It’s no mystery why telephone booths went the way of the hitching post: 90% of Americans now use mobile devices of some sort. (The other 10% use rotary phones to order more hitching posts, apparently.) Yes, the pay phone is obsolete—but we’re not dusting off the pay phone.
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When he was 13 years old, John Fairfax ran away from home to live in the jungle, emerging periodically in town to exchange ocelot skins for knives—which he used to skin more ocelots, and so on. After having been dumped by a college girlfriend in Argentina at the age of 20, he attempted suicide—by letting a 400-pound jaguar attack him. A decade later, he drew upon navigational skills picked up as captain of a Panamanian pirate ship, braved numerous typhoons and shark attacks, and crossed the Atlantic Ocean in a rowboat stocked only with Spam, oatmeal and brandy. Then, after a brief stint as a mink farmer, he traversed the Pacific Ocean in identical fashion, only this time he brought along a female companion.
Yes, Mr. Fairfax’s eulogy in Saturday’s New York Times reads a whole lot like a Dos Equis commercial.
That is, if the Most Interesting Man in the World had anywhere near the sand of John Fairfax…»
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It was the crown jewel of aircrafts from the moment it lifted off in 1976 until its sudden, catastrophic extinction 27 years later. The Concorde.
On the outside: a supersonic, transatlantic rocket ship with four Rolls-Royce engines cruising along the outermost layer of the earth’s atmosphere at Mach 2. On the inside: the last of the 1960s’ international jetsetters and the wealthiest of the 1980s’ Wall Street tycoons sipping champagne and moving twice as fast as everyone else in the world. “You can be in London at 10am and in New York at 10am,” said Sir David Frost, a Concorde regular. “I have never found another way of being in two places at once.”
And then, like Keyser Söze, poof: it was gone.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the rocking chair.
Chairs just aren’t fun anymore.
Sure, if you want to sit in front of a computer all day, modern furniture design has your back completely—but if you’re going to spend the next two hours leisurely sipping a mint julep (possibly on a veranda), it can be hard to find an appropriately relaxing place to sit. Which is why we’d like to dust off the easygoing fixture known as the rocking chair.
Lean back; we’ll take it from here…
As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the cigarette ad.
Cigarettes are bad. But boy were cigarette ads good.
By good, of course, we don’t mean accurate. (“The finer the filter, the milder the taste.”) Or moral. (“Blow in her face and she’ll follow you anywhere.”) Or okay. (Barney Rubble: “I sure hate to see our wives work so hard.” Fred Flintstone: “Me too. Let’s have a smoke around back where we can’t see ’em.”)
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off basketball in a cage.
The NBA’s in trouble.
It’s not just the newly resolved labor troubles, or the Christmas games, or the Kardashian marriages. We’re talking about something deeper. The game has lost its way. It’s time to get back to how basketball was meant to be played.
Inside a 12-foot cage.
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You’ve got friends and colleagues and acquaintances. And thanks to Facebook, you’ve probably got a pretty accurate count of each one. But when the time comes to confide, to spill a personal secret to someone you trust implicitly… you may be coming up short.
According to a recent Cornell study, the average American makes do with only two “confidants”—down from three in 1985—and as we scan our own contact list, we have to admit that’s about right. We’ve got double the personal network of the last generation, but it’s only half as deep—but it’s not too late to dust it off…
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off morse code.
You never know.
It’s one of the few constants of life. After tomorrow, you could be lost in the wilderness, wrestling bears for survival. You could find yourself becalmed on the high seas, signaling to passing ships with a flashlight. The future is cloudy, like the fortune tellers say.
All you can do is try to develop skills that will get you through any situation intact. Skills like knot-tying, tent-pitching…and an ostensibly outdated system known as Morse Code.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off alpinism.
It’s hard to know the meaning of our lives.
We muddle through, doing the best we can, but we’re mostly making it up as we go, ignorant of any larger significance our time on earth might have.
So we’re just going to tell you. The fates have guided you to this blog post, and now we’re going to provide you with the purpose of your existence. We’re not even going to put it after the jump.
Your purpose in life is to ascend the tallest mountains on earth, bringing glory upon your name and country.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the single-bar kicker’s helmet.
Like most of you, we are all in favor of the NFL doing whatever is necessary to protect its players. Ease up on the defenseless receiver. Respect the fair catch. Save the horse collar tackles for the rodeo ring.
But since we are ever-so-slightly more interested in aesthetics over long-term brain functionality…»
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off white socks.
The usual line on socks is pretty simple: gray, blue, brown or black. If you’re feeling adventurous, you can get into crazy patterns and fluorescent hues, but that’s pretty much the limit of blog-approved style.
It wasn’t always this way. In the Kennedy era, the tube sock was one of the great American staples alongside crewneck sweatshirts and pressed khakis—but somewhere along the line, the snow-white tube sock became a sartorial faux pas. By our lights, it’s due for a revival.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off manual scorekeeping.
We live in a world of convenience. So it’s only natural that when we find ourselves at a sporting event—or watching on TV—there’s always some sort of device there to tell us who’s winning.
Even if we might be better off figuring it out for ourselves.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the sidecar.
You should never be afraid to pick up a passenger or two.
So much as we admire the solitary drive of the motorcycle, we have to admit, it’s missing something. A place for a navigator, or a passenger who doesn’t have to cling to your back all the way through Nebraska. Room for company—otherwise known as a sidecar.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the summer cabin.
Nowadays the words “summer vacation” usually imply a plane ticket to a southern island and an anonymous and freshly scrubbed hotel room. We’re not knocking it, but there was a time when those words meant something a bit more traditional, a bit more familial.
And the resulting few weeks were often spent in a cabin of some kind…
Wherein we extol the virtues of living the simpler summer life»
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, trends and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the two-sport professional athlete.
These days, nobody seems to know what Bo knew.
We’re not talking about breaking bats over your leg (though we wish someone could figure out how to do that in one attempt, too.)
We’re referring, rather, to the seemingly lost art of playing more than one professional sport. Bo Jackson’s name was synonymous with the practice in the 90’s, thanks to his penchant for blasting stratospheric home runs into the upper fountain at Royals Stadium while averaging the second-most yards-per-carry in NFL history.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the magical moment when a woman jumps out of a cake.
We’re men of simple tastes.
And yet, we can’t suppress a slight melancholy whenever we see a roughly human-sized cake, only to realize that there is not a scantily clad woman waiting to burst from beneath its surface.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the wooden roller coaster.
We’re suckers for a good amusement park. It’s not the most sophisticated variety of thrill, but there’s something about the rush of speed, the open air and the timelessly kitchy décor that brings us back to sunnier days.
But naturally, as the world’s amusement parks have doubled down on the twisting-steel-vertebrae school of coaster design, we find ourselves nostalgic for a more rickety kind of ride—the kind you only get from the wooden coaster.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off classic shaving cream.
By now, you’ve heard from the shaving trads.
The ones that swear by the straight razor. The ones that let nothing but badger hair caress their virgin cheeks.
So we won’t waste your time proselytizing the old school barbershop shave—but we would like to draw your attention to the most important and most overlooked element of the holy ritual: the classic shaving cream.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off smelling salts.
Quacks have gotten a bad rap.
Sure, we wouldn’t go to them with anything serious—the flu shot, the broken leg—but if your problem is more along the lines of a mild headache and a general malaise, the snake oil salesmen may be able to help you a whole lot more than a GP.
So naturally, there are a few folk remedies we’d like to dust off…starting with smelling salts»
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off taking dictation.
You spend a lot of time typing.
There are emails, nostalgic blog posts and dozens of other daily tasks, all channeled through your fingertips. After a while, you start to wonder if there’s a better way.
Once upon a time, there was. You’d pace purposefully around your desk, orating whatever urgent missive needs to be sent to the head office, while a dutiful assistant typed it all up at speed. When you were done, you could send it off without even looking at it—and at the bottom, you’d stamp the ultimate mark of correspondence-related mastery: “Dictated but not read.” If you’re not familiar, it’s the gray-flannel-suit equivalent of “deal with it.”
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via the MetAs connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the portrait sitting.
If you’re plugged into the modern world, it’s a safe bet there are at least a hundred pictures of you floating around—and most of them probably don’t look too good. (We blame point-and-shoots, Facebook and dimly lit bars, but that’s another story.)
The good news is, we’ve got a nostalgic affectation that will take care of that in one fell swoop.
It’s time to commission a portrait.
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As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the postcard.
Everyone needs a change of scenery from time to time.
And whether it’s a weekend road trip or a monthlong tour of Asia, we predict you’ll spend at least some portion of the next few months in unusual climes. It’s an opportunity for reflection, mind-broadening and—if you came prepared—a little nostalgia. We’re thinking of the postcard…and the kind that doesn’t come from a gift shop.
As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off listening to sports on the radio.
It’s the oldest predicament in sports: You care about your team, but you’re not going to make it to every single game. So you check out the sports page, or the highlight reels, or the steadily updating scores trickling onto your phone. You check every few innings, and accept anything else as lost in translation.
Unless you happen to have a radio.
As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the hobby.
You can’t be amazing at everything.
You tried, sure, but part of moving into the adult world means leaving behind some skills to focus on a single area of expertise—ideally, one related to gainful employment. All the other stuff becomes more personal and less intense, with lower stakes and smaller rewards. In short, a hobby.
Or at least that’s how it used to work.
Copyright Bill EwingAs connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, habits and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the continental breakfast.
We like rituals. Pomp. Circumstance. The more accoutrements—the silver service, the folded napkin—the better.
And while the standard breakfast ritual has been whittled down to “coffee and something else,” we’d like to make room for something a bit more elegant. Nothing that would involve any elaborate stove work, just a bit of culinary ceremony at the start of the day…or what is commonly known as the continental breakfast.
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