unkraut or worldwide weed

Surviving the past three winters or so, exposed on the balcony, is a venerable old dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) that one day took up root in this since vacated pot. Even after the monk and botanist Gregor Mendel developed the theory of heredity by selecting for visible and measurable traits over successive generations of peas in a pod in the mid-1800s, many people still held to the once popular theory of spontaneous generation: that flies and worms and other vermin did not have natural parentage and arose out of the slime and muck and generally poor house-keeping.
I wonder if people believed the same about weeds (Unkräuter)—although the concept of weeds in gardening is a relatively new invention and heretofore certainly was not applied to the dandelion. The common and polite name for the flower does not have anything to do with its yellow bloom that some might find reminiscent of a lion's mane, but it is rather a corruption of the French for teeth of the lion, for its jagged leaves. That seems a little less iconic, but the modern name is a euphemism (Greek for “a holy silence”) its old reputation, when still considered Kraut—an herb with medicinal properties, rather than some worthless, old Unkraut. Originally, the plant was called in French pissenlit—wet the bed—because it was a diuretic, and native to all parts of the earth, there were many colourful, local variations on that phenomena. Being the lingua franca, it sought to clean up the world's vocabulary a bit. A similar sort of mannerly substitution occurred in English by inventing the words donkey and rooster to avoid saying something offensive. Tending a few weeds should cause no alarm, no matter the company.

mail-order or to be determined

BLDGBlog shares a glimpse of New Future Lab's latest print catalog that offers a dizzying array of products and services for shoppers in an imagined near future.

It draws on science-fiction and the speculations (and warnings) of futurists to imagine the marketing and packaging of some life-enhancing merchandise. The description of some of the items is appropriately tongue-in-cheek and there's a healthy bit of circumspection here vis-à-vis our own consumption and buying patterns, but a lot of these visions, gimmicks—neither too dark nor too utopian and post-commercial—could be realised in a few years time, perhaps kick-started by this very catalog. Though I am sort leagues better, it makes me think of those sleek, with some sort of retro-feeling, catalogs of promising, luxurious gadgets that they have on airplanes, which seem to always make for good reading-material.

pay the piper

One hundred prominent German authors have joined in protest with many members of the American literati over the apparently manipulative business model of one of the biggest book markets.
It seems that publishing houses who resist subscribing to the low royalty rates that the online retailer is pushing is finding delays with delivery and long wait-times for the availability of its titles, in addition to problems with negotiating contracts. On the side of the publishers, there have also been accusations of collusion in pricing and pittance to writers—over the pricing pressure that the seller demands. Authors certainly ought to have a say in their livelihoods and creativity should not be made to suffer over the petty embargoes of warehousing and shipping, but it seems that the strife was nascent at the beginning of selling books on-line: a very clever idea that took down those commercial libraries and pulp-cartels and provided a success way for people to expand their reading network (though at the expense of smaller shops). Along came electronic books, however, and the expectation of free or nominal costs for print not bound or committed to paper—and neither seller or sadly author can expect much of a commission. What do you think? Does this on-line book seller (diversified to all sorts of products now) pose a threat to literature—or are these just the advances and terms of a book deal taken to the shop?

rayon x ou petites curies

A brilliant dispatch from Mental Floss relates the story of Marie Curies' inspired frustration and determination not to sit idly by as the horrors of WWI intruded into her homeland.

Dissatisfied with mere fidutiary contributions and recognising that the trench warfare was rough-shod and merciless, Curie and her daughter undertook a harrowing journey—without hesitation—retrieving a ingot of Radium that she had isolated from a bank safe deposit-box in Bordeaux and invented the science of radiology, radiography and disciplines of nuclear medicine (which no one could question owing to its novelty), learnt to drive an ambulance and single-handedly triage field hospitals (the recruiting and training of medics came later) equipped with x-ray equipment to help surgeons better assess and treat battle-damage and provide some heavy-handed sterilisation. Eventually succumbing to her own life-saving techniques, I imagine that the ingenious scientist was all too aware of the risk in her methods, which make the artefacts (her laboratory equipment, notebooks and clothing that are still radioactive), while pushing for progress in the techniques, a legacy of danger, imagination and outright bravery.