all this for a dame

internet wunderkind (and brassy aviatrix), kyle bingman knows the perfect recipe for a ragbag post (1 part literature, 1 part chart, and 30 parts of head-smashing battle gore!). she says:

Attached a[re]… two charts, one showing the battle wounds/fatalities as described in the Iliad and another the wound lethality in the Iliad by area of body… In the text the authors cite the Iliad as one of the earliest detailed literary accounts of ancient warfare and the wounds suffered by the armies involved.

One item of particular interest is the high fatality rate from head wounds, a curious fact when one considers that the helmets worn by the Greeks were effective at reducing shock from blows and providing coverage from cutting actions. The authors posit that many of the lethal head wounds were caused by stones being dropped from the 40 foot walls of Troy. Another option includes soldiers being struck in the face by arrows, as while standing at the base of the wall the open area of the face would present an easy target to those above. Finally, it is also likely that many Greek soldiers either wore their helmets improperly or took the face plates off of them to reduce heat.

for wunderkammer: tableau synoptique d’oreilles d’a. bertillon

mysterious lurker, ramona has submitted this beatiful taxonomy of the ears of french criminals to the wunderkammer. says ramona:

The attached is for the wunderkammer – now I am suffering from anxiety that it is not sufficiently wunderful [editor’s note: ramona, stop being a dork].   I love it as its own thing, but i also particularly love the odd story of its creator, M. Alphonse Bertillon, who never let the obtuseness of lesser mortals (everyone else) stand in the way of his rampant o.c.d.   He was even written up by Ida Tarbell, a gobsmacking interview at which to have been a fly on the wall.   I would like to think that there are picturesque names for each characteristic shape, but I fear M. Bertillon had no room for poetry in his cataloguer’s soul.

one of the five hearts (a metaphor) of the ragbag is my obsession with the names of things. let you and i be the poets that bertillon was not. to wit:

my left ear is an emesis basin (fig. 3) and my right ear is somewhere between a bass clef (fig. 44) and a wilting orchid (fig . 16).

opposite day

mike from the internet has sent me the above sentence (to which i added a calming grey-pink gradient and then typeset it in rustika). it is part grammar lesson, part logic riddle, and part buddhist kōan. mike writes:

I think the sentence should be read front to end as normal, and the resulting instruction would be nonsensical, like if somebody said to “Stop at green traffic lights, go at red traffic lights.”

since i am a reader (and unabashed abuser) of parentheses (and nested parentheses (like this one)) i default to reading parentheses. therefore, i would read this sentence as “do not read words inside of parentheses” and then, (providing i always did what imperative verbs told me) i would disregard all future parentheses. supposing i was then to read the sentence over again, i would trip the gate in the opposite direction (do read words inside of parentheses) and get stuck in an infinite loop. if it weren’t for that soothing grey-pink gradient, i would soon loose my marbles (marbles is a metaphor for sanity).

finally, mike mentions that i may refer to him as mike but that i don’t need to. therefore, i will refer to him as kilroy. so readers, how do you interpret kilroy’s sentence?

a monument to technology

ragbag reader show & tell day has finally arrived! this is a picture of pixels rendering data from outer space (an interesting take on touristy photos). it was sent in by herman from south africa who is now on holiday in (has the photo revealed it already?) paris, texas.

also: i have removed the logo from herman’s gps unit in case herman is trying to guerilla market me or something.

the ganans on holiday

what makes this cheesy old-timey photograph of the ganans on holiday infinitely more amusing (to me at anyrate) is the colony of mold that has been inhabiting it since my parents transferred it to a box in their basement—thus adding to its authenticity.

question: can mold survive a scanner flash or have i just now committed a grievous atrocity?

quadrivium

even though joyce said this in defense of finnegans wake, this quote is an appropriate epigraph for the slowblogging ulysses project (today’s word is winding). and while we are on the topic of stories that will take thousands of years to complete, there is also this one (which employs a very different delaying measure).

red state blue, blue state; yellow state, green state

i don’t want to get all political right now, so i will announce this quickly and be on my way: no longer are the official state birds of the united states either red (northern cardinal) or blue (eastern bluebird). there are other colours (and other directions) to add to the mixing bowl. consider the 6 purple states that have adopted the western meadowlark as their official bird. there are also the 5*  (southern) green states that selected the (northern) mockingbird. and thus our former two bird system is now an avian oligarchy.

but seriously states: there are over 1.3 trillion different species of birds native to north america, would it kill you to pick something a little more original and not just copy off of your neighbor? also: when you show off a picture of your state bird and it’s a red cardinal, you are being unimaginative and—frankly—sexist (in birds, sex is determined not by the presence or absence of external genitalia but by the colour of the feathers).

another bird map.

*breaking news (as of 1948): the state bird of south carolina is no longer the northern meadowlark.

how i became a famous novel reviewer

a very good friend of mine° by the name of steve hely is about to release his debut novel, bombastically titled how i became a famous novelist. steve was courteous enough to send me an advanced proof which i have read (and re-read) and am now ready to say a few things about.

the novel is a keen satire of the modern literary milieu which chronicles a crafty slacker (pete tarslaw) working at an essay mill as he attempts to develop a formula for becoming a bestselling author (he eventually does become one for reasons that, ironically, he cannot control (this is not a spoiler since it is revealed in the title)).

steve has taken a note from us bloggers and filled the novel with hilarious lists. consider the protagonist’s goals as a novelist

1. FAME—Realistic amount. Enough to open new avenues of sexual opportunity. Personal assistant to read my mail. grocery shop, and so on.
2. FINANCIAL COMFORT—Never have a job again. Retire. Spend rest of life lying around, pursuing hobbies (boating? skeet shooting?).
3. STATELY HOME BY OCEAN (OR SCENIC LAKE)—Spacious library, bay windows, wet bar. HD TV, discreetly placed. Comfortable couch.
4. HUMILIATE POLLY AT HER WEDDING.

or some of the possible metaphors/moving scenes that the protagonist comes up with for his book:

• Woman who says stuff that turns out to have extra meaning when it’s revealed that she’s in a wheelchair.
• They pull over by a prison and see the prisoners working on the farm. One of the prisoners tips his hat.
• Overheard conversations at truck stops (blue collar earnestness).
• Everybody singing along to the same song (Patsy Cline?) on the radio. It reminds them all of different stuff (first kiss, night before he shipped out, etc.)
• They pass some kids going to the prom. Genevieve says she never had a prom, so Silas dances with her in a cornfield.

the novel that the protagonist winds up writing is every bit as awful and as contrived as his lists make it sound—and this is where steve excels. it is very very difficult to write bad prose well. when i was a kid i devised a plan that if the cops ever nabbed me (for doing whatever) i would plead insanity and just say wacky incongruent things until they let me off the hook scot-free. writing bad prose well (like pretending to be non compos mentis) is a delicate balance of believability. too much on one side of the spectrum and it will be jarring and conspicuous, too much on the other side and it will lose its edge.

steve is adept at humorously crafting a convincingly run-of-the-mill bestselling book within a book and this is why how i became a famous novelist shines. there are yucks, to be sure, but like all successful black comedies, the yucks are funny until the reader realises that they are based on a darker truth. and when that darker truth is the state of modern literature, the reader’s bellowing guffaws may soon turn to whimpering sobs.

you can (as i have done) become a fan of steve’s novel on facebook, gossip about it on goodreads, or purchase it from amazon.