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The Essay
Show #106
The Great Unknown of Mismanaged Data Transference
David Gunn
According to a leading research scientist schooled in the art of laboratorical deception, the Great Unknown of Mismanaged Data Transference has its perplexing roots in, of all places, Cleveland, Ohio. GUMDaT -- for those of you who have been out of the information processing loop for the last nine months -- is the apocryphal pot at the end of the data rainbow where random streams of irretrievably wayward information collect, to await further instruction which is inherently unlikely to arrive, if indeed it ever existed. The very existence of GUMDaT, for that matter, was believed impossible until famous former baritone Alfredo Deller applied the Cleveland Integral Theorem -- which postulates with a straight face that the angles of convex polyhedron data chains are determined by sentient gamma rays with an historical interest in servomechanical cybernetic traffic -- to the bottom of a data warehouse transfer disk and, quite by accident, discovered untold piles of gummy data lumps stuck to the autonomous transportal pod. Simultaneously, Sir Angus Cleveland, no relation to the international airport of the same name but a dead ringer for the 24th US president if one rubs mineral oil in one eye and squints, admitted that his family-owned newspaper, the Cleveland Plain Dealer, was once upon a time a periodical that exclusively targeted the gaming crowd, especially those who delighted in abstruse rule manipulation and confounding card sharpening sleight-of-hand, and was originally called the Whiskers Six-draw Dealer, a name which has since entered the GUMDaT. Neither Sir Angus nor Alfredo consciously intended to add to the rapidly burgeoning Great Unknown of MisDaTrans, the present size of which is theorized to easily fill two portly Algonquin Holes, but they did, as are we even now doing. Yes, by simply reciting a string of sonants, monophthongs and alveolar phonemes into our attenuated microphones, we are stimulating the radiophonic electrons and klingons around us, causing them to posthaste visit the otic apertures of our long-suffering listening audients, transfering even more mismanaged data into their own full-to-bursting miscellaneous informational pots.

But does it trouble us? Well, yes and no. Yes, we're troubled by the massive amount of data we're obliged to assemble to prepare for this, the 106th episode of Kalvos & Damian's New Music Bazaar, this portion of which may someday be officially deemed a speed trap on the informational highway, but no, we're not troubled by the often uneven quality of the data, which is about to hit another low spot. There.

Sir Angus and Alfredo later plied their data blundering skills to the restaurant trade. Together, they opened a lunchenette called Le flambeau oriange, and became quite wealthy simply by accidentally-on-purpose overcharging their patrons, an anecdote which is surely the real low point in terms of quality in this particular stream of radiophonic data transference. So be it. And so it also be time to transfer to another stream of data, one not as easily influenced by matters of spatial intervention or orthogonal functions of Cleveland -- a data stream that could overflow its banks at any moment, so be prepared ... i.e., for the Great Unknown of Kalvos.

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