Apparently, hole-in-one insurance is a thing. As is insuring prizes for all manner of promotional events, like, say, guessing the exact weight of a giant pumpkin, or winning a rubber duck race. Or, um, taking first prize in “cow chip bingo.”

Turns out that hole-in-one insurance arose from the custom in which the golfer who scored the ace was expected to buy drinks for everyone in the clubhouse. Because that can get expensive – and because this is America – “an industry sprouted up to protect these golfers.” Under an insurance model that dates back to at least 1933, golfers paid a nominal annual fee to cover the bar tab in the event they got lucky.

But here’s where it gets weird – for me, anyway: “Though the concept largely faded away in the U.S., it became a big business in Japan, where golfers who landed a hole-in-one were expected to throw parties ‘comparable to a small wedding,’ including live music, food, drinks, and commemorative tree plantings.”

A commemorative tree planting? At a wedding? So that’s a thing, too?

Like usual, I’m way behind the times here. (There are even scripts!) According to brides.com – where else? – “planting a tree to celebrate a new marriage is an ancient unity ceremony recognized in many cultures throughout the world.” But then, they also point out that it’s “an eco-conscious practice that catches the eye of modern-day partners looking for a fresh twist on more traditional wedding ceremonies,” so, grain of salt and all that.

But that brings me back to the insurance story. Apparently, if something falls within just one of three categories of risk – mathematical (like coin-flipping), skills-based (the aforementioned hole-in-one), or odds-based (sporting events) – it’s insurable. But a marriage is both skills- and odds-based; heck, if you accept the argument that everyone has a soul mate, it’s also mathematical.

So if we could come up with an algorithm based on the relative skills of the bride and groom, the chances you’ll find your one sweetie among 7.9 billion contenders, and the 1/1 odds the marriage will fail regardless, we could come up with a premium – one that would cover not only the legal fees, but also the cost to dig up the tree you foolishly planted.

Wait. I just realized that a prenup is basically just marriage insurance. Never mind.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment

It’s been a minute, as the kids say.

I thought it might be a good idea to not post anything during the week before Easter. That’s Holy Week* for a lot of folks, after all, and the dreck I write feels a bit…well, if not exactly blasphemous, unedifying at the very least.

As for the week following, I have no excuse, other than a rather large project that consumed most of my time.

Then this morning Shirlee says to me (and here I’m paraphrasing somewhat): “Dude. Get off your arse and blog about something.”

So here we are. Let’s lead with what Robin Sloan has to say about the Twitter situation.

How about the rise, fall, and rise again of polyester?

You fellow Spokanites weren’t wrong about this spring being colder than normal. But don’t complain. It could be worse.

Our next weapon in the fight against superbugs? Honey.

And finally, 1,100-year-old graffiti.

There. That should keep y’all busy until next week, when we return to our regularly scheduled programming.

*The missus and I attended Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil, and Easter morning services, so we’re probably holier than you.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment

“Good writers make you want to read,” writes Matt Labash, “but great writers make you want to write. To ride the whirlwind, pin it down, then to try and make some sense of it. They can make you want to do what they do, or to die trying and failing.”

It’s true. But is that a good thing? Back in my misspent youth, for instance, I worked (with only a modicum of success) as a professional musician. And I blame everyone I saw live—Wynton Marsalis, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Michael Brecker, Pat Metheny, the Grateful Dead, Mike Stern, Dizzy Gillespie, Michael Hedges, Chick Corea…hell, even the Philadelphia Orchestra—for making me think I could do what they do. Because ultimately, unless you’re really, really good, disappointment awaits. (There’s a joke we used to tell: What’s the difference between a Spokane jazz musician and an extra-large pizza? An extra-large pizza can actually feed a family of four.)

It’s the same with writing: Every time I read Marilynn Robinson or Thomas Merton or Christian Wiman I’m reminded how much I suck and how little I know. And that my grasp of our language is tenuous at best.

The only real difference, I suppose, is that I’ve managed to make a living as a writer. Maybe it’s a function of the marketplace—after all, do we really need another jazz musician?—or maybe it’s because that’s what I should have been doing all along.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: the writing life  |  make a comment

Electronic Beowulf? For reals??? Guess my weekend’s settled, then. In the meantime, I’ll be re-reading Maryann Corbett’s masterful take on translation in the third millennium.

Friendly reminder: It’s “moot point,” not “mute point.”

“A robot made of magnetic slime with a custard-like consistency can navigate narrow passages, grasp objects and fix broken circuits. It could be deployed inside the body to perform tasks such as retrieving objects swallowed by accident.” Check it:

This steaming pile of techno-horror was six years in development. Six years! Quick: What are the odds it makes it to production—and is actually worn by a real human?

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment

“When we inadvertently open a door and see someone pooping,” writes Adam Mastroianni, “we could curse ourselves, the someone, the door, and the universe. Or we could ask: why? Why doesn’t good design replicate and dominate?”

It’s a good question. And the answer, he argues, is that design requires two kinds of engineering: technological and psychological. And it turns out that the second one is a whole lot harder than the first.

“We all share the same laws of physics,” says Mastroianni, “so the technological engineering that works for me will also work for you. But we don’t share the same minds, so the psychological engineering that works for me may only work for me.”

It certainly explains the surfeit of bad design.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: the design life  |  make a comment

This is like that Seinfeld episode where Elaine’s coworker mistakenly refers to her as “Susie,” and Elaine decides it’s easier to live a double life than try to correct her.

Should we just stick with “Machu”? Smallpox and Spaniards pretty much wiped out anyone who might object. On second thought, though, maybe that’s reason enough to change the name.

Side note: Bingham’s Lost City of the Incas, the 1948 book about his discovery of Machu Huayna Picchu, is a great read.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment

Karl Ove Knausgaard: “The expectation of an answer runs so deep that it is presumably fundamentally human, the most characteristic trait of our nature.”

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment

Kind of cool that Archduke Eduard of Austria—Hungarian ambassador to the Holy See and the Sovereign Order of Malta—took to Twitter today, the Ides of March, to show us the very spot where Julius Caesar was assassinated 1,978 years ago.

On the #IdesofMarch, let me show you the spot where Caesar was killed. The remains of the Curia of Pompey (where the Senate met that day 44 BC) are under modern Largo Argentina. More or less at the foot of the tall pine tree.
(PS spot the cat) pic.twitter.com/x3II3sUda2

— Eduard Habsburg (@EduardHabsburg) March 15, 2022

According to National Geographic, “a group of as many as 60 conspirators…stabbed Caesar a reported 23 times, killing the Roman leader.” But it turns out that’s not the only reason the soothsayer warned Caesar to “Beware the Ides of March.”

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment