Category Archives: Goofing

Goofing, Uncategorized

Annals of arctic shopping

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Fridtjof Nansen and crew members download Windows 1 from the Cloud, 1894.

A notable day this was. Finally got something done I’d been wanting to do all week. It cost me money, but if ‘twere done, then ‘twere best ‘twere done quickly, as the bald guy said.

I decided I needed a new laptop on Monday. The keys on the old one were stuttering, doubling random letters, which means your work load rises about 50% when you subsist by the keyboard as I do. But I got sick, as I’ve mentioned, and languished at home, doomed to work (work still came in) on my desktop computer, which really isn’t that bad. But I hate messing up my procedures, you know? It’s one of the perquisites of old age, being stuck in your ways.

Today I felt better, and decided this would be it. It was one of the coldest days of the year (the year being six days old), but I figured that would keep the other shoppers at home (I was mistaken, of course. This is Minnesota, where people jump in icy lakes for fun). My reading of Fridtjof Nansen seemed fitting, because just getting ready to leave the house on a day like this is a little like outfitting an Arctic expedition. (OK, just a little, but sometimes our temperatures are comparable to temps Nansen saw in the pack ice. In summer.)

The Norwegians have a saying – “Det finnes ingen dårlig vær, bare dårlig klær” (“There is no bad weather, just bad clothing”). This is one of the reasons I expected to find non-Scandinavian DNA when I joined an ancestry site. The fact that I found almost none indicates I must be a mutation – my father did visit Hiroshima while in the army in 1946, after all.

But at last I reached my favored computer store, eventually attracting a salesman’s attention. My plan was to spend a certain amount on a refurbished one, which has been my custom for a while. The salesman persuaded me I could get a new one for the same money that would be much more powerful and have a much longer life expectancy. It meant buying a brand I’d planned to avoid, but I saw reason at last. (Update: I’m working on it now, and I’m actually quite pleased. The keyboard action is good, and I haven’t had trouble with any apps [yet]). I notice, looking around, that I actually have a fairly tall stack of crashed laptops sitting around the house, so maybe the refurb strategy wasn’t as shrewd as I thought.

It did come with Windows 11. No doubt I’ll live to regret that, but what’s done is done, as the bald guy also said.

At least I didn’t have to retype half my words on this post.

Goofing

‘General’ concerns

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Above, a clip from Buster Keaton’s “The General,” one of the funniest, most creative, and genuinely terrifying movies ever made. No CGI there. Keaton put himself into real peril with those stunts. That was his business.

(By the way, if you’re a Democrat, you’re not allowed to laugh at this. He’s playing a Confederate railroader, and THAT’S NOT FUNNY!)

Anyway, I posted the clip because I feel kind of like Keaton’s character right now. Run ragged, just barely surviving. The comparison’s absurd of course. I’m in no real peril. But I do feel ragged as I run. Or waddle. Come to think of it, Fatty Arbuckle would make a better comparison. But I don’t know his work.

The translation jobs keep coming. This is reason for thanksgiving. There are retired guys out there who don’t know what to do with their time. I weep for their meaningless lives. Me, I wonder where I’ll find the hours for all I have to do.

I’ve got a cold, on top of it. I’m pretty sure it’s not Covid, because I retain my exquisite connoisseur’s palate. (Unless it’s the new Omigosh variant, but it seems too soon for that.) I generally get a cold every winter, and sometimes it lasts me the whole season. Last year, probably because of the Levitical sanitation measures, I got no cold at all. But I have one now. And it’s making me tired.

But someone on the translating team in Norway has Covid (mild, I’m told, thank the Lord), so I must do my part and put my shoulder to the wheel. The shows must go on. And, I must not forget, I get paid for this.

But things keep popping up to steal my valuable time. Had to do the whole mortgage refinancing signature dance all over again today, for some reason I don’t quite understand. Some t not crossed the last time, I guess. A prescription to pick up. Bill-paying day, with an associated cash flow problem. And I need to find a new internet service provider before the end of the month.

I really need a valet. Jeeves would handle all this stuff, freeing my time up for translation and witty repartee. And he’d no doubt have a secret concoction whose ingredients would include honey, lemon, turmeric and Bombay gin, to make me feel better.

I could have been a great financial success, I’m pretty sure, if only I’d been born rich.

Blogs, Socials, Fiction, Goofing

New Words, Smiles, Blogroll, and Our Man in Havana

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Merriam-Webster added 455 words to their dictionary last month, both new terms and new definitions. Because gets a new meaning as a preposition, “often used in a humorous way to convey vagueness about the exact reasons for something,” as in, “She drove all night because Daryl.” A new word is copypasta, something that has been spread around online.

Also new are deplatform, digital nomad, Oobleck, zero day, fluffernutter, and ghost kitchen. 

Michael De Sapio describes the moral imagination of Graham Greene’s Our Man in Havana, a spy comedy. “Dana Gioia writes that Catholic fiction, contrary to what a secular reader might expect, ‘tends to be comic, rowdy, rude, and even violent.’ This is true of Our Man in Havana, which jostles us through brothels and nightclubs and striptease houses, conveying the dinginess of a decaying city side-by-side with the sanctity of the Church. The comic juxtaposition of the sacred and the profane points up the duality of human nature in the most visceral way possible.”

Speaking of Cuba, playwright Garcia Aguilera, who has been promoted by the government in the past, is now calling for political reform and peaceful protest. He has become what Cuban officials call a “counterrevolutionary.”

“In his Dictionary, Dr. Johnson defines smile as ‘a slight contraction of the face.'” Yeah, but there’s more to it than that.

Allergies of the Gondolier, as told by Damian Balassone
“From the monstrous canals of his nose
a tsunami of mucus arose.”

Marvin Olasky summarizes John Frame’s A History of Western Philosophy and Theology. “In discussing early Christian philosophers, Frame criticizes those who have an insufficient sense of antithesis between Christian and Greek philosophy. Frame states that ‘the attempt to make Christianity intellectually respectable, and therefore easy to believe, is one of the most common and deadly mistakes of Christian apologists and philosophers throughout history.'”

Photo: Texaco gas pumps, Milford, Illinois, 1977. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress.

Goofing

Handy Guide or Opposition Research?

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The ever helpful and occasionally funny Babylon Bee has published a guide to being woke in a world eager to know what that and other new labels mean. Mark Marshall has been equally eager and reviewed the book for his blog.

We can all think of excellent humor writers and comedians who excelled in short formats but flopped in books or movies. Maintaining humor beyond a few pages or a few minutes is no easy task.

In the case of The Babylon Bee Guide to Wokeness, my skepticism was unfounded. Just about every page had me laughing . . . hard. In fact, I alerted friends I was in danger of dying laughing just in case I had a joyous demise.

One example he provides comes from the chapter on making your life as woke as Jesus’s was. He raised Lazarus from the dead to vote for Democrats, and the DNC has followed that example from their beginning.

If this looks like your thing, then I’m sure the Bee’s Guide to Wokeness can be found wherever Babylon Bee merch is sold.

Goofing

More on humor

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This clip from “A Night At the Opera” includes one of my favorite Groucho lines: “When I invite a woman out to dinner, I expect her to face me… That’s the price she has to pay.”

Reading another long book right now, so I guess I’ll dig myself further into a hole by elaborating on my puerile theory of humor. Basically, my theory is that humor is just telling the truth, but lobbing it in from an unexpected direction.

The truth in question doesn’t have to a big Major Truth. It could be a banal truth – the fact that you put one sock on before the other in the morning, or that the big box store always has about ten check-out stations, though never more than 2 of them are open. Puns, of course, depend on the most pointless of truths – that some words sound the same as others. It’s the surprising angle of approach, not the subject matter, that makes it funny. Groucho employs stream of consciousness in his dialogue – what he says makes sense, but only if you disregard context. Result: constant surprise. A roller coaster of illogic.

Every witty person has his own style. I think that’s what makes wit possible. One learns a particular angle of approach to the truth, and finds ways to apply it in lots of different situations. I once wrote on this blog (whether in this iteration or the original version) that I sometimes think I learned one joke when I was a teenager, and have been repeating it in various forms ever since.

Goofing

Adventures in partial recall

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The above clip from the Marx Brothers’ “A Night At the Opera” is provided for no other reason than to pad out the rest of this post, which doesn’t currently look promising in terms of thought or ideas. (The joke at the beginning about the “kids in Canada” is a reference to the Dionne Quintuplets, who were one of the big human interest stories of the day. Fertility drugs hadn’t been invented yet, so multiple births of that magnitude were pretty rare. If they’d had reality TV back then, the Dionnes would have had a show.)

Bee-yootiful day in Minneapolis today. Bright sun, temperatures in the mid-70s. I opened the sun roof on Miss Ingebretsen, my PT Cruiser, recently restored to me, then rolled the windows down and pretended I was driving a convertible.

Just before that, though, I had a shock to the system. I opened my garage door, and my car was MISSING!

(Cue scary orchestra chord: DUM-DUMMMMM)

Who stole it?

Who would steal an old PT Cruiser anyway?

How did they get in? The door isn’t damaged.

Don’t touch anything! There might be DNA evidence!

Then I remembered I’d parked it on the street when I got home from the gym, because I’d be driving it to lunch in a couple hours.

Am I getting Alzheimer’s?

(Cue scary musical chord: DUM-DUMMMMMM)

That’s possible, of course – witness my post about losing my keys not long ago (I forget exactly when. Don’t look at me like that).

But my memory is good enough to remember that I used to do the same sort of thing in my 20s. I am known internationally for my brilliance, my talent, my impeccable taste, and my irresistible charm. But I’ve never been known for my presence of mind.

Did I mention it was a Bee-yootiful day?

Goofing

Because nobody asked, my theory of humor

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First, the obligatory Old Man’s Reminiscence. By the time you get to my age, you’ve got a reminiscence for pretty much every situation. But usually only one, and people are sick to death of hearing it.

When I was in high school I took a Public Speaking class. I think it was there that I figured out I was good at public speaking, or at least that I enjoyed it, whether anybody enjoyed listening or not. I did a speech one week on Humor. I forget what I said – something about humor being related to truth. My teacher gave me a good grade, and said she’d like to see me develop it into an Original Oration, for district competition.

I thought about it, and wanted to do it. But I gave it up, because what I’d already said (little as it was) was pretty much all I could think of on the subject. And all I could find written on the subject seemed to agree that nobody knew how humor worked.

Well, more than fifty years have passed. And I think I have a theory. If it’s any good, it’s probably been said before. If it’s original, it’s probably twaddle. So I can’t really win with this. But I don’t have a book to review tonight, and I’m arrogant enough to post the theory here.

As I was saying in high school, before I was so rudely interrupted by time, humor is about truth. Doesn’t have to be a major, serious truth. It could be a small truth. All it needs to be is something we all recognize and share as part of our common life on this planet.

The humorist, instead of just stating bald fact, plays with the truth. It’s like a game of… Dodgeball, I guess. In Dodgeball, you have to keep on the lookout, because the ball might come at you from any direction. The humorist lobs the truth at you from a direction you don’t expect. You see it in a new way, you’re surprised, and (here the Dodgeball analogy breaks down), you’re amused. You laugh.

Or perhaps I could put it more crudely. Humor is the truth mooning you. Showing its backside.

“But,” you might say (especially if you viewed the clip above, the funniest scene from possibly the funniest film every made, “Duck Soup”), “that doesn’t apply to anarchic humor like the Marx Brothers or Monty Python.”

True, but I am prepared with an equivocation. Anarchic humor is the obverse of the same game. Here the truth does not surprise by its appearance, but by its absence. It’s made conspicuous by said absence. Ultimately, it declares the truth too.

(That, by the way, is why Monty Python generally didn’t offend me. People spoke of their humor subverting rationality. But I thought it emphasized rationality. Monty Python’s world was what we’d live in if the Postmodern philosophers were right. But the fact that the world isn’t like that – that Monty Python is funny, not a documentary – seemed to me to reinforce rationality.)

This theory is available for purchase by any large, wealthy, soulless corporation, in return for extravagant sums of money and the services of a valet.

I’ve been reading Lord Peter Wimsey stories, and I’m relatively sure I need a valet pretty badly.

Goofing

‘The Causes of the Depression,’ with Robert Benchley

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Mark Twain seems to have better staying power, but my choice for America’s greatest humorist remains Robert Benchley. He’s not much read anymore, but I cherish hopes that he’ll be rediscovered. You can also see him now and then in old movies, which nobody knows about anymore either.

The other day I shared a Great Depression song. Tonight, I’ll share one of Bob Benchley’s short subjects, “The Causes of the Depression.” Here you see him in his standard comic persona, the well-meaning regular guy with minimal situational awareness.

Those who know about his life remember primarily his membership in the legendary Algonquin Round Table group of wits. They also remember his drinking (which was serious, and interfered with his work) and his serial philandering with a string of Broadway starlets.

Oddly, according to a biography I read some years back, he originally went to New York a devout Christian and a fervent Prohibitionist. He rapidly discovered the pleasures of the flesh, however.

In spite of that, it was said of him that he never tolerated blasphemy when he and his friends were trading quips, however drunk they might be. He would make it clear that he did not appreciate that sort of thing.

Goofing

Vested interest

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What the fashionable young man will be winning in 2022.

Had lunch at the Country Kitchen restaurant today, as is my custom on Tuesdays. I don’t know why I allow myself to fall into these little routines. It only makes it easier for international assassins to track me down.

Anyway, I walked in and was conducted to a booth. After I sat down, I was approached by a bearded young man wearing a crucifix and a bolo tie (other things as well, of course, but those were what I noted). He complimented me on the way I was dressed, and asked if I rode a Harley. I thanked him and said no, I’ve never ridden a Harley.

(I pause briefly here to describe what I was wearing. I had on my usual outfit for when I leave the house – a collarless dress shirt under a Victorian vest with lapels. Black jeans and shoes. On my head, a classic Panama hat, like Charlie Chan wore.)

Was this young man “hitting on me” as they say? No, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. He was, in fact, pretty obviously emotionally disturbed. Someone had taken him out for a treat, or for social mainstreaming purposes.

Still, I appreciated the compliment. In fact, I see it as a promising sign.

I think it’s fairly obvious that the world today is run by people who don’t have both oars in the water. Clearly this is true in the world of fashion. So for all I know, this young man is a major influencer in regard to men’s clothing.

I fully expect we will quickly notice that men are dressing in a Victorian style again.

And, since clothes make the man, society must rapidly turn around. Civilization will be saved from barbarism.

All thanks to me and my vest.

Goofing, Music

State of the Union

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It’s well known that we’re an extremely broadminded crew here at Brandywine Books. We offer an open forum for the expression of all political views. In that spirit, we present the above preview of the next State of the Union address.