"[W]intertime beach outings are a quintessential example of uitwaaien (OUT-vwy-ehn), a Dutch word that translates literally as 'out blowing' but is perhaps better understood as 'to walk in the wind.'"

"Typically used as a noun, it describes the act of undertaking some sort of outdoor physical activity in windy conditions. Wind, as local wisdom goes, refreshes and recalibrates you.... The Dutch have harnessed the wind as a power source for centuries; windmills have long been so intrinsic to society there that they’re practically a national symbol..... Like all lifestyles, uitwaaien has its casual partakers and more extreme devotees. Wim Hof, the Dutch health expert... says: 'We have a physical body, but it is like a radio: It receives and sends signals. And the carrier is the wind. The wind is able to change our biochemistry in the depth of our bodies for the better.... The wind offers the gas exchange between the outside and the inside of our selves. How do we regulate that? By doing the breathing, by letting the wind come into our bodies. That is a foundation of health."

From "Forget hygge, it’s time for uitwaaien" (WaPo).

Last night, Spotify suggested that I listen to a track that was 8 hours of the sound of wind — supposedly good white noise for sleeping. So this Dutch concept intrigues me. But I've been avoiding going out when the wind is high, especially in the winter, when it's not just about getting clobbered by detached tree parts, but it's driving the "feels like" temperature down below zero. 

I wrote about Wim Hof once before — in a 2019 post that ended, "Like the unfortunate couple who ate raw marmot organs and died of the plague and Willie Nelson inhaling/scarfing down marijuana, there's a thing that can be done and a human mind to imagine that it could work. It could work and it could cause a lot of damage, so... do it!" Read that whole post to see what sorts of things Hof does. 

I guess Hof formulates his ideas in Dutch. The English translation — "The wind offers the gas exchange between the outside and the inside of our selves... letting the wind come into our bodies" — sounds rather... farty.

ADDED: In France, you can walk in the wind indoors:

Orgasms and sandwiches.

From a post at Reddit about the 1973 book "Understanding the Female Orgasm" by Dr. Seymour Fisher:

something I found googling his name.... "Part of the early research leading to that book found that women who enjoyed food were likely to enjoy sex as well, and that put a twist into the Fishers' social life, Rhoda Fisher said. 'When we got to somebody's house for dinner,' she said, 'no women wanted to sit near him. They thought he'd analyze their food.'"

If I had to choose between an orgasm and like a really good sandwich, I'd pick the sandwich. I don't know what that says about me. 

Absolutely. If I had to live without orgasming for the rest of my life, I'd feel a bit sad and frustrated, but if I had to live without really good sandwiches, I would be undone...

Just yesterday, I complained on another post my orgasms are pretty meh so it was such an easy choice. Give me a fricken sandwich with everything on it!!

IN THE COMMENTS: Meade says, "And remember— you can’t fake a sandwich."

I google "marcel marceau eats a sandwich"... 

 

 ALSO: "Once I ate a hamster sandwich...."

AND: We all remember when Warren Zevon said "Enjoy every sandwich and you know what I mean by sandwich."

"I’ve always been a wriggler. I mean, I am my own fantasy. I am the ‘Cosmic Dancer’ who dances his way out of the womb and into the tomb on Electric Warrior."

"I’m not frightened to get up there and groove in front of 6 million people on TV because it doesn’t look cool. That’s the way I would do it at home. It’s not serious. I’m serious about the music, but I’m not serious about the fantasy."

Said Marc Bolan in 1971, quoted in "The Timeless Glam Perfection of T. Rex: Why Marc Bolan Still Casts a Spell/The new Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductees have been a guiding spirit for cosmic dancers from Prince to Harry Styles" (Rolling Stone).

Born in 1947, the son of a Hackney lorry driver, Marc Feld grew up as a mod on the London scene. As a broke young poseur, trying to hustle into showbiz, he got hired one day to paint his manager’s office with another kid. Marc introduced himself as “King Mod,” and declared, “Your shoes are crap.” The other kid was David Bowie. These two rivals would torment each other for years to come. In February 1969, after Bolan blew up on the U.K. charts, he invited Bowie on tour — as a mime. “Marc was quite cruel about David’s as-yet-unproven musical career,” producer Tony Visconti recalled later. “I think it was with great sadistic delight that Marc hired David to open for Tyrannosaurus Rex, not as a musical act, but as a mime.” (What could make it even sweeter for Bolan? Bowie got booed.)

I went looking for a Marc Bolan/Hall of Fame article after Bolan came up in the first post of the day, the one about "Civil War 2: Electric Boogaloo." That post quoted Marc eating potatoes with Ringo and saying "Ooh you, boogaloo." In the comments over there, I said:

He goes into the the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame... it was just announced a few weeks ago. I should do a post on that. I am a big Marc Bolan fan from back when his band was called Tyrannosaurus Rex.

As a college kid in 1969, I would make anyone I could get to put up with it listen to the album "Unicorn."

Anyone else here a fan of "Unicorn"?

Here's the whole album. Just imagine yourself captive in 18-year-old Althouse's dorm room!...

The toad road licked my wheels like a sabre
Winds of the marsh lightly blew
Stone jars stacked with stars on her shoulders
Hunters of pity she slew...

Are you listening?!!!

A couple years later, Marc was much more accessible, and everyone loved...



... didn't they?

Imaginary movie project.

It's possible I'll actually do this. If I do, it will be because I've completely gotten out of the habit of seeing movies. I haven't gone out to see a movie since last summer (when I saw one documentary and considered it worth looking at on television, but not worth putting up with in one long, paid-for sitting), and I can't remember the last time I watched a whole movie on TV (though we joined "Dr. Strangelove" in progress recently and watched it to the end). Maybe the last time I watched a whole movie on TV (other than a documentary) was back in February 2017.

Sometimes I think I should get back to watching fiction movies. I got back to reading fiction books after many years of reading almost only nonfiction. And I've been enjoying that (perhaps in part because it's become harder to believe that nonfiction is nonfiction and with outright fiction I'm choosing the best writing). But it's hard for me to find any new movies that interest me at all (for reasons that I won't elaborate here).

But I had the idea for how I might like to watch some movies. These would all be movies that I've seen before, that I remember reacting to at the time, and where I'm curious about what effect they might have on me now. The idea occurred to me as I was thinking about one particular movie. I want one movie from each year, beginning with 1960, when I was 9. And it has to be a movie I saw when it came out. I'm picking things that I think will be fun to rewatch in part because I'll be able to remember my reaction.

I got this idea as I was out walking and listening to an audiobook that had a passage that reminded me of a particular movie that I'd watched back in 1993:

When we first met, she told me she was studying pantomime. Oh, really, I’d said, not altogether surprised. Young women are all into something these days. Plus, she didn’t look like your die-cast polish-your-skills-in-dead-earnest type. Then she “peeled a mandarin orange.” Literally, that’s what she did....

That made me think of "Bennie and Joon":



I can only vaguely remember how that movie made me feel a quarter century ago and can't know whether watching it again will make me remember much more and whether new contrasting feelings will arise and affect me in an interesting (bloggable) enough way to justify actually doing this project, but I did go through many lists of movies and come up with movies from the 60s through the 90s, which is much easier to do than to sit through all these things. It shouldn't be a chore. Maybe what I liked doing was thinking about the project and doing the intense work of list-making. Actually sitting in a chair staring into the screen for 100 hours... that another matter altogether. Reading fiction is something I do (for the most part) while walking around outdoors. Watching fiction... I don't know.

"Last Christmas it was in nearly every panto in the land, including the Palladium, but this year it just feels wrong."

Said Michael Harrison, managing director of Qdos Pantomimes, "which stages dozens of shows around the country, [and] has dropped a routine based on a popular old TV comedy sketch - in which a male character looks up a female performer's skirt - from its production of Dick Whittington at the London Palladium" — reports the UK Telegraph.

“What I have not done and what I won’t do is change any jokes, as I don’t believe there is a link between sexual harassment and pantomime. Nobody touches anybody in pantomime. And as far as somewhere like the Palladium goes, of course the show is full of innuendo....”

An awful lot of stories will need to be changed. It's like the retirement of ethnic jokes.

The move comes after parents complained about "lewd and offensive" references to the human anatomy and adult humour in the current Manchester Opera House production of Dick Whittington, but Harrison countered this complaint by saying “do you believe you are going to come to the Palladium and see Dick Whittington and not have a joke about dick?”

Dick Whittington requires dick jokes?! I thought it was a children's story. Here's an 1859 illustration from the children's book:



Do you believe the caption is not "Here, grab my pussy"?

Martin O'Malley is outraged by "racist mimes."

On "State of the Union," Sunday, August 21, 2016, O'Malley criticized Donald Trump for retweeting "racist mimes."

Yes, I know he meant racist memes, but racist mimes... what a concept! I've heard criticism of people appearing in blackface, but watch out for those in whiteface.

Inspired by Buddhist monks, a Brooklyn restaurant enforces total silence for a 90-minute organic, locavore dinner.

"Nicholas Nauman, Eat’s 28-year-old managing chef and events planner, said he was inspired to hosts the meals by silent breakfasts he enjoyed at a monastery in the Indian Buddhist pilgrimage city of Bodh Gaya."

Punishment for talking was having one’s plate... removed and placed on a bench outside, where loudmouths could finish their meals....

Spare an invisible tear, perhaps, for the death of a mime.

Lorene Yarnell, of Shields and Yarnell, has died at the age of 66.



Here's the marionette routine. And here they are as street performers in 1973.

Let's discuss this album title and cover art from 1968.

Quick. Before I freak out.

Here's the Amazon link for the album, which I encountered after random breakfast-table conversation led inexorably to the singing of "Indian Lake."

NOTE: 1968 was the pre-mime-hating time. AND: Damn! The clip from the end of Michelangelo Antonioni's highly respected film "Blow-Up" no longer works. Take my word for it. It's full of mimes, and mimes are deep:

[A]ttention to the visual dimensions of perception underscores the subtext represented by the mime troupe. If words are indeed superficial to the photographer, they are totally superfluous to (and consequently discarded by) the mimes. The mimes are presented to us as a framing device—they open and close the film. At the beginning, they are seen gadding about the bustling streets panhandling; at the end, the same troupe engages in a mock tennis match. At the beginning, the photographer simply finds them a momentary amusement; by the ending, however, he actually shares their experience. It is, in fact, the mime troupe that serves as the spiritual barometer by which we measure the photographer's transformation. The act of miming is crucial for Antonioni and Blow-Up because it is the mime who brings our attention to objects by their absence. For the mime, the imaginary tennis ball is every bit as "real" as the evidential photograph is "illusory."

It is of course, significant that the tennis match takes place at the end. It is less a conclusion than a speculation. The photographer, an outer-directed man in the beginning, would never have retrieved the tennis ball and thrown it back at the outset of the film. He is only able to perform this act of assistance to the players because of what has happened to him in the interim. However, Antonioni does not have him abandon his camera as he fetches the ball; rather, he carries it with him. What the photographer has learned is that the camera and the tennis ball can (and do) exist in the same plane of perception—reality, illusion and appearance do not fall into neat and convenient categories.

Nothing is taken that seriously anymore!

George Brecht composed "Drip Music": "a source of water and an empty vessel are arranged so that the water falls into the vessel."

He'd write an "event score" -- "printed on a small white card that he would mail to friends.... Mr. Brecht said that he did not care if any of his event scores were realized and that he did not think that there was a correct way to perform one."



Back in the 1950s, when Jackson Pollock was painting (doing things with paint), you had to ask yourself: What is the next step? First, Brecht tried painting "using chance operations and materials like bed sheets, ink and marbles." But it's better -- is it not? -- to rid yourself of the paint altogether, and then rid yourself of the work itself: Just write a brief description on a card.

In those days, there were no blogs. But it was like blogging, no? A few words on a blank white rectangle are enough.

And yet, there are all those serious people in that video clip with their microphones and watering cans. Are they any less annoying than mimes? And if you're going to perform this minimal, quiet music, you've got to find a space that isn't horrifically overwhelmed with the mechanical noise of a forced air system that drowns out the dripping.

But the dripping goes on whether you hear it or not, and now the last drop has dribbled out for George Brecht, the Fluxus artist.

Dead at age 82.

"Play The Quietus' Album Cover Quiz Game."

Hilarious... even if, like me, you can hardly guess any of them. (Via Metafilter.)

Come on! It's funny. Don't say you "hate mimes." Hating mimes has been a big cliché for more than 30 years.

From the pre-mime-hating period, the supposedly profound ending to highly respected film:



AND: I just want to send my love to The Hello People.

Commenter of the day? The nominees are: Meade and Chip Ahoy.

1. Meade: After Sheepman complained that the Dylanesque song about Obama "goes on for a few verses too many," Meade said:

Dude, if you think that one goes on for a few verses too many, wait until you hear Sad-Eyed Law Professor of the Eastern Ridges and Lowlands...

With your Alito mouth and your New York times,
And your eyes on breasts and your prayers for mimes,
And your tulip shots, and your vortex crimes,
Oh, who among them do they think could bear your vow of cruel neutrality?

2. Chip Ahoy. On that post with the dogs in the baby stroller, Chip Ahoy wrote, "Althouse, hope you don't mind, I fixed the mannequin in your photostream."

Silenced.

Portly Pirate says "I think we can all agree that a moment of silence is appropriate, can't we?" And so begins the outpouring of silence = death bons mots at the news that Marcel Marceau has died.

There's also "Walking Against the Wind." I was thinking of saying something along the lines of Walking Against the Eternal Darkness.

And before you unleash the now-conventional hatred of mimes -- there was a point, around 1972, when everyone started to say "I hate mimes" after years of finding mimes fascinating and profound -- let's remember the man who started it. His real name was Marcel Mangel, and his family changed that last name to Marceau to hide from the Nazis.

With his brother Alain, Marceau became active in the French Resistance. Marceau altered children's identity cards, changing their birth dates to trick the Germans into thinking they were too young to be deported. Because he spoke English, he was recruited to be a liaison officer with Gen. George S. Patton's army.

In 1944, Marceau's father was sent to Auschwitz, where he died.

Later, he reflected on his father's death: "Yes, I cried for him."

But he also thought of all the others killed: "Among those kids was maybe an Einstein, a Mozart, somebody who (would have) found a cancer drug," he told reporters in 2000. "That is why we have a great responsibility. Let us love one another."...

Marceau likened his character [Bip] to a modern-day Don Quixote, "alone in a fragile world filled with injustice and beauty."

Show some unspoken love today.

"American Idol," in Cleveland and Orlando.

We're in Cleveland: The first performer is Jacklyn Crum, who's only 16 and who tells Paula she loves her because she's pretty. She's obviously scared but she sings beautifully. Simon and Randy start hedging about her inexperience, but guest host LL Cool J says you've got to start somewhere and, with Paula's yes, she makes it.

Up next is one of the least attractive women ever to appear on the show. I assume she's going to be great, because otherwise it would be too mean to shine the spotlight on her. She looks 50 but she's only 18. LL Cool J laughs out loud. She's singing "I Could Have Danced All Night" with no pop quality at all. They all like her voice, and Simon lectures her about how you just can't go into pop music and look as bad as she does. They are nice to her as they reject her. LL gets up out of his chair and goes over and hugs her. So far, LL is a total sweetheart, a male Paula.

There's a big montage of bad singers. Then we get Scott Savol, who talks a little like that Sling Blade guy. He sings "Superstar." He says his dad doesn't think he can amount to anything. He's got a lovely voice, but again, lacks the looks. "You've just proved your dad wrong," Simon says. He makes it.

A mime is next. She silently mimes an Aerosmith song. Lotsa jokes about how she's better than most.

A farm boy comes out in overalls and sings the Charlie Chaplin song "Smile," which he identifies as a Nat King Cole song. They love him.

The Jackson sisters. They are very large, but charismatic. First, Lashunda. No! She cries. Leandra is next, crying, knowing her sister didn't make it. She sings "Summertime," but it's all off key, much worse than Lashunda. They are nice to her. LL gets up again to hug her and they all get up and hug her. We see her come out crying.

Briana Davis is next, dressed in lots of stripes, singing "Phantom of the Opera" beautifully ... until she gets to the high notes, which are a horror. But they all like her and she gets through.

"Aw, we all love this boy," I say about Anthony Federov. I've seen him on the teasers and thought was going to be the new Clay. They start saying he reminds them of Clay Aiken. As a boy, he had a tracheotomy and was told he might never speak again. Okay, we love him.

For the second half of the show, we're in Orlando. First up, Marissa Ganz sings "White Boys" from "Hair." She's white, so ... what is really the point of this song choice? She's horrible. They are aghast. "I don't know if that's good or bad." It was bad. She's followed by some other terrible people.

Vonzell Solomon sings "Chain of Fools." She fancies it up beyond belief, but she's good. She's trying touchingly hard. They love her.

Dezmond Meeks tries to do James Brown, "I Feel Good." He's wearing two-tone shoes. Paula loves him. Randy is not convinced. Simon thinks it's stagey and says no. So Paula "feels like quittin'." Paula asserts that he did James Brown better than James Brown, which is so not true. Simon has said no. Randy agrees based on Paula, and he makes it. He seems like a sweet kid. He overdid it, but how was he supposed to know where the line was between overdoing it and performing? Our hearts go out to him.

Note that they put two cities together tonight. I guess Cleveland and Orlando were the worst cities in the auditions. Tomorrow's San Francisco. Just one city. So presumably better than tonight's slightly subpar show.

In which Althouse has a psychedelic flashback. I don't know about you, but sometimes I've tried to remember, what were the shows I saw at the Fillmore East? I remembered some of the bands, but who really were the others? So I was thrilled to find this site, which is trying to list every act and every show.

So who played with The Mothers of Invention in 1969? The date was Feb. 21/22, and the opening acts were Chicago and The Buddy Miles Express. And I went to see Neil Young & Crazy Horse one night in 1970 and the opening acts were The Steve Miller Band and Miles Davis! When did I see The New Riders of the Purple Sage play with The Grateful Dead? 1970? 1971? I can't tell from this, because there are several such shows. When I saw them there was a third act, which played in the middle, that was just Pig Pen and Jerry Garcia on acoustic guitars. It must have been May 15, 1970, because I remember hearing them make a big deal about the upcoming concert with Crosby, Stills & Nash, which caused us to scoff and shake our heads in dismay. Rock and Roll was over and people like them were destroying it! Or was it this night, when "Phil places two bass notes that are just perfect."

Remember when people were all excited about Delaney & Bonnie? And who were Mason & Elliot that they were headliners? (Oh.) Remember when people were crazy for Ten Years After? Remember The Hello People (they played at my high school once)("It's a Monday Kind of Tuesday"... or was it Wednesday?). Remember Elephant Memory? Or am I mixing them up with Crazy Elephants? And who were Cactus? How could they have topped Edgar Winter and Humble Pie some night in 1971? And there's Elton John, late of American Idol, already headlining in 1971 (with Wishbone Ash and Sea Train).

And there's T. Rex in 1971--was it already T. Rex or was it still Tyrannosaurus Rex? (We played their album Unicorn all the time in 1970.) In 1970, you could have seen The Incredible String Band (I knew people who worshipped them!) along with The Stone Monkey Mime Group (good lord! who were they?). And who were Soft White Underbelly, Grootna, and Blodwyn Pig?

Looking for some answers, I ran across Fuzz Acid & Flowers, which is an amazing compilation of info about "U.S. psych and garage music 1964 - 1972," with "band histories/musical analysis on over 5,400 US acts of the era." Great fun browsing just for the psychedelic names. We remember Strawberry Alarm Clock, but there was also Strawberry Tuesday and Strawberry Window. Was there Orange? Of course: Orange Colored Sky, The Orange Groove, and The Orange Wedge. How about "electric"--was that a popular psychedelic word? Here's the official list:

The Electrical Banana
The Electric Company
Electric Firebirds
The Electric Flag
Electric Hair
Electric Junkyard
Electric Love
Electric Piano Playground
The Electric Prunes
The Electric Screwdriver
Electric Toilet
Electric Tomorrow
Electric Train
Electrified People
The Electro Magnetic Flowerseed
The Electronic Concept Orchestra

And I love the places where the same psychedelic idea struck several groups independently:

Stix and Stoned
Stix and Stones
Stix & Stonz

Okay, enough of that. Go make your own discoveries. I've got admissions files and a law review edit and income tax forms ...

Oh, and that previous entry, which looks psychedelic next to this one--it's a Monday kind of Tuesday/It's a Thursday kind of Saturday--is just about the NYT crossword puzzle. ... In case you're inclined to worry about me! Did you finish the Saturday puzzle?