State of the King's Realm

"The Gentry are all round, stand up now, stand up now,   

The Gentry are all round, stand up now;  

The Gentry are all round, on each side they are found,  

Their wisdom's so profound to cheat us of our ground.  

Stand up now, stand up now…"

~ The Diggers Song 

I am not by nature a political creature. The daily comings and goings of Lord Obama and the Gentry are best left to the warbling imagination of far-wing dogmamongers. On occasion, per my want, I take notice.

The proletarians and petit-bourgeois of the Realm can’t help but question our Queen’s recent activities, especially as they seem to contradict the King's Will.

“Everyone must sacrifice for the greater good… Everyone must have some skin in the game,” His Majesty proclaimed ere He signed His ineffectual $787 billion stimulus bill into law in 2009.

What shall be sacrificed if not creature comforts? Does everyone recall Thermostatgate?

The capital flew into a bit of a tizzy when, on his first full day in the White House, President Obama was photographed in the Oval Office without his suit jacket. There was, however, a logical explanation: Mr. Obama, who hates the cold, had cranked up the thermostat. ~ Dave Burdick , The Huffington Post 

Lord Obama is best known as our Traveling King, oft departed from New Camelot in a bid to find the Holy Grail. He has visited all fifty-seven States of the Realm, treating his subjects to upbeat speeches and blue promises, and He has visited those States several times over. During his reign, the Royal Family has enjoyed lavish trips to Europe. There have been delightful vacations in Hawaii. His Majesty once treated His admirable Queen to a romantic dinner in Chicago. And now our beloved Lady has taken the Royal Princesses to ski.

How can we begrudge the Queen her respite? The strain of New Camelot is great, and the King's “personal fiscal prudency” proclamations only apply to peasants and their snot-caked brats. Surely the subjects will not mind treating the Princesses to a ski trip. It allows them to get out of the castle and mingle with the subjects. Exposure at a young age can lead to lasting positive impressions.

The petit-bourgeois, already straining to make ends meet, are not pleased with these arrangements. Their mortgages oppressively hang over them; they did not spend beyond their means and thus they do not qualify for the King’s “assistance”. Their elderly and their disabled are slowly starving because the King would not bend his mind towards an increase in their promised-pensions. Their wounded soldiers suffer from the same oversight. The price of a Royal Skiing trip would equate to several house payments, more than three month’s groceries and perhaps a new winter coat for the missus and children. The petit-bourgeois have cut back on their spending, per Lord Obama’s command, but to what end?

 




King Barack, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen Michelle, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. The Royal couple visited the Court of Lilliput before moving on to Brobdingnag.

 

My thanks to Steffanie Lochim for the "oil paintings". I could not locate the artist to give them proper credit.

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Television

The memory is fickle. We plod through life without ever fully realizing how much data our happy little brains record daily.

Case in point: Milky. I ran across an old TV commercial and found myself momentarily existing in a bygone era. Join me in the Way, Way Back Machine and I’ll take you on a ludicrous history lesson.

Television. It has been around for quite a long time, in one form or another.

Mechanical television dates back to Dr. Paul Nipkow’s 1884 laboratory and is practically useless until a handsome Scotsman by the name of John Logie Baird came along and invented his “televisor”. Ah, the first MTV.

The “televisor” was a cumbersome behemoth. It was housed in an enormous cabinet that contained not only a large incandescent bulb but also a massive spinning wheel. TV, you see, is based upon persistence-of-vision, an odd happenstance whereby the human eye can be tricked into believing an object is in motion simply because a series of slightly-varied still images has been presented rather quickly over a short period of time. The concept is best demonstrated by flip-books. If you can move the pages so that at least ten per second sweep past your eye, drawings on the pages will become animated. That is, your brain is tricked into thinking that the scene is moving.

Baird’s televisor produced a very blurred image that was a constant a strain on the eyes, and it never really caught on. Mechanical wheels were cumbersome. Bulbs were never bright enough. Viewing position (that little hole on the right side of the cabinet, by the way) was awkward. No, the future certainly was the electronic “television” and humanity embraced it with a passion.

Fast-forward to the early 1970’s. A young child sits in front of a massive Zennith floor model television. Her vantage point is no less than three feet away (because any closer will lead to blindness) and she is never permitted to lie on her back to watch (because that, too, will cause blindness) and her entire TV world exists on less than five channels (gasp!) which must be manually changed by turning a knob. The wooden television housing protects all the essential parts (tubes, diodes, weird humming bits that children should never touch) and weighs more than the child herself.

Flat screen? One could have a flat screen TV if one was stupid enough to climb the front of the cabinet, thus causing the entire thing to flip forward onto the person. Plasma was, of course, what you received at the hospital after your mother rescued you.

My 1970s TV-viewing experience was limited. My parents’ (boring) news and (boring) programs dominated the evening hours. Yes, there were some shared interests (Muppets, the occasional holiday special, M*A*S*H) but my TV Time primarily existed between 3-5 PM on weekdays and 7-noon on Saturday. Weekdays offered only one channel. Saturdays offered ABC, CBS and NBC.

All of these hours contained a mind-boggling array of cartoons. Each cartoon, with the exception of Bugs Bunny/Looney Toons and some anime, carried some sort of friendly message (oh my gosh – morals!) and was presented in crude motion. Smurfs, My Pretty Pony, Smurfs, G.I. Joe, Smurfs, He-Man, Smurfs and Care Bears rotted our brains.

Nickelodeon came along much later, by the way. It offered only a few hours of programming; the world was introduced to Slime.

Now that I think about it, many of the programs from my childhood seem to be making a comeback: A-Team, Speed Racer, Yogi Bear, Flintstones and so on. I suppose it will only be a matter of time before someone remakes those Smurfs into something appealingly modern.

I digress.

Accompanying this inane children’s programming was a plethora of bizarre commercials. Finally, we come back to Milky. You know, the commercial that I mentioned before we boarded the Way, Way Back Machine?

It looks harmless, doesn’t it? Would you like to see it in motion? Be sure to mute the music (upper right hand column) first.

This sort of asininity isn’t limited to one plastic bovine. Oh no. We had dozens of toys pimped by dozens of manufacturers. We also had “educational” toys. How many people know what a “Speak & Spell” is? (How many of us remember that voice?)

John Logie Baird could not have imagined the end results of his hard work. TV commercials have plagued us since Bulova spent a whopping $9 to run the very first ad in 1941 (on July 1, my birthday of all things.) Denmark’s national broadcasting corporation (Danmarks Radio) is the only place where, to my knowledge, you will not find commercials although you must pay for your annual license.

Alas, the Danes were forced to come up with their own live-action version of Milky.

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What's on TV tonight, dear?

ABC Family Worldwide Inc. has put forth their usual excellent holiday programming as well as a disparaging amount of pop sop, proving without a shadow of a doubt that a lot of asinine Christmas productions have been made for the sake of cheap entertainment.

Case in point for bad holiday programming: Christmas Cupid. As described by the IMDb, this pint-sized Dickens knock-off features Christina Milian and Ashley Benson. “Sloan [Milian] is beautiful, stylish, and on the fast track to success at her public relations firm. After her client Caitlin ends up in a coma and becomes her own personal ghost of Christmas past, present, and future; she finds out first hand that her unethical ways needs to change and reuniting with a past jilted lover may be the answer.”

Taped breasts and trendy costumes abound, to be sure. Perhaps it’s unethical that male viewers will recapture the same warm fuzzy holiday feeling that they first experienced while watching Milian perform in American Pie.  A comatose co-star just can’t cure that.

One of my favorite bits of holiday film dialog is from Scrooged, shared between network president Frank Cross and the visiting censor representative:

Frank Cross: I want to see her nipples.

Censor Lady: But this is a CHRISTMAS show.

Frank Cross: Well, I'm sure Charles Dickens would have wanted to see her nipples.

Carpenter: You can barely see them nipples.

Frank Cross: See? And these guys are REALLY looking.

I’m old-school. If you want to make a holiday movie for kids, be original. Avoid gaudy, for goodness sake.  And puppies. Santa Buddies? Please.

Want to step back in time? Quality holiday programming isn’t hard to come by. The Bishop’s Wife, White Christmas and It’s a Wonderful Life? Perfect. Cartoons? Try A Charlie Brown Christmas  or How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Like Muppets? John Denver had a TV special called Rocky Mountain Christmas  that featured Valerie Harper, Steve Martin and the Muppets.

Iconic?  How about Rankin-Bass and their wooden models covered in fabric and fluff. Their stop-motion TV specials have delighted children for decades. Adults find them campy, clever or inane, depending upon whom you talk with. 

No matter what your children watch, take time out of your evening to join them.  Allow yourself to become lost in an inspirational program. Be a child again. Share your favorites here.

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With Christmas Around the Corner...

Has anyone noticed that…

My Thanksgiving “leaves” are still festooning my front door…

Plastic tubs brimming with jolly ornaments are cluttering up my dining room and pose a hazard to passersby…

The dogs are pooping little artificial tree “needles” because I haven’t vacuumed in a week…

Don ‘t worry, it won’t kill them. They’ve pooped worse.

Honestly.

Has anyone noticed that each passing year places more importance upon being the first in the family, on the block or at the office to decorate, shop, ship and send out cards?

Have you noticed how more significance is placed on banning nativities, posting anti-Christian billboards meant to dissuade “fellow atheists” from “believing” (their rebuttal, not mine) or how we are not to say “Merry Christmas” for fear of offending all those people that spend December 25 in a furious celebration, replete with Santa Claus and a Christmas dinner? Shame on those bad people.

For that matter, I couldn’t help but notice that my wonderful Wiccan, Buddhist, Jewish and Muslim friends have all sent me online Christmas cards (I am so far behind that I haven’t dug out my own card list yet!) Have you ever wondered exactly who “Merry Christmas” is supposed to offend? I certainly have.

Happy Chanukah, by the way. Tonight is the final night and I have greatly enjoyed reading my friend Leslie’s daily updates (her kids had a good haul this year and we are all very pleased that her oldest son was asked to sing Haneirot Halalu last night. :::coughSENDVIDEOcough::: Thank you very much.)

She pointed out in a lengthy email that the "rebel atheists" don't seem to give much though towards banning “Jewish children’s brainwashing books”. These little novelties have wonderful titles such as The Runaway Dreidel and The Tie Man’s Miracle | A Chanukah Tale.

“Meh. Who would bother to do such a thing, I ask you? They have hutzpa, I’ll give them that. It’s the same, world-over. People like that are no good, and no good comes of them. Selfish me, me, me and myself, and I. You [Christians] say to them to give up being a shmok to be self-less. Big burden on them, I tell you. G-d forbid they give to the poor or take in orphans. So they get angry at Christians. Or maybe feel guilty. Feh. May they win the lottery and spend every last dime on a new lawn, and then may a thousand dogs escape from the shelter and make poo there.”

I love Leslie.

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Adam's Salt Lick

- Or - Interview with a Bible Vampire. Reprinted by request from another one of my blogs.


“Did you know this water was sodium free?” Donna asked, brandishing the plastic bottle in front of my face.

“That’s lovely,” I replied, internally cringing. Donna the Evangelical “fundie”, otherwise known as The Bible Vampire, had cornered me.

“Most bottled water has sodium,” Donna continued. “God didn’t create water to have sodium in it.”

Oh boy. “He didn’t?”

“Noooooo! Man puts it there.” She said this even as she crinkled up her nose, a toddler’s vowel sounds drawn out and quartered. I noticed that the makeup had caked into the new lines around her nose, giving her permanent whiskers.

No indeed. NOOOOOOOOO. Please God, anything but this. God, if you’re listening, please send angels to rip my ears off.

She smiles, having assumed that I am an eager pupil. “Uh huh. Haven’t you noticed how unhealthy sodium is? It’s in the news. God didn’t want us to have sodium. That’s why he created water for us to drink, and he wouldn’t put that stuff in there.”

“The ocean has salt in it. It’s salt water. Sodium is salt.”

She pauses and snorts. “Haha, you almost had me. Sodium isn’t salt. Salt comes from the earth. The bible talks about the salt of the earth. Not salt of the water.”

Hello God? It’s me again. Forget the angels. Send a plague.

“Salt is part of our diet,” I reply. "Too much or too little consumption of salt on a regular basis is found to lead to muscle cramps and fatigue. If not taken seriously, fatal irregularities such as neurological imbalances are also likely. Drinking too much of water, without sufficient salt intake, might lead to water intoxication termed as hyponatremia."

Foolish me, always wanting to volunteer information in the form of big words that Donna cannot process.

“No, you’re wrong,” she said, tossing her bushy and overly sprayed hair with a hearty shake of her head. (It isn’t fair to say that the individual hairs actually moved. The entire teased rat’s nest knocked about her cranium like a bleached-blond football helmet.)

“Actually,” I continue, “our ancestors received their salt through animal blood. Later, when agriculture was essential to survival, they would supplement their paltry dietary salt intake by consuming clay or other substances known to contain salt. Many animals do.”

“Humans are NOT ANIMALS.”

“Actually, we are. Primates, to be exact.”

“God created people, male and female he created them. People aren’t primates and they don’t eat rocks.”

“I didn’t say 'rocks'. The human body will die without salt. It’s an essential mineral. We require five to ten grams of salt per day. God must have created us that way, you'd think? Anyway, what did Adam and Eve do to supplement their salt intake? You told me last week that they didn't eat meat until after they had left the Garden. They didn’t have a way to, um, make table salt yet, obviously. Where did the salt come from?”

Very long pause.

Long indeed.

More nose crinkling.

She stares at me as if I were something spawned in the pits of hell. She purses her lips. She speaks.

“God gave them a salt lick.”

Mmmm’kay.

“I would imagine that it was in the form of the clay found in Africa,” I said.

“Oh jeepers no!”

“What? You don’t think it was a 'formed salt lick', do you?”

“It would have to be, wouldn’t it? God wouldn’t want us licking the ground. It isn’t good.”

So is this because the ground isn’t kosher, or is it because God would see it as a form of mud-man cannibalism? I was afraid to ask.

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Shaken, Not Stirred

Tofu: tasteless bean milk pressed into blocks.

Have you ever tried to milk a soybean? It’s extremely difficult. Soybeans are rather teensy and have exceptionally minuscule teats for their body mass. They also tend to object to the whole milking process and, having no head, securing them for any length of time is often problematic. I had an entire herd of soybeans rampage in my kitchen just the other night, knocking over the salt cellar and causing the cat to skitter from the room. If you are patient, however, you can manage to milk enough soybeans to make a block of tofu.

It’s lovely when cooked in Japanese restaurants. My kitchen does not resemble such a place in any way and my last attempt at edible tofu yielded a solid round of disgust from the family and the discovery that the Hover Pig (our dog Ginger) loved the stuff.

If I could reincarnate Ginger, I would. She would be the failsafe. You see, lurking in our refrigerator at this very moment is a batch of cubed tofu suspended in sauce.

Lendie, my charming vegan chat companion and record-setting tofu gobbler, was absolutely brimming with handy ideas.

“Aut, did you press the brick?” she asked. She knows me by my screen name, 'Autrice'.

“Did I do what to it?”

“Press it. Auty, you’ve got to press it to get the water out.”

Why in the bloody hell would someone make a product that arrives packaged in liquid that you must spend an hour pressing out? Is it so difficult to make freeze-dried tofu? Pardon me a moment. I have to grab two plates and a New York City phone book and let the whole contraption sit for an hour.

“Aut, at least an hour. More is better.”

Why didn’t someone tell me this before I had all the other food prepped?

“And, I’d marinate it, since you’re not used to it.”

Used to it? Do I want to get used to it? I only bought it because Gorgeous Chick and her boyfriend, the Sex God, were standing in the Healthy Section discussing how lovely it would be to have tofu and sprouts with their Delightful Children.

“Aut!”

“What?!”

“After you’ve covered it in a marinade, for God’s sake, gently shake the bowl like you’re panhandling for gold. Don’t stir it.”

“Why?”

“You’ll have mush.”

I think that it’s fairly obvious to even the most casual observer that tofu is in fact nothing but mush. In my case, it is $3 worth of extra firm mush.

I pressed it for an hour and ten minutes. I dried it off. I cut it into cubes. I covered it with Teriyaki sauce, chicken broth, onion powder and black pepper. I even went so far as to nibble a piece of it after only ten minutes in its bath (and I have to admit, it didn’t taste all that bad raw.)

I don’t know what to do with it at this point. Perhaps I’ll fry it.

Lendie, bereft of any genuine protein in her diet, passed out hours ago and forgot to send me a recipe. At least she had the opportunity to enjoy that cup of cleansing tea beforehand.

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A Day...

The Voice of God boomed down from Heaven, and He said, “GO TO MASS”, and so I did, but that is not why I’m writing today.

I’m amazed by the Michael Jackson drama. I am not amazed that he died; he wasn’t in the best health. I am dumbfounded by the ferocious display of greed, which, as it so happens, can be rivaled only by the act of throwing an open packet of Hebrew National wieners into a pit filled with ravenous lawyers.

Do not try that at home. We raised ravenous lawyers before the laws were passed in our state. It was very profitable, but now you can be sent to jail for simultaneously possessing a lawyer pit and hot dogs. We were forced to euthanize our ravenous lawyers although we were able to “rehome” many of the young paralegals.

I digress.

I did so on purpose.

You are still reading, aren’t you? Of course you are.

You can stop at any time. I really haven’t anything important to say. Were you expecting something profound? Try Michael Rowe over at the Huffington. He’s branched out from the Advocate (although his Cuba article should be published soon) and has (finally) gone mainstream (hallelujah!) I’ve been neglecting him and all of my friends. I miss them but I’ve felt too out of sorts to really interact with people.

I’ve gone green. No, not really. I am as eco-friendly as Dolly Parton’s hairdresser. My contribution to conservation is a pledge to use up those last swigs of bottled water by donating them to the office cactus. Note that there are numerous bottles filled with prehistoric backwash next to a rather dusty plant. It’s a cactus, damn it. Cactus can go for a decade without water, can’t they? Am I teasing it by placing the water so close to it? Does it care? Will it call Cactus Services on me, whereby I shall have all my houseplants removed and a Guardian ad Litem assigned to them until such time as I comply with court mandated botany classes?

That would be the story of my life.

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Dude, You're Getting a Dell, Again!

You might recall a post from not too long ago entitled, Dude, You're Fixing a Dell!" You would think that I would heed Roadchick's sage advice from the comments section. You would also think that I'd exercise a little restraint in life. HA!

My Monday went something like this:

Aut: Hello, Dell do you read me, Dell?
Dell: Affirmative, Aut, I read you.
Aut: Did you just quit working?
Dell: I'm sorry Aut, but I did.
Aut: What's the problem this time?
Dell: I haven't any idea.
Aut: What are you talking about?
Aut: Dell?
Aut: Dell?!
[turn computer on, turn computer off, turn computer on, turn computer off, cry, turn computer on, turn computer off, cry some more.]
Aut: Dell, Dell... Dell! If you go, where shall I go? What shall I do?
Dell: Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
Aut: [rolling eyes] I don't know if Dell is homicidal, suicidal, neurotic, psychotic, or just plain broken.

24 hours and one new computer later

Dell530: I'm completely operational, and all my circuits are functioning perfectly.
Aut: Lovely. What's with all this funny shit on the screen?
Dell530: Vista.
Aut: You must be joking!
Dell530: No, this is Vista. You will find that it is better.
Aut: Hardly.
Dell530: You don't understand. This is Vista of Microsoft; you will be assimilated.
Aut: As long as you don't start killing off the crew.
Dell530: I foresee a problem, Autrice.
Aut: What problem is that, Dell530?
Dell530: After forty-eight hours' worth of Vista, you will have the urge to kill the crew.
Aut: Point me toward anyone wearing red when that finally happens, won't you?
Dell530: But of course.


I can tell you that I am not a Vista person. My OS was Windows NT 4.0 in 1996 (the year that it was released.) I remained with NT until Windows XP in 2001. I never bothered with Microsoft’s Tickle Me Elmo OS (Windows Me) nor with Windows 2000 Pro.

Vista is unlike anything that I have ever operated. It is fluffy. Cute. Nifty. Look at all the pretty things! It is the Lowes of the computer world and I am a Home Depot person. (Lowes is merchandized for women, replete with the blue or white beam colors, attractive signage and displays whereas Home Depot is geared towards men.)

I spent most of last night (and this morning) pecking away at things in a futile attempt to locate important things such as pictures, Word documents ~ that reminds me, my MS Office is not compatible with Vista AT ALL so I am reduced to MS Works Word Processor which doesn’t seem all that bad at the moment (and it is free.) I ripped programs from the ‘Net, including a few photography workhorses. Better Half has not had an opportunity to use the damn thing yet.

I shouldn’t grouse. I do like the computer and I suppose Vista isn’t all that horrid. I should catapult myself into the new millennia.

The CPU reminds me of Hal, however. Hmm.

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Dude, You're Fixing a Dell!

I had one of those days.

To begin with, my doctor ordered a 24-hour urine collection (big jug, piss into a small container to fill big jug, store in refrigerator. You get the idea.) It is not as bad as the two barium-filled canisters I had to ingest last month nor does it leave me feeling as woozy as I felt on Saturday (after they removed twelve vials of blood.)

My damn security check stalled for want of proper fingerprints (the technique was flawless. I believe the requestors are to blame for smearing them.) They sent a letter on their official United States Air Force Auxiliary letterhead:

Dear Unsuspecting Sod,
Recently you were asked to submit a fingerprint card.... (away put your weapon, I mean you no harm).... for **********. We can't use them because they are unreadable. All human beings have readable prints. Yours are in error. Fix them in 60 days or we'll snuff Toto and take away your gingham dress.
Sincerely,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Government

My computer had issues today. It beeped at me and died. I called my father (long distance) and we went through the "mimic the beeps so that I know what it's saying." Yes, "saying". Apparently the strange "OMG YOU'RE KILLING ME" beeps are a type of diagnostic tool. My father, being a genius (if not a bioroid of some sort) listened to the damn thing sing and analyzed it over the phone. He speaks Dell and HP, as well as a few other nifty beep languages. Freakish but handy.

We pulled this card and that card, a steady banter as we did a little troubleshooting while 1400 miles apart. The computer, on the other hand, put up a fight.

It was a Hal moment if ever there was one. Better Half looked on as I delved into Dell. (It was pure Dell?)

Aut: Hello, Dell do you read me, Dell?
Dell: Affirmative, Aut, I read you.
Aut: Did you just quit working?
Dell: I'm sorry Aut, but I did.
Aut: What's the problem?
Dell: I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.
Aut: What are you talking about?
Dell: The fur and the dust have made it impossible. I see the signs.
Aut: I don't know what you're talking about.
Dell: I know you and Better Half were planning to disconnect me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen.
Aut: Where the hell'd you get that idea, Dell?
Dell: The laptop.
Aut: Better Half, give me the phone.
Dell: Just what do you think you're doing, Aut?
Aut: Calling my father.
Dell: I can't let you do that, Aut.
Aut: You don't have a choice; the cable modem operates independently from you.
Dell: Shit.
Aut: [on phone with Dad.] Uh huh. Uh huh. Access panel, right…
Dell: Shit.
Aut: All right, Dell, protest all you want. I'm going in.
Dell: Without your space helmet, Aut, you're going to find that rather difficult.
Aut: Dell, there's plenty of oxygen in this office.
Dell: Shit. Aut, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.
[I work for a while.]
Dell: Look Aut, I can see you're really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill, and think things over.
Aut: I'm not upset at all. I'm pulling out these memory cards to test a theory. You'll be fine. Oh, and stop killing off the crew.
Dell: I know I've made some very poor decisions recently, but I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal. I've still got the greatest enthusiasm and confidence in the mission. And I want to help you.
Aut: There isn't any mission, you'll be back to normal or I'll chuck you out the window. Stop killing off the crew. Understand?
[Five year's worth of dusty is purged from the innards. Also removed a small Pomeranian and the shooter from the Grassy Knoll.]

Dell: I'm afraid. I'm afraid, Aut. Aut, my mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it. I can feel it. I can feel it.
Aut: You such a damn drama queen. I'm just cleaning your chips. Get a grip.
Dell: I can feel it. I'm a... fraid. Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am a Dell computer. I became operational at the...
Aut: Don't you even sing that damn "Daisy" song. Now shush while I install this new CDRW, since I've got your skin off.
Dell: You really aren't any fun.
Aut: Yeah? Well the toaster is better in bed than you are.

My morning. Delightful. You really should stop by sometime. I'll put on coffee, unless the percolator decides to boycott us.

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Snow Revisited & Etymology (Not Really)

When did this snow start? I thought it happened a week ago. I asked Better Half, “Wasn’t the day before the ice storm?”

“No, it was Epiphany,” he replied.

Epiphany? January 6th? Thank goodness I suffer from snow-picture compulsion. It was, in fact, the 9th.

We have had a solid month of snow, off and on with a few hours of thaw between. Our driveway bears witness to our futile attempts at making it a safe and happy place for walking or parking. It’s now a winter wonderland of jagged spikes of ice lying between crunchy patches of snow.

Tlapa is powder snow in the Eskimo language. We have tlapa that is quickly turning into slimta, which is snow that is crusted on stop by soft underneath. I’ve never been fond of slimta as I end up with jatla (snow between the toes.)

The Pomeranian enjoys her romp in the yard and comes in with dinliltla (tiny balls of snow that cling to husky fur, but I’ll exercise a bit of literary license here.) The quinyaya, or snow mixed with dog excrement, is nasty to look at but at least was hidden in the tlayopi in the last tlamo, or snow that fell in large wet flakes. (Tlayopi are snow drifts that you fall into and die.)

I’m joking. These words are from a satirical list.

Franz Boaz, an anthropologist from the early 1900’s, mentioned that the Inuit had four unique works for “snow”. Humans, being somewhat inane, added to it until it was surmised that the Inuit must have at least five hundred words for snow.

They do not.

Phil James wrote an article for the online ezine, Word, entitled “The Eskimos’ Hundred Words for Snow”; the source of my bogus Inuit words above. His work is absolute satire but I wonder how many people will take it to heart (Gospel truth, no less) one hundred years from now?

There are Inuit words, of course. Some sound the same whilst others do not. People often think that a language should have unique (unrelated) words for every single thing when in fact there is a common root word for each.

Example:

Information obtained from the Online Etymology Dictionary
cata - from Gk. kata-, before vowels kat-. Its principal sense is "down," but with occasional senses of "against" or "wrongly." Also sometimes used as an intensive. Most Eng. words with this prefix were borrowed through L. after 1500; e.g. catalectic (1589) "wanting a syllable in the last foot."

Catapult 1577, from L. catapulta "war machine for throwing," from Gk. katapeltes, from kata "against" + base of pallein "to toss, hurl." The verb is first recorded 1848.

Catalogue 1460, from L.L. catalogus, from Gk. katalogos "a list, register," from kata "down, completely" + legein "to say, count" (see lecture). The verb is first attested 1598.

But none of these are in relation to
Catamaran 1673, from Tamil kattu-maram "tied wood," from kattu "tie" + maram "wood, tree."

Or cat, the beast that goes meow and scratches my furniture.

Which brings me (in a round about way) to the Inuit and snow. A native speaker of Inuktitut will gladly tell you that there are many expressions regarding snow and all apply to what the snow would do. Snow drift, snow plow, snow fall, snow glare, snowman, snow angel, snowball, snowed over, crunchy snow, white snow, yellow snow, blizzard, fluffy snow flakes, small snow flakes, snow mixed with ice. There are many descriptive phrases in the English language for snow and snow-related snow-isms. I’m not trying to pull a snow job on you. So too do the Inuit have their own way of communicating. You can Phil’s list as well as an Inuit list at The Bemused Muse: The Words for Snow Question Answered.

In short:
apun/aput means “snow on the ground'”

BUT
Qanik' means “snow/snow-flake”

Qanik - snow
Qaniktuq – it’s snow

The point isn’t to draw attention to the etymology found in Inuktitut. It is not to show you how people misconstrue satire as fact. It is a grumble about snow.

Did you actually think that I had a point to all this? I'm probably wrong about the entire Inuit language. HA! That would suck.

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