Friday Ephemera

“Meanwhile, over at Vice.”
Lockdown… culture? You know it’s a Vice bit when the stuff about lesbians and stuffing your cock between your legs isn’t even the dumbest part.
“The need to profusely thank the service – as opposed to the individual doctors and nurses, or even hospital – when, you know, you had no other choice, seems a particularly vile bit of boot stomping.”
The NHS cancelled the speech therapy my mum was due to start as part of her Parkinson’s treatment when all this kicked off. So she can’t even talk to her friends on the ‘phone. One of whom, incidentally, had her chemo put “on hold”. Oh, and they called a week into the lockdown to ask whether I’d want her resuscitated if she contracted the Communist Bat Plague.
Meanwhile, I have a friend who’s a nurse and runs a group of care homes in England, outside the NHS. She’s run off her feet, has several of her homes in quarantine (with the consequent staffing problems that brings), and isn’t being cheered to the rafters every Thursday or showered with free stuff by virtue-signalling businesses.
I have the utmost respect for medical professionals. I can imagine doing most jobs, but I couldn’t do theirs in a million years. However, this fetishization of the NHS is nauseating. Excluding micronations, which skew the numbers a bit, we have the fourth-highest death rate per million from WuFlu in the world. What the bloody hellfire are we supposed to be cheering? In a sane world, this would hammer the final nail into the coffin of the idea that a stalinist monopoly is any way for a grown-up nation to run its healthcare industry.
But it won’t be. It’s a bloody religion. It even has its own weekly worship now. If that doesn’t stop when this is all over (and I can absolutely see it carrying on), I’m emigrating.

As I’m sure others have noted the difference between the NHS love and mandatory cheering for the various Kim family members is one of degree, not kind.
Y’all let us know when Texas needs to roll trucks through London and liberate your fine country. Though, please note: no refunds, credit notes only.

It even has its own weekly worship now.
When I was accompanying someone in severe pain to the local NHS hospital and found our conversation with the receptionist being interrupted – first, by a panhandling drunk, and then by a man with serious, indeed alarming, mental health issues – to the extent that I had to explain to him that he was invading my personal space and was in danger of being punched insensible – cheering and applause were not foremost in my mind. And when, minutes later, I had an opportunity to register that about a third of the people around us seemed either intoxicated or deranged, with several of them harassing actual patients, and not being deterred by staff, then whooping with appreciation didn’t seem a priority.
It was more a question of hoping to get out of the place as quickly as possible.

The idea of our humble host engaged in fisticuffs with a deranged person is an interesting one.
Heh. It was the nearest I’d come to a fight in a long, long time.

I was previously unfamiliar with the concept of titty money.
Standard Latin alphabet: A, B, C, D, E, F . . .
Standard New York alphabet: Fuckin’ A, Fuckin’ B, Fuckin’ C, Fuckin’ D, Fuckin’ E, Fuckin’ F . . . . .

“Is there actually a demand for Welsh language shows, or is this just the Beeb, Sky, and ITV pandering ?”
According to Wikipedia, Channel 4 Wales (the Welsh language channel, run independently of Channel 4 in the rest of the country) has 146,000 regular Welsh-speaking viewers. The population of Wales is around 3,000,000. So, definitely pandering.
I’m surprised you haven’t seen any Gaelic. They waste a ton of money on that, too. The vast majority of that channel’s audience is English speakers watching football with the sound turned down.

We here should name our spirit animals.
Oh, Ebola, of course.

[ Splutters indignantly. Summons henchlesbians. ]
I would anticipate perfect iambic pentameter, elizabethan insults, and a lot of thumb biting.

Middle School Teacher – A Feinstein Leadership School
Anything to do with this Feinstein? https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/news/articles/lee-smith-china-coronavirus-1

Re: titty money
My wife’s nieces are large and seem to feel the bosom is the perfect receptacle to hold their phones. I voiced my opposition to having an electro-magnetic device so close to the heart (well, maybe not that close) but was ignored as at-hand convenience, or rather at-tit convenience overrode any concerns about long-term effects. They do tend to keep abreast of social media and titter among themselves over various posts. And I must admit they are a handful, the nieces. More like a double handful. The phones, when nestled, seem to be buttressed by Mt Rushmore. You must understand they aren’t dropped into the Grand Canyon but rather placed on the upper side of Mt Kilimanjaro, held by carbon fiber/spider-web-strength of “Beauty Back Full Figure Wirefree Bra” or “Vanishing Back Unlined Front Close Bra” (https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/clothing/bra-reviews/g164/best-bras-for-large-busts/), for easy access. And no, I do not answer their phones for them.

I would usually say “watch Ozzyman on YouTube” in general, but this analysis of a bar fight in Tasmania is full on bonkers.

“Land of the Rising Sound”
As someone intrigued with musical recording techniques, ran sound for an on-tour band for a year, and took an audio engineering course probably 35 years ago now, I found this an interesting documentary on one of the major players in the disco/techno phenomenon that burst on the scene. Technology has grown so that talented individuals can duplicate everything Roland did, at home on their computer. Nevertheless on stage is a different matter and it is great to see Roland as a pre-eminent name on so many keyboards. Sort of like Ludwig.

I’m sure there are some tenured Afrocentric “scholars” who are ready to explain to us that the Norse, Greeks, Celts, and Slavs stole all their religion, mythology and philosophy from the Africans.
Do not go down the route of the “Black Egyptian” hypothesis. That way madness lies.

Do not go down the route of the “Black Egyptian” hypothesis. That way madness lies.
Oh, you can always have fun with this one . . .

to the extent that I had to explain to him that he was invading my personal space and was in danger of being punched insensible
I thought that’s what the henchlesbians were for.

…Ebola makes a far more interesting spirit animal…
Other than that whole not being an animal thing – note to self, always remember to consider the source. OTOH, a virus not actually being alive, maybe it does make sense.

“Technology has grown so that talented individuals can duplicate everything Roland did, at home on their computer.”
I always say the big, largely unsung, breakthrough was the Amiga 500; by 1988/89, kids in their bedrooms had access to basically everything Fairlight had been selling for £30,000 just five years earlier.
Granted, it only had four-note polyphony, the DAC was notoriously variable from machine to machine (although it had a certain charm of its own), a keyboard and MIDI were extra, as was a sampler to record your own sounds, and although it was able to reach “high” sample rates over 20kHz, you’d run out of memory pretty quickly. It was ridiculously close for the money, though. The Amiga demo scene was like punk electronica: grab a 500 and a (free) copy of Protracker and you were away.
But yes, stage equipment is a whole different ballgame.

Wtp,
After a … few perusals, I can’t quite make it out.
Can’t be an ordinary bowline, though, since there’s no running end. Probably a half hitch in the bight.
Oddly enough, neither my “Chapman’s Piloting” nor my Street’s “The Ocean Sailing Yacht” covers this technique. Odd, that, since she’s effectively got a third hand. Could come in handy.
Perhaps I should look into Adelard Coles’ “Heavy Weather Sailing”…

Can’t be an ordinary bowline, though, since there’s no running end.
Well, exactly. But aside from that it looks mighty close. I am partly curious because as a scout, our scoutmaster had us learn how to tie one one-handed and blindfolded. You know, in case we might fall off a cliff, land on a ledge, have one broken arm and it’s either really, really dark…like in a cave or moonless night or something, or we got blinded and the rescue team could only throw a rope down because the ledge might be too small or precarious to hold a rescuer as well. Not sure what that said about their leadership skills but it did make sense that we had signed release forms before campouts. Anyhoo, I’m thinking this young lady might be handy to have around should such situations arise.