Patrick Pierazzoli: Blowfly Massacre
Only a dead fly is a good fly. As a food source in the food chain, they make a modest contribution to our planet for all I care, but until that happens, the critters spend their entire short lives annoying us, spreading disease and making us desperate to kill them. This is because flies can process up to 300 images per second, neatly separated from each other, and can therefore see any danger approaching in super slow motion. Matrix style, so to speak. The solution to this evolutionary problem is called Bug-A-Salt: small charges of salt are fired mechanically at the flies with pinpoint accuracy. Just strong enough to kill the pests, but without them bursting open and leaving disgusting stains. The wonder weapon (39.95 dollars, www.bugasalt.com) works without batteries and with normal table salt, it is available in different designs and for ambitious hunters even with an optional target laser pointer. The summer of 2019 can come, and it will go down in the history books as a dark period for flying.
Marina Warth: H2O
No one escapes India without Delhi-Belly. This is due to the water – or more precisely: the bacteria in it, which make our guts grumble like an old sea dog scrubbing the deck. That’s why in this country, where cows have more say than politicians, you never drink from the tap. Plastic bottles are a lifesaver there. But only there, not here! The best drinking water flows through our pipes, obtained from lakes and springs on our doorstep. There is no justification for having water from French communities or exotic islands carted miles away, possibly in plastic bottles. Regardless of whether it tastes different (oh please) or whether it’s so much fun to mash the printed plastic flat with delight after eating it. This doesn’t even have anything to do with the fact that we should do something good for our world – it’s common sense. Use a drinking bottle that can be refilled (for example this one from 24 Bottles for approx. 40.-). Just do it.
Marco Rüegg: Immortal
Even as a radio play cassette child, I praise certain advantages of the Spotify age. There are far fewer concert halls burning down now that kids are holding up their phones instead of lighters! Elsewhere, however, digitalization is reaching its limits. Namely in the reproduction of that quasi-erotic moment when the tonearm sinks onto the rotating aluminum platter of the wonderfully minimalist “Stir it Up” player from House of Marley (approx. 249.-), and its pinned head slides into the outermost groove of a plastic disc accompanied by a smooth crackling sound. Whether it’s Chopin’s Nocturne from the second-hand store, a Deep Purple shard from Dad’s inheritance or the freshly pressed Massive Attack reissue from the store I trust – the conscious sound experience is the killer argument for the fact that no algorithm will flatten vinyl, which has been declared dead several times. Never!
