1. “Self-recommending”: the very nature of the authors and project suggest it will be good or very good.  This also often (but not always) means I haven’t read it yet.  I am reluctant to recommend *anything* I haven’t read, but I am signaling it is very likely recommendation-worthy and I wish to let you know about it sooner rather than later.

2. An “Assorted link” that ends with a question mark: Worth thinking about, but I wish to distance myself from the conclusion and the methods of the study, without being contrary per se.

3. Hansonian: of, or relating to Robin Hanson.

4. The Jacksonian mode of discourse.  I am opposed to this.  Political and economic pamphlets in the Jacksonian era were excessively polemical and sometimes the Jacksonian mode is still used today, in 2009, believe it or not.

5. Wunderkind: Take the average age of that person’s relevant peers.  If said person is either under twenty or less than half that average, that person may qualify for “Wunderkind” status.

6. Markets in everything: Some of these are celebratory but many of these are sad or tragic.  Usually I am trying to get you to think about — as a philosophical question — why the market exists at all and not whether it should be legal.

7. Tyrone is my brother and alter-ego who believes the opposite of what Tyler believes.  Trudie offers personal advice.  Neither has good time management skills and thus they don’t write very much these days.

8. “Shout it from the rooftops”: What to do with wordy, obscure truths which the world badly needs to learn.

What have I left out?

The feverish but resilient Megan McArdle refers us to a problem in signaling theory:

Slate ponders how to communicate the danger of radioactive waste to the far future.  The problem is, if they can't read English, or recognize the radiation trefoil, anything you do sounds more likely to intrigue future anthropologists than to warn them off…

Juliet Lapidos at Slate writes:

Even if future trespassers could understand what keep and out mean when placed side by side, there's no reason to assume they'd follow directions. In "Expert Judgment," the panelists observe that "[m]useums and private collections abound with [keep out signs] removed from burial sites."

…Likewise, a scavenger on the Carlsbad site in the year 12,000 C.E. may dismiss the menace of radiation poisoning as mere superstition. ("So I'm supposed to think that if I dig here, invisible energy beams will kill me?") Hence the crux of the problem: Not only must intruders understand the message that nuclear waste is near and dangerous; they must also believe it.

How can we solve this problem?  Similarly, if an attractive woman tells you "You don't want to go out with me" do you believe her and act on that?  What other problems have this structure?

Today's bizarrely fascinating cultural nugget from Japan: Chindogu. Literally translated as "weird tool," Chindogu is the Japanese art of creating deliberately complex devices that solve simple everyday problems.

Here is one example:

The Dumbbell Phone

People cite "lack of time" as the number one reason they don't work out more. With the dumbbell phone, that's no longer an excuse. Great for bulking up at your otherwise worthless telemarketing job, this phone will have you shaped and sculpted in no time.

This phone also makes a great gift, especially to that parent, friend, or girlfriend who's been known to talk your ear off on the phone. It's subtle, but effective, especially for those with weak arms.

You'll see a photo here, along with a discussion of other ideas, such as using "solar power" to light your cigarette or a fan to cool off your hot noodles.  The "grid-backed" shirt helps you tell your partner where to scratch your back.  It's a trend:

There's the International Chindogu Society, the Ten Tenets of Chindogu (Number Three: "Inherent in every Chindogu is the spirit of anarchy"), and scores of websites devoted to tracking the newest, and most ridiculous, Chindogu inventions.