In college I knew a girl who majored in communications. She'd been interested in becoming a radio DJ, but decided to give it up because music DJs on the radio these days, she said, don't really do anything but push play. And it's true. I don't think there's a DJ on the air who actually chooses the music they play, certainly not on any of the Clear Chanel stations that have infected Cleveland's airwaves. DJs don't patter* anymore. The don't, like Alan Freed back in the day, coin terms like rock and roll**. They read the script, announce the traffic, and then push play.
And that's what came to mind when I heard an NPR story about the Web site http://churnalism.com/. Churnalism, according to the founders of this British Web site, is the practice of taking press releases and churning them into news stories, often with no further research or information. And if you think about it, it's pretty rare, nowadays, to read a story in the newspaper in which a reporter has actually gone out in the field, learned things, asked questions, stirred up trouble, and made enemies. The extent of investigative reporting around here seems to be local news stations telling me that local restaurants are unsanitary (news flash: I've done a lot of food service work, and I gotta tell you, it doesn't matter what restaurant you're at, there are gross things going on in the kitchen).
Anyway, the folks at churnalism.com, to kick off their site, sent out a press release of their own:
Gorgeousgarters.com are seeing their new limited range of chastity garters (which can detect when the wearer is having sex and alert her partner by text) are proving hugely popular among male buyers, including one well known premiership footballer worried about his wife playing away - while he plays away.
It was supposed to be the most preposterous story they could think of, one which no sane reporter would ever think of running without first checking to see if the thing existed. Except they did. Do a Google search, man. The story was picked up all over the world, with serious news organizations printing this inanity.
It's weird that a society so cynical is also so credulous.
Of course, you're hearing this from the girl who totally let Snopes.com trick her into thinking Mr. Ed was a zebra.
*The term patter comes to us from Pater Noster, the Latin for Our Father, referring to the way someone sounds when mumbling prayers rapidly. On a related note, I try to teach parrots to chant the Our Father in Latin every time I see one in the pet store. True story. So far no luck - the best I've gotten was some conspiratorial whispering, followed by a vicious beak attack.
**Which, in urban black slang of the day, was a euphemism for sex.
PS: Before I got Puck, I didn't know there was such a thing as belligerent cuddling. Seriously, cat, sometimes mommies need to type.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
On Rosy Outlooks
I heard musician and all around fabulous person Mary Grigolia speak today on the subject of the vernacular expression my bad.
My bad, if you're not aware, is a slang expression meaning oops, my fault, or I'm sorry. Wiktionary links me to an article in which Geoffrey K Pullam tells us that the expression appears to have been coined in about 1988 by Sudanese NBA baller Manute Bol, who would say my bad instead of my fault when he threw a bad pass. This caught on among his teammates and spread throughout the world of pro sports. Pullam says that the world really gained traction when it appeared in the movie Clueless.
Mary Grigolia says that the expression, which she learned from her son, fills her with hope - in our adopting the expression, she says, our generation has come up with a convenient expression that means something that has been for so long so hard for people to admit or express. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have done that.
Of course, some use it flippantly, and some use it to speedily absolve themselves (I said 'my bad'). And one might argue that turning the sentiment into something less formal takes the seriousness and responsibility out of it. Slang haters might complain it means we can't be bothered to even say the words I'm sorry any more. But I like what Grigolia says about the expression, which is that it's like taking responsibility for our actions and admitting when we've made them in error is something our generation just takes for granted. It's not a big deal to admit fault now, we do it more easily, more readily than any generation before. I like that. I hope she's right.
Grigolia says that the opposite of my bad is bring it on. Saying bring it on is like saying "I don't care what you have to say, if you criticize me, I'll kick your ass." Although she didn't put it like that. I think, though, that the opposite of my bad might be another expression popularized by the movie Clueless: whatever. As if to say, "Your concern or grievance is completely inconsequential to me." As if to answer an accusation with total apathy. It's when you're not even willing to fight for your side; the other person's opinion is barely worth acknowledging.
This picture has nothing to do with anything, but how freaking cool is it? Unfortunately I was really focused on how cold I was and the fact that I really had to pee, so I didn't notice the color contrast thing, or I would have played with it better.
My bad, if you're not aware, is a slang expression meaning oops, my fault, or I'm sorry. Wiktionary links me to an article in which Geoffrey K Pullam tells us that the expression appears to have been coined in about 1988 by Sudanese NBA baller Manute Bol, who would say my bad instead of my fault when he threw a bad pass. This caught on among his teammates and spread throughout the world of pro sports. Pullam says that the world really gained traction when it appeared in the movie Clueless.
Mary Grigolia says that the expression, which she learned from her son, fills her with hope - in our adopting the expression, she says, our generation has come up with a convenient expression that means something that has been for so long so hard for people to admit or express. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have done that.
Of course, some use it flippantly, and some use it to speedily absolve themselves (I said 'my bad'). And one might argue that turning the sentiment into something less formal takes the seriousness and responsibility out of it. Slang haters might complain it means we can't be bothered to even say the words I'm sorry any more. But I like what Grigolia says about the expression, which is that it's like taking responsibility for our actions and admitting when we've made them in error is something our generation just takes for granted. It's not a big deal to admit fault now, we do it more easily, more readily than any generation before. I like that. I hope she's right.
Grigolia says that the opposite of my bad is bring it on. Saying bring it on is like saying "I don't care what you have to say, if you criticize me, I'll kick your ass." Although she didn't put it like that. I think, though, that the opposite of my bad might be another expression popularized by the movie Clueless: whatever. As if to say, "Your concern or grievance is completely inconsequential to me." As if to answer an accusation with total apathy. It's when you're not even willing to fight for your side; the other person's opinion is barely worth acknowledging.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Don't hate the player
The other day, a friend pointed me to this article, a columnist's response to Times' food columnist Mark Bittman referring to McDonald's oatmeal as "another corporate ploy."
I don't want to wade into the oatmeal myself, but the article put me in mind of something something. When it comes to corporations, we seem to confuse successful with evil.
Take McDonald's. This dude once told me that he was boycotting McDonald's because he watched Super Size Me. Why McDonald's, exactly? If you ate nothing but Wendy's every day for a month, would you be better off? Eating McDonald's three meals a day and then blaming McDonald's that you're sick is kind of like eating a pound of butter every day and then blaming cows for your obesity. I don't hear anybody at McDonald's telling me I'm supposed to eat there every day.
Arby's has always framed itself as a sort-of anti-McDonald's - their food isn't greasy or fried or unhealthy, right? Dude, a turkey sub from Arby's has more calories than a Big Mac. A Big Mac's got 540 calories and 29 grams of fat. Arby's turkey sub has 560 and 23 grams. But at least with a Big Mac, you know you're eating crap. Nobody eats a Big Mac because they're trying to lose weight. Heck, there are salads on the Wendy's menu that have FORTY SEVEN grams of fat. It's a salad! How do you even get that much fat into a salad? Deep fried lettuce?
And it's not just fast food that's unhealthy. I bet that there's not a single meal on the McDonald's menu that has half as many calories as the smothered fried chicken meal at your local Amish restaurant. Are the Amish evil? (Well, to tell the truth, I've never trusted them myself. Nobody likes baskets that much. Nobody.)
And then there's Starbucks. There are thousands of chains of coffee shops whose business practices are far shadier than Starbucks. They're not saints over at Starbucks (the way they burn their beans is downright unholy), but they're no more evil than most other chains, they're just more successful. I just read some stupid article about how Starbucks is evil because they're making people fat with all their fancy Frappuccinos. You do realize you're not required to drink those, right? And that there are at least, oh, 50 Starbucks drinks that I can think of off the top of my head that have no more calories than skim milk? Like coffee, tea, iced coffee, a skim cappuccino, a skim latte, an Americano, a steamed milk, a latte flavored with one of their vast selection of sugar-free syrups...
Yeah, Starbucks put your favorite coffee shop out of business back in the 90s. Mine too. That's commerce, baby. Corporations exist to make money; it doesn't make sense to only hate the ones who do it well.
I don't want to wade into the oatmeal myself, but the article put me in mind of something something. When it comes to corporations, we seem to confuse successful with evil.
Take McDonald's. This dude once told me that he was boycotting McDonald's because he watched Super Size Me. Why McDonald's, exactly? If you ate nothing but Wendy's every day for a month, would you be better off? Eating McDonald's three meals a day and then blaming McDonald's that you're sick is kind of like eating a pound of butter every day and then blaming cows for your obesity. I don't hear anybody at McDonald's telling me I'm supposed to eat there every day.
Arby's has always framed itself as a sort-of anti-McDonald's - their food isn't greasy or fried or unhealthy, right? Dude, a turkey sub from Arby's has more calories than a Big Mac. A Big Mac's got 540 calories and 29 grams of fat. Arby's turkey sub has 560 and 23 grams. But at least with a Big Mac, you know you're eating crap. Nobody eats a Big Mac because they're trying to lose weight. Heck, there are salads on the Wendy's menu that have FORTY SEVEN grams of fat. It's a salad! How do you even get that much fat into a salad? Deep fried lettuce?
And it's not just fast food that's unhealthy. I bet that there's not a single meal on the McDonald's menu that has half as many calories as the smothered fried chicken meal at your local Amish restaurant. Are the Amish evil? (Well, to tell the truth, I've never trusted them myself. Nobody likes baskets that much. Nobody.)
And then there's Starbucks. There are thousands of chains of coffee shops whose business practices are far shadier than Starbucks. They're not saints over at Starbucks (the way they burn their beans is downright unholy), but they're no more evil than most other chains, they're just more successful. I just read some stupid article about how Starbucks is evil because they're making people fat with all their fancy Frappuccinos. You do realize you're not required to drink those, right? And that there are at least, oh, 50 Starbucks drinks that I can think of off the top of my head that have no more calories than skim milk? Like coffee, tea, iced coffee, a skim cappuccino, a skim latte, an Americano, a steamed milk, a latte flavored with one of their vast selection of sugar-free syrups...
Yeah, Starbucks put your favorite coffee shop out of business back in the 90s. Mine too. That's commerce, baby. Corporations exist to make money; it doesn't make sense to only hate the ones who do it well.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Men behaving like women
So I may or may not have lost a crown in a taffy-related incident, and I may or may not have lied to the dentist and told him that I lost a crown in a sugar-free gum-related incident. He's a good dentist, and totally pretended to believe me.
The point being, I was reading Cosmo, because it was either that or Cheerleading Digest, and reading Cheerleading Digest in the waiting room probably would have seemed a little creepy. Even though Brittany from Glee was on the cover, and she's totally of age.
Okay, so that wasn't the point either. The point is, man I freaking hate Cosmo. What really creeps me out is that I used to not freaking hate Cosmo. Maybe if I could figure out why I ever didn't hate Cosmo, I could figure out why anyone doesn't hate Cosmo. What got me this time was a photo montage of men "behaving like women": some reality dude I never heard of getting a "mannie," Jeremy Piven riding his bike in what the editors deemed an "effeminate" way, and Lenny Kravitz... okay, Lenny Kravitz was carrying a murse, and wearing high-heeled boots and some kind of man dress. But he was totally rocking it.
One of the pictures was of Jude Law buying a pair of shoes. The caption said something like "looks like he needs a new pair... of balls." I'm not remotely kidding.
Can you imagine a men's magazine making nasty comments about a woman's genitals because she was, say, fixing a car? I think most dudes would find that sexy. I love how so many women complain about men's magazines being sexist, when women's magazines print stuff about men that men's magazines would never print about women. Even back in the dark days.
This helps serve my theory that the biggest threats to feminism these days are other women. While magazines like Esquire regularly feature fuller-figured women, magazines like Cosmo plaster their covers and pages with stick insects who are further airbrushed to within inches of their lives.
While men's magazines like Esquire run features like Women we Love, in which they say really, really nice things about women - without picking apart their imperfections, Cosmo runs features bashing women's bodies and saying really objectifying things about dudes. Every issue of Cosmo implores audiences to hate their bodies. Every issue of Esquire I've ever read has found a way to point out that women are so much more than their bodies.
I saw a women's magazine cover in the checkout line, I don't remember which, telling women how to tell if a woman is "an Angelina" - i.e., whether a woman is out to steal your husband, like Angelina Jolie stole Brad Pitt. And the thing is, I'm not really an Angie fan, but the woman spends half her life or more doing humanitarian work and something like half her money funding it. Isn't it just a little weird to define her by the fact that she fooled around with a married dude, what, six years ago? This is actually a really old trick, something feminists have been talking about for ages: keep women down, keep women from acting up together, by teaching us that we're in constant competition, that we're a constant threat to each other, and that we have to tear each other down. Feminists used to blame men for this. I think we're doing a stellar job of it ourselves. Why not blame the guy who cheated? Or better yet, why not move on? Be our own women? Worry less about how to keep our men and worry more about how to keep our own self respect.
Because when you love yourself... blah blah blah.
Maya Angelou says it better than me:
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Also, Cosmo's sex advice sucks. And is creepy.
The point being, I was reading Cosmo, because it was either that or Cheerleading Digest, and reading Cheerleading Digest in the waiting room probably would have seemed a little creepy. Even though Brittany from Glee was on the cover, and she's totally of age.
Okay, so that wasn't the point either. The point is, man I freaking hate Cosmo. What really creeps me out is that I used to not freaking hate Cosmo. Maybe if I could figure out why I ever didn't hate Cosmo, I could figure out why anyone doesn't hate Cosmo. What got me this time was a photo montage of men "behaving like women": some reality dude I never heard of getting a "mannie," Jeremy Piven riding his bike in what the editors deemed an "effeminate" way, and Lenny Kravitz... okay, Lenny Kravitz was carrying a murse, and wearing high-heeled boots and some kind of man dress. But he was totally rocking it.
One of the pictures was of Jude Law buying a pair of shoes. The caption said something like "looks like he needs a new pair... of balls." I'm not remotely kidding.
Can you imagine a men's magazine making nasty comments about a woman's genitals because she was, say, fixing a car? I think most dudes would find that sexy. I love how so many women complain about men's magazines being sexist, when women's magazines print stuff about men that men's magazines would never print about women. Even back in the dark days.
This helps serve my theory that the biggest threats to feminism these days are other women. While magazines like Esquire regularly feature fuller-figured women, magazines like Cosmo plaster their covers and pages with stick insects who are further airbrushed to within inches of their lives.
While men's magazines like Esquire run features like Women we Love, in which they say really, really nice things about women - without picking apart their imperfections, Cosmo runs features bashing women's bodies and saying really objectifying things about dudes. Every issue of Cosmo implores audiences to hate their bodies. Every issue of Esquire I've ever read has found a way to point out that women are so much more than their bodies.
I saw a women's magazine cover in the checkout line, I don't remember which, telling women how to tell if a woman is "an Angelina" - i.e., whether a woman is out to steal your husband, like Angelina Jolie stole Brad Pitt. And the thing is, I'm not really an Angie fan, but the woman spends half her life or more doing humanitarian work and something like half her money funding it. Isn't it just a little weird to define her by the fact that she fooled around with a married dude, what, six years ago? This is actually a really old trick, something feminists have been talking about for ages: keep women down, keep women from acting up together, by teaching us that we're in constant competition, that we're a constant threat to each other, and that we have to tear each other down. Feminists used to blame men for this. I think we're doing a stellar job of it ourselves. Why not blame the guy who cheated? Or better yet, why not move on? Be our own women? Worry less about how to keep our men and worry more about how to keep our own self respect.
Because when you love yourself... blah blah blah.
Maya Angelou says it better than me:
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Also, Cosmo's sex advice sucks. And is creepy.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Topically
Hello all. I'm home, and the trip was wonderful. Jean and I ate and drank our way through the bay area, bought more yarn than anyone has any business owning, and I totally kind of almost knitted a hat.
For the dwindling numbers of us who remotely care about the thing, Academy Awards are happening tonight. I've actually seen like, three of the nominated films this year, so I might actually give a watch. If only to see the "I didn't realize that guy was dead" slide show.
The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was founded in 1927. Author Bill Bryson suggests that the wordy nature of the name is due to the fact that Hollywood has always shied away from the term movie, which he says took on a negative connotation in the early days of film because the moral elite considered movies trashy.
We're not sure exactly where the term Oscar came from. The statue was designed by Cedric Gibbons, MGM art director, and first awarded in 1929. Bryson thinks that the statue was named by the librarian for the academy, Margaret Herrick, who thought the statue looked like her uncle Oscar. From this, we must conclude that Uncle Oscar liked to stand naked on top of a film can, covering up his good china with a sword. Wikipedia says the statue could also have been so named after King Oscar II of Sweden. Granted, I've not seen him naked or holding a sword, but I can't quite see the resemblance.
If you watch really old movies, you'll notice they've often got no credits - nobody thought to start giving actors names until the second decade of last century. It was then that people realized that audiences had favorite actors and could be lured in by them.
For the dwindling numbers of us who remotely care about the thing, Academy Awards are happening tonight. I've actually seen like, three of the nominated films this year, so I might actually give a watch. If only to see the "I didn't realize that guy was dead" slide show.
The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was founded in 1927. Author Bill Bryson suggests that the wordy nature of the name is due to the fact that Hollywood has always shied away from the term movie, which he says took on a negative connotation in the early days of film because the moral elite considered movies trashy.
We're not sure exactly where the term Oscar came from. The statue was designed by Cedric Gibbons, MGM art director, and first awarded in 1929. Bryson thinks that the statue was named by the librarian for the academy, Margaret Herrick, who thought the statue looked like her uncle Oscar. From this, we must conclude that Uncle Oscar liked to stand naked on top of a film can, covering up his good china with a sword. Wikipedia says the statue could also have been so named after King Oscar II of Sweden. Granted, I've not seen him naked or holding a sword, but I can't quite see the resemblance. If you watch really old movies, you'll notice they've often got no credits - nobody thought to start giving actors names until the second decade of last century. It was then that people realized that audiences had favorite actors and could be lured in by them.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Jump!
One of my favorite things about the Internet is the power it has to give handy common language. For example, jumping the shark. Most every TV show hits a point where it all just starts to fall apart. The point at which the thing goes from being a good show to being totally past its prime. The term was made famous by John Hein, founder of the now defunct jumptheshark.com, in reference to an episode of Happy Days, in which the Fonz, clad in his signature leather jacket, leaps, on water skis, over a shark in a daring display of manliness.
Often the shark-jumping moment is some last ditch effort to salvage a sinking ship - like little cousin Oliver on The Brady Bunch, brought in because apparently Cindy wasn't cute enough. Or Scrappy Doo.
Or sometimes it's that an actor left a show on bad terms, and they have to do something to explain their absence (or not, in the case of the older brother in the first season of Happy Days). Like half the cast of Three's Company.
A few shows have run with this. The X-Files had an episode in their final season called Jump the Shark, although I think we can all agree that The X-Files jumped long before that episode aired. The Simpsons featured an episode in which Homer actually recreates the Happy Days shark jumping scene, and one of the final episodes of Pushing Daisies features an underwater circus act involving a performer jumping over a shark.
Ted McGinley, the suave sailor pictured below (check out that awesome Ken doll hair), has been called The Patron Saint of Shark Jumping because of how often he appears in shows that are in the process of jumping. Like Happy Days. It seems Happy Days did a lot of jumping. According to Wikipedia, McGinley made a reference to this on Married...with Children, in which he once refers to Al as Fonzie.
Other ways a show can jump, according to the aforementioned defunct jumptheshark.com, include the following (whether the examples given are jump-worthy is up to you to decideO:
Often the shark-jumping moment is some last ditch effort to salvage a sinking ship - like little cousin Oliver on The Brady Bunch, brought in because apparently Cindy wasn't cute enough. Or Scrappy Doo.
Or sometimes it's that an actor left a show on bad terms, and they have to do something to explain their absence (or not, in the case of the older brother in the first season of Happy Days). Like half the cast of Three's Company.
A few shows have run with this. The X-Files had an episode in their final season called Jump the Shark, although I think we can all agree that The X-Files jumped long before that episode aired. The Simpsons featured an episode in which Homer actually recreates the Happy Days shark jumping scene, and one of the final episodes of Pushing Daisies features an underwater circus act involving a performer jumping over a shark.
Ted McGinley, the suave sailor pictured below (check out that awesome Ken doll hair), has been called The Patron Saint of Shark Jumping because of how often he appears in shows that are in the process of jumping. Like Happy Days. It seems Happy Days did a lot of jumping. According to Wikipedia, McGinley made a reference to this on Married...with Children, in which he once refers to Al as Fonzie.
- Same Character Different Actor: The famous Darren switcheroo on Bewitched, and Second Becky on Rosanne. Second Becky, played by Sarah Chalke of Scrubs after the original Becky left the show. Oddly, the original Becky, Lecy Goranson, came back to the show after a while, and instead of getting rid of Second Becky, they alternated the two actresses. Who look absolutely nothing alike.
- They Did It: Two characters whose sexual tension drives the plot along finally hook up. Like Pam and Jim on The Office. Tony and Angela on Who's the Boss. Then again, there's The X-Files, in which the unresolved sexual tension goes so long unresolved you stop caring whether it ever happens.
- New Baby: Rachel gives birth on Friends, for instance. Or Fran on The Nanny. Did she give birth, or did I dream that? It was on really late at night, back before the days of cable, and I used to fall asleep to it. That or stupid Matlock.
- The Wedding: Lisa and what'shisface the evil dude on News Radio. Rhoda and Joe on Rhoda.
- Radical change: Rosanne wins the lottery. Sacred Heart Hospital on Scrubs inexplicably transforms into a med school. Laverne and Shirley move to LA, bringing the entire supporting cast with them. TVTropes.com refers to situations like this as a reboot, which I love.
- It Was All a Dream: Absurd on Dallas. Brilliant on Newhart.
How about you? What's your favorite shark-jumping moment.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Villainy!
So I'm reading Altered English by Jeffery Kacirk, on loan from the my awesome friends the Wedges. This book deals with words that have made a huge leap in meaning over time. They give, as an example, the word villain. It comes from the Latin word they teach you on the first day of high school Latin: villa, meaning farmhouse. A villain was someone who worked on said villa, so villain used to mean a serf or a peasant. People of such low class were considered undesirable by the upper class - the people with the power to shape the language. As is the nature of the oppressor, the upper class justified their oppression of the lower by casting them as lazy, untrustworthy, likely to turn on you at any moment.
That's kind of interesting in light of the fact that most recent villains in pop culture today are filthy rich. No surprise that they're increasingly more-so in light of our economy and the fact that it was the filthy rich bankers and tycoons who brought about the crash. It may be coincidence that the first Wall Street movie came out right around the time of the great stock market crash of 1987, but it's certainly no coincidence that the second movie began development in 2007 just as it became apparent that the world economy was on the verge of catastrophe.
I once heard a story on NPR about how much you can learn about what Americans have feared and hated most throughout history by the villains of Professional Wrestling. As this article in The Weekly Standard points out, most of the baddies at the birth of pro-wrestling just after WWII were German and Japanese.
As American attention turned away from the past and toward the cold war, the bad guys were Russians. Nikolai Volkoff, whose shtick involved singing the Russian national anthem before each match, terrorized the good guys of the WWF in the 1970s and 80s, but reinvented himself as a good guy after the fall of communism.
In the 80s, when American anxiety over Iran was high, Volkoff teamed with The Iron Sheik, who, during the Gulf War would be reborn as the Iraqi Colonel Mustafa.
The WWF tried to make a villain of the pro-apartheid Colonel DeBeers in the 1980s, but apparently Americans didn't hate apartheid (which, by the way, I spelled right on the first try) quite enough, as DeBeers never really caught on.
Nowadays, ethnic origin-based villainy has become taboo. Instead, there are guys like Chris Harvard in the first decade of the century, reviled for his ivy league snobbery.
Today the villains, as you'd expect, wear expensive suits.
That's kind of interesting in light of the fact that most recent villains in pop culture today are filthy rich. No surprise that they're increasingly more-so in light of our economy and the fact that it was the filthy rich bankers and tycoons who brought about the crash. It may be coincidence that the first Wall Street movie came out right around the time of the great stock market crash of 1987, but it's certainly no coincidence that the second movie began development in 2007 just as it became apparent that the world economy was on the verge of catastrophe.
I once heard a story on NPR about how much you can learn about what Americans have feared and hated most throughout history by the villains of Professional Wrestling. As this article in The Weekly Standard points out, most of the baddies at the birth of pro-wrestling just after WWII were German and Japanese.
As American attention turned away from the past and toward the cold war, the bad guys were Russians. Nikolai Volkoff, whose shtick involved singing the Russian national anthem before each match, terrorized the good guys of the WWF in the 1970s and 80s, but reinvented himself as a good guy after the fall of communism.
In the 80s, when American anxiety over Iran was high, Volkoff teamed with The Iron Sheik, who, during the Gulf War would be reborn as the Iraqi Colonel Mustafa.
The WWF tried to make a villain of the pro-apartheid Colonel DeBeers in the 1980s, but apparently Americans didn't hate apartheid (which, by the way, I spelled right on the first try) quite enough, as DeBeers never really caught on.
Nowadays, ethnic origin-based villainy has become taboo. Instead, there are guys like Chris Harvard in the first decade of the century, reviled for his ivy league snobbery.
Today the villains, as you'd expect, wear expensive suits.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Good Ship Lollipop
For Jeremy and my first anniversary, we went with some friends to The Melting Pot, a fondue restaurant, in case you couldn't guess. Now, The Melting Pot is pretty darn expensive, and we wanted to save up our appetites. So you know that show Unwrapped on the Food Network, where they show you how they make all kinds of wonderful delicious foods? There was a marathon, and that was the only thing on TV that day.
In addition to ensuring that I'd eat so much at Melting Pot that we got significantly worse mileage on our ride home, it taught me some interesting facts, supplemented here by Bill Bryson's Made in America.
It's not Reecies Pieces, it's Reece. As in a dude's name. Harry Reese, in fact. He was a farmer, then worked for Milton Hershey, and liked Hershey's chocolate so much, that he started his own candy company, mixing Hershey chocolate with other ingredients. Like nom nom peanut butter cups. Reece's company was purchased by Hershey some years after Reese's death and is now a Hershey subsidiary. Reece's Pieces weren't created until long after the founder's death.
Contrary to what you may have heard, Reece's Pieces were not invented for use in the film ET. The candies were actually invented in the late 1970s and had been on shelves for a couple of years when ET came out. It is true, however, that sales of the treat skyrocketed once the movie came out, making it one of the most successful instances of product placement in history. It is also true that the tie-in was originally offered to M&Ms, but Mars candy turned it down.
I believe I read in Stephen King's memoir On Writing that when King was struck and nearly killed by a van in 1999, the driver was on his way to buy "some of those Marses bars," prompting King to quip that he'd been run over by a character from one of his novels. The book is all the way over there on the other side of the room, and I'm not getting up to go verify. This is the Internet. Accuracy is an anachronism.
Also, Hershey candy was appropriately named for Milton Hershey, mentioned earlier. The original Hershey bar cost a nickel, and stayed that way until 1970. It just kept shrinking to keep pace with inflation.
Before Baby Ruth became a Nestle product, the Curliss Candy Company created it; originally it was called Kandy Kake. Curliss changed the name around 1920, right when Babe Ruth was getting crazy famous. The company insisted, however, that the candy bar was named for Grover Cleveland's daughter, Baby Ruth. Who had been dead for sixteen years at the time. Because that's not creepy, naming candy after a dead baby or anything. They probably came up with the Baby Ruth story so they wouldn't have to pay Ruth royalties. But seriously? "No, no, Mr. Ruth, it's not named after you, it's named after a dead baby. See? It all makes perfect sense."
In addition to ensuring that I'd eat so much at Melting Pot that we got significantly worse mileage on our ride home, it taught me some interesting facts, supplemented here by Bill Bryson's Made in America.
It's not Reecies Pieces, it's Reece. As in a dude's name. Harry Reese, in fact. He was a farmer, then worked for Milton Hershey, and liked Hershey's chocolate so much, that he started his own candy company, mixing Hershey chocolate with other ingredients. Like nom nom peanut butter cups. Reece's company was purchased by Hershey some years after Reese's death and is now a Hershey subsidiary. Reece's Pieces weren't created until long after the founder's death.
Contrary to what you may have heard, Reece's Pieces were not invented for use in the film ET. The candies were actually invented in the late 1970s and had been on shelves for a couple of years when ET came out. It is true, however, that sales of the treat skyrocketed once the movie came out, making it one of the most successful instances of product placement in history. It is also true that the tie-in was originally offered to M&Ms, but Mars candy turned it down.
I believe I read in Stephen King's memoir On Writing that when King was struck and nearly killed by a van in 1999, the driver was on his way to buy "some of those Marses bars," prompting King to quip that he'd been run over by a character from one of his novels. The book is all the way over there on the other side of the room, and I'm not getting up to go verify. This is the Internet. Accuracy is an anachronism.
Also, Hershey candy was appropriately named for Milton Hershey, mentioned earlier. The original Hershey bar cost a nickel, and stayed that way until 1970. It just kept shrinking to keep pace with inflation.
Before Baby Ruth became a Nestle product, the Curliss Candy Company created it; originally it was called Kandy Kake. Curliss changed the name around 1920, right when Babe Ruth was getting crazy famous. The company insisted, however, that the candy bar was named for Grover Cleveland's daughter, Baby Ruth. Who had been dead for sixteen years at the time. Because that's not creepy, naming candy after a dead baby or anything. They probably came up with the Baby Ruth story so they wouldn't have to pay Ruth royalties. But seriously? "No, no, Mr. Ruth, it's not named after you, it's named after a dead baby. See? It all makes perfect sense."
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Piki-pi!
I don't remember ever consciously thinking about it, but I was only reading comic books a minute before I knew that Cyclops' optic blasts go ZARKT, Wolverine's claws go SKNITT when they come out, or my personal favorite, Nightcrawler goes BAMF when he teleports.
Man, if I went bamf when I teleported, I'd teleport all day. Of course, teleportation in his case smells like brimstone, so my house would kinda smell.
So not the point.
The point is you don't think much about onomatopoeia until you think about it. But it's not just bam and pow and comic books. I love susurus, the muttering or whispering sound made by a crowd of people.
And this from Shakespeare's Henry V makes my brain do a little happy dance:
The Dauphin of France has sent King Henry V a gag gift - a box of tennis balls, meant to ridicule him by pointing out that he's young. Henry responds thusly:
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;
And some are yet ungotten and unborn
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.
See how he uses mock over and over to imitate the sound of a tennis ball? Delicious.
But as it turns out, the Japanese have us beat in this, as with so many other things. In Japan, bells go jan jan. Heavy rain goes za za, medium rain goes potsu potsu, and drizzle goes shito shito. Dude, read that noise out loud. It's a dance party in your mouth.
Now what's cool about Japanese, I just learned from the essay From Za-za to san-san: The Climate of Japanese Onomatopoeia by David Galef, is that the onomatopoeia isn't constrained to just sound effects. When something rolls, it goes goro-goro, from the sound that a barrel makes when it rolls. A smile goes niko-niko, and if you can say niko-niko without smiling, then you're a better man than I. Stars, it seems, go pika-pika.
Which leads me to my favorite word fact of the day. The name Pikachu is a portmanteau of pika-pika, the word for sparkle, and chu, the sound a mouse makes.
Really? Now I'm expected to go to sleep without looking up the etymologies of the other Pokemon names?
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