Slow posting

Yes there is a good reason. I've been having a recurring flu - no, not necessarily that one.

Even reading was difficult, never mind blog posting. But it appears that I might be on the mend.

Stand by (Yes, too many Star Trek reruns. Gasp, I like them. No, not the orignal series. The other ones. Well, many of them. At least some.)

Please judge?

Maybe I’m a snob. I don’t know. But listen to this story, and my claim. Then judge for yourself.

Yesterday, in the afternoon, we went to see the Moscow Ballet in Saskatoon. They were performing “The Nutcracker”. Now, while there are some grumbling about that performance (recorded music, too many understudies, a missing dancer (the Chinese male dancer)), it was still enjoyable. But what did get me is that the organisers had a popular artist, who shall remain nameless, perform two of her own songs prior to the performance. By popular, I mean in the Idols-style (as in the television franchise which seems to circle the planet endlessly nowadays).

Now my first complaint was that this was an absolute inappropriate venue. It grated the senses. It shows the cultural “backwoodness” on the part of the organisers. My second complaint is the singing: I am sorry to be blunt, but she is wasting a good voice, by an attempt to mimic the caterwauling common to some inane sounds of some popular music. The voice went up, the voice came down, the voice went down, the voice come up, and we were none the wiser as to the melody.

Which brings me to my next point: The lyrics did not fit the tune, if tune is the word I want. I might as well try to sing Yellow Submarine to the tune of God Save the Queen. The next thing complaint is that the lyrics were lacking in any poetical merit. Lastly, when I, towards the end of this ghastly experience, attempted to block her singing and concentrate on the accompaniment, I discovered that the “melody” was the incessant repeat of a couple of bars with extremely minor variation.

I’m sorry if this is blunt, but at least its honest. And let me say, this criticism is not based on musical style (as in country / classical / folk / rock etc), but in the absence of any recognisable merit whatsoever. There is some raw talent there, but it is being squandered.

Now tell me, am I an unmitigated snob?

Guinness

I have a confession to make. Regular readers would know that I have a dislike of overt commercialism. That I distrust mass-production. That I prefer small and micro-breweries above multinationals. But, there is a chink in my armour. Horror of horrors, I’m not consistent. Who is?

I love Guinness. And this year is the 250th anniversary of the company. Two-and-a-half centuries ago, Arthur Guinness stared his company – and by 1799, the decision was taken to limited production to a porter. But you can read all of this online….

This year, Guinness brought out the special anniversary edition. Normally, here in North America, and the rest of the world, we get to enjoy Foreign Extra Stout in a bottle, or draught (also in a can, with the little widget to supply the head). The foreign stout has extra hops, and I suspect the barley is roasted a tad more? But for this anniversary edition, we got to enjoy bottles of the original brew, brewed just like Arthur did. Slightly less hoppy, I find the taste a tad better balanced. Unfortunately, it is not here to stay.

But I should also add to this shocking confession, an even more nefarious aspect of my taste for Guinness: I own 6 Guinness beer glasses, a T-shirt, a sweatshirt, an apron and a hand-towel. Now next time you want to insult me for writing against commercialism – well, as I said, every one of us has to admit to at least some imperfection…

The sharp pen of Michael Flynn

As a scientist, Christian, and lover of things medieval, I got a great kick out of reading Michael flynn's response against some "freethinking" rant on how the Medieval Chruch was supposed to be bad for science. Read it here.

But I have to highlight two sentences from the opening paragraphs:

Now my first reaction to "freethinker" is "well, you get what you pay for," and nothing in the essay caused me to alter that opinion. Like everyone in the herd of independent minds, the author simply repeats myths and legends, cites no sources, makes vague appeals to authority, falls into confirmation bias, appeals to ignorance, and sundry other errors.

That is simply just brilliant.

Borrowing unto perdition?

I found this interesting piece, discussing various publication that occupy themselves in one way or another with the fall of the Communist Empire. Given the current economic climate, and especially the actions of governments across the world, these two paragraphs jumped out at me.

The choices of all the communist governments in Europe were made under the shadow of financial debt -- its scale a carefully guarded secret. In the 1970s, the Communist managers started borrowing the hard currency they needed to buy the goods that kept their populations happy. By the 1980s, these governments faced some hard choices. Other less developed countries were entering a series of debt crises that accompanied global capitalism's deflationary transition to hard money. Instead of curbing their debt, the communist countries borrowed even more. They found creditors, mainly in Western Europe, willing to extend new loans.

One of the great strengths of Stephen Kotkin's contribution to this group of books, Uncivil Society, is his emphasis on issues of political economy. Kotkin (with help from Jan Gross) shares with Pleshakov the view that the real story of 1989 is less one of a bottom-up revolution than one of a fatal split within the ruling elite, the "uncivil society" of his title. Gorbachev opened the mismanagement up to public inspection. "What Gorbachev did," Kotkin writes, "was to lay bare how socialism in the bloc had been crushed by competition with capitalism and by loans that could be repaid only by ever-new loans, Ponzi-scheme style."

Lacus Somniorum

Lake of dreams – it sounds almost kitschy. But lets try and make something of it…

Since it lies close to Lacus Serenitatis, I will take the “Dreams” as when-you-are-sleeping-dreams, or daydreams, not desires.

I have often wondered about dreams. I often have extremely vivid dreams. But somehow, I at the same time have the distinct impression that I am observing my own dreams, and sometimes wilfully push them in a direction. Not always. But it is curious to feel like a psycho-analyst, analysing my own subconscious, yet influencing in at the same time. I don’t know if this has some hidden psychological meaning – or if it means that the men-in-white-coats are on their way.

Often as a child, and sometimes now, I get the floating dream – which is apparently quite common. At first, it was terrifying. But I remember one specific night, when I forced my dream from uncontrollable “floating away” to controlled gliding. Ever since then, my nightmares have decreased significantly. Bad dreams still come along, but maybe once a year only.

Another interesting thing: I dream in two languages.

I can only remember dreaming about something I’ve watched on screen (movie/TV) once during the last couple of years. As a child – more often. But then I grew up in a TV-less household, so the effect of cinema/TV was significant when I did watch. But back to more recent things – I recently dreamed about meeting Inspector Morse, and being invited to join him in a pub for a drink. Now, those of you who have watched the British series Inspector Morse, know that he loved his beer (and other drinks), and was quite a beer snob. Unfortunately I was awoken before this memorable experience could commence – I guess this would be one of my greatest “dream regrets”. Incidentally, I am a great fan of Inspector Morse, as well as the spin-off, Lewis. If you haven’t guessed by now. There are few other TV series that I do enjoy - most productions nowadays are repetative, devoid of true creativity, and sensational. But I digress...

Well, I’ll call a halt to this post before I spill anymore secrets. But here’s a question: Has any of my readers had the experience of being able to control the direction / unfolding of their dreams? I’d be interested to know if this is common.

Mare Australis

The first time I ever saw the ocean, I gazed at the South Atlantic. Yes, this was close to the Cape of Storms, now known as the Cape of Good Hope. I can’t remember the occasion – nut I know it was many years before I saw any other ocean. Thus my memories of the sea will always be coupled to the cold blueness of the Southern Atlantic.

I also experienced my first boat trip on that ocean – an hour trip to Seal Island from Hout Bay. Also the last time I was on the ocean was on a Whale watching trip off Cape Town. I saw three species of whales, including a family group of Humpbacks.

The Southern Oceans are well known for storms and windiness. The Roaring Forties have their own reputation. The islands dotted across this ocean are windblown, largely treeless, yet situated in waters immensely rich in ocean life. Tristan da Cunha, Marion & Prince Edward Islands, Gough Island, Kergeulen, South Georgia, South Sandwich…. The brother of a neighbour in my hometown once spent a summer hunting feral cats on Marion Island. When he came back he had a big blond beard, and was a bit … different. It took some months before he was “civilised” again.

Myth and mystery abound in those southern waters. In July 1909, the SS Waratah, a 500 ft Australian owned steamer disappeared on a voyage between Durban and Cape Town. No trace has ever been found. And it is on that same journey, 57 years earlier, that the HMS Birkenhead hit a rock of the African coast. The captain, knowing that they were sinking, shouted every man for himself. But the ship was also carrying 20 women and children, in addition to a large contingent of British soldiers. Their CO, a Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander Seton, drew his sword and commanded his men to stand fast. A rush for the lifeboats would certainly have lead to the death of the woman and children. Thus the ensuing tradition…

But the myth could explain lots. You see, the story goes that it is in these very southern waters that the Flying Dutchman is held captive, doomed to sail till judgement day in a vain effort to round the Cape of Good Hope. Whatever the reason, once the Southern Ocean has splashed over your feet, you are its thrall, and much like Legolas in the Lord of the Rings, it will call you, again and again and again..

Mare Vaporum

Vapour: A substance in a diffused or gaseous state, something that is transitory, a phantasm.

The Sea of Vapours lies adjacent to the Sea of Serenity. And, it’s definition links to my writing on Lacus Serenitatis, namely by way of the vapour – phantasm link. Yet I take umbrage at that link. My scientific training has imbedded in my mind the idea of vapour as a state of matter, rather than a transitory figment of the imagination. Vapour is life giving – it is the mode whereby water spreads almost invisibly across the landscape, eventually to reappear as life-giving (and occasionally, life ending) rain and snow. Vapour is also the vessel of aroma, and thus a major contributor to taste. So, instead of melancholically musing on phantasmal Serenity, I would rather celebrate her effusive-yet-corporeal neighbour, Vapour.

A Sea of Vapour is overwhelming in the vision it creates. Think for a moment of wine – it is not for nothing that we speak of the Nose of a wine, which indicates that we wish to sample the wealth of vapours emanating from it’s liquid form. The vapour of a good burgundy, for instance can carry with it the lingering existence of mighty oak trees.

Occasionally though, we think of Vapour as something dangerous – like the vapours of a beaker full of a dangerous acid. But we rarely use the term as something evil – for those we have other words – reek, stench. Though technically no different, the emotive component is vastly different.
So, here’s to Mare Vaporum, life-giving and life-celebratory!

Lacus Serenitatis

Note: Jenkins uses Lacus Serenitatis, instead of the accepted Mare Serenitatis, depicted here.

Serenity: The quality of being serene, from the Latin serenus, meaning cloudless or untroubled. Was occasionally used in titles – “His serene majesty, King….”.
Serenity is a double-edged sword. Serenity may indicate cheerful acceptance, or ignorance. I would like to restrict the word to the former scenario. And yet, I would have to confess that I have never even dipped my toes in that Lake. But it is equally true that the waters of that lake are seldom tested by humanity. The reason for this has more to do with a culture that fears serenity than with individual disposition. But I don’t wish to dwell on that subject.

In my own case I seem to be fated for storm, for the Winds of the “Roaring Forties”. As I’m writing this I’m listening to Nielsen’s Fourth and Fifth, and Mahler’s Fifth. Indeed, the second movement of the latter is called Stürmisch Bewegt – Stormy Movement. If not on an intellectual level, yet on a emotional level I have always felt the compulsion of Sturm und Drang.

So why write on serenity? Why indeed should one write about that which you know almost nothing of? The answer is simple:

Because it is the polar opposite of what you find yourself in. It is why tortured souls often have the ability to create the greatest Beauty: Freude, schöner Götterfunken, tochter aus Elysium, wir betreten feuertrunken, himmilishe, dein heiligtum!

So what then, Serenity? Maybe you are just a phantasm – since we know that Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. Or maybe you are just a momentary impression, that comes unlooked for, and cannot be found when desired, like Jack’s Joy? Maybe there’s truth in that. Namely that you cannot be pursued – one cannot tell whence you came, and where you went. Yet it is also remarkable that, when compared to love, happiness, joy, angst, and grief so few poets have lifted their pens to celebrate you. Nay, before anybody wishes to contradict me, pastoral tranquility is not serenity. I will yet write on tranquility.

So, Lake of Serenity, you teach us nothing. You cannot be found. Yet your absence is invoking, your thesis is defined by your antithesis.

There - you’ve gone.

Imagined Oceans

In 1998, Welsh composer Karl Jenkins released an album entitled “Imagined Oceans”, which was inspired by the “seas” of the lunar landscape. In his own unique style, he explores the Latin meaning of the names of thirteen Mare, using a small eclectic orchestra and voices, which only sing syllables taken from the Latin Title of the movement.

It occurred to me that it might be interesting to use this work as a basis for a series of blog posts. Some might be serious, other whimsical, others downright depressing. We’ll see where this leads too…

I’m going to start with the second movement, since the brief introductory movement, Mare Crisium, is repeated as the Finale, where it is more developed. Briefly then, the movements are:

Mare Crisium (introduction), Lacus Serenitatis, Mare Vaporum, Mare Australis, Mare Somniorum, Lacus Pereverantiae, Lacus Doloris, Mare Undarum, Palus Nebularum, Sinus Iridium, Mare Imbrium, Lacus Temporis, Lacus Lenitatis and Mare Crisium. I will use NASA images, if only to set the tone somewhat.

Note: this will be an intermittent series. Don’t clamber if it languishes a bit…