If you’re a Django Reinhardt aficionado this documentary is surely worth watching. JR
Latcho Drom (“safe journey”) is a 1993 French documentary film directed and written by Tony Gatlif. The movie is about the Romani people’s journey from north-west India to Spain, consisting primarily of music. The film was screened in the Un Certain Regard section at the 1993 Cannes Film Festival.
The film contains very little dialogue and captions; only what is required to grasp the essential meaning of a song or conversation is translated. The film begins in the Thar Desert in Northern India and ends in Spain, passing through Egypt, Turkey, Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, France, and Spain. All of the Romani portrayed are actual members of the Romani community.
October 16, 2014 by PATRICK JARENWATTANANON • Every year for the last decade and a half, select groups of hot swing musicians have come from Europe to tour the U.S. The exact lineups change, but they all feature masters of the “gypsy jazz” — or jazz manouche — style pioneered by guitarist Django Reinhardt. In fact, they’re billed under the banner of New York’s Django Reinhardt Festival.The Django Festival All-Stars perform acoustically, but they played an electrifying set near the end of the Newport Jazz Festival. Afterward, we asked them to stick around and perform one more tune, and though their flying-finger exercises left them properly winded, they had plenty left in the tank for this energetic performance. They chose the standard “Them There Eyes,” and to paraphrase its lyrics: They sparkled, they bubbled, and they got up to a whole lot of trouble.
There was tension in the voices heard over the crackle of the radio – between forecasters and the highway’s regional CDOT teams. Then, Jerry’s succinct words: “We’re in full conditions here, boys and girls,” the first hint that we might be witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime storm. But of course, at the time, none of us really knew. It was 11:00 pm, January 8, 2005, and it would be an understatement to say it was a stormy night. Forecaster Mark Rikkers was in one truck racing south towards Molas Pass, while lead forecaster Jerry Roberts and his visiting side-kick Tim Lane were headed the opposite direction up Red Mountain, checking on the rapidly deteriorating road conditions and increasing avalanche hazard threatening Highway 550, from the Uncompaghre Gorge above Ouray all the way to Coal Bank Pass – the north/south life-line of southwestern Colorado. That night, after an already long day of shooting, I was allowed to stay behind and supposedly catch up on much-needed sleep. A night that was sleepless nonetheless, especially since around here we make a habit of snuggling with our Motorolas; no avalanche forecaster worth their Pisco Sours would be sleeping when it’s dumping nearly 3″ per hour on a severely burdened continental snowpack. So there I lay, wide awake, eavesdropping. Using radio call names, Jerry Roberts is anxiously trying to reach Mark Rikkers: “3 Mary 5-1, this is 3 Mary 5-0; what’s your 20? Mark Rikkers: “Hey Jer, it’s 3 Mary 5-1, I finally made it to Molas Pass – really bad visibility; what’s happening your direction?“ Jerry: “Mark, I’m with a crazy woman stuck in a snowbank near the Muleshoe turn (below a particularly nasty avalanche path) – will need help getting her out so we can shut this highway down. Can’t reach the Red Mountain plow driver – can you try radioing from your location and send him our way?” Mark: “10-4, I’ll give it a try.”
So, trolling for something to do, I ventured an earnest call to Jerry (knowing it was probably a mistake). “Uhh, 3 Mary 5-0, this is 3 Mary 5-2; is there anything I can do from here?” Pause. Jerry, with the whole world listening and a storm puking 3″ an hour, replied, “Thanks 5-2, uhh yea…when we get this lady out we’ll be escorting her back to Silverton for the night, but she might not be able to find a place to stay…doesn’t speak very good English, think she’s Romanian…you think she could camp on your sofa for the night?” I pause, suspicious. “Uhh, yea, sure, I guess so.” Jerry: “Great! And one other thing…I think she’s from the circus…and I think she has a monkey with her.”
Long pause. “Did you say MONKEY?” Jerry: “Ya, I think it’s a MONKEY. Will your dog be okay with that?”
Near the end of his life, Henri Matisse’s preferred attire was evening wear, by which I mean pajamas. They were the ideal uniform for the invalid, insomniac night worker and waking dreamer he had become in the decade before his death at age 84 in 1954. And it is the dreamer and worker we meet in “Henri Matisse: The Cut-Outs,” a marvelous, victory-lap show that arrives from London, where it drew more than 500,000 viewers at the Tate Modern last summer, and opens in a larger form at the Museum of Modern Art on Sunday.
Why is late Matisse pulling such crowds? Partly because of a popular image of the elderly artist, derived from photographs and long in circulation, as a serene, bespectacled pasha propped up in a bed in sunny Nice surrounded by doves and flowers. And the cutouts themselves, so photogenic, have an exceptionally direct appeal: color, line, beauty without reservation.
But the reality, of the life and the work, was far more complicated. In the years around 1940, Matisse must have felt he was living a nightmare. In 1939, he and his wife of more than four decades legally parted ways, at her instigation. Two years later, he was found to have abdominal cancer and underwent a grueling operation. During World War II, he fled Paris, only to have danger follow him. In 1943, he had to abandon his apartment in Nice when the city was threatened with bombardment and rent temporary quarters in Vence several miles away.
It so happened that his new Vence home had a pretty, prophetic name: Villa le Rêve, Dream House. And remarkable art came into being under its roof, though never easily. The cultural critic Edward W. Said, in his book on “late style” in art, wrote: “Each of us can readily supply evidence of how it is that late works crown a lifetime of aesthetic endeavor. Rembrandt and Matisse, Bach and Wagner. But what of artistic lateness not as harmony and resolution, but as intransigence, difficulty, unresolved contradiction?” I would say that Matisse had at least one foot in the second category.
Surgery had left him debilitated, basically chair and bed bound. Painting and sculpture had become physical challenges and, I think, emotionally, too freighted with make-it-new demands. At the same time, sheer relief at having survived mortal crises prompted a rush of creativity. His solution, before he even recognized it was such, was almost child-simple. He picked up more manageable materials and tools: sheets of paper paint-washed by assistants, sturdy scissors, and plain tailor pins. What he made from them was a hybrid of chromatic brilliance and dimensional complexity, work that was not quite painting, not quite sculpture and — this was the really radical part — not necessarily permanent.
Cut-paper art, decoupage, was not new to Matisse.
AREA FORECAST DISCUSSION
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE GRAND JUNCTION CO
440 AM MDT THU OCT 9 2014
.SHORT TERM…(TODAY THROUGH FRIDAY)
ISSUED AT 434 AM MDT THU OCT 9 2014
COMPLICATED FORECAST ON TAP THIS MORNING AS TROPICAL MOISTURE FROM
THE REMNANTS OF WHAT WAS ONCE HURRICANE SIMON DRIFT NORTHWARD
ACROSS THE REGION WITH LOW PRESSURE SPINNING ACROSS WEST CENTRAL
ARIZONA. THIS LOW IS EXPECTED TO LIFT INTO THE FOUR CORNERS REGION
BY MIDDAY…PROVIDING GOOD UPSLOPE FLOW INTO OUR SOUTHERN VALLEYS
FOR MUCH OF THE AFTERNOON AND EVENING HOURS. EMBEDDED CONVECTION
EXPECTED TO GENERATE LOCALLY HEAVY RAINFALL LATER TODAY IN THIS
REGION AND EXPECT FAIRLY EFFICIENT RAINFALL PRODUCTION AS
PRECIPITABLE WATER VALUES APPROACH ONE INCH…OR CLOSE TO 3
STANDARD DEVIATIONS ABOVE NORMAL FOR THIS TIME OF YEAR. EVEN WITH
A WEEK OF DRYING IN MANY AREAS…POTENTIAL FOR LOCALLY HEAVY
RAINFALL BETWEEN 7 AND 10K WILL BE ENHANCED FOR A PERIOD THIS
AFTERNOON AND EARLY EVENING. RECENT BURN SCARS…SUCH AS THE
PAPOOSE NORTH OF PAGOSA SPRINGS…WILL ALSO BE AREAS OF CONCERN
LATER TODAY. AS A RESULT…WILL BE ISSUING AN UNCONVENTIONAL FLASH
FLOOD WATCH FOR A SLICE OF TERRAIN BETWEEN 7 AND 10K ALONG THE
SOUTHERN SAN JUANS. ABOVE THE 10K LEVEL…TEMPS WILL BE COLD
ENOUGH TO SUPPORT SNOW AND LOCALLY HEAVY SNOW WILL BE
POSSIBLE…ALTHOUGH BEST ACCUMULATIONS WILL BE CONFINED TO
LOCATIONS ABOVE PASS LEVELS. HOWEVER…CONFIDENCE IS HIGH THAT
THOSE AREAS ABOVE 10K ALONG OUR CENTRAL AND SOUTHERN MOUNTAINS
THAT RECEIVE SNOW…WILL PICK UP AT LEAST 3 TO 6 INCHES BY EARLY
FRIDAY MORNING. AS A RESULT…WILL ALSO ISSUE A HIGH ELEVATION
WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY BEGINNING THIS AFTERNOON THROUGH EARLY
FRIDAY MORNING. AGAIN…THIS WILL NOT BE HITTING THE MAJORITY OF
OUR POPULATED MOUNTAIN LOCALES…BUT POTENTIAL FOR SIGNIFICANT
SNOWFALL IS DEFINITELY IN THE PICTURE. CLOUD COVER AND
PRECIPITATION WILL HELP TO HOLD TEMPS BACK A BIT TODAY AND HAVE
NUDGES MAX TEMPS DOWN A BIT.
UPDATED H2O vapor map @ 15:15
THE REMNANTS OF BAJA TROPICAL STORM SIMON WILL SPREAD INTO THE SAN JUAN FROM THE SW WITH INCREASING HIGH CLOUDS TODAY. BETTER MOISTURE WILL FOLLOW AND WILL WORK ITS WAY NORTH-NORTHEASTWARD THROUGH THE DAY ON WEDNESDAY WITH A SLIGHT CHANCE OF SHOWERS/THUNDERSTORMS DEVELOPING OVER THE SOUTHERN MOUNTAINS BY THE AFTERNOON.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT THROUGH THURSDAY INCREASING CHANCE FOR SHOWERS AND THUNDERSTORMS AS A BETTER SURGE OF SIMONS MOISTURE AND ENERGY REACHES THE FOUR CORNERS. ACTIVITY WILL GENERALLY REMAIN OVER THE SOUTHERN HALF OVERNIGHT…THEN WILL SPREAD NORTHWARD THROUGH THE DAY ON THURSDAY. SNOW LEVELS WILL REMAIN QUITE HIGH DUE TO THE SOUTHWEST- TO-NORTHEAST TRAJECTORY OF THIS SYSTEM…BUT THE HIGHEST PEAKS COULD SEE A LITTLE SNOW.
Mario Savio, leader of the Berkeley Free Speech Movement, speaks to assembled students on the campus at the University of California, Berkeley, on Dec. 7, 1964. The Movement celebrates its 50th anniversary this week
This week marks the 50th anniversary of the Free Speech Movement at the University of California, Berkeley. That movement launched the massive sit-ins and protests that would help define a generation of student activism across the country.
These days, thousands of students casually stroll past scores of information tables in Berkeley’s Sproul Plaza, on everything from the fossil fuel debate to voter registration.
But 50 years ago, before the Free Speech Movement, UC students were barred from distributing flyers about the major issues of the day. In 1964, it was the civil rights struggle.
“It was the passion that fueled the Free Speech Movement,” says Lynn Hollander Savio, who was a senior at Berkeley in October of 1964.
Hollander Savio says that many students had spent the summer on voter registration drives in the South. Back at Berkeley, they set up information tables to tell other students about civil rights. When the school administration tried to shut them down, the students were incredulous.
“The tables were used to give out literature, to recruit members and nobody was interested in fighting with the administration,” she says. “We had bigger fish to fry.”
Hollander Savio — short, spry, grey hair — is 75 now. Gazing across Sproul Plaza, she recalls that day when a former math grad student, Jack Weinberg, was arrested for distributing civil rights literature. He was thrown into a patrol car while thousands of curious students watched.
#TheRidge is the brand new film from Danny Macaskill… For the first time in one of his films Danny climbs aboard a mountain bike and returns to his native home of the Isle of Skye in Scotland to take on a death-defying ride along the notorious Cuillin Ridgeline.
A refinery and wetlands near Myrtle Grove, La. Credit Jeff Riedel for The New York Times
In Louisiana, the most common way to visualize the state’s existential crisis is through the metaphor of football fields. The formulation, repeated in nearly every local newspaper article about the subject, goes like this: Each hour, Louisiana loses about a football field’s worth of land. Each day, the state loses nearly the accumulated acreage of every football stadium in the N.F.L. Were this rate of land loss applied to New York, Central Park would disappear in a month. Manhattan would vanish within a year and a half. The last of Brooklyn would dissolve four years later. New Yorkers would notice this kind of land loss. The world would notice this kind of land loss. But the hemorrhaging of Louisiana’s coastal wetlands has gone largely unremarked upon beyond state borders. This is surprising, because the wetlands, apart from their unique ecological significance and astounding beauty, buffer the impact of hurricanes that threaten not just New Orleans but also the port of South Louisiana, the nation’s largest; just under 10 percent of the country’s oil reserves; a quarter of its natural-gas supply; a fifth of its oil-refining capacity; and the gateway to its internal waterway system. The attenuation of Louisiana, like any environmental disaster carried beyond a certain point, is a national-security threat.
Where does it go, this vanishing land? It sinks into the sea. The Gulf of Mexico is encroaching northward, while the marshes are deteriorating from within, starved by a lack of river sediment and poisoned by seawater. Since 2011, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has delisted more than 30 place names from Plaquemines Parish alone. English Bay, Bay Jacquin, Cyprien Bay, Skipjack Bay and Bay Crapaud have merged like soap bubbles into a single amorphous body of water. The lowest section of the Mississippi River Delta looks like a maple leaf that has been devoured down to its veins by insects. The sea is rising along the southeast coast of Louisiana faster than it is anywhere else in the world.
The land loss is swiftly reversing the process by which the state was built. As the Mississippi shifted its course over the millenniums, spraying like a loose garden hose, it deposited sand and silt in a wide arc. This sediment first settled into marsh and later thickened into solid land. But what took 7,000 years to create has been nearly destroyed in the last 85. Dams built on the tributaries of the Mississippi, as far north as Montana, have reduced the sediment load by half. Levees penned the river in place, preventing the floods that are necessary to disperse sediment across the delta. The dredging of two major shipping routes, the Mississippi River Gulf Outlet and the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway, invited saltwater into the wetlands’ atrophied heart.
Coming late in a new book by Sam Harris called Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion, this passage snapped me to attention. It’s not that Harris’s book had lulled me up to that point: It’s a provocative, informative and, at times, infuriating look at consciousness and the self. Its main argument is that techniques exist, meditation prime among them, to reduce human suffering by helping us to understand that the self — as conventionally understood — is an illusion. Our feeling of “I” is a product of thought, and thoughts merely come and go in our consciousness; there’s no self behind our eyes or in our head and when we grasp this, it’s easier to unmoor ourselves from the sources of suffering in our lives.
The ways in which Harris supports this thesis are worth reading. Yet as a parent of a college-age daughter, I found that it was his move beyond meditation — Harris’s expressed hope that his kids, once they become adults, will ingest psychedelics — that made me stop and think hard. Is Harris’s wish an ethical one? What can my field of anthropology bring to bear in thinking about this matter?
On this topic of psychedelics, Harris has an advantage that I lack. Not only has he spent considerable time in serious meditative practice, he also has experienced moments of immense beauty and love — and other moments of total terror — on MDMA (ecstasy), psilocybin (mushrooms) and LSD. I grew up in the ’60s in a family whose lives centered closely on law enforcement — my father was a captain in the New Jersey State Police — and I wasn’t exactly the drug-experimenting type. In high school and college, I watched a few friends go through trips good and bad, but that’s as close as I got.
Harris is candid about the risks of ingesting psychedelics:
“There is no getting around the role of luck here. If you are lucky, and you take the right drug, you will know what it is to be enlightened (or to be close enough to persuade you that enlightenment is possible). If you are unlucky, you will know what it is to be clinically insane.”
Harris describes one LSD trip as plunging him into “a continuous shattering and terror for which I have no words.”
Some readers, Harris notes at the outset, may want to consult their mental-health professionals before carrying out any of the ideas he endorses (including meditation), and he concludes that after expanding one’s consciousness through drugs “it seems wise” to find other practices that “do not present the same risks.”
So how should we think about the psychedelic-ingestion experience in connection with a search for enlightenment? Research in neuroscience certainly shows real change in the brain from the action of psychedelic drugs. But I don’t think it’s enough to say that the outcome of any given trip is a matter of which drug one ingests — and of individual luck.
Melbourne visitors and residents took to the waters of Australia’s St. Kilda Beach in January 2013 to escape a fierce heat wave.
Nowadays, when there’s a killer heat wave or serious drought somewhere, people wonder: Is this climate change at work? It’s a question scientists have struggled with for years. And now there’s a new field of research that’s providing some answers. It’s called “attribution science” — a set of principles that allow scientists to determine when it’s a change in climate that’s altering weather events … and when it isn’t.
The principles start with the premise that, as almost all climate scientists expect, there will be more “extreme” weather events if the planet warms up much more: heat waves, droughts, huge storms.
But then, there have always been periodic bouts of extreme weather on Earth, long before climate change. How do you tell the difference between normal variation in weather — including these rare extremes — and what climate change is doing?
That sort of discernment is difficult, so scientists have had a rule, a kind of mantra: You can’t attribute any single weather event to climate change. It could just be weird weather.
Demonstrators gather near Columbus Circle before the start of the People’s Climate March in New York Sunday. Organizers are hoping 100,000 people worldwide might participate in the rally.
Large Protests In Hundreds Of Cities Vent Ire Over Climate Change
Then they took a close at last year’s heat wave in Australia.
The chances that the continent’s extreme temperatures reflected normal variation is “almost impossible,” says Peter Stott, a climate scientist at the Hadley Center of the Met Office, in Exeter, Great Britain. “It’s hard to imagine how you would have had those temperatures without climate change,” he says.
Stott is one of a group of researchers analyzing the patterns of “extreme weather” events in the past and comparing them with the patterns Earth is experiencing now. The intensity of last year’s Australian heat wave was statistically “off the charts,” he says. Climate change had to be behind it.
Martin Hoerling, a research meteorologist with the U.S. government’s National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, is also part of this “climate forensics” movement. “It’s almost [taken] for granted that climate change is influencing all manners of weather events,” Hoerling says. The question now, he adds, is: “How did it influence, and in which direction? Did it make [an extreme weather event] more likely or less likely — and by how much more likely or less likely?”
Dozens of these researchers just published an analysis of 16 weather events from 2013 in the Bulletin of the American Meteorological Society, and what they found was a mixed bag. Some events, like the big floods in Colorado, were not that unusual. But it does look as though climate change was involved in the intense heat waves in the western Pacific.
The ongoing California drought drew opposing views. Two research teams said they couldn’t find any reason to blame climate change. But Stanford University’s Noah Diffenbaugh, a member of a third team that examined the drought, disagreed. He says there’s a very rare, high-pressure “ridge” in the atmosphere over the northern Pacific that is diverting moisture away from California, exacerbating the drought.