Merry, merry

With Christmas not too far away, I hope that yours proves much happier than one that occurred in a cottage in Fetter Hill, Gloucestershire eighty-four years ago.

It featured moments like this one: 

After a pause, he took a straight razor from the cupboard and told his family to ‘clear out’ or else he would kill them.  

Yes. Not exactly festive.

Still: it might make an interesting gift for the fan of historical mysteries in your life.

And remember: in German, 'Gift' means 'poison'....

He can see it on the radar, only seven hours away

There is, like, a crazy amount of snow outside.

It's been a fun weekend overall here in Europaland with regard to the cold'n'white stuff; fortunately, our drive back from northern Bavaria to the middle Rhine region went smoothly today.

And, I think, it is a good time to remember this song, which was one of my favourites from a favourite album from a favourite band back in the college daze:



Galaxie 500, 'Snowstorm'

Unseasonal Greetings

As John has pointed out, we have been ill. Ill in a big way. In fact, I haven't been as ill as I have been for the last four days since 1996. And though I'm much better today than I was on Tuesday, I'm still not one hundred percent shipshape, so forgive if I'm rambling. It might be the fever ....

At least our illness has meant that this year we've had the best ever excuse for our typical Christmas avoidance scheme. "Sorry, I couldn't get into the Christmas spirit -- had to writhe in my bed drenched in a cold sweat, fighting off hideous ghosts hailing from various personal, professional as well as entirely fictional contexts".

So, this hasn't been exactly an active time. During our rare lucid spells we managed to watch a few DVDs, one of them being -- nice Christmassy "peace on earth" touch, that -- Lindsay Anderson's If .... Here are the final minutes of the film, in case you haven't seen it:



Well, after being unsettled by that hefty dose of the good old ultraviolence I hallucinated how I sometimes irritate students in their oral exams by asking whether the descent into violence on the part of the boys stranded on an uninhabited island in Lord of the Flies (a book many of them have read in school, which is why it inevitably pops up in their lists of exam topics) might in any way be related to the purportedly civilised background from which these characters hail.

This background emerges sketchily on the fringes of the plot, for instance in the odd deus-ex-machina appearance of a British officer at the end of the novel who gets all policeman-of-the-worldy at the sight of the boys' carnage ("I should have thought that a pack of British boys -- you're all British aren't you? -- would have been able to put up a better show than that -- I mean -- "). This final scene echoes the way the boys' (public) school uniforms are used to invoke a lost world of stability, security and order in the first chapter -- a world threatened by the larger, unidentified conflict from which the boys flee (only to end up on the island where things -- i.e. they -- get nasty) and its obscene apotheosis, the atom bomb. At the end of Golding's novel, order is restored and the feral boys willingly, nay: gladly, submit to the uniformed figure of authority come to rescue them.

However -- and this is where Golding meets Anderson -- what happens on the island between the boys collapses the neat separation of order and destruction, friend and foe on which the novel appears to be based: really, their gruesomely destructive actions are the continuation of the more "sophisticated" external carnage by somewhat cruder means.

If ... is based on exactly the same analogy between the brutality of the world at large -- synecdochally represented by the disciplinary regime of the public school in which the film is set -- and the violent microcosm that develops in its midst both as a result of that regime and by way of the character Travis's revenge against it. While Lord of the Flies is far less overtly anti-authoritarian, the novel nevertheless makes the disturbing point that relationships between human beings are forever overshadowed by our ingrained capacity for violence, which may be harnessed into a semblance of civilisation, but can never be fully overcome.

Anyway, students tend to get annoyed at my question about Lord of the Flies. Well, I guess they are the Harry Potter generation who have been indoctrinated with an idealising notion of "school" in general -- and public school (in the British sense) in particular: a mythical caring coterie of kind and loyal comrades (a far cry from the plebeian/philistine backgrounds of some of the characters), fully equipped with transmogrifying sweets, cuddly mandrakes and wood-panelled halls, where "evil" exists in physical and hence easily identifiable and vanquishable form.

It's a pity -- though maybe not entirely incomprehensible -- that they prefer the emotionally attractive (and, need it be stated explicitly, commercially valuable) perspective and impose it upon more complex texts that challenge our/their overblown notions of humanity's civilising potential.

And a merry manhunt to you all

Those of you who follow such things -- and we are grateful for those of you who do -- will have noticed that things have been pretty quiet here over the last week or so.

Not a creature has been stirring at this blog, you will have noted, not even a mouse.

It's not been a result of our preoccupation with the seasonal festivities, rest assured.

No, we've both (or each) been stricken by mysterious cold/flu bugs that have dampened our thinking processes and forced us to concentrate all the brainpower we could muster on more urgent real-world projects.

Normal broadcasting, with any luck, should resume shortly.

But The Cold That Wouldn't Go Away hasn't kept me from keeping up with the Playmobil 'Police Manhunt' advent calendar I introduced some weeks ago.

When we last left matters, our young delinquent Otto was scaling down the wall of a house he had just burgled, brazenly flouting the laws of civilised society. As matters stood at the beginning, the police looked to be quite perilously undermanned.

However, you may now be reassured that the intervening days has seen the state's power grow dramatically, and, in a dramatic scene last night, the forces of law and order (with both vehicular and animal support) cornered the miscreant...

...(here, the drama is captured in an exciting aerial view)...

...and brought him to justice.

Today, he sits in his cell, reflecting upon his anti-social behaviour. There remains hope that with the right kind of treatment, he may one day be rehabilitated. (Yes, this is Germany, where he's not so likely to simply rot in prison.)


In this regard, young Otto is in a better position than another social deviant, known for his many years of serial break-ins. Fortunately, we receive word that he too, has been rendered harmless by the ever-vigilant guardians of the social order.

Lock the bastard up and throw away the key, I say. (Image via)

And merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Getting into the Christmas manhunt spirit

Although I'm hardly one to overflow with Christmas cheer, I think one of the nicest of this season's traditions is the 'Advent calendar'. When I was a child, we usually had one, and I still recall the (somewhat excessive, in retrospect) excitement about opening up a new little window on each day to see what tiny little image was behind it.

Yes, we were pathetically easy to please back in those kinder, gentler, simpler, pre-Xbox days.

I don't recall ever having one that actually gave you things on each day (and, you know, considering what a greedy little brat I was, I'm sure I would remember such undeserved largesse). It was probably for that reason that one particular calendar appealed so much to me in mid-November when I saw it at the local supermarket.

Thus it was that the Playmobil Advent calendar with the seasonal title 'Polizei auf Verbrecherjagd' (i.e., 'Police manhunt') ended up in our house.

Now, I must admit to an enduring (and, yes, somewhat immature) love for certain kinds of toys, such as Lego and Playmobil.

I spent far more time (outrageous amonts of time, really) with Lego as a child, but -- especially since being in Germany, the birthplace of Playmobil -- I have become more fascinated with the latter. This is not only because of Playmobil's strikingly didactic nature (these are clearly toys with a message) but also because they often do not shy away from the darker side of life.

Check out, for example, this Playmobil gladiator arena.

Yes, that's a lion.

It's unclear whether actual Christians are included, but I suppose the Familienspaziergang set could be quickly adapted in a pinch.

In this openness to presenting children with, shall we say, a somewhat pessimistic notion of what human relationships are (and, historically, have been), we might see Playmobil as carrying on a noble German tradition of, say, Grimm's fairy tales or the gory collection of stories starring a figure named Struwwelpeter.

You can get a taste of the kind of joyful childhood optimism contained in the latter via this Wikipedia summary of a few of the stories:

In "Die gar traurige Geschichte mit dem Feuerzeug" (The Dreadful Story of Pauline and the Matches), a girl plays with matches and burns to death.

"Die Geschichte vom Suppen-Kaspar" (The Story of Kaspar who did not have any Soup) begins as Kaspar, a healthy, strong boy, proclaims that he will no longer eat his soup. Over the next five days he wastes away and dies.

In "Die Geschichte vom Daumenlutscher" (The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb), a mother warns her son not to suck his thumbs. However, when she goes out of the house he resumes his thumb sucking, until a roving tailor appears and cuts off his thumbs with giant scissors.

In "Die Geschichte vom fliegenden Robert" (The Story of Flying Robert), a boy goes outside during a storm. The wind catches his umbrella and sends him to places unknown, and presumably to his doom.

Painful death, maiming, and doom: that's what children's literature should be all about.

There's nothing quite so bloodthirsty about my Advent calendar (this is Christmas after all), but there are a few things about it that I think are worth noting.

Like: there's nothing that says Christmas like a 'manhunt'.

In case you're unfamiliar with Advent calendars, the idea behind this one is: each day between the 1st and 24th of December, a child (or, in my case, a childish adult) gets to open a numbered box containing one part of the whole play set.

They are thus opened in a specific order, that is defined by the company.

The figure, equipment or accessories revealed can then be added to a kind of cardboard urban backdrop that was also included. This enables a certain amount of creativity.

This is, by the way, a lot more fun than it sounds, especially if you are as juvenile as I am.

But I also noticed something interesting. Here, for example, is a picture of my Polizei auf Verbrecherjagd play set after five days.


You will note: there is no Polizei. No Jagd. Just a Verbrecher, seen on the left hand side of the picture, scaling his way down a building he has just presumably burgled.

Here, a close-up of the tiny little deviant.


I have decided -- in honour of another charming delinquent -- to call him 'Otto'.

What struck me is the particular discourse behind this sequence. Rather than taking the perspective -- common enough in modern criminology -- that the criminal justice apparatus creates criminals (by, say, defining and enforcing particular notions of 'deviancy' or whatever), Playmobil endorses an older, more positivistic notion of policing.

Instead of being interpellated into his criminal status by the powers that be, our little housebreaker, Otto, represents a pre-existing social problem. In some sense, perhaps, he stands in for the potential for disorder and violation inherent in human nature.

Then -- and only then -- it is in reaction to the very real threat he poses that a policing apparatus will (slowly, day-by-day) be built.

Otto, in short, is a problem.

(Although he may not be a serious problem: for all his building-scaling skills, Otto has decided to burgle a house right across the street from a police station.)

Nor are we given the sense that he's committing some kind of poverty-inspired social crime. Not only do we not know his motivation for stealing the case full of plastic money, but Otto bears all the hallmarks of the professional criminal, both in terms of his specialised knowledge (climbing buildings) and tools (the extensive set of keys he wears on his belt).

Given the promises on the box, I can tell that the power of the agents of the Staatsmacht will eventually grow to a rather impressive extent, eventually including motorised vehicles, a police dog and several guns.

Otto, I think, will not stand a chance.

However, the forces of law and order got off to a bit of a slow start yesterday, as the first police officer made his or her (I find the sex a bit indeterminate) appearance. However, it was not until today that he (or she) was given the tools to do the job: a radio and a pistol.

The gun, for the moment, is staying holstered. However: as one of the initial items that appeared, presumably intended for Otto's use, was an axe, I'm not sure how long that is going to be the case.

And, having cheated a bit and looked ahead at the kind of props that are on the way, I saw that the last piece to be opened, on Christmas Eve, is an ominous one for dear little Otto: a prison bed. (Thus ends the series that began with the criminal himself: a clearer way of expressing that crime doesn't pay is hard to imagine.)

I was, actually, convinced that that final item it was an autopsy table, until The Wife corrected me earlier this evening. So, Otto will perhaps be saved from an all too harsh fate.

Still, it's my toy and I can imagine what I want, can't I?

One way or another, this going to end in tears for someone.

I'm sure of it.

Happy holidays!

Christmas: Reloaded

Given that we are now more or less officially in the holiday season, my thoughts naturally turn to the topic of firearms.

And there are a few gaps on my wishlist that need filling.

First, via Boing Boing, we have this astonishing chainsaw bayonet attachment for an assault rifle.



It might be a bit unwieldy for home defence, but as Cory Doctorow and Neatorama agree, this might make an ideal anti-Zombie weapon.

And, as the video shows, it also kills pumpkins dead.

The creativity of the chainsaw bayonet reminded me of a video I'd seen some time ago (though I've forgotten where), demonstrating the FMG9 folding sub-machinegun:



Remember: 'if it gets nasty, get down to business.'

It makes an ideal stocking stuffer.

Elsewhere recently, Dale (who we are delighted to see has also said 'Hebbo!' to Tarvu) has had his eye on a Remington Model 700 XCR. ('Extreme conditions call for an extreme gun', as the promotional material says, and I can't fault that logic.)

However, he was unhappy with this picture.



What is the reason for Dale's discontent? After all, this is a very handsome rifle indeed. Well...

It's that this image was gotten to by clicking a hyperlink located directly beneath a heading of "Select Your Left-Hand Firearm" on a page titled "Remington Left-Hand Firearms." Does that look like a firearm for a left-handed shooter? Well, does it, punk? Do you feel lucky? No. It doesn't look like that, and I can tell you don't feel lucky. The bolt is sitting directly in the left-handed shooter's face -- exactly the sort of design characteristic that flags a rifle as an ungainly right-handed tool when it comes into the hands of a peace-loving, easygoing, handsome, charming, modest left-handed shooter.

Being right handed, I've never had to consider this (as in most other spheres of life, we northpaws are also well catered to by the arms industry), but in an Independent article that The Wife just sent me, I see that Dale is not alone.

None other than Angelina Jolie has battled a similar problem, we are informed:

[She] had to have guns specially made so that she could reload them easily for the film Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.

Just something else to keep in mind when buying guns for your loved ones this holiday season. (I am assured that Santa's workshop has a very capable gunsmith on staff, who is quite capable of making any necessary adjustments).

What relevance Ms. Jolie's reloading problems have to an article on the academic performance of left-handed students escapes me, but that's perhaps an issue for another time.

In the meantime, have a happy and safe holiday season.

But watch out for those pumpkins, and, if necessary, get down to business.

[UPDATE]: Should the chainsaw bayonet, the folding sub-machinegun or a left-handed rifle break your recession-era Christmas budget, you may just want to give your nearest and dearest gun lover an appropriately themed poster.

Like this one:



(via the fine people at Popcorn & Sticky Floors)

Happy (Cultural) Christmas

Like Richard Dawkins, we are to some extent 'cultural Christians' and will be exchanging a few gifts later this eve. (As well as taking part in some other general merry-making over the next couple of days.)

After all, even in officially atheist Soviet contexts, there seemed to have been for a little seasonal whoopee amongst the striving for a more revolutionary (or at least a more futuristic) future.


(And while we're at it, here's a nice MarX-mas postcard from the International Institute for Social History.)

Groovy.

We're sorry for the light posting over the last few days, but we've been focused on the kind of writing that has some relevance in our professional lives.

Thus, we've been neglecting you. For that, we apologise.

And promise to improve.

But until then, we wish all our readers and friends a happy and healthy holiday season, whatever that holiday might be.