Anachronism Watch

Last night, we watched the first episode of the new BBC America drama "The Hour."  Seems promising.  Set in 1956, the show revolves around a fictional a BBC precursor of "60 Minutes" called, surprisingly, "The Hour."  Dominic West (of "The Wire) stars as Hector Madden, the "face" of the new program.  Romola Garai and Ben Whishaw play the other two main characters: Bel Rowley, the producer of the newsprogram, and Freddie Lyon, an idealistic journalist who aspires to make television news more relevant.  Lest you think this is simply a backstage drama at a news show, the program also follows Freddie's investigation of a murder that shadowy political figures in mid-50's England apparently do not want solved.  In short, "The Hour" is "Broadcast News" meets "24."

We'll certainly keep watching, but we have one nagging problem with the show--or at least with this first episode.  At the beginning, we learn that Freddie and Bel have worked together for some time, and they teasingly refer to each other as "Moneypenny" and "James."  Now, we realize that the first James Bond book, Casino Royale, was published in 1953, followed by 3 more novels by 1956.  It is therefore possible that these two youngish friends could have read the books and adopted the nicknames for each other.  But since the first Bond movie ("Dr. No") didn't appear until 1962, it seems odd that these two would already have adopted a mannerism associated primarily with films.

To put it another way, the writers of "The Hour" surely expected that the audience would recognize the "James" and "Moneypenny" references.  Moreover (in a Dathonian English sort of way), the writers would count on the fact that, when the viewers recognize the reference, they would also quickly gain some understanding of the relationship between Bel and Freddie: the easy familiarity of longtime "comrades in arms" with a hint of sexual tension bubbling underneath.  But, again, this understanding arises from the viewers' familiarity with the Bond films rather than with Ian Fleming's books.

As lapses go, this is certainly forgivable.  We assume the writers knew what they were doing and chose to introduce a minor anachronism in the interest of providing crisp exposition.  We're putting the writers on notice, though: If Freddie ever refers to Bel as "Hermione," we're outta here!

More Dathonian English

"If you build it, he will come." "Field of Dreams" (1989).

In this rather mawkish schmaltzfest, Kevin Costner plays a farmer who, while wandering his cornfield, hears a voice in the wind saying "If you build it, he will come." Logically, he concludes that this means that, if he builds a baseball field in his cornfield, "Shoeless" Joe Jackson and the other members of the 1919 Chicago White Sox (also known as the "Black Sox" for their role in fixing the World Series) will come and play there.

Of course! What else could it mean?

Anyway, though the movie itself doesn't get much play these days, the line lives on. It often shows up in the corporate world when people debate the relative merits of undertaking some project:

"Should we open another Starbucks in San Diego?"

"Well, if you build it, they will come."

Sometimes, for humorous effect, other transitive verbs may be substituted:

"Should I make some noodle kugel?"

"Well, if you bake it, they will come."

The line is often employed ironically, to imply that the person proposing an undertaking displays misplaced quasi-mystical faith in the merits of the project. Sure, in "Field of Dreams" Shoeless Joe shows up--as does (spoiler alert!) Costner's father, who is, in fact, the "he" the voice was referring to all along. But such Hollywood endings are the stuff of celluloid and cannot be counted on in everyday life.

More Dathonian English

Yesterday, YNSHC came close to winning concert tickets.  It was a radio contest, and somehow we were actually able to get through to the DJs.  This in itself is a rare occurrence, but it was at least partially due to the particular hoops through which contestants had to jump in order to win the contest.

The theme was literary references in rock songs.  The DJs played snippets from three songs, each of which contained the name of a fictional character(s).  The caller had to identify the book being referenced and the author.  The snippets were:

Bruce Springsteen singing about "The ghost of Tom Joad."

Someone that sounded like the Cure (although it turned out to be The Bravery) singing something unintelligible.

And someone whose name we forget singing, "Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Kathy, I've come home."

Now, as we've probably mentioned, the Solipsist was an English major.  He knew the first and third references, and he was wagering that, if he got through, the DJs might be sporting enough at least to tell him what the second singer was saying.

Well, the phone actually rang!  The DJ picked up!  We were close!

"OK, well, the first reference is John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath."

"Right!"

(Duh!)

"OK, now, the second one, I can't quite make out the words.  Could you just tell me what he's saying?"

"He's saying, 'Never had a Cherry Valance of my own.'"

What?  Who?

Well, folks, YNSHC was stumped.  He probably should have just guessed V by Thomas Pynchon (which would have been wrong anyway), but, as it was, he didn't even get to tell them what song number three was (Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte, again, duh!).

It apparently took forever for them to get a winner because, after we had gotten in to work and googled "Cherry Valance" (The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, of all things!), we turned on the radio and they were just THEN getting a winner.  The sad part, for us, was how many people didn't seem to know either the Steinbeck or the Bronte reference.

Still, this got us to thinking again about "The Guide to Dathonian English."  Since these references are, at least in theory, meant to be understood by the songs' audience, it seems we should be able to link the references to universal ideas.  Hence:

Tom Joad--One who stands up for the little guy.

Cherry Valance--????  An ideal love?  Could somebody who's read or seen The Outsiders recently help us out here?

Heathcliff and Kathy--Passionate romance.

Keep those entries coming folks!

Children in the News

I. "Please, Sir, May I Have a House?"

So the Indian government has taken bold action against in the battle against juvenile homelessness.  All you need to do is appear in an Academy Award-winning film.

That's right, two of the urchins in "Slumdog Millionaire," Rubina Ali and Azahruddin Ismail, are being moved out of the Mumbai slums and into "apartments near an [undisclosed] prime location."  No word on whether their parents get to go with them.

What would have happened to the kids if the movie had lost?  No condos for losers, one would imagine.

Now the Solipsist really feels bad for Mickey Rourke.

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II. "You Get to Sit When You Show Your Work!"

Dateline: Minnesota.  In the little town of Marine on Saint-Croix (that's not a town-name, that's a whole darn prepositional phrase!), teachers are experimenting with new classroom furniture that liberates kids from the strait-jacket of the traditional desk.  This must be great news for left-handers if nothing else.

The idea is that kids, being the hyperkinetic bundles of energy that they are, should be able to stand up, sit down, squat, kneel, or, presumably, cartwheel about the classroom.  Having the opportunity to vent the excess kid-o-watts will allow kids to focus less on sitting still and more on the academic subjects at hand.

The Solipsist thinks this is a great idea.  He would further propose giant hamster wheels on which the tots can jog while memorizing their times tables.

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III. "Can I Just Do It 'Til I Need Glasses?"

Does your teenage son spend a great deal of time in his room with the door closed?  Does he have a strange rash on his palms?  Any vision problems?

Well, parents, this is all a perfectly natural part of adolescent male development.  Yes, your son is simply experiencing the joys of. . . .

Playstation!

"OK," you're thinking, "door closed, yeah.  Eyestrain, I get that. . . . But a strange rash on his palms?"

That's right, folks.  The British Journal of Dermatology (renew your subscription now) has published a report on a condition first discovered by Swiss doctors, Playstation palmar hidradenitis.  The condition, which manifests itself as painful bumps on the palms of the hands, is a result of too much time spent pleasuring oneself--with a video game.  The condition is curable--provided the patient refrains from gaming for a week or two.  But good luck trying to get kids to stop.

Interestingly, this is only now coming to the attention of the medical community, and so apparently wasn't a problem with the older generation of video games.  Maybe what's needed is a return to the classic paraphernalia of teenage recreation.

In other words, tell your teenage sons to go back to playing with their joysticks!

Sorry.

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IV. A Guide to Dathonian English 

(Courtesy of Emi Ha--all from "Seinfeld")

"Did he CRUMBLE?"--Get to the point.

"Oh, I'm stressed!"--Things are pretty bad.

"Hoochie Mama/Serenity now!"--I'm about to lose it.

"I'm not freaking out!!!"--I'm freaking out.

And a Happy Virtual Birthday to Everyone!

Hallmark: When you care enough to do the first thing that comes to mind.

Sure, there was always something less than satisfying about receiving a card for your birthday--unless, of course, it was from Grandma, which meant it would reliably hold a five-dollar bill or check.  Even when the Solipsist was in his late-twenties, the amount was seldom more than ten dollars.  Yes, it's the thought that counts, and, no, the Solipsist is in no way criticizing his late grandmother.  Still, it was amusing.

But that's not the point.  The point is that, nowadays, it's probably a sign of deep affection when someone sends you an actual card.  When most responsibilities can be fulfilled via online activity, there's something quite touching in the thought that someone actually went out--to a STORE, no less--and looked through the offerings before selecting something just for you.

And what's the etiquette on e-cards, anyway?  A "thank you" would seem to be in order, but how much of a thank you?  Especially when the card arrives on the actual day.  With non-virtual cards (i.e., cards), when they show up on your birthday, it at least suggests that someone thought of you ahead of time--in fact, if the card was mailed, it guarantees such thought.  The e-card on your birthday MIGHT mean that somebody thought ahead and arranged for the card to pop up in your inbox on the blessed day.  Or it might mean (let's face it, probably does mean) that somebody went into work, flipped on the computer and, in between hands of computer solitaire and Facebook updates, had an "Oh, crap!" moment and quickly went to BlueMountain or its ilk in a last ditch attempt to avoid condemnation.

(Digression: BELATED virtual e-cards must be the ultimate sign of laziness.  End of digression.)

The Solipsist's advice: Be gracious, be thankful.  And he's not just saying that to prepare you for your birthday presents.

Really.

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Guide to Dathonian English:

Use the force, Luke: Concentrate; Pay attention.

Of Back Pain, Dathons, and Cereal

Last night, the Solipsist was watching an infomercial (don't ask) for "The 12-Minute Back Pain Relief Program."  The infomercial was 30 minutes long.  More to the point, the spokeslady brandished this stunning fact: Americans spend $50 billion a year on back pain.  So, in other words, we don't actually need a massive economic stimulus plan; we just need to lift with our legs.

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Emi Ha offered an entry for the Guide to Dathonian English (hereafter, GDE).  Whatever that happy/orgasmic/excited person is experiencing, I want some of that.  Or, "I'll have what she's having" ("When Harry Met Sally").  Keep those suggestions coming, folks.

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This week's special is supposed to be Star Trek and cereal, and the Solipsist realizes he hasn't mentioned either, yet.  And cereal enthusiasts probably feel a bit short-changed at the relative lack of attention compared to the extravagant number of words lavished on Star Trek.  So, um, cereal, let's see. . . . 

When did folks come up with the idea of marshmallows for cereal?  And do those things in Lucky Charms actually COUNT as marshmallows?  They've always struck the Solipsist as having more the consistency of Pez, only chewier.  Maybe some Kellogg's magnate accidentally spilled Pez into some oat flakes one day.  Must have been quite the Reese's moment.

OK, look, the Solipsist apologizes, but he just can't quite work up the passion for cereal that he can summon for Star Trek.  Although he HAS just remembered a fun, cereal-related exchange (actual) from his days as a college student:

One English major to another: (Exasperatedly) You know, there's more variety in breakfast cereal than in Shakespeare!

Other English major to first English major:  (Not missing a beat) Yes, and there's more riboflavin in one bowl of raisin bran than in all the works of Kafka combined!

No, the Solipsist didn't come up with that one.  Sad to say.  Thought you might get a kick out of it, though.

Reference This! (or, Darmok Revisited)

(FOS will no doubt correct any misspellings in this post.)

Although our relationship has ended, we can forever take comfort in the good times we enjoyed.  Or, "We'll always have [Paris, but feel free to insert an appropriate place name for your specific situation]."

Your destination may be reached by sticking to an easily marked path.  Or, "Follow the yellow brick road."

The situation has become intolerable, and I would very much like to leave.  Or, "Beam me up, Scotty!"

(Digression: The Solipsist has it on good authority that, despite its near universal recognizability, the above phrase was never actually spoken on "Star Trek."  It was always some variation, generally along the lines of "Three to beam up."  Nevertheless, like "Play it again, Sam," another misremembered classic, the phrase has entered the pop-culture lexicon, unlikely to be expunged or revised.  End of digression.)

One of the Solipsist's favorite episodes of "Star Trek: The Next Generation" (that's TNG to aficionados) is entitled "Darmok."  In this episode, the Enterprise is sent on a diplomatic mission to establish an alliance with the Dathon.  The Dathon are amenable.  The problem is that, despite the miraculous technology of the universal translator (the device that answers the eternal question: "Why does every alien race on Star Trek speak English"), the Dathon are completely unintelligible.  When Captain Picard attempts to begin a dialogue in true ambassadorial mode (and when Patrick Stewart is being ambassadorial with you, you've damn well been ambassadored!), the Dathon respond in what seems to be non-sequitur gobbledygook, saying things like, "Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra."  It SEEMS like English, but it doesn't MEAN anything.

But of course it means something.  Over the course of the episode, Picard comes to understand that the entire Dathon language is based on reference and metaphor.  "Darmok" is a sort of founding myth of the Dathon--all members of their society are brought up on the story of Darmok, and all spoken communication is composed of references to the myth.  Picard manages to piece together the gist of the story and so is able to bridge the gaps in understanding.

The Solipsist was thinking about this episode, and he wondered, if English were patterned on the Dathon tongue, what would our founding text be?  The Bible obviously springs to mind, but its religious overtones would alienate some language learners.  Shakespeare?  Too dead, too white, too male.

No, our universal text would have to be composed from that most universal of texts, popular entertainment.  A case could be made (and hardly disproved) that any emotional state and almost any tidbit worth communicating could be conveyed through reference to famous movies and TV shows (and now, possibly, video games, too).

The film "You've Got Mail" alludes to this phenomenon, when Tom Hanks' character explains that, to men, the answer to every question can be found in "The Godfather":

"The Godfather answers all of life's questions.  What should I pack for my summer vacation?  'Leave the gun, take the cannoli.'"

What other films could provide fodder?  Herewith, the Solipsist presents the first entry in his "Guide to Dathonian English":

Not surprisingly, "Casablanca" is a treasure trove.  In addition to the aforementioned "We'll always have Paris," you've got:

"Play it [again], Sam"--I'm feeling blue.  Cheer me up.

"Of all the gin joints in all the world. . . ."--Oh, crap!  Him/Her!

"Gambling in Casablanca!  I am shocked, shocked!"--Expressing mock outrage at a mildly unsavory situation that everyone has known about forever and is disinclined to do anything about.

"Round up the usual suspects"--To make a show of doing something about a situation that, again, no one really wants anything done about.

"This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship"--I've gained a newfound respect for you.

"Wizard of Oz," of course, is useful, too:

"We're off to see the wizard"--Our project has begun.

"If I only had a brain/heart"--Expressing (mock?) remorse at one's intellectual/emotional shortcomings.

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain"--Suspend your disbelief.

How about "Jerry Maguire"?

"You had me at [hello, but feel free to insert your own favorite word/phrase]"--indicates the moment at which a beloved object becomes beloved, i.e., the moment of swoon.  May also be used ironically: "You had me at waterboarding!"

"Show me the money!"--Fairly self-explanatory.

Individual quotes scattered throughout the film world will prove useful, too:

"I see dead people"--I have a problem/something is happening to me that I don't really understand, and I don't think anyone can help me with.

To which a nice reply might be, "Help me to help you" (Jerry Maguire, again--a surprising number of familiar and semi-familiar quotes from such a recent film.)

The Solipsist will continue filling up the handbook, but he needs your help.  Please send along your favorite quotes from pop culture, along with their practical translations.  It may take time, and it may be difficult, but the Solipsist is calling on you to sacrifice for the greater good.  After all, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.  Or the one."