The Jamaican Bobsled Team: 30th in the Olympics, 1st in our hearts

Jamaican Bobsled Team shoots the moon

Jamaican Bobsled Team shoots the moon

Some people only aim as high as the podium. Some tawdry, conventional people.

The members of the Jamaican Bobsleigh Team are not such people.

As we have written elsewhere, they are living their Olympic dreams in part because of the backing of a satirical cryptocurrency named after a faddish pet meme. Now they have released the best song and music video of the 2014 Sochi Olympic Games (unless the fabulous Johnny Weir wants to record something, of course). With a score to date of almost three quarter of a million plays in five days, this is definitely a winning performance.

Is it just me, or do those hands look like…not-hands, if you know what I mean?

 

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Merry Christmas, love (?) Sherlock

Merry Christmas from John Watson and Sherlock Holmes

Merry Christmas from John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Are you ready to unwrap the packages?

Sherlock fans (and Johnlock fans) have waited TOO DAMN LONG! Sure, sure, you think waiting 365 days for Christmas is hard? How about waiting almost two full fucking years for a new episode of the iconic BBC series? 15 January 2012 was the last day we had an original Sherlock; since then, some of us have tried sustaining ourselves on a diet of fan fiction, but my diabeetus flared up again and there are only so many “John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked at John. Manly man-on-man longing was in every manly glance…” passages you can read before you dissolve into giggles.

Well, our long wait is OVAH!

The BBC has just released a seven minute mini-episode featuring teaser after teaser (although honestly anyone could have spotted that bitch in the saffron, I mean come on!) And it is damn good.

It better be damn good. This will have to sustain us until New Year’s Day.

As for that package-unwrapping referred to in the caption at the top? Well, here it is.

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Did I tell you the one about my Gramma, John Kerry, and Jack Daniels?

John Kerry only WISHES he had my Gramma's swag

John Kerry only WISHES he had my Gramma’s swag

That is not, contrary to appearances, a picture of my grandmother (known to all as “Gramma” and god help you if you didn’t call her that but tried something more formal, ooooh she wouldn’t be having any of that, now. But it certainly does appear to be a picture of Gramma, for verily it looks very much like her down to the too-short haircut, and I’m pretty sure she had that shirt as well. But that’s actually a picture of ‘Murrican mucky-muck John Kerry trying and failing to blend in at a dance ceremony in Bali.

That is most definitely NOT what my Gramma would have done.

At her eightieth birthday my Gramma got up on the table and danced to Patricia the Stripper, and if she’d been at this shindig with Kerry she’d have gotten those temple dancers to do the Dougie before you can say “Gramma, you’ll break a hip!”

Speaking of hips, my Gramma was pretty. Hip. Follow along!

I was over on Facebook the other day, having taken too many flu meds to do any decent work, and my friend Cassandra was in need of distraction (what is it with the #DramaSec these days? People deleting accounts left and right. Assange taking a family quarrel to Twitter in front of two million followers. Takedown notices, bogus and not, flying all over the digisphere. Enough already, the new moon is over!) so I told her the following story, for distraction purposes only. Do not operate heavy machinery under the influence of this story. Do not read if pregnant (because you have better things to do with your few remaining hours of freedom) or breastfeeding (because it’s really, really hard to handle a baby and a laptop at the same time and what if puke gets in the keyboard, eh? You’ll wish you’d listened to me then!).

Where was I?

Oh yes, on Facebook, telling Cassandra a story about Tennessee. You see, it’s considered quite exotic in Ottawa, where my Gramma lived. And here is the story about my Gramma‘s travels to exotic Tennessee just as I told it to Cassandra, for lo, I am very lazy and I just copy-pasted it.

Now, Gramma did not drink. In my family, this alone makes her somewhat legendary. But Gramma was not above knowing the value of an alcoholic comestible, or of taking advantage of that knowledge by running what amounted to an arbitrage on the celebratory beverage in question, by the simple means of purchasing it in one physical location and transporting it to another, where its selling price was higher. The ungenerous would call this “bootlegging,” and it has been the start of more than one great Canadian fortune.

Gramma would take bus tours of what she called “my old people”, ie they were like five years older than her, but not as lively, down to Tennessee and Missouri to do whatever it is old people do there. Tours. Watch the Osmonds. That sort of thing. And coming back she would get them all to smuggle bottles of Jack Daniels anywhere she could find a space. Under lumbago cushions. In big granny purses. In wig cases. Everywhere. Once, she struck gold because a guy had been in a cast from his waist down to his toes for a couple of months and his leg wasted away and she could fit four bottles in the space between his leg and the cast. When they got to the border, she would just yell at the border guard, “THESE ARE SENIORS, YOUNG LAD! THEY NEED TO GO HOME AND REST!” and never once were they searched. She gave the bottles as wedding and Christmas presents, and would supplement the punch at family parties with it, among other things.

I find, upon leafing through the ol’ raincoaster archives, that there is indeed an actual picture of my Gramma. At my cousin’s house. Legally blind. Shooting at a turkey from the deck, beside a stack of beer cases, with a tank of propane between the muzzle of the gun and the target.

You go, Gramma!

Bang Bang, my Gramma shot you down!

Bang Bang, my Gramma shot you down!

Your Moment of Existential Horror

Skeleton Mirror is emo, reflects  only darkness

Skeleton Mirror is emo, reflects only darkness

I have no idea why we’re on this big Video Kick lately, particularly as we’re working on a computer that refuses to update Flash to something dating to this century, but we are. One is using the Royal We, of course. One wouldn’t mind using the Royal Wee on Prince Hot Ginge, whose birthday it is, should one ever get a chance with that nasty ginger, but it appears unlikely, as he does not travel in our elevated social circles. But I digress.

One digresses.

Here is one video that will simply creep you right the fuck out. It’s 1962 footage of the late Kenneth Stevens, Clarence J. LeBel Professor Emeritus of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science at MIT, saying words. Saying words while being X-rayed. I’m not sure what possible super-powers one might receive from a session like this; perhaps alliteration? the ability to extemporize in rhyming couplets (rap)? But certainly the ability to live on as a creepy YouTube video. His official obit from MIT is interesting.

Stevens is best known for his “quantal theory of speech,” which explored why — despite the apparent diversity of sounds across different languages — human speech actually exploits only a small fraction of the sounds that the vocal tract can produce.

In 1952, while Stevens was completing his doctorate, the MIT linguist Morris Halle, together with colleagues Gunnar Fant and Roman Jakobson, proposed that all human speech sounds could be described as combinations of 20-odd “distinctive features,” such as the placement of the tip of the tongue, the shape of the tongue, whether the glottis (voice box) was opened or closed, the shape of the lips, and so on.

Stevens, who collaborated closely with all three men, observed that these distinctive features seemed to describe configurations of the vocal tract’s “articulators” — such as the tongue, glottis and lips — in which small deviations had little effect on the sounds produced. This is by no means true of all configurations: In most cases, small deviations would actually yield large sonic differences. But, Stevens argued, language users would naturally converge on the more stable configurations, which would lead to greater consistency in sound production.

Quantal theory was not, however, just a theory of speech production; it was also a theory of speech recognition. If humans had a limited repertory of sounds that they could produce reliably, then the auditory system may very well have evolved to key in on them. Stevens spent much of his career indefatigably investigating the implications of quantal theory, both experimentally and through mathematical modeling, frequently in collaboration with Halle and, later, with Samuel Jay Keyser, another MIT linguist.

In the pursuit of knowledge in this rarefied field, he produced and starred in the following creepy-ass video, asking that musical question, “Why did Ken set the soggy net on top of his deck?”

Transcript, courtesy of YouTube robots, who are comically inaccurate:

0:03 the fifth

0:05 protect

0:06 repair

0:08 rip-off

0:09 the top

0:10 ka

0:11the death

0:13 going there

0:14 beset

0:15 is there

0:17 asar [that can't be right!]

0:25 hock

0:26 that t

0:28 tier

0:29 attack

0:30 that uh…

0:31 the two

0:33 protector

0:34 the talks

0:36 tech

0:37 repair

0:39 hindi

0:40 he interrupts

0:41 the

0:42 he are

0:44 the are

0:47 why didn’t care will set the starting next week on top of his deck

0:52 i have put blood on her to clean your shoes

You WHAT???

DramaSec: The Power Ballads (now with 20% more awesomeness!)

Fabulous llama iz fabulous!

Fabulous llama iz fabulous!

You know what they say: politics is showbusiness for ugly people.

Ladies and gentlemen of #DramaSec, fans of flamewars, internet drama divas, and audience members: we at the ol’ raincoaster blog are proud to present the first-ever roundup of #DramaSec power ballads. If Music is the universal language (although Money is making a strong showing lately) then let the universe ring with the sound of our over-the-top and senseless interpersonal drama, full of sound and fury and signifying nothing.

Cue The Ballad of Brett Kimberlin:

And now The Adrian Lamo Blues. Not so much a power ballad as political hipster neo-folk, but who can resist a banjo, eh?:

The next one is hard. It’s almost impossible to determine which of these is more awesome, but for very different reasons. And I’m too lazy to look up how to code a table in HTML so they go side by side, so here it is in order of jaw-droppingness, from the lesser to the greater.

The RonBryn Song. You remember Ron, right?

And now, the musical apotheosis of the internet phenomenon known as #DramaSec. If you’re an impatient type, start it at 3:31. If you enjoy insidery jokes about countries to which you’ve never been, watch the whole thing. And do not doubt me when i say this is the apotheosis of awesomenosity. Words, my friends: They will fail you as they failed me.

Julian Assange performing an 80′s power ballad with updated WikiLeaks lyrics while wearing a righteous mullet:

Selah.

It is the East, and Julian is the sun...

It is the East, and Julian is the sun…

UPDATED TO ADD:

Plus bonus lyrics to The RonBryn song, courtesy of Elvira:

Open your web browser

Pretend you’re Neal Rauhauser

That’s one way to meet Ronbryn

He is a one man PRISM

Calls tweeting journalism (He does)

Though its just a lot of jizzim, Ronbryn

If your Mercedes is explodin’

You can’t find Edward Snowden

Who ya gonna call?

Ronbryn.

Barrett Brown, Julian, Patterico, Kimberlin

Troll ‘em all, fuck ‘em up

Ronbryn

You’re a sock

What a crock

Call the doc

What the fuck

SWAT ‘em all

Troll ‘em all

Ronbryn……!

Brett Kimberlin is plottin’

Another case of SWATing

Who’s he gonna call?

Ronbryn

He’ll tweet your misdemeanor

You’ll look like Tony Weiner

Tryin’ to humor Huma Abedin

Smearing smearing smearing

All the way to Barrett’s hearing

Ever thought of disappearing, Ronbryn?