What would happen if everyone on earth stood as close to each other as they could and jumped, everyone landing on the ground at the same instant? Randall Munroe has the answer—and it’s not pretty.

Where did the exclamation point come from? Nobody knows, apparently. But that didn’t stop Smithsonian.com from writing “The History of the Exclamation Point.”

Is there a limit to how tall buildings can get? Write a big enough check and all those pesky engineering problems just might go away. Nate Berg explains.

Think those online book reviews—you know, the ones with superlatives like “gripping,” “lyrical,” and “compelling”—are objective and impartial? Think again.

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This is an old post, but it’s worth revisiting. Turns out people care about good writing. Who knew?

Via Grammar Monkeys.

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Just last week we brought your attention to an unfortunate misspelling. But thanks to our enormous reach and influence, few had a chance to see it before it was corrected. Here’s the new and improved version of the same billboard, shot Saturday night:

Now, as someone who once made his living as a proofreader—and who is still charged with those duties on occasion—I have to smile at what happened here. Someone had to write the headline; someone had to design the layout; someone had to print the material; someone had to apply that material to the billboard. And all along the way, there were others, no doubt with degrees and qualifications and important-sounding job titles, who signed off on it.

What’s the point? That, despite our rather vain attempts to arrive at perfection, people still make mistakes. Even collectively. So maybe we should all lighten up a little.

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The winners of the 2012 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest have been announced. Though this year’s entries seem, on balance, to be somewhat weaker than previous years’, Cathy Bryant’s grand prize-winning effort is positively sublime:

As he told her that he loved her she gazed into his eyes, wondering, as she noted the infestation of eyelash mites, the tiny deodicids burrowing into his follicles to eat the greasy sebum therein, each female laying up to 25 eggs in a single follicle, causing inflammation, whether the eyes are truly the windows of the soul; and, if so, his soul needed regrouting.

Likewise the winning entry in the “Crime” category, submitted by Sue Fondrie:

She slinked through my door wearing a dress that looked like it had been painted on…not with good paint, like Behr or Sherwin-Williams, but with that watered-down stuff that bubbles up right away if you don’t prime the surface before you slap it on, and—just like that cheap paint—the dress needed two more coats to cover her.

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Saw this billboard in my neighborhood last night.

Help me out here. Am I missing out on some sort of inside joke?

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It would have been Jerry Garcia’s 70th birthday today. And even though we listened to some Grateful Dead just the other day, we certainly can’t let the day pass without a nod to Captain Trips.

Here’s the Jerry Garcia Acoustic Band, live, playing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” Seems fitting somehow.

[audio:https://helveticka.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/01-Swing-Low-Sweet-Chariot.mp3|titles=01 Swing Low, Sweet Chariot]

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Through diligence, grit, and sheer obduracy, I managed to turn a three-hour client presentation into a five-day road trip last week. Ever wanted to know what’s between Spokane and Greeley, Colorado?

The Absarokas.

Sacajawea’s grave (top center).

Arches National Park.

Admittedly, that last one’s a bit of a stretch. But heck—if you’re in the neighborhood, why not stop in for a visit, right?

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And it’s in section A-1 of today’s Los Angeles Times.

Earlier in my career, the sight of something like this would elicit waves of sweet, sweet schadenfreude. Now I’m just thankful. I mean, if a professional newspaper staff can mess up this badly, it ought to be okay for me to slip from time to time. Right, CK?

CK?

Um…guys? Hello?

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