I Dance I Dance - For 'The Expanse'

Oh Ye Of Little Faith
Did I not give the South Canadian television industry short notice to step in and save my current favourite television program?*  And they have ponied up; more specifically Mr Bezos, head of something called Orinoco or the like, who is also a big fan.  
     That's what the news media is telling you, at least.  There is another side to the saving of this splendid entertainment, which they have ignored and will likely not cover, and that is - Art?

<nonchalant whistling>

     Well, you all know by now what fond regard Conrad holds the sci-fi epic "Forbidden Planet" in, and how he threatens to unload his 5,000 word monograph about the film at the slightest opportunity.  It's really interesting, honestly, and I could put up a digest of only 500 or so words if - no?  Definitely not?  Not even if your wife, mother and children were being held hostages?
     Ah well.  Perhaps it was not to be.
     Anyway, a few years back the entirely unacceptable notion was floated around Hollywood that a remake of FB was just what the accountants ordered.
     Conrad got to hear of this.  Conrad did not approve.**  
     

Conrad, looking disapproving.
(Hard to tell from his day-to-day, frankly)

     The whole matter became a non-event when several of the suits involved mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again, although postcards sent by them do occasionally arrive from Ulan Bator or Tbilisi.  How peculiar!
     It would seem that this - how shall we put it?  "Sinister precursor" - has occupied minds in South Canada to wonderful effect.
    Now, time to slather the motley in butter and have it hop on a giant griddle!

It's The Capital Of Georgia
Tbilisi, that is, in case you were wondering.  Georgia in the Trans-Caucasus, not the South Canadian state.  Art?

Previously known as "Tiflis"

     This is a country with history that goes back a looooong way.  Their native alphabet is not the Roman one, and indeed looks like someone decided runes weren't curvy and sexy enough.  Art?

Tolkein would love this

     I bet when you rolled out of bed this morning you never thought you'd be introduced to a non-Romance alphabet which isn't Cyrillic, did you?  Georgia has historically revered the grape, distilleries and wine, because all of these were anathema to the Ottomans, whose boot lay upon the region for many a century, and you will find the grapevine as part of Georgian sculpture in a "yah booh sucks" gesture to those Ottoman overlords.
     We'll come to Ulan Bator at a later stage.
     
A Little Musical Critique
I am now daring to venture back into the lyrics of DJ Tiesto's "Light Years Away", having calmed down from yesterday's less-than-salubrious encounter with what was clearly someone under the influence.***

Don't you hide from me

And don't you erase

What we used to be

Yesterday is far away

I'm lost in space

     Frankly, Ol' Tee, I can't blame anyone for wanting to hide from a swivel-eyed ranting loonwaffle, nor can they be criticised for wanting to delete every trace of their relationship from social media, too.  In fact I wouldn't put it past them to have plastic surgery, just to be certain you never track them down.  And, for your information, yesterday is AT THE VERY MOST 24 hours away.  That's not long, unless you're a mayfly.
     "Lost in space"?  Now that's delusional.  You, sir, are not an astronaut!

There's a proper astronaut for you

     Ah, I do so enjoy unloading a bit of Atomic Bile on the unsuspecting!

A Bit Of Observational Humour
As you should surely know by now, there is no finer website for Proper News than the BBC, because it is British - automatically a plus - and impartial and unbiased.  It does have it's moments, though, and here's one of them.  Art?

Indeed, what does happen?

     I shall be succinct: you die.  What else did you expect?  And no, you only get superpowers from a lightning strike in comics.  Real life is not so forgiving.

Finally -
It is not 

< excuse me, Edna is whimpering to come into the kitchen.  It's probably because she can smell my fishcakes a-baking but I can't take the chance she needs a wee so ->

     common for me to burden you with my daily toil, although a temporary job that should have lasted only 4 months is still going after 10 and looks set to continue.  Probably because I take cake in.  Anyway, in a refreshing change from working at the Dark Tower, I am now able to work from home.  Art?

My workstation

     Screen carefully loaded to not give away any information!  Note the absence of any distractions such as books or comics or DVD players.  How diligent am I.
     It is also surpassingly sweet to not bother with the likes of First Bus in the morning and evening.  How they must miss me!
     


*  Yes I did.  This is a rhetorical question.  Now move on.
**  British understatement at work.  "Did not approve" in the same way as "the surface of the sun is a mite hot"
***  The influence of what?  Quite!

Doing The Ton

No!  Nothing To Do With Motor-racing
For I believe the rascals involved describe achieving 100 m.p.h. as "hitting the ton", which would be a significant stretch for the vehicles we are describing today, since they are Sherman tanks that weigh in at 30 tons apiece.  Art?

The terror of the trenches prepares to - no - hang on -

     For yes, we are back amongst the words and wherewithal of "Tank Action" by David Render, and amidst the peculiarly close terrain of the Normandy bocage, made up of enormous hedgerows, trees and Teuton defenders.  Staunch Teuton defenders, for as David describes, they had not yet acquired a fatigue of the soul thanks to being deluged by Allied firepower all day, every day.  Art?

South Canadians at work, though the principle holds true

     Under the command of the very astute Major Semken, David's troop and those others of 'A' company's tanks would brass the living daylights out of opposing hedges and treelines, for up to fifteen minutes.  Any lurking Teuton panzer experiencing this HE barrage would rapidly leave, and their unfortunate immobile infantry would - er - die.  There's no other way to put it.  If the Teuton soldiery dared to fire back, then they would suffer a specific and particular targetting which ladled countless HE shells upon them.
     Here an aside.  I recall some Teuton veterans of the Afrika Korps lamenting about how many HE shells their Perfidious Albion opponents would fling at them, later in the campaign when Perfidious Albion - it's in the name! - had acquired Sherman tanks.  "As many as 35 shells were fired on a position!" squawked the old desert hands.  

"Chickens," replied their European counterparts.

     David discerned a significant reluctance amongst some tank crews under his command to fully commit to Brassing The Living Daylights out of the opposition.  He did wonder at this, until it came to 'bombing-up' his tank.  The Sherman could be loaded with up to a hundred rounds of HE shells, if the crew were canny and experienced, amounting to a literal ton of ammunition - hence today's title.  This is to simplify matters, because every round had to be loaded by hand, in the confines of a tight turret and interior with lots of sharp fittings that poked out everywhere; not only did it take ages, the process inevitably resulted in people getting numerous scrapes and bruises.  Art?

An illustration

     And the Sherman was regarded as comfortable and roomy compared to what Sinister crews had to put up with!
     Time to let the motley loose in a maze it shares with a pack of ravening wolves!

A Little Musical Critique
Normally we like to pick on Simon and Garfunkel but the malicious fun has dwindled somewhat now that they're in a care home, dosed up to the eyeballs on tranquilizers.  So today we shall pick entirely at random on - DJ Tiesto!  And the lyrics for his song "Light Years Away".  Let us begin -

I feel the sky falling down

     Actually, sir, you do not!  The sky is noted for not falling down, because if it did we would be dead thanks to the lack of atmosphere.  Art?

Sky.  Doing a good job of staying up

     Hmmm.  Conrad regards these lyrics with some suspicion.  Carry on!

I'm picking up the pieces

Left on the ground

     Snow?  Are you confusing a collapsing sky with snow?  Or hail?  Because otherwise there'd be nothing to pick up.  Sky being very ethereal and insubstantial and all that.  Even more suspicious.  Go on!

And some days

Are very long

I don't know where I'm meant to belong

     No, no, they only seem like that.  You don't mean that literally, do you?  Because if you do, then I know exactly where you belong: Broadmoor Secure Psychiatric Wing For Musicians Who've Taken Too Many Drugs.

Free food, mind

Boom
There was an interesting photograph in the MEN earlier this week that I have managed to lose, so we shall have to use our imagination, children.  This is the particular piece of pipework in question:

A gun
(But you know that already)

     The caption stated that, in 1916, it took the Italian army 78 days to drag this artillery piece to the top of a mountain, for this is one of the most desolate fronts of the First Unpleasantness where the Italians faced the Austro-Hungarians.  There were no roads or paths or stairs or trenches or shelter of any kind; everything had to be hacked, drilled or blasted out of solid rock.  No nice malleable Flanders mud here!  Only once that had been done could a weapon such as that above have been moved, and because of the restricted terrain at many points, it would have been hauled by manpower, not horsepower.  Hence - 78 days.
     When the Unpleasantness came to an end, this particular engine of injury was too big and bothersome to retrieve (or steal) and was thus left, to be covered by the snows.  And eventually thawed out.

D.A.T. Thing You Do

No! Nothing To Do With The Tom Hanks Film -
Although almost. In the same way that what went into the air at Kitty Hawk can be compared to the F35 stealth fighter-bomber.  I bet Orville and Wilbur never imagined what would come of their aerial excursion, hmmm?

The F35 in action - no, hang on a minute -

     Okay, back on track <haughtily assumes nobody noticed we were ever off track> and here is today's strained analogy.  "D.A.T." stands for 'Digital Audio Tape' and is what modern musicians record their caterwaulings on, or they used to, I'm not up on to the minute on what musicians do.  This is a considerably more flexible medium than the old wax cylinders that music was originally recorded on.  Art?

The I-pod of it's day

     You can see the difference between the two, I hope, which will be further illustrated if we can Tazer that Neanderthal waster Art into action -

DAT's it

     Once you enter the digital medium, it is easy to edit and variously rearrange the recorded sounds in a manner that's simply not possible with the humble wax cylinder.  Plus you can leave a D.A.T. on the radiator and still be able to play it afterwards.
     "Where is the babbling old duffer going with this?" I hear you ask.  "Who needs a lesson in antique recording technology?"
     This is by way of an introduction to a previous item I've been babbling on about, namely - memory.  If you recall, Professor McClaine invented the B.I.G.R.A.T. device which allowed for the recording of a person's memories.*  Art?

This RAT is BIG

     If you like, you can compare this to the wax cylinder stage of technology: a relatively crude rendition of a person's memories.
     When things get scary is where we move from wax cylinder-memory storage to DAT memory manipulation.  If Hom. Sap. does develop the technology to record memories, which is not as far-fetched as it sounds, then give it a couple of decades before it's possible to edit, adjust, recreate and otherwise jigger about with a person's recollections.**  You could, if you were World Dictator, take a person to whom you had taken a marked dislike and effectively murder them by either deleting their memory or replacing it with that of someone else, say an old friend whose life you wanted to extend.  And if the victim is Russel Brand, who's complaining?

Walk as fast as you like, it won't save you

     Thus you acquire functional immortality, which is quite the consequence of starting with a wax cylinder, don't you think?
     That's quite besides controlling a person's mind; you simply record their memories, fiddle about with them to add in a slavish devotion to your World Dictator self, get rid of their old memories and implant the new ones, taking care to erase that bit about having their memories mucked about with.  Simples!**
     Well, that Intro has been most of today's blog, so let us hurl the motley into the whirlpool!***

No, Art - actually, yes.  Yes indeed.

Let Them Eat Cake -
 - and then let them eat more cake.  After making the rather disappointing Spiced Applesauce Cake, I decided to beard the dragon in it's lair (I have no idea what this actually means, but it sounds impressive and ups the word count) and bake another cake that was pretty much guaranteed to do well.  Art?

Blueberry and Sour Cream Loaf
(Yes I KNOW it's actually a cake)

     There you go, and it did indeed go, because my work colleagues have all the self-restraint of a gannet with the munchies in a speed-eating contest.

Hang On A Minute -
Let me just test the old grey matter a minute, because I've made myself rather paranoid with all that memory manipulation muttering -
KILLER EELS - still the 2nd greatest threat to humanity
FORBIDDEN PLANET - still the greatest sci-fi film ever made
RUSSELL BRAND - still a purulent pile of putrescence
SHARKS - are still our friends
FIRST BUS - a wonderful company run by perfectionists - no, only kidding, a bunch of inept yahoos who couldn't run a rollerskate.
     Phew!  I'm still me!^

First Bus trying it on.
I see right through you!

*  In 'Joe 90', which is fictional.  As yet.
**  If DARPA come up with this technology, I want immunity from it and royalties.
***  Wearing lead divers boots!  because otherwise it would be too easy.
^  Good or bad?  Your mileage may vary.