Bench FAIL

I’m not sure what went wrong here.  Pretty much everything apparently.

The sign says ‘Qing3 wu4 luan4 dio1 la1 ji1′ which means… well, I’m not exactly sure. ‘Please do not throw [your] rubbish [here]‘ ??

Words to Live by

This poster in fact tells students where they can recycle their second hand goods and textbooks. But I suspect they didn’t run it past a native speaker.

Right here. Right now.  Do it!

All Is Vanity

Vanity? I should cocoa. It’s a blog FFS. What else do you expect?

Anyway, The Book of Bogus Sequels has just been published, and it seems that 3 of my offerings successfully made the cut. Yay!

‘Inventive Imposter’ is probably
the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me

And so as not to waste the two perfectly fine submissions that were inexplicably rejected, here they are:

From Henry IX by William Shakespeare –

I was the phantom child in Mary’s womb,
And like a phantom spirited away
To this remotest village, my domain,
Where peasants hold my secret in contempt
And I am mocked and calléd ‘king’ for sport;
Thus high-born Henry; thus my humble court.

And following on from Biggles Sweeps the Desert, here’s the opening to Biggles Vacuums the Himalayas by Captain W E Johns –

For the third time that afternoon, Major James Bigglesworth, D.S.O., better known as Biggles, put down his newspaper and ejaculated softly as his good friends, Captain the Honourable Algernon Lacey, M.C., and ‘Ginger’ Hebblethwaite continued to talk excitedly about the latest British technological marvel: the Dyson Dual Cyclone.

There’s some BTS-related youtubery too, if you’re at all interested in books or publishing or technology or whatever.

Literary Masturbation

For those of us who like that sort of thing.

I can’t be arsed to write my own copy for this, so here’s how Language Log’s Geoff Nunberg introduces it –

For the upcoming 2009 Book Expo in New York, the Perseus Book Group (of which [Geoff's] publisher PublicAffairs is a member), has organized a project to collaboratively create and publish a book in as many formats as possible within 48 hours. The text of the book will consist of submissions from the public of the first sentence of a yet-to-be published sequel of some well known book — A Tale of Three Cities, To Fricassee a Mockingbird; you get the picture. Submissions are welcome. [Through May 30, 2009]

I’ve submitted a couple. Shakespeare spoofs, since you ask: Richard IV and Henry IX.

Anyway, it’s fun! And easier than trying to stay focused on the day job.

Free Gift!

Some have greatness thrust upon them. Some… have wonderbread.

Which is to say, I just popped into the local bakery to grab a spot of lunch and when I got to the counter to pay, I was presented with a slice of bread lovingly wrapped in its own plastic bag. I’m not complaining — far from it! — but as free gifts go, this one takes the cake (ho ho) –

Nothing says ‘we value your custom’ better than a free slice of wonderbread.

This generous gourmet gift of grainy goodness brought to you by the same people who gave the world Fried Noodles Sandwiches and Germy Raisin Bread.

Soggy End

Crikey! The junk that I blogged about last June seems to have been the Princess Taiping, which is a replica Ming dynasty junk that was just about to complete a 10-month, sail-powered round trip to the USA and back when it was rammed and sunk just 42 nautical miles off Su-Ao. The ‘unknown vessel’ that mowed them down was a freighter called the Champion Express, and after the collision it apparently ‘turned northward and fled’. Classy.

Happily though, the junk’s 10-person foreign crew and Taiwanese Captain all survived with minor injuries and hypothermia after being rescued by the Taiwan Coastguard. Still, that must have been a bummer coming all that way only to suddenly find yourself bobbing about in the not-very-warm ocean at 3 in the morning. Probably with The Theme From Jaws going round and round in your head…

Fuck ‘bigger boat’ — we just need a boat!

Story sources here (China Post) and here (Taiwan News).

Unbalanced diet

Presenting Taiwan’s answer to the chip butty –

Comes with a side of Pepto or Maalox — your choice!

Actually, there are times when I could almost go for a delicious ‘fried noodles sandwich’. Either that or a baked-bean pizza with rice and fries.

No Pictures

It’s getting harder and harder to take pictures of them.

Image stolen from Superstock. Obviously.

But they’ll still be taking pictures of you.

Image taken without permission from Dennis Fox’s blog

Of course this is hardly news, but it never hurts to remember where this bullshit is headed.

Here’s one possible countermeasure –

I’m reminded of the old gag: What do you call 1000 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start.

Another One Hits The Concrete

To be honest, I always found his books a bit of a slog, but the ideas behind them, his unerring vision, and his unrelenting humanity made him one of the few true poets of our times.

Seventy years ago, it was the last Great Unraveling that set him on his artistic path, and in a way I guess he’s lucky to be checking out before the current Great Unraveling properly hits its stride. A single glimpse of the beast is more than enough for most people, and no matter how robust his psyche, after a lifetime staring into the cold reptilian eye of the unthinking crypto-fascist monster that lurks behind reality’s suburban facade, may he now rest in peace.

J.G Ballard 1930-2009.

The Meaning of Life

I just stumbled across this superb — and profoundly depressing — piece of analysis by Douglas Rushkoff.

His opening anecdote reminds me of the time I first experienced ‘Bread Counter Syndrome’ (as I like to call it; taxonomically, it’s probably a subspecies of the Gruen Transfer phenomenon) –

So. Me and the GF were in the supermarket checkout line when we realize we forgot the bread. No problem: I’ll just pop back and get some… two minutes later she had to dash over to rescue me cos I was stuck there staring at row after fucking row of almost indistinguishable breads and I was just hypnotized by this cellophane-wrapped mountain of meaningless choice. I wasn’t physically paralyzed, but I just couldn’t take the plunge and make a trivial, essentially arbitrary decision. Buridan’s ludicrous ass made flesh. All I wanted was a sodding loaf of bread. How in the name of fuck did it get to be this bastard difficult?

‘I’m all lost in the supermarket
I can no longer shop happily…’
(Strummer/Jones)

In the end, I think we went with ‘Roman Meal’. As if it made any fracking difference.

It also connects back to my childhood, when I would frequently dream about nuclear armageddon. I’m talking about actual, literal, night-time dreams that I had while I was asleep, but, far from being nightmares, these were ‘good’ (ie enjoyable) dreams. My dream consciousness was all ‘bring it on’ about the apocalypse — and this was exclusively and entirely because I felt I was wearing the right kind of shoes.

‘What a sad fucker’, I expect you’re thinking. And of course, you’re right. But now at least I know who to blame. Yeah, I’m looking at YOU, Mr advertising man. And that bloke standing behind you, the one with the beard and the clipboard. I can’t tell if it’s God or Charles Darwin…..