Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Halloween in July

Another fine example of the strange, ill-timed, and poorly thought-out emails I get at work. The following, which showed up in my inbox — as well as other news editors, I’m sure — not last October but yesterday:

halloween_in_july

Points of interest:
  • The dead link instructing the recipient to upload a photo of the sender.
  • The reference to children as “little goblins.”
  • The following hint to parent-child pairs: “You scrape the guts; they pull out the guts,” which sounds creepy even in the context of jack-o-lanterns.
  • The possible insinuation that parent and child should be squeezing into the same, single costume.
  • The fact that “A little face paint vs. a mask for your toddlers” is more of a quandary than an actual hint.
  • The notion of taking advice from someone whose name sort of means “Mr. Bad Idea.” It’s Don’t Do What Donny Don’t Does all over again.
Have a safe July, everybody!

UPDATE: Oh my god. I found that the “upload photo” link actually leads to an image of Mr. Bad Idea himself. He is terrifying. He has also clearly been colored in with magic marker. Oh my god. Oh my god. See for yourself, though you will have to delete some protective URL gobbledygook after you click.

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: Or just check it out here. Doy.

Monday, July 13, 2009

But I Did Not Shoot the Apostrophe

This could well be one of those overly circulated memes that everyone has already seen, but, nonetheless, it was new to me and I found it amusing.

i_shot_the_serif_kidicarus222

Also, I’m sure I’m not the first to follow up this sight gag with the text that serves as this post’s title.

(Via Aly’s sister.)

She’s Looking for the Perfect Wave

A triple update to my long-neglected series “Ha Ha — This Person’s Name”:

From Sanam, a BBC report on the unfortunately named Major Dickie Head, though the humor of his name is tempered somewhat by the fact that he’s an Iraq War hero and we should all feel bad for laughing.

From Spencer, a KTLA report that bore the headline “Chihuahuas Confront Cougar in SoCal Garage” — which itself is kind of funny, as is any news article with the word cougar in the headline — but which is more noteworthy to this post and this poster because the human involved is named Anna Lee Spray. This about it. Adverbially.

And finally, a name whose existence proves that I understand very little about the Philippines: that of Dingdong Dantes, a big-name Filipino actor and underwear model. No, that’s not his real name, but the fact that he’d chose that as his stage name leads me to believe that the Philippines is different from the Unites States in at least one way.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

The Ghosts of Garden Street

I could say little to better introduce the following news article other than to note that it is a report that ran in the May 19, 1888, edition of the L.A. Times about repeated ghost sightings fairly close to where I live now. The report was drawn from an incarnation of the Santa Barbara Independent, which happens to be the name of the paper for which I now work.

ghosts_on_garden_street

Not sure what to love more — the concluding sentence, the overall dumbness of the whole article or the fact that in spite of this dumbness the author still pointedly noted that the alleged street corner haunting could be a profitable tourist draw. I feel that if anyone at my paper is ever accused of writing something that does not measure up to the journalistic standards mandated by the Independent’s history, they need only to recall this article.

Ghosts, previously:

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Pronoun-a-Thon

For my birthday, Nate bought me a copy of Patricia T. O’Conner’s new book, Origin of the Specious. In it, O’Conner blasts apart grammatical and linguistic myths in her characteristically straightforward, sensible way. She explains why English has been beset by phony no-nos, like the prohibition on using like when you could instead use such as, but she also tackles broader-in-scope mysteries, like when and how Americans lost their British accents. (As she tells it, we didn’t. The plumminess of British English developed over there, after the North American colonies were established. The way we speak is closer to how our founding British fathers spoke than current day Britons’ speech is.) For someone like me, it’s a fun read.

Her passage on English’s problematic lack of a gender-neutral third person singular pronoun reminded me of a word that essentially exists in a way similar to those old contraptions you see in black-and-white footage of people who tried to invent flying machines. Like the machines that invariably dumped their pilots out of trees and off balconies or simply sputtered to a stop, this word is a failure, yet kind of a noble one. Though some record of its existence should be preserved, you can’t mention it without also noting that it didn’t perform the function its daddy intended.

thon — noun: an epicene pronoun invented in 1858 in an effort to replace the genderless he.
Note that didn’t list a pronunciation. At the moment, I’ve found exactly two sites that note how the word should be pronounced: one that suggests the “TH” should sound like the one in thin and another that says it should be like the one in those. I’m inclined to think it should sound like the ones in thee and thou, since those would seem to be the cuttings from which this strange flower grew.

Thon was dreamed up by Charles Crozat Converse, an attorney who, as both O’Conner and Wikipedia note, is primarily known for writing the song “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” (Wikipedia — but not O’Conner — also notes that his “runner-up” contribution seems to be the arrangement for “The Death of Minnehaha.”) Thon also appears to have found some success. O’Conner claims that the word actually appeared in dictionaries and can still be found in those published as recently as fifty years ago. Today, searching for thon is more difficult, as most dictionaries list it as a variant of that -athon suffix so beloved my elementary school fundraisers. And, because it’s the internet, you get a lot of hits for the Thon, a triceratops-like thing from Star Wars, or at least so says the Wookieepedia.

Among the less successful attempts to rid English of the awkwardness inherent in asking every student to take his desk are the following less glorious failed attempts: ne, heer, ha, co, hy, ve, xe, ze, the unusual combo of ze and mer, the triplet team of ze-zam-zerz, and finally the so-called Spivak pronoun. Not all of these are honest attempts at reforming English. Co, Wikipedia claims, is used “in is used in contemporary everyday language by the 100 people who live at Twin Oaks community in Virginia, USA. It is used to mean s/he in the case in which the gender is not known or is irrelevant.” My personal favorite is the Spivak pronoun, which is essentially the forms of the word they with the “TH” chopped off: Ey laughed, I called em, Eir eyes gleam, etc. (See Wikipedia’s chart on how these words work if you’d like to know how they’d plug into actual sentences.) A Random House word-of-the-day post includes even more — including oddities like tey, en, po and jhe — that allegedly arose during the American feminist movement.

Most with a verbally-minded brain guess that English will probably never had a word that fulfills the function that thon would have, had it endured. The American Heritage Book of English has this to offer the subject:
Like most efforts at language reform, these well-intended suggestions have been largely ignored by the general English-speaking public, and the project to supplement the English pronoun system has proved to be an ongoing exercise in futility. Pronouns are one of the most basic components of a language, and most speakers appear to have little interest in adopting invented ones.
Is this, I wonder, similar to how consumers let Betamax die and opted not to teach the metric system?

Previous words of the week:
Word nerd? Subscribe to Back of the Cereal Box’s word-related posts by clicking here.

Friday, July 10, 2009

A Message of Peace From Planet Xarbdoz

I don’t question that Lady Gaga comes from another planet. This must be the truth. And also it must be true that Lady Gaga is treading around on our little sphere to spread a message of love and harmony that can only be communicated through upbeat dance anthems. I have to admit that I don’t really mind Lady Gaga doing this. Lady Gaga’s attempts to speak to us Earthlings constitute fairly good pop music, especially in comparison to what all else takes up Top 40 charts.

(NOTE: At this point, you may have noticed that I’ve avoided using pronouns to refer to Lady Gaga. This results from neither some weird reverence for Lady Gaga. From what I know about the artist’s home planet of Xarbdoz, the correct English pronoun in this situation would be they, but that’s a little awkward and I’d rather skirt the issue altogether.)

I recently watched a clip of Lady Gaga performing an acoustic(ish) rendition of “Pokerface” as part of the AOL Sessions series. It, in my opinion, is irrefutable proof of The Gag’s status as an alien. I encourage you to watch, even if you don’t enjoy her work.



Observations:

Lady Gaga actually has a good voice. This isn’t really apparent from Lady Gaga’s studio tracks, which are all glossed over in the way that can makes talentless singers sound decent, if inauthentic. However, Lady Gaga may not have a good brain, as Lady Gaga apparently decided that an appropriate outfit for an acoustic performance included Diane Keaton’s sunglasses and shiny black clothes that kind of look like the armor worn by the Knights of the Evil Round Table. (Lady Gaga would have been better served wearing the “Mickey Mouse” shades from the video for “Paparazzi.” ) Now that I think about it, Lady Gaga’s earth vocabulary probably doesn’t contain the phrase appropriate outfit.

Lady Gaga can also play the piano, though Lady Gaga does so in a manner that looks like someone who actually doesn’t know how to play the instrument and just exaggeratedly mimes his or her hands above the keys.

(at 0:34) Lady Gaga will not let the restraints of an acoustic set prevent Lady Gaga from throwing in a little flair. What that finger waggle means to Lady Gaga, however, is known only to Lady Gaga.

(at 1:22) Nor does anyone besides Lady Gaga know what that flashed hand signal means. The letter “C”? Or “I’m this close to my power crystal from running out. Need replacement, space assistant.”

(at 1:32) Lady Gaga hunched over, motionless except for the mouth intoning “ba ba ba ba” creeps me out. I feel like I’m actually watching the 70-year-old Lady Gaga of the Future on a post-post-retirement tour. Oh, what a world that will be.

(at 2:12) This is Lady Gaga’s true, extraterrestrial voice emerging, much like the facehugger from Bishop’s chest in Alien.

(3:06) Lady Gaga is a bird now!

(3:09) Now Lady Gaga is playing the keyboard with Lady Gaga’s own high heel-clad foot. This sounds cooler written out than it does in practice. I mean, I could play the keyboard with my foot about as well as this.

(3:26) True alien voice returns. It does not seem as interested in world peace as normal Lady Gaga voice.

(3:34) Now Lady Gaga is swimming. Everybody, Lady Gaga is swimming!

Conclusion: Total alien. That whole story about Lady Gaga being born in Yonkers as Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta — and, yes, that is the purported real name, and, yes, it seems somehow even stranger than Lady Gaga — is a total crock. I’m just awaiting the announcement that Lady Gaga has chosen to place the accent on the second syllable. Gah-GAH! Gah-GAH! Lady Gaga is a bird again.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Cyclops Construction

I never thought I’d have to make the distinction between construction materials and the optic blast-enabling superpowers, but I had to today.

cyclops_eye_beam_i-beam
two kinds of beams

Today I called Palmer, our copy editor, and asked how we write out the term that, when spoken, sounds like either “eye beam” or “I-beam.” I meant the latter version. I suppose that should have been obvious and I might have been the only person in the office who might have reason to use either, but I felt compelled to clarify the moment I said it. “I mean the metal beam that’s shaped like the letter ‘I,’ not laser beams you shoot from your eyes.”

Palmer politely explained that it would make sense that it would follow the pattern established with T-shirt.

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Sue Laroche-Van der Hout

Recent ways people have found my blog:

And selected notes:
  1. Number one hit!
  2. The answer, as I noted here, is Chrono Trigger, though I should probably note that that last one is a truncated version of the band Red Hot Chili peppers, not some other band called Red Ho, amazing though that would be.
  3. Number one hit!
  4. I assume they meant to search lisa ling blog, but I like this one better.
  5. I had originally guessed that it was Ms. Pac-Man, but this guy seems to think the first is some mostly forgotten character from a game titled Tongue of the Fat Man.
  6. I feel like this person actually meant Calca and Brina, though Brian is also a very nice name for a robotic child.

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

One by One, But Sometimes Four at a Time

There was no new Harper’s Island last Saturday, I’d imagine because this day happened to be the Fourth of July and CBS chose instead to air footage of fireworks blowing up Uncle Sam or whatever else constitutes patriotic primetime fare. It doesn’t matter what CBS aired, I say, because no one should have been home watching TV so long as there were watermelon slices to be eaten and grassy hills to roll down. The final episodes of Harper’s Island will air next Saturday — and for two hours, no less. But because no freshly DVRed episode awaited me this past Sunday, I’m getting my fix by writing about the show.


Harper’s Island may not be the next V or the next first-seven-episodes-of-Twin Peaks or even the next Wild Palms, but as far as hourlong, thriller-verging-on-horror miniseries go, it’s not bad. I’m happy that someone has apparently realized my major problem with many slasher movies — that I don’t give a damn about the victims, who so often lose their heads, their lives and any hope of being in the sequel before I’ve had time to learn their names — and then taken steps to remedy the problem by restructuring the genre as a miniseries, wherein characters get actual screen time and development before they bite the big one. Harper’s Island got off to a slow start, with only nobodies and Harry Hamlin initially falling victim to the mysterious killer, but it has tightened up considerably as the final episode drew nearer and nearer. Most remarkably, the show proved it had the guts to kill off major characters. The previous episode, for example, reduced the very likable Cal the British guy and Blonde Chloe to corpses floating down a river. It was a daring move, considering that most mainstream network shows seem like they would broken traditional horror movie rules and given the couple a happy ending.

I’ve even been impressed with the series’ treatment of lesser characters, like Katherine the Unfaithful Stepmother (the amazingly named Claudette Mink, who sometimes looks like Saturday Night Live’s Casey Wilson and sometimes looks like Mulholland Drive’s Laura Elena Harring). Usually when a slasher movie B- or C-listers hover in the background, tagging along with the A-Team when they don’t really need to, they just get picked off, their deaths only being a means to shed a bit more blood while the heroes and heroines run around screaming. Katherine, whose on-the-side hanky-panky seemed like an express ticket to the boneyard, made it quite a bit farther than I would have expected, continuing to develop as a character when an analogue in a “proper” horror movie wouldn’t have lasted through the first reel. And when Katherine did meet her doom, it was a gorier death than I would have expected from the network that gives us NCIS: stabbed with gardening shears through the wicker chair she had been sitting in.

As I said at the beginning of this post, Harper’s Island hasn’t been a complete success. Its sprawling cast meant that even someone invested in the show probably didn’t care about all the characters. And I’ve quickly grown bored with two that have received the most screentime — Final Girl Abby (Elaine Cassidy) and mopey hometown boy Jimmy (C.J. Thomason), who seem to have been patterned on Neve Campbell and Skeet Ulrich even on a molecular level. If the final episode reveals that Jimmy, like Ulrich’s character in Scream, is responsible for the killings, I may well drop my overall grade for the show a full letter, from B+ to C+.

sidney and billy, island-bound

I hope this isn’t the case. In fact, I hope the big finale ties the killings and the killer back to the other candidate for Final Girl, Trish the Bride (Katie Cassidy, no relation to Elaine but yes relation to Partridge Family son David). The savagery with which Trish’s father and brother-in-law were dispatched, the fact that Trish and her sister and niece have so far emerged unscathed, and the absence of a Wellington family matriarch have me speculating that the family tree branches into the psychokiller gene pool.

Next Saturday’s episode — which I, along with most of the show’s fanbase, will watch on Sunday — will prove my guess right or wrong as well as settle the fates of the eight remaining characters, at which point this miniseries will probably be forgotten, excluding the chance of a spiritual sequel knocking off innocents one-by-one, week-by-week in some other remote resort location. (A ski lodge during a blizzard? A cruise ship trapped at sea? A penthouse with an out-of-service elevator… and lazy occupants who refuse to use the stairs?) Of course, I would be remiss if I wrote about my summer fling with Harper’s Island without mentioning the episode titles. As those of us with an INFO button on our remote controls realized, each title is a sound effect referring to noise heard when a victim dies. As in the fairly un-encyclopedically-written page on the show notes, these onomatopoeia of doom are, in order:
  • “Whap” (Cousin Ben’s underwater adventure)
  • “Crackle” (Bridesmaid Lucy’s impromptu barbecue)
  • “Ka-Blam” (Scorned Ex Hunter boombox surprise)
  • “Bang” (Booth lamely doing himself in and remind us of the importance of gun safety)
  • “Thwack” (Mr. Wellington teaching non-seafaring viewers what a headspade is)
  • “Sploosh” (Richard finds that a harpoon has mysteriously entered his torso)
  • “Thrack, Splat, Sizzle” (The three-step process that sent Hurley knock-off Malcolm into the furnace)
  • “Gurgle” (J.D. loses fluids)
  • “Seep” (Katherine ruins perfectly good patio chair)
  • “Snap” (Sheriff Mills suffers the wrath of a Rube Goldbergian gallows)
  • “Splash” (Chloe takes a dive)
One wonders what to make of the titles of the last two episodes, “Gasp” and “Sigh.”

Monday, July 06, 2009

Superman’s New Friend, Lloyd the Llama

I read a post by John “Ren & Stimpy” Kricfalusi on the style in which Wayne Boring drew old Superman comics and consequently learned of the existence of yet another double “L” character inhabiting the stretch of galaxy between Metropolis and Krypton: Lyla Lerrol (a.k.a. Lyla Ler-rol), a vaguely Marilyn Monroe-looking Kryptonian actress whom Superman meets after stumbling back in time to a point when his home planet hadn’t yet sploded.


I suppose she’s not all that important in the scope of Superman mythos, but her existence makes the list of characters with the initials “L.L.” at least fifteen strong:
Rooting around online didn’t immediately turn up an explanation for this strange, Superman-specific trend. (And yes, while alliterative initials are common in comics, particularly in the Stan Lee-created Marvel series, the “L.L.” characters appear in the various Superman series with peculiar regularity.) Allegedly one comic has Mr. Mxyztplk surmising that the paired letters have a special significance in Kryptonian language, but I’d guess such an explanation happened after-the-fact, maybe even in response to readers wondering what the “L” the deal is.

A message board at DVDtalk.com reprints a no-longer-extant online exchange about the mysterious initials. It notes that Lois came first and that Lex Luthor didn’t debut as an “L.L.” but just as one “L”: Luthor. Lana was invented to be a Lois analogue for the stories of young Clark Kent and therefore was giving the double initials as well. These three apparently made for enough of a trend that writers continued to name later characters — especially female characters and especially especially women that Superman falls for — in the same style. Can’t verify it, but it seems as plausible an explanation as any other.

I do hope that any Superman-savvy people Googling their way here will share any thoughts on how this odd naming trend came to be.

Sunday, July 05, 2009

Mother, May I Pet the Pangolin?

From the IMDb trivia listing for the 1996 Tori Spelling TV movie Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?:

During the early stages of filming, Spelling was bitten quite severely by a tame pangolin being used in an adjacent production. In certain scenes, bruising from her rabies inoculations are clearly visible.
In case you’re wondering, Mother, May I Sleep With Danger? happens to be airing on TV right now. I saw it while flipping through channels and had a who’s-that-guy? moment. Turned out it was Lochlyn Munro. I feel like it’s always Lochlyn Munro.

The Fear of Hippos Using Monstrous Words

A new half of the year, a new cycle of strange and wonderful words. I’m not going to keep alphabetical order for this run-through, and I’ve this week decided to go with an “H” word, if only because honorificabilitudinitatibus was starting to look lonely.

In the way that the proper term for the inability to pronounce the letter “S” actually has an “S” in it and the proper term for the inability to pronounce the letter “R” actually has an “R” in it, it seems similarly unjust that the word for the fear of long words would itself be obscenely long.

hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia (hi-pe-POT-e-mon-stre-SES-kwi-pe-DAY-lee-an) — noun: the fear of long words.
Of course, it’s not a generally accepted term. According to those with a knowledge of words and, really, anyone with common sense, it’s a joke that word that lengthens the already unwieldy word sesquipedaliophobia, which itself means “fear of long words” and which seems to based off the word sesquipedalian. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, sesquipedalian goes back to the Latin phrase sesquipedalia verba, literally “words a food-and-a-half-long,” which Horace uses in his Ars Poetica to illustrate the very thing he is criticizing. Presumably, Horace chose this phrase for the same reason someone would centuries later tack parts of the words hippopotamus and monstrous onto sesquipedalian to make it even more humorously long.

Wiktionary notes that with these additions, hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia could be read to mean “the hippopotamus- and monster-related fear of long words.” I’m not sure if that’s true, but I must agree with another assertion: the four syllable phrase fear of long words gets to the point just as easily.

Credit to June Casagrande, whose word blog, Conjugate Visits, introduced me to hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia to begin with.

Previous words of the week:
Word nerd? Subscribe to Back of the Cereal Box’s word-related posts by clicking here.

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Gobacken Sidonna

Five unrelated photos.

One: A Complex magazine cover rendered awkward by the fact that it was already sitting on store shelves the day Michael Jackson died. Jonah Hill probably blames himself. I do, anyway.

Two: Newly emptied shelf space — and not the first time such an occurrence has been noted on this blog.

Three: Inexplicable graffiti in a Ventura gas station bathroom.

Four: A co-worker’s vehicle, dust tagged in her honor.

Five: A copy of a Jimmy Buffet record, A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean, deservedly set beside my apartment building’s dumpster.

jonah_hill_michael_jackson

empty shelf

fuck_the_robot

my_name_is_mashell

photo

Thursday, July 02, 2009

Crush Day

Also, Mike Daley, who I met once and who draws things, popped a little whosit online to illustrate how this week has made him feel. It takes about four seconds to view and is utterly delightful. And you can see it by clicking here.

The Moon Is in My Eyes

Photo dump: a few snapshots from my anti-Solstice, which was photo-bending and not mind-bending. I prefer it that way.

photo

photo

drunken_blur

kitten_cat

bubbies

The last one is notable only because this particular variety of jarred sauerkraut prints its brand name without a necessary apostrophe. The result is that the label seems to indicate that the contents are not Bubbie’s — that is, grandmother’s recipe — but in fact Bubbies, in the plural, which would seem to indicate that the contents are actually shredded grandmothers. This is made all the more effective if it’s placed on a grocery store shelf next to a jar reading beets or dill pickles.