Wikipedia:Reference desk/Archives/Humanities/2007 December 7

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December 7

Jesus as a given name

The Gillian Gibbons case has got me wondering why the name Jesus is quite common in Hispanic countries (eg. Jesus Lopez-Cobos), but it's considered quite offensive elsewhere in the Christian world to name a child Jesus, and it virtually never happens (there are probably a few odd exceptions, but they are most definitely exceptions). What makes the Hispanic countries different?

Another issue: In Matthew 1:21-23, the angel appeared to Joseph and said:

• "... fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife ... and she shall bring forth a son; and thou shalt call his name Jesus ... now all this is come to pass, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying 'Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, And they shall call his name Immanuel'".

So, how can a child the angel demanded be named Jesus be a fulfilment of a prophecy that said the child would be called Immanuel? I've checked out various discussions on the web, but nothing I've found so far helps.

I also note that Emmanuel (in various spellings) is relatively common as a given name (relative to Jesus, that is), albeit mainly amongst Jewish families, rather than Christian ones - but Emmanuel Lewis might be an exception. Why is it OK in principle for Christian families to name their kids Emmanuel, but not Jesus, if the two names supposedly mean the same thing? -- JackofOz (talk) 00:01, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Is it really offensive, or just unfashionable? I've never heard, for example, of anyone being upset by James Jesus Angleton's name. -- Finlay McWalter | Talk 00:09, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

More generally, I think there's ample evidence to show that religion isn't the only consideration people use when choosing religious names for children. Names like Ezekiel and Josiah have fallen out of favour over the years, whereas Noah and Ruth seem to be very popular recently, and surely the change is entirely cultural and not theological. So I'd posit that Anglos don't call their kids Jesus much is culture, habit, and fashion. -- Finlay McWalter | Talk 00:22, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

As to the calling him Jesus in order to fulfill a prophecy that he should be called Immanuel, I think Sportin' Life got it more or less right. DuncanHill (talk) 00:16, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Part one - I don't know why the taboo (really a taboo?) in non-hispanic culture came up, although I suspect it's for similar reasons to the Gibbons affair. I *do* know that many people named Jesús are given a combination name, do distinguish them from other people with a similar name (like Marcelo, Mario, ...). Girls can be called Jesús when combined with María as María Jesús. María Juan is another popular name.

Part two - Immanuel is the Hebrew for 'God-with-us': Ima' - with; -nu - pronominal clitic 'us'; 'el - god (note miniscule g). I understood that interpretation to be that people called him 'god-with-us', but that wasn't his name, as such. A number of the prophetic fulfillments in Matthew are perhaps a bit of a stretch. There isn't really a taboo on it, because it's not his usual name, I suppose. No one prays to Immanuel; it just turns up occasionally in some hymns. -- Steewi (talk) 00:18, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Ok. Jesus is actually an English variant of Yeshua (roughly), which has also carried into English as Joshua, so the name isn't really that uncommon, it has just varied a lot over the years.

The word Immanuel actually means, "God with us", so, the fact that Christ is born will indeed fulfill that prophecy, since in the Christian sense, Christ is God on earth with us in the flesh. Christ has many names, Jesus and Immanuel being only two. Wrad (talk) 00:39, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Thanks for the answers, folks. A few thoughts about the offensive thing: that's what I (as a Catholic-raised child) was taught; but it may just have been my parents' particluar spin on it - they were very easily offended. All the same, if I told my family and friends that I was naming my new-born son Egbert Murgatroyd, there'd be more than a few raised eyebrows, and they'd ask me if I was sure that's what I wanted, given the extreme unfashionability of those names - but at the end of the day they'd demur. However, if I announced his first name was to be Jesus, their eyebrows would hit the ceiling and I'm sure they'd disagree violently and insist I choose a more suitable name. Friendships have been destroyed for less. Re James Jesus Angleton, had there been any offence at his being so named (I don't know if history records this or not), the reaction would not have been directed at him as the recipient of the name, but at his parents for giving it to him. Jesus was his middle name, and middle names are not usually used. I suspect that he used both names precisely because the middle one was Jesus (in accordance with the old tradition that if you have such a name you may as well flaunt it). In other words, if his middle name had been Harold, he probably wouldn't have been known as James Harold Angleton but plain old James Angleton. We'll never know, of course. In any case, he's one of those rare exceptions I referred to earlier. -- JackofOz (talk) 08:07, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

UK Scale in Maps

Just looking at some maps of europe etc and I just don't know about the Uk...It always seems to look huge next to Europe yet from the list we're 79th in the world, half the size of France and only 2/3s the size of Germany yet on most maps I see it looks bigger than Germany (e.g. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Area_by_country.PNG) is it just an illusion in my head? I understand that on some maps things aren't proportional/to scale but just wondered whether there's something more to it than this. It's probably just me mistaking things. ny156uk (talk) 00:25, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Partly is surely, as you say, the distortion due to the map projection (Mercator projection, for example, is still used; it stretches the UK a fair amount). Secondly your eye might be taking in the whole of the British Isles and chunking them as a one-er, so the psychological size of Britain might be boosted both by Ireland and the Irish Sea. -- Finlay McWalter | Talk 00:31, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Many maps make countries larger the closer to the poles they are. Wrad (talk) 00:47, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

With unfortunate effects for the Poles. DuncanHill (talk) 02:02, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

As I think Finlay McWalter said above, part of it may be that the island of Britain has a very complex indented coastline. It is probably easy to mentally "fill-in" the indents, making it seem larger. Another possibility is that cartographers intentionally "fill it in" to some degree. On the map posted above you can see that small islands around the world have been enlarged so as to be more visible. It could be that the mapmaker colored Britain's outline with the same color as the "fill" because otherwise it might look too thin and disjoint (note that the peninsula of Cornwall (whatever it's real name is) is only a pixel or so wide). I'm not sure if that's the case on this map, but it is not uncommon in cartography to intentionally displace and distort features in order to make maps easier to read and understand. Finally, it could also be a case of a tall and narrow object looking larger compared to a wide and short one. To my eye, on this map, Germany is clearly larger than Britain. But then, I failed a 2nd grade test by judging a tall and narrow shape as being bigger than a shorter wide one -- and I never forgot! Pfly (talk) 05:58, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

One Spartan

According to Battle of Thermopylae, 299 Spartans died out of 300. Who was this one Spartan that survived? S♦s♦e♦b♦a♦l♦l♦o♦s ^{(Talk to Me)} 00:49, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Aristodemus. He was too ill to fight and was sent home by Leonidas. Clio the Muse (talk) 00:52, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Ah. Thanks.

However, I also notice on Aristodemus that Pantites also survived, but hung himself of shame later. Shouldn't the article be changed to 298 Spartan deaths in battle? S♦s♦e♦b♦a♦l♦l♦o♦s ^{(Talk to Me)} 01:03, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

On the basis of that information you would be justified in making the change if you wish to do so. Clio the Muse (talk) 01:25, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Utter frivolity, but whenever "One Spartan" pops up on my watchlist, I keep thinking "One poor Spartan didn't have a fox"... DuncanHill (talk) 01:32, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I've always believed this was the origin of the unfortunate Noaks in Zuleika Dobson, the only man in the University who didn't follow the example of the Duke of Dorset and drown himself for the love of Zuleika. Noaks, too, ends up dead, though it's not clear whether he followed the example of Pantites or just tripped. Xn4 01:44, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Weird historical coincidences

A couple of people I went to college with are now somewhat notorious for completely different reasons, and people in the future may find it interesting that they were classmates. That got me thinking: In what other cases have two historically notable people that you wouldn't expect to cross paths wound up doing so? For example, it's said that when Mary Todd Lincoln tried to throw herself off the upper deck of a ship in a suicide attempt, Sarah Bernhardt, who happened to be on the same ship, caught her. Then there's the odd coincidence that baseball star Reggie Jackson and Israeli national hero Yonatan Netanyahu were high-school classmates in Philadelphia.

Any other examples? -- Mwalcoff (talk) 01:01, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Irony: When Napoleon's mother was pregnant with him, the French attacked Corsica, where she lived, and she actually got involved in the fighting. So the first battle that Napoleon was "involved" in was against the French. Wrad (talk) 01:10, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Ludwig Wittgenstein and Adolf Hitler attended the same school, though not in the same class. DuncanHill (talk) 01:11, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I can't help asking - who did you go to college with, Mwalcoff? DuncanHill (talk) 01:16, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Sorry, there's only so much personal information I'm willing to discuss in a place where it's saved forever until you die! -- Mwalcoff (talk) 03:29, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I have some bad news.... it's not erased when you die... - Nunh-huh 03:31, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Speaking of Mary Todd Lincoln, her and Abe's son Robert Todd Lincoln was present not only at Abe's assassination, but also at those of the next 2 victims, Garfield and McKinley. -- JackofOz (talk) 01:20, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Now if I was in the Secret Service, I'd want to ask him a few questions! DuncanHill (talk) 01:22, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

After Kurt Cobain escaped from his final rehab in LA he took a flight home to Seattle. By coincidence, seated beside him has former Guns'N'Roses member (and fellow on-again-off-again heroinista) Izzy Stradlin; if I remember rightly this was the last substantive conversation Cobain had with anyone. There's no reason to believe Stradlin (who was clean by that time) had any detrimental effect (he says the two chatted amiably), but perhaps if the divine coincidence factory had chosen to put Sister Wendy there instead of Izzy, perhaps things might have worked out differently. -- Finlay McWalter | Talk 01:23, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Several signers of the Declaration of Independence, including Jefferson and Adams, died on July 4, the day the document is recognized as being signed. Wrad (talk) 01:41, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

More than that, Adams and Jefferson died on exactly the same day, 4 July 1826. James Monroe died 5 years later, 4 July 1831, and Calvin Cooldge was born 4 July 1872. -- JackofOz (talk) 02:07, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Enoch Powell was taught by A. E. Housman. Xn4 02:26, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Violet Jessop survived the sinkings of both the Titanic (as a stewardess for the White Star Line) and its sister ship the Britannic (as a military nurse). She also worked on the third sister ship, the Olympic, and apparently was on board when it suffered a collision; but as a White Star employee that part would not be much of a coincidence. --Anonymous, 02:40 UTC, December 7, 2007.

Here's a couple of college roommates: Al Gore and Tommy Lee Jones (Harvard University); and tech billionaire Jim Balsillie and bestselling author Malcolm Gladwell (University of Toronto). -- Mwalcoff (talk) 03:34, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I'm not sure about this one, perhaps someone can enlighten me. I've heard that during World War I Vladimir Lenin lived in Zurich, "across the street" or very near to Cabaret Voltaire. Somewhere I read that Lenin wrote the Communist Manifesto while the sounds of the Dada Manifesto, as realized at Cabaret Voltaire, wafted through his window. Looking into it quickly right now, I'm not sure what the "Communist Manifesto" would be, perhaps State and Revolution? In any case, this always struck me as one of the weirdest juxtapositions of historical events. Does anyone know if it is true? Pfly (talk) 06:09, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

See Travesties by Tom Stoppard. (The Communist Manifesto is by Marx and Engels.) 64.236.80.62 (talk) 11:02, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I'm intrigued that Alan Greenspan and Miles Davis both attended Juilliard School of Music in 1944, though it's doubtful they knew each other. Miles rarely attended classes, and became one of the most influential musicians of the second half of the 20th century, while Greenspan supposedly was more duteous, but abandoned his musical career and became one of the most influential people of the late 20th and early 21st century. ---Sluzzelin talk 14:20, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Joe Satriani taught Kirk Hammett aswell as a few others to play guitar —Preceding unsigned comment added by 193.115.175.247 (talk) 16:05, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

So you're saying that a famous guitarist taught another famous guitarist to play the guitar? What a weird historical coincidence that is. 64.236.80.62 (talk) 16:30, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

The U.S. Civil War's first battle was the First Battle of Bull Run, fought on the farm of Wilmer McLean in Manassas, Virginia. The surrender of Robert E. Lee to U.S. Grant took place almost four years later in the home of the same Mr. McLean, but he had moved to Appomattox, Virginia, 200 km away. Edison (talk) 00:10, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Whilst not exactly as entertaining as the above (some great answers by the way) searching through the 'famous almuni' list of universities will doubtlessly bring up odd-pairings that graduated/attended uni the same year/s. ny156uk (talk) 01:12, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Dutch cyclist Michael Boogerd and Wimbledon champion Richard Krajicek were class mates at an elementary school in The Hague in the 1970s and early 1980s. Ruud van Nistelrooy and Patrick Kluivert were born on the same day. Aecis^Brievenbus 01:24, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Evanston Township High School, is located in Evanston, Illinois, the suburb that lies directly north of the city of Chicago, and is home to the prestigious Northwestern University campus. There must be something in the water, because from the years passing from 1968 through 1992 this four-year high school had at least one future famous person in attendance, sometimes more. Here is a list of the school's famous alumni, along with the years they graduated:

• Emery Moorehead (1972),
• Michael Madsen (1976),
• Joan Cusack (1980),
• Jeremy Piven (1983),
• John Cusack (1984),
• Jeffrey Lieber (1987),
• Ajay Naidu (1990),
• Alicia Goranson (1992)

-- Saukkomies 01:32, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Marlon Brando's mother was Henry Fonda's drama teacher. Corvus cornix_talk 04:40, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

• Oliver Stone directed Tommy Lee Jones in JFK. They were born on the same day (15 September 1946).
• Carmen Lawrence and Jeff Kennett were the premiers of Western Australia and Victoria respectively. For a period in 1992-93, their terms overlapped. They were born on the same day, 2 March 1948.
• And this is a doozie, although it probably doesn't qualify as a historical coincidence. Ann Landers and Abigail van Buren, the famous gossip columnists, were identical twins; Eric Bedser and Sir Alec Bedser, the famous cricketers, were also identical twins. All 4 of them were born on 4 July 1918. I'm not aware of any other case of 2 unrelated pairs of identical twins born on the same day who became famous in different fields. -- JackofOz (talk) 23:20, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

Thanks for all the responses, but remember, I'm not looking for just any historical coincidence; I'm looking for unrelated historical figures crossing paths. -- Mwalcoff (talk) 03:39, 10 December 2007 (UTC)

They are not unrelated, so they may not qualify, but still worth mentioning, I think. Another user has written in a thread below that Aldous Huxley (Brave New World) taught George Orwell (1984) at Eton College. Aecis^Brievenbus 01:05, 12 December 2007 (UTC)

Shipping drama set in Bermuda

Could somebody tell me th name of a British television drama that aired in the eghties that was about shipping in Bermuda? thanks --Hadseys (talk • contribs) 01:37, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

There was a series called Triangle, but Bermuda it wasn't. DuncanHill (talk) 01:39, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Do you mean The Onedin Line? Bielle (talk) 03:20, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Art of Lighting

1.Whats the branches of "Art of Lighting" and whats the main styles and the fundamental differences between them? 2.Is there perfect and good references in this art? Flakture (talk) 08:24, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Would it not be nicer if posters said please. —Preceding unsigned comment added by 88.111.28.68 (talk) 22:04, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

And if volunteers didn't bite.

See Lighting, Lighting designer, Stage lighting, and Three-point lighting. I don't know what book to recommend, but the external links at the bottom of the "Lighting" article might steer you to one. --Milkbreath (talk) 22:37, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Dutyless Daughters

In the English revolution of 1688 both Mary and Anne sided against their father, King James. Had they no family feeling or loyalty? 81.156.7.147 (talk) 08:40, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Sounds like a rhetorical question. Wrad (talk) 21:31, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

It's hard to put this into a nutshell, but here goes... James had infuriated almost all of the constituencies he needed to survive, especially after the failure of Monmouth's Rebellion. You refer to the Glorious Revolution as "the English revolution", but that rather conceals the fact that it was more of a Dutch invasion (at the invitation of some key people) than a home-grown rebellion. The invasion was led by Mary's husband William of Orange, and Mary both supported it and accompanied William to England. She had to make a stark choice between her husband and her father, and she naturally chose her husband. Anne, on the other hand, reserved her position until it was clear that almost no one of any significance was willing to rally around James. She wasn't the first to abandon him, and losing her support helped James to understand that the game was up. Xn4 02:08, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Maybe they were more faithful to their country than to their father. DuncanHill (talk) 02:11, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

First of all, you have to remember that Mary and her sister Anne were brought up, on the insistence of their uncle, Charles, as Protestants, which put them at variance with their father over the most fundamental issue of the day. Second, the relationship between father and daughters was never particularly close: more one of bare filial duty, than anything more solid. After her marriage Mary's first loyalty was to her husband, William; her second loyalty to her faith, and only her third loyalty to her father. Anne, for all her shallow-mindedness, was committed to the Church of England, which her father gave every apperance of subverting. In 1688 she became one of the firmest believers in the 'warming-pan myth', the contention that her half-brother, James was a changling, intended to secure a permanent Catholic succession. She was later to apologise to her father in writing for the part she had played in the Glorious Revolution, but held to the warming-pan story right to the end, even after it had served its purpose and been abandoned by all others. An act of self-deception and bad-faith perhaps, but one which safeguarded her against any residual feelings of guilt Clio the Muse (talk) 04:01, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Caligula's horse

Did Caligulaa really make his horse a member of the senate? —Preceding unsigned comment added by 86.147.191.227 (talk) 13:46, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Possibly although it is disputed, see Caligula#Scandals and Incitatus (the horse) for more on this. 86.21.74.40 (talk) 13:58, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Suetonius says in The Lives of the Twelve Caesars - "Caligula... used to send his soldiers on the day before the games and order silence in the neighbourhood, to prevent the horse Incitatus from being disturbed. Besides a stall of marble, a manger of ivory, purple blankets and a collar of precious stones, he even gave this horse a house, a troop of slaves and furniture, for the more elegant entertainment of the guests invited in his name; and it is also said that he planned to make him consul." (from the translation by J. C. Rolfe in the Loeb Classical Library bilingual text, 1913, p. 489) Xn4 02:44, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Be careful of possible exaggeration! Both Seutonius and Cassius Dio refer to Caligula's fondness for Incitatus, but both are hostile to the memory of the Emperor. The pen, after all, is more cutting than the sword. God give us all the blessing of a sympathetic biographer! Clio the Muse (talk) 04:30, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Leopold III

How far was Leopold III of Belgium to blame for his own misfortunes? Polly Kettle (talk) 14:09, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Leopold III of Belgium undoubtedly made many blunders. Some of them could, perhaps, be compared to those of the writer P. G. Wodehouse, who on a smaller scale incited similar fury over his conduct during the Second World War. Leopold's decision to remain in Belgium in 1940 after the German occupation wasn't fatal to him, but it inevitably made his position a very equivocal one. (The British royal family, planning what to do in the event of a successful German invasion of the UK, took the opposite view and intended to withdraw to the safety of Canada). Leopold's rejection of the Belgian government-in-exile (and his later repudiation of decisions it made, including the signing of treaties) created great tensions between him and the politicians. His secret marriage had already undermined his position. The long Regency after the liberation of Belgium (which Leopold foolishly referred to as the country's occupation by Allied forces) gave him a chance to build bridges which he could have done more to seize. In the aftermath of the war, Leopold was accused of treason, and a commission of inquiry was set up which in 1946 reported and found no evidence of treason, but many Belgians were left with the feeling that there was 'no smoke without fire'. Perhaps Leopold's greatest mistake, though, was to believe he could be a credible king of Belgium after securing only a narrow majority in the national referendum of 1950 to decide his future as king. More than forty per cent of the Belgians who voted, but a clear majority of those in Wallonia, one of Belgium's two provinces, had voted against him. His return very nearly prompted a civil war, and when demonstrators began to die in clashes with the police he threw in the towel. Altogether, his career as king shows us the real weakness of the position of a constitutional monarch in the modern world. Xn4 03:19, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Well, you might consider the example set by Albert in 1914 with that of Leopold in 1940; the determination of the first and the weakness and vacillation of the second. When Leopold was faced with the certainty of a German invasion he simple chose to ignore it. For once a cliché would seem to be justified; he effectively put his head in the sand like an ostrich. Having made no preparations, and refusing to co-operate with the British and French, Leopold virtually ensured that his country would be overrun. In 1914 Belgian resistance contributed greatly to the survival of the Allied cause. In 1940 Leopold, believing in defeat, made sure of defeat. Contrary to the advice of his Prime Minister, he moved his army to a position where it could be dealt with the Germans in detail, isolated from Allied support. Even so, in the face of defeat, he could have gone to England with his government, standing as a symbol of resistance to his people in the same fashion as Wilhelmina of the Netherlands did to the Dutch. He did not. Not a traitor king, as was once argued; but not much on an inspiration either. Clio the Muse (talk) 03:27, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Looking for the title and artist of a French painting

Can anyone help me find this painting? Facts: The painting is located in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and was painted by a french artist. Educated guesses: XIX Century Neoclassical (at first I though it was done by Ingres) or maybe Romantic. The painting's theme is the Massacre of the Innocents, almost certainly. There is a weeping mother on the right foreground and the pursuit and killing of children is depicted on the left background. Sorry for being so vague. --78.24.136.36 (talk) 14:23, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

It's not Poussin's Abduction of the Sabine Women [1], I don't suppose? 64.236.80.62 (talk) 15:05, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

How about François-Joseph Navez' version of The massacre of the innocents?[2] Lupo 15:30, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Thanks a lot, Lupo, that's the painting I was looking for. I was very impressed by the painting when I first saw it but I couldn't remember the artist's name. Thanks again. --217.125.184.187 (talk) 16:02, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Impact of Terrorism

Is there any comparison to be drawn between the practices of present day terrorism and the campaign of the anarchists and others the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries? Did the terrorists themselves employ similar techniques and practices? Were state responses similar in the past to those of the presemt day? I hope this is not too ambitious? Thanks for any help you can offer. Brodieset (talk) 18:00, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I would say you have the makings of a pretty good thesis there, Brodieset. Compare the assassination of the very important 19th Century leader Czar Alexander II of Russia on March 13th, 1881 with that of modern day bomb-wielding terrorists. His assassination was by no means an isolated rare event, either. I think you could make a very clear connection between those 19th Century bomb throwers and the ones we have today. -- Saukkomies 01:43, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

If I try to conjure up an archetypal terrorist the figure that immediately comes to mind is that of Souvarine in Emile Zola's Germinal; single-minded, determined, amoral and utterly, utterly ruthless. We sometimes forget that people like this, though a tiny minority, once figured high in the consciousness of the world; from the assassination of Tsar Alexander II in 1881 to that of Franz Ferdinand in 1914. Those who fell victim to the anarchists in particular included President Carnot of France in 1894; Empress Elizabeth of Austria in 1898; Umberto I, King of Italy, in 1900; and President McKinley of the United States in 1901. They all fell victim of what was called 'the propaganda of the deed', the belief tht political homicide carried a message to the widest possible audience far beyond its particular significance.

Unlike al-Queda the anarchists tended, in the main, to be selective in their targets, aiming at the leading representatives of the bourgeois state, though not always. In Barcelona, a city notorious for bomb outrages, the victims of the 'propaganda of the deed' were ordinary people. In 1894 Emile Henry threw a bomb into the Terminus Cafe in Paris, killing two people. During his trial he told the court that "there are no innocents", a Souvarine-like sentiment that might serve as the leitmotiv of terror murder, both then and now.

So, yes, a comparison can be drawn between old-fashioned anarchists and modern day Islamists; both share a belief in the efficacy of death in achieving their political ends, unrestrained by any moral considerations of right and wrong. But perhaps the most important comparison lies in the area of perceived impact; of what might be called the amplification of results. Here what matters is not the death of a single individual, no matter how important, or the murder of a large group of people, no matter how outrageous. What matters is how the 'enemy' reacts. The intention in this regard is to produce, if anything, an over-reaction, which feeds back into, and inflames, the original grievance. Otto von Bismarck, to take but one example of this process, introduced oppressive anti-socialist measures in 1878 following the attempted asassination of Kaiser Wilhelm I, in blunt-hammer strategy that made enemies of a whole section of the German community who in no way sympathised with the act. A bomb attack on a Corpus Christi procession in Barcelona in 1896 led the the arrest and torture of hundreds of dissidents, innocent and guilty alike. Over the world, from Chicago to Paris, anarchist attacks were the overture to increasing levels of repression, so much so that some were even convinced that the terrorists were acting as agents of the state.

In the end the 'propaganda of the deed' was defeated not by extraordinary state action but by new forms of awareness within the anarchist movement itself. Influential figures like Peter Kropotkin of Russia argued that it only brought isolation and repression. It is only to be hoped that our present-day equivalent will pass into history, much like the cloaked and hated figure of a bygone age, armed with his hissing bomb. Clio the Muse (talk) 02:48, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Interesting. Wouldn't the lack of "super weapons" capable of killing thousands have forced the Anarchists to be more selective, as you say? In other words, people have to use what they have on hand, like it or not. Wrad (talk) 02:59, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

There were certainly fears, Wrad, that the anarchists would use any means at their disposal, no matter how horrific. I would draw to your attention E. D. Fawcett's novel of 1893, Hartmann, the Anarchist; or the Doom of a Great City, which envisaged the destruction of London from the air. Clio the Muse (talk) 03:38, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

A good deal of the response to the initial question has been accurate, however, I find five points of contention I must address.

So, yes, a comparison can be drawn between old-fashioned anarchists and modern day Islamists; both share a belief in the efficacy of death in achieving their political ends, unrestrained by any moral considerations of right and wrong.

This is first point is a gross misrepresentation of anarchist thought and practice in regards to Propaganda of the deed. By observing the list of of events associated with the philosophy, it is plane to see that the vast majority were not random or indiscriminate in their targets. Although a few individuals did take part in attacks against "masses," the predominate assumption was that the anarchists performed these acts not on behalf of, but as members of, the civilian population. To that end, the majority of these attacks were pin-point in their precision, utilizing knifes and single shot revolvers, or when explosives were employed, in closed areas where only wealthy politicians/elites would be injured. There was an obvious ethical agenda at work. Perceived innocents were to be spared at all costs, even if the attacking anarchist could be placed at greater risk. Note that a fair many of the anarchists whom used knifes and guns were easily captured. This was an understood risk, but one accepted as the price for avoiding "innocent" bloodshed.

But perhaps the most important comparison lies in the area of perceived impact; of what might be called the amplification of results.... What matters is how the 'enemy' reacts. The intention in this regard is to produce, if anything, an over-reaction, which feeds back into, and inflames, the original grievance.

This largely misses the point of Propagand of the Deed, as outlined within political tracts of the day. Although this is no doubt what modern islamic terrorists hope for in their attacks, anarchists saw this as only a secondary aspect of their actions. The primary goal of these symbolic murders was to display to the masses that the state apparatus was not as invincible as it was believed. The Japanese anarchists who attempted to assassinate the Emperor did not do so because they hoped the government would clamp down on their activities, and that this would display the viciousness of the state.

Rather, they did so because contemporary social, religious, and cultural beliefs held the Emperor to be a literal god, and peasants were unwilling to challenge the power of the state with that superstition ever present. It was hoped that the death of the Emperor would be a single stepping stone towards busting the myth of the divine right of the rulering class. A similar situation existed throughout the world during this period, and the same results were hoped for elsewhere.

Over the world, from Chicago to Paris, anarchist attacks were the overture to increasing levels of repression, so much so that some were even convinced that the terrorists were acting as agents of the state.

This was not entirely an unsubstantiated belief. Governments at the time are now known to have used provacateurs to implicate anarchists in such activities. The actions of Dmitry Bogrov were highly suspect, and it is widely believed that he was never an anarchist at all, and that his act of assassination was a cover on the part of conservative elements. Several examples of government falsified terrorism in the modern era occurred in Europe, during the mid 70s to early 80s, as part of a Strategy of tension.

:Interesting. Wouldn't the lack of "super weapons" capable of killing thousands have forced the Anarchists to be more selective, as you say? In other words, people have to use what they have on hand, like it or not. Wrad (talk) 02:59, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

There were certainly fears, Wrad, that the anarchists would use any means at their disposal, no matter how horrific. I would draw to your attention E. D. Fawcett's novel of 1893, Hartmann, the Anarchist; or the Doom of a Great City, which envisaged the destruction of London from the air. Clio the Muse (talk) 03:38, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Again, there was no real threat that anarchists would use weapons of mass destruction, even if they had access to them. Dynamite was widely available, but was often ignored in favor of more precise weapons. The point was not to kill at random. The point was to create symbolic deeds which would act as pro-revolutionary propaganda. You don't start a revolution by killing potential recruits. But it is correct to say that there were fears that anarchists would resort to widespread murder, but this was largely a reflection of anti-anarchist propaganda.

The novel you reference, Hartmann, the Anarchist; or the Doom of a Great City, is no different. Many novelists included anti-anarchist caricatures in their stories as propaganda. One good example would be the play Paul Kauvar; or, Anarchy, by Steele MacKaye, who was explicit in his intentions to create the play as propaganda. Another, perhaps even laughable example, was a film entitled The Ariel Anarchists, which depicted a gang of dirty, cowardly, bearded "bomb throwers" constructing an airplane which they then used to drop bombs on churches and government buildings. Filmed when aviation was still in its infancy, it can be compared to a sensationalist sci-fi thriller, playing on the fears masses had of the new technology of flight, as much as on the fears the ruling class had of the anarchists.

And finally, though your post largely paints a picture of the "amoral, ruthless" anarchists as the monstrous caricatures Joseph Conrad was so fond of placing in his stories, it should be noted that the anarchists were not always despised. When Samuel Schwartzbard, known as Shalom, assassinated General Simon Petliura in revenge for the killing of sixty thousand Jews -- most of Shalom's family included -- he was caught and placed on trial. It only lasted eight days, at the end of which he was acquitted.--Cast (talk) 08:52, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Thank you for reminding me of Joseph Conrad, though I call to mind not one of his 'monstrous caricatures' but the pathetic and inadequate figure Adolf Verloc in The Secret Agent, arguably far closer to the truth of the mundane anarchist than the tragic and damaged Souvarine. Was there any sympathy for Schwartzbard? Not, I think, out of respect for his politics. I really have no further comment to make on the morality or immorality of anarchist murders, other than to say that I believe the Empress Elizabeth and President McKinley had as much right to life as the nameless individuals who just happened to be in the Terminus Cafe the day Henry lobbed in his bomb. It should make it clear that I believe, yes I believe, that anarchist murders are and were an abomination, no matter how precise or targeted; no matter if one politician; no matter if one innocent by-stander; no matter if the thousands of priests and nuns, killed in the course of the Spanish Civil War for no other reason than they were priests and nuns. For to take one life is to take the world entire. And to advocate murder as a political tool is to stare into the abyss. Clio the Muse (talk) 00:04, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

The question of whether or not Propaganda of the Deed was justified is open for debate. However, the assertion that anarchists were not guided by a sense of ethics is incorrect. The reality is, anarchists who took up the call of political assassination did act by a code of ethics -- even if it is one we cannot understand. As for Joseph Conrad's propaganda, one need look no further than his misrepresentation of anarchists in his short story, An Anarchist. And if we are to be interested in "true" depictions of the "mundane" anarchists, we ought to look at authors who were anti-anarchist, but also those who are sympathetic to anarchists and portrayed them in their own fiction as heroes. Examples would include Ursula K. Le Guin's novel, The Dispossessed, or Alan Moore's graphic novel, V for Vendetta, and Philip K. Dick's short story, The Last of the Masters.

And as regards the victims of anarchists, I can empathize with nameless, faceless victims as well as anyone, which isn't very much except to understand them to have been individuals with desires and fears as real as yours or mine, but I cannot bring myself to care for "victims" who were anything but innocent. Empress Elizabeth, like the rest of the Austrian aristocracy, were provided with wealth and power upon the backs of the poor, and backed by state violence, a form of terrorism all too accepted then and now. William McKinley was a somewhat more proactive figure, being directly responsible for the annexation of the Philippines, Puerto Rico, Guam, following war with Spain, and Hawaii. The armies he commanded set about killing thousands to prevent uprisings of "nameless individuals" who did not wish to become colonies for a new American empire. His support for the Cuban government following the war was significant for anarchists, as the suppression of labor movements and US occupation severely damaged the Cuban anarchist movement.

You can feel that they had every right to live. I would say the same of their victims. No one here can claim the higher moral ground, and I certainly won't try.--Cast (talk) 01:52, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

You might also look at Wall Street bombing, which was an anarchist attack from 1920 that looks a lot like "modern" terrorism (vehicle bomb against a "soft" target of a civilian econoic sector). --76.171.172.201 (talk) 06:34, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Hey, Clio, thank you for such an outstanding response. I'm stunned! Brodieset (talk) 17:19, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

You are most welcome. Clio the Muse (talk) 00:04, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

Historians and travellers from antiquity

Could you recommend books by BCE people who wrote about history and people who wrote about their travels? I know there are, for example, a few antic greek historians and travellers (some going to Scotland or Asia) and I even believe we have a list of them on WP (I can't find it), could you recommend some of these old texts (reedited today),? The more the better! Thank you. Keria (talk) 18:38, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I'd start with Herodotus. It's much later, but Ibn Battuta's writings might also interest you. Matt Deres (talk) 18:54, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Could I ask if there is any particular English translation of Herodotus anyone would recommend? I see there is about half a dozen different versions of his Histories. Keria (talk) 19:30, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Herodotus is one of those great writers who survives translation very well, so I wouldn't worry about going wrong. If you like tons of ancillary material, with lots of footnotes and maps, and you don't mind a real doorstop of a heavy hardcover book, The Landmark Herodotus (ISBN 0375421092) has just been published.[3] Robin Waterfield's translation (Oxford World's Classics, ISBN 0192824252) is good, and the 150 pp. of notes in the back are good. That said, neither of these is ideal for what I personally imagine as the needs of a first-time reader: a little bit of truly necessary explanation, right there on the page in sparing footnotes. Herodotus is a great storyteller & literary artist and should simply be read cover-to-cover first. The edition I read cover-to-cover that fits the bill is the translation by David Grene (Univ. of Chicago Press, ISBN 0226327728); if you appreciate annotation you might find it too sparing in this edition. A nice compact hardcover edition with a bit more in the way of footnotes is George Rawlinson's classic Victorian translation, nicely presented in the Everyman's Library (ISBN 0375400613, some more discursive footnotes). Avoid the Norton Critical Edition: it's abridged. The Penguin edition (ISBN 0140449086) probably beats Grene for page-turning readability (Grene is concerned to capture the quirkiness of Herodotus' language), but it uses endnotes instead of footnotes. You can sample all of these online to get a sense of a style you'll enjoy; almost all can be browsed with Amazon's Reader. If I haven't helped you narrow the list of a half dozen editions you already knew of, my apologies. To summarize, I think the first-time reader might want to choose from among Grene (sparing footnotes), Rawlinson/Everyman's (all the pros and cons of Victorian English, more extensive footnotes), and Penguin or Oxford (the most readable of all, both with very extensive endnotes). For one more possibility, the Macaulay/Lateiner version published by Barnes & Noble, see here. Wareh (talk) 21:24, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

1st century CE, but Josephus is well worth a gander. DuncanHill (talk) 18:57, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Have a look at Xenophon's Anabasis, it is really quite fascinating. I would also recommend Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War, Polybios, Caesar's Commentarii de Bello Gallico and Tacitus' Germania - all make for wonderful reading. You might have a look at our article on Ancient literature, although it admittedly leaves a bit to be desired (and Roman historiography is even a redlink, I'm afraid). -- Ferkelparade π 19:12, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Keria: I read the Penguin edition of Herodotus and can recommend it as readable. SaundersW (talk) 19:34, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

From the above, I obviously second the recommendation of Herodotus. If you go on to Thucydides (less of a traveler, much more sober and dense, but surely the greatest ancient historian) and aren't sure you want to digest the whole thing the first time, I highly recommend Paul Woodruff's abridgment, Thucydides: On Justice, Power, and Human Nature (ISBN 0872201686). Generally I hate the idea of abridgments but in this case I really think devouring this 200-page book in its entirety (including the introduction) is the best introduction to Thucydides the thinker. (I could recommend complete translations of Thucydides, but I'd have to know more about what you really want from a translation: the Landmark tome vs. Hobbes' wonderful and accurate 17th-century English vs. Lattimore's incredibly literal and difficult version vs. Rex Warner's readable but loose Penguin, for example.) Wareh (talk) 22:00, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Although he is not quite BCE, I just can't help but recommend Tacitus (ca. 56 – ca. 117). He is so READABLE, and his narrative of his travels in Germania are absolutely fantastic! It is so fascinating to compare what he says about the ancient wild Germans with their modern day descendants, with whom they have so much in common. His book, appropriately called Germania, can be read for free online at this site: http://www.northvegr.org/lore/tacitus/ -- Saukkomies 01:54, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

A word of caution... No doubt modern Germans (like the English, another nation largely descended from these 'ancient wild Germans') do indeed have much in common with their remote ancestors. Since the Middle Ages, though, the Germans (like the English) have been one of the most civilized peoples of the world, and in almost all fields (including philosophy, science, music, literature, medicine, religion, and so forth) it's hard to imagine the world we have now coming about without them... Xn4 03:43, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Actually, Xn4, if anything I would say that if you read Tacitus' Germania, that you'll come away from it with a very different impression than that he is painting the Germans as being "wild" or barbaric. Tacitus seems to genuinely respect the Germans' society, and tried to convince Romans to be more like them, not the other way around! Saukkomies 04:35, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

As so often with Tacitus his writings are really intended as a mirror held up to Rome. I'm sure modern day Germans have many of the qualities of simplicity and bravery admired by Tacitus in the Germania; but, in common with all other advanced nations, it is reasonably sure that they have few of the ancient Roman virtues that the author attempted to idealise. Clio the Muse (talk) 04:16, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

It is true that Tacitus had an axe to grind when he was writing his book Germania. He was a moralist, and was using the Germans' reported high values of morality to try to persuade the Romans to return to the values that their ancestors were supposed to have had back in the glory days of the founding of the Republic. However, given that, this does not necessarily negate what Tacitus is saying about them. From what we can see those societies that have been primarily influenced by the Germanic people living in Magna Germania did have some very markedly strong social norms in regards to monogomous marriage, an emphasis on the worth of the individual, personal loyalty, etc. I know you'll probably want to have this all down in writing, Clio, but please be patient for a day or two, since I'm a bit busy right now. However, there has been some extensive study done on this subject - the social norms that are shared by the Germanic people. Don't get me wrong - I'm no Germanic supremacist, or anything like that - to me one set of social norms is just as valid as any other. However, comparing the ancient German society that Tacitus writes about with the modern German society is quite surprisingly similar in many substantial ways. It is interesting to note, for instance, the similarities between the maps of the ancient Roman Empire and a modern map of Europe that shows where the majority of people are either Catholic or Protestant. There really is a difference between the two societies that come down through the centuries from either Rome or from German influence. Saukkomies 04:35, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

A few names of possible interest. I'm unsure on sources for these, but perhaps the pages will have leads: Harkhuf, an ancient Egyptian traveller of the 23rd century BCE; Story of Wenamun, another ancient Egyptian travelling story, perhaps a bit garbled over time; Pytheas, whose tale is told by Strabo, Pliny, and perhaps in other fragments; Hanno the Navigator and Himilco the Navigator, Carthaginians both; perhaps too obvious, but how about Alexander the Great? From China there is Zhang Qian and Gan Ying, among others. Finally, another Greek, Agatharchides. Sorry I can't say much about these people -- I don't know much about them myself. But maybe those pages will be useful. Pfly (talk) 10:07, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

If you're interested in a modern take on ancient history, read Anabasis, then pick up a copy of the 1970s movie The Warriors, set in modern (1970s) days but based on Anabasis. A very interesting movie, especially when comparing it to its source. The movie itself is based on the book by Sol Yurick. Corvus cornix_talk 04:53, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

Christmas Pudding

Does that odd confection, the British Christmas Pudding, have a history? Friedrich James (talk) 18:53, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Try Christmas Pudding Thomprod (talk) 19:20, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

The Wikipedia page does not do our wonderful pudding nearly enough justice! Although it took its final form in Victorian times the pudding's origins can be traced all the way back to the 1420s, to two sources. It emerged not as a confection or a dessert at all, but as a way of preserving meat at the end of the season. Because of shortages of fodder all surplus livestock was slaughtered in the Autumn. The meat was then kept in a pastry case along with dried fruits, acting as a preservative. The resultant large 'mince pies' could then be used to feed hosts of people, particularly at the festive season. The chief ancestor of the modern pudding, however, was the pottage, a meat and vegtable concoction originating in Roman times. This was prepared in a large cauldron, the ingredients being slow cooked, with dried fruits, sugar and spices added.

The earliest reference we have to the 'standing pottage' dates to 1420, a dish of preserved veal, mutton or chicken, thickened with bread, reddened with sandlewood and full of currants. By the time of Elizabeth I prunes were added to this basic concoction. This became so popular that the dish was know from this point forward as Plum Pottage.

By the eighteenth century, as techniques for meat preserving improved, the savoury element of both the mince pie and the plum pottage diminished as the sweet content increased. The mince pie kept its name though the pottage was increasingly referred to as plumb pudding. Although the latter was always a celebratory dish it was originally eaten at the Harvest Festival, not Christmas. It is not until the 1830s that the cannon-ball of flour, fruits, , suet, sugar and spices, all topped with holly makes a definite apperance, more and more assocaited with Christmas. As far as I can tell it was Eliza Acton who first referred to it as Christmas Pudding in her cookbook. Clio the Muse (talk) 01:28, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

I've added a section based on the above text to the article. Thanks! Sandstein (talk) 08:11, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Have you tried it, Sandstein? Please do. Clio the Muse (talk) 23:24, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

They improve with age, and I recommend having both custard (proper English custard, none of this foreign muck) AND Cornish clotted cream on it. DuncanHill (talk) 23:38, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Indeed. This year's pudding should have already been made by now, preferably some weeks ago. Clotted cream seems a little 'slick' for the pudding IMHO, but I suppose it depends on what you grew up with :) Skittle (talk) 04:12, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

I think it's intriguing that (apparently) the Christmas pudding is beloved in the UK, while its cousin, the fruitcake, is despised in the U.S. Any opinions why this is so? (I suppose being served with hard sauce might make the fruitcake more beloved, now that I think of it....) - Nunh-huh 04:22, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

But I love the fruitcake (Christmas cake) too, although not as much as the Christmas pudding. A lovely moist fruity cake, with marzipan and royal icing in peaks and the decorations arranged into whatever scene the children thought was funny... Personally, I blame it on mass-produced cakes and the lack of alcohol in American Christmas cakes. We feed our cake regularly in the month or so before Christmas, and I can't imagine it without that. Skittle (talk) 04:29, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

I brought some puddings from Harrods with me when I was on a visit to London a few years ago. They did taste wonderful, but by now, they've all... mysteriously disappeared, alas. Sandstein (talk) 15:16, 9 December 2007 (UTC)

Economics book

Could you recommend me economics books? Currently I know almost nothing, but I'd like to learn (so introductory books are welcome too). --Taraborn (talk) 21:35, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Start with The Wealth of Nations, and The Marx-Engels Reader (ed. Tucker, ISBN 039309040X). Twentieth-century classics include The General Theory of Employment, Interest, and Money and more titles if you happen to be interested in the economic history and ideas of any given time or place. Wareh (talk) 21:47, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

From the above suggested, I second The Wealth of Nations. You may find it quite amusing. The General Theory of Employment, Interest, and Money is a classic, but if you want my opinion, it's terribly obscure for someone untrained in Macroeconomics. Well, my bet is that it's obscure for everyone :D.

Take into account that the previous list doesn't contain handbooks of theory. If you are looking for introductory books on Economic Theory, something like Economics, by Paul Samuelson and William Nordhaus is a good start.

After you read something like this, you may want to see (if you are still interested :P) more specific material on Micro or Macroeconomics. Good luck! Pallida  Mors 22:22, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

A good introductory book is New Ideas from Dead Economists Wrad (talk) 23:05, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Thank you! --Taraborn (talk) 08:21, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

For something lighter, accessible to someone who knows "almost nothing", I recommend Paul Krugman's The Accidental Theorist. His essay "Four Percent Follies" is the most amusing thing I ever read on monetary policy. 82.169.148.34 (talk) 11:13, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Also the "Worldly Philosophers"... AnonMoos (talk) 14:36, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

More music like this?

Here is a link to a music clip (it's quiet so you'll need to turn up the volume (sorry) - can someone suggest a genre? It's taken from a movie so there's other stuff going on as well but it's easy enough to filter out in your head. If you were trying to hunt down music with similar slow pacing/melancholic tones, what would you do? --Seans Potato Business 22:22, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Hum... I guess to label it rock is a good start. Maybe someone else suggests a more specific tag for it. Considering the guitar in the foreground, if you specially like this piece, you may also be interested in some blues.

Somehow, it remained me a bit of "What God wants, part 3", one of my favorite tracks of Amused to Death by Roger Waters. (Did I follow the citing style convention? I never remember how to do it... :(). Anyway, that song has a mind-blowing, melancholic guitar solo from Jeff Beck. I suggest listening to it. Pallida  Mors 22:49, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

(edit conflict) It reminds me of the music in Twin Peaks. David Lynch wrote that with Angelo Badalamenti. I've never heard Badalamenti's work outside of movies, but the descriptions of it in the links on his Wikipedia page sound about right. Some of the soundtrack to The Crow is similar, too. --Milkbreath (talk) 22:51, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

Maybe ambient music? SaundersW (talk) 22:55, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

I'd say minimal electronic with a bit of post rock there at the end... sounds maybe like Sigur Rós, Brian Eno...could also be Portishead and Massive Attack. Then why not Röyksopp, The Postal Service,...Mogwai (band)?. Anyway, the list is endless. -Yamanbaiia (talk) 22:59, 7 December 2007 (UTC)

What movie is this from? --— Gadget850 (Ed) ^talk - 01:58, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

Strange days, about 13 minutes in. --Seans Potato Business 10:04, 8 December 2007 (UTC)

See Strange_Days_(film)#Soundtrack. Consult Last.fm for genres. — Adriaan (T★C) 11:23, 8 December 2007 (UTC)