troglodyte

Though probably better known in most circles as a subcamp of the concentration camp Buchenwald and for the recent outcry by some when it was proposed that refugees be housed in the former officers’ barracks on that profane ground, Tröglitz (DE) in Saxon Anhalt is now garnering attention once more, because its mayor stepped down, having retreated to factions in village that violently oppose the mayor’s decision to offer shelter to sixty Syrian refugees—or his lack of leadership in blocking the move.
Whilst defending his community, saying that most are inviting and caring individuals, a few hooligans massed on the mayor’s private residence in such a terrorising and unrelenting manner, which local authorities had not the purview or power to stop, the mayor maintains Tröglitz is not a bastion for xenophobia, but fearing for the safety of his family, relinquished the office. Though on the macro-scale, the PEGIDA marches have largely been subdued in the bigger cities by counter-rallies that far out-number those standing with the movement, sparse policy dialogue has come out of the contentious issue. Now it seems that activists can focus in on the smallest subdivisions and the very local sense, these messages still are resounding ones. Public officials of course don’t sacrifice their right to privacy or the security of their families once they take office—and nor can freedom of expression or assembly be curtailed depending on the target, but it does represent something chilling, I think, for homegrown democracy that might so readily cow to the bullying of a few, creating enclaves where no refugees are welcome. What do you think?

dovecote or invasive-species

I wonder if we could enlist pigeons or some other urbanized wildlife to act as a take-down, shock troop to dispatch with swarms of drones, without harming the pigeons or turning them into roving access points, of course—or rather than dog-fighting it out, perhaps equipped with signal jamming devices. I bet house-mice—and the whole domiciled food-chain, would not appreciate others scrounging around in their crawl-space one bit, and I wonder if some evil genius would even need to train them—or would the pigeons and other vermin, seeing their air-space and territory invaded, do this spontaneously on their own accord.

intellectual heirs or non-aggression axiom

At the risk of courting controversy and inviting trollish commentary (I think that those risks are acceptable), I’d like very much like to recommend Dangerous Minds’ toppling treatment of Ayn Rand. The essay, including three “trash-compactor” digests of the film adaptation (conveniently plucked out of forty plus years of “development Hell”) of Atlas Shrugged meant to placate the new generation of Tea-Partiers really resonated with me because I too, as a teenager, was an avid fan of this sort of pseudo-intellectual fervor and it took quite some doing to disabuse me of this allure and get out of that phase.

I am really mortified to own up to that much, but even today I still carry around an onerous reminder of that period in the form of a passkey that’s an obscure reference to Anthem (a plagiarized novella, oh nos, about the assault against science—ostensibly, but really a critique of collectivism and supporting the luddites in the end anyway) that I am made to plug into my (work) computer every time I turn around—lest I forget. I guess that this was a fairly common rite of passage, growing pain, though not defensible like a bad sense of style that takes some time to mature. Screenwriter and comedian John Rogers observed once, “There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old's life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.” On balance, we all tend to gravitate towards creative, selfless fantasies, I think, but when the impressionable aren’t given to being particularly well-read or well-informed and have a limited library, this sort of sophistry becomes a masterpiece. The idea that prompted Rand to writing Atlas Shrugged, a great lump of a tome, was toying with the idea of declaring herself on strike from her publishers for their difficult demands—I wish she had, rather than creating a dystopian world where all the supposedly talented and ingenious and indispensable people picketed in order to make her ideas and agenda seem legitimate.

five-by-five

paper-doll: McCalls Pattern Behavior adds dialogue to the models posing for sewing block patterns

i’ve been everywhere: map pins songs mentioned in popular music

siesta: researchers found that coffee-naps are more effective than either respite, stimulus alone

you see with your hands: being endangered and against the law to touch, selfies with the very gregarious quokkas of western Australia take off

on the wagon: a look at England’s last remaining temperance bar, herbal tonic emporium

chindōgu or as seen on tv

Via the ever brilliant Nag on the Lake comes this Mental Floss treatment on the Japanese concept of chindōgu (珍道具) that probably best translates to having the quality of being unuseless—since these gadgets cannot be totally dismissed as having no merit but it’s even harder to come to their defence as anything useful or that people might actually buy, other than as a gag.

In fact, chindōgu aspires to a rarefied art form with specific criteria that should be adhered to—including not being taboo, conventional or patentable. A solar-powered flashlight, Whisper 2000, a muff to keep one’s hands warm while texting, moustache cups or duster-onesies for babies to allow them to sweep up the floor while playing might be good candidates. Other Japanese terminology for the misfits is an impressive list as well.  Finding art in the chaotic and impracticable makes me think of Rube Goldberg’s fantastically ornate machines to perform simple tasks.