September 2009 Archives
“Foenetic speling wil maek reeding and rieting neerly automatic for evrybody.”
—Ed Rondthaler, quoted in “Edward Rondthaler, Foenetic Speler, Dies at 104”, his New York Times obituatry. Ed was also, not incidentally, a typographer.
‘The French called her Azor, the story-telling soldier called her Femgalka, but Karatayev called her Greycoat, or sometimes Floppy. She was just a lavender-grey dog, apparently quite unconcened at having no master, no name, no particular breed, not even a definite colour.”
“ ‘You remember!’ Sonya went on. ‘I saw him. I told you, all of you, you and Dunyasha. I saw him lying on a bed,’ she said, emphasizing every detail by gesturing with a lifted finger, ‘and he had his eyes shut, and he was covered with a pink quilt, and he had his hands folded,’ said Sonya, with growing certainty, as she ran through the details they had just set eyes on, that she had actually seen them before. At the time she hadn’t seen anything at all; she had blurted out the first thing that came into her head. But what she had invented then now seemed as real as any other actual memory. What she had said at the the time—that he had looked round and smiled at her, and he was covered wtih something red—she remembered clearly now, and she was absolutely certain about what she had seen and said: he had been covered with a pink quilt—yes, it was pink—and his eyes had been closed.
‘Yes, it was pink,’ said Natasha, who also seemed to have an inking that it had been a pink quilt, and this little detail was the oddest thing, the real mystery behind the prophetic vision.
‘What does it mean?’ said Natasha, thinking about it.
‘I don’t know! It’s all so weird!’ said Sonya, clutching at her head.”
—Leo Tolstoy, War & Peace, 1869; translated by Anthony Briggs, 2005. (p. 1064)
“Spoken words are silver, unspoken words are gold.”
“ ’Mamma, does he really love me? What do you think? Did men love you like this? And he’s so nice, he really is nice! Though he’s not really my type—he’s a bit . . . sort of narrow, like a clock on the wall . . . Do you know what I mean? . . . Narrow, you know, all grey and pale . . .’
‘You do say some silly things,’ said the countess.
Natasha persisted. ‘Don’t you understand? Nikolay would. Now, take Bezukhov—he’s blue, dark blue with a bit of red, and his shape is square.’
‘You flirt with him, too,’ said the countess with a laugh.
‘No, I don’t. He’s a freemason. I’ve just found out. He’s a very nice man—dark blue with some red. How can I explain it?’ ”
——Leo Tolstoy, War & Peace, 1869; translated by Anthony Briggs, 2005. (p. 491)
“ ‘No, she’s a blue-stocking now. She’s renounced those old affairs for good,’ he said to himself. ‘There’s never been a case of a blue-stocking having any passions of the heart,’ he kept telling himself—a general principle he had picked up somewhere and certainly believed in. But curiously enough the presence of Boris in his wife’s drawing room—and he was nearly always there—had a physical effect on Pierre.”
“Green Dolphin Street supplied the setting
The setting for nights beyond forgetting”
—Bronislaw Kaper & Ned Washington, “On Green Dolphin Street”, from the movie Green Dolphin Street, 1947.
“It seemed to be getting lighter. To the left he could see a moonlit hillside and a black slope opposite that looked as steep as a wall. On this slope there was a white patch which Rostov couldn’t make out at all—was it a clearing the the wood catching the moonlight, some snow that hadn’t melted or white houses? He could have sworn there was something moving across the white patch. ‘It must be snow, or could it be white ash? . . . Why tash . . .?’ Rostov mused dreamily. ‘Not white ash . . . Tash . . . Na-tasha . . . sister . . . black eyes. Na-tasha. (Imagine her surprise when I tell her I’ve seen the Emperor!) Natasha . . . tasha . . .’ ”
“It was a dark but starry night and the road shone black against the white snow that had fallen on the day of the battle.”
“His face, already bright red in color—he was clearly no abstainer—now turned blotchy and his face twitched.”
“The old gentleman was in fine fettle after his nap before dinner. (Sleep after dinner is silver, sleep before dinner is gold, was his motto.)”
“On one of those limpid ‘white nights’ typical of Petersburg in June Pierre got into a hired cab with every intention of going home. But the nearer he got, the more he realized it would be impossible to get to sleep on a night like this, when it was more like evening or morning.”
—Leo Tolstoy, War & Peace, 1869; translated by Anthony Briggs, 2005.
I love PeTA, but this is ridiculous. From my newest favorite blog, the Photoshop watchdog Photoshop Disasters.
Behold, if you dare, the longest name in the world: Adolph Blaine Charles David Earl Frederick Gerald Hubert Irvin John Kenneth Lloyd Martin Nero Oliver Paul Quincy Randolph Sherman Thomas Uncas Victor William Xerxes Yancy Zeus Wolfe schlegelstein hausenbergerdorffvoraltern waren gewissenhaft schaferswessen schafewaren wohlgepflege und sorgfaltigkeit beschutzen von angreifen durch ihrraubgierigfeinde welche voralternzwolftausend jahres vorandieerscheinen wander ersteer dem enschderraumschiff gebrauchlicht als sein ursprung von kraftgestart sein lange fahrt hinzwischen sternartigraum aufder suchenach diestern welche gehabt bewohnbar planeten kreise drehen sich und wohin der neurasse von verstandigmen schlichkeit konnte fortplanzen und sicher freuen anlebenslanglich freude und ruhe mit nicht ein furcht vor angreifen von anderer intelligent geschopfs von hinzwischen sternartigraum, Senior.
The last name is usually written without spaces between the words, as here. The German language is full of compound words, of course, and I’m pretty sure that Adolph Blaine Charles et cetera intended to mash his surname into one mega-word. But when I cut the apparently compounded surname from my Wikipedia source and pasted into this blog “without style” (that is, while pushing Shift, Option, Command and v) the name arrived with spaces, and actual (albeit German) words emerged, as above. Aha!!! Does a meaningful message lurk within this madness? I ran Wolfe et cetera through a Google translation device got this:
“Wolfe dorffvoraltern schlegel stone houses were berger schafewaren schaferswessen conscientiously wohlgepflege against powdery and care by attacking through ihrraubgierigfeinde vorandieerscheinen which voraltern zwolftausend year ersteer wander the enschderraumschiff gebrauch light than its origins from his kraftgestart long ride on the search for hinzwischen sternartigraum diesters had any habitable planets circle turn and where the neurasse of verstandigmen schlichkeit could fortplanzen and secure anlebens are oblong joy and rest with no one to fear attack from other intelligent geschopfs of hinzwischen sternartigraum, Senior.”
The sprinkled English is intriguing. I mean, “oblong joy and rest with no one to fear attack from” is good, isn’t it? But all in all, this is not very satisfying. This cryptic surname might benefit from a “human translation,” But human translations cost money, and I’m cheap. At lingoz.com (that’s Lingo Z) one can purchase a translation of these 78 words for $13.8528. A mere $13.8528! Does anyone out there know German and English, or feel like springing for it?
But wait, don’t act yet! I just ran into this at museumofhoaxes.com (not to imply that the name is a hoax; oh no, kids, the claim that Adolph et cetera is the longest name in the world “Seems to be true”):
“The most amazing thing about this name is the translation of the content after ‘Wolfe Schlegel Steinhausen-Bergedorf,’ (‘wolf’ ‘mallet’ ‘Steinhausen (a common placename)’ and ‘Bergedorf (a borough of Hamburg)’) which translates to ‘. . . who before ages were conscientious shepherds whose sheep were well tended and diligently protected against attackers who by their rapacity were enemies who 12,000 years ago appeared from the stars to the humans by spaceships with light as an origin of power, started a long voyage within starlike space in search for the star which has habitable planets orbiting and whither the new race of reasonable humanity could thrive and enjoy lifelong happiness and tranquility without fear of attack from other intelligent creatures from within starlike space.’ ”
Ah, that’s more like it. And, as you may have suspected, the man was, quite clearly, insane.
“I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff”
—Bob Dylan, “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues”, 1965.
”An Auckland accountant was sacked for sending ‘confrontational’ emails with words in red, in bold and in capital letters. . . .
ProCare told the authority [Vicki] Walker – who was fired in December 2007 after two years of employment – had caused disharmony in the workplace by using block capitals, bold typeface and red text in her emails. . . .
Authority member Alastair Dumbleton said Ms Walker received no warnings, and while she had contributed to disharmony in the workplace it was not to the extent that dismissal was fair or reasonable.”
—Rebecca Lewis, “Emails spark woman’s sacking”, The New Zealand Herald, Aug 30, 2009.
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“They were attended by a pack of greyhound dogs and the dogs were lean and silver in color and they flowed among the legs of the horses silent and fluid as running mercury and the horses paid them no mind at all.”
—Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses, 1992.