Tom Morton: The title of your exhibition ‘Celebration Park’ at ARC / Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris and Tate Modern, London, evokes a future project, somewhere between an amusement park and an international expo or world fair. Can you tell me about it?

Pierre Huyghe: When you want to push the exhibition towards a more performative scale, you end up rethinking the conditions of its reception. ‘Celebration Park’ is an exhibition of exhibitions, and an exhibition about another exhibition to come. It starts with this idea of celebration – something to embrace, something that you experience on a time-based protocol. The temporal structure of the original world fair allowed experimental proposals, but when people started thinking of the idea of progress as embarrassing, this kind of place lost its meaning. In another way the amusement park failed as a pathetic illusion and vulgar master-plan. I’m looking for a permanent exhibition that grows as an organism, an arrangement between heterogeneity, a series of pavilions hosting an experience of a real situation, a system of representation that participates in the construction of an experience.

more from the interview at Frieze here.

From The Atlantic Monthly:

In The Captive Mind, his brilliantly lucid reflection on totalitarianism and its temptations, Czeslaw Milosz devoted most of his essays to the problem of communism and the intellectuals. In one chapter, however, he turned aside to view another manifestation of tyranny, and also to examine the verbal and literary means by which it could be thwarted. The essay is called “Ketman.” It means the art and science of dissimulation, particularly in matters of religion. The ferocious orthodoxy of the Shia mullahs of Iran, Gobineau wrote, could be circumvented by, say, a heretical disciple of Avicenna, as long as the man was careful to make every outward show of conformity. With this done, he could begin to introduce all manner of subversive philosophy into his sermons and addresses:

Ketman fills the man who practices it with pride. Thanks to it, a believer raises himself to a permanent state of superiority over the man he deceives, be he a minister of state or a powerful king: to him who uses ketman, the other is a miserable blind man whom one shuts off from the true path whose existence he does not suspect; while you, tattered and dying of hunger, trembling externally at the feet of duped force, your eyes are filled with light, you walk in brightness before your enemies. It is an unintelligent being that you make sport of; it is a dangerous beast that you disarm. What a wealth of pleasures!

Milosz immediately saw the application of this to the double life that was being lived by so many writers and intellectuals under Stalin’s imperium. The Soviet regime to some extent “needed” culture, but also needed to contain it. Milosz was not to foresee that this state of affairs — deemed “Absurdistan” by one Czech author — would one day satirize itself out of existence.

More here.

From Science:

Using an array of hair-thin electrodes implanted in his brain, a 25-year-old quadriplegic man was able to operate a computer, open and close a prosthetic hand, and manipulate a robotic arm just by thinking about it, according to a new study. Such a brain-computer interface may one day help restore movement and communication to people paralyzed from spinal cord injuries, strokes, and disorders such as muscular dystrophy and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.

Researchers have previously inserted single electrodes into paralyzed people, providing them with limited computer cursor control. They’ve also put more complicated electrode arrays into monkeys. But no one had ever put a large number of microelectrodes into a paralyzed person; indeed, no one knew whether neurons in the motor cortex, the brain region primarily responsible for movement control, would still produce decipherable signals after years of disuse.

More here.

Due to some serious problems at our hosting service (Typepad), we have been unable to post for most of the last day. In addition, the last two posts at 3QD done by my sister Azra seem to have been lost. It is not clear right now whether it is possible to recover those posts, or any comments that were left on them, but we will try. We are sorry about this.

Peter Kiefer in the New York Times:

Italy’s interior minister, Giuliano Amato, said today that a number of swastikas were daubed on the walls of Rome’s Jewish quarter during the postgame festivities. “As an Italian I feel ashamed, and as interior minister I am alarmed by such things,” Mr. Amato reportedly said during a visit to Rome’s main synagogue.

And a number of Italian politicians and the French ambassador to Italy issued a strong rebuke to remarks made by Roberto Calderoli, the former minister of reform and a member of the right-wing Northern League party.

After the Cup victory he said that the Italians had vanquished a French team that was comprised of “Negroes, communists and Moslems.” Italian soccer is no stranger to extremist politics. Italian football matches are often used as a platform for far-right fans to express racist sentiments.

More here.

Marwan Bishara in The Nation:

The Olmert government bases its campaign against Palestinian civilian infrastructure on three fallacies: that Israel does not initiate violence but retaliates to protect its citizens–in this case a captured soldier; that its response is measured and not meant to harm the broader population; and that it does not negotiate with those it deems terrorists.

But Israel’s offensive did not start last week. The three-month-old Israeli government is responsible for the killing eighty or more Palestinians, some of whom were children, in attacks aimed at carrying out illegal extrajudicial assassinations and other punishments. Hamas has maintained a one-sided cease-fire for the past sixteen months, but continued Israeli attacks made Palestinian retaliation only a question of time.

More here.

Spengler in the Asia Times:

Two billion war deaths would have occurred in the 20th century if modern societies suffered the same casualty rate as primitive peoples, according to anthropologist Lawrence H Keeley, who calculates that two-thirds of them were at war continuously, typically losing half of a percent of its population to war each year.

This and other noteworthy prehistoric factoids can be found in Nicholas Wade’s Before the Dawn, a survey of genetic, linguistic and archeological research on early man…

Why, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, does popular culture portray primitives as peace-loving folk living in harmony with nature, as opposed to rapacious and brutal civilization? Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel, which attributes civilization to mere geographical accident, made a best-seller out of a mendacious apology for the failure of primitive society. Wade reports research that refutes Diamond on a dozen counts, but his book never will reach the vast audience that takes comfort in Diamond’s pulp science.

Why is it that the modern public revels in a demonstrably false portrait of primitive life?

More here.

For those of you who may not have seen this, Sean Carroll in Cosmic Variance asked a poker question a little while ago.

[C]onsider the following three possible pairs of hole cards [in a game of Texas Hold’em]:

Jack-10 suited (e.g., a Jack of diamonds and a 10 of diamonds)

Ace-7 unsuited (e.g., an Ace of spades and a 7 of clubs)

Pair of sixes

The quiz is extremely simple, and should be easy for experts: assuming you don’t know what anyone else has, or yet what the board cards will be, which possibility is most likely to win at the end of the hand?

The answer:

Note that this is not really a poker-strategy question, it’s just a math question. There is a separate issue, which is “which is the best starting hand”, or for that matter “how should you play each hand?” — we’ll get to that later. But this is just a math problem — which is most likely to win if you choose to stay in the pot all the way to the showdown?

The answer, to nobody’s suprise, is: it depends! It does not depend on your position, or whether the betting is limit or no-limit — those might affect your strategy along the way, but at the end of the hand it’s just a matter of who has the best cards. What it does depend on is how many people you are playing against. The absolute probability that you will win obviously goes down if you are playing against more opponents with randomly-chosen cards, just because there are more ways they could beat you. But, much more interestingly, the ordering of which hand is best also changes.

The news of the attack in Mumbai is just coming in. In The Hindu:

At least 105 people were killed and 230 injured in a string of seven terror blasts in first class compartments of suburban trains around 6PM during the peak hour traffic here today.

As the blasts ripped apart train compartments, mangled bodies of passengers were hurled out and survivors, many of them bleeding profusely, jostled to come out leading to chaotic scenes.

Maharashtra Chief Secretary D K Shankaran put the figure of dead at 105 and the injured at around 230.

The blasts occurred between 6 Pm and 6.30 PM at Mahim, Bandra, Matunga, Borivili, Mira Road, Jogeshwari and Khar when people from offices were returning home.

Hospital authorities in the city have confirmed arrival of over 100 bodies by 8:30 pm. A large of injured people, including commuters of the blasts-hit trains were admitted to various government and private hospitals in various parts of the city.

I was never a big Pink Floyd fan, but they and Syd Barrett were icons of an era. Syd Barrett, who has long been a recluse, has died. In the Guardian:

Syd Barrett, the former lead singer of Pink Floyd and one of the key figures of the 60s, has died at the Cambridgeshire home to which he retreated as a recluse more than 30 years ago.

The Guardian has learned that the singer, 60, who suffered from a psychedelic-drug induced breakdown while at the peak of his career, died last Friday from cancer.

His brother Alan confirmed his death, saying only: “He died peacefully at home. There will be a private family funeral in the next few days.”

Born Roger Keith Barrett in Cambridge in 1946, he acquired the nickname Syd aged 15. He left Pink Floyd in 1968, just as the band was about to achieve worldwide recognition, and lived in the basement of his mother Winfred’s semi-detached house, where he boarded up the windows to keep out the eyes of both the press and fans.

We old dudes. We
White shoes. We

Golf ball. We
Eat mall. We

Soak teeth. We
Palm Beach; We

Vote red. We
Soon dead.

from Joan Murray at Poetry Magazine.

One of the hardest things about writing on what might be called a ‘special interest’ must be convincing potential readers that you are not going to preach at them. Rest assured. Tristram Stuart doesn’t preach. What he does do is try to make us think about what we eat, and why, and what effect our choice of diet has on ourselves, the animal world, and the ecology of the planet. And, in spite of his misleading subtitle, he succeeds triumphantly. “Radical Vegetarians and the Discovery of India” suggests a claim to spectacular achievement on the part of a fringe group trying to enhance its credentials. In fact The Bloodless Revolution is a scholarly, wide-ranging and utterly absorbing history of vegetarianism.

more from Literary Review here.

From BBC News:

Scientists have proved for the first time that sperm grown from embryonic stem cells can be used to produce offspring. The discovery in mice could ultimately help couples affected by male fertility problems to conceive. And by understanding embryo developmental processes better, a host of other diseases might be treated using stem cells, they say. The study is published in the journal Developmental Cell. The experiment was carried out using mice and produced seven babies, six of which lived to adulthood. However, the mice showed abnormal patterns of growth, and other problems, such as difficulty breathing.

Stem cells are special because they have the potential to develop into any tissue in the body. Professor Karim Nayernia and colleagues at the Georg-August University in Göttingen, Germany, took stem cells from a mouse embryo that was only a few days old and grew these cells in the laboratory. Using a specialised sorting instrument they were able to isolate some stem cells that had begun to develop as sperm.

More here.

From MSNBC:

Albert Einstein had half a dozen girlfriends and told his wife they showered him with “unwanted” affection, according to letters released on Monday that shed light on his extramarital affairs. The wild-haired Jewish-German scientist, renowned for his theory of relativity, spent little time at home. He lectured in Europe and in the United States, where he died in 1955 at age 76. But Einstein wrote hundreds of letters to his family. Previously released letters suggested his marriage in 1903 to his first wife Mileva Maric, mother of his two sons, was miserable. They divorced in 1919, and he soon married his cousin, Elsa. He cheated on her with his secretary, Betty Neumann.

In the new volume of letters released on Monday by Hebrew University in Jerusalem, Einstein described about six women with whom he spent time and from whom he received gifts while being married to Elsa.

More here.

From Jason Kottke:

The Daily Mail, with corroboration from the Times, has some information on what Marco Materazzi said to Zinedine Zidane to provoke the latter’s career ending headbutt in the 2006 World Cup final (more info on that here). They both hired lip readers to decipher Materazzi’s dialogue before the incident and this is allegedly what he said (translated from the Italian):

Hold on, wait, that one’s not for a nigger like you.

We all know you are the son of a terrorist whore.

So just fuck off.

So it might be fair to say that Materazzi got what he deserved, as did Zidane when he got sent off.

More here.

[Alex writes] Greetings All –

After having left the country for the semis, it was obviously my fault that the hosts faltered in the final minutes and were bounced by the Italians. So, my final weekend in Berlin wasn’t quite the scenario I would have liked, but it still provided some unbelievable scenes that truly crowned my month in Germany.

Who would have dreamt that an entire country would be cheering hysterically at the conclusion of the usually token Third Place match, but that’s exactly what happened on Saturday after Germany beat Portugal to claim 3rd place. Our local bar Schmidt’s was as packed as it was for the “meanigful” games and an entire nation celebrated as it they had won the whole tournament. In a sense, they did.

I can’t emphasize how positive this World Cup has been for the Germans. The Germans have been magnificent hosts – welcoming, curious and basking in their newly found cosmopolitanism – I think its a role that suits them and one that the rest of us should encourage. An entire nation has been rejuvenated and given a lesson in positive thinking by a group of underrated footballers and their 41-flamboyant coach with his imported training methods and sports psychologists. Every time Germany scored Klinsmann jumped up and down like a little kid at Xmas, infecting every German fan with his raw enthusiasm – he proved so cuddly that even Chancellor Angela Merkel bear-hugged him and pleaded that he stick around. Now, of course, this new love affair threatens to be cut short as Klinsi seriously contemplates leaving the Germany position to accept the US Soccer Federation’s offer to take over the helm of his adopted country (and only have a 30 minute drive to work as opposed to a 14-hour plane ride), thereby further exacerbating transatlantic tensions.

For the final itself there was only place I could be – well, um, two but I was not about to shell out 1,500 Euro for a Finals ticket on Berlin Craig’s List – at least not this time. However, I was determined to do the next best thing and watch the final at the Brandenburg Gate, preferably in the very first row of the mile-long, million-person capacity “Fan Fest.”

6 hours before kick-off I claimed my spot at the front row right in front of the gigantic screen. Now granted that this might seem a ridiculous amount of time to just to hang around, but I hadn’t come here for the month just to waste the final day at some Irish pub. I passed the time talking to fans from all around the world – I heard post-mortems about a certain overpaid Swede from the English, traded Italian diving stories with Aussies and engaged in some friendly rivalry joshing with Mexico fans (Dos-Zero, mi amigo!). And there were loads of French and Italian supporters, many who had actually just completed massive train journeys just to be in Berlin for the final; they were mixing it up amiably and taking pictures of one another draped in flags and those multi-colored wigs and top hats. Other entertainment was also provided – football jugglers, German cheerleaders and a cheesy rock and roll cover band that played all sorts of glorious trash (“Video killed the Radio Star”..at a World Cup Final??!!). But the highlight of the live entertainment was a surprise visit on the stage by former President Bill Clinton who was greeted with resounding approval as he charmingly delivered some nevertheless incoherent babble about “soccer helping the plight of African children.”

Most of you watched the game so I won’t bore you with a long recap. The French were awarded a soft penalty at the opening as ZZ bounced in the spotkick off the bar – that riled the Italians into action as they equalized on a Marco Materazzi header from one of Andrea Pirlo’s probing corners and then threatened to run-over the French for the rest of the first half. Les Bleus recovered in the second half and by extra time were firmly in control of the match, with Ribery and Zindane coming close to grabbing extra-time goals. Having gone 120 minutes against the Germans in the semis Italy seemed completely spent as they defended in numbers and clung on for penalties. As we have observed, penalty shootouts are cruel but not unfair. The Italians struck 5 superb penalties under the most extreme pressure imaginable while the French missed one – such is the margin of victory at the highest level. The final kick fell to the left-back Fabio Grosso, who added to his own cup legend that includes a last minute semi-final winner and a last-minute penalty-winning dive against Australia, sending all Italian fans into pure ecstasy and decisively erasing 24 years of Azzurri hurt.

Of course, aside from the drama of the penalty shootout the story of the match was Zidane who completely lost the plot and head-butted Materazzi 10 minutes from the end of extra time (rumor seems to be that Materazzi provoked him by calling him a “terrorist” or something). Out of character? Not really..Zidane has always had a dark side – while everyone remembers him orchestrating France’s 1998 triumph against Brazil, they forget that ZZ had been suspended in the group stages of that tournament for a similar red card when he was provoked by the Saudi Arabian team. Thus ends the career and legend of the best footballer of his generation..

Other circles closed last night. 16 years after the Germans had claimed their 3rd trophy on Italian soil, the Italians returned the favor to the hosts. David Trezeguet was the lone unsuccessful penalty taker, balancing out the euphoric Golden Goal that he scored in 2000 to break Italian hearts in the Euro final. The Italians, for the first time, won a World Cup penalty shootout, having suffered defeat in PKs in the 1990 semis at home, the 1994 final against Brazil and in 1998 against France. And just as in 1982 when Italian football was mired in scandal, the Azzurri victory came during a time in which 4 top Italian football clubs (of which 13 national squad members are members) are facing fines and relegation for match-fixing. Let’s hope that this World Cup triumph finally forces Italian officials to take real steps to clean up the insidious filth that is currently Italian domestic football.

But none of this mattered under a Berlin starry night as one million people started the final mega-party of the month with the symbol of German unification glowing in the background. Fireworks and confetti exploded over us, some Azzurri fans next to me proudly waved their replica trophies and I spent about 10 minutes making silly faces on the large screen as green, white and red lasers emanated from the stage. As I walked to meet up with some friends who were stuck further back, I made my way through waves of jubilating Italians and utterly despondent Frenchmen. Les Bleus were valiant runners-up and proved to all detractors who had dared to write them off (including me) that they, in fact, should be considered the dominant national team in world football of the last decade. As we left the laser shows and pulsating party at the fan zone we walked along the river to the illuminated beach bar by the recently finished main train station. Some parts of Berlin at night are just breathtaking and this area is one of them- a few Italians were so delighted that they threw themselves from various bridges, obviously unaware that the water in the Spree River is as about as dirty as a Juventus referee. After a couple of beers, I said a heart-felt good-bye to my wonderful German friends and made my way back one last time through the madness of the bars of OranienburgerStrasse.

With the end of the cup its now time for me to leave this 180 sq. meter flat in Berlin and go back to my comparative hut in New York city where I’ll try and do some work for a change. Another World Cup is history and we all should accept the triumph of the Azzurri with grace and congratulate the Italians – they are world champions and I will not tolerate any “ifs,” “ands,” or “buts.” They defended at a superior level and conquered all opponents; they comfortably strolled through one of the two “groups of death” in the first round, defeated the hosts in a tension-packed semi and kept their bottle when it counted in front of 1.5 billion worldwide viewers.

I want to thank all of you on 3QD for your emails and comments. Somehow, we’ll all have to manage to live for another four years without World Cup football, although – strictly-speaking, World Cup qualifying starts in just 24 months. In the meantime I’m going to dig out those Pavorotti CDs while getting ready in the morning, picture the look on Fabio Grosso’s face as he buried his penalty and finally appreciate the meaning of those last three words of Nessun Dorma:

“Vincero [I shall triumph], VIN-cero!..VIN-CEE-ROOO!”

Sughra Raza. Film Strip. 2001.

Acrylic on canvas.

Private collection of Ms.Nargis Raza, Dubai, UAE. Posted with permission.

For the few of you who missed it, here is video of the moment that will forever live in World Cup infamy:

Some people are claiming that Materazzi pinched Zidane’s nipple and then said something racist to him, and that made him lose his usual cool. It’s hard to tell what happened, exactly. No doubt Zidane will explain himself over the next days. In any case, this moment should not be allowed to overshadow his glorious career. I remain in shock, though.

UPDATE: There is slightly clearer video of the actual headbutt here.

UPDATE 2: This is from a profile in The Observer from April of this year:

One of the theories about Zidane as a player is that he is driven by an inner rage. His football is elegant and masterful, charged with technique and vision. But he can still erupt into shocking violence that is as sudden as it is inexplicable. The most famous examples of this include head butting Jochen Kientz of Hamburg during a Champions League match, when he was at Juventus in 2000 (an action that cost him a five match suspension) and his stomping on the hapless Faoud Amin of Saudi Arabia during the 1998 World Cup finals (this latter action was, strangely enough, widely applauded in the Berber community as Zidane’s revenge on hated Arab ‘extremists’).

Zidane’s first coaches at AS Cannes noticed quickly that he was raw and sensitive, eager to attack spectators who insulted his race or family. The priority of his first coach, Jean Varraud, was to get him to channel his anger and focus more on his game. According to Varraud, Zidane’s first weeks at Cannes were spent mainly on cleaning duty as a punishment for punching an opponent who had mocked his ghetto origins.

By the time he arrived at Juventus, in 1996, he had become known for his self-control and discipline, both on and off the pitch.

More here.

UPDATE 3: French fans praise Zidane despite red card

UPDATE 4: Zidane wins top award

UPDATE 5: Zidane and Contempt (Asad Raza in 3QD)

UPDATE 6: Zidane and Racism (Abbas Raza in 3QD)

UPDATE 7: Zidane apparently called “dirty terrorist”

Also related to the World Cup: as in 1998, the French team has become a symbol against the National Front and racism in Europe, in Counterpunch.

Thuram went on to say, “When we take to the field, we do so as Frenchmen. All of us. When people were celebrating our win, they were celebrating us as Frenchmen, not black men or white men. It doesn’t matter if we’re black or not, because we’re French. I’ve just got one thing to say to Jean Marie Le Pen. The French team are all very, very proud to be French. If he’s got a problem with us, that’s down to him but we are proud to represent this country. So Vive la France, but the true France. Not the France that he wants.” In addition, the immensely talented Henry has started an antiracist campaign called Stand Up Speak Up. Henry pushed his sponsor Nike to produce black and white intertwined armbands that demonstrate a commitment against racism. So far, they have sold more than five million. “That’s important in making the very real point that racism is a problem for everyone, a collective ailment,” Henry said to Time Magazine. “It shows that people of all colors, even adversaries on the pitch, are banding together in this, because we’re all suffering from it together.”

Henry’s campaign has resonance because Le Pen does not have the market cornered on racism in the sport. So-called fans, throwing banana peels and peanuts at star players of African descent, have plagued European soccer this past season. For much of the World Cup, such assaults did not occur. But before the June 27th game against Spain, the French coach, Raymond Domenech, said Spanish fans were “making monkey chants” as the French team left their bus. The incident evoked memories of an outrageous racist diatribe against Thierry Henry delivered by Spanish coach Luis Aragones to “inspire” his team before a match against France a couple years ago. When Franch defeated Spain last week, it was more just desserts for Aragones and another bitter pill for Le Pen.

In the Guardian, Adam Mars-Jones reviews Bill Buford’s Heat, on his adventures in Italian cuisine and Mario Batali’s kitchen.

Those of us who had dealings with Buford in his earlier incarnation as an editor didn’t find him short on testosterone but in his new context, he seems benign, virtually eunuchoid. Of the various culinary masters he meets in the book, only one has no temperament (the mentor of Tuscan butchery known as Il Maestro), and only one – that kitchen kamikaze, Marco Pierre White – has a genuine one, as opposed to the vice of using his moods to manipulate others…

[Batali’s] Babbo in New York continues to trade on the authenticity of that apprenticeship in Italy. What goes on in a restaurant is supposed to be the essence of cooking. It can seem more like the opposite of cooking. Buford isn’t writing an exposé, along the lines of Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, but he might as well be. Something that starts out as a formal version of what an Italian grandmother might serve her family turns into an orgy of extravagance, hucksterism and dodgy hygienic practice.

Batali would play Bob Marley songs on the sound system, knowing the New York Times restaurant critic was a fan. He would berate staff who failed to recognise celebrities, who must be served first and given special treatment. To make a humble fish soup called cioppino, he would rummage through bins and chopping boards, collecting left overs (tomato pulp, carrot tops, onion skins), then price the dish at $29 and tell the waiters to sell the hell out of it or be fired. Short ribs prepared in advance, wrapped so tightly in plastic wrap and foil that they wouldn’t spurt sauce if stepped on, would keep in the walk-in fridge for up to a week.