Word of the Day: zenzizenzizenzic

zenzizenzizenzic (n)

A number to the eighth power. (The zenzizenzizenzic of 2 is 256.) 

"Now, zenzizenzizenzic might seem like a rather innocent concept but recall that Google and Wikipedia both experienced zenzizenzizenzic-like growth and, in the process, transformed a number of industries; and, in the coming decade, so too will a number of other emerging technologies."
--Jack Uldrich, unlearning101.com

I never liked math in school, which is probably why I became a damned English major, earning the pity, scorn, and opprobrium of all the "practical" people who didn't know a gerund from a quatrain. If you read about careers these days, a humanities degree is supposed to be economic suicide, a one-way ticket to life as a Walmart greeter. But somehow I've managed to do alright, if not spectacularly, with my logophilia affliction. I don't know if anybody still majors in English, but I hope they do. Somebody has to maintain some standards, even at the risk of being labeled a "grammar Nazi", as I have been. Hate that. Call me a prose technician or a text engineer. Call me Ishmael....

Photo of the Week

This stylized, Art Deco rendering of the solar system is part of the set decor for the 1940 film Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe. It was supposed to be the ceiling over the throne of evil space nemisis Ming the Merciless, but the scene in which our heroes are forced to grovel at his feet as the camera pans up and the ceiling becomes visible wound up on the cutting room floor. Too Eisenstein-ish for the kiddie matinee, the studio decided. Ugh, Hollywood!

Actually, I just made that up. This is the ceiling over an outdoor entrance to Newark Penn Station. I speed-walk under it almost every weekday as I attempt to catch the next PATH train home from work, but I never really looked closely at it until recently. While someone blocked the entrance with a pile of luggage, I pulled out my phone and snapped the pic. Click on it for a closer view, and just try to control your awe and wonder.

The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Way I Feel + Link Mania

Appreciative. I saw Wicked last night, on Broadway -- my wyfe got tickets through work. For a musical that dares to psychoanalyze the Wicked Witch of the West, I thought it was quite well done. The question of why she was so mean is not one that has particularly haunted me, but it was satisfying to get an answer.

Amused. By this. The world's most infamous iceberg tells his (her?) side of the story.

Impressed. Here is one of the finest short foreign films I have seen. (I think every cat is a French existentialist to some degree.)

Puzzled -- at first. "World Peace was ejected from the game." That's a sentence I never thought I'd read on CNN.com.

Swell. I now know how to talk like a 1920s gangster.

Queasy. About the trailer for The Show. "America's favorite guidettes are taking their hijinks from the Jersey Shore to Jersey City in a way that you've never seen before." So sayeth MTV. Um... how could we have seen that before? Guidettes?

Random Acts of Poetry

Eric's Hangover

Not hell, no,
but a street--

broken glass,
chicken bones.

Does no one stop
for the light?

The sun's
a naked lightbulb.

Someone's been drinking
golden Absolut

or was it
apricot brandy?

A patrol car
wailing:

turnpike pile-up,
some emergency

in my head, my head,
my timpani of pain.

Black trash bags
on concrete,

another high-rise
bringing me down,

or was it
something I ate?

Word of the Day: nescience

nescience (n)

Ignorance; agnosticism.

"Your nescience never fails to impress me," Abigail cooed whenever Mr. Dumas offered yet another of his outrageously ill-informed opinions. He would then grin at what he assumed was her admiration."
--Leahcim Setag, Strange Loops

I refuse to be an agnostic. I'm more of a heretic. I believe God is something like the "force" in Star Wars, not like Zeus or the sky diety with the cranky personality described in the Bible. I also believe Jeebus H. Christ had no intention of founding a new religion, and that most of the stories about him are metaphors. Tell me I'm wrong, sailor. Tell me this is nescience.

Search Party

Here are a few recent search queries that brought seekers to this temple of scribomania. This edition contains  some excellent phrases for meditation and naming... things.

balloon sculpture skulls pictures

Sorry, no pictures of skull-shaped balloon sculptures here. (I don't want to know.)

abandoned salt flat cars

Hmm. Nice image. Next time I'm feeling stressed, I'll think about abandoned cars out on the salt flats. And take deep breaths.

einstein tongue

That's an X-rated film, isn't it?

einstein fish bicycle

Yes! Thank you. You have just named my psy-trance conceptual shoegaze band.

giant wire ball

I know this one: the Unisphere, right?

catawampus wikipedia

In a way, this IS the "wikipedia" of catawampus words you've landed on here....

big fish film circus

Great name for a David Lynch film festival.

indian chandelier lighting

"There is an 'chandelier' of light within us all."
--His Holiness Sri Swami Satchikrishnamahanandadanandarishi

Much Ado about NOTHING

Good Deed

There I was, walking down the street, lost in my vagrant thoughts, when out of the crowd came a desperate plea: "George! George!!"

A white-haired woman with thick glasses grabbed my arm and repeated "George!" Since my name isn't George, my first thought was that she was some kind of lunatic, or maybe a pick-pocket. She had quite a strong grip and refused to let me go. "I'm not--" I started to say, thinking that maybe she had mistaken me for someone else. But she interrupted with a lot of whimpering jabber in what sounded like an Eastern European language, and I began to wonder if it was really "George" she was saying, or just something that sounded like it.

Then she pointed across the boulevard, which was full of speeding traffic. I gathered that she wanted help crossing. Now, I was never a boy scout, and it was out of my way, but I've never in my life refused to help someone across the street. Always before, though, it has been someone handicapped or infirm who has asked me.

This woman, despite her age, appeared to be quite healthy enough to cross on her own, and in fact it was more like she was crossing me as we shambled across the boulevard. She pulled on my arm to hurry me up as the DON'T WALK sign began to flash. "OK, OK," I said, walking faster. All the way across she kept whining in a pitiful way, and I decided she must have a phobia about traffic or being hit by a car.

When we reached the opposite curb, I assumed my good deed for the day was done--but no. She pointed to the other side of the cross street and started saying "George!" again. My arm was still a captive, so I let her pull me across that street, too.

Finally, she seemed to be done with me, but before letting me go she murmured "nice man" a few times and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I watched as she toddled down the block to the next cross street, whereupon she grabbed another guy's arm. I wondered how many streets she would cross that day, and how many "Georges" she would find in this crazy city.

Photo of the Week: tulips?

Do not be fooled. This is not what it seems. What look like beautiful, innocent flowers are in reality a combined motion sensor and aerosol spraying system designed to instantly anesthetize with knock-out gas any dog, cat, possum, or human who gains unauthorized access to my secret compound. They can then be given the old heave-ho over the electrified fence (cleverly disguised as ordinary chain-link) by the stalwart guards who patrol my palatial fortress of evil here in the remote Heights of Jersey City.

Actually, I just made that up. Spring has sprung in a neglected corner of my humble backyard. Click the pic for a larger, more stunningly gorgeous view of these tulips. Don't even try to stop yourself. Resistance is futile.

Word of the Day: deliquium

deliquium (n)

Melting or dissolution; liquifying. A maudlin mood.

"When at length overtaken and reconveyed to the house, deliquium followed deliquium, and when they ceased, frenzy succeeded; the dark night of insanity had utterly quenched the light of reason. In her lucid intervals, which were few and far between, she was heard to pray for the return of madness as a relief from sufferings too acute to be endured."
--Reuben Percy, "The Mirror"

Things melt. The salad left too long in the refrigerator turns to green slime. A vinyl phonograph disc left in the sun warps disastrously. A plastic carafe left too close to the stove burner assumes a comical shape.

All these things have happened to me, sad to say. But the worst was during my childhood, when my parents gave me a chocolate bunny one hot Easter morning. While we attended some religious rite, we left the cuniculus confection in the car. When we returned, all that was left of my sacchariferous hare was a pool of chocolate milk. And yes, that put me in a maudlin mood. Oh, what a world, what a world...

~~~

Meanwhile....

Fire Walk With Me. Still.

Link Mania: Find the McGuffin

You know what a McGuffin is. It's the plot device that the characters in a thriller movie or suspense novel are obsessed with obtaining, but that the audience doesn't really care about, except insofar as it drives the story. Hitchcock invented the term and was famous for employing McGuffins in his films. (North by Northwest, for example has two of them: the microfilm containing government secrets and the false identity George Caplan.) Science-fiction is also largely driven by McGuffins. Here's a serious-sounding one:

Your McGuffin is a Wave Singularity Transmitter.

But you may prefer a sillier-sounding plot device:

Your McGuffin is a Cosmic Hallucination Capacitor.
Your McGuffin is a Sonic Accident Drive.
Your McGuffin is a Nuclear Excitement Transmitter.
Your McGuffin is a Quantum Balderdash Lens.
Your McGuffin is a Virtual Orgasm Portal.
Your McGuffin is a Sonic Beauty Transponder.
Your McGuffin is a Sub-quantum Pomposity Destroyer.
Your McGuffin is a Plasma Underwear Generator.
Your McGuffin is a Quantum Pixie Emitter.
Your McGuffin is a Repulsive Elf Obliterator.
Your McGuffin is a Particle Insanity Gun.
Your McGuffin is a Gravitational Fun Creator.

Time on your hands? Generate more of these here.

Head Rattle

I.
The Kentucky Derby is less than a month away, which means the annual Kentucky Derby party I'm invited to (a benefit for a local theater group) is also less than a month away -- which means I have to start thinking of a way to top myself or at least make a decent showing. Last year, I won the prize for being the "most dapper man" at the party. (There wasn't much competition, but I was still very surprised.) Everyone, male and female, is required to wear a hat to this shindig. Should I play it safe and wear the fedora I wore in London last July to hide a crappy haircut? Or the antique and very elaborate sombrero my wyfe found at a flea market and that usually hangs on the wall near our front door? I suppose a derby would be the most appropriate type of headgear. Where to find one?

II.
Someone called me this afternoon and asked to speak with "Andy Gates". "No one here by that name," I informed the caller, who was very apologetic before hanging up. I'm always tempted to play along when this sort of thing happens. I wanted to say, "Yes, this is he" and find out just why someone is so anxious to talk with Andy that they're randomly dialing numbers. The call came in on my office phone, which isn't listed publically. What are the chances of someone just happening to call me when trying to reach someone with the same last name? The more I think about this, the weirder it seems....

III.
I made small talk with the neighborhood crossing guard this morning while hoofing it to the train station. And in the course of one of his usual miniature discourses on politics, economics, or rush-hour traffic, he mentioned that he knows three people who are over 100 years old. "Wow", I said obtusely, trying to picture a trio of centenarian women. All I could think of were the three witches in Macbeth. "Just how wrinkled would they be?" I thought to myself. They say 100 is the new 80....

The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Way I Feel

Macho. I took advantage of today's preternaturally warm spring weather to make like a lumberjack: cutting down dead branches from the apple tree in the back yard and then sawing them up into sticks and twigs. Then I mowed the lawn, such as it is, for the first time this year. I thought I had left all such manly yard work behind me when I left the wilds of Upstate New York for life in the big city, but it seems to follow me wherever I go.

Puzzled. By this speculative Beatles album cover:



I'm wondering who put it together and why. It can't have been an early, rejected attempt at a "White Album" cover -- the Beatles would never have commissioned something so cheesy by 1968. Still, it's amusing... and interesting for the track list. What if the "White Album" had been a single, not a double, album? According to this cover image, the line-up would have eliminated the more idiosyncratic songs (which surely would have ended up later on solo albums).

Click the image for a closer, more readable view. And here is a rejected Revolver cover. I blogged about a more graphically interesting rejected "White Album" cover here.