offworld or freemasonry

The always fascinating BLDGBlog reports that a group of researchers have discovered how to create construction materials for future colonists on Mars using native building blocks in an environment apparently devoid of water. Heating sulphur to the point of liquefaction, it is mixed with soil to produce Martian concrete. The resulting bricks are relatively easy, light but sturdy, to use and are infinitely recyclable—in addition to being far less of a logistics investment in bringing supplies from home. Earthling settlers, given the weaker gravity of the planet, might be free to create impossibly ambitious cathedrals to exploration and discovery.

6x6

octarine: there’s a robust movement to name Element 117 after fantasy author Terry Pratchett, not to the exclusion of honouring Lemmy Kilmister with a heavy metal homage

★: for the artist’s 69th birthday, a review and analysis of David Bowie’s 25th album

putting on the ritz: a fascinating exploration of the luxury hotels, secret vertical villages of 1920s New York

dialogue ballons: beluga whales communicate with bubbles

montage: gorgeous, expansive architectural collages, via the Everlasting Blort

amanuensis: New York Public Libraries release thousands of archival images and seek a resident remixer

shell-schocked

Not to dwell on the negative, especially as it was my resolution to be better at detecting my own biases and be less susceptible to outside ones (nor would it be fun to have Groundhog Day fall on New Year’s Eve—as it would get to be pretty torturous quickly as a time time-loop or even as a theme-restaurant), I am given to understand that a few Silvester venues, close to refugee shelters and within shelters in general, were moved—New Year’s was not cancelled anywhere in Germany exactly as some outlets are reporting, because of fears that the celebratory fireworks might incite incidents of post-traumatic stress disorder in populations having just fled war-zones.
I don’t know what to think about this either—but it kind of strikes me as the logic used during the witch-trials: if she floats, she must be guilty of witchcraft but if she sinks and drowns she’s innocent and now in God’s bosom. It seems like a strange sort of assessment that fortunately never materialised—that legitimate emigrants would find the pyrotechnics to be pure psychological torment and those along for the ride maybe not so much. “Build a bridge out of her.” There are talks of toning down the drunken Faschings parades but I am unsure about the veracity of that, too. One ought not pin resolutions on the easiest goals but I am unsure if I can sustain these challenges.

minced oath or lightwater syndrome

Swearing came about as a linguistic loophole to prohibitions against blasphemy. Socrates’ frequent but rather timid exclamation of “by the dog”—referring to constellation of Canis Major and not “god” backwards, of course—was even known as the Rhadamanthine oath in order to forever ridicule that king’s embargo on invoking the names of the gods in vain.
All sorts of stealth cursing came about and though a lot of the inventions ring as old-fashioned and mincing profanity, which is almost equally unacceptable in polite-company as one’s dancing around the taboo and not making the effort to really distance oneself from vulgar language. Self-censorship’s euphemistic history extends as far back to when we first learned to mask our unmitigated reactions with language: consarnit, Sam Hill, Land of Goshen, Jesus wept (which is considered suitable as one is reciting the shortest verse in the Bible), ‘zounds for by Christ’ wounds and ods bodilns—by God’s nails. If we’ve somewhat matured in keeping our speech cultured (and possibly our own minds out of the gutter), it’s interesting then that we’re being drawn back into the phase of snickering humour by those filters we put in place to keep content age-appropriate and our immediate environment relatively smut-free. Those automated bowdlerisers (despite advances in the industry) perennially and incredulously inconvenience residents of the English towns of Sussex and Penistone and the titular village—as well as many unfortunately named persons—and the phenomena is called the Scunthrope Problem, after another municipality in Lincolnshire with Norse etymology. Keeping a swear-jar near at hand is a good motivator to be as colourful with one’s metaphors as possible or at least to retain adult-decorum.  Alright governor.

melee oder countermeasures

While the cadets of the Anti-Terror League are working to maintain order and accountability (somewhat in over-drive, being ignorant of the Boy who Cried Wolf troupe), the New Year’s Eve violence and harassment that was visited on revellers in Cologne (Köln), withheld from the public under a self-imposed media blackout, and the delayed and ridiculous official response, in stark contrast, demonstrate that terrorism does not only involve guns and bombs. The Burgermeisterin, who was rather propelled into office after being stabbed during the mayoral elections by an individual who vehemently disagreed with her stance on accepting refugees, offered a rather tepid piece of advice (opening herself up to attack) to scores of women who found themselves kettled groped, robbed and raped in the chaos of the celebratory night, to keep stranger-danger at arm’s length (Armslänge)—as sound and helpful as Duck and Cover.
A state-sponsored broadcaster is also under fire for its editorial decision to practise self-censorship and not report the incident until several days later, arguing that the news would incite more of the nascent fears, stereotyping and scapegoating of the newly arrived masses of refugees—given that the coordinated perpetrators were identified as such. It certainly does fuel the outrage and angst, and seems to me to blame the victims and exonerate the offenders. It has been argued that the Cosplay Caliphate relish such division and distress and want people to feel that refugees are an assault on Western lifestyle and culture so more of the alienated and disenfranchised will fight for their cause. Now—however, I’m not sure what to think. It is scary and defies good-governance—above and beyond protection and defence but down to the fundamentals of civility and security. That awful and polarising term no-go zones is even being thrown around, going far beyond welcoming and accommodation to question going out in public. Vigilance, I think, does not make such demands.

octopus’ garden in the shade

An inventive diver vacationing in Noli—by Finale Ligure, was inspired to construct underwater green-houses that fulfil all the requirements of their terrestrial counterparts. These installations, called Nemo’s Garden and were part of last year’s Milanese design expo, are balloons anchored to the sea floor with a bubble of air, forming a protective cavity that can range from the size of a single plant up to rows and fields I suppose, which are pretty self-sustaining—with fresh water filtered through osmosis from the surrounding aquatic environment and temperatures and luminosity remain almost constant.

quill and feather

A design student is exploring the limits of textiles and wearable technology in with prototype apparel that can be calibrated to respond like the skin’s involuntary, galvanic reflexes (blushing and goosebumps) or even respond to the temperament of the beholder.
While I agree that in vulnerable situations sometimes we could benefit from thicker, second-skin and armour, taking cues from the animal kingdom, it would strike me as really bizarre if a woman’s hemline suddenly dropped to conform with the disapproving glance of an on-looker—or even more extreme, having one’s little black-dress shape-shift into a cocooning burqa or simply what another wants to see. I hope that this technology evolves in useful ways and does not make us all into fashion-victims, instead of well look what she was wearing—that’s begging for it rather subject to the sensibilities of others. What do you think?