Impious since 2006
Dec 7, 2013
Pearl Harbor Day 2013
Dec 6, 2013
Ponderable Meme
This one just popped into my head the other day...
I'm hoping to start a MEME with this... my impiousness abounds.
Dec 5, 2013
Idiosyntaxies, Part One
posted by killre
It has been said the pen is mightier than the sword.
For once, the yahoos I employ as a research team earned the digitally transferred pennies I pay them, returning a list of links that were helpful in learning the origins of the above expression. The site at the top of the list was located at phrases.org.uk. Clicking my way through three or four other sites confirmed and cross-referenced much of what they had to say.
"The pen is mightier than the sword," in that specific form, is almost universally attributed to an English writer named Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1839-- although the attributors always hasten to add that the sentiment is far older. (A footnote for fans of the cartoon character Snoopy: Bulwer-Lytton was also the author of the opening line, "It was a dark and stormy night.")
The oldest-known expression of the sentiment is ascribed to the ancient Greek playwright Euripides more than 2400 years ago: "The tongue is mightier than the blade."
The first use of the same thought by an English-language writer was cited by phrases.org as taking place in 1582 by a man whose name, given this context, was incredibly ironic: George Whetstone. In case you're currently blanking on what a whetstone is, it's an implement used to sharpen blades. Whetstone's choice of terms, in fact, hints at a possible attempt to avoid the inherent irony. I will both paraphrase and translate from ye olde mispelde Englishe: The wound of the pen is more grievous than the wound of the lance.
In addition to the two I've noted, there were several references to the same essential thought being expressed in slightly different words --including by such luminaries as William Shakespeare (again with the irony) and Thomas Jefferson-- that precede Bulwer-Lytton's more well-known version. Whatever the specific incarnation, the expression has the same basic meaning.
Meaning. Ah, yes... there was one troubling item I encountered in my thumbnail search. Addressing from the outset the question of what the pen is mightier than the sword actually means, the researchers at phrases.org provided a ponderous two-word paragraph that they didn't even bother to capitalize: "literal meaning." In other words, their esteemed estimation is that the pen is literally mightier than the sword.
That statement is so demonstrably untrue one is left to wonder if the boys and girls at phrases.org know the meaning of the word literal. "The pen is mightier than the sword" is not and never has been meant literally. As evidence of my contention, I point out that in the whole of human history, no swordfight has ever been won by the guy wielding a goose quill. Maybe I'm going out on a limb in saying that, but I feel every bit as confident as I would if I were about to fight, oh, you know where this joke is going.
One other site also claimed the expression has a literal meaning. Having perused the entry, however, I am forced to conclude that the person who clickity-clacked the claim into cyber-existence is, if you'll pardon my use of a technical term, a goofball who thinks she's a writer and offers exactly zero evidence to support her assertion-- probably because there isn't any.
What the rest of us already know is that the expression --in all its various versions-- is and always has been a metaphor, from first letter to last and all the spaces in between. The groundwork for the case is laid in the word choice of the three examples I've given. All three writers chose terms that were at once familiar to their audience while being slightly out of fashion. Euripides said, "The tongue is mightier than the blade," despite the fact that the pen, or stylus, was the, heh, cutting-edge technology of the day. Shifting his attention to the other weapon, George Whetstone basically said the pen was mightier than the lance. Whetstone did this in the late 16th century, two hundred years or more after the use of guns had become fairly widespread in Europe. Likewise, Bulwer-Lytton chose to employ sword, even as that weapon was falling into disuse. In all three cases, the writer was seeking to cast his idea in obvious symbolism-- specifically so it wouldn't be taken literally.
What the pen is mightier than the sword actually means, of course, is that words are ultimately more powerful than violence-- at least in the long run. Words are the code by which we transmit ideas, be they profound or ordinary. Well-thought ideas, communicated by well-chosen words, have the power to change the way others think... although it too-often takes a deal of time. Violence, on the other hand, seeks only to quickly impose one's will on another. It does not change their fundamental attitudes, and it leaves the underlying disagreement alive and festering.
[Unfortunately, but accurately, I have been known on numerous occasions to state --either to my fellow contributors or to you, Dear Reader-- that I have either a new or continued post coming soon, which I then fail to deliver. To subvert whatever juju affects this phenomenon --Murphy's Law, writer's block, good old-fashioned laziness-- I will make no such promises here. Instead, I will say only that I hope this post serves as a springboard to a sequel, which I intend to be both lighter and more recognizably relevant.]
-------------
P.S.... Dan "Yes I Can Afford A Better Tailor But I Choose To Look Like The Hobo Who Crashed The Cotillion" Hicks must go.
It has been said the pen is mightier than the sword.
For once, the yahoos I employ as a research team earned the digitally transferred pennies I pay them, returning a list of links that were helpful in learning the origins of the above expression. The site at the top of the list was located at phrases.org.uk. Clicking my way through three or four other sites confirmed and cross-referenced much of what they had to say.
"The pen is mightier than the sword," in that specific form, is almost universally attributed to an English writer named Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1839-- although the attributors always hasten to add that the sentiment is far older. (A footnote for fans of the cartoon character Snoopy: Bulwer-Lytton was also the author of the opening line, "It was a dark and stormy night.")
The oldest-known expression of the sentiment is ascribed to the ancient Greek playwright Euripides more than 2400 years ago: "The tongue is mightier than the blade."
The first use of the same thought by an English-language writer was cited by phrases.org as taking place in 1582 by a man whose name, given this context, was incredibly ironic: George Whetstone. In case you're currently blanking on what a whetstone is, it's an implement used to sharpen blades. Whetstone's choice of terms, in fact, hints at a possible attempt to avoid the inherent irony. I will both paraphrase and translate from ye olde mispelde Englishe: The wound of the pen is more grievous than the wound of the lance.
In addition to the two I've noted, there were several references to the same essential thought being expressed in slightly different words --including by such luminaries as William Shakespeare (again with the irony) and Thomas Jefferson-- that precede Bulwer-Lytton's more well-known version. Whatever the specific incarnation, the expression has the same basic meaning.
Meaning. Ah, yes... there was one troubling item I encountered in my thumbnail search. Addressing from the outset the question of what the pen is mightier than the sword actually means, the researchers at phrases.org provided a ponderous two-word paragraph that they didn't even bother to capitalize: "literal meaning." In other words, their esteemed estimation is that the pen is literally mightier than the sword.
That statement is so demonstrably untrue one is left to wonder if the boys and girls at phrases.org know the meaning of the word literal. "The pen is mightier than the sword" is not and never has been meant literally. As evidence of my contention, I point out that in the whole of human history, no swordfight has ever been won by the guy wielding a goose quill. Maybe I'm going out on a limb in saying that, but I feel every bit as confident as I would if I were about to fight, oh, you know where this joke is going.
One other site also claimed the expression has a literal meaning. Having perused the entry, however, I am forced to conclude that the person who clickity-clacked the claim into cyber-existence is, if you'll pardon my use of a technical term, a goofball who thinks she's a writer and offers exactly zero evidence to support her assertion-- probably because there isn't any.
What the rest of us already know is that the expression --in all its various versions-- is and always has been a metaphor, from first letter to last and all the spaces in between. The groundwork for the case is laid in the word choice of the three examples I've given. All three writers chose terms that were at once familiar to their audience while being slightly out of fashion. Euripides said, "The tongue is mightier than the blade," despite the fact that the pen, or stylus, was the, heh, cutting-edge technology of the day. Shifting his attention to the other weapon, George Whetstone basically said the pen was mightier than the lance. Whetstone did this in the late 16th century, two hundred years or more after the use of guns had become fairly widespread in Europe. Likewise, Bulwer-Lytton chose to employ sword, even as that weapon was falling into disuse. In all three cases, the writer was seeking to cast his idea in obvious symbolism-- specifically so it wouldn't be taken literally.
What the pen is mightier than the sword actually means, of course, is that words are ultimately more powerful than violence-- at least in the long run. Words are the code by which we transmit ideas, be they profound or ordinary. Well-thought ideas, communicated by well-chosen words, have the power to change the way others think... although it too-often takes a deal of time. Violence, on the other hand, seeks only to quickly impose one's will on another. It does not change their fundamental attitudes, and it leaves the underlying disagreement alive and festering.
[Unfortunately, but accurately, I have been known on numerous occasions to state --either to my fellow contributors or to you, Dear Reader-- that I have either a new or continued post coming soon, which I then fail to deliver. To subvert whatever juju affects this phenomenon --Murphy's Law, writer's block, good old-fashioned laziness-- I will make no such promises here. Instead, I will say only that I hope this post serves as a springboard to a sequel, which I intend to be both lighter and more recognizably relevant.]
-------------
P.S.... Dan "Yes I Can Afford A Better Tailor But I Choose To Look Like The Hobo Who Crashed The Cotillion" Hicks must go.
Dec 3, 2013
Commercials Suck Cess
[It is appropriate at this time to address what some might characterize as the inappropriate. Many years ago, while slowing for yet another toll on the Chicago Skyway, I heard an anonymous Citizen's Band user opine, "Profanity is the crutch of the conversational cripple." It was somewhat in this spirit that Blasphemes long ago adopted an unofficial guideline regarding profanity, obscenity, vulgarity and any other "-ity" that might cause consternation for some, due either to their long-standing principles or simply because they suddenly found themselves the parents of young children.
For the most part, we at this site try to avoid the overt use of some of the more widely acknowledged offensive words. Some of us --and by some I mean me-- often do little more than pointedly substitute alternatives which are, when viewed objectively, every bit as ugly as the words they replace but for some reason are subjectively seen as somehow less impolite. Every now and then, though, bringing a word in off the bench just won't do; one needs to keep the starter in the game. This post contains multiple examples of one such instance. After all, the proclamation that profanity was the crutch of the conversational cripple was quickly followed by the rejoinder, "Talk dirty to me, baby. I LOVE IT when you talk dirty to me."]
posted by killre
So, I heard a commercial on the radio the other day...
Someone once told me I had forever changed their perspective on radio commercials simply by uttering the word writing. I regarded it a fairly casual utterance at the time (heh, rather than a causal one). I'd not yet realized I was one of but a few who actually gave much thought to such things. Still, I have no doubt that the great majority of people, were they to stop and think for all of 1.59 seconds, would easily recognize that radio advertisements are scripted.
There are essentially two reason why most of us don't fritter away such an enormous chunk of our lives pausing to consider it. Both reasons might factor into a given example, but for the most part they work independently of each other. Curiously enough, despite their exclusivity, they are almost equally effective in shielding us from the bottomless nightmare that is critical thinking.
The first one is called, by the people who give names to such things, a willing suspension of disbelief. The unwieldy length of that label is strikingly indicative of just how little thought our species has given the phenomenon, because that mealy mouthful of syllables describes a truly ancient development in the psyche of homo sapiens. In fact, it may predate the sapiens part. I'm not a paleoanthropologist, but I don't think it wholly whimsical to suppose this development came soon after enough members of the genus homo figured out how to control fire. Simply put, we like to be told stories. So fond are we of being told stories, in fact, that we frequently and readily dial down our skepticism when being told one. We know, on a level almost instinctive, that nothing spoils a good yarn quite so quickly as poking our mental fingers into the weakest points of its fiber.
The second reason people don't give a second thought to how a commercial is cooked from scratch is far more familiar. It is commonly referred to as I wasn't really listening. This speaks to a much more recent development in our collective psyche: As much as we like to be told stories, we dislike them ending with someone trying to sell us something. Just as readily as we dampen our skepticism for the first reason, we avert our attention for the second.
As I alluded to earlier, we sometimes do both in quick succession. This is why we can often remember what happens in a given advertisement, but can't remember, you know, the advertiser. (Serves 'em right, anyway.)
Such was the case the other day when I heard the first part of a recorded message that was neither a song I liked nor the banal banter of one of the local morning zoos. A woman who sounded a lot like Allison Janney was reciting a list of things we could all do to become friendlier drivers and thereby, I don't know, foster world peace or something. No doubt the list ended with buying a particular brand of gasoline-- because the sale of petroleum products has done so much to advance world peace in recent decades.
Near the top of the list was something about using one's turn-signals. I think we can all support that, at least in theory. I'd guess the overwhelming majority of people, if pressed, would agree at least in principle that using turn-signals = good; not using turn-signals = bad. In fact, I'm such a proponent of turn-signal use that my own attitude on the matter would be more accurately described as: use turn-signals = good; don't use turn-signals = you are an unmitigated asshole who is so overflowing with assholishness (wait... assholiety? assiety? ashiety?... no, I'll stick with assholishness) so overflowing with assholishness that you have to go out of your assholish way to vent your assholishness in a multitude of small and ultimately cowardly assholish ways or you won't be able to sleep at night for all the poisonous assholishness still coursing through your system, asshole.
Further down the list was an item about not honking one's horn as soon as the light turns green.
Hmmm.
There are a number of reasons why a radio commercial might be badly written. In my mind, they all stem from two causes. One: a significant percentage of people who write radio commercials never dreamt of writing for a living and therefore would never dream of trying to be any good at it. Two: another significant percentage wanted to write for television, but weren't good enough.
Most of the time the flaws are merely cosmetic, like another recent advertisement for a local dating service (typically, I can't remember which one) that told me --oh, yes, told me-- that I was "sick of the whole bar scene atmosphere." No, what I'm actually sick of is people not just using, but recording for posterity, terminology like bar scene atmosphere. In the given context, scene and atmosphere mean the same thing. I'm also sick of people telling me what I'm sick of. After all, it depends greatly on the bar in question.
Occasionally, though, the chinks in what someone probably convinced themselves was carefully crafted copy are more substantive. Consider what it reveals about the author of the gasoline commercial, for instance, that they place the burden of courtesy on the would-be honker rather than the, um, honkee. If there is a line of cars waiting at a red light, and the light turns green, and none of the cars move, it is the fault of just one person: the one driving the lead vehicle. There that person sits, [Insert here a long list of possible activities that doesn't include paying attention to the stoplights. You know... driving. Feel free to use the comments button to suggest one or two, be they insightful, humorous or revelatory.] or any number of other actions that are self-involved, likely trivial, thoughtless and ultimately irresponsible. It is the person who has apparently forgotten --just since their last stoplight, I might add-- that green means go who has succeeded in [screwing] up a small part of everyone else's day. The guy two cars back who gives his horn a couple of toots (a toot sweet, as it were) is merely calling attention to it and, in doing so, trying to limit the causal effects.
(For the record, I very rarely honk, blow, toot or otherwise sound my horn in traffic. I have a blog for that.)
-------------
P.S.... Dan "Dislikeable If Only For Porking Hannah Storm" Hicks must go.
For the most part, we at this site try to avoid the overt use of some of the more widely acknowledged offensive words. Some of us --and by some I mean me-- often do little more than pointedly substitute alternatives which are, when viewed objectively, every bit as ugly as the words they replace but for some reason are subjectively seen as somehow less impolite. Every now and then, though, bringing a word in off the bench just won't do; one needs to keep the starter in the game. This post contains multiple examples of one such instance. After all, the proclamation that profanity was the crutch of the conversational cripple was quickly followed by the rejoinder, "Talk dirty to me, baby. I LOVE IT when you talk dirty to me."]
posted by killre
So, I heard a commercial on the radio the other day...
Someone once told me I had forever changed their perspective on radio commercials simply by uttering the word writing. I regarded it a fairly casual utterance at the time (heh, rather than a causal one). I'd not yet realized I was one of but a few who actually gave much thought to such things. Still, I have no doubt that the great majority of people, were they to stop and think for all of 1.59 seconds, would easily recognize that radio advertisements are scripted.
There are essentially two reason why most of us don't fritter away such an enormous chunk of our lives pausing to consider it. Both reasons might factor into a given example, but for the most part they work independently of each other. Curiously enough, despite their exclusivity, they are almost equally effective in shielding us from the bottomless nightmare that is critical thinking.
The first one is called, by the people who give names to such things, a willing suspension of disbelief. The unwieldy length of that label is strikingly indicative of just how little thought our species has given the phenomenon, because that mealy mouthful of syllables describes a truly ancient development in the psyche of homo sapiens. In fact, it may predate the sapiens part. I'm not a paleoanthropologist, but I don't think it wholly whimsical to suppose this development came soon after enough members of the genus homo figured out how to control fire. Simply put, we like to be told stories. So fond are we of being told stories, in fact, that we frequently and readily dial down our skepticism when being told one. We know, on a level almost instinctive, that nothing spoils a good yarn quite so quickly as poking our mental fingers into the weakest points of its fiber.
The second reason people don't give a second thought to how a commercial is cooked from scratch is far more familiar. It is commonly referred to as I wasn't really listening. This speaks to a much more recent development in our collective psyche: As much as we like to be told stories, we dislike them ending with someone trying to sell us something. Just as readily as we dampen our skepticism for the first reason, we avert our attention for the second.
As I alluded to earlier, we sometimes do both in quick succession. This is why we can often remember what happens in a given advertisement, but can't remember, you know, the advertiser. (Serves 'em right, anyway.)
Such was the case the other day when I heard the first part of a recorded message that was neither a song I liked nor the banal banter of one of the local morning zoos. A woman who sounded a lot like Allison Janney was reciting a list of things we could all do to become friendlier drivers and thereby, I don't know, foster world peace or something. No doubt the list ended with buying a particular brand of gasoline-- because the sale of petroleum products has done so much to advance world peace in recent decades.
Near the top of the list was something about using one's turn-signals. I think we can all support that, at least in theory. I'd guess the overwhelming majority of people, if pressed, would agree at least in principle that using turn-signals = good; not using turn-signals = bad. In fact, I'm such a proponent of turn-signal use that my own attitude on the matter would be more accurately described as: use turn-signals = good; don't use turn-signals = you are an unmitigated asshole who is so overflowing with assholishness (wait... assholiety? assiety? ashiety?... no, I'll stick with assholishness) so overflowing with assholishness that you have to go out of your assholish way to vent your assholishness in a multitude of small and ultimately cowardly assholish ways or you won't be able to sleep at night for all the poisonous assholishness still coursing through your system, asshole.
Further down the list was an item about not honking one's horn as soon as the light turns green.
Hmmm.
There are a number of reasons why a radio commercial might be badly written. In my mind, they all stem from two causes. One: a significant percentage of people who write radio commercials never dreamt of writing for a living and therefore would never dream of trying to be any good at it. Two: another significant percentage wanted to write for television, but weren't good enough.
Most of the time the flaws are merely cosmetic, like another recent advertisement for a local dating service (typically, I can't remember which one) that told me --oh, yes, told me-- that I was "sick of the whole bar scene atmosphere." No, what I'm actually sick of is people not just using, but recording for posterity, terminology like bar scene atmosphere. In the given context, scene and atmosphere mean the same thing. I'm also sick of people telling me what I'm sick of. After all, it depends greatly on the bar in question.
Occasionally, though, the chinks in what someone probably convinced themselves was carefully crafted copy are more substantive. Consider what it reveals about the author of the gasoline commercial, for instance, that they place the burden of courtesy on the would-be honker rather than the, um, honkee. If there is a line of cars waiting at a red light, and the light turns green, and none of the cars move, it is the fault of just one person: the one driving the lead vehicle. There that person sits, [Insert here a long list of possible activities that doesn't include paying attention to the stoplights. You know... driving. Feel free to use the comments button to suggest one or two, be they insightful, humorous or revelatory.] or any number of other actions that are self-involved, likely trivial, thoughtless and ultimately irresponsible. It is the person who has apparently forgotten --just since their last stoplight, I might add-- that green means go who has succeeded in [screwing] up a small part of everyone else's day. The guy two cars back who gives his horn a couple of toots (a toot sweet, as it were) is merely calling attention to it and, in doing so, trying to limit the causal effects.
(For the record, I very rarely honk, blow, toot or otherwise sound my horn in traffic. I have a blog for that.)
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P.S.... Dan "Dislikeable If Only For Porking Hannah Storm" Hicks must go.
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