Bushman’s Hole in South Africa is the deepest underwater cave in the world. Read the true story of an attempt to rescue the body of a diver who had died there. One of the best pieces I’ve read in a long, long time.
Today marks eight years since Black Sunday, that sad day when I donned cap and gown and was cast headlong into the working world. I’ve since spent twice as many years out of school as I did in it.
When I look at what I wrote on the fourth anniversary of my graduation, I don’t see that I’m much further along at 29 than I was at 25: making a little more; still ensconced in my condo; still single; still driving the same car; still with very few local friends. But there’s hope: I’m working on a shift in my career to something I find more interesting; I’m renovating my condo; I’ve actually been on some dates. I’m actually pretty happy with my car, though. It’s nice driving an auto that will be old enough to vote next year. And I’ve added a few friends, which is progress. Finally, I’m working on a pretty big change—one which I’ll announce here if everything works out as planned.
So things are looking up. But, today just as four years ago and as eight years ago, I miss school. I miss being surrounded by my friends, guys with interests the same as mine. I miss being surrounded by the highest concentration of attractive women I’ll ever experience. I miss being able to pull three all-nighters in a row. I miss employing some of the best minds in the world to educate me. I miss not having bills to pay every month. I miss getting three months of vacation every year. I miss being young and foolish and unconcerned with the real world.
On the other hand, I quite like having money. I quite like being able to afford the things I ant to own. I like owning my own place, and setting my own rules. I rather enjoy not being a complete and utter git (well, by comparison with by 18- or 19-year-old self anyway).
Still, I miss sharing an apartment with Phil and Darren, brewing beer in the dorm kitchen, sneaking girls in past visitation hours, going to parties, hanging out at the library, cutting class to go golfing, going shooting in Oklahoma on the weekends, walking to class with a pipe clenched in my teeth, wearing a tweed coat every day and otherwise just plain having fun.
Today, as four years ago, as eight years ago, I miss school.
It appears that American soldiers overseas have rediscovered the utility of washboards. America’s last surviving washboard company makes a portable kit consisting of a small washboard (originally designed for travelling salesman), a tin bucket, lye soap, clothesline, clothespins and foot powder. They’re $25 and thousands have been sent to the troops.
I’m thinking of buying a set for myself…
A list of some skills you’ll need if you wish to live off-the-grid:
I’d add that you definitely need cooking/baking (fairly obviously) and soapmaking (if you want to be clean). Brewing too would not go amiss—after all, man does not live by bread alone.
Granted, a life of subsistence farming wouldn’t be terribly exciting or fun. Well, except for the excitement of droughts and crop failures.
Ramit Sethi writes about the planning fallacy—the problem that people can’t estimate how long a project will take. Basically, no matter how carefully folks plan and how much they try to pessimistic, they assume that things will go better than they will. It turns out there’s one good way to estimate project length; read the article for what it is.
Homo faciens is Latin for man the maker
(and it’s
pronounced with a hard k, not an s); it occurs to me that the term
perfectly describes me. Today—while simultaneously performing a
very difficult job—I am doing the following:
And yes, I’m performing that rather complex and troublesome job as well (believe it or not, each of the above tasks only takes a few minutes at a time and can easily be squeezed into my breaks).
This weekend a buddy of mine threw an Ides of March party which encouraged one to wear a toga (in green for St. Patrick’s Day). In the space of six hours I researched and recreated a Roman tunic and toga—including going to the fabric store and finding linen. Yes, that’s right: in under one quarter of a single day I managed to entirely reconstruct an ancient pair of garments about which I had no previous knowledge (in fact, until I did the research I did not realise that a toga is really just a sort of stole-like thing worn around a tunic).
I’m so incredibly, unutterably, ineffably cool.
The Art of Manliness suggests bringing back men’s hats. Not a bad idea if you ask me.
Hat-tip to Maj. D.
…a few years make: this guy is the same as this guy. I guess that means I might be a senator someday…
Although, unlike Norm Coleman I didn’t spend my college years smoking dope; also unlike him, I oppose throwing people into jail for smoking dope.
Many folks don’t realise that in England one must purchase a license to own a television; this is what finances the BBC. Here are an amusing set of letters sent to a former licensee who got rid of his TV. The BBC apparently can’t fathom a person not watching TV and assumes that if you have ever had a TV then you will always have one.
It turns out
that Apple’s innovative
designs are just rip-offs of Dieter Rams’s work for Braun in
the 1960s. Everything old is new again.
Here’s advice on how to win a fistfight. I’d like to ask my kid brother the Marine if any of this is good advice—and more importantly, what isn’t.
It turns out that secretly modified versions of Monopoly contained escape kits during World War II. Very cool stuff: they hid compasses, metal files, silk maps and so forth in the boxes, then had the Red Cross deliver them to POWs. The Germans didn’t examine the board games very closely, and so the stuff made it through.
I wonder if the Red Cross colludes to help all POWs escape, though. That might not be the best long-term idea, as it’d discourage states from allowing Red Cross care packages to prisoners of war…
Hat-tip to my brother Tom.
Yes! Take a look at a Suburban with a built-in pop-out machine gun position. I want three.
Wouldn’t it be cool to fly without a parachute? It’s starting to become a reality, although the technology isn’t quite there yet. Here’s a video of a flying man. It’s a new extreme sport!
From Esquire comes this list of sixty oh-so-fun-to-do but oh-so-bad-for-you things.
The new York Times published a surprisingly positive article about getting a concealed-carry license in Texas. Not perfect, but a good first step.
The USMC has noticed that synthetic fabrics are horrid, in this case because they can melt to the skin. Natural fabrics like wool, linen and cotton simply singe. Natural fabrics also breathe better. Wool is warm when it’s cold, cool when it’s hot and wicks away moisture. Linen is sturdy an cool. Cotton’s a bit useless (typically hot when it’s hot out and freezing when it’s cold), but has the advantage of being cheap. Natural fibres are renewable and sustainable; synthetics are produced by using oil.
Remind me again why anyone would ever use a synthetic fibre? Oh yeah: brain damage.
Michael Lopp writes about Nerd Attention Deficit Disorder---not our inability to pay attention, but our need to pay attention to multiple data sources at one time.
Chris Kavanaugh and an archæology team were stranded on an island within view of a metropolis without water or supplies; with luck and skill they managed to survive.
During the recently-passed Halloween holiday I received a flier advertising costumes for children, men and women. I found it really quite remarkable what it revealed:
teenmeans
teen girl; apparently boys directly become men, but girls become teens, and then women
sexy somethingcostumes, where
somethingcould be a police officer, or a vampire, or a pirate, or a cavewoman, or a stewardess, or a referee (who buys this?) or a lady bug (huh?!?); that is, the costumes consist of stockings and a tunic which covers just enough to not violate any local ordinances; teen costumes are much the same, but slightly smaller
Boys shouldn’t be dressed as monsters and evildoers; they should be dressed as those who slay monsters and evildoers; little girls shouldn’t be dressed as sex objects. That this is even an issue is an indicator of how diseased our society has become. Boys and men shouldn’t be valued for how terrible they are; girls and women shouldn’t be valued for how sexy they are–it’s sick. I can understand boys wanting to be fearsome, but let them be fearsome in a good way: Beowulf and Grendel were both feared, but one fought for good and one for evil. I can understand young men & women wanting to be sexy (it’s in their hormones), but children don’t even think of that sort of thing: it’s parents and culture which introduce the idea to them. It’s simply wrong to sexualise prepubescents—once again, that I even have to point this out indicates how low our culture has gotten. It’s one thing for a 24-year-old to dress for the opposite sex; heck, it’s understandable for a 16-year-old to do so (although that should be restrained by parents); it’s another, entirely unacceptable, thing for a child to be dressed thus.
If I had children, I think I’d send them to be raised in Siberia or some other inaccessible place…
Here’s a cool visualisation of US flight data for a single day. Massively neat.
Finally, a reason to visit New York City. A reason to visit New England, even.
What I want to know is when we started, and when we stopped, giving good names to our ships. Intrepid is a good name. City of Corpus Christi is not. Dauntless is a good name; Philadelphia is not. Dreadnaught is an excellent name; USS Senator William P. Whiteman really isn’t.
I was reading an interview with Grady Booch when I noticed that he graduated from the US Air Force Academy in 1977. Take a look at his pic: hardly the sort of fellow one would think graduated from a service academy. He works for Big Blue and lives nearby, too. Amusing.
…and kill it. Way to go guys—ruin it for the rest of us.
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Software, Society for Creative Anachronism.
