Killer cone snail

I'm probably tempting fate by posting this three days before I jet off to Rarotonga for a snorkeling holiday, but I just read a fascinating feature in the National Geographic on Dangerous and Deadly Sea Creatures, which include the beautiful and benign-looking textile cone snail.   

Conus textilus © De Agostini/Getty Images

You would never guess to look at it, but it is one of the most venomous creatures on Earth. In fact, according to Wikipedia, it was even used as a murder weapon in an episode of Hawaii Five-O! You see, like all cone snail species, it is equipped with a battery of toxic harpoon-like teeth propelled from an extendable proboscis. These can fire in any direction, even backwards, and easily penetrate gloves or wetsuits.

When it comes to the poison department, these shellfish mean business. Another name for particularly pretty geography cone of the Indo-Pacific is the "cigarette shell". And not because it's white and brown. Get yourself harpooned by this little four-incher, and you'll only live long enough to smoke a cigarette. Given that there's not even an antidote, I'd probably want something a bit stronger than a cigarette! 

Conus geographus © Didier Descouens

The secret to staying safe is apparently to not pick them up (or piss off the wrong Hawaiian!) So I'll be quashing my magpie instinct when I'm out on the reef, and enjoy these beauties from a safe distance.

Here are some more killer cones...

From top to bottom: striated cone, vexillium cone and marble cone 

Julia Davis

Julia Davis has such an exquisite sense of pathos that I think to fully-enjoy her, a strong sado-masochistic streak is essential. 

The sadist in you will derive cathartic pleasure from the creative and unrelenting misery and indignity she subjects her (often unsympathetic) victims to. The masochist will then spend the next few hours wondering if you are a bad person to have laughed so loudly. Basically, you will wince and cringe and curl your toes...and enjoy every second of it.

Part of the reason I chose Davis to be the first comedian in my Wunderkammer is this great article in the Guardian. I particularly enjoyed it because it gives a very frank insight into what drives her to plumb the very darkest depths of the human psyche. It seems her fascination for what she describes as "wrong relationships" is her natural sensitivity to life's cruelties. 

In the best comic tradition, Davis' villains - and the scenarios they find themselves in - are absurd amplifications of reality. Trying to find the good in them is futile - these are unambiguously despicable people. Even so, they are still complex enough to avoid being clumsy pastiches. I think one reason for this is that her victims can generally be seen as complicit in their abuse. Take Nighty Night's Cathy: an insipid, hopelessly naive doormat who is too painfully polite to stand up to neighbour - and narcissistic sociopath - Jill. These willing victims were gloriously abundant in her earlier series, Human Remains, which she co-wrote with the equally pathos-attuned Rob Brydon. The excruciatingly submissive Pete in "An English Squeak", for example, and the tragic Michelle in "All Over My Glasses". However cruel the villain is, there is a certain sadistic satisfaction at watching them play with their quarry.

I'd be interested to hear your take on Julia Davis. Does she make you long for more, or just leave you cold? If you never seen her, this scene from Nighty Night will give you a good idea of what you're missing.
  

Marriage equality

"All animals are equal,

but some animals are more equal than others"

Napoleon's interpretation of the Seven Commandments of Animal-ism could easily be adapted as the rallying cry of those who are opposed to the same-sex marriage bills currently being debated in many countries around the world including here in NZ. 

It seems that wherever you are in the world, one of the most common arguments is that 'the gays' have already got equality and we shouldn't push it any further. By pursuing the right to marry in exactly the same way as our heterosexual compatriots do, we're asking for some sort of 'special treatment'. Really?!? So what in the sweet name of Christ is a Civil Union, if not special treatment? 

In my mind, Civil Unions are the espousal equivalent of the placatory pat on the back. The runner's up prize. It's a gesture that says 'chin up old chap, you'll get there one day the world just isn't quite ready for you yet'; the conciliatory crumb tossed at homos hungry for 'more equality' (!) so they don't revolt. Well, it's just not good enough, NZ. Not by a long chalk. Enough of the Napoleon complex, it's time to get to grips with the real issue here. Under New Zealand law, homosexuals are still being denied equality. And that needs to be changed, and changed soon.

This afternoon, as many of my friends have done already, I signed  an online petition for marriage equality. I'd like to share with you what I wrote, in the hope that it will inspire a few more of you to do the same...


I would ask that all MPs currently undecided about this bill, as well as those who have already made up their minds to ask themselves this: 

By perpetuating a two-tier system, you are enshrining inequality and a sense of inferiority. Regardless of your own personal views, is this really a responsible message to be giving our rangatahi and tamariki? Surely you should be doing everything possible to ensure they grow up in a more tolerant world than the one we grew up in ourselves?

You should also ask yourself what kind of message a 'NO' vote sends out to the other developed nations who look to NZ as a leader in democracy, equality and human rights? I would suggest it would make us look old-fashioned, reactionary and lacking confidence or courage of convictions. 

Personally, I do not believe this should be a debate in the first place. But we live in a democracy, and that is how things must be done. You represent your electorate, but you also shape the future of NZ. So please let it be one that embraces diversity, but gives everyone equal rights and standing. Thank you.

Ya get me?

Anyway, I have absolutely no desire to repeat, re-litigate or re-visit the arguments for the full and immediate adoption of equal marriage rights here. If you still don't know what you think, these links should help you:

• www.marriageequality.co.nz/why-marriage.html
• www.wipeouthomophobia.com/marriageequality.htm

Aubergine

Bizarrely mangled vowels aside, Kiwi English (Nu Zild) generally takes its lead from the Glorious Mother Tongue. So I've never quite understood why, when it comes to fruits and vegetables, it suddenly defers to the American. Now we're not talking pronunciation here - 'tomato' and 'basil' don't acquire an unnecessary ɘɪ sound, and 'herb' mercifully retains its full compliment of letters. We are, however, talking terminology. And it seems to be catching... 

I've happily adopted the mouthwatering persimmon over the distinctly unappetising Sharon fruit (did their garish orange flesh remind someone of an Essex spray tan?) And until a few years ago, if it was green and cock-shaped and it wasn't a cucumber, I would have said without hesitation it was a courgette. Not any longer. The attractively Italianate zucchini has gradually seeped into my vocabulary, where it has become interchangeable with the traditional French term. But the line has to be drawn somewhere, and for me that's firmly in front of eggplant.

©J.E. Fee
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Three_Types_of_Eggplant.jpg

Trust me, I've toyed with it; given it a fair crack of the whip even. But it just doesn't sit right. For starters, there's just nothing egg-like about the bloody things. At least, not the ones we get here, which are generally guinea pig-sized and purple. But secondly, and more importantly, aubergine is just such a seductive word.

For a long time, the look and feel and sound of the aubergine all had far more appeal to me than actually eating one. Like mushrooms, their texture is seemingly something to be acquired. My earliest encounters with them were as salt-sprinkled slices swaddled in paper towels and squeezed between dinner places to extract (what I then believed to be) the poison. These in turn became bland, disconcertingly meaty slabs in watery moussaka. 

© 2012 Recipes that Fit

In fact, I only really came around to the idea of eating aubergine for pleasure a few years ago, when vegetarian American friends conned me into enjoying their well-honed 'eggplant Parmigiana'. All is forgiven. Even the use of the E word itself. You see, in the absence of meat, the aubergine really comes into its own. In fact, I imagine a vegetarian diet would be all the poorer without it. 

Ever since my 'eggplant epiphany', aubergines have been a staple on my shopping list, and I'll generally eat them at least once a week. In fact, so much have I embraced them, that they will often be given the starring role in a dish. That peculiar 'meaty' texture that reviled me as a child has become a worthy substitute for my carnivorous cravings. Likewise, I find that the relative blandness of the flesh becomes a blank canvas on which herbs and spices can shine.

To my mind, there is no better way of showcasing the delights of the aubergine than the famous Turkish dish İmam bayıldı, commonly translated as 'The Fainting Cleric'. There are a number of suggestions as to where this name came from, most of which allude to either its stunning taste or swoon-inducing production cost. My money's definitely on the former - a cup of fine olive oil are more than a fair price to pay for one of the most delectable dishes on Earth. I'm three days in to a 10-day pre-holiday detox now, so there's a high probability that İmam bayıldı will be on the menu in the next few days. There are numerous recipes, all based around the idea of stuffing an aubergine with onion, garlic and fresh tomatoes, drenching it in olive oil and baking it until it goes all gooey. Here's the one I've come up with:

1. Take two fat, purple, un-egglike aubergines and slice them in half lengthways
2. Slit each half down the middle almost all the way through to the skin so you create something boat-like 
3. Fry them on both sides in a little olive oil until they are browned
4. In the same pan, brown up some tinned artichoke hearts (this sure as hell ain't in the the original recipe, but it's a damn good addition)
5. Sprinkle the browned aubergines and artichokes with salt and place in a well-oiled baking dish. Set to one side.
6. Sautee a couple of medium-sized onions in lots of good-quality olive oil, along with pepper and salt, until they go translucent.
7. Chuck in some chopped garlic for the last minute
8. While the onions are sautéing, chop lots of tomatoes into little bits. 
9. Mix in a health handful of chopped dill (or parsley or both - but dill is really the winner here) and some lemon zest
10. Mix the sauteed onions & garlic with the tomatoes and herbs. 
11. Add a bit more olive oil, and pour the lot over the aubergines and artichokes. Add a bit of water to ensure it all stays moist.
12. Cover wil tin foil and bake in the oven at 180c for about 90 mins. It should come out soft and succulent and gorgeous. 

(And if you can get your aubergine slices out in one piece, and not agonise over who has the better deal with the artichokes, you're a better man than I)

Afiyet olsun!

Mars Rendezvous

I can't help but think this world of ours would be a far better place if Franco-German duo Stereo Total were in charge...

You see, as much as I admire the human desire to constantly push the boundaries of our known universe, I'd rather we put the same amount of energy into sorting out our shit here on planet Earth first. All too often, humans will end up destroying something before we've even begun to understand it. Sometimes before we've even discovered it. How many unknown, undocumented species do you think we've wiped out clear-felling the great rainforests, for example? 


I don't want to get on too much of a downer about it, because I do have great admiration for our technological advances and the scientific curiosity that drives them (if not the motivation behind the money that funds them). But at the same time, can extra-terrestrial expansion really be justified when we can't even look after our own planet?


Anyway, apart from the fact that this song is utterly awesome, and teams beautifully with the theme du jour, a Google translation of the lyrics gave me a fascinating insight into the wonderful world of this French girl and German boy...

Das sind unsere Dogmen

Fellatio, Cunnilingus,

Sinnlichkeit, Ruhe, Wollust

(Fellatio, cunnilingus,

Sensuality, peace, lust

These are our dogmas) 

As you can see, the world would be a far better place with the fabulously-named Françoise Cactus and Brezel Göring at the helm!


Give them a listen on Beatport

Arum lily

While it is entirely possible to have a fondness for rambling roses and hollyhocks or a soft spot for pansies and primulas, for a flower as singularly imposing as Zantedeschia aethiopica, one can surely only have admiration. In the world of plants, the arum lily is the Grace Jones. Handsome rather than pretty, but still very feminine. Aloof. Architectural. Commanding.

Arum lilies picked in Melrose
©Alan Dicks 2012

Their cold, otherworldly purity makes them the funeral flower of choice for many European cultures, and they have a long association with the Christian tradition of bereavement. But their serpentine structure and natural predisposition to stylisation also made them a favourite of the Art Nouveau movement.

Gates to the Villa O. Schützenberger
http://artnouveau.pagesperso-orange.fr/en/villes/strasbourg/batiments/robertsau76.htm

When I first moved to Wellington, I was delighted to find arum lilies growing wild all around the Town Belt. There is (still, I hope) a particularly spectacular early spring display in what I call the Valley of the Lilies directly above Oriental Bay. Unfortunately, Zantedeschia are classified as pest plants in New Zealand. So by taking an armful of stems for the vase occasionally, I feel like I'm making a small contribution to Wellington's hard-working weedbusters. 

To be honest, where arum lilies are concerned, I find the Council's zero tolerance approach somewhat heavy-handed. To my absolute horror, today I found my favourite local patch - a steep-sided gully half way down Sutherland Road - had been savagely blitzed with Roundup. Where there should have been a stately stand of lilies floating on a peppery green sea of nasturtium leaves, there was just a barren brown wasteland. Given that the Council is unlikely to plant an equally appealing landscape of natives in this gully, I see neither a civic nor an ecological benefit for their actions. The nasturtiums are already coming back, and the arums won't lie dormant for long. But there'll be no harvest from there this spring - I'll have to risk life and limb plundering the more precarious slopes further along, where even the weedbusters fear to tread!   

Polari

So bona to vada...oh you! 

Your lovely eek and your lovely riah. 

Morrissey. 'Piccadilly Palare', 1990

Thanks to homosexual law reform in 1967*, I've never needed to communicate in Polari. Like many cryptolects, dialects and minority languages, Polari has been the victim of cultural integration. 

Of course, I shouldn't really see this as a shame. A language that gained widespread currency in response to fear and intolerance should, by rights, have no place in contemporary society. Nevertheless, I find the death of a language, however irrelevant it has become, very sad. In my mind, it's as great a loss to the diversity of our world as the extinction of a plant or animal.

Polari evolved in London's fishmarkets, theatres, fairgrounds and circuses - places where the city's homosexuals mingled with other outcasts and underclasses. Like much British street slang, many words are of Romani origin. There is also clearly a strong Italian influence, which I imagine came through the theatrical route.

Omi (man) comes from the Italian uomo

Polari was on its dish (arse) by the late 60s, and really only kept alive by omi-polone comedians like Kenneth Horne and Kenneth Williams. But (no doubt due to the fabulousness of us homos), a surprising number of words have snuck into everyday (British) English. Here a just a few you'll probably know...  

Barney. Camp. Carsey. Clobber. Drag. Mince. Naff. Ogle. Zhoosh.

Thankfully, homos are an inventive bunch, and there's still life in Polari yet. I'll leave you with this short but fantabulosa subtitled scene from the film Velvet Goldmine... 

Read more:

• WipeOutHomophobia.com - Polari, the secret gay language
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polari
• World Wide Words: How to bona vada your eek

*Only England & Wales. The poor old poofs north of the border had to wait until 1980 to become 'legal'. They're making up for it now though, with Scotland set to become the first country in the UK to legalise gay marriage.

Goblin Market

Christina Rossetti's 1862 poem 'Goblin Market' was one of the first pieces of proper poetry I was exposed to. I must have been about six when I first heard it. It was in a children's magazine called Storyteller and, like many things from that collection, it has stuck with me ever since. You'll immediately see why from reading just the first 30 or so lines:

Morning and evening

Maids heard the goblins cry:

'Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy, come buy:

Apples and quinces,

Lemons and oranges,

Plump unpecked cherries,

Melons and raspberries,

Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,

Swart-headed mulberries,

Wild free-born cranberries,

Crab-apples, dewberries,

Pine-apples, blackberries,

Apricots, strawberries;

All ripe together

In summer weather,

Morns that pass by,

Fair eves that fly;

Come buy, come buy:

Our grapes fresh from the vine,

Pomegranates full and fine,

Dates and sharp bullaces,

Rare pears and greengages,

Damsons and bilberries,

Taste them and try:

Currants and gooseberries,

Bright-fire-like barberries,

Figs to fill your mouth,

Citrons from the South,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;

Come buy, come buy.

If there's a more sumptuous, evocative opening stanza for a poem, I've yet to hear it.

It's only recently that I've discovered the 30 or so lines published in Storyteller represent just a fraction of the original poem, which runs to an impressive 568 lines! Rossetti wrote the poem for children, so one can only imagine they had longer attention spans back then. 

But Storyteller may well have had another good reason for abridging the work...it's wonderfully dark (an innocent child corrupted and enchanted by a band of devilish goblins)and just a wee bit racy! The imagery,  which is sumptuous throughout, gets decidedly sexual in places. Says one sister to another: 

"Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices"

The story is one of decadence, decline and redemption. A foolhardy acceptance of proffered fruit inviting obvious parallels with the Garden of Eden. It's also a story of unconditional love. The abstemious Lizzie puts her life on the line for her fallen sister.

Carol Rumen discussed the poem recently in the Guardian and, while she acknowledged the eroticism and allegory, she played  this down in favour of a more innocent interpretation. I tend to agree with her - I think the poem is so gorgeously rich and engrossing that to focus too much on either the biblical or bacchanalian aspects of it does it a great disservice.

I'll leave you with one of her more vivid descriptions of the goblins, preparing to ensnare the second sister with their enchanted fruits:

Laughed every goblin
When they spied her peeping:
Came towards her hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like,
Ratel- and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter skelter, hurry skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes

The complete works of Christina Rossettti are available for free download through the fantastic Project Gutenburg.

Illustration for Christina Rossetti's Goblin Market (1862). Dante Gabriel Rossetti. University of South Carolina. http://www.sc.edu/library/spcoll/kidlit/kidlit/kidlit3.html