Orange crate art october 2018 american college courses

A strange and lovely word. The OED does not give any citation for its use except for henry cockeram’s 1623 english dictionarie. Not to be confused with apricate (to bask in the sun), although both come from the latin apricus, meaning exposed to the sun.That’s the end of shea’s entry. Cockeram defines apricity as “the warmeness of the sunne in winter.” A strange and lovely definition.

The OED traces apricot to the portuguese albricoque or spanish albaricoque, later assimilated to the cognate french abricot (with a silent t). Similar words appear in italian, old spanish, spanish arabic, arabic, latin, and greek. The latin praecoquum, “early-ripe, ripe in summer,” was an epithet and later a name for this fruit, originally called prūnum or mālum armeniacum. The english word apricot is older than apricity.

Now here’s the fun part: the change from abr- to apr- may be the result of a mistaken etymology. In 1617 the english linguist and lexicographer john minsheu explained the name of the fruit as deriving from latin, “in aprīco coctus,” “ripened in a sunny place.” oops. So apricot isn’t and is related to apricity. And what were apricots called before they were called apricots? Abrecockes, abrecox, abricocts, abricots, aphricokes, aprecox, apricocks.

I came across this passage by chance. From rachel carson’s the sense of wonder (1965): those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. Whatever the vexations or concerns of their personal lives, their thoughts can find paths that lead to inner contentment and to renewed excitement in living. Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature — the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.“never alone or weary of life”: someone with, say, severe depression might want to disagree. But nature as a source of renewal? I’m with carson. Making a garden or taking the same walk every day are two ways to develop a greater awareness of “the repeated refrains of nature.”

Patience (after sebald) (dir. Grant gee, 2012). American university sororities an homage to W.G. Sebald’s the rings of saturn, moving through empty landscapes that look like grayish, grainy sebaldian photographs come to life. Passages from the rings of saturn, interview excerpts, and conversations with friends and admirers help to add a human dimension. One mark of the filmmaker’s devotion to his subject: a page number accompanies each place name on screen. But what makes the rings of saturn so extraordinary — its writer’s ability to move from the particulars of place into history, imagination, literature, memory — eludes the film. ★★★☆

49th parallel (dir. Michael powell, 1941). Filmstruck has many films I’ve never even heard of, and the ones whose titles begin with numbers are listed first: thus I learned of 49th parallel. Members of a U-boat crew come ashore in canada to find supplies and find themselves stranded when their craft is sunk. Brutality and comic touches in the right proportions, as the fugitives abandon their goal of vancouver (and a japanese ship) and head for the still-neutral united states. Fine turns by laurence olivier (a fur trapper) and leslie howard (a matisse- and picasso-collecting writer in a tepee). ★★★★

Above suspicion (dir. Richard thorpe, 1943). A nice young couple (fred macmurray and joan crawford) travel from england to germany, they’re honeymooners, yes, but they’re really on an intelligence mission. In the spirit of the 39 steps, the man who knew too much, and night train to munich, with comic touches and mild suspense. Also with secret musical codes. ★★★★

Journey into fear (dir. Norman foster, 1943). After almost being murdered in an istanbul nightclub, an american armaments engineer (joseph cotten) is given what’s supposed to be safe passage on a ship to a soviet port city. American university courses the passage is anything but safe. Plot, meh. The real reward here is the procession of mercury theatre people: cotten, of course, agnes moorehead, everett sloane, ruth warrick, orson welles. ★★★☆

Land of mine (dir. Martin zandvliet, 2015). In post-WWII denmark, german prisoners of war — boys, really — are pressed into the deadly work of locating, defusing, and removing landmines from a beach, day after day, under the eye of a brutal danish sergeant. By night the boys are locked into a barracks of sorts. Do concentration camps come to mind yet? As death follows death, this harrowing film charts the changing relationship between the sergeant and his charges. ★★★★

The big sleep (dir. Howard hawks, 1946). Humphrey bogart and lauren bacall, enmeshed in a bewildering social network of dirty pictures, blackmail, and murder. I took notes while watching and still don’t understand how philip marlowe figures everything out. Best enjoyed as amusing vignettes and snappy patter. Dig the bookstore! ★★★☆

Dead end (dir. William wyler, 1937). Poverty, gentrification, and adolescent criminality on east 53rd street. I hadn’t seen this movie in decades, and I was dismayed by how badly it’s aged. Humphrey bogart and joel mccrea now seem wooden, and the dead end kids seem insufferable caricatures. But there’s sylvia sidney as a fetching shopgirl on strike, and gregg toland’s cinematography is dazzling in a chase sequence across rooftops and through shadows. ★★☆☆

Stage fright (dir. Afred hitchcock, 1950). Understated, slyly playful metafiction, with jane wyman as an aspiring actress (“you don’t look like an actress,” she’s told) who takes on a real-life role to solve a whodunit. Many comic touches, and a sinister turn from marlene dietrich as a louche entertainer. (did she or didn’t she?) the ending, with strong overtones of the 39 steps, is spectacular, literally. ★★★★

Rembrandt (dir. Alexander korda, 1936). I’ve never been much for what I call period movies (anything set before the twentieth century). But I can make an exception for this one, which stars charles laughton as a painter utterly devoted to his work, spending his few coins on brushes and paints as an alcoholic might spend them on whiskey. Washington university notable alumni anecdotal and episodic, with only one canvas on display (which saves the movie from and-then-I-painted montony). With gertrude lawrence and elsa lanchester, and with extraordinary sets by vincent korda. ★★★★

Miracle in the rain (dir. Rudolph maté, 1956). A strange amalgam: new york as a lovers’ playground, life in wartime, existential despair, and supernatural forces. I said to elaine that the story could have come from a paul harvey broadcast. So I’m not surprised to learn that the source is a novella (by ben hecht) first published in the saturday evening post. The film has been widely panned, but the chameleonic jane wyman, the doughty eileen heckart, the new york location shots, and the story’s fablelike strangeness are powerfully redeeming virtues. ★★★★

Italianamerican (dir. Martin scorsese, 1974). The director’s parents, catherine and charles, talking in the living room, dining room, and kitchen of their apartment on elizabeth street, little italy. Life itself, complete with plastic covers for the furniture and a recipe for sauce. “I have a brother whose name is salvatore. They called him charlie.” ★★★★

The last waltz (dir. Martin scorsese, 1978). Yes, it was scorsese night on turner classics. The band in a farewell performance, tight and loose, an incredible group of instrumentalists. The guest performers — who included neil diamond, bob dylan, lawrence ferlinghetti, joni mitchell, the staples, and muddy waters — recall an era of eclectic taste (and audiences willing to listen, no pyrotechnics needed). The saddest thing about this film: the unmistakable signs, in so many scenes, that substances are everywhere. ★★★★