Whispering pigs

I felt slightly off my game for most of today. I’m not really sure I know what my game is, to be perfectly honest, but I know I felt slightly off it. It was an unexciting Tuesday all around.

I neglected to mention yesterday’s bit of Forgotten English, which is a shame, because it’s particularly nice. It’s “pig’s whisper,” meaning “a very short space of time.” One of the quotes is from Charles Dickens’ Pickwick Papers, in which he wrote, “You’ll find yourself in bed in something less than a pig’s whisper.”

Won’t one, though?

Wednesday various

  • When defending someone’s horribly poor choice of words, it’s probably a good idea to choose your own words a lot more carefully than this. I suppose we should be grateful the Washington Times didn’t suggest we look for a “Final Solution” to Sarah Palin’s recent troubles. [via]
  • I have mixed feelings about writing contests in general, particularly ones with entry fees. I took part in this year’s Geist Postcard Story Contest, for instance, since there’s not a lot else to do with a story that short, and the fee a) goes towards a subscription and b) helps out a really good magazine. But, in general, I tend to think money should flow towards the writer, and any story worthy of winning a contest should also be worthy of getting paid something for. (Obviously “money” and “paid” can mean a number of different things here, from actual cash to contributor copies to your name printed somewhere. It’s the principle of the thing.)

    But I absolutely think it’s writing contests like this that give the reputable ones a bad name, that leave me with my mixed feelings in the first place. Seriously, writer beware.

  • Tasha Robinson and Keith Phipps have an interesting discussion about which is worse in popular culture: blind, overenthusiastic hyperbole…or bland, unengaged apathy.
  • While A.O. Scott puts the lie to the notion that critics represent some kind of anti-populist elite:

    Speaking personally, but also out of a deep and longstanding engagement with the history and procedures of my profession, I have to say that the goal of criticism has never been to control or reflect the public taste — neither thing is possible — but rather the simpler (but also infinitely difficult) work of analyzing and evaluating works of art as honestly and independently as possible….There is a cultural elite, in America, which tries its utmost to manipulate the habits and tastes of consumers. It consists of the corporations who sell nearly everything with the possible exception of classical music and conceptual arts, and while its methods include some of the publicity-driven hype that finds its way into newspapers, magazines and other traditional media, its main tool is not criticism but marketing.

    False populism, this idea that some snobs in their ivory towers don’t want you to have any fun — or, worse, want to ram their culture, their ideals down your throat — well, that’s sort of what’s given us people like Sarah Palin, isn’t it?

  • And finally, this is how rumors get started: Twitter in a panic over Oxford Circus ‘gunman’. A “gunman” invented out of whole cloth over Twitter, it should be said. See the course of the brief panic charted here. [via]

Monday various

  • Roger Ebert on The Green Hornet:

    Casting about for something to praise, I recalled that I heard a strange and unique sound for the first time, a high-pitched whooshing scream, but I don’t think Gondry can claim it, because it came from the hand dryers in the nearby men’s room.

  • At first I thought it was like that urban legend about the ghost on the set of Three Men and a Baby, but apparently this one’s true: Han Solo does appear in many, if not all, episodes of Firefly.

    If you’re wondering, Mal shot first.

  • Alex Beam of the Boston Globe wonders — or maybe wondered back in November when I first saw this link — are new translations necessary? It’s an interesting question, but there’s no mention of instances when newer translations get things right, or make necessary corrections, or significantly change our understanding of a text. Proust’s famous novel is better translated as In Search of Lost Time, for instance, and newer translations of Camus’ The Stranger have called into question earlier readings of its famous opening lines.

    So, short answer? Yeah, I think they’re still necessary. [via]

  • Speaking of translations, the surprisingly intriguing story of why Uncle Scrooge McDuck is called “Dagobert” in Germany. [via]
  • And finally….

    The Justice League, re-imagined as a 1977 punk rock movie, based on an art challenge posed by Warren Ellis and by the exceptionally talented Annie Wu.

Wednesday various

Too too toozled

Today’s Forgotten English, in case you were wondering, is the delightful-sounding word “toozle,” meaning:

To pull about, especially applied to any rough dalliance with a female.

Touzly, ruffled, shaggy. In the phrase, “to touzle one’s top,” to make one’s hair stand on end.

Alas, it was only the second of these two definitions, and then only thanks to static electricity and my winter hat. Otherwise, the day was once again largely uneventful.

I did purchase the final stock photo on this one book I’ve been working on, so that was nice to get off my plate. It worked out to be easier if I paid for it myself, so I’ll have to make sure I get reimbursed.

I’m very happy that tomorrow is Friday. Less because this was a horribly difficult week, or anything like that, but because it feels like a week, like I’m back in the swing of my regular work schedule. If that makes any sense.