Tags for this video have been changed from 'Car, Break Down, Buddy, Assistance, Tow Rope, Fail, moonlight sonata, beethoven' to 'Car, Break Down, Buddy, Assistance, Tow Rope, Fail, fur elise, beethoven' - edited by Trancecoach

Tags for this video have been changed from 'Car, Break Down, Buddy, Assistance, Tow Rope, Fail' to 'Car, Break Down, Buddy, Assistance, Tow Rope, Fail, moonlight sonata, beethoven' - edited by enoch

>> ^JiggaJonson:

>> ^zombieater:
>> ^JiggaJonson:
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Just because there are comments posted of people recounting stores of battery failure does not dispute the numbers that I cited. Granted, that's post-warranty, but that also means that the cars are older and are more prone to fail.

Also, some hybrids that are out today give lifetime warranties on their batteries! The Hyundai Sonata hybrid is one.

Ultimately, it's your choice weather to lease or buy, but I'd agree that it's a great choice either way. I made the plunge and purchased a Toyota Prius a few years ago.

My apologies if you felt slighted by the "inherently flawed" comment.

I'd say that's more an indictment of the schooling he's received than a statement of his abilities as a composer. (Symphony No. 5, to me at least, is more or less indistinguishable from some of the symphonies written by the "great" composers of the last century or so.)

Sadly, the classically harmonious qualities (including the "progression," the "building of emotion," the storytelling) that many of us appreciate in, say, Mozart or Beethoven or Chopin are no longer in vogue (and haven't been for quite some time). Contemporary composition—and the same could be said of most contemporary painting, sculpture, writing, et cetera—aims more for fragmentation, disruption, and discord. The audience isn't meant to feel harmony; we're meant to be dislodged.

This could become a pretty serious rant, I guess, but I'll hold back. I will say, though, that the brief clips of his early compositions (5:52–6:12) sounded quite pleasing to me, if a little imitative. And the part where he inverted the Beethoven sonata was pretty darn cool. (It reminded me, in a roundabout way, of the scene in Amadeus where Mozart plays the piano while lying upside down.)
>> ^TheFreak:
Try listening to Jay Greenbergs Symphony no 5. It's horrible.
It's an unorganized cacophany. One moment it sounds every bit like an action movie score then immediately it swings the other way and you'd think you were listening to the music from a 30's cartoon. There's no rhyme or reason behind any of the sounds you hear, no progression, no building of emotion, no story being told, no subtlety or purpose...just great big sloppy swipes of an oversized lyrical paintbrush.

Without giving it much thought, I'd say use a template and insert your own playlist ID.

Template:

<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/p/$PLAYLIST_ID?version=3&hl=en_GB&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/p/$PLAYLIST_ID?version=3&hl=en_GB&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="385" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>

Now, replace $PLAYLIST_ID with a proper ... playlist ID. It's all the tokens following "PL" in the YouTube URL. So in your case: 854408FFE7149199

I just tried it on this old playlist of mine and it seems to work just fine.

Edit: I might as well post the code in question right now:

<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/p/854408FFE7149199?version=3&hl=en_GB&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/p/854408FFE7149199?version=3&hl=en_GB&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="385" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>

And test it right here:



Yay, it works.

FIXED


In reply to this comment by rgroom1:
*dead

*quality

The first one, Target Iran, didn't cut it. So my first actual sift would be Wilhelm Kempff playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata -- and the quality went downhill ever since.

Thank you!

In reply to this comment by Deano:
*promote

Thanks, fellow Bartók lover!

In reply to this comment by Krupo:
And we'll *promote this.

>> ^robbersdog49:

What is it with American cars? I can routinely get 40mpg out of my VW golf without trying, and it's not a diesel. That's just normal driving around. It would help if he drove a manual.


i drove a vw golf (well a gti, but same deal in this case) for 11 years and consistently got around 22 mpg, maybe like 25-30 if it was all highway driving. this was a 1999, mk4 body style, 2.0 liter engine, automatic. so its not some "american car" thing. your car was either magical, or you're a hell of an exaggerator. or you're talking about a european version that doesn't have the restrictions on exhaust like cars sold in america.

new cars are better, some production cars are now getting rated at over 40 mpg highway without hybrid or diesel engines (hyundai sonata, and chevy cruze i believe).

and back on topic, this hyper miling stuff looks dangerous as hell. too much driving without the engine on and suddenly your power steering and power braking might go out.

Tomfoolery! We all know Jill plays Moonlight Sonata at the piano!

[formatting lost]

http://www.bettinamay.com/poem/2008/10/the-waking-galway-kinnell.html

"The Waking", Galway Kinnell

What just just happened between the lovers,
who lie now in love-sleep under the owls' calls,
call, answer, back and forth, and so on,
until one, calling faster, overtakes the other
and the two whoo together in one
shimmering harmonic -- is called "lovemaking."
Lovers who come exalted to their trysts,
who approach from opposite directions
along a path by the sea, through the pines,
meet, embrace, go up from the sea,
lie crushed into each other under
the sky half golden, half deep-blueing
the moon and stars into shining, know
they don't "make" love, but are earth-creatures
who live and -- here maybe no other word will do --
fuck one another forever if possible across the stars.
An ancient word, formed perhaps before
the sacred and profane had split apart,
when the tongue was like the flame of the heart
in the mouth, and lighted each word
as it was spoken, to remind it
to remember, as when flamingos
change feeding places on a marsh,
and there is a moment, after the first to fly
puts its head into the water in the new place
and before in the old place the last to fly
lifts out its head to see the rest have flown,
when, scattered with pink bodies, the sky
is one vast remembering. They still hear,
in sleep, the steady crushing and uncrushing
of bedsprings; they imagine a sonata in which
violins' lines draw the writhing and shiftings.
They lie with heads touching, thinking
themselves back across the blackness.
When dawn touches the bed their bodies re-form,
heaps of golden matter sieved
out of the night. The bed, caressed threadbare,
worn almost away, is now more than ever
the place where such light as humans
shine with seeps up into us. The eyelids,
which love the eyes and lie on them to sleep,
open. This is a bed. That is a fireplace.
That is last morning's breakfast tray
which nobody has yet bothered to take away.
This face, too alive with feeling to survive past
the world in which it is said, "Ni vous
san moi, ni moi san vous," so unguarded
this day might be breaking in the Middle Ages,
in the illusion fateful randomness chooses
to beam into existence, now, on this pillow.
In a ray of sun the lovers see motes cross,
mingle, collide, lose their way, in this puff
of ecstatic dust. Tears overfill their eyes,
wet their faces, drain quickly away
into their smiles. One leg hangs off the bed.
He is still inside her. His big toe
sticks into the pot of strawberry jam. "Oh migod!"
They kiss while laughing and hit teeth
and remember they are bones and laugh
naturally again. The feeling, perhaps
it is only a feeling, perhaps mostly due
to living only in the overlapping lifetimes
of dying things, that time starts up,
comes over them. They get up, put on clothes,
go out. They are not in the street yet,
however, but for a few minutes longer,
still in their elsewhere, beside a river,
with their arms around each other, in the aura
earth has when it remembers its former beauty.
An ambulance sirens a bandage-stiffened
body towards St. Vincent's. A police car
running red lights parodies
in high pitch the owls of paradise. The lovers
enter the ordinary day the ordinary world
providentially provides. Their pockets ring.
Good. For now askers and beggarmen
come up to them needing change for breakfast.

"Moonlight Sonata" always makes me feel so sad when I hear it.

Thank you, esquire!

In reply to this comment by EndAll:
*quality

Thx:), it has come out of the darkness of the pq

In reply to this comment by LadyDeath:
*promote