freegan or waste not, want not

The German English daily, the local, has a nice feature story on two creative and thrifty women in Berlin, lamenting the awful statistics about how much food goes to waste and hoping to bring some tired and true ideas about community back en vogue through a good example and a bit of activism (which is a strange idea, as one of the founder remarks, how common sense and civility need formal and organizational cues). They hold quite posh tea-parties and dinners, seated around a grand table, with a fancy fare scavenged from leftovers from farmers’ market stalls and other food that would be otherwise destined for the rubbish bin. Guests pay per plate a donation that goes to support international food programmes. I’m sure there’s nothing grungy or unwashed about the whole gala, which the founders hope to expand to more cities, nor overly stagey neither—though I think the juxtaposition of entertaining in a junkyard would add to the statement and message, forcing one to peer past the packaging and shuttling away and other illusions that make our impact easier to stomach.

astralbärin

Another new addition to the household is this fantastic French Jugendstil (Art Nouveau) candelabra. Right away, I named her the Cosmic Candle Lady for the halo of tapers her embracing arms support. H’s father admired the piece and sweetly asked if she were a bear—I guess for the three combs in her hair, which kind of do look like ears.

H was a little embarrassed, since he had previously pronounced our Christmas Angel a witch and mistook our spoon-rest for an ashtray. I thought that characterization, however, even better, so now it’s Great Astral She-Bear. The constellation of candles, locked in orbit, also reminded me of the unexpected revelation about the unexpectedly regular paths that dwarf galaxies waltz around the Galaxy Andromeda, discovered at the insistence of a young and promising French astronomer (DE/EN). There might be more of an aesthetic balance to nature than is readily admissible, after all, and maybe something also that a fresh pair of eyes needs to see.

wes craven’s pulp fiction babies

We were watching the late, late movie the other night and The People Under the Stairs (Haus der Vergessenen) was playing, featuring a Ving Rhames that was quite young looking (although there was only three years difference between this horror-comedy and Tarantino’s film) sporting a kicky Malcolm-Jamal Warner (aka Theo Huxtable) style leather cap. For other, established actors, progression seems to be at a more natural pace, not cinematically augmented.  I wonder if there is a certain threshold for discoverability that makes some actors seem very different, transfixing nature to certain unshakeable roles.

kakao oder heiße schokolade

Wanting to finish off the Christmas chocolate (at least symbolically, since there’s too much but one can always gnaw at a santa) for Twelfth Night and Epiphany (Dreikönigstag) and feeling a little sorry for brutally biting into it, I was reminded of an interesting and detailed history of chocolate and hot cocoa, which have both been somewhat slandered in recent years—especially cocoa, distinct from hot chocolate—that is surprisingly full of machismo and bravado, which I read recently on a clever new blog called the Art of Manliness.

Cocoa, rather and not the blog, throughout most of its venerable history until contemporary times was unapologetically macho and a bit chauvinistic. From time immemorial, cocoa was not merely reconstituted for children on cold mornings, but a holy and privileged source of vim and vigour for the Aztecs, Olmecs and the Mayans of Mesoamerica as valuable a commodity as gold, and even after European contact and commercialization of cocoa and its derivatives, still remained an elixir of heroes, promoted to bullfighters, soldiers, explorers, and firefighters. The qualities of this tonic were diluted somewhat with the discovery of how to deliver chocolate in solid form, but the article, in addition to tracing that development, presents a good analysis of constants, like the substance’s nutritional and chemical benefits, cult and reputation. There are quite a few interesting tangents offered to explore in the chain of custody that follows this drink of warriors to its present-day representatives.

lol or I am the monarch of the sea, I am the ruler of the queen’s navee

To celebrate National Trivia Day, 4 January (my apologies for missing it), Mental Floss contributor Jason English (dead link) published a selection of outstanding facts and figures to ruminate over. I think that the most appealing trivia really pulls one into the circumstances behind the bald and enticing oddities and invites, demands further research and piques the curiosity.



One of the items concerned this corres- pondence between retired Admiral and First Sea Lord Baron John (Jacky) Fisher and Winston Churchill from September of 1917, which contains the first usage of the initialism (with explanation) OMG. The context of the message seems a bit tongue-in-cheek, maybe a play on the honours OBE, Order of the British Empire, and similar styles.

Curious, I learned a little bit about the writer and discovered that Fisher, perhaps only second in renown and importance in naval history to Lord Nelson, served first during the Crimean War and kept the Russian Empire from expanding further in the Scandinavian territories, and later then under his command British supremacy in the Mediterranean (the anchor locations of Gibraltar, Malta and the Suez) was solidified and the navy was significantly modernized. A lot more could be said and will require more studies into these lives and times. Fisher was a colourful and energetic character, besides—penning the interjection OMG! was just a bit of gilded (but rousing) trivia distilled at the end of a long and illustrious career.

duchenne whistle

Seventeenth French founding-father of neurology and a revitalizing force for interest in the galvanic response and bioelectricity, which was dismissed by medical science in the intervening century as somewhat of a parlour-trick beforehand, Guillaume Duchenne de Boulogne made many enduring contributions to the field but is probably best known for capturing the aesthetics of a genuine smile.

Duchenne is probably also due a nod for the advancement of photography for his studies emotional expressions (also to the development of the theory of evolution and the hazards of lead-poisoning as well), which enabled him to isolate and identify the subtleties (now recognizable) that distinguish a fake, sky-waitress smile from an authentically experienced one. I hope I don’t always present a robotic smile but it is never strained or contrived—not overmuch. He did try to electro-shock subjects out of a posed grimace or a grin, occasionally, as those were the tools of his trade, but Duchenne was also able through gentler means to coax and capture natural glimpses and outpourings of emotion. His resolve to decode the masks of sentiment and passion honoured him as terminology to separate the real from the phony.