View allAll Photos Tagged Expectation
I'm trying to make a working Newton's Cradle in Cinema 4D using just the built in MoDynamics, no keyframes.
Jerry Weiss (born October 21, 1959) is an American figurative, landscape, portrait painter and writer. As a student he studied classical drawing; he initially focused on portraits, and began to paint landscapes during the 1980s. Weiss is a Contributing Editor of The Artist's Magazine, for which he writes a Master Class feature with an overview of historic artists. His father is cartoonist, Morris Weiss.
[Oil on canvas, 36 x 48 inches]
gandalfsgalleymodern.blogspot.com/2011/06/jerry-weiss-exp...
Going for a walk in the middle of a forest somewhere, and my brother decided to take the 'better route', up a small hill, unfortunately, he got stuck. But I took his misfortune as a chance to get a mysterious silhouette shot, which I'm quite pleased with. (He managed to get the down by the way, we didn't just leave him up there..)
50/70, soft pastel
This work is a combination of symbols and colours that are linked together to bring a sense of expectation to the viewer. One of my favourite materials is soft pastel so I carefully drew the outline of the figures, trying to make them look real. The colour of the cartoon is a combination of red and brown, which gives a sense of mystery and "suspense", making the figure of the angel shining.
A westbound BNSF empty coal train accelerates west next to the small field at Washington Street where the new town hall is with a very interesting power set! The set in particular here is a duo of relatively fresh rebuilt NS AC44C6Ms with #4862 in the lead and #4812 second! This was quite the surprise hearing about this duo sitting at Western Avenue and I was eager for it to make it out onto the Racetrack in daylight! However it took almost the whole day for it to get a crew but a little bit before 4pm this guy was hauling through downtown DG in some pretty decent afternoon light!
Over the summer, NS had been sending fresh C6Ms west on the BNSF coal trains that come from Michigan and it was a neat change from all the faded units normally seen (btw yes I will always enjoy an SD70ACE or two on these trains)! Unfortunately I hadn’t been able to capture any of these fresh units headed west due to them showing up out of nowhere up until this point so it was finally nice to get one in the lead!
Now this is where things get weird about these locomotives. First off, #4862 didn’t originally work for NS back when it was first built as a Dash 9. But rather, as BNSF C44-9W #4800 built in 1998 and later sold back to GE sometime in the early 2020s (and I guess you could say this guy was “on home rails” but for now let’s just say familiar territory lol)! NS has been buying up some ex BNSF Dash 9s cast away by the big orange railroad and having them rebuilt by Wabtec/GE at Erie, PA (this truly goes to show NS has caught a rebuild fever lol)! The other unit (4812) isn’t as shiny but is still relatively new this year and while searching around for its original road number, I realized I had seen it previously as a Dash 9! The original Dash 9 in particular was NS #9637 originally built in 2001 and painted in the classic thoroughbred paint scheme! And funny enough I do have my catch of 9637 uploaded on this site (first link below) so this sure turned out to be an interesting search indeed!
And to end off here is the full history of these units summarized in a smaller fashion:
NS AC44C6M #4862 (ex BNSF/GECX C44-9W #4800)
NS AC44C6M #4812 (ex NS C44-9W #9637)
Yeah not much of a history here for these two units lol. But as I type this “essay”, the CEFX AC4400CW units acquired by NS in 2023 have been getting rebuilt by Wabtec/GE in Fort Worth, TX and are already out for delivery! These are the first units NS has rebuilt that already have AC traction motors equipped and they will also be retaining their original NS 3900 series roadnumbers!
And as “promised” here is NS #9637 (now 4812) in action back in 2023! This was an interesting catch indeed due to it leading a leased WFRX (ex BNSF) SD70MAC!
And lastly I’d also like to credit where I got all this locomotive info from so here I present “NSDash9.com” which is a railfan site dedicated to spreading news and up to date listing on the Norfolk Southern locomotive roster (now I’m starting to wonder what that site will be renamed to once all the D9s are rebuilt lol)!
Starring Abby Dalton, Susan Cabot, Brad Jackson, June Kenney, Richard Devon, Betsy Jones-Moreland, Jonathan Haze, and Gary Conway. Directed by Roger Corman.Artwork by Reynold Brown.
synopsis
By the time you've read the title, the film is half over. Anyway, the story concerns a group of proud female Nordic warriors (who look more like UCLA cheerleaders), who set out on a perilous sea journey, the better to locate their long-missing men. Halfway across the ocean, their vessel is destroyed by a deadly vortex (this special effect must be seen to be believed). The ladies are washed up on the shores of the Grimaults, a spear-wielding tribe which had previously enslaved the girls' menfolk. One attempted human sacrifice and several minor clashes later, the viking men and women try to make their escape. When the head viking (Brad Jackson) slays a rampaging monster (actually a harmless lizard, "blown up" by trick photography), he and his party are given safe passage by the grateful Grimaults. Abby Dalton is the star of Viking Women and the Sea Serpent, but only by default; when the film's original leading lady fell ill, all the other actresses were promoted to the next largest role.
The Saga of the Viking Women and Their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent (Malibu Productions/American International, 1957)
by Mark Gabrish Conlan • Copyright © 2009 by Mark Gabrish Conlan • All rights reserved
Charles and I both wanted a cinematic palate cleanser after Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, so I searched through the Mystery Science Theatre 3000 downloads and found it in Viking Women vs. the Sea Serpent — or, to use its inexplicably endless full title, The Saga of the Viking Women and Their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent. It’s a 1957 indie from Roger Corman’s Malibu Productions, released through American-International and probably timed to make it to theatres ahead of the prestigious 1958 film The Vikings, produced by and starring Kirk Douglas and also featuring Tony Curtis and Ernest Borgnine under Richard Fleischer’s direction.
Corman’s movie is also an excuse to show a lot of hot young starlets in various stages of undress, and its plot (story by Irving Block, screenplay by Lawrence L. Goldman — and yes, the MST3K crew couldn’t help but joke about the absurdity of giving two guys with such obviously Jewish names the assignment to write about ancient Scandinavians!) is pretty simple: the wives and/or girlfriends of several top Vikings are getting upset that their menfolk’s ship is well behind schedule on its return, so they decide to build a boat themselves (an absurdly flimsy-looking one) and sail off to find them. The expedition is led by blonde Desir (Abby Dalton) but only gets authorized when, after one of the weirdest-looking elections ever shown on screen (according to this movie, the Vikings voted by throwing spears at a tree; if your spear lodged in the tree that was a yes vote, if you missed — deliberately or otherwise — that was a no), raven-haired sorceress Enger (Susan Cabot, by far the best actor of either gender in this movie even though she looked so nearsighted I wondered if the character was supposed to be blind) casts, literally, the deciding vote.
The Viking women set off and find themselves trapped in a “vortex” created by the giant sea serpent (a surprisingly credible effect for a Roger Corman movie in 1957, though he wisely keeps us from seeing too much of it or seeing it too often), swimming in the sea off the shore of a country (decidedly fictitious) called Grimault and serving the Grimaultians the same purpose those deliberately misplaced lights served the Russian hunter-of-humans Zaroff in The Most Dangerous Game. Their ship (such as it is) is shipwrecked by the vortex and deposits them on the coast of Grimault, where they’re taken prisoner by the Grimaultian king Stark (Richard Devon) and his son, Prince — though the actor comes off as so nellie “Queen” would have been a better title for him — Ottar (Jonathan Haze, the marvelously fey actor who played the lead in the 1960 Little Shop of Horrors). It’s unclear just what Stark and his minions intend to do with all their captives, but it turns out all the Viking men the Viking women were supposed to be looking for are on Grimault, and most of them are still alive.
The boat carrying the Viking women actually also included one male stowaway, cute blond Vedric (Brad Jackson), and though the obvious expectation (at least for a modern audience) is that Queen Vedric and Queen Ottar are going to get the hots for each other, live happily ever after and be the true pioneers of same-sex marriage in Scandinavia, in fact Ottar finds himself attracted to Desir — especially once she kills a boar that’s menacing them (obviously “played” by a pig with two crude little plastic horns glued on either side of its snout to pass it off as a boar) — only at some point he dies (thanks to Enger’s successful invocation to the god Thor, who sends a rainstorm to put out the fires that are about to burn Vedric and another character at the stake, then aims a lightning bolt straight at Ottar’s outstretched sword, conducting current straight into his body and electrocuting him) and his dad Stark blames Desir and goes out to kill all his Viking guests, and they barely flee with their lives.
The MST3K crew joked about the film’s inevitable anachronisms — including the perfectly coiffed hair of the “Viking women,” the perfectly shaved faces of the Viking men and the apparent invention of the push-up bra by the Vikings’ fashion industry (though if you’ve seen the 1940 Hal Roach version of One Million B.C. you’ll know that, at least according to the movies, the invention of the push-up bra vastly predates the Vikings!) — and also at the fact that Corman recycled the locations he’d used in Teenage Caveman (a much better movie, actually, though there were enough off-the-wall and unintentionally risible elements in it that the MST3K people gave it “the treatment” too) — but Viking Women is actually a pretty good movie within the conventions of a low-budget swashbuckler, thanks mainly to the energy of Corman’s direction and his unwillingness, at least in a project like this, to take himself or his movie too seriously.
MST3K showed this relatively short film padded out with one of their weirdest educational shorts, The Home Economics Story, produced by Iowa State College and in washed-out-color, which featured a bunch of women college students (all played by actresses — if, to steal Dwight MacDonald’s famous line about Haya Harareet, I may use that term for courtesy — who seem to be about in their early 30’s) showing off all the cool careers a home ec major can prepare you for, from fashion designer to hospital dietitian to chef to electric appliance repairperson (I’m not making this up, you know!) to just being plain old Mrs. Somebody. None of the people involved in making this film on either side of the camera are identified — probably by their own choice!
I stood in the corner of the glass hallway and spoke about my anxieties, blaming everything on the art.
So on Friday in expectation of paying the painters I realised at last that Pandemic Wish of walking masked into a bank and demanding a significant amount of cash. Okay so from a banking perspective it was within chip-and-pin limits but even so ... The irony of removing any crash helmet, though, was not lost on me.
Pic on the left was taken in glaring sunlight. Really couldn't see what I was doing so I missed the target somewhat. Doubly annoying because I was asked to queue right by the sign. At the bank that once called the cops on me for taking a picture. Ho hum.
"I was only checking my phone, officer" :-p
When my first bus pass for college arrived, it was purple and bore the name Altonian Coaches. Not only was this the first time I'd had to travel to school or college by bus, but Altonian weren't the most local of fleets - their home town of Alton was some 15 miles away, and they appeared to have just won the contract from more local incumbent Farnham Coaches. I had no idea what Altonian ran, apart from that they'd owned a couple of ex-LT AEC Merlins a few years previously and were best known for operating superannuated Tilling Stevens coaches for years and years. This could be interesting.
So it was with some expectation that I turned up at the appointed collection point on day one. When the vehicle appeared round the corner, slightly late, I was extremely disappointed to be presented with a bog-standard Duple Dominant II-bodied Bedford YMT. Registered MTP784R and new to Sussex operator Weller of Bepton, it had a particularly poverty-spec body. We waited for the door to open, only to be gestured to give it a tug as it wasn't powered. Great. Maybe tomorrow would provide something more interesting.
Day two, MTP again. And day three. And so on. When something else did appear, it was (yawn) another Bedford, ex-Harry Shaw, Coventry Supreme NWK3P. Not much better really.
I have no shot of MTP (does anyone have one they could send me?) but here's NWK, a couple of years later at Altonian's base on the premises of lorry repairers Hampshire Commercials in Alton. Supreme IV NFP111W was a slightly later addition which I never travelled on - it retained the livery of a previous owner (I have it as coming from Thomas, West Ewell but I didn't think their livery was blue), and was later written off in an accident.
Can't stand Bedfords. Awful things.
Taken at Duxford Air Festival 2017
A couple of years ago I posted a photo of a static DH110, and my story of that aircraft. I thought it might be worth repeating .....
Nightmares are made of this!
In the years following WWII aircraft were being developed at a tremendous pace, and the public, particularly young men watched each new step with keen expectation. In the part of town where I lived model aeroplanes, in all their forms and complexities, was a major pastime. Sunday mornings would find twenty or thirty young men gathered on the local airfield (so recently the home of American B52’s) to fly their latest creations, some of which were quite large and had a range of several (usually unwanted!) miles.
About this time the Farnborough Air Show was the annual highlight, giving the public the chance to see not only new service aircraft, but also a number of early stage prototypes (the “Flying Bedstead” forerunner of the VTO planes for example).
In 1952, at the age of 10, I was allowed, not for the first time, to go with trusted neighbours on the bus to Farnborough (a journey of 130 miles).
Once at Farnborough we took our places on “the hill” a prime observation position. All was going well; part way through the afternoon was the awaited flight of the DeHaviland DH110 flown by their test pilot John Derry. After a level flight fly past in excess of the speed of sound, the plane climbed nearly out of sight, and then turned and dived towards the crowd at high speed. As can be seen from my photograph, the plane has twin jet engines, with the high level tail-plane being supported by two booms extending back from the wings.
This is my memory of the next few minutes; the two booms supporting the tail seemed to bend and fail. Within seconds both engines tore themselves from the fuselage and took on a life of their own, at the same time the rest of plane just disintegrated and fell vertically onto the runway. The two engines rushed directly towards us on the hill, one crashing into the crowd just in front of where we stood (I can still clearly recall the sight, but not the sounds, of this), the other engine passing overhead (to crash in the car park some distance away, killing two people).
Some RAF men, who happened to be near us in the crowd, pushed us to the floor.
What happened next I don’t really know, when I did get to my feet, vans and other vehicles had circled the area. My “guardians” were quick to get me away from the scene of carnage.
Later we were to understand that 27 people had been killed in the area where we had stood.
I have a vague memory of the bus trip home, but little else.
The follow up was interesting. My gabardine raincoat disappeared; dad had burn it, I later learned because it was too badly blood stained. I was told that I had been “buried” under three others, all trying to protect me, one apparently had lost his arm, but I could never confirm it.
Although, as I said earlier, I had no recollection of sounds, for the next eight or nine years I could only sleep at night with the bed clothes wrapped tightly around my fist, and clamped against my ear. This disappeared without me even realising it. In the past few months I have realised that this was a form of Post-traumatic stress disorder.
This video gives a good idea of what I have written of above, however I’m sure reactions would be quite different today www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uqnkn57Pf7M
More details can be found here en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1952_Farnborough_Airshow_DH.110_crash
Everyone loves to hate Hong Kong Disneyland. The media reviles the park and serves it up as tabloid fodder, reveling in an orgy of cruel delight with every single hiring misstep and every missed attendance goal. Local citizens, with whom my conversations have yielded much anecdotal evidence, also have voiced their displeasure, mostly over the park's size - too small - and its demographics - too many mainlanders. So it was with these pejorative impressions, this cacophony of complaints simmering in my imagination, that I passed warily through the gates of the Magic Kingdom, in cautious expectation of unfulfilled promises and inexorable bores. What I got, however, to my pleasant surprise and veritable enjoyment, was an afternoon and evening spent in the company of great friends amidst all sorts of amusements, an outing that easily summited any acclivity of entertainment previously established in my mind.
There were rides, lots of them, on which my friends and I spent much time frolicking like little children in whose hands are new toys. We actually spent more time on the rides than on the lines to board them, which surprised me, and added to the allure of the place. Every attraction, whether it was Space Mountain or Small World, whether it was the crazy tea cups or Pooh's dyslexic, whole-language reading adventure, was accessible without having to spend an inordinate amount of time waiting, and that's a good thing. We spent about one-minute in line for my favorite ride, Buzz Light Year's space voyage - a real-life first-person shooter. In general, I think can queue for ten minutes in order to go on a two-minute ride, any day, no problem.
Not only were the rides, and their queues impressive; the shows, too, were of such outstanding quality that our merry band contrived meticulously to attend them, twice even. Our friend lady B, whose initial plan we had followed to come to Disney and by whose handiwork we were granted free admittance, performed marvelously at the Golden Mickeys, a captivating drama involving physical feats of daring, risky dancing, plenty of singing and of course many of Walt's freaky, life-sized animals. From the audience, we cheered lustily for our friend and her fellow performers who went through a medley of Disney's greatest soundtracks and scenes. Other seated-performances that we attended, including the Stitch game and the 4D symphony orchestra, moreover delivered hilarity and sensory thrills. The High School Musical outdoor rally, my favorite, was an engrossing confluence of infectious beats, rhythmic dancing and filipino goodwill. Indeed, there was not a single misfire in all of the super live-action and animated spectacles we viewed. Engrossed audiences laughed, clapped and cheered wildly.
Who can forget the evening's main events, the night parade and the fireworks? So desperately did we desire prime seating that we scouted and camped our positions as though settlers rushing through a frontier, assiduously scanning and then demarcating our territory. We would not be denied a gorgeous view of the evening's entertainment. And when it came time for the performances, that the shows did touch the ethereal heights of our lofty expectations only added to ecstasy of being like a child, in awe and wonder, of the world around us. The Disney magic verily cast its spell on us, suspending our maturity for the welcomed digestion of a deep palette of colors set to slick choreography. Neither the Halloween parade (and the accompanying ghoulish, nighttime frights in Adventureland) nor the fireworks extravaganza should be missed.
Finally, as much as firsthand experience has proven its worth in debunking deplorable myths and conjectures about Hong Kong Disneyland (e.g. the park is too small; there are too many mainlanders), much of the myth-shattering and debunkment in my own received opinion came from eloquent discourse with past and present Disney cast members, from whom I learned about the pricing structure of Disney merchandise and foods - and why both seem to be presumptuously expensive - and whose words, combined with my own experience in the park, confirm the notion that Disney works hard to adjust its brand for cultural differences, though in the case of Hong Kong, the company still has much to demonstrate before a critical local audience.
Everyone loves to hate Hong Kong Disneyland. The media reviles the park and serves it up as tabloid fodder, reveling in an orgy of cruel delight with every single hiring misstep and every missed attendance goal. Local citizens, with whom my conversations have yielded much anecdotal evidence, also have voiced their displeasure, mostly over the park's size - too small - and its demographics - too many mainlanders. So it was with these pejorative impressions, this cacophony of complaints simmering in my imagination, that I passed warily through the gates of the Magic Kingdom, in cautious expectation of unfulfilled promises and inexorable bores. What I got, however, to my pleasant surprise and veritable enjoyment, was an afternoon and evening spent in the company of great friends amidst all sorts of amusements, an outing that easily summited any acclivity of entertainment previously established in my mind.
There were rides, lots of them, on which my friends and I spent much time frolicking like little children in whose hands are new toys. We actually spent more time on the rides than on the lines to board them, which surprised me, and added to the allure of the place. Every attraction, whether it was Space Mountain or Small World, whether it was the crazy tea cups or Pooh's dyslexic, whole-language reading adventure, was accessible without having to spend an inordinate amount of time waiting, and that's a good thing. We spent about one-minute in line for my favorite ride, Buzz Light Year's space voyage - a real-life first-person shooter. In general, I think can queue for ten minutes in order to go on a two-minute ride, any day, no problem.
Not only were the rides, and their queues impressive; the shows, too, were of such outstanding quality that our merry band contrived meticulously to attend them, twice even. Our friend lady B, whose initial plan we had followed to come to Disney and by whose handiwork we were granted free admittance, performed marvelously at the Golden Mickeys, a captivating drama involving physical feats of daring, risky dancing, plenty of singing and of course many of Walt's freaky, life-sized animals. From the audience, we cheered lustily for our friend and her fellow performers who went through a medley of Disney's greatest soundtracks and scenes. Other seated-performances that we attended, including the Stitch game and the 4D symphony orchestra, moreover delivered hilarity and sensory thrills. The High School Musical outdoor rally, my favorite, was an engrossing confluence of infectious beats, rhythmic dancing and filipino goodwill. Indeed, there was not a single misfire in all of the super live-action and animated spectacles we viewed. Engrossed audiences laughed, clapped and cheered wildly.
Who can forget the evening's main events, the night parade and the fireworks? So desperately did we desire prime seating that we scouted and camped our positions as though settlers rushing through a frontier, assiduously scanning and then demarcating our territory. We would not be denied a gorgeous view of the evening's entertainment. And when it came time for the performances, that the shows did touch the ethereal heights of our lofty expectations only added to ecstasy of being like a child, in awe and wonder, of the world around us. The Disney magic verily cast its spell on us, suspending our maturity for the welcomed digestion of a deep palette of colors set to slick choreography. Neither the Halloween parade (and the accompanying ghoulish, nighttime frights in Adventureland) nor the fireworks extravaganza should be missed.
Finally, as much as firsthand experience has proven its worth in debunking deplorable myths and conjectures about Hong Kong Disneyland (e.g. the park is too small; there are too many mainlanders), much of the myth-shattering and debunkment in my own received opinion came from eloquent discourse with past and present Disney cast members, from whom I learned about the pricing structure of Disney merchandise and foods - and why both seem to be presumptuously expensive - and whose words, combined with my own experience in the park, confirm the notion that Disney works hard to adjust its brand for cultural differences, though in the case of Hong Kong, the company still has much to demonstrate before a critical local audience.
Everyone loves to hate Hong Kong Disneyland. The media reviles the park and serves it up as tabloid fodder, reveling in an orgy of cruel delight with every single hiring misstep and every missed attendance goal. Local citizens, with whom my conversations have yielded much anecdotal evidence, also have voiced their displeasure, mostly over the park's size - too small - and its demographics - too many mainlanders. So it was with these pejorative impressions, this cacophony of complaints simmering in my imagination, that I passed warily through the gates of the Magic Kingdom, in cautious expectation of unfulfilled promises and inexorable bores. What I got, however, to my pleasant surprise and veritable enjoyment, was an afternoon and evening spent in the company of great friends amidst all sorts of amusements, an outing that easily summited any acclivity of entertainment previously established in my mind.
There were rides, lots of them, on which my friends and I spent much time frolicking like little children in whose hands are new toys. We actually spent more time on the rides than on the lines to board them, which surprised me, and added to the allure of the place. Every attraction, whether it was Space Mountain or Small World, whether it was the crazy tea cups or Pooh's dyslexic, whole-language reading adventure, was accessible without having to spend an inordinate amount of time waiting, and that's a good thing. We spent about one-minute in line for my favorite ride, Buzz Light Year's space voyage - a real-life first-person shooter. In general, I think can queue for ten minutes in order to go on a two-minute ride, any day, no problem.
Not only were the rides, and their queues impressive; the shows, too, were of such outstanding quality that our merry band contrived meticulously to attend them, twice even. Our friend lady B, whose initial plan we had followed to come to Disney and by whose handiwork we were granted free admittance, performed marvelously at the Golden Mickeys, a captivating drama involving physical feats of daring, risky dancing, plenty of singing and of course many of Walt's freaky, life-sized animals. From the audience, we cheered lustily for our friend and her fellow performers who went through a medley of Disney's greatest soundtracks and scenes. Other seated-performances that we attended, including the Stitch game and the 4D symphony orchestra, moreover delivered hilarity and sensory thrills. The High School Musical outdoor rally, my favorite, was an engrossing confluence of infectious beats, rhythmic dancing and filipino goodwill. Indeed, there was not a single misfire in all of the super live-action and animated spectacles we viewed. Engrossed audiences laughed, clapped and cheered wildly.
Who can forget the evening's main events, the night parade and the fireworks? So desperately did we desire prime seating that we scouted and camped our positions as though settlers rushing through a frontier, assiduously scanning and then demarcating our territory. We would not be denied a gorgeous view of the evening's entertainment. And when it came time for the performances, that the shows did touch the ethereal heights of our lofty expectations only added to ecstasy of being like a child, in awe and wonder, of the world around us. The Disney magic verily cast its spell on us, suspending our maturity for the welcomed digestion of a deep palette of colors set to slick choreography. Neither the Halloween parade (and the accompanying ghoulish, nighttime frights in Adventureland) nor the fireworks extravaganza should be missed.
Finally, as much as firsthand experience has proven its worth in debunking deplorable myths and conjectures about Hong Kong Disneyland (e.g. the park is too small; there are too many mainlanders), much of the myth-shattering and debunkment in my own received opinion came from eloquent discourse with past and present Disney cast members, from whom I learned about the pricing structure of Disney merchandise and foods - and why both seem to be presumptuously expensive - and whose words, combined with my own experience in the park, confirm the notion that Disney works hard to adjust its brand for cultural differences, though in the case of Hong Kong, the company still has much to demonstrate before a critical local audience.
VIEW MY STREAM ON BLACK www.fluidr.com/photos/manbutur .
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