I wonder if having a new hat, helmet is still a valid reason for marketers to introduce a new toy, which had little impact on directing decisions—assuredly it is and always was but times seemed simplier back then. Nonetheless, the merchandising possibilities (though that might well be the unknown power of the Dark Side) seem really enthralling.
The ever-inspired Nag on the Lake shares a nice travelogue that profiles just a hint of some of the nicest small towns around the world to visit, including her own Niagara-on-the-Lake.
All the destinations look inviting and it is certainly a noble effort in keeping within small-town criteria (rather hard to define, especially considering international variance and considering how small towns grow into big cities) that may be a little of the tourist-trodden path and it invites greater inclusion. I can think of a lot of additions. The only place that H and I know from that list is the magical Rothenburg ob der Tauber here in Middle-Franconia. The immaculately preserved medieval centre of the town is quite a draw for tourists, however, and despite the vociferous authenticity, there’s somewhat of a theme-park, Truman Show atmosphere about it—not that it is not worth seeing and experiencing, quite the opposite. What small towns would you recommend?
mandelbrot: elegant, shuffled fractals of gears
Via the go-to web-presence for all things weird and wonderful, Dangerous Minds, comes builder Mihai Marius Mihu’s rendering in LEGO the Nine Levels of Hell of Dante Alighieri’s epic poem Inferno. It is with interest that the Romanian artist denies any scholarly insight into Dante’s work, having eschewed reading it and rather sought out only abstracts found on-line as his guide for this allegorical descent, for his interpretation—not wanting to be textually-biased. These panels make clever use of the medium and strike me as inspired ways of visualising each of the circles and their associated mortal sins.
Whereas previously European powers had been content to take out rat-nibbles of Africa on its coastal edges, towards the end of the nineteenth century, a constellation of circumstance coalesced and set off the so-called scramble for the Dark Continent. A collusion of the Ottoman Empire gradually ossifying, the Industrial Revolution and the voracious appetite to exploit new resources, and the Civil War in the United States that disrupted the cotton market for English importers (and the later effort to establish alternate supply-lines in the colonies that caused the oversaturated exchange to collapse) and empire-envy by the latecomers—Germany and Belgium, poor-relations—caused Portugal, fearing more intrusion on their age old bailiwick on all territory since the expeditions of Columbus to the east of Cape Verde Islands (that is—the entire “unclaimed” hemisphere outside of Europe to India and the Far East, while Castilian Spain could claim the Americas), to convene a summit.
Hosted by an ambitious Berlin and Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, this meeting would codify how Africa would be governed and the spoils partitioned. In his Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad referred to the Berlin Conference (oder die Kongokonferenz) facetiously by the above title and it really became a brutal seizure very quickly. With all of the vast continent already claimed—with the only the outpost of Liberia and the unconquerable Ethiopia (Abyssinia) remaining independent, Belgium and Germany had to settle unknown central Africa and relatively undesirable and out of the way lands. The formal suppression of Africa proved not only an alternate vent for Europeans to carry out latent hostilities, fighting by-proxy, but became a foil as well to counter-balance the advancing clout of the US and the Soviet Union after the Great War, and the process of decolonisation did not begin for most lands for at least six decades and more after the Berlin Conference—if ever. Moreover, dividing up lands without respect to other affiliation and along arbitrary boundaries has led to no end of ongoing strife and suffering.
Advocate of plain speaking, believing that heuristically people ought to be able to explore perception and reality and arrive at insights and truths through logic and simple language alone, Oxford professor John Langshaw Austin (no relation to author Jane, though much of his linguistic speculations were posthumously packaged under the above title) in the 1930s greatly expanded the nuanced understanding of the way meaning is imparted, demonstrating that sentences can be more than just interrogative, declarative or directive and in fact usually are none of these things and instead fall somewhere on the spectrum of doing things, a social task or a phememe.
After his wartime service in his majesty’s secret service (a tenure that a whole cadre of Oxbridge instructors took up) for which Austin was credited for as being instrumental in the success of the D-Day Invasion, Operation Overlord—however, perhaps influenced by his intelligence work, his research became even more engrossing in its accessibility. Packing his philosophical quiver, Austin dissected the language of excuse and pardon that people toss about with apparent abandon to find the pregnant meaning in all the ways to say that one is sorry and distance one’s self from moral decrepitude and omission. Not only is there an endless buffet of expressions to choose from to exculpate oneself—oversight, accident, mistake, mishap, misunderstanding, misstep, confusion, etc.—they all have subtle ethical connotations, on second look, that warrant further investigation. Though not naturally duplicitous, people are probably most honest about their feelings when they’re begging-off.
