Analog Nation

(SPOILER WARNING: If you do not wish to know whether there are any spoilers in this post, do not read the next sentence.)

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The Scots called it Dùnrath. It lay on the northern coast of the isle, keeping watch as the cold waves broke upon its shore. No one’s quite certain where the name came from, but it is thought to derive from an ancient stone fort nearby, called a “broch.” In 1437, invaders from Clan MacKay met resistance there and had to fall back. They joined up with reinforcements and returned to crush the locals.

After that, jack shit happened until the 1950s.

By then, someone had the good sense to start spelling it Dounreay, which is closer to a language pronounceable by humans. Its geographical isolation made it the perfect place for every first world government’s favorite 1950s pet project — an experimental nuclear reactor. Thus was born the Dounreay Nuclear Power Development Establishment, which opened its doors in 1955. For almost forty years, the reactor went about the business of nuclear fission, contentedly frying up uranium as if it were scallops wrapped in bacon.

The United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority shut down the Dounreay reactor in 1994. Scots everywhere rejoiced, Scottish national pride swelled, “Braveheart” went into production. There was one tiny little problem. You’re never going to believe this, but four decades of nuclear power generation at a prototype facility had created a bit of a mess. Enough of a mess, in fact, that the demolition of the reactor was too dangerous to be done by ordinary workers. But let it never be said that the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority leaves a job undone. No sir.

So they made the only logical choice. They said, “Screw it, let’s build a huge robot to destroy the reactor.”

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• On May 11, 1071, Lord Archibald Renton first proposed the theory that humans need to breathe air. Renton, who was court physician to William the Conqueror, broke from standard medical theory of the time, which held that the purpose of breathing was to expel dark vapors from the body. Such vapors were considered a natural by-product of sinful flesh, and were basically being vented — inhaling was an afterthought. Renton’s suggestion that air actually contains something that the body requires earned him scorn among the King’s court. At the behest of his advisors, William dismissed Renton from his post, a process involving six boulders and a vat of boiling lead.

• On May 12, 1977, Led Zepplin’s John Bonham began a drum solo that lasted nearly four and a half hours. Though very few fans left the stadium, many were seen glancing at their watches towards the end, since it a weeknight and most had somewhere to be in the morning. It remains the only known drum solo to technically end the day after it started. When asked why the outburst was allowed to go on so long, Jimmy Page made it clear that one simply does not interrupt a solo by John Goddamn Bonham.

• On May 15, 1909, Cardinals pitcher Reginald “Pants” Dixon signed a deal to endorse Newmarket Chewing Tobacco. Dixon, who had never used tobacco until then, tried it for the first time before taking the mound the following day, and vomited mid-windup on the first pitch. The pitch was called a strike, but Newmarket dumped Dixon as a spokesman and went out of business within months. It was the only endorsement deal of Dixon’s career.

Let us talk for a moment about scandals and stagecraft. The DNA of the modern scandal is pretty well mapped out by this point, with the sequence of events playing out in predictable fashion. The first tip will surface and immediately spread through the news websites and 24-hour networks. Then the portals and other aggregators will pick up the scent.

You might stumble upon the news while checking your e-mail, or taking a quick peek for the score of a game. Maybe you overhear the guy two cubicles down saying, “Man, you hear about this thing with [So-and-So]?” which sends you clicking around for dirt. Details flesh out in time for the evening news.

“No comment. I can’t comment on that. I don’t have any comment at this time. I’d like nothing more than to go into the details, honestly I would, because I know that the facts will vindicate me. However, on the advice of my lawyers … ”

The blogs get a hold of it and do blogular things. Stewart and Colbert have their say. Cable’s talking heads on froth at the mouth (at the mouth if we’re lucky). The public has a few days to chew it over, while the malfeasor has sweaty conversations and calculates how long it would take to dig a tunnel from his basement to international waters. Then, at last, comes the press conference.

Our Man of the Hour puts on a well-chosen suit and stands before the firing squad. At his side, as often as not, is the wife he just got through humiliating. He reads a prepared statement. He fesses up. And he makes The Face.

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