So I was sitting at home today cross-stitching when I suddenly realized that all the Actives on Joss Whedon's show Dollhouse have names that go with letters from the radio alphabet thing. You know, Alpha Bravo Charlie Delta Echo Foxtrot - well, there you go, Alpha and Echo, we've already got Actives called Alpha and Echo, and the other Active whose name we know right now is called Sierra. And I went investigating on the internet, to see if we knew any other names of Actives, and there was supposed to be a character called November (check), and evidently there's another one called Victor. This isn't a big deal, but, just, AHA! That was a rather clever thing for me to think of between spoonfuls of Counter Culture yogurt.
You know what this means, right? The wider significance of this epiphany? This drastically shortens the odds of one of the characters being called Oscar!
NOT ENOUGH OSCARS IN THIS WORLD. HURRAH FOR OSCAR WILDE!!!
Showing posts with label Information that I have in my brain but I'm not sure what to do with. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Information that I have in my brain but I'm not sure what to do with. Show all posts
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
My new obsession
Watching the population clock on the US Census Bureau website. The clock updates every minute, so you can see how many babies are being born in each minute. You can see it for the United States and for the entire world. It is so fascinating. I’m not even kidding.
I was watching Arrested Development after work today, and it occurred to me that I wanted to find out some information from a recent census (educational attainment by state, if you’re interested), so I went to the website. And there was the population clock, in the upper right-hand corner. I’m enthralled.
Because every single minute, it changes. Which means that at the end of every minute, all these babies have been born, brand new babies, which is fascinating all by itself, because you know, a minute ago they were still living inside of another person, and now, this minute, here they are, whole independent people who will eventually walk and talk and have affairs and jobs and illnesses and brilliant successes. (And yes, I realize how cheesy this sounds, but I can’t help it, that notion is so remarkable.) I find myself wanting to do Tarot card readings for all the new babies, to see what’s going to happen, but I can’t, there are too many of them. Every minute, more babies born. Wow. I only remembered Arrested Development when the credits rolled, at which point I realized I had missed the entire episode. Something about "Afternoon Delight".
The only way this could be more fascinating was if it had one for deaths as well. But the clock never loses numbers, because it updates every minute, so if anyone’s dying, it’s being counted out by the babies being born. I suppose this is probably a good thing. Imagine my chagrin if I had to choose two separate clocks to look at, maybe one at each side of the page. My eyes would get tired looking back and forth. The US and world population clocks are right on top of each other, and there are only two of them, so it’s no problem.
Also of note: When I start reading US Census Bureau reports, I sometimes start wondering about statistics that don’t matter. In particular I often wonder how many times a word or name crops up in a book. This is something I worry about because I write, and I get nervous about using words I like too many times. Or sometimes I just feel like finding an average number of times a certain common word is used in a certain number of bestselling books, like how many times on average do the current NY Times bestsellers use “good” as opposed to “bad”. ("Good" appears on an average of 23.7% of NY times bestseller pages (the top ten hardback fiction and the top ten paperback fiction), and "bad" appears on 8.3% of NY times bestseller pages. Just After Sunset by Stephen King has the highest percentage of "good" - 36.4% of pages; while The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz has the highest percentage of "bad" - 15.6% of pages. In case you were interested. Though I suspect that nobody in the world is interested in that information.)
(Incidentally, Martin Millar says he likes using the word "good", and here's the stats on that: Of the four Martin Millar books currently in print, 41.6% of the pages have "good" and 16.8% have "bad". For the interested (I KNOW THAT NOBODY CARES I CANNOT STOP MYSELF IT IS A SICKNESS), the book in which he says he likes the word "good", while it has the second-highest percentage of "good" incidences of all the four books, is still 23.5 points behind the book with the first-highest percentage. It also has the second-highest (by a far, far smaller margin) percentage of "bad" incidences.)
Today I remembered that my friend Laura had complained about Stephenie Meyer using the word “chagrined” too often in her Twilight series, so I investigated on Amazon. Results: She started out with three uses of “chagrin” or “chagrined” in Twilight (two should really be the limit, Laura and I decided, but we can live with it), then cut it down to one in New Moon (go Steph!). Then things started to go downhill. In Eclipse, the third book, she used it four times, and in Breaking Dawn, five. But the real winner is her non-vampire book The Host, which used “chagrin” or “chagrined” a grand total of seven times. That is many.
Since I’m on the subject of Stephenie Meyer, and I have my camera right here next to me, I think this is a good time to post the picture of the thing Vey made for Anna. I am so, so jealous of Anna. It is three-dimensional art which is already cool, and it is also an unbelievably excellent feminist palimpsest. I love it. The picture doesn’t do it justice. In real life it is still more magnificent than it is here. If you can believe that.
I was watching Arrested Development after work today, and it occurred to me that I wanted to find out some information from a recent census (educational attainment by state, if you’re interested), so I went to the website. And there was the population clock, in the upper right-hand corner. I’m enthralled.
Because every single minute, it changes. Which means that at the end of every minute, all these babies have been born, brand new babies, which is fascinating all by itself, because you know, a minute ago they were still living inside of another person, and now, this minute, here they are, whole independent people who will eventually walk and talk and have affairs and jobs and illnesses and brilliant successes. (And yes, I realize how cheesy this sounds, but I can’t help it, that notion is so remarkable.) I find myself wanting to do Tarot card readings for all the new babies, to see what’s going to happen, but I can’t, there are too many of them. Every minute, more babies born. Wow. I only remembered Arrested Development when the credits rolled, at which point I realized I had missed the entire episode. Something about "Afternoon Delight".
The only way this could be more fascinating was if it had one for deaths as well. But the clock never loses numbers, because it updates every minute, so if anyone’s dying, it’s being counted out by the babies being born. I suppose this is probably a good thing. Imagine my chagrin if I had to choose two separate clocks to look at, maybe one at each side of the page. My eyes would get tired looking back and forth. The US and world population clocks are right on top of each other, and there are only two of them, so it’s no problem.
Also of note: When I start reading US Census Bureau reports, I sometimes start wondering about statistics that don’t matter. In particular I often wonder how many times a word or name crops up in a book. This is something I worry about because I write, and I get nervous about using words I like too many times. Or sometimes I just feel like finding an average number of times a certain common word is used in a certain number of bestselling books, like how many times on average do the current NY Times bestsellers use “good” as opposed to “bad”. ("Good" appears on an average of 23.7% of NY times bestseller pages (the top ten hardback fiction and the top ten paperback fiction), and "bad" appears on 8.3% of NY times bestseller pages. Just After Sunset by Stephen King has the highest percentage of "good" - 36.4% of pages; while The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz has the highest percentage of "bad" - 15.6% of pages. In case you were interested. Though I suspect that nobody in the world is interested in that information.)
(Incidentally, Martin Millar says he likes using the word "good", and here's the stats on that: Of the four Martin Millar books currently in print, 41.6% of the pages have "good" and 16.8% have "bad". For the interested (I KNOW THAT NOBODY CARES I CANNOT STOP MYSELF IT IS A SICKNESS), the book in which he says he likes the word "good", while it has the second-highest percentage of "good" incidences of all the four books, is still 23.5 points behind the book with the first-highest percentage. It also has the second-highest (by a far, far smaller margin) percentage of "bad" incidences.)
Today I remembered that my friend Laura had complained about Stephenie Meyer using the word “chagrined” too often in her Twilight series, so I investigated on Amazon. Results: She started out with three uses of “chagrin” or “chagrined” in Twilight (two should really be the limit, Laura and I decided, but we can live with it), then cut it down to one in New Moon (go Steph!). Then things started to go downhill. In Eclipse, the third book, she used it four times, and in Breaking Dawn, five. But the real winner is her non-vampire book The Host, which used “chagrin” or “chagrined” a grand total of seven times. That is many.
Since I’m on the subject of Stephenie Meyer, and I have my camera right here next to me, I think this is a good time to post the picture of the thing Vey made for Anna. I am so, so jealous of Anna. It is three-dimensional art which is already cool, and it is also an unbelievably excellent feminist palimpsest. I love it. The picture doesn’t do it justice. In real life it is still more magnificent than it is here. If you can believe that.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Happy birthday, Oscar Wilde!
Happy, happy birthday! It’s his 154th birthday today! 154 years ago today he was born to Sir William (noted oculist and aorist once accused of chloroforming and raping one of his lady patients, which was very scandalous) and Lady Jane Francesca (it was Frances really but she fancied herself descended from Dante, her maiden name Elgee supposedly being a corruption of Alighieri so she made her name sound more Italian) Wilde. I can’t help thinking he should have rejoiced more in his given name instead of abandoning it upon reaching adulthood: Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde. He said that eventually he was going to become so famous that he would be down to one name. (Like Dante.) Oscar Wilde charms me.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
THE MAFIA....
...hypothesis of brood parasitism.
Or, I learned the most fascinating thing ever today.
Well, we all know that cuckoos are wicked and unpleasant birds with the wicked and unpleasant habit of laying their own eggs in other birds’ nests, so that the other birds hatch the eggs for them. And then the baby cuckoos hatch sooner and grow faster, and they kick the mama bird’s real babies right out of the nest. This is nice for the parasite cuckoo mama, who doesn’t have to do any work, and nice for the parasite cuckoo babies, who get to throw other baby birds out of the nest, but not so nice for the host mama, whose reproductive success is diminished, or for the host babies, who end up dead and splatty at the bottom of the tree while their mamas give free worms to their murderers.
Or possibly the host babies fall out of the nest, don’t die on impact, and, lacking the tenacity of the Are You My Mother? bird (You are not my mother! You are a Snort!), die anyway because of no mama to feed them. Poor little birds.
Well, I’ve known about this for a while. But today I learned one of the theories for why the host mamas put up with this crap instead of evolving out of it (because it really, really doesn’t benefit them reproductively), and it is so fascinating. It’s called THE MAFIA HYPOTHESIS. Basically, the notion is that host mamas who try to get rid of parasite (cuckoo) eggs that show up in their nests get targeted by the cuckoos. The cuckoos come to check on their eggs, and if the host mama has ejected the parasite cuckoo eggs from her nest, the cuckoo up and dumps out all of the host mama’s eggs. So that instead of having fewer of her own babies as a result of cuckoo activities, the host mama ends up with no babies. Some studies have shown that host mamas who eject parasite eggs have a massively higher likelihood of ending up having their nests plundered AND IT IS THE CUCKOO WHO PLUNDERS THEM.
THAT IS RIGHT. DO NOT MESS WITH THE CUCKOOS. THEY WILL KILL YOUR CHILDREN.
I have three equally strong reactions to this. One, this is fascinating and I wonder if Neil Gaiman knows about this, he with the love for writing about cuckoos. Two, cuckoos are fucking terrifying. And three, I sort of wish my sisters and I had known about this when we were little and we used to play the game where I was the mama bird and Robyn and Erin Molly were my little baby birds, and Anna would only play if she could be the cat. But I bet she would have played if she could have been The Recurring Evil Cuckoo Character. It would have been great. There could have been epic battles, man.
Or, I learned the most fascinating thing ever today.
Well, we all know that cuckoos are wicked and unpleasant birds with the wicked and unpleasant habit of laying their own eggs in other birds’ nests, so that the other birds hatch the eggs for them. And then the baby cuckoos hatch sooner and grow faster, and they kick the mama bird’s real babies right out of the nest. This is nice for the parasite cuckoo mama, who doesn’t have to do any work, and nice for the parasite cuckoo babies, who get to throw other baby birds out of the nest, but not so nice for the host mama, whose reproductive success is diminished, or for the host babies, who end up dead and splatty at the bottom of the tree while their mamas give free worms to their murderers.
Or possibly the host babies fall out of the nest, don’t die on impact, and, lacking the tenacity of the Are You My Mother? bird (You are not my mother! You are a Snort!), die anyway because of no mama to feed them. Poor little birds.
Well, I’ve known about this for a while. But today I learned one of the theories for why the host mamas put up with this crap instead of evolving out of it (because it really, really doesn’t benefit them reproductively), and it is so fascinating. It’s called THE MAFIA HYPOTHESIS. Basically, the notion is that host mamas who try to get rid of parasite (cuckoo) eggs that show up in their nests get targeted by the cuckoos. The cuckoos come to check on their eggs, and if the host mama has ejected the parasite cuckoo eggs from her nest, the cuckoo up and dumps out all of the host mama’s eggs. So that instead of having fewer of her own babies as a result of cuckoo activities, the host mama ends up with no babies. Some studies have shown that host mamas who eject parasite eggs have a massively higher likelihood of ending up having their nests plundered AND IT IS THE CUCKOO WHO PLUNDERS THEM.
THAT IS RIGHT. DO NOT MESS WITH THE CUCKOOS. THEY WILL KILL YOUR CHILDREN.
I have three equally strong reactions to this. One, this is fascinating and I wonder if Neil Gaiman knows about this, he with the love for writing about cuckoos. Two, cuckoos are fucking terrifying. And three, I sort of wish my sisters and I had known about this when we were little and we used to play the game where I was the mama bird and Robyn and Erin Molly were my little baby birds, and Anna would only play if she could be the cat. But I bet she would have played if she could have been The Recurring Evil Cuckoo Character. It would have been great. There could have been epic battles, man.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Dude.
So one of those things I've always assumed without having anything to back it up with, is that I do not like the writers of the Beat Generation. Not really fair of me to make that assumption but still, many of my literature-related assumptions are solid good assumptions, and voila, here is another thing proved quite right.
William Burroughs. Always suspected that I hated him.
Bah.
So guess what I learned today. William Burroughs shot his wife.
In the head.
Because basically he was in Mexico because he was a-running from The Law, and Joan Vollmer was his common-law wife and whatnot, and they were all drunk and he was all blaaaaaaaaaah let's play William Tell that would be SO AWESOME and she was like blaaaaaaaaah that will be amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing so she put a glass water tumbler on her head and he SHOT HER IN THE HEAD.
IN THE HEAD.
AND SHE DIED.
....Incidentally, I don't know if you've noticed, but the titles of all these June posts have been really terse. I must be terse today.
William Burroughs. Always suspected that I hated him.
Bah.
So guess what I learned today. William Burroughs shot his wife.
In the head.
Because basically he was in Mexico because he was a-running from The Law, and Joan Vollmer was his common-law wife and whatnot, and they were all drunk and he was all blaaaaaaaaaah let's play William Tell that would be SO AWESOME and she was like blaaaaaaaaah that will be amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing so she put a glass water tumbler on her head and he SHOT HER IN THE HEAD.
IN THE HEAD.
AND SHE DIED.
....Incidentally, I don't know if you've noticed, but the titles of all these June posts have been really terse. I must be terse today.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Ruslana was elected to Parliament
Yes. She was.
For those of you tragically not in the know, Ruslana won Eurovision a few years ago. You know, Eurovision? The thing that America DOES NOT GET TO PARTICIPATE IN? It's so sad. Everyone in Europe gets Eurovision on their TVs, and they get to see the magnificent outfits that everybody wears, and something like forty-five countries participate, and they all sing songs and wear crazy clothes, and America COMPLETELY MISSES OUT.
I'm pretty bitter about this. I have to watch Eurovision in tiny little YouTube format, and the beauty of the clothing is just not conveyed in the same way on YouTube, even when I put it on fullscreen. I want to live in Europe during Eurovision. Every year. Or be like the American correspondent to Eurovision. I would be the best correspondent ever.
Anyway, Ruslana is the singer of my cousin Becca's favorite song ever, I Dance With the Wolves (Woolfs). If you haven't seen this music video yet, please watch it. I watched it again today and it made me greatly happy. So I looked her up on Wikipedia, as I do, and it turns out that she was elected to the Ukrainian Parliament in 2006, but then she resigned her position in early 2007.
I don't know what this says about the Ukraine. Just wanted to put that information out there.
For those of you tragically not in the know, Ruslana won Eurovision a few years ago. You know, Eurovision? The thing that America DOES NOT GET TO PARTICIPATE IN? It's so sad. Everyone in Europe gets Eurovision on their TVs, and they get to see the magnificent outfits that everybody wears, and something like forty-five countries participate, and they all sing songs and wear crazy clothes, and America COMPLETELY MISSES OUT.
I'm pretty bitter about this. I have to watch Eurovision in tiny little YouTube format, and the beauty of the clothing is just not conveyed in the same way on YouTube, even when I put it on fullscreen. I want to live in Europe during Eurovision. Every year. Or be like the American correspondent to Eurovision. I would be the best correspondent ever.
Anyway, Ruslana is the singer of my cousin Becca's favorite song ever, I Dance With the Wolves (Woolfs). If you haven't seen this music video yet, please watch it. I watched it again today and it made me greatly happy. So I looked her up on Wikipedia, as I do, and it turns out that she was elected to the Ukrainian Parliament in 2006, but then she resigned her position in early 2007.
I don't know what this says about the Ukraine. Just wanted to put that information out there.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Definitely worth it
I've been watching my post count inch closer to 300, and this is at last the actual 300th post. I was worried that the 300th post would end up being something lame, like a complaint about the dearth of kittens in my life, but I think this new and bizarre fact is worth it. 300 isn't that interesting a number anyway.
Has anyone ever heard of the Poe Toaster? Cause I hadn't. At first when I saw that, I had visions of someone delicately placing a toaster on Poe's grave every year, which would, actually, be pretty great. But basically the Poe Toaster is a dude who shows up at Poe's grave every year on Poe's birthday, all dressed in black and veiled, carrying a cane, and he raises a toast to Poe, leaves three flowers and a bottle of cognac on the grave, and skedaddles.
Evidently this has been going on for more than fifty years. Apparently Poe enthusiasts gather together at the grave site and hang out to watch, and nobody bugs the toaster because they don't want to spoil the mystery. Quite rightly.
There is also some controversy in the Poe Toaster circle because in 1999 the torch passed to a new Poe Toaster (said a note left at the grave), and the new guy's kind of an asshat and leaves political messages sometimes. That hate the French and the Baltimore Ravens. Nobody likes a tradition sullier.
So there you have it. Do with that what you will.
Has anyone ever heard of the Poe Toaster? Cause I hadn't. At first when I saw that, I had visions of someone delicately placing a toaster on Poe's grave every year, which would, actually, be pretty great. But basically the Poe Toaster is a dude who shows up at Poe's grave every year on Poe's birthday, all dressed in black and veiled, carrying a cane, and he raises a toast to Poe, leaves three flowers and a bottle of cognac on the grave, and skedaddles.
Evidently this has been going on for more than fifty years. Apparently Poe enthusiasts gather together at the grave site and hang out to watch, and nobody bugs the toaster because they don't want to spoil the mystery. Quite rightly.
There is also some controversy in the Poe Toaster circle because in 1999 the torch passed to a new Poe Toaster (said a note left at the grave), and the new guy's kind of an asshat and leaves political messages sometimes. That hate the French and the Baltimore Ravens. Nobody likes a tradition sullier.
So there you have it. Do with that what you will.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
I realize I'm tipping the balance here, and it may be out of a desire to be a happy person
I want to remark on something I just noticed. Briefly. Category-wise. I have ten more (eleven now that I've made this one) Hurrah! posts than Crankiness ones. Yay! I'm a happier person than I am a cranky one! How good! In other news (this won't shock anyone but it makes me feel a little guilty), I have almost three times as many Reasonable Crankiness posts as Unreasonable. So, um, guess what? I feel justified in being annoyed three times as often as I don't!
...As I say, not shocking. But strangely comforting to have that statistic. Now if I'm cranky, I can contemplate the point that there's a one-in-four chance I'm being unreasonable even in my own estimation.
...As I say, not shocking. But strangely comforting to have that statistic. Now if I'm cranky, I can contemplate the point that there's a one-in-four chance I'm being unreasonable even in my own estimation.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
What I learned today about Robert Browning
I learn so many things because of work. Every afternoon when I get home I have a list at least five items long of things to investigate further.
Here's my favorite one from today:
I was looking through tax returns today, and someone had given money to an organization in a town today called Pippa Passes, KY. Pippa Passes! although apparently, the residents of Pippa Passes call it "Caney Creek", and seriously, Caney Creek citizens, why, why, why, why would you do that? What a good town name you have! You should use it! Get together a town council, all 300 of you (by the 2000 census), and discuss maybe calling your town by its right name from here on out.
Well, so anyway I couldn't remember what on earth "Pippa Passes" was from, because the first I heard of it was a Rumer Godden book (and not a very good one, I felt at the age of ten), so whatever its actual origin was has never stuck in my brain since then. Turns out it is a poem by Robert Browning. Which pleased me, naturally, because I like Robert Browning as a person (he sounds like a sweet dear), and he was also born on my birthday. Anyway, Wikipedia informed me that "Pippa Passes" is the source of the oft-quoted "God's in his Heaven / All's right with the world", and right below that it quoted this:
Teehee. I giggled immaturely. So apparently the OED contacted Robert Browning, who was very fortunately still alive, and were all like, WHAT is the HELL of THIS? and Robert Browning was like, What? It means a nun's habit. YOU BIG CRAZIES, and the OED was like, Um, no, honey, it's a nasty word for a woman's special parts and it has meant that lo these many years, and Robert Browning was like, Nuh-uh, cause look at this pome from 1660, which I read before I wrote this pome and from which I inferred the meaning of twat:
And the OED people were like, ....
And so am I.
Here's my favorite one from today:
I was looking through tax returns today, and someone had given money to an organization in a town today called Pippa Passes, KY. Pippa Passes! although apparently, the residents of Pippa Passes call it "Caney Creek", and seriously, Caney Creek citizens, why, why, why, why would you do that? What a good town name you have! You should use it! Get together a town council, all 300 of you (by the 2000 census), and discuss maybe calling your town by its right name from here on out.
Well, so anyway I couldn't remember what on earth "Pippa Passes" was from, because the first I heard of it was a Rumer Godden book (and not a very good one, I felt at the age of ten), so whatever its actual origin was has never stuck in my brain since then. Turns out it is a poem by Robert Browning. Which pleased me, naturally, because I like Robert Browning as a person (he sounds like a sweet dear), and he was also born on my birthday. Anyway, Wikipedia informed me that "Pippa Passes" is the source of the oft-quoted "God's in his Heaven / All's right with the world", and right below that it quoted this:
But at night, brother Howlet, all over the woods,
Toll the world to thy chantry;
Sing to the bats' sweet sisterhood
Full complines with gallantry:
Then owls and bats, cowls and twats,
Monks and nuns, in a cloister's moods,
Adjourn to the oak-stump pantry!
Teehee. I giggled immaturely. So apparently the OED contacted Robert Browning, who was very fortunately still alive, and were all like, WHAT is the HELL of THIS? and Robert Browning was like, What? It means a nun's habit. YOU BIG CRAZIES, and the OED was like, Um, no, honey, it's a nasty word for a woman's special parts and it has meant that lo these many years, and Robert Browning was like, Nuh-uh, cause look at this pome from 1660, which I read before I wrote this pome and from which I inferred the meaning of twat:
They talkt of his having a Cardinall's Hat
They'd send him as soon an Old Nun's Twat.
And the OED people were like, ....
And so am I.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Don’t even try to tell me I can’t get in touch with Merlin Holland if I feel like it
Because I CAN. I have his fax number. That’s RIGHT. I have Merlin Holland’s fax number. Don’t mess with me because I can just fax Merlin Holland whenever I want to.
Although I acquired it on a public website, I feel empowered now that I’ve got it, like now that I have this public-access fax number I totally have an in with Merlin Holland and I can just fax him whenever and be all, Hey, dude, what’s going on? Not much here, just doing some research on your grandfather’s reputation and whatnot. Hope the book’s going well!
But seriously. Don’t let me near a fax machine. I am not confident in my ability to refrain from faxing Merlin Holland like a big Oscar Wilde groupie and telling him I wanna be friends.
Although I acquired it on a public website, I feel empowered now that I’ve got it, like now that I have this public-access fax number I totally have an in with Merlin Holland and I can just fax him whenever and be all, Hey, dude, what’s going on? Not much here, just doing some research on your grandfather’s reputation and whatnot. Hope the book’s going well!
But seriously. Don’t let me near a fax machine. I am not confident in my ability to refrain from faxing Merlin Holland like a big Oscar Wilde groupie and telling him I wanna be friends.
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