429

In this blogposting…

* The Most Relaxing Sound in the World
* Reality is an Illusion
Go forth….

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THE MOST RELAXING SOUND IN THE WORLD
Incredibly, the university of Manchester employs ‘sound therapists’ whose job is to determine the various effects that sounds have on our state of mind.  Even more incredibly, they claim to have earned their salary by coming up with the most relaxing sound in the world.

You might think that the sound in question would be a kind of slow-beat combination of birdsong, flowing water and a light Spring breeze with, perhaps, a distant hint of Northumbrian pipes.  But if that is what you think, you’re quite spectacularly wrong.

The sound therapists got together with a local band called Marconi Union and drafted several ‘tunes’, eventually creating a ‘song’ called Weightless.

They then played the song to 40 women (it says here) and found it to be more effective at helping them relax than songs by Enya, Mozart and Coldplay - to name but three.

They reckon it works by ‘using specific rhythms, tones, frequencies and intervals to relax the listener’.  (Whether it has the same effect on men is a moot point which, perhaps, this blogposting could throw some light on.)

A continuous rhythm of 60 beats-per-minute ‘causes the brainwaves and heart rate to synchronise with the rhythm: a process known as entrainment.  Low underlying bass tones relax the listener and a low whooshing sound with a trance-like quality takes the listener into an even deeper state of calm’.

At any rate, that’s what they claim.  But we sceptical truckshunters don’t have to take their word for it.  We can listen to it ourselves and make our own minds up.

Click on the link below; if it doesn’t work, cut and paste it into the Search box of your internet browser.  When the web page opens, click on the arrow, top left - then sit back and listen.

There’s more information about this ‘discovery’ on the same page, too, as well as comments left by previous listeners who have done the same thing as you.

https://soundcloud.com/emerson-hurtatis/marconi-union-weightless

I’d be interested to know what you think and how 'entrained' you become...
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REALITY IS AN ILLUSION….
I’ve been sent these optical illusions by a nameless blogster, who should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves.  However, I’m a big fan of stuff like this so - Thanks, whoever you are!

The one at the top is the infamous, and frankly unbelievable, ‘Adelson Shadow’.

Although the square labelled ‘A’ appears to be darker than the square labelled ‘B’, they are actually exactly the same shade of grey.

If you don’t believe it, join the club.

Next comes the 'Blue/Green Illusion'; the ‘blue’ and ‘green’ backgrounds are actually the same colour.

I think.

The next one’s a bit of a test.  Try counting the black dots to see just how much of a test it is.

Next comes ‘Static Motion’.  The illusion of movement is ‘derived from interacting colour contrasts and shape positions within the image’.  Notice, too, that when you look at any individual point dead on, it stops moving.

The final illusion is perhaps my favourite.  The two pictures of the Leaning Tower of Pisa are exactly the same - despite appearances.  I’ve tried this illusion with matching photos of Grey’s Monument and, yes, once again the Monument on the right was definitely leaning away from the one on the left.

Er…..

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CONTACT ME
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428

 Seen in the garden today for the first time - a goldcrest.

Along with the firecrest, it's Britain's smallest bird.

Isn't he lovely!

(PLEASE don't forget to FEED THE BIRDS)

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Kev sent me an email the other day which, I think, is so masterful, so intelligent and so elegant that it deserves a blogposting all to itself.

It’s another word-based contribution, for which, however, I make no apology at all.

HOW I MET MY WIFE
(– A STORY WITH NON STANDARD NEGATIONS)
It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the cloakroom when I saw her standing alone in a corner.  She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array.  Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way.

I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones about it since I was travelling cognito.  Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened.  And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable.  Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.

Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were slim.  I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.

So I decided not to risk it.

But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make head or tail of.

I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen.  Normally, I have a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt capacitated - as if this were something I was great shakes at - and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times.

So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.

Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous.  Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d'oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myself.

She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory character who was up to some good.

She told me her name. ‘What a perfect nomer’, I said, advertently.  The conversation become more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail.

But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour.  I asked if she wanted to come with me.  To my delight, she was committal.  We left the party together and have been together ever since.

I have given her my love, and she has requited it.

A linguistic masterpiece which I am going to print off to be framed and hung in the toilet, where it will do most good.

How many 'non-standard negations' can you count?

Thanks Kev - you’re a star!

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CONTACT ME
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427

In this blogposting…

* Pangrams
* Ice-Art
Take care - it’s slippy underfoot…

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PANGRAMS
I seem to have been over-indulging my love of words and language here on the blog recently and, because ‘things bad begun make strong themselves by ill’ ( - one of Shakespeare’s more unintelligible lines, I think - ) I’ve decided that I may as well keep going.

It’s all the fault of Peter, in South Shields.  He recently sent me a fascinating - not to say ludicrous - list of pangrams.

A pangram is a sentence that uses every letter of the alphabet whose language it’s written in.  It doesn’t sound easy and it’s not, specially if you want the sentence to make any sort of sense.

Peter’s list of English pangrams highlights the problems admirably.

1  Waltz, bad nymph, for quick jigs vex. (28 letters)
2  Quick zephyrs blow, vexing daft Jim. (29 letters)
3  Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow. (29 letters)
4  Two driven jocks help fax my big quiz. (30 letters)
5  Five quacking zephyrs jolt my wax bed. (31 letters)
6  The five boxing wizards jump quickly. (31 letters)
7  Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs. (32 letters)
8  The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. (35 letters)
9  Jinxed wizards pluck ivy from the big quilt. (36 letters)
10  Crazy Fredrick bought many very exquisite opal jewels. (46 letters)
11  We promptly judged antique ivory buckles for the next prize. (50 letters)
12  A mad boxer shot a quick, gloved jab to the jaw of his dizzy opponent. (54 letters)
13  Jaded zombies acted quaintly but kept driving their oxen forward. (55 letters)
14  The job requires extra pluck and zeal from every young wage earner. (55 letters)

Most of them stretch credibility, and even comprehension, to the limits.  I’m especially curious about what situations could have given rise to numbers 3, 4, 5 and 13.  All those sphinxes ( - shouldn’t that be spelt with a ‘y’? - ), driven jocks, quacking zephyrs (huh???), and jaded zombies driving oxen.

On the other hand, numbers 10 and 11 are perversely meaningful and even elegant, number 14 actually makes sense and I could actually have said number 7 at some point in my life.

All in all, though, composing pangrams is obviously a cry for help.  And it’s not just users of the English alphabet who are in need of a life.  Here’s a French pangram…

Portez ce vieux whisky au juge blond qui fume which means take this old whiskey to the blond-haired judge who is smoking.  I’d like to know the story behind that one.

And here’s a German pangram…

Victor jagt zwölf Boxkämpfer quer über den großen Sylter Deich.  As far as my cobwebbed German can make out, it means Victor chased twelve boxers straight over the great Sylter dyke.  The heart has its reasons, I suppose.

This one’s in Turkish…

Pijamalı hasta yağız şoföre çabucak güvendi, which seems to be saying something or other about a swarthy pyjama-clad patient relying on a quick driver, as well he might.  (The dotless ‘i’s in this sentence are not errors; the Turkish alphabet invented that letter for itself in 1922.)

Finally, here’s a Spanish pangram…

El veloz murciélago hindú comía feliz cardillo y kiwi. La cigüeña tocaba el saxofón detrás del palenque de paja.  I love this one because, although it cheats ( - it’s two sentences rather than the obligatory one - ) it paints a verbal picture of which Dali or Picasso or Gaudi would have been proud.

It means ‘the quick brown fox happily eating thistle and kiwi; the stork played the saxophone behind the straw arena.’

I can hear the conversation in the art gallery now.  ‘Look - it’s a Picasso, I think!  It’s called ‘Pangram’.  What’s that thing there?  Oh, it’s a fox.  And it seems to be eating something in a hurry - gobbling it down.  Are they thistles in its paws?  And oh Lord - I think that’s a dead kiwi on the ground!  What does it mean, though?  And why is that stork playing a saxophone?  Or is it a heron playing a clarinet?  And why is the stadium made of straw???  What does the gallery guide-book say?’

It’s interesting, though, that even in Spanish, quick brown foxes rate highly in pangrams.

Want to try and write your own?  (In English, of course!)

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WORLD ICE-ART CHAMPIONSHIPS
The photos adorning this posting are from the World Ice-Art Championships which have been held in Fairbanks, Alaska since 1989.  They were sent to me by Eric and Jean.

 

 

Aren’t they lovely?  (The pictures, not Eric and Jean.  Although Eric and Jean are lovely, too.)

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CONTACT ME
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426

 YES….BUT WHY??? - CONTINUED

Blogposting 423 featured the fascinating explanation for why railway lines, almost everywhere in the world, are exactly 4ft 8.5in apart.  Unlikely as it may sound, it’s because the Romans built their chariots and carts with wheels that far apart - because you can fit two horses in a space that wide.

For the whole improbable story, flip back to 423.

The posting concluded...

‘If you ever watched footage of the Space Shuttle, you will have noticed two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are called 'solid rocket boosters', or SRBs.

The SRBs are made in a factory in Utah.

The engineers who designed the SRBs would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site.

The railway line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains and the SRBs had to fit through that tunnel.  The tunnel is only slightly wider than the railway track and the railway track, as we now know, is about as wide as two Roman horses’ backsides....'

I’ve repeated all that because, tragically, the story doesn’t even end there.

You may remember the Challenger space shuttle disaster of 1986 - it exploded almost immediately after take-off.  Sadly, it seems that the Romans were indirectly to blame.

Yes - but why?

Because truckshunter Brenda sent a blog link to her brother and sister, who in turn forwarded it to interested parties.  They have been able to shed more light on the consequences imposed on history by those two horses’ backsides.

The first response reads...

'I would add that, as a consequence of the rail tunnel in Utah, not only were the Shuttle's SRBs narrower than was considered ideal, they were also manufactured in two parts, in order to get them around various bends in this tunnel.

The two parts were then connected together at the Cape Canaveral Shuttle assembly facility to make each SRB.

The connection was held together by bolts, but sealed by a single, large rubber O ring.  This needed to be flexible enough to seal the joint until the heat generated by the booster caused the metal tube to expand sufficiently to seal itself.  This meant that there was a very real lowest safe operating temperature (about 4 deg C, I think).

The morning of the last flight of Challenger (in January 1986), a temperature of -14 deg C was recorded early on, and even though the launch was postponed by several hours, the ambient temperature was barely above freezing - videos from the launch tower show vast sheets of ice cascading off the Shuttle at 'lift-off'.

As we know, one of the seals failed and the craft exploded.

Whilst there were some astonishingly bad management issues exposed as a result of the inquiry, the underlying problem was the need for a seal in the first place (subsequent launches featured SRBs with two seals, one inside and one outside - I'm sure that was most re-assuring).

So, while the Romans clearly have to take some share of the blame for the Shuttle disaster, the question arises as to why the SRBs were built in Utah and not Florida, or somewhere else more sensible.

The answer is what the Americans call 'pork-barrel politics'.  

Basically, in order to get the initial, vast budget for developing the Shuttle through Congress, various Representatives had to be 'bribed' with promises of preferred contracts for the companies based in their states.  One of these was Morton Thiokol, who got the contract to manufacture the SRBs in preference to Union Carbide (who were the clear preference of NASA).

Mortin Thiokol are based in Utah…'

A second response takes the story further...

'If the NASA and Morton Thiokol senior managers had listened to, and acted on, the frequently voiced concerns of the engineers who actually worked on the Shuttle assembly and flight line about seal performance, then the disaster would almost certainly not have occurred.

The Shuttle engineers had voiced concerns about the seals for quite some time before the accident.  They were concerned about seal performance at low temperatures in conditions of high flexing and vibration. They had even gone to the lengths of suggesting redesigning the seal using a different compound and seal profile, and using an inner seal of a different compound and profile as a back up.

Their plans and drawings were dismissed as too expensive and unnecessary.  They were ‘actively discouraged’ (that means bollocked and told to shut up) by NASA/Morton Thiokol senior management and their advice was ignored.  (After all, what the hell do greasy-handed engineers know!)

Some good people died.

We have yet to see any serious action taken against the aforementioned senior managers.  Nothing new there.

We have seen at least one greasy-handed engineer commit suicide and many others are no longer in employment.

Nothing new there either.'
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CONTACT ME
Post comments on this blog or email me:  truckshunters@googlemail.com

425

Just one drink between the three of us.  Times are hard.

In this blogposting...

* Happy New Year

* AGM XXXIX

* Le Blog à Pépère

Tread softly...

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HAPPY NEW YEAR

For the many thousands of blogsters who haven’t quite managed to match the Happy New Year greetings with their appropriate languages in posting 422 and are thus losing considerable amounts of sleep unnecessarily, here’s the same list again - but sorted!

ALBANIAN - gëzuar vitin e ri
ALSATIAN - e glëckliches nëies / güets nëies johr
ARMENIAN - shnorhavor nor tari
BASQUE - urte berri on
BOSNIAN - sretna nova godina
BRETON - bloavezh mat / bloavez mad
CATALAN - bon any nou
CORNISH - bledhen nowedh da
CORSICAN - pace è salute
CROATIAN - sretna nova godina
CZECH - šťastný nový rok
DANISH - godt nytår
DUTCH - gelukkig nieuwjaar
ERSE - bliadhna mhath ur
ESPERANTO - feliĉan novan jaron
FAROESE - gott nýggjár
FINNISH - onnellista uutta vuotta
FLEMISH - gelukkig nieuwjaar
FRENCH - bonne année
GERMAN - frohes neues Jahr / prosit Neujahr
HAWAIIAN - hauoli makahiki hou
HUNGARIAN - boldog új évet
ICELANDIC - gleðilegt nýtt ár
IRISH - ath bhliain faoi mhaise
ITALIAN - felice anno nuovo / buon anno
LATIN - felix sit annus novus
LUXEMBOURGEOIS - e gudd neit Joër
MAORI - kia hari te tau hou
NORWEGIAN - godt nyttår
OCCITAN - bon annada
PORTUGUESE - feliz ano novo
SPANISH - feliz año nuevo
SWEDISH - gott nytt år
WELSH - blwyddyn newydd dda
As a lover of wordlore, I think this makes for quite a list. 

It shows up the deplorable spelling conventions of Irish and Erse, which give no clue at all about how the words should be pronounced. 

It demonstrates the weird Franco-German blancmange of Alsatian and Luxembourgeois, both now recognised as separate languages. 

Once again, French singles itself out, this time as the only language in the list not to feel obliged to include the word ‘new’.

It points up the close family relationship between Cornish, Breton and Welsh - the Breton language was taken to France by Celts from Cornwall and Wales - and between Danish, Swedish and Norwegian.

Best of all, though, are the Polynesian/Pacific languages - Maori and Hawaiian.  Who wouldn’t simply melt when being wished kia hari te tau hou or hauoli makahiki hou by some grass-skirted nymphette or hunk with a flower in their hair?

Er...anyway…

Happy New Year.

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AGM XXXIX
The turnout for AGM XXXIX could best be described as ‘modest’.  Perhaps the Honourable Company was getting its own back for the last AGM, which Hildie and I both missed, by absenting its collective self from this one.

Such things are unimportant, though, in the great truckshunter scheme of things.  Hildie, Brenda and me made up a quorum and the AGM went swimmingly well.  It was a sunny day - naturally - and the company was good.  What more could we ask for!

Here are some photos of Hildie trying to melt into the background.

 

 

 

A big Thankyou to them both for all the chat, jokes and fun. 

And here’s to number 40!

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LE BLOG À PÉPÈRE
Take a look at Serge’s latest postings (as well as the wonderful postings from the Farne Islands blog).

His report - and specially the pictures - of the beard competition have given me some unlikely ideas for 2013.  You never know!

And the quotation he cites in another posting just about says it all.  If you’re not sure what it means, it says ‘God loves the birds and makes trees for them; mankind loves the birds and makes cages for them’.

Nuff said.

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CONTACT ME
Post comments on this blog or email me:  truckshunters@googlemail.com