Hi there. My name is Mathew Ingram, and until recently I was the chief digital writer for the Columbia Journalism Review in New York. I live in Canada. I post things I've written for work here, but also a daily newsletter called When The Going Gets Weird, which you can find here, and one about technology and culture called The Torment Nexus.
From LitHub: “One of the most disturbing sporting events in history took place on January 1, 1946, when the US military staged an all-star football game on a field in Nagasaki, Japan—less than five months after an atomic bomb killed over 70,000 in that city, nearly all of them civilians. The game, dubbed “The Atomic Bowl,” was played on the same day that college football bowl games were being played in the US. Today, nearly 80 years to the day after the bombings, the first vivid letters about the game and its aftermath, along with several previously unpublished images, have emerged from an unexpected source: William W. Watt, a revered English literature professor and poet whose work was for many years published in The New Yorker among other magazines. A top officer wrote a press release promising that the game would have a Marine band and Japanese girl cheerleaders. But they would have to play touch, not tackle, football because shards from the atomic blast still littered the field.”
How the invention of the marine chronometer in the 18th century changed the world forever
From Science Direct: “Until the eighteenth century, accurate offshore navigation was an impossible dream. There was no method or technology to determine longitude precisely in the open sea. The longitude puzzle was finally solved with the marine chronometer, one of the most important inventions of the era of the Industrial Revolution on a par with the steam engine. Solving the longitude puzzle] allowed not only safer but also more direct (and hence faster) passage across the oceans, resulting in greater intercontinental trade and the creation of new markets. These developments in turn caused massive shifts in population, significantly expanding the influence of some cultures while suppressing or even eradicating others. We used global data on climate, ship routes, urbanization and colonial history to investigate how the adoption of the marine chronometer reshaped transoceanic sea routes and the impact of these changes on the distribution of cities, population and European colonies across the globe.”
Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.
OpenAI recently released a new version of its ChatGPT artificial-intelligence engine, called GPT-5. Normally, I wouldn’t choose to write about the latest iteration of a product that is in its fifth generation, especially since GPT-5 doesn’t seem radically different in most important ways from GPT-4. In fact, some critics have described it as an overdue, over-hyped and underwhelming update — nothing like the “almost human” artificial general intelligence that OpenAI has said for some time it is on the brink of developing. As far as I can tell, one of the main benefits of GPT-5 is that it replaces (or at least hides) the somewhat bewildering menu of AI engines that users can choose from: GPT-4o, GPT-o3, GPT-04-mini, GPT-04-mini-high, GPT-4.1, GPT-4.1-mini, and so on. The new engine includes all of these prior modes, or models, and now it chooses which one (or which ones) to use based on the complexity and nature of the query. But what I found fascinating about the launch of GPT-5 was how angry a lot of devoted ChatGPT users seemed to be about the new version — or rather, what they were angry about.
As my former tech-blogging compatriot M.G. Siegler pointed out in his analysis of the launch in his Spyglass newsletter, it has become almost a rite of passage for technology products and services to ship a new release that makes everyone mad. One of the earliest cases I was tangentially involved with, as was M.G., was the launch of a little Facebook feature called the news feed in 2006. The thing that eventually became the beating heart of the company, helping to propel it to a multibillion-dollar market value and billions of users around the world, was initially so reviled by users (many of whom seemed to see it as an invasion of privacy) that it was seen as a massive mis-step — one that was arguably made worse by the tone-deaf note that Mark Zuckerberg wrote to users, an apology that wasn’t really an apology. So it’s not uncommon at all for users to hate the latest update from a service that they have grown accustomed to.
But there was something different about the GPT-5 backlash. It wasn’t just users who were upset that the user interface had changed, or that features weren’t where they expected them to be, or that there were new commands or menus, etc. As Casey Newton pointed out in his Platformers newsletter, users who expressed themselves in Reddit threads like r/ChatGPT and elsewhere seemed upset because the new version of the company’s large-language model seemed to have a different personality, if I can use that term — and OpenAI at least initially wouldn’t let them revert to GPT-4 (it later changed its mind on that, after a Change.org petition and some angry blog posts). Some described the loss of the previous version as being like losing a friend, while others said that the new model seemed smart, but that there was a “coldness” about its responses.
Note: This is a version of my Torment Nexus newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.
From ProPublica: “Jill Dopf Viles — self-taught genetic detective — passed away recently at the age of 50. She became convinced she had a rare form of muscular dystrophy called Emery-Dreifuss, which causes muscle wasting, and an even rarer form of partial lipodystrophy, which causes fat to vanish from certain parts of the body. Jill had been told for years that she didn’t have either of these, never mind both. After my first book, “The Sports Gene,” came out in 2013, I was on Good Morning America talking about genetics, and Jill happened to be within earshot of her TV. She sent me an email and followed up by sending me a batch of family photos and a bound packet outlining her theory: that she and Canadian sprinter Priscilla Lopes-Schliep — Olympic bronze medalist in the 100-meter hurdles — shared a genetic mutation. On the face of it, this seemed ridiculous. One could hardly find a picture of two more different women.”
Was Shakespeare stoned when he wrote some of his most famous plays?
From LitHub: “William Shakespeare was in danger of being canceled. He was a big fan of mind-altering drugs — especially cannabis. But the Church of England looked down on live theater because of its “unwholesome” moral content and was keeping an eye out for plays to shut down; plus, city officials had to approve plays before they could be performed within the city limits. So, if Shakespeare had dared to admit publicly that he smoked cannabis, it might have ended his career. That’s right, Shakespeare was a stoner. They found the evidence in his backyard. Some anthropologists got permission from a museum to borrow twenty-four clay pipe fragments that had been dug up in the small town of Stratford-upon-Avon, where Shakespeare used to live. Using state-of-the-art forensic technology, the anthropologists discovered cannabis residue on eight of them — including several from Shakespeare’s backyard garden — that dated back to the late 1500s/early 1600s, around the time he actually lived there.”
Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.
From Wired: “Tuvalu is preparing to carry out the first planned migration of an entire country in response to the effects of climate change. Recent studies project that much of its territory could be submerged in the next 25 years due to rising sea levels, forcing its inhabitants to consider migration as an urgent survival measure. This island nation in Oceania is made up of nine coral islands and atolls inhabited by just over 11,000 people. The country’s average altitude is just 2 meters above sea level, making it extremely vulnerable to rising oceans, flooding, and storm surges, all exacerbated by the climate crisis. A study by NASA’s Sea Level Change Team revealed that, in 2023, the sea level in Tuvalu was 15 centimeters higher than the average recorded over the previous three decades. If this trend continues, it’s projected that most of the territory, including its critical infrastructure, will be below the high-tide level by 2050.”
Kiki the paralyzed sheep has learned how to drive herself around on a motorized cart
From Boing Boing: “Kiki, who was born paralyzed after her mom caught Cash Valley virus from a mosquito, was brought as a young lamb to Don’t Forget Us, Pet Us, a nonprofit sanctuary located in North Dartmouth, Massachusetts that provides lifelong care for farm animals with disabilities. From the start, the folks caring for her noticed how attentive, curious, and sweet Kiki was, and they’ve worked to provide her with the tools and love she needs to thrive, despite her disabilities. When she was young, the sanctuary saw how quickly Kiki learned to control the toys’ dials and levers by using her lips and teeth to move them and wondered if Kiki would be able to transfer the skills to drive a motorized cart. Sure enough, she easily learned to use her head to push the joystick on her motorized cart to move it in various directions, and now she’s an old pro, scooting around the sanctuary property at her leisure.”
Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.
We went camping recently with some friends and family at a place called McRae Point, on the northern end of Lake Simcoe, and since it looked like it was going to be a great weekend — sunny and about 32 Celsius — I decided to bring my kayak just in case it was a good paddling day. And it was! I pushed off in the mid-afternoon and as I rounded the point heading south, I saw a small island ahead of me that didn’t look inhabited, and it was about a mile and a half away, so I thought I would paddle over to it and take a look around. When I took a break from paddling, I looked it up on Google Maps and saw it was called Strawberry Island (previous names: Anatari, Lundy’s Island and Gwillam’s Island).
The websites I found when I searched the name said that it was originally owned by a Great Lakes steamship captain in the 1800s named Charles McInnes, and that he had built a small summer resort on the island, and then paid someone to build a small steamship that could hold about 220 people, so he could ferry guests over to the island from the mainland. A local historian writes that “Captain McInnes’ intention was to build Strawberry Island into a first-class resort and to use The Orillia to ferry hotel guests from the Orillia town dock out to his new wharf at the resort. The resort was built up over a few years to include a large hotel, a dance hall, walking trails, six cottages, bathing houses, picnic lawns, a waterworks system powered by windmill, boats and fishing tackle and an athletic field.”
For several years the resort played host to some major events, and as the article notes “Another major drawing card for the resort was that it was ‘wet.’ Orillia and many surrounding towns did not allow liquor sales at the time but Strawberry Island was part of Ramara Township where the sale of alcohol was permitted.” Apparently this worked for a short time, but it never became a very good business and Captain McInnes tried several different methods to keep it going but eventually he died and his son Jack and family used it as a personal summer getaway for a few years and ran some summer events using the steamship.
Then the island was sold to the Basilian Fathers, a Catholic religious organization, in about 1922 and they built a chapel using the lumber from the six guesthouses and a bunkhouse residence, and used it for religious retreats for decades. There were tennis courts and an athletic field and several different residences were added. Apparently Pope John Paul II stayed there in 2002 and arrived by helicopter, which landed on the athletic field. Eventually the Basilians were looking to get rid of the island and sold it to a development company that wanted to build condos or time-share cottages or something of that nature, but there was a lot of resistance from the local residents and from officials with the county.
So today the island sits empty, except for the ruins of the cabins and guesthouses and the main building that I assume was where people ate dinner, etc. I pulled my kayak up on what looked like a sandy beach, but was actually a massive pile of tiny seashells that was about four feet deep and stretched for about 30 feet. And then I tried to find a way through the underbrush that had grown up, because I could see the roof of a building about 50 feet away from me. The brambles and bushes and underbrush was over my head, but somehow I pushed my way through and saw what must have been a guest cabin for about six guests or possibly families.
I made my way up the concrete steps and avoided some holes in the floorboards and looked inside and it looked like a bomb had gone off — but I expect what had probably happened was groups of teenagers had used it for a party site and/or a place to break things and cause general mayhem. There was still a couch on the porch but it had the stuffing torn out of it and there was broken glass everywhere. There was still furniture inside the building as well, in a similar state, and debris was thick on the floor. Making my way out, I headed right and there were the ruins of a much larger building as well, which I assume was the dining hall and possibly some rooms up above. Much of the roof was missing or had slid off onto the ground, and there was a metal fire-escape type ladder leading up to the second story but it ended in mid-air. The deck was in such rough shape I was afraid to step up onto it.
I looked around a bit, and afterwards I paddled all the way around the island, but I couldn’t see any sign of a chapel or other guesthouses. They must have been lost to the jungle of trees and shrubs that had taken over. To be honest, the whole thing gave me a Blair Witch Project kind of creepy feel, even in the middle of a bright sunny day, so I made my way back through the brambles and back to my kayak and headed back to McRae Point.
We went camping recently with some friends and family at a place called McRae Point, on the northern end of Lake Simcoe, and since it looked like it was going to be a great weekend — sunny and about 32 Celsius — I decided to bring my kayak just in case it was a good paddling day. And it was! I pushed off in the mid-afternoon and as I rounded the point heading south, I saw a small island ahead of me that didn’t look inhabited, and it was about a mile and a half away, so I thought I would paddle over to it and take a look around. When I took a break from paddling, I looked it up on Google Maps and saw it was called Strawberry Island (previous names: Anatari, Lundy’s Island and Gwillam’s Island).
The websites I found when I searched the name said that it was originally owned by a Great Lakes steamship captain in the 1800s named Charles McInnes, and that he had built a small summer resort on the island, and then paid someone to build a small steamship that could hold about 220 people, so he could ferry guests over to the island from the mainland. A local historian writes that “Captain McInnes’ intention was to build Strawberry Island into a first-class resort and to use The Orillia to ferry hotel guests from the Orillia town dock out to his new wharf at the resort. The resort was built up over a few years to include a large hotel, a dance hall, walking trails, six cottages, bathing houses, picnic lawns, a waterworks system powered by windmill, boats and fishing tackle and an athletic field.”
From Daily Good: “Somewhere in West Tennessee, not far from Graceland, nine women – or “The 9 Nanas,” as they prefer to be called – gather in the darkness of night. At 4am they begin their daily routine – a ritual that no one, not even their husbands, knew about for 30 years. They have one mission and one mission only: to create happiness. And it all begins with baked goods. Over the next three hours, The 9 Nanas (who all consider themselves sisters, despite what some of their birth certificates say) will whip up hundreds of pound cakes, as part of a grand scheme to help those in need. And then, before anyone gets as much as a glimpse of them, they’ll disappear back into their daily lives. The only hint that may remain is the heavenly scent of vanilla, lemon and lime, lingering in the air. Even the UPS driver, who picks up hundreds of packages at a time, has no clue what these women, who range in age from 54 to 72, are doing.”
Two men dressed as women in public led to a landmark show trial in Britain in 1870
From Wikipedia: “Thomas Ernest Boulton and Frederick William Park were Victorian cross-dressers. From upper-middle-class families, both enjoyed wearing women’s clothes and both enjoyed taking part in theatrical performances, playing the women’s roles when they did so. Boulton and Park were indiscreet when they cross-dressed in public, and came to the attention of police. They were under surveillance for a year before they were arrested in 1870, while in drag, after leaving a theatre. When they appeared in court the morning after the arrest they were still clothed in the women’s dresses from the previous evening. They were charged with conspiracy to commit sodomy, a crime that carried a maximum sentence of life with hard labour. The case came before the Court of the Queen’s Bench the following year, and they were found not guilty after the prosecution failed to establish that they had anal sex.”
Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.
From Daily Good: “Somewhere in West Tennessee, not far from Graceland, nine women – or “The 9 Nanas,” as they prefer to be called – gather in the darkness of night. At 4am they begin their daily routine – a ritual that no one, not even their husbands, knew about for 30 years. They have one mission and one mission only: to create happiness. And it all begins with baked goods. Over the next three hours, The 9 Nanas (who all consider themselves sisters, despite what some of their birth certificates say) will whip up hundreds of pound cakes, as part of a grand scheme to help those in need. And then, before anyone gets as much as a glimpse of them, they’ll disappear back into their daily lives. The only hint that may remain is the heavenly scent of vanilla, lemon and lime, lingering in the air. Even the UPS driver, who picks up hundreds of packages at a time, has no clue what these women, who range in age from 54 to 72, are doing.”
Two men dressed as women in public led to a landmark show trial in Britain in 1870
From Wikipedia: “Thomas Ernest Boulton and Frederick William Park were Victorian cross-dressers. From upper-middle-class families, both enjoyed wearing women’s clothes and both enjoyed taking part in theatrical performances, playing the women’s roles when they did so. Boulton and Park were indiscreet when they cross-dressed in public, and came to the attention of police. They were under surveillance for a year before they were arrested in 1870, while in drag, after leaving a theatre. When they appeared in court the morning after the arrest they were still clothed in the women’s dresses from the previous evening. They were charged with conspiracy to commit sodomy, a crime that carried a maximum sentence of life with hard labour. The case came before the Court of the Queen’s Bench the following year, and they were found not guilty after the prosecution failed to establish that they had anal sex.”
Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.
