Unlikely Weapons

From the Brickyard | Subject: It’s hell on wheels, dude

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It’s 4:43 p.m.

You’re sweating through your shirt.

Boxed in by huge SUVs, crawling along at 7 mph, surrounded by vape clouds, fast food fumes, and the faint sound of bass thumping from someone’s busted subwoofer.

Your right calf is twitching from riding the brake pedal.

And you’re starting to question every decision you’ve made since 11th grade.

This isn’t commuting.

This is confinement.

Let’s call it what it is:

Traffic is psychological warfare.

Okay, maybe a little dramatic, but you get the point. 🤣

The Circus of Stupidity

Traffic reveals the worst in people.

You’ve got the guy who waits until the last nanosecond to merge and expects applause.

The woman doing a full eyeshadow tutorial in the mirror while weaving like a bowling pin.

The old junk box with 14 bumper stickers and no turn signal.

And let’s not forget that one person—there’s always one person—laying on the horn like he’s summoning the ancient gods of speed.

These aren’t commuters.

These are mobile maniacs in air-conditioned cages.

We Weren’t Built for This

You think our ancestors sat in metal boxes breathing exhaust while the driver in front of them made a left turn at the speed of erosion?

No.

They walked.

They carried logs.

They wrestled animals, chopped wood, and got places without asking permission from a traffic app.

You were forged to move—to hunt, lift, build, sweat.

Now you’re stuck watching your life tick by in a rearview mirror while your spine fuses into a question mark.

The Toll

Let’s break it down like a bad transmission:

• Posture: Crushed. You look like a shrimp that gave up.
• Cortisol: Through the roof. Congratulations, you’re now chemically stressed because the driver ahead of you couldn’t decide which lane to pick.
• Testosterone: Dropping faster than the speed limit in a school zone.
• Mind: Numb. Zombified. Trapped in a daily episode of “Why Do I Do This to Myself?”

Traffic doesn’t just waste time.

It erodes you—body and soul.

The Rage List

Let’s lighten it up. Here are just a few people I’d love to see permanently banned from the roads:

• The Honk-Immediately-As-Light-Turns-Green Person
• The 46-in-a-65 Dignified Sloth
• The No-Turn-Signal Philosopher
• “This Lane Ends? Never Heard of It” Bro
• The Full Makeup Routine Artist (eyes on the road, Picasso)

We’re all just gladiators in this coliseum of chaos, except no one’s winning and the lions are hybrid drivers on their phones.

So What the Hell Do We Do?

We rebel. That’s what.

First things first, try to stay off the roads during peak times.

That may not be possible for most. Even then, traffic will seemingly always pop up somewhere.

You could also try to walk or bike more to your destinations.

Again, maybe not possible.

So here are some productive things you can do in your car when you’re stuck:

• Make traffic your gym: Do muscle activation (go through and flex each muscle, one at a time), trap stretches, neck rolls, and breath work.
• Fuel your mind: No more Top 40 garbage. Fire up podcasts, audiobooks, or primal silence.
• Have deep conversations with your passengers: Whether that be your kids, a friend, or your dog, build bonds right there in the car.

Final Word

Traffic isn’t just annoying.

It’s a symbol—of comfort over challenge, of sedation over motion, of a world that wants you soft, slow, and sedated.

You weren’t made to idle.

You were made to move.

To build muscle, not migraines.

To charge forward, not sit stuck behind someone with weird bumper stickers.

So next time you’re bumper-to-bumper, remember this:

You’re a Musclebuilder. You don’t sit still. You don’t surrender.

You endure. And build from it.

Brick by brick.

-Brickwall

From the Brickyard | Subject: When jobs die (and what they teach us)

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Ever think about all the jobs that just…vanished?

It’s wild when you start digging.

• In 1900, there were over 200,000 blacksmiths in the U.S. By 1930, most were gone—horses gave way to horsepower.
• Elevator operators used to be a full-time gig. Today? The job’s been replaced by two buttons: ▲ and ▼.
• Switchboard operators once connected every phone call by hand. By the 1980s, computers took over.
• The milkman—gone by the 1970s, a casualty of grocery stores and refrigerators.
• Video-store clerks ruled the Friday night ritual… until Netflix mailed its first DVD.
• Travel agents, newspaper printers, photo developers, taxi drivers—all disrupted by technology in one way or another.

It’s kind of amazing—and kind of scary.

Every generation has jobs that seem untouchable…until they aren’t.

AI, automation, DeFi—they’re not the end.

They’re the next wave.

The real question isn’t “Will my job survive?”

It’s “Will I?”

Because if you can learn, adapt, and create value in new ways, you’ll always have work.

Maybe not the same job, but the same mission: to build, to serve, to grow.

When jobs die, the resourceful don’t panic.

We go to work.

Be curious. Stay skilled. Keep adapting.

Because the world doesn’t pay you for what was—it pays you for what’s next.

Brick by brick.

-Brickwall

From the Brickyard | Subject: Waxing nostalgic about the movies

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Sure, they still exist. You can still find the marquees lit up, the recliner seats, the overpriced popcorn. But it’s not the same. Not like it used to be.

I remember being a kid in the 90’s—when going to the movies was a ritual. We’d pile into the car and hit the theater two, three times a month. You didn’t scroll through trailers on your phone. You didn’t wait for the stream to drop. You went, in person, to see it now.

There was nothing like it. Picking the movie. Grabbing a bunch of junk food. Finding your seat before the lights dimmed. The smell of buttered popcorn that clung to your shirt. The buzz of the crowd waiting for the previews. The collective gasp when the hero showed up, the villain got crushed, or the credits rolled on a twist ending.

It wasn’t just about the movie. It was the event. The ritual. The presence. You don’t get that anymore.

Now? Movies trickle onto streaming platforms weeks later. Everyone’s got their own screen, their own couch, their own snacks. Comfort has replaced ritual. Convenience has replaced community.

And maybe that’s what we’ve lost—not the theaters, but the shared experience. The showing up. The anticipation. The energy that only happens when you’re there.

That’s the danger of this “on-demand” world—it makes everything easier, but it strips away the weight of the moment. It steals the rituals that give life its rhythm.

The plight of the movie theater reminds us of something deeper: rituals matter. Shared presence matters. Don’t let convenience rob you of the experiences that shape your story.

Brick by brick.

-Brickwall

From the Brickyard | Subject: There’s no question there’s a simulation going on

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Brother, I realized something the other day: we’re living in a simulation.

Not a computer simulation—a flavor simulation.

I was sipping a sports drink labeled “naturally berry flavored” (whatever that even means). But here’s the thing—there wasn’t a berry within 10 miles of that bottle. No juice. No pulp. No smashed blueberries. Just lab-derived flavor molecules convincing my brain: “Yup, fresh berries, brother.”

For all intents and purposes, I was in a flavor simulation.

And it kind of messed with me. My conscious brain knew this wasn’t berry. But my subconscious was all in—taste buds firing, dopamine flowing. It was both berry…and not berry.

Like drinking grape soda. That’s grape? Not a chance.
Banana candy? No banana in sight.

So which one is real?

The chemical trick my brain interprets as real?

Or the fact that the source itself isn’t real at all?

And then the heavier question hits: isn’t that just…everything?

We don’t know anything outside of our brains interpreting it.

Reality itself might just be a flavor simulation.

But hey—maybe that’s too deep for a Saturday. 🤣

Maybe the Musclebuilder move is simpler: taste the flavor, enjoy the ride, but don’t get lost in the simulation.

Brick by brick. Even if they’re flavored. 😂

-Brickwall

From the Brickyard | Subject: Building in the quiet

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We live in a world of constant noise.

Traffic. Notifications. TVs blaring. People talking just to talk.

But what if I told you there’s a place so quiet you can hear yourself blink?

That place exists—right here on Earth.

At Orfield Labs in Minnesota, there’s an anechoic chamber—a room so soundproof it holds the Guinness World Record for silence. Inside, sound is measured at –24.9 dBA.

That’s quieter than outer space.

It’s so silent you can hear your heartbeat. Your lungs filling with air. Your joints shifting as you move. Most people don’t last longer than an hour before the silence drives them insane.

The Forge of Silence

For the average person, silence is torture.

For the Musclebuilder, silence can be a weapon.

Imagine stepping into that chamber, shutting the world out, and locking in.

No noise. No distractions. Just you, your breath, your mind.

• Breathwork in the absolute void.
• Meditation so deep it feels like another dimension.
• Maybe even sleep so pure you wake up reborn.

The question isn’t could you handle it?

The question is: what would you build in there?

Anchors Down in the Quiet

Noise is everywhere, brother. But you don’t need the chamber to experience quiet (although it would be cool to check out!).

No, just close the windows, draw the curtains, and sit with yourself. Remote spots out in nature can also work.

Face the silence, build in it, and come out stronger than the noise.

Brick by brick.

-Brickwall

Read more over at Smithsonian Magazine.