We are developing the social individualist meta-context for the future. From the very serious to the extremely frivolous... lets see what is on the mind of the Samizdata people.
Samizdata, derived from Samizdat /n. - a system of clandestine publication of banned literature in the USSR [Russ.,= self-publishing house]
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This story offers a new slant on how the USA is preparing to deal with a smallpox terrorist attack: Smallpox: A Musical:
St. Cloud, Minn. – Here’s the way doctors in St. Cloud imagine a smallpox outbreak. Panicked hospital employees scurry about in a blaze of blue scrubs. A doctor dons a biohazard suit and sprays bleach everywhere. The beleaguered workers wring their hands and then belt into song, to an oddly familiar tune.
“Smallpox, smallpox, what a challenge for our docs,” they sing to the tune of “Charleston.”
It’s a performance of Smallpox: A Musical. Covers of hit musical tunes are cleverly revised to tell the story of mucus – that nefarious transmitter of smallpox.
Suddenly, the familiar sounds of music are back.
“The halls are awash, with the sound of mucus. And everyday ills, are now shown the door. ‘Cause deep in our hearts, what has so confused us, is fevers and pustules and festering sores,” sing hospital workers to the melody of “The Sound of Music.”
The musical is the brainchild of Dr. Daniel Whitlock, vice president of medical affairs at St. Cloud Hospital. But these days, in addition to his administrative role, Whitlock is busy making casting calls. His eyes twinkle as he runs a hand through his silver hair.
“I thought you’d be a good one,” he says to a perspective recruit, “because you have stage presence. And you’re dynamic.”
The medical profession has always been a bastion of bad taste and gallows humour. It seems to be my day for confirming stereotypes.
It’s good to see an ancient stereotype confirmed, this time the one about British judges being less than completely alert and on the ball on all occasions.
One of the men convicted of plotting to snatch £200 million worth of diamonds from the Millennium Dome has lodged grounds of appeal alleging that the judge at his Old Bailey trial fell asleep more than once during the hearing.
Lawyers for Raymond Betson are trying to trace two witnesses who were present at the trial and may be able to give evidence about when Judge Michael Coombe dozed off.
Betson’s claim – part of his challenge to his conviction of conspiracy to rob – was disclosed in the Court of Appeal today when his case was delayed for at least seven weeks.
Betson’s counsel, Edmund Romilly, said: “Statements from two people present at the trial show that the judge fell asleep on a number of occasions. We have been making efforts to contact these people, so far without success.”
All of which confirms that old Peter Cook sketch from Beyond The Fringe about how, when you get old and doddery and useless, you had to stop doing mining, but that this didn’t apply at all if you did judging.
I don’t know what else this proves. Probably that most court cases, even about dramatic events such as this attempted Dome robbery – which was like something in a Peter Sellers movie – are stupefyingly boring.
I think this is a fascinating site, specialising in before-and-after plastic surgery star photos, which I found via one of my regular favourites, b3ta.com. “Crap plastic surgery”, they call it, but I say that there’s a bit more to all this than just the chance to jeer at silly celebs with fat lips and boobs that go in an out from one year to the next. As always, where the celebs go now, millions more will follow.
One of my absolute favourites, Meg Ryan, as is pointed out at the site itself, has been made to look like Susan Dey (of LA Law fame). I adore both these ladies, but even so, what Ryan has done to herself is to me off-putting. She’s just not Meg Ryan any more, which I suppose it the whole idea. Presumably Meg Ryan was fed-up with making dark, serious, scary, explosive movies, packed with implausible action and profound human wickedness, and everyone saying “We preferred you in When Harry Met Sally“, so she decided to smash up her original face and change herself into something else.
When I first saw the MR “trout pout” on the cover of a trashy made-up-news-mag, I thought, ugh!! But maybe the magazines had photoshop-enhanced it. According to this it’s not too bad.
However, according to this, she’s turned herself into Molly Ringwald.
What Britain’s TV equivalent of Meg Ryan, Leslie Ash, has had done to herself is, however, truly scary. Google google. See what I mean.
What makes the Ryan and Ash lipo-enhancements so unnerving is that we’ve got used to these ladies with their regular faces. So when you see them now, you can’t forget that that isn’t the real shape of their faces and they’ve got bits of their bums in there. That’s not good.
And would you believe: Al Pacino? He seems to have said: “Make me look more like Dustin Hoffman!”
On the face of it this is all down-market tittle-tattle of the trailer-trashiest sort, of interest to the kind of lunatics who (like me) enjoy all the mad rubbish that b3ta links to, but to nobody else. But as so often with b3ta there’s deadly serious stuff in among the photoshopped squirrels with eagle-heads and pictures of weird people with huge eyes for no reason. It’s clear that something very profound is going on with our culture here. We have entered the age of the artificial body.
What’s going on? It starts with the obvious, which is that people who now want to change their bodies now can change their bodies.
It reminds me a bit of what Alice Bachini was blogging about yesterday, which got a lot of admiring attention. That posting was about a person changing their entire voice and become a different person, without necessarily meaning to. With plastic surgery, you change your entire look, and become a different person while very much meaning to, in much the same way that Meg Ryan seems to want to be a different sort of actress.
The strangest transformation of all which I found at Awful Plastic Surgery is that the charming Marie Osmond has had herself re-engineered into the monstrous Ruby Wax. Why would anyone want to make that transition? The answer is probably: she didn’t. Plastic surgery is still only a bet that it will turn out better than before rather than worse. (Ask Leslie Ash!) But already it’s a bet that millions are placing.
Personally I think it is all most undignified, like changing your name because you don’t like the one you’ve got.
During my ongoing travels in the USA, I encountered two splendid examples of the idiocy of regulation…
What you see in the above picture, taken a few days ago in Newark, New Jersey, is a steep concrete stairway leading to a carpark next to a roller-skate rink. Now I was rather puzzled to see a bunch of mandated disabled carpark bays next to a roller-skate rink, but the really funny bit was the small curb at the bottom of the stairs with… a wheelchair ramp. Ignoring for a moment the sheer idiocy of the notion someone in a wheelchair would use those stairs at all, somehow I suspect if they had somehow negotiated that imposing set of stairs, they are not going to need a ramp to get over the damn curb at the bottom.
Next for your edification, we have what is in effect a mandated warning posted on a bar at the Four Seasons Hotel in Los Angeles, taken yesterday…
Yet for some reason the state wants the same people who drink in bars to vote on who gets to put their finger on The Button.
Why do people tolerate being treated like cretins? America is a very strange place sometimes.
Over at the White Rose, some of us have been lately discussing the consequences of future ubiquitous computing, and whether it spells the end for privacy.
However, ubiquitous computing does of course also have its upsides. Researchers at Trinity College Dublin have invented a smart couch. This couch is capable of recognising any of the people who regularly sit on it (by weight) and greeting people individually. Future versions of the couch will be able to control the room temperature in accordance with the preferences of the individual, turn the lights off automatically, automatically switch the television to show favourite programs, and order your preferred variety of take out food.
At least, I think it has its upsides.
(Link via slashdot).
I have just heard a reporter on the BBC ‘Newsnight’ show describe the European Common Agricultural Policy as an expensive ‘boondoggle’.
I cannot recall ever having heard that term used in the mainstream British press before. Is that a first?
Great story here that the canned voice of Sean Connery, Scotland’s greatest living actor, will be used in the lifts at the new Scottish parliament building in Edinburgh.
Brilliant. This idea could run and run. How about characters – still alive, obviously – who played various Bond villains to lend their voices for lifts in, say, the EU headquarters in Brussels?
“Ladies and gentlemen, velcome to my lair heeere in ze Brussels center of my power. Vee haf been expectink you”.
For web design that hurts, you really need to visit…
I can not tell whether this is real or a joke. It could very easily be both of course.
Fuss has recently been made about an amphibious sports car, which seems genuine enough, if rather extravagant. But this, linked to by BoingBoing, is an amphibious bus, and is strictly for the luxury end of the bus market:
John and Julie Giljam, a married couple from South Carolina, created a first-class motor coach that doubles as a yacht.
The Terra Wind is an amphibious 42 ½ foot motor home. The RV can cruise down the highway at 80 mph, and when it hits water it becomes a yacht … with just a few maneuvers.
What it looks like when in water is a drowning bus caught in a flood. I seriously wonder how seaworthy it is. So how well is it doing?
The Giljams said there has been a lot of interest in the amphibious motor home. They plan to show it off at boat shows, RV shows and yacht shows.
Oh dear. “A lot of interest.” They “plan” to show it off at shows. This is salespeak for no one wants to buy the bloody thing. → Continue reading: Floating luxury bus anyone?
Your intrepid correspondent (well, sort of) is filing this from Ramsgate on the Kent Coast where there appear to be some odd goings-on.
There is no way of telling whether or not any of this is connected in any way to yesterday’s security alert at Dover but, today, fully-armed, missile-laden RAF jets have been observed buzzing around the Kent Coast. I am advised that jet fighters are generally not armed if merely on exercise.
Also, this evening there have been widespread power blackouts in Dover and Deal although latest reports are that the power is now back on.
Coincidences? Connected? Sinister? Perfectly innocent? Who knows? Heading back to London shortly.
On Wednesday evening, for reasons too complicated to explain (which partly have to do with the disaster that is transport in London), I found myself walking down the high street of Clapham in wonderfully multi-ethnic south London. (This is not the same place as Clapham Junction, which is some distance away). This area seemed to have more nice bars and restaurants than it did the last time I was there, and half way down the street I saw a place called the “Bierodrome“. Despite this slightly silly name, I looked at the menu beside the door and saw a vast number of fine Belgian beers listed. As I am a little partial to fine Belgian beer, I walked in and sat down. Most of the beers were bottled, but they had around ten on tap. I ordered a Grimbergen Blonde. This is not an especially obscure beer, but it is certainly a good one.
When you go into a bar in Belgium, every beer has its own special glass. These have the name of the beer on the side, and vary in shape depending on the kind of beer, as (it is claimed) different styles of beer taste best in different shaped glasses. Some of the weirdly curved glasses also look kind of cute. The size of the glass also varies from beer to beer. This definitely makes sense, as beers differ greatly in texture and alcoholic strength. It also gives Belgian bars some of their character. Walk into a good bar, and there will be hundreds of different glasses on the shelf behind the barman. Belgian beers are often 7%, 8%, 9% alcohol, and these are best consumed in relatively small quantities. The Grimbergen Blond was at 7% only moderate by Belgian standards, but rather strong by English standards.
When I ordered the beer, I didn’t specify a size, as I just expected that I would be given a size appropriate to the beer in question, as happens in Belgium. However, I was given a cute, curved, Belgian style glass, but very big. I asked the barman, and he explained that it was a pint. You see, I was in England. If you are in England and order a beer without specifying the size, a pint is what you get. With English beer this is excellent. In fact, it is superb. English beer is usually (but not always) weaker than some continental drinks, and lends itself to larger glasses.
That was fine. → Continue reading: English beer measures and the liberal French state.
This, linked to by the ever caring and concerned Dave Barry, gives a whole new meaning to the word freedom:
sacfree makes your sac free! In former times there were boxershorts or slips. Today there is sacfree, the first boxerslip of the world. sacfree brings you pleasant liberty (“bringt dir angenehme Freiheit”) and defines your necessity.
Briefly: A new dimension of comfort and liberty for your balls. And … sacfree is sexy.
Any ladies or gay gentlemen care to comment on that last claim?
Foreigners mishandling their private parts and the English language. Samizdata never lets you down.
But, watch out when some Germans want to define your necessity.
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