mitbringsel

I was nearly late to work—although on time is, I suppose, what it’s called, not that anyone else is generally there to notice—because I spied this usual bumper-sticker on an out-of-town pick-up truck parked in a neighbourhood I passed through the day before and I went back to see if it was still parked in the same space.

I found the truck again after realized that I recognized that flag and knew what it stood for: the banner of the Sámi peoples who live in the northern reaches of the Scandinavian countries above the Arctic Circle. They are not limited to Ultima Thule, however, and have a very vibrant culture—Renée Zellweger, for instance, has Sámi ancestry on her mother’s side, and possibly the individual with the truck here. Sometimes one hears the term Lappland but that’s highly antiquated and probably means patches from their traditional clothing style. We did not venture that far north in Norway to reach Sápmi but I had researched a little bit about the land and the indigenous tribe. The flag is not one of a separatist movement but rather a symbol for tribal unity, a shared heritage and a call for self-determination. I was happy that such a souvenir made its way back to far away Bavaria and Lower Franconia.

slide rule

The idea of pairing wines with certain dishes was only elevated to an art practiced by sommeliers in very recent times. The institution of wine at meal times was a given, traditionally, and naturally complimented whatever regional fare was eaten, since generally only locally produced wine was available. The matching grew out of traditional cuisine as choices expanded with trade.

And while not an exact science and one’s own palette trumps any guide, it is interesting to think on the pairings and contrasting notes of introducing new food and drink to the table, not to mention classic varieties grown in new environments. That particular old world wine above is called forgotten hill, I think, but probably in the sense of reserved for a special harvest and not a mysterious and foreboding vineyard. I liked a simple guide that was put near the wine rack in our company store and made an adapted reference from a few sources and our own experiences (mine being a limited not eating meat, but it is funny to notice how in the field and in the mud, the animal is an old Germanic-sounding cow or swine but on the dinner plate, it is a fancy francophone beef or pork), though nothing ever comes out terribly, like toothpaste and orange juice, and it’s an unpursued challenge to find a taste that really clashes.  This periodic table of wines is tee-tiny and compact but you can click to enlarge.  Additionally, it is by no means complete, but maybe some clever viniculturists can fill in the gaps.

polity

Only overshadowed by the awful graces of the conflagration over a smear video, stoked by other arsonists and fire-bugs, the uncensored and complete disdain that the appointed charismatic leader of the American duality holds for not only a full half of his fellow citizens but also for most of the rest of creation should come as no surprise—regardless how careless and candid one’s words can be among like-minds. It is tragic that such gaffes are usually cycled away, forgiven or forgotten, and press and public have stopped considering or stopped caring that this candidate’s (and generations of avatars) have already staked out his position, hectoring, divisive, and with hubris that never had a place on the world-stage. Ostracizing and dismissive words, like relegating struggling peoples to the domain of free-loaders, social-parasites or irreconcilable adversaries, is more a judgment on those who would declare hopelessness on the basis of otherness but does severely prejudice the chance for dialogue and cooperation. This outreach is necessary, despite what one faction may believe.

Sadly, it is probably true that no opinions were suaded any differently and most people’s minds are already set in this debate—even that small but deciding percentage of uncommitted voters that all these promises and money hope to court, but despite any amount of expatriation, bellicose rumblings and gentrification, the leader of the United States does not get to preside only over his half of the populace, plus that pandered middle.  Surely there are some people that are accomplished at working this system or generations that have been inculcated into the programmes of state-support but it is a grossly unfair and alienating characterization to say alleged, assumed support for the status quo can’t be bothered with and future generations are doomed to the same cycles of bleak prospects and disenfranchisement. Besides, the whole premise is more than a bit disingenuous since the serfdom of the US taxpayer tends towards just enough and no more than what’s necessary to support business-welfare, so corporate-persons also do not have to pay income-tax, and the half taken for granted as sure to vote in his favour also comprise the majority of recipients of that maligned government assistance. The hate and uproar is not a distraction but can be capitalized upon as such by skilled crafters for competing notice and attention, held just at arm’s length until defused.

music week: plainsong or bimmeln

The nearly viral nature of communications—especially found in the musical jingles, incidental, errant and intentional peeps and beeps and tones that seem to occupy that real estate between recognition and interpretation, has always been a fascinating subject for me that I think becomes more of a study once one reflects on the auditory cues that one chooses and those refrains that become entrenched and inseparable. What’s memorable and well-marketed went viral long before the term even came about, and it is really a remarkable thing how an idea, offensive, campaign can recreate itself in thought in just about any medium, humming, the catch of a tune, from some flawless orchestral arrangement to something misremembered, tapped and tinny, and even the most abstract of associations.
It’s funny to observe the reactions of people, who of course have an ear for their own personal alerts, and yet when there is some discordant clang, they’re sent digging in their pockets and handbags to eliminate heralding fanfare. Sometimes the beckoning, when positively identified, becomes impossible to ignore and I wonder, unpackaged, what responses people really do have. Does it matter if the alarm is over a ring, pulse or fully-formed melody, and is a song easier to ignore for some since it is not cued for resolution, but rather just stopping? Distraction and abstraction is nothing new—perhaps just in terms of proximity and portability (we can announce the coming of any mood and disposition but our internal soundtracks are rarely made public accessories to communication beyond the signals that we’re about to turn inward and away from our immediate audience). Those associations established over the long-term, commercial jingles, are the same species of transitional siren that can take up residence anywhere, just a bit receded into the background and have the stubbornness of seniority. I remember an misunderstanding that elevated into a tiff over being told to use i-ask to clean the bathroom—properly. What the hell is i-ask, I thought, since there was none in the janitor’s closet, before realizing the that was the European way to pronounce Ajax—which there was not any either but rather a bottle of Meister Proper, the German name for Mister Clean. Fine—but I think the whole matter could have been settled much easier by whistling the Mister Clean song. I wonder about people who grow up with a different (but parallel set) of commercial culture and those without the benefit of bells and whistles and advertizing executives. Likewise, it’s not facial tissue, a handkerchief or a Taschentuch but Tempo or Kleenex, which in fact, does say bless you.