8/17/2023 0 Comments Michael mosley actor twitterBut who needs punctuation when you look like old Mr Baxter from Grange Hill? Vowels and consonants scrambled over one another in a race to the exit. I am an extremely nerdish person." Pridmore spoke as if he was being chased by a pack of cards armed with chainsaws. "It's not slightly nerdish," he spluttered in response to Mosley's amiable jibing. So, it was off to a brown conference hall to meet Ben Pridmore, a surprised-looking, bald man with a beard, an IQ of 159 and an ability to memorise a pack of playing cards in a few seconds. Pleasant, simple science that doesn't really tell us anything we don't already know, or at least suspect. This was science served weak with three sugars - builder's science, if you like. Not that we ever found out what CTMU was all about. Langan had also devised something called the Cognitive Theoretic Model of the Universe (CTMU), a ferociously complex paradigm he considered as vital a contribution to the pantheon of impenetrable boffindom as anything by that Einstein. He didn't know whether his intense brainery was down to discipline or just "sheer raw brilliance", he explained, while Mosley helped him shovel up a hillock of horseshit. He'd taught himself to read at the age of two, he said, stifling a yawn. Langan was standing in a field with two horses and a moustache. In Missouri, he found former bouncer Chris Langan, aka The Smartest Man in America™. To this end, he travelled to America in a pastel pink shirt, open at the neck to facilitate the ebb and flow of cerebral activity. Followed by: "Only joking! Maybe try Nurofen Cold & Flu Max?" And signed off with a heartfelt: "LOL." In the first of a three-part series, Mosley - a dimpled, affable sort - explored the nature of intelligence, and whether it was possible to boost one's IQ by doing things like memorising packs of cards and talking to men with beards. Judging by the vibe emitted by the former doctor on Make Me Smart (BBC1), the prescription would probably read: "Cuddles". One wonders what Michael Mosley would prescribe for such a condition. If they're lucky, the women of Mad Men will make it to the end of the decade without a drug addiction or a nervous breakdown.Īnticipating the inevitable ructions, trying to predict the precise moment when the awful flashes of realisation will zigzag across the Mad Men skyline, is like waiting for a fever to break. There is no liberation at the end of this rainbow. But like young, ambitious Peggy's wholly uncomfortable promotion to the boardroom ("There's a meeting? No one told me there was a meeting"), it is clear that Betty's bough will bend only so far. She also flirted awkwardly with a mechanic. While the copywriter toyed with existentialism, devouring a copy of Meditations in An Emergency, his tormented wife Betty sought to expand her sexual horizons by wearing stockings on Valentine's Day. "You live too hard," snapped the lab coat. A reluctant visit to his doctor had revealed that cigarettes, whiskey and abject moral bankruptcy may not, in fact, be conducive to a life of daffodils and bonbons. While Roger Sterling relayed his clients' demand for younger visionaries, expressionless co-partner Don Draper was examining a hairline fracture in his psyche. Set in a JFK-hued 1962, some 15 months after the first series ended, it carried with it the salty thrum of change. Last night's return to the New York advertising agency offered another languorous draw on a cigarette dipped in cyanide.
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