At Times The Rain Gods Drive Us Mad ...

Diana gifted me with The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary.
I opened the first volume randomly and my eye lit upon:

"Jornada ... An act of a play; a book or canto of a poem. 2. In Mexico etc.: a day's journey; spec. one across a waterless dessert tract with no place to halt."

A more concisely perfect description of many second acts has seldom been penned.
--ml

Alas Alack a Day! Why Was I Not Invited to the Wake?

Digby posts a quote which, despite her usually persuasive prose, and without the least fault on her part, induces me to wander off her point to my own pointless weepy stuff for the English language:

Peter Ludlow, a professor of philosophy at Northwestern and a fan of Mr. Brown’s work, wrote in The Huffington Post that, “Project PM under Brown’s leadership began to slowly untangle the web of connections between the U.S. government, corporations, lobbyists and a shadowy group of private military and infosecurity (sic) consultants.”

When did among die?

Between thee and me
but
Among thee and me and the old bailey.

Yet here is this putative academic, with a presumable pile higher and deeper, quoted in a fileting of the language worthy of Macheath.

This is not the first time I noticed this atrocity. The first half hundred that passed barely stirred my stupor. This year's wine being altogether thinner did make it grate more thoroughly of late. Until this -- if only to belie the death of blogs -- results.
Remember, please! Connect two only with between. Conjoin all and sundry more with among!
--ml

Forward Fulmanations

While assembling the recipes for Dum Luk's Ordinary I came across this file. It is a sketch to begin a book. But which one? The synapses issue a stale fart and inquire if any whiskey might help? I give my best rendition of a deer in the headlights in response.
This being more a writer's scrap book, or doodlewerk, I take the liberty of offering to quote myself:

Caveat 

Neither to inform nor instruct do I write. Rather I hope to share my mediocrities, triumphs, and the failures that made them both possible. This is a work of fiction. I have taken to heart the hoary mantra of Advice to Writers:Write only of what you know For years I fulminated against this as a homicide of fancy leading at best to mere journalism – and folk think me opinionated now! “Mere”, of course, meant journalism in theory, Kipling’s “who, what, where, when, why and how” purveyed by a neutral observer, not the ill-kempt, own horn sounding, condescending verbiage of modern infotainment (so little info and hardly more tainment, *sigh*). Life has beaten into me at last that what makes a writer valuable is his point of view – that is: the imagination through which the writer conceives this world. First, last and in-between a writer must study his own imagination. All that happens to him must be filtered, reduced, transmogrified in the lens and alembic of that organ. What emerges is mingled with dross. For a Shakespeare all is forgiven. The rest of us take our chances in a frequently harsh, and sometimes indulgent world, busy at telling its own story. Here you have not one, but a double-barreled blast of my current effusion. If you like it you obviously are a person of taste and discretion. If you cavil at the germ and quibble at the dross, no doubt you are a person of discernment. Please don’t tell me about the fault’s you find, I am already busy elsewhere. Instead write your own book stating your own truth. If that contradicts mine I promise I won’t bring it to your attention. If in the process you discover that picking a quarrel with me is not so important I will be pleased. You have been warned. Here goes.

"Double-barreled"? What was I thinking of?
... wanders off in a blue study
--ml

An Ox and a Moron?

Halfway through the morning coffee I came across Duncan's post on the grifter society. That an arts administrator might claim a salary so far in excess of the annual budget of the small arts groups I can lay any claim to once administering boggles.

But a further thought meditated on the title Chief Executive Officer. Somewhere late in the sixties this locution became trendy, and then de riguere, in place of the title 'President'. It was part of the moves that took top management compensation into the stratosphere. It appears to be an interesting feint.

In the way of things corporate power is nominally wielded by a Board of Directors who delegate their powers to the President. The President runs the operation, with the consent of the board. The military analogue is a Captain of a ship. Said 'Captain' [a title, not necessarily a rank] may report to an Admiral, but still runs the ship.
Assisting him or her is a second in command titled The Executive Officer. Every officer aboard may execute orders, indeed, that is their function, but only one is 'The Executive Officer'.  To call him a 'Chief Executive Officer would be an offense even to the Navy's love of verbal redundance. To call the Captain a Chief Executive Officer would offer a heinous demotion insulting to military honor or gloire or some such.
So, in an epic Uriah Heap move, our quondam president offers to titularly demote himself to Chief Executive Officer for a slight increase in compensation by a power of ten, or so. And, with complete humbleness would be delighted to remove the onerous duties of Chairman of the Board from the Board's weary care including adding to their compensation and a promise to vote likewise for each Director at their own company. All CEOs together!
--ml

A Dirty Secret

What price a turn of phrase?

Dailykos posts a diary recommending some counter actions to ameliorate the unhappiness of local merchants over toilet use at the Wall Street demos: OWS. It concludes with the above photo of a mural depicting a common cliche.
Thing is, carpets are dirt traps. Dirt arriving on top from boot soles, shedding animals, plants and so forth, wend their way through the warp and weft of the carpet to the floor where continued traffic turns it into an abrasive. I suspect that many a tweeny has been unjustly accused of sweeping it under the carpet when nothing more than normal activity by the occupants of the room caused the pile. No justice for the lower 99%.
--ml

Curiouser and Curioser

Saw this ad on my morning Krugman:

What caught my attention was the graphic. Circles with lines taking various controlled paths. In three colors. Red. Blue. Yellow.
Reminds me of ...
oh, yeah. A stylized color offset press.
Just the thing to bring the digital world to mind.
--ml

Marketing Fail

My bank statement -- always a fantasy exercise -- is even more over the top due to an ad for a visa card. The headline is "Carpe Savem Translation: Seize the Savings!"
As it happens, Latin is one of several languages that Dum Luks can be misunderstandable in. So I seized my ancient Collins Gem (Carpe liber) and found this:
Save is servāre. Save up is reservāre. No conjugation leads to savem which sounds like it might be very vaguely Piute or even more distantly Shoshone. The closest to a root for savem I found in a quick look is: Sāvior "to kiss".

So it might read "Seize the kiss!"
But a freer rendering might be: "Getcha Redhot Kiss Off!"
--ml

Today in Procrastnation

...  
--ml

Politico's Anthem

Goldy posts about an RE listing of Reagan Dunn's home. The prominent pol has a very commodious manse. It reminded me of the musical "Fiorello!", by Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick. It featured pols speculating on how Beau James's* aides would tell the judge to account for their luxurious life style. It featured lyrics such as:

I can see Your Honor doesn't pull his punches
And it looks a trifle fishy, I'll admit,
But for one whole week I went without my lunches
And it mounted up, Your Honor, bit by bit.
Up Your Honor, bit by bit.

As Brecht might have put it: How does a lunchless politician compare to a bought pol?
--ml
*James J. Walker, aka: "Gentleman Jim" and Beau James, Mayor NYC in the Early Thirties of the last century. (Gad! Never thought I'd survive nuclear winter to write that phrase!)

Old Proverbs Applied

If one engages in a formal process of separating sheep from goats, it is a good idea to be prepared for the goats to act like goats. Surprise at this result may not be an adequate response.
--ml

Frivolous Thought

Brad DeLong regards Der Spiegle's interview with Prime Minister Maliki of Iraq, and concludes:

Is there anything left to say?

Yes, there is. Impeach George W. Bush. Impeach Richard Cheney. Do it now.

While we're at it, Let's impeach John McCain.
Preemptively.
--ml

Ha. Ha. Ha!

I call copyright on the idea of "scrambling" eggs.

--Matt Yglesias

In a pig's eye you will ...^©

Just patent the damn thing and take the money.
--ml
tags: Dum Luks Community, humor