My mother took ill, and as such, she was more willing to watch horrible, low-budget movies on Netflix with me (she is actually very willing to do this under normal conditions, unless they're horror movies or foreign). And so I plumbed the depths of Netflix, finding and watching those movies which clog up the queue yet remain unwatched until a day such as this.
The movie we watched was an adaptation of Sherlock Holmes done by a studio called "The Asylum". It featured a dinosaur on its cover, next to The Clock Tower, so I felt like I had made a good choice in bad movie. I also take it upon myself to watch many, many adaptations of Sherlock Holmes, because I like to complain about the ones that aren't good. As any normal person does.
Following is a list of the reasons I make the very ambitious claim in the title. Also, spoilers, obviously, so you should probably watch it if you care, or read the story it was based on, "Robots Try to Kill the Queen"*
1) The Asylum is a studio well-known for making movies that are ridiculous. Its usual plan is to make movies that are very similar to upcoming big-budget movies very quickly and using very little money. It also puts out things featuring Mega Shark. As the name suggests, it is a giant shark. In one of its scenes it ate a plane out of the sky. Quite literally. So I knew that something good would come from this movie which reminded us not to confuse it with the version with Robert Downey Jr. Which we were not really in danger of doing in the first place.
2) There is a dinosaur. I feel like I cannot overstate this. While at the end it is revealed to have been... something... I'm still unclear on, it is still a dinosaur in the decidedly un-supernatural universe of Sherlock Holmes. A dinosaur. Also, a kraken. Yeah.
3) The plot is the most convoluted and beautiful thing ever. It opens with the aforementioned kraken destroying a ship. We later discover that this kraken is a robot. Built by the villain (more on him later, because that is an entire point in itself) to steal money in order to buy the materials for his dinosaur robot. Which he used to steal the materials to make his robot-suit. Which he used to... Build a dragon to fly into Buckingham Palace? This is what I pieced together. There was also a revenge thing, and an android caretaker (and lover?). Despite being the supposed motive for all this robot-building, the revenge was mentioned so late, and was overshadowed by so many ridiculous robots, that it felt like a subplot.
4) Holmes' brother was the villain. This to me was the most ridiculous point. For one, they renamed him to "Thorpe"**. Thorpe is not a name. Also, he built a robot suit for himself (which is why he built all those other robots) because he was paralysed from an accident. However. All of these other robots were very well made, and included an android assistant The suit he built made him look like he cut joints in a hot water heater and put it on. There is a very large difference in quality here, that was never explained. If you can make an android that convinces basically everyone, why can't you make yourself a normal-looking replacement body?, I wanted to ask this brother who was inexplicably not named Mycroft. Even in the unlikely event that this android came to him and offered him help (not a thing they are known for, and it means there are other people building sophisticated robots in Victoria England, which is weird), he built other, equally convincing robots. Why can't he make himself look like a human being again? It was very confusing. He also built a flying dragon he planned to kill the Queen with (?) so that he could frame Lestrade and exact his revenge. I was very confused by this point, to say the least.
5) Sherlock apparently has a first name of Robert in this universe.
6) Sherlock gets shot, but comes back later and makes a quip about how "everyone said my addiction would kill me". Cocaine cannot solve blood loss. And also this doesn't really make sense but whatever. There's a dragon robot. I think they gave up on making sense.
7) The actor who plays Sherlock is just awful at what he does and I was happy when I thought he had died (plus, I'd get to put as a point that he dies in this movie, which would have been great).
8) Since this movie was so low-budget, the effects were just great. There were also some scenes where I realised that from an outsider's perspective, it would have looked like a cameraman following two people LARPing in the Welsh countryside, for no obvious reason, which is a beautiful thing to picture.
Overall, this movie was actually kind of engaging, as well as being utterly an absolutely ridiculous. At the very least, the last half hour was about a million times more interesting than (the last hour and a half of) Transformers 3, which had a MUCH larger budget. It was also more engaging and made more sense than Captain America, or really a lot of other movies I have seen that were supposedly decent.
I think you all should watch this movie, and then report back.
*I hope I do not actually need to tell you that this is not a real Holmes story***. (though I kind of think it should be)
**Wikipedia's summary of this movie calls him "Springheel Jack" which, while interesting, is mentioned nowhere in the movie and actually served to confuse me even more.
***The whole thing is narrated by an aged Watson to his caretaker (probably not a robot) during the Blitz, so in the universe of the movie, it IS one of the stories, which is great. He also dies immediately after finishing it (well, finishing it, and relaying how he discovered that Sherlock's name was actually Robert Sherlock Holmes), which is poetic and rather cheap.****
****Then the girl he dictated to goes to visit him in the world's most inconvenient cemetery***** and the android caretaker of Thorpe is there. Except nothing happens, so.
*****You have to take a rowboat to the cemetery. If I knew someone who was to be buried there, I'd blow off that funeral, because rowboats are awful.
19 December 2011
But, well, time makes fools of us all...
I have returned from a long absence to present you with a list of probably unfulfillabe, yet glimmering and delightful promises for what I will deliver to you in this upcoming while. I offer these promises in lieu of apologies, because apologies are difficult and messy things.
Future Blog Posts (or types of blog posts) to Which You Can Look Forward:
1. Interesting grammar things. Like figures of speech and my opinions of them, different kinds of constructions and why they are awesome, and sometimes explanations of non-English grammar. Things like those I will talk about at some point. I'll even work to avoid the awkward condescension I can fall into when talking about that sort of thing!
2. Interesting history things. Like more stories about Lord Byron, revolutionary leaders, and interesting things that some people don't know but that I like to write about. See above note on awkward condescension.
3. Book reviews, maybe. Would you... would you like to read book reviews? I'll do them in list form like everything else and try to make them as amusing as (or more than) everything else.
4. Ah, interesting things that remind me of other things? Sequels to the etymology post, or the signatures post, or more things about zombies? I don't know; I'm really even unclear as to why I wrote this as a list anyhow, when I had so few certain things I knew I would write on.
Here are some planned post topics:
The Waldseemuller map, the most interesting map!
Vladimir Nabokov!
Amusing things involving horrible people!
Other things I do not recall right now and am too lazy to look into!
It will be interesting, I hope! First post will be tomorrow, probably.
Future Blog Posts (or types of blog posts) to Which You Can Look Forward:
1. Interesting grammar things. Like figures of speech and my opinions of them, different kinds of constructions and why they are awesome, and sometimes explanations of non-English grammar. Things like those I will talk about at some point. I'll even work to avoid the awkward condescension I can fall into when talking about that sort of thing!
2. Interesting history things. Like more stories about Lord Byron, revolutionary leaders, and interesting things that some people don't know but that I like to write about. See above note on awkward condescension.
3. Book reviews, maybe. Would you... would you like to read book reviews? I'll do them in list form like everything else and try to make them as amusing as (or more than) everything else.
4. Ah, interesting things that remind me of other things? Sequels to the etymology post, or the signatures post, or more things about zombies? I don't know; I'm really even unclear as to why I wrote this as a list anyhow, when I had so few certain things I knew I would write on.
Here are some planned post topics:
The Waldseemuller map, the most interesting map!
Vladimir Nabokov!
Amusing things involving horrible people!
Other things I do not recall right now and am too lazy to look into!
It will be interesting, I hope! First post will be tomorrow, probably.
31 December 2010
Interesting Etymologies, Part One of Ten Thousand
I love etymology. It is one of my many favorite language-related things. It helps that I love almost everything about languages, except for the fact that I only speak two.
Etymologies of words that are very interesting (to me, but maybe not to you):
1. America. This one might not be etymology, but is still really interesting. The name "America" first appeared on the Waldseemüller map in 1507 (and it's just a really interesting world map and I might do a post on it). "Sure, Winona," you might be saying, "and now you'll remind me that it was in honor of Amerigo Vespucci, and that's kind of weird, I guess, but that's not really at the level of the delightfully awesome things that I've come to expect from you." And I will laugh, because that totally wasn't all I had to say. Yes, so you know it was in honor of Amerigo Vespucci, an explorer. But what you don't know is that the name "America" might be a pun.
Now, if you're me, at the word pun, you are already in love with whatever comes next, but if you're not, you really should be very excited. Because you have been, every time you say the word "America", been committing an act of unintentional wordplay, which as we all know, is the best kind. And you might even have been born into a commission of unintentional wordplay, which is so cool. Anyway, the wordplay is (and it might seem a bit anticlimactic after all that) that it is a multilingual pun similar to Thomas More's "utopia" (which is also on this list), meaning both "born anew" and "no place". I don't know what the languages are that make up this pun, and I can't even guess because Waldseemüller probably spoke WAY more languages than I do (see: This for my rant on how many languages I don't yet speak).
2. cliché. This one is one of my favorites, probably. I was sitting one day, minding my own business and reading the Internet, when one of my friends IMs me and says "cliché is an onomatopoeia" which is just the perfect kind of thing to say to me out of nowhere. If you do not know what an onomatopoeia is, it is a word that sounds like a sound (that is a weird way of phrasing it, Winona), like "buzz", "splash", "murmur", "spelunk" or a million other neat words. "Cliché" is a word that dates back to the time of printing presses, and stereotypes. In printing language, cliché was actually another name for a stereotype, if I have any reading comprehension at all, which was the cast phrase of movable type. It made sense to cast entire phrases (as opposed to individual letters, then arranging the letters into the desired phrase) if the phrase was going to be very commonly used. The name "cliché" came from the sound the matrices (the negative letter molds which would be cast into the letters used for printing) made when dropped into the hot metal that would form the letters used.
Apparently there is doubt about the etymology I have explained, but I cannot check my desired source, the OED, because I am poor. So I say that this is correct, because it is excellent. If it isn't, I don't care unless the real etymology is even more excellent.
3. scruples. This is the first word on this list where I can point to a specific word and say "that's the source of this word", so I will. Scruples derives from "scrupulus" (i, m.--I am a Latinist at heart), which in turn is the diminutive of "scrupus" (i, m.). Scrupus means "rock" or "stone", and "scrupulus" means "pebble". "What?" you might be saying. "Etymology makes no sense and is dumb. I am out of here." "Wait," I might say if this were actually a conversation, "let me explain how awesome this is." And you would perhaps wait. Or leave. I actually have no way of telling. Anyway. A scruple was a stone you would keep in your pocket, and touch to remind you of things like "be honest" or "be kind". I personally think they would have been more effective if they were in your shoe, but that is just me. So the word scruple came to mean the thing represented by the stone, instead of the stone itself, which is another cool figure of speech that might be metonymy or "reverse-metonymy". I do not know. Until about last year, I could not tell the difference between metonymy and synecdoche because they are very similar. (Also, I was very concerned because the computer would tell me that it did not know this word "synecdoche" and I thought I was a failure at spelling so I looked up that movie because I knew I had looked it up on this computer when I was learning about existentialism and then I found out that I was right and the computer was wrong. That is the best kind of vindication.) [I now know that it is actually synecdoche or possibly reverse synecdoche, but I thought my confusion was amusing so I will leave it.]
4. zeugma. A zeugma is a figure of speech (I think I will do a post on figures of speech because I like them. More than any normal person does.) where a verb is used with two different objects, or an adjective with two different nouns (in English. In Latin, there isn't really a name for the adjective-noun usage.) where the use is idiomatic in one case and literal in the other, or where the verb or adjective can only be properly used with one of the two. Examples are in order. Verb-object zeugma: "She made up her face and her mind." "She left in a tizzy and a sedan." and so forth. Adjective-noun zeugma: I cannot find or think of examples because I am terribly lazy. Just know that it might actually be a thing, or it might be something I made up because I thought it would be interesting.
Anyway. This is also an etymology that I didn't find out on my own, because I don't speak Greek (as I have previously complained). But I have friends who appreciate etymology and tell me these sorts of things. Zeugma comes from the Greek "ζεῦγμα", zeugma, meaning, "to yoke". That is neat, for one, because it describes exactly what a zeugma does, or rather, what the verb in the zeugma does, as it yokes together two differing parts of the sentence. Another reason this is cool is that there are some other words in English that also derive from "ζεῦγμα". Like yoga, because you're yoking your body and mind, I imagine. So, I find that neat.
5. logodaedaly. This is a word I learned reading a book by one of my favorite authors of all time, Vladimir Nabokov. He had synesthesia and also spoke at least three languages, French, Russian, and English. So, there are two reasons right there I am envious of him. (I originally wrote "jealous" but I think you can only be jealous of something you own or otherwise possess. Except Fowler's Modern English Usage is silent on the issue and I have heard everyone use them interchangeably so I do not know what is what.) Anyway. I was reading Lolita, and discovered that it is the kind of book you have to read with a good dictionary and also a working knowledge of French (or the Internet) nearby, so that made it difficult. As did, of course, the subject matter, but I digress. So there was a point in the book where Nabokov used the word "logodaedalist". I was impressed (but not surprised, because I had encountered many such words in that book), because I can generally sort out words by context but this one stumped me, and also it is a beautiful word. Logodaedaly derives from the Greek "λόγος", "word", and "Δαίδαλος", "Daidalos". Yeah, of Daedalus and Icarus. So basically, if you are a logodaedalist, it means you are a "word-craftsman" (and good at it too, of course) or, if you are all for things that sound awesome, a "word-sculptor". That is what I am putting on my business cards.
6. utopia. This is Thomas More's Greek pun (I wish I could make a Greek pun, or any foreign language pun. But not yet.), and also the title of the book he wrote coining this word, and the name of the country wherein it takes place (Possibly an incorrect use of the word "wherein". I guess it depends on how you use "takes place", and if it needs an "in" to go along with it. But I digress). The book is so full of wordplay (all Greek-based, and also the book was written in Latin so that is two more awesome things) you will explode in a pun-filled explosion (not as clever an ending as I hoped). I would always tell people that this is cool, because it is a pun, and no one cared as much as I did. Then again, no one really cares as much as I do about puns anyway, because they are losers who will have normal-person lives. Utopia comes from "οὐ", a negation indicator (or "not"), and "τόπος", place. "That's kind of boring," you might say, "So the word we use to mean a perfect place actually means nowhere. Tell me something I don't know already." Then I go on to explain how this is a pun (you are really very impatient sometimes, implied reader). "οὐτόπος" is very similar in spelling to "εὖτόπος", which comes from "εὖ", "good" and "τόπος" again (it seems silly to tell you what it means twice). So, it sort of looks like "good place" which is how people use it anyway because they care nothing for etymology. Plus, bonus points, because "utopia" and "eutopia" are pronounced the same way in English, so. There you have it.
I enjoy doing these kinds of posts so I will probably do several more (though I doubt I will do nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine more). I hope you enjoyed reading this.
Etymologies of words that are very interesting (to me, but maybe not to you):
1. America. This one might not be etymology, but is still really interesting. The name "America" first appeared on the Waldseemüller map in 1507 (and it's just a really interesting world map and I might do a post on it). "Sure, Winona," you might be saying, "and now you'll remind me that it was in honor of Amerigo Vespucci, and that's kind of weird, I guess, but that's not really at the level of the delightfully awesome things that I've come to expect from you." And I will laugh, because that totally wasn't all I had to say. Yes, so you know it was in honor of Amerigo Vespucci, an explorer. But what you don't know is that the name "America" might be a pun.
Now, if you're me, at the word pun, you are already in love with whatever comes next, but if you're not, you really should be very excited. Because you have been, every time you say the word "America", been committing an act of unintentional wordplay, which as we all know, is the best kind. And you might even have been born into a commission of unintentional wordplay, which is so cool. Anyway, the wordplay is (and it might seem a bit anticlimactic after all that) that it is a multilingual pun similar to Thomas More's "utopia" (which is also on this list), meaning both "born anew" and "no place". I don't know what the languages are that make up this pun, and I can't even guess because Waldseemüller probably spoke WAY more languages than I do (see: This for my rant on how many languages I don't yet speak).
2. cliché. This one is one of my favorites, probably. I was sitting one day, minding my own business and reading the Internet, when one of my friends IMs me and says "cliché is an onomatopoeia" which is just the perfect kind of thing to say to me out of nowhere. If you do not know what an onomatopoeia is, it is a word that sounds like a sound (that is a weird way of phrasing it, Winona), like "buzz", "splash", "murmur", "spelunk" or a million other neat words. "Cliché" is a word that dates back to the time of printing presses, and stereotypes. In printing language, cliché was actually another name for a stereotype, if I have any reading comprehension at all, which was the cast phrase of movable type. It made sense to cast entire phrases (as opposed to individual letters, then arranging the letters into the desired phrase) if the phrase was going to be very commonly used. The name "cliché" came from the sound the matrices (the negative letter molds which would be cast into the letters used for printing) made when dropped into the hot metal that would form the letters used.
Apparently there is doubt about the etymology I have explained, but I cannot check my desired source, the OED, because I am poor. So I say that this is correct, because it is excellent. If it isn't, I don't care unless the real etymology is even more excellent.
3. scruples. This is the first word on this list where I can point to a specific word and say "that's the source of this word", so I will. Scruples derives from "scrupulus" (i, m.--I am a Latinist at heart), which in turn is the diminutive of "scrupus" (i, m.). Scrupus means "rock" or "stone", and "scrupulus" means "pebble". "What?" you might be saying. "Etymology makes no sense and is dumb. I am out of here." "Wait," I might say if this were actually a conversation, "let me explain how awesome this is." And you would perhaps wait. Or leave. I actually have no way of telling. Anyway. A scruple was a stone you would keep in your pocket, and touch to remind you of things like "be honest" or "be kind". I personally think they would have been more effective if they were in your shoe, but that is just me. So the word scruple came to mean the thing represented by the stone, instead of the stone itself, which is another cool figure of speech that might be metonymy or "reverse-metonymy". I do not know. Until about last year, I could not tell the difference between metonymy and synecdoche because they are very similar. (Also, I was very concerned because the computer would tell me that it did not know this word "synecdoche" and I thought I was a failure at spelling so I looked up that movie because I knew I had looked it up on this computer when I was learning about existentialism and then I found out that I was right and the computer was wrong. That is the best kind of vindication.) [I now know that it is actually synecdoche or possibly reverse synecdoche, but I thought my confusion was amusing so I will leave it.]
4. zeugma. A zeugma is a figure of speech (I think I will do a post on figures of speech because I like them. More than any normal person does.) where a verb is used with two different objects, or an adjective with two different nouns (in English. In Latin, there isn't really a name for the adjective-noun usage.) where the use is idiomatic in one case and literal in the other, or where the verb or adjective can only be properly used with one of the two. Examples are in order. Verb-object zeugma: "She made up her face and her mind." "She left in a tizzy and a sedan." and so forth. Adjective-noun zeugma: I cannot find or think of examples because I am terribly lazy. Just know that it might actually be a thing, or it might be something I made up because I thought it would be interesting.
Anyway. This is also an etymology that I didn't find out on my own, because I don't speak Greek (as I have previously complained). But I have friends who appreciate etymology and tell me these sorts of things. Zeugma comes from the Greek "ζεῦγμα", zeugma, meaning, "to yoke". That is neat, for one, because it describes exactly what a zeugma does, or rather, what the verb in the zeugma does, as it yokes together two differing parts of the sentence. Another reason this is cool is that there are some other words in English that also derive from "ζεῦγμα". Like yoga, because you're yoking your body and mind, I imagine. So, I find that neat.
5. logodaedaly. This is a word I learned reading a book by one of my favorite authors of all time, Vladimir Nabokov. He had synesthesia and also spoke at least three languages, French, Russian, and English. So, there are two reasons right there I am envious of him. (I originally wrote "jealous" but I think you can only be jealous of something you own or otherwise possess. Except Fowler's Modern English Usage is silent on the issue and I have heard everyone use them interchangeably so I do not know what is what.) Anyway. I was reading Lolita, and discovered that it is the kind of book you have to read with a good dictionary and also a working knowledge of French (or the Internet) nearby, so that made it difficult. As did, of course, the subject matter, but I digress. So there was a point in the book where Nabokov used the word "logodaedalist". I was impressed (but not surprised, because I had encountered many such words in that book), because I can generally sort out words by context but this one stumped me, and also it is a beautiful word. Logodaedaly derives from the Greek "λόγος", "word", and "Δαίδαλος", "Daidalos". Yeah, of Daedalus and Icarus. So basically, if you are a logodaedalist, it means you are a "word-craftsman" (and good at it too, of course) or, if you are all for things that sound awesome, a "word-sculptor". That is what I am putting on my business cards.
6. utopia. This is Thomas More's Greek pun (I wish I could make a Greek pun, or any foreign language pun. But not yet.), and also the title of the book he wrote coining this word, and the name of the country wherein it takes place (Possibly an incorrect use of the word "wherein". I guess it depends on how you use "takes place", and if it needs an "in" to go along with it. But I digress). The book is so full of wordplay (all Greek-based, and also the book was written in Latin so that is two more awesome things) you will explode in a pun-filled explosion (not as clever an ending as I hoped). I would always tell people that this is cool, because it is a pun, and no one cared as much as I did. Then again, no one really cares as much as I do about puns anyway, because they are losers who will have normal-person lives. Utopia comes from "οὐ", a negation indicator (or "not"), and "τόπος", place. "That's kind of boring," you might say, "So the word we use to mean a perfect place actually means nowhere. Tell me something I don't know already." Then I go on to explain how this is a pun (you are really very impatient sometimes, implied reader). "οὐτόπος" is very similar in spelling to "εὖτόπος", which comes from "εὖ", "good" and "τόπος" again (it seems silly to tell you what it means twice). So, it sort of looks like "good place" which is how people use it anyway because they care nothing for etymology. Plus, bonus points, because "utopia" and "eutopia" are pronounced the same way in English, so. There you have it.
I enjoy doing these kinds of posts so I will probably do several more (though I doubt I will do nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine more). I hope you enjoyed reading this.
30 December 2010
Authors Who Have Really Cool Signatures
I recently saw a Nook cover that had several authors' signatures on it. Some of them were awesome, in some way or another. It led me to wonder which other authors, aside from the ones listed, have or had awesome signatures, which led me to research, which I will now present to you.
Most all of these signatures are on this list for an entirely different reason. All are on the list because I like them.
Also, there are a lot of pictures [20], because that makes it easier for you to judge my assessments and agree with me, so be forewarned.
1. Oscar Wilde
I really like how sloppy this is, like he's simply too busy being an aesthete and a hedonist to sign his name neatly. The 'e' is my favorite part, followed close after by the period. (I also will sometimes put a period after my signature, like my name is a sentence. And, in Oscar Wilde's case, maybe it is.)
2. Joseph Conrad
I saw this signature, and I said : "When I get home, I am going to write a blog post about this signature."
This is simply a gorgeous signature. My favorite parts are the 'C' and the 'd', because they are pieces of orthographic excellence.
3. Lord Byron
Yes, my unnatural obsession with Lord Byron is both baffling and amusing, I know.
Please, look at this signature and then say, "that signature is not awesome." Because you will be lying. Also, now I have five reasons why Lord Byron is awesome.
4. Edgar Allan Poe
Yeah, a master of horror signs his name in seventh-grade-girl cursive.
5. Victor Hugo
Such tiny letters, Mr. Hugo! And such a huge tail on the 'g'! I think I might just find this one a tad comical.
6. Fyodor Dostoevsky
"Oh," you might be saying. "I wasn't aware it was 'make fun of signatures in foreign alphabets time'. Let me go get my hat."
Yeah, it is not that. I know his name is spelled Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский and that Cyrillic cursive is pretty crazy. Take both of those into consideration and just look at the second half of his last name. That is just excellent.
7. Charles Dickens
It's about as easy to read as Hard Times.
8. Jean-Paul Sartre
The best part about this is that you can almost read it. The 'S' is probably the best part. That makes grammatic sense, and is excellent.
9. G. K. Chesterton
I think that the 'G' has a reversed 'K' written on top of it. If not, it has sun rays coming out of it, which is also pretty neat. This signature must have taken time to do, obviously, and a lot of care. It's also aesthetically pleasant.
He also underlined his name, which is always an interesting touch.
10. Aldous Huxley
Here is another signature with a period at the end, also probably written rapidly. I was going to make a fairly obvious joke but I won't. I will mention that I considered it.
11. James Joyce
"Winona," you might have been saying. "You're biased! You've only listed authors you like." While, yes, I, along with basically every other thinking individual, am biased, here is James Joyce's signature. I like that there is no real definition to the letters, just a wave of ink.
Also, imagine receiving a letter filled with the dirtiest things you can imagine, written in that handwriting. [P.S. more Hark, a vagrant]
12. Jack Kerouac
The mere mention of Kerouac in my presence leads to a physical response, regardless of what has been said about him. That is how much I dislike Kerouac. But here he is on my list, because I do like his signature. Unlike On the Road, care went into it.
Also, I didn't know that Jack was a nickname for John. The more you know.
13. Ayn Rand
I am also not a huge fan of Ayn Rand.
But I always find the signatures people who use pseudonyms use to be interesting. Signing someone else's name is hard. I think that's why most of them wind up like this, or this in cursive [check out Mark Twain].
14. Anthony Burgess
This whole thing is actually really very pretty. It is also the signature of a pen name (which I had actually forgotten until I visited Wikipedia on some semi-unrelated mission), so. And by 'so', I mean 'so there, Ayn Rand.'
15. Arthur Koestler
This is almost entirely illegible, which is part of why I like it. The other part is the way he formed the 'A'. I like it.
Also, Arthur Koestler has an honorary knighthood, so that is cool, but I personally would mention that in my signature.
16. Edward Gorey
I love Edward Gorey. I am somewhat obsessed with him, but that is no matter because he is wonderful, and wrote one of my favorite books [The Gashlycrumb Tinies. Yes. One of my favorite books is a picture book. What of it?]. And then we come to this signature, which is excellently formed. My favorite is the 'G'. (It's harder to sort out than the Disney 'D'.)
17. Bram Stoker
This is entirely illegible, not even almost. If I hadn't known it was Bram Stoker's signature from the beginning, I would have been lost.
I feel like I had something else to say, but I don't recall.
18. H. G. Wells
Whatever that thing at the bottom is, I like it and I want twenty.
The initials are pretty cool too.
19. J. R. R. Tolkien
Favorite part: the 'k'. Also, the line underneath.
I just like Tolkien, that might be eighty percent of the reason this is on here. Also he is awesome.
20. Boris Pasternak
I don't know what it is about this signature (probably the line of the 't'), but I think it is elegant.
I also find signatures that are in a different alphabet from the author's native one (such as this signature [or also Nabokov's, if you are interested]) to be interesting.
Second blog post tangentially related to literature, and also the second to mention Lord Byron. Hmm.
Most all of these signatures are on this list for an entirely different reason. All are on the list because I like them.
Also, there are a lot of pictures [20], because that makes it easier for you to judge my assessments and agree with me, so be forewarned.
1. Oscar Wilde
I really like how sloppy this is, like he's simply too busy being an aesthete and a hedonist to sign his name neatly. The 'e' is my favorite part, followed close after by the period. (I also will sometimes put a period after my signature, like my name is a sentence. And, in Oscar Wilde's case, maybe it is.)
2. Joseph Conrad
I saw this signature, and I said : "When I get home, I am going to write a blog post about this signature."
This is simply a gorgeous signature. My favorite parts are the 'C' and the 'd', because they are pieces of orthographic excellence.
3. Lord Byron
Yes, my unnatural obsession with Lord Byron is both baffling and amusing, I know.
Please, look at this signature and then say, "that signature is not awesome." Because you will be lying. Also, now I have five reasons why Lord Byron is awesome.
4. Edgar Allan Poe
Yeah, a master of horror signs his name in seventh-grade-girl cursive.
5. Victor Hugo
Such tiny letters, Mr. Hugo! And such a huge tail on the 'g'! I think I might just find this one a tad comical.
6. Fyodor Dostoevsky
"Oh," you might be saying. "I wasn't aware it was 'make fun of signatures in foreign alphabets time'. Let me go get my hat."
Yeah, it is not that. I know his name is spelled Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский and that Cyrillic cursive is pretty crazy. Take both of those into consideration and just look at the second half of his last name. That is just excellent.
7. Charles Dickens
It's about as easy to read as Hard Times.
8. Jean-Paul Sartre
The best part about this is that you can almost read it. The 'S' is probably the best part. That makes grammatic sense, and is excellent.
9. G. K. Chesterton
I think that the 'G' has a reversed 'K' written on top of it. If not, it has sun rays coming out of it, which is also pretty neat. This signature must have taken time to do, obviously, and a lot of care. It's also aesthetically pleasant.
He also underlined his name, which is always an interesting touch.
10. Aldous Huxley
Here is another signature with a period at the end, also probably written rapidly. I was going to make a fairly obvious joke but I won't. I will mention that I considered it.
11. James Joyce
"Winona," you might have been saying. "You're biased! You've only listed authors you like." While, yes, I, along with basically every other thinking individual, am biased, here is James Joyce's signature. I like that there is no real definition to the letters, just a wave of ink.
Also, imagine receiving a letter filled with the dirtiest things you can imagine, written in that handwriting. [P.S. more Hark, a vagrant]
12. Jack Kerouac
The mere mention of Kerouac in my presence leads to a physical response, regardless of what has been said about him. That is how much I dislike Kerouac. But here he is on my list, because I do like his signature. Unlike On the Road, care went into it.
Also, I didn't know that Jack was a nickname for John. The more you know.
13. Ayn Rand
I am also not a huge fan of Ayn Rand.
But I always find the signatures people who use pseudonyms use to be interesting. Signing someone else's name is hard. I think that's why most of them wind up like this, or this in cursive [check out Mark Twain].
14. Anthony Burgess
This whole thing is actually really very pretty. It is also the signature of a pen name (which I had actually forgotten until I visited Wikipedia on some semi-unrelated mission), so. And by 'so', I mean 'so there, Ayn Rand.'
15. Arthur Koestler
This is almost entirely illegible, which is part of why I like it. The other part is the way he formed the 'A'. I like it.
Also, Arthur Koestler has an honorary knighthood, so that is cool, but I personally would mention that in my signature.
16. Edward Gorey
I love Edward Gorey. I am somewhat obsessed with him, but that is no matter because he is wonderful, and wrote one of my favorite books [The Gashlycrumb Tinies. Yes. One of my favorite books is a picture book. What of it?]. And then we come to this signature, which is excellently formed. My favorite is the 'G'. (It's harder to sort out than the Disney 'D'.)
17. Bram Stoker
This is entirely illegible, not even almost. If I hadn't known it was Bram Stoker's signature from the beginning, I would have been lost.
I feel like I had something else to say, but I don't recall.
18. H. G. Wells
Whatever that thing at the bottom is, I like it and I want twenty.
The initials are pretty cool too.
19. J. R. R. Tolkien
Favorite part: the 'k'. Also, the line underneath.
I just like Tolkien, that might be eighty percent of the reason this is on here. Also he is awesome.
20. Boris Pasternak
I don't know what it is about this signature (probably the line of the 't'), but I think it is elegant.
I also find signatures that are in a different alphabet from the author's native one (such as this signature [or also Nabokov's, if you are interested]) to be interesting.
Second blog post tangentially related to literature, and also the second to mention Lord Byron. Hmm.
29 December 2010
Things That I am Afraid Of (That Apparently Normal People Are Not)
I, as a thinking being, have fears. I, as a somewhat neurotic being, have many fears. I am frequently told that many of the things that I fear are things that I don't need to fear, and also that I am weird for being afraid of them. Someday, I imagine, I will be vindicated.
Things I am "unreasonably" afraid of:
1. Birds. I am afraid of birds because they have eyes that look into your soul and learn all of your darkest secrets and fears. They also only hop when they are not flying. Hopping is an entirely unacceptable form of locomotion, which leads me to believe that they are evil hell-beasts, or that they are hiding something, most likely something terrible. I think birds know how the world will end--because they will engineer that end.
2. The Octopus. This is singular because octopus is a word with three accepted plurals, which is not a battle I am going to get into. I am also immediately suspicious of any word with more than one plural. It bodes ill. I am afraid of their tentacles, in part, but I have a far more all-encompassing fear. I am afraid of them because they are smart and can squish to be very small. They could fit under a door, and could most likely figure out how to work the lock--allowing their companions in this horrifying scenario, the velociraptor, entrance. If you say "That is totally unfeasible, they need to be underwater, your fears are weird", consider what weird things scientists are currently doing, and ask yourself, "Self, how long do you think it will be before someone figures out how to free all those horrifying sea creatures from their salty prison?" And your self will curl up in a corner of your brain and cry, because the bottom of the ocean is straight-up Lovecraft.
3. Squid. Squid are about as terrifying as the octopus, but in an entirely different way. First we have things like the Humboldt squid, which will attack you. Because it's fun. There is somewhere video from a camera that got attached to a Humboldt squid that was captured then sent back to its... squiderie. Its friends/family attacked and killed it. So, that is fun. Then, there is the giant squid, which lives at the bottom of the ocean. Point one against it. It also has some razor-bits in its tentacle suckers, so that is fun. I am also mistrustful of it because it implodes when it reaches sane pressures. It is too used to the pressure, and when it no longer has it, it burns out, much like an over-achieving high school student. Finally (as if I could ever finish the list of reasons I find squid terrifying), there is the colossal squid. People theorize that it is the Kraken. It is the size of a small island. And it does not need the pressure the giant squid does. Which is why, you know, people saw it, and subsequently went mad with fear, as any reasonable person would. It also has a far more horrifying tentacle-attachment, a hook-tooth that can rotate almost 360 degrees. I am never going swimming in the ocean.
4. Velociraptors. This is, I admit, a somewhat unreasonable fear, since there are very few velociraptors alive today (probably about three), but I still think it needs to be stated, because some people I know are under the delusion that the mighty and terrible velociraptor would obey their will and do their bidding, when in fact it would kill them mercilessly. I don't actually know what to say about this one, because if you aren't already scared of the velociraptor (or the utahraptor, or really the whole raptor family) then there is nothing I can say to convince you. You are already lost.
5. Things reaching out from under a movie theater seat and grabbing my feet. I have a fear of anything grabbing my feet, but movie theaters especially bring this out in me. I think it is partially because it is almost a combination of fears. There are people in the movie theater, and disgustingly sticky floors, and a lot of the time, people being killed or chased on the screen
(I watch some pretty awesome rom-coms). It also doesn't help that, because of the unknown horror that is the movie theater floor, anything could be growing there, and therefore what grabs me might not even be human.
Sorry this is kind of short. I started making this list and started into real, boring to read about fears, so I cut myself off. So, there you have it. Five of the four million things I fear. Please don't show up at my house holding a bird and a squid.
Things I am "unreasonably" afraid of:
1. Birds. I am afraid of birds because they have eyes that look into your soul and learn all of your darkest secrets and fears. They also only hop when they are not flying. Hopping is an entirely unacceptable form of locomotion, which leads me to believe that they are evil hell-beasts, or that they are hiding something, most likely something terrible. I think birds know how the world will end--because they will engineer that end.
2. The Octopus. This is singular because octopus is a word with three accepted plurals, which is not a battle I am going to get into. I am also immediately suspicious of any word with more than one plural. It bodes ill. I am afraid of their tentacles, in part, but I have a far more all-encompassing fear. I am afraid of them because they are smart and can squish to be very small. They could fit under a door, and could most likely figure out how to work the lock--allowing their companions in this horrifying scenario, the velociraptor, entrance. If you say "That is totally unfeasible, they need to be underwater, your fears are weird", consider what weird things scientists are currently doing, and ask yourself, "Self, how long do you think it will be before someone figures out how to free all those horrifying sea creatures from their salty prison?" And your self will curl up in a corner of your brain and cry, because the bottom of the ocean is straight-up Lovecraft.
3. Squid. Squid are about as terrifying as the octopus, but in an entirely different way. First we have things like the Humboldt squid, which will attack you. Because it's fun. There is somewhere video from a camera that got attached to a Humboldt squid that was captured then sent back to its... squiderie. Its friends/family attacked and killed it. So, that is fun. Then, there is the giant squid, which lives at the bottom of the ocean. Point one against it. It also has some razor-bits in its tentacle suckers, so that is fun. I am also mistrustful of it because it implodes when it reaches sane pressures. It is too used to the pressure, and when it no longer has it, it burns out, much like an over-achieving high school student. Finally (as if I could ever finish the list of reasons I find squid terrifying), there is the colossal squid. People theorize that it is the Kraken. It is the size of a small island. And it does not need the pressure the giant squid does. Which is why, you know, people saw it, and subsequently went mad with fear, as any reasonable person would. It also has a far more horrifying tentacle-attachment, a hook-tooth that can rotate almost 360 degrees. I am never going swimming in the ocean.
4. Velociraptors. This is, I admit, a somewhat unreasonable fear, since there are very few velociraptors alive today (probably about three), but I still think it needs to be stated, because some people I know are under the delusion that the mighty and terrible velociraptor would obey their will and do their bidding, when in fact it would kill them mercilessly. I don't actually know what to say about this one, because if you aren't already scared of the velociraptor (or the utahraptor, or really the whole raptor family) then there is nothing I can say to convince you. You are already lost.
5. Things reaching out from under a movie theater seat and grabbing my feet. I have a fear of anything grabbing my feet, but movie theaters especially bring this out in me. I think it is partially because it is almost a combination of fears. There are people in the movie theater, and disgustingly sticky floors, and a lot of the time, people being killed or chased on the screen
(I watch some pretty awesome rom-coms). It also doesn't help that, because of the unknown horror that is the movie theater floor, anything could be growing there, and therefore what grabs me might not even be human.
Sorry this is kind of short. I started making this list and started into real, boring to read about fears, so I cut myself off. So, there you have it. Five of the four million things I fear. Please don't show up at my house holding a bird and a squid.
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