Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water
It's that time of year again for my annual scientific journey to the depths of the oceans. I write this while slowly descending to many thousands of leagues fathoms under the sea (Thanks Captain Nemo). The vessel is cold and dark. Under limited candlelight, so not to prematurely exacerbate our air supply, the ship's captain is steering us cautiously while a journalist is hastily drawing in his sketchbook. I only hope we have enough coal to power us back to the surface. When will we return? I am not sure. In the meantime please view the documentary of last year's journey narrated by my good friend Sir Nigel Perrywinkle.
All my physicist friends are unavailable. Can someone please answer the question in this scenario so everyone at my office gets back to work?
A plane is standing on a runway that can move (some sort of band conveyer). The plane moves in one direction, while the conveyer moves in the opposite direction. This conveyer has a control system that tracks the plane speed and tunes the speed of the conveyer to be exactly the same (but in the opposite direction). Can the plane take off?
As a young adolescent I always dreamed of a burgeoning career as a Playboy magazine photographer. While those dreams have passed, my appreciation for fine photography hasn't. With that, I present to you a few exquisite photographers who manage to capture genius, emotion, and beauty without the use of naked women.
Velco Dojcinovski: An Australian photographer with an eye for cinematic, urban narratives. My favorite photographer right now. Paulo Alegria: Some great pictures of life in Portugal. Guy Eppel: British rock photographer.... what an excellent career choice. Mike Innocenzi: An eye for Chicago. John Gripenholm: A Sweedish Photographer with some really amazing fashion shots and portraits.
Nothing says "I'm so important I only need to see out of one eye" like a monocle. Whether your out for a night at the opera, monopolizing an industry, debating astronomical nomenclature, or flying an airplane for the Royal Air Force, the monocle is the quintessential eye-wear of the modern gentleman. However, be careful when dining. If I had a nickel for every time I dropped my monocle in my soup after someone's preposterous remarks I would be marginally richer than I already am.
Hate is such a strong word, which is why I use it as often as possible. It's time once again to update the list of things I hate. While they may appear random, the following items have one thing in common. For often mysterious and unknown reasons the following things make me very, very angry.
I'm certain that I am forgetting a few things. I'll try to muster up enough hateful recollection in time for Christmas. In the meantime feel free to add your very own petty annoyances and aggravations to the comments of this post.
I've been called many things in my life; handsome, astute, charming, articulate, learned, dapper, but never have I been called Henry Darger. Darger, a prolific "outsider" artist and creator of several exhaustive graphic manuscripts, has been called many things, crazy and feeble-minded being among the most common.
In a tiny studio apartment on the north side of Chicago, just a few blocks north of my residence, he quietly created a vast collection of work that easily exceeds all other janitor/artists. His seminal work is the 15,145 page graphic-novel simply titled The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion. If you're looking for a shorter read, might I suggest The History of My Life. At 4,672 pages, you won't even notice that after page 206 that he abandons the story of his life in favor of a tale about a tornado named "Sweetie Pie". Like so many of us, he fancied himself an amateur meteorologist, compiling a ten-year journal of the inaccuracies of the local newspaper's weather reports.