bag blog

This is an actual conversation we had this morning.

Her: You’re a fruitskin.

Me: A what?

Her: You’re a fruitskin.

Me: You have never called me that before, never before in my life. Where in the world did that come from?

Her: The same place they all come from — from some corner recess of my mind.

Me: That’s going to be the name you call me for the next few days, isn’t it?

Her: You’re like a plum.

Me: A plum? A plum skin is smooth, but kind of fuzzy.

Her: You’re like a plum. You’re smooth and kind of fuzzy.

Me: This, right here, is why I love you.

Her: Okay, fruitskin.

Since I’ve been on a bit of a linguistic kick lately, I should explain that there’s a term that I use on occasion: Charlie Foxtrot, which is the spelled-out NATO Phonetic Alphabet equivalent of C-F. I used to think that I thought it up myself, but apparently I’m not the only one who has — so much for my brilliant ego! Anyway, it is a euphemism for a rather strong term that very accurately and graphically describes a complex software system with many intertwined interrelationships, often with many hands having been involved. Since it is a strong term, I sometimes wonder whether it is very discreet of me to use it. But, I still do use it — sparingly, although more so lately for some reason.

Another phonetic euphemism I use sometimes is Foxtrot Uniform. This is also a strong term, and it best expresses the hopelessness or futility of a particular project or situation. I have used it less often lately as compared to Charlie Foxtrot; perhaps that indicates my natural optimism: Charlie Foxtrot < Foxtrot Uniform, at least the way I see it — the former is negotiable while the latter is hopeless. Here’s to Charlie Foxtrot!

There has been some confusion about my decision to reference institutions as plural, rather than singular — I myself am somewhat confused about the proper execution of it. I heard that my friend Julie had attempted to use the phrase “The museum are…” and found it to be quite awkward. I also find this to be quite awkward. So, I did some research to better understand my newly-self-inflicted policy.

As it turns out, this whole concept is better expressed as being Plural Verbs with Singular Subjects. The trouble is in deciding whether the singular institution is being referenced in the abstract as a singular entity (as in “the committee was formed…”) or in the concrete as a plural group of people (as in “the committee have decided…”). The fine point is in the anthropomorphization of the entity: if it’s doing something a person would do, then the plural should be employed because that’s something a group of people would do. If the entity is doing something that a person would not do, or perhaps having something done to it (as might be expressed with a transitive verb in the objective case), then the singular should be employed. This is why the committee was formed, but the committee have decided — for example.

I think I’ve got it. (At least at this very moment I do.) So, Julie, the museum is…, but the museum have opened a new wing… — at least I hope that’s how it would go.

Today in an e-mail about eyes my friend John asked me, “…and what is the Zin-thing’s proper name?” He was recalling an earlier conversation we’d had about the Zonules of Zinn, which are one of my favorite body parts. They have been one of my favorites since I read about them in Scientific American many years ago — it was their alliterative name that got me. Also, they sound like something that Doctor Strange might say in an incantation — I imagined him waving his arms and chanting something like “By the Zonules of Zinn!” (Of course, I’m not much into all the strange occult doings of Doctor Strange; to me, his powers of alliteration were the most impressive.)

The question of Zonules got me wondering who this Zinn guy was, anyway — or if there even was a guy named Zinn. I googled him, and found a hint in the Merriam-Webster Medical Dictionary: he’s Johann Gottfried Zinn, a German anatomist and botanist who lived from 1727 to 1759. His book, Descriptio anatomica oculi humani, published in 1755, was the defining text on the anatomy of the eye. As it turns out, he’s also the namesake of the Zinnia! None other than Carolus Linnaeus, the father of modern taxonomy, named this flower after his professor of botany at the University of Göttingen — or at least, that’s how the story goes.

Now I’m curious about this Zinn fellow. He died when he was only 32, yet he left a unique mark. He seems like a real Natural Philosopher. I wonder if there are any good biographies of him?

Today I read on QRZ.com that 73 Magazine have ceased publishing after 43 years. I subscribed to 73 for the sole purpose of reading the Never Say Die editorial written by the magazine’s publisher, Wayne Green. Wayne was always stirring the pot, challenging readers to question everything and straighten up and fly right. I found his editorials to be quite inspiring, in a revolutionary sort of way.

I sent Wayne an e-mail expressing my regret at the demise of 73 and my hope that he will turn his web site into an equally revolutionary voice. He replied, and I gather that he hopes to do just that.

73, 73! And here’s to you, Wayne Green! Never say die!

Yesterday Karen and I were watching The Church Channel. We were taking a break from working, and were doing what we sometimes do in that Very American Way: sitting in front of the TV while we ate lunch.

Anyway, we watched a crusade conducted by Pastor Paula White. Even her name sounds Poised and Perky, but on stage she was Powerful. She was standing on a stage in an auditorium in front of what must have been 20,000 people. Oddly, though, she was not exactly on the stage, but was inside this sort of a sandbox apparatus that had been constructed for her. There was dirt in this sandbox. She had a big shovel. She was digging and preaching. The members of the crowd each had a small colored plastic shovel. They were digging, too, but in an “air guitar” sort of way — they would dig the air in front of them. Apparently, this is the theme of Pastor Paula White’s crusade: Can You Dig it? You can buy the book, which comes with an audio cassette tape and a plastic shovel.

As Karen and I were watching, and as Pastor Paula White was digging, the emotions of the scene were running deep and wide. Pastor Paula would dig, then she would preach. There was an organ playing background music, and a choir humming along. Every time Pastor Paula would dig, the choir would sing “Diiig!” as the organ music swelled. This repeated: Pastor Paula would preach, then dig, while the choir sang “Diiig!” Preach, dig, Diiig! At one point, Pastor Paula exhorted the people to “Tell each other Can You Dig It? Slap somebody upside the head and tell them Can You Dig It?”

After Karen and I had absorbed this for a while, at almost the same time we turned toward each other and sort of shouted and sang “Diiig!” — we had been thinking of the same thing, and had found our token to express it: the spectacle was ridiculous, and could be summarized in that one phrase. Diiig!

So, that’s now become a new entry in our private lexicon, with the implied meaning that “this is a ridiculous spectacle propagated under a falsely Christian context.” We said it to each other for the rest of the weekend, just for fun.

Diiig!

After much pondering, I have made an important decision regarding my speech: from now on, I will refer to institutions in the plural, not the singular. For example, instead of saying “Apple has released Mac OS X 10.3,” I will say “Apple have released Mac OS X 10.3.” I realize this habit is a British English affectation, but even though I speak American English it just seems more correct to me — so I will do it. It will probably take some time to grow accustomed to it, and I hope that everyone will be tolerant of any inconsistencies while I adjust.