photographed in Brooklyn, New York on June 6, 2010

Now, what I am going to say is almost unintelligible, but I shall say it all the same, because it responds to a true sensation. These marionettes are like the Egyptian hieroglyphics, that is, they have a certain pure and mysterious quality, and when they perform a drama of Shakespeare or Aristophanes I see to watch the poet’s thought unfolded in sacred characters along the temple’s wall.

In short, I venerate their divine innocence, and I am very sure that if old Æschyulus, who was highly mystical, had returned to Earth and visited France on the occasion of our Universal Exhibition, he would have had his tragedies played by M. Signoret’s company.

I wanted to say these things, because, without flattering myself, I do not believe that anyone else would say them, and I strongly suspect my folly to be unique. The marionettes respond exactly to my idea of the theatre, and I confess that this idea is singular. I should like a dramatic representation to recall, in some degree, so that it may truly remain a game, a box of Nuremberg toys, a Noah’s ark, or a set of clockwork figures. But I should further desire these artless images to be symbols; I should like these simple forms to be animated by magic; I want them to be enchanted toys. This may seem a curious taste; still, it must be remembered that Shakespeare and Sophocles satisfy it well enough.

Excerpted from On Life & Letters by Anatole France. Translation by D.B. Stewart. Published by the John Lane Company, New York, 1922.

photographed in Brooklyn, New York on June 5, 2010

New York is threaded with waterways. Most are dirty, but they are still full of crab, lobster and sturgeon, goldfish and striped bass, bluefish and white perch and even pompano. Ignoring the unprepossessing look (and smell) of the city’s rivers and ponds, New Yorkers are fishing all over the place: They cast from the bulkheads into the East River; they dot the jetties at the Rockaways; they trap blue crabs in the Hackensack Meadowlands (just ten minutes from Times Square). Correctly dressed flycasters quietly pursue huge brown trout in Kensico Reservoir. Warm-water anglers fish the New York and Croton reservoirs. Water and fish everywhere. And the season is starting afresh.

This month, as the waters warm, fish begin to stir, either out of the harbor muds to feed, or inshore to spawn. Winter flounder fishing traditionally begins on St. Patrick’s Day. Jamaica Bay is a good spot, from the Carnasie Pier or from the bridges that cross the bay, or from rented rowboats. Winter flounder are crowd pleasers—easy to catch and not terribly choosy about how they are approached.

Excerpted from ‘The Fish Around Us’ by D.W. Bennett. Appearing in New York magazine, April 10, 1978.

photographed in Yankee Stadium, The Bronx, New York on May 4, 2010

My invention has for its object to provide an efficient means for producing candy cotton and which is so constructed that carbonization of the sugar used in the formation of the candy will be entirely eliminated and the revolving cotton forming member may be rotated at an exceedingly high speed without danger of fracture of the member. The invention also provides a means for making electoral connection with the heater located in the rotatable member and for the regulating the supply of current through the electric motor that rotates the rotatable member and the heater located in the rotatable member.

The invention may be contained in structures that vary in their details and, to illustrate a practical application of the invention, I have selected a structure containing the invention as an example of the various forms of structures that embody the invention …

The candy cotton machine has a pedestal … that is provided with a relatively larger base … in which is located the electric motor … that is connected to the porcelained sheet metal spinner … by means of a spindle … and plate.

Excerpted from U.S. patent 1,806,111, ‘Cotton Candy Forming Machine,’ by Buren Moad. Application filed September 10, 1929, patented May 19, 1931.

photographed in Weirs Beach, New Hampshire on May 30, 2010

After nearly 20 years and millions of quarters, someone has attained the unthinkable: a perfect score on Pac-Man.

The world record was set by 33-year-old Billy Mitchell of Hollywood, Florida, during a US-Canada clash over the Fourth of July weekend. Mitchell took more than six hours to complete the game at the Funspot Family Fun Center in Weirs Beach, New Hampshire.

To achieve the game’s maximum score of 3,333,360 points, Mitchell navigated 256 boards (or screens), eating every single dot, blinking energizer blob, flashing blue ghost, and point-loaded fruit, without losing a single life.

“It was tremendously monotonous,” said Mitchell, a father of three and president of Rickey’s World Famous Sauces, a manufacturer of Louisiana hot sauces.

Excerpted from ‘Gobbling Up a Pac-Man Record‘ by Leander Kahney. Published in Wired on July 8, 1999.

photographed in Brattleboro, Vermont on May 31, 2010

This has been the case, and where a few years ago the Box elder Bug was an unknown insect it is now found in large and increasing numbers. Still this great increase would not be noticed, or only be a few more observing persons, if this insect did not possess the peculiar habit of crowding together late in autumn, preliminary to searching for suitable quarters to hibernate. As soon as the foliage of the box elder becomes dry and discolored, or, in other words, as soon as the leaves of the tree no longer offer liquid sap to the insects, these desert such useless sources of food, and descend to the limbs and trunks of the trees. Here they gather in large numbers, perhaps to hold indignation meetings about the shortness of summer and food supplies! At all events they crowd together, old and young, as if waiting for better times. Whenever the sun shines and warms one side of the trunk, or the sidewalk below the tree, there these bugs are sure to congregate. Later, and when the leaves commence to drop, all bugs have reached their full size, and are winged. But they do not use their wings, and are very sensible not to do so, because they assuredly would be blown about the adjoining prairies and would perish. They now search for winter quarters. If the sidewalk under the box elder trees, their old homes, should be a wooden one, most of the bugs will find shelter under it. If no such shelters are found, however, the insects enter barns and stables, and are not slow to enter even houses, much to the disgust of the ladies of the household. The bugs are decidedly stupid, at least they cannot be scared away, but have to be forcibly ejected. This habit of crowding into dwellings has been the cause of many complaints.

Excerpted from Sixth Annual Report of the Entomologist of the State Experiment Station of the University of Minnesota to the Governor for the Year 1900 by Otto Lugger. Published by McGill-Warner Co., St. Paul, Minnesota, 1900.

photographed in Canaan, New Hampshire on May 31, 2010

All history should be the history of the people. It is what the people are doing in villages, communities and families, that lie at the foundation of national character, and sentiment, and consequently of national events. Those matters which possess a natural interest to a particular neighborhood, from association with the familiar names and places, are of interest to everyone who seeks in the experience of the past for that wisdom that may be desired from a knowledge of what those who lived before us have done and suffered …

The historic genealogy of a village may be made as useful a guide through the devious paths of life as the chart of the mariner to him who sails among the breakers of the great deep, pointing out the track that others have pursued, and showing where and how they have advanced in safety, and also wherein they have becomes victims of passion, folly and recklessness.

Excerpted from The History of Canaan, New Hampshire by William Allen Wallace and James Burns Wallace. Published by the Rumford Press, Concord, New Hampshire, 1910.

photographed in Cozumel, Mexico on April 26, 2008

Al fin, a las once del día comenzó a soplar la brisa. A las doce nos preguntó el patron si tocaríamos a tierra para comer, y a la una y media el viento a la cabeza era tan fuerte que nos vimos obligados a echar al ancla a sotavento de Punta Francesa, que forma una sola isla con Punta Mosquito. La isla no tiene nombre propio, y no es más que un banco de arenas cubierto de plantas marítimas, dejando un paso estrecho entre ella y la tierra firme, por medio del cual se puede navegar en canoas pequeñas. Nuestro anclaje quedaba enfrente del rancho de un pescador, única habitación que existía en la isla, construida en la forma de un wigwam de los indios del norte, techado de hojas de palma que llegaban hasta el suelo, con una abertura en cada extrimidad para dar libre curso a la corriente del aire; de manera que, mientras se encontraba uno a distancia de un paso de la puerta, se sentía un calor vehementísmo; lo mismo era entrar en el rancho que sentirse fresco y alivio. El pescador estaba meciéndose en su hamaca y un hermoso muchacho indio se ocupaba en hacer las tortillas, presentando ambos una bella pintura de la juventud y una vigorosa vejez.

Excerpted from Viaje a Yucatan 1841-1842 by John L. Stephens. Translation by Justo Sierra O’Reilly. Originally published as Incidents of Travel in Yucatan by Harper & Brothers, New York, 1843.

photographed in Ault Park, Cincinnati, Ohio on May 15, 2010

In the eighteenth century weddings were accompanied by much revelry and extravagance. Gloves, rings, and scarves, as at funerals, were given away in such profusion as to call for legislation to check the abuse. Unstinted feasting and drinking were the order of the day. “Sack-posset” appears to have been the favorite wedding beverage. “All the friends were entertained at the bride’s home with a collation or supper, and afterward a dance; while in the country they were the most important social events. The banns were proclaimed in church, and all the neighbors were invited from the pulpit to attend the ceremony. On the day of the wedding muskets were fired, a procession was formed, and marched to the bride’s house, where the marriage took place; and then came a dinner, a dances, and great merrymaking. Usually these wedding feasts lasted through the day and evening, but they were sometimes kept up for two or three days. On one occasion at New London there was a great wedding dance on the day after the marriage, when ninety-two ladies and gentlemen assembled and proceeded to dance ninety-two jigs, fifty-two contra dances, forty-five minuets, and seventeen hornpipes. This was probably an extreme case; but all over New England weddings were great occasions, and were celebrated with much pomp and rejoicing.”

Excerpted from A History of Matrimonial Institutions, Chiefly in England and the United States with an Introductory Analysis of the Legislature and the Theories of Primitive Marriage and the Family, volume two, by George Elliott Howard. Published by the University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1904.

photographed in Manhattan, New York on February 13, 2010

Some people to-day declare loudly against the influence of heredity and environment, saying the innate good of a child will conquer everything. It will under the right cultivation and conscious individual effort, after the child is old enough to realize and throw off the shackles of childhood mistraining. But it is is seldom done, because the mistakes have been woven into every fiber of his being—mental, moral, and physical. Throughout life the pains and pleasures of childhood are remembered with a keenness that makes it impossible for them to be otherwise than potent factors for good or evil in the character-building process.

A man, noted for his kindness to every one about him, once said to me: “A smile influenced me more than anything else for good … The one longing of my life was for love. One day a stranger met me in the street, a man who saw that I was an unhappy child. He held out his hand to me and smiled kindly. I never forgot it. It was the beginning of my effort to be kind to everybody. It made me whatever I am, and I can say truly that love does everything when we let it.”

Excerpted from ‘The Family Circle’ by Florence Peltier Perry and the Rev. Helen Van-Anderson, originally appearing in Mind, volume IX. Published by the Alliance Publishing Company, New York, October 1901.

photographed in Manhattan, New York on March 7, 2010

Of the nature of his present trade, and of the class of his customers, I had the following account from a man of twelve years’ experience in the vending of street jewelry :—

“It’s not very easy to tell, sir,” he said, “what sells best, for people seem to suspect everything, and seems to think they’re done if they give 3d for an agate brooch, and finds out it aint set in gold. I think agate is about the best part of the trade now. It seems a stone is easy imitated. Cornelians, too, aint so bad in brooches—people likes the color; but not what they was, and not up to agates. But nothing is up to what it once was; not in the least. Sell twice as much—when you can, which often stands over till to-morrow come-never—and get half the profit. I don’t expect very much from the Great Exhibition. They send goods so cheap from Germany, they’ll think any thing dear in London, if it’s only at German prices. I think it’s a mistake to fancy that the cheaper a jewelry article is the more you’ll sell of it. You won’t. People’s of opinion—at least that’s my notion of it—that it’s so common everybody’ll have it, and so they won’t touch it. It’s Thames water, sire, against beer, is poor low-priced jewelry, against tidy and fair-priced; but then the low-priced but then the low-priced has now ruined the other sorts, for they’re all thought to go under the same umbrella,—all of a sort; 1s. or 1d. Why, as to who’s the best customers, that depends on where you pitches your pitch, or works your round, and whether you are known, or are merely an upstart.

Excerpted from London Labour and the London Poor, Vol. I, The London Street-Folk by Henry Mayhew. Published by Harper & Brothers, New York, 1851.

photographed in Yankee Stadium, the Bronx, New York on May 4, 2010

Baseball remains in trouble with the general public, though, despite the ticket prices people pay and the flocks who keep showing up to pay them. An ESPN poll revealed that among kids, the next generation of fans, football is number one, basketball is number two, and baseball is number three in popularity, with only 18 percent expressing the opinion that the national pastime is their favorite game. With owners looking to max revenues now instead of build for the long term, they started nationally telecast playoff games, their most critical television product, at increasingly late hours, alienating the fans of the future who couldn’t stay up to watch the conclusions, let alone the fans of the past and present who didn’t want to stay up, either. Will maxing out ad revenues now backfire in later in eroded fan support? Probably, if it hasn’t already. Will it erode sponsor support, pegged at as much as $9 million per team per year? Maybe, if the sport no longer serves as the conduit for the corporation to reach the consumer …

So, increasingly, the corporation becomes and maintains itself as the conduit for the fan to get to the game and get closer to the game, however that may be.

Excerpted from Sports Marketing by Howard Schlossberg. Published by Blackwell, Malden, Massachusetts, 1996.

photographed in Toms River, New Jersey on April 18, 2010

It is precisely to distract attention from its theoretically inert landlords and capitalists that neoclassical economics complicates its initial story and introduces another character into the drama: the entrepreneur. Here is an economic actor par excellence. The entrepreneur sees an opportunity, rushes to take advantage of it, thereby benefitting not only himself but society at large. The entrepreneur develops a new product, invents a new technology, comes up with a new and more efficient way of producing or marketing. Or, more modestly, he replicates in a new location what others have done elsewhere—develops a new strip mall, opens another coffee shop or dollar store or fast food restaurant. The entrepreneur is the creative principle of capitalism, celebrated, emulated, envied. Surely no one will deny that the entrepreneur makes a positive contribution to society—and hence is deserving of his reward.

No one can doubt that the entrepreneur makes a positive contribution. One can question the long-range value of specific contributions but any society, if its to be at all dynamic, needs people who are economically creative and willing to initiate new projects. Entrepreneurial activity is vital—for capitalism and for successor-system socialism. Socialism will need entrepreneurs (though not capitalists).

Excerpted from After Capitalism by David Schweickart. Published by Rowman & Littlefield, Lanham, Maryland, 2002.

photographed over Miami, Florida on April 9, 2010

… In that Empire, the Art of Cartography attained such a Perfection that the map of a single Province occupied the entirety of a City, and the map of the Empire, the entirety of a Province. In time, those Unconscionable Maps no longer satisfied, and the Cartographers Guilds struck a Map of the Empire whose size was that of the Empire, and which conceded point for point with it. The following Generations, which were so fond of the Study of Cartography as their Forebears had been, saw that the vast Map was Useless, and not with out some Pitilessness in it, that they delivered it up to the Inclemencies of Sun and Winters. In the Deserts of the West, still today, there are tattered ruins of that Map, inhabited by Animals and Beggars; in all the land there is no other Relic of the Disciplines of Geography.

The full text of ‘On Exactitude in Science’ by Jorge Luis Borges, fictionally attributed to Suárez Miranda in Viajes de varones prudentes. Translated by Andrew Hurley, published by Penguin Books, New York, 1998.

photographed at the Tsukiji Fish Market, Tokyo, Japan on September 4, 2007

Out to the freezing banks of the Sumida River he led us, to see the rows of tuna laid out for the morning auctions. Blanketing in the thick cocoons of frost, solidly frozen tuna the size of tree trunks clinked like brittle chimes as prospective buyers picked out slivers of tail meat for inspection. Crowds of buyers and auctioneers warmed their hands at fires stoked with the broken wooden crates lying about. We watched auctions go by in a split second as Watanabe tried to explain to us the hand signals and staccato chants that indicated bids. He led us through warrens of stalls where he or his chef apprentice would stop for a moment to purchase a kilogram of shrimp, or a large cut of tuna, or several legs of octopus, a tray or two of sea urchin roe, and then thrust the purchase into a rectangular wooden basked slung over the junior apprentice’s shoulder. If money changed hands, I didn’t see it. In the fast conversations back and forth I couldn’t catch any discussions of prices. Watanabe and his crew knew exactly where they were going, and what they wanted to buy when they got there. Though they paused along the way to examine products at many stalls scattered around the marketplace, to my inexperienced eyes the ikura (salmon roe) they didn’t purchase where they bought the kamaboko (fish pâté) looked identical to the salmon roe they did buy at the stall where they ignored the pâté.

Excerpted from Tsukiji: The Fish Market at the Center of the World by Theodore C. Bestor. Published by University of California Press, Berkeley, 2004.