Artículos de revistas sobre el tema "Cats and babies"

The carried-out literary review on toxoplasmosis and cystoizosporosis of carnivorous has shown that it is activators from group of protozoa. Types - Toxoplasma gondii, C. felis and C. rivolta parasitize at cats, Cystoisospora ohioensis at dogs, proceed most often in a subclinical form, are registered at all seasons of the year. Toxoplasmosis is an infectious disease caused by a parasite called Toxoplasma gondii. The disease is quite common and can infect most types of warm-blooded animals,,, including,, humans. Puppies and kittens are most often exposed to disease in the first months of life. This disease is widespread because its carriers could be found absolutely everywhere. Cats and dogs are the most popular pets. People directly contact with them. In Europe, Russia take up a middle position. Up to 30 % of the population is infected. Approximately one in a thousand babies are infected with toxoplasmosis. It can develop completely unnoticed and cause unpleasant complications during pregnancy. The disease can also cause vision impairment or convulsive seizures. That is why it is better to know everything about toxoplasmosis. This is especially important if you have a cat or a dog, because pets are often very close to us. We should properly take care of our pets and keep them healthy.

AbstractIt has been argued that in order for the visual system to detect edges accurately under a range of conditions, the visual system needs to adapt to the local contrast level to preserve sensitivity (Blakemore & Campbell, 1969). Cells in the primary visual cortex of cats adapt to stimuli with low to moderate contrast. Curiously, macaque monkey neurons in primary visual cortex (V1) do not show evidence for similar adaptation. To address the question of whether this differential sensitivity in contrast adaptation might be due to phylogenetic variation between cats and primates or to specializations for visual niche (e.g. nocturnal vs. diurnal), contrast adaptation to temporally and spatially optimized gratings was examined in 30 V1 cells of three nocturnal primate bush babies (Galago crassicaudatus). A second objective was to examine the relationship between the degree of contrast adaptation and cell classification or cell location relative to cortical layers or compartments [i.e. cytochrome-oxidase (CO) blobs and interblobs]. All cells were classified (simple vs. complex) and anatomically localized relative to cortical layers and cytochrome-oxidase (CO) blob and interblob compartments. Two independent measures of contrast adaptation were used. In the first test, contrast was sequentially increased from 3–56% and then decreased. The contrast required to maintain a half-maximum response amplitude in the 30 cells tested increased an average of 0.24 (±0.12) log units during the sequential decrements in contrast. For the second test, four sets of five interleaved contrasts within ±1 octave of a central adapting contrast (10%, 14%, 20%, and 28%, respectively) were presented. The cells produced a mean adaptation index of 0.57 (±0.47) which is very similar to that exhibited by cat cortical neurons (0.54 ± 0.41). Interestingly, cells in interblobs showed a trend toward greater adaptation than did blob cells. Moreover, cells in the supragranular layers exhibited greater adaptation than cells in the infragranular layers. No significant differences in adaptation were found to correlate with other cell classification indices. Taken together, our results suggest that contrast adaptation may be more important for maintaining sensitivity in nocturnal species (primates or cats) than in diurnal species (macaque monkeys), and that in the nocturnal bush baby, cells in cortical layers and compartments may be differentially specialized for contrast adaptation.

250 infants, 25 boys and 25 girls each in the 6-, 12-, 18-, 24-, and 30-mo. age groups, were individually observed with a mechanical toy dog which barked and moved realistically, a contact-comfort mechanical cat which purred and meowed when hugged and petted, and the family dog(s) and/or cat(s), presented in random order. An investigator-generated checklist of proximity-seeking and contact-promoting behaviors was used to record subject responses demonstrating whether the infants attached to pets because of tactual qualities, sounds, movement, familiarity, and/or behavioral qualities. It was hypothesized that as babies age, their responses to the live pet and toy animals would become progressively dissimilar and that older infants would show significantly more attachment behaviors and would spend significantly more time observing and interacting with live pets than with toy animals. Data support the hypotheses and indicate significant differences in the quantity of attachment behaviors toward live pets and toy animals at one year. From one year on, dogs are significantly preferred to cats by both sexes. During the first year, boys show significantly more attachment behaviors than girls; the two sexes are equal at 18 mo., and girls show significantly mote attachment behaviors than boys at 24 and 30 mo.

The protozoan parasite, Toxoplasma gondii is estimated to infect one-third of the world’s population. Infection in pregnant women can cause severe conditions for their babies. Until now, there is no data regarding Toxoplasma infection from Makassar pregnant mothers. This study aims to obtain information on Toxoplasma specific antibodies and to measure the risk factor associate with parasite infection. This cross-sectional study conducted in 9 of 47 primary health centres (Puskesmas) in Makassar. Blood samples and questionnaires were collected from 184 pregnant women aged 15–42 years old from September to October 2020. ELISA technique was used to examine the IgG and IgM antibodies. Univariable and multivariable analyses were carried out to measure factors that independently associate with Toxoplasma antibody positivity. Our result showed the range of Toxoplasma IgM and IgG are 0.06–1.01 and 0.09–3.01, respectively. While no one of our participants has an acute Toxoplasma gondii infection (IgM positive), we found 32,6% pregnant mothers are exposed to parasite (positive IgG). Contact with cats [OR(95%CI): 10.45(3.77–28.99)], consume chicken satay [OR(95%CI): 9.72(3.71–25.48)] and consume un-boiled water/ filtered water [OR(95%CI): 5.98(1.77–20.23)] are independently associate with positive Toxoplasma IgG antibody. Based on the result, we conclude that pregnant women in Makassar are exposed to T. gondii and the oocyst and tissue cyst of parasite contaminates food and water in Makassar.

1. This study describes the response properties of V1 cortical cells in a nocturnal primate and examines the receptive field organization of these cells in relationship to anatomically defined layers and cytochrome oxidase (CO) rich blobs and CO poor interblob compartments. Visual resolution and contrast sensitivity are consistent with other physiological and behavioral measures in this species. Comparisons are made with response properties of the same zones in macaque monkey, as well as of area 17 of a distantly related species (cat) that also occupies a nocturnal niche. 2. The responses of single cells to drifting sinusoidal gratings were recorded in V1 (striate cortex) of anesthetized, paralyzed bush babies (Galago crassicaudatus). Cells tended to be grouped with respect to ocular dominance, orientation preference, and direction selectivity. There was a high proportion of monocularly driven cells as in macaque monkey. Only 6% of the cells were nonoriented. These were poorly tuned complex cells and bore no resemblance to nonoriented lateral geniculate nucleus (LGN)-like cells reported in layer IV of macaque monkeys. Unidirectional cells were most frequently encountered in cortical layers that receive input from the magnocellular layers of the LGN. 3. Cells were classified as simple (31%) or complex (69%) according to standard criteria. Simple cells were significantly more narrowly tuned than complex cells for both orientation and spatial frequency. Complex cells had significantly higher average optimal spatial frequencies and spatial frequency cutoffs than simple cells. Contrast sensitivity of simple and complex cells averaged 38 and 34, respectively. Spatial resolution and sensitivity of these cells matches behavioral measures in bush baby. The spatial and temporal resolution of bush baby cells are similar to those of cats, which is likely related to the nocturnal niche of both species. 4. Cells in supragranular (I-III) and infragranular (V, VI) layers differed significantly in their response characteristics. The cells in the supragranular layers had significantly higher contrast sensitivity than did the cells in the infragranular layers. Cells in the supragranular layers likewise had higher temporal frequency cutoffs, significantly lower optimal spatial frequencies, lower spatial frequency cutoffs, and tighter orientation tuning than did cells in the infragranular layers. 5. Properties of cells in individual layers and CO blob and interblob compartments also showed differentiation. Layer III had the narrowest orientation and spatial frequency tuning with the tightest tuning in layer IIIC (IVB).(ABSTRACT TRUNCATED AT 400 WORDS)

Every year, more than 55,000 people in the world die of rabies, which is confirmed by the data of the WHO expert committee. Up to 40% of victims, from bites sick or suspected of rabies animals are children under the age of 15 years. The source of the rabies agent in 99% of human deaths was dogs. More than 15 million people around the world receive anti-rabies vaccinations after contact with sick or rabies-pets. According to experts, this prevents 327 thousand deaths from rabies a year. The susceptibility to skeletal infection of various species of animals, involvement in the epizootic chain, in addition to wildlife, also in domestic and farm animals, has become an extremely high risk for humans, and the lack of means for treating rabies - determine its special place among all contagious diseases. In the current situation, a rabie must be viewed as an international rather than a local or national problem, so it describes the disease as a global scale noseau [17]. After all, according to the statistics of the International Office of Epizootics (MEB) of the governing body of the World Organization for Animal Health (WHO) cases of rabies recorded in more than 150 countries of the world. Rabies free are only the countries of Oceania and the United Kingdom, and in other countries the sporadic cases of this deadly disease are recorded. In Europe, this infection in the 50s has become epizootic. The "eradication" of the rabies virus in different countries of Europe during 2008-2015 was conducted in accordance with the developed and implemented Program, where the best results were received in Germany and Switzerland, in these countries the oral immunization of wild carnivores is used (without restrictions on funding). At the end of the last century, the epicenter of the rabies began to move from Eastern Europe to the territory of Poland (2001-2002), Croatia (2003) and then to the east - to the Russian Federation, the Republic of Belarus, Latvia and Ukraine. The conducted monitoring of the rabies epizootology have shown that the entire territory of Ukraine is a zone of stable disadvantage of this disease. The peak of epizootics in Ukraine, over the past 65 years, has fallen to 2007 (2393 cases). Since 2008 there were registered from one to two thousand cases of rabies. In 2017 there were registered 1356 cases of animals that were sick on rabies, despite the fact those more than 4.2 million anti-rabies vaccinations of domestic animals. The analysis of the situation shows that from year to year in Ukraine new natural fires of rabies are formed and new types of reservoir animals appear, which leads to an increase in the number of outbreaks of this disease. The main pledge of successful prevention of rabies around the world is the use of effective anti-rabies vaccines. Despite the regular implementation of planned antiepizootic measures in the southern region of Ukraine (including in the Skadovsk district), there is a tendency to spread the rabies. From year to year, a significant number of rabies in wildlife, domestic and farm animals are recorded on this territory, which is a real threat to the occurrence of the disease among humans. Investigations of the territory of the Skadovsky district of the Kherson region during the period from 2013 to 2017 showed that 25 cases of rabies were recorded in 15 settlements. To the zone with high tenseness of the epizootic situation, five settlements can be attributed, in which 15 cases of rabies were registered, namely in the villages: Krasnoye and Mykolaivka for four outbreaks, Tarasivtsi three, Ptakovtsi and Blagodatnyi for two. To the zone with low tensity epizootic situation still belongs to 10 settlements, where one case of rabies is registered. If in 2013 and 2016 there were three rabies outbreaks in four settlements, in 2014 - five cases in 5 villages, and in 2015 - 4 cases in 4 settlements, then in 2017 - 10 outbreaks communicable infection in eight villages of the district. The peak of this epizootic occurred in 2017. The conducted monitoring showed that the skeletal infection was registered in 38.5% of the Skadovsky district (in 15 out of 39 available settlements). The cases of rabies in different years are interrelated, since repeated outbreaks of this disease are recorded in previously unsuccessful places (Nikolaevka, Tarasivka, Red and Ptahovka), indicating the presence of a constant source and reservoir of communicable infection in this area. It is alarming that in 2017 cases of rabies were first recorded in 6 settlements (Blagodatnoy, Grushivtsi, Oleksandrivka, Petropavlivtsi, Zeleny and Mikhailovna), which testifies to the uncontrolled epizootic situation and the further spread of this infection in the Skadovsky district. Thus, during the last 5 years, the activity of manifestation of the epizootic process on the territory of Skadovsky area was not marked by stability, there were observed two periods of lifting epizootics of rabies - in 2014 and 2017. The permanent disadvantages of certain areas of Skadovsky district can be explained, first of all, by the presence of natural cells of the common infection, especially in the steppe part where there are bushes, empty garbage and garbage. Such conditions ensure the existence of a wide variety of wild populations (wolves, red foxes), homeless dogs and stray cats, which promotes the spread of rabies epizootics in this area. Not the timely destruction of wild animals, the catching of homeless animals that are dangerous to humans, their sterilization, the creation of shelters and proper conditions for maintenance, and in the last three years, not even the holding of oral inoculations of wild animals, has led to the emergence of new anthropological cells feline infections in this region. Monitoring surveys of all reported cases of rabies in Skadovsk district for 2013-2017 showed that in this area, the source of the rabies was different species of animals - wild, domestic and agricultural. According to the observations of many scholars, rabies does not belong to seasonal diseases, but in Skadovsk district 20 were recorded in the winter and spring months, namely: 4 outbreaks of this infection were registered in November, December, February and March, 1 in January and 2 in October. From April to August - 5 outbreaks of rabies. Seasonal cases of rabies coincide with the period of racing of foxes. In the summer, the number of diseases is minimal, because the foxes are busy raising babies, and therefore their mobility is limited. In the autumn, due to young individuals, the population density increases, and accordingly there is a proliferation and new growth of this epizootic. By increasing the population of wolves and foxes, the number of rabies cases among stray dogs and stray cats increases as a result of their contacts. In the disadvantaged areas of the district, over the past 5 years, 27 cases were diagnosed with rabies animals. Monitoring studies have shown that in 2013 the rabies virus is allocated from 4 diseased animals, in 2014 from 5, in 2015 - 4, in 2016 - 3 and in 2017 - 11 diseased rabies animals. Significant increase in the morbidity rate of animals was noted in 2017. It is known that different species of animals are susceptible to the rabies virus [1, 2, 6–9, 16, 34]. The conducted studies showed that in the Skadovsky area, the circulation of the virus of cutaneous infection is possible among different animals, because the source of the pathogen was six of their species: foxes, wolves, dogs, cats, large and small cattle. In the structure of the morbidity of animals in rabies, foxes and cats occupy the leading place with 33.3%, dogs - 14.8%, wolves and cattle - by 7.5% and DRH - 3.7%. Of the total number of ill in 41% of cases, the source of the rabies virus were wild animals, and 48% were domesticated. The analysis showed that rabies in Skadovsk district was more often registered among domestic animals - 48% (9 cats and 4 dogs). Among wild animals, patients with rabies were - 41% (11 heads, of which 9 foxes and 2 wolves), and agricultural - 11% (cow, calf and goat). Thus, the statistical data of this region confirm that the source and reservoir of the rabies agent are wild (foxes) and domestic predatory animals (dogs and cats) belonging to the class of mammals. The epizootic situation in the Skadovsk district from rabies is not catastrophic, but in recent years requires more attention and strengthening measures to combat this problem, because in 2016, the density of fox in the district was 3 heads for 1000 hectares of land; in the norm for example - 0,5 - 1 a goal for 1000 hectares of land. Rating of wolves has not been conducted here, although cases of rabies among this species of animals, for the last 5 years, were recorded twice. The increased morbidity of dogs, cats and farm animals for scarcity is a sign of epizootic malaise among wildlife. Contributes to the complication of the situation of growth in settlements of the number of homeless dogs and cats, incomplete coverage of preventive vaccinations of domestic animals, violation of the rules for keeping domestic animals by their owners. All this is a prerequisite for the formation of city-type rabies cells, which we observe in Sadovsky district of the Kherson region. In connection with the deterioration of the epizootic situation from rabies, the threat of the onset and spread of this infection among the population increases. Given that the Skadovsk district of the Kherson region is in the resort zone, and a significant number of Ukrainian and foreign citizens may come to rest on the sea, they must be aware of the epizootic rabies situation in the area in order to protect themselves from the deadly infection. Key words: contagious infection, dogs, cats, red foxes, wolves, epizootic well-being, morbidity, seasonal manifestations.

Congenital clubfoot has a multifaceted etiology, with several hypotheses offered in its etiopathogenesis. The clubfoot has rarely been reported in babies born to women who have rheumatoid arthritis (RA). We present a rare case of a 31-year-old lady with RA on disease-modifying anti-rheumatoid drugs who delivered a child with bilateral congenital clubfoot. She had previously been using Methotrexate, Hydroxychloroquine, and Sulfasalazine regularly, but Methotrexate was stopped seven months before pregnancy. A full-term female baby was born through the cesarean section with bilateral clubfoot deformity and a modified Pirani score of eight out of 10. The deformity correction was done with the Ponseti serial casting method. The final modified Pirani score was two out of ten. In newborns born to rheumatoid arthritis mothers, the club foot deformity was effectively treated with serial Ponseti corrective casts, as was idiopathic clubfoot in babies born to non-rheumatoid mothers. Our findings validate the Ponseti serial casting method for these kinds of patients.

The article is devoted to the problem of sebaceous gland diseases in infants. The activity of sebaceous glands and associated inflammatory diseases are determined by the age of the child and related hormonal rearrangements in the body. The role of fungal and bacterial flora in pathogenesis of diseases is described in detail in the article. Clinical varieties of such dermatoses, as cradle caps, seborrheic dermatitis, neonatal and infant acne and other diseases are described. Special attention is paid to the role of therapeutic cosmetics in the treatment of these conditions, which affects all links of pathogenesis of sebaceous gland diseases and is safe for babies.

Clubfoot is the commonest congenital deformity in babies. Around 80% of the cases occur in developing nations. There are many options for treating club foot, Ponseti technique is one of them. This observational study was carried out at Chittagong Medical College Hospital, From July 2014 to December 2015 to evaluate the results of idiopathic club foot / feet within 1 year of age by Ponseti technique. Patients with idiopathic congenital club foot (CTEV) is attended at the outpatient department of CMCH. Among the 35 patients, 1 patients 2.85% required 1 plaster, 2 patients (5.74%) required 2 plaster, 3 patients (8.57%) required 4 plaster, 5 patients (4.28%) required 5 plaster, 16 patients (45.71%) required 6 plaster, 5 patients (14.28%) required 7 plaster cast and 3 patients (8.57%) required 8 plaster cast with or without percutaneous tonotomy. The final score after completion of the management (with or without tenotomy) were 0 of 39 feet (75%) which were normal and 0.5 of 10 feet (19.24%) and score 1 of only 3 feet (5.76%) which were better than moderately abnormal.Medicine Today 2017 Vol.29(2): 42-45

Abstract Background Children with birth brachial plexus injury (BBPI) often require secondary surgery for the shoulder. The shoulder spica is necessary after shoulder muscle transfer surgery in babies with BBPI. However, its application can be difficult in the supine position under anesthesia. The authors describe a simple and cost-effective method of applying the shoulder spica cast without changing the supine position under anesthesia. Technique While still under anesthesia, the child is placed in a supine position and then elevated on the wooden bar. The POP roll is wrapped around in a cylindrical manner, starting from the level one inch above the anterior superior iliac spine. The contralateral shoulder is also incorporated into the cast. Conclusion The spica application technique described comprises commonly available materials, such as a wooden plank, pair of bolsters, plaster of Paris rolls, and dressing materials overcoming the need for customized apparatus or the operation table. The materials are easy to assemble and thereby applicable just about anywhere. The task also becomes less challenging for the anesthetic in the supine position. This technique is easily reproducible and cost-effective.

Objectives We sought to evaluate foot length (FL) and forefoot circumference (FC) and their impact on the severity of idiopathic clubfoot (CF) and results of treatment. We hypothesized that a smaller foot size at birth that represents a lesser than term newborn may affect the response of the CF to the treatment. Methods We conducted a prospective study documenting FL and FC of all neonates presented with idiopathic CF. Additional demographic information was collected. Outcome measures were number of casts needed for correction, need for recasting, additional surgery and functional score. Results In all, 52 children with 73 CF with a minimum mean follow-up of two years (2.0 to 5.6; sd 1.08) were evaluated. Mean gestational age was 38.63 weeks and mean birth weight (BW) was 3184 g. The mean FL at presentation was 74 mm (5.70 to 9.00), initial Pirani score was 5.5 (2.5 to 6.0) while number of casts was 6.9 (4.0 to 11.0). The FL was significantly correlated both to initial Pirani score (r = -0.35; p < 0.01) and number of casts (r = -0.33; p < 0.05). Positive correlation was found between the number of casts to Pirani score and number of additional procedures (r = 0.39; r = 0.36; p < 0.01, respectively). A foot size of up to 8 cm, needed 7.3 casts (4 to 7) compared with a FL of 8 cm or longer who needed 4.7 casts (4 to 6; t = 7.11; p < 0.001). Conclusion FL is a simple approach to identify preterm babies. It can be used as part of the initial evaluation of CF and help in predicting the course of treatment. We recommend adding FL to the existing classification. Level of Evidence I - Prognostic study

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to assess available human resources for neonatal care and their skills, in order to explore health providers’ perceptions of quality of neonatal care in health facilities in Ghana. Design/methodology/approach Data were gathered using qualitative interviews with health providers working in the maternity and paediatric wards and midwives; direct observation; and documentary review at a regional hospital, a municipal hospital and four health centres in a municipality in a region in Southern Ghana. Data were analysed using thematic framework through the process of coding in six phases to create and establish meaningful patterns. Findings The study revealed that health providers were concerned about the number of staff available, their competence and also equipment available for them to work more efficiently. Some essential equipment for neonatal care was either not available or was non-functional where it was available, while aseptic procedures were not adhered to. Moreover, personal protective equipment such as facemask, caps, aprons were not used except in the labour wards where staff had to change their footwear before entering. Research limitations/implications Limited number of health providers and facilities used, lack of exploration of parents of neonates’ perspective of quality of neonatal care in this study and other settings, including the teaching hospitals. The authors did not examine issues related to the ineffective use of IV cannulation for neonates by nurses as well as referral of neonates. Additionally, the authors did not explore the perspectives of management of the municipal and regional health directorates or policy makers of the Ministry of Health and Ghana Health Service regarding the shortage of staff, inadequate provision of medical equipment and infrastructure. Practical implications This paper suggests the need for policy makers to redirect their attention to the issues that would improve the quality of neonatal health care in health facilities in Ghana and in countries with similar challenges. Social implications The study found that the majority of nursing staff catering for sick newborns were not trained in neonatal nursing. Babies were found sleeping in separate cots but were mixed with older children. The study suggests that babies should be provided with a separate room and not mixed with older babies. Originality/value There seemed to be no defined policy framework for management of neonatal care in the country’s health care facilities. The study recommends the adoption of paediatric and neonatal care nursing as a specialty in the curricula of health training institutions. In-service trainings should encompass issues related to management of sick babies, care of preterm babies, neonatal resuscitation and intravenouscannulation, among others.

Following the claim of a highly publicized National Football League (NFL) commercial, we test whether the Super Bowl provides a positive exogenous shock to fertility in counties of winning teams. Using stadium locations to identify teams’ counties, we analyze the number of births in counties of both winning and losing teams for 10 recent Super Bowls. We also test for state effects and general effects of the NFL playoffs. Overall, our results show no clear pattern of increases in the number of births in winning counties nine months after the Super Bowl. We also do not find that births are affected at the state level or that counties competing in the playoffs are affected. Altogether, these results cast doubt on the NFL’s claim that winning cities experience increases in births nine months after the Super Bowl.

In this article, we argue that the non-human plays a vital role within networks of care. We do this through a consideration of the forms of work done by baby things in the giving and receiving of young-child care. We extend existing understandings of human–non-human relations by arguing that beyond the work of warming babies’ bodies and providing comfort, baby things function within care assemblages as both a means and a metric of parental care. Within the consumption literature, the work of home provisioning (typically undertaken by mothers) has been cast as an expression of love for others. We build on this by exploring the forms of participation and ‘caring capacities’ of matter itself – objects such as blankets, soft-toys and pacifiers – in the caring-for of babies and young children. We attend to the flows and stoppages of baby things across networks of early childhood caregiving to consider what these patterns of movement suggest about how such artefacts participate within relations of care, and how they are used as a means to reflect on the care practices of others. Analysis is based on 30 interviews with mothers and ethnographic and survey work at 14 children’s clothing exchanges in different parts of England and Scotland. Drawing on scholarship from the New Materialism as well as Mary Douglas’s conceptual work on dirt and cleanliness,1 we advance conceptual work within and beyond Cultural Geography by arguing that analytical attention to the role of the more than human leads to richer and more nuanced understandings of how care relations work.

Abstract Audiovisual translation has become one of the main means of communication between cultures. Although the number of Chinese films that reach Spanish audiences is rather limited, the cinema is still a very powerful tool in bridging the gap between these two cultures. This paper aims to give an overview of the situation of Chinese cinema in Spain through audiovisual translation. In order to do so, a database of 500 Chinese films translated into Spanish has been created. For each film, different types of information organized into three blocks have been collected: firstly, data regarding the source film in Chinese; secondly, data on the translated film; and finally, information about paratexts related to the film in Chinese, Spanish and English. Through a quantitative and qualitative analysis of our data the main trends in Chinese-Spanish audiovisual translation from the mid-1970s to today are shown. Our results identify the most popular Chinese directors and the main genres and translation modalities. We point out the role of the translator and the importance of mediating languages; and, finally, we highlight the significance of distribution channels, particularly film festivals. This article aims at filling the gap with regard to research in audiovisual translation as an intercultural exchange between China and Spain.

LABURPENA: Nahiz eta Espainiako Konstituzioak eskubide sozial sorta handia aitortu, bertako 53. artikuluaren jokoak oinarrizko eskubideak bermatzeko mekanismotik kanpo uzten ditu eskubide sozial horiek. Artikulu horrek zalantzan jartzen baitu eskubide sozial gehienen justiziabilitatea. Eta ez hori bakarrik; gainera, oinarrizko eskubideak Auzitegi Konstituzionalean bermatzeko espresuki eraturiko auzibidetik kanpo uzten ditu, hots, babes-errekurtsotik kanpo. Eskubide sozialen degradazio hori, ohikoa Zuzenbide Konparatuan, saihestu izan da, auzitegi nazional eta nazioarteko askotan, eskubideoi zeharkako babesa ematen dieten estrategien bitartez. Ildo horretan, gaurko azterlan honen xedea da babes-errekurtsoetan ezarritako jurisprudentzia konstituzionala analizatzea, ikusteko zer neurritaraino baliatu den Auzitegi Konstituzionala estrategia horietaz Konstituzioak aitortzen dituen eskubide sozial gehienak babes-errekurtsoek eskaintzen duten aterpetik kanpo uzteko joerari aurre egiteko. RESUMEN: A pesar de que la Constitución española reconoce un importante elenco de derechos sociales, el juego de su artículo 53 les excluye de los principales mecanismos de garantía de los derechos fundamentales. Este precepto no sólo pone en duda la justiciabilidad de la mayoría de los derechos sociales, sino que les excluye de la vía procesal específicamente pensada para garantizar los derechos fundamentales ante el Tribunal Constitucional: el recurso de amparo. Esta degradación de los derechos sociales, habitual en Derecho comparado, ha sido salvada por muchos tribunales nacionales e internacionales utilizando estrategias de protección indirecta de estos derechos. En esta línea, el objeto del presente trabajo es analizar la jurisprudencia constitucional sentada en recursos de amparo a fin de identificar en qué medida el Tribunal Constitucional ha hecho uso de esas estrategias para paliar la exclusión de la mayoría de los derechos sociales reconocidos en la Constitución de la protección que otorga el amparo. ABSTRACT: Although the Spanish Constitution recognizes a remarkable cast of social rights, its article 53 excludes these rights from the mechanisms built to guarantee the protection of constitutional rights. Article 53 brings into question the justiciability of most of the social rights recognized in the Spanish Constitution and deprives most of them from the protection granted by the recurso de amparo, the procedural safeguard specifically designed to protect fundamental rights in case of individual violations before the Spanish Constitutional Court. However, this situation is not so atipical as many other national and international courts face this sort of limits by developing a creative case law in order to protect social rights even when the national constitution or the international treaty they interpretate do not expressly recognize these rights. In this sense, the aim of this paper is to analyse the Spanish Constitutional Court’s case law as to determine to what extent it has made use of the indirect strategies to ensure the justiciability of social rights that other courts have already used.

In Córdoba, Argentina, a library of books once banned by the military junta's censors (1976–83) now resides at a center called the Espacio para la Memoria (“Space for Memory”). The site, where prisoners were once held and tortured, houses workshops inviting schoolchildren to think about this terrifying period in their history. Under the junta, even children's books were banned, and after reading a few of these titles with the children who visit the center, the workshop leaders ask them why they think the books were prohibited. One of the reasons the censors gave for prohibition was that these books offered “unlimited fantasy.” To explore this idea, in one workshop the kids sang the song “The Backward Kingdom” (“El reino del revés”), by the well-known Argentine singer María Elena Walsh. After hearing the charming lyrics (birds swim, fish fly, babies have beards, 2 + 2 = 3, etc.), students brainstormed to generate their own inside-out or upside-down examples. One child mentioned raining up, another suggested that big kids nap while little kids play, and a third proposed cars driving on the sidewalk while kids play in the street. Upset by this disorder, one of the children exclaimed, “No, that's impossible!” until the boy who imagined cars on sidewalks explained, “But we're just imagining!” His classmate responded, “Oh, okay, in that case it's possible.”

By the time you read this article we in Great Britain will probably have been through the process (or should that be charade?) of a general election when we will all be expected to choose who will represent (or misrepresent) us in Parliament. Any day now politicians will start running around kissing babies and turning up on our doorsteps asking for our support. Currying favour with the electorate they will even offer to take the old and infirm to the polling stations in the hope that such beneficence will encourage their charges to cast their votes for them. And of course they will attempt to persuade us that their party is the only one with the policies necessary to get us out of the economic mire we find ourselves in, omitting to say that politicians helped put us there in the first place. O tempora, o mores!For the origins of the terminology we use in politics we must turn, as is so often the case, to ancient Greek and Latin for the answers to our questions.

This study was the first conducted in Brazil to evaluate the presence of Enterobacter sakazakii in milk-based powdered infant formula manufactured for infants 0 to 6 months of age and to examine the conditions of formula preparation and service in three hospitals in São Paulo State, Brazil. Samples of dried and rehydrated infant formula, environments of milk kitchens, water, bottles and nipples, utensils, and hands of personnel were analyzed, and E. sakazakii and Enterobacteriaceae populations were determined. All samples of powdered infant formula purchased at retail contained E. sakazakii at &lt;0.03 most probable number (MPN)/100 g. In hospital samples, E. sakazakii was found in one unopened formula can (0.3 MPN/100 g) and in the residue from one nursing bottle from hospital A. All other cans of formula from the same lot bought at a retail store contained E. sakazakii at &lt;0.03 MPN/100 g. The pathogen also was found in one cleaning sponge from hospital B. Enterobacteriaceae populations ranged from 101 to 105 CFU/g in cleaning aids and &lt;5 CFU/g in all formula types (dry or rehydrated), except for the sample that contained E. sakazakii, which also was contaminated with Enterobacteriaceae at 5 CFU/g. E. sakazakii isolates were not genetically related. In an experiment in which rehydrated formula was used as the growth medium, the temperature was that of the neonatal intensive care unit (25°C), and the incubation time was the average time that formula is left at room temperature while feeding the babies (up to 4 h), a 2-log increase in levels of E. sakazakii was found in the formula. Visual inspection of the facilities revealed that the hygienic conditions in the milk kitchens needed improvement. The length of time that formula is left at room temperature in the different hospitals while the babies in the neonatal intensive care unit are being fed (up to 4 h) may allow for the multiplication of E. sakazakii and thus may lead to an increased health risk for infants.

Background: Tobacco use is the leading preventable cause of disease and death in the US and smoking rates are high in low-income populations (28% vs. 17% of those living above the poverty line).1,2 Consequently, low-income groups have elevated tobacco-related disease risk exacerbating health disparities.3,4 Mindfulness has been associated with positive effects on psychosocial, physical and mental health outcomes, which has increased interest in using mindfulness as an adjunctive treatment for smoking cessation and relapse prevention.5,6 However, research on mindfulness in relation to such factors in underserved populations is lacking. Purpose/Hypothesis: The purpose of this research is to investigate the psychometric qualities and correlates of the Cognitive and Affective Mindfulness Scale (CAMS-R)7 in a sample of low-income, mostly minority women who smoke cigarettes. It is hypothesized that the CAMS-R will be reliable, and mindfulness will be associated with known barriers to cessation. Methods: Secondary analysis of self-report data from 12-month follow-up in a large, randomized smoking cessation trial, Babies Living Safe and Smokefree,8 was used to explore mindfulness and its relationship to known cessation barriers and facilitators. Temple University IRB approval was received before data collection. CAMS-R items were summed to create a composite score. Results: The sample of women (N=187) was mostly (72%) African American, average age was 30 years old, ~28% had less than a high school degree/GED and on average smoked ~9 cigarettes/day. The CAMS-R was reliable (α=.74). Zero-order correlations showed higher mindfulness was significantly correlated with greater social support (p < .01). Higher mindfulness was significantly correlated with lower depressive symptoms, social constraints, household chaos, sleep disturbances, childhood trauma, life stressors, and chronic mental, and physical health conditions (p's < .01 except physical health p < .05). Conclusions/Relevance: The sample had higher CAMS-R scores compared to central tendency scores in broader populations. The high scores may indicate an amenable characteristic of mindfulness that could be trained for interventions. Yet, more research is needed on feasibility/acceptability in this population. Higher mindfulness is inversely related to many negative health and psychosocial factors which are known barriers to cessation, as well as positively related to social support, an important facilitator of cessation. The interplay between social support and mindfulness should be explored, as each is theorized as a “stress buffer.” research should investigate psychosocial factors as potential mediators in mindfulness interventions for smoking cessation targeting vulnerable female smokers.

Abstract Background Congenital hip dislocation (luxation) has an incidence of 0.4 – 0.7% and is regarded as a prearthrotic deformity. Thus, if not being diagnosed and treated at a very early age, extensive surgical measures are inevitable in childhood and early adulthood. Methods In the time between 01/2013 and 02/2019 we performed 28 600 hips sonographies in babies as part of general screening measures at U2 or U3. There were 71 instable, dysplastic or dislocated hips diagnosed that were treated by arthrographic, closed reduction. After a hip spica cast was applied, reposition was controlled by MRI, estimating the acetabular head index (ACI), the head coverage index (HCI) as well as the femoral headʼs sphericity or by sonography using the Graf method. Results Overall success rate was 91.6% for primary closed reduction. Patients with primarily irreducible hips were significantly older (p < 0.003) than patients with primarily successful reducible hips. Congenital dislocated hips had significantly higher ACIs (p < 0.001) and HCIs (p = 0.03) as well as significantly less well rounded femoral heads (sphericity; p < 0.001) compared to stable hips. Conclusion Early diagnosis and treatment of congenital dislocated hips by closed reduction is essential for a sufficient and regular maturation of the hips without further surgical interventions.

The article considers the purpose of the research as defining the possibility of using recycled fish raw material (zander’s cheeks and fat) in production of canned fish baby food. The components of the developed pasteurized canned fish “Sudachok” (heads and cheeks of pike perch, blanched carrots, oatmeal or buckwheat flour, fat from zander’s intestine, concentrated fish broth prepared from zander’s head and vertebral bones) were tested for the concentration of fat, protein, carbohydrates; zander’s muscle tissue - for the concentration of essential amino acids. It was determined that zander’s cheeks make up 4.4 - 8.8% of head’s mass, they being high-protein tissue (protein content is more than 19%), low-fat (fat content is 0.7%) secondary raw material and contain non-protein nitrogen (NPN), where formol and titrate nitrogen (FTN) and volatile bases nitrogen (VBN) are 370.5, 39.3 and 8.0 mg/100g, respectively. Formulations were developed and the pasteurized fish cans for babies were produced using zander’s cheeks and vegetable components (carrots, oatmeal flour, or buckwheat flour), fat and concentrated broth from boiling zander’s head bones. The composition has an optimized protein and fat content. In terms of quality, the pilot samples of canned fish with the corrected number of individual components of the recipe were found to meet the requirements of All-Union State Standard 29276 “Canned fish for baby food”.

<p class="abstract"><strong>Background:</strong> From long time clubfoot has been a clinical challenge to orthopaedic surgeons. It is one of the commonest congenital deformity of the musculoskeletal system in children. Each year more than 1,00,000 babies are born with congenital clubfoot. 80% of which occur in developing countries.</p><p class="abstract"><strong>Methods:</strong> 60 feet in 40 children were treated by the Ponseti method from September 2014 to august 2016. Prospective follow up for a mean duration of 18 months was undertaken. The deformity was evaluated by Pirani score before and after the treatment. At the end of treatment all feet were functionally classified into good, fair and poor.<strong></strong></p><p class="abstract"><strong>Results:</strong> The average number of casts applied before full correction was 8. 21.66% of the feets needed tenotomy before full correction. 90% of the patients showed good results, 3.3% had fair results and 6.6% of patients had poor results. There was a significant difference in the pre-treatment and post-treatment pirani score values.</p><p><strong>Conclusions:</strong> Ponseti method of manipulation and plaster casting is very effective to correct club foot deformity. </p>

Plastic is materials that are not easily broken down, so it can cause a variety of complex problems such as loss of natural resources, environmental pollution, and depletion of landfill space. Plastic favored by the public is Polypropylene (PP) and High Density Polyethylene (HDPE) for example, food storage, transparent drinking glasses and drinking bottles for babies. This will be a problem in the future. Some alternatives used to reduce the volume of plastic waste are the thermal transformation process which is divided into three types of processing, namely combustion, gasification, and pyrolysis. Pyrolysis is a process of thermal degradation of long chains into smaller molecules. The process of pyrolysis in this study used a variety of catalysts (without catalyst, 5%, 10%, 15%, and 20%) and used variations in particle size, namely size I (30 cm3); size II (7.5 cm3); size III (1,875 cm3) weighing 350 grams of plastic cups and 350 grams of bottle caps. Pyrolysis run for 100 minutes and took the result of pyrolysis every 20 minutes interval. The test carried out by using proximate analysis, fuel specification analysis, and GC-MS. Based on the result of research conducted on the pyrolysis process of a mixture of HDPE and PP variations of catalysts, it obtained optimum liquid and gas yields of 98.57% and 1.43%. Besides, in the size variation, the optimum liquid and gas yield was 96.57% and 3.43%. The proximate result has fulfilled the conditions set by the value of ash content, fly substance, and carbon bound 0.15%; 99.57%; 0.28%. In the GC-MS (Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry) test the highest % area was 39.18% with C9H18 or 2,4-dimethyl-1-heptane compounds. The best simulation result obtained the value of activation energy and reaction speed for liquid and gas in the variation of the catalyst of (87,930.07; 101,527.17) J/mol and (2.03 x 102; 3.74 x 103).

Abstract Vasily Zhukovsky’s 1802 translation of Thomas Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, highly acclaimed in its time and since regarded as a crucial document for the study of Russian Romanticism, offers the reader of Gray an original but compelling approach to his most famous poem. Although generally faithful to the form and style of the English, Zhukovsky’s version nevertheless forecloses some possibilities of Gray’s poetic argument while creating others. By darkening the descriptive texture of the elegy, adding two crucial stanzas that weigh the significance of graveyard memorials, and reconceiving the figure of the narrator in relation to his environment, Zhukovsky concentrates the force of Gray’s most universal concerns. This is especially evident in the stanzas that reflect on the “frail memorial” to the village dead. Dispensing altogether with Gray’s “unlettered muse” and “rustic moralist,” Zhukovsky applies the moral of the gravestone to the reader: “we must learn to die.” Whereas this passage in Gray’s poem distinguishes the villagers, identified with what is “uncouth,” “unlettered,” and “rustic,” the corresponding passage in translation represses the distinguishing marks of rusticity, assimilates the argument of the stanzas to the general human condition, and thus concludes by invoking the collective pronoun. This passage in turn anticipates the epitaph, which is cast in strikingly Biblical language: the passersby are asked to pray over the grave of one now removed from all earthly anxiety, of one who has left behind all that within him is sinful, of one whose hope now is in his savior God. Zhukovsky thus transforms the grave from a “dread abode” into a place of refuge and establishes through his translation of Gray a model for Russian elegiac poetry. Résumé La traduction du poeme de Th omas Gray, Elegie ecrite dans un cimetiere de campagne, faite par Vassily Zhukovsky en 1802, unanimement saluee en son temps et depuis lors consideree comme un texte primordial a l’etude du romantisme russe, offre au lecteur de Gray une approche a la fois originale et attirante pour la lecture de son plus celebre poeme. Bien que generalement fidele et a la forme et au style originel, la version de Zhukovsky saisit neanmoins certaines nuances du debat poetique de Gray tout en en creant d’autres. En voilant la structure descriptive, en ajoutant deux strophes essentielles qui renforcent la signification des monuments funeraires, et en recreant le personnage du narrateur en fonction de son environnement, Zhukovsky concentre la puissance des preoccupations les plus repandues chez Gray. Cela est tout particulierement evident dans les strophes dont la reflection porte sur les fragiles monuments aux morts du village. Zhukovsky, rendant superflu la muse illettree et le moraliste rustique de Gray, applique la morale de la pierre tombale au lecteur: il nous faut apprendre a mourir. Tandis que ce passage particulier du poeme de Gray caracterise les villageois, les identifiant par ce qui est rude, illettre, et rustique, le passage qui lui correspond dans la traduction assimile l’argument des strophes a la condition humaine en general, concluant ainsi par l’invocation du pronom collectif. Ce passage precede a son tour l’epitaphe redige dans une langue etonnamment biblique: les passants sont invites a prier sur la tombe de celui qui est dorenavant depourvu de toute angoisse terrestre, de celui qui laissa derriere lui tout ce qui, en lui, etait peche, et dont l’espoir desormais reside dans son Dieu Sauveur. Zhukovsky transforme ainsi la tombe d’une demeure redoutable en un lieu de refuge et cree, par le biais de sa traduction du poeme de Gray, un modele pour la poesie elegiaque russe.

Background: Maternal socio-economic disadvantage affects the short- and long-term health of women and their babies, with pregnancy being a particularly vulnerable time. Aim: The aim of this study was to identify the key factors that relate to poverty for women during pregnancy and childbirth (as identified by midwives), the effects on women during maternity care and the subsequent impact on the midwives providing that care. Method: Survey methodology was used to identify Aotearoa New Zealand midwives’ experiences of working with women living with socio-economic disadvantage. Findings: A total of 436 midwives (16.3%) who were members of the New Zealand College of Midwives responded to the survey, with 55% working in the community as Lead Maternity Care midwives, or caseloading midwives, and the remainder mostly working in maternity facilities. The survey results found that 70% of the cohort of midwives had worked with women living with whānau (family) /friends; 69% with women who had moved house during pregnancy due to the unaffordability of housing; 66% with women who lived in overcrowded homes; and 56.6% with women who lived in emergency housing, in garages (31.6%), in cars (16.5%) or on the streets (11%). The cohort of midwives identified that women’s non-attendance of appointments was due to lack of transport and lack of money for phones, resulting in a limited ability to communicate. In these circumstances these midwives reported going to women’s homes to provide midwifery care to optimise the chances of making contact. The midwives reported needing to spend more time than usual referring and liaising with other services and agencies, to ensure that the woman and her baby/ family had the necessities of life and health. This cohort of midwives identified that women’s insufficient income meant that midwives needed to find ways to support them to access prescriptions and transport for hospital appointments. The midwives also indicated there was a range of social issues, such as family violence, drugs, alcohol, and care and protection concerns, that directly affected their work. Conclusion: Recognising the impact of socio-economic disadvantage on maternal health and wellbeing is important to improving both maternal and child health. This cohort of midwives identified that they are frequently working with women living with disadvantage; they see the reality of women’s lives and the difficulties and issues they may face in relation to accessing physical and social support during childbirth.

Primary care evaluation of the nose and paranasal sinuses begins with inspection. The astute clinician will seldom miss the hyperemic nose and open-mouth breathing of nasal congestion, the “long-face” facies, infraorbital dark “shiners” and edema of decreased lymphatic drainage from chronic nasal obstruction, and the transverse nasal crease from repeated performance of the “allergic salute” in allergic rhinitis. Tearing may be caused by inferior obstruction of the nasolacrimal duct. Widening of the nasal bridge (Woake’s syndrome) may suggest massive nasal polyposis2. The patient with acute sinusitis may be in obvious pain and actually avoid jarring movements, and orbital complications of acute sinusitis should be apparent even to the untrained eye. A polished mirror or metal tongue depressor gently held under both nostrils can document patency of both nasal airways by observing the misting pattern even before looking inside the nose. Glatzel’s mirror test3 attempts to measure this pattern but mere observation for symmetry establishes expiratory patency. Inspiratory obstruction can be assessed by gently pulling the ipsilateral cheek laterally. If it relieves nasal obstruction (positive Cottle’s sign4), the source of obstruction is in the nasal valve area and may be surgically correctible. Anterior rhinoscopy is best done using coaxial binocular illumination such as provided by a properly focused head mirror and bright light source. Alternately, a lumiview™ (Welch Allyn Corporation, New York, USA) or hand-held otoscope with the largest available clean ear speculum can be used. In babies and young children, gently flipping up the nasal tip with a finger facilitates viewing the nasal cavities. Adult noses are best viewed by aligning the external (downward-facing) and internal (forward-facing) nares with the aid of a nasal speculum. With the thumb on the pivot and index finger resting on the nasal tip, the prongs should be pressed by the remaining digits against the palm and spread superiorly against compliant alae rather than medially toward the septum. Insertion should be restricted to the vestibular area (alae nasi); insinuation beyond the internal nares (limen nasi) is painful, as is closing the speculum before withdrawing (pinching vibrissae). Decongestion should be performed in the presence of congested or hypertrophic turbinates and to distinguish the latter from nasal polyps (which do not shrink even with decongestion). Commercially available oxymetazoline 0.05% and 0.025% (Drixine™) or tetrahydrozoline 0.1% (Sinutab NS™) nasal solutions should be gently dropped into each nostril while the head is tilted back and nasal tip upturned. The nozzle should not touch the nose at any time. Three to five drops are instilled in one nostril after which the head is turned so that the ipsilateral ear faces down. This position (after Proetz)5 facilitates the solution spreading to the lateral wall of the nose while the patient gently sniffs in. The maneuver is then replicated for the other nostril. Three to five drops solution are then instilled in both nostrils a second time and the patient is asked to lower the forehead between the knees or to assume a knee-chest (mecca) position with forehead on the floor which facilitates spreading solution to the roof of the nose6. Adequate decongestion not only facilitates examination of the nasal cavities; it affords relief from obstruction and drainage of retained discharges. Performing the Proetz and mecca maneuvers also educates the patient in the proper way to continue decongestion at home, provided dosing duration (three to five days) and regimens (twelve hourly for oxymetazoline and eight hourly for tetrahydrozoline) are not exceeded due to the danger of rebound rhinitis. The maneuvers are also useful for nasal saline douches and instilling steroid sprays. Palpation of the paranasal sinuses is performed by percussion or by pressing firmly but gently over the most accessible points of maximum tenderness for each sinus: the vertex (sphenoid), supero-medial roofs of the orbital sockets (frontal), nasal bones between medial canthi (ethmoid) and incisive fossa area of cheeks (maxillary). Upper jaw teeth (especially canines) may be tender when tapped gently in cases of acute maxillary sinusitis. Transillumination with a powerful light source in a darkened room may suggest the presence of fluid or masses in the frontal and maxillary sinuses. Normal air-filled frontal and maxillary sinuses should “light up” (transilluminate) with light applied over their respective palpation points. External maxillary transillumination also casts a red glow on the hard palate, and a “red streak” in the lateral recess of the oropharynx may predict sinusitis7. Better results are achieved for the maxillary sinus with transoral light against the hard palate on each side. Transillumination is positive (normal) for the maxillary sinuses when the cheeks turn red-orange, a red-orange crescent lights up the infraorbital rim, and a red-orange papillary reflex is observed on downward gaze; or when the scalloped margins and inter-sinus septum of the frontal sinuses stand out in relief against a red orange background. Opacification can be produced by fluid, masses or hypoplastic sinuses while air-fluid levels produce a combination of findings. Swelling, masses, infraorbital nerve hyposthesia and extraocular muscle motion limitations warrant urgent specialist referral.

Mother is the gift of god , it bears a lot of works and perform many duties mainly in rural and non civilized areas in comparison to urban areas where life is very complicated , has a rapid rhythm and most of mothers spent their day time in work place whether its company , factory or even school , they let their young babies in less comfortable and poor hygiene nurseries or in their relatives house whether the grandfather or grandmother of the baby is very busy with cooking, washing of clothes and cleaning ,then they allow to the baby to play on ground and contaminate him/herself with waste present on the ground , sucking their fingers , dirty and long nails also contact with domestic animals ,cats ,dogs , goats and other animals , which is usually stay free in the yard

Did you see the videos where the cat jumps in the box, attacks the printer or tries to leap from the snowy car? As the availability and popularity of watching videos on the Internet has risen rapidly in the last decade, so has the prevalence of cat videos. Although the cuteness of YouTube videos of cats might make them appear frivolous, in fact there is a significant irony at their heart: online cat videos enable corporate surveillance of viewers, yet viewers seem just as oblivious to this as the cats featured in the videos. Towards this end, I consider the distinguishing features of contemporary cat videos, focusing particularly on their narrative structure and mode of observation. I compare cat videos with the “Aesthetic of Astonishment” of early cinema and with dog videos, to explore the nexus of a spectatorship of thrills and feline performance. In particular, I highlight a unique characteristic of these videos: the cats’ unselfconsciousness. This, I argue, is rare in a consumer culture dominated by surveillance, where we are constantly aware of the potential for being watched. The unselfconsciousness of cats in online videos offers viewers two key pleasures: to imagine the possibility of freedom from surveillance, and to experience the power of administering surveillance as unproblematic. Ultimately, however, cat videos enable viewers to facilitate our own surveillance, and we do so with the gleeful abandon of a kitten jumping in a tissue box What Distinguishes Cat Videos? Cat videos have become so popular, that they generate millions of views on YouTube, and the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis now holds an annual Internet Cat Video Festival. If you are not already a fan of the genre, the Walker’s promotional videos for the festival (2013 and 2012) provide an entertaining introduction to the celebrities (Lil Bub, Grumpy Cat, and Henri), canon (dancing cats, surprised cat, and cat falling off counter), culture and commodities of online cat videos, despite repositioning them into a public exhibition context. Cats are often said to dominate the internet (Hepola), despite the surprise of Internet inventor Tim Berners-Lee. Domestic cats are currently the most popular pet in the world (Driscoll), however they are already outnumbered by smartphones. Cats have played various roles in our societies, cultures and imaginations since their domestication some 8-10,000 years ago (Driscoll). A potent social and cultural symbol in mythology, art and popular culture, the historical and cultural significance of cats is complex, shifting and often contradictory. They have made their way across geographic, cultural and class boundaries, and been associated with the sacred and the occult, femininity and fertility, monstrosity and domesticity (Driscoll, Rogers). Cats are figured as both inscrutable and bounteously polysemic. Current representations of cats, including these videos, seem to emphasise their sociability with humans, association with domestic space, independence and aloofness, and intelligence and secretiveness. I am interested in what distinguishes the pleasures of cat videos from other manifestations of cats in folklore and popular culture such as maneki-neko and fictional cats. Even within Internet culture, I’m focusing on live action cat videos, rather than lolcats, animated cats, or dog videos, though these are useful points of contrast. The Walker’s cat video primer also introduces us to the popular discourses accounting for the widespread appeal of these videos: cats have global reach beyond language, audiences can project their own thoughts and feelings onto cats, cats are cute, and they make people feel good. These discourses circulate in popular conversation, and are promoted by YouTube itself. These suggestions do not seem to account for the specific pleasures of cat videos, beyond the predominance of cats in culture more broadly. The cat videos popular on the Internet tend to feature several key characteristics. They are generated by users, shot on a mobile device such as a phone, and set in a domestic environment. They employ an observational mode, which Bill Nichols has described as a noninterventionist type of documentary film associated with traditions of direct cinema and cinema verite, where form and style yields to the profilmic event. In the spirit of their observational mode, cat videos feature minimal sound and language, negligible editing and short duration. As Leah Shafer notes, cat videos record, “’live’ events, they are mostly shot by ‘amateurs’ with access to emerging technologies, and they dramatize the familiar.” For example, the one-minute video Cat vs Printer comprises a single, hand-held shot observing the cat, and the action is underlined by the printer’s beep and the sounds created by the cat’s movements. The patterned wallpaper suggests a domestic location, and the presence of the cat itself symbolises domesticity. These features typically combine to produce impressions of universality, intimacy and spontaneity – impressions commonly labelled ‘cute’. The cat’s cuteness is also embodied in its confusion and surprise at the printer’s movements: it is a simpleton, and we can laugh at its lack of understanding of the basic appurtenances of the modern world. Cat videos present minimalist narratives, focused on an instant of spectacle. A typical cat video establishes a state of calm, then suddenly disrupts it. The cat is usually the active agent of change, though chance also frequently plays a significant role. The pervasiveness of this structure means that viewers familiar with the form may even anticipate a serendipitous event. The disruption prompts a surprising or comic effect for the viewer, and this is a key part of the video’s pleasure. For example, in Cat vs Printer, the establishing scenario is the cat intently watching the printer, a presumably quotidian scene, which escalates when the cat begins to smack the moving paper. The narrative climaxes in the final two seconds of the video, when the cat strikes the paper so hard that the printer tray bounces, and the surprised cat falls off its stool. The video ends abruptly. This disruption also takes the viewer by surprise (at least it does the first time you watch it). The terse ending, and lack of resolution or denouement, encourages the viewer to replay the video. The minimal narrative effectively builds expectation for a moment of surprise. These characteristics of style and form typify a popular body of work, though there is variation, and the millions of cat videos on YouTube might be best accounted for by various subgenres. The most popular cat videos seem to have the most sudden and striking disruptions as well as the most abrupt endings. They seem the most dramatic and spontaneous. There are also thousands of cat videos with minor disruptions, and some with brazenly staged events. Increasingly, there is obvious use of postproduction techniques, including editing and music. A growing preponderance of compilations attests to the videos’ “spreadability” (Jenkins, Ford, and Green). The conventional formal structure of these videos effectively homogenises the cat, as if there is a single cat performing in millions of videos. Indeed, YouTube comments often suggest a likeness between the cat represented in the video and the commenter’s own cat. In this sense, the cuteness so readily identified has an homogenising effect. It also has the effect of distinguishing cats as a species from other animals, as it confounds common conceptions of all (other) animals as fundamentally alike in their essential difference from the human (animal). Cat videos are often appreciated for what they reveal about cats in general, rather than for each cat’s individuality. In this way, cat videos symbolise a generic feline cuteness, rather than identify a particular cat as cute. The cats of YouTube act “as an allegory for all the cats of the earth, the felines that traverse myths and religions, literature and fables” (Derrida 374). Each cat swiping objects off shelves, stealing the bed of a dog, leaping onto a kitchen bench is the paradigmatic cat, the species exemplar. Mode of Spectatorship, Mode of Performance: Cat Videos, Film History and Dog Videos Cat videos share some common features with early cinema. In his analysis of the “Aesthetic of Astonishment,” which dominated films until about 1904, film historian Tom Gunning argues that the short, single shot films of this era are characterised by exciting audience curiosity and fulfilling it with visual shocks and thrills. It is easy to see how this might describe the experience of watching Cat vs Printer or Thomas Edison’s Electrocution of an Elephant from 1903. The thrill of revelation at the end of Cat vs Printer is more significant than the minimal narrative it completes, and the most popular videos seem to heighten this shock. Further, like a rainy afternoon spent clicking the play button on a sequence of YouTube’s suggested videos, these early short films were also viewed in variety format as a series of attractions. Indeed, as Leah Shafer notes, some of these early films even featured cats, such as Professor Welton’s Boxing Cats from 1894. Each film offered a moment of spectacle, which thrilled the modern viewer. Gunning argues that these early films are distinguished by a particular relationship between spectator and film. They display blatant exhibitionism, and address their viewer directly. This highlights the thrill of disruption: “The directness of this act of display allows an emphasis on the thrill itself – the immediate reaction of the viewer” (Gunning “Astonishment” 122). This is produced both within the staging of the film itself as players look directly at the camera, and by the mode of exhibition, where a showman primes the audience verbally for a moment of revelation. Importantly, Gunning argues that this mode of spectatorship differs from how viewers watch narrative films, which later came to dominate our film and television screens: “These early films explicitly acknowledge their spectator, seeming to reach outwards and confront. Contemplative absorption is impossible here” (“Astonishment” 123). Gunning’s emphasis on a particular mode of spectatorship is significant for our understanding of pet videos. His description of early cinema has numerous similarities with cat videos, to be sure, but seems to describe more precisely the mode of spectatorship engendered by typical dog videos. Dog videos are also popular online, and are marked by a mode of performance, where the dogs seem to present self-consciously for the camera. Dogs often appear to look at the camera directly, although they are probably actually reading the eyes of the camera operator. One of the most popular dog videos, Ultimate dog tease, features a dog who appears to look into the camera and engage in conversation with the camera operator. It has the same domestic setting, mobile camera and short duration as the typical cat video, but, unlike the cat attacking the printer, this dog is clearly aware of being watched. Like the exhibitionistic “Cinema of Attractions,” it is marked by “the recurring look at the camera by [canine] actors. This action which is later perceived as spoiling the realistic illusion of the cinema, is here undertaken with brio, establishing contact with the audience” (Gunning “Attractions” 64). Dog videos frequently feature dogs performing on command, such as the countless iterations of dogs fetching beverages from refrigerators, or at least behaving predictably, such as dogs jumping in the bath. Indeed, the scenario often seems to be set up, whereas cat videos more often seem to be captured fortuitously. The humour of dog videos often comes from the very predictability of their behaviour, such as repeatedly fetching or rolling in mud. In an ultimate performance of self-consciousness, dogs even seem to act out guilt and shame for their observers. Similarly, baby videos are also popular online and were popular in early cinema, and babies also tend to look at the camera directly, showing that they are aware of bring watched. This emphasis on exhibitionism and modes of spectatorship helps us hone in on the uniqueness of cat videos. Unlike the dogs of YouTube, cats typically seem unaware of their observers; they refuse to look at the camera and “display their visibility” (Gunning “Attractions,” 64). This fits with popular discourses of cats as independent and aloof, untrainable and untameable. Cat videos employ a unique mode of observation: we observe the cat, who is unencumbered by our scrutiny. Feline Performance in a World of Pervasive Surveillance This is an aesthetic of surveillance without inhibition, which heightens the impressions of immediacy and authenticity. The very existence of so many cat videos online is a consequence of camera ubiquity, where video cameras have become integrated with common communications devices. Thousands of cameras are constantly ready to capture these quotidian scenes, and feed the massive economy of user-generated content. Cat videos are obviously created and distributed by humans, a purposeful labour to produce entertainment for viewers. Cat videos are never simply a feline performance, but a performance of human interaction with the cat. The human act of observation is an active engagement with the other. Further, the act of recording is a performance of wielding the camera, and often also through image or voice. The cat video is a companion performance, which is part of an ongoing relationship between that human and that other animal. It carries strong associations with regimes of epistemological power and physical domination through histories of visual study, mastery and colonisation. The activity of the human creator seems to contrast with the behaviour of the cat in these videos, who appears unaware of being watched. The cats’ apparent uninhibited behaviour gives the viewer the illusion of voyeuristically catching a glimpse of a self-sufficient world. It carries connotations of authenticity, as the appearance of interaction and intervention is minimised, like the ideal of ‘fly on the wall’ documentary (Nichols). This lack of self-consciousness and sense of authenticity are key to their reception as ‘cute’ videos. Interestingly, one of the reasons that audiences may find this mode of observation so accessible and engaging, is because it heeds the conventions of the fourth wall in the dominant style of fiction film and television, which presents an hermetically sealed diegesis. This unselfconscious performance of cats in online videos is key, because it embodies a complex relationship with the surveillance that dominates contemporary culture. David Lyon describes surveillance as “any focused attention to personal details for the purposes of influence, management, or control” (“Everyday” 1) and Mark Andrejevic defines monitoring as “the collection of information, with or without the knowledge of users, that has actual or speculative economic value” (“Enclosure” 297). We live in an environment where social control is based on information, collected and crunched by governments, corporations, our peers, and ourselves. The rampancy of surveillance has increased in recent decades in a number of ways. Firstly, technological advances have made the recording, sorting and analysis of data more readily available. Although we might be particularly aware of the gaze of the camera when we stand in line at the supermarket checkout or have an iPhone pointed at our face, many surveillance technologies are hidden points of data collection, which track our grocery purchases, text messages to family and online viewing. Surveillance is increasingly mediated through digital technologies. Secondly, surveillance data is becoming increasingly privatised and monetised, so there is strengthening market demand for consumer information. Finally, surveillance was once associated chiefly with institutions of the state, or with corporations, but the process is increasingly “lateral,” involving peer-to-peer surveillance and self-surveillance in the realms of leisure and domestic life (Andrejevic “Enclosure,” 301). Cat videos occupy a fascinating position within this context of pervasive surveillance, and offer complex thrills for audiences. The Unselfconscious Pleasures of Cat Videos Unselfconsciousness of feline performance in cat videos invites contradictory pleasures. Firstly, cat videos offer viewers the fantasy of escaping surveillance. The disciplinary effect of surveillance means that we modify our behaviour based on a presumption of constant observation; we are managed and manipulated as much by ourselves as we are by others. This discipline is the defining condition of industrial society, as described by Foucault. In an age of traffic cameras, Big Brother, CCTV, the selfie pout, and Google Glass, modern subjects are oppressed by the weight of observation to constantly manage their personal performance. Unselfconsciousness is associated with privacy, intimacy, naivety and, increasingly, with impossibility. By allowing us to project onto the experience of their protagonists, cat videos invite us to imagine a world where we are not constantly aware of being watched, of being under surveillance by both human beings and technology. This projection is enabled by discourse, which constructs cats as independent and aloof, a libertarian ideal. It provides the potential for liberation from technologized social surveillance, and from the concomitant self-discipline of our docile bodies. The uninhibited performance of cats in online videos offers viewers the prospect that it is possible to live without the gaze of surveillance. Through cat videos, we celebrate the untameable. Cats model a liberated uninhibitedness viewers can only desire. The apparent unselfconsciousness of feline performance is analogous to Derrida’s conception of animal nakedness: the nudity of animals is significant, because it is a key feature which distinguishes them from humans, but at the same time there is no sense of the concept of nakedness outside of human culture. Similarly, a performance uninhibited by observation seems beyond humans in contemporary culture, and implies a freedom from social expectations, but there is also little suggestion that cats would act differently if they knew they were observed. We interpret cats’ independence as natural, and take pleasure in cats’ naturalness. This lack of inhibition is cute in the sense that it is attractive to the viewer, but also in the sense that it is naïve to imagine a world beyond surveillance, a freedom from being watched. Secondly, we take pleasure in the power of observing another. Surveillance is based on asymmetrical regimes of power, and the position of observer, recorder, collator is usually more powerful than the subject of their gaze. We enjoy the pleasure of wielding the unequal gaze, whether we hit the “record” button ourselves or just the “play” button. In this way, we celebrate our capacity to contain the cat, who has historically proven conceptually uncontainable. Yet, the cats’ unselfconsciousness means we can absolve ourselves of their exploitation. Looking back at the observer, or the camera, is often interpreted as a confrontational move. Cats in videos do not confront their viewer, do not resist the gaze thrown on them. They accept the role of subject without protest; they perform cuteness without resistance. We internalise the strategies of surveillance so deeply that we emulate its practices in our intimate relationships with domestic animals. Cats do not glare back at us, accusingly, as dogs do, to remind us we are exerting power over them. The lack of inhibition of cats in online videos means that we can exercise the power of surveillance without confronting the oppression this implies. Cat videos offer the illusion of watching the other without disturbing it, brandishing the weapon without acknowledging the violence of its impact. There is a logical tension between these dual pleasures of cat videos: we want to escape surveillance, while exerting it. The Work of Cat Videos in ‘Liquid Surveillance’ These contradictory pleasures in fact speak to the complicated nature of surveillance in the era of “produsage,” when the value chain of media has transformed along with traditional roles of production and consumption (Bruns). Christian Fuchs argues that the contemporary media environment has complicated the dynamics of surveillance, and blurred the lines between subject and object (304). We both create and consume cat videos; we are commodified as audience and sold on as data. YouTube is the most popular site for sharing cat videos, and a subsidiary of Google, the world’s most visited website and a company which makes billions of dollars from gathering, collating, storing, assessing, and trading our data. While we watch cat videos on YouTube, they are also harvesting information about our every click, collating it with our other online behaviour, targeting ads at us based on our specific profile, and also selling this data on to others. YouTube is, in fact, a key tool of what David Lyon calls “liquid surveillance” after the work of Zygmunt Bauman, because it participates in the reduction of millions of bodies into data circulating at the service of consumer society (Lyon “Liquid”). Your views of cats purring and pouncing are counted and monetised, you are profiled and targeted for further consumption. YouTube did not create the imbalance of power implied by these mechanisms of surveillance, but it is instrumental in automating, amplifying, and extending this power (Andrejevic “Lateral,” 396). Zygmunt Bauman argues that in consumer society we are increasingly seduced to willingly subject ourselves to surveillance (Lyon “Liquid”), and who better than the cute kitty to seduce us? Our increasingly active role in “produsage” media platforms such as YouTube enables us to perform what Andrejevic calls “the work of being watched” (“Work”). When we upload, play, view, like and comment on cat videos, we facilitate our own surveillance. We watch cat videos for the contradictory pleasures they offer us, as we navigate and negotiate the overwhelming surveillance of consumer society. Cat videos remind us of the perpetual possibility of observation, and suggest the prospect of escaping it. ReferencesAndrejevic, Mark. “The Work of Being Watched: Interactive Media and the Exploitation of Self-Disclosure.” Critical Studies in Media Communication 19.2 (2002): 230-248. Andrejevic, Mark. “The Discipline of Watching: Detection, Risk, and Lateral Surveillance.” Critical Studies in Media Communication 23.5 (2006): 391-407. Andrejevic, Mark. “Surveillance in the Digital Enclosure.” The Communication Review 10.4 (2007): 295-317. Berners-Lee, Tim. “Ask Me Anything.” Reddit, 12 March 2014. 29 Apr. 2014 ‹http://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/2091d4/i_am_tim_bernerslee_i_invented_the_www_25_years/cg0wpma›. Bruns, Axel. Blogs, Wikipedia, Second Life and Beyond: From Production to Produsage. New York: Peter Lang, 2008. Derrida, Jacques. The Animal That Therefore I Am. New York: Fordham University Press, 2008. Project MUSE, 4 Mar. 2014. 29 Apr. 2014 ‹http://muse.jhu.edu/›. Driscoll, Carlos A., et al. "The Taming of the Cat." Scientific American 300.6 (2009): 68-75. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Random House, 1995. Fuchs, Christian. “Web 2.0, Prosumption, and Surveillance.” Surveillance & Society 8.3 (2011): 288-309. Gunning, Tom. “An Aesthetic of Astonishment: Early Film and the Incredulous Spectator.” Viewing Positions: Ways of Seeing Film. Ed. Linda Williams. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1995. 114-133. Gunning, Tom. "The Cinema of Attractions: Early Film, Its Spectator and the Avant-Garde." Wide Angle 8.3-4 (1986): 63-70. Hepola, Sarah. “The Internet Is Made of Kittens.” Salon, 11 Feb 2009. 29 Apr. 2014 ‹http://www.salon.com/2009/02/10/cat_internet/›. Jenkins, Henry, Sam Ford, and Joshua Green. Spreadable Media: Creating Value and Meaning in a Network Culture. New York: NYU Press, 2013. Lyon, David. “Liquid Surveillance: The Contribution of Zygmunt Bauman to Surveillance Studies.” International Political Sociology 4 (2010): 325–338 Lyon, David. “Surveillance, Power and Everyday Life.” In Robin Mansell et al., eds., Oxford Handbook of Information and Communication Technologies. Oxford: Oxford Handbooks, 2007. 449-472. 29 Apr. 2014 ‹http://www.sscqueens.org/sites/default/files/oxford_handbook.pdf›. Nichols, Bill. Introduction to Documentary. 2nd ed. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010. Rogers, Katharine. The Cat and the Human Imagination: Feline Images from Bast to Garfield. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2001. Shafer, Leah. “I Can Haz an Internet Aesthetic?!? LOLCats and the Digital Marketplace.” Paper presented at the Northeast Popular/American Culture Association Conference, St. John Fisher College, Rochester, New York, 2012. 5 Mar. 2014 ‹http://fisherpub.sjfc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1094&context=nepca›.

Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome (CAIS) is an X-link recessive genetic mutation of androgen receptor (AR) gene leading to complete inability of cell to respond to the androgens. CAIS occurs in 1 out of 20,400 XY live-birth babies, and affects about 1–2% of prepubertal girls that present with an inguinal hernia. Although individuals with CAIS have XY, those with grades 6 and 7 on the Quigley scale are born phenotypically female, without any signs of genital masculinization. Thus, individuals affected by CAIS develop a normal external female phenotype with normal female external genitalia, well-developed breast, absent uterus, and bilateral undescended testicles. The question of CAIS diagnosis does not come forward until the absent menses at the puberty is noted or accidentally during an inguinal hernia repair in a premenarchal girl. The present study reports a case of inguinal hernia repair on 11-year-old girl, which led to unexpected intraoperative notion of CAIS. The diagnostic work-up, genetic counseling, sex assignment, and the need for preoperative CAIS screening in girls with bilateral inguinal hernia are described and discussed. Keywords: DSD, CAIS, bilateral inguinal hernia, gonadectomy

Armstrong, Kelley. Sea of Shadows: Age of Legends. Toronto: Doubleday Canada, 2014. Print.This Young Adult fantasy novel tells the story of identical twin sisters Moria and Ashyn. In this mythical world, twin girls are special, because they can sometimes communicate with spirits. This means that when they are babies, twins are submitted to a ritual to see if they are destined to become Keeper and Seeker – magical roles that require the girls to quiet the souls of the damned, and protect the rest of the empire. Bond beasts accompany the twins – a giant wildcat for the Keeper, and a giant hound for the Seeker.Moria and Ashyn live in the village of Edgewood by the Forest of the Dead. Moria is a fiery warrior with a penchant for telling scary stories, and Ashyn is a shy romantic who often doubts herself, although both sisters are very close. The Wastes separate the Forest of the Dead, where criminals are often exiled from the rest of the empire. Every year, during the ritual of the Seeking, the Seeker and her hound must find all the restless spirits of the dead in the Forest, and quiet their souls. Often the dead are exiled criminals or are angry because they were not granted justice in life. The imperial court’s Keeper and Seeker have trained Moria and Ashyn for this ritual, and this is the first year they will perform the Seeking alone.During the Seeking, things quickly go wrong due to forces beyond the girls’ control. As a result, the girls’ village is destroyed, and their friends and family are killed by evil spirits. In the aftermath, Ashyn is separated from her sister. With the few remaining village survivors, Ashyn decides to set out with Ronan, a young thief she met in the Forest of the Dead. She hopes to take her people to safety. Moria follows her sister’s trail with the help of the last of the village guards, the stubborn Gavril, who is himself descended from sorcerers.Along the way, both sisters face mythical beasts, and discover their own strengths and weaknesses. They also deal with loss, and the harshness of a world beyond their village through encounters with bandits, kidnappers, and outcasts. Once the girls reunite, they learn that the failed ritual and the destruction of their village were not accidents. They are forced to warn the emperor and travel to court, where they must learn to navigate the politics of the realm. They also discover one of their companions may not be what he seems.This book is the first in a trilogy, although the journey of the two sisters is a complete story. The novel is told through the viewpoints of both sisters. Many deaths occur, and there are several violent scenes. The story also features creatures from horror stories that might frighten younger readers. Overall, it is a story well suited to young adult audiences, featuring interesting characters and mythology.Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Colette LeungColette Leung is a graduate student at the University of Alberta, working in the fields of Library and Information science and Humanities Computing who loves reading, cats, and tea. Her research interests focus around how digital tools can be used to explore fields such as literature, language, and history in new and innovative ways.

BACKGROUND: Hypothermia at admission to neonatal intensive care units (NICU) is associated with increased morbidity and mortality in newborns. A baseline study at a tertiary care hospital with all out-born babies showed admission hypothermia of 82%. OBJECTIVE: To reduce admission hypothermia (moderate) in newborns at least by 50% in next 6 months. METHODS: A quality improvement (QI) study was planned using WHO Point of Care Quality Improvement Model (POCQI), [17] using PDSA (Plan-Do-Study-Act) cycle approach from April 2018 to March 2019, and including 427 term and preterm babies. We educated the staff, reinforced the use of caps, cling wraps, warm linen, introduced Ziploc bags and ensured adequate use of transport incubator. RESULTS: After 6 months, overall admission hypothermia decreased from 82% to 45%, moderate hypothermia reduced from 46% to <10% (P < 0.001) and severe hypothermia (3%) was completely eliminated. There was also significant reduction in incidence of IVH (13% Vs 4.7%), LONS (38% Vs 19%) and metabolic acidosis (43% Vs 28%). We were able to sustain this improvement for the next 6 months and is ongoing. The strongest predictor of hypothermia was newborns being in the phase before QI initiative was started (OR 2.36, 95% CI 1.47, 3.23). CONCLUSION: This study is a cost effective approach in reducing admission hypothermia in NICU in a resource limited setting with all outborn babies, and further decreasing the morbidity associated with it. Hence, emphasizing the importance of maintaining euthermia, not only in delivery rooms, but also during transportation.

Sugar pigs are traditional confections shaped like sugar mice with little legs and no tail. One might, therefore, nibble the trotters of a sugar pig or suck delicately upon the nose of a sugar pig, but one must never eat one’s sugary treats like a pig. As an imagined border between the private world inside the body and the public world outside, the mouth is an unstable limit of selfhood. Food can easily cause disgust as it passes through this hazardous terrain, and this disgust is produced less by the thought of incorporation than by socially constructed boundaries such as the division between human and animal. In order to guard against disgust and the moral judgement it incurs about the eater, the mouth is governed by myriad rules and, in the case of the juvenile mouth, subject to adult surveillance. This paper investigates children’s consumption of confectionery in relation to the mouth as a liminal border space. Children are “sugar pigs” in as much as they disregard the conventions of civilised eating that govern the mouth, preferring instead to slubber, gnaw, lick, and chew like animals, to reveal the contents of their mouths and examine the contents of others, to put lollies in and out of their mouths with dirty hands, and to share single lollies. Children’s lolly rituals resist civilised eating norms, but they hold important cultural meanings that parallel and subvert those of the adult world. Children’s mouths are communal spaces and the rituals that take place in them are acts of friendship, intimacy, and power. Eating norms instituted over thousands of years ensure that people do not eat like animals, and the pig, in particular, stands in opposition to civilised eating. In On Good Manners for Boys (1530), Erasmus of Rotterdam advises that a general guide to eating like a human being is to eat inconspicuously and self-consciously—to “lick a plate or dish to which some sugar or sweet substance has adhered is for cats, not people,” he explains, and to “gnaw bones is for a dog”—and he compares ill-mannered eating with that of pigs, observing how some people “slubber up their meat like swine” (qtd. in Kass 145). Unrefined table manners and uncontrolled appetite continue to elicit such expressions of disgust as “dirty pig” and “greedy pig.” Pigs grunt. Pigs snuffle among refuse. Pigs, as Bob Ashley et al. note, represent all that is uncivilised and exist only as a signifier of appetite (2). The pig and civilisation, however, do not exist simply in opposition. Cookery writer Jane Grigson argues that European civilisation has been founded upon the pig (qtd. in Ashley et al. 2). Also, because the pig’s body is pinkish, soft, and flabby like a human body and because pigs were usually housed near or even inside human dwellings, the pig confounds the human/animal binary: it is “a threshold animal” (Stallybrass and White qtd. in Ashley et al. 7). Furthermore, the steady evolution of eating practices suggests that humans would eat like animals if left in their natural state. Food rules are part of the “attempt to exclude piggishness” from human civilisation, which, according to Ashley et al., demonstrates “precisely the proximity of human and pig” (7). As physician Leon Kass observes, eating conventions “show us both how much we have taken instruction and how much we needed it” (139). Humans aspire to purity and perfection, but William Ian Miller explains that “fuelling no small part of those aspirations is disgust with what we are or with what we are likely to slide back into” (Anatomy xiv). Eating norms, therefore, do not emphasise the difference between human and the pig as much as they express the underlying anxiety that the human mouth and the act of eating are utterly animal. ‘Lollies’ is the Australian term for the confectionery that children mostly buy, and while the child with a lolly pouched in its cheek is such a familiar, even iconic, image that it features on the covers of two recent books about confectionery (Richardson, Whittaker), licking, gnawing, and slubbering—Erasmus’ wonderfully evocative and piggish word—aptly describe the consumption of lollies. Many lollies are large and hard, and eating them requires time, effort, concentration, and conspicuous mouth activity: the cheek bulges and speaking is difficult; a great deal of saliva is produced and the area around the mouth becomes smeared with coloured drool; and there is always the possibility of the lolly falling out. The smaller the child’s mouth, or the larger the lolly, the more impossible it is to eat inconspicuously and self-consciously. Endless chewing is similarly animal-like, and “the bovine look” of teenagers featured in public complaints when chewing gum was mass-produced in the twentieth century (Hendrickson 7). Humans must not eat like animals, but overly-stuffed cheeks, sucking and slubbering mouths, licking tongues, gnawing teeth, and mindlessly ruminating jaws are unashamedly animal-like. Other rules guard against disgust arising from the sight of half-chewed food. When food is in the process of becoming part of the body, it quickly acquires the quality of things with which disgust is more readily associated, things that are, according to Miller, moist rather than dry, viscid rather than free-flowing, pliable rather than hard, things that are “oozy, mucky, gooey, slimy, clammy, sticky, tacky, dank, squishy, or filmy” (“Darwin’s Disgust” 338). Soft lollies with their vividly-coloured and glossy or sugar-encrusted surfaces look magical, but once they go into the mouth are “magically transformed into the disgusting” (Anatomy Miller 96). Food in the process of “becoming” must, therefore, never be seen again. The process of transformation takes place in the private interior of the body, but, if the mouth is open, half-transformed food is visible, and chewed food, according to Miller, “has the capacity to be even more disgusting than feces [sic]” (Anatomy 96). Sometimes, the sight of half-consumed lollies inside children’s mouths is deliberate because children poke out their tongues and look into each other’s mouths to monitor the progress of lollies that change colour as they break down. Miller explains that the rules of disgust are suspended in sexual and non-sexual love: “Disgust marks the boundaries of the self; the relaxing of them marks privilege, intimacy, duty, and caring” (Anatomy xi). This principle applies to children’s lolly rituals. If children forget to note the colour of a Clinker as they bite it, or if they want to note the progress of a Cloud or gobstopper, they open their mouths and even poke out their tongues so a friend can inspect the colour of the lolly, or their tongue. Such acts are marks of friendship. It is not something children do with everyone. The mouth is a threshold of self that children relax as a marker of privilege. The clean/unclean binary exerts a powerful influence on food because, in addition to the way in which food is eaten, it determines the kind of food that is eaten. The mouth is a border between the self (the eater) and the other (the eaten), so what is eaten (the other) eventually becomes the eater (the self). Paradoxically, the reverse is also true; the eater becomes what is eaten—hence, “we are what we eat.” Little wonder then that food is a site of anxiety, surveillance, and control. The pig eats anything, but children’s consumption is strictly monitored. The clean food imperative means that food must be uncontaminated by the world outside the body, and lollies violate the clean food category in this regard. Large, hard lollies can fall out of the mouth, or children may be obliged to violently expel them if they are danger of choking. The young protagonists in Saturdee, Norman Lindsay’s bildungsroman set in country Victoria after WWI, arrange a secret tryst with some girls, and when their plan is discovered a horde of spectators assembles to watch the proceedings: [Snowey Critchet] had provided himself with a bull’s-eye; a comestible about the size of a cricket ball, which he stowed away in one cheek, as a monkey pouches an orange, where it distended his face in a most obnoxious manner. He was prepared, it seemed, to spend the entire afternoon inspecting a scandal, while sucking his bull’s-eye down to edible proportions. (147) Amid a subsequent volley of taunts and cow dung, Snowey lands in the gutter, a reprisal that “was like to be Snowey’s end through causing him to bolt his bull’s-eye whole. It was too large to swallow but large enough to block up his gullet and choke him. Frenziedly he fought his way out of the gutter and ran off black in the face to eject his windpipe obstruction” (147-8). Choking episodes are further aspects of children’s consumption that adults would deem dangerous as well as disgusting. If a child picks up a lolly from the ground, an adult is likely to slap it away and spit out the word “Dirty!” The child’s hands are potentially part of the contaminated outside world, hence, wash your hands before you eat, don’t eat with your fingers, don’t lick your fingers, don’t put your fingers into your mouth, don’t handle food if you aren’t going to eat it, don’t eat food that others have touched. Lolly-consumption breaches the clean/unclean divide when children put fingers into mouths to hook tacky lollies like Minties off the back teeth, remove lollies in order to observe their changing shape or colour, pull chewing gum from the mouth, or push bubble gum back in. The mouth is part of the clean world inside the body; adult disgust stems from concern about contamination through contact with the world outside the body, including the face and hands. The hands are also involved in playground rituals. Children often remove lollies from their mouths, play with them, and put them back in. Such invented rituals include sharpening musk sticks by twisting them in the mouth before jabbing friends with them and returning them to the mouth. Teenagers also bite the heads off jelly babies and rearrange the bodies in multicoloured versions before eating them. These rituals expose half-consumed lollies, and allow lollies to be contaminated by the outside world, but they are markers of friendship and ways of belonging to particular groups as well as sources of entertainment. The ultimate cause for disgust, apart from sharing with a pig perhaps, arises when children violate the boundary between one mouth and another by sharing a single lolly. “Can I have a lick o’ your lollipop?” is an expression that belongs to a time when germs were yet to consume the public imagination, and it demonstrates that children have long been disposed to sharing confectionery in this way. Allowing someone to share an all-day sucker indicates friendship because it involves sacrifice as well as intimacy. How many times the friend licks it indicates how important a friend they are. Chewing gum and hard lollies such as bull’s-eyes and all-day suckers are ideal for sharing because they last a long time. Snowey’s choking episode is punishment both for having such a lolly while others did not, and for not sharing it. When friends share a single lolly in Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief it is a sign of their growing intimacy. Rudy and Liesel had only enough money for one lolly: “they unwrapped it and tried biting it in half, but the sugar was like glass. Far too tough, even for Rudy’s animal-like choppers. Instead, they had to trade sucks on it until it was finished. Ten sucks for Rudy. Ten for Liesel. Back and forth” (168). Rudy asks Liesel to kiss him on many occasions, but she never does. She regrets this after he is killed, so here the shared lolly stands in lieu of intimacy rather than friendship. Lollies are still shared in this way in Australian playgrounds, but often it is only hard lollies, and only with close friends. A hard lolly has a clearly defined boundary that can easily be washed, but even unwashed the only portion that is contaminated, and contaminable, is the visible surface of the lolly. This is not the case with a stick of chewing gum. In response to Tom Sawyer’s enquiry as to whether or not she likes rats, Becky Thatcher replies,“What I like, is chewing gum.” “O, I should say so! I wish I had some now.” “Do you? I’ve got some. I’ll let you chew it a while, but you must give it back to me.” That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their legs against the bench in excess of contentment.” (58) Unlike the clearly defined boundary of a gobstopper, the boundary of chewing gum continually shifts and folds in on itself. The entire confection is contaminated through contact with the mouth of the other. The definition of clean food also includes that which is deemed appropriate for eating, and part of the appeal of lollies is their junk status. Some lollies are sugar versions of “good” foodstuffs: strawberries and cream, wildberries, milk bottles, pineapples, and bananas. Even more ironic, especially in light of the amount of junk food in many adult diets, others are sugar versions of junk food: fries, coke bottles, Pizzas, Hot Dogs, and Hamburgers, all of which are packaged like miniatures of actual products. Lollies, like their British equivalent, kets (which means rubbish), are absolutely distinct from the confectionery adults eat, and British sociologist Allison James shows that this is because they “stand in contrast to conventional adult sweets and adult eating generally” (298). Children use terms like junk and ket intentionally because there is a “power inherent in the conceptual gulf between the worlds of the adult and the child” (James, “Confections” 297). Parents place limits on children’s consumption because lollies are seen to interfere with the consumption of good food, but, as James explains, for children, “it is meals which disrupt the eating of sweets” (“Confections” 296). Some lollies metaphorically violate a different kind of food taboo by taking the form of “unclean” animals like rats, pythons, worms, cats, dinosaurs, blowflies, cane toads, and geckos. This highlights the arbitrary nature of food categories: snakes, lizards, and witchetty grubs do not feature on European menus, but indigenous Australians eat them. Neither do white Australians eat horses, frogs, cats, dogs, and insects, which are considered delicacies in other cultures, some even in other European cultures. Eating human beings is widely-considered taboo, but children enjoy eating lollies shaped like parts of the human body. A fundraiser at a Queensland school fete in 2009 epitomised the contemporary fascination with consuming body parts. Traditionally, the Guess-The-Number fundraiser involves guessing the number of jelly beans in a glass jar, but in this instance the jar held teeth, lips, noses, eyeballs, ears, hearts, and feet. Similarly, when children eat Tongue Pops—tangy tongue-shaped lollies on a stick—the irony of having two tongues, of licking your own tongue, is not lost on children. Other lollies represent tiny people, and even babies. In the ordinary world, children are small and powerless, but the magic of lollies enables them to be the man-eating giant, while Chicos and jelly babies represent the powerless child. Children welcome the opportunity to “bite someone else’s head off” for a change. These lollies are anonymous people, but Freddo Frog and Caramello Koala have names as well as bodies and facial features, while others, like Cadbury’s seven Magical Elves, even have personalities. One of these, Aquamarine, is depicted as a winking character dressed in blue, and described on the wrapper as “a talented musician who plays music to inspire the Elves to enjoy themselves and work harder, but is a bit of a farty pants.” Advertisements also commonly personify lollies by giving them faces, voices, and limbs, so that even something as un-humanlike as a red ball, in the case of the Jaffa, is represented as a cheeky character in the act of running away. And children happily eat them all. Cannibalism rates highly in the world of children’s confectionery (James 298). If lollies are “metaphoric rubbish,” as James explains, they can also be understood as metaphorically breaking food taboos (299). Not only do children’s rituals create a sense of friendship, belonging, even intimacy, but engaging in them is also an act of power because children know that these practices disgust adults. Lollies give children permission to transgress the rules of civilised eating and this carnivalesque subversion is part of the pleasure of eating lollies. James suggests that confectionery is neither raw nor cooked, but belongs to a third food category that helps to define “the disorderly and inverted world of children” (“Confections” 301). In James’ analysis, children and adults inhabit separate worlds, and she views children’s sweets as part of the “alternative system of meanings through which [children] can establish their own integrity” (“Confections” 301, 305). In the sense that they exist outside of officialdom, children have inherited the carnivalesque tradition of the festive life, which Bakhtin theorises as “a second world” organised on the basis of laughter (6, 8). In this topsy-turvy, carnivalesque realm, with its emphasis on the grotesque body, laughter, fun, exuberance, comic rituals, and other non-official values, children escape adult rule. Lollies may be rubbish in the adult world, but, like the carnival fool, they are “king” in the child’s second and festive life, where bodies bulge, feasting is a public and often grotesque event, and children are masters of their own destiny. Eating lollies, then, represents a “metaphoric chewing up of adult order” and a means of the child assuming control over at least one of its orifices (James 305-6). In this sense, the pig is not a symbol of the uncivilised but the un-adult. Children are pigs with sugar—slubbering around hard lollies, licking other children’s lollies, metaphorically cannibalising jelly babies—and if they disgust adults it is because they challenge the eating norms that guard against the ever-present reminder that eating is an animal act. Eating practices “civilize the human animal” (Kass 131), but eating is inherently an untidy experience, and any semblance of order, as anthropologist Mary Douglas explains, is only created by exaggerating difference (qtd. in Ashley et al. 3). The pig is commonly understood to be the antithesis of civilisation and, therefore, the means by which we understand ourselves as civilised beings. The child with a lolly, however, is evidence that the line between human and animal is a tenuous divide. References Ashley, Bob, Joanne Hollows, Steve Jones and Ben Taylor. Food and Cultural Studies. London: Routledge, 2004. Bakhtin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World. Trans.Helene Iswolsky. Cambridge: M.I.T. P, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1968. Hendrickson, Robertson. The Great American Chewing Gum Book. Radnor, Pennsylvania: Chilton, 1976. James, Allison. “Confections, Concoctions and Conceptions.” Popular Culture: Past and Present. Eds Bernard Waites, Tony Bennett and Graham Martin. London: Routledge, 1986. 294-307. James, Allison. “The Good, the Bad and the Delicious: The Role of Confectionery in British Society.” Sociological Review 38, 1990: 666-88. Kass, Leon R. The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of Our Nature. New York: Free Press, 1994. Lindsay, Norman. Saturdee. London: Angus & Robertson, 1981. Miller, William Ian. “Darwin’s Disgust.” Empire of the Senses: The Sensual Culture Reader. Ed. David Howes. Oxford: Berg, 2005. Miller, William Ian. The Anatomy of Disgust. Cambridge: Harvard U P, 1997. Mason, Laura. Sugar Plums and Sherbet: The Pre-history of Sweets. Devon: Prospect, 1998. Richardson, Tim. Sweets: A History of Temptation. London: Bantam Books, 2003. Twain, Mark. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. New York: Collier, 1962. Whittaker, Nicholas. Sweet Talk: The Secret History of Confectionery. London: Phoenix, 1999. Zusak, Markus. The Book Thief. Sydney: Picador, 2005.

Congenital talipes equinovarus (CTEV) or clubfoot, is one of the commonest congenital deformity . At present ,Ponseti method is most commonly used successful reliable , essentially conservative technique for correction of CTEV deformity and successful in upto 98% of feets. However there is a chance of the relapse or recurrence . A prospective and observational study after getting institutional ethical clearance was conducted in the department of Orthopedics, at COM and JNM Hospital, Kalyani, Nadai, WB, between August 2018 to July , 2020 including baby with club foot . Total study sample size was 20 according to inclusion and exclusion criteria. The mean age of presentation was 4 ± 2.51 week . The male to female ratio was 1.86:1. Bilateral feet involvement was 50% . In unilateral involvement , right side was affected 70%, left side was affected in 30 % cases. Family history of CTEV was seen in 20% cases. Mean body weight of babies was 2.49 ± 0.17kg . At presentation , mean pirani score was 5 ± 0.48. Tenotomy was done 75% cases . Relapse rate was 15 %, mean age of relapse was 7 ± 1.73205 month , occurred in most common in left side (66%). There was history of non-adherence of abduction brace for >2 month in all three patients adduction score was 0.5 in all child . Most common deformity relapse was adduction of forefoot. Ponseti method is cost effective especially in developing country . Strict adherence to brace protocol and good communication between heath care persons and parents reduces incidence of relapse. Relapse is relatively common even in Ponseti method and most of cases , it manageable by conservative treatment like cast.

ABSTRACT According to WHO (World Health Organization), diarrhea is a Chapter (bowel movement) in liquid form is more than three times in one day, and usually lasts for two days or more. In the UK 1 in 5 people suffer from diarrhea infections. Diarrheal disease in developed countries has occurred despite the health and economic improvement but still a high incidence of infectious diarrhea and is still a health problem. In Indonesia diarrheal diseases are still one of the major diseases in infants and children. Morbidity is estimated to range between 150-430 per thousand population annually. In Basuki Rahmat Health Center Palembang , in 2011 the incidence of diarrhea in infants of 155 patients (59.2%). Factors influencing the incidence of diarrhea, including the factors of education, occupation, age, toddlers, environmental, nutritional, social, economic, food / beverage consumed, and the factors to lactose (milk cans). The purpose of this study is a known association between maternal education and employment with the incidence of diarrhea in infants in Basuki Rahmat Health Center Palembang in 2011. This study uses the approach of Analytical Surveys Cross Sectional. The population in this study were all women who come to check babies for Basuki Rahmat Health Center Palembang in 2011 which amounted to 35 people. Sampling in this study with non-random methods with techniques Accidental Sampling. Data analysis carried out univariate and bivariate statistics with Chi-Square test with significance level α = 0.05. Results showed there were 35 respondents from 45.7% of respondents that babies suffering from diarrhea, higher education 57.1%, and working mothers 40%. The results of this study showed no significant association between maternal education and occupation on the incidence of diarrhea in infants in Basuki Rahmat Health Center Palembang in 2011. From the results of this study, researchers hope to improve health and implement counseling about prevention of diarrhea. ABSTRAK Menurut WHO (World Health Organization), diare merupakan BAB (buang air besar) dalam bentuk cairan lebih dari tiga kali dalam satu hari, dan biasanya berlangsung selama dua hari atau lebih. Di Inggris 1 dari 5 orang menderita diare infeksi. Penyakit diare di negara maju walaupun sudah terjadi perbaikan kesehatan dan ekonomi masyarakat tetapi insiden diare infeksi tetap tinggi dan masih menjadi masalah kesehatan. Di Indonesia penyakit diare hingga kini masih merupakan salah satu penyakit utama pada bayi dan anak-anak. Diperkirakan angka kesakitan berkisar antara 150-430 perseribu penduduk setahunnya. Di Puskesmas Basuki Rahmat Palembang , pada tahun 2011 angka kejadian diare pada balita sebanyak 155 pasien (59,2%). Faktor-faktor mempengaruhi kejadian diare, diantaranya adalah faktor pendidikan, pekerjaan, umur balita, lingkungan, gizi, sosial ekonomi, makanan/minuman yang dikonsumsi, dan faktor terhadap laktosa (susu kaleng). Tujuan penelitian ini adalah diketahuinya hubungan antara pendidikan dan pekerjaan ibu dengan kejadian diare pada balita di Puskesmas Basuki Rahmat Palembang tahun 2011. Penelitian ini menggunakan metode Survey Analitik dengan pendekatan Cross Sectional. Populasi pada penelitian ini adalah semua ibu yang datang memeriksakan balitanya ke Puskesmas Basuki Rahmat Palembang pada tahun 2011 yaitu berjumlah 35 orang. Pengambilan sampel pada penelitian ini dengan metode non random dengan teknik Accidental Sampling. Analisa data dilakukan secara univariat dan bivariat dengan uji statistik Chi-Square dengan tingkat kemaknaan α = 0,05.Hasil penelitian menunjukkan dari 35 responden terdapat 45,7% responden yang balitanya menderita diare, pendidikan tinggi 57,1%, dan ibu yang bekerja 40%. Hasil penelitian ini menunjukkan ada hubungan yang bermakna antara pendidikan dan pekerjaan ibu terhadap kejadian diare pada balita di Puskesmas Basuki Rahmat Palembang tahun 2011. Dari hasil penelitian ini, peneliti berharap petugas pelayanan kesehatan dapat meningkatkan pelayanan kesehatan dan melaksanakan penyuluhan tentang pencegahan diare.

IntroductionWhen a baby girl born in Britain was endowed with the topical name ‘Hashtag’, a social media post decried the naming, and a media storm followed. Before she was even home from hospital, headlines were at the ready: “Did a mother really just name her child Hashtag?” (Nye) and “Baby Hashtag: has the search for original names gone too far?” (Barkham). Trollers were also poised to react, offering: “The first name is REALLY dumb. And you're even dumber,” prompting a rejection of the baby’s name as well as her ostensibly ill-equipped parents (Facebook). Dubbed a “Public Figure” on her Facebook page, Hashtag Jameson accrued a particularly premature type of celebrity, where, with a handful of baby selfies, she declared via Twitter, and only hours after birth, that she was “already trending”.In this article, I consider the relationship between the infant child and the visual-digital economies in which it – as in the Hashtag hoax, above – performs. The infant child is brought into view with the very first sentence that frames John Berger’s Ways of Seeing. “Seeing comes before words”, he writes. “The child looks and recognizes before it can speak” (1). Berger’s reference to the seeing child positions it as an active agent in cultures and practices of visuality, but also uses an idea of the child to position vision as the primary communicative means by which we “establish our place in the surrounding world” and in which we are enveloped “before” speech (7). Here, I explore the intensified relationship between the visual culture of infancy and the economised digital movement of vision that it produces in one highly specific image-genre: the baby selfie. In doing so I aim to characterise the depictive nature of this format in terms of how it compositionally documents – to further borrow the language of Berger, who was then discussing oil paintings – “a way of seeing the world, which was ultimately determined by new attitudes to property and exchange” (87).The new sociology of childhood has been concerned with the construction of the child figure as it has interfaced with new cultural and political realities since the early 1980s (Prout). These include “phenomena such as the flexibilization of production … expanding networks of knowledge … and shifts in labour market participation, work and the global economy” (Prout 5). I suggest here that the baby selfie can be seen as an unprecedented social marker of these transformations, signalling a heightened degree of priceless sentiment within which the child – as an animator of amateur affects, viral tendencies and algorithmic logics – is given to operate. I focus on the compositional propensities of the baby selfie in order to characterise how it visually construes a particular kind of self that is intrinsically entangled with the conception of the image as a form of capital exchange. That is, I suggest that in its intense and yet paradoxical self-performativity the baby selfie depicts a way of seeing that is predicated on, but also troubles, the conceit of a commodified social relation. What Does the Baby Selfie Say?“Should babies really be taking selfies?” yells a headline warning against the perceived dangers of youth digital cultures (Cox). The 2014 story references a phone app built by father Matthew Pegula that uses front-facing cameras to “unintentionally teac[h] your baby to take selfies of themselves” by generating “rattling sounds, pictures of cute animals, and more to get the baby’s attention.” The article explains that “[w]hen the baby reaches out to touch the screen, the camera snaps their selfie and saves it to the device”. While Pegula’s Baby Selfie App is available for purchase on Google Play’s app store for $1.09, a similar device named New Born Fame, featuring “Facebook and Twitter symbols that are activated when the youngster reaches for them” and inclusions such as “a pair of shoes with an internal pedometer that tracks kicks and posts the activity online, a squeezable GPS tracker and a ‘selfie-ball’ that photographs the baby and uploads the shot whenever the ball rotates” (Peppers), artistically interrogated this relatively new category of “insta-infa-fame”.In their article “What Does the Selfie Say?”, Theresa M. Senft and Nancy K. Baym argue that the selfie exists as the hallmark genre of a new kind of self-reflexive image-making, one that is formally characterised by the “self-generated” nature of the photographic portraiture it depicts, which is in turn conceived for its transmissibility, occurring “primarily via social media” (1589). Popularised in part by new technologies (the camera phone, the smart phone, and then the front-facing phone camera) and in part by new digital platforms (“Facebook, Instagram, SnapChat, Tumblr, WeChat, and Tinder”) (1589), Senft and Baym further explain that the selfie is simultaneously a photographic object which transmits human feeling, a practice of sending (as well as of depicting), and third, a monetized assemblage curated by nonhuman agents. It is this last factor which renders the objecthood of the selfie as it relates to the vernacular that it enacts as well as the practice of its making, political.Notions around the simultaneously constituting and yet virally distributed “self” of social media are not new. A now prominent literature around how the selfie graphically manifests and performs: intimate publics (Walsh and Baker), a normative or resistive image repertoire (Murray), and emotionalised, communicable affect (Bayer et al.), gives rise to a range of viewpoints that aim to characterise how the hyper self-reflexivity of the selfie depicts – visually as well as ontologically – the self as an agent of their own transmissibility (Holiday et al.). From these we understand that the selfie is distinct for its (i) self-representational image-format (it is an image made by the self, of the self, and thereby is identifiable for its capturing of the self in this very process of self-composition); ii) its methods of distribution (selfies are taken and distributed often instantaneously, and thereby are not only objects of, but active agents of, the reshaping of digitally communicative economies); iii) its idiomatic performance of a sociality and aesthetic of the amateur or vernacular (Abidin).The doubled glance both inwards and outwards that the selfie casts is further characterised for how it traces as well as points to a gestural self-awareness held within its compositional characteristics (Frosh). This moves us from a semiotic reading of the selfie to a reading of its “kineasthetic sociability” – that is, its embodied inception of new forms of autobiographical inscription which say “not only ‘see this, here, now,’ but also ‘see me showing you me’” (Frosh 1609-10). Here, the selfie is less a static object and more a gestural imprint of the communicative action in process: it is “simultaneously mediating (the outstretched arm executes the taking of the selfie) and mediated (the outstretched arm becomes a legible and iterable sign within selfies of, among other things, the selfieness of the image)” (Frosh 1611). In this sense, its compositional logic offers a tracing of this very enactive, embodied tendency, which bears more than an indexical relationship to the field that it marks – it depicts itself as a constituting part of that field.While these characteristics are broadly accepted as being true of selfies, the “selfieness” of a baby selfie might be seen to offer a paradoxical reframing of these depictive qualities. That is, if a selfie is a self-depiction of a process of self-depiction, the baby selfie most usually performs this self-reflexivity with recourse to an external agent who is either present in the image frame or who is occluded from it but nonetheless implied by the very nature of the image (a parent or the image-facilitator, or indeed, a baby app). The baby selfie’s scene of self-depiction, then, might be thought of as a kind of self-depiction-by-proxy. At the same time, the baby selfie asks us to invest in the belief that the picture was knowingly self-taken, and in doing so, models a kind of aspirational autonomy for the child/baby figure who is depicted. In this sense, the baby selfie, by its very nature, disrupts the accepted distinguishing format of the selfie: that the picture is both self-depicting and is self-composed. Instead, the baby selfie can be seen to gesturally reincorporate into its visual scene the very question of this structural im/possibility.Depicting the Viral ChildThe figure of the child has been considered by a range of theorists as the organising principle of modernity. Philippe Aries’ foundational work has argued that the modern discovery of childhood is reflected in the rise of the nuclear family and consequential shifts from sociability to privacy. Viviana Zelizer similarly positions the emergence of the economically “useless” but sentimentally “priceless” child against comprehensive social and industrial transformations taking place across the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that excluded the child as a labourer and instead situated it with the disciplinary regime of education. The hetero-normatively white child has since been shown to emblematise concepts of social futurity (Edelman) and myths of morality, humanity and the “ordering of time” (Pelligrini 98).Following Zelizer, the more recently ‘digitally’ visual cultures of childhood can be seen to spin the figure of the child around new socio-economic and discursive imperatives. Lisa Cartwright writes about photographs of waiting adoptee children, in which “children of poor countries become commodities and their images become advertisements in a global market” (83). Deborah Lupton similarly considers the coding of infant bodies in popular media for their “represent[ation] as helpless, vulnerable, uncontrolled, dirty and leaky in opposition to the idealised adult body that is powerful, self-regulated, autonomous, clean, its bodily boundaries sealed from the outside world” (349). More recently, children have been considered for how they either accidentally or volitionally interact with mediated technologies (Nansen) as well as for how they are increasingly digitally surveilled as the objects of a necessary – and increasingly normalised – parental “culture of care” (Leaver 2). These studies make clear that while children are increasingly positioned as the ‘viral’ agents of new kinds of visual markets, they are also infantilised as victims in need of unprecedented cyber-protection.In 1994 Douglas Rushkoff coined the term “media virus” to account for the rapid and uncontrollable ways that popular media texts performed to either coerce or awaken viewing publics. While Rushkoff’s medium of reference was television, Henry Jenkins et al. later reframed virality to instead encompass ideas of user-led agency by linking it with a logic of “stickiness” – evoking what he termed a “peanut butter” analogy to describe the “spreadable” (3) movement of ideas in more recent social media practices. Indeed, Liam French finds a strong parallel between the “phenomenal rise in user generated content” and the turn towards newer visual cultures within social media practices more broadly, noting that it is “ordinary people” (French’s term) who actively generate the very forms of visual cultural production that become key to communicatory circulation. The selfie, in this regard, becomes both a format and an icon of the new ways of seeing brought into perspective by social media practices.Given the political, social and industrial ecologies that constitute such image cultures, it is only recently that the “viral” child, as the next delineation of the sentimentally “priceless” child, has arrived into view. Here, the baby Hashtag hoax can be seen to critically narrate a specific cultural moment: one that is concerned with stabilising the figure of the child even as it constitutes the ground through which that figure also becomes undone. I refer to the way that Hashtag, as a figural baby, presents a tautological identity, where the digital grammar of # names the mechanism by which she would also search for herself. If Hashtag is emblematic of the algorithmic and affective assemblage of contemporary image-cultures of childhood – whose image-work shapes the new temporal dimensions of our watching and viewing practices – she also illustrates how the child has been become not only an object, but a medium of the economic logics of communicative capitalism. That is, the image-work of the baby selfie can be seen to point to the very question of autonomous agency that frames the figure of the child and in doing so, provides a disruptive counterpoint to the “peanut butter” logic of spreadable visual cultures of so-called “ordinary people” more broadly.It is this light that I ask (drawing on Senft and Baym): what does the baby selfie say about how we understand or construe the figure of the child? More specifically, I ask (via Berger) what culture of vision is brought into view by the rise of such visual cultures of the viral child? The “Gestural Gaze” of Digital Infant Agency Ellentv.com recently advertised a call for viewers to send in their favourite baby selfies: “If you've got a baby and a camera, it's time to take some selfies! Take a photo of you and your baby making the same face, and send it to us!” The legal disclaimer accompanying the callout additionally advised that “[b]y submitting Materials, … you … do not violate the right of privacy or publicity of, or constitute a defamation against, any person or entity; that the Materials will not infringe upon or violate the copyright or common law rights or any other rights of any person or entity” (Ellentv.com). From the outset, there appears within baby selfie culture a curious calibration of the agency of the child, who is at once a selfie-self-taker but who is also excluded from a legal right to privacy that concerns “any person or entity”. In this respect we might further ask – following Jacqueline Bhabha’s question “what sort of human is a child?” (1526) – what sort of human is a viral child, and how does the baby selfie depict this paradoxical configuration of infantile agency?While the formality of the baby selfie still demonstrates a range of configurations which often incorporate the figure of a parent and hence contradict the discreet self-composing parameters of the selfie, here I focus in closing on one specific baby selfie that I suggest is emblematic of an increasing prevalence of apparently “true” baby selfies which operate on a range of image-sharing platforms and meme sites. These baby selfies are distinguished by seeming to be (i) an image that is made by the self, of the self, and thereby is identified for its capturing of the self in this very process of self-composition; ii) an image that is construed for methods of often instantaneous distribution; iii) an image that puts forward an idiomatic performance of an amateur vernacular – or what Abidin has called “calibrated amateurism”.One compilation, “12 of the Cutest Baby Selfies You Will Ever See”, foregrounds the autonomy of the figure of the viral child as depicted by baby selfie culture, explaining that “These babies might be small, but they can do a lot more than just laugh, crawl, and play. It turns out they can also work their way around a camera and snap some amazing selfies. Talk about impressive!” (Campbell). While all the images in the selection depict the embodied gestural sociality of the selfie that Frosh characterises – that which is “simultaneously mediating (the outstretched arm executes the taking of the selfie) and mediated (the outstretched arm becomes a legible and iterable sign within selfies of … the selfieness of the image)” (1611) – one in particular is arresting for its striking interpellation of the “innocent” figure of the child with what I will extend via Frosh to call the inherent mediality of her gestural gaze. In this iconic baby selfie, the gestural gaze is witnessed in the way that the baby’s outstretched hand seems to be extending towards us, the viewer, but is rather (we think we know) extended towards the phone camera, in order to better see herself.The infant in the image is coded female, wearing a pink bonnet, dummy clip and dummy. The dummy is centred defiantly in the baby’s mouth and doubly defiantly in the centre of the image frame as an infantile ‘technology’ that seems to undercut the technology of the phone camera apparatus. The dummy imbues the image with an iconic sense of the baby’s innate “baby-ness” which seems to directly contradict the strength of her gaze, which also appears, in following the outwards arc of her selfie-taking arm, to reach beyond the image frame and address her viewer directly. It seems to say – to paraphrase Frosh – see me here, now, showing you me. The ambivalent origins of the image are also key to how it is read and distributed here. The image in question can be found on the media site Woman’s World, which offers an untraceable credit to Instagram for its original source. The image has also, since, spread itself, appearing across a range of other multilingual sites and feeds, depicting the child at the centre of its frame as somewhat entangled in a further labour of self-duplication. The baby selfie in circulation says not only “‘see this, here, now,’” and “‘see me showing you me’,” but ‘see all of this here, and again, here and again, here.’John Berger writes of two related image genres that connect histories of vernacular depiction to histories of the evolution of the publicity image as a medium and sign of capital exchange. Writing on oil painting, he notes how the materiality of the medium signified the “thingness” of its depiction: “if you buy a painting you also buy a look of the thing that it represents” (83). He finds, therein, an “analogy between possessing and a way of seeing which is incorporated in oil painting” (83) and which, as he later explains, becomes tied to “the tangibility, the texture, the lustre, the solidity of what it depicts” (88). The textural qualities of oil painting, which for Berger construe the “real” as that which can be materially conveyed or indexed as commodity, might be compared to the gestural residue that is contained within the selfie. While oil painting construed the materiality of things – and hence, the commodifiable nature of any particular relation – the selfie might be seen to depict the self in the process of its own self-labour: the material gesture of taking the image necessitates that the self becomes an agent who then becomes the immaterial self of transmission. The selfie is in this way a depiction of the self in a form of capital relation to itself.While the selfie – as a digital composition – is not materially “real” in the same way that oil painting is, the indexical nature of the arm that reaches out beyond the image frame to point to the inherent transmissibility – and hence capital value – of the image, might be. While the baby selfie imitates these capacities, I suggest here that it also traces a compositional logic that further complicates that which Frosh charts. This is because in the very moment that the spectator of the image is confronted with the baby selfie’s call to “see me showing you me” (1609-10), the spectator is also confronted with the figure of the infant as an autonomous agent capable of their own image-constitution. In essence, the baby selfie posits a question around the baby’s innate ability to knowingly generate its image-frame, even as that very image-frame is what casts the infant into the spreadable contexts within which it will then operate – or, indeed, become ‘knowable’.In its heightened self-referentiality but tenuously depicted sense of rhetorical agency, the baby selfie then faces us with what we think we know, or do not know, about the figure of the child. This central ambivalence inherent to the compositional makeup of the baby selfie in this way both depicts and disrupts the economics of circulation that are intrinsic to selfies more broadly, pointing to a decomposing of the parameters by which a selfie is interpreted and understood. Further, it enables us to question relationships between ways of seeing and ways of being – how does the baby selfie envision the figure of the chid? What sort of human does it become? While there are valid discussions to be had around the absence of “direct self-representational agency” (Leaver) and moral rights or wrongs of the parental management of children’s image-work in online spaces, the baby selfie also opens up questions around how we understand the very contours of infantile agency, how we perceive rhetorical knowingness, and what we mean to mean by the relentless circulation of this imagery of the viral child. Indeed, as Wendy S. Hesford writes, it can be helpful to shift an understanding of agency from being an “individual enterprise” to being understood as that which is “enabled and constrained by cultural discourses and material forces” that compel it into material circulation (156).Here, I am not aiming to foreclose debates about the role of infants (or children more broadly) living with and in digital cultures. Neither do I aim to cast judgement upon on those image practices which enfold child subjects within them. I rather aim to circumvent those important debates to find – following Berger – a trace of how the image cultures that co-constitute digital infancies operate to formulate as well as depict a new field of vision that is predicated upon a seemingly impossible but nonetheless compelling logic of the contradictory impulses of the viral child. That is, it challenges us to think more carefully about what we think we know about children as well as about how we come to know them.ReferencesAbidin, Crystal. “#familygoals: Family Influencers, Calibrated Amateurism, and Justifying Young Digital Labor.” Social Media + Society (Apr.-June 2017): 1–15.Aries, Philippe. Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life. Trans. Robert Baldick. 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London: Penguin Books, 1972.Bhabha, Jacqueline. “The Child: What Sort of Human?” PMLA 121.5 (2006): 1526–1535.Cartwright, Lisa. “Photographs of Waiting Children: The Transnational Adoption Market.” Social Text 74 21.1 (2003): 83–109.Campbell, Nakeisha. “12 of the Cutest Baby Selfies You Will Ever See.” Woman’s World, 22 June 2016. <http://www.womansworld.com/posts/funny-baby-selfies-106002/photos/cute-baby-selfie-4-167875>.Cox, Lauren. “‘Baby Selfie’ Phone App – Should Babies Really Be Taking Selfies?” Hollywoodlife.com, 28 Feb. 2014. <http://hollywoodlife.com/2014/02/28/baby-selfie-smartphone-app-babies-take-selfies/>.Dean, Jodi. Blog Theory: Feedback and Capture in the Circuits of Drive. Oxford: John Wiley & Sons, 2010.Edelman, Lee. No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. Durham: Duke UP, 2004.Ellentv.com. “Baby Selfies.” <http://www.ellentv.com/photos/baby-selfies/>.French, Liam. “Researching Social Media and Visual Culture.” Social Media in Social Research: Blogs on Blurring the Boundaries. Ed. Kandy Woodfield. London: Sage, 2014. Frosh, Paul. “The Gestural Image: The Selfie, Photography Theory, and Kinesthetic Sociability.” International Journal of Communication 9 (2015): 1607–1628.Hesford, Wendy S. Spectacular Rhetorics: Human Rights Visions, Recognitions, Feminisms. Durham: Duke UP, 2011.Holiday, Steven, et al. “The Selfie Study: Archetypes and Motivations in Modern Self-Photography.” Visual Communication Quarterly 23.3 (2016): 175–187Jenkins, Henry, et al. Spreadable Media: Creating Value and Meaning in a Networked World. New York: NYUP, 2013.Lever, Tama. “Intimate Surveillance: Normalizing Parental Monitoring and Mediation of Infants Online.” Social Media + Society (Apr.-June 2017): 1–10.Lupton, Deborah. “Precious, Pure, Uncivilised, Vulnerable: Infant Embodiment in Australian Popular Media.” Children & Society 28.5 (2014): 341–351.Murray, Derek Conrad. “Notes to Self: The Visual Culture of Selfies in the Age of Social Media.” Consumption Markets & Culture 18.6 (2015): 490–516Nansen, Bjorn. “Accidental, Assisted, Automated: An Emerging Repertoire of Infant Mobile Media Techniques.” M/C Journal 18.5 (2015). <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1026>.Nye, James. “Did a Mother Really Just Name Her Child Hashtag?” Daily Mail Australia, 28 Nov. 2012. <http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2239599/Did-mother-really-just-child-Hashtag-Photo-baby-Twitter-inspired-sweeps-Internet.html>.Pelligrini, Ann. “What Do Children Learn at School?” Social Text 97 26.4 (2008): 97–105.Peppers, Margot. “Social Media for BABIES? The Dangling Mobile That Lets Newborns Post Selfies and Videos Online from the Crib.” Daily Mail Australia, 25 Oct. 2014. <http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2806761/Social-media-BABIES-dangling-mobile-lets-newborns-post-selfies-videos-online-crib.html>.Prout, Alan. “Taking a Step Away from Modernity: Reconsidering the New Sociology of Childhood.” Global Studies of Childhood 1.1 (2011): 4–14.Rushkoff, Douglas. Media Virus! New York: Ballantine Books, 1996.Senft, Theresa M., and Nancy K. Baym. “What Does the Selfie Say? Investigating a Global Phenomenon.” International Journal of Communication 9 (2015): 1588–1606.Walsh, Michael James, and Stephanie Alice Baker. ‘The Selfie and the Transformation of the Public–Private Distinction.” Information, Communication & Society 20.8 (2017): 1185–1203.Zelizer, Viviana. Pricing the Priceless Child: The Changing Social Value of Children. New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1994.

Introduction: Technology EnthusiasmEnthusiasts are people who have a passion, keenness, dedication or zeal for a particular activity or hobby. Today, there are enthusiasts for almost everything, from genealogy, costume dramas, and country houses, to metal detectors, coin collecting, and archaeology. But to be described as an enthusiast is not necessarily a compliment. Historically, the term “enthusiasm” was first used in England in the early seventeenth century to describe “religious or prophetic frenzy among the ancient Greeks” (Hanks, n.p.). This frenzy was ascribed to being possessed by spirits sent not only by God but also the devil. During this period, those who disobeyed the powers that be or claimed to have a message from God were considered to be enthusiasts (McLoughlin).Enthusiasm retained its religious connotations throughout the eighteenth century and was also used at this time to describe “the tendency within the population to be swept by crazes” (Mee 31). However, as part of the “rehabilitation of enthusiasm,” the emerging middle-classes adopted the word to characterise the intensity of Romantic poetry. The language of enthusiasm was then used to describe the “literary ideas of affect” and “a private feeling of religious warmth” (Mee 2 and 34). While the notion of enthusiasm was embraced here in a more optimistic sense, attempts to disassociate enthusiasm from crowd-inciting fanaticism were largely unsuccessful. As such enthusiasm has never quite managed to shake off its pejorative connotations.The 'enthusiasm' discussed in this paper is essentially a personal passion for technology. It forms part of a longer tradition of historical preservation in the United Kingdom and elsewhere in the world. From preserved railways to Victorian pumping stations, people have long been fascinated by the history of technology and engineering; manifesting their enthusiasm through their nostalgic longings and emotional attachment to its enduring material culture. Moreover, enthusiasts have been central to the collection, conservation, and preservation of this particular material record. Technology enthusiasm in this instance is about having a passion for the history and material record of technological development, specifically here industrial archaeology. Despite being a pastime much participated in, technology enthusiasm is relatively under-explored within the academic literature. For the most part, scholarship has tended to focus on the intended users, formal spaces, and official narratives of science and technology (Adas, Latour, Mellström, Oldenziel). In recent years attempts have been made to remedy this imbalance, with researchers from across the social sciences examining the position of hobbyists, tinkerers and amateurs in scientific and technical culture (Ellis and Waterton, Haring, Saarikoski, Takahashi). Work from historians of technology has focussed on the computer enthusiast; for example, Saarikoski’s work on the Finnish personal computer hobby:The definition of the computer enthusiast varies historically. Personal interest, pleasure and entertainment are the most significant factors defining computing as a hobby. Despite this, the hobby may also lead to acquiring useful knowledge, skills or experience of information technology. Most often the activity takes place outside working hours but can still have links to the development of professional expertise or the pursuit of studies. In many cases it takes place in the home environment. On the other hand, it is characteristically social, and the importance of friends, clubs and other communities is greatly emphasised.In common with a number of other studies relating to technical hobbies, for example Takahashi who argues tinkerers were behind the advent of the radio and television receiver, Saarikoski’s work focuses on the role these users played in shaping the technology in question. The enthusiasts encountered in this paper are important here not for their role in shaping the technology, but keeping technological heritage alive. As historian of technology Haring reminds us, “there exist alternative ways of using and relating to technology” (18). Furthermore, the sociological literature on audiences (Abercrombie and Longhurst, Ang), fans (Hills, Jenkins, Lewis, Sandvoss) and subcultures (Hall, Hebdige, Schouten and McAlexander) has also been extended in order to account for the enthusiast. In Abercrombie and Longhurst’s Audiences, the authors locate ‘the enthusiast’ and ‘the fan’ at opposing ends of a continuum of consumption defined by questions of specialisation of interest, social organisation of interest and material productivity. Fans are described as:skilled or competent in different modes of production and consumption; active in their interactions with texts and in their production of new texts; and communal in that they construct different communities based on their links to the programmes they like. (127 emphasis in original) Based on this definition, Abercrombie and Longhurst argue that fans and enthusiasts differ in three ways: (1) enthusiasts’ activities are not based around media images and stars in the way that fans’ activities are; (2) enthusiasts can be hypothesized to be relatively light media users, particularly perhaps broadcast media, though they may be heavy users of the specialist publications which are directed towards the enthusiasm itself; (3) the enthusiasm would appear to be rather more organised than the fan activity. (132) What is striking about this attempt to differentiate between the fan and the enthusiast is that it is based on supposition rather than the actual experience and observation of enthusiasm. It is here that the ethnographic account of enthusiasm presented in this paper and elsewhere, for example works by Dannefer on vintage car culture, Moorhouse on American hot-rodding and Fuller on modified-car culture in Australia, can shed light on the subject. My own ethnographic study of groups with a passion for telecommunications heritage, early British computers and industrial archaeology takes the discussion of “technology enthusiasm” further still. Through in-depth interviews, observation and textual analysis, I have examined in detail the formation of enthusiast societies and their membership, the importance of the material record to enthusiasts (particularly at home) and the enthusiastic practices of collecting and hoarding, as well as the figure of the technology enthusiast in the public space of the museum, namely the Science Museum in London (Geoghegan). In this paper, I explore the culture of enthusiasm for the industrial past through the example of the Greater London Industrial Archaeology Society (GLIAS). Focusing on industrial sites around London, GLIAS meet five or six times a year for field visits, walks and a treasure hunt. The committee maintain a website and produce a quarterly newsletter. The title of my paper, “If you can walk down the street and recognise the difference between cast iron and wrought iron, the world is altogether a better place,” comes from an interview I conducted with the co-founder and present chairman of GLIAS. He was telling me about his fascination with the materials of industrialisation. In fact, he said even concrete is sexy. Some call it a hobby; others call it a disease. But enthusiasm for industrial archaeology is, as several respondents have themselves identified, “as insidious in its side effects as any debilitating germ. It dictates your lifestyle, organises your activity and decides who your friends are” (Frow and Frow 177, Gillespie et al.). Through the figure of the industrial archaeology enthusiast, I discuss in this paper what it means to be enthusiastic. I begin by reflecting on the development of this specialist subject area. I go on to detail the formation of the Society in the late 1960s, before exploring the Society’s fieldwork methods and some of the other activities they now engage in. I raise questions of enthusiast and professional knowledge and practice, as well as consider the future of this particular enthusiasm.Defining Industrial ArchaeologyThe practice of 'industrial archaeology' is much contested. For a long time, enthusiasts and professional archaeologists have debated the meaning and use of the term (Palmer). On the one hand, there are those interested in the history, preservation, and recording of industrial sites. For example the grandfather figures of the subject, namely Kenneth Hudson and Angus Buchanan, who both published widely in the 1960s and 1970s in order to encourage publics to get involved in recording. Many members of GLIAS refer to the books of Hudson Industrial Archaeology: an Introduction and Buchanan Industrial Archaeology in Britain with their fine descriptions and photographs as integral to their early interest in the subject. On the other hand, there are those within the academic discipline of archaeology who consider the study of remains produced by the Industrial Revolution as too modern. Moreover, they find the activities of those calling themselves industrial archaeologists as lacking sufficient attention to the understanding of past human activity to justify the name. As a result, the definition of 'industrial archaeology' is problematic for both enthusiasts and professionals. Even the early advocates of professional industrial archaeology felt uneasy about the subject’s methods and practices. In 1973, Philip Riden (described by one GLIAS member as the angry young man of industrial archaeology), the then president of the Oxford University Archaeology Society, wrote a damning article in Antiquity, calling for the subject to “shed the amateur train drivers and others who are not part of archaeology” (215-216). He decried the “appallingly low standard of some of the work done under the name of ‘industrial archaeology’” (211). He felt that if enthusiasts did not attempt to maintain high technical standards, publish their work in journals or back up their fieldwork with documentary investigation or join their county archaeological societies then there was no value in the efforts of these amateurs. During this period, enthusiasts, academics, and professionals were divided. What was wrong with doing something for the pleasure it provides the participant?Although relations today between the so-called amateur (enthusiast) and professional archaeologies are less potent, some prejudice remains. Describing them as “barrow boys”, some enthusiasts suggest that what was once their much-loved pastime has been “hijacked” by professional archaeologists who, according to one respondent,are desperate to find subjects to get degrees in. So the whole thing has been hijacked by academia as it were. Traditional professional archaeologists in London at least are running head on into things that we have been doing for decades and they still don’t appreciate that this is what we do. A lot of assessments are handed out to professional archaeology teams who don’t necessarily have any knowledge of industrial archaeology. (James, GLIAS committee member)James went on to reveal that GLIAS receives numerous enquiries from professional archaeologists, developers and town planners asking what they know about particular sites across the city. Although the Society has compiled a detailed database covering some areas of London, it is by no means comprehensive. In addition, many active members often record and monitor sites in London for their own personal enjoyment. This leaves many questioning the need to publish their results for the gain of third parties. Canadian sociologist Stebbins discusses this situation in his research on “serious leisure”. He has worked extensively with amateur archaeologists in order to understand their approach to their leisure activity. He argues that amateurs are “neither dabblers who approach the activity with little commitment or seriousness, nor professionals who make a living from that activity” (55). Rather they pursue their chosen leisure activity to professional standards. A point echoed by Fine in his study of the cultures of mushrooming. But this is to get ahead of myself. How did GLIAS begin?GLIAS: The GroupThe 1960s have been described by respondents as a frantic period of “running around like headless chickens.” Enthusiasts of London’s industrial archaeology were witnessing incredible changes to the city’s industrial landscape. Individuals and groups like the Thames Basin Archaeology Observers Group were recording what they could. Dashing around London taking photos to capture London’s industrial legacy before it was lost forever. However the final straw for many, in London at least, was the proposed and subsequent demolition of the “Euston Arch”. The Doric portico at Euston Station was completed in 1838 and stood as a symbol to the glory of railway travel. Despite strong protests from amenity societies, this Victorian symbol of progress was finally pulled down by British Railways in 1962 in order to make way for what enthusiasts have called a “monstrous concrete box”.In response to these changes, GLIAS was founded in 1968 by two engineers and a locomotive driver over afternoon tea in a suburban living room in Woodford, North-East London. They held their first meeting one Sunday afternoon in December at the Science Museum in London and attracted over 130 people. Firing the imagination of potential members with an exhibition of photographs of the industrial landscape taken by Eric de Maré, GLIAS’s first meeting was a success. Bringing together like-minded people who are motivated and enthusiastic about the subject, GLIAS currently has over 600 members in the London area and beyond. This makes it the largest industrial archaeology society in the UK and perhaps Europe. Drawing some of its membership from a series of evening classes hosted by various members of the Society’s committee, GLIAS initially had a quasi-academic approach. Although some preferred the hands-on practical element and were more, as has been described by one respondent, “your free-range enthusiast”. The society has an active committee, produces a newsletter and journal, as well as runs regular events for members. However the Society is not simply about the study of London’s industrial heritage, over time the interest in industrial archaeology has developed for some members into long-term friendships. Sociability is central to organised leisure activities. It underpins and supports the performance of enthusiasm in groups and societies. For Fine, sociability does not always equal friendship, but it is the state from which people might become friends. Some GLIAS members have taken this one step further: there have even been a couple of marriages. Although not the subject of my paper, technical culture is heavily gendered. Industrial archaeology is a rare exception attracting a mixture of male and female participants, usually retired husband and wife teams.Doing Industrial Archaeology: GLIAS’s Method and PracticeIn what has been described as GLIAS’s heyday, namely the 1970s to early 1980s, fieldwork was fundamental to the Society’s activities. The Society’s approach to fieldwork during this period was much the same as the one described by champion of industrial archaeology Arthur Raistrick in 1973:photographing, measuring, describing, and so far as possible documenting buildings, engines, machinery, lines of communication, still or recently in use, providing a satisfactory record for the future before the object may become obsolete or be demolished. (13)In the early years of GLIAS and thanks to the committed efforts of two active Society members, recording parties were organised for extended lunch hours and weekends. The majority of this early fieldwork took place at the St Katherine Docks. The Docks were constructed in the 1820s by Thomas Telford. They became home to the world’s greatest concentration of portable wealth. Here GLIAS members learnt and employed practical (also professional) skills, such as measuring, triangulations and use of a “dumpy level”. For many members this was an incredibly exciting time. It was a chance to gain hands-on experience of industrial archaeology. Having been left derelict for many years, the Docks have since been redeveloped as part of the Docklands regeneration project.At this time the Society was also compiling data for what has become known to members as “The GLIAS Book”. The book was to have separate chapters on the various industrial histories of London with contributions from Society members about specific sites. Sadly the book’s editor died and the project lost impetus. Several years ago, the committee managed to digitise the data collected for the book and began to compile a database. However, the GLIAS database has been beset by problems. Firstly, there are often questions of consistency and coherence. There is a standard datasheet for recording industrial buildings – the Index Record for Industrial Sites. However, the quality of each record is different because of the experience level of the different authors. Some authors are automatically identified as good or expert record keepers. Secondly, getting access to the database in order to upload the information has proved difficult. As one of the respondents put it: “like all computer babies [the creator of the database], is finding it hard to give birth” (Sally, GLIAS member). As we have learnt enthusiasm is integral to movements such as industrial archaeology – public historian Raphael Samuel described them as the “invisible hands” of historical enquiry. Yet, it is this very enthusiasm that has the potential to jeopardise projects such as the GLIAS book. Although active in their recording practices, the GLIAS book saga reflects one of the challenges encountered by enthusiast groups and societies. In common with other researchers studying amenity societies, such as Ellis and Waterton’s work with amateur naturalists, unlike the world of work where people are paid to complete a task and are therefore meant to have a singular sense of purpose, the activities of an enthusiast group like GLIAS rely on the goodwill of their members to volunteer their time, energy and expertise. When this is lost for whatever reason, there is no requirement for any other member to take up that position. As such, levels of commitment vary between enthusiasts and can lead to the aforementioned difficulties, such as disputes between group members, the occasional miscommunication of ideas and an over-enthusiasm for some parts of the task in hand. On top of this, GLIAS and societies like it are confronted with changing health and safety policies and tightened security surrounding industrial sites. This has made the practical side of industrial archaeology increasingly difficult. As GLIAS member Bob explains:For me to go on site now I have to wear site boots and borrow a hard hat and a high visibility jacket. Now we used to do incredibly dangerous things in the seventies and nobody batted an eyelid. You know we were exploring derelict buildings, which you are virtually not allowed in now because the floor might give way. Again the world has changed a lot there. GLIAS: TodayGLIAS members continue to record sites across London. Some members are currently surveying the site chosen as the location of the Olympic Games in London in 2012 – the Lower Lea Valley. They describe their activities at this site as “rescue archaeology”. GLIAS members are working against the clock and some important structures have already been demolished. They only have time to complete a quick flash survey. Armed with the information they collated in previous years, GLIAS is currently in discussions with the developer to orchestrate a detailed recording of the site. It is important to note here that GLIAS members are less interested in campaigning for the preservation of a site or building, they appreciate that sites must change. Instead they want to ensure that large swathes of industrial London are not lost without a trace. Some members regard this as their public duty.Restricted by health and safety mandates and access disputes, GLIAS has had to adapt. The majority of practical recording sessions have given way to guided walks in the summer and public lectures in the winter. Some respondents have identified a difference between those members who call themselves “industrial archaeologists” and those who are just “ordinary members” of GLIAS. The walks are for those with a general interest, not serious members, and the talks are public lectures. Some audience researchers have used Bourdieu’s metaphor of “capital” to describe the experience, knowledge and skill required to be a fan, clubber or enthusiast. For Hills, fan status is built up through the demonstration of cultural capital: “where fans share a common interest while also competing over fan knowledge, access to the object of fandom, and status” (46). A clear membership hierarchy can be seen within GLIAS based on levels of experience, knowledge and practical skill.With a membership of over 600 and rising annually, the Society’s future is secure at present. However some of the more serious members, although retaining their membership, are pursuing their enthusiasm elsewhere: through break-away recording groups in London; active membership of other groups and societies, for example the national Association for Industrial Archaeology; as well as heading off to North Wales in the summer for practical, hands-on industrial archaeology in Snowdonia’s slate quarries – described in the Ffestiniog Railway Journal as the “annual convention of slate nutters.” ConclusionsGLIAS has changed since its foundation in the late 1960s. Its operation has been complicated by questions of health and safety, site access, an ageing membership, and the constant changes to London’s industrial archaeology. Previously rejected by professional industrial archaeology as “limited in skill and resources” (Riden), enthusiasts are now approached by professional archaeologists, developers, planners and even museums that are interested in engaging in knowledge exchange programmes. As a recent report from the British think-tank Demos has argued, enthusiasts or pro-ams – “amateurs who work to professional standards” (Leadbeater and Miller 12) – are integral to future innovation and creativity; for example computer pro-ams developed an operating system to rival Microsoft Windows. As such the specialist knowledge, skill and practice of these communities is of increasing interest to policymakers, practitioners, and business. So, the subject once described as “the ugly offspring of two parents that shouldn’t have been allowed to breed” (Hudson), the so-called “amateur” industrial archaeology offers enthusiasts and professionals alike alternative ways of knowing, seeing and being in the recent and contemporary past.Through the case study of GLIAS, I have described what it means to be enthusiastic about industrial archaeology. I have introduced a culture of collective and individual participation and friendship based on a mutual interest in and emotional attachment to industrial sites. As we have learnt in this paper, enthusiasm is about fun, pleasure and joy. The enthusiastic culture presented here advances themes such as passion in relation to less obvious communities of knowing, skilled practices, material artefacts and spaces of knowledge. Moreover, this paper has been about the affective narratives that are sometimes missing from academic accounts; overlooked for fear of sniggers at the back of a conference hall. Laughter and humour are a large part of what enthusiasm is. Enthusiastic cultures then are about the pleasure and joy experienced in doing things. Enthusiasm is clearly a potent force for active participation. I will leave the last word to GLIAS member John:One meaning of enthusiasm is as a form of possession, madness. Obsession perhaps rather than possession, which I think is entirely true. It is a pejorative term probably. The railway enthusiast. But an awful lot of energy goes into what they do and achieve. Enthusiasm to my mind is an essential ingredient. If you are not a person who can muster enthusiasm, it is very difficult, I think, to get anything out of it. On the basis of the more you put in the more you get out. 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Fig. 1: "Xiao Ming (little Ming) and xiao meng (little sprout/cutie)", satirical take on a popular Chinese textbook character. Shared online Introduction: Cuteness, Online Vernaculars, and Digital FolkloreThis short essay presents some preliminary materials for a discussion of the social circulation of contemporary Chinese vernacular terms among digital media users. In particular, I present the word meng (萌, literally "sprout", recently adopted as a slang term for "cute") as a case in point for a contextual analysis of elements of digital folklore in their transcultural flows, local appropriations, and social practices of signification. One among many other neologisms that enter Mandarin Chinese from seemingly nowhere and gain a widespread popularity in everyday online and offline linguistic practices, meng belongs to a specific genealogy of Japanese animation fansubbing communities, and owes its rapid popularisation to its adaptation to local contexts in different syntactic forms. The resulting inclusion of meng in the changing repertoire of wangluo liuxing ciyu ("words popular on the Internet")—the online vernacular common among Chinese Internet users which is often the target of semantic or structural analyses—is in fact just the last step of processes of networked production and social signification happening across digital media and online platforms.As an anthropologist of media use, I aim to advance the thesis that, in the context of widespread access to digital media, vernacular terms popularised across online platforms and making their way into everyday linguistic interactions are not necessarily the epiphenomena of subcultural formations, nor can they be simply seen as imported aesthetics, or understood through semantic analyses. Rather, “words popular on the Internet” must be understood as part of a local digital folklore, the open repertoire of vernacular content resulting from the daily interaction of users and digital technologies (Lialina & Espenschied 9) in a complex and situated media ecology (Fuller). I argue that the difference between these two approaches is the same passing between a classical structural understanding of signification proposed by Lévi-Strauss and the counter-Copernican revolution proposed by Latour’s quasi-objects proliferating in collectives of actors. Are incredibly pervasive terms like meng actually devoid of meaning, floating signifiers enabling the very possibility of signification? Or are they rather more useful when understood as both signifiers and signifieds, quasi-objects tracing networks and leading to collectives of other hybrids and practices?The materials and observations presented in this essay are part of the data collected for my PhD research on Chinese digital folklore, a study grounded on both ethnographic and archaeological methods. The ethnographic part of my project consists of in-depth interviews, small talk and participant observation of users on several Chinese online platforms such as AcFun, Baidu Tieba, Douban, Sina Weibo and WeChat (Hine). The archaeological part, on the other hand, focuses on the sampling of user-generated content from individual feeds and histories of these online platforms, an approach closer to the user-focused Internet archaeology of Nicholson than to the media archaeology of Parikka. My choice of discussing the term meng as an example is motivated by its pervasiveness in everyday interactions in China, and is supported by my informants identifying it as one of the most popular vernacular terms originating in online interaction. Moreover, as a rather new term jostling its way through the crowded semantic spectrum of cuteness, meng is a good example of the minor aesthetic concepts identified by Ngai as pivotal for judgments of taste in contemporary consumer societies (812). If, as in the words of one of my informants, meng "just means 'cute'," why did it end up on Coca-Cola bottle labels which were then featured in humorous self-portraits with perplexed cats? Fig. 2: "Meng zhu" (Cute leader, play on word on homophone “alliance leader”) special edition Coca-Cola bottle with cat, uploaded on Douban image gallery. Screenshot by the author Cuteness after JapanContemporary Japan is often portrayed as the land of cuteness. Academic explanations of the Japanese fascination with the cute, neotenic and miniaturised abound, tackling the topic from the origins of cute aesthetics in Japanese folkloric characters (Occhi) and their reappearance in commercial phenomena such as Pokémon (Allison), to the role of cuteness as gender performance and normativity (Burdelski & Mitsuhashi) and the "spectacle of kawaii" (Yano 681) as a trans-national strategy of cultural soft power (683). Although the export and localisation of Japanese cultural products across and beyond Asia has been widely documented (Iwabuchi), the discussion has often remained at the level of specific products (comics, TV series, games). Less frequently explored are the repertoires of recontextualised samples, snippets and terms that local audiences piece together after the localisation and consumption of these transnational cultural products. In light of this, is it the case that "the very aesthetic and sensibility that seems to dwell in the playful, the girlish, the infantilized, and the inevitably sexualized" are inevitably adopted after the "widespread distribution and consumption of Japanese cute goods and aesthetics to other parts of the industrial world" (Yano 683)? Or is it rather the case that language precedes aesthetics, and that terms end up reconfigured according to the local discursive contexts in ongoing dialogic and situated negotiations? In other words, what happens when the Japanese word moe (萌え), a slang term "originally referring to the fictional desire for characters of comics, anime, and games or for pop idols” (Azuma 48) is read in its Mandarin Chinese pronunciation meng by amateur translators of anime and manga, picked up by audiences of video streaming websites, and popularised on discussion boards and other online platforms? On a broader level, this is a question of how the vocabularies of specialised fan cultures mutate when they move across language barriers on the vectors of digital media and amateur translations. While in Japanese otaku culture moe indicates a very specific, physically arousing form of aesthetic appreciation that is proper to a devote fan (Azuma 57), the appropriation of the (originally Chinese) logograph by the audiences of dongman (animation and comics) products in Mainland China results in the general propagation of meng as a way of saying 'cute' slightly more fashionable and hip than the regular Mandarin word ke'ai. Does this impact on the semantics or the aesthetics of cuteness in China? These questions have not been ignored by researchers; Chinese academics in particular, who have a first-hand experience of the unpredictable moods of vernacular terms circulating from digital media user cultures to everyday life interactions, appear concerned with finding linguistic explanations or establishing predictors for these rogue terms that seem to ignore lexical rules and traditional etymologies. Liu, for example, tries to explain the popularity of this particular term through Dawkins' neo-Darwinian theorisation of memes as units of cultural transmission, identifying in meng the evolutionary advantages of shortness and memorisability. As simplistic treatments of language, this sort of explanations does not account for the persistence of various other ways of describing general and specific kinds of cuteness in Mandarin Chinese, such as ke'ai, dia or sajiao, as described by Zhang & Kramarae (767). On the other hand, most of the Chinese language research about meng at least acknowledges how the word appears under the sign of a specific media ecology: Japanese comics and animation (dongman) translated and shared online by fan communities, Japanese videogames and movies widely consumed by Chinese young audiences, and the popularisation of Internet access and media literacy across China. It is in this context that this and other neologisms "continuously end up in the latest years' charts of most popular words" (Bai 28, translation by the author), as vernacular Mandarin integrates words from digital media user cultures and online platforms. Similar comparative analyses also recognise that "words move faster than culture" (Huang 15, translation by the author), and that it is now young Chinese digital media users who negotiate their understanding of meng, regardless of the implications of the Japanese moe culture and its aesthetic canons (16). According to Huang, this process indicates on the one hand the openness and curiosity of Chinese youth for Japanese culture, and on the other "the 'borrowist' tendency of the language of Internet culture" (18). It is precisely the speed and the carefree ‘borrowist’ attitude with which these terms are adopted, negotiated and transformed across online platforms which makes it questionable to inscribe them in the classic relationship of generational resistance such as the one that Moore proposes in his treatment of ku, the Chinese word for 'cool' described as the "verbal icon of a youth rebellion that promises to transform some of the older generation's most enduring cultural values" (357). As argued in the following section, meng is definitely not the evolutionary winner in a neo-Darwinian lexical competition between Chinese words, nor occupies a clear role in the semantics of cuteness, nor is it simply deployed as an iconic and rebellious signifier against the cultural values of a previous generation. Rather, after reaching Chinese digital media audiences along the "global wink of pink globalization" (Yano 684) of Japanese animation, comics, movies and videogames, this specific subcultural term diffracts along the vectors of the local media ecology. Specialised communities of translators, larger audiences of Japanese animation streaming websites, larger populations of digital media users and ultimately the public at large all negotiate meng’s meaning and usage in their everyday interactions, while the term quickly becomes just another "word popular on the Internet” listed in end-of-the-year charts, ready to be appropriated by marketing as a local wink to Chinese youth culture. Fig. 3: Baidu image search for 萌 (meng), as of 28 February 2014: the term ‘cute’ elicits neotenic puppies, babies, young girls, teen models, and eroticised Japanese comic characters. Screenshot by the author Everything Meng: Localising and Appropriating CutenessIn the few years since it entered the Chinese vernacular, first as a specialised term adopted by dongman fans and then as a general exclamation for "cute!", meng has been repurposed and adapted to local usages in many different ways, starting from its syntactic function: while in Japanese moe is usually a verb (the action of arousing feelings of passion in the cultivated fan), meng is more frequently used in Chinese as an adjective (cute) and has been quickly compounded in new expressions such as maimeng (literally "to sell cuteness", to act cute), mengwu (cute thing), mengdian (cute selling point), widening the possibilities for its actual usage beyond the specific aesthetic appreciation of female pre-teen anime characters that the word originally refers to. This generalisation of a culturally specific term to the general domain of aesthetic judgments follows local linguistic patterns: for example maimeng (to act cute) is clearly modelled on pre-existing expressions like zhuang ke'ai (acting cute) or sajiao (acting like a spoiled child) which, as Zhang & Kramarae (762) show, are common Mandarin Chinese terms to describe infantilised gender performativity. This connection between being meng and setting up a performance is confirmed by the commentative practices and negotiations around the cuteness of things: as one of my informants quipped regarding a recently popular Internet celebrity: "Some people think that he is meng. But I don't think he's meng, I think he's just posing." Hence, while Japanese moe characters belong to a specific aesthetic canon in the realm of 2D animation, the cuteness that meng indicates in Chinese refers to a much broader scope of content and interactions, in which the semantic distinctions from other descriptors of cuteness are quite blurred, and negotiated in individual use. As another informant put it, commenting on the new WeChat avatar of one of her contacts: "so meng! This is not just ke'ai, this is more ke'ai than ke'ai, it's meng!" Other informants explained meng variably as a more or less performed and faked cuteness, as regular non-specified cuteness, as a higher degree or as a different form of it, evidencing how the term is deployed in both online and offline everyday life interactions according to imitation, personal invention, context and situation, dialogic negotiations, shared literacies, and involvements in specific communities. Moreover, besides using it without the sexual overtones of its Japanese counterpart, my research participants were generally not aware of the process of cross-linguistic borrowing and specialised aesthetic meaning of meng—for most of them, it just meant 'cute', although it did so in very personal ways. These observations do not exclude, however, that meng maintains its linkages to Japanese cultural products and otaku fandom: on the same online platforms where meng was originally borrowed from the lines of fansubbed Japanese anime series, its definition continues to be discussed and compared to its original meaning. The extremely detailed entries on Mengniang Baike (MoeGirl Wiki, http://zh.moegirl.org) testify a devoted effort in collecting and rationalising the Japanese moe aesthetics for an audience of specialised Chinese zhainan (literally 'shut-in guy", the Chinese word for otaku), while Weimeng (Micro-Moe, http://www.weimoe.com) provides a microblogging platform specifically dedicated to sharing dongman content and discuss all things meng. The recent popularity of the word is not lost on the users of these more specialised online platforms, who often voice their discontent with the casual and naive appropriations of uncultured outsiders. A simple search query of the discussion board archives of AcFun, a popular zhainan culture video streaming website, reveals the taste politics at play around these vernacular terms. Here are some complaints, voiced directly by anonymous users of the board, regarding meng: "Now I really detest this meng word, day and night everywhere is meng meng meng and maimeng but do you really understand what do these words mean?" "Don't tell me, alternative people think that watching anime is fashionable; they watch it, learn some new word and use it everywhere. Last time I was playing videogames I heard a girl saying Girl: 'Do you know what does meng mean?' Guy: 'I don't know' Girl: 'You don't even know this! Meng means beautiful, lovely' Fuck your mom's cunt hearing this I wanted to punch through the screen" "Anyway these 'popular words' are all leftovers from our playing around, then a bunch of boons start using them and feel pleased of 'having caught up with fashion', hehe" Fig. 4: "Don't tell me, alternative people think that watching anime is fashionable…", anonymous post commenting on the use of meng on the AcFun message board. Screenshot by the authorConclusion: Do Signifiers Float in Media Ecologies? The choice of examining the networks traced by a slang term signifying cuteness was determined by the conviction that the "minor aesthetics" described by Ngai (812) play an important role in the social construction of taste and judgment in contemporary consumer societies. This is especially significant when discussing digital folklore as the content produced by the everyday interactions of users and digital media: cuteness and the negotiations around its deployment are in fact important features of the repertoires of user-generated content shared and consumed on online platforms. In the case of this essay, the strange collective included green sprouts, textbook illustrations, cats, Japanese anime characters, selfies, and Coke bottle label designs. Summing up the overview of the word meng presented above, and attempting a critical response to Ngai's linkage of the minor aesthetics of cuteness to national contexts which make them "ideologically meaningful" (819), I suggest the recuperation of Lévi-Strauss’ concept of floating signifier as developed in his analysis of Melanesians’ fuzzy notion of mana. This theoretical choice comes almost naturally when dealing with pervasive terms: as Holbraad explains, “part of the original attraction of mana-terms to anthropologists was their peculiarly double universality – their semantic breadth (‘mana is everywhere’, said the native) coupled with their geographical diffusion (‘mana-terms are everywhere’, replied the anthropologist)” (189). Meng seems to be everywhere in China as both a term (in everyday, online and offline interactions) and as cuteness (in popular culture and media), thus making it an apparently perfect candidate for the role of floating signifier. Lévi-Strauss deployed Mauss’ concept as a reinforcement of his structuralist conception of meaning against a surfeit of signifiers (Holbraad 196-197), "a symbol in its pure state, therefore liable to take on any symbolic content whatever [...] a zero symbolic value […] a sign marking the necessity of a supplementary symbolic content over and above that which the signified already contains" (Lévi-Strauss 63-64). Moore’s framing of the Chinese ku and the American cool as “basic slang terms” (360) follows the same structuralist logic: extremely pervasive terms lose in meaning and specificity what they gain in supplementary symbolic content (in his case, generational distinction). Yet, as shown through the examples presented in the essay, meng does in no case reach a zero symbolic value—rather, it is “signifier and signified (and more)” (Holbraad 197), meaning different kinds of cuteness and aesthetic judgement across more or less specialised usages, situated contexts, individual understandings and dialogic negotiations. This oversimplified rebuttal to Lévi-Strauss' concept is my attempt to counter several arguments that I believe to be grounded in the structuralist theorisation of series of signifiers and signified: the linkage between aesthetic categories and national contexts (Ngai); the correlation between language and cultural practices or aesthetics (Yano); the semantic analyses of slang terms (Moore, Bai); the memetic explanations of digital folklore (Liu). As briefly illustrated, meng’s popularity does not necessarily convey a specific Japanese aesthetic culture, nor does its adaptation mirror a peculiarly Chinese one; the term does not necessarily define a different form of cuteness, nor does it confront generational values. It could be more useful to conceptualise meng, and other elements of digital folklore, as what Latour calls quasi-objects, strange hybrids existing in different versions and variations across different domains. Understood in this way, meng traces a network leading to: the specialised knowledge of fansubbing communities, the large audiences of video streaming websites, the echo chambers of social networking platforms and participatory media, and the ebbs and flows of popular culture consumption. To conclude, I agree with Yano that "it remains useful for Asia analysts to observe these ebbs and flows as they intersect with political frameworks, economic trends, and cultural values" (687-88). Meng, as scores of other Chinese slang terms that crowd the yearly charts of ‘words popular on the Internet’ might not be here to stay. But digital folklore is, as long as there will be users interacting and negotiating the minor aesthetics of their everyday life on online platforms. The general theoretical aim of this brief discussion of one vernacular term is evidencing how the very idea of a "Internet culture", when understood through the concepts of media ecology, online vernaculars and quasi-objects becomes hard to grasp through simple surveying, encyclopaedic compilations, statistical analyses or linguistic mapping. Even in a brief contextualisation of one simple slang term, what is revealed is in fact a lively bundle of practices: the cross-linguistic borrowing of a specialised aesthetic, its definition on crowdsourced wikis and anonymous discussion boards, the dialogic negotiations regarding its actual usage in situated contexts of everyday life, and the sectorial dynamics of distinction and taste. Yet, meng just means 'cute'.ReferencesAllison, Anne. “Portable Monsters and Commodity Cuteness: Pokémon as Japan’s New Global Power.” Postcolonial Studies 6.3 (2003): 381–95. Azuma, Hiroki. Otaku: Japan's Database Animals. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 2009. Bai, Lin. “Qianxi Wangluo Liuxingyu - Meng [A Brief Analysis of a Popular Internet Term - Meng].” Wuyi Xueyuan Xuebao 31.3 (2012): 28–30. Burdelski, Matthew, and Koji Mitsuhashi. “‘She Thinks You’re Kawaii’: Socializing Affect, Gender, and Relationships in a Japanese Preschool.” Language in Society 39.1 (2010): 65–93. 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BASTARDYAll children born before matrimony, or so long after the death of the husband as to render it impossible that the child could be begotten by him, are bastards.– Cro. Jac. 451William Toone: The Magistrates Manual, 1817 (66)On 4 September 1832, the body of a newborn baby boy was found washed up on the shore at the port town of Fremantle, Western Australia. As the result of an inquest into the child’s suspicious death, a 20-year-old, unmarried woman named Mary Summerland was accused of concealing his birth. In October 2014, 25-year-old Irish backpacker Caroline Quinn faced court in Perth, Western Australia, over claims that she concealed the birth of her stillborn child after giving birth in the remote north west town of Halls Creek during May of the same year. Both women denied the existence of their children, both appear to have given birth to their “illegitimate” babies alone, and both women claimed that they did not know that they had ever been pregnant at all. In addition, both women hid the body of their dead child for several days while the people they lived with or were close to, did not appear to notice that the mother of the child had had a baby. In neither case did any person associated with either woman seek to look for the missing child after it had been born.Despite occurring 182 years apart, the striking similarities between these cases could lead to the assumption that it is almost as if there were a written script of behaviour that would explain the actions of both young women. Close examination of the laws surrounding child murder, infanticide and concealment of birth reveals evidence of similar behaviours being enacted by women as far back as the 1600s (and earlier), and all are shaped in response to the legal frameworks that prosecuted women who gave birth outside of marriage.This article traces the history of child murder law from its formation in England in the 1600s and explores how early moral assumptions concerning unmarried mothers echoed through the lived experiences of women who killed their illegitimate babies in colonial Western Australia, and continue to resonate in the treatment of, and legal response to, women accused of similar crimes in the present day. The Unlicensed ChildThe unlicensed child is a term coined by Swain and Howe to more accurately define the social matrix faced by single women and their children in Australia. The term seeks to emphasise the repressive and controlling religious, legal and social pressures that acted on Australian women who had children outside marriage until the mid-1970s (xxi, 1, 92, 94). For the purposes of this article, I extend Swain and Howe’s term the unlicensed child to coin the term the unlicensed mother. Following on from Swain and Howe’s definition, if the children of unmarried mothers did not have a license to be born, it is essential to acknowledge that their mothers did not have a license to give birth. Women who had children without social and legal sanction gave birth within a society that did not allocate them “permission” to be mothers, something that the corporeality of pregnancy made it impossible for them not to be. Their own bodies—and the bodies of the babies growing inside them—betrayed them. Unlicensed mothers were punished socially, religiously, legally and financially, and their children were considered sinful and inferior to children who had married parents simply because they had been born (Scheper-Hughes 410). This unspoken lack of authorisation to experience the unavoidably innate physicality of pregnancy, birth and motherhood, in turn implies that, until recently unmarried mothers did not have license to be mothers. Two MothersAll that remains of the “case” of Mary Summerland is a file archived at the State Records Office of Western Australia under the title CONS 3472, Item 10: Rex V Mary Summerland. Yet revealed within those sparse documents is a story echoed by the events surrounding Caroline Quinn nearly two hundred years later. In September 1832, Mary Summerland was an unmarried domestic servant living and working in Fremantle when the body of a baby was found lying on a beach very close to the settlement. Western Australia had only been colonized by the British in 1829. The discovery of the body of an infant in such a tiny village (colonial Fremantle had a population of only 436 women and girls out of 1341 non-Aboriginal emigrants) (Gardiner) set in motion an inquest that resulted in Mary Summerland being investigated over the suspicious death of the child.The records suggest that Mary may have given birth, apparently alone, over a week prior to the corpse of the baby being discovered, yet no one in Fremantle, including her employer and her family, appeared to have noticed that Mary might have been pregnant, or that she had given birth to a child. When Mary Summerland was eventually accused of giving birth to the baby, she strongly denied that she had ever been pregnant, and denied being the mother of the child. It is not known how her infant ended up being disposed of in the ocean. It is also not known if Mary was eventually charged with concealment or child murder, but in either scenario, the case against her was dismissed as “no true bill” when she faced her trial. The details publically available on the case of Caroline Quinn are also sparse. Even the sex of her child has not been revealed in any of the media coverage of the event. Yet examination of the limited details available on her charge of “concealment of birth” reveal similarities between her behaviours and those of Mary Summerland.In May 2014 Caroline Quinn had been “travelling with friends in the Kimberly region of Western Australia” (Lee), and, just as Mary did, Caroline claims she “did not realise that she was pregnant” when she went into labour (Independent.ie). She appears, like Mary Summerland, to have given birth alone, and also like Mary, when her child died due to unexplained circumstances she hid the corpse for several days. Also echoing Mary’s story, no person in the sparsely populated Hall’s Creek community (the town has a populace of 1,211) or any friends in Caroline’s circle of acquaintances appears to have noticed her pregnancy, nor did they realise that she had given birth to a baby until the body of the child was discovered hidden in a hotel room several days after her or his birth. The media records are unclear as to whether Caroline revealed her condition to her friends or whether they “discovered” the body without her assistance. The case was not brought to the attention of authorities until Caroline’s friends took her to receive medical attention at the local hospital and staff there notified the police.Media coverage of the death of Caroline Quinn’s baby suggests her child was stillborn or died soon after birth. As of 13 August 2014 Caroline was granted leave by the Chief Magistrate to return home to Ireland while she awaited her trial, as “without trivialising the matter, nothing more serious was alleged than the concealing of the birth” (Collins, "Irish Woman"). Caroline Quinn was not required to return to Australia to appear at her trial and when the case was presented at the Perth Magistrates Court on Thursday 2 October, all charges against her were dropped as the prosecutor felt “it was not in the public interest” to proceed with legal action (Collins, "Case").Statutory MarginalisationTo understand the similarities between the behaviours of, and legal and medical response to, Mary Summerland and Caroline Quinn, it is important to situate the deaths of their children within the wider context of child murder, concealment of birth and “bastardy” law. Tracing the development of these methods of law-making clarifies the parallels between much of the child murder, infanticide and concealment of birth narrative that has occurred in Western Australia since non-Aboriginal settlement.Despite the isolated nature of Western Australia, the nearly 400 years since the law was formed in England, and the extremely remote rural locations where both these women lived and worked, their stories are remarkably alike. It is almost as if there were a written script and each member of the cast knew what role to play: both Mary and Caroline knew to hide their pregnancies, to deny the overwhelmingly traumatic experience of giving birth alone, and to conceal the corpses of their babies. The fathers of their children appear to have cut off any connection to the women or their child. The family, friends, or employers of the parents of the dead babies knew to pretend that they did not know that the mother was pregnant or who the father was. The police and medical officers knew to charge these women and to collect evidence that could be used to simultaneously meet the needs of the both prosecution and the defence when the cases were brought to trial.In reference to Mary Summerland’s case, in colonial Western Australia when a woman gave birth to an infant who died under suspicious circumstances, she could be prosecuted with two charges: “child murder” and/or “concealment of birth”. It is suggestive that Mary may have been charged with both. The laws regarding these two offences were focused almost exclusively on the deaths of unlicensed children and were so deeply interconnected they are difficult to untangle. For Probyn, shame pierces the centre of who we think we are, “what makes it remarkable is that it reveals with precision our values, hopes and aspirations, beyond the generalities of good manners and cultured norms” (x). Dipping into the streams of legal and medical discourse that flow back to the seventeenth century highlights the pervasiveness of discourses marginalising single women and their children. This situates Mary Summerland and Caroline Quinn within a ‘burden on society’ narrative of guilt, blame and shame that has been in circulation for over 500 years, and continues to resonate in the present (Coull).An Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murthering of Bastard ChildrenIn England prior to the 17th century, penalties for extramarital sex, the birth and/or maintenance of unlicensed children or for committing child murder were expressed through church courts (Damme 2-6; Rapaport 548; Butler 61; Hoffer and Hull 3-4). Discussion of how the punishment of child murder left the religious sphere and came to be regulated by secular laws that were focused exclusively on the unlicensed mother points to two main arguments: firstly, the patriarchal response to unlicensed (particularly female) sexuality; and secondly, a moral panic regarding a perceived rise in unlicensed pregnancies in women of the lower classes, and the resulting financial burden placed on local parishes to support unwanted, unlicensed children (Rapaport 532, 48-52; McMahon XVII, 126-29; Osborne 49; Meyer 3-8 of 14). In many respects, as Meyer suggests, “the legal system subtly encouraged neonaticide through its nearly universally negative treatment of bastard children” (240).The first of these “personal control laws” (Hoffer and Hull 13) was the Old Poor Law created by Henry VIII in 1533, and put in place to regulate all members of English society who needed to rely on the financial assistance of the parish to survive. Prior to 1533, “by custom the children of the rich depended on their relations, while the ‘fatherless poor’ relied on the charity of the monastic institutions and the municipalities” (Teichman 60-61). Its implementation marks the historical point where the state began to take responsibility for maintenance of the poor away from the church by holding communities responsible for “the problem of destitution” (Teichman 60-61; Meyer 243).The establishment of the poor law system of relief created a hierarchy of poverty in which some poor people, such as those suffering from sickness or those who were old, were seen as worthy of receiving support, while others, who were destitute as a result of “debauchery” or other self-inflicted means were seen as undeserving and sent to a house of correction or common gaol. Underprivileged, unlicensed mothers and their children were seen to be part of the category of recipients unfit for help (Jackson 31). Burdens on SocietyIt was in response to the narrative of poor unlicensed women and their children being undeserving fiscal burdens on law abiding, financially stretched community members that in 1576 a law targeted specifically at holding genetic parents responsible for the financial maintenance of unlicensed children entered the secular courts for the first time. Called the Elizabethan Poor Law it was enacted in response to the concerns of local parishes who felt that, due to the expenses exacted by the poor laws, they were being burdened with the care of a greatly increased number of unlicensed children (Jackson 30; Meyer 5-6; Teichman 61). While the 1576 legislation prosecuted both parents of unlicensed children, McMahon interprets the law as being created in response to a blend of moral and economic forces, undergirded by a deep, collective fear of illegitimacy (McMahon 128). By the 1570s “unwed mothers were routinely whipped and sent to prison” (Meyer 242) and “guardians of the poor” could force unlicensed mothers to wear a “badge” (Teichman 63). Yet surprisingly, while parishes felt that numbers of unlicensed children were increasing, no concomitant rise was actually recorded (McMahon 128).The most damning evidence of the failure of this law, was the surging incidence of infanticide following its implementation (Rapaport 548-49; Hoffer and Hull 11-13). After 1576 the number of women prosecuted for infanticide increased by 225 percent. Convictions resulting in unlicensed mothers being executed also rose (Meyer 246; Hoffer and Hull 8, 18).Infanticide IncreasesBy 1624 the level of infanticide in local communities was deemed to be so great An Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murthering of Bastard Children was created. The Act made child murder a “sex-specific crime”, focused exclusively on the unlicensed mother, who if found guilty of the offence was punished by death. Probyn suggests that “shame is intimately social” (77) and indeed, the wording of An Act to Prevent highlights the remarkably similar behaviours enacted by single women desperate to avoid the shame and criminal implication linked to the social position of unlicensed mother: Whereas many lewd Women that have been delivered of Bastard Children, to avoyd their shame and to escape punishment [my italics], doe secretlie bury, or conceale the Death of their Children, and after if the child be found dead the said Women doe alleadge that the said Children were borne dead;…For the preventing therefore of this great Mischiefe…if any Woman…be delivered of any issue of the Body, Male or Female, which being born alive, should by the Lawes of this Realm be a bastard, and that she endeavour privatlie either by drowning or secret burying thereof, or any other way, either by herselfe of the procuring of others, soe to conceale the Death thereof, as that it may not come to light, whether it be borne alive or not, but be concealed, in every such Case the Mother so offending shall suffer Death… (Davies 214; O'Donovan 259; Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Osborne 49; Rose 1-2; Rapaport 548). An Act to Prevent also “contained an extraordinary provision which was a reversion of the ordinary common law presumption of dead birth” (Davies 214), removing the burden of proof from the prosecution and placing it on the defence (Francus 133; McMahon 128; Meyer 2 of 14). The implication being that if the dead body of a newborn, unlicensed baby was found hidden, it was automatically assumed that the child had been murdered by their mother (Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Osborne 49; Rapaport 549-50; Francus 133). This made the Act unusual in that “the offence involved was the concealment of death rather than the death itself” (O'Donovan 259). The only way an unlicensed mother charged with child murder was able to avoid capital punishment was to produce at least one witness to give evidence that the child was “borne dead” (Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Meyer 238; McMahon 126-27).Remarkable SimilaritiesClearly, the objective of An Act to Prevent was not simply to preserve infant life. It is suggestive that it was enacted in response to women wishing to avoid the legal, social, corporal and religious punishment highlighted by the implementation of the poor law legislation enacted throughout earlier centuries. It is also suggestive that these pressures were so powerful that threat of death if found guilty of killing their neonate baby was not enough to deter women from concealing their unlicensed pregnancies and committing child murder. Strikingly analogous to the behaviours of Mary Summerland in 19th century colonial Western Australia, and Caroline Quinn in 2014, the self-preservation implicit in the “strategies of secrecy” (Gowing 87) surrounding unlicensed birth and child murder often left the mother of a dead baby as the only witness to her baby’s death (McMahon xvii 49-50).An Act to Prevent set in motion the legislation that was eventually used to prosecute Mary Summerland in colonial Western Australia (Jackson 7, Davies, 213) and remnants of it still linger in the present where they have been incorporated into the ‘concealment of birth law’ that prosecuted Caroline Quinn (Legal Online TLA [10.1.182]).Changing the ‘Script’Shame runs like a viral code through the centuries to resonate within the legal response to women who committed infanticide in colonial Western Australia. It continues on through the behaviours of, and legal responses to, the story of Caroline Quinn and her child. As Probyn observes, “shame reminds us about the promises we keep to ourselves” in turn revealing our desire for belonging and elements of our deepest fears (p. x). While Caroline may live in a society that no longer outwardly condemns women who give birth outside of marriage, it is fascinating that the suite of behaviours manifested in response to her pregnancy and the birth of her child—by herself, her friends, and the wider community—can be linked to the narratives surrounding the formation of “child murder” and “concealment” law nearly 400 years earlier. Caroline’s narrative also encompasses similar behaviours enacted by Mary Summerland in 1832, in particular that Caroline knew to say that her child was “born dead” and that she had merely concealed her or his body—nothing more. This behaviour appears to have secured the release of both women as although both Mary and Caroline faced criminal investigation, neither was convicted of any crime. Yet, neither of these women or their small communities were alone in their responses. My research has uncovered 55 cases linked to child murder in Western Australia and the people involved in all of these incidences share unusually similar behaviours (Gardiner). Perhaps, it is only through the wider community becoming aware of the resonance of child murder law echoing through the centuries, that certain women who are pregnant with unwanted children will be able to write a different script for themselves, and their “unlicensed” children. ReferencesButler, Sara, M. "A Case of Indifference? Child Murder in Later Medieval England." Journal of Women's History 19.4 (2007): 59-82. Collins, Padraig. "Case against Irish Woman for Concealing Birth Dropped." The Irish Times 2 Oct. 2014. ---. "Irish Woman Held for Hiding Birth in Australia Allowed Return Home." The Irish Times 13 Aug. 2014. Coull, Kim. “The Womb Artist – A Novel: Translating Late Discovery Adoptee Pre-Verbal Trauma into Narrative”. Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014.Damme, Catherine. "Infanticide: The Worth of an Infant under Law." Medical History 22.1 (1978): 1-24. Davies, D.S. "Child-Killing in English Law." The Modern Law Review 1.3 (1937): 203-23. Dickinson, J.R., and J.A. Sharpe. "Infanticide in Early Modern England: The Court of Great Sessions at Chester, 1650-1800." Infanticide: Historical Perspectives on Child Murder and Concealment, 1550-2000. Ed. Mark Jackson. Hants: Ashgate, 2002. 35-51.Francus, Marilyn. "Monstrous Mothers, Monstrous Societies: Infanticide and the Rule of Law in Restoration and Eighteenth-Century England." Eighteenth-Century Life 21.2 (1997): 133-56. Gardiner, Amanda. "Sex, Death and Desperation: Infanticide, Neonaticide and Concealment of Birth in Colonial Western Australia." Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014.Gowing, Laura. "Secret Births and Infanticide in Seventeenth-Century England." Past & Present 156 (1997): 87-115. Hoffer, Peter C., and N.E.H. Hull. Murdering Mothers: Infanticide in England and New England 1558-1803. New York: New York University Press, 1984. Independent.ie. "Irish Woman Facing Up to Two Years in Jail for Concealing Death of Her Baby in Australia." 8 Aug. 2014. Law Reform Commission of Western Australia. "Chapter 3: Manslaughter and Other Homicide Offences." Review of the Law of Homicide: Final Report. Perth: Law Reform Commission of Western Australia, 2007. 85-117.Lee, Sally. "Irish Backpacker Charged over the Death of a Baby She Gave Birth to While Travelling in the Australia [sic] Outback." Daily Mail 8 Aug. 2014. Legal Online. "The Laws of Australia." Thomson Reuters 2010. McMahon, Vanessa. Murder in Shakespeare's England. London: Hambledon and London, 2004. Meyer, Jon'a. "Unintended Consequences for the Youngest Victims: The Role of Law in Encouraging Neonaticide from the Seventeenth to Nineteenth Centuries." Criminal Justice Studies 18.3 (2005): 237-54. O'Donovan, K. "The Medicalisation of Infanticide." Criminal Law Review (May 1984): 259-64. Osborne, Judith A. "The Crime of Infanticide: Throwing Out the Baby with the Bathwater." Canadian Journal of Family Law 6 (1987): 47-59. Rapaport, Elizabeth. "Mad Women and Desperate Girls: Infanticide and Child Murder in Law and Myth." Fordham Urban Law Journal 33.2 (2006): 527-69.Rose, Lionel. The Massacre of the Innocents: Infanticide in Britain, 1800-1939. London: Routledge & Kegan, 1986. Scheper-Hughes, Nancy. Death without Weeping: The Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1992. Swain, Shurlee, and Renate Howe. Single Mothers and Their Children: Disposal, Punishment and Survival in Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Teichman, Jenny. Illegitimacy: An Examination of Bastardy. Oxford: Cornell University Press, 1982. Toone, William. The Magistrate's Manual: Or a Summary of the Duties and Powers of a Justice of the Peace. 2nd ed. London: Joseph Butterworth and Son, 1817.

Today, tomorrow, the dead, the unborn, the sick and dying. And me, can you see me? The thirty-five-year-old man, cross-legged in the large white tent where we speak of the dead? Another face in the hundred other faces. The walls are thick with thankas, pastel pinks and icy hells, skulls cups and lotus flowers. Mothers are rocking babies, fathers creak like old bones. We all inch forward to hear the large monk in yellow robes who says how forty-nine days after death we seek material form, see a range of lights, a chimera of colours. We drift to where our parents are making love and take form in the womb. To be reborn a human, he reminds us, is very, very rare. Breath in, breath out. Meaning of life through a contemplation on death. He says we need to remember to remember, but right now I wish I could forget. Me, on a midwinter night, in Christchurch. Twelve years old, naked and deep in the bath as a yellow cloud of piss bleeds out around my white and skinny knees. Downstairs, there are noises, milk bottles chinking, a coal shovel scraping, Pink Floyd and a maunder of women's voices. Back from a conference, they laugh and fret. Cars arrive, the door bell rings, and someone is met with cajoling welcome. Tonight it is busy, when for the last three days the house had been dead of life; just my brother in his room, my stepfather, Earl, fixing shelves in the bathroom, and me continually thinking about the conference, all those women, overseas speakers, delegates and workshops. Three thousand. To me it may as well have been the world. Everyone had gone. My mother, her friends, my sister. Even my gran had managed an afternoon on Sunday. "Yes darling," she said, mightily impressed, "all those girls rah-rah-rahing. Your mother up on stage. It was all quite a show." When they came in, I was sitting on the bench, picking a scab on my elbow. I remember, my mother, searching in her pockets for cigarettes and wrestling off her jacket. Her face had been tired and her eyes were sullen. Smoke eddied past her forehead as she reached up and unfastened her long tail of hair. Berwyn Sallychurch, six foot, pale and bony, was boasting about her workshop, 'Women and Guilt'. She was hunched over her hands, fixing herself a cracker and cheese when Earl came in from outside. He had his cotton work hat on, baggy corduroys and his hands looked cold and were splattered with paint. He stood in the middle of the room of women, cardboard roll, several brushes and a scrunched up sheet of paper in his hand. He bid them all a sheepish hello, to which my mother quickly smiled back, I examined my shoe, before he moved to the fire, tossed the rubbish into the red mouth of the fire and stabbed it with the poker. Berwyn was explaining how a woman broke down in the middle of her workshop. "The bit where I had them all writing down their childhoods, she starts up, wailing like an siren." "What did you do?" My mother rid her cigarette of ash with a quick flick of her finger. "Do!" Berwyn raised her hand. "What can you do? I said to her, 'Darling, you've got a lifetime of patriarchal conditioning to live down. It's gunna take a while.'" Berwyn went on saying how she asked the crying woman if she masturbated and how well the woman had responded to her question. Heads nodded, tea was poured, Earl skulked out the door. Another winter night, how I remember, all those noises, my mother's tired face, me in bath later on, trying to figure out this thing about asking someone if they masturbated, and really, who on earth would want to know? Footsteps up the stairs, then back down again, the door opening to myriad of sounds, cut through by my mother's indelible voice, just before the door slams. "Fuckin' silly bitch. When will she learn?" Who is the silly bitch? I lie back and consider. Patricia Hickey, the smut protector? She always gets a hiss and spit when she comes on the tellie. Or Lady Drayton, ex-mayoress, who has a thing for councillors and other women's husbands? One of the pro-life Spuckies, rabbit-breeding Catholic. It is hard to tell. There are so many silly bitches to choose from. The wall is tiled and chipped. It is peppered with splash marks and finger prints. On the shelf a tube of toothpaste is uncapped and oozing. Tooth brushes are scattered like pick-up sticks. There are two pictures tacked to the tiles. One is of a chart of all the kings and queens of England. The other picture, a real picture, is torn out of a magazine and its edges are frayed and have turned a shade of yellow. This is the one I look at. It isn't like the other pictures downstairs though, the ones in the hippy guides to mud huts and home births. There are no doctors with masks on, mothers grunting, hands being held, babies being squeezed out the lady's hole. I wouldn't show my friends. It's no fun. No fun at all. She is dead and flat on her face, arms out with her dress around her large, white buttocks. Blood is running out between her legs and at the bottom, beneath a twist of plastic tube, black letters say 'ABORTION -- A WOMAN'S RIGHT TO CHOOSE. KEEP IT OFF THE STREETS'. Everyday I see her, brushing my teeth, wiping my face, sitting on the loo. She is a reminder of how lucky I am, that she could be my mum or my sister, the lady who sent us a turkey at Christmas because she was religious and there was nothing else she could do; or maybe the one from last night when I answered the phone and she said 'Is your mum there darling?' distant and weepy. 'Please! Please! Can I speak to your mother?' From my wet, white toes to her grim, grainy print and world of lonely silence, my eyes and imagination move. How could they? The boyfriend, the husband, the doctors, Patricia Hickey, the stupid Catholics? How could they let her die? The tent flukes in the afternoon breeze. I can hear the sound of the waves and the occasional car. Figures pass by, feet on the sandy soil as I sit here aware that it has taken me three days; three days up the grassy slope, past the brazier wafting juniper and incense, past this shrine for the dead, three days looking down at my bare feet, their pale weave of bones, their callused heels upon the litter of green blades, the oak needles, ants and earth? Before me is a box containing many names, a masonite board and many different photos. The monk said he would give prayers for the unborn as well as the dead, and now the box is full and I must wedge my paper in. It contains a small offering, my mother's name, date of birth, date of death and a reason. As if we need a reason. My mother had her reasons. They were wrapped around her life like a shawl. At the National Archive that day, they were all that was left of a forty-seven-year-old life. In scribbles and scraps, cutouts and clippings, she was 'a notorious pioneer in New Zealand women's health, a fighter for justice, a heroine of reform', neatly assembled into two concertina folders. I sat at a neat desk in a large room with a head full of questions and a book full of scribbles. Proud? Of course I was proud. But when certain words fell off certain people's tongues, my skin crept and toes cramped. No. That woman they chorussed, the 'wonderful' 'strong' and 'gutsy' mother of mine, wasn't mine at all. She was theirs, sewn into their political imagination with the thread of nostalgia, traces of jealousy and fear. Hundred of pages attesting to her work: the back-breaking tedium of abortion politics, accounts, tax files, divvying up of funds, the 1977 Women's Conference, speakers to attend, registrations, flight details for women going to Australia, hotels booked, operating doctors. Q tried to get into Christchurch Women's Hospital. Refused. Found back street abortionist. Used catheter. Told to leave it in for a week -- bled badly. Emergency case Ch'ch Women's. Nearly died. Mrs M is a 44-year-old Maori woman, solo mother of 9. Husband left after service and never returned. She said herself that her children were a 'bit out of hand'. Just suffered a disc protrusion in her last pregnancy and spent six months in hospital severely depressed. In all the woman saw 7 doctors in order to obtain termination. The delays in appointments resulted in her being 16 weeks pregnant at the time of operation. Done for $250. I looked out the window at a seagull battling in the Wellington wind and could imagine my mother, labouring over a pad of paper and ashtray late at night. I wanted to hold her hand, share the load, tell her not to cry. I removed the file marked 'Personal' and was pulled out of my lament. It was brimming with letters, cringeful, naïve, mock militant letters that were bleedingly written and poorly spelt out. For me, they signalled a journey from boy to man along a fraught and fractured path. Letters from my mother's best friend to my mother, around the time they met, drunk in adoration, political vision and parochial feminist forecasts of 'Sisterhood' and 'Herstory'. From the halcyon high to inimical low, deceipt, and brokenheartedness, I could pin-point the letter written to my mother at the time of my seduction. "Dear Elizabeth," my new lover wrote. "You unmitigated bitch." Dozens of letters I stuffed in my sock, sick at the thought, feeling the camera in the corner, as if it were the eye of the world, laughing, goading and snickering at me, the feminist's son. 'Mine! Mine!' I want to shout. 'These letters are mine. No-one else's. Ya hear me. Got it!' And though I wanted it, no librarian's hand appeared on my shoulder, no one tried to stop me stealing. It was just me in that large room, and a small camera no one was even watching. From out of my shirt pocket I remove the photo and pin it to the masonite board. My mother, beside all the other photos of the dead, the polaroids and black and whites, has her hand on her chin and looks towards the early night sky. She wanted to see the Kauri trees before she died and her boyfriend drove them north. Her hand supports her chin and her face is alabaster in a red silhouette of sunset and trees. She wears a light-blue jumper and her black hair has not yet fallen out. That hair, once raven black and key to her bold symetry and audacious manner, dropped out in feathery lumps and left her like a small girl with frail shoulders and yellow skin. So many dead to ponder. My mother haunted by her past, was frightened to die. But for now at least, despite her driven face and questioning eyes, I see peace and a moment of closure. I breathe in, I breathe out. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Hamish Kaden. "The Interminable Son." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.3 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9905/son.php>. Chicago style: Hamish Kaden, "The Interminable Son," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 3 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9905/son.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Hamish Kaden. (1999) The interminable son. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(3). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9905/son.php> ([your date of access]).

IntroductionFor over five years, Romanians have been using their bodies in public spaces to challenge politicians’ disregard for the average citizen. In a region low in standards of civic engagement, such as voter turnout and petition signing, Romanian people’s “citizenship of the streets” has stopped environmentally destructive mining in 2013, ousted a corrupt cabinet in 2015, and blocked legislation legalising abuse of public office in 2017 (Solnit 214). This article explores the democratic affordances of collective resistive walking, by focusing on Romania’s capital, Bucharest. I illustrate how walking in protest of political corruption cultivates a democratic public and reconfigures city spaces as spaces of democratic engagement, in the context of increased illiberalism in the region. I examine two sites of protest: the Parliament Palace and Victoriei Square. The former is a construction emblematic of communist dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu and symbol of an authoritarian regime, whose surrounding area protestors reclaim as a civic space. The latter—a central part of the city bustling with the life of cafes, museums, bike lanes, and nearby parks—hosts the Government and has become an iconic site for pro-democratic movements. Spaces of Democracy: The Performativity of Public Assemblies Democracies are active achievements, dependent not only on the solidity of institutions —e.g., a free press and a constitution—but on people’s ability and desire to communicate about issues of concern and to occupy public space. Communicative approaches to democratic theory, formulated as inquiries into the public sphere and the plurality and evolution of publics, often return to establish the significance of public spaces and of bodies in the maintenance of our “rhetorical democracies” (Hauser). Speech and assembly, voice and space are sides of the same coin. In John Dewey’s work, communication is the main “loyalty” of democracy: the heart and final guarantee of democracy is in free gatherings of neighbors on the street corner to discuss back and forth what is read in the uncensored news of the day, and in gatherings of friends in the living rooms of houses and apartments to converse freely with one another. (Dewey qtd. in Asen 197, emphasis added) Dewey asserts the centrality of communication in the same breath that he affirms the spatial infrastructure supporting it.Historically, Richard Sennett explains, Athenian democracy has been organised around two “spaces of democracy” where people assembled: the agora or town square and the theatre or Pnyx. While the theatre has endured as the symbol of democratic communication, with its ideal of concentrated attention on the argument of one speaker, Sennett illuminates the square as an equally important space, one without which deliberation in the Pnyx would be impossible. In the agora, citizens cultivate an ability to see, expect, and think through difference. In its open architecture and inclusiveness, Sennett explains, the agora affords the walker and dweller a public space to experience, in a quick, fragmentary, and embodied way, the differences and divergences in fellow citizens. Through visual scrutiny and embodied exposure, the square thus cultivates “an outlook favorable to discussion of differing views and conflicting interests”, useful for deliberation in the Pnyx, and the capacity to recognise strangers as part of the imagined democratic community (19). Also stressing the importance of spaces for assembly, Jürgen Habermas’s historical theorisation of the bourgeois public sphere moves the functions of the agora to the modern “third places” (Oldenburg) of the civic society emerging in late seventeenth and eighteenth-century Europe: coffee houses, salons, and clubs. While Habermas’ conceptualization of a unified bourgeois public has been criticised for its class and gender exclusivism, and for its normative model of deliberation and consensus, such criticism has also opened paths of inquiry into the rhetorical pluralism of publics and into the democratic affordances of embodied performativity. Thus, unlike Habermas’s assumption of a single bourgeois public, work on twentieth and twenty-first century publics has attended to their wide variety in post-modern societies (e.g., Bruce; Butler; Delicath and DeLuca; Fraser; Harold and DeLuca; Hauser; Lewis; Mckinnon et al.; Pezzullo; Rai; Tabako). In contrast to the Habermasian close attention to verbal argumentation, such criticism prioritizes the embodied (performative, aesthetic, and material) ways in which publics manifest their attention to common issues. From suffragists to environmentalists and, most recently, anti-precarity movements across the globe, publics assemble and move through shared space, seeking to break hegemonies of media representation by creating media events of their own. In the process, Judith Butler explains, such embodied assemblies accomplish much more. They disrupt prevalent logics and dominant feelings of disposability, precarity, and anxiety, at the same time that they (re)constitute subjects and increasingly privatised spaces into citizens and public places of democracy, respectively. Butler proposes that to best understand recent protests we need to read collective assembly in the current political moment of “accelerating precarity” and responsibilisation (10). Globally, increasingly larger populations are exposed to economic insecurity and precarity through government withdrawal from labor protections and the diminishment of social services, to the profit of increasingly monopolistic business. A logic of self-investment and personal responsibility accompanies such structural changes, as people understand themselves as individual market actors in competition with other market actors rather than as citizens and community members (Brown). In this context, public assembly would enact an alternative, insisting on interdependency. Bodies, in such assemblies, signify both symbolically (their will to speak against power) and indexically. As Butler describes, “it is this body, and these bodies, that require employment, shelter, health care, and food, as well as a sense of a future that is not the future of unpayable debt” (10). Butler describes the function of these protests more fully:[P]lural enactments […] make manifest the understanding that a situation is shared, contesting the individualizing morality that makes a moral norm of economic self-sufficiency precisely […] when self-sufficiency is becoming increasingly unrealizable. Showing up, standing, breathing, moving, standing still, speech, and silence are all aspects of a sudden assembly, an unforeseen form of political performativity that puts livable life at the forefront of politics […] [T]he bodies assembled ‘say’ we are not disposable, even if they stand silently. (18)Though Romania is not included in her account of contemporary protest movements, Butler’s theoretical account aptly describes both the structural and ideological conditions, and the performativity of Romanian protestors. In Romania, citizens have started to assemble in the streets against austerity measures (2012), environmental destruction (2013), fatal infrastructures (2015) and against the government’s corruption and attempts to undermine the Judiciary (from February 2017 onward). While, as scholars have argued (Olteanu and Beyerle; Gubernat and Rammelt), political corruption has gradually crystallised into the dominant and enduring framework for the assembled publics, post-communist corruption has been part and parcel of the neoliberalisation of Central and Eastern-European societies after the fall of communism. In the region, Leslie Holmes explains, former communist elites or the nomenklatura, have remained the majority political class after 1989. With political power and under the shelter of political immunity, nomenklatura politicians “were able to take ethically questionable advantage in various ways […] of the sell-off of previously state-owned enterprises” (Holmes 12). The process through which the established political class became owners of a previously state-owned economy is known as “nomenklatura privatization”, a common form of political corruption in the region, Holmes explains (12). Such practices were common knowledge among a cynical population through most of the 1990s and the 2000s. They were not broadly challenged in an ideological milieu attached, as Mihaela Miroiu, Isabela Preoteasa, and Jerzy Szacki argued, to extreme forms of liberalism and neoliberalism, ideologies perceived by people just coming out of communism as anti-ideology. Almost three decades since the fall of communism, in the face of unyielding levels of poverty (Zaharia; Marin), the decaying state of healthcare and education (Bilefsky; “Education”), and migration rates second only to war-torn Syria (Deletant), Romanian protestors have come to attribute the diminution of life in post-communism to the political corruption of the established political class (“Romania Corruption Report”; “Corruption Perceptions”). Following systematic attempts by the nomenklatura-heavy governing coalition to undermine the judiciary and institutionalise de facto corruption of public officials (Deletant), protestors have been returning to public spaces on a weekly basis, de-normalising the political cynicism and isolation serving the established political class. Mothers Walking: Resignifying Communist Spaces, Imagining the New DemosOn 11 July 2018, a protest of mothers was streamed live by Corruption Kills (Corupția ucide), a Facebook group started by activist Florin Bădiță after a deadly nightclub fire attributed to the corruption of public servants, in 2015 (Commander). Organized protests at the time pressured the Social-Democratic cabinet into resignation. Corruption Kills has remained a key activist platform, organising assemblies, streaming live from demonstrations, and sharing personal acts of dissent, thus extending the life of embodied assemblies. In the mothers’ protest video, women carrying babies in body-wraps and strollers walk across the intersection leading to the Parliament Palace, while police direct traffic and ensure their safety (“Civil Disobedience”). This was an unusual scene for many reasons. Walkers met at the entrance to the Parliament Palace, an area most emblematic of the former regime. Built by Communist dictator, Nicolae Ceaușescu and inspired by Kim Il-sung’s North Korean architecture, the current Parliament building and its surrounding plaza remain, in the words of Renata Salecl, “one of the most traumatic remnants of the communist regime” (90). The construction is the second largest administrative building in the world, after the Pentagon, a size matching the ambitions of the dictator. It bears witness to the personal and cultural sacrifices the construction and its surrounded plaza required: the displacement of some 40,000 people from old neighbourhood Uranus, the death of reportedly thousands of workers, and the flattening of churches, monasteries, hospitals, schools (Parliament Palace). This arbitrary construction carved out of the old city remains a symbol of an authoritarian relation with the nation. As Salecl puts it, Ceaușescu’s project tried to realise the utopia of a new communist “centre” and created an artificial space as removed from the rest of the city as the leader himself was from the needs of his people. Twenty-nine years after the fall of communism, the plaza of the Parliament Palace remains as suspended from the life of the city as it was during the 1980s. The trees lining the boulevard have grown slightly and bike lanes are painted over decaying stones. Still, only few people walk by the neo-classical apartment buildings now discoloured and stained by weather and time. Salecl remarks on the panoptic experience of the Parliament Palace: “observed from the avenue, [the palace] appears to have no entrance; there are only numerous windows, which give the impression of an omnipresent gaze” (95). The building embodies, for Salecl, the logic of surveillance of the communist regime, which “created the impression of omnipresence” through a secret police that rallied members among regular citizens and inspired fear by striking randomly (95).Against this geography steeped in collective memories of fear and exposure to the gaze of the state, women turn their children’s bodies and their own into performances of resistance that draw on the rhetorical force of communist gender politics. Both motherhood and childhood were heavily regulated roles under Ceaușescu’s nationalist-socialist politics of forced birth, despite the official idealisation of both. Producing children for the nationalist-communist state was women’s mandated expression of citizenship. Declaring the foetus “the socialist property of the whole society”, in 1966 Ceaușescu criminalised abortion for women of reproductive ages who had fewer than four children, and, starting 1985, less than five children (Ceaușescu qtd. in Verdery). What followed was “a national tragedy”: illegal abortions became the leading cause of death for fertile women, children were abandoned into inhumane conditions in the infamous orphanages, and mothers experienced the everyday drama of caring for families in an economy of shortages (Kligman 364). The communist politicisation of natality during communist Romania exemplifies one of the worst manifestations of the political as biopolitical. The current maternal bodies and children’s bodies circulating in the communist-iconic plaza articulate past and present for Romanians, redeploying a traumatic collective memory to challenge increasingly authoritarian ambitions of the governing Social Democratic Party. The images of caring mothers walking in protest with their babies furthers the claims that anti-corruption publics have made in other venues: that the government, in their indifference and corruption, is driving millions of people, usually young, out of the country, in a braindrain of unprecedented proportions (Ursu; Deletant; #vavedemdinSibiu). In their determination to walk during the gruelling temperatures of mid-July, in their youth and their babies’ youth, the mothers’ walk performs the contrast between their generation of engaged, persistent, and caring citizens and the docile abused subject of a past indexed by the Ceaușescu-era architecture. In addition to performing a new caring imagined community (Anderson), women’s silent, resolute walk on the crosswalk turns a lifeless geography, heavy with the architectural traces of authoritarian history, into a public space that holds democratic protest. By inhabiting the cultural role of mothers, protestors disarmed state authorities: instead of the militarised gendarmerie usually policing protestors the Victoriei Square, only traffic police were called for the mothers’ protest. The police choreographed cars and people, as protestors walked across the intersection leading to the Parliament. Drivers, usually aggressive and insouciant, now moved in concert with the protestors. The mothers’ walk, immediately modeled by people in other cities (Cluj-Napoca), reconfigured a car-dominated geography and an unreliable, driver-friendly police, into a civic space that is struggling to facilitate the citizens’ peaceful disobedience. The walkers’ assembly thus begins to constitute the civic character of the plaza, collecting “the space itself […] the pavement and […] the architecture [to produce] the public character of that material environment” (Butler 71). It demonstrates the possibility of a new imagined community of caring and persistent citizens, one significantly different from the cynical, disconnected, and survivalist subjects that the nomenklatura politicians, nested in the Panoptic Parliament nearby, would prefer.Persisting in the Victoriei Square In addition to strenuous physical walking to reclaim city spaces, such as the mothers’ walking, the anti-corruption public also practices walking and gathering in less taxing environments. The Victoriei Square is such a place, a central plaza that connects major boulevards with large sidewalks, functional bike lanes, and old trees. The square is the architectural meeting point of old and new, where communist apartments meet late nineteenth and early twentieth century architecture, in a privileged neighbourhood of villas, museums, and foreign consulates. One of these 1930s constructions is the Government building, hosting the Prime Minister’s cabinet. Demonstrators gathered here during the major protests of 2015 and 2017, and have walked, stood, and wandered in the square almost weekly since (“Past Events”). On 24 June 2018, I arrive in the Victoriei Square to participate in the protest announced on social media by Corruption Kills. There is room to move, to pause, and rest. In some pockets, people assemble to pay attention to impromptu speakers who come onto a small platform to share their ideas. Occasionally someone starts chanting “We See You!” and “Down with Corruption!” and almost everyone joins the chant. A few young people circulate petitions. But there is little exultation in the group as a whole, shared mostly among those taking up the stage or waving flags. Throughout the square, groups of familiars stop to chat. Couples and families walk their bikes, strolling slowly through the crowds, seemingly heading to or coming from the nearby park on a summer evening. Small kids play together, drawing with chalk on the pavement, or greeting dogs while parents greet each other. Older children race one another, picking up on the sense of freedom and de-centred but still purposeful engagement. The openness of the space allows one to meander and observe all these groups, performing the function of the Ancient agora: making visible the strangers who are part of the polis. The overwhelming feeling is one of solidarity. This comes partly from the possibilities of collective agency and the feeling of comfortably taking up space and having your embodiment respected, otherwise hard to come by in other spaces of the city. Everyday walking in the streets of Romanian cities is usually an exercise in hypervigilant physical prowess and self-preserving numbness. You keep your eyes on the ground to not stumble on broken pavement. You watch ahead for unmarked construction work. You live with other people’s sweat on the hot buses. You hop among cars parked on sidewalks and listen keenly for when others may zoom by. In one of the last post-socialist states to join the European Union, living with generalised poverty means walking in cities where your senses must be dulled to manage the heat, the dust, the smells, and the waiting, irresponsive to beauty and to amiable sociality. The euphemistic vocabulary of neoliberalism may describe everyday walking through individualistic terms such as “grit” or “resilience.” And while people are called to effort, creativity, and endurance not needed in more functional states, what one experiences is the gradual diminution of one’s lives under a political regime where illiberalism keeps a citizen-serving democracy at bay. By contrast, the Victoriei Square holds bodies whose comfort in each other’s presence allow us to imagine a political community where survivalism, or what Lauren Berlant calls “lateral agency”, are no longer the norm. In “showing up, standing, breathing, moving, standing still […] an unforeseen form of political performativity that puts livable life at the forefront of politics” is enacted (Butler 18). In arriving to Victoriei Square repeatedly, Romanians demonstrate that there is room to breathe more easily, to engage with civility, and to trust the strangers in their country. They assert that they are not disposable, even if a neoliberal corrupt post-communist regime would have them otherwise.ConclusionBecoming a public, as Michael Warner proposes, is an ongoing process of attention to an issue, through the circulation of discourse and self-organisation with strangers. For the anti-corruption public of Romania’s past years, such ongoing work is accompanied by persistent, civil, embodied collective assembly, in an articulation of claims, bodies, and spaces that promotes a material agency that reconfigures the city and the imagined Romanian community into a more democratic one. The Romanian citizenship of the streets is particularly significant in the current geopolitical and ideological moment. In the region, increasing authoritarianism meets the alienating logics of neoliberalism, both trying to reduce citizens to disposable, self-reliant, and disconnected market actors. Populist autocrats—Recep Tayyip Erdogan in Turkey, the Peace and Justice Party in Poland, and recently E.U.-penalized Victor Orban, in Hungary—are dismantling the system of checks and balances, and posing threats to a European Union already challenged by refugee debates and Donald Trump’s unreliable alliance against authoritarianism. In such a moment, the Romanian anti-corruption public performs within the geographies of their city solidarity and commitment to democracy, demonstrating an alternative to the submissive and disconnected subjects preferred by authoritarianism and neoliberalism.Author's NoteIn addition to the anonymous reviewers, the author would like to thank Mary Tuominen and Jesse Schlotterbeck for their helpful comments on this essay.ReferencesAnderson, Benedict R. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 2016.Asen, Robert. “A Discourse Theory of Citizenship.” Quarterly Journal of Speech 90.2 (2004): 189-211. 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