1966: After suffering from asthma for 15 years, Sigurd Lindh learned that he was allergic to his wife, Greta. He moved into a cabin 600 yards from their home, and his asthma cleared up.
It's pretty rare for spouses to be allergic to each other (as in, actually having a physical reaction to the other's presence, not just hating each other's guts). But it's doubly rare for a husband to be allergic to a wife. So Lindh was pretty unique. For whatever reason, the overwhelming majority of these spousal allergy cases involve wives allergic to their husbands. See here and here.
Eccentric composer Erik Satie wrote "Vexations," a four-line piece of music, around 1893, though that date is a guess because it remained undiscovered until his death in 1925. It was an unexceptional piece of music (by design), except for the instructions he attached that seemed to indicate that it should be played "840 times in succession" by a pianist who should "prepare oneself beforehand, in the deepest silence, by serious immobilities." It's not clear why he chose the number 840.
It was first performed in September 1963 at the Pocket Theater in Manhattan. Composer John Cage arranged for a relay team of 10 pianists to play the entire thing, 840 times. The entire performance lasted 18 hours and 40 minutes.
There was a $5 admission fee for audience members, but you got 5 cents back for every 20 minutes you listened to it. Joel Meltz sat through the whole thing, so ended up getting a refund of $2.80.
It's subsequently been performed a number of times and is, of course, available on YouTube. Check out the video below of the guy who plays the entire thing, alone, in under 10 hours.
Back in the 60s, the U.S. Army employed scientists to sneak into Omaha stockyards and spray cows with deodorant. The logic behind this was to test how easy it would be for Soviet agents to spread hoof-and-mouth disease among American cows.
Unfortunately, I can't find any more info about this operation, which is a shame because it raises so many questions. For instance, the important part of the operation must have been to see how easily they could gain access to the stockyards. So then, why bother to deodorize the cows? Was it just to add a touch of realism? Why not spray them with paint so that they could later count the "infected" ones?
"Before touring became big business for promoters who elevated rock shows to an art, even name-brand bands played pretty much anywhere. It’s an interesting component of the early rock era that’s explored in the upcoming documentary The High School That Rocked!, which takes a look at one Connecticut school that somehow managed to lure a slew of classic-rock legends — including Cream, the Doors and the Yardbirds, among others."
Irwin Silver put a dress in a can, gave it a frenchified name, and then sold these for $25 a pop. This was back in 1966, and it was a marketing gimmick about as cynical as you might guess. Silver was cashing in on the mid-1960s fad for anything canned, and he figured that if people were stupid enough to buy canned air (i.e. an empty can), perhaps they'd also buy a canned dress. Apparently he sold around 100,000 of them.
More info from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch - Dec 14, 1966:
Everything's packaged in cans these days, even candles and air. But the newest tinned item to roll into stores is "Le Canned Dress," the bright idea of sportswear manufacturer Irwin Silver.
"I was being driven crazy by cans," he says. "Every time I turned around, I seemed to bump into a can. First I saw canned candles, then someone gave me a tin of canned air. I began to wonder why dresses couldn't be put up the same way."...
The fashions produced by Silver's company, Wippette, each weigh 4½ ounces, come packed in gay one-pound cans and are tagged with silver labels designed to look like the top of a can."
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.