Odors are spread this way through oils. All lingering odors mean greases have permeated the tissues of the building. It's quite foul, but I have observed many people to live this way.
I personally take special care to never vaporize fat. It can be done but you have to change your cooking style and only cook with certain styles outside.
Tabula Rasa remains the axiom upon which the entire post-war world is founded. Regardless of its truth, to question it is to question this world's fundamental belief. To speak against it is to speak against existence itself.
The emperor's robes are fine indeed.
All of our food was alive before we ate it. All calories used by living things are efficient.
Life is an end unto itself. It does not need to justify its existence by the moral code of technocrat materialism. The fact that this discussion is being had on this board in good faith is morally condemning of our worldview.
The Langstroth hive employs frame boxes of differing sizes. It makes a distinction between brood boxes and honey supers. This is a bit easier on the beekeeper. They can put a metal grate in the hive, and trap the queen in the brood chamber. Then, any frames built above the brood chamber are guaranteed to have only honey.
In the wild, bees build their nest somewhat like an onion, with the brood in the center, and the honey accessible on the outside rings. The Rose hive method allows the queen to lay the brood in a more natural way. The slide deck is a good summary but there is more in the book.
Modern beekeeping practices are a kind of factory-farming. Tim Rowe developed a method of beekeeping that takes advantage of evolution to improve the vitality of bees. It is described succinctly in his book, The Rose Hive Method. [1]
I, unfortunately, developed a severe bee-sting allergy, and can no longer put these ideas into practice. I anticipate that commercial beekeeping cannot sustain its current practices.
Sometimes, things that are fine become problems when done at scale.
Fishing, for example, is not terrible when it's you and your dad with a rod and bait. But we have the technology to create ships that dredge the ocean and exterminate all life. The scale is the problem.
To borrow a phrase, quantity has a quality all its own.
Yes. As a US citizen, I, and many of my college cohort, spent many years unemployed during that time period, despite applying to thousands of positions.
The reality is that businesses hire attorneys to create a legal fiction that I and my peers are unqualified so that businesses that desire it can hire H-1B employees.
Shortages are, always and everywhere, a pricing phenomenon.
I don't understand why this is a problem.
The roof is surely occupied by birds, rats, and mice.
Is the roof designed to include the natural world or not?
I would say that you are in a unique place of privilege in that regard. I believe the common experience of many people is that any task, if it be work, cannot be pleasing. The requirement to continue to complete any task in exchange for the necessities of life induces a disparity of spirit that will dull even the most hedonic of activities. The snuffing out of the freedom to choose to do the task is what induces pain into the experience.
For my part, I choose to have a good attitude about work. I am grateful for the opportunity to work. I do the best I can so that I can be proud of how I have spent my life. But I would never expect any job or any work to provide me fulfillment or happiness.
No I do not. Years of my early life are on film. My parents were enamored with their camera, it was frequently set up to film the entire room, passively.
When I say my mother searched for the moment, I mean she searched through tapes that had never been viewed from her archives.
I normally try to live my life in the spirit of XKCD 386, but I leave this response for the sake of clarification, to not discourage any future readers.
Other commenters are trying to gaslight you into believing this isn't possible, but I also have a memory from before I could walk.
I was lying on the floor, contemplating a toy that had been hung above my head, when someone who was not one of my parents came to pick me up.
Years later, I told my mother about this. She then searched through the family film archive, and found the moment in question. The person who picked me up was my uncle.
This was not a film we had watched before, it came about because I was discussing with my mother our earliest memories.