“That mind is, in every essential respect, merely the ancient mind of the South. It is distinctly of the soil. For the peon, in origin, is usually a mountain-peasant, a hill-billy of the valleys and coves of the Appalachian ridge. He is leisured, lazy, shiftless. He is moony, sharing the common Southern passion for the lush and the baroque…Another excellent reason, then, for the failure of Southern strikes is the impossibility of holding in organization the individualized yokel mind. The peon, to be sure, will join the union, but that is only because he is a romantic loon. He will join anything, be it a passing circus, a lynching-bee, or the Church of Latter Day Saints. He will even join the Bolsheviks (as at Gastonia, where the strikers were organized by the National Textile Workers’ Union), though he is congenitally incapable of comprehending the basic notion of communism. The labor-organizers, with their sniffling pictures of his dismal estate, furnish him with a Cause for which he can strut and pose and, generally, be a magnificent galoot. And the prospect of striking invokes visions of Hell popping, the militia, parades, fist- fights and boozy harangues—just such a Roman holiday as he dotes on. By all means, he’ll join the union!”—W. J. Cash - “The Mind of the South" American Mercury Oct. ‘29 (via savage-america)
“San Francisco had its Barbary Coast. Chicago had the Levee. New York had the Bowery and the Tenderloin. In 1913, every city had its red light district, but only in New Orleans was vice protected by law. From 1898 to 1917, prostitution was legal in a small patch of the city just outside the French Quarter, and every brand of sin—whiskey, cocaine, murder and jazz—followed merrily in its path. To the newspapers, it was “the Tenderloin,” “the evil district,” or “the scarlet region.” To those who lived and worked there it was simply “the district,” but to history it has been remembered as Storyville: the grandest, gaudiest, filthiest pit of organized vice ever seen in the United States.”—Murder at the Tuxedo
“Revolutionaries are beautiful Monkey Kings, like ‘Sun Wukong’… We’ll wield our golden-banded staves and use our Magical Powers to turn the old world upside down, smash it to smithereens, and create chaos – the more chaotic the better!… We’ll wreak proletarian ‘Havoc in the Celestial Palace’ and give rise to a new world!”—The Red Guard of the Secondary School of Tsinghua University. Red Flag #11 (Peoples Republic of China), 1966. (via magictransistor)
I love Ash Wednesday. After Good Friday it’s my favorite Christian thing (calling it a “holiday” seems weird). The one day of the year, always unexpected, when the city erupts in ritual and the streets quietly fill with marked men and women; Israelites in Moab.
It’s the eternal backwoods, the unincorporated counties, the violence of the forest that charms and frightens at the same time. It’s the continent described by Georges-Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon, as the “young land” where animals were smaller, peaks were sharper, and the humid, primordial…
“Housekeeping manuals, bossy but encouraging compendia of household management that were almost always directed at a national audience, began appearing in the 1830s. Cooking took up the bulk of these texts, as it took up most of the housewife’s time. Their authors happily rooted through earlier cookbooks intended for the aristocracy and bourgeoisie to find recipes. Their readers, judging by the pristine manuals in my possession, rarely opened them to cook from, except to check the odd special recipe for, say Christmas pudding, or to look up the proportions of fruit and sugar for making jam or marmalade.”—
Rachel Laudan, Cuisine and Empire
This puts me in mind of a few of the less-used cookbooks in our own collection, one splattered red with the ejecta of bubbling mole, another with its broken spine opening it automatically to a particular cookie recipe.