anticipation

Via Boing Boing, we are transported to the Clinton Street Theatre of Portland Oregon, which has been hosting weekly Rocky Horror Picture Show (previously) midnight watch parties for decades, and upheld this tradition through the pandemic and playing to an empty house with sights focused on gradual, safe resumption of the screenings and reviving the kindred community of misfits and happy mutants.

questions time

Potentially traumatising for very young audience members and no doubt a bit of disappointment for others who were excited to see Westminster transformed into a colossal marauding alligator (actually based on a particular crocodilian gargoyle on the House of Commons) attacking the UK—like those older sitcoms that began with an animated sequence that got me excited to watch a cartoon and always feeling a bit left down when it was just The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis—On the Record was a British political programme that aired on BBC One from 1988 through 2002. As news music (see also) and mascots go, it’s a pretty good one. Hosed Jonathan Dibleby, John Humphrys and Sheena McDonald, the show was culled during a review of the BBC’s political output and perceived bias.

decca dl-8225

While not the first recorded release in the genre nor the first commercially successful one, Bill Haley & His Comets’ rendition of the song “Rock Around the Clock” recorded at the studios of the Knights of Pythias Temple in Manhattan on this day in 1954 is generally considered to be the singular number most responsible for introducing the world to the musical style. Co-written by Maxamus “Max” C. Freedman and James “Jimmy DeKnight” Edward Myers of Philadelphia and released on the B-side of the album “Thirteen Women (and Only One Man) in Town” the following month, it was not an instant, run-away success and only became a phenomenon with the debut of the film Blackboard Jungle (March 1955) when it featured under the opening credits.

regimental colours

Whereas the claim that Union Jack properly only refers to the naval ensign flown at sea is vexillologically vexing and likely a historical misunderstanding (or pedantic overreach), in an attempt to make my blog more bedecked with the Union Flag than it already is and therefore a more definitive and trustworthy source of information we recall that on this day in 1606 it was decreed for maritime purposes the nations of England and Scotland would use a joint flag symbolising the regal and personal union under James VI/I (see previously) upon inheriting the two crowns plus the Irish throne. The Cross of Saint Andrew countercharged with the Cross of Saint Patrick, overall the Cross of Saint George, heraldically speaking, was officially adopted with the Act of Union of 1800 that merged came into effect the first day of the next year—merging Great Britain with the Irish kingdom. Even before the Republic of Ireland won independence, the saltire of Saint Patrick was not embraced as representative of the island or its patron and associated with the personal coat of arms of the FitzGerald-FitzMaurice family dynasty.

off we go!

On this day in 1961, a Vostok I spacecraft was launched from the Baikonur Cosmodrome under the call sign Кедр (Siberian Cedar, see also) piloted by Yuri Gagarin (Гагарин, Юрий *1934 - †1968), the first human to journey into outer space (previously), holding a short dialogue with flight operations during take-off. Mission control over the radio announced: “Preliminary stage… intermediate… main… Lift-Off! We wish you a good flight. Everything’s all right.” To which Gagarin replied, “Поехали! Goodbye, until soon, dear friends.” The enthusiastic interjection becoming a popular expression for Soviet progress and the start of the Space Age. Once the final stage of the rocket finished firing, the craft and cosmonaut orbited the Earth for one hundred-eight minutes, ejecting from the vessel during re-entry over Kazakhstan and descending to the ground safely harnessed to a parachute.

ultra-violence

Via the forever engrossing Everlasting Blört, we are directed towards a screen-test for the haberdashery of Alex DeLarge and his gang of droogs for the 1971 cinematic adaptation of the dystopian, delinquent novel from Anthony Burgess A Clockwork Orange (previously) trying on different hat styles before settling on the bowler variety. More images and reactions on the thread that are well worth checking out.

no news day

According to our elvish friends over at Quite Interesting, a meta-analysis of facts and figures reveal that that this day (also a Sunday) in 1954 was the most boring single one of the past century, even withstanding that another day in April a couple decades earlier earned the unique distinction from BBC news anchors that there was in fact no news to report. One would think a dearth of information or memory would be duller than a surfeit of events, which include a general election in Belgium that makes Achille Van Acker—credited with creating the country’s social safety net Prime Minister and reforming public spending, pensions, housing, education and employment—the cycling classic Paris-Roubaix was won by another Belgian called Raymond Impanis and it was the opening day of the All-Ireland Senior Hurling (iomáint) Championship, by this pronouncement by programmer and computer science professor William Tustall-Pedoe, backed up by computer data, cannot be contradicted. That’s OK as we can handle dull and no excitement very well from time to time.  Such quests and inquires, though now may be less of an ordeal thanks to an internet connection, recalls this, fictive I suspect but don’t know for sure, Institute for the Study of 15:32, 10 April, 1954 that we encountered just ahead of April Fools and dismissed as a hoax but addresses the fullness of the day before—or another errand short story I read once years ago in a science fiction anthology about an individual obsessed with chronicling every event globally that took place on a single day and was still sending off requests to newspaper archives called “The Man Who Collected the First of September 1973” by Tor Åge Bringsværd.

godeberthe de noyon

Heiress to a considerable fortune in Amiens and with a solid educational background that eschewed mundane, temporal comforts and the requisite of a strategic marriage to retain a modicum of soft power, Godebertha (*640 - †700, her Gothic name meaning fervor) was displeased when she was when she was presented at the king’s court to be wed to a suitor of appriproate rank and standing. Sensing this reluctance, Saint Eligius put his episcopal ring on her finger, symbolising Godebertha’s betrothal to Christ. The king, impressed with her faith and conduct, gave her an endowment and permission to found a small abbey. Credited for saving the village numerous times from fires and outbreaks of cholera and typhoid fever through miraculous intercession both during her life and posthumously, Godeberthe is invoked against drought, plagues and epidemics and is venerated on this day on the occasion of her death after a long life of sanctity and solitude.