aberglaube or friggatriskaidekaphobia

The superstition and fear surrounding Friday, the 13th seems much abused, like a hypochondriac’s frenzy or made-up disorders and diseases installed for purposes of pill-pushing—or even feuding among werewolves and vampires and hybrids. While it probably is contrived and a very modern invention (with no clear evidence before the mid nineteenth century) the individual elements of Friday and the number thirteen have associations with bad luck. Friday, though certainly not universally, is shunned as a inauspicious day for beginning voyages by sailors for many other professional ventures and Jesus was crucified on a Friday. Thirteen is awkward numerologically speaking, especially as it is the perfection, completeness-motif of twelve, plus one: at the Last Supper, Judas was the thirteenth guest; in the Nordic pantheon, the mischievous Loki was the thirteenth god; there are twelve chief Olympian gods—twelve houses of the zodiac, twelve tribes of Israel and twelve legatees of Mohammed in the Shi’a tradition. Superstitions (Aberglaube), folklore in a modern currency, make for strange juxtapositions and embellished and abstracted do much to reinforce our own capricious behaviour.

rosamunde

One would assume that all cultural trappings of a place are as old as the hills, however, like Oktoberfest, Biergärten in Germany just marked their two-hundredth anniversary this year. The German brewing purity laws had already been in effect for centuries when Bavarian King Maximilian I allowed that brewers could serve beer from their cooling vats in January of 1812.

For reasons of temperance and temperature, for fermentation and the heat from boiling huge quantities of water, beer could only be manufactured from early Autumn to late Spring, between the feast days of Saint Michael and Saint George. And though this ensured superior beer and reduced the risk for fires, suppliers, hoteliers and restaurateurs risked running out of beer for the summertime. As a solution, the bigger breweries in Munich (and spreading elsewhere) constructed giant cellars along the banks of rivers for storing the cooling vats. Shade from trees and gardens planted atop these buried barrels further helped regulate the temperature. Soon, the major brewers began serving customers directly. Quickly these bootleg establishments became popular retreats, but guesthouses in town, fearing losing more customers, petitioned the King to bar these garden-parties from serving food, other than bread which evolved into the host fare that one can find at traditional Biergärten. This appeased the smaller breweries (without property fronting the river) and restaurants, but also created a rich and enduring tradition out of a work-around.

rigel 7

Later in the year, we are going to visit fabulous Las Vegas and we are very excited about the all the exotic sights to see in that desert playground. I think it is really a shame, however, that one resort experience planned for Vegas never made it beyond the sandbox. In 1992, capitalizing on the enormous popularity of the Star Trek franchise—The Next Generation and the later spin-offs of Voyager and Deep Space Nine—and wanting to revive the downtown area, the Strip with the colossal casinos and hotels was the bigger tourists’ draw, a group of investors and architects proposed creating a Star Trek theme park with a towering, full size (non-operational) model of the Enterprise housing space age accommodations—the standard complement of crew being 430, dining and entertainment, keeping true to the series. High speed elevators would shuttle guests around—perhaps between the Holodeck and a lounge on the ship’s bridge or in the engine room. I imagine that the whole experience would have been beyond surreal and possibly sort of goofy, like those classic episodes from the original series when the crew find themselves confronted with alien civilizations unduly influenced by the wild, wild West or Greek mythology or Prohibition era Chicago gangsters.  It’s too bad really that the project never was launched but it’s comforting that the series still captures the imagination, as much now as back then.

medienecho or leaves of grass

The escalating controversy surrounding the publication of Günter Grass’ poem “What Must be Said,” whose title carries the nuance in German (,,Was Gesagt werden muss”) like, well, there’s no law against saying it, is I believe important for generating dialogue and discussion, which surely was one of his intentions, but has also become a mirror reflecting an unflattering image of ourselves. The hysteria has moved beyond the character-assassination that can shipwreck reputations of anti-Semitism—either soft or direct and violent (any feelings along this continuum are equally dangerous), to divisive statements and declaring the author persona non-grata. Whatever wind is behind sentiment, such matters can be circumspect and thoughtful but ought not to be resolved by politics and forcing allegiances but rather in the same forums that they originally appeared in.

Grass suggests that Israel represents a threat to peace and regional stability in its stance against Iran and promises of swift and complete retaliation, with both players reluctant to show their cards but Western powers willing to overlook Israel’s transgressions and bad conduct. It was always manifest that Grass was referring to the policies of the government of Israel and not the people—primarily. Sadly, it seems that the maturity to address uncomfortable truths are present neither in Israel nor Germany. Criticism is not always nice or even informed but most of us are expected to suffer it without tormenting diplomacy.  I suppose it does not matter how much he tendered or neglected to weigh his words carefully, one can always over-interpret what’s lyric and forge connections that are not there. What is ultimately troublesome, however, is how instantly and vehemently a few verses can pull down judgment that’s reserved but rarely exercised, unleashed on the part of dogmatists and political-ideologues. While there is an unthinking, intuitive connection between Germany and anti-Semitism (that Grass admitted after decades of having been conscripted into the Waffen SS has little bearing, since many other fourteen year olds were likewise deputized with a flashy rank during the last days of the Third Reich and were little more than runners and lackeys for a crumbling order with no authority and no choice in the matter) or between criticism of Israel and unspeakable hatred, few bother to learn about what might be behind all this alarm and panic, and let the former cloud the latter. Maybe public engagement on this sideshow, however a dishonour to real prejudices and institutionalized hate, might make some question their gut-reactions. Likewise, Mr. Grass is no politician, whose gelded words should not invite nuance, yet anything that’s come together with skill and is worthwhile, including the author himself, can disparage vanities and denunciations in hopes that the conversation continues.