Nothing will probably ever beat TIMBER BRIDGE INSPECTION (reprinted below for newbies) as the gold standard for boredom, but twenty minutes of UK tractor talk comes close.
It's hard to see what this thing did, other than revolve around the fake Earth. Swing up and down, maybe? I assume there was a counterbalancing capsule on the other end of the boom.
Plus, 300 riders per hour? Three in each capsule, as shown. Six total per "ride." That's fifty rides per hour, given filling and emptying the capsules. One minute swinging around at the end of a boom?
Filmmaker Anders Weberg plans on releasing his great masterpiece Ambiancé in 2020. It'll clock in at 720 hours long (30 days). But to whet everyone's appetite, he released a trailer in 2014 that's a mere 7 hours and 20 minutes long.
In our untiring quest to find the most boring material ever filmed or written, which began with "Timber Bridge Inspection," reposted below, we bring you the entire contents of a scintillating pamphlet.
Eccentric composer Erik Satie wrote "Vexations," a four-line piece of music, around 1893, though that date is a guess because it remained undiscovered until his death in 1925. It was an unexceptional piece of music (by design), except for the instructions he attached that seemed to indicate that it should be played "840 times in succession" by a pianist who should "prepare oneself beforehand, in the deepest silence, by serious immobilities." It's not clear why he chose the number 840.
It was first performed in September 1963 at the Pocket Theater in Manhattan. Composer John Cage arranged for a relay team of 10 pianists to play the entire thing, 840 times. The entire performance lasted 18 hours and 40 minutes.
There was a $5 admission fee for audience members, but you got 5 cents back for every 20 minutes you listened to it. Joel Meltz sat through the whole thing, so ended up getting a refund of $2.80.
It's subsequently been performed a number of times and is, of course, available on YouTube. Check out the video below of the guy who plays the entire thing, alone, in under 10 hours.
In 1927, William S. Dutton, a writer for American magazine, decided to locate America's most average man. The requirements were that whoever it was had to be:
A native-born American, of average age, average size, average education and average viewpoint. He had to own an average home on an average street, drive an average automobile and be head of a family of four, which is the average used by the census bureau. He had to be engaged in an average one-man business, be neither a leader nor a laggard in public affairs, neither prominent nor obscure, popular or unpopular.
To conduct his search, Dutton used the census report, a map, and a weather chart to select America's most average city, which he decided was Fort Madison, Iowa. Then he conducted a survey of Fort Madison's residents to determine who the most average man living there was.
He finally settled on Roy L. Gray, owner of a clothing store. Gray was 43 years old, married, and had two children.
Dutton knocked on Gray's door and informed him that he was the most average man in America. Gray seemed to take the news in stride. He agreed to an interview, and then was whisked off to Chicago where he was given the VIP treatment, which included getting to meet the mayor. Then he returned to his average life, and as far as I can tell never made the news again.
He should have tried to hook up with Miss Typical.
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.