Two consecutive lunar phases this spell. The only difference between the effect it has on the weather is that the declination of the moon is going to be a quarter of the orbit that can mean a swing from top to bottom or in this case from bottom to top. The moon will appear highest over its horizon on the 6th.
This affects temperature just as surely as the month of the year affects the sun, something that should not escape the statisticians in Meteorology. It has been bitterly cold but now with the same condition it is getting warmer and along with warmth the potential to increased earthquake magnitudes or numbers.
I am tired and my spelling is atrocious so I am off to bed. To be continued...
...I won't sleep unless I show you this:
The upsets from a Greenland High continue and should include radio interference along with Internet disruption, for fear I never mentioned that previously. I have asked about this stuff on a few forums but apart from stonewalling trolls there is no advocacy about looking at massively deficient coding -specifically JavaScript but obviously Flash as the worst offender.
It is odd that not one of these two are much more powerful storms:
Moreover it is doubly strange that the previous spell did not have any tropical storms. Does that absence have any bearing on the mechanisms behind these things?
Just something to ponder over in my sleep.
An increase in magnitudes and a decrease in VEI obvioulsy?
https://watchers.news/
What do you think?
My mind isn't even on this, I can't think of anything new. It is going to be hard on lots of people. I have tried (uselessly) to say my part, wasting my breath I believe. But if I concentrated on getting a peer revierd paper in a suitable geo-physics forum it might get a better hearing from the people not running most counties as efficiently as they might.
What else can I do?
And we are back...
This affects temperature just as surely as the month of the year affects the sun, something that should not escape the statisticians in Meteorology. It has been bitterly cold but now with the same condition it is getting warmer and along with warmth the potential to increased earthquake magnitudes or numbers.
I am tired and my spelling is atrocious so I am off to bed. To be continued...
...I won't sleep unless I show you this:
The upsets from a Greenland High continue and should include radio interference along with Internet disruption, for fear I never mentioned that previously. I have asked about this stuff on a few forums but apart from stonewalling trolls there is no advocacy about looking at massively deficient coding -specifically JavaScript but obviously Flash as the worst offender.
It is odd that not one of these two are much more powerful storms:
Moreover it is doubly strange that the previous spell did not have any tropical storms. Does that absence have any bearing on the mechanisms behind these things?
Just something to ponder over in my sleep.
An increase in magnitudes and a decrease in VEI obvioulsy?
https://watchers.news/
What do you think?
My mind isn't even on this, I can't think of anything new. It is going to be hard on lots of people. I have tried (uselessly) to say my part, wasting my breath I believe. But if I concentrated on getting a peer revierd paper in a suitable geo-physics forum it might get a better hearing from the people not running most counties as efficiently as they might.
What else can I do?
And we are back...
There is nothing quite says !!Volcanic Eruption!! as decisively as a gloomy damp morning is there?
It reminds me me of the conditions in the spell that ended with the death of Christ. The house of mourning is better than the day of birth:
Graham Chapman, co-author of the 'Parrot Sketch,' is no more.
He has ceased to be, bereft of life, he rests in peace, he has kicked the bucket, hopped the twig, bit the dust, snuffed it, breathed his last, and gone to meet the Great Head of Light Entertainment in the sky, and I guess that we're all thinking how sad it is that a man of such talent, such capability and kindness, of such intelligence should now be so suddenly spirited away at the age of only forty-eight, before he'd achieved many of the things of which he was capable, and before he'd had enough fun.
Well, I feel that I should say, "Nonsense. Good riddance to him, the free-loading bastard! I hope he fries. "
And the reason I think I should say this is, he would never forgive me if I didn't, if I threw away this opportunity to shock you all on his behalf. Anything for him but mindless good taste. I could hear him whispering in my ear last night as I was writing this:
"Alight, Cleese, you're very proud of being the first person to ever say 'shit' on television. If this service is really for me, just for starters, I want you to be the first person ever at a British memorial service to say 'fuck'!"
You see, the trouble is, I can't. If he were here with me now I would probably have the courage, because he always emboldened me. But the truth is, I lack his balls, his splendid defiance. And so I'll have to content myself instead with saying 'Betty Mardsen...'
But bolder and less inhibited spirits than me follow today. Jones and Idle, Gilliam and Palin. Heaven knows what the next hour will bring in Graham's name. Trousers dropping, blasphemers on pogo sticks, spectacular displays of high-speed farting, synchronised incest. One of the four is planning to stuff a dead ocelot and a 1922 Remington typewriter up his own arse to the sound of the second movement of Elgar's cello concerto. And that's in the first half.
Because you see, Gray would have wanted it this way. Really. Anything for him but mindless good taste. And that's what I'll always remember about him -apart, of course, from his Olympian extravagance. He was the prince of bad taste. He loved to shock. In fact, Gray, more than anyone I knew, embodied and symbolised all that was most offensive and juvenile in Monty Python. And his delight in shocking people led him on to greater and greater feats. I like to think of him as the pioneering beacon that beat the path along which fainter spirits could follow.
Some memories. I remember writing the undertaker speech with him and him suggesting the punch line, 'All right, we'll eat her but if you feel bad about it afterwards, we'll dig a grave and you can throw up into it.' I remember discovering in 1969, when we wrote every day at the flat where Connie Booth and I lived, that he'd recently discovered the game of printing four-letter words on neat little squares of paper and then quietly placing them at strategic points around our flat, forcing Connie and me into frantic last minute paper chases whenever we were expecting important guests.
I remember him at BBC parties crawling around on all fours, rubbing himself affectionately against the legs of grey-suited executives and delicately nibbling the more appetizing female calves. Mrs. Eric Morecambe remembers that too.
I remember his being invited to speak at the Oxford union, and entering the chamber dressed as a carrot -a full length orange tapering costume with a large, bright green sprig as a hat and then, when his turn came to speak, refusing to do so. He just stood there, literally speechless, for twenty minutes, smiling beatifically. The only time in world history that a totally silent man has succeeded in inciting a riot.
I remember Graham receiving a Sun newspaper TV award from Reggie Maudling. Who else! And taking the trophy falling to the ground and crawling all the way back to his table, screaming loudly, as loudly as he could. And if you remember Gray, that was very loud indeed.
It is magnificent, isn't it?
He has ceased to be, bereft of life, he rests in peace, he has kicked the bucket, hopped the twig, bit the dust, snuffed it, breathed his last, and gone to meet the Great Head of Light Entertainment in the sky, and I guess that we're all thinking how sad it is that a man of such talent, such capability and kindness, of such intelligence should now be so suddenly spirited away at the age of only forty-eight, before he'd achieved many of the things of which he was capable, and before he'd had enough fun.
Well, I feel that I should say, "Nonsense. Good riddance to him, the free-loading bastard! I hope he fries. "
And the reason I think I should say this is, he would never forgive me if I didn't, if I threw away this opportunity to shock you all on his behalf. Anything for him but mindless good taste. I could hear him whispering in my ear last night as I was writing this:
"Alight, Cleese, you're very proud of being the first person to ever say 'shit' on television. If this service is really for me, just for starters, I want you to be the first person ever at a British memorial service to say 'fuck'!"
You see, the trouble is, I can't. If he were here with me now I would probably have the courage, because he always emboldened me. But the truth is, I lack his balls, his splendid defiance. And so I'll have to content myself instead with saying 'Betty Mardsen...'
But bolder and less inhibited spirits than me follow today. Jones and Idle, Gilliam and Palin. Heaven knows what the next hour will bring in Graham's name. Trousers dropping, blasphemers on pogo sticks, spectacular displays of high-speed farting, synchronised incest. One of the four is planning to stuff a dead ocelot and a 1922 Remington typewriter up his own arse to the sound of the second movement of Elgar's cello concerto. And that's in the first half.
Because you see, Gray would have wanted it this way. Really. Anything for him but mindless good taste. And that's what I'll always remember about him -apart, of course, from his Olympian extravagance. He was the prince of bad taste. He loved to shock. In fact, Gray, more than anyone I knew, embodied and symbolised all that was most offensive and juvenile in Monty Python. And his delight in shocking people led him on to greater and greater feats. I like to think of him as the pioneering beacon that beat the path along which fainter spirits could follow.
Some memories. I remember writing the undertaker speech with him and him suggesting the punch line, 'All right, we'll eat her but if you feel bad about it afterwards, we'll dig a grave and you can throw up into it.' I remember discovering in 1969, when we wrote every day at the flat where Connie Booth and I lived, that he'd recently discovered the game of printing four-letter words on neat little squares of paper and then quietly placing them at strategic points around our flat, forcing Connie and me into frantic last minute paper chases whenever we were expecting important guests.
I remember him at BBC parties crawling around on all fours, rubbing himself affectionately against the legs of grey-suited executives and delicately nibbling the more appetizing female calves. Mrs. Eric Morecambe remembers that too.
I remember his being invited to speak at the Oxford union, and entering the chamber dressed as a carrot -a full length orange tapering costume with a large, bright green sprig as a hat and then, when his turn came to speak, refusing to do so. He just stood there, literally speechless, for twenty minutes, smiling beatifically. The only time in world history that a totally silent man has succeeded in inciting a riot.
I remember Graham receiving a Sun newspaper TV award from Reggie Maudling. Who else! And taking the trophy falling to the ground and crawling all the way back to his table, screaming loudly, as loudly as he could. And if you remember Gray, that was very loud indeed.
It is magnificent, isn't it?
You see,
the thing about shock... is not that it upsets some people, I think; I
think that it gives others a momentary joy of liberation, as we realised
in that instant that the social rules that constrict our lives so
terribly are not actually very important.
Well, Gray can't do that for us any more. He's gone. He is an ex-Chapman. All we have of him now are our memories. But it will be some time before they fade.
Well, Gray can't do that for us any more. He's gone. He is an ex-Chapman. All we have of him now are our memories. But it will be some time before they fade.
Well that's enough of that, now for something suspiciously similar:
http://www.cardinalfang.net/misc/chapman_memorial.html
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