bright young things or kick-started

Writing for the Journal of the American Revolution, Tod Andrlik presents a frankly mind-boggling yet surprisingly elementary, knowable list of the ages of the important players, the Founding Fathers and their foils, when independence was declared back in 1776. I suppose that I had my preconceptions of a lot of venerable figures assembled assembled, romancised on the obverse of currency and in other legends, but to survey the facts and figures is really disabusing. Many were quite young at the time:

James Madison was 25 years of age
Marquis de Lafayette, 18
Alexander Hamilton, 21
James Monroe, 18
Aaron Burr, 20
Betsy Ross, 24

I had no idea, and it's like finding out that Juliet and her Romeo are meant to be fourteen and fifteen year olds. George Washington, Sam Adams, Paul Revere, Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin were all significantly older, but no ageism was to be found on either side (nor implied here neither). Perhaps the sole exception was in setting the minimum age for presidency at five-and-thirty.

encyclopedia brown

Via Slate Magazine's the Vault comes an introduction to one historian's elegant way to impart and present (without hyperbole) the entire rise and fall of civilisations and all other disciplines besides with a nuanced sort of economy. These fold-out histomaps (published by an established catrography company) expanded into a five foot long chart that allowed one to trace the development and connections of empires and inventions. Distributing them singly was certainly a way to introduce the reading public to innovation and continuum without having to invest in volumes. Some of the older books that we have in our library have some amazing inserts and diagrams, some really keen interactive stuff like layered trees and charts and anatomical illustrations, but nothing that one could carry around, for reference. Click on the picture to see much more detail but be sure to visit the Vault and check out the source link also features too for an interesting compendium of map-related exhibitions.

tollhaus or authorized delay

It is among the perennial ideas put forward, especially ahead of national elections, although probably more easily digested or glommed onto than proposing a speed limit on the Autobahn or introducing tolls to native traffic, to suggest that traffic coming into Germany be charged for using its freeways, pointing out that while Germany is a transit point for the rest of Europe, roads freely available for all travelers while in almost all of the neighbouring states, Germans must pay a toll for every stretch of roadway used, with rather taxing consequences that nonetheless become nominal matters when on vacation. Maybe it is just the campaign talking but maybe too this is a proposal whose time has come—but only championed by the party who could execute the Maut in the most unbureaucratic way possible and leave it up to nearly an honour system. The former border control buildings still stand unused at all the major entry points and could be manned with a single person and a basket.

Tossing in a euro coin would suffice for the rest of journey, no matter how long or however many legs, and cause no one with a daily commute across borders the ire to protest for an exemption nor cause the curious any reason not to wander and stray from the Autobahn at the next exit (those brown signs for attractions) for the inconvenience and expense of incurring another charge. There ought to be a system that allows spontaneity, unlike the multiple entry- and exit-points of France—entrusted to a contractor, and does not encourage worry about the tab, like Norway's clever system of just providing ones credit card and having the bill settled later by aggregating pictures of ones license plate. The tourism industry is made by detours as well as destinations.

sunday drive: antikmarkt

I like how the German word for antiques looks like antics, hijinx at the Flohmarkt. The more similar looking term Antiquität is sort of a false-friend as it generally means used books. On my way back to my work week apartment, I stopped at nearby antique market and saw many fine things but decided on something massive but hopefully practical, a heavy oak pedestal wrapped with an acanthus ornament. I am always on the look out for such things because we have quite a lot of figures and bronzes that deserve a proper home, but always seem to be without transportation, close at hand, whenever I find one at a bargain. Dancing Lady looks quite nice elevated as well but I think this stand will fit better, blend in at home.

ordnance survey

Greg Miller, writing for WIRED! Magazine, goes on a fun adventure down the rabbit hole to browse through the unusual stacks of a place called the Prelinger Library hidden in San Francisco. The suite of rooms that make up the archive is a repository of some 75,000 vintage maps and other hiatoric ephemera that map out quite specific and pointed aspects of their subjects and that most collections do not preserve. Space comes at a premium for all these weird and wonderful examples, but the librarians operate under the principle it only takes one of them to acquire a document but the consent of two to get rid of it. This looks like a place to discover for one's self too.

OCONUS or rub-a-dub

Despite codifying the right of expatriation as a fundamental right of all citizens and more contemporary words (and ironic) of criticism for the only other nation in the world to tax its people on income earning world-wide, Eritrea, accusing the practice of presenting a grave economic disadvantage to the country's diaspora, who fled over war, civil-unrest and political persecution, and whose revenue goes involuntarily to support the regimes and conditions that forced them to leave, with a mantle of citizenship not easily doffed, the United States, under the guise of combating tax evasion—though small-holders compared to the billions of untapped wealth that corporate persons shuttle across boarders without taxes or tariffs, is aggressive in their publican activities.

Though only a small but growing percentage of the US population and even a miniscule number when counted against the six million Americans living overseas, some are choosing to renounce their citizenship, willing to forego pensions and patriotism, usually pedigreed with the belief that one's homeland is the best, to the disdain and sometimes even damage of all others. I think this decision is not taken lightly by anyone and is never over the burden of paperwork or over taxation with dubious representation, but moreover that the task of repatriation is put squarely on those financial institutions willing to serve foreigners, specifically Americans, and many banks are refusing to take on new clients over this administrative embargo and reporting onus. In a parallel story of wanting to shirk potential liabilities, the client bank used almost exclusively by the diplomatic community in London suddenly decided to drop all its consular business, to eliminate risks of potential future cross-boarder disputes, should it be determined that any of those embassies front a banking system that does not play by the rules. The abrupt loss of a bank for payroll, rents and schooling has caused chaos on Embassy Row as they scramble to find banks willing to take them. It is a complex situation—though a matter of choice and a luxury for American migration, and probably unduly confounded by US policy when the diplomacy of living abroad, something important surely, knocks up against the kettling of taxes and forms.

santo cáliz

Our little neighbourhood is having a little celebration with live music and a beer-tent called after the community's namesake, St. Lawrence—a Laurentiusfest. It falls on the weekend of his Saint Day and matyrdom. Originally hailing from Aragon, Lawrence went on to study theology and liberal arts at the university of Zaragoza where he became acquainted with Sixtus—the future pope. After completing his studies, the two traveled to Rome in the mid third century.  There Lawrence was ordained as a deacon of the Church and given the important office of treasurer, overseeing accounting for the inventory of artefacts (hence his patronage of librarians and accountants, records still exist showing where the diaspora of treasures ended up), donations and charitable disbursement.
All was thrown into disarray, however, when the Roman emperor demanded that the Church offer him all their treasure as tribute. Methodically, Lawrence was able to give away all Church property to the poor and when the legates of the emperor can to demand tribute, Lawrence presented them with the faithful and humble members of the community, announcing that the poor was the Church's greatest treasure and was far richer for them than the Empire will ever be. For this affront, the delegation grilled Lawrence alive on a gridiron (hence his patronage for roasters and comedians, supposedly having asked to be flipped over as he was done on one side). One particular item on the books, a cup hewn out of a piece of agate and regarded by many, including Pope Benedict XVI who used it during a Mass celebrated in the Cathedral of Valencia in 2006 and Pope John Paul II in 1982, as the genuine Chalice of Christ used at the Last Supper, the Holy Grail, Lawrence saw fit to entrust to a soldier who was on his way from Rome back to Lawrence's homeland by the Pyrenees. The soldier delivered the relic to Lawrence's parents, and has been since preserved and venerated in various monasteries and churches in Spain, mostly quietly and without the Hollywood treatment or the romance (though with no less reverence) associated with the other contenders for this vessel.