It’s so bright here on the outside….

Wow! I didn’t actually plan to take four days of break from posting here; I had a nice little streak going there, too! But, that’s what happens. Truth to tell, I spent four days in jail for faking my car’s registration and inspection stickers with a Sharpie. Oops!

OK, no, that wasn’t me. But what a story, eh? As President Josiah Bartlet once noted, “Some of the stupidest criminals in the world are working right here in America. I’ve always been very proud of that.”

Anyway, yes, I’m still kicking with a pulse and everything. Nothing major, just the usual stuff of “Busy at work, quite a bit to do at home”. Not that anyone asked, which come to think of it, I now find a little rude!

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Tuesday Tones

A month or two ago when I was doing a series of music posts using music inspired by the moon, one post featured a work by Italian composer Ludovico Einaudi. As I seem to do whenever I find a new piece (new to me, anyway) by Einaudi, I always end up saying something like “I need to explore Einaudi’s music more!” And then I don’t, really, until the next time I’m looking for inspiration.

Which brings us to the current series, which is “Music inspired by water”.

Yes, I need to listen to the album this comes from, which is apparently highly regarded; it’s called In A Time Lapse. Yes, I need to listen to more Einaudi.

I haven’t found anything specific about this track, just its title, but it’s called “Waterways”, so that counts. Right? And it’s hypnotically beautiful. Kind of like a waterway.

Posted in On Music | Tagged | 1 Comment

Do you have submechanophobia, Charlie Brown?

I never knew about a thing called submechanophobia until we traveled to Hawaii in 2021, and The Daughter reacted very strongly against the idea of going to the Pearl Harbor Memorial and seeing the Arizona. The idea of looking down at a sunken ship freaked her out. I looked it up and I learned that this is very real.

Here’s a video I saw online today:

Apparently this is a shipwreck off the shore of Tobermory, Ontario. Tobermory is a town at the end of Bruce Peninsula, which extends into Lake Huron, and from what I have found out, there are around twenty shipwrecks in those waters. (We may have just finished noting the power of Lake Superior, but there are four other Great Lakes, and each one has done in its fair share of ships.)

I’ve never found myself looking down at a shipwreck in clear water before (we couldn’t even visit the Arizona! there was a problem with the docks for the boats that go over to it), so I don’t know how eerie I would find this, but while I do not suffer from the phobia in question, I can certainly see why it’s a phobia. Human-made stuff isn’t supposed to be down there, after all, and human-made things in the incorrect context can be creepy indeed…plus it’s a reminder that there’s a whole part of our world, that comprises most of our world, that we can’t visit without help and for small amounts of time.

I remember one such instance when I was a kid. My parents started canoeing heavily when I was 10 or 11, and I often accompanied them on these expeditions. One favorite waterway was the Allegheny Reservoir, which is a large lake in both New York and Pennsylvania, created by the erection in 1965 of the Kinzua Dam near Warren, PA. The reservoir is over 20 miles long, and it flooded valleys and caused the ends of a number of hamlets and villages as it filled.

One afternoon we were canoeing at Willow Bay, one of the reservoir’s many inlets. Since the Allegheny had been dammed at Kinzua in 1965, my father had been through the region before its flooding and remembered it. Thanks to a sign near the boat launch indicating the former site of a village, my father knew that he had driven through the place where we were paddling…and minutes later he looked down to see, just a few feet below the water, a road.

And that road is still visible today on Google Earth. Here is Willow Bay. Note the road, what’s left of it, emerging from the woods overgrowing it and then plunging, straight as an arrow, beneath the waters of the artificial lake.

What have you seen in the water?

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I am just now realizing that I never said anything about the passing of Dick Cheney

Well…that’s that, then. I hope he said hello to Kissinger on his way to the lake of fire.

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A Saturday Morning Quiz Thing

Here’s a quiz from Sunday Stealing! I’m doing this because it’s early Saturday morning and I’m sitting here with a mug of tea and I don’t really want to do anything productive quite yet but I need to post something (I’m sitting on a nice little string of consecutive days posting stuff!), so here we go:

What 10 Questions Can Tell You the Most about a Person

1. If you were an animal, what animal would you be?

Well…I’m prone to long periods of inactivity punctuated by short bursts of activity, and I can be motivated by food, so I guess I’d be a greyhound. Huh.

2. Are you generous?

I certainly hope so! I constantly wish I had more resources to support all the things that need supporting. (And people.)

3. Of the following, which consistently gives you the most pleasure: a) music, b) money, c) books, d) science, e) spirituality, f) food and wine, g) movies?

Sheesh, I love all those things! Maybe not spirituality, but I suppose it would depend on how we define that. I certainly enjoy the sense of community and participation in humanity that all the other things bring. And money isn’t something I love, but I sure love that having it brings the ability to pursue all the other things. Oh, and I’d add photography and other visual arts, too.

(By the way, maybe this belongs in a longer essay, but “Money can’t buy happiness!” is complete and utter bullshit and anyone saying it should be laughed out of the room.)

4. Describe your dancing ability.

I don’t have any. I probably could, as I have a fine sense of rhythm, but I have never danced much. Now, if I was to ever take an actual class in dance, I suspect I’d be OK at it. At least, not “Elaine Benes” bad.

5. What do you think your worst enemy really thinks of you?

“That guy is a liberal pinko weirdo with no fashion sense and isn’t manly enough.” (Now, I have no idea who is thinking this, but if I had a “worst enemy”, this is probably at least part of their thought process.)

6. Can you tell when someone is lying to you?

Depends on the person and the lie, doesn’t it?

7. Describe how it feels to fall in love.

Well, your brain kind of goes all foggy and your thoughts go all “What if I did this weird thing I would never otherwise do? Would that impress that person?” and people are often doing the snapping-fingers-in-your-face thing to get your attention because once again you’re thinking about the oh-so-cute thing that person did the other day and how you really want to revisit the lovely conversation you had with them that time so you cook up all manner of weird conversational gambits to get that topic back again. Oh, and there can be uncomfortable bloating, too. Be careful. A thing of Tums helps.

8. In deadly peril, what three people would you want in a foxhole with you?

Superman, Wonder Woman, and Captain America.

9. What is your greatest weakness?

Well, my sweet tooth doesn’t do me any favors. And I’m likely to pay a lot less heed to your character flaws if you look good in a pair of overalls.

10. If you were to live out the rest of your life as your favorite fictional character, which would you choose?

I could cheerfully live as Bilbo Baggins, in all honesty. Books and food and warm fires? And some of the hobbits wear something similar to overalls!

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“Momentary masters of a fraction of a dot”

Earth, from the rings of Saturn:

“In this rare image taken on July 19, 2013, the wide-angle camera on NASA’s Cassini spacecraft has captured Saturn’s rings and our planet Earth and its moon in the same frame. It is only one footprint in a mosaic of 33 footprints covering the entire Saturn ring system (including Saturn itself). At each footprint, images were taken in different spectral filters for a total of 323 images: some were taken for scientific purposes and some to produce a natural color mosaic. This is the only wide-angle footprint that has the Earth-moon system in it.”

Via, with more info, here.

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Something for Thursday

We all have those movies, don’t we? They’re the movies where we’ll be going about our day, doing stuff that we’ve planned out and intended to get done…but then we’ll see that one of those movies is on teevee or something, and that’s that, screw the To Do List, we’re watching that movie again!

One of those movies for me is The Hunt for Red October, that wonderful submarine thriller based on the Tom Clancy novel. (I never read that particular Clancy book. I read a couple other ones and honestly, I wasn’t super-impressed beyond an appreciation for his plotting. My drug-of-choice for late-80s-early-90s spy fiction was Robert Ludlum.) Hunt came out in spring 1990, and I remember a bunch of friends and I in college going to see it. The movie rocked my world even then, and it has never declined in my estimation. It really is a masterpiece, as far as I’m concerned; it sets up every single plot twist in advance but doesn’t do so in such an obvious way that you can see the foreshadowing as it happens. It’s incredibly well-acted and superbly paced, and for an action adventure thriller, it has some absolutely crackling dialog. I just love it.

The music is also great, by the wonderful Basil Poledouris. Its main melodic material is distinctly Russian, and he makes extensive use of choir throughout, along with some techno material in the tense parts of the film. Here is a suite culled together from the soundtrack.

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What about a very tall garden shed?

There’s a social media account called “Terrible Maps” which is exactly that: absurd maps, where the absurdity either comes from the weirdness of the information being mapped, or just plain meta-absurdity. Here is a version of the latter:

And here is a version of the former:

Now, I like the fact that this one doesn’t include the caption, because you’re probably wondering what on Earth Florida, Louisiana, and Illinois have in common. What could possibly group those three states, and no others?

Here, I’ll even provide a bit of quiz-show music to play while you think about it:

Give up?

Think altitude.

Got it yet?

The map depicts states where, if you stand atop that state’s tallest building, your elevation will be higher than if you stood on that state’s highest natural point. Apparently this is only true in these three states. Illinois is pretty obvious: the Sears Tower (Willis Tower? Something else? Nah, Sears Tower it is) is taller than “Charles Mound”, the state’s highest hill. Now, having driven through Illinois a lot, I found this a little surprising when I considered the hilly terrain along the state’s western side. But those hills are actually plateaus with valleys from the rivers and streams forming the Mississippi River watershed. And the southern part of Illinois is too far west to benefit, elevation-wise, from the Appalachians.

I didn’t look up Louisiana or Florida’s tallest buildings, but their natural high points are quite low: Driskill Mountain’s 535 feet and Britton Hill at 345 feet, respectively. Florida is so flat that I’ll bet there are a lot of buildings that reach a higher elevation than Britton Hill there. Even NASA’s Vehicle Assembly Building is taller than that.

I would have thought there were more states that fit this bill, to be honest. Iowa, for example. It turns out that Iowa is short-changed (ha!) by the relative lack of height in the Des Moines skyline, but if Iowa wanted to join the other three here, it wouldn’t take much: one building in Des Moines just 86 feet or more taller than that city’s current tallest building would do it. (For the purposes of this post, I assume that meeting the challenge would involve the state’s biggest city. They could build a tower that tall in Mason City, after all…but that would be really weird.)

Could New York do it? Unlikely, as New York State’s highest point is a mountain in the Adirondacks that is more than 5300 feet high. Nobody’s building a mile-high building any time soon, I think.

So, just thinking about this, which states could do this most realistically? Well, I assume the entire Western seaboard is out; nobody in California, Oregon, or Washington is going to build a tower that gives greater elevation than Mts. Whitney, Hood, or Rainier, respectively. I thought maybe Massachusetts could do it, but it turns out that the western end of that state is more rugged than I remember (I haven’t been to Massachusetts in 28 years). How about Connecticut, Rhode Island, New Jersey, and Delaware? Those are flat, aren’t they? Well, not really:

  • Connecticut: Mt. Frissell, 2380 feet
  • Rhode Island: Jerimoth Hill, 812 feet
  • New Jersey: High Point (creatively named!), 1803 feet
  • Delaware: Ebright Azimuth, 448 feet (rounded up)

The biggest cities of each are elevated as follows:

  • Hartford, CT: 59 feet
  • Providence, RI: 75 feet
  • Newark, NJ: 30 feet
  • Wilmington, DE: 92 feet

Well, it’s pretty obvious that Hartford is not going to be erecting a 2322-foot skyscraper anytime soon. Neither is Newark likely to build a 1774-foot building. But all Providence would need is a 738-foot building to get this job done (their current tallest building is 428 feet, so this would dominate the skyline). And looking things up, I wonder if Delaware actually does belong on this list! The base elevation is 92 feet, and their tallest building is 360 feet, which means that, assuming the base of 1201 North Market Street is at the 92-foot elevation mark, its roof must stand at 452 feet, a whole 4 feet higher than Ebright Azimuth. Hmmmm.

Now I’m wondering how much of this the Terrible Maps folks actually researched. I’m also wondering why I’ve spent so much time on this.

Posted in On Things I Find Funny | Tagged | 1 Comment

Tuesday Tones

Looking across the Niagara River
Miranda (Lumix FZ1000ii)
f/7.1, 1/1000sec, ISO 250

Continuing our self-guided tour of classical music inspired by water, we have perhaps one of the two greatest works ever directly inspired by a river (well, maybe three, depending on how strongly we consider Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen to have been inspired by the Rhine). The other work will surely show up in this series, but for now, we’ll stick with Bedrich Smetana’s Vltava, known to English-speaking audiences as The Moldau.

The work opens with a quiet shimmering that evokes the flow of Vltava, the longest river in the Czech Republic. Written as part of a cycle of tone poems evoking Smetana’s homeland, called Ma Vlast (“My Fatherland”), Vltava is the most well-known of the group and is often performed on its own. Its main melody is one of the great tunes in all classical music, an earworm for the ages, but Smetana’s orchestration is marvelous throughout as he casts the work with sonic effects that evoke the flowing waters and the country through which it flows. Smetana himself wrote of the work:

“Two springs pour forth in the shade of the Bohemian Forest, one warm and gushing, the other cold and peaceful. The forest brook, hastening on, becomes the river Moldau. Through thick woods it flows, as the gay sounds of the hunt and the notes of the hunter’s horn are heard ever nearer. It flows through grass-grown pastures and lowlands where a wedding feast is celebrated with song and dance. At night, wood and water nymphs revel in its sparkling waves. Reflected on its surface are fortresses and castles — witnesses of bygone days of knightly splendor and the vanished glory of fighting times. At the St. John Rapids, the stream races ahead, winding through the cataracts, hewing out a path with its foaming waves through the rocky chasm into the broad riverbed — finally, flowing on in majestic peace toward Prague and welcomed by the time-honored castle Vyšehrad. Then it vanishes far beyond the poet’s gaze.”

Here is Vltava by Bedrich Smetana (in a particularly wonderful live performance).

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“When the waves turn minutes to hours”

Sunset over Lake Erie

Fifty years ago today, one of the most notorious maritime disasters in American history happened when the Edmund Fitzgerald, a mighty freighter of the Great Lakes, foundered and sank near the eastern end of Lake Superior. The story is well known, of course: the huge ship with the long and distinguished career, famous for being one of the biggest ships on the Great Lakes, and the way it sailed into one of the most ferocious storms in memory, finding itself in a more and more harrowing position, and striving against time to reach the relative safety of Whitefish Bay, and Captain McSorley’s haunting last radio message–“We are holding our own”–likely send just seconds, maybe minutes, before the ship went down with all hands.

The exact cause of the Edmund Fitzgerald‘s sinking has never been precisely determined. Can it be, at this point? I don’t know. It would likely take a lot more inspection of the wreckage on the bottom of Lake Superior, but there have been no expeditions to the ship in thirty years and I don’t imagine it’s exactly anyone’s priority. There are a number of theories: the ship’s hull might have been damaged when she hit a shoal, or the ship might have been swamped by a set of rogue waves that overwhelmed her. One account I once read (I can’t remember where, unfortunately) speculated that the Fitz encountered seas so violently rough that she plowed downward into the trough of a giant wave and then…kept plowing down. According to this account, the ship went straight down so fast that the engines were still running as it surged downward to the bottom. I find that prospect rather terrifying, to be honest. The Edmund Fitzgerald is haunting, I suspect, partly because its wreck is so unexplained and because it happened so quickly. This was no sinking, like the Titanic, that played out over an hour and a half and allowed for human dramas based on class to take place. The crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald had no time to think about their fate and to consider their impending mortality. The sinking was likely so quick that at least some of the crew didn’t know what was happening until they were already underwater.

Like all shipwrecks, large or small, the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald provides yet another data point supporting one of my favorite adages: “Nature always bats last.” No matter how strong the fruits of our industry may be, nature will always have the final say. It may take years and years, centuries even, but eventually nothing made by the hand of humans can withstand the forces of the universe. And if you want to see those forces in action, well, just go look on any of the Great Lakes.

I’ve lived near the Great Lakes, in one way or another, for most of my life. Except for the years we lived in Hillsboro, OR when I was a kid, one Great Lake or another has pretty much always been at most a few hours’ drive away. Of course, since 2000, I’ve lived minutes away from Lake Erie, a stretch broken only in the winter of 2002-2003 when we lived in Syracuse, closer to Lake Ontario. These waters are easy to take lightly…but they are what they are. They are inland seas, and any of the five are capable of plunging a ship to the depths with all on board.

Plaque honoring Gordon Lightfoot’s classic song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald“, on display at the Ripley Aquarium, Toronto, ON
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