Brian D. Buckley

Try as I might, I can think of nothing interesting to say today.

Here, have a blue poison dart frog.

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That’s me as a kid, sitting in my dad’s office.

Astounding, really, how little has changed.

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That’s a tardigrade. You’re looking at it from below, so you see its eight stubby legs, each with three claws. The head is at the top. Almost looks like some kind of freaky alien manatee.

Tardigrades, also known as water bears, are only a millimeter long, but they’re one of the toughest life forms on earth. According to the Wiki article:

…tardigrades can withstand temperatures from just above absolute zero to well above the boiling point of water, pressures about 6 times stronger than pressures found in the deepest ocean trenches, ionizing radiation at doses hundreds of times higher than would kill a person, and the vacuum of outer space. They can go without food or water for nearly 120 years, drying out to the point where they are 3% or less water, only to rehydrate, forage, and reproduce.

Plenty of microbes can survive under extreme conditions, but the tardigrade is unusual for an extremophile because it’s so big. A millimeter isn’t much to you or me, but it’s ginormous compared to a microbe.

(Really, spellcheck? You accept “ginormous” but not “extremophile”? Remind me to have a stern talk with your dictionary.)

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I came across these hardy little creatures in a recent issue of National Geographic, which featured this gorgeous, full-color tardigrade photo. Just look at its face! I mean, I don’t even know if “face” is the right word for what’s going on there. It’s so…weird.

Perhaps even more remarkable, tardigrades were discovered way back in 1773, by the German scientist Johann Goeze. He was the one who first named them “water bears,” or, in his words, kleine Wasserbären.

More recently, according to this article, scientists “…exposed [them] to the open and harsh vacuum of space, with all its deadly radiation, on a spacecraft in low-Earth orbit. Many of them survived.” Just think about that for a second. They survived being in space.

I don’t know about you, but personally, I’d find a spacewalk sans protection to be…un-bearable? OH HO HO HO

I, uh. I’ll see myself out.

1. If you notice someone’s gotten a haircut, tell them “Happy haircut!” Like “Happy birthday,” as if it’s a holiday or something. (My stepdad always does this, and now it’s stuck in my brain.) I am a strange person and this is a strange thing to do, and you will get some funny looks. But it’s all good.

2. When people ask how you are, don’t just refute a negative. “I’m not bad” and “I’m good” may mean similar things rationally, but there’s a subtle psychological difference. One is passively okay, while the other is actively positive. (Of course, this only applies if you actually are good. No need to lie!)

3. Jokingly pretend to be excited about things you hate. I don’t mean hide your misery behind a mask. I mean let it out through an excitement that’s so obviously fake that you can just have a good time with it. “Aw yeah, effin’ status reports! Gets me up in the morning!” But don’t just be bitterly sarcastic. Try to really act excited.

4. If you’re feeling down, comfort someone else. This is easier said than done. But often, the best way to get out of your own pit is to imagine what others are feeling. I’ve found that, when I can manage it, my empathy is far more interesting than my self-pity.

5. Exercise, if you can. The brain is an organ. Everything psychological is physical too. Even a little exercise can help. And if you’re feeling better, you can spread that feeling-better to others.

6. Sleep, if you can. You might be surprised just how much of a negative mood comes from pervasive tiredness.

7. Watch Louis C.K.’s standup comedy. Extremely offensive and definitely not for kids, Louis C.K. is nevertheless one of the funniest comedians I’ve ever seen. This video – the whole thing, but especially the part starting at minute 7 – made me laugh so hard I cried.

8. Play music. Everybody’s got a happy song. Personally, I’m partial to “Augie’s Great Municipal Band,” by John Williams. Whatever you like, bust that shiznit out.

9. Leave a note for someone you love. People don’t expect to get notes. As long as you don’t write “TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE,” you’re practically guaranteed a smile.

What ideas do you have?

Can you read that text? I bet you can’t.

Don’t take it personally. Nobody can. The Voynich Manuscript is one of the world’s great unsolved mysteries.

Nobody knows who wrote it, or where. The date is estimated at early 15th century. The name “Voynich” comes from Wilfrid Voynich, a bookseller who bought it in 1912.

The manuscript is 240 pages of vellum, heavily illustrated with pictures of plants, astrological diagrams, and naked women. But the language, and even the script used to write it, are utterly unique. And a century of analysis has failed to extract any meaning from the text.

One obvious theory is that it has no meaning. It might simply be gibberish, a hoax of some kind, perhaps to be sold to some unsuspecting nobleman as a curiosity.

The problem with that theory is that the manuscript has a very complex structure, and exhibits subtle statistical properties that you wouldn’t expect to find in a book of nonsense. A recent scholarly analysis concludes, “…the accumulated evidence about organization at different levels, limits severely the scope of the hoax hypothesis and suggests the presence of a genuine linguistic structure.”

So who can unravel this puzzle?

As an AI developer and statistician-in-training, the Voynich Manuscript is immensely appealing to me. This is exactly the kind of thing someone should write a program to analyze.

Maybe I’ll give it a shot.

Or maybe you will. The full manuscript is right here, an enigma just waiting to be solved. Why not take a look?