Alice Mongkongllite / BuzzFeed

Tinder is "stupid and harmful because it only makes romantic human connection harder." It is also "a factory and you shouldn't pretend it's even vaguely romantic." And let's not forget that "the adult consequence of living with one’s decisions doesn’t really exist when the next best thing is only a swipe away."

Most of the discussion around Tinder has focused on its core demographic: twentysomethings, gay and straight, in urban areas (New York and Los Angeles, where I live, are its two biggest markets), who seem to use Tinder to hook up, boost or masochistically deflate their ego, and/or issue sweeping, usually disparaging pronouncements about everyone they've ever encountered on it.

But I've now come to realize that even though all of the press around Tinder focuses on its popularity with twentysomethings, it's actually the perfect app for someone in their thirties, or older, to find love. As people age, they naturally grow less inclined to seek out relationships that are more casual. (For one thing, it's exhausting. After you turn 33 or so, staying out past 10 on a school night becomes much more rare.) Also, as we age, the pool of eligible people shrinks, and with it so do the number of opportunities to meet people in the ways people met people in their twenties (well, before Tinder existed): through friends, at parties, at bars, at work, in grad school, wherever. There's something really comforting to know that, in fact, there are actually tons of people out there who are age-appropriate and are looking for the same thing you are.

Because much of the criticism of Tinder seems to actually be, implicitly, a criticism of the machinations of dating, and the ways in which dating causes people to, sometimes, show their worst, judgmental, passive aggressive selves instead of their best selves. My co-worker Tamerra recently asked me, "Do people think that the app will relieve people of the responsibility of being sincere, projecting themselves honestly, and communicating what they're looking for in a relationship the same way they would IRL?" Certainly, Tinder seems to make it easier to not be vulnerable, to put out a bulletproof version of yourself. But Tinder doesn't make it easier to fall in love just because it makes it easier to be exposed to hundreds, or thousands, of potential dates. To fall in love means you need to really know yourself, and be secure and happy enough that you want to share yourself with someone else, and to be vulnerable. Tinder doesn't get rid of those steps, and it's unrealistic to think that it would.

I agree with the psychology professor Eli J. Finkel, who recently defended Tinder as "the best option available now" for "open-minded singles ... who would like to marry someday and want to enjoy dating in the meantime." And I think that's especially true if you are in your thirties and you are looking for a relationship, and you see dating as a means to that end. There are, of course, exceptions to every single rule, but I found that the people on Tinder in their thirties were, generally, more receptive to the idea of being in a relationship than you would expect. Including me.

I spent most of my twenties in a series of relatively short-lived monogamous relationships. I didn't "date," per se; I ended up with boyfriends who clearly weren't right for me, but I was so comfortable with companionship that I didn't mind. And this was the early aughts, in the early days of online dating: I was briefly on Nerve, and went on a few dates, but it felt unnatural and weird, and I didn't know anyone else doing it. Or if they did, they were keeping it a secret, like me. So my boyfriends were guys I met in grad school, or at work, or through friends, or, once, at the optician. (He fixed my glasses.) It wasn't until the last couple of years, when I was already well into my thirties, that I began to date date, and I quickly learned that the only people who truly like dating — and by dating I mean the numbing dance of texting, and not hearing back, and then finally hearing back, and then making plans, and changing plans, and finally meeting and deciding within 30 seconds that this is not your Person, and then doing it all over again — are generally either sociopaths or masochists.

So I do want to be clear that the mostly bad things people say about Tinder were also mostly true (and bad) for me for the year or so that I was on and off it. I got the addictive rush when I matched with someone, and another one when a match would text me, and another when we would make plans. I felt a momentary dejection when someone I was convinced was a match, based on his photos and the briefest of descriptions, didn't match with me. Or if I went a couple of days without a match, I despaired: Was it possible I had exhausted the entire population of age-appropriate men in Los Angeles, and none of them was interested in me? But no. There were always more matches to be had.

I Tindered on work trips and vacation, meeting up a couple times with people in New York — just to see, I told myself — and became fascinated with the differences among the photos of guys in Norway (lots of skiing), Boston (lots of Red Sox caps), and Israel (lots of shirtless pics). I started taking my phone to bed with me, which had been a longtime taboo, so that I could swipe, swipe, swipe late into the night. I Tindered at bars; I Tindered in the bathroom. When it started feeling like it was taking over my life, I deleted it from my phone, took a break of a few days or a few weeks, and started again.

My profile stayed essentially unchanged over the year or so I was on and off Tinder, and everything I wrote on it was true. I was in "digital media," I was from Boston, I was relatively new to L.A., I loved tacos and avocados, I had met two internet-famous cats but I liked dogs better. I had around five photos up, showing me in various environments and outfits and hairstyles. What I think I was trying to say was that I was approachable but not desperate, reasonably but not intimidatingly attractive, funny but not someone who did it for a living (this felt important since there were so many stand-up comedians in L.A.). I was finally over obsessing about not being "that girl" — that is, the girl who is vocal about wanting to be in a relationship, who is actually confident enough in herself to be upfront about her own needs. So I was also very conscious of wanting to communicate that I wanted a relationship without explicitly coming out and saying it in the profile, which seemed like a bit much for an opening gambit.

But while my profile stayed mostly the same, my experience on Tinder shifted each time I left and got back on, as though the breaks I took were also opportunities for the app itself to catch up with me. When I started using it in the spring of 2013, most of the guys on it were in their early twenties — way too young for me — and seemed to be only looking for a hookup. I messaged with a few of them out of boredom, but the novelty quickly wore off. When it came down to it, was I really going to go over to a 24-year-old bartender's apartment at 10 p.m. so he could "make us drinks"? No, the days when that would've been appealing — if ever — had long passed. But gradually the average age of my matches crept up, and I soon noticed a very real shift in the ways in which I engaged with people on the app — and that they were responding more sincerely to the message I was sending with my profile.

And soon, I realized that all of this Tindering was doing for me was making me feel more empowered. I got to make the decision about whether we went out again. I had been so conditioned to believe that I wasn't in the driver's seat when it came to dating (thanks, New York) that I had become way too passive; I was so obsessed with wondering whether someone liked me that I forgot about the part that was just as important: whether I actually liked them. And going out with so many different people — in fact, simply encountering so many different people, even just on the app — had the effect of, also, helping me refine what it really was I was looking for.

First it helped me figure out what I wasn't looking for. And that might not be what you're not looking for, and that's fine! That's the beauty of Tinder, and the world; there are lots of different kinds of people for everyone. But for me, that became: anyone whose first profile photo was of them holding a beer; anyone whose first profile photo was of them shirtless in an upside-down yoga pose (granted, this might be an L.A. thing); anyone who seemed deeply unenthusiastic about their career (too old for this); anyone who lived in Orange County (too far and too suburban); anyone who had a picture of themselves proudly holding a large fish they had caught. (It turns out we can intuit a lot of things about people just from a few pictures.) I liked men who were funny and smart and did something creative with their lives. I liked men who were kind.

I've always hated those stories, whether it's a Modern Love piece in the New York Times or an essay published somewhere else, about the single girl who finally, FINALLY finds love, and lives happily ever after. So this isn't going to be one of those stories, mostly because I'm old enough now to know that there is never a happily ever after, that "ever afters" mean a million different things, and besides, an asteroid might kill us all tomorrow anyway. But I will end with this: that after a year on Tinder, and many matches but many, many misses, I matched with someone last March. We texted for pretty much 24 hours straight, and then talked on the phone for an hour and a half, and then had the best first date I'd ever had, where we talked about nothing and everything and I told him that smoking was a deal breaker and he agreed to quit on the spot. He is smart and funny and handsome and most of all, kind and thoughtful in ways that make me more mindful of how I treat other people. And the other night, when I wasn't feeling well, he drove 25 minutes each way to pick up chicken soup from the Vietnamese place I like. Sometimes we talk about what would've happened if we hadn't swiped right. I'm just happy we both did.

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Anders Osborne and North Mississippi Allstars have teamed up as N.M.O. (North Mississippi Osborne) to release the new full length LP Freedom & Dreams.
The album pairs to of the South’s top guitarist, Hernando’s Luther Dickinson and New Orleans’ Osborne. “Freedom & Dreams is extremely honest and captures NMO’s relaxed chemistry so well, most of these songs did not even have a proper count off or beginning,” said Dickinson in a release. ” We were interested in combining Anders’ singing and songwriting with NMA’s groove and aesthetic to create something unique that neither of us could do without the other — a type of modern Southern folk rock.”
Dickinson describes the Allstars’ version of modern rock as “primitive modernism” that combines…

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…blues guitar with danceable beats, in attempt to make the music he learned from Hill County greats R.L. Burnside and Junior Kimbrough, more palatable to a younger generation.

Osborne, who was recently named the Crescent City’s best guitarist by the readers of Offbeat Magazine for the third year in a row, fell under the spell of Bob Dylan, Ray Charles and other American musical icons as a teenager. Since relocating to New Orleans in 1985 he has distinguished himself as a songwriter — penning tunes for Keb’ Mo’, Brad Paisley, Tim McGraw (the number one hit “Watch the Wind Blow”) and others — and singer of the highest caliber.

“I loved every minute of this recording session,” Osborne said in a release. “Surrounded by such an amazing group of people, filled those four days with non-stop creativity, love and good food! And the record came out sounding just like it, so good. Touring with NMO is going to be the perfect way to celebrate our friendship and musical connection. I can’t wait to share this with everyone!”

The Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band release their fifth album, So Delicious, on a revitalized Yazoo Records via Shanachie. Yazoo is a storied blues label and it’s a good fit for the Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band, a trio from the backwoods of Indiana whose members desperately wish they hailed from the Delta. Such geographical displacement has a long history in American music — in the back half of the 20th century, John Fogerty’s swamp rock from San Francisco might be the best known — so Peyton and his crew don’t feel like charlatans: they’re Americans who like to live in their ideal fantasy world. The funny thing about So Delicious is that for showing up on a blues label, it can rock pretty hard, something the clattering opening “Let’s Jump a Train” makes plain,…

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…but the Big Damn Band aren’t the Black Keys; they don’t pump up and amplify their blues for arenas, but are happy to sit on a front porch during a hot Sunday afternoon. That’s an intimate situation and, appropriately, the group slides some sweetness onto So Delicious, such as the gentle “Scream at the Night” and the ode to family “Pickin Pawpaws” (also quiet is the spectral solo slide guitar of “You’re Not Rich,” but that haunts instead of comforts). Still, the operative order of this record is a bit of full-tilt boogie and good times, an album that acknowledges there’s nothing finer than pot roast and kisses from the one you love. In other words, this is big, burly blues whose heart belongs at home.

La merluza ganadora. / SARA LUENGO

¿Qué es la cocina viejuna? Viejunismo eres tú, diría el viejunillo Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer. Con menos floripondio poético, podríamos definirla como toda aquella gastronomía que conoció días de gloria de los sesenta a los ochenta, pero ahora se ve como anticuada, cursi, recargada y demodé. Es la cocina de los áspics, las gelatinas, los pasteles de pescado, las tartas al whisky, los cócteles de gambas y los platos decorados con formas geométricas. Esa cocina que nos da un poco de risa, pero a la que también tenemos cierto cariño porque, como todo lo retro, nos recuerda a la infancia/juventud/cualquier tiempo más feliz que el de ahora.

La comida viejuna fue una sección de El Comidista hace varios siglos, pero ha sido otra bloguera, mi favoritísima Ana Vega también conocida como Biscayenne, la que ha recogido el testigo organizando el I Premio Nacional de Cocina Viejuna que se celebra en España. Justo antes de Navidad, la genuina temporada del viejunismo culinario, Ana hizo un llamamiento mundial para que le enviaran muestras caseras de cocina anticuada para el concurso; ahora conocemos por fin los finalistas y la ganadora, y vive Dior que no defraudan.

"El premio ha superado mis más locas expectativas", confiesa Ana. "Nació como una idea chusca una tarde que estaba febril, después de leer un libro de los años setenta con menús navideños. Sorprendentemente, la idea hizo gracia y caló entre mis seguidores. Cierto que del montón de personas (quizás ligeramente intoxicadas por el alcohol) que perjuraron que se iban a presentar, bastantes recobraron la cordura y luego se cortaron. Pero he recibido muchas obras maestras, sobre todo teniendo en cuenta el esfuerzo que representaba buscar la receta, elaborarla, sacar fotos y conseguir que aquello pareciera un bufé de los ochenta".

Los platos presentados al concurso van de lo simple a lo currado, pero a todos les une una viejunidad intrínseca. "Muchos concursantes rescataron las fichas de la caja de Telva o los recetarios que regalaban en la Caja de Ahorros Católica y Monte de Piedad. Otros recrearon a su manera el espíritu de la gastronomía más hortera mezclando recuerdos de infancia y su propia imaginación. Lo importante es que la mayoría comprendieron que para mí éste no es un concepto insultante ni negativo, sino festivo, reivindicando con cariño esa fase importante de nuestra cultura culinaria".

El plato ganador ha sido el pastel de merluza de Sara Luengo, una prodigiosa recreación de un pescado con su ojito de aceituna rellena, su boca de pimiento rojo y sus escamas de pepino. "Me presenté al premio proque me divirtió mucho la idea y quería hacer un homenaje a la cocina de esa época", explica la donostiarra. "Entre tanto despropósito había platos ricos. Este pastel es un clásico ya en mi recetario y a la vez lo más moderno en su época, receta precursora de la 'deconstrucción': destrozar un pescado para volver a darle forma de ídem, pero con más churrufluses. Se le atribuye al maestro Arzak, o por lo menos eso dicen mi madre y sus amigas".

Obra maestra. / SARA LUENGO

La obra de Luengo se enmarca dentro de todo un subgénero en la comida viejuna: los pasteles de pescado. Biscayenne recuerda que llevan presentes en el recetario español desde finales del siglo XIX, pero fue a partir de los sesenta cuando lo petaron junto a su amiga la gelatina. "Supongo que su enorme potencial para una decoración lisérgica y rococó los convirtió en la estrella de los bufés fríos. Lo que ahora los modernos llaman trampantojo era en su momento montar algo con forma de pez y ojos de aceituna en una bandeja salmonera".

Otra fantasía presentada a concurso: bacalao en el jardin de los gnomos, de Cris.

Además de premiar a Sara Luengo, el jurado, del que he tenido el honor de formar parte, decidió conceder un accésit a Adriana Consuegra. No contenta con elaborar un platito, la alicantina movilizó a toda su familia para montar un banquete de siete propuestas a cual más tremebunda. "Me gusta cocinar, decorar y las horteradas fascinantes, y creo que la confluencia de estas tres líneas podría ser la cocina viejuna", afirma. "No tenía ninguna idea de primeras, así que me fui a casa de mi tía a por inspiración porque tiene muchos libros-fichas-revistas que eran de mi yaya. Ojipláticos con las locuras de antaño, nos vinimos muy arriba y quisimos hacer varios platos, y así fue como nos montamos un tardeo de picoteo viejuno".

Comida en technicolor de Adriana Consuegra & Family.

Adriana no es la única que envió menús completos al concurso, gracias al cual algunos participantes descubrieron una nueva actividad familiar: montar meriendas o cenas viejunas. "Esta cocina, con sus decoraciones barrocas y guarniciones imposibles, es eminentemente lúdica", explica Biscayenne. "Y además la elección de la receta conlleva un ejercicio de nostalgia importante, como cuando te pones a recordar canciones de las viejas series de dibujos animados. Después de la primera, te acuerdas de mil más".

Festival de Viejuvisión de Susana y Christian, más montañaca con salchis de Fede.

Dos elementos se repiten entre los primores enviados por los finalistas: el abuso indiscriminado de la merluza y las decoraciones con gambas. La presencia de ambos ingredientes tiene su explicación socioeconómica: los platos viejunos de los sesenta y los setenta intentaban hacer olvidar las penurias del pasado -"la dieta de ajo y garbanzos", según Biscayenne-, y a la vez, demostrar el poderío de una clase media que empezaba a ser pudiente. "Había que impresionar a los demás, ya fuera a base de adorno, dificultad, tamaño o tirando de billetera. Llegaron los electrodomésticos, las recetas internacionales y los productos exóticos, a la vez que muchos alimentos que habían sido prohibitivamente caros comenzaban a bajar de precio. Entre ellos estaban los pescados, fundamentalmente merluza, el pollo o el marisco. Cuantas más gambas ponías en el plato, más moderno eras y más dinero tenías en la cuenta corriente".

Con su imprescindible blonda, la merluza con salsa americana de Carmen Albo.

Una de mis favoritas: la "perla del Caribe" de Alberto García-Moyano.

Lamentablemente, sólo un participante ha tirado de gelatina, en una elaboración con aspecto de alien criogenizado llamada "áspic a la mariscala". Entre los nobles ingredientes utilizados por Kino González y su esposa se encuentran unos pepinillos de Hacendado, un paté chungui y una exquisita mortadela envasada. "La gelatina es omnipresente en los recetarios viejunos, con sus áspics rellenos de huevos rellenos de aceitunas rellenas", dice Biscayenne. "Pero la pobre ha envejecido muy mal y se ha quedado para vestir santos y animar postres de fiestas infantiles. A día de hoy, sobre todo en versión salada nos parece tan estrafalaria que creo que a los concursantes les ha dado miedo".

El apetitoso áspic de Kino González.

Quiero pensar que ésta es la mujer de Kino González, y no Kino González.

Los premios ponen de relieve cómo la comida hortera y desfasada sigue repeliéndonos y fascinándonos a la vez. Ante composiciones como la "perla del Caribe" de Alberto García-Moyano o el "manjar egipcio" de Juan, uno no sabe si salir corriendo o soñar con devorarlas en una orgía nostálgica. Quizá la clave de tantos sentimientos encontrados la dé la ganadora Sara Luengo con su definición del viejunismo gastronómico: "Para mí es el Cuéntame de la cocina".

Como bien añade Biscayenne, enfrentarse a estos platos es como mirar una foto nuestra de adolescentes. "Nuestra cocina ha evolucionado tanto en tan poco tiempo, nos la venden como una actividad tan reconcentrada, artística e intelectual que ahora abochorna un poco ver las recetas que se perpetraban hace unas décadas. Seguramente todos los grandes chefs empezaron en su momento haciendo flores de rabanito y galantinas, porque era lo que se llevaba, igual que todos lucimos hombreras y cardados en su momento. La cocina viejuna es sonrojante pero divertida a la vez".

'Tarta salada o manjar egipcio' y 'Árbol de hot dicks' de Juan.

Una buena noticia final para los que no os enterásteis de la existencia de este premio y habríais estado encantados de participar: Ana Vega asegura que habrá más ediciones próximamente. "Ya ha habido incluso algún adicto que me ha pedido un especial veraniego. Intentaré que la próxima vez sea más grande y mejor, aunque mi meta final es hacer una fastuosa gala en Torremolinos con votaciones en directo estilo Miss España, mucho brilli-brilli y cisnes de hielo por doquier".

...

The official origin story of the board game Monopoly was that Charles Darrow invented it in the 1930s. He indeed became very wealthy from the idea, but it wasn’t his. The game was actually conceived by Elizabeth Magie, who filed a patent for her game in 1903. The Landlord’s Game was designed to show the evils of unrestrained capitalism.

She created two sets of rules for her game: an anti-monopolist set in which all were rewarded when wealth was created, and a monopolist set in which the goal was to create monopolies and crush opponents. Her dualistic approach was a teaching tool meant to demonstrate that the first set of rules was morally superior.

And yet it was the monopolist version of the game that caught on, with Darrow claiming a version of it as his own and selling it to Parker Brothers. While Darrow made millions and struck an agreement that ensured he would receive royalties, Magie’s income for her creation was reported to be a mere $500.

Long-time Neatorama readers knew this, as we posted about it in 2011. Cecil Adams goes into detail about why Magie’s version was not as popular as Monopoly. Sure, you might learn about contrasting economic systems, but it was more fun to crush your opponents and see them driven before you. Still, Elizabeth Magie’s story is fascinating. She was a single woman who supported herself and owned her own property even before women had the right to vote. She made national headlines for a stunt she pulled to mock the institution of marriage. And it was only in 1973 that her role in the creation of Monopoly was uncovered. Read about Magie and her game at the New York Times.

(Image credit: The Strong Museum, Rochester, New York)      

This post originally appeared on the She Geeks blog in two parts: “The Mardi Grad Parade No Geek Should Miss” on February 5th, and “Chewbacchus Part 2: The Parade-ering” on February 11th. It has been republished with permission.

[Editor’s note: Unfortunately this year’s Chewbacchus has already come and gone, but there’s always next year—and if you keep reading, there’s plenty of awesome parade pictures to tide you over!]

It’s Mardi Gras season here in New Orleans, which means tourists, traffic, king cakes, endless renditions of Mardi Gras Mambo, and (of course) parades. If you’re a geek in New Orleans celebrating Mardi Gras and don’t go to the Chewbacchus parade, you’re doing it wrong. Period. No excuses. Seriously, even Peter Mayhew himself rides in this geek parade.

It is now even more officially official then the last time I officially officiated my official statement. #All-Hail pic.twitter.com/zVN63diiJi

— Peter Mayhew (@TheWookieeRoars) February 3, 2015

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ve heard me go on about Chewbacchus before; well, here’s where I explain exactly why this relatively new parade has been growing by leaps and bounds every year and has a distinctly cult-like following (more on the cult thing later). Read on as I go on an exclusive tour of the parade’s “den” (where many of the contraptions are created and stored), introduce a brand new sub-krewe, and give you guys a sneak peek of some of the awesome, hand-made stuff you’ll see rolling down the parade route:

Before we get into the meat of this, let’s make sure everyone is on the same page. Mardi Gras parades are a big deal here; many of them are very old (Rex, for example dates back to 1872), but sometimes it seems like a new parade/krewe pops up every year. Wikipedia explains krewes best:

“A krewe (pronounced in the same way as “crew”) is an organization that puts on a parade or ball for the Carnival season. [...] Krewe members are assessed fees in order to pay for the parade or ball. Fees can range from thousands of dollars a year per person for the most elaborate parades to as little as $20 a year for smaller marching clubs. Criteria for krewe membership varies similarly, ranging from exclusive organizations largely limited to relatives of previous members to other organizations open to anyone able to pay the membership fee. [...] Parading krewe members are usually responsible for buying their own throws, the trinkets thrown to parade spectators according to Mobile and New Orleans tradition.”

The Intergalactic Krewe of Chewbacchus (IKOC) is one of the more inclusive parade krewes. Their dues are exactly $42.00 (because of course they are), and absolutely anyone can join. You pay your dues, throw on a costume, show up, and march. It’s truly that simple. According to their website:

“The Intergalactic Krewe of Chewbacchus is a Mardi Gras parade organization for the most revelrous Star Wars Freaks, Trekkies, Whovians, Mega-Geeks, Gamers, Cosplayers, Circuit Benders, Cryptozooligists, UFO Conspiracy Theorists, Mad Scientists, and all the rest of Super Nerdom.

We also have a special place for Fantasy fandom within the Krewe under the auspicies of the Mystic Krewe of P.U.E.W.C. and a contingent specifically devoted to Horror… the Krewe of the Living Dead.“

This glittery behemoth of a unicorn is the work of the Mystic Krewe of P.U.E.W.C.

The Mystic Krewe of P.U.E.W.C. (which stands for “People for the inclusion of Unicorns, Elves, and Whinebots in Chewbacchus”) and Krewe of the Living Dead are examples of sub-krewes. Humans have a tendency to clump together based on common interests, and Chewbacchus is no exception. Sub-krewes can be highly organized and independent entities who exist year-round (often doing charity work, throwing their own events, and participating in conventions) like the Doctor Who themed Krewe du Who, or remain loose gatherings of people who simply come together for Mardi Gras and march in the parade in themed costumes, like E.T. themed sub-krewe, The Rolling Elliots.

The Space Commander Chewbaccacabra, Ryan Ballard, describes the Chewbacchus parade as…

“…a mobile, drunken Comic Con in many ways. There’s gonna be a range of fandom out there, represented, and you know, there’s sub-krewes for basically every fandom you could ever imagine. And if there’s one missing, somebody’s gonna make a sub-krewe for it.”

(He means it, too. One of the other sub-krewes new to Chewbacchus this year is the Krewe of Sharknadeaux. I cannot make this shit up, people.)

They literally let their nerd flag fly.

I was granted a tour of the IKOC den/workshop/homebase, inside of Castillo Blanco, yesterday. This is where a lot of the parade contraptions are housed and worked on. Chewbacchus is a walking parade, meaning they don’t have huge floats pulled by tractors; rather, they have handmade, cobbled together, contraptions that are either pulled, peddled, or pushed along the parade route by the people who made them. With the exception of a select few remote controlled/battery operated contraptions (like a full scale, remote controlled TARDIS), everything is powered by hand or by foot. There are a lot of bicycles, tricycles, rickshaws and shopping carts being re-purposed as nerdy people movers, floats, and (the all important) beer dispensaries. The “bacchus” part of Chewbacchus was not a mistake. In addition to being a play on the more traditional and popular Bacchus parade (which rolls next week, if you’re so inclined), Chewbacchus is all about bacchanalian (or bacchanALIEN) revelry, so many of the contraptions you’ll see rolling down the parade route are, in fact, working bars/kegs.

Bar-2 D2, everyone’s favorite beer droid, has become a Chewbacchus staple, and I’ll give you three guesses as to what the Blue Sun Beer Barrel is being pulled by (Hint: She’s the smoothest ride from here to Boros). Other stuff to look out for:

This is just a tiny portion of a huge contraption that will be lighting up the streets and assimilating the masses.

Look for this work of art on the back of another piece. These people do not half-ass things.

The new Golden Wookie Idol, that is (of course) also a bar.

I mentioned earlier that Chewbacchus has an almost cult-like following. I wasn’t kidding. The parade’s theme this year is actually The Cult of the Sacred, Drunken Wookie. To celebrate, the IKOC had itself officially registered as a religious entity, specifically a satirical Space Cult. Seriously. Several members have been ordained and will be performing several wedding ceremonies and vow renewals at their ball on Saturday after the parade. Some people may be taken aback by the idea of a parade krewe becoming an official religious organization, but when you get to know the people of Chewbacchus and get to know their (in some cases) obsession with this krewe, you realize that it really was part of the natural progression of the organization.

This ever-growing shrine is a permanent fixture in the den and houses throws and props of old with idols that have been mailed to the krewe over the years.

It is of note that this funky krewe of creative women and men are not simply reaping the benefits of their status as a religion, they’re also making sure to give back to the community. Per my guide, IKOC Cultural Ambassador, Martin Childs:

“This is the first year of our new service sub-krewe, The Charitable Sisters of the Wook. All of our members here, many of modest means, have put together over 300lbs of collected canned goods for Second Harvest [Food Bank], as well as we had a charity raffle, and it was well over 500$ in one evening that we gathered.

In addition to housing many of the parade’s contraptions, a work shop, a practice stage for their bands, and the Sacred Drunken Wookie shrine, Castillo Blanco also includes The Space Sanctuary. Not only is this magical room absolutely gorgeous (I just wanted to lay down and stare at the ceiling for hours), it’s also where you can find the fully functional, salt water, float tank. Yep, you read that right. They have a full sized, working, sensory deprivation chamber in their den. Top that, Rex!

One day, I will do this to my bathroom, and you will never ever see me again.

Now, you cannot have a Mardi Gras parade without throws, and Chewbacchus has the best throws of all the parades (hands down), but don’t expect to catch any beads. Just like their contraptions and costumes, all the throws from Chewbacchus are handmade by the krewe members. Every single thing you walk away from this parade with was made by someone in the parade, and these are some insanely creative nerds! One of the themed throws this year is the Build Your Own Bandolier throw. Basically, you catch a blank bandolier with some velcro on it, and then collect custom velcroed blocks from as many sub-krewes as you can to affix to your bandolier. It’s bloody genius, is what it is.

This fuzzy bandolier block has already made its way onto the shrine with a King Cake Baby in Carbonite and Yoddha.

There are plenty of throws that aren’t specific to the bandoliers as well, like this Rib of the Sacred, Drunken Wookie (painstakingly crafted by dedicated members who were willing to sacrifice their time to eat a bunch of BBQ ribs for the cause):

While at the den, I also had a chance to meet up with some of the members of new sub-krewe, Krewe du Groot, and snag a peek at some of their throws. They might be brand new (formed only 3 weeks ago), but this small krewe is bringing out the Hadron Enforcer of big guns when it comes to creative throws:

(Insider Tip: An undisclosed number of these are random, re-purposed cassettes; you should absolutely try to play them.)

>>> Next Page: Picture of The Parade-ering

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

For most, winter is an annoyance. Despite the particularly brutal weather the northeastern United States has been experiencing lately, it's still just a four-month period spent worrying about how sweaty your thighs are going to get if you wear long-johns on the subway.

For some, however, the change of season signals the beginning of a seemingly inescapable black hole—a sudden downturn in mood and mindset. This condition is known as seasonal affective disorder, or "SAD"—a form of depression that tends to affect sufferers on a seasonal basis. "Generally speaking, it occurs in winter," says Sam Challis from Mind, a leading British mental health charity. "However, some individuals do find themselves feeling the same symptoms over the summer period."

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All images of the SAD book courtesy of Studio C&C.

Like many matters of the mind, the exact causes of SAD are somewhat unclear and difficult to prove. "One theory is that light stimulates the parts of the brain that control mood, appetite, and sleep, so therefore the absence of light has a massive impact," Sam explains. "Similarly, some suggest that the brain associates darkness with sleep. As our modern lives don't allow us to change our waking hours to match the sun, some people experience SAD symptoms when there's a mismatch between the hours they keep and the hours of daylight."

These symptoms, Sam explains, include "feeling lethargic, generally 'down,' having a decreased interest in sex and relationships, and may [involve the sufferer finding it] difficult to concentrate."

[vimeo src='//player.vimeo.com/video/118908461' width='640' height='360']

The promo video for Studio C&C's SAD exhibition at Protein Studios. Directed and filmed by Olivia Pringle and Oskar Proctor with Studio C&C

Inspired to create a "haven from SAD," Studio C&C —a South London creative studio—is staging an exhibition intended as an "over the top escapism event."

The show, which starts this Thursday at Shoreditch's Protein Studios, is centered around a large-format publication featuring the vivid, hyper-fluorescent work of more than 30 emerging artists. The book, according to Alex from Studio C&C, will "hopefully sit on the reader's shelf and be brought out in the depths of January and February, ideally to serve as a form of help or therapy for sufferers."

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The vitamin D "acid tabs" from the SAD book.

The publication, available for purchase at the exhibition, opens with a very tangible example of this idea: a sheet of acid-blotter paper containing a three-month supply of vitamin D tabs, designed by artist Callum Copley. Researchers have associated a vitamin D deficiency with a greater risk of SAD, so, the theory goes, get some extra vitamin D in you and minimize that risk.

"We receive the majority of our vitamin D intake from exposure to sunlight, meaning it's something we miss out on in the winter," says Alex. "So that particular piece is designed to make the reader feel upbeat."

[body_image width='1333' height='1000' path='images/content-images/2015/02/17/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2015/02/17/' filename='sad-seasonal-affective-disorder-and-exhibition-293-body-image-1424177483.jpg' id='28098']

Although the book is key to the exhibition and something the group has been working on for over a year, the gallery space will also feature a number of other artworks, all of which share the same common intention: to "create a space for people as a kind of refuge from SAD—a sanctuary; hopefully somewhere that feels a million miles from London in the middle of February."

The motivations behind the project are fairly direct: "Every artist in the book relates to SAD in some form or another—some of them quite severely, some less so. That's organically created quite a range in the book: some of the contributors may have been using their artwork as a coping mechanism, as an exercise to help them manage their feelings. Whereas other people's works are just supposed to be cheerful for the reader."

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Neina, a marketing administrator who also works with SADA (Seasonal Affective Disorder Association) on their media and communications, tells me about her experience of first being diagnosed with the condition: "There's quite often a trigger with SAD. For me, unfortunately a friend died just before the millennium, which sent me into a bit of a depressive state, and I think the seasonal affective disorder kind of continued from there," she recalls. "But it wasn't until 2003 that I was actually diagnosed by a doctor."

Neina explains to me how SAD made her feel at her lowest points: "I just really couldn't get out of bed. And I don't mean just not wanting to get out bed; I mean really not having the energy to get out of bed," she says. "I just wanted to fall asleep the whole time. The best way I can describe it is like you just want to hibernate, like you don't want to engage with people."

[body_image width='1333' height='1000' path='images/content-images/2015/02/17/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2015/02/17/' filename='sad-seasonal-affective-disorder-and-exhibition-293-body-image-1424177556.jpg' id='28100']

Over the years, however, Neina has managed to take some control of the condition, explaining that two products in particular have changed her life. "I have a light box, which is basically a bright light that simulates the kind of light you'd get on a bright summer's day," she tells me. "I also have a dawn simulator, which does what it says on the tin: it wakes you up gently by simulating sunrise."

Neina, who describes herself as an "ambassador for the disorder," is glad to see that the Studio C&C exhibition is taking place, as any event to promote a better understanding of SAD can only be a positive thing. "I've had people take the mickey out of me at different places, and people say that SAD doesn't exist," says Neina. "However, I'd challenge this: It has been classed as a medical condition and is recognized by medical councils."

And Neina's right—SAD isn't a punchline or a matter to be taken lightly; it's a legitimate form of depression and deserves all the attention it can get. So if you feel down this winter, tell someone about it. And if you're told about it, listen.

Studio C&C's SAD exhibition runs from February 19 until February 22 at Protein Studios, Shoreditch.

To get on the guest list for the opening night of the exhibition (which includes some free cocktails), send your name to rsvp@prote.in.

The full list of artists involved are: Jonah Ainslie, Ellie Andrews, Adam Bletchly, Elizabeth Bradley, Laura Callaghan, Callum Copley, Orron Fearon, Will Gates, Goodchild, Eliot Haworth, Jamie Julien Brown, Joseph P Kelly, Jason Kerley, Tessa Lawer, Chris Mackenzie-Gray, Charlotte Maeva-Perret, Alex McCullough, Ludo O'Grady, Andrew Osman, Joseph Pleass, Sean Preston, Oskar Proctor, Jamie Roberts, William Rowe, Lawrence Slater, Thomas Slater, Donal Sturt, Jack Taylor, Sean Thomas, Andrew Thorpe, Marc Torrent, Cei Willis and Jay Wright.

Mind is a leading mental health charity in England and Wales, providing advice and support to anyone experiencing a mental health problem. The charity has a confidential information and support line, Mind Infoline, available on 0300 123 3393 (lines open from 9AM to 6PM, Monday to Friday).

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Renowned ’60s girl-pop star, composer and actress Lesley Gore passed away yesterday in Manhattan at age 68 of lung cancer. The iconic singer is survived by her brother and mother as well as her partner of 33 years, Lois Sasson.

After being discovered by producer Quincy Jones, Brooklyn-born Gore shot to fame in the early ’60s with several singles she recorded before turning 18; her first hit, 1963′s “It’s My Party,” was followed by “Judy’s Turn to Cry,” a “My Party” sequel celebrating victory over one’s romantic rival.

Gore’s 1964 single “You Don’t Own Me” was a thematic departure from some of her earlier hits; speaking to The Minneapolis Star Tribune in 2010, the singer explained:

When I heard it for the first time, I thought it had an important humanist quality. As I got older, feminism became more a part of my life and more a part of our whole awareness, and I could see why people would use it as a feminist anthem. I don’t care what age you are — whether you’re 16 or 116 — there’s nothing more wonderful than standing on the stage and shaking your finger and singing, ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’

After her early commercial success Gore went on to get a degree in English and American literature at Sarah Lawrence, telling an interviewer at the time “it would be very foolish of me to leave school to go into such an unpredictable field on a full-time basis.” After graduating in 1968, she performed occasional shows and appeared in movies and on television, even playing Catwoman sidekick Pink Pussycat in the Adam West Batman series.

Although Gore didn’t write her early hits, she eventually found success as a songwriter as well, penning many of her tunes for the 1975 album “Love Me by Name” and writing the track “Out Here on My Own” for the 1980 Fame movie. She also continued to work in television, hosting the GLAAD-award-winning PBS LGBTQ series In the Life. (Gore came out as gay in 2005.)

In recent years, Gore had been working on a memoir and a Broadway show as well as supporting a feminist get-out-the-vote campaign for the 2012 election.

“You Don’t Own Me” PSA -Official from You Don’t Own Me on Vimeo.

(via The New York Times)

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Found on AskReddit

1. Make the Appropriate Grunt

If you can’t think of anything sexy to say, don’t say anything at all / just make noises appropriate to your enjoyment level.
No no #24:
“Your penis feels amazing!”
“Y-y-you too.”

2. Or the Appropriate Dirty Talk

My mouth sometimes moves faster than my brain. The amount of times as a male I’ve told my girlfriend “I’m so fucking wet.” is in the tens.

3. Heed the Warning Signs

If it’s a one night stand, and she says you don’t have to wear a condom, you should definitely wear a condom.

4. Be Careful With the Toys

If you’re going to suck a vibrator seductively, turn the fucking thing off first.

If your girlfriend cracks a tooth on a vibrator, don’t laugh!

5. Um, How Do I Say This?

I remember when I first started dating 6 years ago, I’m 25, and I’d get a bj not knowing how to go about ejaculating. So I’d ask where to go and it always ruined the moment. Finally, a few years back I started just saying, “I’m about to finish” and let them handle it how they want to. So I guess that’s a rule.

6. Remember, These Things Are Breakable

Ladies, when you’re on top don’t go so crazy that you start catching air. Nothing is a quicker boner-killer than being afraid you might snap it.

7. You Must Wash Your Hands

If you recently ate spicy foods, wash your hands! I’ve found that ladies do not appreciate a surprise spicy vagina.

8. Here Is Why

Ahhhhh I did this to my ex on the way back from a ski trip. We ate the spiciest goddamn wings ever and had a couple of beers.

Got a little playful in the car with my hand. Cue to me stopping and her sitting butt naked in a snow bank trying to ice off her crotch.

Hilarious for me. not so much for her

9. At Least There’s A Rule Now

If it slips out the one on top puts it back in.

10. To Avoid A Break In the Flow

This should be more well known. I’ve had moments where both us us just lay there waiting for the other person to do it or, more awkward, doing a secret handshake with my dick.

11. Never

Never make fun of someones orgasm face.

12. Rhythm Is The Soul’s Companion

Don’t always speed up if she is liking it. Women like rhythm, damnit!

13. Sabotage

Woman: “Don’t stop!”

Man: changes pace and speeds up

WHY. Just, WHY?!?!?! Orgasm gone.

14. Actually Respect Limits

If he or she has trouble finishing, don’t just stop attempting to get them there. And don’t rush them.

I should add this: know your partner’s limits, stop if it’s obviously not going to happen, and don’t shame them if it doesn’t happen.

15. No V To A

V to A, you’re okay!

A to V, hurts when you pee!

16. Please Don’t

Don’t fart while receiving oral.

17. Some Things Need To Be Discussed First

You’re gonna want to ask before you venture to brown town. And I’m not just talking about trying to stuff your cock in her ass like it’s the last helicopter out of Saigon, I mean a finger, a tongue…anything.

Nothing kills a good fuck session like you getting a little adventurous and trying to rim the poor girl out if she’s not into it. She clenches up and pulls away and says “what are you doing?!” You realize you’ve blown it. Again.

She doesn’t consider her asshole fair game and now all she’s thinking about is shit. There’s no going back.

18. No Excuses

Reciprocate oral.

19. Remember To Show You’re Alive

Have fun in there. Be vocal and lively. Nobody Most people don’t like sex with a lifeless body.

20. No Alligator Death Rolls Please

Nipple play is great but they are not jerky, please don’t bite, suck way too hard, and/or chew on them like you’re trying to take them off.

Edit: I mean, bite as in chomp like an alligator doing a death roll.

21. Keep Pointing and Laughing Separate

How about this: It’s okay to laugh. It’s okay to point. However there can be NO pointing and laughing.

22. Always Give Appropriate Warning

If you’re receiving a blow job, give a courtesy tap before you blow your load, for the love of all that is holy. Just a heads up is all we ask.

23. Accept and Move On

If someone says they’re not comfortable with something then it ends there. You can discuss it later, but don’t push the issue.

24. Don’t Stress About the Mess

Sex is messy so go apeshit on one another and don’t think about what’s going on.

25. It’s Okay To Laugh Sometimes

If your bodies push together in a weird way and you make a fart noise with your chests or something, it’s okay to laugh. That shit is funny.

26. No Humorous Catchphrases!

Don’t shout some hilarious catchphrase when you come. My friend used to do that with his girlfriend all the time, and it wound her up something fierce.

One week it was “hiyooooo!” the next week it was “joooyyy!” (in the voice of Stimpy). Even though it nearly caused them to break up, he still carried on doing it..that is until, after reaching the end of her rope, his girlfriend started shouting “Nooooiiiice!” in the gruffest, most manly voice she could manage whenever she orgasmed. My friend stopped after that.

A person you know has just had a stroke. This, naturally, is terrible news. Apart from the initial damage, the effects can linger for years. But sometimes, the effects that linger are weird but fantastic.

Read more...

Cannibalism can show up at the most unexpected points in history.

Most people don't associate cannibalism with the Soviet Union. But as Timothy Snyder describes in his book Bloodlands, the 1933 Stalin-imposed famine in Ukraine was so severe that cannibalism became surprisingly prevalent. The state had to set up an anti-cannibalism squad, and hundreds of people were accused of eating their neighbors or, in some cases, their family members. (Ron Rosenbaum shares many of the gruesome details in a book review for Slate.)

The grisly episode makes vivid the deprivations of the early Soviet era. That many Americans may have never heard of it illustrates another fact about cannibalism — it's something no one ever wants to think about. It's relegated to disgust, tabloid voyeurism, and lame jokes, and those all contribute to a general ignorance of the subject.

Historians and anthropologists, however, have tried to study the history and science of cannibalism over the years: why it happens, when it occurs, and who's affected. It tests the ultimate boundaries of cultural relativism, health, and ritual. Though this list isn't at all comprehensive, it catalogs some of the unusual things about cannibalism you might have missed.

Turns out there are a lot of myths about cannibalism — and how it's been practiced over time. Here are a few surprising things experts have learned:

1) Humans are mostly hard-wired against cannibalism — but not always

There's a good biological reason why cannibalism is taboo in virtually every culture: Eating other humans can make you sick.

Specifically, eating the brain of another human being can cause kuru — a brain disease that's similar to mad cow disease. Kuru occurs because our brains contain prions that transmit the disease. Symptoms begin with trembling and end in death.

What's surprising, though, is that this isn't always the case. Among anthropologists, the Fore people in Papua New Guinea are known for cannibalism. Up until the late 1950s, they ate the bodies of relatives to cleanse their spirits. Thousands of Fore contracted kuru and died ("kuru" actually comes from the Fore word for shaking). But not all of them fell victim to the disease: Over the last 200 years, some Fore have also developed a genetic mutation that protects them from the prions that transmit kuru.

The Fore were adapting to cannibalism — with natural selection possibly playing a role in reducing their susceptibility to disease. Scientists have been trying to study this further, but in recent decades, cannibalism has been declining among the Fore because of changing social mores and laws. If that continues, kuru may be wiped out entirely.

2) Animals are mostly hard-wired against cannibalism — but not always

A cane toad. (Ian Waldie/Staff/Getty Images)

Cannibalism is rare in the animal kingdom — except when it isn't.

A few years ago, Natalie Angier of the New York Times chronicled the tales of the cane toad, caecilian, redback spider, and other animals that eat their own species. The cane toad, for instance, actually prefers cane toad eggs to other options.

How can that possibly be a good idea? Here's Angier: "Researchers propose three motives. The practice speeds up maturation; it eliminates future rivals who, given a mother toad’s reproductive cycle, are almost certainly unrelated to you; and it means exploiting an abundant resource that others find toxic but to which you are immune."

Those evolutionary imperatives extend to a wide range of organisms — even including occasional cannibalistic dalliances from animals like the sloth bear. As Mary Bates described in Wired, it's not unknown for sloth bears to eat members of their own family (possibly because they're under stress).

These human and animal cases are more than curious footnotes. They show that evolution can work in ways that run counter to our cultural values. Evolution happens through natural selection and doesn't always line up with things we might value as a society, and evolved cannibalistic behavior illustrates that important distinction.

3) "Cannibalism" was named after people who might not have been cannibals

Caribs depicted as cannibals. ( MPI/Stringer/Getty Images)

A few basic questions about cannibalism are difficult for historians to answer: How many groups practiced cannibalism? When did it start? And how common is it? Those questions are tough because "cannibalism" has been used throughout time to describe many different things. That's also the reason most modern anthropologists and scientists prefer the term "anthropophagy" to "cannibalism."

There are cultures that engaged in cannibalism as a ritualistic practice, but there are also times when people resorted to cannibalism during famine. And at times, the word "cannibalism" has been used to describe all sorts of tactics — and people — seen as savage. Cannibalism is occasionally descriptive, occasionally circumstantial, and occasionally an indirect ethnic slur.

Case in point: The word "cannibalism" itself comes from the name that the Spanish gave to the Caribs (Caníbales). The Spanish accused the Caribbean tribe of ritualistically eating their enemies, but modern-day scholars have doubts that it actually happened. Because the Caribs were engaged in an anti-colonial battle with a host of European powers, many historians now argue that the cannibalism rumors were just a propaganda tactic by the Spanish meant to stir up fears.

On the other hand, we have some evidence the Caribs used body parts as trophies, so cannibalism is a possibility — especially as an intimidation measure or act of war. However, most of our initial testimony comes from Columbus, who had many reasons, both personal and political, to make the Caribs seem as savage as possible.

4) Cannibalistic rituals could be surprisingly complex

An engraving depicting the Tupi. (DeAgostini/Getty Images)

One of the first prominent European accounts of cannibals appeared in Montaigne's late-1500s essay Of Cannibals. In addition to being an invaluable anthropological record of the Tupi people in what is now Brazil, the essay sheds light on the intricate practice of cannibalism at the time. Sometimes, the Tupi lived with their captives for months before they were eaten. And they sang to each other.

As Montaigne recorded, the captors taunted captives by "entertain[ing] them with threats of their coming death." And the captives replied in a fashion that was like a song or chant. Montaigne writes:

I have a song composed by a prisoner which contains this challenge, that they should all come boldly and gather to dine off him, for they will be eating at the same time their own fathers and grandfathers, who have served to feed and nourish his body. "These muscles," he says, "this flesh and these veins are your own, poor fools that you are."

Musicologist Gary Tomlinson, who wrote about the Tupi in The Singing of the New World, describes it as an "economy of flesh" that passed through the warring tribes for generations.

"It was a transaction across generations in these warring societies," Tomlinson says. "They were saying, 'In the future, you will be captured by my people, and we will eat you.' The transaction goes on and on."

5) Cannibalism was practiced in Colonial America

Archaeologists with a reconstruction of the Jamestown cannibalism victim. (The Washington Post/Getty Images)

Many people might think of cannibalism in distant history and undeveloped countries. But cannibalism was a feature of early American history too.

In 2013, archaeologists revealed they'd found evidence of cannibalism in Colonial Jamestown — an indication of just how desperate early Colonial life had been. Specifically, they discovered markings on the skull of a 14-year-old girl that strongly indicated she'd been eaten by settlers during the particularly difficult winter of 1609.

It was more concrete evidence for something historians had read stories about for years. As Howard Zinn excerpted in A People's History of the United States, one government report painted a grim picture of that winter:

Driven thru insufferable hunger to eat those things which nature most abhorred, the flesh and excrements of man as well of our own nation as of an Indian.

6) The Donner Party wasn't solely about cannibalism

An illustration depicting the desperate journey of the Donner Party. (Fotosearch/Stringer/Getty Images)

When most people think of cannibalism in America, they probably think of the Donner Party — the famous travelers who resorted to the practice when they were stuck in the snowy Sierra Nevada mountains while traveling west in 1846.

What's surprising, however, is contemporary accounts of the trip focused less on the lurid accounts of cannibalism and more on the breadth of hardship that the party endured. As Donner Party historian Kristin Johnson notes: "Out of the more than 300 newspaper articles about the Donner Party published in 1847, the most common headline is a variation of 'From California' ... a mere seven [headlines] contain the word 'cannibalism.'" Accounts tended to highlight the fact that the party only resorted to cannibalism after eating boiled animal bones, hides, and even a beloved dog, Uno.

What's more, many people were just as interested in legends about the Donner Party's buried treasure as they were in the cannibalism. In the 1890s, a Sacramento newspaper reported that treasure rumors made the people of Truckee, California, "feverish with excitement" and included discoveries that would "delight the heart of a numismatist."

The treasure was probably a myth, but it shows that the story was considered far more complicated — and less purely shocking — than it is today.

7) Cannibalism was sometimes used as a medical treatment

There are many horrifying examples of cannibalism in Europe throughout history. But one of the most bizarre is that cannibalism was occasionally seen as a remedy. To pick one example, in Germany from the 1600s to 1800s, executioners often had a bizarre side job that supplemented their income: selling leftover body parts as medicine.

As described in Kathy Stuart's Defiled Trades and Social Outcasts, human fat was sold as a remedy for broken bones, sprains, and arthritis. Usually, this human fat was rubbed as a balm, not eaten. However, apothecaries regularly stocked fat, flesh, and bone, and there are also examples of a human skull being ground into a fine powder and mixed with liquid to treat epilepsy.

That treatment may sound strange, but remember that eating placenta has become a modern-day health fad. Most of the time, the popular verdict on cannibalism is clear — don't do it. But occasionally, what's cannibalism and what isn't has been surprisingly hard to define.

Further reading: For a more detailed story about cannibalism, try this one about the disappearance of Michael Rockefeller.

Watch: The fascinating process of human decomposition

HBO's favorite British satirist isn't going anywhere. Just two weeks into its second season, Last Week Tonight has been renewed for a third and fourth season, each spanning one year and consisting of 35 episodes each (same as this year). That's a guarantee of more than 100 new episodes from now through the end of 2017.

In our sit-down earlier this month, Oliver noted that the show has hired more researchers with investigative journalist backgrounds to reinforce the long-form stories Last Week Tonight has become famous for. So far that's included pieces on Tobacco (embedded below) and Marketing to Doctors. Along the way, the show has also defended Radio Shack and chastised Sports Illustrated for its swimsuit issue.

Oliver has also...

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A new Google Maps driving sim allows you to drive around like a maniac, all from your browser. It’s reminiscent of the early 2D versions of “Grand Theft Auto,” except you can’t shoot anyone or steal any cars. Yet.

The sim gives you the choice of a sedan or a bus (sadly no Weinermobile), and then you can pretty much just floor it. I was able to get to ~150 mph before my browser lagged and the car instantly stopped, preventing me from terrorizing more cities. In a sense it’s not so much a driving sim as a magical flying car sim. For example, you can drive a bus up the side of the Eiffel Tower.

It was created by Japanese game developers Frame Synthesis. They also created a 3D driving sim using the Google Earth API, that sadly will soon disappear, as Google will be shutting it down in December 2015 for “security reasons.” So this might be a good sign that you should play and enjoy this particular driving sim, before Google suddenly changes their mind (as they often do) and it too disappears.

Putting stuff between sliced bread is the best thing since sliced bread.

Chelsey Pippin / BuzzFeed

India

India's vada pav is a popular street food, and suitable for the veggie crowd. Battered and fried potatoes are tucked between buns and served with a variety of chutneys for a mouthwatering to-go sandwich.

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Vietnam

Bánh mì is a flavour-packed baguette sandwich that originated in Vietnam but is loved the world over. Typically, it's stuffed with pork, veggies, coriander, and jalapeño.

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Turkey

Doner kebab is a must-eat in Turkey, and popular throughout surrounding countries. Available from takeaways and higher-end restaurants, the sandwich is usually filled with shavings of lamb, veggies, and yogurt.

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If you're anyone on the internet, you probab...

After much consideration, 26-year-old Hannah Larson has decided she “just needs to be selfish right now.”

Larson came to this conclusion while out with a friend yesterday afternoon, discussing her various work, friend, and romantic relationships, and comes on the heels of another failed Tinder date and missed promotion. “I feel like I’m always worried about other people’s feelings instead of my own, and I should really be focusing on me.”

From now on, instead of guiltily staying in and watching Netflix on her friend Samantha’s birthday, Larson will stay in and watch Netflix after replying, “Sorry, just need some ‘me’ time” to the Facebook invite.

It is a clear transformation that her friends and family claim is undeniable. “She is definitely being selfish right now,” says her sister, Marie.

Hannah’s mother, Ruth Larson, expresses her wary pride. “Hannah was always one to be polite and apologize for not remembering to call me. Now she’s just owning her selfishness. It’s a hard change to make, but she’s doing it so beautifully.”

Hannah has now stopped even pretending to listen during conversations. Although she would obviously prefer to act like she wants to donate to the charity at checkout, Hannah has made the difficult choice to just go with her first impulse of saying, “no.”

“It’s not easy, y’know?” Hannah says, tearing up. “It’s re-evaluating your life and saying, ‘no, I’m not going to make those around me feel comfortable until I feel comfortable.’”

Hannah shook her head and placed her bag on the open seat next to her on a crowded bus. “After I make sure that Hannah feels good, I’ll be able to really make a difference in other people’s lives.”

Girl Decides She Really Needs to Be Selfish Right Now is a post from: Reductress

Imagen: HBO/Canal TNT.

Hace algún tiempo hablamos por aquí de la historia de Nueva Orleans, y nos quedamos en el nacimiento del jazz, los pioneros del género y el inolvidable Louis Armstrong. Como el Mardi Gras ya está aquí, qué mejor momento que estos días de carnaval para retomar el tema y entretenernos un rato acercándonos al casi inabarcable patrimonio musical de la ciudad. Este es tan amplio que un recorrido totalmente exhaustivo podría agotar a cualquiera, así que resumiremos para que sea lo más ameno posible sin perder la esencia del asunto, que es mucha y gozosa.

De hecho aquí tienen como complemento al artículo una playlist de Spotify que he creado para la ocasión con varios de los artistas que se mencionan en el texto. Pueden acompañar la lectura con ella o dejarla para otro momento. La idea es simplemente divertirnos un rato, así que decidan el modo que más les convenga de hacerlo. Allá vamos:

«James Booker is the best black, gay, one-eyed junkie piano genius New Orleans has ever produced» (Dr. John)

James Booker era un músico cuyo aspecto estrafalario (lucía un llamativo parche en el ojo e incluso una capa en ocasiones) era lo primero que llamaba la atención cuando subía al escenario. Pero el impresionante desfile de sus dedos por las teclas del piano hacía súbitamente olvidar al público sus balbuceos, su mirada al vacío inyectada de locura y su aire general de bala perdida, pues se asistía en directo a la conversión mágica de ese extraño sujeto en una especie de pianista de diez manos. El músico sorprendía al público del circuito local de Nueva Orleans con sus increíbles brotes de genio nacidos de ese nirvana artístico que en ocasiones parece reservado a la gente realmente rota por dentro. Booker lo estaba: esquizofrénico, maníaco depresivo, alcohólico y drogadicto, sus impulsos autodestructivos se acrecentaron con la muerte de su madre y su hermana en 1970 y su propio paso por la cárcel tras ser condenado por posesión de heroína. Su vida se apagó en 1983, a los cuarenta y tres años, sentado en una silla de ruedas mientras esperaba a ser atendido en un hospital de caridad al que había llegado después de que alguien introdujera su torturado cuerpo en un taxi tras otro episodio de excesos. Su vida personal fue siempre un caos, pero sobre el escenario su atormentado mundo interior fluía por su voz y sus dedos con un efecto casi hipnótico. Aquí le tienen deshaciéndose ante un piano:

Supongo que era difícil no querer a Booker cuando uno sabía de su vida y circunstancias y tenía la fortuna (no era fácil verle, pues faltaba con frecuencia a sus propios conciertos) de asistir a una de sus demostraciones de talento. Otra cosa era querer tener a Booker en casa: en Nueva Orleans una historia local asegura que el fiscal de distrito Harry Connick ofreció al músico la posibilidad de reducir su pena por posesión de heroína a cambio de dar clases de piano a su hijo. Con los años Harry Connick Jr se convertiría en cantante, pianista, actor y compositor, vendiendo más de veinticinco millones de discos. El acuerdo entre Booker y el fiscal puede tener su parte de leyenda, pero sí es cierto que Connick recibió clases de él siendo niño, y ello sirve para explicar que en Nueva Orleans la cultura musical se vive de otra manera, simplemente.

Y es que ya lo dijo Ernie K. Doe en una cita bien conocida y repetida en varios rincones de la ciudad, cuando apostilló con ironía: «I’m not sure, but I’m almost positive, that all music came from New Orleans». Para navegar por todo ese vastísimo océano musical lo primero es decidir cuál es nuestro puerto de entrada. La elección es libre y depende del criterio de cada uno. Como ya hablamos de Louis Armstrong en el artículo anterior, yo tengo muy claro cuál es el mío:

Cosimo Matassa & Dave Bartholomew

Admito que resulta curioso empezar el repaso por alguien que nunca fue músico en el sentido estricto del término, y que con gran modestia tan solo se jactó de tener un cierto oído para lo que sonaba bien y lo que no, pero en ocasiones los terremotos culturales no serían posibles si un hombre y un lugar no ejercieran de epicentro catalizador y orientador del talento de otros. En Nueva Orleans ese lugar es el número 840 de N Rampart Street, al norte del French Quarter. Y ese hombre es el recientemente fallecido Cosimo Matassa (1926 – 2014).

Hijo de una familia trabajadora de origen italiano, Matassa iba para químico, pero abandonó sus estudios a los diecinueve años para abrir en la parte de atrás de la tienda de su padre un estudio de grabación en el que se dedicaría a crear otro tipo de fórmulas: el legendario J&M Studio, en la esquina de Rampart y Dumaine St y equivalente local a los míticos Sun Studios de Memphis es el lugar que vio nacer muchos de los éxitos primigenios de rhythm & blues y del rock and roll, esa revolución musical a la que con los años le crecieron los padres, todos ellos convencidos de estar en posesión del privilegio de haber grabado la primera pieza del género. Matassa, en su modestia, fue uno de ellos. Fue él el ingeniero de sonido de, por ejemplo, «Tutti Frutti» o «Long Tall Sally», que Little Richard grabó en su diminuto estudio en 1955 y 1956, respectivamente.

La carrera de Matassa abarca más de veinte años, a lo largo de los cuales prácticamente toda grabación de R&B realizada en la ciudad y vendida al mundo pasó por sus manos en uno de los cuatro estudios que abriría con el tiempo. En J&M grabaría su primera demo un chaval de dieciséis años llamado Jerry Lee Lewis, por ejemplo. También un tal Ray Charles se dejó caer por allí. Matassa fue el ingeniero detrás de éxitos locales y nacionales como «Sea Cruise», de Frankie Ford, «Carnival Time» de Al Johnson, «Ain’t got no home» de Clarence ‘Frogman’ Henry, «I hear you knockin’» de Smiley Lewis o este entrañable «Let the good times roll», apoteosis de la alegría y el buen rollo a cargo de Shirley & Lee. También de grandes éxitos internacionales como «Tell it like it is» de Aaron Neville. Artistas locales imprescindibles de los que hablaremos más adelante, como Irma Thomas, Dr. John o Professor Longhair también pasaron por sus sabias manos. Matassa se retiró discretamente del negocio musical en los setenta y desde entonces hasta que fue incluido tardíamente (2012) en el Rock and Roll Hall of Fame consumió sus días despachando tranquilamente en una tienda de alimentación del French Quarter y charlando con la clientela, que siempre supo que tenía delante a un gigante local cuyo legado se seguía escuchando en todo el país y más allá de sus fronteras.

Evidentemente Matassa no fue el único padre del sonido R&B de Nueva Orleans, pero su estudio dio cobijo a la pareja de genios que fijó los cimientos del género: Fats Domino y el productor Dave Bartholomew establecieron una fecunda colaboración de varios años, grabando con Matassa piezas imprescindibles como «I’m walkin’» o «Ain’t that a shame».

Cuando Dave Bartholomew conoció a Matassa era ya trompetista y director de una popular banda de jazz local, pero sería en J&M donde despegó su impresionante carrera como compositor y productor: un legado de centenares de canciones de las que fue autor, productor o músico, y que le convirtieron en el centro neurálgico del «sonido Nueva Orleans». En el episodio piloto de la serie de HBO Treme el inefable Davis McAlary robaba un ejemplar de Spirit of New Orleans: the genius of Dave Bartholomew, una rareza descatalogada que repasa la trayectoria de un autor que a sus noventa y cuatro años sigue siendo leyenda viva de Nueva Orleans. Por Treme pasó también en un simpático cameo el mismísimo Fats Domino, que sigue vivo y coleando por más que muchos le dieran por muerto en los caóticos días posteriores al brutal paso del huracán Katrina por la ciudad en 2005. Alguien llegó a escribir con espray en la puerta de su casa del devastado Lower 9th Ward un estremecedor «R.I.P Fats». Varias agencias de prensa internacionales informaron de su fallecimiento el día que Katrina arrasó la ciudad, pero tres días después se supo que el octogenario músico llevaba horas alojado en un centro de rescate tras haber sido evacuado por un helicóptero de la Guardia Costera. El episodio da una idea del caos de aquellos días.

Allen Toussaint. Foto: Marie Carianna (CC)

Allen Toussaint

En 1953 un chavalín de quince años se presentó a una audición en el estudio de Cosimo Matassa ante su ídolo, Dave Bartholomew. Fue rechazado, y quizá estaba ciertamente muy verde todavía, pero poco podía adivinar Bartholomew que ese advenedizo pianista se convertiría con los años en su legítimo sucesor: el legado cultural de Nueva Orleans de los cuarenta y cincuenta no se entiende sin Bartholomew, pero la música de la ciudad de los años sesenta hasta hoy tiene en el gran Allen Toussaint, productor, compositor y pianista, a uno de sus ejes fundamentales.

La gran carrera de Toussaint como productor hace que en ocasiones se olvide que es el autor de canciones inmortales como este «Working in the coal mine» de Lee Dorsey, de himnos locales como «Mother-in-Law» del citado Ernie K-Doe o de «Fortune Teller», que versionarían los Rolling Stones en los días en que la banda británica descubría a muchos americanos las joyas de su propio patrimonio musical. Suele olvidarse también que en los setenta Toussaint publicó un disco maravilloso cuyo tema central debería acompañar las noches de verano de cualquier hogar decente que se precie: el imprescindible Southern Nights (1975), evocador desde la misma portada:

Pero es que la carrera de Toussaint como productor le coloca como hilo conductor y creador a la sombra de buena parte de la mejor música concebida en la ciudad desde los años sesenta a esta parte, abarcando varios géneros. Fue él, por ejemplo, quien juntó a Dr. John con los imprescindibles The Meters (hablaremos de ambos) para crear una imprescindible apoteosis funky en álbumes como In the right place (1973) o Desitively Bonnaroo (1974). También ejerció de productor de varios temas de blues a cargo de Earl King, del celebérrimo «Lady Marmalade» de Labelle y de la fantástica «Soul Queen of New Orleans, la gran Irma Thomas. Toussaint salió de la cabina de producción para tomar otra vez un papel principal en uno de los álbumes imprescindibles post Katrina: el excelente The River in Reverse, que grabó junto a Elvis Costello en 2006.

No vamos a pasar por alto tan rápido a Irma Thomas porque entre otras cosas es una señora que se marcó un impresionante concierto hace año y medio en el Matadero de Madrid en su primera visita a la capital. Un glorioso torrente de voz que entre exhibición y exhibición proclamó con orgullo (es rigurosamente cierto) que antes de que los Rolling Stones convirtieran «Time is on my side» en un éxito ella ya había grabado la mejor versión del tema. Aquí la tienen junto a B.B. King cantando su canción bandera, «You can have my husband (but please don’t mess with my man)»:

Professor Longhair

El virtuosismo al piano de Allen Toussaint le reserva un lugar de honor en el olimpo de los piano professors de Nueva Orleans, ese grupo de músicos cuya tradición va desde Jelly Roll Morton a «Tuts» Washington pasando por Champion Jack Dupree a los citados Fats Domino y James Booker. De Huey «Piano» Smith y Dr. John a los más recientes Henry Butler, Marcia Ball o Davell Crawford. Pero seguramente el más respetado y querido en la ciudad haya sido el excéntrico y reverenciado Henry Roeland «Roy» Byrd, alias Professor Longhair (1918 – 1980), padre de un estrafalario y gozoso estilo de tocar a medio camino entre el calypso, el boogie-woogie y el rhythm & blues con elementos afrocubanos. Mezcla quizá demasiado incompatible con el éxito de masas, y es un hecho que posiblemente «Bald Head» fuera su único tema conocido más allá de las fronteras de la ciudad. Pero Longhair es por encima de todo el intérprete de auténticos y maravillosos himnos locales, como «Go to the Mardi Gras», «Tipitina» o la impresionante «Big Chief», tema compuesto por Earl King en el que el profesor sublima lo mejor de su estilo. Era un músico tan brillante y adelantado a su tiempo que hasta la ciudad en la que es hoy un mito tardó en reconocerle sus méritos: tras publicar sus mejores himnos Longhair abandonó el negocio musical en los sesenta por la puerta de atrás, acabó fregando suelos en una tienda para ganarse la vida y no fue recuperado para los escenarios hasta los años setenta, cuando sus conciertos en el New Orleans Jazzfest ante un público enfervorecido terminaron de cimentar su leyenda. Murió poco después y su sombra se siente aún hoy en varios rincones de la ciudad: Tipitina’s es el nombre de uno de los locales de música en directo más conocidos de Nueva Orleans, y la casa del músico ha sido recientemente restaurada para ser convertida en un museo. Aquí tienen al profesor en acción en un concierto de 1979:

Las sagas familiares

Junto a Cosimo Matassa, Bartholomew, Toussaint, los piano professors o el planeta que Louis Armstrong es en sí mismo, otro puerto de entrada al vasto patrimonio musical de Nueva Orleans es el de las múltiples sagas familiares, esos apellidos de padres, hijos y nietos que uno reencuentra hurgando en el cancionero local. Hay varios ejemplos, pero quizá los más importantes sean los Neville y los Marsalis.

El legado de los Neville continúa aún hoy y arranca en 1954, cuando un adolescente Art Neville grabó junto con sus compañeros de instituto agrupados en una banda llamada The Hawketts este «Mardi Gras Mambo» que sigue siendo hoy uno de los himnos del carnaval. Años después su hermano Aaron grabaría en el estudio de Cosimo Matassa la célebre «Tell it like it is» (de la que ya hemos hablado antes y piedra de toque de su larga carrera en solitario) y Art formaría la banda que revolucionaría el funk en los setenta: los fantásticos The Meters, es decir, Leo Nocentelli, George Porter Jr, Zigaboo Modeliste y el propio Art Neville. Padres de un sonido totalmente reconocible en sus propios álbumes y en sus colaboraciones con otros artistas del momento (como Dr. John, como vimos). Sirva de ejemplo su fantástico «Hey Pocky A-Way» o este estupendo «Cissy Strut» extraído de su álbum de debut, y con el que Quentin Tarantino animaba la acción de su muy funky Jackie Brown.

Tras la disolución de The Meters los hermanos Art, Charles, Aaron y Cyril Neville formaron un nuevo grupo llamado simplemente The Neville Brothers que tras más de treinta años de trayectoria sigue en activo y que es responsable, por ejemplo, de esta versión del «Way Down in the Hole» de Tom Waits con la que arrancaban los episodios de la tercera temporada de The Wire. Los Neville están también detrás de The Wild Tchoupitoulas, grupo de indios del Mardi Gras y álbum homónimo de 1976 (producido, una vez más, por Allen Toussaint) que es todo un clásico local. Art Neville, por su parte, refundó The Meters con una nueva formación que sigue actuando bajo el nombre The Funky Meters, si bien en contadas y muy sonadas ocasiones ha logrado reunir a la formación original en directo.

Los Marsalis, formados por el padre, Ellis (piano), y sus hijos Branford (saxofón), Wynton (trompeta), Delfeayo (trombón) y el joven Jason (batería) son la otra gran familia de músicos de la ciudad, sobre todo desde que Branford y Wynton cogieron el testigo de su padre en los años ochenta convirtiéndose en dos de los más célebres músicos de jazz del país. Wynton debe también su fama a sus controvertidas y nada discretas opiniones sobre la esencia pura del jazz y su férreo rechazo al jazz moderno, que han alimentado el debate en torno al más importante género musical nacido en Nueva Orleans. Aquí le tienen a la trompeta el año 1999 junto a un joven prodigio del trombón, un chaval que contaba entonces trece añitos y del que vamos a hablar inmediatamente.

Trombone Shorty y las brass bands

Las brass bands son a Nueva Orleans lo que el huevo a la tortilla, y siguen hoy una larga tradición de festivos desfiles callejeros o second lines que pueden sorprender al viandante tras cualquier esquina para que se una a la celebración. Tampoco falta la fiesta en los por otra parte muy respetuosos jazz funerals, en los que se considera que la mejor forma de mostrar respeto por el fallecido es sobrellevar el duelo glorificando la vida misma. Aquí tienen un ejemplo (la fiesta comienza en el minuto 4:40). Las brass bands son por tanto legión en la ciudad (New Birth, TBC, Stooges, Hot 8…) y su tradición, ejemplificada por grupos como Olympia o la Treme Brass Band, se remonta a los orígenes del jazz. Sin embargo, a partir de los años setenta y ochenta varias brass bands comenzaron a añadir toques funk, reggae o hip-hop al repertorio. Arrancó entonces un renacimiento creativo que tiene todavía como protagonistas a grupos como Dirty Dozen, Soul Rebels o Rebirth Brass Band, cuyo concierto semanal de los martes en el Maple Leaf Bar (otra de las instituciones locales de música en directo) es cita obligada para el visitante ocasional. Un antiguo miembro de Rebirth, que abandonó la banda en los noventa para fundar su propio grupo, es una de las más reconocibles figuras de la vida musical nocturna de la ciudad. Se trata del gran Kermit Ruffins y sus Barbecue Swingers. Por desgracia hace un año que Kermit dejó de acudir a su cita festiva de todos los jueves en Vaughan’s (otra de las fechas marcadas a piñón en el calendario musical de Nueva Orleans) pero es previsible que se siga dejando ver por varios locales de la ciudad para preparar barbacoas para el respetable (lo hacía, es rigurosamente cierto) y deleitarlo con su dominio de la trompeta. Aquí tienen un concierto completo suyo en Vaughan’s. Y aquí está en acción en una de las escenas más recordadas de Treme: su pique con Antoine Batiste.

Íbamos a hablar de Trombone Shorty y nos hemos desviado un poco del tema. Ese chaval de trece años que toca junto a Wynton Marsalis en el vídeo de arriba es un joven prodigio del trombón que se curtió desde tempranísima edad en varias brass bands de la ciudad. El mote de «shorty» le viene de hecho porque hubo un tiempo en que el instrumento que tocaba era más grande que él. Pueden verle bajo estas líneas con cinco años, angelito.

Trombone Shorty. Foto: Infrogmation (CC)

Pero el chaval va ahora camino de la treintena, y vaya si Shorty ha crecido: hoy es un armario empotrado, cachas, lleno de talento y de enorme éxito. Y un maestro no solo del trombón. Aquí le tienen en plena exhibición en un concierto en Tipitina’s de 2013. Lo que viene siendo petarlo todo. Salten de la silla si quieren, y sobre todo observen con especial atención el impresionante despliegue de pulmones del minuto 2:30 al 3:50:

Y en el próximo capítulo…

No concluye aquí el repaso al legado musical de Nueva Orleans. Lo terminaremos la semana que viene. Hablaremos entonces de las últimas figuras del jazz herederas de Louis Armstrong, de imprescindibles bluesmen locales como Snooks Eaglin o Coco Robicheaux. También de John Boutté, Miss Sophie Lee, de la música bounce y de otros nombres de la pujante escena nocturna actual de la ciudad, que se rehízo tras el paso del Katrina y sigue saliendo cada noche para rebatir a todos aquellos que aseguran que los grandes días musicales de Nueva Orleans son cosa del pasado. Y nos acercaremos a toda esa población de origen francés que vive unos kilómetros al oeste de Nueva Orleans en torno a la costa del golfo de México y que no solo produce salsa tabasco, sino también música de dos géneros: el cajún y el zydeco.

Y por supuesto hablaremos (porque es uno de los más grandes, por no decir el más grande, y dejarlo para el final ha sido deliberado) del artista que quizá mejor sintetiza toda la esencia musical de la ciudad: en él desemboca la tradición de los piano professors con toques de jazz, rhythm & blues y el aroma vaporoso de los ritos vudú nocturnos a la orilla del pantano: es el gran Mac Rebennack, alias Dr. John, de quien ya hemos hablado un poco, pero sin dedicarle el espacio que merece.

Pero será en el próximo capítulo. Para entretener la espera, recuerden que si lo desean pueden escuchar a varios de los artistas mencionados en el texto en esta playlist que he creado en Spotify.

Y por último aquí van unas propinas, sección «tesoros de YouTube»:

- El último concierto de James Booker: una velada en el Maple Leaf Bar apenas diez días antes de su muerte. La intensidad de Booker es la de siempre, pero conmueve esa semipermanente mirada de reojo al público con la que el pianista parecía estar diciendo algo más que «adiós». El concierto completo está disponible aquí.

- Este fragmento del fantástico documental Piano Players Rarely Ever Play Together , en el que Professor Longhair y Allen Toussaint explican algunos de sus trucos y señas de identidad.

- Y la fiesta final. Asombrosa reunión de genios: Earl King, The Meters, Professor Longhair y Dr. John juntos sobre el escenario para cantar Big Chief. Disfruten, bailen, gocen. Lo que quieran:

(Continuará)

La entrada Mardi Gras en Nueva Orleans: un recorrido musical aparece primero en Jot Down Cutural Magazine.