When it’s his time, I imagine this is how Homer Simpson would want to go.
Sometimes the fact of your mortality politely taps you on the shoulder and says, “Don’t forget.”
Other times the fact of your mortality clubs you over the head with a two-by-four: (more…)
I thought we already had a death ray. But here’s another one.
Technically, it’s a “Laser-Induced Plasma Channel, or LIPC.”
Oh well. I suppose there is a strategic purpose for having more than one kind. Just as a fisherman has more than one rod-and-reel combination for going after different fish; a golfer’s choice of golf club depends on the distance to the hole and the type of terrain; and the hunter selects a rifle and ammunition combination based on the type of animal to be hunted.
I’d like to hear back from you married guys if the “a golfer needs more than one club” analogy works when your wife asks why you need another rod/reel or another gun.
Dan Petersen writes an impromptu essay on the impermanence of good things and the desire that the passing moment would stay. Recommended.
[N]ature ripped out the bunnies from their soft home and drank their blood, and you want me to help it? With money?
Lileks himself isn’t a milquetoast, but he had a couple interrupt his morning’s work.
His Majesty: “There is unappreciated value in such things as bull fights and bear baiting. Civilized man needs to see a good mauling now and then, to keep him aware of what the alternative is.”
His Majesty is not a member of PETA.
His online media outlets:
His book Righteous Indignation.
(*I was going to list just singers, but I had a crush on Margaux. She was just a few years older than I, and I loved how she didn’t pluck her eyebrows.)
My name’s Bookslinger, and I’m an alcoholic. (“Hi Bookslinger!”) It’s been 10 years since I’ve had a drink…
Lets you sue the estate of someone who negligently gets himself hit by a train if one of his flying body parts strikes and injures you.
And I’m not saying this is wrong; I don’t know how else the judge could have ruled. I’ts just that it’s exceedingly weird. And tragic.
Today would be Betsey’s 10th birthday. This is what I wrote on her birthday six years ago.
I closed comments to this year’s post to keep the comments all in one place.