Read It Now

With Twitter now offering "expanded tweets," I predict this will be the next big twist on a recent revolution:
Sometimes, you want to read a piece of longform content online.
But if your Instapaper queue has swelled to a completely unmanageable size,
you might want to read that content now, not later.

That's when you'll click the Read It Now button.
I've already maxed out my Read It Now queue, what will come after what's next?

Braking with the Throttle

Of all the fantastic camera angles and positions that make up a Formula One broadcast, I can't believe we never see the driver's feet in action. Granted, with paddle-shifting, it's probably a lot less interesting, but still: it'd be nice to see something...something more than this, that is. Case in point:

Around the 1:55 mark, you see how much speed a great driver can scrub off with nothing but throttle modulation and steering input. Remarkable.

Gladwell-Simmons IV

Malcolm Gladwell and Bill Simmons had another extended email conversation a couple weeks ago, and I just got around to reading it. Well worth the time. Sample:
GLADWELL: My turn for a quick tangent: I was in the Orlando airport not long ago, waiting in one of those endless security queues, when I looked up and saw that the ticket agent was escorting someone to the head of the line. She takes him past at least a hundred people and inserts him right in front of the conveyer belt. He wasn't in a hurry. In fact, the guy turned out to be on the same flight I was, which didn't leave for another hour. Who was it? Ray Lewis. Two things. One — there is no way she does that for anyone but a sports star. She would have stopped Albert Einstein if his driver's license looked a little fishy. Second — no one said anything. We all just kind of nodded and looked at each other and said, "Cool! Ray Lewis." Here's a man who makes millions of dollars for hitting people really hard and it somehow makes complete sense to the rest of us that he should be able to cut in ahead of teachers, salesmen, nurses, working moms, and hack writers. If you are someone like Ray Lewis and that kind of thing happens to you every single day of the year, how do you stay normal? Standing in line in airports and other everyday rituals of modern life are the kinds of things that civilize us: As annoying as they are, they remind us that we are all equal and they teach us patience, and they grant us a kind of ultimately useful anonymity. Ray Lewis and celebrities of his ilk never have the privilege of those moments. By the way, Lewis was wearing a daring ochre, Caribbean-style pantsuit that, at some future point, deserves its own Grantland exposé. So yes. It's not easy being LeBron.

Kake Korner

An unremarkable story about a local bakery. But was it written by a middle schooler or a professional journalist? Here's the opening paragraph, in its entirety; you be the judge:
Customers stepping out of their cars in the parking lot of Kake Korner in North Laurel are immediately greeted with the smell of baking cakes wafting through the air. Once they step inside the pink building, the smell grows even stronger.

"All of my friends were on the shelves above."

Ray Bradbury's passing was noted with equal aplomb by the NYTimes and The Onion. And here's a lovely story about how he produced his earliest draft of Fahrenheit 451. The cheapskate in me (along with the guy who never gets anything done without a deadline of some sort) wonders whether paying $0.20/hr. created a series of "mini-deadlines" to keep his fingers tapping.

Big Wooden Balls. Literally.

I found this video charming, and oddly fascinating; but the big surprise was the utter lack of double-entendres.

Perhaps it's our culture's over-saturation in post-Michael-Scott "that's what she said" punchlines, but I hear a phrase like the one at :40, for example, and I assume the next words will be "HEY-O" or at least we'll see a wink.