So here's the thing about lock-picking. It's fiddly, but not hugely difficult. It's a skill you get better at over time. And it's a real thing—a lot of locks that actual people actually use are pickable by a semi-talented amateur.
A decent set of lock-picking tools only costs like twenty bucks, and again, this isn't a toy—it's real tools you can use for real work.
You can buy transparent locks that let you see what you're doing, and I've meant to get one for years, but you don't need them—you can just pick padlocks that you have lying around. (And starter padlocks with fewer pins can be bought cheap too.)
And another benefit: You turn your kids into the kind of person who interrupts a movie to say "he's not really picking that lock." Which is an awesome kind of person to be, IMHO.
So the way a standard lock and key work is that there are a set of paired cylinders inside. The job of the key is to raise each pair to the exact point where they all meet at the same place, allowing the key to turn the lock. (See illustration.)
If you prod at the inside of such a lock with a piece of bent wire (or a lock-picking tool), you can push a pair of cylinders up, as shown here.
But each pair of cylinders is spring loaded, so they'll slip down as soon as you push them up. UNLESS you use a second tool to twist the lock a bit, as if you were turning it with the key.
When you do that, you put lateral pressure on each of the cylinder pairs, creating a little lip inside the lock. If you're lucky, the top cylinder will catch on that lip when you push on it, lodging in the "unlocked" position.
If you manage to get all the upper cylinders—the pins—of the lock to lodge in that open position, the lever you're using to keep pressure on them will turn just like a key would, and the lock will open.
And that's lock picking. That's all it is. Getting good at it is a matter of getting a feel for the inside of the lock—where to put pressure and how, what order to push up the pins of a specific lock in, that sort of thing. But the principle is really straightforward.
(I'm pretty pleased that each of the first few GIFs I found for "lock picking" in the Twitter interface happened to illustrate a different part of the process.)
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I just want to get past this, Shadi. My girlfriend is sick, my daughter is immunocompromised, my parents are 80 and 78 years old. I just fucking want to get past this.
I am vaccinated and boosted, @shadihamid, and I don't want "endless COVID restrictions"—hell, I flew to Europe in November. What I want, what I need, is for my kids to stay healthy and my parents not to die. That's what I want.
And I read your essay, @shadihamid, where you say that I need to "live life...as if COVID doesn't exist." And no. Fuck that. I'm going to do what I can reasonably do to keep my parents and my kids safe—and, crucially, keep them in each others' lives.
Just saw a reference to Michael Keaton as "the first Batman on the big screen," and ahem.
The Thalia theater on 95th and Broadway was a revival house when I was a kid—double features every day, one price for both movies, with the lineup changing five days a week.
The great thing about a double feature revival house is all the opportunities it gives the programmer for juxtaposition—one day I went and saw a 1950s sci-fi B movie on the same bill as a 1970s Italian sex-and-gore Frankenstein flick, just because they were both in 3D.
I've been thinking about this a lot since yesterday, and this is what really galls me—rooting for your students to fail, and creating conditions to maximize the chances that they'll fail.
(Context: Professor went viral for leaving students directions to hidden $50 in his syllabus. None of them found it, but it turned out the phrasing and location of the "directions" made it near impossible for even a conscientious student to collect.)
Every professor has a choice to make all the time: You're a mentor and colleague to your students, working for their success, or you're their adversary, trying to trip them up, block their way, slow them down.
When I was in England last month, I could walk into a pharmacy—as a non-resident—and walk out five minutes later with two boxes of seven rapid tests each. Psaki's mockery is misplaced.
When I arrived at my aunt's house in Manchester, I had some minor cold symptoms, and was supposed to go out with older relatives last night. So I just ... took a test. In my bedroom. And another one the next day.
It was wonderful that doing the right thing—the careful, prudent, responsible thing—was so easy. There's no excuse for making it hard.
CNN, in brief: "We looked into Chris Cuomo's actions, and what he did was bad enough that we fired him while we were still in the middle of investigating. The investigation continues."
One odd thing about the CNN statement on Chris Cuomo's firing—they don't actually say that the "new information" they're going to continue to investigate is directly related to the scandal involving his brother.