“Writing worth listening to” and “Listen to the world’s best journalism anytime, anywhere.” are their tag lines. Speakers and narrators read compelling articles and news such that you can listen on the go. It’s curated to the left, investigative, and science/fact based.
Download it at your favorite app store or visit curio.io.
Where do champagne bubbles come from? –
Learn about the science that results in champagne bubbles. Have something to say when it gets awkward at the next cocktail party.
Hat tip to Dustin Boyer for the article
How Atlassian Built a $10B Growth Engine –
I read a lot of business development and marketing material to see if there are ways I can implement those lessons into my own practices.
Engineering business growth into a business is an ultimate goal, whereby marketing happens as a result of use of the product or service. A couple classics:
– Hotmail – In the footer of every email that got sent was a link to invite new users to signup
– Groupon – Buyers of a Groupon are incentivized to share their deal with hopes that it will ‘tip’ and be awarded to themselves
Another viable channel to grow a business is via acquisition of complimentary companies that have baked in marketing components.
The founders Atlassian bootstrapped the company for the first 9 years, staying lean and giving folks what they wanted in exchange for money (key point there..). After proving a successful model they raised money to buy additional companies with excellent results.
I also really appreciate the idea of building a business that is a ’50 year business’. Rene (my business partner) and I joke that our exit strategy is death, which is true in many respects. The longer we go along, the more I look through a lens of building a company that will survive me.
Here is Atlassian’s story:
LPT: Use an infrared thermometer to check for drafts around windows, doors, electrical outlets, it doubles as a quick cooking thermometer. They cost under $20. –
From the article:
Got one last year, was surprised at how cheap and effective it is.
Our house is relatively new yet the downstairs gets frigid, my wife mentioned that the windows felt drafty yet they were solidly shut. We used this and found very slight cracks in the caulking that were letting cold air in. After using it to find all the weak spots and recaulking along with fixing some door insulation and closing a flue the house is much more comfortable.
Bonus: you can aim it at pans/foods and tell temps within a few degrees (surface only of course).
Double bonus: Aim it at your SO and say you found something hot.
You can get them on Amazon shipped right to you and the batteries last forever, enjoy!
With this old creaky house this thing just let me know that the caulk gun and I are about to get cozy.
The Ultimate Ground Speed Check – Tales from the Blackbird –
My dad first took me flying on my 15th birthday, which I did every year on the same day into my twenties. Raleigh East Airport was a municipal airport for the farmers and crop dusters about 40 minutes from where I grew up. We’d hire a lesson for $80 or so, and take up a Cessna 172 Skyhawk for an hour or two. I picked up the habit again a few years ago and was pleased when the pilot gave me a thumbs up from my control of the bird on my 40th. I don’t have a license or anything, that would take more concentrated effort. But you can believe I’d sure try to land anything I was in, should the need arise. I’ve often thought about what the Wright brothers saw in flight that no one else had…how maniacal they must’ve been, relative to literally everyone else on the planet.
In any case, I love flying airplanes. And I love learning about the systems and physics and protocols and perspective that all come from guiding a machine that weighs more than air, through the air.
Here is an awesome tale about the SR71 Blackbird from Brian Shul’s book, Sled Driver: Flying the World’s Fastest Jet
There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.
Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the ” Houston Center voice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.” Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check”. Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.”
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.”
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.
For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
Happy New Year and stay warm out there!!! It’s so exciting these days, no? It just seems like opportunity is everywhere. Let’s get after it.