franklin mint and in the darkness bind them

There’s a lot of talk about minting a pair of trillion dollar platinum coins, taking advantage of an economic fiction and a loophole in the language addressing what the Executive branch may or may not do in regards to with a fiat that effectively negates the statutory debt-ceiling (also an economic fiction) by having enough money in reserve to cover those outlays. At best, it may be the wedge that the US president needs to unyoke the country from financial hijacking, and at worse, it seems sort of a silly tactic that’s hard to consider fully the ramifications of and just more delays, but I don’t necessarily believe it’s the black-magic option (as opposed to the nuclear-option) and something malevolent forged in the bowels of Mount Doom.

A coin in this denomination is certainly not the same as a collectors’ item but other such limited runs of commemorate coinage definitely have a more sinister side, that some in the US government are using to their constituents’ advantage. The Legislative branch culled riders that would funnel money to pet projects in the working-copy of the budget, however, there are scads of concrete and abstract causes (witness the calendar of awarenesses for all sorts of worthy things) that are all championed by special interest groups, to whom some representatives are beholden to oblige even with their earmarks taken away. One roundabout way to appease the lobbyists is through minting commemorative coins, whose sponsors are owed any profits after production costs (borne initially by the US Treasury). The public is not forced to buy these coins but doing so would be a way to support a particular campaign or lobby group more or less directly—not to mention, collectibles are usually taken out of circulation (with or without an agenda or ideology—grandma would rather do without than spend her Lawrence Eagleburger eagle dollar coins even if she just got them as change at the toll booth) and all those dollar coins (or whatever the face value) are sequestered in individual hands—with tokens and scrip, rather the heads or tails’ of ones choosing, becoming good for all debts public and private.

poultrygeist

Regularly on the weekends, there is a concessionaire operation setup in the parking lot of the local supermarket that sells roast chicken—and fixins, for take-away. I noticed that the company offers a catering service, as well, for, as suggested, weddings and what’s called a “Polterabend.”

I was not quite sure what that could be—a noisy evening, like a Poltergeist, a restless and loud spirit. What kind of haunting did this entail? I learned that, in line with the marriage bash, a Polterabend was the name for an engagement party in some parts of Germany, where guests would traditionally celebrate the announcement with a big to-do and bring with them old dishes. They’d then ritually smash the plates (and anything else made of ceramic or stoneware that would break spectacularly), making quite a racket to symbolize a new beginning for the couple. During this counterpart for both a stag-party and a hen-night (Bachelor and Bachelorette parties), other good luck customs are observed, including an obligatory serving of chicken soup. It’s pretty neat what one can learn from the back of a van.

underpass or suburban legend

Though second- and third-hand tales abounded, until recently there was no undisputed evidence of cow tunnels boring under the streets of Manhattan’s West Side. Although far less incredulous than giant crocodiles, sprung from unwanted pets flushed down toilets, lurking in sewers, urban spelunkers are beginning to map out this forgotten underground network, meant to reduce the traffic of livestock brought into 1870s Gotham disrupting human transportation.

Atlas Obscura’s intrepid team of explorers reintroduces this lost bit of infrastructure with a bit of history and discovery. Of course the detour avoiding the most crowded parts of the city was not a radically new idea, what with established gazing commons and cattle trails crossed by railroads and highways. Underpasses were dug in order to keep them doggies rolling. New York’s grid, however, seemed by all accounts a complex and unseen labyrinth. I wonder how many other cities and towns (London, Paris or Berlin, perhaps?) created similar networks (mazes of alleyways, canals or elevated catwalks) for market days and have long since forgot the original use of these passageways and re-purposed them for other uses.

[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.