Luca Iaconi-Stewart is a San Francisco-based model crafter whose primary medium is cut-up manila folders, because it just isn't art unless you're using materials that were never intended to be used for construction. In our experience, the only thing you can build out of a bunch of manila folders is a stack of tax returns, but Iaconi-Stewart is a little more ambitious -- he's making a freaking Boeing 777.
It has more legroom than the Airbus we took last Thanksgiving.
In fact, Iaconi-Stewart's model is so impressive that the vice president of 777s at Boeing (because apparently every passenger jet model has its own elected officials) praised him for his expert craftsmanship and slavish attention to detail.
"We sometimes forget to put emergency exits in the full-size planes, so kudos on that bit."
Really try to let the enormity of his effort sink in -- he gathered up a stockpile of the single blandest office supply in the history of the universe, cut them into insect-size sections, and carved details like tray tables, equipment lockers, and cockpit control panels into them -- features so miniscule, you would have to be an autistic Victorian detective armed with a microscope and an amphetamine addiction to even notice. And he did this for fun.
And for his tiny insect army.
Iaconi-Stewart has been carving manila folders into elaborate shapes for six years, although most of his project time is spent creating the necessary patterns on his computer.
Since the blueprints for the 777 aren't publicly available, Iaconi-Stewart had to use more obscure sources of information, such as a seating map from an Indian airline, to figure out the location of seating rows and overhead cabins. He also claims he had to learn "how the actual plane functions, down to the smallest details" in order to build an authentic replica.
His search history caught Homeland Security's eye; Luca will never fly in a real plane again.
He even put creases in the fucking seat cushions, because he is clearly an ageless papercrafting demon.
There are cup holders in his paper airplane.
If you are a Game of Thrones fan with a copy of Minecraft on your computer and a troubling amount of free time, the people at Westeroscraft have a proposition for you: They're recruiting Minecraft players to help build a digital version of the world of Game of Thrones. Not just one castle, mind you, but the whole thing. And by "the whole thing," we mean the whole ...
... freaking ...
"We're still working on a life-size Peter Dinklage."
If you're not familiar with Game of Thrones, it's a show about boobs and penises set in the fantasy realm of Westeros. And if you're not familiar with Minecraft, it's basically like playing with LEGOs on your computer -- players log in to build whatever they can think of, one brick at a time. We've talked before about people who have built insanely huge things in Minecraft, but the guys behind Westeroscraft didn't stop at solitary landmarks -- they're constructing completely accurate cities, digital brick by digital brick, in their ongoing quest to recreate the entirety of George R.R. Martin's sprawling universe. And they don't allow any automated bots to make the process easier -- each brick must be laid by a real live user.
"Ugh, the lift is supposed to be an inch to the left. Tear it down!"
For instance, in their re-creation of the capital city of King's Landing, they produced 2,000 individual buildings, each with unique furnishings on every floor (while presumably making good use of the Minecraft sex hack -- see "boobs and penises," above). But how does Westeroscraft protect itself against a disastrous troll invasion, which is a threat unique to fantasy realms and the Internet? How do they keep digital anarchists from coming in and deleting everything or reshaping the buildings into the phrase "4CHAN WAS HERE"? Easy: No one is allowed to drop a single block into Westeroscraft until they submit an application.
And they must swear to take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children.
That's right; in order to play this endless, unwinnable game and painstakingly place brick after brick into depressingly elaborate re-creations of fictional castles, you have to fill out a fucking application. Westeroscraft then tests all applicants on their ability to follow blueprints and interior design motifs. There are actual bridges in America that weren't built with this kind of lockstep determination and pedigree, and this is for a passion project within a tightly knit community within an objectiveless computer game.
Related Reading: Building a replica Westeros isn't enough for some people. Like this guy who made a scale replica of Paris in his actual yard. And if you prefer practical nerd quests, check out the fan-remastered Star Wars. Last, why not unwind with these shockingly plausible movie fan theories?