Summary for anglophones: The supermarket chain I work for is launching something like Amazon Marketplace for products which are just outside the scope of what it sells in its supermarkets (e.g. pet food, specialist wines, kitchen equipment), to allow external vendors to sell through its online shop.
That is actually still the case now, but my thoughts on the subject have been changed by a session of Rafi Zarum's I went to at Limmud a year and a half ago, in which he talked about Shlomo Carlebach as "an amazing man [who] did some terrible things. It was very difficult when he was alive, but once he had died, the music and the good could live on its own. His music and his tunes became global only at that point. His death was his salvation."
On reflection, this made sense. After all, I didn't have any problems going to see a performance of Doctor Faustus by the same man who wrote The Jew of Malta. Marlowe was dead; he wasn't going to get any royalties from me or even just bask in the glory of ticket acclaim. Admittedly, being dead four hundred years isn't the same as being dead twenty, but somewhere there's got to be a cut-off point, so why not follow Rafi Zarum's suggestion for it?
(Well, maybe it's different when it's not something historical for oneself; it remains to be seen how I'll feel about listening to Rolf Harris's music once he's dead, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.)
So anyhow, now I've decided to stop forbidding myself from reading what by all accounts is a considerable comic talent, the only question remaining is where I should start. (By comparison, consider the Discworld books: one could (as indeed I did) start with the first one, but I would rather recommend a newcomer to try the series out with the fourth (Mort), written once Pratchett had got into his stride.)
Suggestions from afficionados?
This is one of the strangest things to me about living in Berlin; in the UK there'd be parents up in arms about this, demanding railings separating the cyclists' route from where the children play (and probably cyclists demanding children shouldn't be let play on a public right-of-way), but here I've been going this way for a year and a quarter, and the two just seem to get on fine, the numerous cyclist commuters just slowing down a little and taking care to keep a wide berth between them and any child who might run in their way.
(This is likely to leave anyone who doesn't know both Latin and German scratching their heads...)
Then last week aviva_m got me off my tochus (and overcame my fear of not understanding enough German*) to participate in the Long Night of Religions, in which different religions open the doors of their houses of worship up to the public.
This is such a good idea; I look forward to exploring other religions in subsequent years, but if I just say that I came back not just edified but very well fed, can you guess which religion's house of worship I ended up attending?
* I prepared for only understanding two-thirds of what I might hear by reading up on the religion I chose in advance. I'd guess my poorer German at the time is the reason why I didn't take advantage of this last year.
( View map )The map seems to date from around 1930; among the differences it shows from the present is that one of the canals I cycle along on the way to work, the Neuköllner Schifffahrtskanal, is reduced to a mere ditch, the Wiesen Graben, which, instead of connecting to the Landwehrkanal at its western end, originates instead at a pool labelled Wiesen Br[?unnen].
This is interesting, because the curve where the former bank of the Landwehrkanal ran, and where it now turns into the Schifffahrtskanal, is precisely the point where the iced-over section of the canal (i.e. the Schifffahrtskanal, but not at all the Landwehrkanal, which I didn't until I got this map realise was even a separate canal) began last winter.
I still don't know the reason why. Maybe the Schifffahrtskanal is shallower; maybe there's less flow along it.
You can see other interesting differences in the bit of map I'm posting here: present-day Sonnenallee and Karl-Marx-Straße were then Kaiser Friedrich Straße and Berliner Straße; the interesting thing about the latter of these is that it was in _west_ Berlin, i.e. it wasn't the communists who renamed the street after Marx!
(The other notable difference that you can't see on this segment of map is that there were lots more synagogues than there are today. :-()
I wonder what the lack of grey for built-up areas towards the outskirts of the city mean. Surely they couldn't have laid out so many streets with no houses yet? And surely Berlin can't have grown so much since just 1930?
About ten years ago, compilerbitch posted a photo she had taken of doseybat leaning on a balcony and looking out over... a seascape, I think. It was black-and-white and had a grim look to it. Then I happened to see the colour original, and was astonished at the psychological effect the blue sky in it had on the feeling of the photo.
That gave rise to an Idea (which, like all of my best ideas, sat around in the back of my mind for years before becoming reality), of making a similar photo, in which like clouds drifting past, patches would drift across the photo, only these would be patches of full colour on a greyscale background; and then eventually one would come that was large enough to encapsulate most of the photo and bring life to it before departing again.
Doing this idea proper justice, i.e. at a high enough frame rate to look smooth, would involve convolution matrices and be at the limit of my technical ability. It would also involve more time than I am going to have this side of my wedding; so here, to give you a taster for what it would be (and probably scratch my itch enough that the full thing never happens now) is the work of most of an evening instead:
( See piccy )
(A florin, for those who don't know, was a two-shilling British coin; at the time I was growing up predecimal one and two shilling coins were still in circulation as 5p and 10p coins (this continued until these coins were replaced with smaller ones in 1992), but I had to go back to older ones to find one with the word "florin" on it.)
Arnie the rabbit seems to have really taken to it; I don't know where he learned to play so well!
See video (I don't think I can embed this).
...although possibly this explains something:( View piccy )Right, that's enough excitement for one evening; time for bed:( View piccy )
The Net of a Million Lies says a program called gtkpod will do the job for me, on my desktop running XFCE on Ubuntu Linux. However, this seems to rely on the iPod's filesystem being mounted as a regular directory; and this is not (no longer?) the case in the current version of XFCE. It automatically mounts two sub-areas of the iPod filesystem, but not under /media; and in any case gtkpod seems to want the whole filesystem mounted. I've managed to get the filesystem mounted with a truly horrible hack, but gtkpod is still not playing ball.
Has anyone managed to transfer music to an iPod from recent versions of Ubuntu, and if so, how did you do it?
Consequently, the spelling of the English words was changed to use an O instead of a U, which made life easier for readers a thousand years ago, though more difficult for people trying to learn English spelling. It's amazing how much insight knowing this has given me on English spelling; I keep coming across more and more words the spelling of which this explains.
* "Coney" used to be in general use in English to mean "rabbit". (The German for "rabbit", Kaninchen, rendered piecewise into its English cognates, comes out as the cutesy "coneykin".) But when in the nineteenth century "cunny" arose as slang for "c*nt", which was the pronunciation at the time of "coney", the latter dropped out use, despite an attempt to rescue it by pronouncing it the way it was written, in favour of the term "rabbit", originally meaning a young rabbit.
On a similar subject, I recently discovered from the History of English podcast the reason why we have in England, counties and countesses but not counts. These terms were brought into English from Norman French after the Norman Conquest, displacing the older English terms, but "count" never quite managed to displace "earl" because its pronunciation was too much like "c*nt". I reckon at the time, the former would have had the vowel in "food" and the latter the vowel in "good", making them more similar than they are today.
I wonder if there are any other words that resemblance to taboo words forced out of the language...
After all this, you will not be surprised to hear that when, last year, an album of music came out called The Lost Songs of St Kilda, I was intrigued, and asked aviva_m to get it for me for Chanukah. The story is that a decade ago, an old man, Trevor Morisson, was discovered playing this music on a piano in an old age home in Scotland. He'd been evacuated to the isle of Bute during the War, and had there been taught by one of the St Kildans who left during the islands' final evacuation in 1930 how to play the melodies sung by the islanders as they climbed the cliffs looking for birds' eggs.
No one else had recorded this music, no one had written it down; to my surprise it seems that none of the St Kildans (the last of whom died just last year) had even taught it to their children. (The fact the St Kildan church frowned upon music may have had something to do with this, at a guess.) If it were not for Trevor Morisson, this subculture would have died out completely (rather than just partially—Morisson only knew eight songs, and did not know the words to them).
Yet now, after eighty-six years, a young man's recordings of Morisson (made on a laptop with a £3 microphone) have been released to the world, and inspired others to compose around them, or be inspired by them.
I find the music to be moving, but even without that, the story a moving one too.