Physical Attraction: Marriage Proposal Comes in the Form of a Physics Paper

physics marriage proposal

On red­dit, a user wrote yes­ter­day, “My boyfriend of 7 years and I are both physi­cists. Here’s how he pro­posed to me.” Yes, the mar­riage pro­pos­al is a physics paper of sorts, called “Two Body Inter­ac­tions: A Lon­gi­tu­di­nal Study,” that con­cludes:

The sum­ma­ry of the find­ings of the study are pre­sent­ed in Fig­ure 1 and that that the project hap­pi­ness is upward with high con­fi­dence. Tak­ing these results into account, the author pro­pos­es to Christie the indef­i­nite con­tin­u­a­tion of the study. The sub­jects response to their pro­pos­al should be indi­cat­ed below [by check­ing the “Yes” or “No” box].

Bren­dan McMoni­gal and Christie Nelan (pic­tured here) met at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Syd­ney sev­en years ago. They will tie the knot this com­ing May, and we hope you’ll wish them the best.…

via Boing­Bo­ing and @stevesilberman

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Johnny Cash Stars as a Menacing, Musical Gangster in 1961 Film Five Minutes to Live

As every­one sure­ly knows by now, today would have been John­ny Cash’s 81st birth­day, and he’s been right­ly cel­e­brat­ed all around the inter­net for his one-of-a-kind coun­try per­sona as “The Man in Black.” Cash was so well-loved in part because, like only a hand­ful of oth­er coun­try stars (Hank Williams, Pat­sy Cline, Dol­ly Par­ton, Emmy­lou Har­ris), he tran­scend­ed the genre, win­ning fans from every con­ceiv­able cor­ner. The out­law singer was also no stranger to TV and film cam­eras, once host­ing his own talk show and appear­ing in sev­er­al dozen films and TV shows as him­self.

But did you know that Cash once had a star­ring fea­ture film role along­side Vic Tay­back and Ron Howard? That’s right, in the 1961 crime dra­ma above, Five Min­utes to Live, Cash plays John­ny Cabot, described by Rot­ten Toma­toes as “a blood­thirsty New Jer­sey gang­ster who is forced to hide out in a small Cal­i­for­nia sub­urb after killing a cop dur­ing a job gone wrong.”

Cabot is a musi­cal crook, who tricks his way into a bank pres­i­den­t’s home by con­vinc­ing the pres­i­den­t’s wife he’s a gui­tar sales­man. Once inside, he ter­ror­izes her and sings men­ac­ing songs in her direc­tion. Ron Howard plays the vic­tim­ized wom­an’s son Bob­by, and anoth­er coun­try great, gui­tarist Mer­le Travis, has a small role as a bowl­ing alley own­er. It’s all in keep­ing, I guess, with the John­ny Cash out­law leg­end (though he may have regret­ted the lurid, grind­house movie poster below).

Five Min­utes to Live was re-released in 1966 as Door-to-Door Mani­ac. What­ev­er you call it, you may hear more about this movie soon: Speed direc­tor Jan de Bont has been brought on to direct a remake in the near future. And yes, there’s been talk (if only tongue-in-cheek) of cast­ing Joaquin Phoenix in the Cash role.

Five Min­utes to Live is in the pub­lic domain, and we’ve added it to our col­lec­tion of 500 Free Movies Online.

5minutestolive

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The 1969 Bob Dylan-John­ny Cash Ses­sions: Twelve Rare Record­ings

Two Prison Con­certs That Defined an Out­law Singer: John­ny Cash at San Quentin and Fol­som (1968–69)

John­ny Cash Sings “Man in Black” for the First Time, 1971

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Seven Tips From F. Scott Fitzgerald on How to Write Fiction

FScottF

F. Scott Fitzger­ald is often por­trayed as a nat­ur­al-born writer. “His tal­ent,” says Ernest Hem­ing­way in A Move­able Feast, “was as nat­ur­al as the pat­tern that was made by the dust on a but­ter­fly­’s wings.” But Fitzger­ald saw him­self in a dif­fer­ent light. “What lit­tle I’ve accom­plished,” he said, “has been by the most labo­ri­ous and uphill work.”

Last week we brought you Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion. Today we’re back with a sim­i­lar list of advice from Hem­ing­way’s friend and rival Fitzger­ald. We’ve select­ed sev­en quo­ta­tions from F. Scott Fitzger­ald on Writ­ing, which was edit­ed by Lar­ry W. Phillips and pub­lished in 1985 as a com­pan­ion to the Hem­ing­way book. As in the pre­vi­ous post, we’ve orga­nized the advice under our own head­ings and added some brief com­men­tary.

1: Start by tak­ing notes.

Fitzger­ald made a habit of record­ing his stray thoughts and obser­va­tions in note­books. He orga­nized the entries into cat­e­gories like “Feel­ings and emo­tions,” “Con­ver­sa­tions and things over­heard” and “Descrip­tions of girls.” When Fitzger­ald was giv­ing writ­ing advice to his mis­tress Sheilah Gra­ham in the late 1930s, he advised her to do the same. In her 1940 mem­oir, Beloved Infi­del, Gra­ham quotes Fitzger­ald as say­ing:

You must begin by mak­ing notes. You may have to make notes for years.… When you think of some­thing, when you recall some­thing, put it where it belongs. Put it down when you think of it. You may nev­er recap­ture it quite as vivid­ly the sec­ond time.

2: Make a detailed out­line of your sto­ry.

When Fitzger­ald was work­ing on a nov­el, he would sur­round him­self with charts out­lin­ing the var­i­ous move­ments and his­to­ries of his char­ac­ters. In a 1936 let­ter to nov­el­ist John O’Hara, he advis­es the younger nov­el­ist to start with a big out­line:

Invent a sys­tem Zolaesque…but buy a file. On the first page of the file put down an out­line of a nov­el of your times enor­mous in scale (don’t wor­ry, it will con­tract by itself) and work on the plan for two months. Take the cen­tral point of the file as your big cli­max and fol­low your plan back­ward and for­ward from that for anoth­er three months. Then draw up some­thing as com­pli­cat­ed as a con­ti­nu­ity from what you have and set your­self a sched­ule.

3: Don’t describe your work-in-progress to any­one.

Fitzger­ald’s pol­i­cy was nev­er to talk with oth­er peo­ple about the book he was work­ing on. In a 1940 let­ter to his daugh­ter Scot­tie, he says:

I think it’s a pret­ty good rule not to tell what a thing is about until it’s fin­ished. If you do you always seem to lose some of it. It nev­er quite belongs to you so much again.

4: Cre­ate peo­ple, not types.

Fitzger­ald was known for cre­at­ing emblem­at­ic char­ac­ters, but he said it was acci­den­tal. “I had no idea of orig­i­nat­ing an Amer­i­can flap­per when I first began to write,” he said in a 1923 inter­view for Met­ro­pol­i­tan mag­a­zine. “I sim­ply took girls who I knew very well and, because they inter­est­ed me as unique human beings, I used them for my hero­ines.” In the open­ing sen­tence of his 1926 short sto­ry, “The Rich Boy,” Fitzger­ald explains the prin­ci­ple:

Begin with an indi­vid­ual, and before you know it you find that you have cre­at­ed a type; begin with a type, and you find that you have created–nothing.

5: Use famil­iar words.

In a 1929 let­ter to his col­lege friend and fel­low writer John Peale Bish­op, Fitzger­ald says:

You ought nev­er to use an unfa­mil­iar word unless you’ve had to search for it to express a del­i­cate shade–where in effect you have recre­at­ed it. This is a damn good prose rule I think.… Excep­tions: (a) need to avoid rep­e­ti­tion (b) need of rhythm © etc.

6: Use verbs, not adjec­tives, to keep your sen­tences mov­ing.

In a 1938 let­ter to his daugh­ter, Fitzger­ald writes:

About adjec­tives: all fine prose is based on the verbs car­ry­ing the sen­tences. They make sen­tences move. Prob­a­bly the finest tech­ni­cal poem in Eng­lish is Keats’ “Eve of Saint Agnes.” A line like “The hare limped trem­bling through the frozen grass,” is so alive that you race through it, scarce­ly notic­ing it, yet it has col­ored the whole poem with its movement–the limp­ing, trem­bling and freez­ing is going on before your own eyes.

7: Be ruth­less.

A writer has to make some hard choic­es. Fitzger­ald warns about the dan­ger of becom­ing too attached to some­thing you’ve writ­ten. Keep an objec­tive eye on the whole piece, he says, and if some­thing isn’t work­ing get rid of it. In a 1933 Sat­ur­day Evening Post arti­cle titled “One Hun­dred False Starts,” he writes:

I am alone in the pri­va­cy of my fad­ed blue room with my sick cat, the bare Feb­ru­ary branch­es wav­ing at the win­dow, an iron­ic paper weight that says Busi­ness is Good, a New Eng­land conscience–developed in Minnesota–and my great­est prob­lem:

“Shall I run it out? Or shall I turn back?”

Shall I say:

“I know I had some­thing to prove, and it may devel­op far­ther along in the sto­ry?”

Or:

“This is just bull­head­ed­ness. Bet­ter throw it away and start over.”

The lat­ter is one of the most dif­fi­cult deci­sions that an author must make. To make it philo­soph­i­cal­ly, before he has exhaust­ed him­self in a hun­dred-hour effort to resus­ci­tate a corpse or dis­en­tan­gle innu­mer­able wet snarls, is a test of whether or not he is real­ly a pro­fes­sion­al. There are often occa­sions when such a deci­sion is dou­bly dif­fi­cult. In the last stages of a nov­el, for instance, where there is no ques­tion of junk­ing the whole, but when an entire favorite char­ac­ter has to be hauled out by the heels, screech­ing, and drag­ging half a dozen good scenes with him.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion

Rare Footage of Scott and Zel­da Fitzger­ald From the 1920s

Win­ter Dreams: F.Scott Fitzger­ald’s Life Remem­bered in a Fine Film

F. Scott Fitzger­ald Reads From Shake­speare’s Oth­el­lo and John Mase­field­’s ‘On Grow­ing Old’ (c.1940)

The BBC’s Horrible Histories Videos Will Crack You Up and Teach You About WWI (and More)

My 12-year-old, home-schooled son recent­ly expressed an inter­est in study­ing World War I. This was encour­ag­ing, but also nerve-wrack­ing, giv­en the dis­dain that led me to spend most of World His­to­ry pass­ing notes and doo­dling (not in the Lyn­da Bar­ry col­lege course / this will help you absorb the infor­ma­tion bet­ter way). I retained noth­ing of what I’d been for­mal­ly taught. My most sol­id knowl­edge of the peri­od was gleaned from the sec­ond sea­son of Down­ton Abbey and an Audrey Tautou movie that was rat­ed R for sex and vio­lence. (There’s also a fam­i­ly pho­to­graph of us pos­ing on the Sara­je­vo street cor­ner where Franz Fer­di­nand was assas­si­nat­ed, but the sig­nif­i­cance of the spot had to be explained to me first.)

Some online scrab­bling led me to the BBC’s Hor­ri­ble His­to­ries’ brief overview of the “caus­es of World War I” (above). Wow. If only this series—and, ahem, the Internet—had exist­ed when I was the boy’s age! I think it’s safe to say my atten­tion would have been cap­tured. It’s sil­ly, yes, but that’s the whole point. The play­ers’ over-the-top comedic style ensures that even the dri­est of his­tor­i­cal facts will stick, as any­one who’s watched Michael Cera bring Alexan­der Hamil­ton to life in Drunk His­to­ry can attest. It’s the per­fect gate­way for fur­ther study.

Hor­ri­ble His­to­ries’ take on World War I proved  such a hit, the boy imme­di­ate­ly delved into oth­er peri­ods, often when he was sup­posed to be doing oth­er things, like play­ing Minecraft or watch­ing YouTube (tech­ni­cal­ly, I guess this sort of counts). Still it’s grat­i­fy­ing to hear him stud­ding his con­ver­sa­tion with casu­al ref­er­ences to the Bor­gias, the Tudors, and Mar­tin Luther. It makes me want to learn more, or at least bring myself up-to-speed on the videos. In the words of School­house Rock, knowl­edge is pow­er.

A WWI cen­ten­ni­al’s loom­ing, folks. Don’t get caught with your draw­ers down.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Drunk His­to­ry: An Intox­i­cat­ed Look at the Famous Alexan­der Hamil­ton – Aaron Burr Duel

The Dead Authors Pod­cast: H.G. Wells Com­i­cal­ly Revives Lit­er­ary Greats with His Time Machine

School­house Rock at 40: Revis­it a Col­lec­tion of Nos­tal­gia-Induc­ing Edu­ca­tion­al Videos

200 Free Kids Edu­ca­tion­al Resources: Video Lessons, Apps, Books, Web­sites & More

Ayun Hal­l­i­day  grad­u­at­ed from North­west­ern Uni­ver­si­ty with a degree in the­ater and has been mak­ing up for it ever since. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Learn to Code with Harvard’s Intro to Computer Science Course And Other Free Tech Classes

I’ll con­fess, when it comes to com­put­ers, I’m pret­ty much strict­ly a user. And these days, with the poten­tial free­dom and cre­ative­ly afford­ed by open access soft­ware, the end­less hacks for vir­tu­al­ly every­thing, and the avail­abil­i­ty of free online com­put­er class­es, that seems like kind of a lame admis­sion. So I’m tempt­ed to rec­ti­fy my pro­gram­ming igno­rance by push­ing through what promis­es to be a rig­or­ous intro to com­put­er sci­ence, CS50, Harvard’s intro­duc­to­ry course for both majors and non-majors alike. The course offers a broad knowl­edge base to build on, as you can see from the descrip­tion below:

Top­ics include abstrac­tion, algo­rithms, encap­su­la­tion, data struc­tures, data­bas­es, mem­o­ry man­age­ment, secu­ri­ty, soft­ware devel­op­ment, vir­tu­al­iza­tion, and web­sites. Lan­guages include C, PHP, and JavaScript plus SQL, CSS, and HTML. Prob­lem sets inspired by real-world domains of biol­o­gy, cryp­tog­ra­phy, finance, foren­sics, and gam­ing. Designed for con­cen­tra­tors and non-con­cen­tra­tors alike, with or with­out pri­or pro­gram­ming expe­ri­ence.

Har­vard has made this course avail­able free to anyone—via YouTubeiTunes, and the course page—with a series of lec­tures filmed dur­ing the Fall 2011 semes­ter. The class is led by David J. Malan, an enthu­si­as­tic young pro­fes­sor and Senior Lec­tur­er on Com­put­er Sci­ence at Har­vard, and him­self a prod­uct of Harvard’s Com­put­er Sci­ence pro­gram. Pro­fes­sor Malan has also offered Harvard’s CS50 as a MOOC through edX. In the intro­duc­to­ry lec­ture to CS50 (above), Malan promis­es that “this is one of those rare cours­es that actu­al­ly squeezes your brain so much and your sched­ule so much that by the end of the semes­ter you actu­al­ly feel smarter.”

Pro­fes­sor Malan has become some­thing of a hot shot at Har­vard. His mission—to make com­put­er sci­ence more acces­si­ble and far less daunt­ing. He’s done this in part by gen­er­ous­ly mak­ing sev­er­al of his cours­es avail­able free online to non-Har­vard stu­dents. In addi­tion to CS50, Malan offers the fol­low­ing cours­es for those who want to pur­sue pro­gram­ming or web design fur­ther:

And if you still need some sell­ing on the val­ues and virtues of com­put­er sci­ence, watch Malan below deliv­er an inspir­ing talk called “And the Geek Shall Inher­it the Earth” at Har­vard Thinks Big 2010 (Harvard’s ver­sion of TED Talks).

We’ve added Har­vard’s CS50 to the Com­put­er Sci­ence sec­tion of our list of 750 Free Online Cours­es and our list of 150 Free Busi­ness Cours­es.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Com­put­er Sci­ence: Free Cours­es

Codecademy’s Free Cours­es Democ­ra­tize Com­put­er Pro­gram­ming

Learn to Build iPhone & iPad Apps with Stanford’s Free Course, Cod­ing Togeth­er

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

An Oral History of Pulp Fiction: the Making of the Indie Film that Changed the Rules

Steel your­selves, movie­go­ers over thir­ty: the cin­e­mat­ic phe­nom­e­non known as Pulp Fic­tion hap­pened nine­teen years ago. Which means that the mak­ing of Pulp Fic­tion hap­pened twen­ty years ago. Van­i­ty Fair’s Mark Seal has seized this occa­sion to write “Cin­e­ma Taran­ti­no: The Mak­ing of Pulp Fic­tion,” an oral his­to­ry of the con­cep­tion of the one movie that, more than any oth­er, stoked the Amer­i­can indie-film boom of the nineties to its full cul­tur­al blaze. Seal quotes Har­vey Wein­stein, a force of this move­ment at the helm of Mira­max Films and Taran­ti­no’s long­time busi­ness col­lab­o­ra­tor, as describ­ing Pulp Fic­tion as “the first inde­pen­dent movie that broke all the rules,” which “set a new dial on the movie clock.” Though pos­sessed of a leg­endary way with hyper­bole, Wein­stein may have this time put it too mild­ly.

As a movie­go­er slight­ly under thir­ty, I grew up regard­ing Pulp Fic­tion as the movie cool grown-ups loved (I remem­ber my dad buy­ing the poster almost imme­di­ate­ly after see­ing the film), only know­ing that it had some­thing to do with McDon­ald’s Quar­ter- Pounders in France. Seal’s arti­cle sheds spe­cial light on the pic­ture’s gen­e­sis for those too young to have engaged with the con­sid­er­able indus­try buzz at the time, using not just the rec­ol­lec­tions of John Tra­vol­ta, Bruce Willis, Samuel Jack­son, Uma Thur­man, Har­vey Kei­t­el, and Taran­ti­no him­self, but also of instru­men­tal behind-the-scenes fig­ures like co-writer Roger Avary, agent Mike Simp­son, and typ­ist Lin­da Chen. Before you peti­tion your local revival cin­e­mas to hold trib­ute screen­ings, have anoth­er shot of Pulp Fic­tion back­sto­ry by watch­ing the on-set footage above. It opens on not just any set, but Jackrab­bit Slim’s, the very same fic­tion­al theme restau­rant Pulp Fic­tion’s cre­ators remem­ber so vivid­ly in the arti­cle.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Gives Sneak Peek of Pulp Fic­tion to Jon Stew­art (1994)

My Best Friend’s Birth­day, Quentin Tarantino’s 1987 Debut Film

Film­mak­ing Advice from Quentin Taran­ti­no and Sam Rai­mi (NSFW)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Norwegian Musician Creates Ice Instruments with a Chain Saw and Sub-Zero Weather

Most pro­fes­sion­al musi­cians have a very spe­cial rela­tion­ship with their instru­ments. Male gui­tarists treat their favorite gui­tars like girlfriends—maybe bet­ter in some cas­es. Trav­el­ing cel­lists buy air­line tick­ets for instru­ments. It’s just too risky to put your liveli­hood in car­go.

Not so for Ter­je Insungset, a Nor­we­gian musi­cian who, among oth­er things, carves instru­ments out of ice. His back­ground is in jazz and tra­di­tion­al Scan­di­na­vian music, but he’s built a rep­u­ta­tion as an artist who makes music on uncon­ven­tion­al mate­ri­als. Con­sid­er­ing where he is from, it’s not sur­pris­ing that he has turned his atten­tion to ice and its musi­cal poten­tial.

Turns out the sound of an ice xylo­phone is lovely—soft, deep, tin­kly. The ice horn sounds like a lone­ly beast call­ing out across the tun­dra. Insungset col­lab­o­rates with vocal­ist Mari Kvien Brun­voll. Togeth­er they per­form around the world, some­times indoors and some­times in the snow, with elab­o­rate micro­phone cords draped around and beau­ti­ful light­ing.

There’s even an ice gui­tar.

Insungset has also built instru­ments out of arc­tic birch, slate, cow bells and gran­ite. His inter­est in ice as a mate­r­i­al devel­oped when he was com­mis­sioned to play music in a frozen water­fall at the 1994 Win­ter Olympics in Lille­ham­mer, Nor­way.

Unlike most musi­cians, he has to build his instru­ments in situ, as he did for recent con­certs in Cana­da where the tem­per­a­ture was 36 below zero with a light wind. Per­fect weath­er for ice music.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Har­ry Partch’s Kooky Orches­tra of DIY Musi­cal Instru­ments

“Glitch” Artists Com­pose with Soft­ware Crash­es and Cor­rupt­ed Files

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Vis­it her web­site, .

Édith Piaf’s Moving Performance of ‘La Vie en Rose’ on French TV, 1954

Édith Piaf’s life was any­thing but rosy. Born in a Parisian slum, she was aban­doned by her moth­er and lived for awhile in a broth­el run by her grand­moth­er. As a teenag­er she sang on the streets for mon­ey. She was addict­ed to alco­hol and drugs for much of her life, and her lat­er years were marred by chron­ic pain. Through it all, Piaf man­aged to hold onto a basi­cal­ly opti­mistic view of life. She sang with a lyri­cal aban­don that seemed to tran­scend the pain and sor­row of liv­ing.

On April 3, 1954 Piaf was the guest of hon­or on the French TV show La Joie de Vivre. She was 38 years old but looked much old­er. She had recent­ly under­gone a gru­el­ing series of “aver­sion ther­a­py” treat­ments for alco­holism, and was by that time in the habit of tak­ing mor­phine before going onstage. Cor­ti­sone treat­ments for arthri­tis made the usu­al­ly wire-thin singer look puffy. But when Piaf launch­es into her sig­na­ture song, “La Vie en Rose” (see above), all of that is left behind.

Nine years after this per­for­mance, when Piaf died, her friend Jean Cocteau said of her: “Like all those who live on courage, she did­n’t think about death–she defied it. Only her voice remains, that splen­did voice like black vel­vet.”

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