MANY of us go through life without truly understanding the significance of
each passing day and week. For example, how many people failed to realise that
14 January was Britain’s National Rhubarb Day, organised by the National
Farmers’ Union to celebrate that splendid plant’s versatility and high vitamin
content?
If you were one of them, make sure you don’t miss out on Chip Week 2001,
which begins on 19 February, and is instituted by the British Potato Council in
honour of the country’s favourite food. Then there is British Sandwich Week,
which takes place the week of 13 May under the proud auspices of the British
Sandwich Association—and, later the same month, Foot 91ɫÇéƬ Week,
organised by the Foot 91ɫÇéƬ Council.
The British aren’t alone in this. In July, lucky people in Las Nieves, near
Pontevedra in north-western Spain, take part in the annual festival for those
who have narrowly escaped death during the past year. They proclaim their good
fortune by riding in open coffins through the streets to the local church and
cemetery.
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Those so inclined can follow this up in August by taking part in the annual
pig imitation festival in the town of Trie-sur-Baïse just across the
Pyrenees in south-west France. Participants dress up as pigs and go around town
squeaking and oinking. The most realistic offerings win a prize.
Truly, we have much to celebrate.
DO-IT-YOURSELF public relations is a growing field these days. Here’s a
technique devised by two Americans as a way of publicising their theories and,
even more importantly, their books.
Jay Olshansky of the School of Public 91ɫÇéƬ at University of Illinois,
Chicago, and Steven Austad of the University of Idaho have announced a
$500 million bet riding on whose view of ageing will prevail by 2150.
Austad bet that someone will live to be 150 years old by 2150—in which
case they will already have been born. Olshansky concedes that scientific
advances will prolong human lives, but reckons no one will live longer than 130
years.
“We really agree on just about everything,” Olshansky says. “What we’re
debating is what the world record for the human lifespan will be.”
The prize will go to the heirs of the scientist who wins the bet. The
$500 million is the estimated eventual value of a trust fund that the two
men inaugurated this year by depositing $150 each in it. The trust calls
for Austad, Olshansky and their heirs to contribute a minimal amount to the
trust annually for the next 150 years.
Austad’s book Why We Age: What science is discovering about the body’s
journey through life was published in 1997 and issued in paperback in 1999.
Olshansky’s new book, co-authored with Bruce Carnes, is called The Quest for
Immortality: Science at the frontiers of aging and is published this
month.
THOUGH OSCAR WILDE died over a century ago, the British Library’s Sound
Archive has only now come up with an intriguing claim. It says the only sound
recording of Wilde—an 80-second snatch of him reading from The Ballad
of Reading Gaol—is actually a fake.
The original cylinder recording was discovered in the US in 1963 by H.
Montgomery-Hyde, biographer of Wilde, who believed it to be genuine. The
scratches and distortion sounded authentic. But having analysed the recording,
audio experts at the British Library have declared it a forgery.
Bearing in mind a practical joke that fooled the BBC in the 1960s, Feedback
reckons the electronic analysis was hardly necessary. Jazz trumpeter Ian Carr,
who wrote a biography of Miles Davis, was teaching at a music summer school when
the organiser came up with the idea of “discovering” the only cylinder recording
ever made by legendary cornetist Buddy Bolden. Carr played a Bolden solo, the
school musicians played like Bolden’s band, and the originator of the scheme
rubbed two pieces of sandpaper together in front of the microphone.
The BBC duly played the recording. It was only three months later that a BBC
producer phoned Carr and giggled, “I’ve just realised what you did.” Which goes
to prove that you can only fool some of the people some of the time.
TALKING of fakes. . . Back in 1917 Marcel Duchamp caused a stir by exhibiting
a common toilet urinal, entitled Fountain and signed “R. Mutt”, and
calling it “art”. Imagine our delight, then, on reading the small print next to
this landmark in the history of art, which is now on display in London’s Tate
Modern gallery.
It seems that the original work was lost, so at some point a collector
commissioned not another common-or-jardin pissoir, but a faithful
reconstruction, which the Tate bought in 1999. In other words, the Tate’s
Fountain is a fake. Duchamp would surely have approved.