A former engineer (who was eventually banned from the facilities for various people problems including throwing a chair at a DJ) had made dozens of these splices where almost anything that’s an analog stereo pair goes into an electrical tape covered Y connection into some kind of 4-wire shielded cable.
Out of curiosity I unwrapped the tape from one of his splices to see what was inside.
Oh, no. No no no no no no my entire facility is wired like this no no no no NOPE FUCK AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHNOPENOPENOPEARONIWITHCHEESENONONONO
1. I was asked to see what would be needed to put my cluster’s MARTI UHF remote radios back in service.
2. I saw on Facebook that someone got a tattoo of a lineart interpretation of the fucking Loss meme.
Why. why would you do either one of those things to yourself? Using the MARTI for a remote broadcast sucks but having a shit meme tattooed on yourself is just amazingly dumb.
Tattoos are a piece of art, both ephemeral and long lasting, that one displays upon their body. The loss meme is just awful. It’ll be forgotten as all your base in a few years and yet. Well…. can you imagine trying to explain this shit in like ten years? Pictured, the original comic panel and a similar lineart interpretation of loss.
I dunno, loss.jpg will still probably be better than setting up that will-burt mast and antenna only to find you’re cockblocked by having no line of sight and a Fresnel zone situation… I doubt the plan is to use that dino-radio often.
I’m referring to a literal nightmare here, not a figurative one. I had a pretty frighteningly vivid one last night. I blame being a bit tired out after having subjected myself to transistor horror.
In this dream I had been invited to visit an engineer at a local TV station. In reality, up here in the northern Sacramento Valley, there’s pretty much just one TV station that produces the news for most of the cities north of Sac.. anyway…
I walked into the facility which was in some nondescript warehouse bay, past a row of dusty screaming servers, and into a dark, cold little control room that had unpainted drywall walls and a window looking out on the news set.
There was just one guy there. He sat in front of some kind of really REALLY dummied down console that had a few faders and buttons on it which apparently did next to nothing as they were covered in dust. A small cheap netbook computer with the power lead duct taped into the side sat in the middle of this console. The only button that did anything was an illuminated and quite worn TAKE button on the lower right corner. Above this console was some kind of weird rackmount unit with two 16:9 CRT monitors and a satellite receiver. One was on program out, one was showing the output of a waveform rasterizer somewhere which revealed the same thing that the program monitor did: the cameras which were on robotic pedestals out in the studio, which were set on auto white balance and auto iris, were shaded very very badly. No controls were present to correct this.
Nobody else was present.
The news show opened and the talent began reading from their teleprompters. The prompters were fed from who the hell knows where (the engineer didn’t even know!) and there were really messed up lower thirds and captions that appeared and disappeared pretty much whenever they felt like it – the guy was reading the show rundown on the netbook screen and calling the scenes, as he pressed the worn old take button to transition between them, but only the people on set actually ever seemed to listen. The cameras often didn’t move when they were supposed to, or pointed at the ceiling or something, and nobody was here to fix it— he’d just smash the take button again and skip the scene where they were supposed to be used.
Of course, the Sinclair group ‘must read’ propaganda piece on fake news was read by the talent. (In reality, this one local news station we have up here is a Shitclair property, but they have never read this that I’m aware of— instead they just have this weird pretentious sounding statement about accuracy.)
The weather was then run, supposedly from a local meterologist, but in reality it came from a satellite feed from who the hell knows where. A low Eb/N0 warning flashed on the receiver display and it glitched out. The engineer just hit TAKE again and the commercial break began.
I just felt this horrible sense of terror and started running. The shitty little warehouse bay suddenly became an endless maze of alternately insanely dense or empty racks of nonsense equipment and cabling. At some point I saw a display showing the transmitter readings, the VSWR was high as hell, the signal was (miraculously) in mask, but the 8VSB eye diagram showed two entire levels smashed flat and missing… I thought to myself “well, at least that means nobody is able to watch this shitty trainwreck over the air!”…
Then I was suddenly back home in my bedroom watching this shit on the television. There was a badly corrupted picture on screen as they started talking about a farmer’s market up in Shingletown. I saw one of my enormous Yaesu satellite base radios sitting on the nightstand, which was actually a useful detail later in convincing myself I dreamed all this shit.
Then I woke up, but I was stuck in that horrible state of having to convince myself that this incredibly vivid dream was NOT real.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS ANY OF THAT, BRAIN?! What’s scary is, depending on who you ask, this is the grim future of television news. It was truly horrifying at the time.
Here, enjoy these ridiculous-ass 90s game commercials.
THE SAME VOICE IS USED IN THE NEXT ONE— which made me loudly exclaim “ohhhh hell nope”.
As a palate cleanser, here’s a Gak ad. (GAK FARTS INTENSIFY.)
Unknown energy drink spilled in very unobtainable telephone hybrid control surface.
The small is like that of old Jolly Ranchers and BRIMSTONE.
Welcome to Monday Night Rehabilitation. Chances of this thing’s survival are probably about 60%. Chances of the survival of whoever spilled their drink down this and said nothing about it until it hardened into foul lacquer—-???
This morning I literally LARTed a coworker. The guy started a portable generator INSIDE the building for a few seconds. Why did he decide to do this? It’d hurt my brain to try to reason with him to understand this, so instead I whacked him firmly with a ream of printer paper for his complete and total lack of common sense.
Nobody, not even the guilty party himself, questioned my decision.
Needless to say this pissed off everyone in the building, led to people having to leave for a while, and perfumed three of the studios with eau d’ lawnmower asshole for hours.
Why?! Why would you even do this?
He thinks this was just hilarious and kept joking about it with me throughout the day. I’m reminded we have a lot more printer paper if needed. I guess he’s lucky I didn’t come out brandishing a crappy old QEI exciter or something. They’re sharp and pointy on the corners! (And even less polite to fellow users of the electromagnetic spectrum, daaang. I mean— some of them I’ve seen— they’ll transmit BEFORE the PLL is locked on the selected operating frequency.)