Bag of Randomness for Wednesday, July 24, 2019
- Random fact about Britain’s new prime minister, Boris Johnson, he was born in New York City. When David Letterman had a show on CBS, he was a guest when he was London’s mayor and for some reason, I remembered that obscure fact.
- Speaking of the British, I highly support this cause – Wetherspoons has become the first large business to stop using receipts after customers complained of mess and the waste of paper. Customers can still request them but will not be given them as a matter of course.
- A friend, I’ll just call him BW, is about to travel to Walt Disney World and I hope he doesn’t pull a stunt like this – A Disney World tourist didn’t have a FastPass to Tower of Terror, so she punched an employee and started pressing buttons
- I’m not a fan of small talk, you know, conversation filler such as the weather. Lately, I’ve been asked if we went anywhere for vacation or have any vacation plans. We don’t, and I feel awkward answering the question, like I’m being judged for not taking my kids anywhere for the summer.
- YouTube – Music Producers Are Given The Same 8-Second Track To Mix, Do Remarkably Different Things With It
- On Keeping a Notebook: A Reading List – The following longreads explore the joys of keeping a notebook and the art of writing longhand.
- A brief history of human filth – How did people through history keep clean? How did they deal with dirt, sweat and other bodily odours, and did they take baths?
- Since the great plagues and the closing of public bathhouses, western Europeans believed that bathing was positively bad for you. Skin protected the body from putrefaction and disease. Toxins left the body as perspiration, menstrual blood, urine and faeces.
- Reading Lessons – You never stop learning how to read — probably because you also never stop forgetting how to read.
- I really connected with this portion of the text:
- For years, I have found it difficult to get into a novel. Entering a new imaginative world feels like too much effort, so when I read for pleasure, I choose nonfiction. As a teenager I encountered the old stereotype that made-up stories are for the young and frivolous (and often female), while nonfiction is for the old and serious (and probably male). Now that I pay taxes and pluck out my grey hairs, I am convinced that fiction is the more demanding genre. Poetry, the great romance of my pubescent years, feels even more distant, requiring focus and receptivity I can rarely muster. Sometimes I wonder if the young read novels and poems because they are the only ones who can.
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