Shibboleths

Have you noticed how, in reportage about the nation's current economic troubles, one standard formulation goes roughly like this: "This is the worst recession/economic downturn since the 1930's"?  Isn't this just a desperate attempt to avoid saying, "since the Great Depression"?  Are people afraid that if they use those words it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy?  Is this the business-section equivalent of not mentioning a perfect game when a pitcher finishes the 7th without allowing a base-runner?  Should the Solipsist knock on wood even as he finishes typing these words?  (For what it's worth, he did.  Rest easy, true believers.)

But superstitiously avoiding such locutions is a catch-22.  The greater and more frequent the verbal contortions one goes through to avoid saying the things everyone is thinking, the more obvious those contortions become.  And their very obviousness negates any advantage gained from the original reticence.  Indeed, if you watch baseball, you will note that sportscasters have largely abandoned the injunction against mentioning a no-hitter during a game.  It's a wonder that our other, theoretically more serious news outlets can't bring themselves to abandon their own superstitions. 

Remember folks, in writing, clarity is never a bad thing.  If you're so afraid of mentioning something that you can't bring yourself to say it clearly, don't mention it at all.  In fact, don't be a writer at all.  Certainly don't be a reporter.  To write or not to write is a choice.  But once you've made the choice, clarity is an obligation.

 

Pueleve, Rismouse, Diereepr, Defacki

No, not a multi-ethnic law firm.

Not a spell for summoning a horrifying creature of Lovecraftian dimensions.

Not characters from Gravity's Rainbow.

Give up?

These are words that have appeared when YNSHC has posted comments to other blogs, or signed up for Google Mail, or attempted to sell his cousin's kidney on-- perhaps YNSHC has said too much.

In other (more conventional) words, these are examples of the web's ubiquitous security feature. Those apparently random character strings that one is meant to type into a box to ensure that one is. . . . Well, that one is a "one" and not some borglike entity bent on world domination through the acquisition of numerous e-mail addresses. The Solipsist himself, not being overly computer literate, is not clear on the reasoning behind the device: It seems to him that anyone tech-savvy enough to program a computer to spew random nonsense would, without too much additional work, be able to program that computer to recognize these embedded wordlets, but maybe not. Maybe that's why they're always squiggly and printed at various levels of legibility (even to human eyes).

One also wonders about the managers of these sites. Consider their choices. Some sites use actual words. Google, it seems, wants you to type in "words" that are not actually WORDS but look like they could be. Thus "pueleve" is not in the dictionary, nor are "rismouse," "diereepr," and "defacki." But they all look linguistically plausible. Pueleves and rismice sound like animals--the former perhaps a wild Portuguese chicken, the latter a Dickensian rodent. A diereepr would be a combination screwdriver and plow of Czech origins, and a defacki sounds like a term for a lovable fall-guy.

The question, then, is: If they're not going to use words, why use things that sound like words? Out of consideration for the human operator, who might have trouble typing "nfhew2nfr"?

(Digression: And now don't you start to imagine "words" everywhere? Those characters were typed while the writer looked away from the keyboard. But the primed mind sees in them "Nephew to infer"--perhaps instructions for reading a will? The same thing happens when you stare at license plates too long. End of digression.)

Or perhaps it's a straetgy to get you to quest linguistically, to look up the non-words and thereby stumble onto other sesquipedalian gems. Looking up "defacki" led to the discovery of "defalcate"--to be guilty of defalcation! (All right, all right: Defalcation: misappropriation of money or funds held by an official, trustee, or other fiduciary.) And that's actually useful! Now, instead of whining about, say, Bernie Madoff's swindle, we can pontificate about the rise of defalcation and the toll it is taking on society.

Ah, Google. . . .Is there anything your "do no evil" ways CAN'T improve?

The Random Opinion Generator

Something has happened to the Solipsist since his first posting just over a week ago: He has become opinionated.

Undoubtedly, his friends, family, and acquaintances would say it has been ever thus, but this is different. Round the clock, his mind whirls with. . . thoughts. Random thoughts. Clever thoughts. Banal thoughts. Each accompanied by a mental pilot fish, chewing around the edges, nibbling at the meaty center, taste-testing to see whether the thought is worth sharing. Maybe "worth" is the wrong word: Functional shareability, mere expressibility is the major criterion. That is, if a thought can be put into words, it will be.

For what else is a blogger to do? He has an obligation--to his followers if he has any, to himself if he does not. Entries must be made. A blogger (any writer) risks inertia if he lets up. Let's face it: NOT writing is certainly easier than writing. Especially if there's something good on TV.

So does blogging MAKE one an opinionated jerk, or does it merely release the inner-opinionated jerk in all of us? Nature abhors a vacuum. If there are unused bits and bytes, something must fill them. And every bit and byte left unfilled by the Solipsist is one more bit or byte that could be filled by the Dick Cheneys, the Bill O'Reillys, the Ann Coulters of the world.

Rise up, good people! Blog for freedom. Crowd out the reactionary enemies of creative thought. Censorship is inherently wrong. But it's not our fault if we use up all the paper before our antagonists get out their pens!

Into the Dragon's Den

Have you seen this show? It's on BBC America (http://www.bbcamerica.com/).

(Digression: Have Americans started affectionately referring to it as "the Beeb," yet? Have Brits started affectionately referring to CNN as "the Can"? Or to Fox News as "Murdoch's little Fascist mouthpiece whose editorial viewpoint is slightly to the right of Hitler's"? End of digression.)

"Dragon's Den" is "The Apprentice" meets "American Idol," only ALL the judges are Simon Cowell. Each episode features aspiring entrepreneurs pitching their products to a group of five "Dragons"--successful businesspeople who decide whether to invest their own money into the aspirants' projects. It's an all-or-nothing proposition: The aspirants must receive at least the amount of money they ask for, or they get nothing.


The Dragons:
(Please note: The roster changes occasionally; these were the ones in the most recent episode watched by the Solipsist)


Peter ("The Mogul") Jones: Wears the nicest suits and tends to be the one left at the end when the other Dragons have already declared themselves "out" of the running for the deal. Very bottom-line oriented (even for the Dragons).
Made his fortune in: Telecommunications, but began his career as a teenager by opening his own tennis academy! (Apparently, there's a major demand for these in the UK).
If the show were American, his seat would be filled by: Donald Trump
In the movie he'd be played by: Matt Damon (maybe)


Simon ("Paula") Woodroffe: The closest thing to a Paula Abdul among the judges. Usually seems to have something encouraging to say to the budding businessfolk, even as he's shooting them down. Has strange sideburns and wears oddly-colored shoes.
Made his fortune in: Fast-food sushi restaurants--or something like that.
If the show were American, his seat would be filled by: Mark Cuban
In the movie, he'd be played by: Paul Giamatti


Doug ("The Token") Richard: The lone American dragon. At least he gets to sit in the middle seat.
Made his fortune in: Buying and selling software companies (i.e., nothing).
If the show were American, his seat would be filled by: Doug Richard
In the movie, he'd be played by: Bob Balaban


Duncan ("Bannatyne, Duncan Bannatyne") Bannatyne: A somewhat creepy Scotsman, always dressing in black suits and pretty much declaring himself "out" at about the moment that the aspirant says, "Hello, I'm--".
Made his fortune in: The leisure industry.
If the show were American, his seat would be filled by: Steve Wynn
In the movie, he'd be played by: Ralph Fiennes.


Rachel ("The Woman") Elnaugh: Another one who is rarely seen to actually invest in anything. Perhaps it's because her business is valued at a "mere" 30,000,000 pounds, which is not quite the stratospheric level of the other dragons.
Made her fortune in: Something called "Red-Letter Days," which is apparently a service that allows people to live out their fantasies. You know, a whorehouse. (Kidding, Rachel, kidding!)
If the show were American, her seat would be filled by: Martha Stewart (a bit on the nose, maybe, but so what).
In the movie, she'd be played by: Cate Blanchett (You're welcome!).


Anyway, the aspirants pitch pretty much anything. Products have included umbrella vending machines, origami camping equipment, an automated baby rocker, even an avant-garde circus production company. The aspirants offer an equity stake in their business in exchange for the requested investment. Here is how the negotiations generally proceed:

ASPIRANT: (completes presentation) So, there you have it. I'd be happy to answer any questions.
DRAGON: So, you're asking for 100,000 pounds?
ASPIRANT: That's right.
DRAGON: For what share of the business?
ASPIRANT: 10%.
DRAGON: Right, well, that's far too low. I tell you, I'd be willing to invest 50,000 for 25% of the company, if you can find another dragon willing to put up the rest.


So, basically, people who enter the Den end up (if they're lucky) parting with half their business. And it doesn't seem to have anything to do with the actual "goodness" of the idea. No matter how interesting/potentially lucrative the deal may be, the Dragons ALWAYS want 50%. True, 50% of something is better than 100% of nothing, but there seems something rather distasteful about the whole thing.


Hmmm. . . Cut-throat capitalism combined with reality TV, distasteful? What are the odds?

Quick Comment, More Later

The Solipsist is a little disappointed with his loyal followers (all three of you) for your overwhelming preference for dogs. First of all, cats rule. Second of all, nobody went for hippopotamus? Not such a big deal, really, this first poll was really more of a "test" to see how things work. The new one is serious, though: Give it major thought.

(Also, the Solipsist knows who three of the readers are, but he was touched, flattered, and more than a little verklempt when he saw that at least FOUR people had read the thing. Who could this strange, mysterious, and probably masochistic reader be? Whoever you are, thank you, keep reading, and spread the word!)

Not Just for Kittens Anymore

At the bail hearing, Mr. Sorkin, Mr. Madoff’s lawyer, said other packages had been sent to Peter Madoff, Bernard’s brother, as well as an unnamed couple who live in New York but were vacationing in Florida. He said many of the items were relatively inexpensive, including a pair of $25 cuff links and $200 mittens.
The New York Times, January 6, 2009

$200 mittens? Are they made of Uranium?

The news is disturbing. Forget, for the moment, the hard-earned life savings vanished into the Ponzi-esque ether of Bernie Madoff's "investments." What about the children? Think of those countless unsuspecting tykes waiting for the school bus, countless (times two) mittens clipped securely to the puffy sleeves of countless winter coats. Will it be long before organized crime-lords see the opportunity? Before the evening news is filled with reports of mitten-snatch-and-grabs and images of red-fingered youngsters? And, frankly, we will all be relieved if that's as far as it goes. If less honorable thieves get wind of this, we will surely find rural roadsides littered with discarded little hands hacked off of those who dare to resist their plunderers.

Something must be done.

$200 mittens! Not even gloves! For that kind of money, each finger should be swathed in velveteen luxury. But no. By the Solipsist's (admittedly rough) calculations, that works out to $50 per thumb and only $18.75 per finger. And herein we gain some insight into Madoff's failings as an investor: Failure to diversify wisely. He put all his money into thumbs! Anyone with a pulse could see that fingers were the way to go. Seriously, the thumb market has been trending downward since the 70's, as evidenced by continued weakness in the hitch-hiking derivatives market.

Herewith, then, The Solipsist offers some investment advice for his loyal readers (all three of you): Distribute your cash evenly over all your digits, so to speak. In these tough economic times, a sturdy pair of gloves provides far more security than a glamorous set of mittens.

Does This Beer Make Me Look Fat?

A new ad campaign for some light beer (your not-so-humble correspondent is reluctant to specify for fear of naming the wrong beer and thereby jeopardizing a potential revenue stream) emphasizes the fact that this particular brand is only 64 calories. The conceit is that one can drink 64 calories worth of this beer or 64 calories worth of some other drink, a margarita say. But whereas one could enjoy a full 12 thirst-quenching ounces of our hero's brew, one would have to settle for imbibing roughly a thimble's worth of the alternative.

Now, light beers have been around for quite some time, and certainly caloric intake is a consideration among those who drink them--or, indeed, among those deciding between a light beer and one that will pass straight from one's lips to take up permanent residence around one's belly and thighs. But YNSHC is surprised to discover that apparently calories are THE consideration for the tippling connoisseur. That when one is trying to decide between the Mike's Hard Lemonade and the Cosmopolitan and something--anything--that will generate a mild buzz, the primary selling point of the final choice is how it will make one's butt look. Are there really that many health-conscious drinkers out there? And shouldn't anyone really worried about weight just have a nice glass of carrot juice?

Why not just grind up a couple of Dexatrim and mix them into your Guinness? Far tastier and probably more scale-friendly, too.

Struggling Football Program Tries Novel Recruitment Strategy

"At age 13, the 6-foot-3, 280 pound Reeve Koehler is so big that he has never been allowed to play organized football. Despite that, he already has a full scholarship offer from the University of Hawaii. . . .Koehler [is] among 143 players here for Sunday's inaugural Football University Youth All-American Bowl, a series of three games at the Alamodome that will feature the nation's top seventh and eighth graders."

The New York Times, January 4, 2009

Edsonville, NY, January 5--Following a record 19th straight unvictorious season, Erwin Bonk, Head Coach of South North Edsonville Technical College, readily admits to a sense of desperation. "I just really thought we'd do better than 0-13," Bonk explained at his regular

postseason apologia, "especially since we only played 11 games."

SNET's record for futility has led the school to pursue a novel recruiting strategy. It recently offered a full scholarship to 2-year old Anson "Bunnypot" McGreevey, of Mrs. Piggywaddles' Daycare Center (class of '10).

"We know he's a ways off from matriculation," acknowledged SNET Athletic Director Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (no relation). "Still, in this kind of competitive atmosphere, and with the pressure on colleges to win now, or, at least, to win ever, we felt the need to be aggressive."

Though young, Bunnypot McGreevey has shown signs of an innate talent for football. At naptime, before falling asleep, he is frequently heard mumbling in a cadence resembling a snap count. Bonk, however, plans to put the toddler on the defensive side of the ball. "He's got a natural aggressiveness that you really like to see in a defensive tackle, plus the cocksure attitude of a free safety."

By way of illustration, Bonk pointed to the now-famous "Ballpit Meltdown" at McGreevey's 2nd birthday party. When 3-year-old Alison Tutwiler attempted to fake a handoff to her "Googah" (grandmother), Bunnypot came flying in on her blindside and leveled a devastating hit, causing a fumble (or, as McGreevey's mother Claudette called it, "an oopsie"). In the ensuing scramble, McGreevey's tenacity was again on full display, as he fought off a crew of three and four year olds, to recover the ball. On the changing table after the game, Bunnypot continued to clutch the red ball, explaining, "Mine! Mine! Miiiiiii-iiiiiiine!" before falling asleep.

With the heavy rotation of this video on YouTube and other services, Longfellow and other SNET administrators realized it was only a matter of time before McGreevey came to the attention of traditional college football powerhouses. "We figured, with his local roots, Bunnypot would be interested in committing to us, as long as we got to him before some of the so-called 'good' football programs had their chance."

SNET's offer includes tuition, room and board, a small stipend, and, at McGreevey's request, "a whale." Asked to comment on the scholarship offer, McGreevey threw his sippy cup at his "little girlfriend," Tina Mooney, and proceeded to chew on a block and make "gleeping" sounds.

When asked whether McGreevey's apparently abusive tendencies towards young girls was a source of concern for SNET, Bonk admitted that it was but that, with proper coaching, "Any young man can overcome a few personality flaws and become a skilled football player capable of rupturing an opponent's spleen."

Barring injury, SNET expects McGreevey to be ready for opening day in 2025, by which time the school's winless streak could be well over three-hundred games. "I'm looking forward to coaching the young man," Bonk said. When it was pointed out to the coach that Bonk would be 106 in McGreevey's freshman year, Bonk simply smiled and stared blankly at his questioner.

Des Moines, February 7--Mrs. Henrietta Toggles of Des Moines signed a letter of intent with Notre Dame on behalf of her son, Willie Moe. Willie Moe is expected to be born sometime in May. "Have you seen the ultrasounds of this kid's kicks?" exclaimed an anonymous Notre Dame spokesman. "Hell, when a missed field goal can mean the difference between playing on New Year's Day and playing on the day BEFORE New Year's Day, we'd be remiss in our duties NOT to sign the fetus!"