The Day I Became Poseidon

It was "one of those days".

You know those days; when the four elements swing against your favour at every turn. It seems as though  the gods of past and present, from Anubis to Mars, from Buddha to L. Ron. Hubbard, have devised a chain of self perpetuating events determined to make you stub your toe and stuff.  The world is against you and its plans to ruin your day consist purely of incrementally worsening incidents of annoyance until the final straw breaks. There is always a broken final straw.

On this day the chain of events culminated in the washing machine stopping mid-cycle. I didn't notice and opened the door only to be greeted by a miniature tidal wave of inky water. I instinctively shut the door, but could not open it again. The machine was broken with my clothes still inside it. It held them prisoner in a glass cage (or plastic, whatever). I decided to restart the cycle to see if it would free them. It did not. On the third attempt (around 1 AM) I decided that I would open the floodgates with a ten litre bucket under the door to catch the water. I soon discovered that the washing machine held considerably more than ten litres of water.

"Shit."

As the bucket filled I tried to empty it into the sink as quickly as possible so I could get it back under the door. The speed with which the water hit the sink made it erupt upwards like a volcano, and only slightly less infernal. There comes a point during days like these that you must make a decision. You will inevitably end up either exploding with rage hitting everything in sight like a confused Pokemon, or taking it all in stride and laughing. On this occasion I laughed maniacally like a rapper (namely Mike Jones)  introducing his latest track as I threw half boiling water around the kitchen.

The clothes were also hovering around fifty degrees Celsius. They were also still in need of a rinse out that could compete with the entire collection of 90's Drum and Bass. I figured it'd be best to do this in the bath, but because of the way it was built I couldn't reach the taps without actually getting in the bath with the clothes. This meant that I had to rinse them out naked under the running tap like a time travelling troglodyte.

Getting to bed felt like drinking a crisp pint of cider after a trek through the desert.

Orchestragasm Part 1

I hate portmanteaus, and I hate myself for titling this post with one, but it is done.

Today I'm discussing performances with a twist. They each have something out of the ordinary about them that adds to the visual and audio experience, making the whole thing bloody amazing.

Firstly a concert performed by Metallica and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra in 1999. Watch out for Michael Kamen; the conductor who works with some very unorthodox tools. Instead of using the usual batons, he uses his middle fingers, mindfully telling his orchestra to buggar off  as he guides them through the piece. This can be seen in the background at around 1:35, and in full clarity at 3:49.

Well fuck you too Mr. Kamen

Next we have a performance of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture by various bands from the Japanese army with the 1st Artillery Brigade who use 105 mm cannons as an instrument. The piece is typically performed with cannons but these go the extra mile... pun intended. According to Wikipedia this regiment does not even use 105mm cannons when deployed for combat which means one of two things. Either that they definitely do use them for combat; or, that on this occasion Wikipedia is actually correct and the 1st Artillery Brigade has specific cannons that they only use to play music. Badass.  If you're in a rush skip to ten minutes in for the explosive climax. Don't forget to turn the volume down, or up, depending on your desire to hear anything ever again.

I'll be back.