“Some people like to think that what they wear is free from artifice. But it never is.”
Amish bodice bonnet-rippers.
Got $31,000 and a baby on the way? Erfogswelle will “spend around 100 hours generating a list of 15 to 25 unique-ish names.”
Adults are coloring, apparently.
Heading back to school? Anxious about your class schedule? Here are 12 pronunciations to help you avoid embarrassment in literature class.
Is this a thing? I mean, that’s cool and all—we certainly won’t judge. Back in the 70s and 80s, though, attracting men with scented hair was a whole lot easier:
Wait a sec. Maybe the sign originally read “Let us put some pizzazz into your hair.” That makes a little more sense, I suppose.
pizzazz n. Informal 1. Dazzling style; flamboyance; flair. 2. Vigorous spirit; energy or excitement. [Origin unkown.]
There was a windstorm on Saturday—the day I took the photo—which may have randomly blown a couple of Zs off the sign. Or perhaps some neighborhood miscreants are having a little fun at Georgie Girls’ expense.
On the other hand, Wikipedia tells us that Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific shampoo had a “strong floral scent,” which further raises the question as to what sort of 1970s man, raised on John Wayne movies and still stinging from his morning splash of Hai Karate, would find the fragrance of flowers “terrific.”
After all, given a choice between that and a woman whose untamed mane smelled of pepperoni and anchovies, well…I think the answer is pretty obvious.
Suffering from tuberculosis, the Reverend John Sterling had written to his friend Thomas Carlyle that he had only a few weeks to live:
“I tread the common road into great darkness, without any thought of fear, and with very much hope. Certainly indeed I have none…It is all very strange, but not one hundredth part so sad as it seems to standers-by.”
Carlyle’s response, penned August 27, 1844, reads, in part:
“We are journeying towards the Grand Silence; what lies beyond it earthly man has never known, nor will know: but all brave men have known that it was Godlike, that it was right GOOD—that the name of it was GOD. Wir heissen euch hoffen [We bid you hope]. What is right and best for us will full surely be. Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him. ‘ETERNO AMORE’; that is the ultimate significance of this wild clashing whirlwind which is named Life, where the sons of Adam flicker painfully for an hour.”
In the southwestern corner of Montana, far from even the distant sounds of civilization, lies the little town of Bannack. (Really, it’s in the middle of nowhere. You have to want to go. But since it’s “riddled with paranormal activity,” I’ll understand if you choose to stay home.)
Bannack is a particularly well-preserved ghost town. Most of the buildings are open for exploration, the state park-provided interpretive map is actually helpful, and there are well-maintained trails to the gallows—where Henry Plummer was hanged in 1864—as well as to the older of two cemeteries.
Speaking of which, there’s no better illustration of the explosive growth of western mining towns than a tour of the local boot hill. William Bell’s crude sandstone marker (left) was placed the year Bannack was founded and, given the town’s remote location, was probably the best anyone could have hoped for. But by the time young Horace Herr died in 1879—just a little over 16 years later—ornately carved marble tombstones (right) had become the norm.
Bonus: Big Hole National Battlefield is just an hour’s drive northwest of Bannack. It’s part of Nez Perce National Historical Park, which comprises 38 sites over a four-state area. The story of what happened here in 1877 isn’t for the faint of heart, but the park service has done an admirable job in its effort to “honor all who were there.”
“If you want to succeed in the business world, don’t bother utilizing your bandwidth to drill down on core competencies. Just get to work.”
Great stuff—as usual—from June Casagrande. Jargon doesn’t make you sound smart, she says—it makes you sound like you’re trying to sound smart. Reminds me of some pretty sage advice I got when I started in this business: “Never use utilize. Always use use.”
With our third City of Greeley, Colorado campaign up and running and the 2016 campaign currently underway, I’m reminded of the creative collaboration many of our projects require. Pictured above is Jeremy Jacob, partner in the Denver/Greeley-based production company Clear Summit Productions. His business partner, Erik Stenbakken, not only assists with the campaign’s television spots, he’s also our lead still photographer by way of Stenbakken Media, his own Greeley-based independent studio. Back in Spokane, the TV spots are produced, edited, and sound designed by Cary Seward and Adam Harum of ILF Media; motion graphics are provided by Mike Bold of Digital Itch. And most important, John Pantaleo leads a great client team with mile-high expectations.
The summit of Mt. Kit Carson is just a one-hour drive and a one-hour hike from downtown Spokane—a pretty small investment for such magnificent views. It’s quiet, too: this photo was taken late Saturday afternoon, and there wasn’t another soul around.
Wanna feel dumb? Take a gander at this 1912 high-school entrance exam, courtesy of the Bullitt County History Museum.
Now, it’s been a while since I was in eighth grade—though not nearly as long as it’s been since CK was wooing the ladies of Jenkins Middle School—but let’s be honest: I would’ve failed this test. Back in those days, a guy with an eighth-grade education could just enter the work force. But girls? You weren’t so lucky…
Thankfully, we live in more enlightened times.
Alex Ross on the curious intersection of classical music and popular culture.
Now this is a bridge too far: small-batch, artisanal currency.
Experts reveal the six words women hate the most. And you can probably guess at least half of them.
“This looks real. And it should concern every country in the world.” What, exactly? Just an alien woman on Mars, that’s all.
Today marks the 70th anniversary of the world’s first act of nuclear warfare.
Depending on one’s politics, the detonation of Little Boy some 2,000 feet over Hiroshima, Japan was either a necessary evil or just plain evil. Let’s not get into that right now. Let’s instead remember the victims.
The August 31, 1946 issue of the New Yorker devoted its entire editorial space to a terrifying account of the blast and its aftermath by John Hersey. It’s well worth a read, and available in its entirety here. And if you’ve never listened to Krzysztof Penderecki’s Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima, composed in 1960, now might be a good time to do so.
Sebastian Thrun sounds downright triumphalist in his Pacific Standard post about artificial intelligence:
We need to prepare for a world in which fewer and fewer people can make meaningful contributions. Only a small group will command technology and command AI.
Not so fast, says Alan Jacobs, who sees Thrun’s paean to “unprecedented times” as little more than “incoherent vapidity”:
I’m not asking for a detailed roadmap of the future, but just sketch out a path, dude. Otherwise I might think you’re just talking through your artificially intelligent hat.
All things being equal, I think Jacobs wins this round.
I drove to Lewiston last Sunday to say goodbye to a friend. Just two days later, she was gone.
No matter how many times I’ve been down that grade on U.S. 95, I still like to stop at the viewpoint near the top. Maybe it’s nostalgia (I went to high school 30 miles away), or maybe it’s because the austere beauty of the area still has the power to take my breath away. Hard to say.
The next time I stop will be a little more poignant, I reckon.
postprandial (adjective) Occurring after a meal.
Courtney’s steep decline in productivity as the afternoon wore on was initially thought to be an acute case of workplace ennui; upon further examination, however, it was determined to be nothing more than postprandial lethargy.
When you think of Whitman County—if you think about it at all—chances are your mind conjures up images of rolling farmland dotted with the occasional farmhouse, one-horse towns anchored by enormous grain elevators, or John Mraz. And you’d be pretty much spot-on. But there’s also a 300-acre microclimate nestled in the shadow of a massive island of Precambrian quartzite that’s definitely worth a look-see.
The photo above is taken from the 3,641-foot summit of Kamiak Butte. (That’s right, I bagged a peak yesterday. No big deal. What’d you do?) It’s accessed via a short spur off of the main 3.5-mile Pine Ridge Trail, much of which is in the cool shade of towering yellow pine, Douglas fir, and tamarack before traversing a long, exposed ridge. Spectacular views abound, not to mention 130 species of bird, 170 plant, and 30 mammal.
Best of all? It’s less than 90 minutes from Spokane. Check it out.
“The world into which I was born no longer exists, of course.” Thus begins a thoughtful essay by author Claire Messud in the August 2015 issue of Harper’s. Frightful words indeed, considering that she and I are roughly the same age.
Messud is talking about the stark differences between her and her children’s generations—and the “monolithic” world we live in today:
Now that the very understanding of experience is communal, there’s less leeway for idiosyncrasy, less patience for indirection. These days, if you can’t share a thought—either because it’s hard to articulate or because it would take more words than a tweet or a text will allow—you might as well skip it.
Messud’s essay is no curmudgeonly cri de coeur against technology, however. It’s a desire to “show the wisdom of restraint.” After all, she concludes, “if you attend thoughtfully to what you already have, you need nothing more.”