If That's Wonder Woman, Where's Her Star-Spangled A--?

Yeah, that's the new Wonder Woman. I don't have a whole lot to say about this because, like most red-blooded American geeks, I haven't read her comic in years.

DC is rebooting the character in an attempt to give her some more fans. While I'm getting a little tired of all these reboots, it is also pretty clear that something needed to be done. She hasn't really been all that interesting since the days when she was rescuing Steve Trevor, palling around with Etta Candy, and getting tied up with her own lasso way too often. So Jim Lee has given her a new costume and J. Michael Straczynski has re-written her whole life, origin to now. It might not be such a bad idea. I mean, peace ambassador for Themyscira is not the sort of mission to engage a readership. War against crime, upholding truth, justice, and the American way, that can get your blood pumping. Peace ambassador? Anyway, the whole point of a continuing character is to be an ongoing vehicle for stories, so if we get good stories out of this then it was a good idea.

As for the costume, I'm just not sure. The original look, iconic as it was, was a bit goofy. It's pretty hard to be taken seriously as an ambassador or as a crimefighter dressed in a strapless bathing suit and go-go boots. And DC gave Robin pants years ago, so why not Wonder Woman? But the new look doesn't have all that much pizazz. Perhaps she'll lose the jacket in time. If bare arms are good enough for Michelle Obama, they should be okay for the Amazon princess.

At least she's still got the tiara and bracelets. It's just not Wonder Woman without the tiara and bracelets.

It Really is a Dark and Stormy Night, Isn't It?

As Holmes, who had a nose for danger, quietly fingered the bloody knife and eyed the various body parts strewn along the dark, deserted highway, he placed his ear to the ground and, with his heart in his throat, silently mouthed to his companion, “Arm yourself, Watson, there is an evil hand afoot ahead."

And that's only a runner up!

This year's Bulwer-Lytton Award winners have been announced.

Glenn's Book of Quotes Number Twenty

“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.” – Groucho Marx.


Sometimes a quote is just so perfect you can't add anything. I am forever a Marxist.

Oh, Poe

When a new biography of Edgar Poe comes out it gets right onto my to-be-read list, so I suppose it's some measure of how far behind I am that I am only now reading James M. Hutchisson's 2005 book, Poe. If you've been waiting all this time for my opinion I'm sorry. I'll try to read faster in the future.


Hutchisson's is the third major biography of the writer to come out in the last twenty years. Kenneth Silverman's Edgar A. Poe: Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance and Jeffrey Meyers' Edgar Allan Poe: His Life and Legacy were both excellent books. Silverman's study has been described as psychological, focusing on the mind of the man. Meyers looked more closely at Poe's writing and used it to illuminate events in his life. I wondered, what would Hutchisson bring that hadn't been covered before?


The answer, it seems, is his own point of view and interpretation of Poe's work. It makes for a pretty good read. Hutchisson's opinions are interesting, thought provoking, and occasionally frustrating.


An example would be his interpretation of what he sees as sexual imagery in “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” The fact that the narrator is excited by Dupin's imagination and the fact that they walk arm in arm is, we are told, Poe's signals that they are desirous of a “homosexual fling.” Similarly, the murdered women, who sleep in the same bed (not at all uncommon in the nineteenth century), are named L'Espanayes, which sounds a bit like “lesbians.” And their gate is “forcibly penetrated” by a man with a crowbar. Poe, it seems was giving his work sexual overtones that the common reader might miss.


I'm sorry, but . . . phooey. A twenty-first century scholar may see these things, but that's only because he is living in our post-Freudian world. To think that Poe deliberately intended this symbolic interpretation is almost as absurd as Marie Bonaparte's Freudian psychoanalysis of Poe by reading such symbolism as being unintended revelations.


There are a few other annoyances. Poe, we are told, was not a racist. I'm not sure what definition of racist is being employed here, but Poe definitely supported the institution of slavery based on the notion that black men were inferior. He was probably no more of a racist than the average slavery-supporting antebellum southerner. But as a man who had once helped a relative sell a slave (a fact not mentioned in this book) and a man who objected to northern writers partly because many of them were abolitionists, he was certainly no less of a racist.


And I may be nit-picking here, but I was disappointed when James Russell Lowell's famous description of Poe as “Three-fifths of him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge” was misquoted with the wrong fractions. Not the worst mistake in the world, but since he gets the quote right only 76 pages earlier it does suggest the need for a bit of copy editing.


It sounds like I'm coming down a bit hard on this book.  In don't want to leave the impression that it isn't quite readable and interesting. Nonetheless, if you are looking for a biography of Edgar A. Poe, pick up the Silverman and the Meyers first.

Bionic Kitty

Happy Caturday, and it is a very happy Caturday for Oscar. He just became the first bionic cat. When I first heard about this I assumed that he had been given superpowers. Faster than a speeding bulldog, able to leap tall scratching posts in a single bound, that sort of thing. I was wrong.

Excuse me, I've got something in my eye.

The best headline of the year award goes to AP for Bionic British Cat Gets Faux Paws.

Please Come To Boston . . .

Superman is going to go walkabout America in an upcoming series of comics written by J. Michael Straczynski's. DC is running a contest for people who want to see the Big Blue Cheese walking through their town. But darn it all, he's not going to wander in the northeast. C'mon Supes, Boston needs you. You could walk the Freedom Trail. You could have a Lobster at Summer Shack. You'd have no trouble cracking the thing open. We've got a few villains here you could sort out. I'm pretty sure I saw Solomon Grundy on the subway last week. It might have been him. He smelled like a guy who had died in a swamp. Maybe you could just fly by on your way back to Metropolis. Seriously, we haven't had a superhero since the Creeper. The Creeper? Oh man. Seriously, Man of Steel, we'd love a visit. I'll put the kettle on.

Spinning Plates

Recently the Massachusetts RMV (what most states call the DMV) began offering license plates with the “choose life” message. The money raised from the sale of these plates goes to anti-abortion groups.

A lot of people have a problem with this. They argue that it is a political statement and the government should not be seen as endorsing one side over another.

I don't agree. I say that we should have more specialty plates. I'd like to see plates that support abortion rights. I want to see pro and anti gun plates, marijuana legalization plates, wind farm plates, casino plates, marriage equality plates, universal health care plates, immigration reform plates, war plates and peace plates. How about plates that identify our political parties (GOP, Dems, Libertarians, Green, Socialist, Whig), our religious affiliation (RC, UCC, UM, Baptist, Christian Science, Episcopal, UU, Scientology, Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, Orthodox, Reform, or Conservative Jew, Hindu, Shiite, Sunni, Zoroastrian, atheist), and whatever sexual proclivities we might want the world to know about (gay, straight, bi, polyamorous, B&D, S&M)? We've got plates that proclaim our affiliation to a sports team. Why not plates that tell the world our favorite store or designer? People who buy that one would get a discount when shopping.

There is, of course, a danger here. Once we open this thing up we'll begin seeing plates that support repulsive things. Imagine special plates for racists, sexists, homophobes, or Yankees fans. But that's the price of freedom. When you turn your license plate into a means of personal expression you're going to see rather a lot of personal expression.

Of course the alternative is to stop allowing these special plates. But then how would people who want to express themselves on their cars and send money to their favorite causes proceed? Bumper-stickers and donations? How quaint. And then what would our plates be for?

I Never Thought I'd Miss Cowbells

I can't watch it. The World Cup is on and I just can't watch the TV. It's the noise.

The vuvuzelas were bad enough. But now they're dancing with jin-tinglers tied to their heels. They blow their flu-flubers, they bang their tar-tinkers, they blow their hoo-hoovers, they bang their gar-dinkers! I mean, how can we enjoy the beautiful game when they are blowing their trum-tookers, slamming their sloo-slunkers, beating their blum-blookers and whaming their hoo-whunkers?

If there's one thing I hate it's all the noise, noise, noise, noise.

(offered with apologies to the memory of Theodore Geisel)

Trek Tok

I must admit I've never heard of Ke$sha, and I'm not usually a fan of this type of music, which I'm told is called "dance-pop," but there's just something about this video that I like.



If you haven't clicked on it yet, go ahead. It is surprisingly well done and kind of catchy. I caught my girlfriend, the whitest woman I know, dancing to it. But then, she's a Trekkie too.

And We're Giving You a Tie

I Don't Care if it Rains or Freezes, Long as I Got My Plastic Jesus

Until last night a 62 foot statue of Jesus rose from a large baptismal pool at the Solid Rock Church along I-75 in Ohio. While the church may be built on a solid rock, the statue was made of styrofoam on a metal frame, and covered with fiberglass. It cost about a quarter of a million dollars.

Touchdown!

Last night it was struck by lightning and consumed by flame.

While some may be tempted to suggest that the Lord was expressing his opinion of the church's theology, I will not. Certainly I disagree with some of their tenets. I don't accept that the Bible is the expression of the mind of God. No book, no matter how revered, can capture the mind of God. Doctrinal and style differences aside, I'm sure that the Lord has a lot more to be angry about than one megachurch in Middle America.

I do think God has a sense of humor. Perhaps he noticed that the number one seller at the church's online store is a CD called Worship on Fire by the Fire Choir.

God may indeed be speaking here, and perhaps I can attempt to interpret what the He is saying.

While it is true that the Bible contains much wisdom and many of God's laws, it is not the alpha and omega in itself. There is other wisdom and there are other laws. For example, if you build a tall metal structure on a flat plain or in a pond, and you locate it in a place that has occasional electric storms, you can be pretty sure that it will eventually be hit by lighting. If that metal structure is covered with flammable material, the result will be flames. In other words:

And the Lord created the laws of physics and probability, and you ignore them at your own peril. And the Lord looked down upon the graven image and spake.

“Shazam!” sayeth the Lord.

Trivial Hoot Twelve

Hello again my brilliant puzzlers. Our last question was answered in record time by the newest Steely-Eyed Missile Man, t4tudor, who knew that Edward V and Edward VIII were the only English kings never to be crowned.

This time we're going in a different direction and quizzing you on sports. I'm not usually one for sports trivia but the subject of this one transcends mere games.


As always the first person to get it right will receive a big hoot and will join our roll of honor as a Steely-Eyed Missile Man or Woman.

Here are four teams for you to consider. The Bruins, the Capitals, the Dodgers, and the Lions. Each of these professional teams was the first to do something in their respective sport. What was the significant thing that each of these teams did first?

Life on Titan

Sensors show life signs on Saturn's largest moon, Titan. We should beam down to the surface and try to establish contact. Phasers on stun.

In the real world signs of life don't necessarily mean life, but the data are intriguing. In 2005 a NASA scientist speculated that microbial methanogenic life could exist on the oxygen poor moon. These critters would breath in hydrogen, consume acetylene, and excrete methane. Now comes the Cassini space probe showing us that there is less hydrogen and acetylene at the satellite's surface than there should be. It's almost as if there is something down there that is consuming it. Whoa.

Have we really found evidence of extra-terrestrial life? Maybe, maybe not, but it will be a long time before we can be sure. NASA isn't funded for anything beyond low-earth orbit anymore, so the universe will just have to wait.

Glenn's Book of Quotes, Number Nineteen

“To be great is to be misunderstood.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's a lovely quote, very encouraging to a lot of us. But remember, the opposite is not always true. Just because you are misunderstood does not mean you are necessarily great. You might just need to express yourself more clearly.

I Am Ironbaby!

Yeah, they're already getting calls from Hollywood.

Sea Cats

Happy Caturday! Here's a lovely collection of pictures showing cats in the sea services, including this one of little Miss Hap being nursed by a Marine. Tip o' the hat to Folderol for the link.

Hooray For Yiddish!

It's kind of a pointless exercise, writing about a book that is out of print. It's not like you, gentle reader, can rush out to your nearest Border & Noble-a-Million DotCom and pick it up. But perhaps someone in the wide, wide world of publishing will hear about this and decide that this is just the right time to re-release a wonderful book with limited commercial appeal. Yes, perhaps that will happen.

Many, many years ago I read Leo Rosten's wonderful The Joys of Yiddish. Many years after that my best beloved, trolling the bargain book tables as she is wont to do, found the sequel, Hooray For Yiddish! She brought it home and said “Look, you'll want to read this!” I agreed, and we put it in the stacks for later reading. And, since there are thousands of books in our tiny apartment, and since we are terribly disorganized people, I lost track of it.

Flash forward a few years to last month. I stumbled across it next to a DVD with a Star Trek cartoon on it (I told you we were disorganized). And that brings us here.

The subtitle of Hooray for Yiddish! is “A Book About English.” And so it is. This is a lexicon of words in English, Yiddish, and “Yinglish.” The English words and phrases are those that have been influenced by Yiddish. These include “crazy-doctor,” “so sue me,” and “live a little.” The Yiddish ones are words from that language that have entered our language or that Rosten thinks should enter our language. These include “mentsh,” “shlock,” and “shlemiel.” Yinglish words are, of course, those that straddle the line, like “ipsy-pipsy.”

If you think that sitting down with a lexicon would be at all boring, you obviously don't know Leo Rosten. Rosten was a terrific writer, wit, and raconteur. His writing is wise, learned, and hilarious. Almost every entry is illustrated by a joke. It doesn't matter that some of the jokes are, shall we say, classic. The truly good ones are always worth retelling.

Here for example is how he explains the use of the word “kibitzer,” meaning one who comments from the sidelines, offers unasked-for advice, or wisecracks:

The sign on the doctors' office read:

DR. ROBERT LEWIN, Brain Surgery.

DR. J.O. BANKMAN, Psychiatry.

DR. CHARLES GOLUB, Proctology.

Under this imposing troika, a kibitzer scrawled:

We specialize in

Odds and Ends.

And here is how he illustrates the word “mazel,” meaning luck:

In the powder room of the Ritz Hotel in London, bejeweled dowagers, attending a great charity ball, fluttered about the mirrors. Several noticed an enormous diamond on the pink and ample bosom of Lady Gwendolyn de Plotnick. “I may say,” said Lady de Plotnick, “that this is the third-largest diamond ever known. The largest was the Cullinan diamond; the second largest, the Kohinoor; and the third is—the Plotnick.”

“Gracious!”

“My!”

“How fortunate you are!” cooed the ladies.

“We-ell, not all that meets the eye is fortunate,” said the admired one. “As my ancestors often said, 'Nothing is all mazel.' So it is with this diamond. Alas, whoever wears the Plotnick diamond inherits the Plotnick Curse.”

“Oh.”

“What's the Plotnick Curse?”

Sigh. “Plotnick.”

As I read this book my amazement at the influence this language, spoken by a tiny minority of Americans, continued to grow. I hear Yidishisms and Yiddish influenced English all the time, often spoken by people who have no idea of the origin of their words or why they phrase things the way they do. It is a tribute to the genius of America, the strength of the English language, and the incredible dynamism of the Jewish people. America, the melting pot, continually refreshes itself with new peoples, cultures, and ideas. We took in these huddled masses from eastern Europe and they gave us the gifts of their language and culture. The world has never been the same.

The marriage of English and Yiddish is surely a match made in heaven. Both are magpie languages. Yiddish is a thousand years old. It is Germanic at its base, written with the Hebrew alphabet, with bits of eastern European, Slavic, Romance, and other languages mixed in. It took a bit from here and a bit from there and became its own beautiful thing. English is an aggressive borrower. As James Nicoll famously said, “English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat them unconscious and rifle through their pockets for new vocabulary.” It gladly lends and even more happily takes any word, phrase, or grammatical construction that might be useful, euphonious, or just fun to say.

While the combination was perfect, the growth of Yinglish still seems amazing. It's influence on our language is entirely out of proportion to the relatively small group of people who spoke the language. Today fewer than 200,000 Americans can converse in Yiddish. And yet it is a big part of our language. Why? Because of the people who spoke it. The culture of these Ashkenazim was shot through with a love of learning, language, and literature. They were a people who had suffered much and were determined to survive and prosper. They were brave, brash, witty, talented, and funny.

I think funny is the key here. In vaudeville, radio, musical theater, stand-up comedy, movies, and TV, Jewish people have had a tremendous influence. Just look around: Milton Berle, Jack Benny, George Burns, Lenny Bruce, Jerry Seinfeld, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, Morey Amsterdam, the Marx Brothers, Phil Silvers, Henny Youngman, the Three Stooges, Jon Stewart, Lewis Black, Billy Crystal, Soupy Sales, Jerry Stiller, Neil Simon, Carl Reiner, Allan Sherman, Zero Mostel, Buddy Hackett, Carol Kane, and Krusty the Clown. Try to imagine American humor without them. Impossible. The very idea is meshugge.

If Italian is the language of music and French is the language of love, Yiddish is surely the language of funny. Shmendrick, shmo, shlemazl, they're just fun to say. Shmeer, shpilkes, shmuck, useful words to be sure, but also a joy to hear.

Rosten's enjoyment of and enthusiasm for his mama-loshn, his mother tongue, is infectious. This is certainly the best lexicon I've read this year. Good luck trying to find your own copy. Mazel tov. 

Boom

This essay on oil booming has been around for a couple of weeks now, but I don't think it is getting the attention it deserves. Oil booms are those bright orange barriers that BP is putting down near the shore to protect the coast from their oil spill. They don't seem to be doing much good, and this article, written by a guy called “Fishgrease,” explains why, clearly and concisely . Oil booms, it seems, need to be set up in a very particular way. Do it right and they work. Just lay them down parallel to the coast, as BP has been doing, and they are useless. But they are bright orange, clearly visible to the media and the press, and do an excellent job of making it look like something is being done.



Fishgrease makes some great points here. First, BP knows they are doing it wrong. They know and the Coast Guard knows, and no one is saying anything about it. That hurts, because I'm a big fan of the Coast Guard, but the point seems to be irrefutable. Second, this stinks all the way to the top. President Obama, a smart guy, should know by now that the booming that is being done is only for show, a salve on salve on BP's reputation, but he says nothing about it. Third, there is simply not enough booming material to protect the entire endangered region. That may be the most damning point. If you are doing something that is inherently dangerous, and if the worst case scenario is even remotely possible, you have an obligation to be prepared for it. If it wasn't already obvious, BP did not meet this obligation.



Members of the press and our political leaders should read this. Some of them might skip over it, because it is on a liberal website, is written by a guy with a funny name, and is punctuated with a lot of vulgar language. That's a pity, because people really ought to know.

Sir Patrick

As a Trekkie I can't let this moment pass. Patrick Stewart, who played a starship captain whom Captain Kirk once met, was knighted yesterday by Her Majesty Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith. The honor was conferred upon Stewart for “services to Drama.”


Although the film that he worked with Shatner in, Star Trek VII, was ultimately disappointing, he played his role well and the accolade is certainly deserved.

Paula Poundstone's Cats Don't Do Anything

Here's a video of them not doing anything.
This morning my cat knocked over a trash can, pulled a book halfway off a shelf, and deftly placed a hairball under my desk chair. No video of that, sorry.

Perfectly Ordinary

Please pay no attention to the radioactive fish near the Vermont Yankee nuclear plant.  Just an ordinary fish, nothing to see here, move along.