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In the News 20.07.16 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

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In the News 20.07.16 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
In the News 20.07.16 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
In the News 20.07.16 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

David Chang’s Unified Theory of Deliciousness

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MY FIRST RESTAURANT, Momofuku Noodle Bar, had an open kitchen. This wasn’t by choice—I didn’t have enough money or space to put it farther away from the diners. But cooking in front of my customers changed the way I look at food. In the early years, around 2004, we were improvising new recipes every day, and I could instantly tell what was working and what wasn’t by watching people eat. A great dish hits you like a Whip-It: There’s momentary elation, a brief ripple of pure pleasure in the spacetime continuum. That’s what I was chasing, that split second when someone tastes something so delicious that their conversation suddenly derails and they blurt out something guttural like they stubbed their toe.

Read the rest of this article at Wired

The Philosopher of Feelings

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Martha Nussbaum was preparing to give a lecture at Trinity College, Dublin, in April, 1992, when she learned that her mother was dying in a hospital in Philadelphia. She couldn’t get a flight until the next day. That evening, Nussbaum, one of the foremost philosophers in America, gave her scheduled lecture, on the nature of emotions. “I thought, It’s inhuman—I shouldn’t be able to do this,” she said later. Then she thought, Well, of course I should do this. I mean, here I am. Why should I not do it? The audience is there, and they want to have the lecture.

When she returned to her room, she opened her laptop and began writing her next lecture, which she would deliver in two weeks, at the law school of the University of Chicago. On the plane the next morning, her hands trembling, she continued to type. She wondered if there was something cruel about her capacity to be so productive. The lecture was about the nature of mercy. As she often does, she argued that certain moral truths are best expressed in the form of a story. We become merciful, she wrote, when we behave as the “concerned reader of a novel,” understanding each person’s life as a “complex narrative of human effort in a world full of obstacles.”

In the lecture, she described how the Roman philosopher Seneca, at the end of each day, reflected on his misdeeds before saying to himself, “This time I pardon you.” The sentence brought Nussbaum to tears. She worried that her ability to work was an act of subconscious aggression, a sign that she didn’t love her mother enough. I shouldn’t be away lecturing, she thought. I shouldn’t have been a philosopher. Nussbaum sensed that her mother saw her work as cold and detached, a posture of invulnerability. “We aren’t very loving creatures, apparently, when we philosophize,” Nussbaum has written.

Read the rest of this article at The New Yorker

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Tuscany Tote in Midnight

Shop The Tuscany Tote at Belgrave Crescent

The Civil War That Could Doom the N.R.A

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The packed crowd in the convention hall, lit by red, white, and blue floodlights overhead, listened expectantly to the boyish executive onstage. He asked a question: “If you’re at home and someone kicks in your door and tries to murder you and your family”—the applause was already starting—“should you have the right to defend yourself with a firearm?” Warming to his message, members attending the 145th annual meeting of the National Rifle Association of America, last May, in Louisville, began to roar. Perhaps their feelings were pent up because of the rain outside, or the extra-long lines that had kept them waiting in it, or because the featured speaker of the day, the presumptive Republican presidential nominee, Donald Trump, was rumored to be running late. But the question, from Chris Cox, the executive director of the N.R.A.’s Institute for Legislative Action, was only the beginning.

Read the rest of this article at Vanity Fair

The New Science of Cute

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On 14 April 2016, a 6.2-magnitude earthquake hit Japan’s southernmost island of Kyushu, toppling buildings and sending residents rushing into the streets. Hundreds of aftershocks – one an even stronger 7.0 quake – continued for days, killing 49 people, injuring 1,500 and forcing tens of thousands from their homes.

News spread immediately around the globe on social media.

“Earthquake just happened,” Margie Tam posted from Hong Kong. “R u ok kumamon?”

“Pray for Kumamoto & Kumamon,” wrote Ming Jang Lee from Thailand, a phrase that would be repeated thousands of times.

On 12 March 2016, one month before the earthquake. Kumamon had bounded on to an outdoor stage at the opening event of his birthday party in Kumamoto, a city of 700,000 in a largely agricultural province of the same name in the centre of Kyushu. About 150 guests – mostly women – cheered, clapped and whistled. Kumamon waved and bowed. He is just under 5ft tall, with black glossy fur, circular red cheeks and wide, staring eyes, and he was wearing, for the occasion, a white satin dinner jacket trimmed in silver and a red bow tie.

Read the rest of this article at The Guardian

Reign Supreme

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Supreme is the most influential streetwear brand in the world. You might have seen its white-on-red rectangular logo on Drake, Kanye West, or Tyler the Creator. Or noticed the lines that form outside its stores on Thursdays. Or caught a glimpse of a sticker on a city lamppost anywhere around the globe. Today, Supreme is the sacred sigil of young skateboarders as well as the go-to office wear of hipster ad execs and other would-be culture creators, all thanks to James Jebbia, the self-made millionaire many times over, who launched the company in 1994.

How this happened is a complex story. It’s not just a matter of style, but art, hype, economics, and the internet. Any one attempt to explain the brand feels like a false start.

In Japan, one of Supreme’s biggest markets and the location of most of its stores, there’s a Zen rock garden called Ryoan-Ji. Built in Kyoto in 1450, Ryoan-Ji contains 15 stones in a field of raked gravel. The stones are laid out such that it is impossible to view all 15 at once; understanding, the garden suggests, is a process that requires movement between vantage points. Here we present 15 views of Supreme, each from a different angle. How much can a logo possibly mean?

Read the rest of this article at Racked

P.S. previous articles & more by P.F.M. // Top images: @rebekahcheng, @archdigest, @rebekahcheng