Had an eye examination after work tonight. They dilated my pupils, so the drive home in the dark was kind of like Christmas, or very slow fireworks, with great dazzling daisies of colored light all around. I can work at the computer, but it flashes at me in a way that’ll probably give me a headache if I persist too long.

Sam Karnick tells me Andrew Klavan read the review I wrote yesterday of The Truth of the Matter at The American Culture blog, where I crossposted it. I am gratified. Tomorrow, I’ll review The Identity Man, barring acts of God.

It’s late in the day, but I want to officially thank all our veterans. I’m particularly thinking of the Vietnam vets. One of you went over there because I had a deferment. I owe you. And when I think how you were robbed of your honor, it still makes me mad, after all these years.

Learned from a new blog called Evolving English, Old English used the word “hi” or “hie” for third person plural. The vikings changed that around 1200 A.D. “The word ‘they’ was introduced into English by Viking settlers and completely replaced the original Old English word,” according to a language quiz on the British Library’s new language blog. “They” is obviously a better word than “hi.” Who could dispute that?

I scored 4/6 on each difficulty level, which tended to skew toward British English, but I’m not going to complain. No, I’m not.

If you’ve read my novel West Oversea (you have, haven’t you?), you may recall a mention, at the end of the story, of a massacre of the English Danes by King Ethelred the Unrede. (This isn’t really a spoiler, since it happens off-stage.)

It appears that evidence of that atrocity has now come to light in Oxford, according to this article from Press TV.

Remains of 34 to 38 young men were discovered in March 2008 during excavations for a new college building.

The bones dated back to between 960 and 1020 CE and included cracked skulls. Some of the skeletons bore stab wounds in their spines and pelvic bones. There were also signs of burning.

Five had been stabbed in the back, and one had been decapitated.

Thames Valley Archaeological Services (TVAS) found the skeletons beneath St. John’s College, which led them to a historical incident, which happened in 1002 CE.

Scientists believe the victims were killed on St. Brice’s Day, November 13, 1002 CE, when King Aethelred the Unready ordered Englishmen to murder their Danish neighbors.

I think it’s generally agreed that the murders did not extend into the northeasterly region called the Danelaw, where Danes (and, obviously, their law) dominated. I believe the Danelaw wasn’t considered properly part of England at that time.

But there were plenty of Danes in other places too. The forensic details of wounds and burn marks seem to support a contemporary account that told how the Danes of Oxford sought sanctuary in a church, but the mob burned it down, then put the survivors to the sword.

On a more amusing note, The Art of Manliness has posted this piece on the seafaring origins of much of our English slang.

My only disagreement is with the origin of “son of a gun.” I think it highly unlikely that prostitutes were brought along on sea voyages in the British navy. As I understand it, the substitute for shore leave of the day (you can’t give impressed [kidnapped] sailors shore leave, because they’ll run away) was to bring “soiled doves” on board to entertain the crew. This “entertainment” happened on the gun deck where the sailors’ quarters were. Thus, to call a man a “son of a gun” was to imply that he was conceived on a gun deck, that his mother was a prostitute. Which comes down to the same thing, but I’m a stickler for details. Even when I’m wrong.

For those of us who have been participating in Daylight Savings Time, we must turn back our clocks an hour. Fall back, you know.

Now, in New Zealand, they do things a differently: Continue reading Standard Time: Fall Back →

This is a post about lost love. Not personal, romantic love (I’ve overplayed that card in this space), but television series that at one time or another were high points of my week, satisfying substitutes for an actual social life. And then something happened, and love died.

My judgments on these programs are not intended to be a guide to the reader. If you enjoy these shows (most of them are still on the air), God bless you. Enjoy yourself.

But they are dead to me.

First on the list is Touched By an Angel. Oh, how I adored this show during most of its run. Aside from starring Roma Downey, with whom I longed to run away to the Isles of the Blessed, it was produced by an open Christian, who made it a point to keep her angels (more or less) consistent with biblical descriptions. They were not the souls of dead people. They had no wings. And it was hinted, though not much dwelt on, that not only did heaven exist, but there was a bad place as well, where those who rejected God ended up. I understood that the realities of the business prevented them from saying anything specific about Jesus Christ. I appreciated the good parts. Continue reading Un-Touched By an Angel →

I’m low on inspiration tonight. It’s been a while since I did a book review, but the book I’m working on is taking time. It’s not bad, but not great either, plus it’s quite long. And I’ve been catching up on my magazine reading during my breaks at work, rather than hitting the fiction (my magazine load will be lighter in the future; I’m dropping Smithsonian. They’ve been edging leftward, in my estimation, and the age of the internet has provided me alternate sources of obscure information).

I haven’t mentioned yet that I’m off the cane. The doctor told me to keep the weight off the knee, and take anti-inflammatories, for two weeks, then see how it went without visible means of support. And so far it’s going fine, but I’m watching for sudden structural fatigue. I probably won’t be taking any exercise walks until spring. And it would be a good idea (my doctor hinted, oh so diplomatically) if I took off a few pounds.

I did some research on canes, by the way, and learned that there’s a difference between a cane and a walking stick. Canes are an English thing, because the traditional English cane is made of malacca, which is a strong tropical cane. We Americans make our supports out of wood, so we call them walking sticks.

Actually we call them canes, but apparently we shouldn’t.

My cane is made of metal. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to call that. A walking pipe?

And you knew Lars had a few books ready for you too, right?

Ivebeenreadinglately has a curious post on Nate Hawthorne (his friends call him Nate) and a ghost he may or may not have seen in a library. I say may not have seen to mean that I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the great American author made it up. The great librarian Dave Lull manifests in the comments a link to Britannica list of haunted libraries throughout the country. I note that there are no such libraries in Georgia. I also note my disbelief of any of it. (via Books, Inq.)

No Virtual Book Tour stop today. That’s OK. I need a rest from this whirlwind virtual activity.

As many of you are aware (some of you, I’m sure, painfully), last night was a dark and stormy one. If I took any damage here at Blithering Heights, other than the state representative candidate’s campaign sign on my lawn that kept getting flattened, I’m not aware of it.

When I got to work, everything seemed fine there, too, although I soon noticed it was a little chilly. I thought nothing of that, though. The heating in our building is notoriously fickle, different sectors blowing too hot or too cold, for no apparent reason, on random days.

Later, at a staff meeting, I learned that one of the three power sectors on our campus had gone black, and the library was cold because our heat was in that sector. I was surprised at this, as it’s usually the sector that powers our library lights and computers that goes down. But this was remedied later in the afternoon, when we lost power too, for a while.

Phooey. I’ve got no kick coming. People are still waiting for their houses to get the juice back. Some people’s houses are gone.

I failed to mention (because I hadn’t put it together yet), when I did my review of the Masterpiece Theater/Mystery production of Sherlock, that the actor I praised in the role of Watson, Martin Freeman, has been cast as Bilbo Baggins in the upcoming The Hobbit movie.

Seems to me a great pick. He’s a veteran of the great, original British The Office series, so he can do comedy, and Sherlock demonstrates he can do the action stuff. And he certainly fits the established physical pattern of Peter Jackson hobbits.

Have you ever noticed what’s wrong with that pattern, in terms of the original material, by the way? Continue reading Of winds and hobbits →