“All my jokes are Indianapolis,”. “All my attitudes are Indianapolis. My adenoids are Indianapolis. If I ever severed myself from Indianapolis, I would be out of business.
What people like about me is Indianapolis.” He delivered those words to a high-school audience in his hometown of Indianapolis in 1986, and a decade later he made his feelings even clearer in a commencement speech at Butler University: 'If I had to do it all over, I would choose to be born again in a hospital in Indianapolis. I would choose to spend my childhood again at 4365 North Illinois Street, about 10 blocks from here, and to again be a product of that city’s public schools.' Now, at 543 Indiana Avenue, we can experience the legacy of the man who wrote, and at the newly permanent.The museum's founder and CEO Julia Whitehead 'conceived the idea for a Vonnegut museum in November of 2008, a year and a half after the author’s death,. 'The physical museum opened in a donated storefront in 2011, displaying items donated by friends or on loan from the Vonnegut family' — his Pall Malls, his, a replica of his typewriter, his Purple Heart. But the collection 'has been homeless since January 2019.' A fundraising campaign this past spring raised $1.5 million in donations, putting the museum in a position to purchase the Indiana Avenue building, one capacious enough for visitors to, according to, 'view photos from family, friends, and fans that reveal Vonnegut as he lived; 'ponder rejection letters Vonnegut received from editors'; and 'rest a spell and listen to what friends and colleagues have to say about Vonnegut and his work.'
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The newly re-opened Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library will also pay tribute to the jazz-loving, with an outdoor tunnel playing the music of Wes Montgomery and other Indianapolis jazz greats, a 'freedom of expression exhibition' that as featuring 'the 100 books most frequently banned in libraries and schools across the nation,' and veteran-oriented book clubs, writing workshops, and art exhibitions. In the museum's period of absence, Vonnegut pilgrims in Indianapolis had no place to go (apart from the town landmarks designed by the writer's architect father and grandfather), but the on Massachusetts Avenue by artist Pamela Bliss. Having known nothing of Vonnegut's work before, she fell in love with it after first visiting the museum herself, she'll soon use its Indiana Avenue building as a canvas on which to triple the city's number of Vonnegut murals.You can see more of the new Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library, which opened its doors for a sneak preview this past Banned Books Week, in, as well as in this. Though Vonnegut expressed appreciation for Indianapolis all throughout his life, he also left the place forever when he headed east to Cornell. He also satirically repurposed it as Midland City, the surreally flat and prosaic Midwestern setting of whose citizens only speak seriously of 'money or structures or travel or machinery,' their imaginations 'flywheels on the ramshackle machinery of awful truth.' I happen to be planning a that will take me through Indianapolis, and what with the presence of an institution like the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library — as well as all the cultural spots revealed by the Indianapolis-based — it has become one of the cities I'm most excited to visit.
Vonnegut, of all Indianapolitans, would surely appreciate the irony.Related Content:Based in Seoul, writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series. Follow him on Twitter at or on. In one such poignant story, circulating on Twitter, a Roman woman named carved into the limestone facing of the Great Pyramid sometime around 120 AD a touching poem for her brother, who had just recently died. By medievalist, linguist, and Senior Editor at History Today Dr.
Kate Wiles, the poem might have been lost to the ages had it not been discovered by German pilgrim Wilhelm von Boldensele in 1335.Knowing Latin, Von Boldensele read the poem, found it moving, and copied it down. (See his manuscript at the top.) Wiles quotes a part of the prose English translation:I saw the pyramids without you, my dearest brother, and here I sadly shed tears for you, which is all I could do. And I inscribe this lament in memory of our grief. May thus be clearly visible on the high pyramid the name of Decimus Gentianus.We can surmise that Terentia must have had some means to travel, but in Wiles' abridged Twitter version of the story, we also might assume she could be anyone at all, grieving the loss of a close relative.
Terentia’s grief is no less moving or real when we learn that the inscription goes for on several lines Wiles cut for brevity.Turning to Emily Ann Hemelrijk’s book, Dr. Wiles', we find that Terentia wasn’t just an educated, upper class woman, she was a very well-connected one. The inscription goes on to identify her brother as “a pontifex and companion to your triumphs, Trajan, and both censor and consul before his thirtieth year of age.”In his anthology, Ian Michael Plant provides even more historical context. Of Terentia, we know little to nothing save the Von Boldensele’s copy of her six hexameters (and possibly more that he ignored). Of Decimus Gentianus, however, we know that he not only served as a consul under Trajan but also as governor of Macedonia under Hadrian. Terentia “chose the pyramid for her epitaph to provide a suitably grand and everlasting site for her tribute to him,” writes Plant.
(Cue Shelly’s “.”)Not only is the poem about a victor, but it appears to shift its address from him to the ultimate victor, Emperor Trajan, in its final lines. Should this change our appreciation of the story as a slice of Roman tourist life and example of ancient women's writing? No, but it shows us something about what history gets preserved and why. Despite historians’ best efforts, especially in public-facing work, to make the past more accessible and relatable, they, too, are limited by what other cultures chose to preserve and what to pass over.Hemelrijk admits, “the poem is no literary masterpiece,” but Von Boldersele saw enough merit in its sentiments to record it for posterity. He also made a judgment about the inscription’s historical import, given its references, which is probably the reason we have it today.viaRelated Content:is a writer and musician based in Durham, NC.
Follow him at. There is a right way to eat every dish, as an ever-increasing abundance of internet videos daily informs us.
But how did we navigate our first encounters with unfamiliar foods thirty, forty, fifty years ago? With no way to learn online, we had no choice but to learn in real life, assuming we could find a trusted figure well-versed in the ways of eating from whom to learn — a sensei, as they say in Japanese, the kind of wise elder depicted in, a scene that takes place in a ramen shop.
'Master,' asks the young student, 'soup first or noodles first?' The ramen master's reply: 'First, observe the whole bowl. Appreciate its gestalt. Savor the aromas.'
Behold the 'jewels of fat glittering on its surface,' the 'shinachiku roots shining,' the 'seaweed lowly sinking, the 'spring onions floating.' The eater's first action must be to 'caress the surface with the chopstick tips' in order to 'express affection.' The second is to 'poke the pork' — don't eat it, just touch it — then 'pick it up and dip it into the soup on the right of the bowl.' The most important part? To 'apologize to the pork by saying, 'See you soon.'
' Then the eating can commence, 'noodles first,' but 'while slurping the noodles, look at the pork. Eye it affectionately.' After then sipping the soup three times, the master picks up a slice of pork 'as if making a major decision in life,' and taps it on the side of the bowl. 'To drain it.' To those who know Japanese food culture for the value it places on aesthetic sensitivity and adherence to form, this scene may look perfectly realistic. If you’re reading this, chances are good that you live in the modern world, or at least visit it from time to time. But what do I mean by “modern”?
It’s a too-broad term that always requires a definition. Sometimes, for brevity’s sake, we settle for listing the names of artists who brought modernity into being. When it comes to the truly modern in industrial design, we get two names in one—the husband and wife team ofThe design world, at least in the U.S., may have been slower to catch up to other modernist trends in the arts. That changed dramatically when several European artists like Walter Gropius immigrated to the country before, during and after World War II. But the American Eames left perhaps the most lasting impact of them all. The first home they designed and built together in 1949 as part of the Case Study House Program became “a mecca for architects and designers from both near and far,” notes the. “Today it is considered one of the most important post-war residences anywhere in the world.” “,” writes, the that “transformed our idea of modern furniture,” they were also “graphic and textile designers, architects and filmmakers.”The Eames’ film legacy may be less well-known than their revolutions in interior design. We’ve all seen or interacted with innumerable versions of Eames-inspired designs, whether we knew it or not.
The pair stated their desire to make universally useful creations in their succinct mission statement: “We want to make the best for the most for the least.” They meant it. “What works good,” said Ray, “is better than what looks good because what works good lasts.”. When design “works good,” the Eames understood, it might be attractive, or purely functional, but it will always be accessible, unobtrusive, comfortable, and practical. We might notice its contours and wonder about its principles, but it works equally well, and maybe better, if we do not.
The Eames films explain how one accomplishes such design. “Between 1950 and 1982,” the Eames “made over 125 short films ranging from 1-30 minutes in length,” notes the Eames Office site, declaring: “The Eames Films are the Eames Essays.”. If this statement has prepared you for dry, didactic short films filled with jargon, prepare to be surprised by the breadth and depth of the Eames' curiosity and vision. Here, we have compiled some of the Eames films, and you can see many, many more (15 in total) with embedded at the bottom of the post. At the top, see a brief introduction the designers’ films. Then, further down, we have the “brilliant tour of the universe” that is 1977’s Powers of Ten; 1957’s Day of the Dead, their exploration of the Mexican holiday; and 1961’s “Symmetry,” one of five shorts in a collection made for IBM called Mathematica Peep Shows.
Just above, see the Eames short House, made after five years of living in their famed Case Study House #8. The design on display here shows how the Eames “brought into the world a new kind of Californian indoor-outdoor Modernism,” as here on famous architects’ homes. Their house is “a kind of Mondrian painting made into a livable box filled with an idiosyncratic arrangement of artifacts from all over the world.” Unlike most of the Eames designs, the Case Study house was never put into production, but in its elegant simplicity, we can see all of the creative impulses the Eames brought to their redesign of the modern world.See many more of the Eames filmic essays in this. There are 15 in total. Even if you aren’t a fan, a mention of the Grateful Dead will conjure hirsute Jerry Garcia and band, lit by psychedelic lasers from without, hallucinogens from within.
You’ll recall the Dead’s, the skull with a lightning bolt in its crown; you’ll remember with rose-crowned skeletons on them; you’ll see again those grinning, dancing bears your college roommate stuck all over her laptop and on the back of her beat-up 30-year-old Toyota.You might call to mind these pictures with more or less fondness, but you need never to have heard a single song or have stepped into the parking lot of a Dead show to have imbibed all of the band’s iconic imagery. The Dead were at the center, but their legacy would never have carried such weight without Owsley Stanley, for example, nicknamed “Bear”—who inspired the dancing (actually, ) bears and came up with the skull and lightning bolt (both drawn by artist Bob Thomas). Stanley also bankrolled the Dead with money from his LSD empire, built their, and served as producer, sound engineer, and all-around generative force.No less critical to the band’s existence was Robert Hunter, the lyricist who penned the words to “Truckin’,” “Dark Star,” “Casey Jones,” “Uncle John’s Band,” “Terrapin Station,” “Ripple,” “Jack Straw,” “Friend of the Devil,” “Box of Rain,” “Touch of Grey,” and other songs central to their huge live and studio catalogue, including favorites like “Bertha,” a live-only tune “probably” about “some vaguer connotation of birth, death and reincarnation. Cycle of existences, some kind of such nonsense like that.”. Hunter was a natural storyteller who wrote “authoritatively about everyone from card sharks and hustlers to poor dirt farmers and free-spirited lovers.” His narratives provided the Dead with a cohesive “weird American” folk center to anchor their free-form musical experimentation: a base to return to and exclaim, as Hunter famously wrote in “Truckin’,” “what a long, strange trip it’s been.” Though he was himself a musician, “proficient in a number of instruments including guitar, violin, cello, and trumpet,” he never appeared onstage with the band in all their 30 years.
He preferred to stand in the wings or “sit anonymously in the audience.” Like Stanley, he intended his creative efforts for the Grateful Dead, not the Grateful Dead featuring Robert Hunter. But that doesn’t mean he never took the stage to play those legendary songs—only that he waited until a couple decades after the band’s last gig.
Here, you can see Hunter play fan favorite “Bertha” (top), and several other of his beloved Dead songs: “Sugaree,” “Scarlet Begonias,” “Box of Rain,” “Brown Eyed Women,” 'Ripple,' and “Friend of the Devil.”. These performances come from appearances at the Stafford Palace Theater and Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium in 2013 and the Newport Folk Festival in 2014, before niche audiences who knew very well who Robert Hunter was.
But while his name may never be as well-known in popular culture as the many artists he collaborated with and wrote for, Hunter nonetheless left an impression on American culture that will not soon fade away.Related Content:is a writer and musician based in Durham, NC. Follow him at. Wes Alwan, who co-hosts philosophy podcast with PMP host Mark Linsenmayer, joins the discussion along with PMP co-hosts Erica Spyres and Brian Hirt to discuss Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time In Hollywood in the context of.Wes thinks the film is brilliant, even though he’s not otherwise a Tarantino fan. How is this film different? We consider T’s strange sense of pacing, his comic violence, his historical revisionism, and casting choices. Is this a brilliant film or a fundamentally misguided idea badly in need of an editor?Some articles we drew on:.
“ by Jen Chaney. by Travis Bean. by Casper SalmonWes is working on a very long essay on this film that isn't yet complete, but he’s written plenty of other long essays about the media and has recorded several episodes of his own PEL spin-off show, (sub)Text: Get it all.This episode includes that you can only hear by supporting the podcast at.
This podcast is part of the podcast network.Pretty Much Pop is the first podcast curated by Open Culture. Imagine if governments and institutions took their policy directives straight from George Orwell’s 1984 or Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal.” We might to many a literary dystopia in these times, with taking over all the discourse.
But some lines—bans on thinking or non-procreative sex, or seriously proposing to eat babies—have not yet been crossed.When it comes, however, to meritocracy—a term that originated in a by British sociologist Michael Young—it can seem as if the political class had taken fiction as manifesto. Young himself, “much that was predicted has already come about. It is highly unlikely the prime minister has read the book, but he has caught on to the word without realizing the dangers of what he is advocating.”. In Young's historical analysis, what began as an allegedly democratic impulse, a means of breaking up hereditary castes, became itself a way to solidify and entrench a ruling hierarchy.
“The new class has the means at hand,” wrote Young, “and largely under its control, by which it reproduces itself.” (Wealthy people bribing their children's way into elite institutions comes to mind.) Equal opportunity for those who work hard and play by the rules doesn’t actually obtain in the real world, meritocracy's critics demonstrate—prominent among them the man who coined the term “meritocracy.”One problem, as frames it in the short RSA animated video above, is an ancient one, characterized by a very ancient word. The history of Hollywood film before 1968 breaks down into two eras: 'pre-Code' and 'post-Code.'
The 'Code' in question is the, better known as the 'Hays Code,' a reference to Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America president Will H. The organization we now know as the MPAA hired Hays in 1922, tasking the Presbyterian deacon and former chairman of the Republican National Committee and Postmaster General with 'cleaning up' early Hollywood's sinful image. Eight years into Hays' presidency came the Code, a pre-emptive act of self-censorship meant to dictate the morally acceptable — and more importantly, the morally unacceptable — content in American film.' The code sets up high standards of performance for motion-picture producers,' as saying at the Code's 1930 debut. 'It states the considerations which good taste and community value make necessary in this universal form of entertainment.' No picture, for example, should 'lower the moral standards of those who see it,' and 'the sympathy of the audience shall never be thrown to the side of crime, wrongdoing, evil or sin.'
There was also 'an updated, much-expanded list of 'don'ts' and 'be carefuls,' with bans on nudity, suggestive dancing and lustful kissing. The mocking of religion and the depiction of illegal drug use were prohibited, as were interracial romance, revenge plots and the showing of a crime method clearly enough that it might be imitated.' Serious enforcement of the Code commenced in 1934, and it didn't take long thereafter for Hollywood filmmakers to start flouting it. 'American film producers are inured by now to the Hays Office which regulates movie morals,'. Indeed, 'knowing that things banned by the code will help sell tickets,' those producers 'have been subtly getting around the code for years.'
In other words, they 'observe its letter and violate its spirit as much as possible.' Atop the article appears an enormous photograph, taken by Paramount photographer A. “Whitey” Schafer, that 'shows, in one fell swoop, many things producers must not do,' or rather must not depict: the defeat of the law, the inside of the thigh, narcotics, drinking, an 'exposed bosom,' a tommy gun, and so on.For 1941's inaugural Hollywood Studios’ Still Show, 'Schafer decided to create a novelty shot to satirically slap at the Production Code, the censorship standards of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors Assn,'.
'His satirical image, entitled, “Thou Shalt Not,” displayed the top 10 faux-pas disallowed by industry censors, who approved every photographic image shot by studios before they could be distributed.' When 'outraged organizers pulled the image from the competition' and threatened Schaefer with a fine, he explained that 'all the judges were hoarding the 18 prints submitted for the show.' Few of us today would feel so titillated, let alone morally corrupted, by Schafer's image, but, it may offer more pure entertainment value than ever.(via )Related Content:Based in Seoul, writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series. Follow him on Twitter at or on.
I live in Asia, where no few people express an interest in traveling to my homeland, the United States of America. When I meet such people, I always give them the same advice: if you go, make sure to take a cross-country road trip. But then I would say that, at least according to the premise of the PBS Idea Channel video above, While driving from New York to Louisville, Nashville, and then Philadelphia, host Mike Rugnetta theorizes about the connection between the road trip and the very concept of America. It begins with physical suitability, what with the U.S.' Relatively low gas prices, amenable terrain, and sheer size: 'America is big,' Rugnetta points out.
'Some might say too big.' As Rugnetta drives farther, he goes deeper: for quite a long stretch of U.S. History, 'progress and mobility were peas in a pod, and mobility has always been a subtext of America's favorite societal bulwark, freedom.' In other words, 'America's idea of its own awesomeness' — and does any word more clearly mark modern American speech? — 'is very much built on metaphors having to do with movement.' From then on, the United States saw an enormous surge in both car ownership, auto-industry employment, 'the middle class, suburbia, fast food,' and a host of other phenomena still seen as characteristically American.
'To say that modern America was built both by and for the car,' as Rugnetta puts it, 'would not be an insane overstatement.' But he also notes that the idea of the road trip itself goes back to 1880s Germany, when Bertha Benz, wife of Benz Moterwagen founder Karl Benz, took her husband's then-experimental car on a then-illegal 66-mile drive through the countryside. The first American road trip was and, as above tells it, involved a bet, a dog, and — the whole way from San Francisco to New York — no signage at all.
Rugnetta also presents a philosophical question, derived from the: at what point does a 'drive' turn into a 'road trip?' Does it take a certain number of miles, of gas-tank refills, of roadside attractions? A coast-to-coast drive of the kind pioneered by Jackson unquestionably qualifies as a road trip. So does the automobile journey taken by Dutchman Henny Hogenbijl in the summer of 1955, you can see above. Beginning with footage of Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport, New World Symphony shows off the sights Hogenbijl saw while driving from New York to Los Angeles, with places like Niagara Falls, Chicago, Mount Rushmore, Yellowstone National Park, and Salt Lake City as the stops in between — or the places, to use the phrase Rugnetta credits with great importance in American myth, Hogenbijl was just 'passin' through.'
Not long ago, a modern-day Hogenbijl made that great American road trip with the destinations reversed. Like Hogenbijl, he filmed it; unlike Hogenbijl, he filmed not the stops but the driving itself, and every single minute it took him to get across the United States at that. Lucky for the busy viewer, compresses this eight days of footage into a mere seven hours, adding an indicator of the state being passed through in the lower-left corner of the frame. Even sped up, the viewing experience underscores a point I try to make to all the hopeful road-trippers I meet on this side of the world: you must drive across America not just to experience how interesting the country is, but at the same time how boring it is. Allow me one use that most characteristically American locution when I say that both America's interestingness and its boringness, as well as its many other qualities best seen on the road, inspire awe — that is, they're awesome.Related Content:Based in Seoul, writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series.