• Cabinet d’aisance

    Pour l’an 2019 j’ai la firme intention d’envoyer c... du monde. Voici quelques poses que ces gens seront invités à prendre.

    Frank Zappa Toilet Poster

    Frank Zappa Poster Zappa Mothers 1968 Berkeley Concert Poster | Free Poster Templates

    Inside the Zappa Family Feud – Rolling Stone

    This should be a year for honoring the legacy of Frank Zappa, who died in 1993. A new, acclaimed Zappa documentary, Eat That Question, is in theaters, and a series of deluxe reissues and archival releases just hit shelves. Dweezil’s tour features songs from Frank’s landmark debut, Freak Out!, released 50 years ago this summer. But instead of celebrating, the four Zappa children are locked in a drama that has bitterly divided a once-close family and exposed its quirks. “I was hoping to keep the fact that we were a Grey Gardens family a secret,” says oldest daughter Moon, 48, an actress and novelist. “Oops!”

    En Autriche on te conseille geh scheißen si tu n’es pas le bienvenu.


  • Egyptian actress faces trial for wearing see-through dress | News | Al Jazeera

    Pensez-y pour vos prochaines vacances en #Egypte...

    An Egyptian actress is set to face trial next month for wearing a see-through dress at the Cairo film festival that showed her legs, a judicial source said on Saturday.

    Rania Youssef appeared at the closing session on Thursday of the event wearing a black lacy dress that exposed what some commentators described as a swimsuit beneath it.

    This prompted two lawyers to lodge a case against her accusing the actress of “inciting debauchery”, a charge that could land her in jail for up to five years if she is convicted, the source said.

  • The Kaiser goes : the generals remain - Theodor Plivier

    Text entier en anglais : https://libcom.org/files/TheKaiserGoesTheGeneralsRemain.pdf https://libcom.org/files/TheKaiserGoesTheGeneralsRemain.mobi

    Du même auteur : Stalingrad (1945), Moskau (1952), Berlin (1954), une trilogie sur la guerre contre les nazis. Je n’ai pas encore trouvé de version en ligne.

    This is an amazing novel about the German Revolution, written by a participant. Republished here in PDF and Kindle formats.

    I’m republishing a novel about the German Revolution called The Kaiser Goes: the Generals Remain, written by a participant in the naval mutinies which kicked the whole thing off. But the novel doesn’t just concern rebellion in the armed forces, there’s all kinds of other exciting events covered too!

    I first became aware of the novel when I noticed some quotations from it in Working Class Politics in the German Revolution1, Ralf Hoffrogge’s wonderful book about the revolutionary shop stewards’ movement in Germany during and just after World War I.

    I set about finding a copy of The Kaiser goes..., read it, and immediately wanted to make it more widely available by scanning it. The results are here.

    Below I’ve gathered together all the most readily accessible information about the novel’s author, Theodor Plivier, that I can find. Hopefully, the sources referenced will provide a useful basis for anybody who wants to do further research.

    Dan Radnika

    October 2015

    THEODOR Otto Richard PLIVIER – Some biographical details

    Theodor Plivier (called Plievier after 1933) was born on 12 February 1892 in Berlin and died on 12 March 1955 in Tessin, Switzerland.

    Since his death Plivier/Plievier has been mostly known in his native Germany as a novelist, particularly for his trilogy of novels about the fighting on the Eastern Front in WWII, made up of the works Moscow, Stalingrad and Berlin.

    He was the son of an artisan file-maker (Feilenhauer in German) and spent his childhood in the Gesundbrunnen district in Berlin. There is still a plaque dedicated to him on the house where he was born at 29 Wiesenstraße. He was interested in literature from an early age. He began an apprenticeship at 17 with a plasterer and left his family home shortly after. For his apprenticeship he traveled across the German Empire, in Austria-Hungary and in the Netherlands. After briefly returning to his parents, he joined up as a sailor in the merchant navy. He first visited South America in 1910, and worked in the sodium nitrate (saltpetre) mines in 1913 in Chile. This period of his life seems to have provided much of the material for the novel The World’s Last Corner (see below).

    He returned to Germany, Hamburg, in 1914, when he was still only 22. He was arrested by the police for a brawl in a sailors’ pub, and was thus “recruited” into the imperial navy just as the First World War broke out. He spent his time in service on the auxiliary cruiser SMS Wolf, commanded by the famous Commander Karl August Nerger. It was he who led a victorious war of patriotic piracy in the Atlantic, the Indian Ocean and the Pacific, seizing enemy ships and their cargo, taking their crews prisoner, and returning in glory to Kiel in February 1918. The activities of SMS Wolf are described in fictional form in the final chapter of Plivier’s The Kaiser’s Coolies (see below). The young Plivier didn’t set foot on land for 451 days, but while at sea he became converted to revolutionary ideas, like thousands of other German sailors. Nevertheless, he never joined a political party. In November 1918, he was in Wilhelmshaven and participated in the strikes, uprisings and revolts accompanying the fall of the German Empire, including the Kiel Mutiny. He also played a small role in the November Revolution in Berlin.

    He left the navy after the armistice (11 November 1918) and, with Karl Raichle and Gregor Gog (both sailor veterans of the Wilmhelmshaven revolt), founded the “Green Way Commune”, near Bad Urach. It was a sort of commune of revolutionaries, artists, poets, proto-hippies, and whoever turned up. Two early participants were the anarchist Erich Mühsam and Johannes Becher (see below), who was a member of the German Communist Party (KPD). At this time several communes were set up around Germany, with Urach being one of three vegetarian communes set up in the Swabia region2.

    It was the beginning of the anarchist-oriented “Edition of the 12” publishing house. Plivier was certainly influenced by the ideas of Bakunin, but also Nietzsche. Later he took on some kind of “individualist anarchism”, ensuring that he didn’t join any party or formal political organisation.

    In Berlin in 1920 he married the actress Maria Stoz3. He belonged to the circle of friends of Käthe Kollwitz4, the radical painter and sculptor, who painted his portrait. On Christmas Day 1920 he showed a delegation from the American IWW to the grave of Karl Liebknecht5. In the early ‘20s he seems to have associated with the anarcho-syndicalist union, the FAUD (Free Workers’ Union of Germany), and addressed its public meetings6.

    Plivier underwent a “personal crisis” and began to follow the example of the “back to nature” poet Gusto Gräser7, another regular resident of “Green Way” and a man seen as the leading figure in the subculture of poets and wandering mystics known (disparagingly at the time) as the “Inflation Saints” (Inflationsheilige)8. In the words of the historian Ulrich Linse, “When the revolutionaries were killed, were in prison or had given up, the hour of the wandering prophets came. As the outer revolution had fizzled out, they found its continuation in the consciousness-being-revolution, in a spiritual change”9. Plivier began wearing sandals and robes…10 According to the Mountain of Truth book (see footnote), in 1922, in Weimar, Plivier was preaching a neo-Tolstoyan gospel of peace and anarchism, much influenced by Gräser. That year he published Anarchy, advocating a “masterless order, built up out of the moral power of free individuals”. Supposedly, “he was a religious anarchist, frequently quoting from the Bible”11. This was not unusual amongst the Inflationsheilige.

    His son Peter and his daughter Thora died from malnutrition during the terrible times of crisis and hyper-inflation in 1923. A year later he began to find work as a journalist and translator. He then worked for some time in South America as a cattle trader and as secretary to the German consul in Pisagua, Chile. On his return to Germany he wrote Des Kaisers Kulis (“The Kaiser’s Coolies”) in 1929, which was published the following year. It was a story based on his days in the Imperial Navy, denouncing the imperialist war in no uncertain terms. At the front of the book is a dedication to two sailors who were executed for participation in a strike and demonstration by hundreds of sailors from the Prinzregent Luitpold12. Erwin Piscator put on a play of his novel at the Lessingtheater in Berlin, with the first showing on 30 August 1930. Der Kaiser ging, die Generälen blieben (“The Kaiser Goes: The Generals Remain”) was published in 1932. In both novels Plivier did an enormous amount of research, as well as drawing on his own memories of important historical events. In the original edition of Der Kaiser ging… there is a citations section at the end with fifty book titles and a list of newspapers and magazines consulted. This attention to historical fact was to become a hallmark of Plivier’s method as a novelist. The postscript to Der Kaiser ging… clearly states what he was trying to do:

    “I have cast this history in the form of a novel, because it is my belief that events which are brought about not by any exchange of diplomatic notes, but by the sudden collision of opposed forces, do not lend themselves to a purely scientific treatment. By that method one can merely assemble a selection of facts belonging to any particular period – only artistic re-fashioning can yield a living picture of the whole. As in my former book, The Kaiser’s Coolies, so I have tried here to preserve strict historic truth, and in so far as exact material was available I have used it as the basis of my work. All the events described, all the persons introduced, are drawn to the life and their words reproduced verbatim. Occasional statements which the sources preserve only in indirect speech are here given direct form. But in no instance has the sense been altered.”

    His second marriage (which didn’t produce any children) was to the Jewish actress Hildegard Piscator in 1931. When Hitler came to power as Chancellor in 1933, his books were banned and publically burnt. He changed his name to Plievier. That year he decided to emigrate, and at the end of a long journey which led him to Prague, Zurich, Paris and Oslo, he ended up in the Soviet Union.

    He was initially not subject to much censorship in Moscow and published accounts of his adventures and political commentaries. When Operation Barbarossa was launched he was evacuated to Tashkent along with other foreigners. Here, for example, he met up (again?) with Johannes Robert Becher, the future Culture Minister of the DDR! In September 1943 he became a member of the National Committee for a Free Germany (NKFD), which gathered anti-Nazi German exiles living in the USSR – not just Communist Party members, although there were a fair number of them involved. In 1945 he wrote Stalingrad, based on testimonies which he collected, with official permission, from German prisoners of war in camps around Moscow. This novel was initially published in occupied Berlin and Mexico, but ended up being translated into 14 languages and being adapted for the theatre and TV13. It describes in unflinching and pitiless detail the German military defeat and its roots in the megalomania of Hitler and the incompetence of the High Command. It is the only novel by Plievier that was written specifically as a work of state propaganda. It is certainly “defeatist”, but only on the German side – it is certainly not “revolutionary defeatist” like Plievier’s writings about WWI. The French writer Pierre Vaydat (in the French-language magazine of German culture, Germanica14) even suggests that it was clearly aimed at “the new military class which was the officer corps of the Wehrmacht” in an effort to encourage them to rise up against Hitler and save the honour of the German military. The novel nevertheless only appeared in a censored form in the USSR.

    He returned to Weimar at the end of 1945, as an official of the Red Army! For two years he worked as a delegate of the regional assembly, as director of publications and had a leading position in the “Cultural Association [Kulturbund] for German Democratic Renewal” which was a Soviet organisation devoted to changing attitudes in Germany and preparing its inclusion into the USSR’s economic and political empire. As with so much else in Plievier’s life, this episode was partly fictionalised in a novel, in this case his last ever novel, Berlin.

    Plievier ended up breaking with the Soviet system in 1948, and made an announcement to this effect to a gathering of German writers in Frankfurt in May of that year15. However, Plievier had taken a long and tortuous political path since his days as a revolutionary sailor in 1918… He clearly ended up supporting the Cold War – seeing the struggle against “Communist” totalitarianism as a continuation of the struggle against fascism (logically enough). What’s more, his views had taken on a somewhat religious tinge, talking of a “spiritual rebirth” whose foundations “begin with the Ten Commandments from Mount Sinai and end with the theses of the Atlantic Charter”! Although it can be read as a denunciation of the horrors of war in general, it’s clear that Berlin, his description of the collapse of Nazi Germany in 1945, is far more of a denunciation of Soviet Russia than anything else. The character Colonel Zecke, obviously a mouthpiece for Plievier’s views, even claims that Churchill and Roosevelt only bombed Dresden because they wanted to please Stalin. If you say so, Theo…! One virtue of Plievier’s single-minded attack on the Russian side is that he draws attention to the mass rape of German women by Russian soldiers. This was a war crime which it was not at all fashionable to mention at the time he was writing, despite the existence of perhaps as many as two million victims16.

    Berlin ends with one of the recurring characters in Plievier’s war novels being killed while participating in the East German worker’s revolt in 195317. Despite his conservative turn, Plievier obviously still has some of the spirit of Wilhelmshaven and can’t restrain himself from giving the rebellious workers some advice about how to organise a proletarian insurrection – seize the means of production! Another character says:

    “What use was it raising one’s fists against tanks, fighting with the Vopos [Volkspolizei – People’s Police], trampling down propaganda posters – one has to get into the vital works, to get busy at the waterworks, the power stations, the metropolitan railway! But the workers are without organisation, without leadership or a plan –the revolt has broken out like a steppes fire and is flickering away uncoordinated, in all directions at once.”

    He went to live in the British Zone of Occupation. He got married for a third time, in 1950, to Margarete Grote, and went to live next to Lake Constance. He published Moscow (Moskau) in 1952 and Berlin in 1954. He moved to Tessin in Switzerland in 1953, and died from a heart attack there in 1955, at the age of 63.

    His works – particularly the pro-revolutionary ones – are almost unknown in the English-speaking world (or anywhere else) today. The republication of The Kaiser Goes: The Generals Remain in electronic form is a modest attempt to remedy this!

    Finally, please read Plivier’s novels! Even the reactionary ones…

    #Allemagne #histoire #révolution #littérature

  • Ashton Kutcher and Pharrell Williams among Stars and Supporters at FIDF Western Region Gala Chaired by Haim and Cheryl Saban

    For the 12 th year, FIDF National Board Member and major supporter Haim Saban and his wife, Cheryl, chaired the star-studded gala. Guests included prominent business, philanthropic, and political leaders and celebrated names in entertainment, fashion, sports, and technology, including Ashton Kutcher; Pharrell Williams; Gerard Butler; Andy Garcia; Fran Drescher; Ziggy Marley; David Foster; Katharine McPhee; David Draiman; A. C. Green; Ralph Sampson; Robert Horry; Josh Flag; Israeli actress and star of hit Netflix show FaudaRona-Lee Shim’on; Israeli actor Yaakov Zada Daniel, also of Fauda and an FIDF IMPACT! scholarship recipient; Consul General of Israel in Los Angeles Sam Grundwerg; business magnates and philanthropists Dr.Miriam and Sheldon G. Adelson, Serge Azria, and Florence Azria; Managing Member of R.H. Book LLC and Chairman of Jet Support Services Inc.  Robert Book and his wife,  Amy; Founder and President of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein and his wife, Joelle; GUESS Founders  Maurice  and  Paul Marciano; FIDF National Chairman Rabbi PeterWeintraub; FIDF National President RobertCohen; FIDF National Board Member and Western Region President Tony Rubin and his wife, Linda; FIDF National Director and CEO Maj. Gen. (Res.) Meir Klifi-Amir; and FIDF Western Region Executive Director Jenna Griffin.

  • China embraces a revolution in genetic testing, seeking answers on destiny and identity

    BEIJING — It was from the news of American actress Angelina Jolie’s double mastectomy that Yang Yang learned it would be possible to have her DNA sequenced. A white-collar worker from Chongqing, a major city in southwest China, Yang admired her idol’s decision in 2013 to take her future into her own hands after a genetic test revealed a high risk of breast cancer. Five years later, Yang has discovered that genetic testing services are not only available to Hollywood stars, but also to the (...)

    #23Mofang #biométrie #génétique

  • Egypt Sends Actress to Jail for Spreading ‘Fake News’ Over Sexual Harassment - WSJ


    CAIRO—A woman has been sentenced in Egypt to two years in prison for allegedly spreading fake news after she posted a video on Facebook decrying her experience of sexual harassment in the country.

    The sentencing of actress Amal Fathy comes as Egypt’s President Abdel Fattah Al Sisi has given free rein to the country’s police and judiciary to clamp down on women who complain of sexual assault and harassment and women’s activist groups. The crackdown on women and feminist organizations is part of a broader government assault on civil society, dissidents, and anyone perceived as tarnishing the country’s image.

    Ms. Fathy was arrested in a raid on her home in May after she published a video on her personal Facebook page where she talked about her experience of sexual harassment in a Cairo bank.

  • Vanessa Redgrave backs ’Zionist hoodlums’ comment made during 1978 Oscar speech
    Haaretz - Aug 31, 2018 7:03 PM

    Vanessa Redgrave is unapologetic for referring to “Zionist hoodlums” during her Academy Award acceptance speech 40 years ago.

    On Thursday, the veteran actress told the Hollywood Reporter in an interview ahead of receiving a lifetime achievement Golden Lion Award from the Vienna Film Festival that she felt a responsibility to speak out no matter the consequences.

    Redgrave, 81, was referring in her remarks at the 1978 Oscars to the members of the Jewish Defense League who objected to her funding and narrating “The Palestinian,” a 1977 documentary about the Palestinians’ situation and the activities of the Palestinian Liberation Organization.

    She received the best supporting actress Oscar for her performance in the 1977 film “Julia,” in which Redgrave played the title role — a woman murdered by Nazis prior to World War II for her anti-fascist activism.

    Following her nomination, members of the JDL burned her in effigy and allegedly offered a bounty on her head. There was a firebombing at one of the theaters that screened the documentary. The JDL also picketed the Academy Awards ceremony where she received her Oscar opposite pro-PLO demonstrators.

    “In the last few weeks you have stood firm and you have refused to be intimidated by the threat of a small bunch of Zionist hoodlums, whose behavior is an insult to the stature of Jews all over the world, and to their great and heroic record of struggle against fascism and oppression,” Redgrave told her supporters during her acceptance speech.

    She concluded the speech by pledging “to fight anti-Semitism and fascism for as long as I live.”

    The controversial statement about “Zionist hoodlums” reportedly cost her many roles over the years.

    “I didn’t realize pledging to fight anti-Semitism and fascism was controversial. I’m learning that it is,” she told the Hollywood Reporter this week. (...)

  • Cate Blanchett: Nothing prepared me for Rohingya suffering

    Oscar-winning actress Cate Blanchett told the U.N. Security Council on Tuesday that nothing prepared her for “the extent and depth of suffering” she saw when she visited camps in Bangladesh for Rohingya Muslim refugees who fled a violent crackdown by Myanmar’s military.

    In her very different role as a goodwill ambassador for the U.N. refugee agency, Blanchett said she heard “gut-wrenching accounts” of torture, rape, people seeing loved ones killed before their eyes, and children thrown into fire and burned alive.


    The Rohingya have long been treated as outsiders in Buddhist-majority Myanmar, even though their families have lived in the country for generations. Nearly all have been denied citizenship since 1982, effectively rendering them stateless, and they are also denied freedom of movement and other basic rights.

    The latest crisis began with attacks by an underground Rohingya insurgent group on Myanmar security personnel last August in northern Rakhine State.

    #Rohingya #Birmanie #Myanmar
    Les photos sont un peu ridicules.

  • L’armée israélienne a bombardé aujourd’hui ce centre culture Al-Mishaal à Gaza

    Video : Building a theater audience in Gaza | The Electronic Intifada
    The Electronic Intifada 16 January 2018

    Palestine’s Theater was founded in 2011 by director Edrees Taleb in Gaza City.

    The troupe brings together 25 actors from all over the Strip, to rehearse and perform plays for the public.

    There is no dedicated playhouse in Gaza, so the troupe rehearses and performs at the Said al-Mishal Establishment for Culture and Sciences in Gaza City.

    The troupe faced obstacles in starting the group and generating interest in their plays.

    Actress Hanan Madi said that not all families are encouraging, “but once they understand it and realize it’s reasonable, they no longer object.”

    The project wasn’t successful from the outset, according to Taleb.

    “But after I insisted that people attend, my audience grew. They come, pay tickets and try to enjoy a comedic performance to try to take their minds off of life in the Gaza Strip, from electricity cuts to other things.”

    Video by Ruwaida Amer and Sanad Abu Latifa.


  • Delitiae Musicae (Classical meets Modern) with La fabrock
    by Magda Brand-Ortiz de Zevallos

    When I stumble on something that strikes me as good, I am very grateful. Thanks to La fabrock, who was commenting on one of his mixes that only few Mixcloud selectors upload classical music —or mix classical and contemporary in their sets. While reading his sentence I thought on a project I had in the pipeline, which went in that direction. Hence, I touched base with him and proposed to use synergies to create something nice. This exchange was again a great experience, plenty of fun and mutual enrichment. I am very happy and proud to present you our work: Delitiae Musicae. Carve out a peaceful time, make you comfortable and enjoy.
    Below the link to La fabrock’s profile, where you can appreciate a wide variety of musical genres.

    1. Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra (comp. E.S.T.), When God created the Coffee Break
    2. National Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine (comp. Shostakovich), Jazz Suite No. 1, Op. 38a: I. Waltz
    3. Miho Hazama (comp. Miho Hazama), The Urban Legend
    4. Joe Baer Magnant (comp. Erik Satie), Gnossienne No. 1
    La Fabrock
    5. Max Richter, Vivaldi -The Four Seasons - 1. Spring Recomposed by M. Richter
    6. Jlin, Black Ballet
    7. Maxence Cyrin, Where Is My Mind (The Pixies Piano Cover)
    8. Actress x London Contemporary Orchestra, ’Audio Track 5’
    9. Martin Joey Dine, The Mysterious Side of Amsterdam
    10. Mstislav Rostropovich/Anne Sophie Mutter/Bruno Giuranna, Beethoven: String Trio #2 In G, Op. 9/1 - 3. Scherzo: Allegro
    11. Django Bates, A Day In The Life (The Beatles)
    La Fabrock
    12. Aphex Twin, Goon Gumpas
    13. Khatia Buniatishvili, “Schafe können sicher weiden” (Bach -Cantata No. 9) from BWV 208
    14. C. Saint Saens, “Aquarium” (Le Carnaval des Animaux)
    15. Fulgeance, Ritournelle

    • Toujours un peu surpris de la façon dont on présente ce genre d’interprétations, parce qu’in fine il ne s’agit que de ça. Le classique rencontre le moderne... Tout ça parce qu’on utilise un orchestre dit « classique » pour interpréter des choses plus de notre temps ?

      Bien noter que les orchestres en question (à fort effectif en général, ça claque plus) n’ont pas quand chose à voir avec la période classique d’ailleurs, puisque leur configuration tient plus de la fin XIXème, début XXème

      Bon, à part ça le premier morceau de E.S.T. est plutôt pas mal en config orchestre. Le Chosta (n°2), je n’ai pas bien compris ce que cette interprétation avait de particulier...

      Bref, je ne crois pas à cette prétendue confrontation, qui n’est qu’un argument marketing (et donc même pas un argument en fait) et ai toujours pensé qu’on pouvait jouer à peu près n’importe quelle musique avec n’importe quelle formation. Seule l’intention compte : qu’est qu’on veut en faire, qu’est-ce qu’on a à en dire ?

      Finalement je préfère quand Taraf de Haidouks joue du Bartok. Là au moins ça sent la piraterie, mais respectueuse.

    • C’est ton avis. Que veux-tu que je te dise...? Pour moi, il n’y a pas de confrontation et certainement pas d’argument marketing. Ils ne vendent rien. C’est juste deux artistes passionnés de musique qui se sont rencontrés et qui partagent leur création musicale. Maintenant, que ça plaise ou non, c’est une question de sensibilité. J’ai déjà entendu d’autres mixages dans le même genre, le résultat était très décevant. Ici, je trouve la sélection originale, les transitions sont fluides. En tout cas, en ce qui me concerne rien ne m’a heurté, j’ai plutôt vibré.

  • Cuomo Promises a Dunkirk-Style Citizens’ Fleet to Block Drilling - Bloomberg

    New York Governor Andrew Cuomo vowed to enlist a “citizens fleet” of leisure boats and fishing vessels to block any attempt to construct oil-drilling facilities off the state’s shores, as part of a broad attack on President Donald Trump’s environmental and energy policies.

    I’m going to commission a citizen fleet to stop it just as Winston Churchill did at Dunkirk,” Cuomo said, invoking the former British prime minister’s call for a seaborne operation of fishing boats and leisure vessels to rescue evacuating soldiers from the French shore line. He called Trump’s decision to permit offshore drilling “an unacceptable risk.

    The only way you stop a bully is by standing up and putting your finger in his or her chest,” Cuomo, 60, said during a campaign-style speech in Lower Manhattan’s Battery Park.

    The governor, who’s seeking a third term and faces a Democratic primary challenge from self-described progressive and actress Cynthia Nixon, has also been mentioned as a potential 2020 White House candidate. He used the speech to deliver a broader attack against Trump and the Republican Party’s economic, environmental and social policies.

    They’ve attacked a woman’s right to choose; they’ve attacked immigration policy; they’re against diversity; they’re against the LGBT community; they’re against individual rights,” Cuomo said. “They’re against everything we hold dear.

    Cuomo touted a state-subsidized solar-panel manufacturing plant in Buffalo, which he said would be the largest in the U.S., as an example of economic-development measures to support renewable energy. He mocked Trump’s promises to return to the country’s dependence on coal and fossil fuels.

    We’re going to go back to fossil fuels, we’re going back to coal, we’re going to set up big manufacturing plants again,” Cuomo said. “You don’t politically assuage people’s anxiety by saying ‘don’t worry, I’m bringing back the old days, when you worked in the steel plant and you worked in the aluminum plant.’ The old days are gone; that’s why they’re the old days.

    The Trump administration policy, which would open 90 percent of U.S. offshore oil reserves to private development, has attracted bipartisan opposition from most of the governors of the 22 coastal states it would affect.

  • Israeli minister : Natalie Portman’s boycott of Netanyahu borders on anti-Semitism - Israel News - Haaretz.com


    Energy Minister Yuval Steinitz said Israeli-American actress Natalie Portman’s decision not to accept the Genesis Prize and her statements on the matter border on anti-Semitism. Portman said she would not accept the award in the presence of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who was scheduled to speak at the award ceremony to be held in Jerusalem.
    “Natalie Portman has played into the hands of the worst of our haters and of the worst of the anti-Semites in the Middle East,” Steinitz said in an interview on Sunday with the Kan public broadcasting corporation. Portman had made a serious mistake and owes Israel an apology, the energy minister said.
    To really understand Israel and the Jewish word - subscribe to Haaretz
    “Criticism of Israel is not anti-Semitism. Boycotting Israel has elements of anti-Semitism,” Steinitz asserted, adding that Portman would not have boycotted China or India. Boycotting the ceremony because of Prime Minister Netanyahu’s participation practically constitutes a boycott of Israel, Steinitz asserted.

  • Genesis Prize cancels ceremony after 2018 winner #Natalie_Portman said she won’t visit Israel | Jta | clevelandjewishnews.com

    On Thursday, the Genesis Prize Foundation, which awards what it calls the “Jewish Nobel,” said it was “very saddened” that the Israeli-American actress would not take part in the ceremony. The foundation said that Portman’s representative notified it that “[r]ecent events in #Israel have been extremely distressing to her and she does not feel comfortable participating in any public events in Israel” and that “she cannot in good #conscience move forward with the ceremony.”


    • Bunnies by the boxful

      Opened in 1916, the freezing works supplied rabbit meat to markets around southern Queensland (Brisbane, Toowoomba, and Warwick), while pelts were sent to Sydney for auction and to hat factories in Melbourne. In 1917 the works processed over 110,000 rabbits. This success led to plans to expand capacity and establish exports.

      ‘The plant which did the freezing was small at first, supplying mainly Brisbane markets, but this grew until it was supplying a large city in Indonesia, then as the years went by, a firm in England…’

      Bert Wright, 1992

      Bert Wright was one of many locals who found employment at the works, operated in the 1920s by local businessmen Bill Wilkinson and Ted Maher.

      ‘I worked for the Yelarbon chiller for years on and off. The rabbit kept me in good work whenever I needed it. … I drove for them … from Yelarbon to Stanthorpe – 90 odd miles. Of course you were all over the place picking up, grading and buying rabbits. A docket was issued – so many pair of large, medium and small – all at different prices.’

      Bert Wright, 1992

      Bert recalled that in the interwar years (1919-1938) Yelarbon was known as a ‘rabbit town’. Over 20 tons of rabbits were trucked to Brisbane each week in peak periods and 151 trappers were on the freezing works’ books. During the 1930s Depression prices for rabbits were very low but trappers were able to make a little over £1 a week, enough for their families to survive the difficult times.

      With the start of the Second World War in 1939, most of the young trappers enlisted for the Army and the flow of rabbit carcasses to the freezing works dropped significantly, but the company remained in business. Bert explained the impact that the absence of trappers had on rabbit populations: when the war finished ‘… there were rabbits everywhere – even living under the freezing works itself.’ The trappers came back and shipments of rabbits started coming from as far away as St George, approximately 250 km west of Yelarbon. The record catch Bert remembers was 4007 pairs delivered by one trapper in 1947-48. The works closed in 1955.

    • Louis Pasteur and the $10m rabbit reward

      Image: Plague proportions: farmers with one evening’s cull in central Victoria, 1949. (State Library of Victoria’s Pictures Collection/ Accession no H19019)

      In the 1880s, the greatest threat to Australia’s political and economic future was the rabbit, and our desperate struggle with the bunny resembled a Looney Tunes plot, involving biological warfare, a scientific genius, a world famous actress and a $10 million reward. Lorena Allam reports.

      Rabbits arrived in Australia with the First Fleet but didn’t thrive initially. The great bunny plague is commonly blamed on Thomas Austin of Barwon Park near Geelong, who decided in 1859 to organise a ’spot of hunting’ by releasing two dozen rabbits into the wild.

      ’Those two dozen rabbits went on to multiply, as rabbits do, to be a plague of a billion rabbits by the 1880s,’ says historian and author Stephen Dando-Collins.

      The speed of the invasion was astonishing.

      Some of the strong contenders were people who thought, “Well, let’s bring in something that will eat the rabbits.” In fact, some animals were brought in ... mongooses, cats.
      Brian Coman, author and research scientist

      ’In the west of NSW in particular, properties were quite marginal to begin with,’ says Dando-Collins. ’Once the rabbits arrived and stripped them of all the crops and stock feed, these places became dustbowls and totally useless to farmers.’

      Next the rabbits invaded politics.

      ’At that time there was no income tax, no company tax and the colonial government’s single biggest source of income was from the lease of crown lands,’ says Dando-Collins. ’By the late 1880s a lot of these leases were coming up for renewal, and farmers said to the government, “If you don’t sort out this rabbit problem, we’ll just walk away. We will not renew our leases.”’

      Under the Rabbit Nuisance Act, the NSW government paid a rebate for rabbit scalps. The act spawned an entire industry.

      ’In just 12 months near Wilcannia 782,510 rabbits were caught, and they were still saying the property was useless,’ Dando-Collins says.

      ’Near Menindee 342,295 were scalped over three months. Word came back to the government in Sydney: “It’s just not working!”’

      In 1887, the premier of NSW, Sir Henry Parkes, appointed an Inter-Colonial Rabbit Commission made up of prominent graziers, men of science and government administrators. The commission’s task was to find a biological solution to the rabbit problem. It sent out a global call for entries, with prize money of £25,000 ($10 million in today’s terms) for ’any method or process not previously known in the colony for the effectual extermination of rabbits’.
      Rabbit plague Image: Plague proportions: farmers with one evening’s cull in central Victoria, 1949. (State Library of Victoria’s Pictures Collection/ Accession no H19019)

      The Rabbit Commission received more than 1,500 suggestions, most of them ’pretty insane’ according to author and research scientist Brian Coman.

      Coman worked for the Victorian Department of the Environment for 23 years, battling rabbits for much of that time.

      ’Some of the strong contenders were people who thought, “Well, let’s bring in something that will eat the rabbits.” In fact, some animals were brought in ... mongooses, cats. There was a whole trainload of cats dispatched into outback Australia and let loose at various points along the line,’ he says.

      The NSW government and pastoralists sought a ’magic bullet’ because keeping rabbit numbers down was (and still is) expensive, backbreaking and unrelenting work. Coman, who grew up in the Western Districts of Victoria, can relate.

      ’Back then the first sort of crude methods—other than trapping and bounties, which were totally ineffectual—were broad-spectrum poisons like arsenic and phosphorous. These were terrible poisons to use in the bush because they were non-specific. A lot of other animals got killed as well,’ he says.

      ’They were also very dangerous. My father has a recollection, as a little boy, of coming home at night after he’d been with his uncle poisoning on a farm up near Euroa, and rubbing his hands and they glowed in the dark. That was the phosphorous all over his hands.’

      The Rabbit Commission did receive a few useful suggestions, including one from a great man of science: Louis Pasteur.

      Pasteur claimed he could eradicate rabbits with chicken cholera—something he’d trialled with some success in France. Pasteur dispatched his nephew, the scientist Adrien Loir, on a steamer from Paris to Australia with vials of chicken cholera in his luggage.

      The Rabbit Commission agreed to allow Loir’s team to conduct experiments and built them a laboratory and accommodation on tiny Rodd Island, which sits in a quiet bend of the Parramatta River, a safe distance from civilisation.

      Loir’s plan was to ’inject nine rabbits with food containing microbes of chicken cholera, placed in equal numbers in wooden hutches, wire-bottomed cages, and artificial burrows with healthy rabbits, and to place two healthy rabbits in a hutch with the excrement of diseased rabbits.’

      They would also ’feed sheep, cattle, calves, lambs, horses, pigs, goats, dogs, cats, rats and mice once a day for six days with cholera-tainted food. Various birds, including nearly all kinds of poultry and the principal native birds, are also to be fed and inoculated.’

      It soon became clear that chicken cholera killed the rabbits, but only those who ate the tainted food. It was not contagious for them but—and perhaps the clue was in the name—chicken cholera killed all the birds.

      The Rabbit Commission retired to consider its decision, and Adrien Loir was left to wait. Over the next few months he used the lab on Rodd Island to research the mysterious Cumberland disease which at the time was devastating Australia’s sheep and cattle. Loir established that Cumberland disease was actually anthrax and—better still—he had a vaccine.

      The Rabbit Commission eventually decided against ’recommending any further expenditure by government on testing the efficacy of this disease’. Nobody won the £25,000 prize. Instead, Loir and The Pasteur Institute made a healthy profit manufacturing anthrax vaccine on Rodd Island for the next four years.

      In 1891 Loir’s island life took a dramatic turn, thanks to a visiting actress and her two dogs.
      Sarah Bernhardt Image: The greatest actress of her age, Sarah Bernhardt (Photographed by Felix Nadar, 1864; Licensed under Public Domain via Commons)

      ’Sarah Bernhardt was the superstar of her age, and she brought her entire acting troupe to Australia for a tour,’ Stephen Dando-Collins explains. ’She arrived with her two dogs, and just as Johnny Depp ran afoul of quarantine regulations, she had her dogs taken off her, and she too was threatening to leave the country.

      ’Young Loir had bought tickets to all her shows, he was such a huge fan, and he approached her and said, “I think I can convince the NSW government to declare Rodd Island a quarantine facility and I’ll look after your dogs while you’re in Australia.”’

      Dando-Collins says the pair dined in her hotel each evening and Bernhard spent her weekends on Rodd Island ’visiting her dogs’. After one particularly boisterous party, Bernhard and her entourage were ’found on the laboratory roof’ drinking champagne.

      Loir eventually returned to France and Rodd Island is now a public recreation space.
      Rodd island Image: The view from Loir’s balcony on Rodd Island on a sunny winter’s day (Lorena Allam)

      So, what about that pesky plague of a billion rabbits?

      Australia had to wait another 60 years before the magic bullet was found.

      In 1950, after years of research, scientists released myxomatosis—and it was devastating. The rabbit population dropped from 600 million to 100 million in the first two years. The change was immediate.

      Brian Coman remembers walking in a field with his father as a boy and looking at a hill, part of which was covered with bracken fern.

      ’He clapped his hands, and it was almost as if the whole surface of the ground got up and ran into the bracken fern. There were hundreds upon hundreds, perhaps thousands of rabbits. It was a sight I’ll never forget.’

      But after myxomatosis ’the grey blanket’ disappeared.

      ’You could walk all day and not see a rabbit,’ says Coman.

      Even scientists were shocked by the cruel effectiveness of the disease.

      ’I had a friend, Bunny Fennessy, who was of course fortuitously named,’ says Coman.

      ’He remembers walking to the crest of this hill. There was a fence line there and a gate. He leaned over the gate and looked down. In front of him was this mass of dead and dying rabbits, blind rabbits moping around, birds of prey flying in the air, flies everywhere, a stench in the air—he was simply overawed. He had never seen sick rabbits before.’

      Genetic resistance to myxomatosis has been increasing since the 1970s and even after the release of the virulent rabbit haemorrhagic disease (RHD, or calicivirus) in 1991, the search for a biological solution continues.

      In the meantime, the ’traditional’ means of keeping rabbits under control—poisoning, and warren destruction—are still necessary. Coman says it’s a war that doesn’t end.

      ’You’ve got a situation here where an animal is causing immense ecological damage, not to mention economic damage, and you simply cannot let that go on. You have to act.

      ’We simply can’t allow them to gain a foothold again; the cost environmentally and economically would be enormous.’

    • La myxomatose c’est vraiment sale, le lapin souffre beaucoup avant d’en mourir. Cet enflure de français d’Armand-Delille est allé l’inoculer aux lapins de sa propriété d’Eure-et-Loir et ça a finit par gagner toute la France puis l’Angleterre et à la fin des années 1950, toute l’Europe était touchée. Ce ne sont pas seulement les lapins sauvages qui en sont morts, mais aussi les domestiqués ou dans les élevages familiaux. WP note Entre 1952 et 1955, 90 à 98 % des lapins sauvages sont donc morts de la myxomatose en France.

      Aujourd’hui le lapin élevé industriellement a moins de considération qu’une poule, c’est dire les conditions de vie infectes dans lesquelles il est maintenu.


    • Nouvelle-Zélande : les autorités répandent un virus pour décimer les lapins nuisibles RTBF - Antoine Libotte - 28 Février 2018

      Le ministère néo-zélandais de l’Agriculture a annoncé le déploiement à travers le pays d’une nouvelle souche du virus de la maladie hémorragique virale du lapin. Il s’agit du RHDV1-K5, provenant de Corée.

      Les lapins, qui ont été introduits dans l’archipel au début du 19ème siècle, causent beaucoup de soucis aux agriculteurs du pays. Selon la BBC, ils « entrent en concurrence avec le bétail pour le pâturage et causent aussi des dégâts en creusant des terriers. »

      Selon le ministère de l’Agriculture, les pertes de production imputées aux lapins s’élèvent à 50 millions de dollars néo-zélandais (soit un peu plus de 29,5 millions d’euros), à quoi il faut ajouter 25 millions (environ 14,8 millions d’euros) pour la lutte contre les lapins.

      La population divisée
      Si la Fédération des fermiers néo-zélandais (FF) se réjouit de cette décision, la Société pour la prévention de la cruauté envers les animaux (SPCA) aurait préféré une autre solution au problème.

      Andrew Simpson, porte-parole de la FF, explique à la BBC que certains agriculteurs sont désespérés : « Si une autre année s’écoule sans le virus, les dégâts écologiques causés à certaines propriétés seraient effrayants. »

      Pour Arnja Dale, de la SPCA, cette décision est décevante, vu « les souffrances que le virus causera aux lapins touchés et le risque potentiel pour les lapins de compagnie. Nous préconisons l’utilisation de méthodes plus humaines. »

      La SPCA pointe également du doigt le vaccin conçu pour protéger les lapins domestiques et dont l’efficacité n’aurait pas été suffisamment prouvée. Or, pour le ministère de l’Agriculture, la souche RHDV1-K5 a été déployée en Australie en 2017 et aucun lapin domestique n’a été touché par la souche virale.

      Vidéo : An introduction to the rabbit problem in Australia

      #Nouvelle_Zélande #Australie #virus

  • Missing Shulamith and The Dialectic of #MeToo

    The history of #MeToo has been obscured by the media frenzy that concurrently emerged. Tarana Burke, an African American woman, created a non-profit organization called Me Too in 2006, to help women of color who had been sexually abused or assaulted. This was not about naming perpetrators or holding them accountable; it was only to give the affected women a voice. This, the media ignored. But in 2017 two things happened which did get media attention: The New York Times published revelations about Harvey Weinstein’s sexual abuse of Hollywood women, and following that, an actress, Alyssa Milano, who became aware of Tarana Burke’s work, wrote in social media, “If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote “Me Too” as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.” What followed was the flooding of social media with stories of abuse and harassment, and a way for women to tell their experience and stand in solidarity with other abuse survivors. In the first 24 hours of Milano’s post, more than 12 million “MeToo” posts appeared. All these aspects of #MeToo, its mass base and its revelation of the pervasive and perverse alignment of misogyny and power, make it dangerous to the established power structure. Not surprisingly, that power structure has responded quickly in its attack on #MeToo.

    As it addresses these challenges, this wave of feminism, of which #MeToo may be the vanguard, will herald a transformative process, a process that would be both revolutionary and healing. I wish #Shulamith_Firestone were here to witness and comment on this moment. The struggle and potential for women and men to lead new lives is stronger than ever. There is still much work to do, leadership to emerge, organizing and theory to be developed, but the era of silence and shame is coming to an end.

    #me_too #dialectique #sexisme #harcèlement_sexuel #pouvoir #misogynie #structures_de_pouvoir #patriarcat #féminisme #anti-metoo

  • Hear a Newly Found #Kurt_Weill Song That Surprised Experts - The New York Times


    Merveille signalée par Irène (merci Irène B.)

    A previously unknown song by Kurt Weill, the composer best known for “The Threepenny Opera,” has been discovered in Berlin and taken some of the world’s pre-eminent Weill experts by total surprise.

    The piece, “Lied vom weissen Käse” (“Song of the White Cheese”) — which was written for a Weimar-era musical revue and sung by the actress Lotte Lenya, Weill’s wife — was recently found in an archive unrelated to Weill at the Free University of Berlin and is the most significant discovery of the composer’s music since the early 1980s. The song previously existed only in Lenya’s memory and was written off as chimerical.

    #chanson #musique

    • merci @massivesci

      une histoire #triste supplémentaire à ajouter au systématique #dénigrement_des_femmes

      3. The idea wasn’t adopted at the time, in part due to skepticism that an actress could contribute to technology

      When Lamarr and Antheil approached the National Inventors’ Council to present their device, they were rebuffed. The council suspected it would be too cumbersome to implement the communication system in military crafts.

      She was also rebuffed in her direct attempts to help the war effort. When she offered her expertise in wartime technology to the council, she was denied. They suggested that the “most beautiful woman in films” could make a bigger difference by acting as a spokeswoman for war bonds.
      4. Today, the invention is fundamental to wi-fi, bluetooth technology, and other wireless networks

      In the 1950s, engineers at Sylvania Electric Products began looking seriously at the neglected patent. By the early 1960s, they completed the technology to finally implement frequency hopping – not with a bulky mechanical apparatus, as in the patent, but with an electric signal processing system.

      #informatique #codeuse #crypto #réseau #femme #historicisation (hééé @mad_meg what’s up !-)

  • You Can’t Go Home Again, by Thomas Wolfe : 41. Five Passengers for Paris

    The train gathered speed. The streets and buildings in the western I part of the city slipped past — those solid, ugly streets, those massive, ugly buildings in the Victorian German style, which yet, with all the pleasant green of trees, the window-boxes bright with red geraniums, the air of order, of substance, and of comfort, had always seemed as familiar and as pleasant to George as the quiet streets and houses of a little town. Already they were sweeping through Charlottenburg. They passed the station without halting, and on the platforms George saw, with the old and poignant feeling of regret and loss, the people waiting for the Stadtbahn trains. Upon its elevated track the great train swept on smoothly towards the west, gathering momentum steadily. They passed the Funkturma. Almost before he knew it they were rushing through the outskirts of the city towards the open country. They passed an aviation field. He saw the hangars and a flock of shining ‘planes. And as he looked, a great silver-bodied ‘plane moved out, sped along the runway, lofted its tail, broke slowly from the earth, and vanished.
    And now the city was left behind. Those familiar faces, forms, and voices of just six minutes past now seemed as remote as dreams, imprisoned there as in another world — a world of massive brick and stone and pavements, a world hived of four million lives, of hope and fear and hatred, of anguish and despair, of love, of cruelty and devotion, that was called Berlin.
    And now the land was stroking past, the level land of Brandenburg, the lonely flatland of the north which he had always heard was so ugly, and which he had found so strange, so haunting, and so beautiful. The dark solitude of the forest was around them now, the loneliness of the kiefern-trees, tall, slender, towering, and as straight as sailing masts, bearing upon their tops the slender burden of their needled and eternal green. Their naked poles shone with that lovely gold-bronze colour which is like the material substance of a magic light. And all between was magic, too. The forest dusk beneath the kieferntrees was gold-brown also, the earth gold-brown and barren, and the trees themselves stood alone and separate, a polelike forest filled with haunting light.
    Now and then the light would open and the woods be gone, and they would sweep through the level cultivated earth, tilled thriftily to the very edges of the track. He could see the clusters of farm buildings, the red-tiled roofs, the cross-quarterings of barns and houses. Then they would find the haunting magic of the woods again.
    George opened the door of his compartment and went in and took a seat beside the door. On the other side, in the corner by the window, a young man sat and read a book. He was an elegant young man and dressed most fashionably. He wore a sporting kind of coat with a small and fancy check, a wonderful vest of some expensive doelike grey material, cream-grey trousers pleated at the waist, also of a rich, expensive weave, and grey suede gloves. He did not look American or English. There was a foppish, almost sugared elegance about his costume that one felt, somehow, was Continental. Therefore it struck George with a sense of shock to see that he was reading an American book, a popular work in history which had the title, The Saga of Democracy, and bore the imprint of a well-known firm. But while he pondered on this puzzling combination of the familiar and the strange there were steps outside along the corridor, voices, the door was opened, and a woman and a man came in.
    They were Germans. The woman was small and no longer young, but she was plump, warm, seductive-looking, with hair so light it was the colour of bleached straw, and eyes as blue as sapphires. She spoke rapidly and excitedly to the man who accompanied her, then turned to George and asked if the other places were unoccupied. He replied that he thought so, and looked questioningly at the dapper young man in the corner. This young man now spoke up in somewhat broken German, saying that he believed the other seats were free, and adding that he had got on the train at the Friedrich-strasse station and had seen no one else in the compartment. The woman immediately and vigorously nodded her head in satisfaction and spoke with rapid authority to her companion, who went out and presently returned with their baggage — two valises, which he arranged upon the rack above their heads.
    They were a strangely assorted pair. The woman, although most attractive, was obviously much the older of the two. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. There were traces of fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and her face gave an impression of physical maturity and warmth, together with the wisdom that comes from experience, but it was also apparent that some of the freshness and resilience of youth had gone out of it. Her figure had an almost shameless sexual attraction, the kind of naked allure that one often sees in people of the theatre — in a chorus girl or in the strip-tease woman of a burlesque show. Her whole personality bore a vague suggestion of the theatrical stamp. In everything about her there was that element of heightened vividness which seems to set off and define people who follow the stage.
    Beside her assurance, her air of practice and authority, her sharply vivid stamp, the man who accompanied her was made to seem even younger than he was. He was probably twenty-six or thereabouts, but he looked a mere stripling. He was a tall, blond, fresh-complexioned, and rather handsome young German who conveyed an indefinable impression of countrified and slightly bewildered innocence. He appeared nervous, uneasy, and inexperienced in the art of travel. He kept his head down or averted most of the time, and did not speak unless the woman spoke to him. Then he would flush crimson with embarrassment, the two flags of colour in his fresh, pink face deepening to beetlike red.
    George wondered who they were, why they were going to Paris, and what the relation between them could be. He felt, without exactly knowing why, that there was no family connection between them. The young man could not be the woman’s brother, and it was also evident that they were not man and wife. It was hard not to fall back upon an ancient parable and see in them the village hayseed in the toils of the city siren — to assume that she had duped him into taking her to Paris, and that the fool and his money would soon be parted. Yet there was certainly nothing repulsive about the woman to substantiate this conjecture. She was decidedly a most attractive and engaging creature. Even her astonishing quality of sexual magnetism, which was displayed with a naked and almost uncomfortable openness, so that one felt it the moment she entered the compartment, had nothing vicious in it. She seemed, indeed, to be completely unconscious of it, and simply expressed herself sensually and naturally with the innocent warmth of a child.
    While George was busy with these speculations the door of the compartment opened again and a stuffy-looking little man with a long nose looked in, peered about truculently, and rather suspiciously, George thought, and then demanded to know if there was a free seat in the compartment. They all told him that they thought so. Upon receiving this information, he, too, without another word, disappeared down the corridor, to reappear again with a large valise. George helped him to stow it away upon the rack. It was so heavy that the little man could probably not have managed it by himself, yet he accepted this service sourly and without a word of thanks, hung up his overcoat, and fidgeted and worried around, took a newspaper from his pocket, sat down opposite George and opened it, banged the compartment door shut rather viciously, and, after peering round mistrustfully at all the other people, rattled his paper and began to read.
    While he read his paper George had a chance to observe this sour-looking customer from time to time. Not that there was anything sinister about the man — decidedly there was not. He was just a drab, stuffy, irascible little fellow of the type that one sees a thousand times a day upon the streets, muttering at taxi-cabs or snapping at imprudent drivers — the type that one is always afraid he is going to encounter on a trip but hopes fervently he won’t. He looked like the kind of fellow who would always be slamming the door of the compartment to, always going over and banging down the window without asking anyone else about it, always fidgeting and fuming about and trying by every crusty, crotchety, cranky, and ill-tempered method in his equipment to make himself as unpleasant, and his travelling companions as uncomfortable, as possible.
    Yes, he was certainly a well-known type, but aside from this he was wholly unremarkable. If one had passed him in the streets of the city, one would never have taken a second look at him or remembered him afterwards. It was only when he intruded himself into the intimacy of a long journey and began immediately to buzz and worry around like a troublesome hornet that he became memorable.
    It was not long, in fact, before the elegant young gentleman in the corner by the window almost ran afoul of him. The young fellow took out an expensive-looking cigarette-case, extracted a cigarette, and then, smiling engagingly, asked the lady if she objected to his smoking. She immediately answered, with great warmth and friendliness, that she minded not at all. George received this information with considerable relief, and took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and was on the point of joining his unknown companion in the luxury of a smoke when old Fuss-and-Fidget rattled his paper viciously, glared sourly at the elegant young man and then at George, and, pointing to a sign upon the wall of the compartment, croaked dismally:
    “Nicht Raucher.”
    Well, all of them had known that at the beginning, but they had not supposed that Fuss-and-Fidget would make an issue of it. The young fellow and George glanced at each other with a slightly startled look, grinned a little, caught the lady’s eye, which was twinkling with the comedy of the occasion, and were obediently about to put their cigarettes away unsmoked when old Fuss-and-Fidget rattled his paper, looked sourly round at them a second time, and then said bleakly that as far as he was concerned it was all right — he didn’t personally mind their smoking — he just wanted to point out that they were in a non-smoking compartment. The implication plainly was that from this time on the crime was on their own heads, that he had done what he could as a good citizen to warn them, but that if they proceeded with their guilty plot against the laws of the land, it was no further concern of his. Being thus reassured, they produced their cigarettes again and lighted up.
    Now while George smoked, and while old Fuss-and-Fidget read his paper, George had further opportunity to observe this unpleasant companion of the voyage. And his observations, intensified as they were by subsequent events, became fixed as an imperishable image in his mind. The image which occurred to him as he sat there watching the man was that of a sour-tempered Mr. Punch. If you can imagine Mr. Punch without his genial spirits, without his quick wit, without his shrewd but kind intelligence, if you can imagine a crotchety and cranky Mr. Punch going about angrily banging doors and windows shut, glaring round at his fellow-travellers, and sticking his long nose into everybody’s business, then you will get some picture of this fellow. Not that he was hunchbacked and dwarfed like Mr. Punch. He was certainly small, he was certainly a drab, unlovely little figure of a man, but he was not dwarfed. But his face had the ruddy glow that one associates with Mr. Punch, and its contour, like that of Mr. Punch, was almost cherubic, except that the cherub had gone sour. The nose also was somewhat Punchian. It was not grotesquely hooked and beaked, but it was a long nose, and its fleshy tip drooped over as if it were fairly sniffing with suspicion, fairly stretching with eagerness to pry around and stick itself into things that did not concern it.
    George fell asleep presently, leaning against the side of the door. It was a fitful and uneasy coma of half-sleep, the product of excitement and fatigue — never comfortable, never whole — a dozing sleep from which he would start up from time to time to look about him, then doze again. Time after time he came sharply awake to find old Fussand–Fidget’s eyes fixed on him in a look of such suspicion and ill-temper that it barely escaped malevolence. He woke up once to find the man’s gaze fastened on him in a stare that was so protracted, so unfriendly, that he felt anger boiling up in him. It was on the tip of his tongue to speak hotly to the fellow, but he, as if sensing George’s intent, ducked his head quickly and busied himself again with his newspaper.
    The man was so fidgety and nervous that it was impossible to sleep longer than a few minutes at a time. He was always crossing and uncrossing his legs, always rattling his newspaper, always fooling with the handle of the door, doing something to it, jerking and pulling it, half opening the door and banging it to again, as if he were afraid it was not securely closed. He was always jumping up, opening the door, and going out into the corridor, where he would pace up and down for several minutes, turn and look out of the windows at the speeding landscape, then fidget back and forth in the corridor again, sour-faced and distempered-looking, holding his hands behind him and twiddling his fingers nervously and impatiently as he walked.
    All this while, the train was advancing across the country at terrific speed. Forest and field, village and farm, tilled land and pasture stroked past with the deliberate but devouring movement of high velocity. The train slackened a little as it crossed the Elbe, but there was no halt. Two hours after its departure from Berlin it was sweeping in beneath the arched, enormous roof of the Hanover station. There was to be a stop of ten minutes. As the train slowed down, George awoke from his doze. But fatigue still held him, and he did not get up.
    Old Fuss-and-Fidget arose, however, and, followed by the woman and her companion, went out on the platform for a little fresh air and exercise.
    George and the dapper young man in the corner were now left alone together. The latter had put down his book and was looking out of the window, but after a minute or two he turned to George and said in English, marked by a slight accent:
    “Where are we now?”
    George told him they were at Hanover.
    “I’m tired of travelling,” the young man said with a sigh. “I shall be glad when I get home.”
    “And where is home for you?” George asked.
    “New York,” he said, and, seeing a look of slight surprise on George’s face, he added quickly: “Of course I am not American by birth, as you can see from the way I talk. But I am a naturalised American, and my home is in New York.”
    George told him that he lived there, too. Then the young man asked if George had been long in Germany.
    “All summer,” George replied. “I arrived in May.”
    “And you have been here ever since — in Germany?”
    “Yes,” said George, “except for ten days in the Tyrol.”
    “When you came in this morning I thought at first that you were German. I believe I saw you on the platform with some German people.”
    “Yes, they were friends of mine.”
    “But then when you spoke I saw you could not be a German from your accent. When I saw you reading the Paris Herald I concluded that you were English or American.
    “I am American, of course.”
    “Yes, I can see that now. I,” he said, “am Polish by birth. I went to America when I was fifteen years old, but my family still lives in Poland.”
    “And you have been to see them, naturally?”
    “Yes. I have made a practice of coming over every year or so to visit them. I have two brothers living in the country.” It was evident that he came from landed people. “I am returning from there now,” he said. He was silent for a moment, and then said with some emphasis: “But not again! Not for a long time will I visit them. I have told them that it is enough — if they want to see me now, they must come to New York. I am sick of Europe,” he went on. “Every time I come I am fed up. I am tired of all this foolish business, these politics, this hate, these armies, and this talk of war — the whole damned stuffy atmosphere here!” he cried indignantly and impatiently, and, thrusting his hand into his breast pocket, he pulled out a paper —“Will you look at this?”
    “What is it?” George said.
    “A paper — a permit — the damn thing stamped and signed which allows me to take twenty-three marks out of Germany. Twenty-three marks!” he repeated scornfully —“as if I want their God-damn money!”
    “I know,” George said. “You’ve got to get a paper every time you turn round. You have to declare your money when you come in, you have to declare it when you go out. If you send home for money, you have to get a paper for that, too. I made a little trip to Austria as I told you. It took three days to get the papers that would allow me to take my own money out. Look here!” he cried, and reached in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of papers. “I got all of these in one summer.”
    The ice was broken now. Upon a mutual grievance they began to warm up to each other. It quickly became evident to George that his new acquaintance, with the patriotic fervour of his race, was passionately American. He had married an American girl, he said. New York, he asserted, was the most magnificent city on earth, the only place he cared to live, the place he never wished to leave again, the place to which he was aching to return.
    And America?
    “Oh,” he said, “it will be good after all this to be back there where all is peace and freedom — where all is friendship — where all is love.”
    George felt some reservations to this blanket endorsement of his native land, but he did not utter them. The man’s fervour was so genuine that it would have been unkind to try to qualify it. And besides, George, too, was homesick now, and the man’s words, generous and whole-hearted as they were, warmed him with their pleasant glow. He also felt, beneath the extravagance of the comparison, a certain truth. During the past summer, in this country which he had known so well, whose haunting beauty and magnificence had stirred him more deeply than had any other he had ever known, and for whose people he had always had the most affectionate understanding, he had sensed for the first time the poisonous constrictions of incurable hatreds and insoluble politics, the whole dense weave of intrigue and ambition in which the tormented geography of Europe was again enmeshed, the volcanic imminence of catastrophe with which the very air was laden, and which threatened to erupt at any moment.
    And George, like the other man, was weary and sick at heart, exhausted by these pressures, worn out with these tensions of the nerves and spirit, depleted by the cancer of these cureless hates which had not only poisoned the life of nations but had eaten in one way or another into the private lives of all his friends, of almost everyone that he had known here. So, like his new-found fellow countryman, he too felt, beneath the extravagance and intemperance of the man’s language, a certain justice in the comparison. He was aware, as indeed the other must have been, of the huge sum of all America’s lacks. He knew that all, alas, was not friendship, was not freedom, was not love beyond the Atlantic. But he felt, as his new friend must also have felt, that the essence of America’s hope had not been wholly ruined, its promise of fulfilment not shattered utterly. And like the other man, he felt that it would be very good to be back home again, out of the poisonous constrictions of this atmosphere — back home where, whatever America might lack, there was still air to breathe in, and winds to clear the air.
    His new friend now said that he was engaged in business in New York. He was a member of a brokerage concern in Wall Street. This seemed to call for some similar identification on George’s part, and he gave the most apt and truthful statement he could make, which was that he worked for a publishing house. The other then remarked that he knew the family of a New York publisher, that they were, in fact, good friends of his. George asked him who these people were, and he answered:
    “The Edwards family.”
    Instantly, a thrill of recognition pierced George. A light flashed on, and suddenly he knew the man. He said:
    “I know the Edwardses. They are among the best friends I have, and Mr. Edwards is my publisher. And you”— George said —“your name is Johnnie, isn’t it? I have forgotten your last name, but I have heard it.”
    He nodded quickly, smiling. “Yes, Johnnie Adamowski,” he said. “And you? — what is your name?”
    George told him.
    “Of course,” he said. “I know of you.”
    So instantly they were shaking hands delightedly, with that kind of stunned but exuberant surprise which reduces people to the banal conclusion that “It’s a small world after all.” George’s remark was simply: “I’ll be damned!” Adamowski’s, more urbane, was: “It is quite astonishing to meet you in this way. It is very strange — and yet in life it always happens.”
    And now, indeed, they began to establish contact at many points. They found that they knew in common scores of people. They discussed them enthusiastically, almost joyfully. Adamowski had been away from home just one short month, and George but five, but now, like an explorer returning from the isolation of a polar voyage that had lasted several years, George eagerly demanded news of his friends, news from America, news from home.
    By the time the other people returned to the compartment and the train began to move again, George and Adamowski were deep in conversation. Their three companions looked somewhat startled to hear this rapid fire of talk and to see this evidence of acquaintance between two people who had apparently been strangers just ten minutes before. The little blonde woman smiled at them and took her seat; the young man also. Old Fuss-and-Fidget glanced quickly, sharply, from one to the other of them and listened attentively to all they said, as if he thought that by straining his ears to catch every strange syllable he might be able somehow to fathom the mystery of this sudden friendship.
    The cross-fire of their talk went back and forth, from George’s corner of the compartment to Adamowski’s. George felt a sense of embarrassment at the sudden intrusion of this intimacy in a foreign language among fellow-travellers with whom he had heretofore maintained a restrained formality. But Johnnie Adamowski was evidently a creature of great social ease and geniality. He was troubled not at all. From time to time he smiled in a friendly fashion at the three Germans as if they, too, were parties to the conversation and could understand every word of it.
    Under this engaging influence, everyone began to thaw out visibly. The little blonde woman began to talk in an animated way to her young man. After a while Fuss-and-Fidget chimed in with those two, so that the whole compartment was humming with the rapid interplay of English and German.
    Adamowski now asked George if he would not like some refreshment.
    “Of course I myself am not hungry,” Adamowski said indifferently. “In Poland I have had to eat too much. They eat all the time, these Polish people. I had decided that I would eat no more until I got to Paris. I am sick of food. But would you like some Polish fruits?” he said, indicating a large paper-covered package at his side. “I believe they have prepared some things for me,” he said casually —“some fruits from my brother’s estate, some chickens and some partridges. I do not care for them myself. I have no appetite. But wouldn’t you like something?”
    George told him no, that he was not hungry either. Thereupon Adamowski suggested that they might seek out the Speisewagen and get a drink.
    “I still have these marks,” he said indifferently. “I spent a few for breakfast, but there are seventeen or eighteen left. I shall not want them any longer. I should not have used them. But now that I have met you, I think it would be nice if I could spend them. Shall we go and see what we can find?”
    To this George agreed. They arose, excused themselves to their companions, and were about to go out when old Fuss-and-Fidget surprised them by speaking up in broken English and asking Adamowski if he would mind changing seats. He said with a nervous, forced smile that was meant to be ingratiating that Adamowski and the other gentleman, nodding at George, could talk more easily if they were opposite each other, and that for himself, he would be glad of the chance to look out the window. Adamowski answered indifferently, and with just a trace of the unconscious contempt with which a Polish nobleman might speak to someone in whom he felt no interest:
    “Yes, take my seat, of course. It does not matter to me where I sit.”
    They went out and walked forward through several coaches of the hurtling train, carefully squeezing past those passengers who, in Europe, seem to spend as much time standing in the narrow corridors and staring out of the windows as in their own seats, and who flatten themselves against the wall or obligingly step back into the doors of compartments as one passes. Finally they reached the Speisewagen, skirted the hot breath of the kitchen, and seated themselves at a table in the beautiful, bright, clean coach of the Mitropa service.
    Adamowski ordered brandy lavishly. He seemed to have a Polish gentleman’s liberal capacity for drink. He tossed his glass off at a single gulp, remarking rather plaintively:
    “It is very small. But it is good and does no harm. We shall have mote.”
    Pleasantly warmed by brandy, and talking together with the ease and confidence of people who had known each other for many years — for, indeed, the circumstances of their meeting and the discovery of their many common friends did give them just that feeling of old intimacy — they now began to discuss the three strangers in their compartment.
    “The little woman — she is rather nice,” said Adamowski, in a tone which somehow conveyed the impression that he was no novice in such appraisals. “I think she is not very young, and yet, quite charming, isn’t she? A personality.”
    “And the young man with her?” George inquired. “What do you make of him? You don’t think he is her husband?”
    “No, of course not,” replied Adamowski instantly. “It is most curious,” he went on in a puzzled tone. “He is much younger, obviously, and not the same — he is much simpler than the lady.”
    “Yes. It’s almost as if he were a young fellow from the country, and she ——”
    “Is like someone in the theatre,” Adamowski nodded. “An actress. Or perhaps some music-hall performer.”
    “Yes, exactly. She is very nice, and yet I think she knows a great deal more than he does.”
    “I should like to know about them,” Adamowski went on speculatively, in the manner of a man who has a genuine interest in the world about him. “These people that one meets on trains and ships — they fascinate me. You see some strange things. And these two — they interest me. I should like so much to know who they are.”
    “And the other man?” George said. “The little one? The nervous, fidgety fellow who keeps staring at us — who do you suppose he is?”
    “Oh, that one,” said Adamowski indifferently, impatiently. “I do not know. I do not care. He is some stuffy little man — it doesn’t matter . . . But shall we go back now?” he said. “Let’s talk to them and see if we can find out who they are. We shall never see them again after this. I like to talk to people in trains.”
    George agreed. So his Polish friend called the waiter, asked for the bill, and paid it — and still had ten or twelve marks left of his waning twenty-three. Then they got up and went back through the speeding train to their compartment.

    #Deutschand #Berlin #Geschichte #Nazis #Rassegesetze #Juden #Literatur #Bahnhof_Zoo #Kurfürstendamm #Charlottenburg

  • No, Selma Blair Shouldn’t Have To Defend Her Gray Hair | HuffPost

    A woman should not have to defend the natural color of her hair, but here we are.

    Paparazzi snapped photos of Selma Blair out Monday in Los Angeles for a casual afternoon of coffee and shopping. For some reason, the roots of her hair became a topic worthy of news coverage.

    The 44-year-old actress took to Instagram to post the photo that paparazzi snapped of her, and to offer the absolute perfect reply.


  • Pour mémoire : Wonder « Love IDF » Woman en 2014 pendant le massacre de Gaza : Wonder Woman Gal Gadot on Israel-Gaza : Israeli actress’s pro-IDF stance causes controversy

    Israeli actress Gal Gadot – who was recently unveiled as the caped superhero in Zack Snyder’s new DC movie Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice – caused a stir by posting a message of support for the Israel Defence Forces via her official Facebook page, just days before a poster of her in character first debuted.

    As the conflict between Israel and Gaza worsened, she uploaded a photograph of herself praying with her daughter Alma.

    “I am sending my love and prayers to my fellow Israeli citizens,” she wrote. “Especially to all the boys and girls who are risking their lives protecting my country against the horrific acts conducted by Hamas, who are hiding like cowards behind women and children...We shall overcome!!! Shabbat Shalom! #weareright #freegazafromhamas #stopterror #coexistance #loveidf

  • Achingly Memorable : Magdalena Montezuma | Slant Magazine

    Magdalena Montezuma (nee Erika Kluge) was a German experimental film actress. A muse to New German Cinema filmmaker, Werner Schroeter, Montezuma drifted through the films of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Ulrike Ottinger, Rosa Von Praunhiem and Frank Ripploh. She played nurses, transsexuals, kings, party guests, mothers and baroque divas. With a striking face to match her flamboyant name, Montezuma achieved a certain, cultish notoriety until her untimely death from cancer at age 41. Schroeter hastily began production on his film The Rose King for the actress, shooting in her final months, as Montezuma longed to capture this energy, “to die on the set.”

    She pops up in the first Fassbinder film I ever saw: Beware of a Holy Whore. The film assembles a slew of Fassbinder regulars (Hanna Schygulla, Kurt Raab, Ingrid Caven, Ulli Lommel) and some very fine German auteurs (Margarethe Von Trotta, Schroeter) as they act, drink, and collapse on a film shoot in Spain. There’s a lot of displacement going on—Fassbinder is in the autobiographical film about filming, though he plays the production manager, Sascha. And Montezuma, playing actress Irm (Hermann, one presumes), shoulders the blow of Fassbinder’s vehement misogynies. Heavily painted (as was her custom) Montezuma springs from Schroeter’s arms, throwing herself upon the Fassbinder surrogate: Jeff (Lou Castel). He strikes her repeatedly and she collapses into an abject bundle, howling as she falls to the tiled floor.

    As this character, Montezuma manages to embody Fassbinder’s crew of “happily victimized” women. A more quintessential Montezuma can be glimpsed in her final scene in the film, as she rides away from some Spanish isle in shame, cast away from the production. Swaying in the boat and giving the picturesque landscape a run for its money, Montezuma’s architectural face becomes pliable, bursting with tremulous emotions. Opera music blares—it’s the only kind that really suits her. She slowly rocks back and forth. Her performance in that film made a lasting impact on me, though I mistook her for a minor actor, since she appeared in few other Fassbinder films.

    When I began to recognize her in other experimental German films of the period, I started to connect the dots. Ottinger made her her Freak Orlando, in the film of the same name, where Montezuma dithers between genders and lovers, rallying armies and snuggling up with Siamese twins whilst covered in scales. Nefarious bad boy Rosa Von Praunhiem gave Montezuma a role respective of her histrionic caliber—the Lady Macbeth in his 1971 opera staging. I can think of no less of a nurturing figure, so it’s with an ironic arch of those painted-on eyebrows that Montezuma nurses Frank Ripploh, as he straddles gynecological stirrups in Taxi Zum Klo. Inspecting his recent outbreak of anal warts, the doctor inserts a metal probe inside the actor/director and Montezuma assures/glares, “You see, nothing to it.”

    But Montezuma’s true platform was Schroeter’s non-linear, elegiac films where her sculptural face conveyed a kind of semiotic narrative. Each curled lip and trembling eyebrow imbued meaning into these lush tableau vivants. She is the eponymous diva in his breakthrough The Death of Maria Malibran, singing to an out-of-sync tune, disembodied from speech, even time itself. With her unique features and severe acting style, she steals the scene from her fabulous co-stars—Fassbinder regular Ingrid Caven and Candy Darling. Hers is a strange kind of stardom—made all the more esoteric now that these films suffer from a lack of distribution, but her Germanic countenance is achingly memorable in every inch of vintage celluloid.

    Bradford Nordeen

    #film #Allemagne