Not entirely sure what’s happening here. (I mean, I know they’re making paper. But how…?)
Yet despite my limited capacity for understanding such things, I find this short film absolutely mesmerizing. Pretty sure you will, too.
Only problem is, would you—could you—write on this stuff? And what if you did, but you misspelled a word? (Shudder.)
Writing in The Wilson Quarterly, Brandon Ambrosino asks an important question: “If, in the smartphone age, our only experience of a place is through the lens of a camera, then in what sense are we ever truly here?”
And that isn’t the only uncomfortable question he asks—not by a long shot. But the article isn’t the usual unrepentant-luddite-versus-millennials screed. It’s a thoughtful look at the shrinking nostalgia gap, hyperreality, and a sobering reminder that
on social media, we are never present. Rather, the very sign of our presence—a status update, a tweet, a picture of what we’re eating now—is the promise of our absence. My Facebook profile, like yours, is an eerie reminder that I don’t actually know where, or when, I am.
If you need me, I’ll be in my office cultivating an air of detachment and ironic distance.
And all this time I thought this was perfectly normal:
[R]esearchers found that the brains of individuals who occasionally feel a chill while listening to music were wired differently than the control subjects. They had more nerve fibers connecting [their] auditory cortex, the part of the brain that processes sound, to their anterior insular cortex, a region involved in processing feelings. The auditory cortex also had strong links to parts of the brain that may monitor emotions.
Just to be sure, I tested myself. Before anyone arrived to work this morning, I put on Job: A Masque for Dancing by the English composer Ralph Vaughan Williams. I chose the fourth track—”Scene III: Minuet of the Sons of Job and Their Wives”—and bumped the volume up as loud as my little Bowers & Wilkins T7 could safely handle.
Scene III: Minuet of the Songs of Job and Their Wives
As the strings and winds moved slowly yet inexorably toward the brass fanfare announcing the arrival of Satan, I could feel the goosebumps on my arms and the hair on the back of my neck stand up. And when the full orchestra finally unleashed its triple-fortissimo fury, my spine was practically electric. Time for a cigarette.
And to think some people don’t get to experience this.
Following up on yesterday’s post, here are a couple of of my favorite homophones: discreet and discrete. What makes these particularly fun is that they’re also doublets (a fancy linguistic term for different words in the same language that are derived from the same source).
See, while both discreet and discrete have the same etymological parent—discretus, which is Latin for “separated”—they have very different meetings. Discreet generally means prudent, circumspect, or inconspicuous (“on the DL,” as the kids say); discrete refers to that which is distinct. Yet despite these differences, the root is still fairly obvious.
Wait. This isn’t as cool as I think it is?
Over at the PBS Newshour website, I came across this:
“There is a lot of pressure in academia to tow certain ideological and political lines [emphasis mine], and people in academia who are independent thinkers are afraid to express countervailing feelings.”
The correct spelling, in this case, is toe. According to my copy of Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase & Fable (18th edition), to toe the line is to “submit to discipline or regulations; to come into line with the rest. In foot races the runners are made to assemble with toes up to the start line.”
Or, as Paul Brians explains, it has to do with “lining your toes up on a precise mark, not with pulling on a rope.”
Toe and tow are homophones, a type of homonym. Homonyms are words that sound alike but mean different things, like fair (lightly complected), fair (exhibition), and fair (just); homophones are simply homonyms that also happen to be spelled differently – there, their, and they’re, for example, or to, too, and two. All homophones are homonyms, in other words, but not all homonyms are homophones.
It’s a little mistake, of course. But it’s precisely this sort of thing that could raise questions about the veracity of the story. “If the writer doesn’t understand the difference,” the reader may think, “why should I trust the rest of the article?”
Or maybe that’s just me.
This is not only strangely beautiful, but also weirdly satisfying.
According to the description, this is “Popping Popcorn at 30,000 Frames Per Second Filmed in Ultra Slow Motion Macro with the Phantom v2512 Ultra High Speed Camera.” And if that does nothing for you, there’s “Mouse Trap vs. Hot Dog” in 147,000 FPS 4K. Still not impressed? Watch a Prince Rupert’s Drop get crushed under a hydraulic press at 380,000 frames per second.
You’re welcome.
So the mean temperature in Spokane this last Saturday was 7°F. And Sunday was even colder. But that didn’t prevent me from stepping out onto the frozen tundra with the intrepid Rosie to take in a few lungfuls of brisk arctic air. How did I manage, you ask?
Two words: butter tea.
Stay with me here. It’s been scientifically proven that butter makes everything better, so it shouldn’t surprise anyone that it’s the perfect accompaniment to a cup of tea. Plus, the Tibetans have been drinking it that way for more than a thousand years. The problem is, they use yak butter, which is…somewhat difficult to track down around here. But I came up with a workaround, adapted from Carolyn Phillips’s magisterial All Under Heaven:
4 TBS Pu-erh tea leaves (you can pick this up locally at Lorien on South Perry)
1 cup heavy cream (or whole milk if the fat content freaks you out)
4 TBS high-quality salted butter (Trader Joe’s has a delicious water buffalo variety)
pinch of salt
Add the tea to 5 cups of boiling water and simmer for 10–15 minutes, depending on the strength you desire. Strain. Blend the liquid with the cream, butter, and salt. Serve immediately. Experience Nirvana. (No, not that one. This one.)
Seriously, folks, you need to try this. Warms you up from the inside out while providing you with the kind of caloric energy you need to make it to spring.
I subscribe to a lot of daily and weekly newsletters/blogs/rantings, etc. Some for fun. Some for knowledge. Some to just waste time.
Usually, one or two a week will have a topic that sinks its hooks into me. Aaron will be pleased, because today’s is from George Orwell’s “Politics and the English Language,” courtesy of The Daily Heller:
…one can often be in doubt about the effect of a word or a phrase, and one needs rules that one can rely on when instinct fails. I think the following rules will cover most cases:
Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
Never use a long word where a short one will do.
If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
Never use the passive where you can use the active.
Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.
For the complete essay, click here.
Sometimes I feel like I’m still in grammar school when writing more than a few words—especially since I have Aaron in the next room. But man, do I appreciate the well-written word in both my work and personal readings.
And having an editor nearby is a plus. Thanks Beav.
From the Department of Redundancies Department: Local residents reject Swiss citizenship request of an “annoying” vegan with a “big mouth.”
HAL turns 24 today:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgkyrW2NiwM
Exquisitely detailed 16th-century Gothic miniatures, each carved by hand from a single piece of boxwood.
Americans still read. (And as for print versus e-readers and tablets, it’s not even close.)
“[P]rofanity evolved within the spontaneous order we call language to perform certain functions. Eliminate profanity and you’ll eliminate those functions, making language less powerful.” Damn straight.
From the very first time I read the Journal of Business, I’ve looked forward to seeing the handiwork of local cartoonist David Rowles. His drawings make me laugh even before I read the captions. There’s something about his line work, the personality of his characters, and the simple details that I really enjoy.
A while back, Dave served as helveticka’s guest blogger for an entire week in celebration of our 1000th post. And recently, he lent his expertise to a set of note cards developed for our philanthropic arm, Helveticahaus.
The other day, Dave shared with us the story of his meeting with Bob Mankoff, the famed cartoon editor for the New Yorker. Dave had arranged to meet Mankoff at his New York office on the 38th floor of One Word Trade Center to show him some cartoons, two of which are published here for the very first time:
As you probably know, the New Yorker takes its cartoons very seriously. And Mankoff is the guy who selects just 16–17 cartoons from a thousand weekly submissions. Here’s David’s story.
Regular reader Mike W. (not his real name) has a question: “Is it all right to use alright instead of all right?”
No, Mike W. It’s not.
What—you were expecting more? That’s…pretty much it. I mean, sure, it’s confusing. This is just one of those times when you have to remember that it’s two words, not one. Sorry.
Got a burning grammar question? Write it on the back of a used $100 bill and drop it in the mail. Questions are answered in the order received.
So the missus and I decided to go crazy this year with the Mother of Resolutions: We’re going to read all of Shakespeare’s works in 2017.
To be honest, it’s not like we were sitting around trying to come up with ways to better ourselves. (I mean, there’s only so much you can do, right?) In fact, I blame Twitter, which is where I came across this. “Hmmm,” thought I. “Sounds doable.”
Anyway, we picked up a copy of The Oxford Shakespeare: Complete Works (second edition) and began January 1. I know, we’re barely a week into the month, but we’re still on track—which is more than you can say for the average gym membership this time of year.
Tonight’s reading is Act 5 from Two Gentlemen of Verona, and honestly, I can’t wait.
In the U.S. alone, there are trillions of coins in circulation. When taking into account the rest of the world, that number could easily be in the quadrillions. Some of them range from the downright bizarre (like Somalia’s 3D geometric coins) to the traditional circular. And all of them have different designs. So really, it was only a matter of time before we came across one that we could write a blog about.
So in walks the 1980 Swiss 5-franc coin that CK received for Christmas this year. Designed by Paul Burkhard, who lived from 1888-1964, this coin contains both a lot of history and small details. Burkhard designed the coin in the early 1920s, and the same design is still being used today. On the edge of the coin “*** DOMINUS PROVIDEBIT **********” is printed, which is Latin for “The Lord will provide.” The really fascinating part comes on the side of the coin with the portrait of William Tell — yes, the same William Tell known for shooting an apple off his son’s head with a crossbow. Tell is a Swiss folk hero known for bringing unity to Switzerland, a story that inspired Gioachino Rossini to write the William Tell Overture.
The phrase “Confoederatio Helvetica” accompanies Tell’s portrait. It’s the official name for the country of Switzerland. The reason it’s in Latin is because Switzerland has four national languages, and they didn’t want to show favoritism toward one or the other. It’s also the reason for their country code on their license plates, as well as the URL extension for Swiss websites.
In his Poetry Notebook (Liveright, 2014), Clive James says that “Man on the Moon” by Australian poet Stephen Edgar is “a perfect poem”—though he admits he’d rather not use that adjective. “The word,” he writes, “just doesn’t convey enough meaning to cover, or even approach, the integrity of the manufacture.”
Is it perfect? I dunno. James does make a convincing case. What I can tell you is that it absolutely wrecked me when I read it this morning. And re-read it—half a dozen times.
Elsewhere in the book, James writes about “a lightning strike of an idea that goes beyond thought and perception and into the area of metaphorical transformation.”
Yup. That happened.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year, sure, but it’s awfully hard to enjoy it when so many people have so many incorrect opinions about Christmas. So, as a public service, I’ve provided some guidance in a few important areas. It’s our hope here at helveticka world headquarters that, armed with the following information, your holiday will be “the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny [redacted] Kaye.”
Top 5 Christmas Movies of All Time
Die Hard
Christmas Vacation
It’s a Wonderful Life
White Christmas
Elf
5 Most Delicious Christmas Treats
stollen
shortbread
gingerbread
sugar cookies
fudge
5 Best Adult Beverages to Consume (in Moderation) on Christmas
glögg
single malt Scotch, neat
Trinidad sour
hot buttered rum
Irish coffee
5 Most Thoughtful Presents to Give Aaron (from lowest to highest price)
5 Worst Christmas Songs Ever
“Do They Know It’s Christmas” Band Aid
“Wonderful Christmastime” Paul McCartney
“Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” John & Yoko / The Plastic Ono Band
“Last Christmas” Wham!
anything by Mariah Carey or Celine Dion