Tetherd Cow Ahead

Well, faithful Cow-o-philes. Yesterday morning, as promised, I arose at the rooster’s crow and headed off to Sydney’s National Maritime Museum in search of Vikings. I arrived in plenty of time, not really being sure if Vikings are known for their punctuality. I think it is probably reasonable to suggest that being late for a raid on a Saxon village was poor form.

Indeed, there was already a horde of Vikings in full battle dress battering at the door when I got there. Well, I exaggerate for effect. There were one or two insouciant proto-Vikings hanging around the door with their friends. Aside from the beards and long hair there wasn’t much to indicate they were Vikings. I’ve seen scarier at my local pub. It was a bit anti-climactic I have to say. Before I even got a chance to ask them about their references they were ushered inside by museum staff.

I don’t remember ever being taught about the Vikings’ penchant for bright blue duffel bags in school, but I guess I could have been shooting rubber bands at Chris O’Reilly at the time.

There was a brief interesting moment when one of the Vikings carried in a strange wooden box:

Then it was all over. I’m sorry to say, that’s all that happened. I guess it is feasible that the armed naked dancing went on behind the closed museum doors, but alas, that remains only a speculation. Oh, as I was about to leave, I noticed another Viking unpacking something from his car:

He wasn’t exactly a late Viking, since the other Vikings were all technically early but I got the distinct impression that if there was any pillaging and looting going on inside the museum, he was in for slim pickings.

I did find out that the Viking exhibition starts in November and today’s successful applicants would be featuring for a few weeks. It is my further mission then, loyal readers, to go along once the show has opened and this time bring back proper evidence of Vikings alive and well (and hopefully armed and attired in full ferocity) in the Antipodes.

Brushes With Fame #3: Brandon Lee

In the biographical film Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story Bruce Lee’s father inadvertently angers a Chinese merchant who puts a curse on him to the effect that his son, and his son’s sons will die untimely deaths. In the film, Lee dreams of a fearsome supernatural warrior who comes to hunt him down, and then in turn comes for his son. There are touching scenes between Lee and his little boy Brandon in which the fearful father warns the son about the dream warrior who will try to and take his life prematurely. And how he must always be on his guard.

Bruce Lee died in unusual circumstances just after completing his film Enter the Dragon at the age of 32.

In 1993 I travelled to the US to pick up my theremin and to visit my friend Alex in North Carolina where he was directing the feature film of Jame’s O’Barr’s illustrated novel The Crow. Brandon Lee had been cast as Eric Draven a rock singer who, along with his young fiancee Shelley, is murdered on the night before Halloween. One year later he returns from the dead, and as the eponymous Crow visits revenge upon the killers.

I met Brandon and his fiancee Eliza very briefly one evening when I was on the set. He was charming and unaffected and very charismatic. He and Eliza, who were due to be married after the film was completed, seemed happy and comfortable in one another’s company. I remember thinking that young, good looking people like Brandon almost seem supernaturally invincible, which was fitting, given the part he was playing in the film.

Tragically, a week later, Brandon Lee was dead, the unfortunate victim of a simple stunt gunshot which through a combination of unattributable negligence and bad luck went horribly wrong. He was 27 years old.

It is, in my mind, in keeping with the flow of coincidence that every year at this time Brandon returns in the guise of The Crow in theatres and on tv screens across the planet. Not to exact vengeance, for that is the act of a small soul, but instead to rekindle the Spark of Dark Romance that is forever Halloween. Oh that any of us should serve so grand a purpose.

This just in from my friend Bronni.* The following email conversation then ensued:

On 26/10/2005, at 1:52 PM, Bronwyn wrote:

It’s pretty damn weird if you ask me….even if it isn’t made out of Linda McCartney, why anyone would buy health food recommended by a dead person is beyond me. Call me old fashioned.

On 26/10/05 1:56 PM, Peter wrote:

Colonel Sanders and Linda McCartney should get together and form a chain called ‘It Tastes Like Chicken’

On 26/10/2005, at 2:03 PM, Bronwyn wrote:

Or a band, “It Sounds Like Chicken” or a double act “It Sounds Like Chicken” with WINGS.

On 26/10/05 2:06 PM, Peter wrote:

Or just ‘Chicken Wings’ maybe.

It would certainly give new meaning to ‘Finger Lickin’ Good!’

*Who also gets credit for the headline. See, I just steal all my wit from other people who don’t have blogs.

Hammacher Schlemmer is offering for sale a life-size walking and talking remote controlled ‘Robbie the Robot’.

Now there’s the Yuletide gift for the Man Who Has Everything. If any of you have a spare $US49,999.95 I’m sure I can wrangle a big enough Christmas stocking.

I’m sure you all know that Robbie first came to fame in the wonderful Forbidden Planet and has stayed in the zeitgeist ever since. The Hammacher Schlemmer replica offers, among other things the following features:

The robot is pre-programmed to deliver his famous lines from the original movie, and the remote control allows you to adjust the robot’s volume, track selection, and start and stop functions. Robby can also be prompted to move his computer relay assembly, rotate his servo-controlled head, spin his planetary gyro stabilizers, and rotate his scanners while his various lights flash. The integral audio system produces CD-quality sound projected from a directional speaker system in the head and synchronized with the neon tube lights…

He’d be a nice complement to my toaster, dontcha think?

Thanks to the Red Ferret Journal, where I read about this first.

Nurse Myra took great delight in bringing to my attention this Wanted ad from Saturday’s Sydney Morning Herald. It reads:

Wanted

Viking Warriors

Calling all Erik the Reds, Odins, Thors and Beowulfs. Several ‘Viking warriors’ required for two weeks work. Authentic Viking appearance and extensive knowledge of Viking culture preferred. Must have own complete Viking costume including arms and armour. Historical re-enactment experience preferred.

Auditions 9.30 am Friday 28 October 2005.
Australian National Maritime Museum, Darling Harbour. Applicants requested to be in full costume. Please bring references.

Valhalla Awaits. Beserkers† need not apply.

I don’t know what thrills me the most: that applicants must arrive in full costume, or that they are expected to bring references!

Man, I really want to read those references. I imagine a typical one would go something like this:

To Whom it May Concern

Thangbrand Breiðskeggr has manned an oar in my longship for six months and I have found him to be a fine and upstanding fellow, if somewhat strongly smelling. His raping and pillaging skills are eclipsed only by his capacity for quaffing prodigous quantities of ale and his proficiency at knatteleik.

I think I can say that most of us here on the Mjöksiglandi Spörr will be sad to see Thangbrand go, but Odin knows that he is destined for bigger and better things.

I wish him every success in his future endeavours and I am sure that if he can control his temper and avoid further beheadings of his co-workers he will be a valuable addition to any workplace that will have him.

Yours &c
Erik Breiðrböllr

Dedicated readers of The Cow will have by now realised where I’m heading with all this. A bunch of Vikings turning up at the Maritime Museum in costume on Friday, and me with time on my hands as of Wednesday… Yes, that’s right, not only do you get to read about it but I’m going to go get you some pictures.

I was especially motivated when I read the following description of Viking dances on Regia Anglorum:

“Several sources mention warriors performing acrobatic dances (often naked), whilst wielding weapons, usually in connection with the cult of Odin.”

I don’t know about you, but when I imagine yer typical Viking performing an acrobatic dance, fully armed and naked my brain has a sort of vodka-and-curdled-yoghurt-through-the-nose hysterical spasm.

Oh please let these guys on Friday be really dedicated.

†Tsk. You’d think that someone would check an unfamiliar word like ‘berserker’ before cavalierly whacking a spelling error up for all the world to see. Especially when they’re appealing to people with extensive knowledge of Viking culture…

Stefan Marti at MIT’s Media Lab Speech Interface Group has come up with a idea he calls the Autonomous Active Intermediary. This is essentially a device that acts as a facilitator between a person and their communications network. To this end, Stefan has come up with The Cellular Squirrel, an agent that sits between you and your mobile phone.

The basic concept goes something like this: mobile phones are very intrusive and distracting and integrating them into your personal situations is never elegant. So why not do something really natural and familiar to everybody, like have a squirrel take your calls!

This is how Stefan puts it:

The conversational agent is able to converse with caller and callee—at the same time, mediating between them, and possibly suggesting modality crossovers. It deals with incoming communication attempts when the user cannot or does not want to. It’s a dual conversational agent since it can converse with both user and caller simultaneously, mediating between them.

Oh, I can really see how that’s going to turn out…

Caller: Hello, is that Pete?

Squirrel: No, this is his squirrel.

Caller: His squirrel? O-o-k-a-a-y… can I talk to Pete?

Squirrel: What’s it about? He’s pretty busy.

Caller: Um, I’d really rather discuss this with him than with a squirrel.

Squirrel (sighs): Oh very well, I’ll see if he can talk to you.

Squirrel (to Pete): Hey dude, there’s some glue-sniffer on the line, too good to talk to a squirrel. Whaddya want me to do?

Pete: I’m busy nailing up this wainscotting, can you take a message?

Squirrel (to Pete): Sure chief, anything you say.

Squirrel (to caller): Well nuts to you fella – he says he don’t want to talk jive with no squirrel-hater. State your business or shuffle off to Buffalo.

I don’t want to seem like I’m completely ridiculing this idea. I can see how it could be really cool. One of the (many) things I like about Philip Pullman’s amazing ‘His Dark Materials’ books is the animal daemons that Lyra and her folk have with them always. I’d really like a little animal familiar, especially in this enlightened time when nobody holds silly superstitious beliefs that can get you hung as a witch. Much.

I kind of fancy a parrot, myself, it being in keeping with my piratical bent & all. It obviously leapt pretty smartly into Stefan’s mind also, because he already has a working prototype of one of those as well:

But for Stefan, the squirrel is obviously the agent du jour. I have to admit, it has some surreal cachet. I long to be able to say:

“Hey man, good to see you! We should do lunch. I’ll get my squirrel to talk to your squirrel and we’ll sort something out!”