theogony or keep a lid on it

I had forgotten that even with not counting Bobo, the Olympian blacksmith Hephæstus was also the original robotic engineer, as the always interesting BLDGBlog points out in an excellent gloss reflecting on advances in the discipline and navigation that has many leads to follow.
Looking a little deeper into these Homeric references to automata, like the roving, tireless tripods and mechanical guard dogs that served on an unending security detail, I realised that Hephæstus’ other masterwork, in collaboration with sister Athena and under instruction of his father, Zeus, was the first mortal Woman, as company for the lowly creature called Man. Pandora was her name but she was not some clumsy fembot that bumbled into some pithos and released all evils into the world. Rather, according to Zeus’ instructions, Pandora (meaning “all gifts”) was meant to be Man’s punishment for having accepted the stolen goods from Prometheus (technology, for the flame was taken from Hephæstus’ own forge), fashioned of the clay of the earth but imbued with charms from each of the gods, beauty, wisdom, craftiness as well as long-suffering guile and unquenchable curiosity. Accounts vary, it seems, but somehow it was arranged to have Pandora and that infamous vessel in the same room, and all hell broke loose, except for Hope, which Pandora managed to trap before it too escaped into the now less than pristine ecology.

personenumlaufaufzüge

Thanks to a report shared by the exceedingly brilliant and adventurous Nag-on-the-Lake on the curious and quirky so-called Paternosters, I was reminded of an item I’d recently heard on the local news that’s unleashed a minor tempest.  I thought the looping passenger lifts, like escalator stairs and properly called cyclic elevators or Personenlaufzüge (people circulating elevator), were called Paternosters because the ride was particularly harrowing and induced one to recite the Lord’s Prayer—which may well be but they are also called such because the mechanism is similar to praying the rosary.

There are still quite a few still in service around Germany (mostly in universities and government office buildings) and the Czech Republic but already prospective passengers of these endearing people-circulators are in need of producing proof that they in fact are competent and licensed to ride in them or otherwise take the stairs. Now Germany wants to dismantle them altogether—out of concern for public safety but I think that they will not go without a fight, especially beloved by those who have to take the plunge or leap of faith daily. I have been moved to find a couple of candidates really nearby—we’ll see how that goes, and I hope that this is something that we both get to experience before they’re all gone.

hobohemian

Collectors’ Weekly took a field-trip to the Hobo Museum in Britt, Iowa—an old railhead and switching station back in the days when locomotion was a form of social-safety net, and returned to share a really engrossing, in depth look at the lifestyle, code-of-conduct, origins and legacy of these itinerant workers who comprised a sizable demographic of America’s population spanning a huge historical swath from the aftermath of the US Civil War all the way through the Great Depression and the onset of World War II.
Returning, aggrieved from battle to find homesteads overrun, many men discovered themselves homeless and continued to soldier on in look of employment—this mobile workforce, not seeking hand-outs and wanting to preserve their reputation, helped to create the infrastructure, like the railways that created commerce and opened up westward expansion and became the conduits that the hobos relied on themselves. The culture of these migrant workers was a rich and nuanced one, fraught with danger and discrimination at times, and in addition to the formative force it was for America, it has also left behind some expressive fossils in American speech, like yahoo (a brute who’s proud of his wanton ignorance—possibly in deference to Gulliver’s Travels), working stiff (for those unfortunates tethered to a fixed home and job), junkie (an addict), chow (for food) and hunky dory. The article is certainly worth the read in its entirety and it always pays in spades to check out the website that celebrates curators of all sorts of stories.

5x5

walkabout: reflections on how a stroll makes our minds’ ready to wander and wonder
sea-view: in honour of World Oceans’ Day, tour Google Street View is taking to the waves

chalkboard gag: renovators uncover century old blackboard images in Oklahoma

culture vulture: petri dish hand print of after a day of play

sailor moon: realising Carl Sagan’s vision, Bill Nye’s experimental solar-sail has unfurled

libidinous or better living through chemistry

The magnanimous souls of the pharmaceutical industry have managed to create another product to fulfil a need that didn’t exist—sometimes I wonder how close marketing and rampant capitalism is to the ´pataphysical—this time, in pill-form, a drug whose litany of side-effects include stimulating a woman’s libido. It’s bad enough that we’re willing to cede our trust and confidence so lightly to institutions that deserve far more scrutiny, but what really galls me is that medical science considers the possibility of a woman not being a vamp at all times a greater “unmet need” than say a male version of the birth-control pill or something that might knock testosterone levels down a few notches.