the passenger in 17d

if you ever have the misfortune of inhabiting a confined space with me for any length of time (be it an elevator, a car ride, a sporting event, etc.) you will notice that i have a præternatural ability of carrying on a dialogue entirely in questions. if all goes according to plan, the end result of my salvo of queries is *hopefully* a rare bit of information that small talk between strangers would never normally have elicited.

this was the case with a mustachioed indian man named sachiv who was on my return flight. a summary of our conversation:

raynor: are you visiting boston on business or pleasure?
sachiv: both. i am seeing my girlfriend but am also on business.
r: what do you do?
s: i’m an investment banker.
r: and do you want to be an investment banker for the rest of your life?
s: actually, my father and i have started a company.
r: an investment banking company?
s: no, a production company. we are making a bollywood movie.
r: what is the movie about?
s: it is about a father and his son.
r: what is the plot?
s: (with obvious hesitation) it is about how the father schemes to kill his son so he can marry his son’s girlfriend.
r: who wrote the script?
s: my father.

the lodestar of my existence

an excerpt from the moustache movement, a one act play:

LOUISA (looking at his moustache rapturously): And yours are such loves! (caressing them)

SOSKINS (putting his hand up nervously): D—don’t pull ‘em about.

LOUISA (passionately): I wouldn’t injure a hair of them for worlds!—For they are the lodestar of my existence!

SOSKINS (aside): Ahem ! (seriously, taking her hand, walking her up and down) Louisa, I fear it is the moustache and not the man you love.

LOUISA: Oh! don’t say that, Anthony—though I own it was they first won me, two months ago, when we met at the Eagle, and perhaps if you hadn’t had ‘em…

SOSKINS: If circumstances, I say, were some day to place me before your eyes, shorn of those manly attributes—do you think—(in a broken voice) you could—still love me ?

LOUISA (overcome): Oh, Anthony, don’t ask me.

the twist you never see coming: [SPOILER ALERT] soskins’ moustaches are false, but louisa eventually forgives him and they live happily ever after.

from: the moustache movement by robert barnabas brough (1854)

ambiguities of we

A less obvious, though equally ambiguous blind spot in English is the first person plural pronoun we.

Suppose while walking your adorable Bichon Frisé Genevieve down the street one day, you bump into your friends Senator and Mrs. Fairbanks and their companion, a handsome mustachioed hunk with pecs the size of manhole covers. After exchanging pleasantries, the mustachioed he-man steps toward you and—as goosebumps begin to bubble up from under your supple flesh—declares that, “We are going to the nickelodeon tonight to screen the latest Miles Brothers film entitled, Female Wrestlers.” How do you respond?

Has this gorgeous man just insisted that you and he take in a movie together or was he somewhat rudely flaunting the fact that he and the Fairbankses had big plans for the Miles brothers premiere? Even still, he could have been declaring that you, he and the Fairbankses were all going to the movies. So your options: a hot date with your dream man, another night at home alone while the Fairbankses enjoy your dream man’s company, or an evening with your dream man chaperoned by the Fairbankses (who can be regrettably “wholesome”) all hinge upon your interpretation of a teency pronoun. Such is the ambiguity of we.

Incidentally, the best way to handle this situation is to use the ambiguity to your advantage by replying something to the extent of, “The films of the Miles Brothers are not much to my taste. I think instead that we’ll spend the evening cuddling on a bearskin rug in front of my fireplace. Isn’t that right Genevieve?” Then, look down at your adorable Bichon Frisé and give the biggest coquettish wink that you can muster.

The, Nora Ann Gray (1972)

wikipedia says.

his name is joseph palmer

and we should never forget his story…

In 1830, at the age of forty-two, a quiet unobtrusive, God-fearing man named Joseph Palmer moved to Fitchburg, Massachusetts. Normally, such an event would have caused no great stir in the community, the newcomer would have settled down and been accepted, and life would have gone on as before. Only one thing prevented matters working out that way—Joseph Palmer wore a beard. And in 1830 beards were not worn in Fitchburg. Had he been merely passing through or stopping off for a few days, he would undoubtedly have been merely an object of curiosity and perhaps some thoughtless finger-pointing. But he had come to stay, to settle among these people, to become one of them; and this was intolerable. The unthinkable had happened—Fitchburg was harbouring a non-conformist.

Derision changed to outrage and outrage to anger. Palmer’s windows were repeatedly  broken, and somehow the culprits were never found. Women crossed the street to avoid him, and their sons threw stones at him. Even the Reverend George Trask admonished him; and eventually, all else failing, the Church refused him communion.

Shortly afterwards, Palmer was set upon in the street by four men, who threw him down, injuring his back, and attempted to shave him. Palmer managed to drive off the assailants with his pocket knife and was thereupon arrested, beard and all, for unprovoked assault. When he refused to pay the fine, he was imprisione for a year in Worcester.

But this was not the end of his story. In prison he nourished his beard and wrote letters, which he managed, with the help of his son, to smuggle out. The letters protested that he had really been imprisioned not for assault, but for wearing a beard. They were published in various newspapers, the case was widely discussed. public opinion shifted to his side, and Joseph Palmer and his beard became a cause célèbre. After a time, he became such an embarrassment to the local constabulary that they suggested he forget the whole thing and go home. He refused as a matter of principle, saying that if they wanted him out, they’d have to carry him out. And that is what they finally had to do.

Before he died in 1875, Joseph Palmer had the satisfaction of seeing practically the entire male population bearded, including the local clergy. Palmer’s tombstone, on which there is a likeness of his beard, reads: ‘Persecuted for wearing the beard’.

from fashions in hair by richard corson (1965)