Flotsam & Jetsam
It’s strangely appropriate that the waitstaff at Café du Monde consists entirely of Southeast Asians. They were French subjects once, too.
Maciej Ceglowski tells the story of how the cure for scurvy had to be rediscovered. Fascinating stuff. (via Kottke)
It’s bad enough I have to spend 30 minutes standing in line for the X-ray machines; I could really do without the nonstop TSA propaganda.
Indie Mac developer extraordinaire Wil Shipley:
If Apple becomes a company that uses its might to quash competition instead of using its brains, it’s going to find the brainiest people will slowly stop working there. You know this, you watched it happen at Microsoft. Enforcing patents isn’t a good long-term play: it’s the beginning of the end of the creative Apple we both love.
Mr. Alexander is probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. Awesome that he’s being recognized in this way, really unfortunate that he’s currently battling cancer (I take it for granted that the timing of the former has something to do with the latter).
Charles Stross demolishes the common misconception that “the only two people that matter are the author and the reader (one puts creativity in, the other money: the rest add cost)”:
In summary, while it’s true that the author is the one with the creative input, they only do about half the work. And the other half of the job is not optional. The reason publishers exist is to provide for division of labour; if I did the other 50% to bring my rough manuscripts up to published-book-quality, I’d only be able to write half as many novels.
Math teacher saves the day:
The bizarre burst of gunfire that erupted just after 3 p.m. at Deer Creek Middle School, 9201 W. Columbine Drive, ended when David Benke, a 57-year-old math teacher, rushed the shooter, wrestled him to the ground and held on as others helped him subdue the man.
38 notes (via curvedwhite)
adamisacson: I don’t like “country” music or “urban” music. Just songs about SUVs, soccer practice and the Olive Garden. You know, “suburban” music.
Word of Warning
The charm of a narrow cobblestone street is somehow lost when it’s covered in several inches of decaying slush and you can’t walk down it without embedding half a pound of rock salt into the soles of your shoes.
