Ment
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From the same place.
A strange capsule of clearly extraterrestrial origin descended upon Red Square. When it was opened, inside was a box and a note: "Here are your soil samples, here are a couple of new chemical elements, here are some examples of our writing, and here are 28 different proofs of Fermat's Last Theorem produced by our 3rd graders—just PLEASE do not send us any of your scientific research crap!!! 'Phobos-Grunt' was the final warning from our side! Sincerely and hoping for your understanding, The Martian Scientists."
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- Damn it! You always argue with me! Even if I say that the Earth is round!
- It's an ellipsoid!
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That's how it goes: you give a person a compliment about their beautiful mustache—and that's it, she stops talking to you!..
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The year 2018:
- Dad, can I take 99 bucks off your card? I need to pay for a book...-
- Ah, what book?
- Well, you know. Dostoevsky. "Crime and Punishment".
- Why buy it then? We already have it.
- Really? In which file?
- What do files have to do with this? There it is, standing on the shelf...
- Ew-w-w. That's a paper book!
- Well, so what? I read it in your age.
- "In your age," "in your age"... There's no search function. How am I supposed to find quotes, do you think? There's no audio accompaniment here. No animated pictures either.
Just text, and you can't even change the font... What are you doing? Everyone at school will laugh at me! You read that kind of thing yourself.
- Well, alright. Here, take a DVD. I bought it about fifteen years ago.
- What? A DVD? How am I supposed to read this antique, do you think? Give it to the Polytechnic Museum. Why don't you offer me Dostoevsky on punch tape next!
- If you're so smart, look for it online yourself and download it for free.
- Download a book for free!?
- Well, yeah. How else? For Dostoevsky's books, copyright no longer applies due to the passage of time... It's bound to be lying around somewhere.
- Dad, what are you talking about! Maybe back in your day, at the beginning of the century, everything could be downloaded for free.
Haven't you heard that for five years now, copyrights for all books have been transferred forever to the American Book Publishers Association? Or do you want me to be thrown into prison for life as a member of Dmitry Sklyarov's sect?
- But Dostoevsky isn't American! What do American publishers have to do with this?
- Who cares about that? Dad, are you by any chance an anti-globalist?
- No, of course not! Well, son, it's just a shame to spend almost 100 dollars on a file.
Just ask your classmates for the file. They definitely have it.
And then you can give them some other file of yours later.
- Yeah! If they give me their Dostoevsky, where am I going to read it?
- What do you mean "where"? They'll have their copy at home, and you'll have yours here.
- Well, you're completely out of touch. A book can only be read from the computer it was bought on. And the polarization code will be different... Anyway, dad, give me the money!
I'll buy myself a normal book.
- Well, alright. Here is a one-time password to withdraw 99 bucks from our account. In our time, 100 dollars were big money...
- Ok. Downloaded. Thanks.
- Now, let me have a look too... Listen, son, what are these pictures?
I don't think there was anything like this in the novel...
- Well, those are banners. Without banners, the book costs 699 bucks.
The open file was dappled with flashing advertisements: "Axe Professional, 2018 - modern axes with laser sharpening"; "Beauty Salon 'At Lizanka's' - we won't let you turn into an old hag"; "Troubled by problems? 'Porfiry' Psychological Helpline"; "We provide loans and cash-outs. Low interest";
"RASKOLNIKOFF.COM - calling naughty old ladies to any point on the globe"...
- Listen, son, why can't I see the text of the novel? Do I have to wait for the banners to disappear?
- Well, it's like you fell from the Moon! You'll be waiting a hundred years. The text has to be read through polarization glasses. Without glasses, only the ads are visible!
- And why is that necessary?
- What do you mean "why"? So that no one except the person who paid can read the book!
Imagine if I bought a book and someone else could just read it over my shoulder without buying anything...
- That's some kind of nonsense. Well, what if I put on glasses too?
- Ha, you're something else! The file is configured only for my glasses. Other glasses have a different polarization code.
- Fine, let me try your glasses. I'll look at the book through them.
- How will you look? They won't recognize you by your retina. You won't see anything in them except a message saying you've put on someone else's glasses! Alright, dad, don't bother me with your nonsense! I need to read everything quickly before the license expires, otherwise I'll either have to renew the file lease or the book will destroy itself. Don't interfere, I'm reading...
3 hours later...
- Uff! Well, that's it. I've read it all!
- How do you mean "read it all"? "Crime and Punishment" in three hours?!
- Well, yeah. I would have read it even faster if there weren't ad breaks every half hour.
- I still don't believe it! Who is Svidrigailov, for example?
- Who-who?
- Ahhh, I see. Who is Luzhin? Who is Sonya Marmeladova?
- Well, you're something else! How should I know! I read the Home Edition. I only have the part about how Raskolnikov killed the old woman with an axe and then surrendered. For everyone else, you need to buy the Professional version or even the Enterprise Edition. We don't have that much money.
- My god, it's insane, where is the world heading!
- It's already headed there. You should have thought about it fifteen years ago, if not even earlier...
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The bell-ringer's son in a church school pulls the pigtails of 7 girls simultaneously.
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When meeting a bear, you must pretend to be dead. The bear will realize that he is facing a complete idiot and won't bother with him.
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On the show "The Smartest," when asked "carrot, onion, potato, Lexus—which one is the odd one out?", fifth-grader Izya answered "carrot, onion, potato."
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Want to download a ringtone or a cool theme for your mobile? Send an SMS with the words "I am a rich and terribly lazy idiot who can't be bothered to spend a couple of minutes searching the internet" to number 3535.
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If you go on the Internet while drunk, in the morning you will definitely find Yandex.bar installed.
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Found her husband's stash and put some money into it. Thought he would come forward with a confession.
But he just hid EVERYTHING again!
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RUSSIAN MENTALITY
Yesterday. My daughter is sitting, doing homework. Coloring an outline map of Australia. After struggling to draw the symbols for mineral deposits, she throws her pen in rage:
- DAMN IT! I just don't get it! There's plenty of oil all over the world, so why are they fighting over it?
There was such a thirst on her little face to understand the problem that I had to explain using an accessible example.
- Imagine: you're walking through the forest, well, with friends... and then—you want something to eat. Soup, for example. What do you need to do? Correct, find firewood for a campfire—and you need something to chop it with, start a fire—that's also not easy if you don't have a lighter, plus a pot or a saucepan—which aren't found in the forest at all. Water, meat or fish, vegetables and other necessary crap. First, collect all the components, and then deal with the process.
Right?
- Well... yes.
- A lot of hassle?
- That's true, but not completely impossible... I mean, it can be solved.
- Or you can do it more simply.
- How? - wide eyes in response.
- Find only two things. A heavy club—which is no problem in the forest—and another group of people—this is a bit harder—who have ALREADY cooked the soup. Solved the pressing problem, so to speak. Drive them away from the fire with the club and eat the soup.
My little blonde processed the information for just a few seconds. Then she thoughtfully uttered:
- And what if those... well, the ones at the fire who spent as much effort on the soup also want to eat and they HAVE THEIR OWN CLUBS?
- Figure it out!
Another minute of reflection, another scream of "damn it!" and the summary:
- MOM!!! Thank you! Now I understand all world politics!!!!
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Just took a candy, read the name on the wrapper and I'm sitting here laughing: the candies are called "FRIENDSHIP WITH PEANUTS"
My friend peanut, damn it!
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Human factor in reverse
The year 2008. We were working as a team at one of the enterprises in the Siberia region, setting up technology at a meat processing plant located in the middle of nowhere. The plant had just changed owners and we were invited to help fix problematic areas. There were many funny stories there that I will definitely tell, but later. Today I'll tell you about a unique case that I still cannot evaluate.
I'll try to explain it simply, without specifics or professional terminology.
So, the task from the plant management was to figure out and fix the operation of the defroster. At a meat plant, a defroster is a room where half-carcasses of pork and beef are thawed to the required temperature, both in the thickness of the meat and on its surface. Pipes through which steam circulates are located all along the bottom of the defroster, and there are nozzles from which steam enters the chamber. A thermometer connected to a control unit is inserted into the meat. As soon as the temperature in the thickness of the meat reaches the required level—the process stops. A very important process! If you don't thaw it completely, the trimmers will complain and freeze their hands.
And if you thaw it too much, the meat will start to heat up and consequently dry out—lose moisture from the muscles, which leads to losses.
They didn't inherit the manual for the control unit. The plant director said that everything needed to be configured, otherwise they have either icy meat or losses. He says—maybe we can't figure out the controls? I and a mechanical refrigeration engineer from our team went to inspect the problematic area. We enter, start examining the design, studying everything. An old man appears, in a greasy padded jacket, in an equally greasy ushanka, and starts watching us, very interested in what we are doing.
Old man: - Hello sons, what are you doing here, eh?
Me: - Hi grandpa, working. Don't interfere.
Old man: - But what are you doing exactly?
Me: - Grandpa, don't interfere, I told you.
We were already used to the fact that whenever you arrive at a site to work—all the workers ask everything and are curious. You can't "say hello" to every single one—you have to work.
Old man: - Well, should I go then?
Me: - Yes, go of course.
The old man left; we continued studying the control unit. We pressed buttons, saw what happened. Studied the causal link from button presses. You press a button—after some time steam starts to be supplied. Much was unclear. The old man constantly came and glanced at us and then disappeared again, as if dissolving into the carcasses hanging from the ceiling in clouds of steam and fog.
Several days passed during which we conducted experiments.
We thawed half-carcasses, estimated program parameters, wrote a user manual. We saw the old man constantly; he was always lingering nearby, helping loaders roll carcasses along the overhead track, cleaning up in the defroster.
The day came when we invited the management into the defroster, handed them a printout of the operating instructions that I had been writing in the evenings, demonstrated the thawed half-carcasses, and showed the control principles.
The plant director says: - Well done, guys! Job's done! Now explain everything to Semenych, and I'll sign the work acceptance act.
And then that same old man comes out. And he smiles very cunningly. The management hands over the printout and leaves. Semenych remains.
S: - Boys, so what exactly were you doing here?
Me: - Configuring the defroster, looking for optimal modes for the automation.
S: - Well, your automation hasn't worked for about five years now.
Me: - I don't understand you, grandpa, what are you talking about?
S: - I repeat, your automation doesn't work for shit. And it NEVER worked!
Me: - Grandpa, what's wrong with you? How does it not work? Well, everything works, what do you mean?
We defrosted more than a dozen tons here in a week.
S: - Well, until I turn the steam valve, nothing works.
Me: - Then how did all our modes work?
S: - Well, I'll linger around you, figure out what you need, and that's what I do. I see "start" was pressed—I'll open the valve a little. There's only one valve here—and everything depends on how much I open it. Then I touch the meat—and decide what it needs. I have a vice—I might indulge in a drink at lunch. That's where the mistakes come from—I might fall asleep, or fail to catch the temperature!
Me: - Why didn't you say so before?
S: - Well, neither of you wanted to listen to me, you just brushed me off! Alright, I'll go turn the valve, - said the old man and again got lost among the hanging carcasses and fog.
My colleague and I looked at each other and stared in silence.
Nothing like this had ever happened in our practice.
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Preamble. The system of children's libraries is supplied and funded, to put it mildly, poorly. Mostly enthusiasts work there—what they receive as a salary can only be called such with great difficulty. And these are all people with higher education! Moreover, this "non-salary" is increased extremely rarely, but more and more work is demanded. And if some novelty is sent, they demand its immediate use at children's "morning parties" or other events.
The story itself. This holiday season, a robot was sent to the system: it walks, it talks. As if by itself, but in reality, it's controlled by a person.
And a person was sent too—a young guy. He sits there, controls the robot, speaks, and the children get the impression that the robot is communicating with them on its own.
One boy, timing it for when no one was around, told the robot:
"Robot, you're an idiot!" and went off to play with other children. The guy controlling the robot was actually very calm, without emotion. But this hit a nerve. He directed the robot after this boy. Of course, the robot doesn't move so fast, but it caught up—and in a place that was already full of children. The robot, extending a limb toward our hero, utters: "You offended me! Why did you call me an idiot? Actually, you're the idiot yourself!"
It turned around and left.
The children were in shock—a silent scene.
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Still, Russia is invincible... Some guys I know managed to heat their stove with bricks!!)) They throw white bricks into a barrel of diesel, wait half a year for it to soak in)) A couple of bricks are enough to heat the stove for a day.)))
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USA, 1969. A talk show host invites the famous writer Penelope Ash—author of a sensational bestseller. The orchestra plays romantic music, and on stage appears... a line of gloomy men.
This story began at a party where an intoxicated journalist named McGready claimed that readers' tastes had completely deteriorated, and that any kind of reading could be "sold" to them. Once sober, he did not retract his words and decided to prove them in practice. McGready hired a group of his colleagues to write one chapter each, which he then stitched into a book. There were two conditions: write as poorly as possible, and don't hold back on the bedroom scenes.
Some chapters had to be rewritten because their quality was not sufficiently disgusting. The book Naked Came the Stranger was released with an image of a naked woman on the cover.
The "curiosity" factor and the smut worked perfectly. Written in terrible language and different styles, the book sold like hotcakes. It entered the bestseller list and earned praise from critics. They wrote that the book was "witty, written with taste, and provides an opportunity to look at the relationships between men and women in a new way." One of them compared the author to Updike. Soon even the mystifiers felt uncomfortable about the success of their "masterpiece." They confessed to the deception on live air, after which sales... grew even more. Each of the authors made a decent amount of money. They were urged to write a sequel; later, an extremely explicit film with the same title was made based on the book.
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Captain Skatinno stated the following today in an Italian court when asked why he left the sinking ship:
"I was passing by the lifeboat, our vessel tilted, I fell into it, and could not get out because it quickly headed for the shore."
Never before had Stierlitz been so close to failure.
http://news.yahoo.com/cruise-captain-says-tripped-lifeboat-couldnt-153914621--abc-news.html
PS By the way, his first mate happened to fall into the same lifeboat by complete chance.
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For most people, the word KGB evokes unpleasant associations. But my only contact with the "office" looked like this.
If you remember, in the USSR they were terribly afraid of nepotism at work, and especially in universities. So, I was applying for a job at the university. Everyone there knew everything about everyone beforehand, as they often worked together their whole lives—from graduation until retirement. But the HR person wrote in black ink in the margins of my application that "mother-in-law [name] works as a teacher (at another faculty)." And that was it—a couple more signatures were needed, but after reading this note, none of the vice-rectors could bring themselves to sign. Everyone is "intelligent," no one refuses outright. But time passes, and soon my continuous employment record will be interrupted (that was a horror story back then, with many unpleasant consequences if you didn't work for more than a month—those were the times!). The rector himself was on vacation after the entrance exams. The HR person, seeing where this was going, quietly suggested I go to some deputy-deputy, which didn't inspire any enthusiasm in me—if the vice-rectors are afraid, what is some pawn going to decide? But in the end, there was nowhere else to turn, so I went. He listened, chuckled, and kept the application. The next day they called me to come to work. They later showed me the application he had signed. Over the HR person's words, it was written—"Since when is a mother-in-law a relative?".
And a signature. As I later found out, from the KGB representative for the university.
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FACE CONTROL
Once in Tula, the local aristocratic society decided to stage Count Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy's play "The Fruits of Enlightenment" in the city theater using their own forces.
A special honorary invitation was sent to Leo Nikolaevich at Yasnaya Polyana.
Approximately an hour before the start of the performance, a medium-height, stocky old man approached the theater entrance, dressed in a dark gray cloth blouse, similar trousers and coarse boots, probably homemade.
The old man's chest was half-covered by a long gray beard; on his head sat a simple cap with a leather visor.
Leaning on a thick knotty stick, the old man opened the door and walked slowly toward the entrance to the theater's stalls.
Here he was stopped:
- Hey, old man, where do you think you're going?! - shouted one of the gatekeepers. - Today it's all gentlemen playing here, you have no business... Move along, brother, move along...
The old man began to protest, but they took him by the arms and led him out of the theater.
However, the old man proved to be of a stubborn character: he sat on a stone near the very entrance to the "temple of Melpomene" and remained there until one of the highest representatives of the local provincial administration arrived at the theater.
- Count! - exclaimed the arriving administrator. - What are you doing here?
- Sitting, - Leo Nikolaevich answered with a smile. - I wanted to see my play, but they won't let me in.
- Well, you should have said who you were.
- Exactly... A count would have been let in... But I wanted them to let in a peasant.
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My son has a huge bruise under his eye. He explains:
- Mom, today Slava tripped me, and then I threw my backpack at him, and then we fought, and I hit him in the nose, and then... - In general, the description of the feats took about 30 minutes.
- Did you at least make up afterward?
The child's eyes widen in surprise:
- Mom, what are you talking about, we weren't fighting.
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About how my sister used to pick me up from kindergarten.
Backstory. In 1988 there were no toy cars with inertia motors yet (the ones that wind up when you push the car backward). But we had a very handy DAD. From an ordinary "racer" (racing car) and an ordinary rubber band (from underwear), he made a wonder-car that drove forward on its own after being wound up. My joy knew no bounds; I loved this little car and played with it constantly, I even slept with it.
And so the story. My already "grown-up" sister (13 years old) picks me, a toddler (3 years old), up from kindergarten. The trip home is in a "Rafik" minibus (similar to today's "Gazelles") across almost half the city. The bus is completely packed; everyone is coming home from work exhausted and tired. At one of the turns, I see a toy "racer" in a shop window. And in the "tired" silence of the bus, I start screaming hysterically: "I want a Samagonka, buy me a samagonka, please buy it. BU-Y ME PLEA-SE A SA-MA-GON-KA".
Result: the whole bus is laughing and rolling on the floor, and my sister, red as a lobster, sits with her eyes cast down and quietly asks me to shut up.
P.S. Well, I really didn't know what "samagonka" (moonshine) was back then. That's just what I called the car that "runs by itself" (sama gonyaet).
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By January 27th regarding the LIVING GREAT-RUSSIAN LANGUAGE (see yesterday's post). In Soviet times, a most interesting series of books called "Soldiers of the Word" was published. From what I remember—about five collections were released. They had an equally interesting feature. Two-thirds of the collection was occupied by political chatter about the role of the Soviet journalist in Soviet party and social life. Therefore, these books were not in particularly high demand. However, those who read the book to the last page were rewarded beyond any measure set in those years by her majesty censorship. At least the final third of the book consisted simply of journalistic anecdotes.
... Did we start with "living and great-russian"? And with the lady who looked for obscene expressions in Dal's dictionary? Then let us continue with the memories of a journalist who worked as an editor of a large Soviet newspaper shortly after the revolution. True, in my retelling, I have long since lost the original source—one of the volumes of that same "Soldiers of the Word" edition, as they say. So—from his perspective.
I worked as an editor of a large St. Petersburg newspaper shortly after the revolution.
One of our proofreaders was a former teacher at Smolny, a kind of lady who was like a dandelion in God's garden. Most of all, she feared missing a typo. And the devil tempted her. In one of the issues, a typo did indeed slip through.
And not just any typo, but one that resulted in an obscene word.
Dandelion or not, she received a proper reprimand from me. But her reaction alarmed me.
- Nikolai Ivanovich (let's say), well I understand that I missed it, well, I am at fault, but why are you so upset? I really do try. Well, I made a mistake, but still, what's the big deal...
And she aloud repeated what had resulted from the typo.
I exploded.
- Do you really not understand that this is a swear word that would make horses blush?
The proofreader froze for a moment, and then quietly answered:
- Of course not. Where could I have learned such filth?
All day she walked around sad and thoughtful, and toward evening she came to me.
- Nikolai Ivanovich, please write down all such words on a piece of paper; I will learn them, and next time I will check especially carefully.
Oh, prehistoric Nikolai Ivanovich! If there were a time machine—you would have sent your proofreader for even one day into our times, whether to a public transport stop or a market, or better yet—to any educational institution. School, college, institute. Upon her return, she would have taught you some nine-story swear words yourself!
A strange capsule of clearly extraterrestrial origin descended upon Red Square. When it was opened, inside was a box and a note: "Here are your soil samples, here are a couple of new chemical elements, here are some examples of our writing, and here are 28 different proofs of Fermat's Last Theorem produced by our 3rd graders—just PLEASE do not send us any of your scientific research crap!!! 'Phobos-Grunt' was the final warning from our side! Sincerely and hoping for your understanding, The Martian Scientists."
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- Damn it! You always argue with me! Even if I say that the Earth is round!
- It's an ellipsoid!
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That's how it goes: you give a person a compliment about their beautiful mustache—and that's it, she stops talking to you!..
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The year 2018:
- Dad, can I take 99 bucks off your card? I need to pay for a book...-
- Ah, what book?
- Well, you know. Dostoevsky. "Crime and Punishment".
- Why buy it then? We already have it.
- Really? In which file?
- What do files have to do with this? There it is, standing on the shelf...
- Ew-w-w. That's a paper book!
- Well, so what? I read it in your age.
- "In your age," "in your age"... There's no search function. How am I supposed to find quotes, do you think? There's no audio accompaniment here. No animated pictures either.
Just text, and you can't even change the font... What are you doing? Everyone at school will laugh at me! You read that kind of thing yourself.
- Well, alright. Here, take a DVD. I bought it about fifteen years ago.
- What? A DVD? How am I supposed to read this antique, do you think? Give it to the Polytechnic Museum. Why don't you offer me Dostoevsky on punch tape next!
- If you're so smart, look for it online yourself and download it for free.
- Download a book for free!?
- Well, yeah. How else? For Dostoevsky's books, copyright no longer applies due to the passage of time... It's bound to be lying around somewhere.
- Dad, what are you talking about! Maybe back in your day, at the beginning of the century, everything could be downloaded for free.
Haven't you heard that for five years now, copyrights for all books have been transferred forever to the American Book Publishers Association? Or do you want me to be thrown into prison for life as a member of Dmitry Sklyarov's sect?
- But Dostoevsky isn't American! What do American publishers have to do with this?
- Who cares about that? Dad, are you by any chance an anti-globalist?
- No, of course not! Well, son, it's just a shame to spend almost 100 dollars on a file.
Just ask your classmates for the file. They definitely have it.
And then you can give them some other file of yours later.
- Yeah! If they give me their Dostoevsky, where am I going to read it?
- What do you mean "where"? They'll have their copy at home, and you'll have yours here.
- Well, you're completely out of touch. A book can only be read from the computer it was bought on. And the polarization code will be different... Anyway, dad, give me the money!
I'll buy myself a normal book.
- Well, alright. Here is a one-time password to withdraw 99 bucks from our account. In our time, 100 dollars were big money...
- Ok. Downloaded. Thanks.
- Now, let me have a look too... Listen, son, what are these pictures?
I don't think there was anything like this in the novel...
- Well, those are banners. Without banners, the book costs 699 bucks.
The open file was dappled with flashing advertisements: "Axe Professional, 2018 - modern axes with laser sharpening"; "Beauty Salon 'At Lizanka's' - we won't let you turn into an old hag"; "Troubled by problems? 'Porfiry' Psychological Helpline"; "We provide loans and cash-outs. Low interest";
"RASKOLNIKOFF.COM - calling naughty old ladies to any point on the globe"...
- Listen, son, why can't I see the text of the novel? Do I have to wait for the banners to disappear?
- Well, it's like you fell from the Moon! You'll be waiting a hundred years. The text has to be read through polarization glasses. Without glasses, only the ads are visible!
- And why is that necessary?
- What do you mean "why"? So that no one except the person who paid can read the book!
Imagine if I bought a book and someone else could just read it over my shoulder without buying anything...
- That's some kind of nonsense. Well, what if I put on glasses too?
- Ha, you're something else! The file is configured only for my glasses. Other glasses have a different polarization code.
- Fine, let me try your glasses. I'll look at the book through them.
- How will you look? They won't recognize you by your retina. You won't see anything in them except a message saying you've put on someone else's glasses! Alright, dad, don't bother me with your nonsense! I need to read everything quickly before the license expires, otherwise I'll either have to renew the file lease or the book will destroy itself. Don't interfere, I'm reading...
3 hours later...
- Uff! Well, that's it. I've read it all!
- How do you mean "read it all"? "Crime and Punishment" in three hours?!
- Well, yeah. I would have read it even faster if there weren't ad breaks every half hour.
- I still don't believe it! Who is Svidrigailov, for example?
- Who-who?
- Ahhh, I see. Who is Luzhin? Who is Sonya Marmeladova?
- Well, you're something else! How should I know! I read the Home Edition. I only have the part about how Raskolnikov killed the old woman with an axe and then surrendered. For everyone else, you need to buy the Professional version or even the Enterprise Edition. We don't have that much money.
- My god, it's insane, where is the world heading!
- It's already headed there. You should have thought about it fifteen years ago, if not even earlier...
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The bell-ringer's son in a church school pulls the pigtails of 7 girls simultaneously.
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When meeting a bear, you must pretend to be dead. The bear will realize that he is facing a complete idiot and won't bother with him.
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On the show "The Smartest," when asked "carrot, onion, potato, Lexus—which one is the odd one out?", fifth-grader Izya answered "carrot, onion, potato."
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Want to download a ringtone or a cool theme for your mobile? Send an SMS with the words "I am a rich and terribly lazy idiot who can't be bothered to spend a couple of minutes searching the internet" to number 3535.
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If you go on the Internet while drunk, in the morning you will definitely find Yandex.bar installed.
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Found her husband's stash and put some money into it. Thought he would come forward with a confession.
But he just hid EVERYTHING again!
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RUSSIAN MENTALITY
Yesterday. My daughter is sitting, doing homework. Coloring an outline map of Australia. After struggling to draw the symbols for mineral deposits, she throws her pen in rage:
- DAMN IT! I just don't get it! There's plenty of oil all over the world, so why are they fighting over it?
There was such a thirst on her little face to understand the problem that I had to explain using an accessible example.
- Imagine: you're walking through the forest, well, with friends... and then—you want something to eat. Soup, for example. What do you need to do? Correct, find firewood for a campfire—and you need something to chop it with, start a fire—that's also not easy if you don't have a lighter, plus a pot or a saucepan—which aren't found in the forest at all. Water, meat or fish, vegetables and other necessary crap. First, collect all the components, and then deal with the process.
Right?
- Well... yes.
- A lot of hassle?
- That's true, but not completely impossible... I mean, it can be solved.
- Or you can do it more simply.
- How? - wide eyes in response.
- Find only two things. A heavy club—which is no problem in the forest—and another group of people—this is a bit harder—who have ALREADY cooked the soup. Solved the pressing problem, so to speak. Drive them away from the fire with the club and eat the soup.
My little blonde processed the information for just a few seconds. Then she thoughtfully uttered:
- And what if those... well, the ones at the fire who spent as much effort on the soup also want to eat and they HAVE THEIR OWN CLUBS?
- Figure it out!
Another minute of reflection, another scream of "damn it!" and the summary:
- MOM!!! Thank you! Now I understand all world politics!!!!
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Just took a candy, read the name on the wrapper and I'm sitting here laughing: the candies are called "FRIENDSHIP WITH PEANUTS"
My friend peanut, damn it!
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Human factor in reverse
The year 2008. We were working as a team at one of the enterprises in the Siberia region, setting up technology at a meat processing plant located in the middle of nowhere. The plant had just changed owners and we were invited to help fix problematic areas. There were many funny stories there that I will definitely tell, but later. Today I'll tell you about a unique case that I still cannot evaluate.
I'll try to explain it simply, without specifics or professional terminology.
So, the task from the plant management was to figure out and fix the operation of the defroster. At a meat plant, a defroster is a room where half-carcasses of pork and beef are thawed to the required temperature, both in the thickness of the meat and on its surface. Pipes through which steam circulates are located all along the bottom of the defroster, and there are nozzles from which steam enters the chamber. A thermometer connected to a control unit is inserted into the meat. As soon as the temperature in the thickness of the meat reaches the required level—the process stops. A very important process! If you don't thaw it completely, the trimmers will complain and freeze their hands.
And if you thaw it too much, the meat will start to heat up and consequently dry out—lose moisture from the muscles, which leads to losses.
They didn't inherit the manual for the control unit. The plant director said that everything needed to be configured, otherwise they have either icy meat or losses. He says—maybe we can't figure out the controls? I and a mechanical refrigeration engineer from our team went to inspect the problematic area. We enter, start examining the design, studying everything. An old man appears, in a greasy padded jacket, in an equally greasy ushanka, and starts watching us, very interested in what we are doing.
Old man: - Hello sons, what are you doing here, eh?
Me: - Hi grandpa, working. Don't interfere.
Old man: - But what are you doing exactly?
Me: - Grandpa, don't interfere, I told you.
We were already used to the fact that whenever you arrive at a site to work—all the workers ask everything and are curious. You can't "say hello" to every single one—you have to work.
Old man: - Well, should I go then?
Me: - Yes, go of course.
The old man left; we continued studying the control unit. We pressed buttons, saw what happened. Studied the causal link from button presses. You press a button—after some time steam starts to be supplied. Much was unclear. The old man constantly came and glanced at us and then disappeared again, as if dissolving into the carcasses hanging from the ceiling in clouds of steam and fog.
Several days passed during which we conducted experiments.
We thawed half-carcasses, estimated program parameters, wrote a user manual. We saw the old man constantly; he was always lingering nearby, helping loaders roll carcasses along the overhead track, cleaning up in the defroster.
The day came when we invited the management into the defroster, handed them a printout of the operating instructions that I had been writing in the evenings, demonstrated the thawed half-carcasses, and showed the control principles.
The plant director says: - Well done, guys! Job's done! Now explain everything to Semenych, and I'll sign the work acceptance act.
And then that same old man comes out. And he smiles very cunningly. The management hands over the printout and leaves. Semenych remains.
S: - Boys, so what exactly were you doing here?
Me: - Configuring the defroster, looking for optimal modes for the automation.
S: - Well, your automation hasn't worked for about five years now.
Me: - I don't understand you, grandpa, what are you talking about?
S: - I repeat, your automation doesn't work for shit. And it NEVER worked!
Me: - Grandpa, what's wrong with you? How does it not work? Well, everything works, what do you mean?
We defrosted more than a dozen tons here in a week.
S: - Well, until I turn the steam valve, nothing works.
Me: - Then how did all our modes work?
S: - Well, I'll linger around you, figure out what you need, and that's what I do. I see "start" was pressed—I'll open the valve a little. There's only one valve here—and everything depends on how much I open it. Then I touch the meat—and decide what it needs. I have a vice—I might indulge in a drink at lunch. That's where the mistakes come from—I might fall asleep, or fail to catch the temperature!
Me: - Why didn't you say so before?
S: - Well, neither of you wanted to listen to me, you just brushed me off! Alright, I'll go turn the valve, - said the old man and again got lost among the hanging carcasses and fog.
My colleague and I looked at each other and stared in silence.
Nothing like this had ever happened in our practice.
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Preamble. The system of children's libraries is supplied and funded, to put it mildly, poorly. Mostly enthusiasts work there—what they receive as a salary can only be called such with great difficulty. And these are all people with higher education! Moreover, this "non-salary" is increased extremely rarely, but more and more work is demanded. And if some novelty is sent, they demand its immediate use at children's "morning parties" or other events.
The story itself. This holiday season, a robot was sent to the system: it walks, it talks. As if by itself, but in reality, it's controlled by a person.
And a person was sent too—a young guy. He sits there, controls the robot, speaks, and the children get the impression that the robot is communicating with them on its own.
One boy, timing it for when no one was around, told the robot:
"Robot, you're an idiot!" and went off to play with other children. The guy controlling the robot was actually very calm, without emotion. But this hit a nerve. He directed the robot after this boy. Of course, the robot doesn't move so fast, but it caught up—and in a place that was already full of children. The robot, extending a limb toward our hero, utters: "You offended me! Why did you call me an idiot? Actually, you're the idiot yourself!"
It turned around and left.
The children were in shock—a silent scene.
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Still, Russia is invincible... Some guys I know managed to heat their stove with bricks!!)) They throw white bricks into a barrel of diesel, wait half a year for it to soak in)) A couple of bricks are enough to heat the stove for a day.)))
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USA, 1969. A talk show host invites the famous writer Penelope Ash—author of a sensational bestseller. The orchestra plays romantic music, and on stage appears... a line of gloomy men.
This story began at a party where an intoxicated journalist named McGready claimed that readers' tastes had completely deteriorated, and that any kind of reading could be "sold" to them. Once sober, he did not retract his words and decided to prove them in practice. McGready hired a group of his colleagues to write one chapter each, which he then stitched into a book. There were two conditions: write as poorly as possible, and don't hold back on the bedroom scenes.
Some chapters had to be rewritten because their quality was not sufficiently disgusting. The book Naked Came the Stranger was released with an image of a naked woman on the cover.
The "curiosity" factor and the smut worked perfectly. Written in terrible language and different styles, the book sold like hotcakes. It entered the bestseller list and earned praise from critics. They wrote that the book was "witty, written with taste, and provides an opportunity to look at the relationships between men and women in a new way." One of them compared the author to Updike. Soon even the mystifiers felt uncomfortable about the success of their "masterpiece." They confessed to the deception on live air, after which sales... grew even more. Each of the authors made a decent amount of money. They were urged to write a sequel; later, an extremely explicit film with the same title was made based on the book.
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Captain Skatinno stated the following today in an Italian court when asked why he left the sinking ship:
"I was passing by the lifeboat, our vessel tilted, I fell into it, and could not get out because it quickly headed for the shore."
Never before had Stierlitz been so close to failure.
http://news.yahoo.com/cruise-captain-says-tripped-lifeboat-couldnt-153914621--abc-news.html
PS By the way, his first mate happened to fall into the same lifeboat by complete chance.
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For most people, the word KGB evokes unpleasant associations. But my only contact with the "office" looked like this.
If you remember, in the USSR they were terribly afraid of nepotism at work, and especially in universities. So, I was applying for a job at the university. Everyone there knew everything about everyone beforehand, as they often worked together their whole lives—from graduation until retirement. But the HR person wrote in black ink in the margins of my application that "mother-in-law [name] works as a teacher (at another faculty)." And that was it—a couple more signatures were needed, but after reading this note, none of the vice-rectors could bring themselves to sign. Everyone is "intelligent," no one refuses outright. But time passes, and soon my continuous employment record will be interrupted (that was a horror story back then, with many unpleasant consequences if you didn't work for more than a month—those were the times!). The rector himself was on vacation after the entrance exams. The HR person, seeing where this was going, quietly suggested I go to some deputy-deputy, which didn't inspire any enthusiasm in me—if the vice-rectors are afraid, what is some pawn going to decide? But in the end, there was nowhere else to turn, so I went. He listened, chuckled, and kept the application. The next day they called me to come to work. They later showed me the application he had signed. Over the HR person's words, it was written—"Since when is a mother-in-law a relative?".
And a signature. As I later found out, from the KGB representative for the university.
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FACE CONTROL
Once in Tula, the local aristocratic society decided to stage Count Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy's play "The Fruits of Enlightenment" in the city theater using their own forces.
A special honorary invitation was sent to Leo Nikolaevich at Yasnaya Polyana.
Approximately an hour before the start of the performance, a medium-height, stocky old man approached the theater entrance, dressed in a dark gray cloth blouse, similar trousers and coarse boots, probably homemade.
The old man's chest was half-covered by a long gray beard; on his head sat a simple cap with a leather visor.
Leaning on a thick knotty stick, the old man opened the door and walked slowly toward the entrance to the theater's stalls.
Here he was stopped:
- Hey, old man, where do you think you're going?! - shouted one of the gatekeepers. - Today it's all gentlemen playing here, you have no business... Move along, brother, move along...
The old man began to protest, but they took him by the arms and led him out of the theater.
However, the old man proved to be of a stubborn character: he sat on a stone near the very entrance to the "temple of Melpomene" and remained there until one of the highest representatives of the local provincial administration arrived at the theater.
- Count! - exclaimed the arriving administrator. - What are you doing here?
- Sitting, - Leo Nikolaevich answered with a smile. - I wanted to see my play, but they won't let me in.
- Well, you should have said who you were.
- Exactly... A count would have been let in... But I wanted them to let in a peasant.
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My son has a huge bruise under his eye. He explains:
- Mom, today Slava tripped me, and then I threw my backpack at him, and then we fought, and I hit him in the nose, and then... - In general, the description of the feats took about 30 minutes.
- Did you at least make up afterward?
The child's eyes widen in surprise:
- Mom, what are you talking about, we weren't fighting.
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About how my sister used to pick me up from kindergarten.
Backstory. In 1988 there were no toy cars with inertia motors yet (the ones that wind up when you push the car backward). But we had a very handy DAD. From an ordinary "racer" (racing car) and an ordinary rubber band (from underwear), he made a wonder-car that drove forward on its own after being wound up. My joy knew no bounds; I loved this little car and played with it constantly, I even slept with it.
And so the story. My already "grown-up" sister (13 years old) picks me, a toddler (3 years old), up from kindergarten. The trip home is in a "Rafik" minibus (similar to today's "Gazelles") across almost half the city. The bus is completely packed; everyone is coming home from work exhausted and tired. At one of the turns, I see a toy "racer" in a shop window. And in the "tired" silence of the bus, I start screaming hysterically: "I want a Samagonka, buy me a samagonka, please buy it. BU-Y ME PLEA-SE A SA-MA-GON-KA".
Result: the whole bus is laughing and rolling on the floor, and my sister, red as a lobster, sits with her eyes cast down and quietly asks me to shut up.
P.S. Well, I really didn't know what "samagonka" (moonshine) was back then. That's just what I called the car that "runs by itself" (sama gonyaet).
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By January 27th regarding the LIVING GREAT-RUSSIAN LANGUAGE (see yesterday's post). In Soviet times, a most interesting series of books called "Soldiers of the Word" was published. From what I remember—about five collections were released. They had an equally interesting feature. Two-thirds of the collection was occupied by political chatter about the role of the Soviet journalist in Soviet party and social life. Therefore, these books were not in particularly high demand. However, those who read the book to the last page were rewarded beyond any measure set in those years by her majesty censorship. At least the final third of the book consisted simply of journalistic anecdotes.
... Did we start with "living and great-russian"? And with the lady who looked for obscene expressions in Dal's dictionary? Then let us continue with the memories of a journalist who worked as an editor of a large Soviet newspaper shortly after the revolution. True, in my retelling, I have long since lost the original source—one of the volumes of that same "Soldiers of the Word" edition, as they say. So—from his perspective.
I worked as an editor of a large St. Petersburg newspaper shortly after the revolution.
One of our proofreaders was a former teacher at Smolny, a kind of lady who was like a dandelion in God's garden. Most of all, she feared missing a typo. And the devil tempted her. In one of the issues, a typo did indeed slip through.
And not just any typo, but one that resulted in an obscene word.
Dandelion or not, she received a proper reprimand from me. But her reaction alarmed me.
- Nikolai Ivanovich (let's say), well I understand that I missed it, well, I am at fault, but why are you so upset? I really do try. Well, I made a mistake, but still, what's the big deal...
And she aloud repeated what had resulted from the typo.
I exploded.
- Do you really not understand that this is a swear word that would make horses blush?
The proofreader froze for a moment, and then quietly answered:
- Of course not. Where could I have learned such filth?
All day she walked around sad and thoughtful, and toward evening she came to me.
- Nikolai Ivanovich, please write down all such words on a piece of paper; I will learn them, and next time I will check especially carefully.
Oh, prehistoric Nikolai Ivanovich! If there were a time machine—you would have sent your proofreader for even one day into our times, whether to a public transport stop or a market, or better yet—to any educational institution. School, college, institute. Upon her return, she would have taught you some nine-story swear words yourself!