Last month, the prolific rapper dropped two new songs on his birthday, the most current in a extended string of releases he’s place out in 2016. On Thursday (December 29), he washed away all our pain with the delightfully low-key “Acquire Adore.” Now, it seems like he’s not letting the year go without leaving his stamp on its last days, as he’s just dropped a new song and video with Rick Ross.
The video for “That’s A Check” is decidedly higher fidelity than yesterday’s grainy clip, which means, at the quite least, that Future is not working on a concept album about the charms of analog video technologies.
But he does seem to be up to anything, even if it really is just cranking out the loosies he has lying about prior to the year is up.
A student reads aloud from Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, or Cien Años de Soledad, in Bogota, Colombia. Fernando Vergara/APhide caption
This is the story of a stolen book, a sense of national pride and some inventive sleuthing. The book in query is a very first edition copy of A single Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. In 2015, it was stolen from a Bogota, Colombia, book fair. Several cases in that city go unsolved since of a lack of sources, but local law enforcement went all out to solve this crime.
In its new season, the Spanish-language podcast Radio Ambulante tells the story of how the book was recovered. Host Daniel Alarcón tells NPR’s Kelly McEvers that the story left him with conflicting feelings.
“On the a single hand … we love García Márquez, we adore books, and so it’s just anything to celebrate,” he says. “On the other hand, it leaves this kind of odd taste in your mouth due to the fact you’re like, Nicely, if they can resolve that crime in six days, why do not they solve other crimes?”
On how the book was stolen
This story was reported by my colleague Camila Segura, who is the senior editor of Radio Ambulante. She’s a Colombian journalist, she lives in Bogota. … And what happened was that they had been celebrating García Márquez’s life a year following he passed away. They constantly invite a nation to be like, you know, a unique guest at the book fair in Bogota, and that year they invited Macondo, which is the produced-up [town] that García Márquez wrote about in so several novels. So as portion of the exhibition about Macondo, they had a collection of very first editions that had been brought by a bookseller.
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And, you know, I have been to that book fair, Kelly, like thousands of people come via there. I was there that year, in fact, even though I did not steal the book. … And in the midst of all of that chaos, a single day 1 of the booksellers that was in charge of searching more than this collection of books saw, appear at that, the window of this glass case is ajar and there’s a book missing. And it was a 1st edition, signed, of One Hundred Years of Solitude.
On how individuals reacted to the theft
It’s nearly like two parts of Colombia colliding. You know, this view of Colombia that is for export — which is the Macondo, this vision of Latin America that García Márquez has written about — and then also this kind of really urban, dark theft violence crime.
The theft of a book became national news, you know. And men and women have been outraged and there was just like this type of visceral feeling that this was some type of attack on the national pride. You know, part of it has to do with who Gabo is — you know, who García Márquez is — in that national culture. … It’s not just that he won the Nobel Prize, it really is the sort of books that he wrote, it is that he transformed national folklore into excellent art. … So he himself implies a lot. And the reality that this book were to vanish and that someone would have such a lack of respect for an individual of that stature … produced this national outcry. … It went about the globe. …
It is virtually like two parts of Colombia colliding. You know, this view of Colombia that is for export — which is the Macondo, this vision of Latin America that García Márquez has written about — and then also this kind of quite urban, dark theft violence crime. So these two competing visions collide in a location that was supposed to be a celebration of the former. And I think that’s what created men and women so upset.
On how the book was recovered
It was sort of wild. … We’re talking about a nation exactly where crimes go unsolved, exactly where murders go unsolved. And one of the factors that Camila identified as she was investigating this was that the police — and this is one thing I think that we all know intuitively — that the police sort of rank crimes as to their value and that significance often has to do with who’s breathing down their neck to solve it, and that often has to do with power, and that usually has to do with media. And so the theft of this book went about the globe … and so there was a true want to solve it and resolve it rapidly.
And she actually got to interview one of the policemen that was involved in the recovery. It involved a shootout it involved a high-speed chase by means of downtown Bogota it involved stakeouts and informants and all of this organization that appears like one thing out of a spy novel. …
It was found in a neighborhood close to central Bogota. … There had been competing stories, but the story that we heard involved a shootout and involved folks sort of operating away into the neighborhood and disappearing. [They found] the book in a box just type of on the street. … They had been becoming chased and it just dropped. … So they’ve recovered the stolen home, but no one’s been arrested for the crime itself.
On what drew him to the story
I’m interested in any story that complicates our vision of Latin America. … You know, García Márquez is each an iconic figure and … he’s not quite as relevant as he employed to be. Like, we’re reading distinct books, we’re discussing diverse factors. The world that he described is not the globe that exists anymore in Latin America.
Latin America is considerably much more urban than it was when García Márquez was telling his stories about Macondo, you know. The majority of Latin Americans reside in cities now, they don’t live in towns like Macondo. And so I was really interested in this clash … between this vision of a folkloric Latin America as described in the operate of García Márquez and this other Latin America, which is the a single that I know better. … And the truth that these two worlds collided in front of an audience of hundreds of thousands of millions of folks who followed the news of this stolen book and its recovery was also super attractive to me as a storyteller.
Curious George — who was initially named Fifi — turns 75 this year. Despite some dated themes (we’re looking at you, Man with the Yellow Hat) George is now a multimillion-dollar franchise. Margaret Rey says she and her husband had no concept what Curious George would grow to be. “We loved monkeys and just wrote a book about a monkey,” she said. Houghton Mifflin Harcourthide caption
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Curious George famously managed all sorts of escapes — from policemen, firemen, zookeepers and plenty other humans who did not like his mischief. But several readers never know that the husband-wife team who developed the inquisitive tiny monkey — who is celebrating his 75th birthday this year — had the most harrowing escape of all.
In 1939, artists Hans Augusto and Margret Rey have been living in Paris, where they had written a book with a side character named Fifi. The Reys believed this young, inquisitive monkey deserved his personal story and wrote a manuscript for The Adventures of Fifi.
Aspects of Curious George’s story are no doubt problematic — George was taken from his property “in Africa” by the Man with the Yellow Hat, who thought to himself, “What a nice little monkey … I would like to take him residence with me.” Houghton Mifflin Harcourthide caption
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
But their plans have been interrupted when the Nazis invaded France. As German-born Jews, the Reys had to get out of Paris, but the trains had stopped running and they did not personal a vehicle. So Hans went to a bike shop — and located the only bike left was a tandem.
“Margret would have none of it,” says Louise Borden, author of The Journey that Saved Curious George. “So Hans purchased spare components and assembled two bicycles.”
The couple packed what could fit on their backs and fled for their lives on their hastily assembled bicycles. They rode for three days, often sleeping outside. At some point they had been able to get on a train.
In her book, Borden recounts how, midescape, the Reys had been stopped for questioning by a French official. Hans opened his satchel and showed him the manuscript about the curious monkey: “Ah! … un livre pour les enfants!” he exclaimed with a smile.
The Reys created their way out of France, and then to Spain, Portugal, Brazil and eventually, New York City. By way of an editor they had met in Europe, they signed a deal with publisher Houghton Mifflin. A year later, Curious George (who by now had swapped his French name for an American a single) made his debut.
H.A. and Margret Rey have been the husband-wife duo behind Curious George. Margret wrote the stories, and Hans illustrated them. Grummond Children’s Literature Collection/McCain Library and Archives/The University of Southern Mississippihide caption
Grummond Children’s Literature Collection/McCain Library and Archives/The University of Southern Mississippi
You can inform George’s story was written a lengthy time ago. At the outset, we are told George lives “in Africa,” where he meets the Man with the Yellow Hat who thinks to himself, “What a good small monkey … I would like to take him property with me.” So the man — who has a gun slung over his shoulder — pops George into a bag, onto a ship, and sails across the ocean where he keeps George in his apartment in the city.
That the books are a solution of the time hasn’t stopped George from becoming a global icon, promoting some 75 million books in a lot more than 16 languages. The Reys wrote seven Curious George books — he requires a job, flies a kite, rides a bike, goes to the hospital, learns the alphabet and more.
Margret wrote the text of George’s escapades and Hans illustrated them. Hans, who had been a soldier in the German army throughout Globe War I, was significantly older than Margret. “I did far better with my pencil than with my rifle,” he mentioned. They each loved animals and trips to the zoo but had diverse temperaments — she was a rebel, he was a dreamer he had a Pied Piper top quality to him, although she did not really feel a strong connection to youngsters.
“Hans was the quieter one particular,” says Borden. “He loved philosophy. He was a linguist. Margret was a lady with sparkle and power and she often spoke her own thoughts.”
In 1991, Margret Rey told NPR that she and her husband had no notion what Curious George would grow to be. “We loved monkeys and just wrote a book about a monkey,” she mentioned.
Following Hans died in 1977, Margret left the Curious George brand in the hands of their publisher. That is where Curious George’s large second act — as a multimillion-dollar franchise — started.
Today, George’s keepers incorporate PBS, Universal Studios and Houghton Mifflin, where a employees of about 15 folks work on new George books.
Element of George’s enduring appeal is that he remains a monkey, says Houghton Mifflin’s Mary Wilcox — which was critical to the Reys.
“Sometimes there can be a temptation to treat him as even though he is like a human character,” Wilcox explains. “Due to the fact a lot of illustrated characters actually are. Mickey Mouse is not a rodent — he’s in fact a person in a mouse suit so he can drive a car, he can have a conversation. So I think I am being most respectful of their legacy when I am saying: Nope, George does not speak.”
A lot of George’s existing accomplishment also rests on Frank Welker, who, for ten years, has been voicing George on-screen. (Welker is also the voice of the evil Megatron in Transformers, so George, he says, is a “pure delight.”)
Welker says Curious George is an instance of “a sweet, gentle story” coming out of a “very troubled time.”
Ema Ryan Yamazaki, who is creating a documentary about the Reys, grew up in Japan, reading Curious George in Japanese. “I really like that little monkey,” she says.
But George has an army of people taking care of him, and Yamazaki felt his creators’ story needed to be told. The filmmaker feels a certain duty to get it correct — right after all, Margret Rey would insist on it.
“She really took it upon herself to continue Curious George as their child and joint creation, to make certain he outlived each of them,” Yamazaki says.
The Curious George balloon tends to make its way by way of Philadelphia in the course of the 2011 Thanksgiving Day parade. Curious George is now a multimillion-dollar franchise. Joseph Kaczmarek/APhide caption
There’s no query that George lives on — today he’s the star of a film, an Emmy Award-winning Tv series, a web site, video games and, of course, a lot of books.
Margret Rey after stated, “We did only what we liked and by nice coincidence, the children liked the identical factor.”
The Outlaw (1943) was condemned by the Catholic Legion of Decency simply because Jane Russell’s blouse kept falling off her shoulders.
George Hurrell/John Kobal Foundation/Getty Photos
In 1933’s Design and style for Living, two males (Gary Cooper, Fredric March) and a lady (Miriam Hopkins) live cozily together as roommates, no sex – till that boundary starts to break down.
Ullstein Bild/Getty Pictures
Barbara Stanwyck stars in 1933’s Baby Face, about a lady who makes use of sex to get ahead.
John Kobal Foundation/Getty Images
Deborah Kerr stars in 1947’s Black Narcissus, about a group of nuns who open a convent in the Himalayas. The film was condemned for displaying nuns who query their faith.
Universal Pictures/Getty Pictures
M (1951) was condemned for depicting a kid murderer (played by David Wayne, correct) and vigilante mob. (Also pictured: Luther Adler)
The Moon Is Blue follows two playboys (William Holden, David Niven) as they chase after the exact same young virgin (Maggie McNamara). When the film produced it into theaters in 1953, folks stopped taking the legion’s condemnations so seriously.
Michael Ochs Archives/ United Artists/Getty Photos
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In 1933, an effervescent comedy named Design and style for Living gave us two males and a woman living cozily with each other as roommates, no sex. But when that boundary starts to break down, the lady, played by Miriam Hopkins, points out an inequity:
“A man can meet two, three or even 4 females and fall in adore with all of them and then by a procedure of exciting elimination, he’s capable to choose which one he prefers. But a woman should determine purely on instinct — guess work – if she wants to be regarded good.”
Sister Rose Pacatte, a nun and respected film critic, says that line would surely have irritated the Catholic Legion of Decency, which influenced the American film business for much more than four decades. “It was all about temptation or attraction, and marriage, and possibly treating marriage in a frivolous way. … The pervasiveness of the theme would have … certainly referred to as down the condemnation of the Legion of Decency.”
That condemnation came in the kind of a “C” rating, and on Thursday Turner Classic Films starts a new series to honor those C-rated films. It really is named Condemned, and in it Pacatte guides viewers by means of 47 years of salacious filmmaking.
You just get a vision of sort of red-faced priests, you know, in 1943 taking their pulse to make confident they did not have a heart attack.
Will McKinley, film blogger
Film blogger (and former Catholic school student) Will McKinley says the Legion of Decency held the most sway in the 1930s and ’40s, a time when most of the nation wasn’t even Catholic, “but to a huge degree their entertainment was getting dictated by Catholic precepts.” That meant premarital sex was out, as was homosexuality, abortion and divorce.
So when the buxom Jane Russell could barely maintain her blouse on her shoulders in 1943’s The Outlaw, moral panic ensued. “You just get a vision of sort of red-faced priests, you know, in 1943 taking their pulse to make positive they didn’t have a heart attack,” McKinley says.
Something that cast the church in a damaging light was also out, such as 1947’s Black Narcissus, which shows nuns questioning their faith. The 1951 film M was condemned for depicting a child murderer and vigilante mob (according to the legion, the film could incite criminal behavior) and 1933’s Child Face got a C rating for displaying a woman who utilised sex to get ahead (constantly a no-no).
Items started to alter in the 1950s with a film named The Moon is Blue. That film featured provocative lines that used words like “seduce” and “expert virgin,” and it bypassed both the Legion of Decency and the industry’s personal Hays Code to be released in theaters. That’s when individuals started to see the legion’s condemnation as something to be ignored and even mocked.
Evelyn Birkby interviews guests on her KMA radio system, Down a Nation Lane, in 1951 in Shenandoah, Iowa. Courtesy of University of Iowa Women’s Archives/Evelyn Birkby Collection hide caption
itoggle caption Courtesy of University of Iowa Women’s Archives/Evelyn Birkby Collection
Long ahead of the homemade vibes of meals podcasts, there were folksy radio homemakers. These early 20th-century women presented recipes, life hacks and insights for the contemporary farmer’s wife. And just like podcasts nowadays, their shows have been frequently individual, off-the-cuff and straight from the kitchen table.
“We have been just women who shared our lives,” says Evelyn Birkby. “We shared what we have been doing with our families, what we have been cooking, what we were eating.” Birkby began hosting Down a Nation Lane out of Shenandoah, Iowa, 65 years ago on KMA radio.
The station was the brainchild of Earl May possibly, owner of the May possibly Seed and Nursery Company. In 1925, the early days of radio, May possibly saw the new medium as way to build an audience for his items. He asked listeners to create in with their addresses for a free flower bulb — and rapidly expanded his catalogue mailing list. By continuing to develop new, woman-centered content each and every day, his nursery was ever present in the ears of individuals who produced the household buying choices.
KMA broadcasts, and other people like them, gave farm wives info they could use each day, whilst connecting listeners across the isolation of the Midwestern prairie. The familiar voices who hosted these shows became an intimate presence in fans’ properties — in component, since some ladies broadcast proper out of their properties. Birkby, who still broadcasts as soon as a month, collected the stories of some of these pioneering female broadcasters in her book Neighboring on the Air: Cooking With the KMA Radio Homemakers.
Florence Falk and a rooster are pictured in the 1950s at a table in the dining area where broadcasts of The Farmer’s Wife originated. Courtesy of University of Iowa Women’s Archives/Evelyn Birkby Collection hide caption
itoggle caption Courtesy of University of Iowa Women’s Archives/Evelyn Birkby Collection
Florence Falk, who hosted The Farmer’s Wife, gave her audience a taste of farm life by narrating the scenes she spotted via her dining space window and sharing dishes inspired by her Swedish heritage. Adella Shoemaker drew listeners in for a “pay a visit to” to her sunroom, reveling in the freedom that the new medium of radio gave her. Birkby says that Shoemaker loved the notion that she could move from kitchen to microphone, appearing just before her fans even in an apron splattered with the day’s canning. And soon after a car accident place Leanna Driftmier in a wheelchair, she hosted her well-known Kitchen-Klatter from the mini-studio that KMA set up in her home. There, she dished up recipes for Midwestern staples like meatloaf and angel food cake.
“It was just like they have been sitting there with you,” says Birkby. They were, she jokes, some thing of an early assistance group — particularly for farm wives.
“For a lot of rural women, their nearest neighbor may well be a number of miles away,” explains Erika Janik,a scholar of women’s and Wisconsin history and executive producer of the Wisconsin Public Radio show Wisconsin Life. She says these actual-life radio shows helped listeners and hosts make “pals on the air.”
Wisconsin Public Radio, one of the oldest stations in the nation, first received its WHA call letters in 1922. And in 1929, the station began broadcasting The Homemakers Plan, which aired for 38 years. The hosts — from the university’s home economics department or extension services — created shows for a captive audience “who were residence carrying out the cooking and cleaning in the course of the day and listening to the radio,” explains Janik.
But the show had a bigger aim — “to elevate rural ladies by way of education on technologies and domestic science,” Janik says. The notion was to place farm wives in touch with the newest tactics and trends (feel convenience foods) that urban women currently enjoyed.
“They did roundtable discussions about recipes and meals,” says Janik. Or listeners could write in and ask for advice about a cooking failure, “and the home economists would attempt to tackle it.” A lot like America’s Test Kitchen today, she adds.
In 1933, when Aline Hazard started to host the plan, she occasionally took the private touch on the road, broadcasting from listeners’ personal kitchens and gardens. Hazard, who was necessary to upgrade her degree in English and speech with 1 in home economics in order to host the show, learned alongside her listeners. That gave her shows a sense that “you are on this journey collectively,” Janik says.
At a time when commercial stations permitted “10, 15, maybe 20 minutes” for meals applications, the early public radio shows ran an hour or two a day, explains Janik, providing listeners far more speak to time with the ladies whose lives they felt they shared. She says hosts like Hazard received thousands of letters from listeners who “regarded as her a good buddy.”
Birkby and a guest, Vicar Henry Robbins, a local pastor, 1950. “We had been just females who shared our lives,” Birkby says of herself and her fellow radio homemakers. “We shared what we have been performing with our families, what we had been cooking, what we have been consuming.” Courtesy of University of Iowa Women’s Archives/Evelyn Birkby Collection hide caption
itoggle caption Courtesy of University of Iowa Women’s Archives/Evelyn Birkby Collection
Examine this intimacy and neighborliness to programs like Aunt Sammy — a radio character created by the Department of Agriculture in the 1920s. In 1925, the USDA launched a radio plan to provide tips to farmers. The following year, “Aunt Sammy” was conceived as the female counterpart, who would speak to the concerns of the farmers’ wives. A single script was drafted in Washington, D.C., and sent to radio stations across the country, exactly where it would be read by a lady in the regional dialect. There was no space for deviation or personalization. It was a far cry from these hosts who “literally shared their lives,” says Birkby.
For some fans, listening in was like catching up with a excellent pal over the phone — sometimes literally. In the days of celebration lines, explains Birkby, 1 farm wife with a crystal set could ring fellow listeners on the exact same phone line. When the program began, “you would lift your receiver and ring the celebration line,” she says. As quickly as your buddies heard the bell, “everyone would lift up their receivers, and 13 or 14 individuals listened to the identical radio.”
Today, we’ve replaced the phone with earbuds. With their occasionally informal presentation and direct connection to the host, Janik says, “I see podcasts drawing a direct line back to these homemaking applications.”
Birkby says she and others designed an intimate environment “exactly where you could not wait until the subsequent day to listen once again.”
It was significantly less like a broadcast from far away, and much more like an afternoon break for a very good conversation about food and drink. Birkby recalls: “I would say to the listeners, ‘Pull up a chair, I’ll pour you a cup of coffee, and let’s check out.’ “
Anne Bramley is the author of Eat Feed Autumn Winter and the host of the Eat Feed podcast. Twitter: @annebramley