The idle musings of a former military man, former computer geek, medically retired pastor and now full-time writer. Contents guaranteed to offend the politically correct and anal-retentive from time to time. My approach to life is that it should be taken with a large helping of laughter, and sufficient firepower to keep it tamed!
It reminded me of my sister's favorite Texas story.
She, her husband and their two small children emigrated from South Africa to Canada in the mid-1970's, settling in the Toronto area. Shortly after their arrival she took her young son and daughter to Niagara Falls to show them the sights. They proceeded to take the boat tour of the bowl beneath the falls in one of those "Maid Of The Mists" vessels.
Aboard the packed boat was a man whom everyone instantly recognized as being from Texas. I'm not sure how he was so easily identified . . . perhaps the ten-gallon hat, cowboy boots, spurs and longhorn belt buckle had something to do with it.
Everyone was waiting for him to say something disparaging about Niagara Falls because "Texas has something bigger and better" - but he was silent all through the trip.
My sister, unable to restrain herself, said to him as the passengers were disembarking, "You know, we were all waiting for you to tell us that Texas has something bigger and better than this."
He turned slowly, looked at her solemnly, and with a dead-pan expression said, "No, Ma'am. In Texas we got plumbers that can fix this!"
According to a Reuters report, Lloyd's of London has insured the nose of M. Ilja Gort for five million Euros, or about US $8,000,000. M. Gort is the owner of Chateau de la Garde in Bordeaux, France, which produces Tulipe Wines. According to a Lloyd's statement quoted in the report, M. Gort's nose "could distinguish millions of different scents and was essential to guarantee the quality of his wines."
M. Gort has posted a video on YouTube of the 2007 harvest at Chateau de la Garde (starring himself and his nose in close-up).
This isn't the first nose to be insured by Lloyds: they also covered Jimmy Durante's renowned schnozz for an undisclosed amount, as well as Egon Ronay's palate, Keith Richards' hands and Fred Astaire's legs.
I have only one question. How on earth could you tell whether a claim under this policy was legitimate? I mean, if I were in M. Gort's position, surely I could assert that a traumatic event (perhaps the sight of genuine Bordeaux being swilled from a can or dispensed from a cardboard box container - "Chateau Cardboard", so to speak) had completely frazzled my sense of smell. How would the insurer prove otherwise? After all, it would only take a relatively minor deterioration in the sense of smell to lose the ability to distinguish between "millions" of scents and be able to deal with only "hundreds".
This remarkable man has already amassed quite a track record. He's circumnavigated the world twice, crossed the Pacific several times, and used some unique vessels in the process - a solar-powered boat of conventional construction, another made from recycled beer cans, a catamaran named Malt's Mermaid II constructed from 528 aluminum beer kegs ("500 of them were empty," he joked), and another made of whiskey barrels and aluminum cans with sails made from plastic soda bottles. (You might infer that he's a believer in recycling!)
Malt's Mermaid II on display in Japan
At 68 years old you might think he'd be planning his retirement. Far from it! He set off last Sunday on his latest adventure. He plans to sail from Hawaii to Japan in a boat named Suntory Mermaid II that's powered only by the motion of the water. A flat "wing" at the bow will be moved up and down by the flow of the waves, driving two "flippers" whose kicking action will pull the craft forward. The New York Times has a detailed report with a graphic illustrating how this will work (click to enlarge):
This video of a small test craft in a water tank gives you some idea of how it works.
At an expected average cruising speed of about 3 mph (about the same as a brisk walk) he expects to reach Japan in late May after covering approximately 4,000 miles. There are sails and a small outboard motor in case of problems with the wave-drive system, and solar panels will recharge batteries and allow him to use a microwave oven for cooking. He's taken plenty of books along, and expects to have a fairly relaxed trip.
If you'd like to follow his adventures, he'll be updating an expedition Web page as often as possible, including a diary, map of his progress and other information.
Godspeed and fair sailing to you, Sir! Thanks for showing us that adventure is still there for the asking, if you think "outside the box" and you've got the guts to try.
I don't know about you, but I'm fed up with manufacturers trying to cram more and more functions into a simple cellular telephone.
I want something on which to make calls. I might - grudgingly - accept the need for a text message now and then, although I tend to avoid them. That's all I want in such a device.
So what do I find if I shop for a phone? Cameras; music players; Web browsers; calendars and diaries; e-mail functions; GPS location . . . the mind boggles! You need an advanced degree in electronics just to switch on the damn things!
Anyway, it seems I'm not the only one who finds this ridiculous. I came across this gem while browsing through YouTube. It made me laugh, so I figured you might enjoy it too.
They were photographed by Oyvind Tangen, a Norwegian sailor, almost 700 miles north of the Antarctic.
According to the report linked above, they're formed by dust and gravel over which glaciers slide on their way to the sea, or by melt-water filling cracks in the ice and freezing quickly before bubbles can form and give the ice a whiter color.
To give you an idea of the scale, the first iceberg is about 150 feet long and 30 feet high, while the second is about 100 feet tall.
Leon Haynes is just your ordinary gangsta guy: ready, willing and able to help out a buddy in a tight spot.
At least, that's how he must have seemed to Covi Henry in Manchester, England, when he asked Haynes in August last year to help him shoot a rival gangster and drug-dealer, and gave him a gun to hold until the time was right.
I bet he's wishing he chose a more practiced sidekick.
You see, Haynes duly drew the gun from his waistband on command - and shot Henry in the neck.
Not quite what Henry had in mind.
Still, you can't say Haynes wasn't dedicated. He fired four more times, severely injuring their intended victim, then dragged Henry off with him. Regrettably for both gang-bangers, police arrested them later that day. Their victim recovered in hospital.
Both Haynes and Henry are now serving long jail sentences in England. One hopes they'll be in the same prison, where Henry will have plenty of time to ask Haynes about his marksmanship and Haynes will have plenty of opportunity to defend himself. With any luck they'll remove each other from the gene pool before we have to worry about their presence in society once more.
This raises an interesting question. Who's the greater doofus? Haynes for shooting his erstwhile gangsta mentor, or Henry for choosing such a low-quality gangsta assistant? Answers in comments, please.
Which aircraft achieved ALL of the following milestones:
Was in production and in operational front-line service from the first to the last day of World War II?
Was the most-produced fighter aircraft of any of the Allied powers in World War II and the third-most-produced military aircraft in history?
Served in every theater of combat in World War II, from land bases and/or in naval operations from aircraft-carriers?
Served in the Air Forces of every major Allied power?
Achieved such fame that its very name was enough to scatter enemy formations in panic, and led to a senior enemy officer demanding that his unit be equipped with them?
Revolutionized air reconnaissance and was responsible for taking the photographs that led to some of the most daring and successful operations of World War II?
Attained the highest altitude ever achieved by a single-engined propeller-driven aircraft?
Attained the highest speed ever reached by any propeller-driven aircraft?
This aircraft is so well-known, even sixty-three years after the end of World War II, that I'm sure you'll recognize it immediately. (Click this and all other photographs for a larger view.)
This is the first instalment of a three-part Weekend Wings series about the Supermarine Spitfire and its superb operational record, probably unsurpassed by any other aircraft in history. This first part will examine the genesis, design and early versions of the Spitfire, up to and including the Battle of Britain in 1940. The second part will explore its development over the rest of World War II. The final part will examine the Seafire naval variant, the Spiteful, Seafang and jet-powered Attacker developments and post-World-War-II Spitfire models, and assess the enormous impact of this aircraft on aviation history.
The Spitfire had its genesis in the Schneider Trophy races for seaplanes.
R. J. Mitchell, the brilliant designer for the Supermarine Aviation Works (a subsidiary of the Vickers conglomerate), developed a series of fast monoplane seaplanes that won the Trophy in 1927, 1929 and 1931. These triple victories won the Trophy permanently for Britain, and today it's displayed in the Science Museum in London. The Supermarine S.6B, which won the Trophy in 1931, is illustrated below.
Seventeen days after winning the Schneider Trophy the S.6B set a new world speed record of 407.5 mph. This was a major embarrassment to the Royal Air Force (RAF), whose fastest fighter of the day, the Hawker Fury biplane, could manage only 207 mph.
Previously, the Air Ministry had issued Specification F.7/30 for a new fighter. Mitchell designed the Supermarine Type 224 to meet it. This was a gull-wing monoplane with a fixed undercarriage powered by a Rolls-Royce Goshawk engine producing 660hp.
Neither Mitchell nor the RAF liked it very much. It lost the competition when the Air Ministry selected the Gloster Gladiator, which would be the last biplane fighter developed for the RAF.
Mitchell now began to combine elements of the Type 224 and the S.6B seaplane. A new Air Ministry Specification F.5/34 led to the Supermarine Type 300 design, still using the Goshawk engine but for the first time featuring elliptical wings similar to those developed for the S.6B, which were to become the Spitfire's most recognizable feature. However, the aircraft was still woefully underpowered. Only when Rolls-Royce introduced their Merlin engine (destined to be as famous as the Spitfire and powering many of the finest aircraft of World War II) did the new fighter design really show promise. The Air Ministry agreed, and wrote Specification F.37/34 around Mitchell's design (at the same time that they wrote F.36/34 around the design of the Hawker Hurricane).
The Spitfire was to have far more serious production problems than the Hurricane due to its all-metal construction. Mitchell reasoned that high speed was vital, and because this would place greater stress on the wings and airframe he discarded biplane manufacturing techniques. The Spitfire would be of all-metal monocoque construction. Only the rudder, elevator and aileron surfaces would be fabric-covered, and that only in the earliest models - metal replaced fabric in those parts by 1941. However, until the mid-1930's the entire British aircraft industry had worked with wood frames and cloth coverings for wings and fuselage. Most aircraft component manufacturers were too small and too poorly funded to afford the transition to all-metal fabrication. This caused very serious production delays for the Spitfire at first, leading the Air Ministry to consider abandoning its production after the initial contract. Fortunately its performance was so superb that abandoning it became out of the question, and the teething problems in production were overcome by 1940.
The Spitfire's contemporary, the Hurricane, had no such production problems. Sydney Camm designed the Hurricane along the same lines as existing biplane fighters, using wood covered with fabric for much of its structure. He wanted it to be highly maneuverable with a tight turning circle, regarding high speed as a less important factor. Due to adopting the same methods as biplane construction, already widely known and used in the aircraft industry of the day, it could be produced quickly and easily. Largely for this reason, Hurricanes would make up about two-thirds of the RAF's fighter force during the Battle of Britain. A Hurricane Mk. 1 is shown below.
Unfortunately, the Hurricane's old-fashioned construction meant that it could not be improved to any great extent. It was effectively obsolescent for first-line interception duties (particularly against later German fighters) from 1941 onwards. It was relegated to ground-attack and sea strike duties and second-line air defense until it finally went out of production in 1944. It was succeeded by the all-metal Typhoon and Tempest.
However, the Spitfire's all-metal construction proved suitable for growth and development throughout the war, resulting in no less than 54 different versions (Marks and sub-Marks) of this aircraft. From the earliest standard production model to the last the Spitfire's loaded (i.e. combat) weight would increase by 67%, from 5,935 to 9,900 pounds; its engine power by 131%, from 1,030 to 2,375 horsepower; its maximum speed by 25%, from 367 to 457 mph; its rate of climb by 124%, from 2,175 to 4,880 feet per minute; and its combat range (on internal fuel alone) by 36%, from 425 to 580 miles. Specialized versions such as photographic reconnaissance models would exceed some of these figures very considerably.
Sadly, R. J. Mitchell would not live to see the extraordinary success of his brainchild. He died of cancer in 1937.
At first the Spitfire's all-metal construction caused amazement among service personnel. As Jeffrey Quill, Supermarine's chief test pilot, observed in 1936:
. . . I had to land [the prototype Spitfire] at Tangmere, which was the home of 1 and 43 Squadrons equipped with the Hawker Fury - a lovely little biplane fighter. I taxied in to the tarmac and shut down the engine, and a crowd of pilots and airmen immediately gathered round to examine this strange new beast. I took off my helmet and had begun to shed my Sutton harness and parachute straps when a strange sound came from the rear fuselage. It was a sort of high-frequency hammering noise, as sometimes produced by ancient domestic hot-water systems, and it considerably startled me. I leant out of the cockpit and looked towards the tail in some alarm, and there I saw a crowd of airmen all tapping on the metal fuselage with their knuckles. It was the first time they had ever encountered a metal-skinned aeroplane!
The prototype Spitfire, registration K5054, is shown below. It first flew on March 6th, 1936, and would be followed by well over 22,000 siblings and descendants.
While on the subject of construction, the fabric-covered ailerons and elevators in early versions of the Spitfire would lead to some interesting problems. A former apprentice at the Supermarine Works, Peter Weston, was involved with the production testing of aircraft before delivery to squadrons during the Battle of Britain. He remarked:
The pilots would taxi out from the apron onto the grass and take off in almost any direction regardless of the wind factor. The duration of the tests were normally about 20 minutes. Meanwhile I would be standing about 50 feet or so from the apron, on the grass area with a pot of dope and paint brush in hand along with fabric patches. A Spitfire would land and taxi to me and the pilot point to the ailerons or to the elevators and . . . often to both. During the tests the aircraft [were] dived to around 400 mph and this sometimes cause[d] the fabric on the ailerons and elevators to be ripped, so I, while [the] engine was running would have to dash around, put dope over the area of the rip, put a patch of fabric on and dope over it again, the dope dried almost immediately. I would give the thumbs up sign and off they would go at full throttle, tail up almost immediately, and airborne.
Such problems were overcome with the introduction of metal-skinned ailerons and elevators during 1941, which also considerably improved the aircraft's handling at high speeds.
The first production model of the Spitfire was the Mark IA. This had a Merlin II or III engine producing 1,030 horsepower and was armed with eight .303-inch (7.62mm.) Browning machine-guns, four in each wing. Initially a two-blade wooden fixed-pitch propeller was fitted (as seen on the prototype above), but a three-bladed variable-pitch unit was rapidly developed to better use the power of the engine. The Mark IB had a slightly modified wing, initially fitted with two 20mm. cannon and later with two cannon and four Browning .303 machine-guns.
The Mark II Spitfire was essentially the same as the Mark I - the designation referred to a slightly modified design to be manufactured at the brand-new Castle Bromwich factory (interior view shown below) erected to mass-produce the Spitfire.
The first Mark II's were produced there in June 1940. It had a Merlin XII engine producing 1,175 horsepower. The Mark IIA (shown below) had eight machine-guns, and the Mark IIB two cannon and four machine-guns. Up to and during the Battle of Britain virtually all Spitfires were armed with eight machine-guns: only after the Battle did cannon-armed Spitfires become common. The cannon were a huge improvement over the small-caliber machine-guns, offering greater effective range and a much greater impact on target. Eventually the later Marks of Spitfires would dispense with machine-guns altogether and be armed with four 20mm. cannon.
The first production Spitfires entered service with 19 Squadron on August 4th, 1938. By the outbreak of World War II on September 3rd, 1939, the RAF had 306 Spitfires in service, equipping ten squadrons. A further 71 were in reserve and 2,000 more had been ordered. Very few Spitfires were sent to France during the first months of World War II, simply because there were so few of them in service. They were retained for home defense while the more numerous Hurricanes were despatched to France.
During the so-called "Phoney War" between September 1939 and the Blitzkrieg of May 1940, a remarkable Australian, Sidney Cotton (who qualifies for a full Weekend Wings article in his own right - I'll write it in due course), managed to wheedle two of the very scarce Spitfires from Air Chief Marshal Dowding, Commander-in-Chief of Fighter Command. At the time Cotton was establishing the first professional Photographic Reconnaissance unit in the RAF. He noted:
We took out the guns and gun fittings and got rid of all excess weight, we filled in the gun holes with metal plates, we stopped up all cracks with plaster of Paris and we polished the external surfaces into a hard, sleek gloss. In this way we increased the speed of these two Spitfires from 360 to 396 mph . . . [He also installed a 29-gallon auxiliary fuel tank.] . . . by the end of October [1939] I had two aircraft capable of a cruising speed of close on 400 mph with a range of 1,250 miles at 30,000 feet, fitted with the best photographic equipment I could get.
These two reconnaissance Spitfires performed very well, taking photographs of enemy positions that could not be obtained by any other aircraft (those that tried suffered severe losses). They flew too high and too fast to be easily intercepted, and had the speed to run away from any pursuing fighter of the day. They were the precursors of many PR (Photographic Reconnaissance) models of the Spitfire, both converted from fighters and factory-produced, that would total in excess of a thousand aircraft by the end of World War II. I'll cover the PR variants in more detail in the next part of this series on the Spitfire.
When the Blitzkrieg exploded in May 1940, the RAF squadrons in France found themselves overwhelmed by massive German superiority in aircraft numbers - and, all too often, in aircraft performance as well. The Hurricane could barely hold its own against the faster Messerschmitt Bf 109E.
This Bf 109E flew in the Battle of Britain. It landed at a RAF airfield in November 1940 and was captured. It is today on display at RAF Hendon in England.
As the Allied armies retreated before the German onslaught the British Expeditionary Force congregated at Dunkirk in northern France, from where a famous and remarkably successful evacuation was conducted. Spitfire squadrons were thrown into battle to keep the German Air Force, the Luftwaffe, at a distance from Dunkirk. They achieved considerable success: but enough German aircraft got through and bombed the evacuation site to cause considerable resentment among the troops, who could not see the RAF fighting many miles away. The RAF lost 474 aircraft in this endeavour compared to only 132 for the Luftwaffe.
The Battle of Britain followed from July to October 1940. The story is so well-known that I won't repeat it here in any detail. Suffice it to say that the RAF fighter pilots fought the Luftwaffe to a standstill in one of the most pivotal and crucial battles ever fought in any war at any time. If the Luftwaffe had succeeded in gaining air superiority, Germany would have invaded England and the subsequent course of World War II would have been very different. However, the RAF held the line and the invasion was first postponed, then cancelled. As Winston Churchill said of the RAF fighter pilots, "Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few."
The Spitfire played a crucial role in the Battle of Britain. Tactics were developed so that whenever possible the faster Spitfires took on the German escorting fighters, while the slower, more maneuverable Hurricanes attacked the German bombers. Famously, Luftwaffe fighter commander Adolf Galland was so enraged by Hermann Goering's poor tactics and strategy that he demanded that his squadrons be equipped with Spitfires. RAF losses were heavy, but aircraft were quickly replaced by the rapidly-expanding factories. Aircraft never ran short during the Battle. However, the loss of skilled, experienced pilots was another matter. Many replacement pilots entered line squadrons only to be shot down within days (sometimes within hours) because their training and experience were woefully inadequate for a combat environment. It would take the RAF a year or more after the Battle to rebuild a cadre of sufficiently experienced pilots, particularly in leadership positions.
The video below shows the only Spitfire still in flying condition that fought in the Battle of Britain. It's a Mark IIA from the Castle Bromwich factory, accepted into RAF service in August 1940, and is today part of the RAF's Battle Of Britain Memorial Flight. The music in the first part of the video, before the flying demonstration, is from the film "Battle Of Britain".
The Battle of Britain marked the end of the beginning for the Spitfire. It had proven itself to be one of the finest combat aircraft in existence: but more advanced enemy aircraft were on the horizon, and it would have to grow to meet the new challenges ahead. The story of how it did so (with enormous success) will be told in the next Weekend Wings.
"I tried to distract the bear with lights and music because I heard bears are afraid of that," Zoran Kiseloski told top-selling daily Dnevnik after the year-long case of the bear vs. the beekeeper ended in the beekeeper's favour.
"So I bought a generator, lit up the area and put on songs of (Serbian 'turbo-folk' star) Ceca."
Unfortunately, the generator ran out of fuel, and the bear came back once peace and quiet was restored. The sympathetic court duly convicted the nameless bear and fined him 140,000 denars (about $3,500) in compensation for the damage he'd caused. No word on the bear's reaction . . . and since he wasn't in court and (presumably) can't read about his conviction, I daresay he won't be paying the damages!
Next, we have The Case Of The Bulletproof Amulet. A court in the United Arab Emirates sentenced a man to six months in prison after he tried to sell a piece of onyx for $500 million.
The 52-year-old Yemeni had advertised the “magic stone” in an Arabic newspaper, telling of its unique bulletproof properties. He claimed he had put the onyx on sheep as a test and the stone’s superpowers had allowed the animals to live.
At this point I'd have been suggesting to the defendant that poor marksmanship, rather than his amulet, was responsible for the sheep's good fortune . . . but wait, there's more.
In a lively court case, the guilty man’s lawyer asked the judge to allow a test to be carried out, where the defendant would have worn the onyx and been shot at to test its powers. The judge refused.
What a spoilsport that judge was! They could have put that on reality TV and made a fortune!
This trial has produced some of the finest repartee I've ever read about (in a court-room, at any rate). It's nice to meet a criminal with a sense of humor. Let the courtroom record show what I mean.
Counsel: What is your name?
Chrysler: Chrysler. Arnold Chrysler.
Counsel: Is that your own name?
Chrysler: Whose name do you think it is?
Counsel: I am just asking if it is your name.
Chrysler: And I have just told you it is. Why do you doubt it?
Counsel: It is not unknown for people to give a false name in court.
Chrysler: Which court?
Counsel: This court.
Chrysler: What is the name of this court?
Counsel: This is No 5 Court.
Chrysler: No, that is the number of this court. What is the name of this court?
Counsel: It is quite immaterial what the name of this court is!
Chrysler: Then perhaps it is immaterial if Chrysler is really my name.
Counsel: No, not really, you see because...
Judge: Mr Lovelace?
Counsel: Yes, m'lud?
Judge: I think Mr Chrysler is running rings round you already. I would try a new line of attack if I were you.
Counsel: Thank you, m'lud.
Chrysler: And thank you from ME, m'lud. It's nice to be appreciated.
Judge: Shut up, witness.
Chrysler: Willingly, m'lud. It is a pleasure to be told to shut up by you. For you, I would...
Judge: Shut up, witness. Carry on, Mr Lovelace.
Counsel: Now, Mr Chrysler – for let us assume that that is your name – you are accused of purloining in excess of 40,000 hotel coat hangers.
Chrysler: I am.
Counsel: Can you explain how this came about?
Chrysler: Yes. I had 40,000 coats which I needed to hang up.
Counsel: Is that true?
Chrysler: No.
Counsel: Then why did you say it?
Chrysler: To attempt to throw you off balance.
Counsel: Off balance?
Chrysler: Certainly. As you know, all barristers seek to undermine the confidence of any hostile witness, or defendant. Therefore it must be equally open to the witness, or defendant, to try to shake the confidence of a hostile barrister.
Counsel: On the contrary, you are not here to indulge in cut and thrust with me. You are only here to answer my questions.
Chrysler: Was that a question?
Counsel: No.
Chrysler: Then I can't answer it.
Judge: Come on, Mr Lovelace! I think you are still being given the run-around here. You can do better than that. At least, for the sake of the English bar, I hope you can.
Counsel: Yes, m'lud. Now, Mr Chrysler, perhaps you will describe what reason you had to steal 40,000 coat hangers?
Chrysler: Is that a question?
Counsel: Yes.
Chrysler: It doesn't sound like one. It sounds like a proposition which doesn't believe in itself. You know – "Perhaps I will describe the reason I had to steal 40,000 coat hangers... Perhaps I won't... Perhaps I'll sing a little song instead..."
Judge: In fairness to Mr Lovelace, Mr Chrysler, I should remind you that barristers have an innate reluctance to frame a question as a question. Where you and I would say, "Where were you on Tuesday?", they are more likely to say, "Perhaps you could now inform the court of your precise whereabouts on the day after that Monday?". It isn't, strictly, a question, and it is not graceful English but you must pretend that it is a question and then answer it, otherwise we will be here for ever. Do you understand?
Chrysler: Yes, m'lud.
Judge: Carry on, Mr Lovelace.
Counsel: Mr Chrysler, why did you steal 40,000 hotel coat hangers, knowing as you must have that hotel coat hangers are designed to be useless outside hotel wardrobes?
Chrysler: Because I build and sell wardrobes which are specially designed to take nothing but hotel coat hangers.
I have a feeling the case was only going to go downhill from there . . .
The HMDS provides a range of information symbology, including off axis targeting and cueing, day/night infra-red imagery, and flight information, directly onto the inside of the helmet visor. In addition, the HMDS incorporates a virtual head up display (HUD), which enables information currently restricted to forward line of sight in a cockpit panel mounted system, to be viewed wherever the pilot is looking; the F35 will in fact be the first tactical fighter jet to fly without a conventional HUD in the cockpit.
Others describe it somewhat differently. In an article titled "Die Laughing" Aviation Week correspondent Douglas Barrie points out:
Advanced helmet mounted sighting systems may offer a great deal, including possibly saving your life in a dogfight, but they can make the wearer look like an extra from Plan Nine From Outer Space. Either that or it’s the love-child of a relationship between a Dalek and a Cyberman, for anybody who’s ever seen the British cult science-fiction show Dr. Who.
Or, alternatively, it may remind you of the need for caution when operating teleportation machines in an environment containing common household pests.
You may not be aware of the significance of the date, but March 14th is Pi Day: the celebration (?) of the mathematical constant Pi, which represents the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. The date, of course, is derived from the value of the constant. Pi to two decimal places is 3.14, hence the third month and the fourteenth day.
This endless number has been the source of endless fascination to mathematicians ever since Euclid first worked out his system of geometry. Archimedes was the first to give an approximate value to the constant, remarkably accurate considering that mathematics was still in its infancy at the time. (When Roman soldiers invaded his home in Syracuse, threatening damage to the circles he used for his calculations, he rushed towards them crying "Do not touch my circles!" They promptly killed him . . . a Pi-teous end if ever I heard of one.)
Pi, more commonly known by the 16th letter of the Greek alphabet, is the most widely-known mathematical constant in the world. Even long after people forget their school lessons, they still recognise the symbol.
Pi conjures a sense of mystery, so the symbol makes regular appearances in popular culture - it's the secret code in both Alfred Hitchcock's Torn Curtain and the Sandra Bullock vehicle The Net.
And while pi is a number, its importance goes far beyond simple geometry. Pi represents a deep universal mystery - how is it that something this basic, this fundamental to maths and science, could turn out to be so incredibly difficult to pin down?
In fact, it's literally impossible to know what pi is, because its digits rattle off into infinity.
While there are many infinitely long numbers in maths, pi is the only one in which an infinitely simple idea - the circle - unfolds into an infinitely complex value. This paradox drives many people to distraction.
The value of Pi has been calculated again and again over the years. The most recent attempt by Japanese scientists in 2002 (using supercomputers, of course) calculated it to 1.24 trillion decimal places . . . and, of course, since it's an infinite number, we'll never know its full length. Many have memorized it to 50 or 100 decimal places. However, this is unnecessary. It's been calculated that Pi to 29 decimal places is detailed enough to measure anything in the known universe to a scientifically acceptable level of accuracy.
(Of course, there are those who object to such complexity. Famously, in 1897 Rep. Taylor I. Record introduced House Bill 246 in the Indiana House of Representatives to redefine the value of Pi and the area of a circle. The House passed it, but wiser heads prevailed in the State Senate, where it died. If it had been implemented, every building subsequently erected in the state of Indiana would have collapsed due to faulty calculations in its design. Read the article at the link for a good insight into legislative ignorance and stupidity.)
What really amazes me is the effort some people put into memorizing the value of Pi in incredible detail. There's an art known as Piphilology which consists of developing mnemonic techniques to help remember the constant to ridiculous levels of detail. Some devotee thought up "Pi-ems", which are poems where every word represents one of the digits of Pi in terms of the number of letters in the word. The famous Cadaeic Cadenza is a well-known example.
Akira Haraguchi is said to be the world record holder, reciting (from memory) Pi to 100,000 decimal places in 2006. It's said that he "views the memorisation of Pi as 'the religion of the universe' . . . and as an expression of his lifelong quest for eternal truth".
OK. If you say so. "Pi in the sky" sounds more like it to me . . .
There's even a remarkable musical rendition of Pi. Click here if you're in the mood to listen. It's actually quite fascinating . . . although one does want to know "Why?"!
From the Defense Department comes this news release of the bombing of an Al Qaeda compound in Iraq:
WASHINGTON, March 11, 2008 – Three buildings that had served as an al Qaeda detention and torture facility were destroyed yesterday by a U.S. military bomber.
A B-1B Lancer bomber used six 500-pound, global positioning system-guided bombs to level the compound located in Zambraniyah, a village south of Baghdad, according to officials.
What impressed me was the picture provided. Click it for a full-screen version: and when that's displayed, click it again for a high-resolution image.
Notice the birds taking wing at the bottom left-hand corner of the picture? And the bomb just above the black cloud of smoke? Now that's what I call stop-action photography!
(And the results doubtless amount to stop-terrorist technology!)
Via the Daily Mail comes a report of a somewhat less-than-successful test of an anti-shark device . . . and a picture of an idiot intrepid boatman patting a passing shark. (Click it for a larger view.)
This is the amazing moment a man pats a monstrous Great White Shark off the coast of Australia after attracting it with chunks of bait.
The image was originally taken to demonstrate the powers of the Shark Shield, an electronic device designed to keep sharks away from surfers.
But after one Great White bit right through such a device, and in a separate incident a student died in a horrifying shark attack, scientists began to wonder if the devices do not repel sharks so much as they attract them.
Guys, based on that picture and the one below, I can only say "Wonder no more!"
Remind me not to go boating with these gentlemen next time I'm in Australia . . .
I'm sure many of you have read (hopefully with the same disgust and nausea that I felt) of the pusillanimous, brain-dead, dontopedalogical* attitudes displayed by the City Council of Berkeley, CA and the organization known as Code Pink towards a US Marine recruiting station in that city. If you haven't, a quick Internet search will soon tell you all you need to know.
Lest the above fail to make my own position clear, I think the US Marines are the finest large-scale organization of fighting men and women in the world, bar none. They've fought and died so that we might live in freedom in this great nation, and they deserve our respect, gratitude and admiration. Thus, when I see attitudes (and actions) like those displayed in Berkeley I tend to get a red mist in front of my eyes and long for simpler days, when tarring and feathering was still an option. (In the case of the Berkeley moonbats I'd add chili oil and sulphuric acid to the tar, just to drive the point home.)
Be that as it may, the Daily Show has a tongue-in-cheek look at these fatheads. Enjoy.
In related news, a bunch of moonbats calling themselves the Pittsburgh Organizing Group are planning a protest against a recruiting station. I absolutely refuse to pollute my blog with a direct link to these idiots (you can do a search on the organization name if you wish), but here's what they say in their announcement:
On Wednesday, March 19, POG will be holding a torch-lit march to a modern day castle of abominations—our local military recruiting station. If the station remains open, we intend to evict it and everything inside of it, occupy the location, and transform it into something useful for the community. We'll also be bringing a movable cage in which to confine military recruiters until they no longer pose a danger to our friends and neighbors.
I'd like to thank these whackos for telling us ahead of time what they're planning. May I suggest to any veterans in the Pittsburgh area who are reading this that the time has come for action? We can't ask our servicemen and -women to act, as they'd doubtless get into some sort of trouble with their Commanding Officers for not acting in the spirit of political correctness: but I suspect that we veterans are less bothered by that little fact.
I'd love to see a group of suitably prepared veterans standing by near each and every recruiting center in the Pittsburgh area next Wednesday, ready for action. If the Pittsburgh Organizing Group should show up . . . well, guys and gals, let's show them how much veterans appreciate their attitudes and actions. I hereby undertake to fly up to Pittsburgh myself, at my own expense, to join the fun and games if such a group can be organized, and I invite other veteran readers to do likewise.
While we're at it, why not show recruiters in that city how we feel about them with suitable gifts? I suggest chocolates, donuts and similar edibles might go down well - and in order to prove to them that we're not the opposition (and that the food's not poisoned) we could take coffee along and eat and drink with the guys and girls inside. That would put us in a very convenient position to deal with "intruders in the wire", so to speak.
Peter
* The term 'dontopedalogy' is derived from the Greek 'donto', meaning 'mouth', and 'pedal', meaning 'feet'. Basically, it means that every time a person opens his mouth he puts his foot in that orifice.
After reading about Moko the dolphin (see the post below), I was amused to find this report in the Daily Mail of the unrequited love (or is that lust?) of a frog for a duck - of the rubber variety.
(Click the picture for a larger view.)
Mr Coleman, a charity worker, keeps the toy duck in his 9ft by 6ft pond to make sure ice does not completely cover the surface in the winter.
“It's been in there for a few years so this has probably happened quite a lot without me ever noticing before,” he said.
“All my friends think it's a great picture - for some reason it looks as if the duck is in shock.”
Time was running out for the mother whale and her calf as they lay beached on a sandbank.
Wildlife volunteers had tried four times to drag them into deeper water but four times they came back.
In such circumstances stricken whales are often humanely killed to end further suffering.
But then up bobbed Moko the dolphin - a playful creature familiar to bathers off the east coast of New Zealand's North Island.
In an astonishing display of communication between species, she and the whales were heard to call to one another before she led the 12ft pygmy sperm whale and her 4ft male calf out to open sea.
Mark Simmonds, director of science at the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society, said that bottle-nosed dolphins are renowned for their ability to empathise with humans and other animals. “The whole notion that a bottle-nose dolphin would have shown the whales the way out is completely possible,” he said.
“Dolphins have got the ability to plan, to think ahead, to persuade others to take part. They almost certainly do not have a common language with pygmy sperm whales, but they would understand that the whales would have been at risk of stranding. The first thing a dolphin does when it has a calf is to push it to the surface so it can breathe.”
. . .
Moko has become famous for her antics at Mahia, which include playing in the surf with swimmers, approaching boats to be patted and pushing kayaks through the water with her snout. Once she had assisted the whales she immediately returned to the beach to play with local residents.
Such close interaction with humans is rare among dolphins but not unknown. Mr Smith said: “She’s become isolated from her pod obviously for one reason or another, but made Mahia home just at the moment.”
I was intrigued by these reports, and did an Internet search for more information. To my delight there's a clip on YouTube of Moko swimming with humans off Mahia beach. I apologize for the irritating music in the second half of the clip (why people have to add music when it's completely unnecessary I just don't know), but it's well worth watching.
There's a well-known joke that came to mind today.
Two men, Mike and Tom, are having a beer in the local bar. Mike points out of the window.
"You see that bridge over there, Tom? I helped build that bridge with my own hands - but do they call me Mike the bridge-builder?"
"No, Mike, they don't," Tom says sympathetically.
"And you see that roof on the school? I helped put it up. It's a fine job - but do they call me Mike the roofer?"
"No, Mike, they don't," Tom acknowledges quietly.
Mike takes a pull at his beer, scowling fiercely. "But you shag one single sheep . . . "
We laugh, of course, but there's truth in the pathos.
I was musing today about how someone can do many good things - perhaps even great things - and be completely destroyed, have his reputation trashed forever, by one mistake. The reason for my musing, of course, was the downfall of the Governor of New York State, Eliot Spitzer, through his use of prostitutes.
I don't have much in common with Governor Spitzer politically, but I'll be the first to acknowledge it's unlikely that he alone out of all the politicians in New York State (or the rest of the country, for that matter) is guilty of this offence. I'm sure many others, on both sides of the political divide, are equally guilty. Nevertheless, Governor Spitzer broke the Eleventh Commandment - "Thou shalt not be found out" - and he must now pay the price.
As a political centrist, with a streak of conservatism, a dash of pragmatism and a whiff of libertarianism in my makeup, I'm saddened whenever someone destroys his or her career through such hubris. There's a common thread running through every case: a belief (perhaps not fully articulated even to or by themselves) that they're above the law or somehow "untouchable", so that they can escape the consequences of their actions. It applies in all nations and to politicians of every stripe. Consider:
The so-called "Profumo Affair". John Profumo was Minister of Defense in the Conservative Party government of Britain under Prime Minister Harold Macmillan. In 1963 his relationship with the prostitute Christine Keeler destroyed his career and was instrumental in the defeat of the Conservatives in the next general election. To make matters worse, Profumo lied to the House of Commons about his relationship with Keeler. His denials drew from Ms. Keeler the unforgettable. unanswerable retort, "Well, he would, wouldn't he?".
Watergate. Richard Nixon, Republican President of the United States from 1969-1974, tried to conceal the fact that the burglary of Democratic party offices had been carried out by operatives acting on his authority. His knowledge of the scandal, and the pressure he tried to exert on public officials to ensure it remained concealed, were inexcusable. In the end, of course, it destroyed his presidency. How on earth "Tricky Dicky" believed he could get away with it I'll never understand.
Gary Hart, Democratic presidential candidate in 1987. He countered rumours of an extra-marital affair by famously daring the news media to "follow him around". They did, and obtained photographic evidence of his infidelity. His campaign collapsed and his political career was destroyed.
Bill Clinton, former President of the United States from 1993-2000. His well-known "Zippergate" affair with Monica Lewinsky was merely the most publicized of a whole host of ethically, morally and legally questionable and ambiguous dealings involving himself and/or his wife (for example, Whitewater, Travelgate, various sex scandals, Presidential pardons, etc.), all of which have provided fodder for gossips for many years. His famous evasion, "That depends on what your definition of 'is' is”, sickened many (including myself). It was a perfect illustration of cynical, callous, unfeeling, uncaring political expediency. All the good he may have done as President has been forever eclipsed, and his reputation forever tarnished, by his mendacity. His main legacy to this nation has been to add a large number of new terms (most notably the verb "Lewinskied") to the American political lexicon.
There are many other politicians and political scandals one could cite - certainly far too many to include here. If you'd like to get an overview of them through US history, see here. Governor Spitzer is merely the latest in a long, long line of politicians who thought they were above the law and immune from the consequences of their actions. In every case outlined above, and in many others, the guilty parties expressed their contrition in some form. I'm sure I'm not alone in believing that the only "contrition" any of them felt was sorrow that their sins had been exposed.
It would be nice if we would make serious efforts to elect a better class of politician . . . but that's unlikely. We've been electing rogues and scoundrels for so long that I don't see it changing anytime soon. Too many voters just don't care, or allow their partisan political leanings to override their moral judgment - and that may be the saddest thing of all.
Perhaps, deep down, most of us are like the Pharisees, prepared to stone a sinner in public when he or she is exposed (John 8:7), but secretly guilty of the same or equally grave sins ourselves. Is the cure for our political malaise to be, "Let him who is without sin cast the first ballot"?
You may remember our first look at Japanese TV stunts. Here's another.
I don't speak Japanese, but I gather that the point is for each contestant to speak a tongue-twisting phrase or sentence aloud. If he gets it right, he's golden. If he makes a mistake, a mechanical nut-slapper hits him where he lives.
The results are hilarious!
I have no idea how Japanese TV stations can get away with this sort of contest. Try doing it here in the USA and you'd have lawyers all over you!
As I'm sure you know, the annual Iditarod sled dog race is currently under way in Alaska. I've been following developments at its Web site and from video clips on YouTube, and it looks like a tough, gruelling year (not that they aren't all like that!).
At the same time, on the other side of the world, Sweden is hosting the World Sled Dog Championship in the tiny town of Asarna. It's rather confusing: a whole bunch of countries, cities and localities host what each claims to be the "World" sled dog championship, and there doesn't seem to be any official ruling on which is the "top dog", so to speak. I'd have to say that the Iditarod is probably the race to produce the champions. Nothing else comes close in terms of the sheer grit, stamina, courage and endurance demanded of both team and driver.
There's an interesting twist to the Swedish championships this year: a South African team has entered. When I read this, I did a double-take. I spent the first thirty-seven years of my life in South Africa. There's some winter snow on top of the taller mountains, sure: but they're precipitous, inaccessible and essentially unnavigable. Snow elsewhere, there ain't - so how on earth did South Africans get into sled dog racing?
I found the answer at Sled Dog Central. Apparently South Africans have been racing sled dogs for some years now, using wheeled "sleds" (perhaps better described as "contraptions") instead of the real thing.
It's claimed that the sled dogs can handle the heat of Africa just fine - their double coats insulate them against both heat and cold. Having experienced African heat the hard way, this is difficult for me to believe, but I'll take their word for it.
Apparently the South African competitors in Sweden couldn't bring their own sled dogs due to a six-month quarantine restriction: so they borrowed dogs from local racers and came over a month early to get used to their new doggy friends.
"There's been a lot of falling. We've spent a lot more time in the snow than on the sled, but I think we've got the hang of it now," says Cindy Foggitt, 30, who has been South Africa's sled dog racing champion for the past three years.
"The good thing is that falling on snow is like falling on the clouds compared to falling on dry land. That hurts a lot more."
I bet it does! Full marks for effort and initiative to the South African team.
I was reading news reports of this morning's huge traffic accident in Abu Dhabi. It seems that three people were killed and over 300 injured. No-one knows how many vehicles were involved (the police haven't had time to count them all yet), but judging from the photographs it may be over a hundred.
I was curious, and did an Internet search to try to learn what was the biggest car accident (i.e. largest number of vehicles involved in a single accident). To my frustration, no conclusive answer emerged.
I thought I'd put the question to my readers. Does anyone know the answer?
(Oh - in the course of my searching I did find out one interesting fact. The first recorded fatality resulting from an auto accident occurred in 1869, in Ireland. Mary Ward, "a celebrated microscopist, artist, astronomer and naturalist", fell from a "steam carriage" and died after being crushed under its iron wheels.)
Sergeant Murphy posted a story about an officer cadet who got too big for his boots. It brought back memories. For anyone below the rank of, say, Lieutenant-Colonel, getting crossways with a Sergeant-Major can get interesting in a hurry, believe me.
(How do I know this, you ask? Trust me. I know this.)
Anyway, it reminded me of an incident where a bunch of too-full-of-themselves Second Lieutenants were shown the error of their ways. I thought you might like to hear about it.
Second Lieutenants (i.e. brand-spanking-new freshly-commissioned officers) are notorious for being like eager puppies: full of energy, bursting to do something - anything! - useful, but not knowing quite how to go about it (and usually unable to contain themselves in the process). That's why there are so many jokes about them.
Q: What's the most dangerous creature in existence? A: A Second Lieutenant with a map, a compass and a PLAN.
A Second Lieutenant and a Master Sergeant were using adjacent latrine facilities. When the 2nd Lt. finished he went to the sink and washed his hands. As he was doing so the MSgt came to the mirror to check that his uniform was in order. As the MSgt turned to leave, the 2nd Lt. said disapprovingly, "You know, when I went to the Officers Training Course, they taught us we should wash our hands after using the latrine." The MSgt turned slowly, glared at the 2nd Lt. and retorted, "When I went to basic training, they taught us not to piss on our hands."
Ahem. Back to the topic.
A bunch of South African troops pulled out of Angola after an operation, tired, worn-out and ready for a rest. Unfortunately, a few newly-commissioned Second Lieutenants had arrived at the base where they were to rest up . . . and they were making nuisances of themselves. They started out by ordering the new arrivals to attend PT parade at 06h00 next morning, followed by uniform and weapons inspections, parade drill, and so on.
To a bunch of combat veterans this was absolutely ridiculous. A meeting was held to discuss the matter, and plans were hatched. The Sergeant-Major, who'd mysteriously heard about the meeting (Sergeants-Major have an uncanny ability to hear about things like that) blandly asked one of the senior NCO's to do a quick inspection of the armory and report back to him - and handed over his keys to that building for the purpose. Upon being assured that all was in order and that the inventory sheets had been adjusted matched the quantities (now) in store, he departed.
The rest got to work.
At this base, in the border area of South-West Africa (today Namibia), the officers latrine was a majestic structure. It consisted of five stalls, each with a wooden box over what we called a "long drop" (a deep hole in the ground). A large hole had been cut in the top of each box to accommodate the debris. The entire structure was roofed with thatch, and thatch sidewalls surrounded it and separated each latrine from its neighbors. (Enlisted latrines dispensed with the internal partitions.) To make the tender posteriors of the officers more comfortable, each box had been equipped with a genuine plastic toilet seat. These were cheap items that bent a bit under the weight, but served their purpose of preventing splinter injuries. (Enlisted latrines lacked the seats, of course. Presumably our posteriors were tougher than the commissioned variety.)
During the small hours of the morning, a person or persons unknown proceeded to booby-trap the officers' latrines. Each of the five stalls received a flash-bang (a training grenade making a very loud bang and a big flash) concealed in the thatch roof above it. All five were wired together in a ring-main and connected to a pressure switch. (The latter is something that looks like the letter U turned on its side. When the two prongs are pressed together they complete an electrical circuit, which fires a detonator). The pressure switch was concealed beneath the plastic toilet seat in the center cubicle.
Next morning reveille was sounded at 05h45. The Sergeant-Major (unusually, up and already dressed at so early an hour) somehow managed to detain the Major and a Captain in conversation as the eager-beaver Second Lieutenants headed for the latrine. As good fortune would have it, they'd occupied three of the stalls before a fourth entered the center cubicle and sat down.
BLAMMO!!!
The latrine roof disintegrated in a thunderous blast and a cloud of flying thatch, and the entire camp (most of whose occupants had got the word and were watching in eager anticipation) was treated to the sight of four deafened, scorched, thatch-shedding Second Lieutenants, trousers round their ankles, assets exposed to the four winds and bouncing like crazy, bunny-hopping frantically towards the air-raid trenches screaming "INCOMING! TAKE COVER!"
Several hundred soldiers collapsed in hysterics, the Major, Captain and Sergeant-Major disappeared into the former's tent (from which snorts, splutters and muffled howls of mirth were heard), and for about ten minutes any terrorists who wanted to take over the base would have been able to do so without firing a shot.
When things died down the Second Lieutenants descended upon the Major in an indignant body, demanding to know what he planned to do about this assault upon their commissioned dignity. He informed them (in concise, soldierly and unambiguous language) that he didn't plan to do a damn thing about it and that he hoped they'd learned something from the experience - because if they hadn't, he was sure that a bunch of combat veterans would be able to think up another lesson for them, one likely to be even less palatable.
According to the Daily Mail, Selfridges in London has come up with a monster Easter egg for chocaholics chocolate lovers.
The monster egg weighs 70 pounds and contains 168,540 calories - the recommended dietary intake (for all foods, not just chocolate) for 84 days. The egg takes four days to make and costs the equivalent of $1,000 - and they've already taken orders for four!
However, this isn't the largest edible Easter egg ever made. That honor is claimed by the Belgian town of St. Niklaas, where chocolate producer Guylian produced this monster in 2005.
It took 525 hours of work and the equivalent of 50,000 bars of chocolate to produce it. The beast weighed in at almost 4,300 pounds and stood 27 feet high - but sadly, it wasn't destined to be eaten, only for outdoor display. As a local alderman commented, "After a week outside in all weather conditions, I don't think it would be very tasteful."
The largest Easter egg ever made (albeit inedible) is claimed to be the Pysanka, or Ukrainian easter egg, in Vegreville, Alberta, Canada.
This monster took 12,000 man-hours to construct. It was erected in 1974 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the founding of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. It's built to withstand the 100mph winds that blow across Canada's prairies from time to time. So far, so good.
So much for Easter eggs - but what about the Easter egg hunt? It's claimed that the largest Easter egg hunt ever held took place at Stone Mountain, Georgia, USA in 2006. A total of 301,000 eggs were hidden for children to find. The number of participants is unknown, but as the photograph below shows, there were plenty of them!
And it looks like a good time was had by all.
Sadly, I'm unlikely to end up with one of those Selfridges eggs this easter . . .
A British newspaper report tells us that an enraged gunman in Thailand shot dead eight of his neighbors, including his brother-in-law, after their constant, repeated karaoke versions of pop songs (including John Denver's "Country Roads") drove him into a frenzy.
Needless to say, one can't condone murder for any reason . . . but I've been driven to distraction by idiots playing music over and over again (and far too loudly). I'd imagine that drunken renditions of pop songs in the karaoke style would be enough to drive me over the edge, too!
I'm not sure about John Denver, though. I don't mind his music. However, if it comes to anything remotely resembling rap, I'd be sorely tempted to head for the gun safe!
