You Can Have Your Ashes Turned Into a Playable Vinyl Record, When Your Day Comes

Even in death we are only lim­it­ed by our imag­i­na­tion in how we want to go out. There are now ways to turn our corpse into a tree, or have our ash­es shot into space, or press our ash­es into dia­monds–I believe Super­man is involved in that last one. And now for the music lover, a com­pa­ny called And Viny­ly will press your ash­es into a playable vinyl record.

You like that pun­ny com­pa­ny name? There’s more: the busi­ness lets the dear depart­ed “Live on from beyond the groove.” Hear that groan? That’s the deceased lit­er­al­ly spin­ning in their grave…on a turntable.

The UK-based com­pa­ny has been around since 2009, when Jason Leach launched it “just for fun” at first. But a lot of peo­ple liked the idea and have kept him in busi­ness.

It will cost, how­ev­er. The basic ser­vice gen­er­al­ly costs between £1000 and £3000 GBP, and it part­ly depends on how many vinyl records you pro­duce. From what we can tell, you can­not use copy­right-pro­tect­ed music to fill up the 18–22 min­utes per side. So no “Free Bird” or “We Are the Cham­pi­ons,” unfor­tu­nate­ly. But you can put any­thing else: a voice record­ing, or the sounds of nature, or com­plete silence. Get more infor­ma­tion over at the com­pa­ny’s FAQ.

No doubt, the ser­vice can pro­vide com­fort and a mem­o­ry trig­ger for those left behind. The above video, “Hear­ing Madge,” is a short doc about a son who took record­ings of his moth­er and used And Viny­ly to make a record out of them. It’s sweet.

“I’m sure a lot of peo­ple think that it’s creepy, a lot of peo­ple think it’s sac­ri­le­gious,” the man says. “But I know my moth­er wouldn’t have. She would’ve thought it was a hoot.”

Jason Leach, a musi­cian and vinyl col­lec­tor him­self, talks of the imme­di­a­cy of sound and what it means to many.

“Sound is vibrat­ing you, the room, and it’s actu­al­ly mov­ing the air around you,” he says. “And that’s what’s so pow­er­ful about hear­ing someone’s voice on a record. They’re actu­al­ly mov­ing the air and for me that’s pow­er­ful.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Cleese’s Eulo­gy for Gra­ham Chap­man: ‘Good Rid­dance, the Free-Load­ing Bas­tard, I Hope He Fries’

Bronze Age Britons Turned Bones of Dead Rel­a­tives into Musi­cal Instru­ments & Orna­ments

Watch Carl Sagan’s “A Glo­ri­ous Dawn” Become the First Vinyl Record Played in Space, Cour­tesy of Jack White

Death: A Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Course from Yale Helps You Grap­ple with the Inescapable

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts.

Chuck Jones’ The Dot and the Line Celebrates Geometry & Hard Work: An Oscar-Winning Animation (1965)

The ani­mat­ed short above, The Dot and the Line, direct­ed by the great Chuck Jones and nar­rat­ed by Eng­lish actor Robert Mor­ley, won an Oscar in 19656 for Best Ani­mat­ed Short Film. Based on a book writ­ten by Nor­ton Juster, “The Dot and the Line” tells the sto­ry of a romance between two geo­met­ric shapes—taking the arche­typ­al nar­ra­tive tra­jec­to­ry of boy meets girl, los­es girl, wins girl in the end (find­ing him­self along the way) and inject­ing it with some fas­ci­nat­ing social com­men­tary that still res­onates almost fifty years lat­er. One way of watch­ing “The Dot and the Line” is as a “tri­umph of the nerd” sto­ry, where an anx­ious square (as in “uncool”) Line has to com­pete with a hip­ster beat­nik Squig­gle of a rival for the affec­tions of a flighty Dot.

The Line begins the film “stiff as a stick… dull, con­ven­tion­al and repressed” (as his love inter­est says of him) in con­trast to the groovy Squig­gle and his groovy bebop sound­track. With the pos­si­ble sug­ges­tion that this love trans­gress­es mid-cen­tu­ry racial bound­aries, the Line’s friends dis­ap­prove and tell him to give it up, since “they all look alike any­way.” But the Line per­sists in his fol­ly, indulging in some Wal­ter Mit­ty-like rever­ies of hero­ic endeav­ors that might win over his Dot. Final­ly, using “great self-con­trol,” he man­ages to bend him­self into an angle, then anoth­er, then a series of sim­ple, then very com­plex, shapes, becom­ing, we might assume, some kind of math­e­mat­i­cal wiz. After refin­ing his tal­ents alone, he goes off to show them to Dot, who is “over­whelmed” and delight­ed and who “gig­gles like a school­girl.”

Here the sub­text of the nerd-gets-the-girl sto­ry­line man­i­fests a fair­ly con­ser­v­a­tive cri­tique of the “anar­chy” of the Squig­gle, whom the Dot comes to see as “undis­ci­plined, grace­less, coarse” and oth­er unflat­ter­ing adjec­tives while the line—who pro­claimed to him­self ear­li­er that “free­dom is not a license for chaos”—is “daz­zling, clever, mys­te­ri­ous, ver­sa­tile, light, elo­quent, pro­found, enig­mat­ic, com­plex, and com­pelling.” I can almost imag­ine that George Will had a hand in the writ­ing, which is to say that it’s enor­mous­ly clever, and enor­mous­ly invest­ed in the val­ues of self-con­trol, hard work, and dis­ci­pline, and dis­trust­ful of spon­tane­ity, free play, and gen­er­al groovi­ness. At the end of the film, our Dot and Line go off to live “if not hap­pi­ly ever after, at least rea­son­ably so” in some cozy sub­urb, no doubt. The moral of the sto­ry? “To the vec­tor belong the spoils.”

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Carl Sagan Explains Evo­lu­tion in an 8‑Minute Ani­ma­tion

Watch “Geom­e­try of Cir­cles,” the Abstract Sesame Street Ani­ma­tion Scored by Philip Glass (1979)

Jour­ney to the Cen­ter of a Tri­an­gle: Watch the 1977 Dig­i­tal Ani­ma­tion That Demys­ti­fies Geom­e­try

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

How Sylvester Stallone Rescued the First Rambo Film With a Radical Recut, Cutting It From 3½ Hours to 93 Minutes

About a year ago, a cer­tain kind of cinephile took note of obit­u­ar­ies for Ted Kotch­eff, a tele­vi­sion-turned-film direc­tor who worked steadi­ly from the mid-fifties to the mid-nineties. Even to read­ers only casu­al­ly acquaint­ed with movies, more than one title pops out from his fil­mog­ra­phy: The Appren­tice­ship of Dud­dy Kravitz, Fun with Dick and Jane, North Dal­las Forty, Week­end at Bernie’s. The focus on gen­res, and their vari­ety, sug­gests not an auteur but a jour­ney­man, the kind of effi­cient, ver­sa­tile prob­lem-solver that used to keep Hol­ly­wood afloat. But occa­sion­al­ly, the work of a jour­ney­man can achieve its own kind of tran­scen­dence: that moment came with First Blood, in Kotch­ef­f’s case, which launched the Ram­bo series in 1982.

Those who remem­ber Sylvester Stal­lone’s John Ram­bo as a head­band­ed one-man army bent on re-fight­ing and win­ning the Viet­nam War, one bout of ultra-vio­lence at a time, will be sur­prised by the rel­a­tive meek­ness of his first onscreen incar­na­tion.

As First Blood’s sto­ry is sum­ma­rized by the Cin­e­maS­tix video above, Ram­bo drifts into a small Wash­ing­ton town after a search for his Viet­nam com­rades comes to a fruit­less end. Hos­tile­ly eject­ed by the local sher­iff, he nev­er­the­less walks right back into city lim­its. Arrest­ed and booked at the police sta­tion, he turns on the cops in a PTSD-trig­gered rage. When he makes his escape into the for­est, the law pur­sues him, leav­ing him no choice — at least in his own mind — but to declare war on the police, the town, and per­haps the whole of Amer­i­can civ­i­liza­tion.

This is a promis­ing enough nar­ra­tive for a post-Viet­nam genre pic­ture, as a vari­ety of pro­duc­ers must have thought while David Mor­rel­l’s orig­i­nal nov­el was cir­cu­lat­ing through Hol­ly­wood. But only the star pow­er of Stal­lone, with the first cou­ple of Rocky pic­tures under his belt, could get it made. And indeed, he almost got it un-made: dis­mayed by its ini­tial three-and-a-half hour cut, he decid­ed to buy the rights and destroy the neg­a­tive. The solu­tion that end­ed up sav­ing the movie was­n’t much less dras­tic, pro­duc­ing a 93-minute cut that excised most of Ram­bo’s dia­logue. The result, as Cin­e­maS­tix cre­ator Dan­ny Boyd explains, pos­sess­es the good kind of ambiva­lence, which lets the audi­ence share not just the belea­guered pro­tag­o­nist’s per­spec­tive but also that of his increas­ing­ly frus­trat­ed pur­suers, who esca­late the bat­tle out of all pro­por­tion to his actions. 44 years on, First Blood still offers sur­pris­es, not the least of which is that Ram­bo — for the last time in his career — nev­er actu­al­ly kills any­one.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Viet­nam War Shaped Clas­sic Rock–And How Clas­sic Rock Shaped the War

Muham­mad Ali Explains Why He Refused to Fight in Viet­nam: “My Con­science Won’t Let Me Go Shoot My Broth­er… for Big Pow­er­ful Amer­i­ca” (1970)

Mick­ey Mouse in Viet­nam: The Under­ground Anti-War Ani­ma­tion from 1968, Co-Cre­at­ed by Mil­ton Glaser

The Alche­my of Film Edit­ing, Explored in a New Video Essay That Breaks Down Han­nah and Her Sis­ters, The Empire Strikes Back & Oth­er Films

How Edit­ing Saved Fer­ris Bueller’s Day Off & Made It a Clas­sic

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Why Salvador Dalí and Luis Buñuel Made the Still-Shocking Un Chien Andalou (1929)

Under most cir­cum­stances, there’s noth­ing par­tic­u­lar­ly shock­ing about cut­ting into an eye removed from a dead ani­mal. Gra­tu­itous, maybe, and sure­ly dis­gust­ing for some, but cer­tain­ly not psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly dam­ag­ing. I remem­ber a man turn­ing up one day to my first-grade class­room and show­ing us how to dis­sect a real sheep­’s eye, which most of us found a fas­ci­nat­ing break from our usu­al spelling and math exer­cis­es. But in edu­ca­tion as in art, con­text is every­thing, and it is the con­text estab­lished by Sal­vador Dalí and Luis Buñuel that has allowed their own act of eye-slic­ing to retain its vis­cer­al impact. It occurs, of course, in their short film Un Chien Andalou, from 1929, the sub­ject of the new Nerd­writer video above.

The shot of Buñuel’s hand tak­ing a razor to the dis­em­bod­ied eye of what he lat­er said was a calf comes ear­ly in the pic­ture. What gives it its pow­er are the images that pre­cede it: Buñuel sharp­en­ing a razor and gaz­ing up at the moon, and the actress Simone Mareuil hav­ing her own eye opened up and the razor brought near. In extreme close-up, the calf’s eye obvi­ous­ly isn’t Mareuil’s, but no mat­ter.

Cin­e­ma is so often about car­ry­ing the audi­ence along with sheer momen­tum, and in any case, Un Chien Andalou is a work of sur­re­al­ism. To the extent that any com­bi­na­tion of shots makes sense, it fails on that move­men­t’s terms. Dalí and Buñuel suc­ceed­ed, pos­si­bly to a unique degree, in mak­ing a film in which noth­ing adds up. “The rule was to refuse any image that could have a ratio­nal mean­ing, or any mem­o­ry or cul­ture,” says Buñuel in a late inter­view clip includ­ed in the video.

Nerd­writer cre­ator Evan Puschak lists a few of the images that made the cut: “A crowd sur­round­ing a man pok­ing a sev­ered hand with a stick; a man drag­ging two Jesuit priests, one played by Dalí him­self, as well as two pianos laden with two decom­pos­ing, ooz­ing don­keys; a wom­an’s armpit hair sud­den­ly appear­ing over a man’s van­ished mouth.” The goal of assem­bling such grotes­queries into one dis­or­dered view­ing expe­ri­ence? “Buñuel felt that main­stream cin­e­ma, so con­cerned with re-cre­at­ing the con­ven­tions of the nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry nov­el, was trap­ping itself in the same insid­i­ous moral­i­ty and lim­it­ing its cre­ative poten­tial. He and Dalí sought to lib­er­ate the medi­um and the audi­ence, and that lib­er­a­tion was not designed to be pleas­ant.” Near­ly a cen­tu­ry on, Un Chien Andalou remains mem­o­rably trou­bling, but most of cin­e­ma still stub­born­ly refus­es to be freed.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Short Sur­re­al­ist Film That Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Cin­e­ma: Luis Buñuel & Sal­vador Dalí’s Un Chien Andalou (1929)

Two Vin­tage Films by Sal­vador Dalí and Luis Buñuel: Un Chien Andalou and L’Age d’Or

Watch Luis Buñuel’s Sur­re­al Trav­el Doc­u­men­tary A Land With­out Bread (1933)

The 10 Favorite Films of Avant-Garde Sur­re­al­ist Film­mak­er Luis Buñuel (Includ­ing His Own Col­lab­o­ra­tion with Sal­vador Dalí)

Sal­vador Dalí Goes to Hol­ly­wood & Cre­ates a Wild Dream Sequence for Alfred Hitch­cock

Film­mak­er Luis Buñuel Shows How to Make the Per­fect Dry Mar­ti­ni

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Simpsons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teachers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Literature

The Simp­sons has mocked or ref­er­enced lit­er­a­ture over its many sea­sons, usu­al­ly through a book Lisa was read­ing, or with guest appear­ances (e.g., Michael Chabon & Jonathan Franzen, Maya Angelou and Amy Tan). And it has ref­er­enced Edgar Allan Poe in both title (“The Tell-Tale Head” from the first sea­son) and in pass­ing (in “Lisa’s Rival” from 1994, the title char­ac­ter builds a dio­ra­ma based on the same Poe tale.)

But on the first ever “Tree­house of Hor­ror” from 1990—the Simp­sons’ recur­ring Hal­loween episode—they adapt­ed Poe’s “The Raven” more faith­ful­ly than any bit of lit found in any oth­er episode. The poem, read by James Earl Jones, remains intact, more or less, but with Dan Castellaneta’s Homer Simp­son pro­vid­ing the unnamed narrator’s voice. Marge makes an appear­ance as the long depart­ed Lenore, with hair so tall it needs an extra can­vas to con­tain it in por­trait. Mag­gie and Lisa are the censer-swing­ing seraphim, and Bart is the annoy­ing raven that dri­ves Homer insane.

Castel­lan­e­ta does a great job deliv­er­ing Poe’s verse with con­vic­tion and humor, while keep­ing the char­ac­ter true to both Homer and Poe. It’s a bal­anc­ing act hard­er than it sounds.

Suf­fice it to say that this for­ay into Poe was good enough for sev­er­al teach­ers’ guides (includ­ing this one from The New York Times) to sug­gest using the video in class. (We’d love to hear about this if you were a teacher or stu­dent who expe­ri­enced this.) And it’s the first and only time that Poe got co-writ­ing cred­it on a Simp­sons episode.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Simp­sons Pay Won­der­ful Trib­ute to the Ani­me of Hayao Miyaza­ki

Watch The Simp­sons’ Hal­loween Par­o­dy of Kubrick’s A Clock­work Orange and The Shin­ing

Thomas Pyn­chon Edits His Lines on The Simp­sons: “Homer is my role mod­el and I can’t speak ill of him.”

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts.

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The Productive Writing Routines of Haruki Murakami, Stephen King, and Virginia Woolf, Explained

Just days ago, Haru­ki Murakami’s Japan­ese pub­lish­er announced that his six­teenth nov­el will come out this sum­mer. A brief sec­tion of The Tale of KAHO, trans­lat­ed into Eng­lish by Philip Gabriel, appeared in the New York­er in 2024. The full book will run to 352 pages, mak­ing it a fair­ly hefty work for a 77-year-old nov­el­ist who’s been at it for almost half a cen­tu­ry now. Murakami’s unflag­ging pro­duc­tiv­i­ty must owe some­thing to his famous­ly rig­or­ous con­struc­tion of his life around the twin poles of writ­ing and run­ning, two activ­i­ties that demand long-term endurance. In this video, the YouTu­ber Mari­Writ­ing attempts it her­self: wak­ing up every morn­ing at 4:00 a.m., work­ing on a sin­gle project for five to six hours, then run­ning ten kilo­me­ters — or, in her case, at least get­ting out and walk­ing for a while.

How­ev­er indis­pens­able Muraka­mi may con­sid­er run­ning to his writ­ing life, he’s also employed oth­er idio­syn­crat­ic and seem­ing­ly effec­tive tech­niques of which oth­ers can make use. Take, for exam­ple, the way he got over the block stop­ping him from mak­ing progress on his first nov­el by writ­ing its open­ing chap­ter in Eng­lish, then trans­lat­ing it back into his native Japan­ese.

He also adheres to an edit­ing process con­sist­ing of four spaced-out phas­es, each one focused on a dif­fer­ent ele­ment of the man­u­script. Things work a bit dif­fer­ent­ly for Stephen King, who’s less than two years old­er than Muraka­mi, but has pub­lished 67 nov­els, twelve sto­ry col­lec­tions, and five books of non­fic­tion, among many oth­er projects. Yet, as under­scored in Mari­Writ­ing’s video here, King, no less than Muraka­mi, writes in a whol­ly rou­tinized way that con­sti­tutes “self-hyp­no­sis.”

Vir­ginia Woolf prob­a­bly got her­self into a sim­i­lar state now and again, but giv­en that she worked on a week­ly dead­line as a book crit­ic for some three decades, she no doubt had many occa­sions when she just had to put pen to paper no mat­ter what the state of her mind. And put pen to paper she lit­er­al­ly did: as Mari­Writ­ing explains in this final video, Woolf wrote first in long­hand (some­times in ink of her favorite col­or, pur­ple), then retyped the morn­ing’s work after lunch. In addi­tion to her fic­tion and lit­er­ary jour­nal­ism, she also made a post-tea dai­ly habit of writ­ing more freely in her diary, which let her work out her think­ing about her “real” projects. We might com­pare the impor­tance of Woolf’s diary to that of David Sedaris’ diary, the foun­da­tion of every­thing he’s pub­lished. But whether man or woman, East­ern­er or West­ern­er, nov­el­ist or oth­er­wise, we writ­ers can all take from Woolf’s exam­ple the neces­si­ty of a ded­i­cat­ed space: a room, that is, of one’s own.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Dai­ly Rou­tines of Famous Cre­ative Peo­ple, Pre­sent­ed in an Inter­ac­tive Info­graph­ic

Haru­ki Murakami’s Dai­ly Rou­tine: Up at 4:00 a.m., 5–6 Hours of Writ­ing, Then a 10K Run

Stephen King’s 20 Rules for Writ­ers

David Sedaris Breaks Down His Writ­ing Process: Keep a Diary, Car­ry a Note­book, Read Out Loud, Aban­don Hope

Write Only 500 Words Per Day and Pub­lish 50+ Books: Gra­ham Greene’s Writ­ing Method

The Dai­ly Habits of Famous Writ­ers: Franz Kaf­ka, Haru­ki Muraka­mi, Stephen King & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Psychology Behind Why Some Homes Feel Good But Most Don’t: Interior Design Principles Explained

Though it may have enjoyed occa­sion­al waves of pop-cul­tur­al pres­tige over the years, inte­ri­or design remains an over­looked art. That is to say, few both­er to appre­ci­ate, or even to notice, its sim­i­lar­i­ties with oth­er, more “seri­ous” forms of human endeav­or. Watch the recent Five by Nine video above, and even if you’ve felt rea­son­ably con­tent with wher­ev­er your own couch, chairs, and tables have come to rest up until now, you’ll soon find your­self con­sid­er­ing which prin­ci­ples of inte­ri­or design you’ve always been unknow­ing­ly vio­lat­ing. For our eyes “read” a room just as it would a para­graph, or even a paint­ing, and they sense instinc­tive­ly if some­thing’s wrong — or, worse, if too much is right.

One com­mon ama­teur mis­take is to arrange rooms so that “every­thing lives on one sin­gle hor­i­zon­tal band that starts at the floor and ends around two and a half feet up.” With all the fur­ni­ture on more or less a sin­gle lev­el, your eye “has no rea­son to trav­el upward or into the cor­ners,” and thus per­ceives a strange­ly flat­tened space.

“Plac­ing visu­al inter­est at vary­ing alti­tudes” cre­ates a more com­plex visu­al path, which con­vinces the brain it’s in a more expan­sive (or indeed expen­sive) space. Mount­ing cur­tain rods well above the win­dow frame also goes a long way toward cre­at­ing this same over­all effect. The use of ver­ti­cal lines in gen­er­al, in the form of book­cas­es, wall tex­tures, or any­thing else, cre­ates more “visu­al run­ways for your eyes.”

On the hor­i­zon­tal plane, few mis­takes could be as wide­ly com­mit­ted as push­ing a sofa up against the wall. Pro­fes­sion­al design­ers pre­fer to “float” their fur­ni­ture, leav­ing “a gap that hints at hid­den depth.” To bet­ter under­stand this phe­nom­e­non, con­sid­er how land­scape painters tend clear­ly to sep­a­rate the fore­ground, the mid­dle ground, and the back­ground: with the mid­dle ground of the sofa flush against the back­ground of the wall, “the brain learns to read them as a sin­gle flat plane.” Sep­a­ra­tion intro­duces defin­ing shad­ows, a medi­um that can yield much greater results if manip­u­lat­ed with lamps and oth­er forms of direc­tion­al light­ing, as opposed to over­head fix­tures that flood the space with uni­form light. Giv­en the near-uni­ver­sal­i­ty of against-the-wall sofas and flu­o­res­cent light­ing cranked up to the max in Seoul, where I live, a Kore­an ver­sion of this video could­n’t come out too soon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Frank Gehry Designed His Own Home, and What It Teach­es About Cre­ative Risk

Nev­er Too Small: Archi­tects Give Tours of Tiny Homes in Paris, Mel­bourne, Milan, Hong Kong & Beyond

Vis­it the Homes That Great Archi­tects Designed for Them­selves: Frank Lloyd Wright, Le Cor­busier, Wal­ter Gropius & Frank Gehry

The Tiny Trans­form­ing Apart­ment: 8 Rooms in 420 Square Feet

Edgar Allan Poe Offers Inte­ri­or Design Advice and Blasts Amer­i­can Aris­to­crats in “The Phi­los­o­phy of Fur­ni­ture” (1840)

After a Tour of Slavoj Žižek’s Pad, You’ll Nev­er See Inte­ri­or Design in the Same Way

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Explosive Cats Imagined in a Strange, 16th Century Military Manual

Paw prints and feline urine stains on a medieval scribe’s man­u­script, per­haps they weren’t entire­ly out of the ordi­nary in the 15th cen­tu­ry. But cats strapped to mini-pow­der kegs, bound­ing off to burn down a town — now that’s pret­ty unusu­al.

The incen­di­ary feline fea­tured above (and else­where on this page) comes from a dig­i­tized ver­sion of an ear­ly 16th cen­tu­ry mil­i­tary man­u­al writ­ten by Franz Helm. An artillery mas­ter, Helm wrote about a broad and imag­i­na­tive set of destruc­tive ideas for siege war­fare. Although my Ger­man is some­what rusty, I got the sense that he was awful­ly fond of explod­ing sacks, bar­rels, and var­i­ous oth­er recep­ta­cles, and even­tu­al­ly decid­ed to com­bine these ideas with an unwit­ting ani­mal deliv­ery sys­tem. These ani­mals, accord­ing to Helm’s guide, would allow a com­man­der to “set fire to a cas­tle or city which you can’t get at oth­er­wise.”

runningcat1

The text was orig­i­nal­ly dig­i­tized by the Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia, and a UPenn his­to­ri­an named Mitch Fraas decid­ed to take a clos­er look at this strange explod­ing cat busi­ness. Accord­ing to Fraas, the accom­pa­ny­ing text reads:

“Cre­ate a small sack like a fire-arrow … if you would like to get at a town or cas­tle, seek to obtain a cat from that place. And bind the sack to the back of the cat, ignite it, let it glow well and there­after let the cat go, so it runs to the near­est cas­tle or town, and out of fear it thinks to hide itself where it ends up in barn hay or straw it will be ignit­ed.”

That’s the mil­i­tary strat­e­gy in a nut­shell. Seems like a great idea, apart from the fact that cats are noto­ri­ous­ly unpre­dictable. In any case, here are more illus­tra­tions of weaponized cats to round out your work week.

runningcat2

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cats in Medieval Man­u­scripts & Paint­ings

What Peo­ple Named Their Cats in the Mid­dle Ages: Gyb, Mite, Méone, Pan­gur Bán & More

Cats Migrat­ed to Europe 7,000 Years Ear­li­er Than Once Thought

Cats in Japan­ese Wood­block Prints: How Japan’s Favorite Ani­mals Came to Star in Its Pop­u­lar Art

Harvard Professor Answers Burning Questions About Iranian History

In a brisk WIRED inter­view, Pro­fes­sor Tarek Masoud answers fre­quent­ly asked ques­tions about Iran’s his­to­ry. He explains that Iran is not an Arab coun­try but a pre­dom­i­nant­ly Per­sian one, with a dis­tinct lan­guage and iden­ti­ty. He traces how the coun­try became an Islam­ic repub­lic after the 1979 rev­o­lu­tion, dri­ven by polit­i­cal repres­sion, eco­nom­ic ten­sions, and resis­tance to West­ern influ­ence.

Along the way, he tack­les the fol­low­ing ques­tions: Just how liberal/progressive was Iran pri­or to the 1979 rev­o­lu­tion? Why did the Iran­ian rev­o­lu­tion hap­pen? Is Iran the only Mid­dle East­ern coun­try whose mod­ern bor­ders were not cre­at­ed by colo­nial pow­ers? The son of Iran’s last Shah is ral­ly­ing pro­test­ers, but do Ira­ni­ans real­ly want anoth­er king?

By the end, you’ll know a lit­tle bit more about the coun­try at the cen­ter of Amer­i­ca’s lat­est mil­i­tary adven­ture.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Discover the Copiale Cipher: The Mysterious 18th-Century Book That Took 260 Years to Decode

In the world of cryp­tog­ra­phy, sub­sti­tu­tion ciphers are child’s play. Indeed, we may remem­ber lit­er­al­ly play­ing with them as chil­dren, writ­ing secret mes­sages to our friends by replac­ing all the let­ters with num­bers, say, or shift­ing them one or two places over in alpha­bet­i­cal order. Crack­ing such codes was a triv­ial mat­ter even before the com­put­er age, but cer­tain sim­ple vari­a­tions could make them more robust. Take the doc­u­ment known as the Copi­ale cipher (down­load­able as a two-part PDF), a 105-page bound man­u­script that stayed unde­ci­pher­able for more than 260 years. Its mys­tery final­ly yield­ed to the efforts of Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia com­put­er sci­en­tist Kevin Knight and Upp­sala Uni­ver­si­ty lin­guists Bea­ta Megye­si and Chris­tiane Schae­fer only in the ear­ly twen­ty-tens.

As Tom­mie Trelawny tells the sto­ry of the Copi­ale cipher in the Hochela­ga video above, the man­u­script, which was orig­i­nal­ly thought to date between 1760 and 1780, first had to be con­vert­ed into machine-read­able code. The tex­t’s use of 88 unique sym­bols, one of them shaped like an eye, neces­si­tat­ed com­ing up with names for all of them apart from the Roman let­ters, which had no par­tic­u­lar mean­ing in iso­la­tion.

When anoth­er scan searched for repeat­ed let­ter com­bi­na­tions, its results shed light on prob­a­ble sim­i­lar­i­ties with the Ger­man lan­guage. This made sense, since the book was found in Ger­many in the first place. Could mul­ti­ple sym­bols in this strange cipher have been sub­sti­tut­ed for sin­gle Ger­man let­ters? Could the code be, in cryp­to­graph­ic terms, a homo­phon­ic cipher?

Approach­ing the text under that hypoth­e­sis revealed mean­ings sug­gest­ing, tan­ta­liz­ing­ly, that it had been writ­ten by a secret soci­ety. It even describes an ini­ti­a­tion rit­u­al in which the inductee must first “read” a blank piece of paper, then try again with eye­glass­es, then again after wash­ing his eyes, and then, final­ly, under­go a sym­bol­ic “oper­a­tion” involv­ing the pluck­ing of a sin­gle eye­brow. This soci­ety, the Oculists, turns out to have been com­posed entire­ly of oph­thal­mol­o­gists meet­ing in the sev­en­teen-for­ties. That they did so covert­ly may owe to their hav­ing been Freema­sons, whose rites had recent­ly been banned by Pope Clement XII. The Copi­ale cipher sug­gests that Oculists appear to have had no aims more sin­is­ter than the pur­suit of knowl­edge — not that, for most of us today, the notion of eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry eye surgery isn’t ter­ri­fy­ing enough.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Explore a Dig­i­tized Edi­tion of the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, “the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book”

The Enig­ma Machine: How Alan Tur­ing Helped Break the Unbreak­able Nazi Code

Three Ama­teur Cryp­tog­ra­phers Final­ly Decrypt­ed the Zodi­ac Killer’s Let­ters: A Look Inside How They Solved a Half Cen­tu­ry-Old Mys­tery

The Rohonc Codex: Hungary’s Mys­te­ri­ous Man­u­script That No One Can Read

The Codex Seraphini­anus: How Ital­ian Artist Lui­gi Ser­afi­ni Came to Write & Illus­trate “the Strangest Book Ever Pub­lished” (1981)

Can You Crack the Uncrack­able Code in Kryp­tos, the CIA’s Work of Pub­lic Art?

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

When Brazil Built Its Capital on Modernist Principles: The Controversial Design of Brasília

When we think of mod­ern archi­tec­ture, we often think first of what’s called the Inter­na­tion­al Style, whose min­i­mal­ist, rec­ti­lin­ear, dec­o­ra­tion-free forms were cham­pi­oned by the likes of Wal­ter Gropius, Lud­wig Mies van der Rohe, and Le Cor­busier. Though they did build projects all over the world, that isn’t exact­ly the rea­son for the name. In fact, the Inter­na­tion­al Style rep­re­sents an attempt to devel­op a cul­tur­al­ly neu­tral aes­thet­ic for all built envi­ron­ments, deploy­able equal­ly in Europe, Asia, the Amer­i­c­as, and every­where else besides. That pre­tense to uni­ver­sal­i­ty may count as the most utopi­an aspect of an avowed­ly utopi­an move­ment — and the one whose imprac­ti­cal­i­ty came soon­est to light.

Before he became Brazil’s most famous archi­tect, Oscar Niemey­er sub­scribed to the prin­ci­ples of the Inter­na­tion­al Style. But then, as an acolyte of Le Cor­busier, he could hard­ly have done oth­er­wise. When the great man came to Rio de Janeiro in 1936 to design the new Min­istry of Edu­ca­tion and Health, Niemey­er was hired to work on the project.

The expe­ri­ence seems to have done its part to con­vince him that the Inter­na­tion­al Style was­n’t as inter­na­tion­al as all that, and fur­ther­more, that its rigid dic­tates would have to be bent to suit his home­land. This bend­ing would, in a sense, be lit­er­al: like Frank Gehry or Zaha Hadid after him, Niemey­er devot­ed his archi­tec­ture to the pur­suit of the curve, inspired by exam­ples seen in every­thing from the moun­tains of Brazil’s land­scape to the bod­ies of its women.

In 1956, the new­ly elect­ed pres­i­dent Jusceli­no Kubitschek imme­di­ate­ly real­ized the plan, writ­ten into the coun­try’s con­sti­tu­tion long before, of build­ing a new cen­tral city to relieve Rio of its sta­tus as the cap­i­tal. Chris­tened Brasília, it was to be con­struct­ed on a vast, emp­ty plateau entire­ly along ratio­nal, mod­ernist guide­lines, with defined dis­tricts orga­nized along a cru­ci­form city plan often likened to a bird or an air­plane and mon­u­men­tal struc­tures meant to project a for­ward-look­ing image. Niemey­er was select­ed to design those struc­tures, which imme­di­ate­ly became ele­ments of the city’s visu­al sig­na­ture upon its inau­gu­ra­tion in 1960: ever since, sel­dom has a pho­to­graph failed to include the twin tow­ers and domes of his Nation­al Con­gress or the Space-Age crown of thorns atop his Cathe­dral of Brasília.

The both admin­is­tra­tive and oth­er­world­ly form of cen­tral Brasília remains allur­ing, though the city itself began draw­ing crit­i­cism even before its com­ple­tion. “This is what you get when per­fect­ly decent, intel­li­gent and tal­ent­ed men start think­ing in terms of space, rather than place, and about sin­gle rather than mul­ti­ple mean­ings,” declared a frown­ing Robert Hugh­es in his 1980 TV series The Shock of the New. “It’s what you get when you design for polit­i­cal aspi­ra­tions and not real human needs. You get miles of jer­ry-built pla­ton­ic nowhere infest­ed with Volk­swa­gens.” Indeed, the dom­i­na­tion of car infra­struc­ture and strict sep­a­ra­tion of func­tions hard­ly proved con­ducive to the spon­ta­neous, con­vivial aspects of Brazil­ian life. But res­i­dents and vis­i­tors alike tend to report that Brasíli­a’s urban design has been improved as its pop­u­la­tion has grown, and mas­sive­ly, with com­men­su­rate improve­ments to its qual­i­ty of life over the decades. It may not inspire many bossa nova songs, but the cap­i­tal nev­er­the­less reflects a gen­uine facet of what Brazil is — and what it once dreamed of becom­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A is for Archi­tec­ture: 1960 Doc­u­men­tary on Why We Build, from the Ancient Greeks to Mod­ern Times

Leonar­do da Vin­ci Designs the Ide­al City: See 3D Mod­els of His Rad­i­cal Design

Why Dutch & Japan­ese Cities Are Insane­ly Well Designed (and Amer­i­can Cities Are Ter­ri­bly Designed)

Frank Lloyd Wright Designs an Urban Utopia: See His Hand-Drawn Sketch­es of Broad­acre City (1932)

The World Accord­ing to Le Cor­busier: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Most Mod­ern of All Archi­tects

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Brazil’s Nation­al Muse­um & Its Arti­facts: Google Dig­i­tized the Museum’s Col­lec­tion Before the Fate­ful Fire

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

 


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