To Talk To God Is The Bread Of The Angels
A menial job in the workshop of a master is the only education worth a damn.
A menial job in the workshop of a master is the only education worth a damn.
Fantastic bit of engineering and woodworking.
Do you know them? Of course you do.
Some fifteen years ago I was requested by a canon of Cádiz to compose instrumental music on the Seven Last Words of Our Savior On the Cross. It was customary at the Cathedral of Cádiz to produce an oratorio every year during Lent, the effect of the performance being not a little enhanced by the following circumstances. The walls, windows, and pillars of the church were hung with black cloth, and only one large lamp hanging from the center of the roof broke the solemn darkness. At midday, the doors were closed and the ceremony began. After a short service the bishop ascended the pulpit, pronounced the first of the seven words (or sentences) and delivered a discourse thereon. This ended, he left the pulpit and fell to his knees before the altar. The interval was filled by music. The bishop then in like manner pronounced the second word, then the third, and so on, the orchestra following on the conclusion of each discourse. My composition was subject to these conditions, and it was no easy task to compose seven adagios lasting ten minutes each, and to succeed one another without fatiguing the listeners; indeed, I found it quite impossible to confine myself to the appointed limits. —Joseph Haydn
The digital imaging sensor was invented at Kodak, back when everyone was still wearing leisure suits and listening to Evelyn Champagne King records. Kodak proceeded to ignore its implications and ride regular film into the Stygian economic pit; and so, we will perhaps never learn the answer to the age-old question — where did the Fotomat clerk go to the bathroom?
Tower of Power.
Holy cow, there’s a lot of plumbing involved in that solo.
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