Jessie Kindig in The Point:

One June afternoon, I found myself idling about a meadow at the top of a forest in the northwest of the Pacific Northwest. I ate a rough lunch and slept, hands in pockets and cap on face. When I awoke, the sun was still high and the bees buzzed and the meadow kept its drowsiness on me—and so I opened a book of essays I’d been carrying around for the better part of a week and turned to Henry David Thoreau’s 1862 essay “Wild Apples,” one of his last, a praise song to extended metaphor. 

The essay opens plainly with exactly what it is, a conjecture that “the history of the apple–tree is connected with that of man.” Thoreau launches into a history of the apple, beginning with its classical lineage in Greece and Rome—fruit the gods competed to procure—and on through a discussion of the natural history of this most “humanized” of fruits. The cultivated apple, he says, emigrated with humans to the Americas—but the true wild apple is the indigenous crab, which Thoreau holds above all others. Wild apples, he says, are best taken with the “sauce” of the “November air”; indoors, they are too sour for words. The tang and smack of the wild apple is an acquired taste, not for farmers or townsfolk but meant for the special outsiders: errant boys, walkers like Thoreau, the Indian or “the wild-eyed woman of the fields.” Thoreau prefers an apple forest of cultivars gone to seed (as he so understands himself) growing alongside the indigenous crab apple: in this he finds a good American cider. But it certainly did not appear that things were headed that way in 1850, and so the essay is a lament. His notes on the truly wild apple are from memory rather than recent observation. Trees, by the mid-nineteenth century, are no longer free but are private property requiring purchasing, and so farmers are apt to claim the forest of the crab apple for farmland and grow cultivars in a “plat” by the house, where no saunterers, scalawags, witches or “Savages” may gain the gleanings. Says Thoreau: so goes the wild apple, so goes society.  

More here.

Andrew Zalisky in Science:

In 19th century New York City, Theodore Gaillard Thomas enjoyed an unusual level of fame for a gynecologist. The reason, oddly enough, was milk. Between 1873 and 1880, the daring idea of transfusing milk into the body as a substitute for blood was being tested across the United States. Thomas was the most outspoken advocate of the practice.

At the time, severe bleeding was often a death sentence. Blood transfusion was practiced, but it was something of a crapshoot. Medical science was still 3 decades removed from discovering blood types. Patients who received mismatched blood suffered discolored urine, itching, and a sometimes-fatal complication: hemolytic shock, wherein their own immune systems attacked the transfused cells.

Doctors in the U.S. were looking for something less risky to stabilize a hemorrhaging patient. Thomas was sure milk was the answer. In 1875, he injected 175 milliliters of cow’s milk into a woman suffering from severe uterine bleeding after an operation to remove her cancerous ovaries. At first, he wrote, the patient “complained that her head felt like bursting.” She soon developed a high fever and an abnormally high heart rate, but recovered a week later. Thomas subsequently performed seven separate milk transfusions, publishing his results in several medical journals, and predicted their “brilliant and useful future.”

More here.

I’ve Been

trying all day
to remember that feeling
when you first meet someone

how a match
gets struck
on a rock

how you carry that fire
through each little task
and all day

the people you pass
notice the lights on
notice someone is home.

by Kay Cosgrove
from Ecotheo Collective

A. S. Hamrah in Bookforum:

EMILY NUSSBAUM, THE PULITZER-WINNING television critic and New Yorker staff writer, ends her well-researched, somewhat grueling book on the history of reality television, Cue the Sun!, with a reminder that critics have historically dismissed reality TV as a fad. Yet reality TV has not gone away. It’s more than just a fad, she writes, because “in the end, all our faces got stuck that way.”

It’s a strange phrase to insert out of nowhere. Parents say it when their kids make funny faces—keep it up and your face will get stuck that way. The idea here, I guess, is that we-the-audience, all of us, including those critics who dismissed it, wear the childish face of reality TV because we participate in it as a matter of course, whether we want to or not.

More here.

Lois Parshley at The Lever:

In early May, Google announced it would be adding artificial intelligence to its search engine. When the new feature rolled out, AI Overviews began offering summaries to the top of queries, whether you wanted them or not — and they came at an invisible cost.

Each time you search for something like “how many rocks should I eat” and Google’s AI “snapshot” tells you “at least one small rock per day,” you’re consuming approximately three watt-hours of electricity, according to Alex de Vries, the founder of Digiconomist, a research company exploring the unintended consequences of digital trends. That’s ten times the power consumption of a traditional Google search, and roughly equivalent to the amount of power used when talking for an hour on a home phone. (Remember those?)

Collectively, de Vries calculates that adding AI-generated answers to all Google searches could easily consume as much electricity as the country of Ireland.

More here.

Ted Olson in The Conversation:

In early 1824, 30 members of Vienna’s music community sent a letter to Ludwig van Beethoven petitioning the great composer to reconsider his plans to premiere his latest work in Berlin and instead debut the symphony in Vienna.

Beethoven had lived in Vienna since 1792, when he left his hometown of Bonn, Germany, to pursue a career as a composer. Beethoven rose to world renown, but by the 1820s he had fallen out of favor with Viennese arts patrons who, at the time, were drawn to the sounds and styles of Italian composers.

Beethoven had not appeared before a Viennese audience in a dozen years, but he was moved by the letter’s sentiment and agreed to debut his new work, Symphony No. 9 in D minor, in the city. The premiere performance was on May 7, 1824, at Kärntnertor Theater.

More here.

Luke Harding in The Guardian:

For four years, the Ukrainian writer Oleksandr Mykhed lived in the town of Hostomel, not far from Kyiv. Weekends were idyllic. He and his wife, Olena, would have brunch in a cafe, walk their dog, Lisa, in the forest, and eat prawn curry for dinner. Often, Mykhed started to clean the flat and got distracted. He would pick a book from his library and read a dozen or so random pages. Or he browsed their collection of Ukrainian art.

This agreeable existence came to a halt on 24 February 2022, when Moscow launched its all-out invasion of Ukraine. The couple lived close to Hostomel’s airport. Russian paratroopers tried to seize its runway. Mykhed’s parents – professors of literature – were living down the road in the neighbouring city of Bucha. They watched from their balcony as enemy helicopters clattered above them, an imperious scene that could have come from Apocalypse Now.

The same evening, Mykhed and his wife fled their home.

More here.

Max Krupnick in Harvard Magazine:

WHEN HAMAS TERRORISTS attacked Israel last October 7, they unleashed death and destruction—and also inflamed American prejudice on ethnic and religious grounds. Within hours, allegations of such bias came to Harvard. A hasty October 7 student letter holding “the Israeli regime entirely responsible for all unfolding violence” prompted immediate attacks on the presumed authors, and fierce denunciations of their alleged antisemitism, from within the University community and beyond. Much more was to come. In the two months following October 7, the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) reported a 337 percent increase in antisemitic incidents nationwide. The campus tensions were further heightened following the December 5 hearing where members of Congress berated then-President Claudine Gay (alongside her MIT and University of Pennsylvania counterparts) for leading campuses the representatives deemed antisemitic.

As the University’s task forces on combating antisemitism and combating anti-Muslim and anti-Arab bias press their work forward and prepare broad recommendations, two reports published on May 16 lay out political and alumni critiques of the Harvard campus climate. They present external and internal perspectives on antisemitism in the community, and argue that beyond individual incidents, the institution (its leadership, its administrative processes, and its curriculum) are themselves antisemitic. Published two days after the 20-day pro-Palestine encampment in the Old Yard ended, these reports represent some of the most pointed criticisms of the University arising from the events since October 7.

More here.

David Denby in The New Yorker:

Must we hate Joan Crawford? The question sounds a little odd. Must we think about Joan Crawford at all? That’s perhaps a little more like it. Crawford the always posing, eternally hardworking star, with her affairs and marriages and triumphs and miseries and comebacks, inspires both exasperation and wonder. Her ferocious will to succeed seems a grim version of the life force itself. Few men go weak in the knees dreaming about her, as they might with Lana Turner or Rita Hayworth; nor is she the kind of woman men could imagine bantering with blissfully as a lover, as they might with Katharine Hepburn or Barbara Stanwyck. She’s the date who raises your blood pressure, not your libido. She was always a bigger hit with women than with men, but, at this point, young women eager to emulate her drive and success may shudder. The ravenous smile, the scything broad shoulders, the burdensome distress, the important walk and complicated hair—she’s too insistent, too laborious and heavily armed, and also too vulnerable. She lacked lyricism and ease, except, perhaps, when flirting onscreen with Clark Gable, her offscreen lover and friend, with whom she made eight movies. She almost always tried too hard—it was Crawford who reportedly uttered the grammatically ambitious sentence “Whom is fooling whom?”—and she demanded that you capitulate to her vision of herself. Many people dismissed her as crazy.

Yet if Joan Crawford is not very likable she would, in a just world, be widely honored for a series of fiercely effective performances and for her emblematic quality as a twentieth-century woman.

More here.

On a Squirrel Crossing the Road in Autumn, in New England

It is what he does not know,
Crossing the road under the elm trees,
About the mechanism of my car,
About the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,
About Mozart, India, Arcturus,

That wins my praise. I engage
At once in whirling squirrel-praise.

He obeys the orders of nature
Without knowing them.
It is what he does not know
That makes him beautiful.
Such a knot of little purposeful nature!

I who can see him as he cannot see himself
Repose in the ignorance that is his blessing.

It is what man does not know of God
Composes the visible poem of the world.
…………………………... . . Just missed him!

Richard Eberhart
from Times Reading Program, 1962

Leah Hunt-Hendrix and Astra Taylor in Boston Review:

On a summer afternoon in 1966, an estimated six thousand welfare recipients rallied around the United States in twenty-five cities. Children in tow, the women held forth in public squares, marched on state capitols, and occupied local welfare offices as part of the first cross-country demonstration of recipients of Aid to Families with Dependent Children. They demanded better benefits and—in the words of the two thousand–strong New York City contingent—an end to what they called the “indignities” of the welfare system, which they viewed as a patriarchal and punitive government bureaucracy. In place of meager checks, invasive surveillance, and constant shaming, they called for a guaranteed annual income and insisted that people impacted by policy should have a say in its implementation.

Most of the women were Black, but a good number of white women signed on as well. Their actions launched a powerful national movement—the National Welfare Rights Organization (NWRO)—that aimed to increase material support for all struggling families and create the foundation of a care-based economy. Its militancy and rapid growth opened an opportunity to alter the relationship of the state to its citizens, and the movement brought concrete reforms—though the movement would be undone by the changing political climate of the mid-1970s, when the War on Poverty gave way to the War on Crime.

Ever since, progressives have been fighting to salvage remnants of the liberal welfare state. They are right to push for more egalitarian policies, whether in the form of higher taxation, more generous public provision, or a stronger regulatory regime. But as the NWRO made clear, the social and emotional dimensions of statecraft are just as key. As we forge a more equitable social contract, we also need to change the character of our social relationships and arrangements. A new approach—rooted in the ethic of solidarity—should be our north star.

More here.

A podcast series by Evgeny Morozov with original music by Brian Eno.

Forget the military or Silicon Valley: we owe our smart technologies – from toothbrushes to beds – to a band of eccentric 1960s hippies. Hidden away in a secretive, privately funded lab on Boston’s waterfront, these visionaries developed intimate, personal technologies a decade before Steve Jobs.

But their rebellion was fraught with obstacles: the military-industrial complex, corporate resistance, and the founders’ larger-than-life personalities. As Silicon Valley adopted their ideas, the lab’s vision for more humane and diverse technologies was twisted into something entirely different.

A decade in the making, this podcast unravels their captivating and often tragic tale. It’s all here: Cold War psychiatry, Maoism, LSD, the Rockefellers, Scientology, CIA’s forays into extrasensory perception, and even the advent of tech libertarianism.

Richard Seymour in Sidecar:

Was ever a country, in this humour, won? A majority without a mandate, and a landslide that isn’t a landslide. Labour won 64% of the seats with 34% of the vote, the smallest ever vote share for a party taking office. Turnout, estimated at 59%, was at its lowest since 2001 (and before that, 1885). When a soggy Sunak finally pulled the plug on his flagging, flag-bedraggled government at the end of May, every poll showed Labour with a double-digit lead, at over 40%. Sunak’s litany of unforced errors, as well as the massive funding gap between Labour and the Conservatives and the queue of businessmen and Murdoch newspapers endorsing Labour, ought to have helped keep it that way. Instead, Labour’s total number of votes fell to 9.7 million, down from 10.3 million in 2019.

The Conservatives plunged from 44% to 24%, feeding into a surge for the far-right Reform UK which, with 14% of the vote, took four seats. The combined Tory–Reform vote, at 38%, was bigger than Labour’s share. The latter would not have increased at all, as the pollster John Curtis pointed out, without the Labour gains in Scotland enabled by the SNP’s implosion. Meanwhile the country’s left, despite its tardiness and lack of strategic focus, did well. The Greens increased their vote share from less than 3% to 7% and took four seats. Sitting alongside them in the Commons will be five independent pro-Palestine candidates, including Jeremy Corbyn who defeated his Labour rival in Islington North with a margin of 7,000 votes. Intriguingly, George Galloway’s diagonalist Workers’ Party didn’t win a single seat – including Rochdale, which Galloway has represented since February.

Never has there been such a yawning gap between the fractal pluripotencies of the age and the suffocating politics at the top.

More here.

Tim Sahay and Kate Mackenzie in Polycrisis:

On June 25, crowning a dramatic, nationwide tax revolt, demonstrators in Nairobi stormed Kenya’s parliament buildings. President William Ruto’s new finance bill, introduced in Parliament in May, sought to increase levies on everything from bread and money transfers to sanitary items and cellular data. In response, the “Gen-Z” generation that has been criticized for not being politically active took it upon themselves to organize on TikTok and mobilize in the streets.

The public mood was souring even before the social explosion. Last year, Kenyans reported the second highest share of people struggling to eat globally, and the highest share of people fearing political unrest that would lead to violence. Public services have deteriorated rapidly with hospitals virtually empty, running out of essential medicines, and doctors striking for pay and better funded facilities. Since mid-2021, Kenya has spent twice as much on interest payments as on health. Joblessness is rising.

Kenya is not alone in its crisis. The majority of the world’s governments have undertaken austerity policies, under either direct IMF pressure or the indirect discipline of other creditors. Last spring, we warned that such moves would cause societies to boil. According to the World Bank, three in five low-income countries are now at risk of, or are already in, debt distress. No less than twenty-one sub-saharan African countries are in an IMF program. Eighteen countries defaulted between 2021 and 2023, but balance sheet calamities rarely get the attention of the international media—until social crises, dramatic protests, and violent repression break through.

More here.

Owen Myers at The Guardian:

She felt like a cellophane wrapper on a packet of cigarettes. Every Joni Mitchell fan has heard this description before; it’s how the mercurial artist summed up her naked emotional state while writing her 1971 album, Blue. “It’s virtually impossible to find an account of Blue from the last 50 years that doesn’t include that quote,” writes music critic and author Ann Powers, whose new study of Mitchell doesn’t have much interest in retreading well-beaten paths. “Resist the rush you get imagining Joni’s pain,” Powers instructs. “Where songs start is not that important.”

Travelling is a sweeping study of Mitchell’s life and work that swerves familiar touchstones to create a vibrant, multifaceted portrait of a music enigma. Powers didn’t interview Mitchell. “In this way, I remain a witness, not a friend,” she writes. Yet there are more than two dozen interviews with the artist’s associates including David Crosby, Judy Collins, recent collaborator Brandi Carlile and Mitchell’s ex-husband Larry Klein.

more here.