[sic erat scriptum]

Although deceptively straightforward, I find that I am having a tough time with reflexive verb forms in German. Little pronouns like mich and dich and generically rendered as sich modify directionality quite a bit—zum Beispiel: I could have kicked him as opposed to I could have kicked myself.

This much is clear but this turning in sometimes is expressed in unexpected ways. Lohnen by itself signifies incentivizing, remunerating, paying a wage but sich lohnen is for something to be worth (one’s) while or whereas handeln is to act or trade, sich handeln um is to involve and implicate. I am sure the kernel of the logic of parts of speech is in there somewhere but it is not always easy to extract—for me. How does one come to that? Whenever I try to interpret something with a lot of curves and detours, it comes across in such a butchered way, without extensive help, that each sich becomes a sic—Latin for “thus” and usually rendered in brackets to highlight that something’s that’s been faithfully copied with all the glory of errors and poor grammar. The Latin can pop up as a little acerbic and derisive sometimes, like an angry little self-righteous editing mark, but being muddled is often instructive and one can be wrong in creative and interesting ways, too.

amour-propre

There has been not an insignificant amount of pontificating about the up-and-coming generation of young adults, college-goers and pedigreed for the workplace, by psychologists and trend-minders of all ilks that sounds on the one hand like a fire-and-brimstone sermon meant to inspiring fear and quaking and a bit of humility and at the same time, a very dire caution. Although such warnings and calls for reflection are ignored at great peril and the adjudicated assessments of others are always worthy of consideration, to say that in the main that people growing up vicarious through their avatars, with an on-line persona that shields individuals from criticism and dissent and attracts and enhances esteem and confidence, are at best a cohort of megalomaniacs may be somewhat of a Noble Lie.
I can’t tell who the recipient and conjurer of this fib are exactly, however. It reminds me a bit of the theory that engineering’s prerequisite is manual dexterity and not being too privileged not to have had to work on a jalopy, or that self-confidence is no measure of success, given that success’ measure scorns contentment. Demographers and psychologists have pronounced that young people in this age group are saddled with a sense of entitlement expressed in terms of high opinion not commensurable with the studiousness or effort they’re willing to apply. Their own virtual lives, fronted and secure, in fact, often scoop their genuine experiences. These are important and uncomfortable affronts that any of us should have the courage to face. In the end, however, I suspect it is not a very novel critique since, parenting not discounted, there have always been vanities particular to each age. J. J. Rousseau and La Rochefoucauld wrote about amour-propre (self-love) already in the mid sixteenth century, Plato warned of sophistry by the fifth century B.C., and the story of Narcissus dates from the time of legend.

cosign and spirograph

Current White House chief of staff and former budget wonk Jack Lew is the new pick for Cabinet posting of Secretary of the Treasury. Though a seasoned veteran of Washington, Lew’s appointment’s is garnering the most attention over his loopy, hoovesie signature that will eventually appear on legal tender.

My simple signature—honed and hewn down to next to nothing due to having to sign a lot of paperwork, sometimes causes people to balk and occasionally I am prompted for something a little more legible or identifiable—especially by the postal authorities. I am sure Mr. Lew’s John Hancock would not pass muster either, and it looks like an awkward scrawl of acknowledgement on one of those electronic signature pads at the checkout—the kind that you can draw anything on and the screen brightly informs you that signature is accepted and verified. I wonder where in the aether those x’s are sorted and if they’re ever brought back up.

new soul and lucky 13

My little sister and her partner are about to have a baby.

This is fantastic and makes us uncles. Babies are such a wonderful way to start out as people. I can’t get my mind around the whole circumstances, whereas my sister seems pretty cool and collected. I wish I could be there in person for all the firsts but I’m sure they’ll all be shared. It’s a challenge to put oneself in the perspective of someone growing up in this age, never having not known so many things but I suppose all generations go through that and the essence of technology and capability is far less radical or different than changes experienced by ages past. The demarcation between public and private is no more and no less respected either, only freedoms and intrusion are wired differently.

In fact, there is nostalgia for those ages especially just out of reach for the authentically vintage and retro-inspirations that nearly revival the engrossment and cultivations of the Victorian Era.  What is new however is how cultural packets are narrowly and nicheingly disseminated—the sharing and promotion that is the new norm. History did not begin with the digital age of easy-access, and certainly memories and scattered artefacts can be retrieved in an even more living fashion, but the expectations and obligations that go along with this do mark a dividing time. It will be very exciting going forward for our little niece, and moments relived, with or without the aid of total-recall, are cherished things.

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.