muster and moquette

CityLab made a quite wonderful and inspired appeal with their international, publically-jured round-up of mass-transit upholstery (previously here and here) sourced from trains, busses and metro-lines in service all over the world.

A few that I’m acquainted with can be reviewed here and I can completely relate to the feeling of pride and affection that passengers develop for these dreadfully excellent and challenging creations in textile that need not only to be practicable and identifiable (like this specimen of priority-seating for ScotRail) but have to also remain fresh, colourfast and rebuff graffiti for quite some time. Do share the distinctive seat-covers from your local public transport—and support them with your ridership and patronage. Much more to explore at the link above.

reverse look-up

In much the same way as a neural network can conjure people into existence before wishing them to the cornfield, we find a rather mysterious Swiss registered website—via LitHub—that seemingly authors short bits of stream-of-conscious fiction in the comments section of a Whois domain ownership query.
A refresh yields a different story with a different cast of characters and trajectory and only the holding company (a safe and infamous target in a former affiliate of bounty-hunting collections agency that was scandalous dissolved in 2011) remains the same. What do you make of this? Beyond the writing prompts offered up out of random noise—assuming that there is not some deeper feedback experiment going on here—we are all eager and programmed to tease pattern and intention out chaos and disruption, jolting something out of a background of near non sequitir, much like the reaching reassurance of a horoscope or fortune-teller.

mcmlxix

Via Memo of the Air, we are treated to a photographic retrospective of the year in pictures, 1969 edition. Fifty iconic images curated by Alan Taylor show what shook the world and beyond fifty years, whose rumblings are still being felt. From Vietnam, Nixon, civil rights movements, the Moon landing, to Woodstock with everything else in between, it was surely an arduous task to pick a range of representative pictures—much less one.

pyt med det!

Our thanks to TYWKIWDBI for making us wise to another keenly useful Dutch turn of phrase—which, while not being the opposite or antidote to the equally thorny to translate hygge—in the attitude-encapsulating word pyt.
While not resignation nor the high-mindedness of forced-perspective, acknowledging pyt or pressing the “pyt-knappen” expresses the decision to accept circumstance beyond one’s control and influence—despite hardships and annoyance—and to not dwell or dawdle longer on it. Those events and happenstance margins of power (liminally outside what we can control) can prove the most draining but this light, delicate word has the magic to dispel them and invite hygge in their place.

8x8

actuation: robots will construct a new robotics science museum in Seoul—via Nag on the Lake

the way of flowers: an expanded look at the aesthetics of ikebana (previously)—the traditional art of Japanese flower arrangement

go transit: the vehicle just gets you there


high-intensity incidental physical activity: studies suggest that the most impactful forms of exercise aren’t exercise at all

gambay: an interactive map of Australia’s aboriginal languages—via Maps Mania

just want your extra time ... and your gif: a collection of officially-endorsed Prince animations

osborne bulls: the backstory of those iconic silhouettes that dot the Spanish countryside along freeways

beat of a different drum: a marching band with “robotic” music 

dakhabrakha

The always brilliant Everlasting Blört directs our attention to a Tiny Desk Concerto from NPR of the Kiev-based quartet, whose name means “give-and-take” in Old Ukrainian and whose sound and soul reflects the “chaos” of incorporating the unexpected. If the vocal bridge from the last number, “Divka-Marusechka,” has a familiar holiday ring, that’s because it is referencing a traditional folk chant called “Shchedryk” (Щедрий вечiр, Bountiful Evening)—a New Year’s Eve carol appropriated by the West through intermediaries in 1919 as “Carol of the Bells.” Much more to hear at the group’s website at the the link above.

konudagur

The date of observance and tone having shifted significantly since the Icelandic calendar was first codified and presently equivalent to Valentine’s Day, Woman’s Day has settled on this day—having beforehand been held on the first day of the month of Góa—which could fall anywhere between the eighteenth and the twenty-fifth of February, due to the strictly solar character of the traditional way of keeping track of the passage of time which employed interstitial weeks rather than leap days every few years to correct for seasonal creep. The extra week called sumarauki was always inserted into the summer and the rather ingenious and tidy system developed in the 900s had twelve months of thirty days each (three hundred and sixty plus four epagomenal ones) and the months always began on the same day of the week. The old Icelandic year was divided between “short days” (see also here and here)—Skammdegi—that described the length of daylight during the winter and its corollary “nightless days”—Náttleysi. The dark and harsh first half of the year consisted of:

• mid October – mid November: Gormánuður, Gór’s month which marked the time to harvest and slaughter livestock for the winter
• mid November – mid December: Ýlir, Yuletide 
• mid December – mid January: Mörsugur, feasting time 
• mid January – mid February: Þorri, dead of Winter 
• mid February to mid March: Góa 
• mid March to mid April: Einmánuður, the month of transition

Summer is welcomed with Sumardagurinn fyrsti and the six months of unending days, many named after now forgotten goddesses—making an even stronger argument to honour the women in your lives all year around, follow with:

• mid April – mid May: Harpa, the beginning of Summer 
• mid May – mid June: Skerpia 
• mid June – mid July: Sólmánuður, the sunny month 
• mid July – mid August: Heyannir, time to dry the hay for the livestock 
• mid August – mid September: Tvímánuður, for some reason, the second month 
• mid September – mid October: Haustmánuður, autumn sets in

neroberg

The foothill of the Taunus range just on the outskirts of Wiesbaden—going by the term Hausberg, home mountain owing to the sense of ownership and defining characteristic that the landform has for its neighbouring borough, that I took the opportunity to revisit was originally known as the Ersberg before taking on the more romanticised name in the title in the nineteenth century when an ensemble of structures were built at the summit—with more added over the decades, and a funicular train was put in service to ferry guests to the summit.
The little rail depot was yet closed for the winter—we’d taken it up from the valley beforehand—but walking was a pleasant option. After strolling through a folly-filled park that banked on either side of a small brook, one first encounters the gleaming gold domes and spires of the Russian Orthodox Church of Saint Elizabeth, whose striking beauty, visible throughout Wiesbaden belies a sad story.
Grand Duchess Elizabeth Mikhailova (*1826 – †1845), niece of Emperor Nicholas I, married Adolf, Duke of Nassau (*1817 – †1905), and celebrated a brief but happy personal and political union—living in Schloss Biebrich, until Elizabeth died during the birth of their first child.
Grief-stricken and inconsolable, the Duke choose the spot on the hillside for a memorial church so he could always have a view of it from his residence.
Along with a parsonage and a cemetery, the church is one of the largest Russian Orthodox congregations in Europe outside of Russia—Wiesbaden already having garnered popularity with Russian tourists as a health spa and with a sizable emigre population that grew after the violence and revolution of 1917, and houses the Duchess’ sarcophagus.
A little further up on the hilltop lies an extensive Bergpark, the focal point being a temple, specifically a neoclassic monopteros—a circular colonnade supporting a dome roof, with views of the city below.
All that remains of former guest accommodations (the hotel that catered to guests of the nearby thermal baths burned down in 1989) is a single turret that towers over an amphitheatre. There was also a parkour set up in the forest—dashing through the treetops—but I thought maybe I had hiked enough already for the day but would consider coming back to see how the course is set up.