The Holy Grail Press
Proudly Made On Earth By Earthlings
Word of the Every So Often
psychoceramics: (noun) the study of cracked pots. As the story goes, Professor Josiah S. Carberry taught psychoceramics at Brown University in the 1920s, but he would only lecture on Friday the 13th. Carberry was awarded the Ig Nobel Prize in interdisciplinary research in 1991. It is rumoured that Carberry refused to accept the award on the grounds that he wasn’t real.
Everyday History
On October 3, 1991, the first Ig Nobel Prize ceremony was held. The annual ceremony is hosted at Harvard, and the awards are given out by real Nobel Prize laureates. I’m told it’s quite the ceremony. Founded by a guy named Marc Abrahams, editor of the science humour magazine Annals of Improbable Research, the name is a play on the word “ignoble.” The idea behind the awards is to get non-scientific people interested in science though fun. Basically, it’s to get people to think. Yeah. Good luck with that.
Winners receive a paper trophy and a trillion dollar Zimbabwean banknote... which is worthless. Some of the awards are actually given for scientific achievements, but with a humourous slant. Others are given to folks who support pseudoscience. For instance, in 1991 Eric von Däniken won a literature award for writing Chariots of the Gods?, in which he postulated that aliens have been influencing life on earth for millennia. And other awards... well... For instance, also in 1991, Edward Teller, the father of the hydrogen bomb and head cheerleader for the Star Wars weapon system, was given the Ig Peace Prize for “his lifelong efforts to change the meaning of peace as we know it.” And, in 1996, the Ig Art Prize went to a guy named Don Featherstone for creating the Pink Flamingo.
There is an entire website devoted to listing all the awards which have been given annually since 1991. And they are funny. After 35 years in the United States, the award ceremony was moved to Zurich in 2026. The 35th annual ceremony was held on September 3. Maybe you were a lucky winner. And if you weren’t, then don’t give up. There’s always next year.
Cartoon of the Week
“’Amazing Navigational Skills’ my ass! Admit it. We’re lost."
Stuff
History of the Future: Tagging
It was on December 4th, 2028, that Seattle shop owner Felix MacGoogan, tired of the nightly “tagging” of his business’s outer walls by rival street gangs, just left cans of spray paint outside for them to use. Said MacGoogan, “What’s the point of even trying? I paint over their graffiti in the morning so they can put graffiti over my paint at night. Besides, what do I care what colour it’s painted? Paint is paint. And this way, I don’t have to do it anymore.”
Soon neighboring businesses joined MacGoogan and left paint out as well. Shortly thereafter, the entire city stopped trying. Seeing shop owners set out paint cans at closing became a common sight during the winter of 2029. It wasn’t long, though, before the gangs couldn’t tell their graffiti from even their own. Said one gang member, “It never really made much sense, anyway, but this is ridiculous.” The only way they found to stake out their territory was to completely paint the businesses in solid colours with tastefully coordinated trim. The practice quickly spread, and before long every gang in the city spent their evenings painting local businesses.
Said a former shop owner, “You never knew what colour the shop was going to be each morning. Sometimes it would be red, sometimes blue. You never knew. But they always cleaned up after themselves.” Indeed, it became a sign of power to have the best looking blocks. Soon roving bands of youth were brazenly planting shrubberies along the sidewalks. The sound of a weed eater was common at night.
In the spring of 2030 officials from other cities began arriving, trying to recruit Seattle’s gangs to come to their towns and wreck all the havoc they wished. Chicago and Indianapolis had limited success, but it never quite caught on.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Said one gang member, “Hell, that’s work.” It wasn’t long afterwards that the city fell into disrepair. Having gotten used to not having to do any maintenance on their property, nobody did. Pleas were made to the city gangs, who had all moved to the suburbs and bought homes of their own. Perhaps DJ Weeder, the head of the Toro gang summed it up best, “Man, nobody wants to hang out in the city. That place is a dump. Besides, who’s got time? I’ve got a yard to mow.”
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