“A Time-Series Analysis of My Girlfriend’s Mood Swings”
“Behavioral Conditioning Methods to Stop My Boyfriend From Playing The Witcher 3”
“Sub-Nyquist Sampling While Listening to My Girlfriend”
“Who Should Do the Dishes? A Transportation Problem Solution”
“Freudian Psychoanalysis of My Boyfriend’s Gun Collection”
“The Future of Romance: Novel Techniques for Replacing Your Boyfriend With Generative AI”
“Winning Tiffany Back: How to Defeat an AI Boyfriend”
Via r/ImmaterialScience.
In 1 Samuel 23:7-13, man’s free will seems to undermine God’s omniscience:
7 And it was told Saul that David was come to Keilah. And Saul said, God hath delivered him into mine hand; for he is shut in, by entering into a town that hath gates and bars.
8 And Saul called all the people together to war, to go down to Keilah, to besiege David and his men.
9 And David knew that Saul secretly practised mischief against him; and he said to Abiathar the priest, Bring hither the ephod.
10 Then said David, O Lord God of Israel, thy servant hath certainly heard that Saul seeketh to come to Keilah, to destroy the city for my sake.
11 Will the men of Keilah deliver me up into his hand? will Saul come down, as thy servant hath heard? O Lord God of Israel, I beseech thee, tell thy servant. And the Lord said, He will come down.
12 Then said David, Will the men of Keilah deliver me and my men into the hand of Saul? And the Lord said, They will deliver thee up.
13 Then David and his men, which were about six hundred, arose and departed out of Keilah, and went whithersoever they could go. And it was told Saul that David was escaped from Keilah; and he forbare to go forth.
God has foretold David’s capture, but David escapes by fleeing the city.
Arguably, though, this only shows that God’s perfect knowledge extends to counterfactuals, especially those regarding human action.
On New Year’s Eve 1914, an enormous wave struck the lighthouse on Trinidad Head outside Trinidad, California:
At 4:40 p. m. I observed a sea of unusual height. When it struck the bluff the jar was very heavy. The lens immediately stopped revolving. The sea shot up the face of the bluff and over it, until the solid sea seemed to me to be on a level with where I stood in the lantern. The sea itself fell over onto the top of the bluff and struck the tower about on a level with the balcony. The whole point between the tower and the bluff was buried in water.
If keeper Fred L. Harrington’s report is accurate, this was the highest recorded ocean wave ever to have struck the west coast of the United States. The lighthouse stood on a bluff 175 feet high, and the wave had managed to extinguish the light at its top, 196 feet above the sea.
For a fictional character, Sherlock Holmes has a strangely real presence in the physical world. This plaque is posted near the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland:
This one’s on a cottage in Sussex:
There’s even a plaque at the spot where Holmes met Watson.
Naturalist Gilbert White, author of Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne, seems to have had an imaginary contemporary nemesis. Someone has posted this plaque on the house opposite White’s 18th-century Hampshire home:
(Black is the opposite of white, and Sullivan is the opposite, or at least the complement, of Gilbert.)
Finally, this plaque adorns the Park Street Eye Clinic in Tauranga, New Zealand:
Accurate enough.
(Thanks to readers Tom Race, Brieuc de Grangechamps, and Derek Christie.)
Draw a triangle ABC and pick a point V that’s not on one of its sides. Draw a segment from each of the triangle’s vertices through V. Now draw a new triangle whose sides are parallel to these three segments. Segments drawn from each of this new triangle’s vertices and parallel to the first triangle’s sides, as shown, will meet in a common point.
Proven by James Clerk Maxwell!
I think I mentioned this on the podcast at some point: One summer morning in 1815, proprietor William Butterfield opened the White Wells at Ilkley, West Yorkshire, to a sound of whirring:
All over the water and dipping into it was a lot of little creatures, all dressed in green from head to foot, none of them more than eighteen inches high, and making a chatter and jabber thoroughly unintelligible. They seemed to be taking a bath, only they bathed with all their clothes on.
Soon, however, one or two of them began to make off, bounding over the walls like squirrels. Finding they were all making ready for decamping, and wanting to have a word with them, he shouted at the top of his voice — indeed, he declared afterwards, he couldn’t find anything else to say or do — ‘Hallo there!’ Then away the whole tribe went, helter skelter, toppling and tumbling, heads over heels, heels over heads, and all the while making a noise not unlike a disturbed nest of young partridges.
That’s the account recorded by Charles C. Smith in the Folk-Lore Record of 1878. Butterfield had died in 1844, but Smith had the story from his associate John Dobson, who described the bathman as “a good sort of a man, honest, truthful, and steady, and as respectable a fellow as you could find here and there.” The fairies made no comment.
Josiah Winslow’s programming language Bespoke encodes instructions into the lengths of words, producing programs that look like poetry. This one prints the phrase “Hello, World!”:
more peppermint tea? ah yes, it's not bad I appreciate peppermint tea it's a refreshing beverage but you immediately must try the gingerbread I had it sometime, forever ago oh, and it was so good! made the way a gingerbread must clearly be baked in fact, I've got a suggestion I may go outside to Marshal Mellow's Bakery so we both receive one
Related: In the early 1980s, Frank Hayes was so vexed with the S-100 computer bus that he wrote a sea shanty about it:
(Thanks, Jeremiah.)
Each side of the yellow square is 2 feet long. In the Meno, Socrates asks a slave boy how long would be the side of a square that had twice the yellow square’s area. The boy guesses first 4 feet, then 3, and finds himself at a loss.
Socrates builds a square four times the size of the yellow one, then divides each of its constituent squares in half with a diagonal. The area of the blue square is thus twice that of the yellow one, and its side has the length we’d sought.
“Some things I have said of which I am not altogether confident,” Socrates tells Meno. “But that we shall be better and braver and less helpless if we think that we ought to enquire, than we should have been if we indulged in the idle fancy that there was no knowing and no use in seeking to know what we do not know; that is a theme upon which I am ready to fight, in word and deed, to the utmost of my power.”
This building, at 1643 Plaza de los Carros in Madrid, is half illusion — the façade on the left, including the windows, ironwork, awnings, even the residents, is all a trompe-l’œil mural by artist Alberto Pirrongelli.
Back in 2007 I noted the report of a curious wager in Berkshire in 1811: Sir John Throckmorton of Newbury bet a thousand guineas that he could have a coat made between sunrise and sunset of a single summer’s day, from the shearing of the sheep to the finished coat’s delivery by the tailor.
This appears to be true — in 1899 the Strand published a retrospective of the feat, including the first photo of the finished coat and the remarks of 93-year-old Charles Coxeter, the sole surviving witness and the younger brother of John Coxeter, the cloth manufacturer who had superintended most of the work. The sheep had been sheared at 5 a.m., and by 6:20 p.m. Throckmorton was able to don the finish coat before a crowd of 5,000 people, an hour and three-quarters before the deadline.
Coxeter was a curiously ambitious man: After the Battle of Waterloo he sponsored the preparation of a plum pudding 20 feet long, “which was cooked under the supervision of twelve ladies.” The “monster pudding” was carried to his house on a timber wagon drawn by two oxen and declared by all who partook “as nice as mother makes ’em.”
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