A minute

Two portraits side by side, one photographed and one generated. A University of Washington project, and your score keeps falling.

Instructions for very nearly anything, illustrated in that unmistakable cartoon style. The artwork alone justifies the visit.

Wikipedia articles served as a vertical swipe feed, which is either a public service or the end of civilisation.

A dilemma, a tempting benefit, a horrible catch, and the percentage of everybody else who pressed it regardless.

Ten minutes out of somebody else's window somewhere in the world, filmed by them and left quietly running.

Answers computed rather than retrieved: integrals, unit conversions, orbital mechanics and the nutritional content of a Mars bar.

Six goes at one five-letter word, the same word for everybody, once a day. The puzzle that spawned an entire genre in three months.

Guess the country from its silhouette alone, with each miss handing you the distance and compass bearing to the real answer.

One expanding circle to breathe along with, adjustable to box breathing or 4-7-8, and nothing else on the page.

Two minutes of mental arithmetic at whatever difficulty you set, boiled down to a single number. Trading desks drill on this one.

Feeds your own video call bad audio — echo, crying baby, wind — until everyone agrees the connection is the problem.

The sequel quilt, darker and stranger than the first, still folding into itself with no end and no explanation.