Fact of the Day

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - BOO!!!!

Did you know.... If linguistics is any indicator, it would appear that everybody in the spirit realm speaks Scots English.

 

People have screamed “boo,” or at least some version of it, to startle others since the mid-16th century. (One of the earliest examples documented by the Oxford English Dictionary appeared in that 1560s poetic thriller, Smyth Whych that Forged Hym a New Dame.) But ghosts? They’ve only been using the word boo for less than two centuries.

 

The Mysterious Origins of the Word Boo
The etymology of boo is uncertain. The OED compares it with the Latin boare or the Greek βοᾶν, meaning to “cry aloud, roar, [or] shout.” Older dictionaries suggest it could be an onomatopoeia mimicking the lowing of a cow.

 

 

Whatever the origins, the word had a slightly different shade of meaning a few hundred years ago: Boo (or, in the olden days, bo or bu) was not used to frighten others but to assert your presence. Take the traditional Scottish proverb “He can’t say bo to a goose,” which for centuries has been a slick way to call somebody “timid” or “sheepish.” Or consider the 1565 story Smyth Whych that Forged Hym a New Dame, in which an overconfident blacksmith tries to hammer a woman back into her youth, and the main character demands of his dying experiment: “Speke now, let me se / and say ones bo!"

 

Or, as Donatello would put it: “Speak, damn you, speak!”

 

Boo Gets Scarier
But boo became scarier with time. After all, as the OED notes, the word is phonetically suited “to produce a loud and startling sound.” And by 1738, Gilbert Crokatt was writing in Presbyterian Eloquence Display’d that, “Boo is a Word that’s used in the North of Scotland to frighten crying children.”

 

In 18th century Scotland, bo, boo, and bu would latch onto plenty of words describing things that went bump in the night. According to the Dictionary of the Scots Language, the term bu-kow applied to hobgoblins and “anything frightful,” such as scarecrows. The word bogey, for “evil one,” would evolve into bogeyman. And there’s bu-man, or boo-man, a terrifying goblin that haunted man:

 

“Kings, counsellors, and princes fair,
As weel’s the common ploughman,
Hae maist their pleasures mix’d wi’ care,
An’ dread some muckle boo-man.”

 

It was only a matter of time until ghosts got lumped into this creepy “muckle boo-man” crowd.

 

Which is too bad. Before the early 1800s, ghosts were believed to be eloquent, sometimes charming, and very often literary speakers. The spirits that appeared in the works of the Greek playwrights Euripides and Seneca held the important job of reciting the play’s prologue. The apparitions in Shakespeare’s plays conversed in the same swaying iambic pentameter as the living. But by the mid-1800s, more literary ghosts apparently lost interest in speaking in complete sentences. Take this articulate exchange with a specter from an 1863 Punch and Judy script:

 

Ghost: Boo-o-o-oh!
Punch: A-a-a-ah!
Ghost: Boo-o-o-o-oh!
Punch: Oh dear ! oh dear ! It wants’t me!
Ghost: Boo-o-o-o-oh!

 

The Influence of Spiritualism
It’s no surprise that boo’s popularity rose in the mid-19th century. This was the age of spiritualism, a widespread cultural obsession with paranormal phenomena that sent scores of people flocking to mediums and clairvoyants in hopes of communicating with the dead.

 

 

Serious scientists were sending electrical shocks through the bodies of corpses to see if reanimating the dead was possible; readers were engrossed in terrifying Gothic fiction (think Frankenstein, Zastrozzi, and The Vampyre); British police departments were reporting a heightened number of ghost sightings as graveyards were plagued by “ghost impersonators,” hoaxsters who camped out in cemeteries covered in white robes and pale chalk. It’s probably no coincidence that ghosts began to develop their own vocabulary—limited as it may have been—during a period when everybody was curious about the goings-on within the spirit realm.

 

It may also help that boo was Scottish. Many of our Halloween traditions, such as the carving of jack-o’-lanterns, were carried overseas by Celtic immigrants. Scotland was a great exporter of people in the middle of the 1800s, and perhaps it’s thanks to the Scots-Irish diaspora that boo became every ghost’s go-to greeting.

 

Now that you know why ghosts say “boo,” find out a few regional terms for spirits and haunts that you might want to work into conversation, and learn about “ghost words”—nonexistent words that somehow found their way tino the dictionary.

 

Source: Why Do Ghosts Say “Boo”?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - MANGOS AND POISON IVY?

Did you know.... Many experienced hikers are familiar with the phrase “leaves of three, let it be.” That’s because poison ivy and oak can be identified by their three-leaf clusters. (The leaves of a poison sumac, it’s worth noting, bunch in groups of seven to 13.) Despite its name, poison ivy (Toxicodendron radicans) isn’t actually poisonous. Instead, it contains the organic compound urushiol, produced by the ivy’s leaves, which causes irritating allergic skin reactions. It’s thought that poison ivy, as well as other members of the plant family Anacardiaceae, produce this compound to fight off insects. Unfortunately, our skin can become an innocent bystander if it’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

However, urushiol isn’t sequestered in just these summertime foes — in fact, the compound is hiding among fruits at your local market. Poison ivy is in the same plant family as mangoes, and the skin of the fruit contains the same compound (though in a less concentrated form). Although the mango itself is safe to eat, reactions to mango skins — such as a rash — can vary in severity from person to person, and the amount of urushiol can vary from fruit to fruit. Green mangoes, for example, are known to contain more urushiol in their skin than ripe, multihued mangoes. 

 

Yet mangoes aren’t the only food with this irritant at your local grocery store. Cashews, which are also part of the Anacardiaceae family, are botanically known as “drupe seeds” produced by cashew trees (Anacardium occidentale). However, you’ll never see cashews sold in their shells, because the shells contain urushiol. So while “leaves of three” remains a good rule when bushwhacking in the backcountry, urushiol takes many forms — including some notably delicious ones.

 

There are thousands of varieties of mango.
When it comes to apples, many of us are familiar with the fruit’s plentiful varieties — Honeycrisp, Red Delicious, Granny Smith, Pink Lady, Fuji, etc. But in the fruit section of the average supermarket, you’ll likely come across only one or two types of mango. Such a small selection greatly undersells the vast variety of mangoes in the world, with names such as Kesar, Bombay Green, Totapuri, Francis, Alphonso, and Tommy Atkins — the kind you often find in the U.S. Although Florida, Hawaii, and Southern California today produce mangoes, a majority of the fruit in the U.S. comes from Mexico, where the warm climate can support cold-sensitive mango trees (they can be severely damaged or even die at temperatures below 30 degrees Fahrenheit). Although the Tommy Atkins variety is the most widely produced, the mango is not nearly as sweet or flavorful as other varieties — although it crucially has a longer shelf life. So if you ever find yourself in a warm, mango-filled paradise, definitely take a moment to try the local fruit.

 

 

Source: Mango skin contains the same irritant as poison ivy.

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE

Did you know.... The movie did not strike a chord with most audiences upon its release, but these days, it boasts some famous fans.

 

If you happened to live in Winnipeg in the mid-1970s, you may well have thought that Brian De Palma’s Phantom of the Paradise was a box office smash akin to The Godfather, Chinatown, or any other hit that stemmed from the burgeoning movement known as New Hollywood. After all, it played on and off in the Canadian city for an entire year and became such a favorite that it later spawned its own Phantompalooza festival.

 

In the rest of North America, however, the audacious rock opera—which skewered The Picture of Dorian Gray, Faust, and, as its name suggests, Gaston Leroux’s classic novel—was a commercial flop: Although some of the critical response was kind (“You practically get a kinetic charge from the breakneck wit he put into it,” The New Yorker’s esteemed Pauline Kael enthused about De Palma’s direction), Phantom of the Paradise was largely ignored by regular cinemagoers when it opened on Halloween in 1974. 

 

As the years passed, however, Phantom of the Paradise was reevaluated—and many concluded that the folks in Winnipeg were onto something. Today, the film is viewed as a cult classic with a long legacy.

 

“Dream It Never Ends”
The concept of Phantom of the Paradise wasn’t exactly a straight-forward sell. The tale of a composer who “sold his soul for rock and roll” wildly veers from industry satire to classic horror to musical parody and back again. Although De Palma initially hoped for stars the caliber of The Rolling Stones and The Who to provide the soundtrack, he ended up going with Carpenters/Three Dog Night hitmaker Paul Williams (de Palma also cast him as lead villain on noting his comparison to Napoleon). And while the director himself would soon join the Hollywood elite with the two-time Oscar-nominated Carrie (whose star, Sissy Spacek, worked as a set dresser on Phantom), his biggest film at that point had been Sisters, a morbid thriller about a murderous conjoined twin. 

 

 

Those who did jump on board Phantom of the Paradise, however, were rewarded with an idiosyncratic flight of fancy that embodied the old adage “they don’t make ’em like this anymore.” Williams in particular proved to be a revelation as the film’s central villain, Swan. Channeling Phil Spector at his most unhinged, and the unscrupulousness of the music business as a whole, the record producer exudes pure wickedness every time he slithers into shot. 

 

Swan’s first dastardly deed is to promise aspiring singer-songwriter Winslow Leach (stage actor William Finley) the world after hearing his original song “Faust”—in which Leach sings “For one love who would sing my song / And fill this emptiness in me … Dream each other’s smile / And dream it never ends”—only to steal it for his latest female protégé, ignore all his calls, and then frame him for dealing drugs, resulting in a lifelong sentence at Sing Sing prison.

 

Of course, this also proves to be the origin of Leach’s murderous alter-ego: He escapes from prison, burns the right side of his face at the HQ of Swan’s aptly-named Death Records, and appears to drown in the East River. Then, the vengeful (and apparently invincible) Leach heads to Swan’s hip and happening nightspot The Paradise, where he dons an owl-esque mask and black leather cape raided from the costume department and attempts to bomb the resident band now playing his material before confronting Swan. 

 

 

It’s here where Phantom of the Paradise starts to lean heavily into its key influences. Leach, now rechristened The Phantom, essentially signs a Faustian pact with his tormentor, and after he’s stabbed in the back again, he haunts The Paradise just like the more familiar Phantom did the Palais Garnier Opera House.

 

A Film Ahead of Its Time
De Palma pulls off all the kills in Phantom of the Paradise with both style and wit; see how the crowd, in a darkly comical scene, interprets The Phantom’s mid-performance electrocution of his drug-addled replacement Beef, played by Gerrit Graham as part of the show. The film also looks as spellbinding as its sounds, drawing upon everything from the German expressionism of Grand Guignol to the eroticism of Italian giallo (Dario Argento would later cast Phantom of the Paradise’s Phoenix, actress Jessica Harper, in Suspiria) and vivid colors of American comic books.

 

 

The film was never afraid to borrow from the past. Yet in many ways, it was also ahead of its time—particularly in how it skewers the world of showbiz: A highly choreographed sequence about the industry’s casting couch antics takes on new meaning in the wake of the #MeToo movement, while an attempted assassination on live TV—of which Swan declares, “That’s entertainment”—speaks to today’s glamorization of true crime.

 

 

 

On a lighter note, Phantom of the Paradise was also the first big screen rock opera to be set within the rock world, arriving a year before the film version of The Who’s Tommy, two years before The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and decades before the likes of Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny. Meanwhile, one could also argue that its opening number, The Juicy Fruits’ doo-wop parody “Goodbye Eddie Goodbye,” foreshadowed the nostalgia boom that often saw the 1980s in thrall to the ’50s.

 

"It’s amazing he would pick the guy who co-wrote ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’ to pen songs for a film that was supposed to be depicting the future of rock,” Williams later told Esquire. “But Brian saw something in my music that made him think I could span the various kinds of genres in the film. Plus, the great treat for me was that I was able to satirize the kinds of music I love, like the Beach Boys and ’50s stuff.”

 

Unfortunately, De Palma also proved to be bang on the money about the film’s lack of success: He told Filmmakers Newsletter in a pre-release interview that film studios didn’t know how to embrace the modern music market, and also predicted discontent from fans expecting to see an authentic depiction of the rock and roll world. “We weren’t making a movie for sophisticated rock people,” he said. “That’s why I think we’ll get a lot of backlash from music people who’ll say, ‘This isn't Alice Cooper or Mick Jagger.’ ”  

 

The Legacy of Phantom of the Paradise
While Phantom of the Paradise remains a lesser known entry in De Palma’s wide-ranging filmography, it’s since become a much more cherished one. There’s Winnipeg’s Phantompalooza festivals, of course, which Graham, Finley, and Williams attended in the mid-’00s. Directors like Edgar Wright and Guillermo del Toro have also cited it as a favorite; the latter is such a fan that he recruited Williams for his Pan’s Labyrinth musical. And it’s been hailed as a formative influence by electronic maestros Daft Punk: Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo first bonded as teens over dozens of viewings. (The film might also explain their leather-clad, helmet-headed appearance.) 

 

In 2018, Phantom of the Paradise got a one-off transfer from the screen to the stage at New York underground venue The Secret Loft. A year later, the documentary Phantom of Winnipeg explored why it’s become such a phenomenon in the Canadian city.

 

And let’s not forget Phantom of the Paradise arrived 14 years before The Phantom of the Opera opened on London’s West End. Sure, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s slightly more faithful adaptation might not have disfigured its antihero by sandwiching his head between a record press. Nor did it have him threatening his rival in the shower with a toilet plunger. But it may well have shown the impresario that the early 20th century novel could work in musical form. 

 

Some might even argue that Phantom of the Paradise boasts the superior songbook. After all, its original score picked up nominations at both the Academy Awards and the Golden Globes. And its inspired pastiches of surf pop (The Beach Bums’ “Upholstery”), and glam rock (Beef’s “Life at Last”) are more likely to stick in the memory than many of Webber’s Opera ballads.

 

“I’m really, really pleased with the movie, and I’m overwhelmed at the way it’s grown through the years,” Williams told Billboard in 2019. “The big philosophical/spiritual lesson, I suppose, is don’t write something off as a failure too quickly.”

 

Source: ‘Phantom of the Paradise’: How Brian De Palma’s Flop Rock Opera Became A Cult Classic

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - TRICK OR TREAT

Did you know.... The city had kept strict limits on Halloween revelry after a particularly bad time in the 1930s.

 

For most kids in the United States, October 31 is a time to grab a bag and solicit candy door to door. But the city of Des Moines, Iowa, has been a longtime exception. City officials there have discouraged trick or treating on Halloween since 1938. This year, they’ll finally be in sync with the rest of the country.

 

According to the Associated Press, Des Moines clamped down on candy seekers going around on October 31 after bouts of vandalism and mischief annoyed adults in the late 1930s. In 1938, police responded to over 500 complaints of fairly serious “tricks” that included heaving bricks and starting fires.

 

Eager to quell these ruffians, the city directed children to dress up on October 30, or Halloween eve. Instead of “tricks,” they were advised to offer up jokes, songs, or poetry, all in an effort to promote better behavior (and all in a limited window of time that usually ended around 8 p.m.). While this didn’t totally resolve problems—in the first year, one group of kids reportedly tossed a kerosene-soaked rag into a home that started a fire—it seemed to dampen the aspirations of young criminals.

 

So what changed this year? Inclement weather. Thunderstorms and possibly hail are expected to blanket the city Wednesday, prompting a shift in plans over to Thursday, when Halloween actually lands.

 

“To my knowledge, it has never been moved or canceled since it was established after Halloween in 1938,” Assistant city manager Jen Schulte told the AP. “However, the safety of our residents, families and children is always our top priority and led to the change in this year’s scheduled Beggars’ Night.”

 

Schulte is referring to one of the many names regions have adopted for the night before Halloween. In Philadelphia and New Jersey, it’s been referred to as Mischief Night; in Detroit, Devil’s Night; in Cincinnati, Damage Night. Most cities experience an uptick in property damage or vandalism on October 30. Des Moines, meanwhile, has been one of the few locations where delinquency was kept to a minimum.

 

Des Moines isn’t the only place to put guardrails around Halloween festivities. Several towns in Virginia had (or have) ordinances that restrict kids over 12 from wearing a mask or asking for candy.

 

Some legal experts believe the Halloween crackdowns could be a First Amendment issue, if one were to pursue such a case. “The Supreme Court has repeatedly upheld the right of individuals to engage in door-to-door solicitation for a variety of causes, including expressive activity and charitable fundraising,” attorney Daniel Ortner wrote in 2019. “Trick-or-treating is consistent with this tradition of expressive door-to-door activity. A trick-or-treater’s costume can be a form of speech protected against government censorship. Costumes are a way for people to express their likes and dislikes, and even to comment on politics and social issues.”

 

It’s unclear whether Des Moines will revert to its unique tradition next year or whether it will continue to celebrate Halloween on the 31st. That might depend on how many tricks are played on Thursday—though the city isn’t giving potential hooligans much leeway. They still need to wrap up their outings by 8 p.m.

 

 

Source: Des Moines, Iowa, Will Let Kids Trick or Treat on Halloween for the First Time Since 1938

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - WHY FIDO?

Did you know.... It’s rare to meet a dog that’s actually named Fido these days. 

“Fido” is a name that has become synonymous with all things dog. There’s FidoTV, a channel devoted to dog content. Nickelodeon once held the “Fido Awards” to honor impressive canines. Even the dog-like Pokémon is named “Fidough.” In fact, Fido has become such a cliché name that people have generally stopped using it, instead opting for more popular pooch names like Luna, Bella, Max, and Charlie. 

 

But, at one point, Fido was a common enough name to lead to this ongoing association with dogs. The name is a spin on the Latin word fidus, which means “faithful,” so it’s a fitting moniker for humankind’s best friend.

 

A Presidential Pet
President Abraham Lincoln often gets credit for popularizing the name. While he did have a significant role, Lincoln’s famous Fido wasn’t the first. There’s evidence of canines with the name going back to the mid-18th century. And in 1845, Fido or the Faithful Friend was a widespread children’s book about a boy and his pet dog. 

 

Lincoln’s Fido came into his life in 1855. This Fido was a mutt with long ears, a short tail, and yellow fur—or “‘yaller,” as Lincoln called it. Matthew Algeo’s book Abe & Fido: Lincoln's Love of Animals and the Touching Story of His Favorite Canine Companion cites a forensic veterinarian who used photographs to speculate the dog was “predominantly Labrador retriever.”

 

Abraham Lincoln’s dog Fido, photographed in 1860 

 

It’s unknown how the Lincolns got Fido, but Algeo notes that it was uncommon to purchase dogs at the time, so Fido was likely a stray. Not every member of the Lincoln family felt the same level of affection for him: Mary Lincoln and Bob, the eldest son, weren’t dog lovers. But Abe and his younger sons, Willie and Tad, were Fido’s biggest fans. 

 

Abe Lincoln and Fido were staples in Springfield, Illinois; community members got to know them both thanks to their frequent walks around town. The dog apparently enjoyed chasing his tail and jumping on people. He also had a favorite couch: a 7-foot-long sofa custom-made for Lincoln’s tall body. During peaceful times, Fido would lie on it. And during stressful times—which for the pup meant thunderstorms or loud community parties involving fireworks and cannons—he hid under it.

 

The American public was introduced to Fido when Lincoln ran for president. Campaign managers propped up the pet to make their candidate seem more accessible. But when Lincoln was elected in 1861, it marked the beginning of the end of Fido’s time with the family. He was skittish around commotion and had a rambunctious side, so Mary and Abe decided the dog couldn’t join them in the White House. Instead, he was left with the Roll family, their longtime friends. As a parting gift, Fido got to keep his favorite oversized sofa. Tragically, the animal was stabbed in the chest by a local in 1866—just one year after his former owner’s assassination. 

 

A Friend ’Til the End
Another Fido emerged on the scene decades later; he, too, shares credit for the name’s ubiquity. This Fido was a stray dog living in Borgo San Lorenzo, Italy, during World War II. As strays sometimes do, he “adopted” a human friend—in this case, a factory worker named Carlo Soriano—and accompanied him on his daily commute to and from the bus stop. 

 

Soriano died in 1943 when his workplace was bombed in the war. Fido showed up at the bus stop for the next 13–14 years (depending on the source), waiting for his friend. This story was covered in Time magazine and a handful of newspapers. This Fido still gets cited as an example of canine loyalty, which helps keep the name in the lexicon.

 

Even if there are fewer Fidos on the scene today, the term is alive and well to refer to dogkind. And who knows? Maybe some American president and bus stop enthusiasts will revive it sometime in the future. 

 

Source: Why Do We Call Dogs Fido?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - STINGY JACK

Did you know... No matter what face you carve into your Halloween pumpkin, it will probably be called the same thing: a jack-o’-lantern. But how did spooky illuminated squash get that name? Turns out, the term we use to describe glowing pumpkins comes from Stingy Jack, the main character in a centuries-old Irish myth. 

 

Americans haven’t always carved pumpkins; it wasn’t until the mid-1800s that squash was used for holiday fun. About 200 years before, those celebrating the harvest season in Ireland were making their own lanterns from turnips, beets, and other root vegetables as a way to ward off Stingy Jack, a phantom who roamed the countryside around the harvest. According to Irish lore, Stingy Jack (sometimes called Flakey Jack) was a swindler who took up drinking with the devil, though when the tab came due, he didn’t want to pay his share. After convincing the devil to turn into a coin, Jack trapped his drinking partner in his pocket, releasing him only with the agreement that Jack’s soul would stay free of the underworld. However, as in all folktales, there was a catch (and a warning about immoral behavior At the end of his life, Jack’s trickster soul wasn’t accepted into heaven or hell, leaving him to wander the earth with naught but a coal (provided by the devil himself) inside a turnip-turned-lantern. By the story’s end, Stingy Jack became “Jack of the Lantern,” which eventually morphed into “Jack O’Lantern.”

 

Irish immigrants brought the Stingy Jack story to America, though the name and practice of jack-o’-lantern carving took some time to catch on. It particularly picked up following the Civil War, when a grief-struck nation became fascinated by spirits and ghost stories, and it’s a tradition that’s been a fixture of autumn in America ever since.

 

There’s a species of orange mushrooms that glow in the dark.
Not every jack-o’-lantern requires a candle for illumination. Enter the jack-o’-lantern mushroom, a common fungi known for its ability to glow in the dark. The bright orange and yellow mushrooms often appear in summer and fall, popping up in clusters at the bases of trees, along stumps, or at the site of buried and decaying wood. After dark, the funnel-shaped fungi show off their bioluminescence, which appears as a faint green glow. There are two related species with the same common name, coloring, and ability to glow: Omphalotus olivascens grows in Mexico and California, while Omphalotus illudens grows throughout eastern North America. Mycologists (aka fungi scientists) are unsure why jack-o’-lantern mushrooms are equipped with the ability to light up, though some believe their ability to do so attracts animals that help spread their spores. The glowing tends to stop after the mushrooms are picked, though there’s another reason jack-o’-lantern mushrooms are best left alone: They’re packed with a toxin that can cause severe stomachaches.

 

 

Source: Jack-o’-lanterns come from an Irish myth about a man named Stingy Jack.

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - GRANDFATHER CLOCK

Did you know.... Time to explain the origin of this peculiar name.

 

Thanks to smart watches and smartphones, analog clocks aren’t quite as common a sight as they once were. One that still manages to make an impression is the grandfather clock, a vertically imposing timekeeper that feels more like furniture. A pendulum marks time; the case, often ornate, serves as a conversation piece.

 

What does a clock of this type have to do with grandfathers? Was it named after one grandfather in particular? Not exactly.

 

The Origins of the Grandfather Clock
The term grandfather clock has very little to do with any kind of familial inspiration, though the story behind it is that rare etymological find that can be easily traced to a single source: a musician.

 

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first known reference to a grandfather clock came in 1876, when songwriter Henry Clay Work composed a piece of sheet music titled “Grandfather’s Clock,” or “My Grandfather’s Clock.” In it, Work relates the story of a clock “taller by half than the old man himself” that “stood 90 years on the floor.” The time piece “kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime” as his grandfather began slipping away, but “stopp’d short, never to go again” when he passed on.

 

Work was apparently prompted to compose the tune after visiting the George Hotel in North Yorkshire, England. While there, he came across a non-working clock in the lobby. According to the hotel staff, the clock had previously been owned by two brothers who once operated the hotel. When one brother passed, the clock slowed; when the other brother died, it stopped immediately.

 

The story is unlikely to ever be corroborated and may have simply been an apocryphal tale told for the amusement of hotel guests. True or not, it inspired Work to write his song, which took off in a major way. “My Grandfather’s Clock” was a massive hit and the term became synonymous with this specific type of clock.

 

Obviously, such clocks existed before Work wrote a song about one. So what did everyone call it before that?

 

Longcase Clocks
Prior to Work popularizing a colloquial term, grandfather clocks were known as longcase or tall case clocks. Although pendulum mechanisms had been used in clocks—a development often credited to Dutch astronomer Christiaan Huygens circa the mid-1600s—it wasn’t until William Clement began adorning them in elaborate cases later on in the 17th century that longcase models took off.

 

The matter was one of practicality. Though longer pendulums were better for keeping accurate time, they were not terribly aesthetically pleasing. A longcase clock allowed for the pendulum to be encased in a visually attractive arrangement. The upper part, or hood, contained the clock itself; the middle, or waist, held the pendulum; the base provided support as well as a place for the clock's weights.

 

It’s not totally clear whether Clement invented the longcase clock or simply became renowned for his craftsmanship. He is often given credit, however, for improving the timekeeping accuracy of pendulum clocks.

 

Initially, such clocks were the purview of wealthier classes, as the labor and materials needed necessitated a hefty price tag. In Pennsylvania, German settlers considered it a sign of success and prosperity. Over time, however, the clocks began appearing in a growing number of homes and were soon framed as family heirlooms. Their status was probably enabled in part by their permanence—a grandfather clock is no easy thing to relocate—as well as their workmanship.

 

A more compact pendulum clock earned a nickname around the same time: Perhaps inevitably, it was known as a grandmother clock.

 

Source: Why Is It Called a ‘Grandfather Clock’?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - HISTORICAL CHRISTMAS WARS

Did you know.... Christmas has been canceled a fair number of times throughout history. Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch are both so well known for waging wars on Christmas that their names have become synonymous with a lack of festive spirit. But extreme feelings of “bah, humbug” don’t just exist in fiction, with real life wars on Christmas sometimes stretching for decades and even centuries. Here are seven times throughout history that holiday cheer was under attack.

 

Parliament canceled Christmas in Scotland in 1640.

 

Scotland is known for Hogmanay, its extravagant (and often booze-fueled) New Year’s Eve celebration. But the reason the festivities got so large is because Christmas was effectively canceled in the country for hundreds of years. The Scottish Reformation started in 1560, with Scotland splitting from the Catholic Church and instead turning to Protestantism. Christmas was a Catholic celebration, and while the feasts and merry-making of the holiday hung on for a while, in 1640, Parliament passed a law that officially banned “Yule vacance” (i.e. Christmas vacation). All that festive cheer had to go somewhere, so the Scots shifted their energy over to New Year. And although the ban was lifted in 1712, the Church still discouraged Christmas celebrations. It wasn’t until 1958 that Scots were officially given the day off as a public holiday and started to properly deck the halls again.

 

The government outlawed Christmas in England in 1647.

You may have heard that Oliver Cromwell canceled Christmas in England, but he actually only strengthened the ban that was already in place. Although the English Reformation started earlier than Scotland’s version—with King Henry VIII rejecting papal authority in 1534—England was a little slower in outlawing Christmas and all of its (in Protestant eyes) sinfully lavish trappings. In 1644, an ordinance was issued that stated Christmas in England, Ireland, and Wales should be a day of “solemne humiliation, because it may call to remembrance our sinnes” of forgetting to honor Jesus and instead “giving liberty to carnall and sensuall delights” on Christmases past. Another ordinance officially abolished the holiday in 1647.  Not everyone was happy to give up the festivities; rowdy parties sometimes had to be broken up by force. During the 1650s, Cromwell made the ban even harsher, with new laws introducing penalties for anyone who held or attended a Christmas church service and orders for all shops to continue doing business on December 25. But whereas Scotland went without Christmas for hundreds of years, people in England, Wales, and Ireland went back to freely drinking and feasting over the 12 Days of Christmas in 1660 thanks to Charles II seizing power and reinstating the holiday.

 

Puritans banned Christmas in Massachusetts in 1659.

Across the Atlantic, Puritan settlers in Massachusetts also took issue with Christmas. The General Court passed a law in 1659 that sought to stop the “disorders” caused by the holiday, with anyone caught “forbearing of labour” or “feasting” on December 25 facing a five shilling fine. As well as disliking the boisterous behavior that resulted from Christmas celebrations, the Puritans were also against the holiday because of its non-Christian roots—Roman Catholics had essentially hijacked the pagan winter festivities of Saturnalia—and its lack of evidence in the Bible. The ban was lifted in 1681 without having spread to other colonies in America, but Christmas didn’t become a federal holiday until 1870 under the presidency of Ulysses S. Grant.

 

French revolutionaries renamed Christmas “Dog Day” at the end of the 18th century.

When the French Revolution kicked off in 1789, it wasn’t just Marie Antoinette and her fellow royals who were under attack, with Christianity—and by extension, Christmas—also facing the wrath of the rebels. Throughout the 1790s, the revolutionary government destroyed crosses, closed churches, and had practicing priests arrested. Anyone who wanted to celebrate Christmas had to do so in secret. An atheist group called the Cult of Reason even renamed the jolly holiday “Dog Day” (Le Jour Du Chien). Midnight Mass was only off the festive schedule for a few years, though; when Napoleon Bonaparte seized power in 1799, the country was able to have a joyeux Noël again.

 

Joseph Stalin canceled Christmas in Russia in 1929.

Joseph Stalin was staunchly atheist, so there was no place for Christmas in his Soviet Russia. In 1929, the government officially banned Christmas, with December 25 declared a working day and the decorating of evergreen trees prohibited. Communist Party member Pavel Postyshev didn’t agree with the ban. In 1935, he wrote an article in the newspaper Pravda calling for Christmas trees to be reintroduced. Stalin was willing to oblige, but only if religion didn’t play a part in the holiday. As a result, the secular elements of Christmas were brought back—including Russia’s version of Santa Claus, Ded Moroz (Father Frost), and his granddaughter Snegurochka (Snow Maiden)—and the whole celebration was shifted over to New Year. To this day, Russia still rings in the New Year with many of the trappings the Western world associates with Christmas. As for the religious aspect of Christmas, Catholics and Protestants celebrate on December 25, while Orthodox Christians—who make up the majority—celebrate on January 7.

 

Adolf Hitler Nazified Christmas in Germany in 1933.

Germany is the birthplace of a few Western Christmas traditions—including Christmas trees and advent calendars—but the holiday significantly changed when Adolf Hitler came to power in 1933. Given that Jesus was Jewish, celebrating his birthday didn’t exactly fit with the Nazis’ antisemitic ideology, so the government set about taking Christ out of Christmas. A larger emphasis was put on the pagan origins of the holiday, with its roots being traced back to Germanic winter solstice celebrations. Christmas trees got a makeover, with swastika and military decorations replacing religious ornaments. The star on top of the tree also had to go—five pointed stars evoked the symbol of the Soviet Union, while six points recalled the Jewish Star of David—so a Germanic sun wheel was used instead. The lyrics of Christmas carols were also changed to get rid of religious references, and an entirely new carol, “Exalted Night of the Clear Stars,” was even written to further spread Nazi propaganda.

 

Fidel Castro banned Santa Claus in Cuba in 1959.

When Fidel Castro became prime minister of Cuba in 1959, he quickly set about implementing his vision for the country—which included banning Santa Claus. Old Saint Nick was given the boot because, in the words of Vicentina Antuña, the government’s director of culture, he’s “a recent importation [from the U.S.] and foreign to our culture.” Cuban kids would still get presents, but they’d have to wait until January 6, the feast of Epiphany, and the gifts would supposedly be delivered not by Santa, but by the Three Wise Men. Castro took his war on Christmas a step further 10 years later. He wanted people working on the sugar harvest, so he banned Christmas celebrations outright. Cuba was Christmas-less until 1997, when Castro allowed the holiday to be celebrated in anticipation of the upcoming visit of Pope John Paul II. That year was supposed to be the only exception, but Christmas has been celebrated in Cuba ever since.

 

 

Source: Historical ‘Wars on Christmas’

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - SUPREME COURT JUSTICE

Did you know.... Technically, serving on the U.S. Supreme Court doesn’t have to be a life sentence.

 

There are few political appointments quite as important as a nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court. Unlike a cabinet secretary or an ambassador, justices serve for life. In the modern era, that often means more than three decades on the court. Thanks to increased lifespans, justices appointed in the next century are expected to sit on the Supreme Court for an average of 35 years, compared to the average of around 16 years that judges served in the past. Because of this shift, some scholars have begun to question whether lifetime appointments are still appropriate, as the definition of “for life” has changed so much since the Constitution was written. But why do justices serve for life, anyway?

 

Well, for one thing, the U.S. Constitution doesn’t exactly specify that justices and the court are in a “’til death do us part” relationship. Article III says that judges (of both the Supreme Court and lower federal courts) “shall hold their offices during good behavior.” So technically, a judge could be removed if they no longer meet the “good behavior” part of the clause, but there are otherwise no limits on their term. In practice, this means they have their seat for life, unless they are impeached and removed by Congress. Only 15 federal judges in U.S. history have ever been impeached by Congress—all lower court judges—and only eight have been removed from office, though some have resigned before their inevitable removal.

 

The only Supreme Court justice Congress has tried to impeach was Samuel Chase, who was appointed by George Washington in 1796. Chase was an openly partisan Federalist vehemently opposed to Thomas Jefferson’s Democratic-Republican policies, and he wasn’t afraid to say so—either in his role as a lower court judge or once he was appointed to the Supreme Court. In 1804, the House of Representatives, at then-president Jefferson’s urging, voted to impeach Chase, accusing him, among other things, of promoting his political views from the bench instead of ruling as a non-partisan judge. However, he was acquitted of all counts in the Senate, and went on to serve as a Supreme Court justice until his death in 1811.

 

The point of giving justices a seat on the bench for the rest of their lives (or, more commonly nowadays, until they decide to retire) is to shield the nation’s highest court from the kind of partisan fighting the Chase impeachment exemplified. The Supreme Court acts as a check against the power of Congress and the president. The lifetime appointment is designed to ensure the justices are insulated from political pressure and that the court can serve as a truly independent branch of government.

 

Justices can’t be fired if they make unpopular decisions, in theory allowing them to focus on the law rather than politics. Justices might be nominated because a president sees them as a political or ideological ally, but once they’re on the bench, they can’t be recalled, even if their ideology shifts. Some data, for instance, suggests that many justices actually drift leftward as they age.

 

The lack of term limits “is the best expedient which can be devised in any government, to secure a steady, upright, and impartial administration of the laws,” Alexander Hamilton wrote in the Federalist No. 78. The judiciary, he believed, “is in continual jeopardy of being overpowered, awed, or influenced by its coordinate branches,” and “nothing can contribute so much to its firmness and independence, as permanency in office.” Without lifetime job security, he argued, judges might feel obligated to bow to the wishes of the president, Congress, or the public, rather than confining their work strictly to questions of the Constitution.

 

While lifetime appointments may be a longstanding tradition in the U.S., this approach isn’t the norm in other countries. Most other democracies in the world have mandatory retirement ages if not hard-and-fast term limits for high court judges. UK Supreme Court justices face mandatory retirement at age 70 (or 75 if they were appointed before 1995), as do judges on Australia’s High Court. Canadian Supreme Court justices have a mandatory retirement age of 75, while the 31 justices of India’s Supreme Court must retire by the age of 65. Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., the oldest justice in U.S. history, retired in 1932 at age 90.

 

Though the U.S. Supreme Court has never had term limits before, there have recently been serious proposals to implement them. Term limits, advocates argue, could combat partisan imbalances on the court. Presidents wouldn’t get to appoint justices purely based on whether someone died while they were in office, and the stakes for political parties nominating a justice would be slightly lower, possibly leading presidents and Congress to compromise more on appointments. One popular suggestion among political analysts and scholars is to impose an 18-year term limit, though critics note that that particular plan does bring up the potential that at some point, a single president could end up appointing the majority of the justices on the court.

 

In any case, considering such a change would likely require a constitutional amendment, which means it’s probably not going to happen anytime soon. For the foreseeable future, being on the Supreme Court will continue to be a lifetime commitment.

 

 

Source: Why Do Supreme Court Justices Serve for Life?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - ORIGIN: MAY YOU LIVE IN INTERESTING TIMES

Did you know.... This so-called “Chinese curse” gets thrown around a lot during times of civil unrest and political upheaval, but where did it actually originate?

 

At first, it’s easy to think that the phrase may you live in interesting times is a form of wishing someone well. After all, interesting times are better than boring ones, right? 

 

But in fact, the most compelling periods to look back on throughout history don’t tend to be very pleasant ones. Stories of war, conquest, famine, corruption, and other awful events tend to dominate history books. Riveting as those events can be, in hindsight, the average person who lives through such difficult times generally experiences a lot of fear and hardship.

 

For this reason, may you live in interesting times is said to be more of a curse than any sort of warm tiding—not a mystical kind of hex, but still, a way of wishing someone ill. Below, discover more of the fascinating (albeit murky) origins of this commonly used phrase.

 

How RFK Popularized the Phrase
One of the most famous uses of the phrase was in Robert F. Kennedy’s Day of Affirmation address, which took place at the University of Cape Town in June 1966.

 

In what has since been dubbed his “Ripple of Hope” speech, Kennedy drew parallels between the struggles against Apartheid in South Africa and the U.S. Civil Rights movement, emphasizing that turbulent times are often in pursuit of grander ideals of equality. RFK attributed a particular saying to an old Chinese adage:

 

“There is a Chinese curse which says, ‘May he live in interesting times.’ Like it or not, we live in interesting times. They are times of danger and uncertainty; but they are also the most creative of any time in the history of mankind.”

 

 

As the “Ripple of Hope” speech gained more attention worldwide, it helped popularize the phrase, particularly among intelligentsia types like Albert Camus and Hillary Rodham Clinton, who further propelled it into more widespread usage.

 

For motivational purposes, the quote certainly does the trick. But RFK’s speechwriter was wrong about one thing: There’s actually no such curse or proverb in Chinese. A Chinese phrase similar to RFK’s quote appears in the 1627 short-story collection Stories to Awaken the World. The tome’s anti-war message is palpable in the phrase (寧為太平犬, 不做亂世人, or níng wéi tàipíng quǎn, bù zuò luànshì rén in Simplified Chinese), which means “it’s better to be a dog in a peaceful time than be a man in a chaotic period.”

 

Who Used the Phrase First?
While it’s true that the fundamental idea of may you live in interesting times could have been borrowed from an old Chinese proverb, this doesn’t fully explain how the phrase turned into a “curse,” especially with the concept of “interesting” times as opposed to simply chaotic ones. Likely, the classic version of this saying—at least, as Americans know it—is due to a mistranslation (or misunderstanding) tracing back to early 20th-century British diplomats.

 

The year 1936, in particular, saw the sudden emergence of the saying throughout the British diplomatic corps. In the memoir Diplomat in Peace and War, Sir Hughe Knatchbull-Hugessen, a British ambassador to China, recalls a conversation about it: “Before I left England for China in 1936, a friend told me that there exists a Chinese curse—’May you live in interesting times.’ If so, our generation has certainly witnessed that curse’s [fulfillment].”

 

That very same year, Frederic R. Coudert, honorary vice president of the American Society of International Law, exchanged letters with diplomat Sir Austen Chamberlain, a longtime friend and the brother of Neville Chamberlain, who became British Prime Minister in 1937. Coudert finished one letter to Sir Austen with a casual remark about how they were “living in an interesting age.”

 

According to Coudert, Chamberlain wrote back in reply, “I learned from one of our diplomats in China that one of the principal Chinese curses heaped upon an enemy is, ’May you live in an interesting age.’” Chamberlain also reportedly claimed that “no age has been more fraught with insecurity than our own present time.”  

 

 

It’s since been theorized that the Chamberlain family may have not only spread the newfound phrase but also been responsible for its exact wording. Austen and Neville’s father, Joseph Chamberlain, was a politician in his own right and used the specific phrase we live in interesting times in a few speeches around 1898 to 1901, so his sons would have likely known it. 

 

Though it’s entirely possible that the phrase originated from a conversation between Sir Austen and another diplomat based in China (who possibly misunderstood the concept behind it’s better to be a dog in a peaceful time) it’s likely that racist attitudes toward China played a big role in why it came to be seen as a hex of sorts.

 

It’s not a Chinese curse at all. But crediting the phrase to “ancient Chinese wisdom” likely made it feel more mystical—and thus more memorable—to midcentury spectators who read or overheard it. This mysterious appeal would have made it seemingly perfect fodder for speeches—even if it was probably more of a British-made idiom than a Chinese one in the end.

 

Source: Where Does the Phrase ‘May You Live In Interesting Times’ Actually Come From?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the day - TONGUE AND METAL POLE

Did you know... Do not lick any cold metal objects, no matter who triple dog dares you.

 

It’s a scene that will play on countless televisions this holiday season. Nine-year-olds Ralphie, Schwartz, and Flick are gathered outside school on a cold winter day. Flick cries out, “Are you kidding? Stick my tongue to that stupid pole? That’s dumb!” Schwartz responds, “That's ‘cause you know it’ll stick!” Eventually, Schwartz wields the triple dog dare. Flick has no choice but to press his tongue to the metal pole. It sticks, and he can’t pull himself away. The police and fire department are called in to save the poor boy’s tongue. 

 

But is this classic scene from 1983’s A Christmas Story just a fictionalized way for Hollywood to prove a point about the power of playground peer pressure? (Or, just how “dumb” Harry really is in Dumb and Dumber?) Unfortunately not. As many kids have learned over the years, you actually can get your tongue stuck to a cold metal object. 

 

 

 

When two objects touch—like a tongue and a metal pole—they work toward “thermal equilibrium,” or being the same temperature. To get there, heat must be transferred from object to object. Metal can conduct heat very quickly. When a warm tongue hits cold metal, the metal immediately starts taking heat from the appendage. The saliva from the tongue will freeze, and very quickly, leaving that tongue—and the person it belongs to—essentially glued to the metal pole. This can happen with any frozen metal and any wet body part, like a lip or a hand. 

 

You may have experienced a version of this phenomenon when licking ice or a popsicle that feels kind of sticky. Ice is also pretty good at conducting heat, though not as good as metal, so the end result is not as gnarly. 

 

Other materials don’t conduct heat that well. If Schwartz had dared Flick to lick an object made of wood or plastic, the kid would have made it back to class with the rest of his friends, his tongue still intact. 

 

 

 

Hopefully, that’s enough to convince you not to accept this triple dog dare anytime soon. But, if you do happen upon someone who has made this mistake, the New York-Presbyterian Hospital’s website has guidance for handling the situation. The stuck individual should not just yank their tongue off the surface. Instead, you can help them by applying warm (not hot) water or air. If that doesn’t work, it’s time to call emergency services. Any resulting injuries should be examined by a doctor. 

 

Thankfully, the crew of A Christmas Story knew not to mess around. The flagpole in the scene was covered in plastic and painted to look like rusty metal. The crew put a tiny hole in the plastic and used a vacuum cleaner to apply suction to the young actor’s tongue, which made it look stuck. It probably was not pleasant to film—but it was easy to pull the tongue away with no medical professionals required.

 

 

Source: Can You Really Get Your Tongue Stuck to a Metal Pole?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - MOST MYSTERIOUS SONG

Did you know... How hard could it be to identify a song? If it was taped from a German radio station 40 years ago, the answer is: very.

 

In the 1900s, solving confounding mysteries was the domain of detectives at places like Scotland Yard. In the 21st century, the internet has taken up that mantle. Crowdsourcing puzzling events has led to a number of breakthroughs, particularly when it comes to “lost” media like the original Shrek test footage and an eerie Sesame Street cartoon. In the most recent example, cyber-sleuths have seemingly identified an obscure song that’s defied explanation for decades.

 

 

 

According to the outlet 404, the origin of the German new wave track (which can be heard in the video above) that was the focus of considerable research is now known to be “Subways of Your Mind,” a song by a German band named FEX.

 

The discovery came several years into a widespread effort to pinpoint where the arrangement came from, though the saga itself dates back decades. In 1984, a man in Germany that Rolling Stone identified as “Darius” taped the song off the radio, reportedly pulling it from a music program airing on NDR1 known as Musik Für Junge Leute, or “Music for Young People.” Much later, in 2007, his sister shared an incomplete digital version to several online forums hoping to identify it. (She feared uploading the full track might spur a copyright hassle, though that was certainly one way of discovering who recorded it.)

 

The search grew more serious in 2019, when the full song was posted to YouTube as well as Reddit and its many music subreddit discussion forums. Much speculation ensued, both over lyrics or the nationality of the band itself. While German was likely, they could have been Polish, Russian, or something else.

 

Then someone had the notion to delve into the hundreds of bands that played at a German music festival, Hörfest, during this era. It was possible one of them was the band behind the song.

 

Per 404, it was Reddit user Marijn1412 who discovered the smoking gun in the form of a German newspaper article. The story described a musician named Michael Hädrich whose style was similar to that of the unknown song and who had played at the music festival. The Redditor got in touch with Hädrich, who confirmed “Subways of Your Mind” was a recording made by one of his bands, FEX.

 

The musician later spoke with the German news outlet Tz and said he could corroborate the song’s origins with studio recordings as well as live show performances. Hädrich apparently had no idea his song was the focus of such scrutiny, and he’s now plotting a reunion with his bandmates Norbert Ziermann and Ture Rückwart. He’s lost contact with drummer Hans Siever, however. Maybe that’s another mystery the internet can resolve.

 

 

Source: The Origins of the Internet’s Most Mysterious Song Have Been Revealed

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - FIRE HYDRANT

Did you know... For early Americans, fire was a feared necessity; it warmed homes, provided hot meals, and offered late-night reading light. But fire could also destroy entire communities, which was probably the inspiration behind the invention of the fire hydrant — though we may never really know the full story, thanks to a fire in 1836.

 

At the time, Americans had been eagerly filing patents for nearly five decades thanks to the Patent Act of 1790, recommended to Congress by President George Washington himself. By the 1830s, the Patent Office housed nearly 10,000 patents — an impressive but risky collection considering they were all original documents with no copies.

 

On December 15, 1836, a fire in the basement of Blodgett’s Hotel (which then housed the Patent Office, U.S. Post Office, and a branch of the local fire department) smoldered from the embers of ashes that had been stored alongside firewood in a wooden box. Firefighters stationed in the building responded to the growing blaze, but couldn’t do much with the department’s dilapidated hoses. The former hotel — and every document inside — was gone in under 20 minutes. Assigned the impossible task of reconstructing its records, the Patent Office put out a call to inventors to mail in any documentation they had of their awarded patents, but only around 2,800 patents were restored. Those that couldn’t be reproduced were voided. In the years since, some scholars have pointed to Frederick Graff Sr., an early 19th-century Philadelphia engineer, as the possible inventor of the fire hydrant. However, another innovator by the name of Birdsill Holly Jr. was awarded a patent in 1869 for his “modern” fire hydrant, which was soon adopted in cities around the U.S. and Europe. Today, the United States Patent and Trademark Office takes up five buildings in Alexandria, Virginia, and many patents are applied for and stored digitally — making them much less likely, thankfully, to be destroyed by fire.

 

The 1890 census was also lost in a fire.
Family historians know the frustrating difficulty of tracing ancestors through time, only to lose track of them between 1880 and 1900 thanks to two fires that destroyed nearly all of the 1890 census. Counting nearly 63 million people, that census was the first of its kind; while census-takers had been performing the population count every decade since 1790, the 1890 count was the first to use an electrical tabulation system with data punched into cards. And unlike with prior censuses, the only records were forwarded on to Washington, D.C., despite the former protocol of leaving some copies with local county clerks. Six years after the count’s close, a fire destroyed some of the data in March 1896, though the general population schedules — the personal information that most genealogists sift through today — remained intact. But a second fire at the U.S. Commerce Building in January 1921 dramatically changed that picture; while some of the census documents were initially considered salvageable, water and mold damage soon rendered most illegible. By the mid-1930s, the government destroyed the remaining documents despite public outcry — a controversy that would set in motion the creation of the National Archives.

 

 

Source: The original patent for the fire hydrant was destroyed in a fire.

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - POTATOES

Did you know... New dietary guidelines are roasting potatoes for not living up to expectations.

 

When we gorge on potatoes—baked, fried, mashed, or otherwise—we often reassure ourselves that it can’t be too much of an indulgence. Potatoes are vegetables, after all, and vegetables are good for us, right?

 

This willful self-deception may not be possible for much longer: Potatoes could potentially be reclassified and lose their vegetable status.

 

Food & Wine reports that the U.S. Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee is flirting with the idea of slotting potatoes into the grain category in its updated 2025 dietary guidelines in an attempt to promote more balanced nutritional profiles for Americans. (The committee recognizes fruits, grains, proteins, vegetables, and dairy.) By eliminating potatoes as vegetables, it may lead people to consume more nutrient-dense, cruciferous options like broccoli.

 

Potato advocates disagree with the proposal. Representatives from the National Potato Council and other pro-potato groups spoke before the committee in September to defend the starchy carb. NPC CEO Kam Quarles insisted that “potatoes are a vegetable [and] not a grain.” Quarles added that, unlike other starches, potatoes are rich in potassium and vitamins. A reclassification, he added, could confuse consumers and result in a “chaotic outcome.”

 

Potatoes have long been a source of controversy in nutrition circles. Under a strict definition, potatoes are the edible portion of a plant, and thus a vegetable. But they behave differently in the body. “A potato is not a vegetable from a nutrition point of view,” Harvard’s Lilian Cheung told CNBC. “Potatoes almost behave like a refined carbohydrate. It increases your blood sugar.”

 

Others regard potatoes as a starchy vegetable, joining the likes of corn and lentils.

 

The U.S. Dietary Guidelines are a joint effort between the Department of Agriculture and the Department of Health and Human Services. The current version was established in 2020 and is set to expire in 2025. The guidelines for 2025 to 2030 are currently under review. When finished, they’ll help inform nutrition education, nutrition guidance, and meal assistance programs.

 

As it stands, potatoes are the most-consumed vegetable in the United States. Tomatoes are in second place (despite technically being a fruit).

 

Source: A Tuber Tiff: Potatoes May No Longer Be Considered a Vegetable

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - MIDLIFE CRISIS

Did you know.... Humans are members of the great ape family Hominidae, and the physical similarities between us and our primate cousins are clear. We have the same arrangement of internal organs and roughly the same number of bones, we lack external tails, and we even get the same diseases. So it only makes sense that we share some psychological similarities as well. A 2012 study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences reported that chimpanzees and orangutans experienced a midlife crisis similar to that of humans.

 

The study analyzed the behavior of 508 chimps and orangutans in captivity at zoos in five different countries, and found that these animals’ well-being hits its nadir around their mid-20s or early 30s (the equivalent of middle age for chimps and orangutans). Of course, scientists couldn’t directly ask the chimpanzees how they felt, but instead relied on zookeeper questionnaires to assess the animals’ overall mood, level of joy in social situations, and how successful they were in achieving particular goals. Although the dataset is subjective, its sheer size highlights an overall trend that’s remarkably human, since we also tend to experience a dip in happiness and well-being around midlife. It’s just another trait that entwines us with our primate brethren. 

 

One of humanity’s closest living relatives is matriarchal.
Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) and bonobos (Pan paniscus) are the closest living relatives to humans — they both share 98.8% of our DNA. Despite these similarities, these two members of the Pan genus developed entirely different social structures. While chimps form dominant (and often violent) male hierarchies, bonobos — which are only found in the central forest of the Democratic Republic of the Congo — are matriarchal. This is particularly striking because female bonobos leave their birthplace before puberty, and so often form strong female bonds with no familial ties whatsoever. Why do female bonobos form such bonds when their chimpanzee cousins do not? One theory suggests that the plentiful resources found in central DRC — compared to the drier climates of equatorial Africa where chimps live — allowed female bonobos to feel less competition when foraging, creating room for stronger bonds.

 

 

Source: Apes go through a midlife crisis.

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - TURKEY GIBLETS

Did you know... Don’t throw away the bag of spare parts that comes inside your Thanksgiving turkey. Those giblets can be used to elevate your meal.

 

With November here, it’s time to start planning for Thanksgiving. While many people prefer classic sides like macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, the holiday wouldn’t be complete without turkey. There are countless tips out there for preparing the perfect bird, but what should you do with the bagged giblets that come inside it? You might be tempted to toss them, but the assortment of innards can add a boost of flavor to your meal.

 

Mental Floss spoke with chef Shawn Matijevich from the Institute of Culinary Education (ICE) to learn more about giblets and what to do with them. First, knowing which organs come in the giblet bag is important. “Typically, when you’re buying [a turkey] from the grocery store, it’s going to have the heart, liver, neck, and gizzards,” Matijevich tells Mental Floss.

 

Although the organs come in the same bag, Matijevich notes they don’t cook at the same rate. However, the culinary possibilities are endless.

 

He says the heart can cook like any other chicken cut and doesn’t take long to prepare: “I like to thread them on a skewer and grill those. That probably only takes three or four minutes.” The neck is a little different because it has a lot of bones and connective tissue. “That’s something that is usually simmered for a while—like 45 minutes or an hour,” Matijevich says.

 

Gizzards require more work if you’re particular about textures. They tend to be on the chewier side, which can be off-putting for some. If that consistency bothers you or others, Matijvech suggests tenderizing the meat by soaking it in salt water for a while. 

 

Regarding gizzard seasoning, the ICE chef says any spice blend you’d use with fried chicken should pair well with the organs. “Stronger flavors like coriander, clove, and cumin are all fine. If you want to do something lighter, thyme, black pepper, paprika, and cayenne pepper would be good, too,” he suggests. Matijvech adds that fried gizzards are a common appetizer that goes well with a sweet and sour sauce or gravy.

 

The chef usually sautés the liver briefly because it’s a delicate organ. Sautéing the parts for 45 seconds per side should do the trick. “[Livers are] not meant to be cooked all the way through if you’re going to eat them whole,” he says. “You want them medium [done].” Matijevich typically adds liver to salads for extra flavor. He also recommends making the organ into a pâté and spreading it on toast. 

 

Most people use giblets for gravy, but adding liver to the mix is a huge mistake. “You wouldn’t want to use [liver] in gravy because [the organ] would cause it to have a really strong flavor,” he says. If you want to use the other bits for gravy, prepare them into a stock. Add the pan drippings from your roast turkey, flour, and salt and pepper to taste make a mouthwatering condiment.

 

 

Source: What Are Turkey Giblets—And What Should You Do With Them?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - MAN IN THE IRON MASK

Did you know... A purported bet between two wealthy men resulted in a third vowing to walk around the world in a knight's helmet while pushing a baby stroller—for 10 years.

 

It was as odd a sight as London had ever seen. On New Year’s Day in 1908, a crowd in Trafalgar Square gathered to observe a man wearing a helmet in the style of a medieval knight. In front of him was a perambulator, or baby carriage, that was devoid of any infant. Emblazoned on his shirt were the words masked, as though it weren’t obvious, and walking ’round the world. A sign sprouting from the top of his mask had the same inscription.

 

“Goodbye!” he shouted to those congregating, the words muffled by his headgear. “See you in 10 years!”

 

As he had explained to press, the man was about to embark on a bizarre journey in which he was determined to walk through hundreds of cities around the world while pushing the carriage. He declared he had been handed specific stipulations for completing the task, including that no one ever discover his true identity and that he be given no money or other means of support.

 

If he were to complete the walk, he would receive $100,000 (roughly $3.2 million today). While this was better than no reason at all, it still invited a host of questions. Who was paying him? And why? How could he prove he had traversed the globe? What would he do for money? Most importantly—who was he?

 

The answers would be forthcoming. But as one might expect, the man in the iron mask would prove a highly unreliable narrator.

 

The Wager
The story began in 1907, when a self-proclaimed playboy in his early thirties named Harry Bensley walked into the posh National Sports Club in London’s West End and happened to overhear an animated conversation. Walking closer, he discovered that the two men speaking were American financier John Pierpont (J.P.) Morgan and the impressively wealthy Hugh Cecil Lowther, the 5th Earl of Lonsdale.

 

According to Bensley, he was friendly with Morgan and saw that Morgan and Lowther were in a lather over whether it would be possible for a man to navigate different cities in different countries on foot, pushing a baby carriage, and without ever being identified. The talk seemed to be heading toward no satisfactory conclusion when Bensley piped in.  

 

“This wager was laid by a friend of mine, a well-known American millionaire, as the outcome of an argument that took place at a club in Pall Mall,” Bensley said later. “He declared that no Englishman would walk around the world masked and pushing a perambulator. After hearing the conditions I at once made up my mind to accept the wager myself.”

 

There were several other conditions, all bizarre. Bensley could have 1 pound (roughly 100 pounds or nearly $130 USD today) in seed money but would otherwise have to support himself without accepting gifts or gratuities of any kind. He would have to don a helmet when out in public to avoid being recognized. He must push the baby carriage and have an escort. He had to travel to 169 cities and towns in the UK and 125 cities in 18 other countries. He had to find a wife during his travels. And to prove his feat, he’d secure signatures from the mayor or other official of each area he visited.

 

Bensley—though no one knew it was Bensley—set off January 1, 1908, with plans to journey through England before venturing off to Scotland, Canada, Japan, and beyond. Context for his journey appeared in newspapers, though one didn’t have to read a story to be struck by the sight of a man in a helmet pushing a stroller. Everywhere Bensley went, curious crowds gathered, some desiring photos which were distributed by his assistant, a man known only as Mr. Allen.

 

Their visits proved newsworthy. When they arrived in Penzance in April 1908, The Cornishman newspaper wrote: “The arrival in the town of such strangely equipped individual aroused no little interest, and a representative of The Cornishman waited upon him at the Golden Lion Hotel, where host Tom Martin is looking after his comforts … The Man in the Iron Mask is a well set-up individual, and his conversation betrays that he is man of considerable education and culture.”

 

His calves, the reporter added, “seemed equal to a long journey.”

 

The attention was the solution to Bensley’s biggest problem: money. For as little as a penny, he sold postcards, photos, and pamphlets, all bearing his likeness. The baby carriage acted as a place to hold his inventory. And business was brisk: At some stops he sold 600 to 800 mementos, enough to keep him solvent for food and lodging.

 

There were certainly inconveniences. At 4 pounds, 5 ounces, the helmet was an unnatural accessory that must have proven taxing. He removed it for eating, though if he had to be around others he would dine behind a screen. A room was also safe harbor, or so he thought: Once, a maid hid under his bed in the hopes she could catch a glimpse of the man with his mask off. (She was not successful.)

 

The greatest danger for Bensley’s anonymity turned out to be the law. He once sold a postcard to a curious child in Bexleyheath without giving it a second thought and without realizing the area he was in prevented commerce on the street without a proper license. He was hauled in before a judge and explained his situation. The court amiably allowed him to keep his mask on while being arraigned.

 

At the end of 1908, Bensley estimated he had walked 2400 miles, averaging 10 miles per day. Incredibly, he had even found a wife, who joined up with him on his trek. He had planned to head to Scotland next; to hit all the countries needed would take years.

 

 

While some newspapers had covered Bensley’s trip in earnest, others thought it too odd to regard with any sincerity. Shortly after his departure, a correspondent for The Province in Vancouver observed that “of course the man in the helmet is only advertising the baby carriage, the helmet, or himself. I don’t know which, but I know it’s one or the other.”

 

The unnamed columnist was on to something.

 

A Well-Traveled Lie
In January 1909, just one year into Bensley’s wager, he proceeded to detail what some had already suspected. There had been no wager in the West End club, no argument between Morgan and Lowther, and no $100,000. It was all simply a ruse.

 

Bensley had been serving time in prison for bigamy when he began reading about the man in the iron mask, a French prisoner circa the late 1600s whose identity had never been uncovered and who later served as inspiration for the Alexandre Dumas novel The Man in the Iron Mask. Bensley, who was not the man of means he sometimes portrayed himself as, settled on the idea of boasting of a wager in order to visit various towns and peddle his postcards for a profit.

 

Even his marriage was a sham—sort of. “One of the conditions … stipulated that I should find a wife ‘on the road,’ ” he said. “I already had a wife, and intended getting her to join me as soon as I could provide a suitable conveyance for her use.”

 

Bensley was able to entice investors for his scheme, securing money to begin printing postcards and purchasing a helmet, which he obtained at a theatrical costume shop. His escort “Mr. Allen” was merely someone who was helping to fund the enterprise.

 

How long Bensley was planning to continue this is unclear. But he did disclose why he stopped after just 10 months. “The strain began to tell upon me,” he said. “My eyes ached and suffered with racking pains in my head. On several occasions I fainted by the roadside, and sometimes I was even confined to my bed for two or three days at a stretch.”

 

Walking every day for miles had worn Bensley down. His condition concerned his wife, Kate, who insisted he stop the stunt. “I should have liked to have continued with it,” he said, “but circumstances were too strong for me.” Upon departing Wolverhampton in December 1908, he returned home, boasting he had supported himself and his wife and assistant for nearly a year on postcards and other paper ephemera alone.

 

At some point, however, Bensley appeared to have a change of heart regarding his fictional wager. He later resurfaced to declare he had been traveling right up through 1914 and that he had but a scant few miles to go on his estimated 30,000-mile path when the journey was aborted due to the outbreak of the first world war. J.P. Morgan, he said, paid him 4000 pounds, or roughly $420,000 today, as a kind of consolation prize.

 

There was a considerable problem with this story. Morgan died in March 1913, making it impossible for him to settle up on a bet unless Bensley had employed a spiritual medium. This version also ignores Bensley’s earlier confession. Given the times and how slow news was to travel, it’s possible he hoped that people may have missed his 1909 disclosure.

 

Indeed, they did. Subsequent stories about Bensley right up and on through his death at age 80 in 1956 repeated the broad strokes of the “wager” and his international walk credulously. His descendants later shared a version of the story Bensley himself related to them just before his death in which Bensley agreed to the wager, but not voluntarily. Instead, they said, he had lost too big a hand in poker and was forced into the situation to settle his debt. As it’s no more believable than his first explanation, it’s likely Bensley’s 1909 telling is the closest there is to the truth.

 

Bensley’s stunt prompted some copycat behavior. Danish journalist Marius Bernstarf Schroder declared he would travel the world while wearing handcuffs 22 hours a day; a pair known as Dianelli and Zenarchi stuffed themselves in a barrel, vowing not to emerge unless necessary while they were shuttled around; others were pushed around in wheelbarrows. All were said to be part of a wager.

 

As for Bensley, he likely never left the UK. Equally dubious is whether he ever met Morgan or Lowther. And rather than having a fortune, it appears he worked odd jobs after settling down in Essex.

 

Bensley imposed one additional condition on himself for the wager: He could don only one pair of underwear the entire trip. It’s a wonder he lasted as long as a year.

 

Source: Iron Man: The Weird Wager of Harry Bensley, Who Walked 2400 Miles in a Helmet

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - YOUR DOG'S COLLAR

Did you know... There are several important factors to take into consideration.

 

You’ve arrived back home from your daily walk with your pup. Now, should you leave their collar on or take it off? The answer depends on a few different factors—but it’s important to be well-informed to best make your choice. 

 

Should dogs always wear a collar?
“If I’m at home and my dog is supervised, then the collar could be on,” Emma Murdock, professional dog trainer at Walk With Me Dog Training in Ottawa, Ontario, tells Mental Floss. “But if they are home alone, I would take the collar off.”

 

Collars can pose a safety risk. They can get caught on furniture or other household objects; this can potentially lead to injury and sometimes even death as the animal contorts themselves and attempts to break free from the snag. According to the Ryder Safe Foundation, a non-profit that focuses on dog collar safety, an estimated 26,000 collar related injuries happen every year, with 50 percent of vets having seen a incident of this kind in pets. 

 

 

Murdock suggests removing a dog’s collar when they’re in a crate or a kennel because the garment itself or any identification tags on it can get caught and cause a dangerous situation for your pet. She acknowledges that there could be some situations where it may be ok to put your pup in a crate with their collar still on, but the dog must remain supervised. In general, though, if your dog is confined in a kennel or crate, it’s best to take the collar off.

 

The type of collar you use for your pet on a daily basis also matters. “I would never allow a dog to wear a chain-type or choke-type collar that goes over the head,” Murdock says. “I know dogs that have died of that.” When choosing a collar, make sure it has a quick-release clip that allows for easy removal if your dog becomes caught on something. Remember that collar-related incidents can happen not only in your home, but also in the yard, at the dog park, or in other locations, so you want to be able to release it quickly and safely. 

 

If your dog has to wear one for much of the day, choose a well-fitted collar—you should be able to put two fingers stacked or four fingers flat under it, no looser, no tighter. Make sure to adjust the size as your dog’s body changes, like when your new pup grows into a mature dog or if your pet loses or gains weight. Some dogs might also react to certain collar materials like metal or nylon, so if their skin shows any signs of irritation, switch to one made from leather or cotton. 

 

When to Keep Your Dog’s Collar On
Removing your dog’s collar at home decreases the risk of injury, but what if you have a dog with a tendency to flee at the first sign of an open door? “If you have a dog who is a flight risk, who bolts out the door or escapes the yard, then it’s more beneficial to keep it on,” Murdock says. Make sure that your dog is microchipped—that will serve as another form of identification if your pet ever escapes without their collar in place. 

 

 

Another reason you might have a collar on in the home is if you are actively training your dog, as you’ll need a collar and a leash as part of their regimen. But typically, a dog in training is supervised, so the risk to your pet is controlled. 

 

For some people, the sound of the tag jingling is enough to drive them to take their pet’s collar off even if it should actually be kept on. But there are solutions to that too. “You can get tag quieters or you can have the collar engraved,” Murdock says.

 

The easy answer is if you are at home and your pet is supervised, it’s OK to keep their collar on; if your dog is home alone or in a crate, take it off. In situations when keeping your pet’s collar on is a necessity—because they might flee or they are in training—then you must first make sure the piece is comfortable, well-fitted, and has a quick-release-type clip. 

 

 

Source: Should You Remove Your Dog’s Collar When at Home?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - EGGPLANTS

Did you know.... You may wonder how a long, purple fruit came to be called an “eggplant.” It all has to do with a specific popular variety from the 18th century known for its egglike color and circular shape. Eggplants were domesticated in the Indo-Burma region as early as 300 BCE and were called vatingana — a Sanskrit word derived from vani, meaning “wind.” During the British occupation of India, English horticulturist John Abercrombie took note of a particularly common local cultivar that looked white and spherical, much like a typical bird’s egg. In 1767, he wrote about this “egg-plant” in the book Every Man His Own Gardener, denoting the first use of the term in English literature.

 

While these white, circular eggplants have since fallen out of fashion, similar varieties including the Easter eggplant are still grown. But in general, the most widely grown type of eggplant is known for its dark purple color and elongated shape. It wasn’t until the early 19th century that a shift to this variety took place in the United States, when new eggplant seeds were brought over by immigrants from various parts of Asia. In time, those colorful eggplant varieties came to displace the once-standard pale, ovate type.

 

Despite the fruit’s change in appearance, the original nomenclature stuck in the United States and Canada. However, other areas have coined names of their own. In the United Kingdom, the fruit is known as an “aubergine” (a French loanword). A brightly colored variant is referred to as a “garden egg” throughout parts of Africa and the Caribbean. And around the 16th century, eggplants were also briefly called “mad apples” in Europe, a name inspired by the fact that they’re members of the nightshade family and thus were once believed to be poisonous if eaten.

 

The Caesar salad wasn’t named after Julius Caesar.
It’s a common misconception that the Caesar salad was named after Roman statesman Julius Caesar. In reality, it was named for Italian American restaurateur Caesar Cardini. After Prohibition became law in the United States in 1920, the California-based Cardini decided to open a new restaurant across the border in Tijuana, Mexico, so he could legally serve alcohol. But it wasn’t the booze that kept people coming back — it was the salad he became known for. While the exact origin of the dish is debated, there are some theories. According to his daughter, Rosa, the salad was improvised on a busy Fourth of July weekend when the restaurant ran out of various ingredients. The one thing we know for sure is that Cardini claimed credit for the recipe, and in 1938, he moved back to Los Angeles and opened a shop to sell bottles of his beloved namesake salad dressing.

 

 

Source: Eggplants got their name because some were originally white and round.

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - PETS AND CHRISTMAS TREES

Did you know.... Christmas trees can be potentially dangerous to pets—just like pets can be potentially dangerous to Christmas trees.

 

Everyone loves Christmas trees, but there’s no disputing that their presence in homes over the holidays has consequences. Real trees disperse pine needles and require watering; artificial trees rarely go back into a storage container easily.

 

Beyond logistical hassles, Christmas trees pose another issue. They may be a potential hazard for inquisitive pets. Are trees dangerous to dogs and cats? If so, how?

 

Whether a tree is real or fake, the needles can prove to be an attractive proposition for dogs, which are hardly discriminating when it comes to what they put in their mouth. A swallowed needle can create gastrointestinal irritation, while oils from a real tree could promote illness. Cats can also munch on needles, and both pets may be tempted to drink from the water-filled stand of a real tree. Any added preservatives or bacteria from that water can also prompt an adverse reaction.

 

It’s not just the tree itself that can cause issues. A dog or cat knocking over an ornament creates a sharp pile of glass or other material, while lights could see a pet get tangled up. Additional decorations like mistletoe and holly are outright toxic to animals. Cats react badly to lilies as well, even experiencing kidney failure.

 

While all this sounds like a holiday house of horrors, obviously pets are able to peacefully co-exist with holiday decorations. It’s a good idea to monitor you pets for the first few days after putting up a tree or other display to see if they have any curiosity about it. Even better would be to put up a baby or pet gate around the tree to discourage them from getting too close.

 

According to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA), it’s also wise to avoid decorating with tinsel, as its shiny surface can be attractive to cats. Also be aware of lighted candles that pets could knock over and try to keep wires out of reach.

 

If you want to be extra careful, some pet owners anchor their trees to walls to prevent pets from tipping them over. You can also try to keep more fragile ornaments higher up on the tree and out of reach.

 

 

Source: Are Christmas Trees Dangerous to Pets?