In the romantic capital of the world, lovers fasten padlocks to the railings of the Pont des Arts bridge in Paris. The couple then toss the keys into the Seine river below, symbolizing their eternal love.
via:
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Lovers Bridge In Paris
In the romantic capital of the world, lovers fasten padlocks to the railings of the Pont des Arts bridge in Paris. The couple then toss the keys into the Seine river below, symbolizing their eternal love.
via:
For Sorrow There Is No Remedy
by Joyce Carol Oates
In his essay “The Proper Means of Regulating Sorrow,”* Dr. Johnson identifies the dreadful uniqueness of grief among the human passions. Ordinary desires, virtuous or vicious, contain within them the theoretical possibility of their satisfaction:
The miser always imagines that there is a certain sum that will fill his heart to the brim; and every ambitious man, like King Pyrrhus, has an acquisition in his thoughts that is to terminate his labours, after which he shall pass the rest of his life in ease or gaity, in repose or devotion.
But grief, or “sorrow,” is different in kind. Even with painful passions—fear, jealousy, anger—nature always suggests to us a solution, and with it an end to that oppressive feeling:
But for sorrow there is no remedy provided by nature; it is often occasioned by accidents irreparable, and dwells upon objects that have lost or changed their existence; it requires what it cannot hope, that the laws of the universe should be repealed; that the dead should return, or the past should be recalled.
Unless we have a religious belief that envisages the total resurrection of the body, we know that we shall never see the lost loved again on terrestrial terms: never see, never talk and listen to, never touch, never hold. In the quarter of a millenium since Johnson described the unparalleled pain of grief, we—we in the secularizing West, at least—have got less good at dealing with death, and therefore with its emotional consequences. Of course, at one level we know that we shall all die; but death has come to be looked upon more as a medical failure than a human norm. It increasingly happens away from the home, in hospital, and is handled by a series of outside specialists—a matter for the professionals. But afterward we, the amateurs, the grief-struck, are left to deal with it—this unique, banal thing—as best we can. And there are now fewer social forms to surround and support the grief-bearer.
Very little is handed down from one generation to the next about what it is like. We are expected to suffer it in comparative silence; being “strong” is the template; wailing and weeping a sign of “giving in to grief,” which is held to be a bad way of “dealing with it.” Of course, there is the love of family and friends to fall back on, but they may know less than we do, and their concerned phrases—”It does get better”; “Two years is what they say”; “You are looking more yourself”—are often based on uncertain authority and general hopefulness. Death sorts people out: both the grief-bearers and those around them. As the survivor’s life is forcibly recalibrated, friendships are often tested; some pass, some fail. Co-grievers may indulge in the phenomenon of competitive mourning: I loved him/her more, and with these tears of mine I prove it. As for the sorrowing relicts—widow, widower, or unwed partner—they can become morbidly sensitive, easily moved to anger by both too much intrusiveness and too much distance-keeping. They may even experience a strange competitiveness of their own: an irrational need to prove (to whom?) that their grief is the larger, the heavier, the purer (than whose?).
A friend of mine, widowed in his sixties, told me, “This is a crappy age for it to happen.” Meaning, I think, that if the catastrophe had happened in his seventies, he could have settled in and waited for death; whereas if it had happened in his fifties, he might have been able to restart his life. But every age is a crappy age for it to happen, and there is no correct answer in that game of would-you-rather. How do you compare the grief of a young parent left with small children to that of an aged person amputated from his or her partner of fifty or sixty years? There is no hierarchy to grief, except in the matter of feeling. Another friend of mine, widowed in a moment after fifty years of marriage—the knot of people by a baggage carousel in the arrivals hall turned out to be surrounding her suddenly dead husband—wrote to me: “Nature is very exact in the matter. It hurts just as much as it is worth.”
full article:
Inside Barack Obama's Top Secret Tent
The photo above is, according to the BBC, an extremely rare photo of Barack Obama inside his top secret tent. The tent is an example of a mobile secure area also known as a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, or SCIF, "designed to allow officials to have top secret discussions on the move." In fact, the BBC reports, "they are one of the safest places in the world to have a conversation."
This particular SCIF has been set up in the middle of a hotel room in Brazil—you can see the carpet pattern on the floor. Obama was on a pre-arranged trip to Brazil when airstrikes in Libya began on Saturday, and needed a secure facility from which to talk to his Secretaries of State and Defense, as well as fellow coalition leaders.
While the tent material looks like fairly standard blue tarpaulin, it is actually completely soundproof, windowless, and "made from a secret material which is designed to keep emissions in and listening devices out." The BBC quotes Phil Lago, whose company, Command Consulting Group, regularly supplies SCIFs to government agencies, who explains that a "ring of electronic waves" ensures that only signals from an encrypted satellite phone can get in and out.
Apparently, the President never travels without his SCIF, which is surprisingly portable. According to Lago, "You can usually fit them into two large foot lockers and that's most of the equipment you need."
The exact specifications of these mobile security pods are top secret, and for most of us, this photo will be the closest we ever get to a SCIF. James Bond, eat your heart out!
via:
The Right to Sue Over Wiretapping
Federal authorities have always made it difficult to bring a legal challenge against the government’s warrantless wiretapping enterprise that was set up by the Bush administration in the years after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks. Because the wiretaps were secret, no one could know for certain if they were being tapped, so the government urged judges to throw out lawsuits for lack of proof of real harm.
The new decision might lead to a significant — and far too long delayed — legal review of the statute.
The law in question, passed in 2008, amended the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act. It essentially legalized retroactively President George W. Bush’s outlaw program of wiretapping certain terror suspects without a warrant. It also immunized telephone companies that cooperated in the program.
And it permitted the government to listen to the international phone calls of Americans who are not engaged in criminal activity, and to read their e-mail messages. At great cost to the privacy of innocent people, it reduced the longstanding protections of judicial supervision over these powers.
The law was challenged by human rights, labor and news media organizations, led by the American Civil Liberties Union. They argued that their communications with clients and interview subjects outside the country would almost certainly be monitored under the law, in part because their jobs required conversations with activists and others whose work would be of interest to the government. Some are lawyers representing accused terror suspects in the United States and often need to communicate with the suspects’ family members or acquaintances outside of the country.
The government argued that the plaintiffs had to prove that they were monitored or harmed, but the Second Circuit didn’t buy that defense. The plaintiffs had every reason to believe that they were being monitored, the court said, and some even spent considerable sums to go abroad for meetings to avoid the eavesdropping.
The final outcome of this legal challenge is far from certain; the government, if it follows its pattern, is likely to cite another familiar defense that a full trial would reveal state secrets. But just by allowing this lawsuit to proceed, the Second Circuit has sent an important message: The government cannot count on simplistic legal arguments to avoid scrutiny of its program to spy on civilians. When one challenge is allowed, others will follow.
NY Times
Mitch Hedberg (1968-2005)
"You know they call corn-on-the-cob "corn-on-the-cob" right? But that's how it comes out of the ground, man. They should call that "corn." They should call every other version "corn-off-the-cob." It's not like if you cut off my arm you would call my arm "Mitch." But then reattach it and call it "Mitch-all-together!"
"I bought a doughnut and they gave me a receipt for the doughnut. I don't need a receipt for the doughnut. I'll just give you the money, and you give me the doughnut... end of transaction. We don't need to bring ink and paper into this. I just can't imagine a scenario where I would have to prove that I bought a doughnut. Some skeptical friend: "Don't even act like I didn't get that doughnut! I got the doc-u-men-tation right here... oh, wait it's at home... in the file... under 'D'... for doughnut."
"I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to, too."
"My friend asked me if I wanted a frozen banana, I said "No, but I want a regular banana later, so ... yeah".
"I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it."
"I walked into Target, but I missed. I think the entrance to Target should have people splattered all around. And, when I finally get in, the guy says, "Can I help you?" "Just practicing."
tons more here:
via:
Did file-sharing cause recording industry collapse? Economists say no
"Downward pressure on leisure expenditure is likely to continue to increase due to rising costs of living and unemployment and drastic rises in the costs of (public) services," says the report.
"Household budgets for entertainment are relatively inelastic as competition for spending on culture and entertainment increases and there are shifts in household expenditure as well," the LSE study notes.
And if file-sharing wasn't the major cause of the revenue downturn, stepping up copyright enforcement is unlikely to return the industry to those heady days.
And while it is true that many consumers have turned to illegal file sharing in bad economic times, a 2007 Journal of Political Economy study found that most downloaders would not buy that content, even if they couldn't share it.
"Downloads have an effect on sales that is statistically indistinguishable from zero," the authors flatly concluded then. "Our estimates are inconsistent with claims that file sharing is the primary reason for the decline in music sales during our study period."
more:
Rail Zeppelin
Time again for an outrageous pre-war German vehicle design. You’ve already seen the Nazi rocket plane built to nuke New York from orbit. The propeller-driven aluminum train Schienenzeppelin is miles tamer but every bit as magnificent. And unlike the Amerika Bomber, it really ran — at 140 mph in 1931!
The concept and execution of Schienenzeppelin (“Rail Zeppelin”) predated the Nazis by years. Like quantum physics, Bauhaus architecture and Marlene Dietrich, it was a product of the Weimar Republic. All the Nazis contributed was the loco’s eventual dismantling to turn its aluminum into Messerschmitts.
Conceived and built in 1930 by the German rail company Deutsche Reichsbahn, the Schienenzeppelin was a design alternative to the streamlined steam locomotives of its day. It was a slick and relatively lightweight at 20 tons, running on but two axles and powered by a 46-liter BMW V-12.
The same engine was later used to power the light bombers of the Luftwaffe. The engine sent 600 horsepower to a massive ash propeller, tilted seven degrees to produce downforce. It was one of those designs that would shock and delight even in these times, when aluminum is used not for Bauhaus trains but for high-revving V-8s and computers from the near future.
Originally good for 120 mph — on par with the fastest streamlined steam locomotives — the Schienenzeppelin topped out at a magnificent 140 mph in the summer of 1931. It was a record that stood for 23 years and was never surpassed by a gasoline-powered locomotive.
Unfortunately, the train never made it into production. Problems with propeller safety (!) and reliability kept it from attaining mass production. The prototype that set the speed record was dismantled in 1939 on the eve of World War II.
via: from here (more photos)
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
When Birds Eat Plastic
We've featured Chris Jordan's work before, but this is too compelling not to share. A little while ago, he took a trip to the North Pacific gyre to see what all the fuss was about. From the project description:
These photographs of albatross chicks were made just a few weeks ago on Midway Atoll, a tiny stretch of sand and coral near the middle of the North Pacific. The nesting babies are fed bellies-full of plastic by their parents, who soar out over the vast polluted ocean collecting what looks to them like food to bring back to their young. On this diet of human trash, every year tens of thousands of albatross chicks die on Midway from starvation, toxicity, and choking.
To document this phenomenon as faithfully as possible, not a single piece of plastic in any of these photographs was moved, placed, manipulated, arranged, or altered in any way. These images depict the actual stomach contents of baby birds in one of the world's most remote marine sanctuaries, more than 2000 miles from the nearest continent.
It almost looks like these birds exploded from all the plastic inside them. View all the images at his website.
via:
The Iconic Chord
Beatles Bible has an intense discussion* of how George Harrison (backed by Paul McCartney and John Lennon) played the iconic opening chord from 'A Hard Day's Night':
*Listen to the chord
The distinctive chord which opens A Hard Day's Night became one of the most iconic sounds in The Beatles' output. Instantly recognisable, it was the perfect beginning to the group's debut feature film.
via:
*Listen to the chord
The distinctive chord which opens A Hard Day's Night became one of the most iconic sounds in The Beatles' output. Instantly recognisable, it was the perfect beginning to the group's debut feature film.
We knew it would open both the film and the soundtrack LP, so we wanted a particularly strong and effective beginning. The strident guitar chord was the perfect launch.
~George Martin
The fingering, as played by Harrison on his 12-string Rickenbacker 360/12 guitar, was as follows:
E ----3----
B ----1----
G ----2----
D ----3----
A ----x----
E ----x----
B ----1----
G ----2----
D ----3----
A ----x----
E ----x----
The 12-string guitar was crucial to the power of the chord, giving it a richness which would otherwise have been absent. The notes were also used for the arpeggio at the end of the song.
As Harrison pointed out, his 12-string wasn't the only instrument to be heard during the chord. John Lennon also performed an Fadd9, although on a Gibson J-160 6-string acoustic guitar. Close listening reveals a cymbal and snare drum buried in the mix, and notes performed on the bass and piano. Paul McCartney added a D note, played on the 12th fret of the D string on his Hofner violin bass. This note was the equivalent of an open D string on a six-string guitar, which had a crucial effect on the overall sound of the chord. The bass note also resonated in the body of Lennon's acoustic guitar, further changing the sound. George Martin played a Steinway grand piano on A Hard Day's Night, and contributed to the opening chord. Although somewhat difficult to hear against the other instruments, it is thought that Martin played just three notes: D2, G2 and D3 (middle C is C4).* [ed. note. as compared to the intense discussion at the DC comics blog, which caused it to shut down all comments. The debate being -- who's faster, Superman or the Flash].
via:
Monday, March 21, 2011
Generation Why?
At the time, though, I felt distant from Zuckerberg and all the kids at Harvard. I still feel distant from them now, ever more so, as I increasingly opt out (by choice, by default) of the things they have embraced. We have different ideas about things. Specifically we have different ideas about what a person is, or should be. I often worry that my idea of personhood is nostalgic, irrational, inaccurate. Perhaps Generation Facebook have built their virtual mansions in good faith, in order to house the People 2.0 they genuinely are, and if I feel uncomfortable within them it is because I am stuck at Person 1.0. Then again, the more time I spend with the tail end of Generation Facebook (in the shape of my students) the more convinced I become that some of the software currently shaping their generation is unworthy of them. They are more interesting than it is. They deserve better.
In The Social Network Generation Facebook gets a movie almost worthy of them, and this fact, being so unexpected, makes the film feel more delightful than it probably, objectively, is. From the opening scene it’s clear that this is a movie about 2.0 people made by 1.0 people (Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher, forty-nine and forty-eight respectively). It’s a talkie, for goodness’ sake, with as many words per minute as His Girl Friday. A boy, Mark, and his girl, Erica, sit at a little table in a Harvard bar, zinging each other, in that relentless Sorkin style made famous by The West Wing (though at no point does either party say “Walk with me”—for this we should be grateful).
ERICA: I have to go study.
MARK: You don’t have to study.
ERICA: How do you know I don’t have to study?!
MARK: Because you go to B.U.!Simply put, he is a computer nerd, a social “autistic”: a type as recognizable to Fincher’s audience as the cynical newshound was to Howard Hawks’s. To create this Zuckerberg, Sorkin barely need brush his pen against the page. We came to the cinema expecting to meet this guy and it’s a pleasure to watch Sorkin color in what we had already confidently sketched in our minds. For sometimes the culture surmises an individual personality, collectively. Or thinks it does. Don’t we all know why nerds do what they do? To get money, which leads to popularity, which leads to girls. Sorkin, confident of his foundation myth, spins an exhilarating tale of double rejection—spurned by Erica and the Porcellian, the Finaliest of the Final Clubs, Zuckerberg begins his spite-fueled rise to the top. Cue a lot of betrayal. A lot of scenes of lawyers’ offices and miserable, character-damning depositions. (“Your best friend is suing you!”) Sorkin has swapped the military types of A Few Good Men for a different kind of all-male community in a different uniform: GAP hoodies, North Face sweats.
full article:
another perspective:
Our First Public Parks: The Forgotten History of Cemeteries
In his recently released Cemeteries, Keith Eggener, an associate professor of American art and architecture at the University of Missouri, uses more than 600 archival photos to depict the evolution of American cemeteries from small family plots into these very first "rural cemeteries" and, later, the less scenic 20th-century "memorial parks." Alongside this visual tour, Eggener offers historical context, explaining how the living have interacted with these resting places for the dead. Eggener spoke with The Atlantic about what drew him to these morbid locales, and how the design of cemeteries has reflected America's feelings about death.
How did you first become interested in cemeteries?
I always liked them as a kid. They're kind of like parks without the crowd—they're attractive places to walk around. In terms of how I became interested in them as a scholar, I found that a lot of the writing I've done has been on design landscapes that evoke or raise issues of memory, of loss, of decay. It's an interest I've had for a long time and one I've continued to feed—I always go to cemeteries when I travel.
What really fascinates me is the idea of liminality: the joining together of two very different states. You have a kind of intensification of knowledge and emotion. The Transcendentalists were fascinated by cemeteries, and I'm fascinated by the same things: the coming together of these disparate states of life and death, nature and culture. Cemeteries are the places that those kinds of meetings of the past and the future come to the fore.
How are these tensions reflected in the design of cemeteries?
Burial isn't just about celebrating the dead. It's about containing the dead—keeping them out of the realm of the living, which is why cemeteries were removed from cities. We would like to go into their world when it's convenient for us. Look at themes in popular culture, at how often the worlds of the living and dead intersect and how disastrous that often is. Think of zombie movies—havoc usually ensues.
Particularly in the great 19th-century cemeteries and as well in the 20th-century cemeteries, one of the great features is the entrance gate. Very elaborately fashioned, it marks the fact that you're leaving the mundane world behind. Another way it has played out is that American cities are gridded cities. Cemeteries operate as alternate cities—cities of the dead. They are often very complex.
Cemeteries we built for ourselves, increasingly after 1830, were places with winding roads and picturesque vistas. The idea being that you leave behind the mercantile world outside the gates and enter into the space where you can meditate, where you can come into contact with spirituality and concentrate. They were quite important spaces for recreation as well. Keep in mind, the great rural cemeteries were built at a time when there weren't public parks, or art museums, or botanical gardens in American cities. You suddenly had large pieces of ground, filled with beautiful sculptures and horticultural art. People flocked to cemeteries for picnics, for hunting and shooting and carriage racing. These places became so popular that not only were guidebooks issued to guide visitors, but also all kinds of rules were posted.
In the book, you note that cemeteries as we know them today first emerged in the 1830s, with the rural cemetery movement. As you mention, Americans had always buried their dead, but did so in churchyards, town commons, or municipal burial grounds. Why the shift to these larger cemeteries?
The old church burial grounds were beginning to be seen as inadequate, dangerous, crowded, expensive to maintain, and as carriers of disease. Thousands of burials had taken place on very small plots of ground; these places filled up. You often had burials five or six coffins deep. Sometimes the walls would break down during floods—it was actually rather horrible—coffins would break open and bodies would spill out into the street. During times of epidemics—yellow fever, cholera—cemeteries were seen as centers for the gathering of these diseases and their dissemination. At the same time, cities are becoming more crowded, real estate prices are rising. As the economy was growing, it also came to be the fact that Americans wanted to provide better amenities for their citizens. Cemeteries were seen as the last great necessity. By moving the dead out of the city center to places like Brooklyn and Cambridge, these "rural cemeteries" allowed for much larger burial grounds that also removed the dead from the immediate realm of the living.
full article:
photo: markk
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)