...is one of those blogs that has an endless cascade of photos. Difference being, MrThree's are better than most. Check it here.
Extracts from The Warmth of the Heart Prevents the Body from Rusting, by Marie de Hennezel. It's Book of the Week on Radio 4 at the moment, and is full of beautiful, neat observations (listen to some here). There's very little to disagree with - one of the extracts read out on the radio discussed how awful it is that in retirement homes people aren't ever given double beds, they are effectively denied any recognition of sexuality. I'd never thought of it like that, but now I always will. A respected psychologist and psychotherapist, de Hennezel proposes that our exploration be guided by the belief that something within us does not grow old: ‘I shall call it the heart. I don’t mean the organ, which does of course age, but the capacity to love and to desire. The heart I refer to is that inexplicable, incomprehensible force which keeps the human being alive …'
If you only read one paragraph, read the last one.
TAP INTO YOUR CHARM Acceptance of all that we cannot change is crucial. But we can also look towards all that is to be discovered, for while the body may age, the inner person continues to evolve. Old age cannot be reduced to a series of losses and diminutions. Old age can be a process of opening up, not closing down, but this is something that has to be worked at.
There are some who become hypochondriacs, obsessed with their health. Others complain incessantly. The ideal is not to expect too much of others, but simply to be receptive. Being nice is the key, according to the writer Jean-Louis Servan-Schreiber. ‘It is up to us to behave so that people enjoy listening to us. Certain people are very good at achieving this alchemy. It can be found in a look, a smile, a pleasant tone of voice on the telephone. They never complain, expect nothing, have their own network of relationships and take care of their own physical health. It is no longer a question of trying to seduce, but of remaining attractive, cultivating one’s charm.’
Charm comes from the soul. Charm comes from the ability to take an interest in others and in the world, to look at life with confidence, wonderment and gratitude.
‘People imagine that once we are past a certain age, we lose interest in life,’ Olivier de Ladoucette told me. ‘But they are mistaken. They do not realise that as they grow older, their psyche evolves. Things that are unimportant when we are young take on an incredible importance when we grow older: a child’s smile, for example. For an 80-year-old, it’s worth as much as a good three-star banquet when you are 40.’
As we grow older we have every chance of laying aside our egos and turning towards others. That is the only way to maintain a network of friends and good relations with one’s children.
NUTURE YOUR SENSUALITY In the 18th century, someone asked the Princess Palatine at what age sexual desire disappeared. ‘How should I know?’ she replied. ‘I’m only 80!’ Today many people believe that the elderly no longer have any desires or sexual life. There are women who consider themselves no longer fit to be seen or desirable, and they bury their sensuality and desire. Quite simply they can no longer bear themselves and they will never make love again. This renunciation of desire leads more quickly than one might imagine to real old age, to an absence of joy and vitality and to a dried-up heart.
An American study of people between the ages of 80 and 102 found that 63 per cent of the men and 30 per cent of the women still had sex, and that 82 per cent of the men and 64 per cent of the women had affectionate relationships. While sexual relations may be slower and less active, we know that they also become more sensual. ‘When I was younger, desire was more frequent,’ comments one of the women in Deirdre Fishel’s 2004 documentary Still Doing It: The Intimate Lives of Women Over 65. ‘Now I am more at ease in my sexuality. There are so many ways of experiencing pleasure. For me, the caresses are more important than the act itself.’
I now look at women of my own age – I am 64 – and older with new eyes. One of the advantages of maturity is that people are freer and more receptive. There is freedom in that the children have left the nest and work considerations are often a thing of the past. But there is also an inner freedom, as we live the time we have left more in the present moment, in charge of our desires. We can be more sensual than ever, savouring life without haste or anxiety. We are so fixated on youthful norms that we find it difficult to imagine the amorous interplay between two bodies withered by age. Their desire is not fed by form or aesthetic beauty, but by the pleasure of being together in a joining of hearts, by the softness of skin, by the pace and presence of the other person and by the emotion of the encounter.
SAVOUR EVERY MOMENT During a recent trip to the Valais in Switzerland, I was sitting on a bench admiring the sweeping view when an old man emerged from a path and sat down beside me to catch his breath. When I expressed surprise that he had climbed so high at his age, he told me he walked an hour each day. ‘I train because, you see, each summer I treat myself and walk up as far as the Weisshorn hotel. In the old days I used to do this climb in an hour. I flew up; I didn’t even notice where I put my feet. Nowadays it takes me three hours, and I look at my feet while I am walking and take a new-found pleasure in noticing things I never used to see, such as the flowers lining the way. When I was young it was the physical performance that counted. I barely saw the landscape. Now I dwell in each second and my eyes are in a permanent state of ecstasy.’
When you have grown old, newness always comes from the inside. A new sensibility, a kind of sensual perception, becomes keener with age and mysteriously increases while the body diminishes. In an interview given around 20 years ago by the great French philosopher Michel Serres, he said that advancing age was a detachment from everything that weighed heavily upon him: the burdens of tradition, of learned truths, of family and of society. ‘Growing old is the opposite of what we might think; it is rejecting preconceived ideas, and becoming lighter.’
Instead of rebelling against the exhaustion and the slowing down that affects us when we grow older, why not stretch out and rest, use it as a way to take time to embrace the here and now? ‘I am beginning to understand the pleasure that the old experience when they sit on a bench for hours in the shade of a plane tree, doing nothing, gazing into the distance, silent, motionless, their hands folded,’ François Mitterrand told me in the last months of his life. He had been so active, yet he understood the virtues of ‘nonaction’.
To be filled with admiration and wonderment is a joy that is within everyone’s grasp. Some writers in their 80s talk movingly about this ability to marvel as one of the blessings of old age. I remember the last words of an old woman of 92, half an hour before her death. It was many years ago, when I was working as a psychologist at the bedsides of the dying. Her eyes filled with fire, she seized my hand and, gripping it forcefully, entrusted me with her last message: ‘My child, don’t be afraid of anything. Live! Live every bit of life that is given to you! For everything, everything is a gift from God.’ As I write these words, her words, I can still feel the energy she communicated to me as she spoke them. I can feel it as strongly as if it has just happened: proof that what comes from the heart and touches our hearts is eternal.
It's all about number one for me. The others are old school and not that easy, but number one is definitely gonna get some air time at Queens Park this summer. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2MsEaRbVuzs]
ps - bonus points, spot the REALLY SUBTLE product placement. Great camera work.
Because being nailed in the crown jewels is, it seems, the role of men in today's cinema (which is supposed to reflect society, ahem). [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPlpGcugeeI&feature=player_embedded]
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...looks like fun. They do it in Baule, on the west coast of France. Not to be confused with horse-boarding, which is on skateboards. It has become so popular that a training centre has opened and Britain’s first championships are to be held this year. Personally I'd go for the option over the water. You don't need as much body armour, and you're less likely to end up wrapped around a tree with some barbed wire in your thigh.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8jeuYMHX9Y&feature=player_embedded]
Lovely spot by Kottke, this:
From John Lanchester's review of Nathan Myhrvold's massive cookbook,Modernist Cuisine:
Another thing they love is magic -- and recent culinary discoveries have opened up extraordinary possibilities for the chef to serve things that the customers had never thought were possible. Foods that change temperature when you eat them, a cup of tea that is cold on one side and hot on the other, an edible menu, a "Styrofoam" beaker that turns into a bowl of ramen when the server pours hot water over it, edible clay and rocks, a pocket watch that turns into mock-turtle soup, a bar of soap covered in foam that is actually a biscuit with honey bubbles, a milkshake volcano -- these are the kinds of thing with which the modernist chefs amaze their audience.
From Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory:
"Marshmallow pillows are terrific," shouted Mr. Wonka as he dashed by. "They'll be all the rage when I get them into the shops! No time to go in, though! No time to go in!"
Lickable Wallpaper for Nurseries, it said on the next door.
"Lovely stuff, lickable wallpaper!" cried Mr. Wonka, rushing past. "It has pictures of fruits on it -- bananas, apples, oranges, grapes, pineapples, strawberries, and snozzberries..."
"Snozzberries?" said Mike Teevee. "Don't interrupt!" said Mr. Wonka. "The wallpaper has all these pictures of all these fruits printed on it, and when you lick the picture of the banana, it tastes of banana. When you lick a strawberry, it tastes of strawberry. And when you lick a snozzberry, it tastes just exactly like a snozzberry..."
"But what does a snozzberry taste like?"
"You're mumbling again," said Mr. Wonka. "Speak louder next time. On we go. Hurry up!"
Hot Ice Cream for Cold Days, it said on the next door.
"Extremely useful in the winter," said Mr. Wonka, rushing on. "Hot ice cream warms you up no end in freezing weather. I also make hot ice cubes for putting in hot drinks. Hot ice cubes make hot drinks hotter."
Was it revenge for taking out Tupac? Were Biggie and Tupac really just pawns in a larger game of rap rivalry gone wrong? Could there be any more alliteration? Either way, the FBI have released loads of (heavily redacted) documents so you can make your mind up for yourself. See for yourself HERE, or enjoy the edited highlights below:
The FBI was trying to link the killing of Tupac and Biggie from the start. The files include details of their relationship, the evolution from friends to rivals and records of minor skirmishes and fatal shootings. They found individuals who were present at the death of both rappers.
Biggie was shot with rare Gecko 9mm ammunition, made only in Europe and sold only in select California and New Jersey stores. The FBI tried to find other crimes committed using the same ammo, hoping to find a connection, but no dice.
They suspected police involvement. Sources wouldn't talk to LAPD investigators about Wallace's death because they thought there was internal corruption at the force. Though not proof of their involvement, a number of officers on duty at the party Biggie was leaving at the time of his death were also employed by rival record label Death Row Records as security officers. Which is, incidentally, a violation of LAPD policy.
Biggie had connections with the Genovese crime family in New York. FBI theorise the family could have photo or video evidence of his shooting, but have no proof such a thing exists.
Biggie had some full pockets the night he died. The FBI list: a Georgia driver's license, a pen, 0.91 grams of marijuana, an asthma inhaler, and three condoms among his possessions.
Original story and links here.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5acB1eQ5pwY]
Police (will probably) kill people for using these (in America).
Are you a dog owner who wants to look like you're murdering your pet and risk your own safety in the process? Russian design studio Art Lebedev has the lead for you.
Called the Povodokus, the new lead looks very much like a black handgun, and you hold it in such a way that it looks like you're about to shoot your dog in the head. Besides grossing out everyone at the dog park, owners of the Povodokus can probably expect several nasty interactions with police officers, who probably won't take kindly to what — in the right light — appears to be someone brandishing a firearm and preparing to kill an animal. In fact, in 2007, New York police killed a teenager when they mistook his hairbrush for a handgun, and the Povodkus actually looks like a real gun.
What I'm trying to say is: assuming it's not a joke, don't buy a Povodokus.
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In the tradition of Takeshi's Castle or Japanese Endurance, a group of Japanese people play Russian roulette using a Nerf gun with a pin attached to the end. Silly but surprisingly tense. I reckon they need a bit more of a Deerhunter vibe myself, or at least the soundtrack, but... [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NbDVYHQF6k]
Click this link: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000071NUS/b3ta-20, then click "view all customer images".
From B3TA: * "Dr P taught us the basics of DNA using fizzy laces, jelly beans and toothpicks and the theory of dilution using farts, and 'fart atoms.' But his best moment came one afternoon walking past the sports field. The PE teacher was shouting at the largest, most unfit kid. When he tripped and the PE teacher burst out laughing, adding more condescending comments, Dr P casually shouted, 'At least he's not fucking the librarian,' before carrying on into the science building. It turned out to be true, spread around the school like wildfire, his wife found out and the last I heard the PE teacher had been fired and was living at home with his parents." (eggs and spam)
* "A friend of my folks was brother-in-law to my Year 9 maths teacher, from whom I get this story. One fine day in the past, 'Mr Smith' comes into his morning maths lesson. One of those old roll-down blackboards sits at the front of the classroom. Smith rolls it down to find 'Mr Smith is a cunt' scrawled across it in huge letters. Smith goes absolutely apeshit, informs class that they are staying there until someone comes into his office and owns up to it. With that, he leaves the stunned class in silence and goes to wait in his office next door. According to his brother-in-law, Smith wrote it himself as he was hungover and couldn't be arsed to teach."
It was a routine day at the Birmingham, England airport in 1990. The British Airways crew had gotten up early to prepare for a trip to Malaga, Spain. About 13 minutes into the flight, flight attendant Nigel Ogden walked into the cockpit to offer the captain Tim Lancaster and co-captain Alistair Atcheson a cup of tea. As he was walking out, the plane was rocked by an explosion. He turned around and this is what he saw, as he told it to the Sydney Morning Herald's Julia Llewellyn Smith. (full story here)
I whipped round and saw the front windscreen had disappeared and Tim, the pilot, was going out through it. He had been sucked out of his seatbelt and all I could see were his legs. I jumped over the control column and grabbed him round his waist to avoid him going out completely. His shirt had been pulled off his back and his body was bent upwards, doubled over round the top of the aircraft. His legs were jammed forward, disconnecting the autopilot, and the flight door was resting on the controls, sending the plane hurtling down at nearly 650kmh through some of the most congested skies in the world.
Everything was being sucked out of the aircraft: even an oxygen bottle that had been bolted down went flying and nearly knocked my head off. I was holding on for grim death but I could feel myself being sucked out, too. John rushed in behind me and saw me disappearing, so he grabbed my trouser belt to stop me slipping further, then wrapped the captain's shoulder strap around me. Luckily, Alistair, the co-pilot, was still wearing his safety harness from take-off, otherwise he would have gone, too.
The aircraft was losing height so quickly the pressure soon equalised and the wind started rushing in - at 630kmh and -17C. Paper was blowing round all over the place and it was impossible for Alistair to hear air-traffic control. We were spiralling down at 80 feet per second with no autopilot and no radio.
Ogden could feel his arms being pulled out of their sockets. And because of the altitude, it was extremely cold. (Ogden would suffer frostbite from the flight.) The co-pilot managed to get the autopilot back on and the plane came back under their control. Nonetheless, the pilot was still stuck outside the window of the plane.
I was still holding Tim, but my arms were getting weaker, and then he slipped. I thought I was going to lose him, but he ended up bent in a U-shape around the windows. His face was banging against the window with blood coming out of his nose and the side of his head, his arms were flailing and seemed about 6 feet [1.8 metres] long. Most terrifyingly, his eyes were wide open. I'll never forget that sight as long as I live. I couldn't hold on any more, so Simon strapped himself into the third pilot's seat and hooked Tim's feet over the back of the captain's seat and held on to his ankles. One of the others said: "We're going to have to let him go." I said: "I'll never do that." I knew I wouldn't be able to face his family, handing them a matchbox and saying: "This is what is left of your husband." If we'd let go of his body, it might have got jammed in a wing or the engines.
I left Simon hanging on to Tim and staggered back into the main cabin. For a moment, I just sat totally exhausted in a jump seat, my head in my hands, then Sue came up to me, very shaken. In front of all the passengers, I put my arms around her and whispered in her ear: "I think the Captain's dead." But then I said: "Come on, love, we've got a job to do."
Believe it or not, everything turned out OK. Eighteen minutes after the explosion, they were back safe on the ground. Some people were frostbitten and a little banged up, but they survived. This amazing anecdote got dredged up Business Insider's Henry Blodget in the wake of the recent Southwest Airlines in-flight decompression incident.
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I DEFY you not to get goosebumps. The man was a GENIUS.
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New York style. Bang. That's how they do.
You're so cool [soundcloud url="http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1548923"]
...I shall mostly be out of town until April. Thanks everybody for keeping up with Dysonology but I need a wee break (not a euphemism). See you in a few weeks! J xxx
