For more than a decade, I've been writing and publishing this blog under the name Midlife Cycling.
I have no plans to change. As a very wise person told me, "As long as I don't know when I'm going to die, I'm in the middle of my life!"
No, I am not in denial about getting old!
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| From Displate |
One of the risks in making a film (all right, movie: I am a snotty intellectual, what canitellya?) that relies on special effects is that those effects can very quickly appear dated and primitive. If the film doesn't have other merits--say, a compelling story, good writing, impressive cinematography or fine acting performances--then there is little reason to watch once the effects start to look clunky.
I haven't seen it in a while, but I suspect that The Muppet Movie might escape that unfortunate fate. For one thing, I think the Muppets will always be fun to watch. For another, four decades after the Muppets graced the silver screen, one effect in particular is still impressive because it's deceptively simple and doesn't rely on gadgetry:
How can we forget Kermit the Frog riding a bicycle? How did he--or, rather, Muppeteer-in-Chief Jim Henson and special effects supervisor Robbie Knott--achieve the feat?
Well, they started by making a scaled-down model of a Schwinn cruiser. Now, I don't know whether an actual frog can ride a bicycle, but I don't think a puppet can. So, for the bike-riding scene, Henson and Knott, in essence, turned Kermit into a marionette.
The full-bodied Kermit puppet was posed on the miniature bicycle, hands on the bars, feet on the pedals. Then invisible wires were attached to him, which allowed Knott to maneuver him from a crane hidden from the camera's view. For close-ups, Henson used a hand puppet of Kermit, which he operated below the camera while riding a low-rolling dolley.
Henson and Knott undoubtedly would agree with Kermit: It isn't easy bein' green!
Some years ago, I read Fooled By Randomness. Its author, Nassim Nicholas Taleb--who is credited with coining the term "black swan"-- made his money on Wall Street before embarking on an academic career. (Hmm...Is that what I should have done?) What I remember about the book now is that in it, Talib shared one of the lessons he learned as a trader: People trust to chance precisely the events they shouldn't and try to control those things that are bound by fate.
One problem, I think, is that people who work in jobs that jobs that reward caution, too often, play it safe in other areas of their lives: They are the kind of people who will order the same dish in any restaurant of any kind anywhere in the world. Conversely, some people who work in areas where risk-taking is rewarded, or at least expected, tend to take unnecessary and even dangerous chances with other things.
An example of the latter kind of person might be Boston cyclist and vlogger Lucas Brunelle. "I ride my bike the same way I trade stocks," he explained. What's more, he documents his risky rides on videos he posts to YouTube. To wit:
On 15 February, he departed from a parking lot in Allston and pedaled onto an frozen Charles River. At least, that's how the river probably looked to him. He transversed about 800 feet before falling through a crack in the ice.
Venturing onto any glazed body of water is risky. But ponds and lakes, which are usually stagnant and filled with fresh water, are more likely to develop a thick icy crust than a river, which has a current. What makes a river like the Charles even more treacherous is that while it normally contains fresh water, salty currents from Boston Harbor--an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean--wash into it. Salt water freezes at significantly lower temperatures (which is why, among the major oceans, only the Arctic and Antarctic freeze), so a river like the Charles might not develop a solid base underneath what appears to be a coat of ice.
Ever the risk-taker, Brunelle took to the ice the following week. And, he says, he plans to continue his risky rides. After all, what rewards him as a trader will make his rides rewarding, right? Just ask Nassim Nicholas Taleb.
