Wednesday, 3 December 2014
pilaster or ozymandias
finding krampus oder knecht ruprecht
In a delightful little holiday safari called Searching for Krampus, one of Boing Boing’s happy mutants covers the slow and careful cultivation of an old Germanic tradition transported to Hollywood.
The old masters from Austria (though similar devils haunt a broad swath of Europe) that ultimately helped realise a Krampus festival were skeptical at first, worried that without proper guidance that the custom would become mere cos-play and horror-camp but there seems to be a genuine fascination for this demonic foil—that’s maybe reflective of broader laments over the over-commercialisation of the season. This is always a sore topic and all chime-in when it comes to Christmas-Creep, but I can imagine that the Celts, the ancient Germanic tribes, and the ancient Roman were feeling pretty much the same way when they saw their mistletoe, Yuletide and Saturnalia taken over by Christian rites. Knecht Ruprecht is a related but non-demonic companion of Saint Nicholas, meaning Farmhand Rupert, who threatens disobedient children and hashes out appropriately wretched presents—and although maybe not enjoying the same seasonal celebrity as the monstrous Krampus, Knecht Ruprecht is pretty famous in the Deutsche Sprachraum as the name of the Simpson family pet greyhound, Santa’s Little Helper, in the German version of the series.
Tuesday, 2 December 2014
double the pleasure, double the fun
troll the ancient yuletide carol
Mental Floss has an excellent, brief grammar lesson about the finer and arcane points of English syntax frozen as it were in the lines of traditional Christmas songs. It was certainly a fun and lively read and causes one to think of other examples, quirky little conventions that reveal how language evolves.
The etymological curiosity in the word troll, sometimes sung as toll or trawl, is especially interesting, as it reflects both Anglo-Saxon roots and the more familiar mage in later Norse influences. In the sense of the carol, it reflects Old English origins, prior to the arrival of the Vikings, to go about or to stroll. The connection with fishing, a drag-net, also extends from this source. The sense of a monstrous creature has old Germanic roots and though the English had their own words for native orcs and demons, they borrowed the word of the newcomer. Perhaps the two meanings again converge in the ultimate sense of a horrid individual who is trawling for attention with nasty comments. English did borrow a lot of basic vocabulary from the Scandinavian languages, and interestingly what’s been retained of—or edged out by—Norse terminology are words with an overwhelmingly negative connotations, which probably bespeaks their uneasy cohabitation: anger, awkward, blunder, bug, crook, cur, death, dirt, dregs, gawk, heathen, Hell, irk, mire, muck, muggy, odd, outlaw, rotten, skull, slaughter, thwart, ugly, weak and wrong—to name a few. Of course, there are numerous exceptions, too—like that word Yule, for the midwinter months and associated festivities, which was later appropriated by the Christians. Monday, 1 December 2014
lykkefรธlelse
The Norwegian edition of The Local features an interview with a publishing-professor from the University of Tromsรธ whose latest project is assaying the notion of happiness. Of course, happiness is more than just an emotional response and an outlook and code of behaviour, but not necessarily a dogmatic one, as the author suggests, insofar as permanence and aversion to change are not the metrics that happiness for most people are measured by.
Rather than the hedonistic notion of becoming the perpetually punch-drunk gadfly that first got the author interested in the question, happiness is also to be found in change and challenge—exemplified by the Scandinavian double-barreled question how are you doing/how are you coping, “Hvordan du hard et/hvordan du tar det?” That’s a very provoking parallel construction that is not just limited to these icy climes and six months of no sun—the campus being above the Arctic Circle. On the media’s role in shaping our feelings and stance, the author also makes a very poignant observation that sensational, responsible, impassioned or neutral alike, the news and the broader entertainment industry is propelled by sponsorship, whose purpose is either to validate and reinforce opinions, loyalties that one already shares or to make one feel inadequate and uncertain about present allegiances. Sometimes that may be a good thing but I don’t think most marketers are concerned about the examined life. While this manipulation and patronage is no doubt true and important—and the author does not pose a problem without offering at least the glimmer of a solution—that pronouncement does strike me as typical Norse.
Sunday, 30 November 2014
dramaturgy or meme-base
An aspiring thespian and student of Aristotle named Theophrastus devised a list of archetypal and stock-characters. While it may not be predictive of every aspect of human nature—as their ought to be as well a generic Misogynist, the Fan-Boy and the Xenophobe—and alternately, many positive qualities that probably are not very exciting are absent, it seems to be pretty complete, same-otherwise, and you could certainly apply the same template to a lot of modern means of expression, though the Greek makes the caricatures sound especially harsh:
| The Insincere One (Eironeia, irony) | The Flatterer (Kolakeia, the shit-sayer) | The Garrulous One (Adoleschia, the Sophomoric One) |
| The Boor (Agroikia, the Skeptic) | The Complacent One (Areskeia, the Inactive One) | The One without Moral Feeling (Aponoia, the Psychopath) |
| The Talkative One (Lalia, Chatty-Cathy) | The Fabricator (Logopoiia, the Wordsmith) | The Shamelessly Greedy One (Anaischuntia, shunning society) | ||||||
| The Pennypincher (Mikrologia, Scrooge) | The Hapless One (Akairia, the Unlucky One) | |
| The Officious Man (Periergia, just like a Boss) | The Unsociable One (Authadeia, the Loner) | |
| The Superstitious One (Deisidaimonia, the staunch conventionalist) | The Suspicious One (Apistia, the conspiracy theorist) | |
| The Repulsive One (Duschereia, poor hygiene) | The One with Petty Ambition (Mikrophilotimia, the vain) | |
| The Stingy One (Aneleutheria, the ungrateful child) | The Arrogant One (Huperephania, the by-stander) | |
| The Coward (Deilia, the nostalgic soul) | The Late Learner (Opsimathia) | |
| The Slanderer (Kakologia) | The Basely Covetous Man (Aischrokerdeia) | |
orchard kebob
H got to take a cooking class one evening not too long ago and his team’s contribution to the meal was an exquisite mango and kidney bean variation on the classic Dรถner (shawarma) sandwich. He repeated the creation a few nights later and it was really easy to prepare and had a deliciously unique fusion of tastes. For four big sandwiches, one needs the following:
- One can of kidney beans (200 grams)
- One flat-bread—Dรถner or Gyro bread would be best but any similar loaf (like pita, tandoori) would do
- A small onion, one or two cloves of garlic
- A large mango
- One large chunk of fresh mozzarella, 200 grams of soft ricotta cheese
- Some rocket (Rucola) for garnish, about 100 grams
Pulse the kidney beans, garlic and onion together with a food-processor, season with a pinch of salt, pepper and chili power, and combine with ricotta to form a purple paste. Slice the bread and apply the spread liberally to both to the top and bottom of the bun. Chop up the mango and mozzarella and arrange it on the bread with some rocket and toast the sandwiches, either with a sandwich-press or alternatively in the oven, under the weight of a casserole dish, until the bread has browned and the two halves stick together. A tsatsiki or yogurt sauce would compliment these nicely.
