To paraphrase my favorite commie-sympathizing red friend this video proves, once and for all, beyond any reasonable doubt, Soviet superiority in all things, including prancercizing AND beach ball bouncing.
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In 2011, Dutch photographer Charlotte Dumas embarked on a quest to locate the last surviving 9/11 search and rescue dogs who had worked so tirelessly ten years earlier. Retrieved is a collection of their portraits, a moving tribute to these heroic dogs and their handlers.
The photo above is the closest humanity has ever come to creating Medusa. If you were to look at this, you would die instantly.
The image is of a reactor core lava formation in the basement of the Chernobyl nuclear plant. It’s called the Elephant’s Foot and weighs hundreds of tons, but is only a couple meters across.
Oh, and regarding the Medusa thing, this picture was taken through a mirror around the corner of the hallway. Because the wheeled camera they sent up to take pictures of it was destroyed by the radiation. The Elephant’s Foot is almost as if it is a living creature.
So in order:
1. Our fly rail from deck level.
2. A Sunday synching the lines
3. The deck from the rail.
4. A look up to the grid where the lines run.
5. The grid. So each rope runs straight up, then back down through the pulley and ties to the baton.
Did this help?
Yes! So each set of lines are cinched together by the Sundays (why are they called that?) and then the sandbags hang from the Sundays.
I have more questions but my gigs starting, someone’s stepping to the mic now…
Ha! I don’t know why they’re called that and now I feel dumb for spelling cinching incorrectly multiple times. I am the failed American educational system.
Eh whatever, I knew what you meant lol. Context clues.
So, what happened when you go to pull the battens out? The sandbags go down to the deck? Do you have to drop the sandbags over the side of the pick rail? Do you often grid the battens? Can the battens go all the way to the grid? And If the battens are at the grid are the sandbags at the deck?
Sand bags never go to the deck. We usually keep them at the foot of the rail. We can not bring bags to deck level because there is nothing to secure them to at that level. We tie off to pins on the rail. Our batons are never at grid level. They are typically resting at 20-25’. When the baton comes in to be worked on or hung, the bags go up to the grid. And visa versa. The bags are often “gridded” which means they are hitting the grid and we can’t bring the pipe in more. If that happens but we need it to come in further we have to pull it back out, and move the bags and Sunday down the ropes. Same for if we need the baton’s trim height to be higher, but the bags are on the ground. We move the Sunday up. It typically takes at least two people. I’ve spent time up there on my own and felt like an exhausted beef cake after.
What’s it like loading weight? And then running shows? Do u have to have multiple flymen for a show with several pieces of flying scenery?
Loading weight is straight forward. Drag the proper bag to the line, if there are two people one lifts while the other clips. If it’s just me I typically lift it onto a chair and clip. The amount of flymen depends on the amount of flies. Typically it’s two people. It can be a pain. The bags get caught on each other and tangled in ropes.
Sunday: long ago, when a one-off would come in to a dark day in a theater (usually on a sunday), you could use this knot to pull your regular scenery out of the way temporarily. And so it became known as a sunday. Also way to be old school. Now who knows why a becket is called a becket? Cuz I sure don’t.
We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time.
When we hesitate in being direct, we unknowingly slip something on, some added layer of protection that keeps us from feeling the world, and often that thin covering is the beginning of a loneliness which, if not put down, diminishes our chances of joy.
It’s like wearing gloves every time we touch something, and then, forgetting we chose to put them on, we complain that nothing feels quite real. Our challenge each day is not to get dressed to face the world but to unglove ourselves so that the doorknob feels cold and the car handle feels wet and the kiss goodbye feels like the lips of another being, soft and unrepeatable.