We finally get to shop at the toy store of Elisa’s dreams, TOY FEDERATION! The market is pretty wild on toys as well as video games, but you won’t believe how expensive toy CLOTHES are! Come toy hunt with us, even though it’s not video game hunting. We appreciate you watching!
Top 10 Things Collectors Buy:
Action Figures (a.k.a. “Forever in the Package Prisoners”) Collectors buy plastic superheroes not to play with, but to lovingly stare at through the blister packaging like they’re priceless relics from a lost civilization. Open one? You might as well commit a felony.
Coins (aka “Metal That Won’t Buy Anything”) There’s nothing like spending hundreds of dollars on coins that can’t even pay for a coffee. But hey, that 1909 wheat penny might be worth $1.07 someday. Maybe.
Comic Books (a.k.a. “Paper Fortunes”) Collectors will handle a mint-condition comic with the same care as an organ transplant. Reading it? Absolutely not. That’s what the reprints are for, you animal.
Shoes (a.k.a. “Closet Royalty”) Who knew sneakers could cost more than a semester at college? Collectors will never wear them, of course. That would scuff the sacred rubber. Just look, admire, sniff… maybe cry.
Vinyl Records (a.k.a. “Round Black Nostalgia Frisbees”) Collectors will insist music sounds better on vinyl, even if their turntable is plugged into a Bluetooth speaker shaped like a cactus. It’s not about the sound—it’s about the vibe. And shelf space.
Stamps (a.k.a. “Tiny Square Regrets from the Past”) The world’s quietest flex. Nothing says “I’m both refined and slightly unhinged” like a binder full of microscopic portraits of Queen Elizabeth from 1963.
Video Games (a.k.a. “Digital Hoarding, But Fancy”) Unopened NES games, sealed in plastic, encased in acrylic, stored in a vault… because nothing enhances the gaming experience like never actually playing them.
Vintage Toys (a.k.a. “Childhood Memories, Marked Up 500%”) That $3 My Little Pony from 1987 is now worth $800, and yes, collectors will judge you if it has “hair frizz.” Nostalgia has a price, and it’s apparently ridiculous.
Baseball Cards (a.k.a. “Cardboard Lottery Tickets”) Collectors still pray to the gods of Topps and Upper Deck, hoping one day their garage full of mustachioed shortstops from 1989 will finally become worth enough to retire.
Cars (a.k.a. “Garage Queens”) Classic car collectors are a special breed: they spend six figures on a vehicle, then treat it like an art exhibit. “Don’t touch the paint. Don’t drive it. Just bask in its chrome glory.” They’ve driven it exactly once—onto the trailer.
Collecting: because adulthood needs hobbies, and hoarding needs better branding.
Dr. Harlan J. Montrose, PhD, DVM, CBCC-KA Department of Applied Canine Ethology, North Cascadia Institute for Companion Animal Studies
Abstract
The concept of a “mental leash” refers to a non-physical, cognitively mediated control mechanism through which a handler influences canine locomotor patterns and behavior during ambulation. While the technique has anecdotal roots among shepherds and rural stockmen, recent behavioral neuroendocrinology research suggests herding breeds (e.g., Canis lupus familiaris var. Collie, Australian Shepherd, Border Collie) exhibit heightened susceptibility to handler-directed mental tethering due to breed-specific attentional gating and oxytocin-mediated affiliative behaviors. This paper synthesizes current theoretical frameworks, reports from controlled pseudo-randomized observational trials, and speculative neuroimaging findings to explore the efficacy and biological plausibility of mental leash protocols.
Introduction
Herding breeds have evolved under intense selection pressures for high handler-orientation, rapid task-switching, and enhanced predictive motor control (Barkov et al., 1998). Traditional leash-based ambulation may be redundant in these breeds, provided the handler can establish a robust cognitive tether through consistent eye contact, subtle kinesic cues, and conditioned auditory markers (Pavlova & Shepherd, 2014).
The “mental leash” phenomenon has been informally described as a psychobehavioral dyad in which dog and handler maintain a bidirectional attentional field, resulting in coordinated movement without the necessity of a physical restraint. In practical application, this method offers reduced risk of cervical microtrauma from leash tension (van der Leash et al., 2012) and enhances canine agency, while preserving public safety.
Materials and Methods
Subjects: Twelve adult herding dogs (4 Border Collies, 3 Australian Shepherds, 2 Bearded Collies, 2 Shetland Sheepdogs, 1 Belgian Malinois) aged 2–6 years, with prior basic obedience training but no specialized leashless conditioning.
Directional cue calibration using micro-gestures (<5° shoulder rotation).
Consistent prosodic markers in the 350–450 Hz vocal range for recall initiation.
Canine response latency and drift radius (distance from handler’s sagittal plane) were recorded over five 20-minute off-leash walks in urban-suburban transition zones.
Results
Mean drift radius decreased from 3.8 m (SD = 0.9) to 1.4 m (SD = 0.3) after ASCP completion (p < 0.002, pseudo-Wilcoxon). Eye contact initiation frequency increased by 218%, indicating enhanced bidirectional attentional coupling. Notably, Australian Shepherds demonstrated the most stable locomotor synchronicity, whereas Belgian Malinois exhibited sporadic “predatory drift” episodes, suggesting limitations in high-prey-drive subtypes.
Discussion
The mental leash appears to leverage the herding breeds’ predisposition toward handler-centric spatial orientation. Hypothetical functional MRI data (unpublished; Shepherd et al., 2025) suggest increased activation in the canine posterior superior temporal sulcus—an area implicated in gaze-following—during mental leash engagement. Neurochemical modulation, particularly oxytocinergic enhancement, likely plays a critical role in maintaining the attentional tether, with handler scent cues potentially reinforcing the cognitive linkage (Leashman et al., 2017).
While promising, mental leash efficacy may be compromised by environmental distractors exceeding 78 dB SPL or by sudden prey stimuli (e.g., squirrels, joggers in neon attire). Further research into wearable EEG-telemetry systems for real-time attentional drift detection is warranted.
Conclusion
For herding breeds with established obedience foundations, the mental leash represents a viable leashless ambulation strategy under controlled conditions. Its success hinges on the handler’s ability to sustain attentional synchrony through consistent gaze, micro-gestures, and vocal prosody. Though additional controlled, double-blind, placebo-leash trials are needed, preliminary findings suggest the mental leash may offer both welfare and biomechanical benefits for suitable canine-handler pairs.
Figure S1: Handler Postural Vectoring During Attentional Synchrony Conditioning Program (ASCP)
Methodological Addendum
The Attentional Synchrony Conditioning Program (ASCP) was standardized using a Handler Postural Vector Index(HPVI), calculated as:
HPVI = θs / δr where θs = mean shoulder rotation angle in degrees, and δr = mean drift radius in meters.
A target HPVI range of 2.8–3.3 was established from pilot trials (Montrose et al., 2024), ensuring handler gestures remained within the micro-gesture threshold (<5°) while still achieving effective spatial correction.
Figure S2: Drift Radius Reduction Over Time
Environmental Control Measures
To prevent extraneous variables, trials were conducted:
At ambient noise levels of 42–51 dB SPL (measured via BarkTrak 500 acoustic meter).
Under wind velocities <6 km/h to avoid olfactory vector interference.
With no visible ungulate, rodent, or skateboarder stimuli within a 50 m radius.
Behavioral Metrics
Bidirectional Gaze Coupling (BGC): Frequency per minute of spontaneous mutual eye contact exceeding 0.6 s in duration.
Locomotor Phase Synchrony (LPS): % of gait cycles in which forelimb impact events occurred within ±0.25 s of handler’s ipsilateral limb movement.
Recall Compliance Latency (RCL): Time in seconds from cue onset to handler proximity within 0.5 m.
Observational Notes
Australian Shepherds demonstrated a tendency toward anticipatory flanking—drifting outward and slightly forward to “herd” the handler into a perceived safe path. Border Collies frequently engaged in micro-stalking, lowering their head and shoulders subtly when environmental unpredictability increased. Belgian Malinois exhibited prey-shadowingbehaviors, occasionally disrupting LPS metrics by >30%.
Figure S3: Idealized Mental Leash Engagement Zone
References
Barkov, A., Collinson, H., & Hound, F. (1998). Selective pressure on attentional synchrony in herding breeds. J. Comp. Canine Psychol., 14(2), 112–127.
Pavlova, M., & Shepherd, W.R. (2014). Gaze as a primary control vector in canine locomotion. Canid Cognition Rev., 9(1), 45–53.
van der Leash, M., Cordova, P., & Schnauzer, T. (2012). Cervical strain in tethered vs. untethered ambulation in companion dogs. Vet. Orthop. J., 7(4), 201–209.
Leashman, P., Herdwick, S., & Collie, J. (2017). Olfactory cues and oxytocin in handler-dog bonding. NeuroVet Endocrinol., 3(2), 67–75.
Shepherd, W.R., McBark, G., & Pawsworth, L. (2025). fMRI mapping of canine gaze-following circuits during leashless walking. Unpublished manuscript.
The BMW Z8 is what happens when Germany has a midlife crisis but does it with impeccable style and a V8 soundtrack. Designed to evoke the classic Bond-worthy 507 from the ’50s, the Z8 is all long hood, short rear, and “I make questionable financial decisions but look incredible doing it” energy. It’s like a supermodel with a law degree—gorgeous, sophisticated, and probably faster than you in every conceivable way. With its retro-futuristic design, the Z8 looks like it drove out of a James Bond film and accidentally ended up parked at a Whole Foods.
Driving the Z8 feels like piloting a leather-wrapped rocket powered by pure confidence and 400 horses of Bavarian engineering. The steering talks to you, the exhaust sings to you, and the aluminum body reminds you that this car is lighter than your ego after a good hair day. But it’s not just a pretty face—underneath all that suave, it’s got the heart of an M5 and the charisma of a 1960s playboy. It’s rare, it’s expensive, and owning one means you’re either a collector, a movie villain, or someone who said, “I want a car that costs more than my house—but sparkles more, too.”
Here’s a recap of how the launch of my indie dice deckbuilding roguelike for the playdate has made after 3 months. Go check the game out!!! Catalog – https://play.date/games/ribbit-rogue/
The PlayDate handheld is the little yellow gadget that looks like it escaped from a 1980s science fair and crash-landed in a minimalist design studio. With a black-and-white screen that says, “Color is for cowards,” and a crank on the side that screams, “Yes, I’m serious,” the PlayDate is like if a Game Boy and an egg timer had a weird, artsy baby. It doesn’t play Fortnite, it doesn’t stream Netflix, and it sure as hell doesn’t know what 4K is. But it does deliver bite-sized games in weekly doses like some sort of video game advent calendar run by quirky indie elves.
Playing the PlayDate feels like joining a secret club of eccentric game developers and nostalgia-addicted hipsters. It’s not about high scores—it’s about high vibes. One minute you’re using the crank to reel in fish or pilot a paper plane, the next you’re wondering if this thing is even legal in a world dominated by triple-A realism. It’s so charming, so self-aware, and so unapologetically weird that you start to believe the crank is the future of gaming. Move over dual analog sticks—Papa needs to crank.
A Retrocon no Brasil é como entrar em um carnaval pixelado onde os anos 80 e 90 nunca acabaram, os CRTs nunca morreram, e a única coisa mais intensa do que o campeonato de Street Fighter é o cheiro de nostalgia depois de 12 horas seguidas de pura empolgação gamer. É um caos glorioso de fãs do Mega Drive discutindo com puristas do Super Nintendo em português, enquanto alguém vestido de Mega Man tenta não tropeçar em um emaranhado de cabos de controle que parece um obstáculo de fase final. Você encontra de tudo, desde cartuchos de Atari cuidadosamente preservados até jogos piratas do Mario onde ele inexplicavelmente luta contra dinossauros com uma metralhadora — e sinceramente, isso só deixa tudo mais incrível.
Mas a Retrocon não é só uma convenção — é uma peregrinação. Pessoas viajam por horas para trocar cartuchos obscuros, conhecer YouTubers com nomes como “Joystick João”, e exibir consoles modificados que rodam todos os jogos já feitos… incluindo Pong em 4K por algum motivo. A energia é parte Comic-Con, parte feira de usados, e parte reunião de família se a sua família só se comunicasse por bleeps, bloops e recordes. Tem cosplay, torneios, música de videogame saindo de caixas de som mais velhas que alguns participantes, e radiação de tubo o suficiente pra transformar suas obturações em antenas. É estranho, maravilhoso, e o melhor lugar do mundo pra discutir se Battletoads era difícil… ou só emocionalmente abusivo.
Ah, the Oregon coast — where the Pacific Ocean crashes into the land with the force of Poseidon throwing a tantrum, and the mist kisses your face like a moody, damp poet. But let’s talk specifically about Brookings and Coos Bay — two coastal gems with the charm of a Wes Anderson movie and the weather of a suspense thriller.
Brookings:
Brookings is like Oregon’s secret garden — if that garden had banana slugs, 70 shades of green, and waves that could bench press your kayak. Known as the “Banana Belt” of Oregon, Brookings gets surprisingly nice weather, which in Oregon terms means “only light rain and occasional sun-induced euphoria.” The beaches are dramatic, with jagged sea stacks rising out of the ocean like ancient stone guardians, or maybe like a goth band posing for an album cover. It’s the kind of place where you half expect Bigfoot to walk by sipping a latte, nod politely, and disappear into the fog.
Coos Bay:
Coos Bay, on the other hand, feels like the blue-collar poet of the coast. It’s equal parts working port town and nature’s showroom. You’ve got tugboats doing real work while sea lions heckle them from the docks like salty old men. The forests surrounding it are so lush and mossy you’ll wonder if you’ve stumbled into a Tolkien fever dream — all that’s missing is a hobbit bar with artisanal microbrews. And don’t even get me started on Shore Acres State Park, where waves crash against cliffs so hard they basically scream “LOOK AT ME, I’M DRAMATIC!”
In short, the Oregon coast — especially Brookings and Coos Bay — is a place where nature shows off like it’s auditioning for a soap opera: full of beauty, mystery, and a little bit of emotional instability. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Goodwill is like a thrift shop crossed with a time machine and sprinkled with just enough mystery to keep you guessing. One moment you’re rifling through 2003-era office chairs, the next you’re holding a ceramic clown head labeled “kitchenware” and wondering if it’s cursed. It’s the only place where you can walk in for a pair of jeans and leave with a bowling trophy, an unopened VHS copy of Space Jam, and mild emotional confusion. It’s retail roulette—except instead of winning money, you win a George Foreman grill from 1999 and an existential crisis.
The beauty of Goodwill is that everything has a backstory… even if you really, really don’t want to know it. That gently used couch? Probably saw more drama than an entire season of The Bachelor. That collection of novelty mugs? They’ve witnessed at least five passive-aggressive workplace coffee thefts. But there’s a treasure-hunting thrill to it—part archaeology dig, part garage sale hosted by your eccentric aunt. You may not always find what you want, but you’ll definitely find something you can awkwardly justify buying.
Programming a modern video game is a bit like trying to build a rocket ship while riding a unicycle through a minefield—blindfolded—while the marketing team shouts, “Can it be done by Friday?” From the developer’s perspective, every feature request feels like a new level of Jumanji. You fix a bug in the physics engine and suddenly NPCs are moonwalking through walls or exploding spontaneously when asked to sit in a chair. Oh, and that beautifully crafted script you wrote? It’s now throwing 800 errors because someone on the art team renamed a folder from “Characters” to “characturs_final_FINAL_v3_REALLYFINAL.psd.”
Then there’s the ever-helpful feedback loop. Players want realism, but not too realistic. Guns should feel heavy, but reload in 0.2 seconds. Horses must poop dynamically, but also parkour like Spider-Man. And don’t forget about cross-platform support! Your code now needs to work flawlessly on a toaster, a smart fridge, and your aunt’s ancient Android tablet. Meanwhile, you’re duct-taping a spaghetti mess of legacy systems and third-party tools, praying the engine doesn’t spontaneously combust when someone opens the pause menu. It’s chaos, it’s madness—and honestly, it’s the best unpaid therapy money can buy.
