bottle of wine, fruit of the vine

If one looks at this label a-scant (especially after a glass or two from the bottle), it seems to read vinetards, instead of the word for a plantation for the cultivation of grapes (Weinberg). That really sounds like an insult, and I think that one would no longer fancy himself a connoisseur of fine wine after being called that, nor does it seem a particularly favourable endorsement for having bought said bottle of wine, which was actually quite good.

happy mothers' day

To all Mothers, everywhere--and especially ours.

idle hands and the devil's workshop

While clearing out some neglected filing cabinets at work, I came across a packet of educational materials, first noticing the awesome hand drawn mimeotype symbols, but then I read the short essay and realized that hysteria, fear-mongering and urban legends about Satanic Cults in the 1980s is no different from the phenomena of terrorism and security—except that fretful parents did not need the constant drone of government to reinforce fears and were able to sustain worry over whether their children were in a cult or were going to be abducted or sacrificed. It was also a scary and weird time, and enough horrible things go on without being fixated on nebulous threats that never surfaced—just like now.

Cults (the essay's title), which takes a very scientific and exhaustive approach to the topic begins: “This is a sensitive subject. One of the ideals this country is founded on is freedom of religion. Satanism is a recognized religion.” What other recognized religions could be substituted nowadays? This anonymous study is worth reading in the grainy typewritten original with the tone of an after-school special, and the lists of suspicious activities and warning signs become a modern allegory for the recommended reactions and misgivings of terrorists-hunters and holy-rollers.

portal or long night of the museum

Over the weekend, we took advantage of the extended operating hours of Saxony’s cultural attractions and visited a few neat exhibits. One monu- mentally huge gallery housed in a gasometer, a gas bell, formerly used for the urban storage of natural case, was dizzying in scale and gawking up at the lattice ceiling high overhead reminded me of that V’Ger machine entity from Star Trek: The Motion Picture—who kept a holographic menagerie of the sights it encountered, projecting down a whole virtual reality cascade.

The immersive experience of the visual panorama was of course the chief draw, but being inside industrially giant and industrially unfamiliar, unreachable architecture was extra-ordinary as well. Sometimes the installation, the frame can be nearly as dazzling as the contents.