Curio Cabinet / Daily Curio
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FREESTEM Daily CurioFree1 CQ
Welcome to our Top 18 of 2018 countdown! As the year comes to an end, we're looking back at this year's most loved Curios across all categories. Enjoy the walk down memory lane in your entire Curio Cabinet.
How did people survive the summers before ice, air conditioning, and plumbing? Ancient Iranians—who inhabited a region where temperatures reach 125°F/ 52°C in the summer—devised an ingenious solution over 3,000 years ago. They invented something that transported fresh water hundreds of miles, produced and stored ice, cooled their homes, and enabled lush gardens in the middle of the desert. These feats of engineering, called qanats, were underground channels that transported water from mountain sources to desert cities below. A series of shafts with anthill like domes were cut every few hundred feet to ventilate workers who excavated massive amounts of earth. Some shafts were 300 meters deep! Calculating the slope of the qanat was critical: too steep and the water eroded the channel, too flat and it wouldn't flow. Once the qanat reached the town, the water provided not just sustenance but also cooling. Rooftop wind-catching vents, called badgirs, captured warm air and directed it underground. There the air was cooled by the qanat's water and directed back through the basement of the house. Some of the basements also contained yakhchals, literally "ice pits." Water from the qanat was diverted into the basement during the winter and left to freeze. Then the ice was cut into blocks and kept cool during the summer, by the qanats of course. Qanats also served a spiritual purpose. They irrigated the miraculous ancient Persian gardens—with trees, flowers, fountains, and waterways—that were constructed in harmony with the Zoroastrian worship of nature. In fact, the word "paradise" is derived from the Persian words "pari" and "daida" or "walled garden." Wow, these qanats did everything for ancient Iranians but take them to the moon. Actually, I've just been informed that if you stacked up all the qanats still found in Iran, they would reach the moon!
Welcome to our Top 18 of 2018 countdown! As the year comes to an end, we're looking back at this year's most loved Curios across all categories. Enjoy the walk down memory lane in your entire Curio Cabinet.
How did people survive the summers before ice, air conditioning, and plumbing? Ancient Iranians—who inhabited a region where temperatures reach 125°F/ 52°C in the summer—devised an ingenious solution over 3,000 years ago. They invented something that transported fresh water hundreds of miles, produced and stored ice, cooled their homes, and enabled lush gardens in the middle of the desert. These feats of engineering, called qanats, were underground channels that transported water from mountain sources to desert cities below. A series of shafts with anthill like domes were cut every few hundred feet to ventilate workers who excavated massive amounts of earth. Some shafts were 300 meters deep! Calculating the slope of the qanat was critical: too steep and the water eroded the channel, too flat and it wouldn't flow. Once the qanat reached the town, the water provided not just sustenance but also cooling. Rooftop wind-catching vents, called badgirs, captured warm air and directed it underground. There the air was cooled by the qanat's water and directed back through the basement of the house. Some of the basements also contained yakhchals, literally "ice pits." Water from the qanat was diverted into the basement during the winter and left to freeze. Then the ice was cut into blocks and kept cool during the summer, by the qanats of course. Qanats also served a spiritual purpose. They irrigated the miraculous ancient Persian gardens—with trees, flowers, fountains, and waterways—that were constructed in harmony with the Zoroastrian worship of nature. In fact, the word "paradise" is derived from the Persian words "pari" and "daida" or "walled garden." Wow, these qanats did everything for ancient Iranians but take them to the moon. Actually, I've just been informed that if you stacked up all the qanats still found in Iran, they would reach the moon!
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FREEGames Daily CurioFree1 CQ
For today's '80s Themed Thursday, we're looking past the leg warmers, big hair, and neon sports jackets of the "Me-First Decade" to a much more ominous sign of the times: Dungeons and Dragons. Created in 1974, the fantasy role-playing game (RPG) quickly became a refuge to geeks looking to escape the woes of adolescence and mundane life. But the fantasy dice game took a bizarre turn in the early '80s. Several grieving mothers of boys who committed suicide, desperately seeking answers, misattributed their sons' deaths to the game. One was Patricia Pulling, who sued her son's high school principal, believing the curse on her boy's D&D character had carried into the real world. She also sued the publisher of the game, TSR Inc. Both suits were quickly dismissed. Undeterred, Pulling established the public advocacy group "Bothered About Dungeons and Dragons" (BADD) in 1983. She, and a legion of other frazzled mothers, made media appearances to vilify D&D as a gateway to the occult. They described a game in which "demonology, witchcraft, voodoo, murder… necromantics, divination, and other teachings" would become accessible to children on a mass scale. Combined with the Goth subculture imported from Britain, America found itself in the midst of the great "Satanic Panic" of the '80s. It was a classic expression of moral panic, not unlike the fear of gory comic books in the '50s and Communism in the '60s. The D&D terror faded in the early '90s, but not before a wave of laughable public service announcements. As for Pulling, she continued her crusade until her death in 1997, even as it became increasingly obvious she was disturbed and fabricating statistics. At one point she claimed eight percent of Richmond, Virginia's population were practicing Satanists—a "conservative figure." That seems unlikely. Though I'll bet way more than eight percent of Richmond's high school kids were carrying around 12- and 20-sided D&D dice at the time.
Image credit & copyright: Getty Images
For today's '80s Themed Thursday, we're looking past the leg warmers, big hair, and neon sports jackets of the "Me-First Decade" to a much more ominous sign of the times: Dungeons and Dragons. Created in 1974, the fantasy role-playing game (RPG) quickly became a refuge to geeks looking to escape the woes of adolescence and mundane life. But the fantasy dice game took a bizarre turn in the early '80s. Several grieving mothers of boys who committed suicide, desperately seeking answers, misattributed their sons' deaths to the game. One was Patricia Pulling, who sued her son's high school principal, believing the curse on her boy's D&D character had carried into the real world. She also sued the publisher of the game, TSR Inc. Both suits were quickly dismissed. Undeterred, Pulling established the public advocacy group "Bothered About Dungeons and Dragons" (BADD) in 1983. She, and a legion of other frazzled mothers, made media appearances to vilify D&D as a gateway to the occult. They described a game in which "demonology, witchcraft, voodoo, murder… necromantics, divination, and other teachings" would become accessible to children on a mass scale. Combined with the Goth subculture imported from Britain, America found itself in the midst of the great "Satanic Panic" of the '80s. It was a classic expression of moral panic, not unlike the fear of gory comic books in the '50s and Communism in the '60s. The D&D terror faded in the early '90s, but not before a wave of laughable public service announcements. As for Pulling, she continued her crusade until her death in 1997, even as it became increasingly obvious she was disturbed and fabricating statistics. At one point she claimed eight percent of Richmond, Virginia's population were practicing Satanists—a "conservative figure." That seems unlikely. Though I'll bet way more than eight percent of Richmond's high school kids were carrying around 12- and 20-sided D&D dice at the time.
Image credit & copyright: Getty Images
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FREEHumanities Daily Curio #1677Free1 CQ
What's up with all the red and green at Christmas? Believe it or not, that's the exact question that Spike Bucklow, of Cambridge University, ended up answering, Bucklow set out to study rood screens, ornately decorated screens which separated the congregation from the clergy in medieval churches. They fell out of fashion during the Reformation in the 16th century, when many elaborate Christian artworks were rejected and even destroyed. But Bucklow's home region of Eastern England has the largest concentration of rood screens in Europe. And as Bucklow started to study them, he noticed a vast majority of the screens were predominantly red and green. He knew that the red pigments of that era came from iron; and the green came from copper. Furthermore, he knew artists of the time imbued meaning into their choice of colors. Iron was associated with Mars, and copper with Venus. And, yes, men were from Mars and women were from Venus—even back then. Bucklow hypothesized that this duality of colors on the screens was meant to grant equal access to God for men and women of the congregation. But how did they come to represent Christmas? Buckley believes that when Victorian-era Christians began rediscovering the beautiful rood screens, they started associating the red and green colors with Christmas. But even into the 20th century, there were many other colors associated with the holiday. Not only was Santa usually depicted as thin and elf-like, but his robes were often royal purple or blue. It took the Coca-Cola company to change that. They commissioned an artist to draw a modern Santa Claus drinking a Coke. Naturally he dressed his Santa in a Coca-Cola red suit. For the background he chose a
forest green. The rest is ho-ho-history.
Below: a rood screen in Belaugh: St Peter.
Image credit & copyright: Pete Harmer, via Flickr
What's up with all the red and green at Christmas? Believe it or not, that's the exact question that Spike Bucklow, of Cambridge University, ended up answering, Bucklow set out to study rood screens, ornately decorated screens which separated the congregation from the clergy in medieval churches. They fell out of fashion during the Reformation in the 16th century, when many elaborate Christian artworks were rejected and even destroyed. But Bucklow's home region of Eastern England has the largest concentration of rood screens in Europe. And as Bucklow started to study them, he noticed a vast majority of the screens were predominantly red and green. He knew that the red pigments of that era came from iron; and the green came from copper. Furthermore, he knew artists of the time imbued meaning into their choice of colors. Iron was associated with Mars, and copper with Venus. And, yes, men were from Mars and women were from Venus—even back then. Bucklow hypothesized that this duality of colors on the screens was meant to grant equal access to God for men and women of the congregation. But how did they come to represent Christmas? Buckley believes that when Victorian-era Christians began rediscovering the beautiful rood screens, they started associating the red and green colors with Christmas. But even into the 20th century, there were many other colors associated with the holiday. Not only was Santa usually depicted as thin and elf-like, but his robes were often royal purple or blue. It took the Coca-Cola company to change that. They commissioned an artist to draw a modern Santa Claus drinking a Coke. Naturally he dressed his Santa in a Coca-Cola red suit. For the background he chose a
forest green. The rest is ho-ho-history.
Below: a rood screen in Belaugh: St Peter.
Image credit & copyright: Pete Harmer, via Flickr
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FREEWork Daily Curio #1676Free1 CQ
The expression "canary in a coal mine" carries more baggage than you might think. It's derived from the British mining tradition of using the tiny birds to detect dangerous buildups of carbon monoxide or methane in mines. The practice was outlawed in Britain 32 years ago this month. The birds were replaced with an "electronic nose" that reports air quality levels on an LED screen. But miners missed their birds, which they treated more like pets than unwitting death-detectors. The idea of using canaries to prevent mining accidents came from John Scott Haldane, a turn-of-the-century physiologist who often experimented on himself to determine the effects of poisonous gases on humans. During World War I, he went to the front lines to help the British Army identify the gases being used by the Germans—and invented the first respirator as a result. He used similar first-hand research techniques to identify the cause of mining disasters, and then began looking for a "sentinel species" that was hypersensitive to the culprit: the odorless and colorless carbon monoxide. His research identified the canary as an ideal sentinel, because its tiny body requires huge ratios of oxygen to fly at great heights. To accomplish this, it stores freshly inhaled air in tiny sacs which it then accesses while exhaling, essentially getting two chances to extract oxygen with every breath. But this also makes them twice as vulnerable to poisons in the air. So Haldane figured they would be the perfect early warning device for high levels of carbon monoxide—by dropping over. The canaries didn't always die, and coal miners carried special cages which aided in resuscitating them. While it was technically animal rights sentiment and government regulation that ended the use of canaries, the practice was really another victim of technology. With fewer miners and more instrumentation, the birds became unnecessary. Using technology to maximize mining profits turned out to be the canary in the coal mine for the canary in the coal mine.
Image credit & copyright: United States Mine Safety and Health Administration
The expression "canary in a coal mine" carries more baggage than you might think. It's derived from the British mining tradition of using the tiny birds to detect dangerous buildups of carbon monoxide or methane in mines. The practice was outlawed in Britain 32 years ago this month. The birds were replaced with an "electronic nose" that reports air quality levels on an LED screen. But miners missed their birds, which they treated more like pets than unwitting death-detectors. The idea of using canaries to prevent mining accidents came from John Scott Haldane, a turn-of-the-century physiologist who often experimented on himself to determine the effects of poisonous gases on humans. During World War I, he went to the front lines to help the British Army identify the gases being used by the Germans—and invented the first respirator as a result. He used similar first-hand research techniques to identify the cause of mining disasters, and then began looking for a "sentinel species" that was hypersensitive to the culprit: the odorless and colorless carbon monoxide. His research identified the canary as an ideal sentinel, because its tiny body requires huge ratios of oxygen to fly at great heights. To accomplish this, it stores freshly inhaled air in tiny sacs which it then accesses while exhaling, essentially getting two chances to extract oxygen with every breath. But this also makes them twice as vulnerable to poisons in the air. So Haldane figured they would be the perfect early warning device for high levels of carbon monoxide—by dropping over. The canaries didn't always die, and coal miners carried special cages which aided in resuscitating them. While it was technically animal rights sentiment and government regulation that ended the use of canaries, the practice was really another victim of technology. With fewer miners and more instrumentation, the birds became unnecessary. Using technology to maximize mining profits turned out to be the canary in the coal mine for the canary in the coal mine.
Image credit & copyright: United States Mine Safety and Health Administration
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FREEPlay Daily Curio #1675Free1 CQ
Deep Blue became the first computer to beat a chess grandmaster in 1997. In the 20+ years since, artificial intelligence programmers have been looking for the next Holy Grail: an algorithm that can teach itself how to play chess. It looks like they just found it. Announced last week in Science, the company DeepMind has developed a program called AlphaZero that can beat the world's best chess players. It can also beat Stockfish, the leading chess-playing program. It won 155 out of 1,000 games, losing only six—the rest were draws. But what's remarkable is that AlphaZero has also learned how to play Shogi, a Japanese cousin of chess. And the Chinese game Go, which has 300 times more possible moves than chess. Unlike previous game-playing algorithms, AlphaZero doesn't start with a huge dataset of human knowledge. Instead, it just starts with a model of the game rules and begins playing games against a computer. As it plays thousands of games, it builds its own algorithm based on trial and error. To do this, AlphaZero uses 5,000 computers, or TPUs, developed by DeepMind's parent company Google specifically for AI programs. Using that processing power, AlphaZero was able to play 60 million games of chess in just a few hours and then beat Stockfish. It beat the reigning computer champions in Go and Shogi with similar amounts of effort. Next up, AlphaZero hopes to master Texas hold 'em and multiplayer video games. These are much trickier problems since not all information is available to all players. The scientists hope their effort isn't just fun and games. They hope their work could be directly applicable to medicine, math, and scientific research. Not to mention it's already teaching chess grandmaster lots of new moves.
Deep Blue became the first computer to beat a chess grandmaster in 1997. In the 20+ years since, artificial intelligence programmers have been looking for the next Holy Grail: an algorithm that can teach itself how to play chess. It looks like they just found it. Announced last week in Science, the company DeepMind has developed a program called AlphaZero that can beat the world's best chess players. It can also beat Stockfish, the leading chess-playing program. It won 155 out of 1,000 games, losing only six—the rest were draws. But what's remarkable is that AlphaZero has also learned how to play Shogi, a Japanese cousin of chess. And the Chinese game Go, which has 300 times more possible moves than chess. Unlike previous game-playing algorithms, AlphaZero doesn't start with a huge dataset of human knowledge. Instead, it just starts with a model of the game rules and begins playing games against a computer. As it plays thousands of games, it builds its own algorithm based on trial and error. To do this, AlphaZero uses 5,000 computers, or TPUs, developed by DeepMind's parent company Google specifically for AI programs. Using that processing power, AlphaZero was able to play 60 million games of chess in just a few hours and then beat Stockfish. It beat the reigning computer champions in Go and Shogi with similar amounts of effort. Next up, AlphaZero hopes to master Texas hold 'em and multiplayer video games. These are much trickier problems since not all information is available to all players. The scientists hope their effort isn't just fun and games. They hope their work could be directly applicable to medicine, math, and scientific research. Not to mention it's already teaching chess grandmaster lots of new moves.
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FREEPlay Daily CurioFree1 CQ
It's Flashback Friday! Enjoy this desert-themed favorite from the Curio Cabinet archives.
Location, location, location. Nathan Mendelsohn apparently wasn't aware of this real estate mantra when he bought 82,000 acres in the Mojave desert in 1958. Mendelsohn's plan was to build a desert mecca, called "California City," to rival nearby Los Angeles and Palm Springs. But whereas it took centuries for those towns to develop into thriving cities, Mendelsohn decided to build out his town before it had any inhabitants. Bad move. Today, California City is the third largest city in California by area but has a population of less than 15,000. Satellite photos of the miles of roads that were supposed to be lined with houses and businesses instead look like abstract sand etchings. At first, Mendelsohn had success attracting potential buyers. Most bought inexpensive lots without visiting the town. A few actually settled there to escape the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. Within a few years, though, it became clear most of the speculators had no intention of moving in. Too late for Mendelsohn, who had already commissioned a 160-acre "central park" and hooked up the entire grid to central power and water. Now those aging, never-used pipes are leaking mightily: California City was named the number one water waster in the state last year. If you visit there today, you'll find significantly more life than in China's ghost cities, from Curio #1081. It's a sleepy desert town with an Air Force base, a very nice park, a state correctional facility, and a desert tortoise preserve—where the tortoises have a lot of room to roam.
Image credit & copyright: Google Maps
It's Flashback Friday! Enjoy this desert-themed favorite from the Curio Cabinet archives.
Location, location, location. Nathan Mendelsohn apparently wasn't aware of this real estate mantra when he bought 82,000 acres in the Mojave desert in 1958. Mendelsohn's plan was to build a desert mecca, called "California City," to rival nearby Los Angeles and Palm Springs. But whereas it took centuries for those towns to develop into thriving cities, Mendelsohn decided to build out his town before it had any inhabitants. Bad move. Today, California City is the third largest city in California by area but has a population of less than 15,000. Satellite photos of the miles of roads that were supposed to be lined with houses and businesses instead look like abstract sand etchings. At first, Mendelsohn had success attracting potential buyers. Most bought inexpensive lots without visiting the town. A few actually settled there to escape the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. Within a few years, though, it became clear most of the speculators had no intention of moving in. Too late for Mendelsohn, who had already commissioned a 160-acre "central park" and hooked up the entire grid to central power and water. Now those aging, never-used pipes are leaking mightily: California City was named the number one water waster in the state last year. If you visit there today, you'll find significantly more life than in China's ghost cities, from Curio #1081. It's a sleepy desert town with an Air Force base, a very nice park, a state correctional facility, and a desert tortoise preserve—where the tortoises have a lot of room to roam.
Image credit & copyright: Google Maps
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FREESociology Daily Curio #1674Free1 CQ
It's the most wonderful time of the year… for some. In today's Saint Nicholas Day Themed Thursday, we're investigating the Netherlands' version of St. Nick, Sinterklaas. A tall and trim predecessor to Santa, he wears bishops' clothing, a miter hat, and a stylish ruby ring as he rides around on a white horse delivering presents to good children. When Dutch families settled in America in the late 18th century, they brought along the legend of Sinterklaas, which slowly evolved into that of portly, reindeer-riding Santa Claus. But there are a few critical differences between the two. While Santa employs sweet-toothed elves to manufacture his toys, Sinterklaas' little helper happens to be Zwarte Piet, or "Black Pete." Black Pete is said to be of Moorish descent: a population of Muslims who were expelled from modern-day Spain. He has dark skin attributed to his ethnicity and a knack for slipping down chimneys. He also has plump red lips, a thick afro, and wears vibrant clothing and massive hoop earrings inspired by old Moorish fashion. This character, who appears identical to racist blackface caricatures, arrives on a boat from Spain to dance, wave, and offer treats to kids during parades. And the Dutch find little issue with him. In a 2015 poll, 81 percent of voters defended Black Pete's traditional appearance. But they may not get their way. This year, Dutch public broadcaster NTR announced that their representation of Black Pete will only have a soot-covered face. An increasing number of schools are also phasing out the character, or at least scaling back his jarring visage. This comes as a response to a litany of complaints from Dutch citizens of color, who complain their children are being teased and branded Black Pete in class. Even more disturbing, white extremists recently adopted Black Pete as a mascot and uniform, impersonating him as they block highways and tell teachers of color to "go back to your own country." In 2015, the United Nations urged the Dutch to retire Black Pete, calling him a lingering "vestige of slavery." But many Dutch refuse to budge. Meanwhile, the movement against Black Pete is gaining momentum. Sorry Dutch friends, but it seems to me there is only one right solution here: retire Black Pete and spend the time saved making more hilarious Zondag met Lubach videos.
Image credit & copyright: ANP
It's the most wonderful time of the year… for some. In today's Saint Nicholas Day Themed Thursday, we're investigating the Netherlands' version of St. Nick, Sinterklaas. A tall and trim predecessor to Santa, he wears bishops' clothing, a miter hat, and a stylish ruby ring as he rides around on a white horse delivering presents to good children. When Dutch families settled in America in the late 18th century, they brought along the legend of Sinterklaas, which slowly evolved into that of portly, reindeer-riding Santa Claus. But there are a few critical differences between the two. While Santa employs sweet-toothed elves to manufacture his toys, Sinterklaas' little helper happens to be Zwarte Piet, or "Black Pete." Black Pete is said to be of Moorish descent: a population of Muslims who were expelled from modern-day Spain. He has dark skin attributed to his ethnicity and a knack for slipping down chimneys. He also has plump red lips, a thick afro, and wears vibrant clothing and massive hoop earrings inspired by old Moorish fashion. This character, who appears identical to racist blackface caricatures, arrives on a boat from Spain to dance, wave, and offer treats to kids during parades. And the Dutch find little issue with him. In a 2015 poll, 81 percent of voters defended Black Pete's traditional appearance. But they may not get their way. This year, Dutch public broadcaster NTR announced that their representation of Black Pete will only have a soot-covered face. An increasing number of schools are also phasing out the character, or at least scaling back his jarring visage. This comes as a response to a litany of complaints from Dutch citizens of color, who complain their children are being teased and branded Black Pete in class. Even more disturbing, white extremists recently adopted Black Pete as a mascot and uniform, impersonating him as they block highways and tell teachers of color to "go back to your own country." In 2015, the United Nations urged the Dutch to retire Black Pete, calling him a lingering "vestige of slavery." But many Dutch refuse to budge. Meanwhile, the movement against Black Pete is gaining momentum. Sorry Dutch friends, but it seems to me there is only one right solution here: retire Black Pete and spend the time saved making more hilarious Zondag met Lubach videos.
Image credit & copyright: ANP
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FREEHumanities Daily Curio #1673Free1 CQ
If yesterday's Curio has you considering celebrating Kwanzaa this year, then be ready to "pour one out." That's slang for the ritual of libations, where ancestors are honored by pouring the first sips of water, wine, or alcohol onto the ground. It's a common Kwanzaa tradition. Libations first came on the pop culture scene in 1996, as a way to honor the murder of Tupac Shakur. Tupac had recorded Pour Out a Little Liquor two years before his death, causing fans to honor his passing in that way. But the roots of libations are far deeper than gangsta rap. Humans have been doing it for at least 5,000 years. That's when ancient Egyptians are first recorded pouring water, milk, honey, or wine onto the ground to honor fallen kin. The ancient Greeks got into the act shortly thereafter, preferring to use sweetened wine. It gets a whole line in The Illiad: "Wait till I fetch you some sweet honeyed wine… to pour a libation." Ancient indigenous African, Chinese, and South Americans cultures had similar traditions as well. But it's the Romans who took things a step further. They built stone chalices into tombs, so mourners could pour wine into tubes which funneled directly into the entombed corpse. That way family members could have a meal at the gravesite and then "share" the wine with the deceased. I have to say, as a lover of red wine, this concept seems brilliant to me. But please, give me the good stuff!
If yesterday's Curio has you considering celebrating Kwanzaa this year, then be ready to "pour one out." That's slang for the ritual of libations, where ancestors are honored by pouring the first sips of water, wine, or alcohol onto the ground. It's a common Kwanzaa tradition. Libations first came on the pop culture scene in 1996, as a way to honor the murder of Tupac Shakur. Tupac had recorded Pour Out a Little Liquor two years before his death, causing fans to honor his passing in that way. But the roots of libations are far deeper than gangsta rap. Humans have been doing it for at least 5,000 years. That's when ancient Egyptians are first recorded pouring water, milk, honey, or wine onto the ground to honor fallen kin. The ancient Greeks got into the act shortly thereafter, preferring to use sweetened wine. It gets a whole line in The Illiad: "Wait till I fetch you some sweet honeyed wine… to pour a libation." Ancient indigenous African, Chinese, and South Americans cultures had similar traditions as well. But it's the Romans who took things a step further. They built stone chalices into tombs, so mourners could pour wine into tubes which funneled directly into the entombed corpse. That way family members could have a meal at the gravesite and then "share" the wine with the deceased. I have to say, as a lover of red wine, this concept seems brilliant to me. But please, give me the good stuff!
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FREEHumanities Daily Curio #1672Free1 CQ
Here in the U.S. it's after Thanksgiving, which means the Christmas season is in full swing. As if it isn't hard enough to enjoy the holiday, given the rampant commercialization, along comes a modern-day gimmick that just might push parents to celebrate only Kwanzaa. It's called the Elf on a Shelf. Starting the day after Thanksgiving, the small action figure elf is supposed to be placed in a spot where your kids can see it, but not touch it, and then be moved every day. The legend of the Elf on a Shelf—which you can learn about in the companion book or DVD or made-for-TV-movie—is that each night the Elf reports back to Santa at the North Pole about how well the children are behaving. Parents are supposed to reward the kids with small gifts or treats for each day of good behavior on their march towards Christmas. After starting as a self-published book in 2005, the company now generates $10 million in annual sales from their doll sales, books, DVDs, and—naturally—changes of clothes for the Elf. I'm not begrudging the homegrown success of a creative new holiday product, but I do wonder if this is what the world really needs. Further bribing the kids with mini holiday presents each day before Christmas doesn't just turn parents into lunatics. If you read the Amazon reviews for the Elf, apparently it often has the additional effect of turning the kids into ungrateful brats for the other 11 months of the year. Kwanzaa is definitely sounding better and better!
Image credit & copyright: Gina Bacon
Here in the U.S. it's after Thanksgiving, which means the Christmas season is in full swing. As if it isn't hard enough to enjoy the holiday, given the rampant commercialization, along comes a modern-day gimmick that just might push parents to celebrate only Kwanzaa. It's called the Elf on a Shelf. Starting the day after Thanksgiving, the small action figure elf is supposed to be placed in a spot where your kids can see it, but not touch it, and then be moved every day. The legend of the Elf on a Shelf—which you can learn about in the companion book or DVD or made-for-TV-movie—is that each night the Elf reports back to Santa at the North Pole about how well the children are behaving. Parents are supposed to reward the kids with small gifts or treats for each day of good behavior on their march towards Christmas. After starting as a self-published book in 2005, the company now generates $10 million in annual sales from their doll sales, books, DVDs, and—naturally—changes of clothes for the Elf. I'm not begrudging the homegrown success of a creative new holiday product, but I do wonder if this is what the world really needs. Further bribing the kids with mini holiday presents each day before Christmas doesn't just turn parents into lunatics. If you read the Amazon reviews for the Elf, apparently it often has the additional effect of turning the kids into ungrateful brats for the other 11 months of the year. Kwanzaa is definitely sounding better and better!
Image credit & copyright: Gina Bacon
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FREEHumanities Daily Curio #1671Free1 CQ
Want to be vexed by vexillology? That's the study of the symbolism, usage, and history of flags. Flags, as it turns out, are quite fascinating. Take Nepal. In December 1962, Nepal introduced the only non-rectangular national flag in history—a few years after being admitted to the United Nations. Why all other flags are rectangular is also interesting. Before the 17th century, countries didn't really have flags. People almost never traveled between countries given the cost and time involved; and national identity was far less important than allegiance to local municipalities or states, usually ruled by lords. Countries didn't have flags but rather a coat of arms from the royal family—which changed with each new ruling power. Most flags were reserved for wars, to identify military units on the field of battle. Each regiment had its own insignia. It wasn't until countries began trading with each other via ships that national flags became a thing. Almost all nations created their first flags in the 18th century, during the Age of Sail. This coincided with the emergence of the free nation as a concept, spearheaded by the French and American Revolutions. Since flags were designed to be flown on ships, the rectangular shape was best for catching the wind and being readable from a distance. Once European nations had set the rectangular standard, all other new nations followed suit. Except for Nepal! The landlocked nation saw no reason to be like everybody else. Their flag is two triangles stacked together, forming a five-sided shape with two tapering points, called pennons. Pennons were a common shape for banners in Asia for centuries, mostly used in Hindu and Buddhist temples. But only Nepal turned them into a flag. The resulting double-peaked shape stands out instantly in a sea of national flags, and is the source of much pride in Nepal. It's brilliant branding actually. They literally zigged when everybody else zagged!
Image credit & copyright: Berger Paints
Want to be vexed by vexillology? That's the study of the symbolism, usage, and history of flags. Flags, as it turns out, are quite fascinating. Take Nepal. In December 1962, Nepal introduced the only non-rectangular national flag in history—a few years after being admitted to the United Nations. Why all other flags are rectangular is also interesting. Before the 17th century, countries didn't really have flags. People almost never traveled between countries given the cost and time involved; and national identity was far less important than allegiance to local municipalities or states, usually ruled by lords. Countries didn't have flags but rather a coat of arms from the royal family—which changed with each new ruling power. Most flags were reserved for wars, to identify military units on the field of battle. Each regiment had its own insignia. It wasn't until countries began trading with each other via ships that national flags became a thing. Almost all nations created their first flags in the 18th century, during the Age of Sail. This coincided with the emergence of the free nation as a concept, spearheaded by the French and American Revolutions. Since flags were designed to be flown on ships, the rectangular shape was best for catching the wind and being readable from a distance. Once European nations had set the rectangular standard, all other new nations followed suit. Except for Nepal! The landlocked nation saw no reason to be like everybody else. Their flag is two triangles stacked together, forming a five-sided shape with two tapering points, called pennons. Pennons were a common shape for banners in Asia for centuries, mostly used in Hindu and Buddhist temples. But only Nepal turned them into a flag. The resulting double-peaked shape stands out instantly in a sea of national flags, and is the source of much pride in Nepal. It's brilliant branding actually. They literally zigged when everybody else zagged!
Image credit & copyright: Berger Paints
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FREEPlay Daily CurioFree1 CQ
It's Flashback Friday! Enjoy this city-themed favorite from the Curio Cabinet archives.
After the end of the cultural revolution, the Chinese government was faced with a problem. They wanted more citizens to live in urban areas, but the existing cities didn't have enough space. Their solution? Build new ones. Since 1980, the Chinese government has funded the construction of over 50 (that we know of) "ghost cities"—fully functional urban developments designed to house millions of new city dwellers. They're called ghost cities because, right now, they're pretty empty. Take Kangbashi New Area, a development just outside the Milwaukee-sized Ordos City. Intended to house over one million people, it is currently home to about 30,000. Tianducheng, a smaller development, has a capacity of about 10,000; only a couple thousand live there. The weirdest thing about these ghost cities has to be their style. With no past culture to shape their plans, Chinese developers looked to existing examples for inspiration. Tianducheng, for example, is set in the style of modern Paris. It even comes with a scale model of the Eiffel Tower. Experts say the projects shouldn't be deemed failures yet, as sad and desolate as they may look. The plan was always to build the city first, then let the people come. But many cities are falling way short of their population expectations. Kangbashi New Area is far short of its 2010 goal of 300,000 people; Chenggong, built to occupy overflow from nearby Kunming, has hundreds of thousands of vacant apartments. Part of the problem may be real estate speculators, who are buying up lots throughout the developments and driving up the cost of living, without actually living there. Apparently, "If you build it, they will come," only refers to investors. And skateboarders, like the ones in the video below.
Image credit & copyright: Raphael Olivier
It's Flashback Friday! Enjoy this city-themed favorite from the Curio Cabinet archives.
After the end of the cultural revolution, the Chinese government was faced with a problem. They wanted more citizens to live in urban areas, but the existing cities didn't have enough space. Their solution? Build new ones. Since 1980, the Chinese government has funded the construction of over 50 (that we know of) "ghost cities"—fully functional urban developments designed to house millions of new city dwellers. They're called ghost cities because, right now, they're pretty empty. Take Kangbashi New Area, a development just outside the Milwaukee-sized Ordos City. Intended to house over one million people, it is currently home to about 30,000. Tianducheng, a smaller development, has a capacity of about 10,000; only a couple thousand live there. The weirdest thing about these ghost cities has to be their style. With no past culture to shape their plans, Chinese developers looked to existing examples for inspiration. Tianducheng, for example, is set in the style of modern Paris. It even comes with a scale model of the Eiffel Tower. Experts say the projects shouldn't be deemed failures yet, as sad and desolate as they may look. The plan was always to build the city first, then let the people come. But many cities are falling way short of their population expectations. Kangbashi New Area is far short of its 2010 goal of 300,000 people; Chenggong, built to occupy overflow from nearby Kunming, has hundreds of thousands of vacant apartments. Part of the problem may be real estate speculators, who are buying up lots throughout the developments and driving up the cost of living, without actually living there. Apparently, "If you build it, they will come," only refers to investors. And skateboarders, like the ones in the video below.
Image credit & copyright: Raphael Olivier
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FREEVideo Games Daily Curio #1670Free1 CQ
Success strikes when you least expect it. Just ask electrical engineer Ted Dabney and businessman Nolan Bushnell, the subjects of today's Video Game Themed Thursday. The two men met while working at electronics company Ampex in 1968. Ampex, which created the first audio and videotape recorders, provided both of these visionaries with invaluable technological insights. At a time when few played video games, Bushnell envisioned a not-too-distant future dominated by gaming-pizza parlors. Dabney, placing his faith in Bushnell's foresight, built history's first arcade console in his daughter's bedroom. Dabney constructed his machine using only plywood, faux mahogany, and television components—no software, frame buffers, or microprocessors involved. To put this in perspective, all other video game manufacturers of the era were spending fortunes trying to build video games on computers. Dabney simply imitated computer displays using a television. The pair convinced Nutting Associates to manufacture 1,500 units of their game, Computer Space, but its sales were less than stellar. Still, the duo persevered and co-founded Syzygy Engineering in 1972 to pursue the business full-time. They immediately hired one of their old Ampex colleagues, a star engineer named Al Alcorn. Since Alcorn lacked any experience with video games, they tasked him with a "project" that was really a warm-up exercise. Bushnell lied to Alcorn, telling the engineer he was to build a Ping-Pong game for a made up contract with General Electric. Alcorn, in hopes of impressing G.E., labored furiously to create a game where opponents used two knobs to move paddles up and down the screen, volleying the ball until one player scored. The game impressed Bushnell and Dabney so much, they called it Pong and decided to release it. Released on November 29, 1972, Pong would go on to become the first commercially successful arcade game, selling 8,000 units in its first year alone (35,000 in all). Alcorn may not have appreciated Bushnell's lie, but the sales numbers must've been quite the consolation! As for the fate of Syzygy Engineering? It became Atari.
Image credit & copyright: Al Alcorn/Computer History Museum
Success strikes when you least expect it. Just ask electrical engineer Ted Dabney and businessman Nolan Bushnell, the subjects of today's Video Game Themed Thursday. The two men met while working at electronics company Ampex in 1968. Ampex, which created the first audio and videotape recorders, provided both of these visionaries with invaluable technological insights. At a time when few played video games, Bushnell envisioned a not-too-distant future dominated by gaming-pizza parlors. Dabney, placing his faith in Bushnell's foresight, built history's first arcade console in his daughter's bedroom. Dabney constructed his machine using only plywood, faux mahogany, and television components—no software, frame buffers, or microprocessors involved. To put this in perspective, all other video game manufacturers of the era were spending fortunes trying to build video games on computers. Dabney simply imitated computer displays using a television. The pair convinced Nutting Associates to manufacture 1,500 units of their game, Computer Space, but its sales were less than stellar. Still, the duo persevered and co-founded Syzygy Engineering in 1972 to pursue the business full-time. They immediately hired one of their old Ampex colleagues, a star engineer named Al Alcorn. Since Alcorn lacked any experience with video games, they tasked him with a "project" that was really a warm-up exercise. Bushnell lied to Alcorn, telling the engineer he was to build a Ping-Pong game for a made up contract with General Electric. Alcorn, in hopes of impressing G.E., labored furiously to create a game where opponents used two knobs to move paddles up and down the screen, volleying the ball until one player scored. The game impressed Bushnell and Dabney so much, they called it Pong and decided to release it. Released on November 29, 1972, Pong would go on to become the first commercially successful arcade game, selling 8,000 units in its first year alone (35,000 in all). Alcorn may not have appreciated Bushnell's lie, but the sales numbers must've been quite the consolation! As for the fate of Syzygy Engineering? It became Atari.
Image credit & copyright: Al Alcorn/Computer History Museum
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FREESTEM Daily Curio #1669Free1 CQ
Once again this fall, California has been ravaged by devastating wildfires in populated areas. Besides the massive loss of life and property, there is also the danger of noxious smoke. Because these fires burn so hot and the wind gusts are so strong, the path of the smoke can be somewhat bizarre. For example, even though the Bay Area is one hundred miles away from the recent Camp Fire, the area was choked with smoke. For several days the air quality in San Francisco was the worst recorded anywhere in the world; meanwhile, towns just a few miles to the east of the fire reported only moderately bad air. Then, when the winds shifted back to a more normal westerly pattern, the smoke was thrust into the jet stream and sent thousands of miles to the East. New York City reported several days of thick haze from those same fires, which were detected as far away as Europe. Not only is the smoke unsightly, it's also dangerous. A 2017 study found that wildfire smoke contained hazardous levels of methanol, benzene, and ozone. Plus, fires that destroy a lot of structures also contain carcinogens such as asbestos and lead. So it's not surprising scientists are working on computer models that can predict the path of smoke as it spreads from active fires. NASA and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) have done exactly that, creating a model called HRRR-Smoke. It uses satellite data collected every six hours to measure the conditions on the ground and predict the smoke path for the next 36 hours. It is especially good at predicting "near-surface smoke" within 26 feet of the ground, which poses the greatest danger to people with severe respiratory problems. While the scientists say it's still imperfect, HRRR-Smoke has already accurately informed official decisions to postpone outdoor events, close schools, halt Amtrak service, and shutter National Parks... likely saving lives in the process. Here at Curious HQ, our thoughts are with the victims and first responders of the Camp Fire in Paradise, one hundred miles to our north; and also to the scientists trying to make these events less catastrophic in the future.
Once again this fall, California has been ravaged by devastating wildfires in populated areas. Besides the massive loss of life and property, there is also the danger of noxious smoke. Because these fires burn so hot and the wind gusts are so strong, the path of the smoke can be somewhat bizarre. For example, even though the Bay Area is one hundred miles away from the recent Camp Fire, the area was choked with smoke. For several days the air quality in San Francisco was the worst recorded anywhere in the world; meanwhile, towns just a few miles to the east of the fire reported only moderately bad air. Then, when the winds shifted back to a more normal westerly pattern, the smoke was thrust into the jet stream and sent thousands of miles to the East. New York City reported several days of thick haze from those same fires, which were detected as far away as Europe. Not only is the smoke unsightly, it's also dangerous. A 2017 study found that wildfire smoke contained hazardous levels of methanol, benzene, and ozone. Plus, fires that destroy a lot of structures also contain carcinogens such as asbestos and lead. So it's not surprising scientists are working on computer models that can predict the path of smoke as it spreads from active fires. NASA and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) have done exactly that, creating a model called HRRR-Smoke. It uses satellite data collected every six hours to measure the conditions on the ground and predict the smoke path for the next 36 hours. It is especially good at predicting "near-surface smoke" within 26 feet of the ground, which poses the greatest danger to people with severe respiratory problems. While the scientists say it's still imperfect, HRRR-Smoke has already accurately informed official decisions to postpone outdoor events, close schools, halt Amtrak service, and shutter National Parks... likely saving lives in the process. Here at Curious HQ, our thoughts are with the victims and first responders of the Camp Fire in Paradise, one hundred miles to our north; and also to the scientists trying to make these events less catastrophic in the future.
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FREEAesthetic Daily Curio #1668Free1 CQ
Arthur Brand, the Indiana Jones of the art world, is at it again. Just a few days ago, he returned a Byzantine mosaic to Cyprus that is worth between $6 and $12 million. Brand hunted the 1,600-year-old artifact for two years before finding it in a Monaco apartment. A British family who lived there—and could afford nice stuff—had unknowingly purchased the mosaic a few years earlier. It had changed hands many times before that, since it was stolen from a church in Kankaria after the Turks invaded Cyprus in the 1970s. This is far from the first time Brand has hunted down stolen art and returned it to the rightful owners. In 2016, Brand recovered two paintings stolen in broad daylight by a masked gang from a Dutch museum. Brand spent nine months negotiating with two different criminal gangs before securing the return of the two works—a surrealist painting by Salvador Dalí and an art deco piece by the Polish painter Tamara de Lempicka—for an estimated £6.5 million. But Brand's biggest accomplishment so far has been the return of two massive bronze horses by Josef Thorak that had flanked Hitler's Berlin Reichstag. He duped a group of Nazi sympathizers into revealing their location. Brand spends most of his time detecting forgeries, which he says account for 30% of the mainstream art market. But he is unfazed by his repeated dealings with criminals. "These are people who only kill when they see a need for it… I have to keep my word when I give it to them. Because if I don't I might be in serious trouble." He'll need all his skills if he is going to crack the biggest art heist of all time: the 1990 theft at the Isabella Steward Gardner Museum in Boston. Brand says that one is his next target. Go, Brand, go!
Image credit & copyright: Jan Hennop/Getty
Arthur Brand, the Indiana Jones of the art world, is at it again. Just a few days ago, he returned a Byzantine mosaic to Cyprus that is worth between $6 and $12 million. Brand hunted the 1,600-year-old artifact for two years before finding it in a Monaco apartment. A British family who lived there—and could afford nice stuff—had unknowingly purchased the mosaic a few years earlier. It had changed hands many times before that, since it was stolen from a church in Kankaria after the Turks invaded Cyprus in the 1970s. This is far from the first time Brand has hunted down stolen art and returned it to the rightful owners. In 2016, Brand recovered two paintings stolen in broad daylight by a masked gang from a Dutch museum. Brand spent nine months negotiating with two different criminal gangs before securing the return of the two works—a surrealist painting by Salvador Dalí and an art deco piece by the Polish painter Tamara de Lempicka—for an estimated £6.5 million. But Brand's biggest accomplishment so far has been the return of two massive bronze horses by Josef Thorak that had flanked Hitler's Berlin Reichstag. He duped a group of Nazi sympathizers into revealing their location. Brand spends most of his time detecting forgeries, which he says account for 30% of the mainstream art market. But he is unfazed by his repeated dealings with criminals. "These are people who only kill when they see a need for it… I have to keep my word when I give it to them. Because if I don't I might be in serious trouble." He'll need all his skills if he is going to crack the biggest art heist of all time: the 1990 theft at the Isabella Steward Gardner Museum in Boston. Brand says that one is his next target. Go, Brand, go!
Image credit & copyright: Jan Hennop/Getty
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FREEHumanities Daily Curio #1667Free1 CQ
"Twenty-five years ago, Christmas was not the burden that it is now… there was less haggling and weighing, less quid pro quo, less fatigue of body, less wearing of soul; and, most of all, there was less loading up with trash." Those words may sound recent, but they are from a Harper's Bazaar article in 1904! The author was one of many women bemoaning the "tradition" of giving Christmas gifts to bosses and higher ups in exchange for favors at work. These gifts didn't come cheap. Often workers spent several weeks' wages on them. By 1911 the protests had reached a fever pitch. A few dozen New York City women founded the Society for the Prevention of Useless Giving, or "SPUGS." One of them was the most famous stage actress in America, Eleanor Robson Belmont. Another was Anne Morgan, daughter of J. P. Morgan, the richest man in the world. By the next year their membership had swelled to 6,000. Before the Christmas season of 1912, The New York Times endorsed the group, railing against the giving of gifts with the hope of getting favors in return, and writing: "if you wish to rebel against this hypocrisy, then you are eligible for membership in the Spug Club." President Theodore Roosevelt became the first "Man Spug" the next month, prompting thousands more to follow suit. Roosevelt signed his membership card with a pledge to "the right spirit of Christmas giving in place of the custom 'collective' and 'exchange' presents which exists to-day." He agreed to pay dues of 10¢ per year and wear his SPUG button for all campaign events. The SPUG movement had gone old-school viral! The most egregious practices became socially unacceptable. While it's a far cry to say the group eliminated all self-motivated giving during the holidays, they were successful in ending what were essentially workplace bribes. In the memory of the Spugs, let's hope that the 100+ million of us who took advantage of Black Friday and Cyber Monday deals this year won't forget to participate in tomorrow's Giving Tuesday.
Image credit: The Rogue Ginger
"Twenty-five years ago, Christmas was not the burden that it is now… there was less haggling and weighing, less quid pro quo, less fatigue of body, less wearing of soul; and, most of all, there was less loading up with trash." Those words may sound recent, but they are from a Harper's Bazaar article in 1904! The author was one of many women bemoaning the "tradition" of giving Christmas gifts to bosses and higher ups in exchange for favors at work. These gifts didn't come cheap. Often workers spent several weeks' wages on them. By 1911 the protests had reached a fever pitch. A few dozen New York City women founded the Society for the Prevention of Useless Giving, or "SPUGS." One of them was the most famous stage actress in America, Eleanor Robson Belmont. Another was Anne Morgan, daughter of J. P. Morgan, the richest man in the world. By the next year their membership had swelled to 6,000. Before the Christmas season of 1912, The New York Times endorsed the group, railing against the giving of gifts with the hope of getting favors in return, and writing: "if you wish to rebel against this hypocrisy, then you are eligible for membership in the Spug Club." President Theodore Roosevelt became the first "Man Spug" the next month, prompting thousands more to follow suit. Roosevelt signed his membership card with a pledge to "the right spirit of Christmas giving in place of the custom 'collective' and 'exchange' presents which exists to-day." He agreed to pay dues of 10¢ per year and wear his SPUG button for all campaign events. The SPUG movement had gone old-school viral! The most egregious practices became socially unacceptable. While it's a far cry to say the group eliminated all self-motivated giving during the holidays, they were successful in ending what were essentially workplace bribes. In the memory of the Spugs, let's hope that the 100+ million of us who took advantage of Black Friday and Cyber Monday deals this year won't forget to participate in tomorrow's Giving Tuesday.
Image credit: The Rogue Ginger
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FREEWork Daily CurioFree1 CQ
You don't need me to remind you that today is Black Friday. Tomorrow, we salute small businesses around the world on Small Business Saturday, which precedes Cyber Monday. While Black Friday and Cyber Monday pay tribute to mega-deals and super-stores, tomorrow is about remembering the local businesses who rise or fall based on our willingness to shop locally. Of course, teachers are small businesses also, so it's the perfect time to thank the hundreds teaching on Curious, as well as the thousands more trying to earn a living teaching their passions. We do find it a bit ironic that this holiday was "invented" in 2010 by American Express—a megacorp if ever there was one—which makes us slightly suspicious that the motives are purely altruistic. 'Tis the season to be hopeful.
You don't need me to remind you that today is Black Friday. Tomorrow, we salute small businesses around the world on Small Business Saturday, which precedes Cyber Monday. While Black Friday and Cyber Monday pay tribute to mega-deals and super-stores, tomorrow is about remembering the local businesses who rise or fall based on our willingness to shop locally. Of course, teachers are small businesses also, so it's the perfect time to thank the hundreds teaching on Curious, as well as the thousands more trying to earn a living teaching their passions. We do find it a bit ironic that this holiday was "invented" in 2010 by American Express—a megacorp if ever there was one—which makes us slightly suspicious that the motives are purely altruistic. 'Tis the season to be hopeful.
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FREEUS History Daily Curio #1666Free1 CQ
Ever wonder why Thanksgiving falls on the fourth Thursday of November? For today's Thanksgiving Themed Thursday, we're investigating how the retail industry influenced the holiday as we know it. President George Washington declared the national day of Thanksgiving in 1789, but it didn't become an annual celebration until President Abraham Lincoln delivered his Thanksgiving Proclamation in 1863. Lincoln declared the last Thursday in November "a day of thanksgiving and praise." This system worked fine, until 1939. That year, November had five Thursdays, meaning Thanksgiving would fall on the 30th. It was more problematic than you might think. Retail stores, reeling from the Great Depression, worried an abbreviated holiday shopping season would further hurt their already declining sales. So the Retail Dry Goods Association lobbied President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who agreed to reschedule 1939's Thanksgiving for the 23rd of November. Then came the backlash. FDR's date change upset college football programs, local event planners, and calendar makers alike. Coaches protested by voting Republican. The city of Plymouth, site of the first Thanksgiving, released a scornful statement. Some of FDR's rivals compared him to Germany's new leader, Adolf Hitler. Gallup polls showed 59 percent of Americans disapproved of the change. In the end, only 22 states went along with FDR's initiative—what Atlantic City Mayor Thomas Taggart dubbed "Franksgiving"—while 23 refused. The three remaining states chose to celebrate Thanksgiving on both dates, risking their waistlines to appease everybody. In 1941, Congress passed a law mandating that Thanksgiving henceforth occur on the fourth Thursday of November—ensuring such a pointless fiasco never happened again. The retail industry has been riding the gravy train ever since. Speaking of gravy, Happy Thanksgiving!
Image credit & copyright: Thomas D. McAvoy—The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images
Ever wonder why Thanksgiving falls on the fourth Thursday of November? For today's Thanksgiving Themed Thursday, we're investigating how the retail industry influenced the holiday as we know it. President George Washington declared the national day of Thanksgiving in 1789, but it didn't become an annual celebration until President Abraham Lincoln delivered his Thanksgiving Proclamation in 1863. Lincoln declared the last Thursday in November "a day of thanksgiving and praise." This system worked fine, until 1939. That year, November had five Thursdays, meaning Thanksgiving would fall on the 30th. It was more problematic than you might think. Retail stores, reeling from the Great Depression, worried an abbreviated holiday shopping season would further hurt their already declining sales. So the Retail Dry Goods Association lobbied President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who agreed to reschedule 1939's Thanksgiving for the 23rd of November. Then came the backlash. FDR's date change upset college football programs, local event planners, and calendar makers alike. Coaches protested by voting Republican. The city of Plymouth, site of the first Thanksgiving, released a scornful statement. Some of FDR's rivals compared him to Germany's new leader, Adolf Hitler. Gallup polls showed 59 percent of Americans disapproved of the change. In the end, only 22 states went along with FDR's initiative—what Atlantic City Mayor Thomas Taggart dubbed "Franksgiving"—while 23 refused. The three remaining states chose to celebrate Thanksgiving on both dates, risking their waistlines to appease everybody. In 1941, Congress passed a law mandating that Thanksgiving henceforth occur on the fourth Thursday of November—ensuring such a pointless fiasco never happened again. The retail industry has been riding the gravy train ever since. Speaking of gravy, Happy Thanksgiving!
Image credit & copyright: Thomas D. McAvoy—The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images
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FREEAesthetic Daily Curio #1665Free1 CQ
Still working out the details of your Thanksgiving menu? You might consider picking up a copy of the cookbook Les Dîners de Gala. Written by Salvador Dalí and his wife Gala, it isn't your typical cookbook. True to Dalí's artistic eccentricity, it is more like a surrealist journal of the famous dinner parties organized by the couple at their home in Paris. Dalí published the book at the height of his fame, in 1973, but it chronicles parties dating back to the early 1940s. These legendary parties thrown by the Dalís often included elaborate costumes, lewd behavior, and wild animals roaming the premises. Not surprising to Dalí fans, the book is not for the squeamish or the young. Recipes include: fish plated inside satin slippers, a mountain of crayfish in "Viking" herbs, and a sculpture of an armless woman with a skirt made of lobsters, atop a pile of severed heads. Its erotic and grotesque contents include a dish of live frogs, an entire section of aphrodisiac recipes, and a chapter entitled "Les cannibalismes de l'automne" (the "cannibalism of autumn"). Use your imagination for that one. Dalí writes clearly about his objectives for the book, saying it is "uniquely devoted to the pleasures of Taste. If you are a disciple of one of those calorie-counters who turn the joys of eating into a form of punishment, close this book at once." Critics say the work epitomizes Dalí's later life, when he was past his prime and interested only in self-promotion and capitalizing on his fame. If that sounds like some of your Thanksgiving guests, then perhaps serve Dalí's Avocado Toast, complete with minced almonds, tequila, and lamb brains.
Image credit & copyright: Taschen
Still working out the details of your Thanksgiving menu? You might consider picking up a copy of the cookbook Les Dîners de Gala. Written by Salvador Dalí and his wife Gala, it isn't your typical cookbook. True to Dalí's artistic eccentricity, it is more like a surrealist journal of the famous dinner parties organized by the couple at their home in Paris. Dalí published the book at the height of his fame, in 1973, but it chronicles parties dating back to the early 1940s. These legendary parties thrown by the Dalís often included elaborate costumes, lewd behavior, and wild animals roaming the premises. Not surprising to Dalí fans, the book is not for the squeamish or the young. Recipes include: fish plated inside satin slippers, a mountain of crayfish in "Viking" herbs, and a sculpture of an armless woman with a skirt made of lobsters, atop a pile of severed heads. Its erotic and grotesque contents include a dish of live frogs, an entire section of aphrodisiac recipes, and a chapter entitled "Les cannibalismes de l'automne" (the "cannibalism of autumn"). Use your imagination for that one. Dalí writes clearly about his objectives for the book, saying it is "uniquely devoted to the pleasures of Taste. If you are a disciple of one of those calorie-counters who turn the joys of eating into a form of punishment, close this book at once." Critics say the work epitomizes Dalí's later life, when he was past his prime and interested only in self-promotion and capitalizing on his fame. If that sounds like some of your Thanksgiving guests, then perhaps serve Dalí's Avocado Toast, complete with minced almonds, tequila, and lamb brains.
Image credit & copyright: Taschen
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FREETravel Daily Curio #1664Free1 CQ
There's no worse time to fly in the U.S. than Thanksgiving. Millions of Americans stuff themselves into giant aluminum tubes filled to the gills with screaming kids, oversized roller bags, and... winter's first cold and flu viruses. But a new study shows that the germiest part of air travel isn't the planes. It's the security line. The plastic bins that go through the x-ray machines contain more diseases than any other surface in an airport, including the toilet seats! The findings were published in the journal BMC Infectious Diseases—always a good read around the holidays. Researchers conducted the study by swabbing every surface they could think of in Finland's Helsinki-Vantaa Airport. They primarily looked for disease-causing viruses like rhinovirus, coronavirus, adenovirus and influenza A. Areas that were clean of these viruses included handrails of escalators, doorknobs of public toilets, and the toilet lid. Areas that were swimming in viruses included the security line trays and a plastic toy dog in the children's playground. To be fair, the researchers weren't looking for bacteria that comes from fecal matter. That stuff can also cause disease, but the germs aren't airborne and can easily be washed off. So if you're traveling this week, as cold and flu season gets started, try to wrap anything that comes into contact with the x-ray trays. Wash your hands right after you get through security, and before touching your eyes, nose, or mouth. And please stay away from the kids' playground!
There's no worse time to fly in the U.S. than Thanksgiving. Millions of Americans stuff themselves into giant aluminum tubes filled to the gills with screaming kids, oversized roller bags, and... winter's first cold and flu viruses. But a new study shows that the germiest part of air travel isn't the planes. It's the security line. The plastic bins that go through the x-ray machines contain more diseases than any other surface in an airport, including the toilet seats! The findings were published in the journal BMC Infectious Diseases—always a good read around the holidays. Researchers conducted the study by swabbing every surface they could think of in Finland's Helsinki-Vantaa Airport. They primarily looked for disease-causing viruses like rhinovirus, coronavirus, adenovirus and influenza A. Areas that were clean of these viruses included handrails of escalators, doorknobs of public toilets, and the toilet lid. Areas that were swimming in viruses included the security line trays and a plastic toy dog in the children's playground. To be fair, the researchers weren't looking for bacteria that comes from fecal matter. That stuff can also cause disease, but the germs aren't airborne and can easily be washed off. So if you're traveling this week, as cold and flu season gets started, try to wrap anything that comes into contact with the x-ray trays. Wash your hands right after you get through security, and before touching your eyes, nose, or mouth. And please stay away from the kids' playground!
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FREEAstronomy Daily Curio #1663Free1 CQ
Before this decade, humans had only discovered a few hundred exoplanets in the universe. As of last week, that number is up to 3,837. An exoplanet is a planet that orbits a star other than our sun. In theory, they are the best place to look for extraterrestrial life. The problem is that they are almost impossible to see with traditional telescopes because the light from their star completely blots out any image of the planet itself. Most of them are also far away—really far. Like hundreds or thousands of light years away. Which makes a paper published last week in Natureeven more remarkable. An international team of astronomers has discovered a new exoplanet orbiting Barnard's star, which is the second closest neighboring star system to our own galaxy (after Alpha Centauri). Astronomers have long thought that Barnard's star had no exoplanets. But that was before they used the new radial velocity technique, which detects wobbles created by gravitational forces acting between a star and its exoplanets during their orbit. Using this technique they have discovered several thousand new exoplanets in the past few years. This planet, dubbed Barnard's b for now, is 3.2 times heavier than Earth and is a tad cold. The scientists guesstimate that temperatures average -238° F, or about 100 degrees colder than what has ever been measured on Earth. Still, biologists say that doesn't mean the planet couldn't contain life. It would just be a lot more adapted for cold than we are. Unless you were in NYC this weekend!
Image credit & copyright: IEEC/Science-Wave/Guillem Ramisa; Shutterstock
Before this decade, humans had only discovered a few hundred exoplanets in the universe. As of last week, that number is up to 3,837. An exoplanet is a planet that orbits a star other than our sun. In theory, they are the best place to look for extraterrestrial life. The problem is that they are almost impossible to see with traditional telescopes because the light from their star completely blots out any image of the planet itself. Most of them are also far away—really far. Like hundreds or thousands of light years away. Which makes a paper published last week in Natureeven more remarkable. An international team of astronomers has discovered a new exoplanet orbiting Barnard's star, which is the second closest neighboring star system to our own galaxy (after Alpha Centauri). Astronomers have long thought that Barnard's star had no exoplanets. But that was before they used the new radial velocity technique, which detects wobbles created by gravitational forces acting between a star and its exoplanets during their orbit. Using this technique they have discovered several thousand new exoplanets in the past few years. This planet, dubbed Barnard's b for now, is 3.2 times heavier than Earth and is a tad cold. The scientists guesstimate that temperatures average -238° F, or about 100 degrees colder than what has ever been measured on Earth. Still, biologists say that doesn't mean the planet couldn't contain life. It would just be a lot more adapted for cold than we are. Unless you were in NYC this weekend!
Image credit & copyright: IEEC/Science-Wave/Guillem Ramisa; Shutterstock