ingot audit or treu ounce

While the merest suggestion that all the gold reserves in Fort Knox might not be fully accounted for is dismissed as the anarchistic and rambling speculations of a Sanka drinking mountain woman, the same question posed by the German Schatzkammer, the competent authority for auditing such things as the nation’s some 3 400 tonnes of gold, seems to have drawn some serious, if not careful and apologetic attention.

Germany and other countries have some of their supplies held in case of emergencies at central banks and depositories around the world, in order to be able to more quickly liquidate their stocks in a foreign currency, should a crisis break out. Given advances in electronic commerce, the common currency of Europe and the shaky state of the economy in general, this arrangement does seem a little outmoded. Although assurances are issued annually, Germany also worries that its treasure might not be inventoried and guarded properly, if not loaned out from time to time, used as door stops or treated to a tea-party rather than quietly resting inert in the vaults. Unlike Fort Knox, with little trouble, the public can arrange tours and get a glimpse of the horde (it’s Germany’s that they get a peek of) in the deep cellars of the Federal Reserve Bank in New York City, some fifteen levels below the street and beneath the waters Hudson Bay. I am sure it’s a safe place but perhaps the gold should be repatriated and not on permanent-loan.

for you, vor ort, vorbei

While I believe these events were unrelated, it is of note that the push to institute a quota scheme for women in top management in German businesses came on the wake of the collapse of a drug store chain (Drogerie-Kette)that served as a pedestrian anchor in many neighbourhoods and smaller communities. The loss of this retailer not only means that residences need to go further for staples but the chain was also an important local employer in these host communities.
German public radio aired profiles of the so-called Schlecker-Frauen (mostly women worked there) and how they are managing after suddenly finding themselves unemployed, and it was an interesting portrayal of rippling insolvency that has not been the norm for German companies, just evaporating and leaving vacant units with no successor. Triangulating between these two matters, there was also a study sponsored by the Finance Ministry recently, perhaps to inject support for the arguments in favour of introducing quotas, that clearly showed that companies with female management and influence go under less often than their masculine counterparts. The research cited the more balanced and cautious leadership traits that women decision-makers tend to exhibit more than men, organic and holistic approaches that incorporate multiple elements into business factors and not an unwavering focus on returns. Under-represented as they are in the largest concerns (which the quota law is hoping to remedy), the Ministry does own that a risk-averse approach (riskioscheu Vorgehen) and may be attributed to the fact that women managers tend to mind smaller businesses in general and thus have less cash and resources to take gambles with. Conservative practices, however, are not the antithesis to striking a balance between personal and work life, no matter how a wager is underwritten. I am not such of the makeup of the decision-makers for the chain gone bankrupt but I wonder if it would have fared better, more discriminate expansion and focus on its original purpose, if management was a better reflection of its employees.

prince of prussia

Over the weekend, taking advantage of the Indian Summer conditions and the full- spectrum of colours and hues, we had a chance to visit the town of Sigmaringen, situated between the city of Stuttgart and Lake Constance. The dominating palace was impressive of course in its own right and well worth the visit down to the finest details. Usually, despite a wealth of exceptions, I do not think of such a place as lording over a living community—present and mushrooming from the landscape, to keep the subjects in check. Exquisitely curated by the equally extant dynasty of the hereditary princes, the location has been through the ages an exclave of Prussian rule and a city-state as well as the headquarters of the Vichy government of France during the closing months of World War II, when Allied forces pushed collaborators into exile.

rigel seven or B-612

I walked outside this morning before daybreak and was reminded I haven’t taken the time to look up at the stars enough lately and be in awe and wonder. It was truly arresting to see the constellation of Orion splayed out with icy clarity bigger than the whole sky.

Though possible not the most hospitable of places by according to initial telemetry, this moment got me excited about the exoplanet discovered orbiting our neighbouring star. With some seven hundred far away planets found with many more candidates, I guess it is not such a rare or extraordinary find, but to think that that companion has always been there, even before the age of myths and the connect-the-dots construction of the constellations and their stories, and from modern times when humans became sophisticated enough to think that the Centauri system (and, depending on what naming convention is decided on and if other planets are discovered, it could be potentially called Rigel 7, from the designation that Arabic astronomers gave it, Rigel Kentaurus, the hoof of the Centaur) wouldn’t host planets, is pretty astounding. What the planet, mineralogical oddities and treasure or even more surprises since, like our moon, it probably has a dark side, always facing away from its broiling sun and might have a whole hemisphere of temperate of night, might host itself is exciting but immaterial, I think, because in that big catalogue of alien worlds, it is incredibly close and technically within our reach, relatively. Under impulse-power, we already could be there within decades, certainly within a human time-frame, and it’s comforting to think, whatever else is there, there is at least a place to land.

telefunken

Although they are minor worries not to be agonized over, I am as yet undecided how to complete my work-week tenement. For a temporary arrangement, first I wonder if I ought to go to the trouble of a television set. TV certainly seems like something I could easily forego, though we do enjoy watching the news and documentaries from time to time, but, despite arguments that radio, broadcast television and print is outmoded and alien to the younger generation, no one really (especially, it seems, the most adamant disinters) do without staring off at rectangles in one way or another.

 I suppose I am preoccupied with this choice and alternatives because the room came fully and rather lovingly furnished, excluding the television and phone/internet, so those are in my house- keeping domain. Of course, I’ll be bringing a few familiar objects to keep me company (and it is nice and practical not to have to outfit and equip a second apartment and then end up with duplicate items, like we have before) and I’ll get to come home every weekend. Limiting one’s decorating palette to the impersonal glow of entertainment is not depressing or an unfavourable arrangement, but rather, I think, makes returning home and planning a new one all the more dear and exciting.

native mark-up language or cadence and marshalling

I have mused before on the exacting, formal language and grammar of heraldry (Heraldik), wonderfully medieval words and painstakingly florid descriptions in a tradition frozen and not liable to relaxing in rules and terminology due to the fact that such detailed and consistent instructions were necessary since there was no other way of transmitting an image, a coat-of-arms, short of recreating in full, with at least a sketch if not wholly with expensive tinctures and gilt. It is strange to think of pictures and impressions exclusively conjured up by the imagination and not communicated directly and I suppose it would be strange for our ancestors to experience anything otherwise. The economy of heraldry reminds me of a passage from A Canticle for Leibowitz when a monk depletes the cloister’s supply of blue tint faithfully reproducing a blue-print (Grundriss) and regrets later the waste, not realizing what was the cogent matter being conveyed with the floor-plan. All elements and attributes in blazons, on the other hand, have symbolic meanings. In adding a caption, however, even when not confined to a limited amount of characters, it’s always a choice about what details, style, emotion, likeness to focus on. I wonder if input and interface will progress to the point where one can summon up a picture with the imperfections of memory or the faulty conception of a non-artist. How many images have that same fimbriation in the dark clouds being pushed aside, and when inarticulate demands are materialized, how many chances for finding something new, different or tangential would be missed? Focusing on certain criteria, would we then miss the bigger picture and how style, likeness, nostalgia and influence hang together?

time in a bottle or pluperfect and future-tense

Bottles of wine are a bit like little secondary time-capsules, necessarily so as part of the manufacturing process, hermetically sealed and stored up, sometimes for years and years—although it’s a misconception that all wines improve with age and many times will sour or become corked. This unintentional archive, however, does resemble some of the criticisms of time-capsules in general, those walled into cornerstones or buried under pyramids and parking lots, of being unreliable narrators (unzuverlässiges Erzähler).

Those who act as curators of the past and assemble artefacts of the present for inclusion generally are not futurists and professional thinkers condemn them for not stocking their treasure chests with items that would give archeologists a useful and complete picture of their lives, etc. The critics strike me as a little bit unfair and matriculating kindergarteners should not be discouraged from hiding away something as a class and as individuals. Picking up the gravel drive way, I hesitate a bit over tossing an old screw, bit of glass, cigarette butt in the kip to eventual become the strata of a landfill and usually just knock it aside into the tall grass—for the benefit of future explorers. I wonder if any more historical elements are accidentally transmitted with the bottle under seal, other than the craft of wine-making and the quality of the growing season, the chemical signature of the terroir. While those characteristics are certainly sufficient, I do wonder if there’s not some other wayfarer (Anhalter) that’s been overlooked with the vintage, some snap-shot of a quality or quantity that isn’t recognized until later, like the growth rings of trees or ancient insects captured in amber (Bernstein).

stranger danger

Not that a day passes in the office without some sort of productivity disruption, which are mostly generated from within, conflicts and incom- patibilities among systems and safeguards, like some great, counter-adaptive lupus, but I’ve never prodded around enough to see this message and illustration before. The empty park bench symbol conveys something shady and sinister, like the perch for an electronic eavesdropper or a meeting point for something off-the-record. I wouldn’t necessarily think that the platform felt that way about public internet, but I do think that it fits to the attitude in the IT department that would go into conniptions over the idea of anything unregulated or anonymous—otherwise unsecure but not optimal for functionality either.