The Barrel Organ

We all have peripheral images left over from childhood storybooks of monkeys turning cranks on boxes from which cheerful organ music piped. One type of organ operated in this way was the barrel organ, which consisted of bellows and one or more tiers of pipes housed in a (usually highly ornamented) box. The music was created by the turning of wood "barrels" or cylinders which were encoded with music using an array of pins and staples.

("Detail of barrel organ (1)" by Chmee2, Wikimedia Commons)

Amazing what you can make music out of, isn't it? While the playing of this device doesn't require great musical talent--just a steady arm, the composing of music on one of these barrels is quite complex, so hats off to those who did and still do create their own barrels.

But, on to what I really wanted to share:

 First, this guy, because he's awesome

And second some historic images of barrel organs and their grinders. I find these fascinating, as they show a type of street performing you would be hard-pressed to find anywhere in the world today (though organ grinder hobbyists do still exist, as is evidenced by the awesome dude above). These images show a quirky array of people, many of them seeming a bit rough around the edges, which really makes you wonder about their stories. How did they come by their barrel organs? Were they all hand-made, or inherited? If not, what sort of a business investment is a barrel organ? How much would that have set you back in the early 1900's? Were these people wacky free-spirits, or hard-working individuals desperate for a few coins in an over-saturated job market? Literature from the time depicts them as almost exclusively as vagabond extortionists, however as with any profession, I'd imagine the personal histories of those involved were as varied and colorful as the instruments they played. 

Organ Grinder, 1922. Toronto Public Library X 65-211

Eugene Atget's Organ Grinder

Children with Organ Grinder in New York

The scene with the organ grinder and the Gypsy girl 

Organ Grinder With Monkey, Ohio County Public Library, W.C. Brown Photo 83

"An organ grinder at Mtskheta" by N_Creatures, Wikipedia Commons

The Big Parade

So, I decided to treat myself to a movie on Friday, and this is the title that came up. The Big Parade  is a silent film from 1925 set during the First World War. It features a young dandy named Jim who throws in and joins the army (much to his mother's chagrin) where he befriends two working class gentlemen: the perpetual tobacco gob chewing Slim, and the tough but hard-luck Bull. After being deployed to France, his unit spends several (weeks? months?) at a small French village where, despite being engaged to someone back home, Jim falls hard for the feisty (and I think absolutely gorgeous) Melisande, played by Renee Adoree:

Isn't she adorkable? I was so sad to hear she died of TB only a couple of years after the filming of this movie. 

Their courtship is delightfully slapstick, involving a barrel, bare buttocks, chewing gum, a swift right hook,and many many giggles. You really can't help but smile watching the pair struggle to convey their mutual attraction across the language barrier (something which seems to work especially well in silent film as medium). 

Another thing about silent film, which I love, is the fact that because so much work must go into making the visuals communicate the story, you could pretty much take a screencap of any point in the film and frame it and put it up on your wall. 

As an experiment, lets do just that: 

1) Jim hits on Melisande on the riverbank. Sure, I'd make this into a poster! Their smiles are so lovely. 

2) The new recruits are greeted by "Flying Fitz" in this scene. Maybe not posterworthy, but definitely could have a small copy in a frame. 

3) . . .And this happened . . .

Well, maybe not. 

Anyway, what I really admired about this movie was the abrupt turnaround it made in the second half. This was a turnaround which was wholly uncharacteristic for the time. The movie went from patriotic beginnings, to the cheerful silly warm days in the village in France, to portraying (probably at least somewhat accurately given how close it was in memory in 1925, and based on my own understanding of how the war was tactically--or not tactically-- fought) the absolute Hell WWI put those boys through. And by "those boys" I don't just mean the Americans--the film turns out to be surprisingly sympathetic to all sides fighting (something we could stand to see a little more of in our war films today, I might add). 

The phrase "The Big Parade" alters meaning entirely from the beginning of the movie to the end. At the start, there is a jubilant sort of excitement as the "Parade" is a patriotic march to the front and to glory. By the end, we are shown a long trail of medical vehicles hauling the wounded back from the front, and the caption comes up "Another Big Parade." 

The field hospital where Jim winds up after taking an arrow to the knee is also portrayed with a sort of chilling accuracy unlike anything we see in renditions of the war today. Flies are everywhere, crawling over our heroes face,  and in a bed near Jim, a man is tied down, screaming in the throes of PTSD. There are no pretty, spankable nurses to be seen, and the "hospital" is not really anything like a hospital-- just rows of cots in a gutted out church. Jim himself appears to have been altered by his experiences at the front. Something sour, blank, and haunted has come over his expression and if you were to compare him to the dandy from the start of the movie, you would hardly recognize the same man. 

This was a time when few but the writers wanted to talk about the human costs of the war (and even the writers did so in a less than direct manner), but The Big Parade takes it on with directness and humanity, tempered with comedy and a bit of drama. This could easily have been a fluffy romantic film. It could easily have been *enjoyable* as a fluffy romantic film. But it went one step further, and that's what made it a classic worthy of preservation in the National Film Registry. 

The Art of Acting Hostess

It seems to me, that hosting any gathering (no, we're not talking hostess in the airline or twinkie sense) has become a more complex affair in recent years. As fad diets, new eating preferences, and new food allergies emerge, today's hostess is challenged to be more aware of the needs and wants of her guests than ever before. If she wants to be successful, that is.

[An aside: Yes, this is a gendered post . . .no, I'm not saying that men can't host gatherings. I was inspired to write this post by this little book from the early 1900's offering up some guidelines for proper hostessing, and the book itself was, interestingly, written by a man named Paul Pierce :  http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=1859388]

While the hostess of yesterday was concerned with producing an endless flow of dishes that would "occupy in part the attention of the guests and tend to promote the success of her favorite dish by allowing her to proceed in its preparation undisturbed by haste or excitement," today's hostess has to worry about what sort of bloating, rash, physical discomfort, or ultimately gruesome death she may potentially be inflicting upon her guests. 

Mr. Pierce ridicules those who are anxious in the kitchen, jesting "why there should be so much excitement over the cooking of an ordinary rarebit, a creamed chicken, a souffle of oysters or all this terrible excitement about a lobster Newberg or a simple cheese fondue is beyond comprehension." Arguably, today's hostess experiences the same sort of anxiety in deciding upon something as simple as which cookie to bake -- should it be gluten free, low in fat, vegan safe, sans nuts, and diabetic friendly? 

I know, I know, we give credit to the woman of the past for her ability to pull off elegant and complex dishes in multiple courses over the duration of a long night without a dollop of gravy on her frock. But really, what the modern woman does, or attempts to do when she entertains is just as impressive. Not only are we attempting to bring together in a social manner a group of people who have become unused to social interaction unmediated by a touch screen, but we are attempting to do it on our one day off of a week of working. Shopping for quality ingredients, prepwork, actual cooking, and of course the weekend ritual of cleaning house (something the old "American aristocrat" of Pierce's time didn't have to do) can eat up an entire day before anything resembling actual eating even begins. Any woman who does all this, even if her dinner isn't as complex and has a few less courses than those described by Pierce, should be proud of her work.  And it IS work, as anyone who as ever tried to cook more than three things at once can attest to.

It is comforting to know, however, that we do share some of the same aspirations and concerns as our century-separated counterpart. Themed dinners were as popular a hundred years a go as they are now (and presumably just as fun to put on). Pierce poignantly explains the difficulties of a young woman wanting to entertain in a small space (a section of his book I might need to go back and look over more thoroughly -_-u) saying: "there are some people to whose distorted vision the tiniest molehills are magnified into veritable chains of mountains, rugged and insurmountable; and if, in addition to their other woes, they happen to be unfortunate enough to dwell in a flat, their desolation is complete." The same is very much true today. There is something isolating about living in a small space by oneself--a problem which grows as more and more people resolve to spend their lives alone in the modern day. 

I could go on and on comparing this witty little book to our present day entertainments, but I suppose instead I will leave you with these compelling words from Pierce: some women " have a perfectly inexplicable talent for making life livable" and " bring[ing] forth into the bright sunshine the many opportunities which everyone's life contains." I think that this is something we should all strive for--be it by having friends over for an evening of good food and company, fixing our boyfriend's car, or just smiling at a random stranger. 

Nostalgia

So, what is up with all of these people saying they should have been born in a different era? You have the new-wave house moms (nothing wrong with being a house mom, btw), making clothes and puddings and cheese and bread and crocheted cozies for their SUVs from scratch. You have the hipsters, beating mothballs off of their great-grandad's clothes and lugging his typewriter out to the park to write poetry that reflects Poe at his worst (something great grandad would probably never have done, if you think about it). You have the fashion bloggers, dolling themselves up Victorian, or twenties, thirties, forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, or eighties and bemoaning the fact that if they had just been born a few decades earlier, someone out there would understand their fashion sense.  Pinterest boards covered in paraphernalia from past decades. People displaying nostalgia for things they never came close to having a chance to experience.

I mean, I get it. The present sucks. There are no jobs, we're all in debt. Life is hectic, expectations are high, and we've all got more responsibilities than we can shake a stick at. We're all drowning in a shitstorm of information overload, and people are longing for simpler, pleasanter times.

But . . .seriously.

So many people have blogged on this or started community discussions on this (you know, using the internet) its not even funny. Here are some examples. 

"  I often think I should have been born in another time and another place. Don't get me wrong. I have a wonderful family. I just like differant things and would have loved to have been around in certain times in History.   I love reading about the 1700's 1800's. I wish I could have been around during the Victorian era."

The author of this snippet was a woman, to contextualize. Really? REALLY? You would like to live in a time where, as a woman, you were expected to be seen, rather than heard. A time when you were not yet, fully, legally considered a human being. You couldn't vote. You couldn't really state your opinion. In the 1700's, especially, depending on your class, you may not have even been able to read those books you enjoy reading. Lets be real, here.

"Anyone else feel like they were born in the wrong time period. I mean don’t get me wrong I find technology useful but there is little room for adventure in this day and age.
If you could live anywhere in any time period where’d it be?"

Sort of encompasses the issue, doesn't it? The present is dull. Things were far more exciting in the middle ages when there were dragons and shit . .. Thing is, people have found life dull no matter what time they're living in. The problem isn't the time period. The problem is the people living in it. You will find excitement and adventure wherever you are, as long as you're looking.

"Yes, I often feel like I was born too late! I would've liked to have lived in the mid-to-late 1800's, in the Old West or in a wilderness. Live on a homestead in a cabin I built myself, raise my own food, ride or drive a horse everywhere, and be self-sufficient. Live without electricity and heat my house with wood. Live off the land. Of course, people do that nowadays, but I think it would be much harder today with the government telling you what you can and can't do."

Now, I like good hard physical labor as much as the next person, more than most . . .but the person writing this has obviously never lived on a farm. The payoff of having created something by yourself is good--if you can do it. A lot of homesteaders just gave up. A lot of them worked themselves to death. There's a great deal of isolation in that sort of a lifestyle, and while isolation can be good, it also tends to drive you a little batty if enforced over a long period. No such thing as a vacation--things always need to be done, even (though to a lesser extent) on Sundays. Constant. Grinding. Toil.

Also, this pinterest board entitled Renaissance/ Medieval- the time period I should have been born in :). Its a lovely board. Full of lovely things. Unfortunately, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance were not lovely times. People dumped shit out of windows onto the streets, and thought that wearing perfume was a good alternative to bathing. They also thought that leeches could save you from cancer, and that any outspoken woman was a witch.

I guess what I'm saying is, is its not really right to hold up any era in a golden light of idealism. People have always been people no matter what time they're living in. Beliefs change, daily activities change . . .but in the end, humans are just humans. Times change, but we stay the same . . .and because of that, time ceases to matter.  

This from the girl with a (soon) archival degree.

Origins of Basketball, disambiguated

During my life, I have heard three separate places lay claim to the invention of the sport of Basketball, and do so with conviction. The source of this confusion lies with this guy:

James Naismith, who is considered the father of the sport.

Canadians will remember this video being played on the CBC (do they still do the heritage moments?) which features a rather cranky seeming Naismith explaining the game to a bunch of kind of derpy looking americans;

The reason Naismith features here as a Canadian is because he is one. Born in Ontario and educated at McGill, where he obtained his BA in phys-ed, anyone looking into this guy will soon come to realize that, although born a Canadian, the sport really wasn't invented here. Sure, it was rattling around in Naismith's head for years before he made it into a real game, but it wasn't as though he came from McGill with the handbook of Basketball fully formed in his McGill school sweater pocket. That's right, this Canadian heritage moment is just another government lie, boys and girls. Moving on.

Naismith moved on too, to Springfield Massachusetts, where he taught at the local YMCA (I suppose that explains the levels of derp in the above video), and it was there that the game became fully fledged, and started to catch on, spreading through YMCA networks like wildfire. WILDFIRE, I SAY. Okay, so probably nothing spread much like wildfire in 1892, (except for wildfires) but you get the idea. It seems that Naismith did not stay in Springfield long, moving on to Denver where he pursued a medical degree. However, Springfield Mass. is the home of the basketball hall of fame: 

Which features an appropriately gigantic basketball, so I think you could very validly make the argument that Springfield is the home of the sport.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! 

After getting his medical degree, Naismith moved to Lawrence Kansas, where he taught at the University of Kansas for many years. KU's basketball program began in 1898, shortly after Naismith arrived on campus. Apart from training up the Phog, Naismith was, reportedly, a pretty shitty coach. HOWEVER, basketball caught on like crazy insane in Kansas (seriously, you should go there), and so that state, having possessed Naismith for longer than anyone, has also laid claim to the invention of the sport, or to being its "home" (I'm not sure which).

ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK!

Anyway, basically, you can blame Naismith and all of his moving around for the confusion about where Basketball comes from. For me, I'd go with Springfield . . .but then, the CBC *did* put a lot of effort into that well done history minute, so I might have to rethink that . . .

A Monk's Secret

Monastic living has always had some sort of allure to me. This lovely little documentary gives you a  great feeling for what that life is like. It brings together Quebec, the Prairies, Canadian History, and most importantly, cheese. Within the context of cheese (and I mean, who can resist a documentary about cheese?), the documentary takes on some of the challenges facing modern monasteries all over the world. Its also a good opportunity to listen to some french, which I appreciated, lol.

A Monk's Secret by Yves Étienne Massicotte, National Film Board of Canada

Parlor Culture

Today's thousand dollar question: does making intellectualism "fashionable" strip it of its value?

Some quick flashbacks:

Medieval times: intellectualism not fashionable; mostly monks actively pursuing and preserving knowledge, everyone else too busy waving swords/fighting dragons

Renaissance: new sorts of intellectualism rising, but often more dangerous than fashionable, re: conflicts with church

Enlightenment right through to the Victorian era: intellectualism all the rage. High fashion. Parlor culture, involving getting a bunch of "intellectuals" and "artists" together in a room to be self-important. That's not really fair : a lot of really good works came out of this time, but there were also a lot of intellectual posers drifting around, it seems.

1920's: A criticism of this sort of fashionable intellectualism from T.S. Eliot :

In the room the women come and go	35
Talking of Michelangelo.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,	50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

Now: Parlor is long dead, but we have Hipsters. Think about it. And the need for higher education. Think about that, too. Steampunk = a nostalgia for parlor culture? The most intelligent among us have become chronically more vulgar , and tend to hate the academic institutions that give us the words to hate with (less now maybe, more in the nineties). 

I haven't really worked out what I want to say about this in my head, so I'm just throwing down some fragments of what's rattling around in there. Maybe I'll follow up with  an actual post, later. 

Pierre de Rigaud, Marquis de Vaudreuil-Cavagnal

Bit of Canadian history for you, in unfunny meme form:

Catharine Parr Trail

Further exploring Canadian history today, I decided to delve a bit into the life of Catharine Parr Traill, sister to Susannah Moodie, and I must say, I think I am in love.

 

Gotta say, having read a couple of excerpts from The Backwoods of Canada. Being Letters
from the Wife of an Emmigrant Officer, Illustrative of the Domestic Economy of British North America (London, England: Knight, 1836), lady's got sass. In letter II, she is constantly pestering her husband, the captain, the surgeon, and anyone else who will listen for opportunities to explore ashore in the New World. She describes in detail the flowers and fresh fruits that are brought to her to mollify her (I should note here her interest in botany). Once having begun their homestead, she maintains that same spirit and optimism and sense of adventure, it seems, reading Letter VII. Although I am certain, had I read the whole book, I would come across her down phases and periods of lost hope, I am also certain she would have conveyed these with the same dry wit she exhibits in the two excerpts, rendering her depression palatable to the reader. Yes, I just said that. Although ultimately, the Traills, like the Moodies wound up moving to the city, abandoning their dream of homesteading, you can tell, just from photographs of the elderly Catharine, that for her, at least, life in the New World was a blazing success. 

 

Should you like to read the excerpt I read, you can find it in pdf here.

John By

The unfortunately-named for the Google era, Lt. Colonel John By was a British military engineer who lived from 1779 to 1836. He was the big mind behind the Richleau Canal, and although somewhat underappreciated at the time, he is still recognized as an important figure in the development of Eastern Canada.

BUT! I'm not here to talk about John By. Nope, I am simply using him for an example (its ok guys, he's used to it). Searching for information on By this morning (which, as I said, is difficult thanks to his last name . . . you get everything from "Little John by the river" to "the long John by the bathtub") I stumbled across this:   http://www.mccord-museum.qc.ca/en/collection/artifacts/M386

This is a sketch by By (lol) from 1826. I rawther like it. BUT! I'm not here to talk about the image either.

I am here to talk about the way it is presented. Obviously, the McCord Museum has taken steps to ensure that this image cannot be easily stolen from the website (ignoring the potential for screencaps, as frequently happens). This is a good thing to do, especially when an image is copyrighted (this is beyond copyright, however). At the very least, it is a way to force people to come to your facility if they want to lay eyes upon the real deal (if it is in the sort of condition where laying eyes upon it will not dissolve it into a pile of ash). So I suppose you could say that this concern for security, while still allowing users to view, and become intrigued by elements of McCord's collection is what they are doing right here. I also like the consistency of the presentation here with the rest of the site, although having the picture a bit closer to the middle might make it more of a focal point on the page.

But what are they doing wrong? My big issue with the way this image is presented is that it is not accompanied by a detailed enough description. Do we know why By drew this? Did he draw many of them? Where are we, exactly? And who the heck is John By anyway?

I know, I know, I've worked on digitization projects. I know how tight on time and money these things can be. Stopping to describe each image in detail besides the credit line and generic caption might be a nightmare. But at the same time, if we aren't helping people to learn, then what the hell are we, as the keepers of history, doing? I know the page allows for tagging and for commenting by users, which is all well and good, and which may indeed lead to some more pertinent information making it onto the page. But the archivist is able to see the original within a context that is lost to online viewers. This context (ie. the role of such sketches within By's collection) should also be shared with those users. I would argue that the inclusion of such information, rather than the simple showing of an image, makes the contents of an archive or a museum seem more approachable to the general public, rather than remaining within the realm of the academic.

Putto

A Putto is a figure in a work of art depicted as a chubby male child, usually nude and sometimes winged -- Wikipedia 

That's right, kids, today we're gonna talk about fat naked boychildren and how they became a part of our artistic heritage!

Apparently, there were some really fucked up people in the Renaissance who thought that this: 

Ded Putto

. . . was aesthetically appealing. 

In all honesty, I find this:

Drunk Putto

in some ways as disturbing as this: 

except one is Renaissance art, and the other is what terrible mothers do to their confused five year olds.

The only explanation I have for the Putto is that it was an early form of Catholic birth control. Because after you've seen this:

. . .you'll probably never want to think about having kids again.

WINGED DEVIL BABIES!!!

Benjamin Britten

On the tail of the Feynman post, let me introduce to you Benjamin Britten: a man who worked to bring orchestra and opera back to the people. The video says it better than I do, and the second video of him and Pears almost brought me to tears.

Tahltan

File this under "new things I learned about today that I'm writing down in order to remember". Did some reading on the Tahltan aboriginals, a small tribe with their own dialect of Athabascan hailing from the Stikine River watershed in British Columbia.

Tahltan Yesterday

Tahltan Today

Reasons to like the Tahltan:

* Having your own language that hasn't completely died out when you're a tribe of only 2000 strong is no mean feat.

* They are made up of the Crow clan, and the Wolf clan (how cool is that)

* They are a matriarchal society (as many western tribes tend to be). Viva la matriarchy! 

* They were making tools from obsidian 10, 000 years ago. 

*They have been singlehandedly preventing the apocalypse since 2005 by guarding the roads leading to the headwaters of the Nass, Skeena, and Stikine rivers, which they view as the "sacred headwaters" from which all life originates. In all seriousness, the area is scouted as the spot for a coalbed methane mining project, which would greatly damage the environment in the area, so whether it means the apocalypse or no, it is good that *someone* is protecting this from happening. 

*They're musical! As you can see in the photo above, taken from here. Apparently, the area is known as "little Nashville" because everyone makes music in some way.

So, Tahltan. What's not to love? 

Canadian/History Major Derp

So! I learned something new today . . .a term with which I was entirely unfamiliar in the context of Canadian history and politics: the viceregal.

The viceregal is, apparently, the term for the consort of the Governor General of Canada. This person assists in ceremonial and charitable works, acts as arm candy for the gov. general, and also serves as the Chatelaine of Rideau hall.

Looking up information on the viceregal in Canada inevitably led me to the Wikipedia page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viceregal_consort_of_Canada

This page contains a list of all of the viceregals from 1627 to present. Here's where my real derp moment came in: I was surprised to see so many titles of aristocracy on the list. Ladies, and duchesses, and princesses, oh my! It had never occurred to me that the title of "governor general", and by association the person he would be married to, would have been historically tied to the nobility, or would have at least led to the acquisition of some sort of title.

Oh the things I miss.

Anyway, just for kicks, here's a likkle gallery of some of the gov's general and viceregals:

Earl and Countess of Bessborough, 1930's

(tangential derp: Bessborough Hotel in Saskatoon -- it never occurred to me to wonder who it was named after)

Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone,
who was a leader in the women's
war efforts, WWII

Madame Pierre de Rigaud de Vaudreuil, first

Canadian born viceregal, of New France, late18th c.

Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll, 1901.
An unhappy viceregal who disliked Canada \o/

I'm finding the stories behind these people I knew nothing about to be very interesting. Must. Learn. More.

Derp.

Tacoma Narrows Bridge

Thought I'd share with you all one of my favorite videos from grade 11 physics. We didn't watch this *exact* video of the 1940 tacoma bridge collapse, but this video is better, and provides some explanation in the content.

In my physics class, this was explained as a result of resonance between the wind, and the bridge, generating waves of increasing amplitude until the whole structure finally just gave in and collapsed. Apparently, this is not accurate. For a more accurate discussion of the cause (because I know I'll screw up the explanation), I suggest you read the wikipedia page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tacoma_Narrows_Bridge_(1940)

Also, this has to be one of the most famous small dog deaths in history. . .poor Tubby, but kudos to the professor who tried to go back and save him 

Pretty Ladies

I have always loved The Girl With The Pearl Earring, by Johannes Vermeer (circa 1665), ever since I first saw her on the -- you're gonna laugh -- back cover of a Reader's Digest when I was around ten or so. I love the play of light in the portrait, for one. Also, there is something mysterious about her. She has a quiet beauty, and a naivete, but also something lurking behind her eyes or in the set of her mouth that seems to be a playful invitation. Or maybe I'm just being a creepy old man again. 

I thought of her today, because I stumbled across a later portrait of a Choktaw native, which may have been inspired by this piece: 

Choktaw Belle was painted in 1850 by Philip Romer. It is a truly striking image, portraying this young woman with a soft sensitivity that isn't always common for portraits of aboriginal peoples at the time (I am speaking from a Canadian context, however. It should be noted that the Choktaw are from the Alabama/Louisiana region). The lighting is warm, with the attention given to the hue and texture of her skin being almost inappropriate. The set of her head, the earring, and even the lighting are all reminiscent of The Girl With The Pearl Earring. Or maybe I'm just nuts. Who knows?

Anyway, bit of art to start off your day. I'm off to hit the long and dusty, to work in the big and dusty. Its so awesome to have a job I'm actually EXCITED to go to again.  

Mace Bearer

The mace bearer, once upon a time a bodyguard carrying an actual brain-bashing mace for close combat, now a symbolic carrier of often absurdly designed mace-like-things during the ceremonies of an office or institution. Here are some random types of mace bearer, culled from around the internet for your Wednesday.

Old Skool Mace Bearer

New Skool Mace Bearer

Naval Mace Bearer

Its Bigger Than Me Mace Bearer

Nerd Mace Bearer

Closet Mace Bearer

She Mace Bearer

Unimpressed Mace Bearer

Way Too Happy To Be A
Mace Bearer

LARP Mace Bearer

I think that about covers all the bases.

Interesting Correlations

Just doing some random Wikipedia searching this morning, and I noticed an interesting correlation among some of history's most infamous dictators. Many of them are dropouts/rejects. I'm sure studies have been done on this which I am too lazy to do a proper academic search on right now, but I am going to throw down my examples anyway.

Name: Joseph Stalin

Title: General Secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR.
Education: Performed well at the Georgian Orthodox Seminary, but was expelled for not writing his final exams.
Career: Was a major leader within the soviet union during the second world war, and was its head from 1953 until his death. Over 3 million were killed during his regime, with some historians estimating as many as ten million deaths due to executions, massacres, deportations, and mass shootings.

Name: Pol Pot

Title: General Secretary of the Communist Party of Kampuchea (Cambodia)

Education: Flunked out of the exclusive Lisee Sisowath school. Attended EFR in Paris, failed exams for three successive years and was sent back to Cambodia. 

Career: Communist Leader in Cambodia from 1963-1981, a period during which approximately 21% of the population died due to forced labour, malnutrition, poor health care, and executions.

Name: Benito Mussolini

Title: Head of the National Fascist Party in Italy

Education: Expelled from boarding school after "a series of behaviour related incidents".

Career: Established a police state in Italy, which he enforced with an iron fist. Led Italy through the Second World War as a member of the Axis. Was able to do some good things for Italy, however ultimately led them to defeat in the war, and was executed in late April, 1945. 

Name: Adolf Hitler

Title: Fuhrer of Germany

Education: Rejected from Vienna Academy of Fine Arts twice. Lacked the academic credentials for architectural school. Became worlds most infamous dictator instead? 

Career: Don't need much explanation here. Hitler's policies resulted in the death of about 40 million people, including the fourteen million killed during the holocaust. 

So what does it all mean? Trouble with authority? Narrow, unacademic thinking? Intelligence in certain areas, and a great deal of idiocy in others makes for a great authoritarian leader? What do you think?

Cabaret

I watched this 1972 film today. The movie is set in 1931 Berlin during the rise of the Nazi Party, and centers on the erratic and intertwined lives of american singer and dancer Sally (played by Liza Minnelli) and British Brian, played by Michael Fox. Despite Scott laughing at me for watching it, and despite the rather sad ending, I liked it. I can understand why cabaret went home with eight academy awards that year, including best actress (say what you will about Liza, I LOVED her as Sally. Nyah.)

Liza as Sally

The film, first of all, is well written, and quite stylish. I found myself drooling a little over elements of the wardrobe. Maybe I was a drag queen in another life. The cinematography was great (they won another academy award for that as well), with a range of interesting shots, and a use of lighting that had a weight of meaning to it. Lighting for a feeling, not lighting for the script, if that makes sense. Yeah, you can tell I wasn't a film major. So sue me. *grins*

Love Natalia's driving outfit

Second, I felt that Cabaret did an interesting take on capturing a little heeded segment of history. Much attention is given to the time during and after the Second World War in film, but not much has been done on the climate in Germany leading up to the start of the war. There is a sense in which the movie captures the potent hangover of the "roaring twenties," and the desire to cling to a lifestyle of decadence that is quickly becoming unfeasible in the insanely inflated German economy. There is a sense throughout the movie of a gathering shadow, to which the characters turn a determinedly blind eye as they pursue their dreams of fame and wealth and romance. There is an eerie scene where Brian and his (sugardaddy?) Maximillion are sitting at an outdoor cafe, and a Hitler Youth begins singing a song called "Tomorrow belongs to me", and nearly the entire cafe crowd joins in. Here is an example of where the lighting is so exquisitely done. This scene was shot in the light of a near-perfect summer afternoon, an ironic contrast which makes the viewer even more keenly aware of the dark times the Youth's word's are foreshadowing. I THOUGHT IT WAS CLEVER.

Cabaret, despite its closing assertion that "life is a cabaret" reminds us that life is anything but. Germany--and the rest of the world--like Elsie in the final song number by Sally, is coming close to killing itself young with alcohol and pills. The absolute abandon of the twenties can no longer be sustained, and something is going to give. The final shot, which shows an audience of Nazi party members grotesquely reflected in the waved glass of the cabaret backdrop reminds us that the dissipated lifestyle warps one's ability to view reality, and makes one blind to danger. Cabaret dreams cannot last, just as the world was shaken awake from its 1920's stupor by first the depression, and then the war. 

I read it as a beautiful, but cautionary tale. I could just be pulling things out of my ass though. I usually do.

Pan Am

I told Scott this morning that I was going to watch the pilot of Pan Am, the "period drama" about Pan Am airline stewardesses in the early nineteen sixties, during the American golden age.

His response: "Oh eww. . .don't do that. That's like prime time soap opera"

I watched it anyway.

He was right.

But he was also wrong.

What is attractive to me about the notion of Pan Am, as a television series, is the topic itself. Airline stewardesses at the dawn of an age. What the pilot calls a "new breed" of women. What is really interesting about this concept is the unspoken history it attempts to tell. Women's histories were an emerging idea for the period the show describes, and the show itself seems to strive to capture the essence of women coming into their own, stepping up in the professional world in a pattern that would continue through the sixties and the seventies. If the show is to be believed, early second wave feminism has a face, and it is under a jauntily tilted powder blue cap.

This may or may not be true, but regardless, the attempt at portraying an otherwise unspoken female history is in itself admirable. Trying to do it on prime time television, even more so.

The second thing that struck me was the way the show truly captured the feel of 1960's America, with all of its glorious golden dreams of a bright future, but still tied down by all of its past prejudices and conventions. The nation, like the Pan Am stewardesses themselves, is held within the confines of its own metaphorical girdle.

Yeah, I went there.

Overall, I think this show has the potential to be utter crap and I doubt I will watch more of it. As Scott says, it is prime time soap opera. But, it is also more than that and, despite being disinterested in the romantic entanglements that no doubt make up the entire meat of the plotline as the season progresses, I really do admire what Pan Am is trying to do. This is blunt force trauma postmodernism at its best: the insistence on making visible the invisible. The medium is surprising, and the effort is admirable.