you better not rock the boat.” I put on my headset. “What?” I hit the button to open the bay doors and turned on the lights. “You’re a dick in a jar. Chris Rock? ‘Break in case of emergencies.’ She had an emergency, dude,” Shawn said. “If you start getting all stage-five clinger, she’s gonna replace your ass and get a new jar.” Brandon laughed. “I think what he’s saying is to give her space.

years. She, like Robie, operated at the highest level and had taken down people in situations that would have challenged Robie to the fullest. He’d never doubted that Reel was good. But he was a little surprised that she was that good. And she may have a spy on the inside telling her all she needs to know to get enough of an advantage to take me out before I get to her. Which means my own agency is a threat. Robie kept reading until he came to the hit on Doug Jacobs. Quick, clean, ingenious really. Nail the handler while he thinks you’re about to take out someone else. And a sniper’s nest had been found in the hotel in the Middle East. The gun muzzle had been placed perfectly so that when Jacobs did the satellite zoom Reel had suggested, he could see the gun barrel. But there had been no sniper. There was no evidence that Reel had been the shooter who had ended Jacobs’s life. But the email Robie had just received left no doubt that she was involved somehow. So the woman was supposed to be in the Middle East, but she might have been in D.C. drawing a bead on the man talking to her through a headset. Other things being equal, it probably was Reel who took the shot on Jacobs. If it were Robie, he would want to make sure the kill was done correctly. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else pulling the trigger. Which meant he had to go somewhere right

flying is easy. Just takes learning. Like everything else. Like everything else.” He took the controls back, then reached up and rubbed his left shoulder. “Aches and pains—must be getting old.” Brian let go of the controls and moved his feet away from the pedals as the pilot put his hands on the wheel. “Thank you . . .” But the pilot had put his headset back on and the gratitude was lost in the engine noise and things went back to Brian looking out the window at the ocean of trees and lakes. The burning eyes did not come back, but memories did, came flooding in. The words. Always the words. Divorce.

The fact that the word “metaverse” was drawn from Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson—a 1992 sci-fi novel in which people don virtual reality headsets to escape a societal collapse so profound that corporate franchises are the main source of authority—was no deterrent.

They’d drilled a hole in the alien ship.  Just before Will Borger alerted them of the incoming torpedo.  Tay remembered the sound of fighting over his headset, from aboard the Pathfinder.

In 2019, a Russian farm provided its dairy cows with virtual reality (VR) headsets that were expected to reduce cows’ anxiety. The VR systems were adapted for the cows and projected a “summer field simulation”.

The Device consists of a small telescreen, headset, and keypad. It combines the functions of telephone, radio, television, newspaper, and encyclopedia. Users are warned not to attempt to open the housing of the Device, or the power supply will explode. Every Device is keyed to a specific user, by means of electrodes built into the headset that recognize his unique brain-wave pattern. Signals from the Device are relayed by a network of thousands of tiny satellites in Low Earth Orbit, collectively known as the Cloud. The Device is so cheap and so useful that it soon becomes an indispensable part of daily life. It’s impossible to buy, sell, communicate, or travel without one. The Device becomes a de facto national ID card, to be carried at all times. Children are issued their own Device at the age of eight.

Kit Carson, fighting the Indians with knives and six-shooters. Brave men. But that’s all gone now. Now, some pencil-neck geek sitting at a computer can launch a thousand missiles and kill a million people. The world’s run by a bunch of fat-ass wimps who only know how to double-click their way to power. Think they should get a Purple Heart for a paper cut.” “I like that.” “Their idea of power is PowerPoint. They got headsets on their heads and their fingers on keyboards and they think they’re macho men when they’re just half wimp and half machine. Nothing more than sports-drink-gulping, instant-message-sending,

From the top of my head to the soles of my feet, I'm wearing black: knit watch cap, a long-sleeved wool pullover on top of a polypropylene undershirt, tough black Cordura nylon cargo pants and high-top black cross-trainers. It's all very ninja. Over all that, I've got a Kevlar-lined tactical vest with six magazines of nine-millimeter frangible ammunition. The magazines are for the suppressed Uzi submachine gun slung over my back. I've also got a black tactical belt rig around my waist, suppressed Ruger .22 automatic riding low on one hip, with two spare mags and a combat knife balancing the load on the other side. I've got a short-range secure radio set clipped to my back, the wire running up to a headset tucked around my ear, throat mic hanging loose at the moment. One frag grenade and two flash-bangs round out my arsenal. I've got a small LED flashlight, a multi-tool, a couple of plastic zip-tie restraints, and that's it. I like to keep my loadout light so I'm quick on my feet; I've seen too many guys bite it because they were turtled by their combat gear. I feel like a G.I. Joe commando. Hell, all I need is a code-name.

A female voice behind me laughed. “Give it up, chubs.” I took a deep breath and ignored her. I stood up on my toes and talked to the bouncer again. “Sir, please. It is important. Just tell him that one thing and I’ll leave you alone.” He shrugged. “Fine. At least you’re being polite.” He turned away and muttered into his headset. A thousand years went by before he looked down at me and smiled. “Go on up, Miss.” He pushed aside the rope and I climbed the stairs. My heart soared and then I laughed as I heard the crowd in front of the bouncer complaining. That’s right, I wanted to tell them. My fat ass is going up to see the band and your skinny ones are staying down there.

Mybike handling qualities include on-a-rail tracking, almost as if the headset were too tight, and a high-strung, joyous agility. Frame geometry and construction integrity combine with the rider’s caffeine consumption level to produce serendipitously disparate handling characteristics.

Her hands started to sweat slightly as she held the headset excitedly; this was the moment of realization, the beginning of her journey into the unknown into the depths and abyss of imaginary meanderings and a world that did not actually physically exist.

It’s about time. I was about to start without you.” Sam was ready to go, wired for sound with her headset, standing over the body of Corinne Wolff. She had a scalpel in her right hand, was tapping it impatiently against the table in a staccato rhythm. Skylights set high in the ceilings showered sunlight down on the medical examiner, creating copper highlights in her dark hair. “Sorry. I had a late night.” “That’s okay. I’m just ready to get this one over with.” Taylor

There she is," Helen's voice reported directly into Gansey's ears; in the helicopter, they all wore headsets to allow them to converse through the ceaseless noise of the blades and the engine. "Gansey's girlfriend." Ronan's snort barely made it through his headset, but Gansey had heard it often enough to know it was there. Blue said, "She must be pretty big to see her from up here." "Henrietta," Helen replied. She peered to the left of the helo as she banked. "They're getting married. They haven't set a date yet." "If you're going to embarrass me, I'll throw you out and fly myself," Gansey said from the seat beside her.

through her gut as her stomach began to form a closer relationship with her throat. The staccato voice of the first officer echoed in her headset as she checked off stats. “Mach one point seven, altitude ten point one, lateral drift two point two. Get ready, deploying chutes…” With that, three

His features were Middle Eastern, his eyes haunted but also defiant. They were all defiant, Gray had found. When he looked at someone like al-Omari, Gray couldn’t help but think of a Dostoyevsky creation, the displaced outsider, brooding, plotting and methodically stroking a weapon of anarchy. It was the face of a fanatic, of one possessed by a deranged evil. It was the same type of person who’d taken away forever the two people Gray had loved most in the world. Though al-Omari was thousands of miles away in a facility only a very few people even knew existed, the picture and sound were crystal clear thanks to the satellite downlink. Through his headset he asked al-Omari a question in English. The man promptly answered in Arabic and then smiled triumphantly. In flawless Arabic Gray said, “Mr. al-Omari, I am fluent in Arabic and can actually speak it better than you. I know that you lived in England for years and that you speak English better than you do Arabic. I strongly suggest that we communicate in that language so there is absolutely no misunderstanding between us.” Al-Omari’s smile faded, and he sat straighter in his chair. Gray explained his proposal. Al-Omari was to become a spy for the United States, infiltrating one of the deadliest terrorist organizations operating in the Middle East. The man promptly refused. Gray persisted and al-Omari refused yet again, adding that “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “There are currently ninety-three terrorist organizations in the world as recognized by the U.S. State Department, most of them originating in the Middle East,” Gray responded. “You have confirmed membership in at least three of them. In addition, you were found with forged passports, structural plans to the Woodrow Wilson Bridge and bomb-making material. Now you’re going to work for us, or it will become distinctly unpleasant.” Al-Omari smiled and leaned toward the camera. “I was interrogated years ago in Jordan by your CIA and your military and your FBI, your so-called Tiger Teams. They sent females in wearing only their underwear. They wiped their menstrual blood on me, or at least what they called their menstrual blood, so I was unclean and could not perform my prayers. They rubbed their bodies against me, offered me sex if I talk. I say no to them and I am beaten afterward.” He sat back. “I have been threatened with rape, and they say I will get AIDS from it and die. I do not care. True followers of Muhammad do not fear death as you Christians do. It is your greatest weakness and will lead to your total destruction. Islam will triumph. It is written in the Qur’an. Islam will rule the world.

UV/IR vision: use AI to make sense of light invisible to humans • Perfect sound memory: every sound you hear is catalogued forever and searchable with a query • Sound triangulation: when you hear a boom or a pop, your visor or glasses will light up and tell you exactly where it is happening • Perfect recall of imagery: when you take a passing glance at a license plate, its numbers and letters will be permanently captured and searchable • Prompting: AI is always in your head suggesting ideas and integrated into a device like a Fitbit to augment physical goals • “God’s Eye” view: satellite imagery and completely autonomous pocket drones that can feed images directly to your headset, effectively giving you a pair of disembodied eyes in motion • LIDAR (light detection and ranging) sensing: remote-sensing methods that can use light in the form of a pulsed laser to measure ranges • Ability to predict exact motion and speed of any object nearby • Ability to see and detect radio waves: pull a radio wave that you perceive out of the ether with the gesture of a swipe and then decode it and catalog it permanently • X-ray vision: Look inside a building through the eyes of your autonomous robotic appendage to see if there is a leak or other technical malfunction

The receptionist was a mermaid, I kid you not. She sat in a tub of water behind the desk, a headset strapped to her head. She typed away on her computer, occasionally stopping to adjust the straps on her shell bikini.