Sal Khan & the Muppets’ Grover Explain the Electoral College

Grover, the more intel­lec­tu­al­ly-aspi­rant of Sesame Street’s two blue mon­sters, is a self-appoint­ed expert on anato­my (“the head is cov­ered with this long stringy stuff”), hygiene, and Span­ish, but the work­ings of the Unit­ed States Elec­toral Col­lege elud­ed him, until Salman Khan, founder of the Khan Acad­e­my wan­dered into the frame.

The pairing’s not as odd as you might think. The Khan Academy’s mis­sion is in many ways quite sim­i­lar to that of Sesame Street—free edu­ca­tion for the peo­ple, dis­trib­uted on a glob­al scale. Both are non-prof­it. The Khan Acad­e­my uses white­board screen­cast­ing where Sesame Street uses Mup­pets, but the goal is the same.

The ener­getic and high­ly dis­tractible Grover would be a chal­leng­ing pupil in any set­ting. Khan, whose teacher-stu­dent inter­ac­tions are rarely so face-to-face, han­dles him like a pro, wise­ly par­ing down a stan­dard issue Khan Acad­e­my les­son on the Elec­toral Col­lege to an eas­i­ly digestible three-and-a-half min­utes.

The take­away?

The Unit­ed States is an indi­rect democ­ra­cy.

Each state awards its elec­toral votes to the can­di­date who wins the pop­u­lar vote in that state.

The num­ber of elec­toral votes in any giv­en state is equal to its num­ber of con­gress­peo­ple plus its two Sen­a­tors.

There are a total of 538 elec­toral votes. In order to win the pres­i­den­tial elec­tion, a can­di­date must win at least 270 of those votes.

Sim­ple enough, but this mea­sured expla­na­tion does not com­pute with Grover.

So Khan employs an edu­ca­tion­al Nin­ja tech­nique. “How can I explain it in a way that you might under­stand?” he asks.

It turns out Grover is some­thing of a visu­al learn­er, who’s not at all shy about the work­ings of his own per­son­al brain. He’s prob­a­bly not ready for 8th grade alge­bra, but the Khan Acad­e­my sub­sti­tu­tion method pro­vides a water­shed moment, when Khan replaces elec­toral votes with chick­ens.

(If your frag­ile grasp of the Elec­toral Col­lege process would be mud­dled by the intro­duc­tion of chick­ens, stop watch­ing at the two minute mark. As the pro­lif­er­at­ing com­ments on the Khan Academy’s fifth Amer­i­can Civics les­son prove, some­times the sim­ple approach cre­ates more ques­tions than it answers.)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Polit­i­cal Sci­ence Cours­es 

Mor­gan Free­man Teach­es Kids to Read in Vin­tage Elec­tric Com­pa­ny Footage from 1971

Elec­tion 2012: Your Free Tick­et to a Pop­u­lar Stan­ford Course

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her play Zam­boni Godot is open­ing in New York City in March 2017. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Graceful Movements of Kung Fu & Modern Dance Revealed in Stunning Motion Visualizations

When I first saw what was then the height of motion cap­ture in 1999—The Matrix’s “bul­let time” and kung fu sequences—I was suit­ably impressed, and yet… the extreme manip­u­la­tion of the real (which couldn’t have hap­pened in a more appro­pri­ate film, grant­ed) also seemed a lit­tle like a cheat. In the days before com­put­ers ren­dered 99% of spe­cial effects, part of the fun of watch­ing an effects film was spot­ting the seams. The short “Kung Fu Visu­al­iza­tion” above, from Ger­man dig­i­tal artist Tobias Gremm­ler, deft­ly com­bines both of these aes­thet­ic inclinations—the love of arti­fice and the awe of liq­uid-smooth dig­i­tal motion—in rustling, swirling, shim­mer­ing ani­mat­ed art that para­dox­i­cal­ly shows us the seams of flu­id move­ment.

Recall­ing Mar­cel Duchamp’s famous nude or the dynam­ic sculp­ture of Umber­to Boc­cioni, Gremm­ler ani­mates these mod­ernist dreams using grace­ful motions cap­tured from two Kung Fu mas­ters. Each sin­u­ous mar­tial arts rou­tine is ren­dered with a dif­fer­ent mate­r­i­al tex­ture, with accom­pa­ny­ing sound effects and dra­mat­ic music. “Visu­al­iz­ing the invis­i­ble is always fas­ci­nat­ing,” writes Gremm­ler, “and motion visu­al­iza­tions have been cre­at­ed even in pre-dig­i­tal times with light, pho­tog­ra­phy, cos­tumes or paint­ings.” (Nor­man McLaren’s 1968 “Pas de deux” offers a strik­ing his­tor­i­cal exam­ple.) Gremm­ler’s stun­ning ani­ma­tion was com­mis­sioned for a Hong Kong Kung Fu exhi­bi­tion and “focus­es on the lega­cy of Hak­ka mar­tial arts in Hong Kong.”

Gremmler’s film may show us process in motion, but he remains coy about his own tech­no­log­i­cal means (unless, pre­sum­ably, you buy his book.) Anoth­er motion cap­ture mas­ter­piece, “Asphyx­ia,” above, uses hum­ble, yet high­ly advanced meth­ods unimag­in­able in 1999, “two inex­pen­sive Xbox One Kinect sen­sors,” writes This is Colos­sal, “to cap­ture the move­ments of dancer Shi­ho Tana­ka.” Film­mak­ers Maria Takeuchi and Fred­eri­co Phillips then “ren­dered the data inside a near pho­to-real­is­tic envi­ron­ment,” mak­ing cre­ative use of low­er-res tics and glitch­es. Com­bined with a love­ly elec­tron­ic score from Takeuchi, the result­ing video’s visu­al poet­ry is impos­si­ble to ade­quate­ly con­vey in words.

What “Asphyx­ia” does show us is a scal­ing back of tech­ni­cal wiz­ardry that reveals a deep lev­el of ges­tur­al sophis­ti­ca­tion under­neath. “The project,” write the film­mak­ers, “is an effort to explore new ways to use and/or com­bine tech­nolo­gies… with­out many of the com­mer­cial lim­i­ta­tions. The per­for­mance is cen­tered in an elo­quent chore­og­ra­phy that stress­es the desire to be expres­sive with­out bounds.” Although “Asphyx­ia” is obvi­ous­ly a lower-quality—digitally speaking—work than Gremmler’s Kung Fu Visu­al­iza­tion, it is none the worse for it. Both use motion cap­ture tech­nol­o­gy in inno­v­a­tive ways that fore­ground the artistry, rather than the mim­ic­ry, of dig­i­tal ani­ma­tion. (Some­what like the much-praised dig­i­tal stop-motion Kubo and the Two Strings.) If you want to see how the mak­ers of “Asphyx­ia” cre­at­ed their exper­i­ment, watch their mak­ing-of film below.

via This is Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Soft­ware Used by Hayao Miyazaki’s Ani­ma­tion Stu­dio Becomes Open Source & Free to Down­load

13 Van Gogh’s Paint­ings Painstak­ing­ly Brought to Life with 3D Ani­ma­tion & Visu­al Map­ping

Take a Free Online Course on Mak­ing Ani­ma­tions from Pixar & Khan Acad­e­my

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

215 Hours of Free Foreign Language Lessons on Spotify: French, Chinese, German, Russian & More

spotify-languages

In Sep­tem­ber, we high­light­ed for you 75 free audio books avail­able on Spo­ti­fy–books writ­ten by the likes of Jane Austen, James Joyce, Charles Bukows­ki, Franz Kaf­ka, Kurt Von­negut, Edgar Allan Poe, Jack Ker­ouac, Sylvia Plath, William Shake­speare & more. Peruse the com­plete list here.

This month, we’re here to tell you that Spo­ti­fy makes free lan­guage lessons avail­able on its ser­vice. If you go to Spo­ti­fy (down­load its soft­ware here), click “Browse” (in the left hand nav), then scroll way down and click “Word,” you will find col­lec­tions of free lan­guages in the fol­low­ing lan­guages. You can also click the links below to access 215 hours of free lan­guage lessons:

You can find many more lessons, cov­er­ing many more lan­guages, in our col­lec­tion: Learn 45+ Lan­guages Online for Free: Span­ish, Chi­nese, Eng­lish & More. Our list cov­ers every­thing from Ancient Greek and Dutch, to Thai and Yid­dish.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 75 Free, Clas­sic Audio Books on Spo­ti­fy: Austen, Joyce, Bukows­ki, Kaf­ka, Von­negut, Poe, Shake­speare, Ker­ouac & More

Free Span­ish Lessons

Free French Lessons

Free Ital­ian Lessons

Free Ara­bic Lessons

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Decoding the Screenplays of The Shining, Moonrise Kingdom & The Dark Knight: Watch Lessons from the Screenplay

“A screen­play isn’t meant to be read,” said no less a direct­ing-screen­writ­ing auteur than Stan­ley Kubrick. “It’s to be real­ized on film.” The quote comes up in The Shin­ing — Qui­et­ly Going Insane Togeth­er,” an episode of the video essay series Lessons from the Screen­play. Cre­ator Michael Tuck­er uses it to explain his lack of access to the actu­al “shoot­ing script” of the film, mean­ing the sort of script typ­i­cal­ly writ­ten before pro­duc­tion and then more or less adhered to on set. But Kubrick worked dif­fer­ent­ly. On his projects “the words of the script and the design of the film were cre­at­ed togeth­er.” (Or as star Jack Nichol­son says in a bit of archival footage, “I quit usin’ my script. I just take the ones they type up each day.”)

Tuck­er goes on to break down The Shin­ing’s writ­ing process in a way that will fas­ci­nate not just screen­writ­ers but any­one with an inter­est in artis­tic struc­ture, begin­ning with the seg­men­ta­tion implied by the film’s mem­o­rably stark title cards: “THE INTERVIEW,” “THURSDAY,” “8am,” and so on. He does this in ser­vice of one impor­tant over­ar­ch­ing ques­tion: “What, exact­ly is so creepy about The Shin­ing?” (I’ve been ask­ing it myself ever since watch­ing it at a Hal­loween par­ty near­ly twen­ty years ago.) In Moon­rise King­dom: Where Sto­ry Meets Style” he gets into the ques­tion of what sto­ry­telling func­tions Ander­son­’s sig­na­ture abun­dance of vivid, whim­si­cal, or askew details per­form, and how they do it effec­tive­ly.

As far as what makes Christo­pher Nolan’s sec­ond Bat­man movie The Dark Knight work so well, Tuck­er has the answer in two words: the Jok­er. Dif­fer­ent actors have por­trayed Bat­man’s most famous rival with dif­fer­ent lev­els of effec­tive­ness, with Heath Ledger’s Jok­er gen­er­al­ly acknowl­edged as the Jok­er, or at least one of the Jok­ers, to beat. But like any char­ac­ter, this Jok­er began on the page, and in The Dark Knight — Cre­at­ing the Ulti­mate Antag­o­nist,” we learn which screen­writ­ing guru-approved qual­i­ties instilled there give him so much pow­er: his excep­tion­al skill at attack­ing Bat­man’s weak­ness­es, how he pres­sures Bat­man into dif­fi­cult choic­es, and how he and Bat­man ulti­mate­ly com­pete for the same goal, the soul of Gotham, and become two sides of the same coin.

You can learn oth­er lessons that Tuck­er draws from the screen­plays of movies like Night­crawler, Gone GirlInde­pen­dence Day, Ghost­bustersand a two-parter on Amer­i­can Beau­ty. While ele­ments of cin­e­ma like the direct­ing, the act­ing, the edit­ing, and even the music might cap­ture our atten­tion more aggres­sive­ly, we should­n’t for­get that every nar­ra­tive film, large or small, tra­di­tion­al or uncon­ven­tion­al, grows from words some­one wrote down. “It’s not what a movie is about,” declared Roger Ebert, “it’s how it is about it” — and the deci­sions of how to be about it hap­pen in the screen­play.

via The Over­look Hotel

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aki­ra Kurosawa’s Advice to Aspir­ing Film­mak­ers: Write, Write, Write and Read

10 Tips From Bil­ly Wilder on How to Write a Good Screen­play

Woody Allen’s Type­writer, Scis­sors and Sta­pler: The Great Film­mak­er Shows Us How He Writes

How Ray Brad­bury Wrote the Script for John Huston’s Moby Dick (1956)

Ray­mond Chan­dler: There’s No Art of the Screen­play in Hol­ly­wood

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Organized Religion Got You Down? Discover The Church Of Saint John Coltrane


Orga­nized reli­gion got you down? Feel like giv­ing up on it alto­geth­er? You are not by any stretch alone. Reli­gios­i­ty is in grave decline in Europe and the U.S., prompt­ing pan­ic in some quar­ters and sat­is­fac­tion in oth­ers (that young adults, for exam­ple, agree more with Karl Marx than with the Bible). The list of rea­sons for religion’s grow­ing unpop­u­lar­i­ty is long and rather pre­dictable, and you won’t find a case for the con­trary here—unless, that is, it’s for the St. John Coltrane Church. If there’s any reli­gion that deserves an upswing, so to speak, per­haps it’s one based on the gen­uine­ly ecsta­t­ic, con­scious­ness-expand­ing music of one of America’s most spir­i­tu­al­ly-mind­ed jazz com­posers.

Found­ed in San Fran­cis­co by Bish­op Fran­zo King and his wife Rev­erend Moth­er Mari­na King in 1971 as the Saint John Coltrane African Ortho­dox Church, the small body of wor­ship­pers has since become some­thing a lit­tle more rad­i­cal: The Saint John Will-I-Am Coltrane Church, whose vibe, writes Aeon, “is a rap­tur­ous out-of-your-head-ness, where instead of the choir and the hymn book there is the sin­u­ous, tran­scen­dent music of the jazz saint.” We get a pow­er­ful immer­sion in that vibe in the course of the 30-minute doc­u­men­tary, The Church Of Saint Coltrane. (Watch it above, or find it on Aeon’s YouTube chan­nel). The church band, with Bish­op King him­self on the sopra­no sax­o­phone, gets deep into Coltrane’s music, in funky per­for­mances of cuts from Coltrane’s ground­break­ing 1964 A Love Supreme espe­cial­ly.

That career-defin­ing album of reli­gious music changed the course of Coltrane’s career at the very end of his short life. (He died three years lat­er at the age of 40.) He wasn’t always such a mys­tic. Before he dis­cov­ered the idio­syn­crat­ic God of his recov­ery from hero­in addic­tion in 1957, he was a rapid­ly ris­ing star in an increas­ing­ly pre­car­i­ous place. After his “spir­i­tu­al awak­en­ing,” as he describes it in the lin­er notes to A Love Supreme, Coltrane became a musi­cal evan­ge­list. And Bish­op King heard the call. King’s “sound bap­tism” took place when he saw Coltrane in 1965 at the Jazz Work­shop in San Fran­cis­co, a Pen­te­costal expe­ri­ence for him. “I am the first son born out of sound,” he says.

Oth­er wor­ship­pers iden­ti­fy with Coltrane on a more bio­graph­i­cal lev­el. Sax­o­phon­ist Father Robert Haven is also a for­mer addict and alco­holic, who got sober “under Coltrane’s spell.” At the church, he found both a spir­i­tu­al and musi­cal home. As the doc­u­men­tary pro­gress­es, you’ll see the expe­ri­ences of non-musi­cian church-mem­bers are equal­ly pro­found, but the com­mon thread, of course, is that they all love Coltrane. That would appear to be the most impor­tant cri­te­ri­on for join­ing the Saint John Coltrane Church, where one can osten­si­bly come for the music and stay for the music. At least that seems to be the pitch, and it’s quite a com­pelling one for peo­ple who love Coltrane, though Bish­op King’s ser­vices do get preachy at times. But the res­i­dent church icono­g­ra­ph­er tells us that King con­vert­ed him with one sim­ple phrase, repeat­ed with con­fi­dence over and over: “It’s all in the music.”

The Church Of Saint Coltrane will be added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

For more back­ground on the church, see our 2014 post: The Church of St. John Coltrane, Found­ed on the Divine Music of A Love Supreme

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Spir­i­tu­al Jazz: Hear a Tran­scen­dent 12-Hour Mix Fea­tur­ing John Coltrane, Sun Ra, Her­bie Han­cock & More

The Sto­ry of John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme, Released 50 Years Ago This Month

John Coltrane’s Hand­writ­ten Out­line for His Mas­ter­piece A Love Supreme

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

When Akira Kurosawa Watched Solaris with Andrei Tarkovsky: I Was “Very Happy to Find Myself Living on Earth”

tarkovsky-kurosawa

Image of Kuro­sawa and Tarkovsky via NPR

Though Aki­ra Kuro­sawa and Andrei Tarkovsky occu­py the same plane in the pan­theon of auteurs — the high­est one — nei­ther their lives nor their films had much obvi­ous­ly in com­mon. The old­er, longer-lived Kuro­sawa start­ed his career ear­li­er and end­ed it lat­er, but dur­ing those cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly glo­ri­ous decades of the 1960s and 70s, the two brought into the world such pic­tures as Yojim­bo, Ivan’s Child­hoodHigh and LowRed Beard, Andrei Rublev, Dodesukaden, Solaris, The Mir­ror, Der­su Uza­la (Kuro­sawa’s sole Japan­ese-Sovi­et co-pro­duc­tion, though Tarkovsky was­n’t involved), and Stalk­er.

They actu­al­ly met around the mid­dle of that peri­od, when Kuro­sawa came to vis­it the set of Solaris (watch Solaris online along with many oth­er major Tarkovsky films). “Tarkovsky guid­ed me around the set, explain­ing to me as cheer­ful­ly as a young boy who is giv­en a gold­en oppor­tu­ni­ty to show some­one his favorite toy­box,” Kuro­sawa writes in an essay orig­i­nal­ly run in the Asahi Shin­bun in 1977 and repub­lished at Cinephil­ia & Beyond.



“[Direc­tor Sergei] Bon­darchuk, who came with me, asked him about the cost of the set, and left his eyes wide open when Tarkovsky answered it. The cost was so huge: about six hun­dred mil­lion yen as to make Bon­darchuk, who direct­ed that grand spec­ta­cle of a movie War and Peace, agape in won­der.”

But the work, as Kuro­sawa soon found out, mer­it­ed the cost and then some:

Mar­velous progress in sci­ence we have been enjoy­ing, but where will it lead human­i­ty after all? Sheer fear­ful emo­tion this film suc­ceeds in con­jur­ing up in our soul. With­out it, a sci­ence fic­tion movie would be noth­ing more than a pet­ty fan­cy.

These thoughts came and went while I was gaz­ing at the screen.

Tarkovsky was togeth­er with me then. He was at the cor­ner of the stu­dio. When the film was over, he stood up, look­ing at me as if he felt timid. I said to him, “Very good. It makes me feel real fear.” Tarkovsky smiled shy­ly, but hap­pi­ly. And we toast­ed vod­ka at the restau­rant in the Film Insti­tute. Tarkovsky, who didn’t drink usu­al­ly, drank a lot of vod­ka, and went so far as to turn off the speak­er from which music had float­ed into the restau­rant, and began to sing the theme of samu­rai from Sev­en Samu­rai at the top of his voice.

As if to rival him, I joined in.

For I was at that moment very hap­py to find myself liv­ing on Earth.

Solaris makes a view­er feel this, and even this sin­gle fact shows us that Solaris is no ordi­nary SF film. It tru­ly some­how pro­vokes pure hor­ror in our soul. And it is under the total grip of the deep insights of Tarkovsky.

Kuro­sawa pays spe­cial atten­tion to the sequence, which you can watch above ana­lyzed by film schol­ars Vida John­son and Gra­ham Petrie, filmed in his own home­land: “What makes us shud­der is the shot of the loca­tion of Akasakamit­suke, Tokyo, Japan. By a skill­ful use of mir­rors, he turned flows of head lights and tail lamps of cars, mul­ti­plied and ampli­fied, into a vin­tage image of the future city. Every shot of Solaris bears wit­ness to the almost daz­zling tal­ents inher­ent in Tarkovsky.”

Like all of Tarkovsky’s fea­tures, Solaris only holds up more firm­ly with time and thus still enjoys revival screen­ings all over the world, but you can also watch it free online right now. Just get ready, when you descend to Earth after­ward, to feel your own grat­i­tude at find­ing your­self back here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa to Ing­mar Bergman: “A Human Is Not Real­ly Capa­ble of Cre­at­ing Real­ly Good Works Until He Reach­es 80”

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa & Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez Talk About Film­mak­ing (and Nuclear Bombs) in Six Hour Inter­view

Watch Aki­ra Kuro­sawa & Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la in Japan­ese Whiskey Ads from 1979: The Inspi­ra­tion for Lost in Trans­la­tion

Watch Solaris (1972), Andrei Tarkovsky’s Haunt­ing Vision of the Future

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris Shot by Shot: A 22-Minute Break­down of the Director’s Film­mak­ing

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Cook Up Aleister Crowley’s Rice Recipe: Perfect for Eating with Curry

crowleyricerecipe

Before vis­it­ing a Gnos­tic Mass at one of Aleis­ter Crowley’s Ordo Tem­pli Ori­en­tis chap­ters in the UK, Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Thomas McGrath was warned by a friend in no uncer­tain all caps, “DO NOT EAT THE CAKE OF LIGHT.” I’ll let you find out for your­self why the excess cau­tion against this Crow­ley con­fab­u­lat­ed piece of anti-Catholic sacra­men­tal bread. Suf­fice it to say, the British occultist who called him­self the Great Beast 666 shared oth­er cer­e­mo­ni­al recipes in his copi­ous writ­ings on rit­u­al prac­tices. Many of them involved bod­i­ly flu­ids as a mat­ter of course.

In addi­tion to the Mag­ick for which he’s com­mon­ly known in coun­ter­cul­tur­al cir­cles, Crow­ley was an artist, avid moun­tain climber, world trav­el­er, and aspir­ing chef of more or less edi­ble foods, who often cooked for his trav­el­ing com­pan­ions. Dan­ger­ous Minds draws our atten­tion to one dish Crow­ley described in his “auto­ha­giog­ra­phy,” The Con­fes­sions of Aleis­ter Crow­ley. Called “glac­i­er cur­ry,” the stuff was appar­ent­ly so spicy it made hard­ened moun­taineers “dash out of the tent after one mouth­ful and wal­low in the snow, snap­ping at it like mad dogs.”

Crow­ley neglect­ed to list the ingre­di­ents and means of prepa­ra­tion for the unbear­able “glac­i­er cur­ry,” but he did leave anoth­er recipe among his papers for a much cool­er accom­pa­ni­ment. (Dis­cov­ered, writes Coil­house, by a “Pro­fes­sor Jack” in the Crow­ley Archives at Bird Library, Syra­cuse Uni­ver­si­ty.) Called “Riz Aleis­ter Crow­ley,” and meant “to be eat­en with cur­ry,” you can find it below. The pro­por­tions have been esti­mat­ed by writer Nico Mara McK­ay, who has made the rice with deli­cious results.

Ingre­di­ents

- 1 cup brown bas­mati rice

- sea salt

- 1/4 cup sul­tanas

- 1/4 cup sliv­ered almonds(1)

- 1/4 cup pis­ta­chio nuts

- pow­dered clove

- pow­dered car­damoms

- turmer­ic pow­der (enough to colour the rice to a clear gold­en tint)

- 2 tblsp. but­ter

Steps

Bring two cups of salt­ed water to a bowl. Throw in in the rice, stir­ring reg­u­lar­ly.

Test the rice after about ten min­utes “by tak­ing a grain, and press­ing between fin­ger and thumb. It must be eas­i­ly crushed, but not sod­den or slop­py. Test again, if not right, every two min­utes.”

When ready, pour cold water into the saucepan.

Emp­ty the rice into a colan­der, and rinse under cold tap.

Put colan­der on a rack above the flames, if you have a gas stove, and let it dry. If, like me, your stove is elec­tric, the rice can be dried by plac­ing large sheets of paper tow­el over and under the rice, soak­ing up the water. Prefer­ably the rice should seem very loose, almost as if it it has not been cooked at all. When you’ve removed as much water as you can, remove the paper tow­el.

Place the rice back into the pot on a much low­er tem­per­a­ture.

Stir­ring con­tin­u­ous­ly, add the but­ter, sul­tanas, almonds, pis­ta­chio nuts, a dash or two of cloves and a dash of car­damom.

Add enough turmer­ic that the rice, after stir­ring, is “uni­form, a clear gold­en colour, with the green pis­ta­chio nuts mak­ing it a Poem of Spring.”

In addi­tion to the esti­mat­ed pro­por­tions, the ver­sion above has been mod­i­fied some­what to fit our con­tem­po­rary recipe expec­ta­tions, but the folks at food blog Hap­py Veg­etable Cow have an exact tran­scrip­tion of Crowley’s type­script (top). They note Crow­ley’s con­ti­nu­ity with free-form recipe tra­di­tions of antiq­ui­ty and cel­e­brate the bit of “cre­ative nar­ra­tive” at the end. For an even more cre­ative­ly phrased grain recipe than Crowley’s aro­mat­ic rice, see David Lynch’s sur­re­al quinoa instruc­tions.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aleis­ter Crow­ley: The Wickedest Man in the World Doc­u­ments the Life of the Bizarre Occultist, Poet & Moun­taineer

Aleis­ter Crow­ley & William But­ler Yeats Get into an Occult Bat­tle, Pit­ting White Mag­ic Against Black Mag­ic (1900)

Aleis­ter Crow­ley Reads Occult Poet­ry in the Only Known Record­ings of His Voice (1920)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Videos Recreate Isaac Newton’s Neat Alchemy Experiments: Watch Silver Get Turned Into Gold

Yes­ter­day we fea­tured an online archive of “chymi­cal” man­u­scripts from the hand of Isaac New­ton, who, in addi­tion to mod­ern physics and math­e­mat­ics, prac­ticed the mag­i­cal, medieval art of alche­my. Found among his alchem­i­cal papers was a recipe for “soph­ick mer­cury,” a chem­i­cal believed to cre­ate the “Philosopher’s stone,” the occult sub­stance that sup­pos­ed­ly turns base met­als like lead into pure gold. Did such mag­ic ever rise to the lev­el of repeat­able sci­ence or was it pure mytho­log­i­cal fan­ta­sy?

For well over two hun­dred years after Newton’s death in 1727, near­ly every­one believed the lat­ter. How­ev­er, when the physi­cist and mathematician’s alchem­i­cal papers went on auc­tion at Sotheby’s in 1936, “the world of Isaac New­ton schol­ar­ship received a rude shock,” writes Indi­ana University’s archive project The Chym­istry of Isaac New­ton. Hun­dreds of alche­my man­u­scripts that had been qui­et­ly sup­pressed by New­ton’s rel­a­tives and hid­den away in pri­vate col­lec­tions came to light all at once.

In the inter­ven­ing years, New­ton schol­ars and sci­ence his­to­ri­ans have had to reassess his con­sid­er­able lev­el of invest­ment in occult arts. And they’ve come to see alche­my as an impor­tant pre­cur­sor to mod­ern chem­istry. As IU sci­ence his­to­ri­an William New­man “points out,” io9 tells us, “alche­my was­n’t always the laugh­able idea it is today.”

Although his alchem­i­cal man­u­scripts were in con­stant con­ver­sa­tion with ancient and mys­ti­cal sources, “Newton’s chym­istry was in many cas­es ful­ly oper­a­tional and explic­a­ble in mod­ern chem­i­cal ter­mi­nol­o­gy,” writes New­man, who has done much of the work to recov­er the chem­i­cal sci­ence amidst Newton’s alchem­i­cal pseu­do­science.

In the videos you see here, Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty seeks to “dri­ve this point home” with lessons that can “be employed in schools as an inte­gral part of their sci­ence edu­ca­tion cur­ric­u­la.” We begin at the top with a clas­si­cal alchem­i­cal exper­i­ment, the “trans­mu­ta­tion” of sil­ver into gold. In this case the medal­lion is already com­posed of a sil­ver-gold alloy. It’s an exper­i­ment in which “alchemists’ knowl­edge of chem­istry actu­al­ly helped them con their con­tem­po­raries into believ­ing they could trans­form sil­ver into gold,” notes New­man. Once the medal­lion is dipped in nitric acid, much of the sil­ver dis­solves, giv­ing the impres­sion of it hav­ing been changed into pure gold.

Fur­ther up, we have oth­er “chymi­cal” exper­i­ments from Newton’s alche­my, like the “transmutation”—or plating—of iron into cop­per and the cre­ation of a sil­i­ca gar­den, illus­trat­ing so-called min­er­al “veg­e­ta­tion.” In exper­i­ments like the one below it, the cre­ation of the “Tree of Diana”—in which a crys­talline growth emerges from an amal­gam of sil­ver and mercury—we see how alchemists were inspired to cre­ate alter­nate ter­mi­nol­o­gy for the prod­ucts of their exper­i­ment that sound to mod­ern ears like unsci­en­tif­ic non­sense. This mys­ti­cal jar­gon often served to con­fuse or ward off the unini­ti­at­ed, who would be unable to make a “Tree of Diana” even if they had the ingre­di­ents on hand, unless they already knew the pro­ce­dure and the prod­uct.

The last two mod­ules, fur­ther up and just above, demon­strate cop­per and iron shot dis­solv­ing in solu­tions of sil­ver nitrate and cop­per nitrate, respec­tive­ly. Edu­ca­tors and the gen­er­al­ly curi­ous should down­load Indi­ana University’s les­son plan on “Newton’s ‘Chym­istry’ of Met­al Sol­u­bil­i­ties.” There­in, you learn that “New­ton spent more time on his alche­my than he did on his physics and math com­bined!” though most of his alchem­i­cal work remains unpub­lished. The few, more respectably-word­ed, exper­i­ments New­ton did pub­lish in his life­time come from “Query 31” of his mas­ter­piece, the Opticks. It is from these pro­ce­dures that the lessons derive.

But even as we see the osten­si­bly straight­for­ward chem­i­cal instruc­tions New­ton pub­lished, we should remem­ber that these came from decades of research in the much murki­er, occult field of alche­my. You’ll find more infor­ma­tion on Newton’s chem­istry here and here, as well as at these many relat­ed web­sites.

via io9 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Isaac Newton’s Recipe for the Myth­i­cal ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ Is Being Dig­i­tized & Put Online (Along with His Oth­er Alche­my Man­u­scripts)

In 1704, Isaac New­ton Pre­dicts the World Will End in 2060

Sir Isaac Newton’s Papers & Anno­tat­ed Prin­cip­ia Go Dig­i­tal

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Father Writes a Great Letter About Censorship When Son Brings Home Permission Slip to Read Ray Bradbury’s Censored Book, Fahrenheit 451

book permission slip.jpg Ironic permission slip request https://twitter.com/i/moments/790703810427494400

How does cen­sor­ship come about in advanced, osten­si­bly demo­c­ra­t­ic soci­eties? In some cas­es, through insti­tu­tions col­lud­ing in ways that go unno­ticed by the gen­er­al pub­lic. As Noam Chom­sky has argued for decades, state agen­cies often col­lude with the press to spread cer­tain nar­ra­tives and sup­press oth­ers. And as we see dur­ing Banned Books Week, leg­is­la­tures, courts, and edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tions often col­lude with pub­lish­ers, teach­ers, and par­ents to sup­press lit­er­a­ture they view as threat­en­ing. One such case remains par­tic­u­lar­ly iron­ic giv­en the book in ques­tion: Ray Bradbury’s Fahren­heit 451, the sto­ry of a dystopi­an soci­ety in which all books are banned, and fire depart­ments burn con­tra­band copies.

Between the years 1967 and 1979, Bal­lan­tine pub­lished an expur­gat­ed ver­sion of the nov­el for use in high schools, remov­ing con­tent deemed objec­tion­able. Brad­bury was com­plete­ly unaware. For six of those years, the bowd­ler­ized ver­sion was the only one sold by the pub­lish­er. We can remem­ber this case when we read the response of writer Daniel Radosh to a per­mis­sion slip his son Milo brought home from his 8th grade teacher for a book club read­ing of Fahren­heit 451. Writ­ten in Milo’s own hand, the ini­tial note, at the top, informs Mr. Radosh that the nov­el “was chal­lenged because of it’s [sic] theme of the ille­gal­i­ty and cen­sor­ship of books. One book peo­ple got most angry about was the burn­ing of the bible. Sec­ond­ly, there is a large amount of curs­ing and pro­fan­i­ty in the book.”

After this con­fes­sion, Milo’s note asks for a parental sig­na­ture in a post­script. Address­ing the let­ter’s true writer, Milo’s teacher, Daniel Radosh respond­ed thus, in the typed note attached to his son’s let­ter.

I love this let­ter! What a won­der­ful way to intro­duce stu­dents to the theme of Fahren­heit 451 that books are so dan­ger­ous that the insti­tu­tions of soci­ety – schools and par­ents – might be will­ing to team up against chil­dren to pre­vent them from read­ing one.

It’s easy enough to read the book and say, ‘This is crazy. It could nev­er real­ly hap­pen,’ but pre­tend­ing to present stu­dents at the start with what seems like a total­ly rea­son­able ‘first step’ is a real­ly immer­sive way to teach them how insid­i­ous cen­sor­ship can be.

I’m sure that when the book club is over and the stu­dents realise the true intent of this let­ter they’ll be shocked at how many of them accept­ed it as an actu­al per­mis­sion slip.

In addi­tion, Milo’s con­cern that allow­ing me to add to this note will make him stand out as a trou­ble­mak­er real­ly brings home why most of the char­ac­ters find it eas­i­er to accept the world they live in rather than chal­lenge it.

I assured him that his teacher would have his back.

Radosh’s insin­u­a­tion that the let­ter his son was induced to write is not an “actu­al per­mis­sion slip” under­scores his claim that the exer­cise is real­ly a means of con­trol­ling chil­dren by means of col­lu­sion, even though, he jests, such a thing must be part of the les­son itself. Should he be allowed to read the nov­el, the sign­ing and deliv­ery of the per­mis­sion slip, Radosh dev­as­tat­ing­ly sug­gests, com­pletes Milo’s humil­i­a­tion, bring­ing home to him “why most of the char­ac­ters” in the book remain pas­sive, and “find it eas­i­er to accept the world they live in rather than chal­lenge it.”

In short, Radosh’s response, for all its pithy irony, digs deeply into the mech­a­nisms that sup­press speech deemed so “dan­ger­ous that the insti­tu­tions of society—schools and parents—might be will­ing to team up against chil­dren to pre­vent them” from read­ing it.

See Metro UK for a com­plete tran­scrip­tion of both let­ters.

via Vin­tage Anchor

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Ray Bradbury’s Clas­sic Sci-Fi Sto­ry Fahren­heit 451 as a Radio Dra­ma

The Cov­er of George Orwell’s 1984 Becomes Less Cen­sored with Wear and Tear

Frank Zap­pa Debates Cen­sor­ship on CNN’s Cross­fire (1986)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Watch a 20-Year-Old Mikhail Baryshnikov Win Gold in One of His Earliest Performances (1969)

How well does Mikhail Barysh­nikov dance? The ques­tion answers itself, giv­en that the very word “Barysh­nikov” has come to sig­ni­fy the mas­tery of that art, and espe­cial­ly of male roles in bal­let. Yet there was once a time when no young dancer aspired to become the next Barysh­nikov, because even Barysh­nikov had­n’t yet become Barysh­nikov. Born in Latvia to a dress­mak­er moth­er and an engi­neer father, he began study­ing bal­let in 1960, at age eleven. Four years lat­er, he entered the Vagano­va Acad­e­my of Russ­ian Bal­let, from which he went on to win the ven­er­a­ble Var­na Inter­na­tion­al Bal­let Com­pe­ti­tion and, in 1967, join the Kirov Bal­let and Marin­sky The­ater.

The clip at the top of the post shows Barysh­nikov’s per­for­mance at the 1969 Moscow Inter­na­tion­al Bal­let Com­pe­ti­tion, from which he came out, along­side oth­er such soon-to-be big bal­let names as Nina Soroki­na and Mali­ka Sabiro­va, as a gold lau­re­ate.

“Barysh­nikov’s tech­nique is fault­less, his inter­pre­ta­tion mag­nif­i­cent,” says the announc­er as the still ten­der-aged dancer, just twen­ty years old, exe­cutes a solo from La Bayadère. The praise would, from that point on, keep on com­ing, and not just from the Sovi­et Union; around the same time, New York Times crit­ic Clive Barnes called Barysh­nikov “the most per­fect dancer I have ever seen.”

Yet for all his skill, Barysh­nikov did­n’t fit the tra­di­tion­al bal­let tem­plate: he lacked the height of oth­er famous male dancers, for one, and he also har­bored a desire to go beyond the bound­aries of 19th-cen­tu­ry dance and explore 20th-cen­tu­ry dance’s pos­si­bil­i­ties for inno­va­tion. His defec­tion from the Sovi­et Union in 1974 made it pos­si­ble for him to work with for­ward-think­ing chore­o­g­ra­phers like Alvin Ailey and Twyla Tharp, and to this day, in his mid-60s, he con­tin­ues push­ing his per­for­ma­tive bound­aries on the stage and the screen. Whether the 20-year-old dancer we see here could pos­si­bly have imag­ined such a future for him­self — a future involv­ing projects like his role on Sex and the City in the 2000s and his much-viewed video with Lil Buck for Rag & Bone last year — only Barysh­nikov knows.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bal­let in Super Slow Motion

Bal­let Dancers Do Their Hard­est Moves in Slow Motion

Watch an Avant-Garde Bauhaus Bal­let in Bril­liant Col­or, the Tri­adic Bal­let First Staged by Oskar Schlem­mer in 1922

Google Gives You a 360° View of the Per­form­ing Arts, From the Roy­al Shake­speare Com­pa­ny to the Paris Opera Bal­let

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear 20 Minutes of Mark Frost’s New Secret History of Twin Peaks, the Book Fans Have Waited 25 Years to Read

We live in a good time to be a Twin Peaks fan. Amid the buzz of a third sea­son of David Lynch and Mark Frost’s inno­v­a­tive­ly sur­re­al prime­time dra­ma pre­mier­ing on Show­time next year, we’ve enjoyed the emer­gence of con­tem­po­rary Twin Peaks-relat­ed mate­ri­als (David Lynch’s hand-drawn map of the tit­u­lar small-town set­ting, the Japan­ese cof­fee com­mer­cials he set there) as well as new­er Twin Peaks-themed projects from oth­er cre­ators (an Atari game, an ele­men­tary school play). And now we can read Frost’s nov­el The Secret His­to­ry of Twin Peaks, billed by its pub­lish­er as “the sto­ry mil­lions of fans have been wait­ing to get their hands on for 25 long years.”

The nov­el­’s “362 pages cov­er what hap­pened to some of the peo­ple of that icon­ic fic­tion­al town since we last saw them 25 years ago, but the time­line starts as ear­ly as the 1800s with the jour­nals of Lewis and Clark,” says fan site Wel­come to Twin Peaks. It also “also offers a deep­er glimpse into the cen­tral mys­tery that was only touched on by the orig­i­nal series, and will include over 100 four-col­or illus­tra­tions and pho­tographs.” The near­ly ten-hour audio­book ver­sion fea­tures the voic­es of orig­i­nal cast mem­bers like Michael Horse as Deputy Hawk, Russ Tam­blyn as Dr. Lawrence Jaco­by, and most Twin Peaks of all, Kyle MacLach­lan as FBI Spe­cial Agent Dale Coop­er.

In the video and audio clips at the top of the post, you can sam­ple The Secret His­to­ry of Twin Peaks’ audio­book expe­ri­ence and get a sense of how it dif­fers from that of a nor­mal audio­book — and how the text itself dif­fers from that of a stan­dard nov­el. It takes the form not of a straight-ahead nar­ra­tive but a thor­ough FBI dossier, the print ver­sion of which Mered­ith Bor­ders of Birth.Movies.Death. describes as “an attrac­tive mul­ti-media hodge­podge, with Xerox­ed mani­la fold­ers and sticky notes, arrest reports, book cov­ers, pho­tos and sketch­es and maps and news­pa­per clip­pings.” The longer excerpt here delves into the sto­ry of Josie Packard, the wid­owed own­er of Packard Sawmill and a par­tic­u­lar­ly mys­te­ri­ous char­ac­ter in a cast of mys­te­ri­ous char­ac­ters. Not to give too much away, but her past involves a fash­ion empire, a Hong Kong drug tri­ad, and a “leg­en­dar­i­ly beau­ti­ful pros­ti­tute.”

As always in Twin Peaks, the more you learn, the stranger things get. But a true fan wants just that, and they can have it and then some by pick­ing up their own copy of the book or audio­book, the lat­ter of which they can get for free if they take audio­book provider Audi­ble up on their 30-day tri­al offer.

via Wel­come to Twin Peaks

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch Draws a Map of Twin Peaks (to Help Pitch the Show to ABC)

David Lynch Directs a Mini-Sea­son of Twin Peaks in the Form of Japan­ese Cof­fee Com­mer­cials

Play the Twin Peaks Video Game: Retro Fun for David Lynch Fans

Ele­men­tary School Stu­dents Per­form in a Play Inspired by David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Title Sequence, Recre­at­ed in an Adorable Paper Ani­ma­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.


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