A young Robin Williams once managed to leave Frank Sinatra completely caught off guard. Before becoming one of the world’s most recognizable comedians, Williams was still a rising performer, already developing the lightning-fast improvisational style that would define his career. During an appearance on Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In in the late 1970s, Williams crossed paths with Sinatra, who was already an entertainment legend. Williams reportedly turned their brief interaction into an unpredictable comedic moment, catching Sinatra by surprise with his spontaneous humor. Not long afterward, Williams became a household name as Mork on Mork & Mindy before building an incredible film career with Good Morning, Vietnam, Mrs. Doubtfire, Aladdin, and his Oscar-winning performance in Good Will Hunting. Looking back at those early appearances, the world may not have fully discovered Robin Williams yet—but his unmistakable comedic energy was already there.

Nu checked the entry paths across five of Dr4v3n's contacts. No repeated node sequences, no repeated timing intervals. The variation was too consistent for randomness and too perfect for improvisation. The pattern was deliberate. @FinalbosuX

Breaking: Strategy and a brief class on what it means for today’s global strategic environment. The main reason I offer this short missive below is because in government versus our military, there is a tendency not to consider strategy when it comes to the application of physical force to achieve political ends. We tend to just execute without a clearly defined set of political outcomes. This occurs regardless of which political party is in control of our government. It is well worth considering this definition as a means to an end, especially with the current global environment that America faces. Without that “finger tip feel” of the operational environment, America faces an uncertain outcome in many of our current global engagements. So what exactly is Strategy? Strategy is a system of makeshifts, improvisations, or ad hoc adjustments. It is more than a science, it is the application of science to practical affairs; it is carrying through an originally conceived plan under a constantly shifting set of circumstances. It is the ability to adjust with foresight and resource awareness given a rapidly changing environment. Strategy is also the application of common sense in the work of leading to feasible, acceptable, and suitable outcomes. Strategy’s teachings hardly go beyond the first requirement of common sense (something I personally value in leaders); in fact, its value lies entirely in the concrete application of common sense. It is a matter of understanding correctly at every moment a constantly changing situation, and then doing the simplest and most natural thing with energy and determination. This is what makes war an art, an art that is served by many sciences. Like every art, war cannot be learned rationally, but only by experience. In war, as in art, there can be no set standards nor can a code of set rules take the place of brains. When a leader or nation lacks strategy, subordinate organizations can quickly slip into reactive chaos. Without a clear long-term destination, work turns into a series of random fire drills. What Happens Without a Strategy? Without covering the details I’ll describe categories of actions that affect the application of proper strategy: 1. Constantly Shifting Priorities. 2. Appearance of a Fire-Drill Culture. 3. Burnout and Turnover (ie., Exhaustion). 4. Decision Bottlenecks (in other words, an upward flow of decision making because no one knows what the leader wants to achieve). 5. Tactical Tunnel Vision (not seeing the forest through the trees). So what? Leaders must reflect on the stated goals and objectives and intended end state (and do so constantly). A flexible and creative mind is required at the most senior levels simply due to the changing nature of warfare. This is one of the highest priorities of leaders engaged in warfare (political leaders and otherwise). Like it or not, America faces serious adversaries and many uncertainties and we must constantly adjust our nation’s security strategy based on the circumstances of the ever changing global security environment. Given the speed of information, advancements in technologies, and innovative applications of both the art and science of warfare, our leaders must be highly adaptive and creative, because adversaries now and in the future most certainly will be. And never, ever forget, the enemy has a vote and they will exercise it, constantly. God Bless America 🙏🏼🇺🇸

Mark Wahlberg couldn’t hold it together when Will Ferrell unexpectedly pulled out a camera in front of a furious Samuel L. Jackson. Mark Wahlberg completely broke character when Will Ferrell unexpectedly pulled out a camera while Samuel L. Jackson was already fired up. The surprise caught everyone off guard, instantly turning a tense scene into hilarious behind-the-scenes chaos. It’s the kind of moment that shows why Ferrell’s improvisation is so entertaining. Between his unpredictable timing, Jackson’s intense energy, and Wahlberg struggling to keep a straight face, the whole exchange felt completely spontaneous. Sometimes the funniest moments on a movie set happen when the actors stop following the script and simply react to each other.

Special Features and 🇬🇧 PRE-ORDER FOR THE UPCOMING 4K UHD of Mrs. Doubtfire 🇬🇧 PRE-ORDER: BONUS FEATURES: CUTTING ROOM: Deleted, Exended and Alternate Scenes • PRODUCTION OFFICE: From Man to Mrs. -The Evolution of Mrs. Doubtfire; Aging Gracefully A Look Back of Mrs, Doubtfire; Behind-the-Scenes Photo Gallery • ANIMATION STUDIO: A Conversation with Legendary Animator Chuck Jones; Original Pencil Test; Final Animation Sequence MAKEUP DEPARTMENT: Makeup Application; Photo Gallery and Tests •STAGE A: The Improvisation of Mrs. Doubtfire • PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT: Original 1993 Featurette; Theatrical Trailers; Publicity Stills #RobinWilliams# #Disney# #physicalmedia# #Bluray# #cinema# #Horror# #Movie# #Movies# #HorrorCommunity# #FilmCommunity# #4KBluray# #4KUltraHD# #physicalmedia# #FilmstaGram# #physicalmediaforever# #bluraycollector# #bluraycollection# #Horror# #HorrorMovie# #HorrorMovies# #Film# #Cinema# #CinemaLovers# #FilmTwitter# #Cinephile# #MovieBuff# #NowWatching#

Nineteen humanoid robots waltzed with human partners in Shanghai this week. The interesting problem isn't the dancing. It's the partner. 🤖 Choreography alone is solvable, a robot executing a fixed sequence on a flat stage is a well-understood control problem. But adding a human changes the category. A partner applies unpredictable forces through the arms and torso, arrives fractionally early or late & shifts weight in ways no script anticipates. To the robot, that's a continuous stream of disturbances it has to reject while staying upright, in sync with music & in position on a crowded stage. Balance under unmodelled contact is the same problem that stops humanoids working in warehouses and homes. Objects shift, floors slip, people bump into things. A stage with a human partner is a rare public test of exactly that. The hardware: Unitree H2, 180 cm, roughly 70 kg, 31 degrees of freedom, leg joints rated to 360 newton-metres, onboard compute scaling to 2,070 TOPS on Nvidia's Jetson AGX Thor. The eyes are cameras. Unitree says the routines ran autonomously in real time. That means no teleoperation & no remote correction, not improvisation. The choreography was learned in advance; what's live is the balance & synchronization. Nineteen machines holding that simultaneously, in front of an audience, with no single failure visible, is the real measurement worth noting here. 📐

RUSH LIMBAUGH: THE SHY COMMUNICATOR WHO CHANGED RADIO “Sometimes the loudest voice in the room belongs to someone who once struggled to be heard.” By The Daily Dispatch Before there were millions of listeners, before the national recognition, before the familiar voice became part of America's daily routine, there was a boy in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, who wanted to be a radio announcer. Not a politician. Not a national celebrity. Not a man who would one day influence an entire industry. An announcer. His name was Rush Hudson Limbaugh III, although growing up, people called him Rusty. And the boy who would eventually become one of the most recognizable voices in American broadcasting was, by biographical accounts, rather shy. There is something wonderfully human about that contradiction. We tend to imagine successful communicators as people who were always comfortable commanding attention. We picture the confident child, the natural performer, the youngster who never hesitated to stand before a classroom or entertain a gathering of friends. But life doesn't always work that way. Sometimes the child who struggles to find his place among others discovers an extraordinary ability to reach people through a different kind of communication. And sometimes that discovery changes everything. Rush grew up in a respected Missouri family with a strong tradition of law and public service. His father was an attorney, his grandfather a prominent lawyer, and the expectation that another generation might enter the legal profession was hardly unreasonable. But young Rusty had other ideas. He was fascinated by radio. Not merely the music, although he loved that too. He was captivated by the personalities coming through the speakers, the announcers who could turn an ordinary morning into something entertaining, and the remarkable ability of a human voice to reach people miles away. While other children imagined themselves hitting home runs for the St. Louis Cardinals, Rusty practiced announcing the games. He would turn down the television volume and provide his own play-by-play commentary, imitating the excitement and delivery of professional broadcasters. He practiced his radio voice. He experimented with his timing. He learned how words could create excitement even when the listener couldn't see the person speaking. He even used a small transmitter to broadcast homemade radio programs around the family house. Imagine that for a moment. A boy sitting in his home, pretending to address an audience that didn't yet exist, developing skills that would eventually allow him to communicate with millions. There were no national ratings, no advertising contracts, no famous guests, and no applause. Just a child, a microphone, and an imagination. Years later, Rush would explain something revealing about his attraction to broadcasting. He acknowledged that one of the reasons radio appealed to him was the possibility of becoming popular. He wanted people to notice him. He wanted to be liked. Those are ordinary human desires, particularly for a young person finding his way in the world. And perhaps that is what makes his story so relatable. The future broadcasting giant wasn't born with a nationwide audience waiting for him. He was a youngster with a fascination, a dream, and the same desire for acceptance that countless other children experience. He also remembered listening to morning radio personalities who seemed to be enjoying themselves while he faced another day at school. To young Rush, those announcers appeared to have discovered something wonderful. They were having fun, earning a living, and doing something they loved. He wanted that life. At sixteen, he began working at a local radio station, KGMO, in Cape Girardeau. It was a beginning, but hardly the beginning of an uninterrupted rise to fame. He worked under the name Rusty Sharpe and later used the name Jeff Christie. He moved between stations and markets, trying to establish himself in an industry that was not always impressed by his abilities. There were disappointments. There were firings. There were people who believed he simply wasn't suited for a successful broadcasting career. Imagine being told repeatedly that the very thing you loved most was something you weren't particularly good at. For many people, that would have been enough. Rush kept trying. But persistence does not mean that disappointment never takes its toll. By 1979, after years of struggling to establish a lasting career in radio, Limbaugh stepped away from broadcasting. He went to work for the Kansas City Royals baseball organization, eventually holding responsibilities involving group sales, promotions, and special events. It was a respectable position with a major professional sports franchise. And it was also a significant departure from the childhood dream he had pursued for so long. There is an important chapter of his life in those years that deserves more attention than it usually receives. The man who would eventually become famous for communicating with millions was now working in an environment where communication involved personal relationships, business negotiations, promotional activities, and dealing directly with people. He was no longer simply a voice behind a microphone. He was learning another side of communication. We cannot know precisely how those experiences changed him internally. But they broadened his professional experience, exposed him to the business side of broadcasting and entertainment, and gave him a perspective he had not acquired while working exclusively in radio studios. And still, something was missing. He had stepped away from radio, but radio had never really stepped away from him. By 1983, he returned to broadcasting in Kansas City. This time, however, the direction was different. Instead of concentrating on playing records and introducing songs, he began moving toward the spoken commentary that would eventually define his career. In 1984, he took a position at KFBK in Sacramento, California. There, the elements he had spent years developing began to come together. The timing. The humor. The improvisation. The ability to hold an audience's attention without depending on a script. He wasn't merely announcing anymore. He was communicating. And people were listening. In 1988, his program entered national syndication. What followed would reshape the American radio landscape. Rush brought the energy and production techniques of music radio into long-form talk programming. He used humor, distinctive phrases, dramatic pauses, musical introductions, and a conversational delivery that made listeners feel they were participating in something rather than simply hearing a lecture. He understood something fundamental about radio. The audience might number in the millions, but each listener was usually hearing one voice through one speaker. In a car. At work. In a kitchen. At home. Radio was mass communication experienced as a remarkably personal conversation. And Rush knew how to use that intimacy. His program eventually reached hundreds of stations, and his success helped demonstrate that nationally syndicated talk programming could become one of the most powerful formats in American broadcasting. The shy boy from Missouri had become a broadcasting institution. But perhaps the most remarkable part of the story is not the size of the audience. It is the distance between the beginning and the destination. We often make the mistake of looking at successful people and assuming their eventual confidence was always present. We see the finished product. We don't see the years of practice. We don't see the rejected applications, the disappointing conversations, the unsuccessful attempts, or the moments when someone seriously considers abandoning a dream. And we sometimes confuse shyness with an inability to communicate. They are not the same thing. A person can be reserved in ordinary social situations yet become remarkably effective when speaking about something that matters deeply to them. A student who dreads delivering a classroom presentation might someday address a crowd without hesitation because the circumstances, responsibility, and purpose are entirely different. Confidence can grow through experience. It can develop in particular environments. And it doesn't necessarily erase every quiet or reserved part of a person's personality. Rush himself eventually became an accomplished public speaker, appearing before large audiences with the confidence and improvisational ability for which he was famous. But the boy who practiced announcing baseball games in Missouri came first. That boy matters. Because without his fascination with radio, without the hours spent experimenting with his voice, and without his willingness to keep trying after professional disappointments, the broadcaster America eventually came to know might never have existed. There is a temptation to define famous people entirely by their public reputations. Rush Limbaugh certainly had a public reputation. People formed strong opinions about him, and his influence extended well beyond the radio industry. But those debates are not the subject of this story. This story belongs to Rusty. The young boy who wanted to be an announcer. The teenager who found his way into a radio station. The young man who heard that he might never succeed. The employee who spent several years working in professional baseball. And the broadcaster who returned to the microphone and ultimately changed the medium he had loved since childhood. Rush died on February 17, 2021, at the age of seventy. By then, the boy who once practiced speaking to an imaginary audience had spent decades addressing a very real one. His voice had become instantly recognizable to millions. His program had influenced generations of broadcasters. And his career had demonstrated that one person's distinctive way of communicating could transform an entire industry. Yet the image that stays with me is not the famous broadcaster sitting before a professional microphone. It is the little boy turning down the television volume so he could announce a baseball game himself. He had no way of knowing what the future held. He simply loved what he was doing. And perhaps that is the lesson worth remembering. Not everyone discovers their abilities in a classroom. Not everyone develops confidence at the same age. Not everyone finds success on the first attempt, or the fifth, or even the tenth. Sometimes the talent is there long before the world recognizes it. Sometimes a dream survives years of disappointment. And sometimes the person who seems least likely to command an audience eventually discovers a way to reach millions. Rush Limbaugh changed radio. But long before he changed radio, radio had already changed the life of a shy little boy named Rusty. And somewhere today, another quiet child may be practicing a dream that nobody else quite understands. Perhaps we ought to listen. Because we never really know whose voice the world might hear next. The Daily Dispatch

Hallucinator's Landlocked is named Best New Reissue 🏆 Expanding dub techno’s spare grid toward rave and industrial, the UK trio’s newly reissued 1999 compilation summons roiling synth, excoriating feedback, and percussion that feels almost improvisatory

Robin Summeretto of #HonkaiStarRail# is making a splash!🌊✨ She is an idol, an inspiration, and an ideal, but her true song might require a little improvision!🎤🎶 See #fanart# featuring Robin on #pixivision# today!👇