Book cover posters
oday, the lovely Mme Perpetua (also known as my BBFF) graciously referred me to this post, which details an equisitely lovely, oversized book cover poster that adorns some seriously lucky person’s bedroom wall. That post then prompted a Google search, and that Google search then prompted a desire flaming up within my nerdy self to purchase every single one of the following:
(Initial “T” found HERE)
Crap. I forgot to synchronize my watch.
pparently, the millionth word was added to the English language as of approximately 5:22 this morning, so says Paul JJ Payack, president and chief word analyst at the Global Language Monitor. From CNN.com:
[Payack] says, however, that the million-word estimation isn’t as important as the idea behind his project, which is to show that English has become a complex, global language. ”It’s a people’s language,” he said. Other languages, like French, Payack said, put big walls around their vocabularies. English brings others in. ”English has the tradition of swallowing new words whole,” he said. “Other languages translate.”
Oh, grrrrrrrrreat. This Payack guy sounds like the Grand Pooh-bah of the Everybody Should Speak English Guild that has such a large following here in the United States.
I don’t trust him.
And neither do these people:
Paul JJ Payack, Word Man to the Stars
“This is stuff that you just can’t count,” said Jesse Sheidlower, editor at large of the Oxford English Dictionary. “No one can count it, and to pretend that you can is totally disingenuous. It simply can’t be done.”
Part of what makes determining the number of words in a language so difficult is that there are so many root words and their variants, said Sarah Thomason, president of the Linguistic Society of America and a linguistics professor at the University of Michigan.
In the language of people who are native to Alaska, she said, there are dozens of words for snow, but many of them are linked together and wouldn’t be counted individually. Does that mean, she asked, that “slush,” “powder” and other snow words in English should be counted as one entry?
Thomason called the million-word count a “sexy idea” that is “all hype and no substance.”
Payack said he doesn’t consider his to be the definitive count, just an interesting estimation based on set criteria he has helped develop.
Linguists and lexicographers run into further complications when trying to count words that are spelled one way but can have several meanings, said Allan Metcalf, an English professor at MacMurray College in Illinois, and an officer at the American Dialect Society.
“The word bear, b-e-a-r — is that two words or one, for example? You have a noun that’s a wild creature and then you have b-e-a-r, [which means] to bear left or to bear right, and there’s many other things,” he said. “So you really can’t be exact about a millionth word.”
Payack said he doesn’t consider his to be the definitive count, just an interesting estimation based on set criteria he has helped develop.
And there we have it. Even the self-described “Word Man” doesn’t know what purpose this alleged millionth word serves… other than the fact that it’s “interesting” to him and his elusive, who-knows-if-I’m-anywhere-close-to-being-right criteria.
Nice work.
As the stock market plummets, so do my hemlines
SN Money blogger, Michael Brush, offers us several highly scientific measures of recession severity: the Hemline Indicator, the Undies Indicator, and the “Can I Return This?” Indicator, among others.
In his May 27th post, Brush explains the Hemline and Midriff Indicators:
What our economy needs. (image: rollingstone.com)
In tough times, the experts muse, hemlines drop as an expression of conservatism, only to rise again as the markets hit go-go mode. During the late-1990s boom, the hemline indicator was supplanted by a midriff meter, as more women bared their stomachs as the popularity of tech stocks (and Britney Spears) peaked.
When the financial mess hit two years ago, blouses began replacing halter tops, and midriffs started to vanish, observes Jeffrey Hirsch of the Stock Trader’s Almanac, which looks for seasonal and other patterns that traders can play.
If you believe this indicator, Hirsch says to watch for bellybuttons, plunging necklines and higher hemlines to confirm that we are in recovery mode. As I write this, looking around the streets of New York City on a warm spring day, it doesn’t seem we are there yet.
As for the ever-reliable Undies Indicator, Brush leaves it to former Federal Reserve Chief Alan Greenspan to do the talking:
Greenspan reasons that because hardly anyone actually sees a guy’s undies, they’re the first thing men stop buying when the economy tightens. (He told this to National Public Radio’s Robert Krulwich years ago.)
By extension, pent-up demand means underwear sales should be among the early risers when growth returns and consumers feel confident enough to shrug off “frugal fatigue,” says Marshal Cohen, the chief industry analyst with NPD Group, which tracks consumer behavior. In fact, right now men’s underwear sales suggest that things have bottomed but not started to recover.
Image: thefrisky.com
For a recovery, we’d need to see a return to 2% to 3% annual growth in underwear sales. And that’s not in the cards, believes Bill Patterson, an analyst at consumer research company Mintel. Based on market research and surveys, Mintel predicts a 2.3% decline this year in men’s underwear sales and no recovery until 2013.
That’s four more years of saggy elastic and threadbare cotton.
And in case you’re wondering why Greenspan appears so sexist with his Undie Economic Theory, here’s Brush’s rebuttal:
Folks such as Greenspan don’t seem to look as closely at women’s lingerie — reasoning, perhaps, that women are more sensitive about wearing worn undergarments.
Oh. Of course.
Finally, let’s take a look at the “Can I Return This?” Indicator, shall we? We shall.
The amount of stuff consumers return to stores can also tell us when a rebound is in store, says William Angrick, the chief of Liquidity Services (LQDT, news, msgs).
Returns have spiked for pricey discretionary items — such as high-end apparel and shoes, expensive electronics and top-of-the-line tools and grills — just as they did during the previous recession. “It’s been high since October,” says Angrick. And returns aren’t letting up — as you’d expect if consumers felt recovery was on the way.
Here’s another bad sign: Angrick says the number of consumers who band together to amass the larger buying power needed to purchase directly from Liquidity Services — like the soccer moms who recently bought a bunch of Guitar Hero games and game boxes — is not letting up either. That’s a sign they’re not confident enough to pay retail.
Crap.
Curiously, today I spent $16.99 on an ankle-length, cotton Maxi dress at TJ Maxx.
Coincidence? Only the NYSE can tell…
For more rather oddly conceived recession indicators, click on MSN Money.
* Initial “M” found HERE.
Riders on the Storm…
By far my favorite news snippet of the day (from CNN. com):
Push to make porn star a senator no stunt, fan says
NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana (CNN) – Fans of porn star Stormy Daniels are drafting her to run for the U.S. Senate seat in Louisiana now held by Republican Sen. David Vitter. And it’s no racy gimmick, they say.
Stormy is "best suited" to fulfill the senatorial duties, so says the DSc
The Draft Stormy Web site says that “2010 presents the Pelican State with the opportunity to start with a clean slate — to elect a representative that we can be proud of, who will work tirelessly, and who will challenge the status quo. We at the Draft Stormy campaign feel that Baton Rouge native Stormy Daniels is best suited to fulfill these duties.”
I realize that, lately, Washington has proven a bit underwhelming in the “representatives we can be proud of” category (President Obama notwithstanding, of course), but… I can’t help but think that the Draft Stormy campaigners are serious fans of hyperbole because, “will work tirelessly” I’ll definitely let slide, but “best suited”? really? OK, to be fair, let’s hear the DSc out:
The Draft Stormy campaign was started by New Orleans resident and Daniels fan Zack Hudson, who insists it’s for real. Daniels, 29, isn’t affiliated with a party but is embracing the idea of a possible candidacy. ”Originally, the focus wasn’t even about making me as a candidate,” Daniels said. “I think it was about bringing attention to the Senate race in general. Then the response was overwhelmingly positive. And I think everyone is just running with it.”
She said she’s planning a “listening tour” around Louisiana to talk about a range of matters, including the economy — which along with women in business and protection of children are the three issues listed on her Web site. When told Vitter can be a tough opponent, she said she’s “always up for a good fight. I think anyone that knows me … is more than aware of that,” Daniels said. “Politics can’t be any dirtier of a job than the one I am already in.”
Touché Stormy, touché. And I mean, hey, the whole “listening tour” thing seems like a nice learning experience for you — and might equate to more vetting than Sarah Palin had before she opened her big, unintelligent mouth in the public spotlight. So, who knows? It could totally work for you.
But the Draft Stormy campaign becomes even more entertaining when we consider the Republican senator whom she’ll be battling. Let’s learn a bit more about Senator Vitter:
Senator Vitter is very sorry
Vitter is famous — or infamous — for his link to the “D.C. Madam,” the woman who ran a prostitution ring. Elected to the Senate in 2004, he admitted to “a very serious sin in my past” in July 2007 after his phone number turned up in records of an escort service run by the late Deborah Jeane Palfrey, known as the D.C. Madam.
Running for re-election, Vitter said his wife has forgiven him and is banking on the same sentiment from his constituents. Will the Draft Stormy move mean stormy weather for Vitter?
The senator’s office didn’t return calls by CNN. But a spokesman for the state GOP said voters “are concerned with real issues that affect their everyday lives and not with political or publicity stunts.”
If the Daniels campaign is meant to remind voters of Vitter’s D.C. Madam link, the move could backfire. Clancy DuBos, political director of the New Orleans alternative newspaper Gambit, said Vitter is a brilliant politician with a campaign war chest worth $2 million.
“You are going to need someone better than a porn star, or a lap dancer, or a sex worker to nail David Vitter on this,” DuBos said. “You need a serious opponent who is himself, or herself, not guilty of something like that to say, ‘Let’s talk about family values, shall we?’ “
Low blow, DuBos. Family values, sheesh. Not everyone has a family for whom they establish values, duh. Way to be mean to the grass-roots girl with the pasties. As the DSc states:
“We eschew partisanship and labels, instead judging our leaders on their integrity, character and effectiveness.”
So there.
Dave Navarro is not Stormy's campaign manager, but that could be fun
Back on the chain gang…
hrissie Hynde and her Pretenders are performing at Farm Aid 2008 right now. I am watching it “live” via my sister’s huge-@ss LCD TV, which is properly Direct TV-ified. Which I never really care about except for cool, rare moments such as this. Chrissie Hynde is from Akron, OH, and I’m NOT from Akron, 
but I *am* from Cleveland, so… when I was little, that was close enough to make me feel like she was my second-cousin or something. “Back on the Chain Gang” was the first song that I recall really obsessing over as a little kid. Though, I must admit, cousin Chrissie’s dark raccoon-esque eyeliner kind of scared the S out of me, as did the whole chain gang imagery, both of which I consumed on a daily basis (along with David Lee Roth’s spasmic, excessive Lycra-clad “jumps”) through MTV. But that didn’t stop me from trying to learn every single word to that ding dang song.
I was a pretty naive 8-year-old, which happened to be when the Pretenders’ third album, “Learning to Crawl,” was released, which contained the brilliant “Back on the Chain Gang.” Some would argue that I’m still “pretty naive” — maybe even substantially more than just pretty naive — but as a child… I don’t know. I was definitely in my own world. I mean, I imagined soap opera characters adopted me and I turned trees into drive-thrus. Umm, and I ain’t talkin’ ’bout McDonald’s or Dairy Queen. Oh no no. In my world, there were library drive-thrus. And they were found in trees, but only the trees on my little dead-end street. And they pretty much rocked. And my Big Wheel was a freakin’ master at pulling up exactly at the precise spot where library-book-dropping would occur. (and by library-book-dropping I mean pine-cone-dropping.)
My world was also one where I was convinced (due to the inexplicable visual power possessed by music videos) that chain gangs were a commonality… it was just that they were specifically being hidden from my view. Kind of like how I knew my stuffed animals and dolls always had massive Kool-Aid and mac-’n-cheese fiestas (complete with piñatas) the second I closed my bedroom door. I’d try to catch them by sneakily opening my door at a snail’s pace, but… no dice. Those stuffed b@stards were just way too fast and strategic for me. And I was sure these slippery chain gangs operated in a similar fashion. To the point that I even envisioned my Cabbage Patch Kids rockin’ the chains and the striped jumpsuits. Shirley Odelia still looked pretty cute with her yarn pigtails and dimples.
Anyway, I just totally went on a tangent. My point is that, I don’t know why an 8-year-old should have known about the reality of a “chain gang,” but… you know, it maybe would have been nice for my family to inform me that stuffed animals and Kool-Aid weren’t involved. And that there was sort of a political slant goin’ on. Not that I necessarily would have understood that at 8 years-old, but still. Anyway, so some additional Pretenders-related info that I was also missing out on was the fact that their band members had changed since their second album (conveniently titled “Pretenders II”). And it wasn’t just ’cause a couple of them had some library books to read and return to the tree drive-thru, either. Unfortunately, it was because they had decided to overdose on drugs. So that sucked.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about where I was one year ago. It wasn’t a pretty place. Well, I was actually at Farm Aid 2007 in NYC one year ago. And that WAS a pretty place. But… psychologically speaking… I was not in a pretty place. And, one year later, local farmers still need support, and I’m still banging my head against the wall. And sometimes the floor. And pillows. And shower tiles. Anyway, my point is that… time passes, but I’m not sure I do. Or others do. I’ve never had a grip on Change. And, after all, aren’t we all prisoners stumbling along our own self-inflicted chain gangs? We’re slashed and split and dragged, at the mercy of our own will and our own demons… and how they don’t jive with the will imposed by Others, whether society or family or politicians or religions or… Or with the will to change.
In any case… a brilliant, dynamic, majorly important writer committed suicide two Fridays ago, on September 12th. David Foster Wallace had apparently had enough and made a final “mercy” cry at the ripe old age of 46. Hanging was his method of choice. His wife came home and found him, hanging there, lifeless.
From previous pogs, this one in particular, you might recall that I am currently teaching an undergraduate writing course on the figure of the tortured poet (which extends to all types of artists, really). Well… to have DFW commit suicide at this moment… let’s just say, it spoke volumes to my students and me. One of them is now going to present on DFW for the required Oral Presentation during the second half of the semester. I would say I’m “looking forward” to it, but… that doesn’t quite sound right.
In any case, suicide is generally considered a taboo topic — among everyone, let alone in the classroom. But… it’s unavoidable in a course such as mine, where it just so happens that every single author that we’re reading either has a protagonist that commits suicide, or the author him/herself commits suicide. We just got done reading Vigny’s play “Chatterton,” which centers on the real-life 18th-Century poet, Thomas Chatterton, who really did commit suicide (via arsenic poisoning) at the tender age of 17. Chatterton then became a symbol of the tragedy of the misunderstood, underappreciated poetic genius, referred to and extolled throughout the 19th Century, most notably by Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Keats.
Well, Chatterton’s youthful brilliance and imagination has a legacy that is far-reaching and pitiable. DFW was no stranger. Most known for his 1000-page novel, Infinite Jest (1996), DFW also wrote several other works and contributed to magazines such as Rolling Stone, the New Yorker, and Harper’s. Following the success of Infinite Jest, DFW was interviewed by NPR’s David Lipsky and had the following to say on the subject of suicide:
I spent a week interviewing Wallace, after the 1,000-page novel Infinite Jest made his name. He was faultlessly polite. He lived alone with two dogs. He told me the best books were “a conversation about loneliness.” He said, “If a writer does his job right, what he basically does is remind the reader of how smart they are. Wake the reader up to stuff that reader’s been aware of all the time.”
He talked about being lonely, the fear that his tussle “with burly, psychic self-consciousness figures” might get so bad he’d do damage to himself.
He talked about a friend’s unsuccessful try at suicide, how it scared him off. He laughed. “I just, just — I knew that if anybody was fated to screw up a suicide attempt, it was me.”
In his retrospective on the life of DFW featured on NPR’s “All Things Considered” last Monday, Lipsky continued:
Well, [Wallace] succeeded. When someone very gifted kills themselves, it’s like the best student dropping out of high school. There’s the tragedy, but it’s set in a particular and personal fear: What are they seeing that we don’t? The loss to his family is impossible to imagine. The loss to us is easy.
No writer saw the era as clearly. Wallace’s readers counted on him to go on, progressing distantly but alongside us, filing new reports every couple of months, helping us remember how smart we were, inviting us into his crisper world. In his last book of fiction, he wrote a story about suicide, about “emerging from years of literally indescribable war against himself,” and ending with the sentence, “Not another word.”
So… what does one do after a thing like this? I don’t know. As Chatterton says in Vigny’s play, “I write. Why? Because I have to.”
